#deep greenpoint

[thefarfield-s5s]

titan arum

[kyber-kisses]

The Red String

Miguel Ohara x Spider!reader

Summary: Legend has it, there is an invisible red thread that connects us to those we are destined to meet. Regardless of time, place, or circumstances. It may stretch and tangle but never break.

Warnings: slight ATSV spoilers, cursing, canon typical violence.

A/N: HI FELLOW SIMPS! Please enjoy this mediocre fic that I wrote because I’m in love with Miguel.

A freak.

That’s what you felt like.

But surprising enough it wasn’t due to the enhanced spider abilities like crawling up the walls and sensing a flying projectile from a mile away.

No. No, it was the issue with your fucking soul string.

Letting out a deep sigh, you swung your legs over the side of the fire escape, pulling off your glove as you examined your hand. . . Or more accurately; your pinkie finger.

The thin faded string tied around your small finger was nothing but a hinderance to you at this point. When your mind was supposed to be on New York and keeping the streets safe it was instead occupied with thoughts about the stupid little string.

Everyone had one. Hell, everyone was born with one. A soul string. Only you and one other person can see your string. To everyone else it’s invisible. Like a sort of ghost others can walk through and not even notice.

The other end of it was tied to your soulmate.

Most people go out and find theirs between the time they’re twenty and thirty, others just wait for the moment to come naturally. But in the end it was a universal fact: everyone had a soulmate.

Except for you apparently.

It was either that or they had died at some point. Either way, the end of your string didn’t go anywhere. It was a faded red and only stretched a few feet in front of you before fading into nothing. It went no where.

And that’s why you were thankful only you could see your string because of others knew. . . Oh boy would you be an outcast.

Then again, you already felt like one.

“Stupid fucking thing-“ you hissed, scraping your finger along where the string was tied in a futile attempt to get it off. But like always. . . It didn’t work. Your finger phased through it as if it were nothing more than a figment of your imagination. In other words: it wasn’t on the physical plane of existence.

You don’t know why you let it bother you so much, like hell- you were a fucking web slinging superhero, what more did you need?

As of being able to tell you were caving in on yourself, the police radio next to you crackled to life.

“Yeah, we got some sort of hi-tech robotic octopus dude climbing up the side of the bank on east 48th, we need back up over here—“

A groan of annoyance left your lips as you swung your legs back onto the fire escape, pulling your mask back on before tossing the radio into your bag.

It was always fucking something.

Why didn’t the universe ever allow you just fives minutes of peace? Sometimes all you wanted was to wallow in self pity but no. New York had to keep pumping out new villains by the handful.

But at least the journey from Greenpoint to Midtown was quick. All you had to do was go down Huron Street, leap across a few moving ferries before swinging through the midtown tunnel. Practically a walk in the park.

At least it was until you got to your destination.

Despite the obnoxious amount of light pollution that New York gave off, the explosions were easy to see and so was the weird fucking guys scaling the side of the bank with. . . What were those? Tentacles.

Coming to a stop on a roof a block or so down, you observed the scene quickly, finding potential ways to bring the guy down along with potential exit strategies of things went side ways.

It was only when you were readying yourself to dive off the side of the building and begin your attack did all your movements falter. Skidding across the gravel rooftop, you stopped at the ledge, watching with wide eyes as some other. . . person grappled with the guy you were gunning for.

A person. . . Who seems to have similar abilities to you?

Beneath your mask your eyebrows knitted together in confusion as you watched the figure swing around them, dodging blows as swiftly and quickly as you did.

At the same time the faded red string around your finger faltered. The band glitching into a violent pixelated mess before resorting to its regular bland old self once more.

You really couldn’t catch a break couldn’t you?

With an annoyed shake of your head you focused your attention back to the other spider person and the tentacle guy on the wall.

You had to get closer, maybe then you could get a better look. Plus. . . Whoever they were might need help, and who were you if not someone always there to lend a helping hand.

In the end you did end up getting a better look because the second you got close you watched as the new spider person was slammed into the side of the building, one of the mechanic arms of the enemy latched tightly around them.

Your body was moving before your brain was and a second later you where sailing through the air like a dart, your foot slamming into the jaw of the criminal.

The movement was enough to shake him and with that the cows released the person in its grasp. A mask similar to your own stared back at you, it’s eyes wide as the person beneath look at you.

“What? The least I could get is a thank you.” You speak plainly, ducking a swing from the man behind you.

“Oh uh yeah, thanks.”

Trying to multitask between taking down the guy behind you and conversing with the vigilante in front of you, you paused before bringing your foot in a swift sailing arc towards your assailant, once again knocking them down a few pegs.

“You wanna tell me whit his guy is?”

“You don’t have a Doc Ock here?”

You duck another mechanic arm, moving quickly to web it firmly to the side of the building you were currently grappling on. “What do you mean here?”

“You know, this reality?”

You paused in your movements, titling your head. “What did you smoke?”

Though you couldn’t see it, you could sense the way they rolled their eyes under their mask. “Ok enough of this, just help me take down this guy and I’ll explain everything.”

There was silence for a moment as you thought it over before quickly nodding, and with that the two of you sprung into action.

In less than two minutes the attacker was down, bound firmly in webbing on the sidewalk of the bank.

“I’ve never seen this guy before. And you sounded surprised when I said that.” You folded your arms, looking down at the unconscious villian in front of you.

“I mean, most spidermen have some variant of him in their reality.” The guy next to you shrugged.

“Their reality?” Turning your head you looked at the person next to you and the blue and red spandex suit that cling to their body.

“Yeah, you know- the multiverse?”

“Bullshit. That ain’t real.”

“Oh trust me, it is.”

You raised an eyebrow underneath your mask. “Why should I trust you? I don’t even know your name.”

“You’re kidding right?”

“Does it sound like I’m kidding?”

The so called spider-man inc don’t if you sighed, hand going to his hips. “My names Peter B. Parker. I’m from a different reality. Earth 616-B to be exact.”

Despite how ridiculous he sounded your senses were telling you everything he said was true. “How did you get here?”

“A gizmo.”

“Ok now I have to call bullshit. You have something called a fucking gizmo that got you here? That sounds like something a kid would call their toy.”

At that Peter laughs. “Oh ho! That’s good, wait till I tell Miguel that someone called his devices a child’s toy. Oh I’m gonna have to record that—“

“Miguel?”

“He’s the boss man, the one who sent me here to grab that guy.” Peter points down at the unconscious Doc Ock on the ground.

“Why?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“Well you give me a reason to ask a lot of questions.”

There’s a pause and you can only assume that beneath his mask he mouth his hanging slightly open as he thinks. “I. . . Ok fair enough. I’ll give you that. Long story short, this guy isn’t from your reality which means that if I don’t get him back to his your whole world could start to disintegrate. We call guys like this anomalies.”

It’s your turn to be quiet, your eyes wide as you listen to him. “oH. Ok then. Yeah please get this guy out of here then.” Nodding quickly, you stepped back. “I’d rather not have my world disintegrate.”

“I’m completely agree.” Peter nodded, moving to punch a code into the device on his wrist. . . Or gizmo as he called it. You nearly jumped out of your suit a moment later when a multi colored portal whizzed open behind him, brining with it a dull sort of hum that made your spider senses stand on end. “Now if you’ll excuse me I need to get this guy back to HQ for processing before sending him home.”

You could only nod silently as your eyes stayed glued to the portal, mouth hanging slightly ajar in pure wonder. “Uh yeah- yeah.”

With a swift throw, Peter launched the unconscious Doc Ock through the portal. “It was nice meeting you fellow spider. . . ling?” He nodded as he stepped into the portal himself. “Maybe I’ll see you around again at some point.”

And with that he was gone.

And you should have left it at that. You should have just watched the portal close, turn on your heel and headed home. . . Or maybe a bar. Either or sounded like a good idea.

But you did neither.

Because hair as you were readying yourself to leave the tiny red string around your finger glitched again, the fading red line pointing in the direction of the closing portal.

You were moving before your brain was, the portal closing shut behind you, drowning you in darkness.

[avastrasposts]

Big Sky Country - ch. 2

Part two of Cowboy!Frankie and the OFC AIsling meeting as Frankie comes to New York to sort out things with his "maybe ex-girlfriend."

