#tracking her emissions is fine

[diamondseaside]

are yall really defending someone’s right to track taylor’s jet and post her location in real time giving people (notably stalkers) access to information they wouldn’t normally have… this is literally a threat to her safety

[you-need-not-apply]

So single use plastic straws and people that use them for any reason are the devil, but Taylor Swift producing god knows how much carbon emissions with her private jets is just a silly oopsie daisy because you like her music?

Pick a lane dude

lmao when did i ever say it was a silly oopsie daisy?

Yes she shouldn't be doing it, yes she should just drive, yes she should off set those emissions. But her options are limited due to the fact if she drives she is going to be stalked and harassed.

With all due respect, someone tracking her plane movements, which explicitly were NOT for emissions tracking, is stalking. If they track the LENGTH and not locations, along with how many tonnes of green house gases she produces, then that is 100% fine and should be done. Not only for her but for every person and corporation that produces green house gases or toxic emissions.

let me repeat something i think everyone fucking forgets

corporations produce more carbon emissions then regular people, but that does not mean regular people aren't also to blame.

regular people use and dispose of more single use plastic then corporations, but that doesn't mean that the corporations aren't also to blame.

and honey? I don't think anyone who has a disability that means they genuinely have to use a plastic straw are the devil. Or anyone for that matter. She's a pretty chill lady and I don't think bad people should be compared lol

[jcmarchi]

With sustainable cement, startup aims to eliminate gigatons of CO₂

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/with-sustainable-cement-startup-aims-to-eliminate-gigatons-of-co%e2%82%82/

With sustainable cement, startup aims to eliminate gigatons of CO₂

While today’s cement is made through extremely high temperatures in a kiln, ancient Romans didn’t have that option. Still, anyone who’s been to Rome recently will tell you that ancient cement seems to have held up just fine.

The startup Sublime Systems thinks the Romans were onto something. The MIT spinout has created a drop-in replacement for today’s most commonly used cement, known as portland cement, that uses electrochemistry to skip the ultrahigh temperatures of conventional production — and the immense carbon dioxide emissions that go with it.

“Romans couldn’t go to those obscene temperatures, but they’ve proven their cement is hard and durable, and we now have 2,000 years of innovation to get that cement to meet the criteria we expect out of modern cement,” explains Sublime co-founder and CEO Leah Ellis, who developed the approach as a postdoc in the lab of Sublime co-founder and MIT Professor Yet-Ming Chiang.

Sublime’s approach has potential to make a major dent in global greenhouse gas emissions. The International Energy Agency estimates that cement is responsible for about 7 percent of human-driven carbon dioxide emissions worldwide. Sublime’s process eliminates emissions by foregoing the high temperatures and the use of limestone, which is nearly 50 percent CO₂ by weight, in favor of a novel electrochemical process.

“Cement enabled civilization as we know it today, but now it needs to be reinvented,” says Chiang, who is MIT’s Kyocera Professor of Ceramics. “Cement creates about 4 gigatons of emissions a year, and by 2050 that’s projected to become 6 gigatons a year. I think of what we’re doing as technically a very feasible way of decreasing those 4 gigatons of cement emissions as soon as possible.”

Play video

In May, Sublime reached a major milestone when 3 tons of its cement was poured in Boston’s largest net-zero commercial building in the Seaport district. Now the company is building a commercial-scale manufacturing plant in Holyoke, Massachusetts, that will be able to produce 30,000 tons of cement per year. The new plant is slated to come online as early as 2026.

“The Holyoke plant is designed to be a module that we can repeat to get to a million-ton-per-year plant,” Ellis says. “That will allow us to eliminate scale up risk so we can deploy simultaneously all over the world.”

From batteries to cement

Ellis came to MIT in 2018 as a postdoc after receiving a fellowship from the Canadian government to study anywhere she wanted.

“I chose to work with Yet-Ming Chiang in part because he has a great track record of being really creative and useful with the work he does in science,” Ellis says. “That’s the type of work I wanted: to discover things and push limits and solve problems.”

Although they were both experts in batteries, Ellis embraced Chiang’s suggestion of working on something different, and Chiang suggested exploring ways of using electrochemistry to make cement production more sustainable.

“Cement is the largest CO₂ emitter in the industrial materials world, and concrete is the world’s most abundant material by volume, next to water, but it hadn’t gotten a lot of attention on how its production could be electrified,” Chiang says.

Ellis and a graduate student, Andres Blades, began reviewing the literature on cement chemistry and production, looking for a more sustainable manufacturing process that might benefit from the rise of cheap, renewable electricity. Her research moved from exploring fundamental chemistry and technological approaches to economic and industry analyses.

“My motto is just to try as hard as I can for as long as they’ll let me,” Ellis says. “I strove to make myself indispensable. We started talking to customers and really understanding the industry and what they needed to see from low-carbon cement, what their concerns were, what the regulatory landscape was like, and it just has evolved from there. I really haven’t stopped since.”

Once the founders decided their approach had potential, they published the research in Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences and launched their company in March of 2020. Working through Covid-19 disruptions, the team licensed their patent filings from MIT’s Technology Licensing Office and participated in the MIT i-Corps program, which helps scientific founders talk to potential customers.

“MIT has so many resources,” Ellis says. “It’s a real intellectual playground, and that makes it easy to start something up. There’s no textbook way to start up a company; it’s a game of constant exploration, and there’s so much available to explore at MIT.”

At the core of portland cement’s huge carbon footprint is the use of limestone, which is nearly 50 percent CO₂ by weight. Nearly all that CO₂ is released when limestone is heated to high temperatures to create lime. The heating process also creates enormous amounts of CO₂ on its own, as it requires temperatures of 1,450 C, a temperature that is difficult to electrify efficiently.

At MIT, Sublime’s team created an electrochemical process in which it breaks down calcium silicate rocks at ambient temperature using electrochemistry. The reaction works with abundant raw materials and creates reactive calcium and silicates that are dried and blended into Sublime’s cement.

The mixture has the same final strength and hardened phases as portland cement and meets a standard performance specification in the industry that allows it to be used in building construction.

“To our knowledge, we are the only true-zero solution for manufacturing a drop-in replacement for portland cement, because we don’t use fossil fuels and we don’t use limestone, so we can avoid all of the emissions from making portland cement,” Ellis says.

Changing the way we build

At an event hosted by MIT Technology Review a few years ago, WS Development senior vice president Yanni Tsipis ’01 SM ’02 heard about Sublime’s process and reached out to learn more. The conversation led to Sublime’s first commercial pour earlier this year in the biggest net-zero office building in Boston.

“We hope our partnership with Sublime illustrates the power of the possible when new technology flows from incubator to industry,” Tsipis says. “The location in the building’s primary public space will be experienced by thousands of people every day and is an ideal way to share our aspiration and Sublime’s extraordinary technology with the entire innovation ecosystem in Boston’s Seaport and beyond.”

Sublime is one of several companies Chiang has founded since he joined MIT as a professor nearly 40 years ago. Chiang, who also serves on the climate search advisory committee as part of MIT President Sally Kornbluth’s Climate Project at MIT, believes Sublime’s journey exemplifies the power of MIT’s community to advance impactful new technologies.

“Sublime came from recognizing a problem where there’s clearly an unmet need, and getting on it early when others hadn’t yet recognized its importance, then moving quickly to a solution that you can scale with speed to mitigate climate change,” Chiang says. “This is all just very MIT to me. We really want to focus on doing things that matter — not just to other academics, but to society and to the world.”

[jentlemahae]

Weighing in just a little into this jet conversation, and I wanna say that I think it's fine to criticize someone's carbon emissions, but the thing is... Maybe people shouldn't be tracking her planes in the first place? It's so fucking weird and stalkery. Also, there's a post circulating right now on tumblr that calls for her to be killed (literally) and I'm so upset by this. I'm literally shaking... Of course she can't fucking fly commercial under these conditions! Jesus Christ in Heaven, her haters are so unhinged.

yes, there’s literally thousands of accounts tracking her jets on twt, imagine how unsafe she feels ? no wonder she prefers to fly private where she can control who gets in and out of the plane …. she has 50 active stalkers at all time and has to have president-level security, she cannot just go waltzing in an airport ??? and i think some people’s reaction has been insanely disproportionate — u can criticize her ig (i disagree but i mean u do u) but some people are just being overly aggressive attacking her over it, and it literally hurts the cause too bcs how do u think we’re gonna take u seriously now ?? i haven’t seen that post (thank god bcs id be so upset) but ive seen similar tweets :| people really need a grip …. also if she d*ed global warming would get worse bcs i (and millions of others) would burn the planet to ashes

[jj-5656]

Insufferable

With; Newt

A/N: This is an addiction at this point. I seriously cry every other day abt this man. I just want to say thanks to anyone who likes or comments on my work. And those who reblog AND comment? You inspire me to keep writing so big thanks to you. Special s/o to @jenny33996 for yet another prompt idea. Enjoy!

   You hum softly as you work, fingertips intricately pressing down on the soil of your newly-planted tomatoes. The sun beats down on you and the other track-hoes without mercy, and it’s taken some time to get accustomed to the humidity of the glade. Despite the muggy weather, you’re completely focused on the task at hand. Making sure to remain gentle with each plant you come across.

“Love, you know the plants can’t actually hear you?” You roll your eyes at Newts remark, shaking your head knowingly as you observe his rough workings against the greenery surrounding you.

“They can actually. Studies have shown the emissions of carbon dioxide and the vibrations from talking or singing can promote efficient growth in plants.”

“Is all your free time spent researching then?”

“Precisely, and it’s the only reason the rest of you shanks don’t get a scolding from Alby. I practically carry the track-hoes!” You argue dramatically, laughing when Zart nods in agreement.

“Good that.” Zart comments idly, not noticing Newts offended expression as he lets down his rake.

“Since you two shanks like to talk so much, maybe you won’t mind working an extra ten minutes on turning the soil?” It comes out as more of an order than a question, and the two of you give a silent nod and the keeper walks off with the rest of the track-hoes.

“You’re bloody humming’s got us an extra ten on the garden, shank.” Newt chucks a cherry tomato at you as he speaks, chuckling when you toss it back to him.

“It was actually your bloody jokes, that aren’t funny might I add.” You mock his accent dramatically, smirking when his eyebrows raise in bewilderment.

“Your accent is insufferable.”

“So is yours.” The two of you laugh harder at your lighthearted bickering, getting up from your kneeling positions to pick up the discarded tools in order to tend to the soil. As Newt takes a step towards you, he trips over a stray vine. Each of you letting out a Yelp in surprise when he practically tackles you to the ground. He’s smart enough to roll over to break your fall, but you still feel a sharp pain on the side of your head when it comes in contact with one of the shovels.

“Shuck, are you that clumsy slinthead?” You mutter in annoyance as you rub your temple.

“Sorry.” Newt can only get one word out before the two of you start giggling again, only ceasing when you realize his hands are still secured around your waist. Not to mention you’re practically sprawled out on top of him, and can even smell the combined scent of mint and some type of wood coming off of him. Suddenly, the eye contact and the heavy breathing aren’t as funny as they were before.

She’s close, really close. Close enough for Newt to feel her heart beating rapidly against his chest, and her breath mingling with his. He could move his head just a few inches more, and actually kiss her. But he can’t, right? Not when she’s practically his best friend, and the one of the only people he can truly trust. She’s means too much to him for him to jeopardize their relationship. But she’s just so....impossibly close. Maybe if he just-

“Earth to Newt? My head, i-it really hurts.” She mutters softly, cringing in pain when she rises to get off of him. It’s only when he lifts her completely off of him that he realizes how sickly she suddenly looks. Sweat beading on her skin as she takes heavier breaths and-oh shuck

“What? What is it?” You question worriedly, realizing the sensation of hot water running down the side of your head. You go to rub it off, only to see your palm covered in thick red blood.

“Y-you’re bleeding.” Newt responds dumbly, eyes wide with concern and shock as he discards his shirt from his torso.

“No shuck.” Even with how lightheaded you are, you manage to make a snarky remark at the blonde in front of you. Wincing when he presses the bunched up fabric to your head. If your brain didn’t feel as if it were being stapled to your skull, you think you might’ve taken the opportunity to admire his muscled arms.

“You need to go to the med-jack, right now. Can you stand?” His demeanor is calm now, but you can tell laced within his tone is deep worry.

“Yeah, I think so.” You nod softly, cringing at the dizziness the action creates. Newt grabs at your arms to hoist you up, and you stumble with a groan at the sudden movements.

“Shuck, sorry.” Is all you hear before the ringing begins. And you know it can only get worse from there when little black dots begin to cloud your vision. Your legs feels as if they have no bone supporting the tissue, and it takes all your focus to attempt to stand. There’s shouting in the distance, or maybe from right beside you. It’s hard to tell with all this damn ringing...Did the world always feel this spinny? The last you see is the brilliant, shining sun before everything goes black.

************************

When you come to, the ringing has finally stopped. It takes you a moment to recognize your surroundings, especially since the lighting is so dim in the room. There’s shouting, but you can’t seem to decipher the voices just yet. Still, you silently pray for the arguing to stop so the raging headache will cease.

“How could you let this happen? How careless could you possibly be Newt?”

“That’s enough Minho, it was an accident. He feels bad enough.”

“Yeah, and you know we can’t afford accidents Alby. Because you know what happens? People die!”

“I said that’s enough. I know damn well what goes on around here. Now slim it.” The voice is stern, but remains tranquil as anger laces each word. Alby

“Jesus shuck, stop talking.” You croak weakly, voice unbearably hoarse from however long you’ve been out. You try to swallow some saliva, and hum weakly when a cup of water meets your lips.

“If you guys are going to argue, I suggest you do it elsewhere. It’s bad enough she’s lost consciousness after a head injury. Right now, she needs as little stimulation as possible.” Clint informs strictly as he readjusts the bandage on your forehead. “If you’re going to stay in here, you all need to slim it.” You follow Clint with your eyes as he walks towards the supply stable, noticing Alby and Minho stood glaring at each other in the doorway. Newt sits in a chair beside Alby, hand rubbing over his mouth in thought as he studies you intently. Only averting his eyes when you meet his gaze.

“Do you know your name?” Clint speaks gently beside you, finger moving in front of your eyes in a silent order for them to follow it.

“Y/n.”

“What about where you are?”

“The med hut, in the glade.”

“Good, and who’s that over there?”

“Minho and Alby. The blonde shank is Newt.” You joke half halfheartedly, wanting more than anything than to see the boy smile. He doesn’t make a move or attempt to speak, just meets your eyes with an unreadable expression.

“Very good. Y’know how you got in here?” You nod, but Clint raises his brows to have you elaborate. “We were working in the garden, and I fell.” You look over when Minho lets out a huff before shaking his head.

“It seems to me like she fainted from the loss of blood. It could have been shock or anxiety, because I’m not noticing signs of significant head trauma. No memory loss, nausea, or lack of reflexes as of yet. Just to be sure though, I want her here for the next week so I can monitor her. I don’t want to take a head injury lightly.” Clint informs without looking up from his reflex-test on you. The boys look to each other briefly and nod in understanding.

“I need to cool off, you’ll be okay?” Minho asks abruptly, voice much quieter this time. He rubs his thumb gently over the bandage as you offer him a weak smile.

“Minho, I’ll be fine.” He gives a curt nod before attempting to back away to leave, but you grab his wrist and pull him to you once more. “Please don’t be so hard on him. He didn’t mean it.” Minho considers your words for a moment, before looking between you and Newt. He gives another nod before parting your hand and leaving the room, still a bit frustrated. As much as he hates to admit it, or to let the other boys see, he really cares about you. You smile to yourself at the thought, strong and sassy Minho worried sick over someone. It’s heartwarming, but Newt’s pale, solemn expression brings your focus back to the glum energy of the room.

“Hear that? Sounds like you’ll be alright, shank. I’ll let you get some rest for now. And you’re not moving from this bed for a week, you hear? Clint gives the orders in here.” Alby affirms sternly, deep brown eyes the dead giveaway he’s a lot more scared than angry. He squeezes your shoulder gently before making his way out of the med hut. Leaving you and Newt alone when Clint rambles on about needing to grab herbs from Frypan for tea.

“Newt.” Your voice is so soft, you’re not even sure the boy has heard you. “Please, come over here.”

“I-I have to go talk to Minho.” He fumbles lamely, obviously trying to come up with an excuse. It’s all his fault.

The overwhelming guilt and shame has been eating at him for the past hour, wondering whether or not he had just seriously injured the girl he’s head over heels for by tripping over a shucking vine. He let his guard down, something he really only tends to do around you. It’s too dangerous, to love you. Shuck, he loves you. He can only admit it to himself right then, and the the thought that your injury was with him to blame makes his stomach churn. He was so stupid, so careless to think he could even try to be carefree for one second in this shucking hell of a plac-”

“Newt? Hey, don’t spiral on me please.” Your voice is more sad now, pleading with him to come to you. Reluctantly, the blonde walks over to sit on the side of the bed. You grab his hand before he can refuse, and give him that beautiful smile as his thumb absentmindedly moves over your knuckles. “Look at me, you heard Clint. I’m gonna be just fine. It was an accident-”

“That could have gotten you bloody killed.” He interrupts almost instantly, running a hand over his face to contain his composure in order to not raise his voice. “You understand passing out meant you could have not woken up, yeah?” He inquires, looking to you with narrowed eyes as your own drift up to look at the ceiling rather than him.

“But I didn’t.”

“But you bloody could have, and it would have been my fault.” His voice cracks at the end of his sentence, and your eyes dart over to meet his, not letting the moisture filling in the corner of them go unnoticed.