Mature, angsty, some fluff, dark themes.

Series Master List

Warnings contain spoilers and can be found here.

Aisling watched Frankie answer his phone from the corner of her eye as she stacked the clean glasses. Maybe it’s because she’d spent a few minutes talking to him, watching his face change from troubled to smiling, but the way his eyebrows bunched together as he looked at the screen for several long seconds, she knew the call brought him back to the mood he’d walked into the bar with. He pressed the phone to his cheek, eyes hidden under the peak of his cap, as he answered. A few words were exchanged, his shoulders crept up towards his ears, and then he slid off the stool and bent down to grab his duffel bag. He walked to the door without a look back, but at the last moment, he turned and caught Aisling’s eyes, lifting his chin in a small nod goodbye as he pushed the door open with his back. She gave him a quick wave and a smile, before the door closed behind him. 

As her shift ended, she grabbed the tray of dirty glasses and brought it to the back of the bar, loading the dishwasher. It roared to life, the old machine rumbling behind her as she got her bag and jacket. It wasn’t a long walk back to her small apartment, stopping at the bodega for a sandwich, before she could finally close the door on the day. Her place was small, a sublet, and not really her own. A room and a bathroom and nothing else, the partially obstructed view of the river the only forgiving feature. It’s also what’s going to force her to move sometime soon, the land value far too great to ignore, and another piece of Brooklyn would transform into luxury condos while people like her moved further out. 

People like her. And Frankie. Her mind turned back to the quiet man in the bar, something about him felt familiar. She thinks it’s the way he turned up in New York with only a duffel bag, his life packed into it. She could easily fit the things she cared about into a duffel bag and just leave. If she had somewhere to leave too. Would she have his courage to pick up and travel two days across the country to a new city? She wasn’t sure. This was her city, Brooklyn was where she was born and raised. She’d stayed even when her parents broke up and her mother found a new man in a Long Island suburb that Aisling hated. Both the man and the suburb. She’d stayed with her father in a tiny one bedroom apartment close to the river in Red Hook rather than move out to the big house with a pool. 

When her father died, her senior year in high school, she lost her family, and Brooklyn became family instead as she moved from one small semi-legal rental to another. She made some sort of life working in the endless bars, clubs and restaurants, and a new family was formed, made up of the friends who, like her, worked long hours, surviving on tips and bodega sandwiches. Her small world in Brooklyn became a place where people like her looked out for their own. And Frankie felt like one of their own.  

She hoped he’d return to the bar, hoped he’d find a job and stay around. He intrigued her, as well as tugged at a deep hidden physical attraction, his soft eyes, broad shoulders and large hands. She could easily imagine how it would feel to have him closer, to have him settle his weight on top of her as she wrapped her arms around those solid shoulders. She didn’t easily fall for anyone, but she didn’t mind finding temporary release with someone and Frankie had all the attributes she craved. She fell back in bed, thinking about the way he’d rubbed his hand over his soft looking curls, the strain of the jeans around his thighs as he picked up the duffel bag, and it made her legs clench together, seeking relief. 

In another part of Greenpoint, Frankie was buzzed in through the door of a much nicer building. Eva opened the door as he reached third floor, and let him in. 

“You look like shit, Frankie,” she said by way of greeting as he dropped his bag on the floor, “And you smell like the bus.” 

“Nice to see you too,” he replied, pulling off his cap and she presented her cheek for him to kiss. 

“Take a shower, we can talk after dinner, I bought Korean.” 

She left him standing in the small hallway as she disappeared into the kitchen, “I put out a clean towel for you.” 

With a sigh he zipped open his bag on the floor, digging out his shower gel and a clean change of clothes. He didn’t know if he’d be sleeping on the couch or not so he didn't take any chances, leaving his bag on the floor of the hallway until he knew where his bed was tonight. 

His hair was still damp from the shower when he pushed back the empty take out container and slumped back on the couch a little bit later. 

“I thought we’d talk about it,” he said, fighting to keep his voice quiet and calm, “I know timing is bad, but we should at least talk through the options.” 

“We can’t raise a baby here, it’s barely big enough for one person, Frankie,” Eva said, waving her hand around the apartment. “And I can’t afford a bigger place in Greenpoint and you’re not even working.”

“I have a job. In Montana. And that could be an option too, I could get a job on a ranch closer to town, we’d be able to afford a much bigger place out there.” He leaned forward, reaching for her hands, needing her to understand that he was serious about this, “I know it won’t be easy, but this is our baby, we can make it work for her, or him.” 

“So you want to get me back to that hell hole? I let you trap me there once before, now you want me to go back with a baby!” Eva stood up, ignoring the way he reached for her, his pleading voice as she paced the living room, “I don’t know how you can stand living there, all alone. I would never raise a child there, they’d be a fucking psycho, all isolated, and, I’m sorry Frankie, but surrounded by fucking hillbillies” 

“So then we stay here, we can move a bit further out, I’ll find work and we can afford a bigger place. I can fix it up, you know I can, make it the way you want it,” he turned so that he could keep looking at her as she continued her pacing, “It doesn’t have to be Montana, we can move wherever you want, but we can make this work for the baby.” 

“You’re so fucking delusional, Francisco,” she stopped in front of him, “we’re not even together any more, we broke up, remember? What makes you think we should raise a child together?” 

“Because we were good once, Eva, it was good, wasn’t it? I know I got you to move to Montana and you weren’t happy there, but we could be happy again, maybe here in New York and the baby-” 

“You hate New York, Frankie, you couldn’t even stand two months here, nothing’s changed because of the baby.” Her face softened slightly as she shook her head, “You still have your problems, your brain still won’t shut up here, the baby will only make that worse.” 

“The baby won’t make it worse,” Frankie protested, “I know I can’t live here, right in the middle of it, but if we move to a quiet area, just a bit further out, then I’d be fine, I know it.” He wasn’t sure at all, but it was all he had, the only alternative to Montana.

She chewed her lip and looked out through the window, the late night city noises drifting in.

“Cariño,” he said, his voice soft now, as he stood up and moved closer to her, “We were good, before Montana, we were even happy there right? In the beginning?” He carefully took her hand in his, stroking his thumb across the soft skin, “we can still be good together.” 

Eva turned towards him, his soft brown eyes looking down at her as his fingers wrapped around her hand, “I still love you,” he lied and she sighed, shaking her head. 

“I don’t know, Frankie,” she mumbled and she didn't say ‘I love you’ back. 

The unease settled in the pit of his stomach, the lie he told her, her non-response. Maybe he should’ve been relieved, if she didn’t love him then maybe his lie meant less. But he wanted to love her, wanted her to love him back, so that this child could be a second chance for them, another new start. 

She let him sleep in her bed at least, let him crawl between the sheets and curl his body around hers. But when he reached for her, pressing a kiss to her shoulder, she feigned sleep. Frankie soon rolled over onto his back. He found himself staring at the ceiling while his ‘maybe girlfriend’ faked sleep next to him. As the city continued to move and live outside the bedroom window, she drifted into actual sleep and he fought the urge to leave, his feet itching. But his body could only fight sleep for so long, and in the early hours of the morning, when the traffic dropped to a minimum by Greenpoint standards, he drifted into an uneasy rest. 

When he woke up, Eva had already left, the only message a key on the kitchen counter. His body itched in a way it hadn’t since he left Florida, and it drove him out of the apartment. When he walked he could at least focus on just keeping control over his surroundings. He just needed to assess the situation in front of him, and then leave it behind as his long legs moved him past it and onwards. The compass in his head took him around Greenpoint in a big circle, it took several hours and by the time he drew close to the river again his feet were aching, not used to walking for hours on the hard streets. 

He found himself on the same street as yesterday, the sign of the bar just a bit further down, and he tried to tell himself it was a coincidence. But he knew his mind had been dwelling too much on the bartender. 

Aisling, with the red hair and creamy skin under her shirt, with a smile just for him. 

He knew it was ridiculous, because it’s her job, but the way she saw him, read him, and knew what he was when he walked in, it made him feel a connection. And now that draws him back to the bar. Maybe he was just such a pathetic man that he needed to be seen by a pretty woman, wanting her attention, for her to notice him. He scolded himself, took longer strides and kept his head down as he neared the bar. 