“Newt-”

“No. We have lost too many people to start getting stupid now. I-I can’t keep...I can’t keep doing whatever this is with you in good conscious, not after today.”

Your face contorts in confusion at his words, and if you weren’t so weak you’d hit him for being so vague.

“Wh-what? So, you’re just not gonna talk to me anymore because of a shucking mishap?”

“I can’t lose you!” He counters immediately. He doesn’t yell, but his tone is desperate when he tugs his hand from your own. Not understanding he’s doing more damage now than that stupid shovel ever could. “I can’t be sick with worry like that, n-not again. I couldn’t breath when I saw that blood on your face. And I could barely explain what happened to the others. I can’t-I wasn’t able to stay calm when I saw you like that. I wasn’t myself. So, I don’t know if it’s a good idea if we-”

“Slim it. You’re giving me more of a headache than I had before. You’re telling me you want to ignore me forever? Let...Whatever this is-whatever we are, just let it go because you’re scared? I’m scared all the shucking time Newt.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Only because you’re making this so complicated.” You’ve always been stubborn, but Newts still bewildered by your insistence despite your weakened state.

“I’m scared all the time!” He mutters sternly, staring into your eyes as if it’ll somehow translate to you. “I mean, every day I’m scared. But I let my guard down, and you got hurt. I love you too much to hold onto you, can’t you get that through your bloody skull?”

Your eyebrows raise at his words, wondering if he’s actually just admitted it as he rolls his eyes.

“There, you know now. I’m head over shucking heels or whatever. Doesn't bloody matter, we can’t keep doing this.”

“Oh, so just because you’re afraid we don’t get to be together? Believe it or not, this is a two way street. And it’s gonna take a lot more than a shucking shovel for me to stop loving you Newt. And to hate you? Well, that’s impossible.” You lock gazes as you speak, challenging him to look away or continue the argument before he sighs. There’s a long pause before he looks at his feet, shaking his head before replying.

“I’m sorry about what happened. But you need to get better before we can talk about this, alright?” He cups your check and runs his thumb over your jaw as you slightly nod, lips pulling up into a smile when he places a soft kiss to your temple before backing away.

“Will you come read to me later on? We don’t have to talk about...This. I just, I don’t want to be alone all day.” You trail off when you finish, expression brightening when he nods happily.

“Alright, any requests?”

“Maybe you should leave a request in the box for Botany For Dummies. Considering it was my squash vine your shank ass tripped over.”

“Again, you’re insufferable.”

“Don’t get all jacked because my singing actually works.”

“Tell that to my bleeding eardrums.”

“Tell that to the gash on my head!” Newt shoots you a stern look at your teasing, crossing his arms as he leans against the doorway.

“Too soon?”

“Slim it already, will you? I’ll be back soon.”

“I’m counting on it.”

[pseudofaux]

Sorry if this is late, but could I get Lucien with a breeding kink, please? If you don't want to do it, that's fine! I know this is late, so feel free not to do it ^^'

*kneels on the beach and tears open shirt and screams* YESSSSSSS!!! Thank you for this! You got it in on time, you’re fine. And THIS IS GREAT YES LET’S GOOOOOOO~

(Requests are closed, readers, but there are a lot to be filled in May and likely June, too! Feel free to follow along or just check in and enjoy as many as you like. A masterlist will go up when they are all completed.)

“Do you know,” he whispers onto her slick forehead, “that there are spaces inside you where sperm survive for days after sex? They hide in your body, just in case.”

He can’t tell her how much he likes this, how when he learned it benignly at a conference years ago, before he knew her face, he went back to his unsplendid hotel room and worked himself in his hand until he came all over the glass door of the shower. He won’t tell her, not yet at least, how when he saw her face in his office for the first time he remembered watching the white slowly trail down, making tracks in the steam, and how he wanted her so badly, to fill her up in every hole until it gushed out of her because there was no more space in her, until implantation itself, until she started to swell.

He can’t and won’t tell her these things. Not right now. Instead he presses himself very deeply, pushing some of the cum he emptied into her a few minutes ago deeper, and some of it, unfortunately, out. She whines beneath him and tosses her head, so his kiss smears her sweat.

“More,” she groans.

“I know,” he says calmly. “I will.”

She makes another, less articulate sound of frustration. He hides his laughter behind a smile she cannot see because her eyes are shut so tightly.

“Look at me,” he croons. It is sweet, but it is not a request. “Put your legs up again and look at me if you want more, silly.”

Her eyes crack open like she’s exhausted, and he wouldn’t be surprised if she did feel that way underneath all the arousal. She likes this as much as he does, that’s the most powerful part of this. It’s why he pushes her as much as he does. A long, fucked out (but not fucked out enough) groan comes out of her as she reaches for her shins. Lucien can feel the way her hips tilt as she brings her legs to her hands, then he experiences a deliriously blissful slide perhaps two centimeters deeper into her, and he groans as well.

“Want it,” she whispers.

“You can have it,” he whispers. “And it will live in you for days, until your body recognizes you’re pregnant and all the extras give up since there is no place for them to go.”

This is not actually how it works, but he’s too high on the snug, drenched feel of her to worry about scientific accuracy on this point she won’t even remember. She may not be as fucked out as he wants, but she’s already well beyond paying attention to anything less direct than an order. Her body is all response right now. Just considering it brings him closer to flooding her all over again.

“I want you to take this,” he says, and he is close enough to giving it to her that his whisper leans toward a hiss. “I’m going to shoot it up right against your cervix, this spot,” he says, bumping it. He’s careful not to jar her, she has babbled frequently how much she likes it but it hurts if he goes too fast. So he slows and makes it count. “Right here,” he tells her. “And then it will be up to you, love. Do you want a baby?”

You’d better. It’s far too late if you don’t.

She wails beautifully and pulls her legs up just a little bit more, and he loves her so much he does not laugh in her face at this important moment.

“I wish I could grind them into you one by one,” he mutters as he presses slowly deep once more, giving her that sensation she likes. “Touch yourself, open up for me,” Lucien says.

She shoots a hand between their bodies so quickly he can’t help his laugh, no matter how much he loves her.

“That’s right,” he tells her before he kisses her cheek. “We’re going to get you nice and pregnant. You might be already, do you like that idea?”

She clenches around him, not that he didn’t already know the answer to that question. There are precious few things about her he doesn’t know. Fewer than she realizes. He’ll learn a few more when her ligaments begin to loosen late in pregnancy. He can’t wait.

He hums and makes sure he presses against her top wall when he pulls back. Not out. Today it all goes inside.

Her fingers are rubbing her clit furiously, adorably. He’ll kiss them later. And her cute little clit, too, he’ll relax her into stupidity so profound she doesn’t even leave the bed, just falls asleep with her hips propped up on that pillow she shyly brought home. Meanwhile he’ll listen to her breathing go slow as he watches the unsuccessful dregs of his emissions ooze out of her.

More important, though, to focus on successful ones. Lucien feels her telltale rippling and finds her sweaty forehead with his lips. “Don’t worry,” he tells her. He makes his words as sweet as he can. “I’ll fuck you full every night even if we get twins.”

Her hand tenses up between them, just like her bent legs. He times himself as well as he can and then presses just shy of her cervix and comes in her with a silent snarl. “All of them,” he hisses. “All the tens of millions. Take them all and make a baby.”

She curls up tight underneath and around him, sweet thing that she is, and whines while she comes. When her face relaxes he swears she is glowing. Perhaps it is the progesterone in her already changing in the first moments of pregnancy, perhaps only her sexual satisfaction.

He will take credit for both.

“Take them all,” he repeats, and kisses her sweaty forehead once more.

Take them all or I’ll pump you full again tomorrow. Why don’t we just plan on that anyway.

[ssamie]

ten. “greatest desire”

kozume kenma x fem dazai!reader

(bsd x hq)

tw: mentions of suicide, guns & cementaries

masterlist.      suicide freak!

"uh hi.. i know we don't really know each other that much.." atsushi started off. the boy had a nervous smile on his face as he stiffly waves at kenma, with tanizaki and naomi by his side 

"but have you seen y/n-san?" atsushi asked 

"y/n? why, what happened to her?" kenma asked worriedly 

atsushi, tanizaki and naomi were stood in front of nekoma's gym, trying to look for the girl, as per the president's wishes. "its been about a day since you guys went out to the arcade, right?" tanizaki chimed in "has she shown herself to you, or atleast texted any of you?" 

kenma frowned as he shook his head no. he looked back at the team who were trying to act like they weren't eavesdropping. 

"no.. i just assumed she was busy with work" kenma muttered 

"hmm, i tried to ask ranpo-san but he's too busy" naomi chimed in as she hugged tanizaki's arm to her chest 

"oya oya, sorry to barge in on the conversation-" kuroo interjected. the captain had a sly grin on his face as he walked towards the group. "but we just so happen to overhear something about our manager going missing?" kuroo mused 

"yes, sorry if we're intruding" atsushi bowed 

"but y/n-san went missing again, and the president ordered us to find her in under four hours" tanizaki sighed 

"or else we get our asses handed to us" atsushi shuddered 

kuroo and kenma gave each other a look and nodded along. "we'll try to look for her later" kuroo said "we'll let you guys know" 

"thank you so much!" atsushi exclaimed with a smile "would you mind calling the agency if you find her?" he said as he handed them a piece of paper with the agency's number 

"its really hard tracking her down" tanizaki says with a chuckle "when she chooses to disappear, it's like she never existed in the first place" 

"anyways, we'll be on our way" atsushi excused "we've troubled you long enough" 

"its no problem.." kenma muttered 

naomi waved them goodbye as they walked away. the duo waving back meekly as they watch their retreating figures disappear. 

"hey, you okay?" kuroo nudged his friend kenma nodded and looked down at his shoes "yeah.." 

"i think i'll go look for her now" kenma muttered "eh? kenma, we could just go later" kuroo said with a raised brow 

"im going. bye" kenma muttered, completely disregarding kuroo as he went straight out the door 

"where's he going?" yaku asked as he peeked his head out the gym doors "he's gonna look for y/n" kuroo answered 

"damn. what a simp" yamamoto sneered 

"wow. that's rich coming from you." 

"i swear to god.." kenma grumbled "if she ends up getting found in a ditch and i wasted all that time running around for nothing.." he scoffed 

he's been running around the streets of tokyo, passing through every street and alleyway to try and look for the girl. so far he hasn't seen a single trace of her, not even a single person who has managed to pass by her. 

"y/n.." kenma huffed out. he was currently by a riverbank, leaning against the metal railings of the bridge while he tried to catch his breath. 

"you called?" 

kenma jumped at the sudden emission of her oh-so-familiar voice, and turned around to face her "what the- y/n?! where did you come from?!" kenma shrieked out 

"also, where have you been?! atsushi-kun and a bunch of people from your job came to the school today looking for you" he said 

y/n chuckled and strode over to his side, jumping over the rails and sitting on the flat surface of the bars. "if i told you that the port mafia took me hostage and threatened to execute me, would you believe it?" she mused 

"no." 

"then i won't bother to say" she shrugged 

kenma eyed her warily. her port mafia story could actually be believable, now that he thought about it. given as, her bandages were loosened and torn, almost as if they broke off with too much movement. and along with the dried blood resting upon her cheeks and hands. 

"are you okay?" kenma asked worriedly 

even if it was believable, it could've been just her trying to kill herself yet again. not that it was any better

"of course" she smiled "though my body is a bit sore.. chuuya really doesn't hold back"

kenma froze and slowly turned his head towards her with a blank and emotionless look on his face. 

"chuuya doesn't what." kenma spat out "did you seriously disappear to hook up with that dog? that-that man child? that eyesore? that-" 

"what are you talking about?" she laughed

kenma huffed and propped his elbow on the cold metal, resting his chin on his hand as he pouted 

"you're really funny, kenma-kun" she mused 

"really? cause im not laughing." kenma grumbled "i ran around the whole city for you, only to find out you ran off with some guy" his honey hued orbs eyed her down, watching her chuckle softly as the golden rays of the sun illuminated the surroundings around her

"y/n.." he mumbled "why did you really disappear?" 

"i already told you" she replied with a sigh "the port mafia is truly a force to reckon with" 

"that's why you gotta stay safe, kenma-kun" she mused "you never know who and when they'll strike next" 

kenma sighed and nodded along. it was old news -- the port mafia, that is -- its been stirring up the whole city for the past few months. 

"ne, kenma-kun" she called out "if we do end up dying alongside each other, i suggest we drown ourselves in this river." she said 

she stared down at the flowing water, the golden colour of the setting sun reflecting off of it. "its clear and pretty, not much people are around.. its quite tranquil." she hummed

"i never really understood this.." kenma muttered "but why are you so intent on dying?" 

"and i never understood you, and so many others." she replied "tell me, kenma.." she turned to face him, her bandaged hands loosely gripping the railings, as her legs and feet dangle off the ledge. 

"do you really think there's any value in the act of living?" 

kenma didn't answer. instead he stared at her, and her clouded eyes, each orb holding an unforgivable amount of sin and deciet that he could only imagine. 

"well.. is there any value in the act of dying?" he asked back 

she blinked dumbfoundedly at him, fairly shocked at his question. 

"isn't there anything else you desire? life is kinda cool too yaknow?" kenma said in a sheepish tone 

she stared at him a few minutes longer before averting her gaze. she chuckled and closed her eyes as the cold wind breezed past. "man fears death, and at the same time, man is drawn to death" she said 

"its a singular event in one's life that no one may reverse" she hummed "and that is my greatest desire." 

kenma didn't know how to reply to that, so he didn't. he simply looked down up at the setting sun, letting silence wash upon them both. 

"hey kenma" she called out. kenma looked at her, curious and wary. "yes?" he asked 

"wanna hang with an old friend with me?" she suggested with a soft smile

"me? won't that be intrusive though? i don't really know them.." kenma muttered nervously

"it's fine. he'd probably be happy i even talk to people my age" she said with a chuckle. she jumped off the railings and landed on the ground with a grin. she stretched her aching arms over her head and patted kenma's back. 

"he's a lot like you" she mused "always saying life is worth living and all.." 

"okay then.." kenma agreed reluctantly "but if i sense that person doesn't like me one bit, im leaving." he groaned out

"im pretty sure that won't happen" she chuckled sheepishly 

"why are we in a cementary?" kenma grumbled 

"is this where you kill us both?" he scoffed playfully "i wouldn't be surprised if you already have a hole dug for us" 

she chuckled and shook her head "no, no" she mused "were just taking a small stroll" she cooed as she looked around the awfully empty surrounding  "ah! there it is" she perked up "it's been so long since i went here that i almost forgot my way around" 

kenma followed her as she skipped away, though he was quite confused, he didn't question her. 

"hurry, kenma" she called out as she watched him struggle to walk faster "i hate you" he grumbled back, which she chose to ignore 

she smiled softly as she stood infront of the oh-so-familiar grave. 

"geez." she mumbled "its been so long since we hung out, odasaku" 

"shame we couldn't meet at the usual place" she chuckled and sat down on the grassy ground. she leaned back on the gravestone, resting her back against it as she waited for kenma to arrive 

"y/n?" on cue, kenma chimed in. he was panting slightly, most likely from running and walking around for so long "what are you doing?" kenma raised a brow at her 

"kozume kenma-kun.." she called out

"yes?" he asnwered

"do you know whose grave this is?" she mused, pointing her thumb to the gravestone she was leaning on 

kenma eyed the name engraved on the stone and shook his head. "no..but it's someone dear to you, right?" 

"what makes you think that?" she hummed out in amusement 

"i've never seen you pay visit to a grave before" kenma muttered. the pudding head hesitantly sat down infront of her, bowing at the grave before settling down on the ground. 

"does it look like im visiting a grave to you?" she asked with curiosity 

"it does.. why?"

she smiled softly and leaned her head back, letting it fall and her eyes to land straight at the cloudy sky "well, i thought of it as hanging out with a friend but.." she trailed off 

"i guess that works too" she sighed out 

kenma frowned as he watched her close her eyes. her smile faltering as a wave of comforting silence washed upon them. "im sorry" kenma muttered "i shouldn't have said anything.." 

"its fine." she chuckled "its been years since he died." she smiled bitterly "i guess it's time someone snaps me out of my daydreams" 

kenma didn't respond. he simply toyed with the grass on the ground and the few flowers littered around. 

"yaknow, kenma" she said with a smile "you're the first person i brought here" 

"me? why?" kenma asked in surprise and confusion 

"because this friend of mine was a good man." she said "he told me to try and look for my reason to live."

"and i think i found it" she whispered as he looked into his eyes 

kenma blinked in shock as he basked in her awfully heartwarming words. 

"my reason to live is to die with you." 

"of course. its gonna be about suicide again." kenma sighed dejectedly.  "but y/n, if you think of me as your reason to live.. then i'll take it upon myself to keep you alive" kenma smiled at her, tucking his blond hair behind his ears as he kept his honey hued orbs trained on hers. 

"kenma.." she teared up 

she blinked repeatedly as she opened her mouth to speak. 

"i.. I DON'T WANT THAT! I WANNA DIE WITH YOU!" she whined loudly "i already had our suicide planned! i even suggested the whole river thing a while ago!" she exclaimed 

kenma deadpanned as he watched her ramble on and on about her ideal double suicide. "i really don't care." kenma groaned out "i don't want you to die." he whined "why do you keep trying to kill yourself" 

"just because, okay?!" 