He wanted to walk past it, determined to go to the apartment, to talk to Eva again. But then he glanced in. And she was behind the bar, smiling at a couple as she put down two beers on the counter in front of them. The woman said something and Aisling laughed, her nose wrinkling as her shoulders shook with giggles. 

He stopped, caught in the way she squinted her eyes when she giggled, disappearing as she closed them and leaned forward, holding onto the bar for support as she laughed with her whole body. He swallowed, tried to move his feet again, but she straightened up and pushed her hand through her hair, her cheeks puffing out as she drew a deep breath to control her giggles. She still smiled brightly as she glanced out through the window, maybe sensing his eyes on her. And he tried to move again, but his body only obeyed hers. She lifted her hand in a wave, and before he knew it, he waved back at her as beckoned him inside. 

“Hi Frankie,” she called to him as he stepped through the door, as if he’s a regular, someone who belongs. She’s still smiling at him, only looking away briefly to nod at the couple who’ve taken their beers further into the bar.

“Come in, how’s your day?” Aisling asked as he walked over to the same stool as yesterday, the one where he can have a corner behind him. 

“It’s alright,” Frankie replied, her smile impossible to not match, and he felt himself lighten as she looked at him, “Been exploring around Greenpoint a bit.” 

“Do you like it?” she asked, leaning her hip against the counter. The bar was almost empty, early afternoon and she liked his company. The way he smiled, dark eyes softening as his face crinkled, the deep dimple prominent on his right cheek. 

“Honestly?” he replied, “Not at all, I fucking hate the city.” The corner of his mouth pulled up in a crooked smile as he chuckled at her expression, her eyebrows shooting up into her hairline at his candid confession.

“What’s wrong with New York? It’s the greatest city in the world.” 

“I’m sure it is, but it’s not for me,” he shook his head, “I used to be able to handle cities but now…the noise, it just grates on my ears, makes my skin itch.” 

“Montana is different I guess,” she said and he knew he was reading too much into her remembering where he’d come from. 

“Yeah, it’s very different. I’m not from there, but I moved out after I left the army, needed a change of scenery,” he said, truncating his story, “And the life out there, it’s easier, at least for me.” 

“How so?” she asked, her gaze held on to him when he tried to duck his head, and all he could do was shrug, maintaining contact with her green eyes. 

“It’s open, quiet, no crowds, no traffic, just open sky and land going on for miles.” 

“I don’t know if I’d feel relieved or scared,” she smiled, “I’ve never really left New York. I can’t imagine being somewhere so open,” she leaned closer to him, tapping her finger on his phone that he’d placed on the bar, “Do you have pictures? I’d love to see it.” 

“Yeah, yeah sure,” he said, unlocking it and opening his photo folder, “I don’t take a lot of photos but sometimes the sky is just really beautiful, but the photos never do it justice.” 

He held up his phone, showing her a picture of his cabin, the mountains dark with the  sky burning in bright pinks and orange streaks behind them.

“I took this a week ago, just at sunset,” he said as she took the phone from him, her eyes widening. 

“Wow, that’s incredible,” she said, her voice reverent as she studied the photo. The small log cabin drew her in, smoke coming from the chimney, a pick-up truck parked in front and a pile of cut wood next to a chopping block. The scene was domestic, as if Frankie had just stuck the ax to the block and stepped back to snap a picture of the burning sky. It looked like a proper home, like homemade stew on the stove and lazy evenings in the hammock on the porch. She could see him there, kicking the hammock into a swing with one long leg on the porch while the evening closed in. 

“Is this your place?” Aisling asked him and he nodded in response. 

“Yeah, I work on a ranch and the cabin comes with the job, it’s kinda stuck on the outskirts, the prairie is in front, here,” he swiped his finger across the screen and showed her a second photo, “That’s the view from the porch, just open land.” 

She looked at all the space in the photo, just the darkening sky, a few low shrubs and the horizon. 

“It’s endless, so much…air,” she whispered and she didn’t know why, it was like seeing where he was from, what a contrast it was, made her want to protect him in this cramped world they’re in now. Keep her voice low so as not to grate on his ears like the rest of the city. 

“It makes me feel unrestricted,” Frankie said in a low voice that matched hers, studying her face as she studied the details of the photo. His fingers twitched, he almost reached up and pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, it’d fallen over her cheek and she blew a puff of air to shift it, “Makes my mind go quiet and it makes me calm, it’s easier for me to live with myself out there.” 

She looked back up at him, their eyes meeting, and he bit his tongue. He’d spilled more than he intended, exposed himself to her, but she just gave him a soft smile. 

“So what are you doing here, Frankie? It’s all cramped and noisy, no place for a cowboy.” 

He shrugged, “I don’t know to be honest, just looking for a new start maybe,” he lied. 

He should tell her about Eva, tell her he has a ‘maybe girlfriend’ that he’s trying to work things out with for the sake of a mistake that they both made and is now waiting to be born. But he doesn’t, he tells himself Aising wouldn’t be interested in his messy personal life, but he knows that’s another lie, she would listen to him. 

“I just thought maybe I could make some more money here, go back to Montana and maybe buy my own place,” he shrugged again and she smiled at his plans. 

“That sounds like a plan worth going for,” she replied, glancing over her shoulder at her colleague who’d just walked in behind the bar, “If you ever go back, let me know, I wanna come visit and see all that open sky.” 

“Yeah, sure,” he answered, counting his third lie in just as many minutes. 

Aisling thumbed behind her, “My shift is over now, and I know the best place for bodega sandwiches, if you’re hungry?” 

Frankie should say no, he knows he should say no and go back to the apartment, maybe Eva is home already. But instead his head nodded, and he heard himself say ‘yeah, that’d be great’. 

Aisling gave him a smile that turned his insides warm, and told him she’d be out in a couple of minutes. 

She met him by the door to the bar, watching him tug at his cap and give her a small smile as she hooked her arm into his, pulling him down the street. 

“Tell me more about Montana, what’s it like to work on a ranch?” she asked, just to get him to talk, to listen to that deep voice of his. He’d been close to her ear at the bar when he told her about the photos, and the timbre of his voice had sent shivers down her spine. Now she held her hand around his solid arm, the warmth of it seeping into her fingertips, as he chuckled and shrugged. 

He said there wasn’t much to tell but then kept her entertained all the way to the bodega with a story about how he helped his favorite mare foal out on one of the trails when she went into labor too early. 

Aisling glanced up at him as he went deeper into the details, she’d asked, and his brown eyes were suddenly more alive than she’d seen them in the bar, his free hand waving around as he described the newborn’s unsteady gait. 

“I didn’t think the foal would make it, but he was fine, just took a bit longer to get to his feet once I’d dried him off properly.”  

He smiled down at her, the pride evident in his voice, and before she knew what made her do it, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed his lips. He froze for a second, and she panicked, pulling away. But then his hand came up and wrapped around the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her long hair. And he pulled her with him, his back against a wall, making her take a step closer, as he pressed his mouth to hers. 

For a few seconds she didn't know what to do, his lips were warm and soft, his mouth slightly open and she could feel his hot breath on her skin. But then he shifted, his arm circled her waist, pulled her closer to his solid body, the buttons of the suede jacket dug into her stomach, and she opened her mouth to him, searching for his tongue. With low groans, they had a first taste, teeth clashing as he ran his tongue along hers. She thought he tasted of burnt coffee and toothpaste but it didn’t really matter because above all else, he kissed her like he was drowning, curling his tall frame around her as he licked into her mouth, fingers digging into the back of her head and heat shot through her body.

It was like his brain had shut down, her lips on his, her body against his, and he moved before he could think. Pulling her with him, closer, getting her closer to his mouth so that he could feel more of her, more of that soft mouth against his rough lips. And she moved with him, letting him hold her tight as she opened her mouth and tasted him. He thought she tasted of grapefruit juice and gum and her hand on his arm clenched, anchored him to her when he sucked on her bottom lip. His head should be buzzing, guilt should be shouting at him, but it shut up, silence filled the windings of his brain as her scent filled his nose and his tongue slipped into her mouth.  

She could keep on kissing him, his mouth addictive in the way it felt on hers. But she wanted him to come with her, take him back to her apartment that was just around the corner and make him put that soft mouth on all of her skin. She can feel herself tingling at the thought of having more. So she pulled back a little, reluctantly leaving his lips and opening her eyes to find him already looking at her with a confused expression. 