"just for that, im gonna call your agency and hand you over" kenma sighed as he dialled the agency's number 

"traitor!" she shrieked "kunikida-kun will undoubtedly beat me up" kenma ignored her as he started speaking on the phone. 

"yes, she's with me.." he muttered "is she behaved?" he repeated the question as he sent her a pointed glare 

"no, not really" he scoffed 

"kenma, you're heartless!" she shrieked in horror 

"cmon. let's atleast pay respects to your friend before we leave" kenma said with a sigh "dont worry, kenma-kun! i already thought this through" she grinned. she then pulled out a bottle of sake and a book and placed it on the ground. 

"you brought him alcohol? seriously?" kenma furrowed his brows 

"hey, it's two of his favourite things, okay?" she defended with a laugh 

"do you know how ridiculous i looked while buying these things at the store?" she chuckled "they thought i was a madman or something!" 

"i would've too" kenma answered back 

"you're so mean to me, kenma" she pouted "anyways, we should go." she said as she dusted her pants and unravelled a thin layer of her torn bandages. 

"i can't wait to tell you about this suicide method i learned about." she beamed. she tugged on his arm and pulled him away as she continued to blabber on his ear "apparently this one does the job right away!" she exclaimed 

"can you believe it, kenma?" 

"wow. crazy." he replied dryly 

"yeah, and all we gotta do is shoot ourselves with these guns-" 

"no." 

"oh my, this almost feels like a welcome home party!" she cheered. she gave the detectives a close eyed smile while they simply stared back at her with a look of agitation and worry 

"where the hell were you?!" kunikida exclaimed angrily as he tapped his foot on the ground 

"the port mafia!" she answered back nonchalantly 

they all perked up in surprise from her claim. "huh?! the port mafia?!" 

"hai hai! but don't make a big deal about it!" she chuckled as she waved her hands dismissively 

"you could've died!" kunikida exclaimed  "now, now! i'd like to think of it as akutagawa-kun needing some attention that's all" she joked 

"jesus christ" kunikida sighed as he adjusted his glasses "that boy could kill you and you still won't take him seriously" 

"anyways, why is he here?" he asked as he pointed to kenma, who simply ignored him and avoided their eyes as he played on his phone 

"oh! he's the one who found me, so i thought it'd be right for me to repay him" she smiled brightly as she squeezed kenma to her chest, all while he unbotherdly continued on with his game

"i've thought of so many fun things we could do back in my dorm, hehehe~" she chuckled mischievously as kenma's face paled. she only gripped him tighter when he tried to scurry away. 

"i- i see.." kunikida stuttered out. he looked at them with wide eyes as she started squeezing him tighter while kenma tried to pry her off 

"y/n, you're strangling me!" kenma huffed out "i know!" she grinned 

"we'll leave you two alone then!" kenji said with his usual smile as he ushered the others away 

"they're worse than tanizaki-kun and naomi-san.." atsushi shuddered "that's because she's trying to kill him" tanizaki sweat dropped 

"and herself, as well" yosano sneered "go get your man!" she cheered as she sent y/n a sneaky wink 

"yosano-san! don't encourage her!"

[olivish]

Melanie/ Alex hc: (sorry it’s LONG and not even done) 

1. Leading up to Snowpiercer’s commercial launch, Melanie and Wilford argued about division of labor. He was constantly travelling the world to secure financing and to oversee track completion, while Melanie stayed with the train. She accused him of taking exotic holidays while she worked, and he told her, fine.  “You think you can do my job, Melanie?” he said. “No problem. You go attach the Alborz stretch to the Holy Land. And I’ll stay here and tinker with the engine. Bon Voyage, and don’t call me when it all blows up in your face.” 

2. Melanie was surprised by the assignment, not really wanting to go, but Wilford was insistent. “Time for you to learn the dirty half of this business.” So, she packed her bags and flew to Jerusalem, which they were trying to connect to Tehran by way of Lebanon, central Syria and finally, the Alborz mountains just under the Caspian Sea. Political tensions made construction tricky and expensive, mainly due to the number of bribes involved. Melanie was out of her element but resolved to be successful. 

3. She travelled north, to Beirut, where a large camp of climate refugees would need to be relocated to make space for the track. While there, she met a photojournalist covering the story. He challenged her on Wilford’s plan to “lasso the world” (to quote their marketing), saying that to the refugees, it might feel more like a “steel noose.” Melanie bristled at the criticism, explaining that the technology they were developing on Snowpiercer was planet-changing. 100% renewable, 100% emission-free. “That’s worth relocating a few thousand refugees.” They argued, and then they debated, and then they discussed. 

4. They ended up in a cafe, where Melanie sketched out a diagram of the train. She explained how it worked, why they could “just move the track”, and how, with more research, the technology could be adapted to replace everything from coal plants to internal combustion engines. “Imagine a world where energy is free and plentiful,” she said. “That’s a world without poverty.” 

The photographer ordered another coffee and pulled out his tablet. Now it was his turn. They weren’t debating anymore; he just wanted to share his work. 

His photographs were stunning. Nature, travel, wildlife, but mostly, people. He’d been all over the world, documenting the effects of climate change on disempowered communities. That’s what brought him to the camps in Beirut. “And, to you,” he added with a smile. His eyes were deep brown. Long lashes. Melanie couldn’t look away. He pulled out his camera and asked if he could take a picture of her. She shocked herself by saying yes.  

As he pointed the lens, Melanie asked, “what should I do?” 

“Just be yourself,” he answered. It was then that Melanie realized, she had no idea what that meant. Still, she liked the picture he took. She didn’t appear happy, or sad. More like... curious. “So you weren’t lying,” he said. “You are a scientist.” 

Melanie ordered another coffee, and they talked long into the night. 

5. In a matter of days, they were properly in love. He took her to see the refugee camps and relocation sites, she took him to see the Alborz terminus. They hiked the mountains together, taking photographs and telling each other everything. Birthplaces, parents, siblings, friends, likes, dislikes, hopes and dreams...  

Melanie couldn’t explain what happened, but she knew she wasn’t the same person anymore. Something fundamental had shifted, all her jumbled pieces nudged into place. She was at peace with herself for the first time in 34 years. 

Everything was easy. Loving him was easy. Talking, laughing, thinking... all easy. No fear. No acting. Just her. And he loved her. Even in disagreement, he loved her. She didn’t question it, she knew. She knew this was it, nothing else would ever feel as natural or as right.

6. Three weeks later, they travelled to Jerusalem where she was to catch a flight home. It was already decided, he’d finish his current project and come to visit in a month. Melanie felt silly to be heartbroken over such a brief separation. 

One month. That’s nothing. Still, her heart was heavy as they walked through the holy city, stopping at a cafe for one last breakfast. As they waited for service, Melanie pressed her hand flat onto the table. “What is it?” he asked. 

“I don’t know,” she answered. Something. 

Suddenly, the ground jumped. The building cracked. Glass shattered and car alarms blared. People ran for cover under tables and doorframes. As the worst  earthquake in 200 years ripped through the city, Alexander took Melanie’s hand and pulled her to the ground, crawling away from the outer wall.  

It seemed like an eternity before the tremors subsided. Hearts pounding. Eyes locked. They were both okay. Then, came the screaming. 

7. When Melanie woke up, she was alone. In and out of consciousness. Then, a hand on hers. “Alex?”

“It’s me,” Wilford answered. 

“Where’s Alex?” 

“I don’t know who that is. Look at me.” 

She shook her head. She wasn’t in pain, but she couldn’t move. Using every drop of cognizance she could muster, she said, “Alexander Safaryan. He’s a photographer working off a grant from UNHCR. We were together. I need you to find him.” 

It was hard to breathe. The pain was creeping in. “Melanie, listen to me. They’re going to do some work on you here, but as soon as you’re stable, I’m getting you back to America. I’ve got a team on standby at Chicago General. Only the best. You’re going to alright, I promise.” 

8. Melanie never saw Alex again. Her memory slowly returned, helped along by eyewitness accounts, people who reached out to thank her for saving their lives, or their child’s life. But they were thanking the wrong person. 

Alex was the hero. She’d panicked. She tried to stop him from going back inside, but he was determined. “I can hear them. Stay here. I’ll be right back.” But she couldn’t let him go alone. Melanie followed, terrified but with no other option than to help him dig through the rubble. They managed to get four people out before an aftershock came, and then there was nothing.  

CONTINUED HERE.

[we-are-inevitable]

not moving on, not looking back // ch. 9

A/N: FINALLY GOT ANOTHER CHAPTER UP AHHAHAHAAAA i hope you guys like this!!

Read On AO3!

“David! I’m getting a divorce!”

That is decidedly not what David had expected to hear at 7:45 on a Thursday morning, but at least Katherine seems happy about it. It takes a few moments for him to fully process the gravity of the situation, but David is quick to adapt, raising a brow and staring at her with a confused smile. “Uh- huh, that… Wow? Good? Oh no? How- How do I respond to that?”

“Good! It’s good!” Katherine squeals as she sits down, on top of one of the spare desks stored in David’s room. She already looks different, more carefree; she’s wearing her hair up, has on bolder makeup than usual, and is wearing a pair of fitted slacks, heels, a blush colored blouse and a blazer rather than her typical dress. “I’m checking in at the motel for a while until I can find myself somewhere to stay, but we talked it out and he agreed with me and everything is fine, so, yeah! Last night was the last time we’re ever going to sleep together, so it was a special occasion and I’m a little hungover, but don’t tell anyone,” Katherine chirps quickly, looking at David with a wide grin.

That is a lot to take in. He looks at her as he leans back against his desk, crossing his arms in front of him. “I’m sorry, did you say you slept with Jack after agreeing to divorce? Like, slept in the same bed?”

“Nope. We fucked.”

“I-- Wow, okay. Kath, that’s not a mental picture I needed to see.”

“Unless you think about Jack alone, right?”

David nods before he can stop himself. As soon as he does so, his eyes widen and he immediately shakes his head, staring at Katherine as his jaw drops. “Wait, no! No, no, I don’t-- What? No, that isn’t-- I’m not-- No!”

Katherine doesn’t look convinced.

David hesitates for a moment before giving in and sighing, hiding his face in his hands. “Look, Kath, I am so sorry… It’s just- It’s a stupid little crush. Nothing substantial, and nothing happened, I promise. He doesn't even know, and--"

“Wait, you think I’m upset?” She asks with an amused tone. “David, this is the best thing that’s ever happened to us! I think you two would be really good for each other.”

“Shouldn’t you be the one to know that your husband is straight?” David asks with a raised brow, then blinks. “Unless-- No, no, I don’t want to hear any more. If something is going to happen, then I want to hear it from him first. I don’t want to speculate.” He runs a hand through his hair and sighs, then looks at Katherine. “What… What are you trying to say?”

“I’m trying to say that this is something I give you permission to pursue. Not that you need it, of course; you’re a grown man. You can do what you want,” She says simply, before standing and taking a few strides toward David. “But if you like Jack, then I want you to go for it. I won’t mind. I don’t know how he’ll feel, I don't know if he'll feel the same way, but… it’s worth a shot.”

David looks down at her with a hesitant look, before giving a sharp nod. “Noted. Thank you… I just-- If and only if he feels the same. I... don’t want to be a rebound? I’ve been in that situation. It’s never, ever good for my mental health.”

“Then take things slow and see where it leads," Katherine says gently, then bites her lip. "But I’ve known Jack since sophomore year, Davey, and he isn’t the kind of guy to do something like that. I promise,” She murmurs  sincerely, gently squeezing David’s shoulder. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go do some paperwork.”

David watches as she walks toward the classroom door. He thinks for just a moment, and opens his mouth before he can stop himself. “Hey, Kat?”

“Hm?”

“Stay with me until you find a place,” David says simply, looking at her with a grin. “Don’t waste your money on a motel. I have a spare bedroom you can take, so… Stay with me. It’s the least I could do, since you’ve helped me so much these last few weeks. I-- My sister is coming into town this weekend, so I’ll be sleeping on the couch, but the spare room is yours.”

Katherine considers it, then smirks. “I hope you’re ready for all night Gossip Girl marathons.”

“As long as we throw a few episodes of Glee in, I’m down.”

“Trashy reality TV?”

“A must have, obviously. Sappy romcoms?”

“I have a whole box of DVDs,” Katherine grins, then gives David a wave and walks toward the door. “I’m staying with Hannah tonight- she's a friend of mine. Works with Jack," She explains with a broad sweep of her hand. "But I’ll see you tomorrow! Get ready for some Blake Lively action!” With that, she leaves the room, giggling down the hall.

David shakes his head as she walks away, letting out a content sigh. For once, he feels... Good. Excited. He’s looking forward to Katherine staying over, for as long as she needs to, of course. It would be good. He has… a friend.

That’s the first time it really hits him that he has a friend. Katherine and Jack are his friends, his real friends, and David is so glad to have them in his life.

But he needs to check up on Jack.

That afternoon, David says goodbye to Katherine in the office before heading outside the front doors. He walks down the sidewalk for a few moments, but stops in his tracks when he sees a familiar deep blue truck in the parking lot, and hears a familiar deep voice softly singing along to an old Johnny Cash song.

David grins to himself and walks toward the truck. His smile only grows wider when Jack notices him and rolls the driver’s side window down, waving. “Davey! Hi!”

David shakes his head, hurrying toward the truck. “What are you doing here, cowboy?”

“Well, ya see, I was gonna pick up my ex, but she told me she was workin’ late while I was already here, so I decided to stay and pick up the only adult I know who doesn’t own a car,” Jack says with a smirk, hanging one arm out of the window. He’s still in his professional "I'm A College Professor, Respect Me" clothes- navy slacks, a white button up with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, and a navy vest. He seems to have already taken off his tie, but he’s wearing glasses and oh, God, David is weak at the knees.

“See, I knew not owning a car would come in handy,” David teases back, leaning up against the door of the truck. “I am the responsible and economically-friendly adult who doesn’t own a truck that emits tons of carbon emissions into the atmosphere each year that you’re talking about, right?”

“That’s the gayest thing I’ve ever heard you say. Get in the truck before I leave you here, dumbass.”

“Yes, sir,” David replies with a chuckle, walking around the vehicle to climb in. He sighs as he sits down and leans back, buckling up as Jack pulls out of the parking spot. “Hey, so, I... I know that the whole Katherine thing didn’t work out. How’re you holding up?”

“I think I’m doin’ good,” Jack replies with a sigh, looking straight ahead at the road in front of them. “It’s… It’s a good thing. Right? I mean, it’s an amicable split. We aren’t fighting over the house, ‘cause it belonged to my family, and we already figured out who gets to keep what last night after... yeah. Plus, this’ll be good for… me. Give me the chance to, uh, figure some things out. Self exploration, that’s what Kath said.”

That sounds promising, but David refuses to get his hopes up. “Well, if you need anything, let me know. I'm here for you, Jackie,” David offers with a soft elbow nudge, grinning. “So, the house belongs to your family?”

“Belonged. Past tense. They’re all, uh, gone.”

“Oh, shit, I'm sorry. I didn't realize."

“No, hey, it’s chill. I kinda figured Kath would tell you about it, but I guess not,” Jack says with a shrug and a glance toward David, offering him a sad smile. “My mamá, her family owned it. They moved to America in the ‘30s. Stayed in Texas for a while, but they came up this way for work. My great grandfather worked here in Tarrytown, and actually helped build the house, plus a few others around town. There were some… family issues regarding ownership of the house, so it was sold to a different couple when I, uh… moved, but Kath and I bought it after we got out of college. It’s been renovated, but it’s a piece of history.”

“I figured that you were hispanic, but I didn’t want to assume,” David says softly. It feels really nice to learn a little bit more about Jack in such an intimate way. "That-- Sorry, I just... yeah. The house is really cool."

“Ya don't gotta be sorry for wonderin', Davey. I'm Mexican,” Jack clarifies with a grin. “If ya can’t tell by me bein’, y’know, brown. My great grandpa, Francisco- he and his wife, Dorotea, brought their three kids over. My abuela met my abuelo here in Tarrytown and had my ma. My mother’s maiden name was Maria Velásquez, but she married a guy named Daniel Kelly, so that’s where I come in,” Jack explains with a deep chuckle, shaking his head. His smile soon fades, though. “She passed when I was ten, and my dad… He’s gone. My adoptive mom lives in Connecticut now, too, so now it’s just… me.”

“Shit, Jack…” David bites his lip, looking over at him with a concerned expression. He rubs the back of his neck, gulping hard. “If it’s any consolation, I’m glad you were able to get the house. To, y’know, have something of your family. I'm sorry you had it so rough, though.”

“Thanks, Dave,” Jack says with a grin, then shrugs. “And don’t get all down on me now. It’s been eighteen years since that shit went down, so I’m good. Really,” He nods, and there are a few moments of silence that pass before Jack turns to look him in the eyes. “Hey, are you free for a little bit?”

David really should have said no. He really should have avoided being anywhere alone with Jack for a prolonged amount of time, because this was only going to end in heartbreak.

But, then again, David has been through worse.

“I’m all yours.”

[cherry3point14]

One Helluva Car

Pairing: Dean x Reader Warnings: Minor car fetish, one paragraph of blink-and-you’ll-miss-it smut, a little jealous!Dean, this is crack babes’, I can’t stress this enough: car fetish Word Count: 3,500. Summary: Just a small town girl, living in a lonely world and then one day she sees Baby... A/N: @alexwinchester23​ hit me up a THOUSAND years ago with the prompt: dean x reader where she is more “in love” with deans car and it makes him a little jelly lol. And I was like, ha ha ha sure I’ll write it. It’s been half written ever since. So, I finished it. Someone please be proud of me for finishing. (Not like that you animals.)  This also fills Driving In The Impala for @spndeanbingo​

It’s Monday lunchtime when you see it. Her? It looks like a her. The best cars are ‘hers’ and even from a distance, she has curves that only a good woman could possess.

You’ve had a morning of shitty, old trucks that have been run hard for too long, and new cars that you plug into the computer to diagnose, which takes all the fun out of life. It’s easy to see a mile off that she isn’t shitty or bogged down with modern tech. She’s a well looked after classic. A thing of beauty. A freaking masterpiece. She’s polished enough that the sun bounces off of her black surface like she’s made of glass.

If only your arms weren’t laden with brown paper bags of food you’d take a detour to get a closer look. You could ghost your hand over her hood and take a look at the interior. You bet it’s the softest fucking leather your ass would ever hope to feel.

You’d generally drool over her without actually drooling because God knows spit is not good for the paintwork. Unfortunately, you do have bags filled with hot, meaty subs intended to feed your workforce. And you’re wise enough to know that making a garage of hungry mechanics wait for their lunch is not a good move. It’ll only result in some sort of unnecessary disaster this afternoon that you, their boss, will have to fix or pay for. Or both.

The only thing you can do is take one last look at her, memorize that beautiful shape while you heft the bags closer to your chest and carry on walking. It’s not like you’ve never seen a good old fashion American muscle car before, you have your own ‘70 Mustang at home.

It’s just… this is a Chevvy Impala, arguably the first car to flex its muscles. You don’t see one of those every day.

Your hobby is like a much cooler version of birdwatching. You have an appreciation for cars, classics in particular. The craftsmanship, the design, and the sounds they make as they tear through the world like moving time capsules. Nothing generated by a low emission engine compares.

That’s how you spot her for the second time, on Wednesday.

Well, you hear her first.

You’re closing up for the night. Everyone goes home early on Wednesdays, the shop closes at three, except for you. There’s always paperwork that needs to be done and you hate the idea of taking it home if you can help it. Taking a car home you’re always happy to do, but paperwork? You refuse to dirty your private space like that.

It’s just before six when you’re locking the doors and thunder screams in the distance. At least you think it’s thunder, you wonder where the clouds are until it moves too fast to be a weather condition.

The closer it gets the more the sound transforms into pure, uncut horsepower. It’s the deep rumble of an engine that demands to be heard. It tears your attention to it whether you like it or not. An announcement of the coming vehicle before it arrives.

Then she glides around the corner of Maple and Third before peeling down the street past you. It’s her again, she’s still in town. You know it’s the same car, she isn’t a vehicle made for stealth and your little ol’ town isn’t exactly heaving with beauties like her.

You know she’s not a local, it must be a flying visit, you’re lucky enough to have seen her again before she left. Not just seen her though, heard her. Heard her engine and the screech of her tires on the tarmac. Experiencing her in action is breathtaking enough that you gawp at her like an idiot as she zooms away.

It’s not a fetish or anything. You don’t exactly cuddle an exhaust pipe in bed. You appreciate cars more than your job requires you to, simple. It’s a respect that was drilled into you from a young age. Your dad owns a franchise of shops across the state and never had the boy he always wanted. He didn’t mope about it, he taught you to fix an engine instead. To appreciate every individual piece like an unsolved puzzle. And because your dad is a big ol’ softie he taught you that classic cars can’t be beaten, he favors Camaros in particular. He gave you a garage to work in until you’d labored enough to earn it for keeps and manage it as your own. Your dad raised you to bleed motor oil and sweat gasoline.

Cars are your life. Ok, maybe you’re a bit of a gearhead is all. You can’t help it if that Impala is a fine wine you want to uncork.

You watch the street lights make a hazy path for her to follow, another corner and she’s gone.

At home, you curl up on your sofa and scroll through your usual sites to see how much your own Impala would cost. In good condition, you’d have to sell one of the two cars you already have but there’s this smashed up ‘68 in New Jersey that might be worth the drive for the price. It would basically be a new car by the time you rebuild it but that doesn’t matter. All you needed were the bones of the thing and you never shy away from a project that involves weeks of hunting down original parts, that’s half the fun. For tonight at least it gets bookmarked. The decision left for another day, if it still seems like a good idea in the morning then you’ll make the call.

Hell, maybe tomorrow you’ll see something else and forget all about her. Maybe.

Good looking guys come through town from time to time but Dean is a rare treat. He’s the picture next to ‘handsome’ in the dictionary. He’s got these full lips that you’ve stared at, without an ounce of shame, while he sucks on a beer bottle. A jawline covered in scruff that you’ve already imagined between your thighs. And then there are those hands of his. It could be your line of work but you always loved a man with hands like his. Broad hands and thick fingers. Mechanic hands you’d call them, you half wish they were covered in oil and grease.

He was tapping away on the bar for a while, drumming aimlessly while you drank, but now he’s toppled in your direction. He’s standing between his barstool and yours, while you're still seated, which makes you the perfect height for him to slip an arm around you. His thumb has settled in on tracing the edge of your jeans while he talks to you, tickling your back where your tank had ridden up.

Honestly? He doesn’t even need to be a good lay to be worth the trip to bed.

“I know you said you’re in town with your brother…”

He winces at the start of your sentence, “with the things I’m thinking about doing to you honey, you can’t go mentioning Sammy at the same time.”

Underneath the stained overalls, you’re still a woman and you’re not sure if there’s anyone alive who could resist Dean’s charms. When you laugh at his ridiculous propositioning, you don’t even try to fight when it tails off into a giggle.

“I was going to ask if you had your own room? Or are we going back to my place?”

You’d almost think he’d been playing it cool up until this point. Everything had been measured and smooth. But you ask him that and he finally cracks, urgency slips through that charm offensive. He tilts his head forward as his face hardens into something intense, eyes hooded under the light of the bar. His hand slides up underneath your top enough that his whole palm skates against your skin. “How about a compromise? My car, your place?”

You lean in until you’re almost touching his lips, your tongue peeks out to wet them and flicks against his, taunting. “Deal."

He doesn’t need to know that you walked here and needed a ride home anyway. That's irrelevant.

Stumbling out of the bar is messy. Not because of the alcohol, neither of you have drunk that much, it’s his hands on your waist. They’re possessive and so there.

Maybe he’s not so bad in bed. Maybe he’s actually, pretty good in…

Oh fuck. It’s her.

You’re stopped in your tracks by the sight of your very own white whale. Well, black and shiny Impala but the metaphor stands.

You stop and Dean bumps into you, not expecting it so soon. For a brief moment, you’re frozen in awe, reverence. Even in the dark, she’s perfect. Street lights bouncing off of her smooth exterior. The night is chilly and there’s a hint of condensation creeping around the edges of the windshield which only serves to make her sparkle.

“Wow, she’s-”

“Mine?” Dean finishes, a wry grin on his face and keys dangling from those fingers you’d been drooling over moments ago. Fuck him and his fingers now.

“Shit, Dean. I’ve been seeing this car all week. She’s beautiful.” You walk towards her, carefully, in case you spook her. She’s an old soul, probably jumpy. Your hand reaches out but doesn’t touch her yet because you’re being respectful.

You’d have thought Dean might have appreciated your care. Instead, he laughs and it catches you off guard. You whip your head back around to glare at him and he encourages you, “she won't bite.”

When you finally make contact she’s cool and glossy under your touch, but even so, you don’t run your hand over her like you want to. You can feel the waxed surface that you don’t want to ruin. You know how much effort goes into a good wax job like this. Instead, you trade your whole hand for your fingertips and trace her edges as if trying to remember her shape for when you rebuild your own.

“Ahem.” In the distance, Dean clears his throat. Sucks for him. You’ve got a new love interest.

“Sweetheart?” He asks again, stepping up closer to you as if you didn’t hear him. He sounds needy like he wants you, but it’s edged with this vulnerable envy. You already noticed his bright green eyes in the bar, now you're wondering if there’s a different green-eyed monster at play.

He needs to understand, you saw the car first. She’s held your heart all week, Dean piqued the interest of your lady parts about half an hour ago. You might say age before beauty but this Impala has Dean beat on both fronts, older and more beautiful.

“Where’d you get these rims, if I didn’t know better I’d almost say they’re original,” you spare him a glance over your shoulder. “But I do know better.”

He looks like he’s struggling with not having your full attention, you’d almost say he’s pouting. Then he sticks out his bottom lip and he's definitely pouting. He shuffles from foot to foot and steels his jaw. It makes it even more difficult for him then when you ask questions that he wants to answer. You can see the cogs turning where he’s trying to work out if he should encourage your interest or not. As much as he wants sex, in the end, the gearhead wins out.

“Fixed her up a lot over the years, found those in a junkyard if you believe it.” He steps up next to you now with a proud smile.

“I can believe it. I’ve seen the stuff people throw away. They’re perfect. Can I?” You slide out your phone and wave it at him.

He nods, although a little dumbstruck.

You bend down and snap a picture, explaining. “I was looking at a sixty-eight to rebuild, maybe. Actually, yours gave me the idea, saw her and couldn’t get her out of my head. I have a friend who might be able to help me out with these.”

“You wanna build one?” He sounds interested but not enough to get him off track. The track being you.

“Yeah. I told you I’m a mechanic. Building these things is in my blood.”

The air is cool and you start to feel it, not having intended being outside this long. He sees you shiver and steps behind you running his hands up and down your arms. “Sixty-eight ain’t a sixty-seven though, is it?” He asks, voice dripping with cocky arrogance about his car.

Oh, fuck. He’s figured out the way to your heart. He’s got you all turned around and leaning against her. Back pressed against her metal and glass enough that you’ll be feeling her for weeks.

“No, it’s not…”

“Wanna ride my Baby?” Dean presses his lips to the corner of your mouth with the question, leaving enough space for you to let out an almost inaudible gasp.

You’d be inclined to say men name their cars the dumbest shit sometimes but ‘Baby’ fits somehow. It’s perfect. She’s Baby.

“Yeah,” you nod. Right now, it's all you’ve ever wanted.

He walks you to the passenger’s side door and opens it’s for you. It’s not even romantic, it’s a fucking turn on.

Maybe you do have a car fetish. You should probably figure that out, like, another day.

In the time it takes Dean to strut to the other side you have sunk into the leather and just as you imagined, it’s soft. Worn and loved, like everything else about this beauty. This is what’s makes her special and that’s why you would have to love your own extra hard. To make up the years of neglect.

“Ready to go?”

He’s looking at you, smirking in your peripheral, and you’re looking at his fingers on the keys. You know what’s going to happen when he turns them. You’re still not prepared.

“Let’s do it.” A grin slides onto your face.

She rumbles to life beneath you. The vibrations from her engine shudder through the seat straight to your core. From there you swear the horsepower zips to every nerve ending in your body like electricity powering a city. And the sound could strike you down. She somehow purrs and roars at the same time. Each rev is a scream but her engine sings between each turn.

“Two eighty-three?” You ask, bottom lip caught behind your teeth.

“Get out of here with that two eighty-three crap. She’s a three twenty-seven.” He snaps, but not really, pressing his foot on the gas again just to see you quiver. Another rotation of the engine, her power, rolls through you.

He pulls out onto the road, leaving the dive behind, and drifts a little as he does, the back of her floating into the road. You slide over the seat an inch and he’s half focused on you, half focused on driving, so you're not even sure if he planned it. You scoot closer to him and he weighs his arm, the one not currently steering, around your shoulders. You’re becoming increasingly aware that the car smells like him, or he smells like her. Leather, sweet and spicy, musky. It’s a complicated mix where you’re not sure whether it's more her or him. You want to wrap yourself up in it all the same but Baby can’t wrap you up, Dean can.

“Dean I… Next left… I really, really love this car.”

He licks his lips as he looks down at you, his pupils wide, probably has a clear view of your chest, “yeah? How much, sweetheart?”

“A lot.” You pant in his ear, teeth grazing his lobe. “Second right, then it’s the third house on the left.”

A growl comes out of him. Determined. And you’re not so sure you care about fucking Dean anymore but each time you work him up a little higher, he revs that gorgeous engine and you get to feel that thunder. It’s the best circle jerk you could imagine, everyone is truly happy.

He pulls up in front of your house in record time because Baby is gunning 285 horsepower, so she’s not exactly going to be beat.

The problem, that you hadn’t really planned on, is arriving at your destination. As soon as he cuts the engine you puncture. Missing the everything about her straight away and wishing you’d kept driving for hours. Still, you have the scent of leather everywhere, burdening your senses with the smell of a bygone era. You hike a leg over Dean and sit in his lap. A knee either side of his thighs, denting her seats and Baby’s steering wheel holding the curve of your ass. Your hands skip Deans’ shoulders in favor of the seat behind him, the cushioned bench under the pads of your fingers, as you attach your mouth to his. Sandwiched between Baby and Dean, and you never want to leave the spot.

Your tongue curls into his mouth at the same time that he presses his fingers into your hips so tight you’re sure there’ll be bruises. You’ve never worried about a tight grip on you before but he starts pulling you towards him and away from where you’re wedged on Baby. The more you lean your body into Dean, the less you feel his car.

“Baby.” You murmur into him. Dean must mistake it to be a pet name you’re borrowing, calling him, because he pulls you again. Actually you’re telling him where you want to be, to stay.

Here. With Baby.

“This is a nice neighborhood.” He hums in this tone that’s deep but it doesn’t go through you like the sound of a turbo V-8. “We should take this inside.”

He’s right. Carl from the damn neighborhood watch is probably already doing just that, watching. The pervert.

“Right, sure.” You agree despite the way your stomach drops at the thought of leaving her.

You’re all untangling limbs getting out and he kisses you once more against Baby before you allow him to drag you away. It already feels different, normal, boring.

Dean’s fine, he’s good, he’s handy. Like you’d thought he would be.

You wrap your mouth around his dick because you’ve always liked looking up through your lashes and seeing the way a guy goes breathless on your tongue. He works you open on his thick fucking fingers until the pressure in your stomach snaps with his thumb circling your clit. He pushes into you and the stretch, the burn, is perfect. Dean is better in bed than you’d expected him to be.

And yet, it’s empty. Dulled. It doesn’t scratch the itch like good sex used to. The whole experience dampened compared to what you’d felt sitting in the front seat of his 1967 Chevy Impala.

You slip on some oversized shirt from your floordrobe to walk him out when he leaves. Neither of you under any impression that he’s staying the night. He’s got this satisfied grin on his face that he hasn’t been able to wipe off since the first time he came. He stops at your doorstep, “thanks, sweetheart. This was fun.”

“Sure was,” you agree, not giving him the full story. Standing at your doorway you’re looking at Baby instead of Dean, again. “Let me know if you’re still in town tomorrow, I’d love to go for another ride.”

He nods and backs away a few steps until he’s in your line of sight along with his car, “will do, baby.”

He must think you mean sex. You wouldn't be opposed to it but you mean a drive. A real drive with wide roads, and opening the taps. You can break that to him tomorrow if he does give you that call. If he doesn't then there's only one thing you need to say before he leaves. One thing you can't let her leave without saying.

“One helluva car you got there, Dean.”

Second A/N: Look, this didn’t start out as a full on car fetish but I was writing it and SOMETIMES I HAVE NO CONTROL. Sometimes these characters they say, “fuck you!” and do what they want. I was going to write a nice little jealousy thing. Dean wants some attention. That’s all. You only have yourselves to blame readers!

5eva tags: @divadinag @darthdeziewok @fluentinfiction @witch-of-letters @supernatural-teamfreewill-blog @magnitude101999 @alexwinchester23 @jesseswartzwelder Dean babes: @thewinchesterchronicles @akshi8278 @bloodydaydreamer @iamabeautifulperson18 @erins-culinary-service

[dustedmagazine]

Dusted Mid-Year Exchange, Part 1: Activity to Jeff Parker

Irreversible Entanglements

Six years ago, newly moved to Tumblr, we looked for a fresh take on the mid-year best-of list idea, partly to be contrary, partly because some of us had no interest in writing about the same records over and over again. After some discussion — well, a lot of discussion — we decided to turn our mid-year feature into a sort of secret Santa exchange. We’d each nominate two records and each review two records, but, here’s the kicker, they wouldn’t be the same records. We’d trade with our fellow writers, and if it meant that we had to listen to music way out of our comfort zone, so be it.

Since then we’ve had smooth exchanges and rough ones – last year’s was especially testy, but what can you do with such an opinionated bunch—but it’s become a favorite annual event. This year was no different, except that no one was truly revolted by their assignments.

Unlike some years, there was no clear dominant pick, though Six Organs, James Elkington, Makaya McCraven/Gil Scott-Heron, Cable Ties and Irreversible Entanglements all got multiple votes.

We’ll split our individual album write-ups into two posts. Today’s covers records by artists from Activity to Jeff Parker. We’ll get to the rest of the alphabet tomorrow. On the third and final day, we’ll post writers’ lists. Participants included Tobias Carroll, Tim Clarke, Justin Cober-Lake, Andrew Forell, Ray Garraty, Jennifer Kelly, Arthur Krumins, Patrick Masterson, Ian Mathers, Bill Meyer, Jonathan Shaw and Derek Taylor.

Activity — Unmask Whoever

Who picked it? Tim Clarke

Did we review it? Yes, Tim said, “This music strains at the leash, held tightly in check by the motorik rhythms, while gaseous synths seek to permeate all corners of the soundscape.”