“That was nice,” she mumbled, pressing a small kiss to the corner of his mouth with a smile, relishing the feel of his soft beard under her lips. 

He nodded, but his eyebrows were pulled together in a look she couldn't quite place, as he caressed the back of her head, his fingers running through her hair. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” he said and when she shook her head in confusion he let go of her. 

“I kissed you, Frankie, it’s fine, I wanted you to kiss me.” 

“No, it’s not that, I’m…just sorry,” he said, moving around her so that she was against the wall, and he could start walking away, but her hand was still on his arm. 

And with that he left, long legs quickly carrying him away, almost running, leaving her with kiss swollen lips on the sidewalk like a fool. 

“Frankie…?” she asked, the sting of rejection starting to burn inside her chest as he dipped his head, looking at his stupid cowboy boots.

“I’m sorry, the kiss was great, you’re great…I…I,” he floundered, shifting his eyes around the street but not at her, “I’ve got to go, I’ve got to be somewhere.” 

Aisling cursed him under her breath, ducking into the bodega next door with her cheeks burning, anger began to bubble up in her chest. By the time she got back to the apartment she was seething. 

Fine, whatever, he wasn’t even that cute anyway, she thought to herself, tossed her jacket on the chair and flopped down on the bed, just some random guy who was alright at kissing. 

She stared at the ceiling, finding the crack that looked like a cartoon mouse and glared at it. Who was she trying to fool? The kiss was incredible, she could still feel the gentle scratch of his mustache on her top lip and how damp he made her panties. And then he just ducked out and left her turned on and frustrated. 

Fuck Frankie Morales. 

She rolled over in her bed and buried her face in the pillow, groaning in frustration, giving it a punch for good measure. His stupid face didn’t even flinch, just smiled at her with that dimple deep in his cheek, soft brown eyes that crinkled at the corners. The phantom grip of his arm around her waist, pulling her closer against his chest, was still there. She could feel the way he tugged her in, he’d kissed her back and pulled her in. With a groan she shoved her hand down between her legs, just to get this fucking man out of her head. It wasn’t hard to imagine what his solid body would feel like over her, pressing her down into the mattress and with a whine she bucked her hips. The release came embarrassingly fast, leaving her panting on the bed, but still pissed at Frankie fucking Morales and his stupid curls.

Fuck!

Frankie stalked towards the apartment, an all too familiar guilt creeping through his body. The same feeling he always got when he’d made a mistake, let someone down. He’d never cheated on a girlfriend before, never been that guy. But the feeling was the same as all the other times he’d failed himself and those around him, guilt gnawing and making him recount all the other times he’d fucked up. 

His feet itched, and that all too familiar pull for a line of white powder lodged itself in the back of his head. He knew, rationally, it would only make him feel worse, make the guilt all that much worse. But the noise of the city assaulted his senses, worse now that he’d found a temporary reprieve in a kiss with a woman who was almost a stranger to him.

Fuck. 

He stopped and turned around, made it five steps back towards where he’d left Aisling, and then he stopped again. Turned back towards the apartment where Eva should be waiting. 

Fuck! 

He felt the pull between the two, one type of man would go back to Eva, starting a new life with the mother of his unborn child. Another type of man would go back to Aisling and lose himself in her warm body. 

With a deep groan he sank down on the stoop of a brownstone, his head in his hands. He could only see the feet of the people walking past him, no one slowing down or stopping to ask why a grown man was groaning with his hands clasped over his capped head. No one gave a fuck. 

No one gives a fuck about you, Francisco. 

With a deep sigh he pulled his phone from the pocket of his jacket and dialed the one person he knew would at least try to help him. 

“Hey Herb,” he said as his sponsor picked up.

…

“Yeah, it’s me.” 

…

“No, New York is kicking my fucking ass, it’s not good.” 

…

By the time he pulled himself up from the stoop, his butt was numb and his legs stiff. But he felt calmer, Herb’s sage, cut the bullshit, advice always seemed to get him off the ledge at least. The rest he had to do himself. 

He turned his back on Aisling, pushed her to the back of his mind, and walked with determination towards the apartment. He had a mission to complete, he was here to take responsibility for something he’d done, and he was not about to involve another person in that mess. 

He used his key to open the apartment door when he got back, and found Eva flat on her back on the couch with a heat pack over her belly. 

“You alright?” he asked her, his eyebrows pulling together in concern as he saw her pale and drawn face. 

“Food poisoning,” she mumbled, “I think.” 

He shrugged out of his jacket and crouched down next to her, putting his hand on her clammy forehead. 

“Can I get you something? Pain meds? Pepto?” he asked, but she shook her head. 

“I already took some, I can take more in two hours.” 

“Some tea maybe? And I’ll sort dinner, don’t worry about it,” he gave her cheek a small caress but she turned her head away from his hand, towards the couch. 

“No, just let me sleep, I’ll be better in the morning,” she muttered, closing her eyes. 

“Alright, but I’ll make some Chicken Alfredo, your favorite, just let me know if you want some,” he stood up and pulled his jacket back on, “I’ll go get some groceries, just message me if you need anything, ok?” 

Eva didn’t respond, just turned further into the couch and Frankie left. Under the harsh overhead light of the local convenience store he scanned the shelves for saltines, the yellow gatorade and extra ibuprofen, just in case. 

She seemed to be sleeping when he returned to the apartment, and he cooked the chicken, trying to keep the noise down. As he sat down on the couch next to her, she stirred and woke up. 

“Do you feel like some food?” he asked but she shook her head, “Here, have some crackers, then. It’ll make you feel better,” he held out the packet to her as she yawned. She shrugged and accepted it and he went back to his meal. He ate in silence, one of the reality shows she loved rolling on the tv, and after he’d cleaned up, he passed her another ibuprofen and the bottle of gatorade. She took it without a word and then curled back up, her head away from Frankie. 

He leaned back against the couch and pulled off his cap, running a hand through his hair as he tossed it on to the coffee table. There was a memory in his head, about how it used to be when she was sick or had cramps. She’d curl up against him, her head in his lap while he stroked her hair, or gently rubbed her back. Now, not even her feet touched him, and she’d pulled the blanket so high up over her shoulders that he couldn’t even see her face. They had a long way to go, but he won’t bring that up tonight while she’s sick. 

“I’m going to bed,” she said, pushing off the blanket and standing up, leaving him sitting on the couch without a backwards glance. 

“Do you want me to sleep on the couch?” he asked and she shrugged as she left the room. 

“Do whatever you want, Frankie.” 

She disappeared into the bedroom, and although she didn’t close the door, she only left a crack open. So he stayed on the couch, kicking off his boots and stripping out of his jeans before he pulled the blanket over himself. 

But sleep didn’t want to find him tonight either. The street lights cast strange patterns on the walls and he felt his heart rate pick up as sirens howled past on the street below. He twisted his tall body, too tall for the couch, and buried his head in the pillow. Aisling’s face floated up into his mind, smiling up at him, as she leaned in for a kiss. Frankie growled under his breath as the memory of her lips assaulted his restless mind, the way she felt pressed against him, soft lips, soft hair, soft body. 

Fuck. 

He moaned as his cock twitched, pressed against the couch beneath him, demanding attention. Shoving away the memory of her, he twisted again, picturing Eva under him instead, how she’d felt when they shared a bed back in Montana. But when he closed his eyes again, Aisling’s face was the one he saw, pink mouth open, head thrown back, moaning his name as he fucked himself deep into her. 

Fuck! 

He twisted again, his cock hard now, pressed against the cotton of his boxers and he pushed his palm against it, relieving some of the tension. It felt too good and he gripped it tighter through the fabric, tugging. Just needed to get this out of his system, get some release, he lied to himself. Pushing down his boxers he gripped his weeping cock with his bare hand, hissing through clenched teeth at the first slow, dry, stroke. 

He couldn’t help it, he shouldn’t, but Aisling’s face floated in his mind as he jerked himself off, the image of her smooth skin as she reached up, the feel of her soft breasts against his chest this afternoon, her taste. He groaned into the palm over his mouth as thick ropes of cum splash onto his belly, coating his hand. With a sigh he cleaned himself up, shoving down the guilt that crept up his throat again, listening to Eva’s soft snores from the bedroom. 