Ray Garraty’s take:

You wouldn’t know that it is a debut album, but then it’s a super band, so that doesn’t count. Vocalist Travis Johnson’s delivery reminds you a symbolist poet reciting some lines from his notebook, neither singing nor reading. Despite referring to violence in song titles and lyrics, this music is as far from violent as it can be. It’s too self-conscious to even carry symbolic violence but when on ‘Earth Angel’ the vocalist with the hook “I wanna fuck around” almost breaks into a scream, it turns into a whisper instead. It’s these small details that unmask the outfit’s postmodern disguise and show that Activity is the real deal, not a half-baked pastiche.

Decoy with Joe McPhee — AC/DC (OtoRoku)

Who picked it? Derek Taylor.

Did we review it? Yes, Derek said, “Decoy is a working group and a heady amalgam that recalls a dream fusion of Atlantis-era Sun Ra, Keith Jarrett’s marathon electric stand with Miles at the Cellar Door, and Larry Young circa his Blue Note moonshot Contrasts, while still relentlessly retaining its own flight plan.”

Jennifer Kelly’s take:

Wow. “A/C” is impressive enough with its wild unfurlings of trumpet and sax, its woozy meditations in bowed and plucked stand-up bass, its incendiary organ bursts, all rooted in jazz, but touching on the hot, experimental outposts of rock and soul and R&B, too. But the second side, “D/C,” is even more exciting, as the tumult of sounds gets more fevered and McPhee breaks out in song. Who can blame him? You want to join in. It’s a mind-bending swirl that boils up and over the edges, heady, excessive and exhilarating. So glad I got to hear this, Derek, and it reinforces the benefits of trading favorites, i.e. finding music that is way out of your normal circuit but, even so, exactly what you need.  

 Sandy Ewen — You Win (Gilgongo)

You Win by Sandy Ewen

Who picked it? Bill Meyer

Did we review it? No.

Andrew Forell’s take:

Experimental guitarist Sandy Ewen appears as much concerned with space as sound. On You Win, she treats her instrument as pure object to explore the minutiae of its potential. Patterns emerge like communications from distant galaxies or the gradual shift and warp of old buildings. The 5 tracks scrape and rumble as occasionally identifiable guitar sounds — feedback hum, plucked strings — flicker from the mix. Best heard through headphones, You Win demands concentration lest one misses the nuanced denaturing and subversion of Ewen’s work, which is as fascinating as it is challenging.  

Fake Laugh — Dining Alone (State 51 Conspiracy)

Fake Laugh · Ever Imagine

Who picked it? Tim Clarke

Did we review it? Yes Tim said, “These sharp, funny, warm-hearted songs are immediately endearing, yet shot through with bracingly sour ingredients.” 

Andrew Forell’s take:

Dining Alone, Kamran Khan’s latest album as Fake Laugh, is a collection of pastel Day-Glo bedroom pop songs that breeze by leaving barely a hair ruffled in their wake. Khan has an ear for a melody, a wistfully pleasant voice and a talent for arrangement that make this album an enjoyable listen but there is a nagging feeling that he is holding something back. Tracks like the finely wrought “A Memory” and Supertramp update “The Empty Party” stand out but Dining Alone feels like an intermediate step on which Khan tries out ideas and seeks a way forward although there is enough here to be optimistic about what might come next.

 Field Works — Ultrasonic (Temporary Residence)

Ultrasonic by Field Works

Who picked it? Justin Cober-Lake

Did we review it? Yes, in a May Dust, Tim Clarke wrote that “Stuart Hyatt’s latest compilation in the Field Works series is an absolute beauty — and timely given it’s being released during a pandemic whose origins may be linked to bats.” 

Derek Taylor’s take:

Most of the listening that I do in the service of reviewing music revolves around discerning who’s, what’s and how’s. Those sorts of taxonomic identifications feel superfluous, not to mention futile when navigating the music on Ultrasonic. Sources I mistook as aquatic (“Dusk Tempi,” “Echo Affinity,” “Music for a Room with Vaulted Ceiling,” and “Indiana Blindfold”) are subterranean, specifically the echolocation emissions of bats. Harp and piano sounds dapple “Silver Secrets” and “Sodalis” as instrumental signposts, but they’re outliers in a program that feels largely electronic and beyond the scope of scrupulous inventory.  

The closest, if admittedly antiquated, genre descriptors I have for these ecology-minded creations are ambient and new age. A seraphic, celestial quality suffuses most of them with sweeping washes of tonal color layering over more definable rhythms and progressions. The combination curiously reminds me of a distant temporal relic that served as childhood gateway to this sort of territory, my father’s vinyl edition of Ray Lynch’s Deep Breakfast. It’s another feeble attempt at a compass point and evidence of how difficult it can be to escape the ingrained habits that influence personal musical consumption.

The Giving Shapes — Earth Leaps Up (Elsewhere)

Who recommended it? Arthur Krumins

Did we review it? Yes. Arthur said, “You feel like you’re being carried into a dream, familiar yet strange.”

Ian Mathers’ take:

There’s just something nice about a record where, a few minutes after putting it on, your partner suddenly remarks “you know, this is very calming”. It’s not that the work of Robyn Jacob (voice, piano) and Elisa Thorn (voice, harp) is soporific or somehow uninvolving, more that there’s a somehow centered kind of deliberateness with which they approach these songs that feels oddly reassuring. The way their voices often echo lines (or slightly altered lines) back at one another can feel vaguely Stereolab-ish, but rather than the coolly pulsing, layered grooves (and transient noise bursts) of that outfit, the simplicity of the arrangements here feels direct and clean and often comforting. But it’s the type of comfort that lets you see the difficulty you’re trying to tackle head-on, not the comfort that swaddles you away from having to deal with the world. It’s more bracing than lulling, in other words, and frequently beautiful at that.

  Irreversible Entanglements — Who Sent You? (Don Giovanni/International Anthem)

Who recommended it? Andrew Forell.

Did we review it? Yes. Andrew Forell wrote, “Who Sent You? is an extraordinary statement lyrically and musically.”

Bill Meyer’s take:

I’m inclined to agree with Andrew Forell. When I first encountered the vocal-focused free jazz of Irreversible Entanglements in 2018, I was more taken by the band’s focused exchanges of energy onstage than I was by their self-titled debut LP as a listening experience. But its successor steps up their already powerful game by easing up just a bit. They’ve let more air and variety into the surging rhythms and interweaving horn lines, opening up space for vocalist Camae Ayewa’s words to land with even more impact and staying power. Ayewa, who also records as Moor Mother, is more of a poetic declaimer than a singer or rapper, and her expressions of cultural memory and existential survival in the face of remorseless racism and economic terrorism boom over the music’s ebb and flow with inspiring authority. While her words are always applicable, this record sounds like it was made to be heard in a time of plague and revolt; when people ask in years to come what record sounds like the middle of 2020 felt, a lot of people will hold up Who Sent You?

  The Jacka — Murder Weapon (The Artist / EMPIRE)

Who recommended it? Ray Garraty

Did we review it? Yes. Ray Garraty said, “this album confirms Jacka’s status among the greatest fallen soldiers of hip hop.”

Tim Clarke’s take:

Despite being a posthumous release whose title refers to the artist’s tragic death by shooting back in 2015, Murder Weapon by Bay Area rapper The Jacka is a surprisingly cohesive listening experience, largely thanks to the lush palette of old-school samples employed on many of these tracks. From the aching strings on early highlight “Walk Away” via the swinging funk of “Can’t Go Home” to the children’s choir on “We Outside,” there’s a warmth and humanity to this sad story that honors the artist’s memory.

 Ka — Descendants of Cain (Iron Works)

Who picked it? Ray Garraty

Did we review it? Yes, Ray said, “Descendants of Cain, Ka’s seventh album combines the epic bleakness of the Old Testament with Brownsville’s hopelessness.”

Tobias Carroll’s take:

Shamefully, this is my first exposure to the music of MC and producer Ka; it’s his sixth album overall, and I’ve got some catching up to do. For an album with a title and cover art that could just as easily fit on a doom metal album, what surprised me was how focused this all was. The album flows beautifully, with music that fits somewhere between sinuous soul and the art-damaged Americana heard on, say, Matmos’s The West — with a handful of cinematic samples topping it off. It’s a perfect match for Ka’s voice, which manages to be textured and beatifically smooth all at once. Some albums paint a picture for the listener; this one is wholly immersive.

Matt LaJoie — Everlasting Spring

Everlasting Spring by Matt LaJoie

Who picked it? Tobias Carroll

Did we review it? No

Ray Garraty’s take:

Matt LaJoie’s technical verbosity is on the spot here, as all the man-made sounds can be mistaken for something Nature produced out of its vast resources. Everlasting Spring is like a small water spring which flows and flows but can’t eventually flow into a river, being forever condemned to be just this spring. Everlasting Spring lasts almost for an hour (if we count a bonus track), and it’s six minutes for every string LaJoie’s guitar has. Not many men can admire nature for that long. The whole album has that New Age-ish feel, when you can start listening to it from any track, and nothing will change in your views on it.

Maybe it does give a good mimesis of what spring sounds like but we still need a change of weather from time to time.

 Mamaleek — Come & See (The Flenser)

Come and See by Mamaleek

Who recommended it? Jonathan Shaw

Did we review it? Yes. Jonathan said, “Their dominant textures are still harsh and confrontational, vocals are still howled and shouted. But there are riffs. There are melodic structures.”

Justin Cober-Lake's take:

As black metal, Mamaleek would hold their own, but there's a persistent work to stretch boundaries here. Come & See keeps a core mix of sludge and anger, but the group's inventiveness keeps the album consistently surprising. The group finds brighter tones than anticipated, even while moving away from metal more toward alt-rock at times, and post-rock at others, and generally finding expressions that require a hyphen. An occasional breakdown touches on jazz or finds its roots in rock 'n' roll. “Cabrini-Green” functions like a suite — track the movements and break the track into its separate pieces — even as it avoids a sort of linear sequence. “Elsewhere” (and, indeed, much of the album) turns out a demented history of hardcore. The record probably won't find much of an audience outside of the metal scene, but listening past the obvious trappings reveals a wealth of influences and a complexity that makes for intriguing listening across genre strictures.

 Jeff Parker — Suite for Max Brown (International Anthem)

Suite for Max Brown by Jeff Parker

Who picked it? Arthur Krumins

Did we review it? Yes. Arthur said, “Following the looped, electronic and eclectic New Breed, Jeff Parker’s latest album expands into an even greater range of off-kilter sonic experiments.”

Tobias Carroll’s take:

Before this year, my knowledge of Jeff Parker’s music came largely from his work with Tortoise. And that’s far from a bad thing; Tortoise is a fine band. But hearing Parker push further into the realm of jazz with Suite for Max Brown is its own form of delight, where precisely-played melodies meet instrumental virtuosity. It’s an eminently listenable album, and one where I’m still noticing new moments of subtle beauty in the mix.

[evien-stark]

✧I Need You✧ Chapter 126

The best thing to do for her now was take her home and put her to bed, so that’s what Tony did. He’d actually had reservations at one of their favorite spots, but what she needed was to be somewhere comfortable. She needed to rest. He didn’t want to put more pressure on her, but her spiraling like she was had consequences that went beyond herself. He was sure she knew. They didn’t need to talk about it. He just needed to be strong enough to wade through it with her and get her back to a place of semi-normal. And until then… she needed to be in bed. Away from everyone else. It was why he went straight to the private elevators, arm around her tight, guiding her. Not leaving her side until he’d taken her all the way into the bedroom. While he’d wanted to see her actually put to bed, knowing she could use it, when she sat down and put her head in her hands, she mumbled something about taking a shower. 

It chipped away at him, seeing her like this. Wanting to fix it immediately but not having the resources yet to do so. He’d make this better. He would. Kneeling in front of her, he helped her out of her heels. “You want me to stay?” The obvious thing to do- to start making this better- was to head straight down to the labs and start working. But she was a wreck. And he didn’t want to leave her, if she thought she needed him in the immediate area. 

He could tell she was trying to put on a brave smile. Tight and worn as she looked down at him. They held that gaze for a moment as she reached over, touching the tips of her fingers across his forehead. The action felt like it soothed them both. It was a question for another day, how he’d become so tangled with her… her voice was drawn when she found it. “I’ll be alright. If you have something to do, go ahead.” 

“Nothing more important than you.” Trying to make her understand. All of this really boiled down to one simple fact. He could make grandiose gestures of justice all day for the rest of his life. He could employ Iron Man and the Avengers to save the world every other week. He could try to protect earth with his dying breath but in the end… 

Looking at her now, holding her hands against his face as she’d touched down to hold the sides of his jaw in her palms… he sunk into her. Basked in the feeling of being here with her and for her. This was all for her. He needed her to be safe. He needed her to be more than okay. He wanted her to thrive. He wanted her to live and be happy. And they just… they weren’t there. Nowhere near it. 

The thought left him softly, “I love you.” Holding her as she still held on to him, eyes closing for just a moment. She’d been there as much as she could when he’d been having troubles- and still was, but almost nothing compared to what she was now being tortured by. She had the literal weight of the world on her shoulders so suddenly. While everyone else was content to sit in conference rooms and argue about the merits of right and wrong she went to work.

For them. 

She suffered. 

For them. 

Her voice wasn’t all there when she answered him. “I love you, too, Tony.” A balm for the soul. His, in fact. Because nothing made him feel better than hearing her say  those words. He tried on a smile for her, and felt better when she found an easier one to shine back at him. “If I need you I’ll call. I promise.”

Giving him permission to leave her side to go work on some lofty dream of getting them anywhere near normal. One thing had become very clear. They had to get out soon. The goals they’d laid out at the end of five years were in jeopardy, so she thought, and five years was inching closer, and the longer they didn’t get out the more they lost the chance at them. He had to finish this. Or else… 

He gave her a nod. “Alright.” Shifting up, one hand on the bed, he leaned in just to press a kiss to her forehead. Lingering there for maybe a little too long. Hoping being near to her imparted the same sort of calm he always felt with her, when he found himself in moments like this. She was already dealing with enough, he really should have just let her be. But as he stood in the doorway and watched her shrug out of her jacket and unbutton her shirt, he hated himself for calling her attention again. “Honey?” 

She looked up at him. “Yeah?”��

Because it was her, he had to hold himself emotionally steady. A hard enough thing to do when he had felt his heart slamming against his chest the entire ride home. Even worse now, as she looked up at him with those big, soft eyes of hers. Waiting. He had a split second to decide whether or not to leave it alone, and… “Earlier today- I’ve been thinking about it- you said Banner and I already found the scepter once. Were you thinking of the Tesseract?” 

It had been circling his brain angrily ever since it had come out of her mouth. And he’d had a long chat with Bruce about it, too. Though they’d both agreed at the table, he was worried about her sudden revision of history. She seemed confused, a cloud took over her eyes. Then she seemed a little flush with embarrassment. “I guess I was, yeah. I’m sorry. The thing with Loki- I guess I just have them all mixed together after everything that happened.” 

He understood that. Like some ugly mass. All inseparable. All part of the same thing. It made sense, but… 

She suddenly seemed sad. “Did I make things harder for you and Bruce? I’m sorry.” 

Quickly he shook his head. “Nah. We’re fine. Don’t worry about it.” At least this was  the truth. They had more than enough data to work with. “It’s a lower level of emission with the gamma pulses, but we should still be fine enough to start tracking it.” He played at casual with a shrug and crossed his arms. “Anyway. Seriously. Don’t worry about it. Just relax. When you’re ready for dinner just let me know.” A hot shower and a nice meal would probably do her some good. And a long night’s sleep. And taking the rest of the month off. If she would let herself. 

Her smile eased him at least a little. “Okay. I love you.” He never got tired of hearing her say that. It always drove a warmth so deep in his chest. 

He couldn’t help his smile. “I love you, too.” Truer, he was sure, every time he said it. 

With that he left the bedroom, and gave Dvahli with a stern warning that she better stop lounging and go curl up and provide some much needed cat love in his absence. Something he was sure the cat understood, as she lifted herself off of the coffee table (a place she wasn’t even supposed to be) and slinked her way past him and into the bedroom. Feeling pretty sufficient that she would be okay, he hit the button to call the elevator and got himself back down to the lab. 

Bruce was in their private section, set up and working on a handful of things. Though he looked up as Tony entered. “Short date night?” 

Tony sighed. “No date night.” And, deciding to be candid, he dropped himself onto one of the work stools and looked over at him. “She’s rubbed a little raw. Ellis has her on some council overseeing enhanced individuals as far as the United Nations is concerned.” At least that’s what Tony thought he got out of her weeping explanation of what had happened. He’d need to talk to her a bit more coherently about it later. When she was better. 

But this put a pause in Bruce. “That sounds… bad.” Then he quickly held a hand up. “Not that- not that I think she can’t handle it. She’s probably the best person for that job. But…” 

“Yeah. Sounds like we’re heading for a disaster.” Agreeing. Agreeing easily because that’s what had turned her so completely upside down like that. This spelled a lot of trouble. It was a bandaid, at best. “All the more reason to try and figure out this Ultron project now, wouldn’t you agree?” Forcing a grin. 

“We’ve got a few things more pressing than that fantasy, I think. Speaking of… did you ask her about…” Lowering his voice as if he was scared they were being eavesdropped on. 

“Yeah. I did.” Taking a breath he crossed his arms. “She said she’s just kind of wrapped all that Loki stuff up together. Pretty much what I figured.” 

Bruce’s eyes lowered. “Yeah. Alright. What about the... other thing?” 

A heaviness settled over the room. Tony’s heart ached. “Not right now. Besides. We don’t even have all the data yet.” 

“You can’t put it off forever, Tony.” 