He twisted again, landing on his side, squeezing his eyes shut. Aisling’s face floated up in his mind and he sighed and accepted it. He’d deal with it in the morning.

Chapter 3

tag list: @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3  @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @thewiigers  @lady-bess @missladym1981 @peppermintfury

[ourladyofomega]

So, @lysistra was nice enough to tag me to name four albums I’ve been listening to intensively in recent weeks (thank you!). It was a tough decision and I literally lost sleep over this, so everyone please be nice to me or I’ll never do this again.

And they are:

#1: Sweeping Promises: Good Living Is Coming For You. Their debut, Hunger For A Way Out, was an essential Pandemic Autumn jam and I was drawn to it because of the d.i.y.-ethos album cover. I listened to that album the most out of any others that season. Now this came out with very little heads-up and I reached for it immediately, effectively taking me back to those Pandemic feels. They stuck with the same post-punk-driven, Pylon-influenced formula and these ten songs come with a slightly dirty, muddy splash in their production values. There’s a few new tricks that vocalist Lira Mondal has tried out and they show. They’ve also retained that d.i.y. method of creating records throughout all of their projects and their entire discography. Still not enough? There’s the orphaned single “Pain Without A Touch” and their other just-as-awesome project Splitting Image. And look at this CMYK artwork?!

#2: Free Love: Luxury Hits. I’m elated to say that I’m the only one here amongst my mutuals who know about this Scottish electronic duo, and that started with Apero, a record that stamps my move into my current residency. Formerly Happy Meals (because they can’t be bothered naming themselves after cancerous toxicity), this married couple have that magic touch in their sound that no one else has. They have such a special soul that could take you to another world; one that could’ve possibly existed but per chance could be a reality. Luxury Hits contain two personal favorites / footnotes of mine: “Tomorrow Could Be Heaven”, one denoting an Autumn Sunday trip out to Greenpoint, and “Pushing Too Hard”, part of a soundtrack to a colorful and vivid but complicated Summer. The latter is a charmer thanks to Suzanne Rodden’s charismatic vocals, and any release of theirs is super high-resolution, sweet colors, and lush sounds. I still hope to keep Free Love as a personal gem only I can have to myself. Maybe not after you see this.

#3: Kontravoid: Too Deep. Whenever I’m not blasting hardcore music while busting my ass at the gym, I turn to synthwave instead. After hearing the electrically-charged sounds of Kontravoid, I’m becoming more a fan. This all started when Boy Harsher featured Kontra's-“Maskerade” on a one-and-done post and the rest was game over. The original full-length has some severe high-voltage bangers (“Turn Away”, “So It Seems v.2”) and some superior anthems included (“Too Deep”, “Cost Of Life”). If you’re headed for the remix album, go on right to Fractions’ version of “So It Seems”, then tell me that you didn’t lose your shit over it because it’s that crazy.

#4: Black Marble: A Different Arrangement. It’s Summer, and you know what that means: it’s time to reach for the record that one of my fellow dee-jays opened my eyes to. Black Marble gives me a elevated feeling of superiority thanks to not only its art direction but also its frigid beats and moderately warm but lush-as-heaven synth work. Chris Stewart’s project is so good that I saw them twice: one at Brooklyn’s Warsaw opening for Cold Cave, and closing out Sacred Bones’ 15th at Queens’ Knockout Center. Both amazing experiences. Bonus points for its’ Eighties sentiment which reminds me of Dead Or Alive’s “Brand New Lover”, and double that for being the soundtrack of me moving into a new neighborhood.

And…because I can’t settle for four albums, I’ll throw in a bonus:

#5: SpaceGhostPurrp: IntoXXXicated. Holy shit. Talk about a venomous Naga-grade pit-viper of a rap release. This has to be the most exotic bars mixtape I ever heard. If you’re looking for a good drugs, money, and sex record? Well...then here it is! It’s super hot.

This time, I will tag: @sibelin, @charliemonroe, @kate2, @tewzz, @aleprouswitch, @sheisthesisterofnight, @restwaerme, @misterwhirly, @maldoror-est-mort, @sclr, @justmakesuresheeatsthemouse, @chickenshit-conformist, @urban-hieroglyphs, @iamdangerace, @the-land-of-rape-and-honey, @testure-1988, @rivetgoth, @theonlycure, @sweetness-doesnt-touch-my-face and anyone else who wants to play.

[tailing-sun]

The Transfer Seven (Rainbow High OCs) Bio 4: Pepper Zielinski

COLOUR: Pepper green

YEAR: Second

GENDER: Neutrois

FOCUS: Culinary Arts

STYLE: Retro. Active. Vibrant.

QUOTE: “Let me cook.”

BIO: Growing up in a cramped Polish neighbourhood in New York gave Pepper a deep love and appreciation for home cooking, and watching prime time bake-off shows with their mother after school gave them the inspiration to take what they learned in the kitchen to new heights. Now as the top student of Rainbow High’s small-but-thriving culinary department (and top chef at Rainbow Union), Pepper’s out to prove once and for all that just like fashion, cuisine is an art form all its own, and what the eye sees is just as important as what the tongue tastes. From the perfectly swirled tye-dye frosting on their cupcakes to the subtle spice in every bite of their kielbasa-topped pizzas, no one can deny that Pepper is a true artist in the kitchen—not even Vera.

OTHER:

-They’re a good friend of Kia Hart, bonding over their work at Rainbow Union.

-Their roommate is Magnolia Todd, and naturally they’re quite protective of her.

-They’re sixteen years old and from Greenpoint (ha), Brooklyn, NY.

-Proud of their Polish heritage, they incorporate elements of traditional food into more modern/American dishes (e.g. smoked kielbasa instead of pepperoni as a pizza topping; chruscikis with doughnut frosting and sprinkles).

-Predictably, their favourite food is stuffed bell peppers, prepared the traditional Polish way.

-Their dream job is as a gourmet chef or food stylist.

-They prefer to wear long sleeves to hide their kitchen-related burn scars.

-Though quiet and introverted IRL, they have a very active social media presence, running a food blog where they share their recipes, as well as an Instagram where they post pics of their finished dishes and timelapses of their food styling work.

-Pepper’s personal style is a mix of streetwear and formal, with sporty jerseys over button-down blouses and neckties, and baggy vis-keiesque pants over formal shoes. Patterns on their clothes are all inspired by retro diner decor, and they’ll even accessorize with an apron or cute soda-jerk hat.

-Vera Rougely seems to think of them as her personal set caterer, but Pepper’s true reason for catering her sets is because they feel bad for all the actors and techies she works half to death.

-Renzo frequently invites them and Magnolia for video game hangouts (on the condition that Pepper brings snacks, of course).

-They believe that makeup has no gender, and they prefer sparse but edgy looks in terms of eyeshadow, eyeliner, and lipstick. No false lashes, hair extensions, or acrylic nails for them, though—those would get in the way of their cooking.

[brooklynwildlife]

Brooklyn wildlife summer fest

Here’s the link to buy your tickets

info about the event

ABOUT BWSF 2023:

Brooklyn Wildlife Summer Festival is an annual, diverse & synergistic, indoor and outdoor festival featuring some of the best Independent talent from New York and beyond. The goal of the event is to galvanize the Indie arts and music community and represent its flourishing cultural growth within Brooklyn, with a special focus on Bushwick.

BWSF 2023 is a true appreciation and celebration of Indie culture. We take an authentic approach to create the largest platform possible for artistic presentation without any corporate sponsorships or industry funding – only art, music and culture in the purest form. We focus on performers in the Brooklyn arts and entertainment scene and want to represent our community...we are lucky to have a large presence of international artists in Brooklyn, so the festival also includes performers and participants from all around the world.

WHAT WE DON'T WANT: Hate speech, Promotion of senseless or gratuitous violence, Exclusivity, Entitlement, Expression of privilege.

. . . Dates, addresses and performers listed below!

9/1 - Opening Night @ Brooklyn Music Kitchen—117 Vanderbilt Ave. Bushwick 

Grant Swift

Eb Rebel

Graphic Melee

Marcus Jade

Melissa Hunter Gurney

Mistha Dean

Modern Flame

Ryan - O'Neil

ViceVerses

No Show No Call

https://tinyurl.com/2b7jm76c For Event Details

9/2: GAMBA Forest— 630 Humboldt St. Greenpoint

OR NAH & Ronit Levin Delgado

kelly shaw nyala

Dan Gitlin

STAV G

ADE O.TONE

ALIXER 

Sunshine Monie El

Nomad N3

The Taste of Vomit 

Ananda Rose

Pheonix Out The

Dakota Smith

The Cannery

G.T. Arpe

MeccaGodZilla

ANTwontstop

C.Shreve the Professor

phil phlaymz 

ZILLY900

The IZM.

https://tinyurl.com/57bndzeu for event details

9/3 : Secret Sphinx Salon — 199 Richardson St. East Williamsburg

Adriana Adeline

Blacc Lotus, Soul Survivor

CallME TK

Chromoplast

Chrrry

Ryan Lucas

Sam Rosen

Millszy •

https://tinyurl.com/yrhmrpv8 for event details

9/4: The Living Gallery— 1094 Broadway, Bushwick

Coffee Nap

Fredrixthelive1 

Phantm Phuego

Complex Messiah

KNOWITALL 

Lex Rush

anna leah

The CHUNE Experience 

Jew Bitch Honey

elana 

Euphony

Mariah Eskoh

Mel Rosa

Danny Severance

Natasha Alexander

Ardamus

Patty Honcho

https://tinyurl.com/2p8k6vw2 For event details

9/5 - Pete's Candy Store— 709 Lorimer, Greenpoint

Cat Rickman

Chocolate Brown & Segami

The DarkDoves

Fancy Cat

https://tinyurl.com/3mh3rmcc for event details

9/6: The Deep End—1080 Wyckoff Bushwick

Mecca Shabazz /DECISIONS

Thorne Malik. (and the Deep Cuts)

DarkStarNoMercy

The Bumbling Woohas

Eliza and the Organix

LOST DOG

Pink Tacos

Cuddlebasstard

https://tinyurl.com/5f2vjhmu for event details

9/7: Becky's House — TBA

Real Clothes

Emmannuel and the unlimited Consciousness

Eush

Sara Clash

https://tinyurl.com/36tt6ey2 for event details

9/7: The Rack Shack—17 Thames St. Bushwick

Virginia Wagner

Queen of Love and Hope

SteV Obsidian

Fuck it’s Leslie

https://tinyurl.com/4p8eek9e for event details

9/7: The Love Gallery— Bushwick

B.Fortune

KNOBAD

Sam Nordlinger

Xtian Aki

Ductape Halo

Garrett Deming

Wade Wilson 

Kay Day

Kjindabuilding 

#JumpingGoats

ALIXER 

Doctor Breakfast 

JOATA

https://tinyurl.com/nka3tfzn for event details

9/8: IVy House Studios— Bushwick

Chris Conde

Parnhash

Homeboy Sandman

Kahlee

Mandella Eskia

Stay on Mars

https://tinyurl.com/282xftm7 for event details

9/9: Gamba Forest—630 Humboldt St. 

Add'm Fears

AllOne

AngelCaroline

Banji

Cruz Cruz

Designer Rap Tour Fearturing James E! Walker

Madeline at Neighbors + Zhenya Skyla

Melton

Mercy Tullis Bukhari

Mosaictheanimated

Pirate Radio Podcast

Samantha Avery

Slick Nova

The Artist & Repertoire Workshop Feat: Yoni Rose and McBean

Valore

Richie

https://www.eventbrite.com/e/bwsf-2023-day-9

9/10: Four Five Six/Glenda the GoodBus/GAMBA Forest—Greenpoint

Ashley Be

Bill Bartholomew

Bo Ballew

Carlyn Castigila 

Devin Bramble

Esco

Gabriela Rossi

God

Joi Sanchez

Jon Gardiner

Lucas Connolly

Mario Benitez

Michelle Joni and the Expandaband

OHene Cornelius

Prince Kurt Russell

Frank Vera

GMS

Renee Catrine

https://www.eventbrite.com/e/bwsf-2023

#festivals #festival #music #tomorrowland #festivalseason #love #dj #rave #india #events #edm #diwali #art #housemusic #party #musicfestival #concerts #techno #livemusic #edmlifestyle #edmfamily #photography #mumbai #festivalfashion #culture #instagram #festivallife #edc #dance #bkwildlife #BWSF2023

[pandoraxharlow]

A New Beginning // self para

Pandora decided...she was making true to her promise. Building a new foundation, reinventing the personality once branded on her skin like a deep scar until it tore the woman’s insides to shreds. The biker chick, the tagalong, the delinquent chasing every bad boy after another. Jason being one of many of an extensive list, but none held a candle to his manipulation and charm. A tumultuous relationship, toxic, any love he displayed marked by the rising of his hand and a false sense of dependency. Never in a million years did Pan believe she would do what she did to him by cutting the life he took for granted short with two shots. No knights in shining armor were coming to save her, so...she set herself free.

In all liberation Pandora experienced, there was only a final piece chaining her to the prison of her old life and that had been Jason’s leather jacket. Admittedly, she’d grown fond of the clothing over the years, feeling protection whenever she wrapped it around her shoulders like a security blanket. No one understood that better than Enzo. He became the introduction to the biker lifestyle despite them meeting through Jason’s connections, developing a push-and-pull relationship that always ended in Enzo cleaning her messes because that is just who he was as a person. She attended his wedding, he went to her high school graduation considering he’s the only reason she graduated in the first place, and she was at his family’s funeral. Consistently, the two bounced into each other’s lives since as long as she could remember. Annoying as it was from Pandora’s perspective, she might’ve long been dead if he wasn’t there looking out for her when no one else stepped up during those adolescent years.

Pandora heard the fence gate creak open as she stood on the outskirts of a blazing firepit with a black leather jacket draped over her arm, not bothering to glance in Enzo’s direction as he quietly joined the blonde at her side. One text and he came running, always, no shocker there. Plus, word traveled he faced banishment from Newford and now called Greenpoint home. The contemplative silence rose through the air and settled between them for a few moments before Panny shattered it, “You’re probably wondering why you’re here.”

Enzo grunted an agreement to the statement, turning to glance at the house and returning his eyes on the young woman before allowing them to scan the bruises around Pan’s throat. The sight nearly dropped his stomach. “Heard you were staying with the cop. I wouldn’t completely put it past him if he came out here right now and tased my ass to the ground on sight. We...didn’t start on the right foot.” Understatement. As usual, he came off too strong and it rubbed Derek the wrong way. Differing views on knowing what was best and Enzo’s loss of control very much contributed to that argument.

“You make it a habit of pissing off the wrong people, don’t you? One of two reasons why you’re here.” Pandora dryly commented, further explaining as the calm rage plastered along her features, “I think I need to make something perfectly plain to you before I give the first reason why you were risking a death match with Derek for walking onto his property. Just so we’re both understanding how badly you’ve fucked up.” She turned more toward him, the fire casting a scorching glow along one side of her frame, “I’m not your daughter, Enzo, I’m not your sister. I know it’s so fucking ingrained into you to take care of every single person around you, but I am not your responsibility that you can play knight in shining armor with.”

Enzo should have known where this conversation was heading. His chat with Benji at the station wasn’t his finest moment and he almost considered apologizing to the kid then and there, but pride overcame him. He couldn’t initially admit he was wrong. “I know I crossed a line with Evans, but you can’t fault me for thinking he was like every single asshole I’ve ever seen you shack up with, Pan. You had a type. I never liked Jason to fucking start with, but I wasn’t about to sit here and stop you from dating who you wanted.” He breathed a deep sigh, “Benji’s been in the Ainsworth’s back pocket. I had every right to assume he was like that piece of shit.”

No,” She snapped, “You decided that instead of making a slice of effort in getting to know someone who will always be more than the self-serving bastards they surround themselves with, you would rather pass judgement on one of the kindest and generous people I’ve ever known. No, you’d prefer playing gatekeeper against a guy who this city has taken and taken from him until he had nothing left to give.” Benji was everything. Her family, her savior, something she never deserved to have. “He lost everything, his whole family, his home, his identity, and tossed to the curb like he was worthless. Does that sound like someone else you know, huh? Everything he felt, every ounce of hope he couldn’t spare to find, I saw that each moment I looked in the mirror and I saw it every day I spent time with him. So, here’s what’s going to happen,” Pan took a small step closer, “You’re going to apologize to him, Enzo. He isn’t Jason.”