“Not forever.” They both shared a look. But one Tony’s eyes dropped from. In partial guilt. “Just not right now.” 

Bruce frowned but nodded. “Yeah. Okay. Understood.” A long sigh left him. “Well. In that case. You wanna pick up where we left off?” 

Brushing past all that, Tony lurched off his stool and went over to Bruce’s workstation. “You read my mind.” Pulling a few holograms off the tabletop and into the air, “Ready to wrap on VERONICA?” 

“One less thing to worry about, I suppose.” 

                                                    ---

Someone was calling your name, you were sure. Except it didn’t sound like your name. The shape was different. But it was surely your name. 

You were hot. So hot you thought you might catch fire any moment. You had no idea where you were. Seemingly, maybe, nowhere. Just a deserted existence underneath a vast sky. There were noises. Too many. Hard to pick any single one out- except the cry of a name that was yours but wasn’t yours. And then, when you focused, still more screams yet in a language you didn’t know. Cries of pain. Sounds of… war? Attacks? Metal on metal on flesh. People you loved were dying- And then- 

Then you awoke in a sheen of heavy sweat and even heavier breathing. In bed in the penthouse. Your home. Safe, but panicking. The bed was empty, which made panicking that much easier to do. Flinging the covers aside you half fell to the floor on your hands and knees, trying to even out your breathing but failing hard. It felt like a great weight was bearing down on you. Your chest was seizing. You couldn’t breathe in here. 

It powered your limbs into flight, pushing yourself to stand, falling into the bedroom door and then wrenching it open, stumbling out into the living room where Tony was drenched in the light of his holotop table. Your sudden appearance and bumbling around startled him- he was calling you- your name- your actual name- along with a few, “Honey-”s thrown in. But you kept barreling forward towards the deck. And once you pulled the sliding glass door open, you fell out on hands and knees just trying to breathe. 

The air up there so high froze you to your core- more so was the steely downpour of icy rain as it soaked you, but it at least was refreshing in a punishing sort of way. But it wasn’t really helping, as your fingers clawed into expensive rooftop flooring and tears streamed past your lashes. Tony was there in another moment in a half kneel, one arm around you, his other hand holding an umbrella over the both of you- murmuring something. Words. But you felt the easy, recognizable heat of affection and worry in the place of actual understanding. 

Eventually the sound of his voice evened out past your ears and short strings of sentences actually started to hold meaning as he carried you through remembering how to breathe. Remembering that you were there, with him. Safe. And okay. Things your body and mind had forgotten in the flight of extreme panic. When all was said and done you found yourself thoroughly petered out, on your hands and knees bent so far forward your head was pressed against the floor of the deck, Tony’s hand sweeping up and down along your spine in long, slow passes. 

He was shivering, same as you, still speaking, but it was more the cadence of his low voice that helped the rest of your cognizance gather. Your shame was swift and just as punishing. “I’m sorry…” And, just like the child you felt like, as you sat up, you wiped your tears and snot on the back of your sleeve. Very dignified. 

“I’m the last person you need to apologize to.” Careful with you, as always, as he settled a hand on the back of your head, cradling the umbrella at the juncture of his shoulder so he could move his other hand to yours, helping you steady yourself as the both of you knelt there. 

“I was dreaming- having a nightmare-” Correction easy. No dream would have sent you in a spiral even as you laid there unconscious. Your hand raised up, absently clutching at your chest where you felt the painful heave of your heart. Hesitancy swirled around Tony as you lifted your head and looked at him. Perhaps unsure whether or not to let you go on. When he was quiet just long enough, “I think it was about my parents.” 

A sliver of guilt cut through the air between the both of you. Even in all your time together, you and Tony had never talked about your parents. Met with a vicious and violent ending. Your past- by design. Yours. You’d never wanted to. And you were sure some part of him respected and understood that. But still, you had always assumed… tucked away in police files and permanent records… something accessible that he had looked into. Probably around the time of your hiring. 

Due diligence some would call it. Others might call it snooping. 

Either way, it must have been stolen knowledge that knocked a piece of regret loose. Because now you were struggling, and he wasn’t sure how to bring up his own understanding without revealing his hand. All these years later. 

But his feelings were weighing you down, killing you while you were still too raw. So you dropped a shaking hand to his knee and let your head fall forward. “It’s okay.” I know you know. 

This only seemed to hurt him worse, but he put himself aside. He was not important just then. He swallowed hard. “...why now?” Instead opting to try and push forward to do whatever it took to help you. 

A very valid question. Some terrible tragedy that you’d been insistent on not being the foundation for your entire life. Not being the reason people felt sorry for you constantly. Not being the reason you were handed things, or looked at differently. Something you wanted… terribly to move on from. “I don’t know.” Voice shaky, when you found it, still sniffling. “Maybe it’s just the stress…” Trying to reach for any conclusion to make it not appear worse than it was. 

Just brain garbage all vomiting up all at once underneath immense distress. Sure. That made sense. 

“Well… what’d’you know…” Steadying himself a little. Realizing too little too late, as you always did, that your anxiety had infected him. But that he’d struggled to keep it together for you. His smile was tight as you looked up at him. “Great time for a vacation, wouldn’t you say?” 

You aimed your weakest smile back at him, something that lasted all of two seconds before you shifted over, coming in closer to just collapse into him. Pressing your hands at his chest and hiding your face in his shoulder. He was warm, even out here in the freezing rain. And perhaps you stayed there a little too long, because eventually he spoke again. 

“...you alright to go back inside?” Worried, still. And gentle. At your wordless nod, he moved into a small crouch, reclaiming the umbrella in one hand, sticking his other out close to yours. With such ease he helped you back to your feet, though in that moment the loss of energy became easily recognizable. “Do you want to go back to bed?” 

...even still. Tired as you were… “No. Can I just… I don’t want to bother you-”

“You never bother me.” 

“-...can I just. Sit with you? While you work?” 

His hand lifted a little higher up, settling at the back of your head again, bringing you in close so he could press a kiss to your hair. “Of course.” 

After a fresh change of dry clothes you snuggled up on the couch closest, and Dvahli was close behind, turning into a little vibrating ball of purrs in your lap. You picked at some warmed up dinner that you’d ignored earlier, and felt grateful for a steaming cup of earl gray all while Tony used you as a sounding board for a project he was just finishing up on. 

You’d been aware of the Hulk Buster armor that he and Bruce had been devising as a worse case scenario. But it was a true testament to how busy you’d let yourself become that it was now in its final stages. Comfortable and content, you drifted off just around the time Tony was detailing the AI- 

VERONICA. Tony swore up and down it stood for something… Very. Experienced. Reconnaissance. Operation. Nested. Inside. Cached… Drifting- had he said- Atmosphere? Automaton? Getting harder to remember by the second...

But. There was a telling hint of amusement that told you it was some sort of inside joke that you both weren’t privy to and weren’t awake enough to get. Even so… 

You remembered the curve of his voice and the beauty of his smile, the way he looked awash in holographic lights as you dozed off. Only disturbed briefly a little later as he turned you to lie down and tucked you in. Not sending you back to the bedroom alone- something else, even in your hazy half-unconscious state you were intensely grateful for. 

Just to have him near… 

                                                   ---

He protected you, when various members of the team came to call during business hours. It probably wasn’t the wisest thing for you to be hiding, especially not with what was ahead. But. It helped to clear your mind, not having to deal with any of that stuff. The reprieve would be short. Intensely short. March would be soon. 

Even shorter than you knew, as you sat in the back portion of a cafe, Happy on security detail. Just trying to pretend like you were normal and that you were enjoying life. A newspaper out front had caught your attention. The New York Bulletin’s detailing of how a masked marauder by the name of Daredevil had brought down Wilson Fisk. 

Just as you were finishing the article- some very juicy stuff about Fisk’s pretend good-man initiative turning out to be a money-laundering scheme involving lots of mafia moves and drugs- Happy approached your table. “Sorry to bother you.” 

You smiled up at him. “Don’t worry about it. What’s the matter?” 

He hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “Some guy wants to speak with you. Normally I wouldn’t break protocol but…” Protocol being that you were here enjoying coffee and a pastry like a normal citizen. And that you were technically on a sabbatical. So no one was to disturb you.

Shifting in your seat you tilted to see a very unassuming man standing at the front of the cafe. Dressed in a very beat up looking suit. He looked a little beat up himself. Dark glasses on. Cane in his hand- not just any cane. One of the ones used for the visually impaired to help see where they were going. You waved Happy in closer. “Not to be… I’m not trying to be rude…” Dropping your voice. “Is he blind?” 

“I think so, yeah.” 

“Then how does he know I’m here?” The only reason you cared about it. 

Happy seemed momentarily stunned. “Oh. I didn’t uh…” Didn’t think about it, is what he meant. 

You watched as the man in question smiled briefly with a shake of his head. Almost as if he’d heard you. Deciding that again coincidences weren’t a thing in your reality, you acquiesced. “Alright. Let him over.” 

With the order given, Happy gave a nod and then slowly walked back over to the man. They had a brief exchange and then the man walked your way. No assistance necessary. When he stopped at your table, you looked up at him. He was still smiling. “Thanks for letting me through your security, ma’am.” 

“You’re welcome. How can I help you?” 

“My name is Matthew Murdock. Of Nelson and Murdock.” Reaching his free hand up, he very obviously pretended to fumble around, patting his jacket down. “I thought I had a card…” 

You put an end to the charade. “And what can I do for you, Matthew Murdock of Nelson and Murdock?” 

Without the same act of grasping around, he reached out for the chair nearest and took a seat. “I wanted to say thank you. To you and Stark.” 

Unable to help yourself, your eyebrow arched. “Thank you for what?” 

His lips were a bitter twist of a grin. “We don’t have to play pretend. No one’s listening.” 

“I don’t know who you are.” Said about as honestly as you could. 

“Sure you don’t.” Grinning still. 

Tipping your head, “I don’t. ...you’re making it a little too obvious now but. I didn’t when you walked up.” Not needing to be fantastic at deduction for this. It was clear. This was the man in black. Or, now Daredevil, as the media was calling him. 

He sat there in silence for a moment until a small ripple of astonishment touched him. Either trusting your truth or… perhaps sensing you were indeed being honest. Well. Tony had pegged him as enhanced. You wondered in which ways. “...you really didn’t.” Seemingly pretty floored by this revelation. “But Stark-”

“Tony does, yes. I told him I didn’t want to know. Because I figured that was none of my business.” Being straight with him. “Or anyone else’s, for that matter.” 

“Stark didn’t seem to feel that way.” Just a tiny touch of agitation. You couldn’t blame him, really. 

But even so. “Tony is… he’s heavy-handed, when he thinks he’s being pushed against a wall. Fisk threatened us, so he started digging. You were probably just a pleasant surprise.” Defending Tony. As always. You sighed. “Even so. It’s wrapped up now, I just read. So. The data will get vanished. You have my word. ...and good work, by the way.” 

His smile was a little more friendly, after only a few bare seconds of consideration. “Well. Then that’s double the gratitude.” He reached out, aiming to shake your hand but his direction was a little off. 

You studied him. “...does the blind act work on everyone?” It was clear he could see. ...right? Or had you just said something utterly awful with no regard? He’d picked up that chair like he’d seen it. He’d seen you through a window, probably. He’d walked over to your table with no help of direction. 

Apparently you surprised him just a little, because a short laugh escaped him. “Worked on your goon.” 

“Happy is not a goon and if you insinuate so again I’ll have you thrown out.” Half-joking. ...maybe a quarter. You wouldn’t let anyone talk about Happy like that. But your nervousness got the better of you. “You aren’t really blind, right?” ...god you hoped not or else you would be just about the biggest asshole in existence right then.

“Can’t imagine how that would look. CEO of Stark Industries throws blind man out of a public cafe.” It was your giggles that turned his own laughter back out. He was a surprisingly pleasant person, when his entire world wasn’t being threatened and he wasn’t playing tough. Maybe he thought the same of you, because there was a light thrum of ease and enjoyment that he was otherwise trying to hide. Maybe just because he was making you sweat a little, as he’d sidestepped your question. Thankfully, when his chuckles died down, “Yes. I am blind.” 

You considered this. He wasn’t lying, but… “But you see in other ways. -not the general ways that come with being blind.” Going in full here. This was assuming a lot. 

“You’re very astute.” But you were rewarded for your boldness. 

Unable to help your smile, “I have to be when I accuse a blind man of not being blind. Huge PR disaster otherwise.” 

A softer noise of amusement left him but then he started nodding. “Yeah. Well. Please accept my gratitude. For everything.” 

“I didn’t do anything.” Assuming he was thanking you for whatever Tony had given him. “If you want to thank Tony, he likes sunflowers. And will only accept grand gestures, I assure you.” 

He stood, helping himself to his feet with one hand on his cane, the other he extended again. Straighter this time. “You did more than you think.” 

Giving him a firm shake you decided not to fight this. “Whatever you say. But. I’m serious about the sunflowers.” 

Matthew laughed again with a drop of his head. “I’m a little strapped for cash right now but I’ll try my best.” 

“I’ll order them for you in that case.” 

“Well now you’re just putting me in debt.” 

“Don’t be scared to stop by the Avengers Tower. We can discuss how much you owe.” While you didn’t know much about him yet, he seemed amicable and definitely like someone you wanted to keep around. 

“I have a lot of cleaning up to do of my own personal life if you don’t mind, and Hell’s Kitchen needs someone, too after this mess. But… if I ever decide to be less local, I’ll think about it.” 

Before he could turn and walk away you allowed a little bit of seriousness to enter. “Sometimes it’s not about being local, Matthew. Sometimes it’s just about needing people like us to do what’s right when no one else can.” 

His back was turned to you, and he went quiet. Thinking about this. It was almost a little surprising when he nodded. But it all died when he smiled again and instead of speaking on any of that, instead offered, “Call me Matt.” 

Whether he could see it or not, you smiled back. “It was nice meeting you, Matt.” 

“You, too.” 

He took one of your clouds with him, as you realized… you now had one less thing to worry about. 

How nice. 

[return-of-a-space-cowboy]

Loves me loves me not pt2

After he had finally got out of the determination center he instantly ran over to your house, only to find that you didn't live there anymore. He tried to call your number but it just went to voicemail. You had disappeared from his life entirely.

"Is that really you?" He asked.

"Yes" you mumbled, at this point you were expecting him to be angered or sad but instead he hugged you.

"(Y/n) I missed you so much" he cried into your shirt.

"I thought I had lost you forever" he said as he looked at you with his teary eyes. You couldn't help but sigh in defeat, he was still as adorable as when you were kids. You just couldn't hold your tears back and hug him in return.

"I missed you too Narancia, just please stop crying. I hate it when you cry" as soon as you said those words the tears stopped.

"Ok" he slightly hiccuped.

🍊🍊🍊

After that you you had asked him to leave you to go to sleep but in the morning you had gotten a very rude awakening.

Light chuckles echoed in your half asleep brain as you were dreaming. You began to awaken and your eyes fluttered open, only to widen in shock as you saw three figures at you door snickering. You then relized that a pair of arms were wrapped around you, those belonging to Narancia. Your eyes had finally adjusted and those figures became identifiable. Mista, Abbaccio and Fugo.

"I knew Narancia had a thing for guys!" Mista stage whispered.

"Fugo you better pay up, you lost the bet" Abbaccio sighed as Mista gave the simple 'gimme' motion with his hands.

"What the hell!" You yelled causing everyone in the room to freak out.

"Morning sleeping beauty" Mista smugly said. Narancia began to wildly toss around in his sleep.

You then saw your bag start to move, three little creatures came out of it. You gave a look of shock as they started to chant.

"He's got chocolate! He's got chocolate!" The cheered as three more joined.

You leaped straight out of your bed and grabbed your chocolate bar.

"Hey you little devils get the hell out of my bag!" You yelled as you grabbed one of those small creatures. It gave you a shocked expression and the others went silent.

You wondered what was happening until you looked at your chest, two bulges were prominent in the shirt you were wearing, you had blown it.

"I believe you owe me money..." Fugo smiled while giving Mista the same motion as before he gave before.

"Ah! But if she looked like a dude then that's gay!" Mista argued.

"No, I'm not gay! I knew that she was a girl!" Narancia yelled at Mista.

"Wow... Who would have thought the dunce had figured it out before us..." Fugo said.

"What are you guys all yelling about?" Bruno demanded as he barged in. He then saw you and sighed.

"Meeting, now!" He yelled, you looked at Narancia mirroring the same expression as you.

'oh shit!'

🍊🍊🍊

"So tell us the truth, who are you?" Bruno said to you at the dinning table.

"My name is (y/n) (l/n), I'm seventeen years old and a female" you said.

"But I did not lie about my ordeals or my motives, I wanted to join Passioné because I had nowhere to go" you continued.

"But don't you have parents?" Bruno asked. You just sat in silence.

"What the hell did he do now!" Narancia yelled at you.

"Naran-" Bruno was about to yell.

"It's alright Bruno, he's a old friend of mine" you said.

"Is that so?"

"Yeah... Since" He said as he started to count with his fingers.

"We've been friends for fourteen years... Well kinda..." You said

"I mean this is the first time in five years that we've seen each other" you continued.

"So Narancia can you tell me that she's telling the truth?" Bruno asked.

"Yeah... Her parents didn't really care about her, her Mom was an alcoholic and her step dad felt that she was not his problem" Narancia said with a tinge of sadness and irritation in his voice.

"Honestly she's like a sister to me, we were always right beside each other" he continued.

🍊🍊🍊

After that Bruno had told you to leave while the gang discussed what was going to happen. You sat in your room. Nervous as to what was going to happen to you.

Time went by and with every minute your anxieties increased until the door opened revealing Bruno.

"You can stay" he said. You gave a surprised look. Narancia quickly rushed past him and hugged you.

"Really!" He squealed.

"Well it's to late to leave now that (Y/n) has a stand" Bruno sighed.

"But, (Y/n) must keep up her alias as Pasito, we can't have anyone knowing she's a female... For her own safety" he continued.

"I understand" you responded.

🍊🍊🍊

Being a member of Italy's most feared Mafia gang took awhile to adjust to, as well as being around a bunch of guys and trying to act like. Some of the boys would say perverted comments to get a reaction out of you or your 'boyfriend' Narancia, you did like him but you just felt like you need time to reconnect with.

Speaking of reconnecting with Narancia, he had mostly stayed the same. Puberty didn't hit him hard, leading some to easily mistake him as a girl upon first glance. However during your first few missions with him you had been shocked to learn of a new extension to his supposedly childish and caring personality. He was violent, very violent, which was even worse with his extremely short temper that threatened to snap any minute.

🍊🍊🍊

"(Y/n), what's 22x14?" Fugo asked you. You began to think and scribble down the answer.

'ok so 2x4 is 8 and 1x2 is 2 so I'll times 8 and 2 together... So the answer must be 16!' you thought as you showed him you answer, confident that you had gotten it right.

"What the fuck kind of an answer was that!" He yelled.

"But... I followed your instructions... I separated the tens and units and solved them separately..."

"Did you change the tens into units" he fumed. Narancia seemed to be trying to figure out your technique.

"Yes, I did change them to units" you replied making his eye twitch in anger.

"That's wrong... Your suppose to keep them as tens" he hissed.

"Ok ok, 20x10 is 200" you rashly replied.

"Yes"

"Then the answer is 400" you responded. Fugo began to tremble, his head down, eyes closed and his hands pressed together as if he was praying. He took a deep breath before slowly moving his hands down. Before you could even process what was happening he slashed your face with a knife, leaving a Joker like slit across your right cheek.

"No! it's 308 you idiot!!" He yelled, about to deal another hit before Narancia tackled him to the ground.

"How dare you hurt (y/n)! I'll fucking kill you!!" He screamed as he pinned Fugo down and dangled his switchblade dangerously above Fugo's right eye.

"Narancia! Stop!" You yelled as you grabbed his switchblade out of his hands and attempted to pull him off.

"But he hurt you!" He screamed as he thrashed around in your grasp.

"That son of a bitch deserves what I'm gonna give him!" He continued.

"Mista! I need help! Now!!" You called out. He instantly ran in and grabbed Narancia, pulling him onto his feet.

Fugo then leaped to his feet and tried to throw a punch at Narancia but you quickly tackled him back to the ground.

"Get off of me!" He yelled as he struggled underneath you, so you pulled his hands over his head and straddled his hips.

"No until you calm the fuck down" you responded as you struggled to keep him down.

Narancia hissed under his breath at the sight of you ontop of Fugo, if any thing you should be ontop of him, not that albino bastard. It enraged him even more but he took a few deep breaths as he knew beating Fugo to a bloody pulp was definitely not going to help this situation now.

You continued to hold down Fugo as he trashed around. He began to claw at your wrists dig his nails in your skin. You bit your bottom lip as he continued before you finally had it.

"Fugo calm the fuck down right now or I'll personally beat you into a pile of blood and bones!" You screamed at the top of your lungs, he instantly stopped and gave you a look of pure shock. You turned around and even Narancia and Mista were also shocked. You let out a cough due to the strain it had caused on your throat before hopping off of Fugo and walking off without another word.

🍊🍊🍊

You sat down in the edge of the bath as you inspected your wounds. using your stand, Sting to fix up any broken skin. You the stood up and looked at the large slit across your cheek.

'what a stupid stand I got... While Bruno can create portals, Abbaccio can project past events, Mista can adjust his bullets movements, Fugo can unleash a super virus into the area around him and Narancia can track down his targets with carbon dioxide emissions before riddling them with bullets... But I just have the ability to sew objects together'

you were just about to seal the wound the door opened. Narancia poked his head through.

"Um (y/n)... Are you alright?" He asked.

"Yeah I'm fine" you replied as you guided Sting through the wound.

"No your not, I can tell your not" he said as he walked up to you and gripped your shoulders, looking at the slit across your cheek.

"That bastard's gonna pay" he hissed before storming out.

"No Narancia wait!" You yelled as you followed him but as you closed the door Sting latched onto the doorknob, thus making you slam back into it.

"(Y/n) what happened!" He practically screamed as he ran to your side.

"Yeah... My stands just acting up again" you sighed as you tried to get your hand off of the door.

"Why the hell does it keep doing this! God it's useless!" You fumed.

"Don't say that!"he responded, he absolutely hated it when you loathed yourself. To him you were the most amazing person in the world.

"I don't think your stand is useless! I mean if you hadn't used Sting on me during our last mission I would have been in some major trouble" he said before revealing the scabbed up wound on his chest.

"Sure you say that, but that's all it can do" you responded.

"But... If it can stick to a door knob then maybe..." He mumbled as he tried to think up another use for your stand. Without hesitation you threw yourself onto the wall and summoned your stand, sewing your hands to the wall and that's when an idea popped into your head.

You began to climb up the wall, you body being supported by your stand as you made your way to the celling.

"I'm mother fucking Spider man!" You yelled to your friend bellow and he simply cheered.

You then came up with another idea.

"Can you just stand still?" You asked Narancia.

"Sure" he replied as he waited for your next move. You concentrated on him before launching one strand of Sting at him.

"Ahh fuck! What was that for?" He whined.

"Just wanted to try something out" you shrugged before pulling him until he was right underneath you. You stood up and looked right into his eyes as you put your hands on his cheek

"I..." You murmured as you attempted to close the distance.

"Bruno! (Y/n) is leaving mud tracks on the celling"

[pookiethefrickinbunn]

Human Shield, Gunpoint, and Dragged Away- Whumptober 2019 No. 4,5,& 6

Hydra infiltrates Midtown High in search for Peter Parker, and they're not above killing someone if need be. Peter just has to figure out how to save his school and get help at the same time.

If you want to be tagged, send me an ask!

@whumptober2019

Read Here on Ao3

Content warning: school shooting (kinda) and gun violence.

Peter should have known something was wrong when the internet went down. He had been sitting in his third period class, English, when it happened. One moment they were watching a video on the summary of Othello on YouTube, and the next moment the video stopped to buffer. Mrs. McCall has tried refreshing the page, only to get a message that told her she was not connected to the internet.

“Rats,” the thirty-something year old teacher hissed under her breath. “Well, there goes my plan for the next thirty minutes.” With that she looked up to give her students a tight smile. “Why don’t we have a study hall while I make some calls to the I.T. Department and get this sorted out,” she said. A few students whooped in giddy approval before the class fell in a hum of busy work.

“Is anyone’s phone working?” Ned whispered loudly a few minutes later, catching the attention of a few of his classmates that surrounded him. And of course Peter, the kid who had super hearing.

The teen tried ignoring his classmates, focusing on his trigonometry homework that he was hoping he could finish up before school ended. If he got that done, he wouldn’t have to worry about it all weekend long. Of course Peter’s curiosity got the better of him and soon he found himself checking his phone for service as well.

Low and behold, Peter’s three month old Stark Phone, that was connected to FRIDAY, didn’t have a signal. That was the second time Peter should have realized that something was wrong. Of course the teen chalked it up to some weird magnetic emission that might be happening in the area. It seemed plausible, and things like that normally sorted themselves out in a short amount of time. So Peter ignored it.

A quiet hum fell over the class as they quietly worked on their assignments, only to be disturbed by the PA system clicking on. The entire class jumped in reply and the secretary from the office spoke.

“Sorry to bother you Mrs. McCall, I would call but our phone system is down,” a woman’s voice called out. “Can you send Mr. Parker to the office please?”  And just like that all heads turned to look at Peter. Some looked unamused, while some seemed a little upset that he was the cause of their interruption of study hall.

“Um. Yes, of course,” the teacher said hesitantly, giving the boy in question a look. Peter couldn't tell what the meaning was behind it, but she looked confused. Maybe a bit concerned.

“Thank you Mrs. McCall,” the secretary replied and suddenly it was quiet again.

“Peter, you’re welcome to take your things and go. I’m not sure how long you’ll be there,” Mrs. McCall admitted, watching her Student.

“Thanks,” the teen said under his breath as he pushed all his belongings into his bag. The only thing he could think about was the reason he was being called to the office. He hadn’t acted up in school lately, and his grades were doing fine. Peter began to worry about it as he slipped out of his desk and out of the room, but suddenly he’s mind started turning to darker things. What if May or Tony were hurt? What if all the phones were down and someone was there to collect him and let him know something was wrong. With those thoughts in his head, Peter did his best to pick up the pace as he walked down the hall. The fact that he was being called to the office should have been the third warning that something was wrong. But how could Peter know?

Things drastically changed, though, as soon as Peter stepped foot into the front office. Everything looked fine, it seemed fine, but it wasn’t. Ms. Gruss, the school secretary, sat quietly at her desk, blankly starring at her computer. Principal Morita could be clearly seen through his office door window, and he seemed focused on something laying on his desk. So why was Peter’s spider-sense going crazy?

“Hi Peter,” Ms. Gruss said tightly as the door closed behind the teen. Peter looked around for a second before his eyes landed on the woman. Her eyes were narrowed and her lips were held tight at she looked at the boy. “Principal Morita needs to talk with you,” She said, suddenly pushing a clipboard across her desk. “Please sign the sheet saying you are having a meeting with him and then you’re free to go inside.” All Peter could do was give the woman a confused look as he tried to ignore his brain that was screaming at him to find cover.

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” Peter huffed as he took a few more steps towards the desk. “I just don’t remember having to do this last time I was here. It kind of through me off,” Peter admitted, snagging the pen and getting ready to sign in.

“Oh yes. It’s a new policy, only a few days old. We’re just trying to keep track of meetings now, that’s all,” Ms. Gruss hummed. And with that Peter looked down at the paper on the clipboard to sign in, only to see three letters in large black sharpie scrawled across the paper.

RUN.

Peter’s body stayed still but his eyes instantly shot up to make eye contact with the woman who sat in front of him. She seemed to be in an almost stature like state as well, except for her eyes that bounced back and forth from Peter to Principal Morita’s office.  -- And just like that Peter could hear it. The additional six heartbeats that the boy hadn't noticed before now rung out loudly from the principal’s office. The distinct sound of a gun cocking sent shivers down Peter’s spine but the smell of gunpowder made him utterly sick.

“Peter,” Ms. Gross, said firmly, bringing the teen out of his thoughts. “Sign the paper. Morita can’t wait all day,” She said, tapping the word twice before giving him a hard look. All the boy could do was look up at her with his big brown eyes and let out a hitched breath. He couldn’t just leave her and the principal, they were obviously in danger. In fact, the teen found himself shaking his head but the woman in front of him tapped the clipboard one more time. “Mr. Parker. We don’t have all day, sign the paper,” She insisted, her voice starting to shake. The two looked at each other again and then slowly Peter backed away.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered to her before turning around and bolting out of the room. It was quiet for a few moments as Peter ran down the hallway, but soon his enhanced hearing picked up the desperate pleas of Ms. Gruss as two other males shouted at her. He half expected to hear a gunshot, yet nothing happened.  

Now Peter’s first instinct was to get out of the building. They were obviously after him, that much seemed to be clear. But the more Peter thought about it, the more he deemed that that would not be a good decision. He would save himself, but at the end of the day one of his schoolmates risked getting hurt. And Peter couldn't let that rest on his conscious. So staying in the school it was.

The other, more logical option was to call Mr. Stark. He would come and save the day and everyone would be safe. Or at least that was the more logical option, until Peter pulled out his phone.

Right. The signal wasn’t working.

Okay. So this was planned out, Peter knew that much. These people had blocked all signals from going in and out of the school. No one could call for help. They specifically had called him to the office and were waiting there for him, so this was one hundred percent about Peter. This wasn’t random. Meaning that perhaps no one would get hurt if he stayed close by and tried to deal with the intruders. The only problem was, were they there for Peter Parker, or Spider-Man?

In the short amount of time it had taken Peter to determine all of that, he had made his way down two separate halls and into another wing of the school. The teen had taken a moment to slow down and catch his breath, and decide what to do next when suddenly there was a person standing directly next to him.

“Hey, Penis. I don’t think you’re allowed to run in the halls.”

Now Peter knew that it was Flash, he really did. (Because who else called him penis?) But being in the situation that he was, and not  expecting to see anyone else in the hall, the teen let out a shriek, nearly jumping out of his skin.

“Woah there Parker!” Flash laughed as he clapped his hand on Peter’s shoulder. “No need to pee your pants,” the other boy said as he looked at his peer up and down. “You got a hall pass or something?” he then asked, raising a single eyebrow.

“A-a what?” Peter squeaked.

“Don’t play dumb, dipshit. You know you can’t be out here without a hall pass,” Flash said as he removed his hand from Peter’s shoulder to cross his arms. Right, Flash was a hall monitor during his free track.  A few questionable thoughts as to why Flash even had that job popped into Peter’s head but he did his best to shake them away.

“Flash, listen. I know you never do, but just listen this once,” Peter begged as he pulled Flash deeper into the corridor and away from the crossroads of the hallway.

“Parker, come on! Don’t bring up one of your excused to try and get out of this. You’re out here without a hall pass. That means taking you to the office is my responsibility,” Flash argued, rolling his eyes.

“No, listen to me you big idiot I-” Peter whisper-yelled, only to be abruptly cut off by loud talking from a group down the hall, followed by a gun cocking. The sound was so different from anything that Peter or Flash had ever heard at the school and the two quickly looked at each other in silence before scrambling down the hallway, looking for a place to hide.

“Here, here!” Peter whispered as he came to stop at a display table, it had a large tablecloth hanging off of it and it went down to the floor on all sides. It would be a close fit, but the two teens could make it work. With a backwards glance Flash dove under the table, followed by Peter. The following moments were excruciatingly long as the two boys waited for the voices to pass.

“You two take the East Wing, go door by door. We have people posted at every exit and the campus perimeter surrounded. We would know if Peter had left the building. And he hasn’t, so find him,” a man barked as he gave orders to the two other people with him. “He’s dangerous, so shoot him if you need to, just don’t kill him.”

By this time the group was directly in front of the table and Peter and Flash pushed themselves together to make themselves smaller. Flash’s eyes were wide and he had his hand clamped over his mouth to try and keep his loud breathing contained. The two boys looked at each other as the group spoke, silently communicating with their eyes.

What the fuck?  

I don’t know!?

The two sat like that as the group disappeared around the corner and continued to sit under the table a bit longer before Peter poked his head out. No one was there, and he couldn’t hear anyone walking around the halls within a few hallways. They should be safe to move.

So on shaky hands, the two boys crawled out from their hiding space, only to move down the hall in the opposite direction in (short lived) silence.

“What the hell is going on Parker?” Flash whispered as he hit Peter on the shoulder. “Who are those guys? Why do they have guns? What kind of gang shit are you into?” Flash demanded. Peter could only stop and glare at the boy.

“Listen Flash, people are going to die if I don’t do something quick,” Peter whispered desperately. “This probably has something to do with Mr. Stark so-”

“Come on man! This is not the time to talk about your fake internship with Tony Stark,” Flash whispered as he continued to hit Peter. “I’m really freaked out and you lying isn’t helping,” the boy said, his voice shaking. And in that moment Peter realized that the details weren’t important. Flash didn’t need to know specifics.

“I know, I know! I am too,” Peter admitted. And it was the truth. Every time he went out as Spider-Man, he was stopping people from doing bad things that had nothing to do with him. This though? It was all about him. He was the reason that so many people were in danger. “Look, it doesn’t matter. All you need to do is get to the closest classroom and barricade the doors. Get them on lock down, and don’t be seen!” Peter said, his mind moving a mile a minute.

“And what are you going to do?” Flash asked, and honestly the answer weighed heavy on Peter’s chest.

“I don’t know,” Peter admitted, his voice cracking as he scrubbed at his eyes. “I’ll lead them back to the front, I guess. That’s were the least amount of people are. I can try and-”

“Wait,” Flash said, his voice growing in volume as he spoke. “You’re telling me you’re going to take them on, all on your own? Are you an idiot? You can’t do that,” the bully said, grabbing Peter’s arm as he tried to pull away from their small gathering.

“Flash. Please. I don’t have time to argue,” Peter said, his heart drumming in his throat as he spoke. “Our entire school could be killed if I don’t-”

“I hear voices, over here-” A voice called out, making the two freeze. The two boys instantly looked at eachother and quickly scrambled towards the opposite end of the hallway, only to get cut off by another group of men.

“We’ve located Peter Parker,” one man said into a radio as the two groups advanced on the boys. Soon there were four men in front of them while the two were backed up against the wall. And to Peter’s surprise, Flash was standing directly in front of him, holding his left arm out as if to shield Peter from the group.

“Peter Parker, Peter Parker,” One of the men said, stepping apart from the group. “We really didn’t want to involve others. You know, minimal casualties. But the second you ran from that office we had to change things,” the man said sternly, making Peter’s blood run cold.

“Ms. Gruss?” Peter asked, trying to build up his courage to actually step out from behind Flash.

“The secretary? Yeah. Sorry, she didn’t make it,” the man said with a dark chuckle. “All though I really didn’t check, we just left her to bleed out with that principle of yours. Maybe there’s still some life left in her.”