“I know.” Enzo ground out, rubbing his hands over his face before pushing them through his cropped hair in agitating exhaustion. “Watching how you were around him, Panny, I wasn’t dumb. No matter how you tried covering up or pretending like shit was solid, I could see the marks and I couldn’t-” He shook his head slowly and glanced down, “I just thought that if I didn’t protect you back then, I could’ve protected you from making the same mistake with Benji even if I didn’t really know him. Shit, I know that isn’t an excuse, but it felt like I was preventing history repeat itself.”

Pandora pressed her lips tightly together and swallowed down the biting words she originally orchestrated to chew the man out with only for the statements to disappear from the girl’s tongue. Suddenly, the anger vanished. Now all she felt was exhausted. Tired by the pretenses, the hard shell mask, the heart of stone exterior she fronted for public consumption. “Reason number two why you’re here with me instead of anyone else from Newford,” Pan held up the leather jacket in her hands, “Despite what you lead yourself to believe, you did protect me. I was lost, starving for attention, wrapped up in a guy who shoved me into this world of his I knew held its dangers. I fell in deep, partying until the fucking cows came home, and I thought that’s all gangs were. That pretty girls like me were just...playthings.”

“Then you come along and turn that shit on its head.” Pan continued. “You took me home when I drunk myself to oblivion, you gave me a couch to crash on, you put up with my bullshit no matter what I threw at you. You know better than anyone I’m too prideful asking for help, but you gave yours anyway with the intuition I needed it so fucking desperately when it seemed like nobody gave a shit.” She gripped the material, worn from use and frayed along the sleeves, “This jacket became everything I wanted to be when I had no idea who I was. It’s Newford, it’s Jason, it’s the perfect allegory why I finally found my resilience. You see,” A sad smile slowly lifted upon Pandora’s lips, “You don’t have to hold my hand anymore, Enzo. I’m still standing because of you.”

Sid would have been surprised, truly, how Enzo managed to remain silent through Pandora’s heartfelt spiel without offering his piece in the matter. Even if the desire to interject occurred, he would not have known what he planned on saying when her words left him speechless. This was her reassurance he did something right, a gratitude Enzo wanted to tell her that she didn’t feel the necessity to grant when no thank you is what he sought. His gaze appraised Pandora as if he were really seeing her for the first time and it’s in the moment he realized how much she grew in not only age, but as a person. Her blonde locks were shorter, chopped to the shoulders in a look that suited the young woman tremendously, and it was the strength of how she now carried herself. No...she wasn’t the same girl. “You’re still standing because of you, honey. There isn’t a single person who’s got more perseverance in just their little finger than you.” He mirrored her smile, the happiness and melancholy mixing into one at the pit of his stomach, “I’m proud of you, Pandora.”

Pan’s eyes immediately shot to the jacket still resting in her hands. She denied herself the crying moment at least not in front of the man when the two were both somewhat uncomfortable by visible emotions. Maybe that is no longer her story, who she needed to be, not when she’s already come this far. “I might not know the real reason you were thrown out of Newford, Enz, but I do know our faction doesn’t define us. That’s what this jacket was, reminding me I belonged to someone else. It’s time to come to grips I’m no longer the same Pandora and you aren’t the same Enzo either. And we can’t do that if we’re holding onto broken memories.” Pandora stepped closer to the stones encircling the pit, slightly holding out the object in her hands closer to the fire, “So, if you’re ready to see what freedom really means like I am, it’s ours.”

Enzo understood what she meant. Destroy the metaphorical link connecting them both to Newford, to the gang, to the monsters plaguing their nightmares, all for setting themselves unbound by expectations. For him, it was erasing the pain of Amelia’s passing and the loss on his unborn child, losing his place at Drake’s side, and the blood soaking his hands from a job he never sought after. It was clear Pandora needed to perform this act as a rite of passage and she was inviting him on embarking the same journey side-by-side. She didn’t want to travel it alone and if it’s his company Pan required in that moment, he could never deny her wishes. 

Pandora watched him nod his head as the final confirmation before she released her last grip on the jacket, the clothing poetically falling in a crumbled heap on top of the stacked logs. The fire sent tiny sparks flying, spreading along the surface of the jacket and slowly engulfing the entire piece from what appeared to be the collar all the way to the bottom. Real leather only charred, surprisingly resistant to heat, but faux leather would set ablaze almost instantly. How ironic was it, she thought, that Jason’s jacket had been as synthetic as he was? That everything he said he felt for her, what she experienced, was a lie. Still, the damage was already done. Nothing would remain of the jacket, only stripes of material holding no meaning for her she can now erase from the past. The flames hungrily engulfed the last fragment of Jason nobody will miss again. Good.

Pan reached over and took Enzo’s hand in hers, feeling a sense of resolution as the man gave it a small gentle squeeze. They were two Vincents breaking the mold, bearing witness to a new beginning. A fresh start. Something deemed once impossible, now achieved by storm and strife. As their eyes rested upon this raging pyre billowing smoke towards the heavens, Enzo chose to voice a final thought that came to him since Jason’s demise, “Hey, Panny,” He whispered, “No matter what happened...I don’t blame you.” You did what you had to do. She had to know that’s what he meant.

The statement and its veiled intention nearly caught Pandora off-guard, but not by surprise. Only the mind of a man who took lives for a living would understand the truth behind the lie she and Derek were conveying. She knew Enzo planned on keeping her secret safe, choosing a code of silence despite no verification to the whole story. That’s what families did for each other, after all. No words left Pandora’s mouth, but her hand offered another firm squeeze that spoke volumes.

Two promises were fulfilled. One of freedom and the other of unswerving loyalty.

[leaahhh]

some things i consumed in april

blondshell’s self-titled debut album

there is a shocking amount of music i truly, madly love coming out this year. i think this is one of my top 3 albums of 2023 (i know it’s only april). i’d only casually listened to blondshell until i saw her play the rolling stone showcase at SXSW in march, where her music suddenly became a safety net for me, marking the first time in 8 straight months i actually felt capable of treading water. angie, who’d interviewed blondshell late last year, sent me the advance for “salad” a couple weeks before it came out. i listened to it at least 4 times a day walking through greenpoint as spring emerged and i felt the sun on my skin in a way i hadn’t since it all started to hurt. this album, to me, feels like coming up for air.

this essay in the paris review about curtains and radiators

“For Springsteen, as for Deleuze, desire is not a lack but a productive force. Disaffection holds affection like a cigarette between the teeth.”

the gego exhibit at the guggenheim

i spent my birthday weekend microdosing celebration: a bar on friday, brunch saturday, dinner at bonnie's sunday, several cakes in between. on monday, my actual birthday, it was eerily quiet and rainy. eliza and i ate breakfast at the neighborhood diner before she had to head into the studio to rehearse for her show that night, leaving me with my solitude. i got back into bed and considered finally taking myself to the guggenheim, walking through the city with a specifically curated playlist, silently sitting under a tree, but i remained frozen there, unable to muster the energy to fill the space around me. i shuffled around the apartment, then M texted me lomelda’s “bust” and said he’d meet me anywhere. at the museum we contemplated shadows and shapes and fired off crude comments circling up the rotunda, increasingly aware of our shared fear of heights. outside he bought me a frozen-over ice cream bar from a truck and we walked the same route through central park as we did the first time together. i know him so well now it’s hard to remember that version of us. we sat on the same bench on the west side, too, laughing differently, holding entirely new conversations. a year passes and history takes shape. the trees were blooming pink all around, the reservoir glistening. the sun shone bright for the rest of the day. i closed my eyes and thanked it.

bonnie’s (east williamsburg)

best dinner in brooklyn, maybe. a near-perfect family meal. the round corner table at 7pm in the spring and summer is a great place to be if you want to sit and watch the people you love laughing and eating, backdropped by the sky changing from day to deep blue to black. the waiter put a birthday candle in the head of a whole fish.