“What do you want from him?” Flash suddenly interjected, surprising both Peter and the men.

“It doesn’t concern you, boy,” The man said as he lifted his pistol, holding Flash at gunpoint.

“No, don’t do it,” Peter said loudly, pushing Flash so that the role was reversed and Peter was the one in front. “I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t hurt anyone else. Please. I’ll go with you, I won’t put up a fight. Whatever you want,” Peter insisted, his mind suddenly thinking of all the people who would be hurt if he didn’t just go. Ned, MJ, Betty, Brad, Mrs. McCall, Flash, and then countless other students that attended the school. Not to mention two people were probably dead because of him. The thought made him sick and Peter was desperate to turn the situation around, any way necessary.  

“Perfect,” the man smirked. “Just come with us,” he said with a smile, and then suddenly Peter’s world exploded.

The fact that he had been shot did not actually occur to Peter when it first happened. All that Peter registered  was that something loud had gone off in the hallway. Then came a large focused pain in his upper right hip. It honestly felt like Peter had been hit by a baseball bat...that was swung by the Hulk. It hurt so bad and knocked the wind out of him. Peter opened his mouth to suck in a breath, but nothing was coming in.

“PETER, PETER,” the teen heard from above him and his body crumpled to the floor. Peter thought it might be Flash calling his name, and his thoughts were confirmed when he found the other boy leaning over him. “-eter. Oh my God. Oh my God,” Flash gasped, his hands hovering over his classmate’s body. Peter opened his mouth to let Flash know he was okay but suddenly another shot went off and Peter found himself screaming.

He had been shot another time, and this time he felt the pain full force. A wet scream bubbled from his throat and Peter began to feel his vision tunneling as he looked up at the panicked face of his classmate. The pain was so much that he couldn’t even focus his thoughts anymore, his brain was just mush.

“Flash. Flash,’ Peter babbled, his words slurring together.

“Grab him, take him back up front,” the shooter demanded as the remaining men advanced on the two boys, causing Flash to grab Peter’s shoulders and hold him against his body.

“Get away from him you sick fu-”Flash said, only to get cut off by getting the butt of a gun slammed into his face, knocking him out cold.

“Stay down kid,” the man hissed, peeling a very lethargic Peter from the other boy’s hands.  After readjusting his grip to Peter’s hair, the man began to drag Peter down the hallway and towards the front office.

Peter let out a strangled yell as he tried to twist away from his captor, but he didn’t have any strength left. He just had to let them take him.

----

Five hours had been too long. It had been Five hours since Midtown Science had been infiltrated by HYDRA agents, and no one had been alerted until an hour had already passed. Gunshots had sounded in the hall and that had put teachers into lock down. Of course no signal was going in or out of the building until after the agents had left. They had been gone for nearly an hour before someone was able to call the police. From there it took another hour for police to get there and alert parents who had not been contacted by their children, and another two before the school was cleared of any threat and the children and faculty were evacuated.

Tony had been notified at hour three when May called him in hysterics. The two quickly made their way down to the school and waited for more news.

“Come on man, just let me in there. My kid is there,” Tony said as he tried to get into the school. He partly wanted to just bust down the door with his suit and just take care of the problem, but he needed to be there for May. Plus, they didn’t have a lot of info on what was actually happening. Just that there had been gunshots.

“Everyone’s kid is in there Mr. Stark. Not just yours,” the police chief had responded as he stood in front of the blocked off entrance. “Just sit tight. We’ll have them out soon,” the man reassured. So Tony and May waited, and waited.

Eventually the school was cleared and students began to file out. Tony’s heart slowly began to sink, though, as all the other students ran to their parents, yet he and May were still empty handed. So Tony, being the impatient man that he is, asked FRIDAY to pull up the count.

“Hey man,” Tony said again as he jogged back over to the police chief. “My kid isn’t out here, he should be here. Was he maybe taken to the hospital or something?” Tony asked, his heart pounding in his chest. The officer frowned for a moment before reaching for his radio.

“Booker, I need info. Who’s been taken to the hospital? We got any casualties?” It was silent for a moment but soon someone was responding.

“We’ve only taken two to the hospital. Principal Morita and a kid named Eugene Thompson,” the man replied. “Only causality we have is a woman by the name of Jeannin Gruss,” he finished out.

“That Eugene kid yours?” the police chief asked, and Tony weakly shook his head.

“No,” Tony muttered as he looked back at the swarm of people. His kid wasn’t here. “Listen,” Tony then said, quickly turning on the chief. “You need to let me in there right now. He’s not out here. Just let me go look for him,” Tony begged, only to get a shaken head in return.

“No can do Mr. Stark.”

Tony felt sick as he listened to the man, and suddenly the police didn’t matter. Calling his suit, Tony strong-armed his way into the school. Peter had to be there. He was just hiding in some place that they hadn’t looked yet. Tony knew Peter was there, and that he was okay. He knew it.

Unfortunately, Tony's hopes were dashed when he rounded one of the hallway corners. There, in the middle of the hallway, was a long strip of red that pooled in one spot and then was smeared all the way down the hallway and around the next corner. Like someone had been shot and then dragged away.

“FRIDAY,” Tony gasped as he keeled down to touch the dried blood with the suit. “Whos is this? What am I looking at?” The inventor demanded.

It was quiet for a moment, but soon FRIDAY had an answer.

“I’m sorry boss, but it looks like it belongs to Peter Parker.”

[eldritchsurveys]

696.

If money was no object, would you change your wardrobe? >> If money were no object, absolutely, because I could then stop settling for clothing that doesn’t quite fit well or has bad textures just because they’re within my budget or because I can’t afford replacements. Also, maybe I could get stuff custom-made instead of dealing with whatever the stores deign to sell.

How do you/did you get to school? >> I took a bus for most years, but for junior and senior year I lived in a town with no school bus system so I walked.

Have you ever been in trouble for something you honestly didn't do? >> Yeah, a lot when I was young. I guess I make a great scapegoat.

Is the idea of having a secret admirer creepy or romantic? >> If an admirer doesn’t overstep my boundaries and doesn’t expect me to reciprocate whatever it is they’re feeling, then it’s fine, I don’t care. I’ll take any positive attention I can get.

What was the last song you sung out loud? >> I don’t remember.

Have you ever had to have a pet put down? >> No.

Were you excited to learn to drive, or scared? >> I never had this experience. I did drive Sparrow’s car around a school parking lot once, and that was pretty fun.

What was the last book you read? >> Recursion by Blake Crouch.

Did you enjoy it, or were you glad to be finished? >> I enjoyed it immensely.

Do you ever wonder what other people are thinking when they stare at you? >> Yes, because I’m quick to assume they’re thinking something negative but I’m aware enough to know that I might be wrong. But to be honest, I really don’t like being stared at for any reason, so I mostly just wish they’d stop.

Have you ever gone out of your way to get someone's attention? >> I don’t think so.

When was the last time you felt desperate? >> Earlier last week.

When was the last time you felt incredibly tired? >> This morning, before I had a galaxy-brain moment and put on a pair of sunglasses to mitigate the overwhelming amount of daylight streaming into the apartment and overloading my nervous system. Just because I know I’m sensory-defensive doesn’t mean I always remember to, like, defend my senses. lmao.

What candy cane flavor is your favorite? >> I don’t have a favourite.

What is one thing a guy can do, but a woman shouldn't? >> ---

In your opinion, who doesn't deserve to be famous? >> ---

Do you get angry when fast food restaurants mess up your order? >> I get upset, because it upsets me to have the Wrong food. But most of the time when I’m really upset about it it’s because I’d only noticed by the time we got home, or something, and I can’t do anything about it. If I notice while we’re still in or near the restaurant, then I don’t get nearly as upset because I can just... go fix it.

Have you ever had a ridiculous hair cut? >> I mean, probably.

What was your favorite elective class in high school? >> ---

Did you ever wish you could be homeschooled? >> No. Was it hard for you to get up this morning? >> Not really.

Have you ever had a dream so realistic you could've sworn it happened? >> Yeah.

When was the last time you colored with crayons or colored pencils? >> I don’t remember the last time I coloured in general (I usually colour with markers, anyway).

Can you remember the first survey you filled out? >> No way, lol.

Do you have any mental disorders? >> I could probably be diagnosed with a couple, but formal diagnosis really doesn’t interest me at this point. I have enough of an idea of what psychological criteria I fit that I can look up resources to help myself (and I have a direction to point SSI towards when it’s time to Prove My Disability To The Government), and that’s really all that matters right now.

Do you feel comfortable talking about these disorders, if you have them? >> *shrug* I mean, I guess you could say that.

Where did you go on your last field trip? >> ---

What do you do when someone pushes their views on you? >> No one does that, really. I mean, I don’t even know how they would, considering how unfazed by social pressure I usually am. Dogma just doesn’t stick to me.

Are you able to agree to disagree? Or do you have to have the last word? >> I’m perfectly willing to agree to disagree.

Do you think you make a good first impression? >> Not always.

Do other people's first impressions stick with you? >> It depends on what my first impression was. If it was like “oh my god this person really comes off like a bigot”, yeah, that’s going to stick until explicitly proven otherwise. If it was like “oh hmm this person seems to be in a bad mood” then like, whatever. Moods change. Sometimes you just catch people on a bad day and that doesn’t mean they hate you forever.

Are you friends who you thought they were when you first met? >> ---

How have you changed in the past year? >> I really don’t know how to track this.

How about in the past five years? >> This is a little easier to track, because five years ago I didn’t even live here. But I don’t really have the energy to like, lay it all out in words right now.

What do you do when you feel like giving up on something? >> Sometimes I just give up on it. Other times I take a break. Other times I have a meltdown. Other times I push through.

Have you ever had to give up on someone? >> Yeah.

Would you rather break up with someone, or them break up with you? >> ---

Is there a cover song you like better than the original version? >> There are quite a few songs like that for me.

Do you think it's okay to like a cover more than an original? >> Who the fuck is going to stop me...?

What band do you wish was still making music? >> Meh.

Do you still watch any cartoons? >> Sure, I watch cartoons.

Are you just too lazy to recycle? >> I guess, more or less. I also don’t really see the value in it anymore. Reducing and reusing seem to have more immediate effects that I can observe in my own life; recycling is just another industry with its own emissions problems at this point.

Think of the last person you talked to--do you love him/her? >> Sure.

Do you fit your zodiac sign? >> My natal chart seems to be an astute character sheet for me.

What is one of your weak points? >> I don’t know.

What is one of your strong points? >> Meh.

Are you calm in emergency situations? >> More often than not, yeah. Unless said emergency situation includes a lot of environmental stimuli, in which case that will frazzle me (although the situation itself might not).

When was the last time you cursed at someone? >> As in, with the intent of being mean, not just cursing in conversation? I really don’t remember.

Are you afraid of losing someone you love? >> I’m always afraid of losing Can Calah.

Who are you most attached to? >> ^

What do you depend on other people for? >> Most of my quality of life, seeing as I can’t live off this government income alone.

Are you good at reading other people's body language? >> I don’t know, maybe.

Do you like facial hair? How about chest hair? >> It’s fine.

If you have a favorite number, how did you choose it? >> I didn’t really choose it, it’s kind of just... I don’t know. It’s part of the fabric of my reality or something blah blah blah.

What goes through your mind when someone breaks up with you? >> I mean... wouldn’t that depend on the specific breakup...

What goes through your mind when someone asks you out? >> ^ (But also in general, I’m going to react defensively to being asked out because... I don’t date, and anyone asking me out either doesn’t know me well enough to even initiate that sort of intimacy or doesn’t care that I’m aromantic, which is not a good look either way.)

Do you match your shoes with your outfit? >> My shoes match with all my outfits.

Do you style your hair daily? >> No.

Who was the last person to compliment your appearance? What'd they say? >> I don’t remember. I think the only person that really compliments my appearance these days is Sparrow, anyway. Is there any movie you just can't stand to watch? >> Yeah.

What do you think of pornography? >> I mean, it serves a purpose.

What hair products do you use regularly? >> Shampoo. Also this tea tree oil stuff that I don’t know if it works or not but I don’t have a better idea.

Does it bother you when people use extremely bad grammar? >> No. Most of the time “bad” grammar isn’t an impedence to communication, so I don’t see what the big deal is. (Obviously if you’re writing for, say, an academic journal, there is a certain standard of writing one should be following. But people are always complaining about bad grammar on, like, tumblr, and who fucking cares? Ain’t nobody being graded on mastery of Strunk’s Elements of Style here.)

Do you have a hard time talking about sex with the opposite gender? >> Er, one’s gender isn’t what determines how comfortable I am talking about sex with them.

Do you feel more comfortable with a male or female doctor/nurse? >> There’s something to be said about the lack of compassion that male doctors often display towards people who are perceived as female, which I do take into account, but ultimately I figure it’s still about the individual doctor and not whatever configuration their chromosomes are in. I’ll take a competent, compassionate male doctor just like I’d take a competent, compassionate female doctor.

Have you ever had major surgery? >> No.

Could you go a month without speaking? >> I think it would be rather inconsiderate for me to go a month without speaking to Sparrow. I have had periods of selective mutism, of course, especially during depressions, but if it lasted long enough I would eventually have to make some attempt to work around it.

What goes through your mind when you see someone very obese? >> I mean, nothing specific.

How about when you see someone very thin? >> Once again, nothing specific.

Is there any food you don't like that a lot of others do? >> Yeah, milk chocolate.

Have you ever followed a trend? If so, what was it? >> When I was younger, certainly. You know, when I actually paid attention to trends. I have no idea what’s even trendy right now, except like... VSCO? Is that still a thing? Shit moves too fast these days, man.

Have you ever started a trend, even a small one? >> Not to my knowledge.

What was the last thing you bragged about? >> I don’t know.

[thesinglesjukebox]

SIGALA FEAT. ELLA HENDERSON - WE GOT LOVE

[4.55]

You, on the other hand, got meh...

Will Adams: This is now the fifth Sigala song we've covered that has "love" in the title. Fittingly, his exhaustion of the concept of love has been working in tandem with the exhaustion of blandly uplifting house music. [4]

Iain Mew: Ah, they're back together for a second go round, I thought confidently. Turned out I was thinking of Sigma ft. Ella Henderson and/or Sigala & Ella Eyre. Ah, Sigala have done basically this exact song before with the same message about the ultimate pre-eminence of love, I thought, and this time it was definitely "Came Here for Love." [4]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: Songs like "We Got Love" -- much like everything else from Sigala -- have such a glossy veneer and chipper sound that it's hard to shake the feeling that it wasn't made to soundtrack corny commercials filled with crowds of diverse people smiling and dancing. Everything about it sounds artificial, which is why there needs to be a soaring vocal performance that helps me get past the artifice (or, perhaps more accurately, understand and empathize with it). "We Got Love" doesn't get there because the chorus is centered around obnoxious, synthesized string stabs. Give me more Henderson, less instrumentation that makes me feel reflexively jaded. [3]

Alfred Soto: I remembered Katy B while blasting "We Got Love" in an effort to pin this smoke machine emission to the wall -- Ella Henderson shares some of her nasality. No matter how Katy fought to sound like a normal anonymous person, Henderson beats her with Sigala's help. [5]

Michael Hong: Sigala and Ella Henderson pull it off -- finally, something that sounds as joyous and bouncy as UK dance-pop should be. Ella Henderson delivers a favourable performance that almost makes it possible to ignore the cookie-cutter genericism of the lyrics. Almost. [6]

Thomas Inskeep: Average house track with an equally average singer, wasting a sample from one of the greatest records of all-time, Rhythm Is Rhythm's "Strings of Life." Listen to that instead. [4]

Oliver Maier: It's startling how quickly songs in this particular post-EDM house vein can switch from fun and kinetic to genuinely unpleasant, enough that I feel gullible for enjoying the verses and pre-chorus so much. Lots to like here, including but not limited to: the gooey bass, the horn quacks in the hook, the way Ella Henderson sings that stupid line about mannequins draped in designer, and most of all the surprising "Digital Love" solo near the end. All it takes is the clumsy drop to suck the soul out of the proceedings and make me feel like I'm either at the gym or sifting through Clean Bandit demos. [5]

Brad Shoup: Sigala works up a urgent buoyancy, but Henderson is stuck scrubbing a couple egregious similes for profundity. Why didn't she get to spend more time gliding along the filter house break? [5]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: The hurried feel of the beat and the rushed pacing of Henderson's vocal performance (up until a bridge that slows things down half-heartedly before picking the tempo back up) distract from the intended lyrical message of love triumphing through (unspecified) adversity. There's nothing unpleasant here but maybe there should be; it's frictionless dance-pop that doesn't realize that friction is the key to an effective groove. [5]

Scott Mildenhall: In the first paragraph of the main body of Sigala's Wikipedia lies the fact that he possesses a degree in commercial music, a profuse gift of ammunition to all who wish to deem his productions calculated. Sure enough, picking out a house classic and dredging the humanity from Ella Henderson's expansive voice are both things that could be done through code. But answer this, critics: wouldn't a computer be capable of a more coherent treatise? [5]

Katherine St Asaph: For a presumably hand-composed song, this is a fine demonstration -- as fine as any other Sigala song, which is the point really -- of the 10,000 Bowls of Oatmeal problem of procedural generation: "There are so many artifacts being produced that any given one of them will probably start seeming less special. I can easily generate 10,000 bowls of plain oatmeal, with each oat being in a different position and different orientation, and mathematically speaking they will all be completely unique. But the user will likely just see a lot of oatmeal." [4]

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