the new daughter album

i remember standing in front of eavesdrop before heading in to finish listening to “neptune,” texting screenshots of the lyrics back and forth with ryan, remembering the time someone leaned over to me at a party while we both gazed at the same person and whispered into my ear, “you know who’s losing, right?”

radical adornment: the music of julius eastman at 92Y

went uptown saturday afternoon with M and C to listen to a retrospective of the compositions of julius eastman. dev hynes played the piano for the last piece, i was thoroughly mesmerized. afterward we walked through the park as the last of the cherry blossoms fell off the trees, and i kept thinking of this tweet i’d bookmarked that reads, “Woke up this morning gripped by what seemed to me a brilliant and original insight about how April is a particularly hard month . . . because it rekindles desire . . . and also memory . . . and there’s something cruel about that”

this newsletter on “contact” from bookbear express’ substack

particularly this excerpt:

kara jackson’s “why does the earth give us people to love?”

and hanif abdurraqib’s review for the new yorker that put me onto the album in the first place. pitchfork’s review, too:

“The cost of love comes up repeatedly on Why Does the Earth, and it’s never clear if it’s one Jackson feels is worth paying. ‘Have you thought about the price of my mouth?’ she asks her lover cheekily on “Free.” On “Rat,” Jackson sings of a man who ‘couldn’t buy compassion cause it’d cost him 40 dollars.’ “Price,” “cost,” “bargain,” “pay”; her frustration with transactional relationships is palpable, as is her desire to devote herself to someone without giving away parts of herself. The record captures the dangers of living with an open heart at a time of diminished personal connection, massive overwork, incessant productivity, and constant grief: To prioritize love one must give up something else.”

[mansillateam]

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[quinnlarrabee]

2023's subversive relationship trend: monogamy

Last year, if you were in a stylish social setting and you asked anyone remotely relevant - e.g. under 40, not quite employed, technically residing in the more expensive parts of Williamsburg, Greenpoint or Bushwick but actually flitting between CDMX, Lisbon and Nosara - about their relationship status, they’d launch into they-splaining why having two or many more significant others was vastly superior to having just one. They’d tell you that being with just one person was an unrealistic construct forced upon us by religion and habit, and that humans evolved to have multiple meaningful partners concurrently. After pausing to do a bump of k and ask someone what deep house set was playing on the Sonos, they’d go on to assert that the more evolved and secure one becomes, the more natural it feels to be in an open relationship, a throuple or a polycule. Jealousy is a sign that it’s time to do more self-work and yoga, they’d conclude, eyeing you for signs of dissent. You might have reflected on your many failed relationships and wondered if they’d have been more fulfilling if there’d been a bunch more people in them. But along with higher prices and much higher anxiety, 2023 has brought a much lower body count within the average relationship. The coolest people in the world are now experimenting with a concept called monogamy. 

Unlike polyamorous relationships, which have no boundaries and impose vague, capricious rules that mean different things to each member of the relationship, which isn’t actually a relationship, monogamy is when two people decide to be together and aren’t with other people at the same time, either openly or secretly. Monogamy is what happens when two people don’t feel like they’re settling and don’t need to hedge their bets, and actually like each other enough to be with just each other, potentially for a long time (i.e. greater than three months).

Before digging further into this new concept of monogamy, it’s worth taking a look at the origin of polyamory. Like everything that was once creepy and weird that ultimately becomes breathlessly cool and globally on-trend, polyamory was born in Brooklyn. 

There were a number of factors that led to the ubiquity of polyamory in Brooklyn. 

There was a time - prior to 2008 - when no one in Brooklyn was attractive enough to have sex with more than a few times without introducing lavish distractions, such as lots of other mildly attractive people in the same double bed. People would meet each other at coffee shops that only sold drip coffee with cow milk and unethically sourced sugar in granulated format, talk about their favorite Proust passages  or quote their favorite lines from the movie, Sideways, and then find themselves having mediocre, clenched-eyed sex in someone’s double bed with beige sheets and foam pillows followed by bodega burritos and Seinfeld reruns on their medium-blue sectional sofa.

These furtive pairs rarely woke up together, partly because of double beds, but also because of large pores in unforgiving morning light. Inevitably, they would grow to like each other enough to spend time together, but would need additional stimulation to continue having sex. This is why the sadly discontinued Craigslist Personals was invented: to find other people to spice up these three- or four-week-old relationships that had gone stale because of terrible facial hair choices and cankles. Polyamory became a way for couples, who had the same obscure interests and could share a unisex American Apparel wardrobe, to tolerate their sex life.  

Polyamory was also a practical solution to the resource scarcity that defined Brooklyn up until the past few years. There were no restaurants that served mezcal negronis or truffle fries, so dates were exceptionally dull, and since everyone in Brooklyn was a freelance urban planner, a Human Design practitioner or a spoken-word poet, no one really had the money to go out on dates anyway. The residents of Brooklyn resorted to neighborhood potluck dinners, which featured rice and beans in various shapes of yard sale pots, and all different shades of dark homemade beer. These parties were ostensibly low-cost ways to socially eat, but everyone knows that potluck dinners always were and still are just wholesome pretense for polyamorous play parties where throuples are born of attrition.

Another less obvious cause of polyamory is ayahuasca. For those of you who don’t live in Brooklyn or California, ayahuasca is a hallucinogenic tea made from the bark of a Peruvian tree that makes you regret your entire life and compels you to torch everything the moment you get back from the jungle or Upstate. Taking the medicine has many prerequisites, chief among them interrupting one’s dependence on brain and nervous system medications - like SSRIs and attention-deficit disorder prescriptions. Everyone in Brooklyn is on one of these, because everyone in Brooklyn thinks they have anxiety, depression or ADHD. Around 2012, everyone in Brooklyn started sitting in ayahuasca ceremonies, and after being forced to stop taking their meds by their shamans, they decided prescription medication was for people who hadn’t seen the secrets of the universe in a yurt after throwing up for 90 minutes. Fueled by their new delusions of wisdom and entirely unsedated, having sex with lots of people at the same time and talking openly about it with everyone except for their parents suddenly seemed correct, transcendent and essential. Hence, ayahuasca as a root cause of polyamory. 

So, because Brooklynites were poor, ugly and attention-deficient, polyamory became de rigeur. 

But when attractive people who lived in Manhattan lost a lot of money in 2008, they moved to Brooklyn in shell-shocked droves, and they brought their facial symmetry, yoga bodies and shiny hair to these potluck-dinner-cum-play-parties. Like spiking rusty-pipe tap water with Spindrift, Brooklyn got incrementally hotter, but the romantic constructs remained the same, because migrating Manhattanites are always desperate to ape whatever is indigenously cool in the lower-cost place to which they retreat. Good looking people kept moving to Brooklyn even after white collar incomes stabilized, which meant not only synthetic mylk lattes, truffle fries and mezcal negronis but also shockingly attractive polycules all over Brooklyn…but especially in the more expensive parts of Williamsburg, Greenpoint and Bushwick. 

Because Brooklyn was suddenly the coolest place on the planet, polyamory became cool. 

Fast forward to today. Everyone in Brooklyn is poor again, because its sources of prosperity have evaporated: crypto was revealed to be one massive ponzi scheme, NFTs are now understood to be worthless jpegs, you can basically buy weed at CVS, no one can afford a new logo, and the rates of Human Design practitioners have plummeted to zero dollars an hour because it was dumb to begin with. With Brooklyn’s sweeping gentrification and soaring prices, dating multiple people has become far more expensive than the humble days of beans and rice potlucks, and everyone has become ridiculously good looking (except in Park Slope). The pandemic eliminated hallucinogenic tourism, so people stopped taking ayahuasca and needed a drug to tell their friends they were taking on the reg, so they renewed their Adderall and Zoloft prescriptions. 

With the three root causes eliminated, polyamory is no longer necessary, and its many challenges are suddenly more apparent and seem super stupid when recreational drugs wear off. Monogamy offers a practical solution to all of them:

It’s way cheaper

Only one name to remember

Only one that-one-thing-that-gets-them-off to remember

Only one name to shout when you (pretend to) come

Agreeing on the rules is pretty intuitive and don’t require a 5-day workshop in Rhinebeck with a $300/hour moderator to write

Max of two types of milk / mylk in the fridge

You know you’re the primary partner

Holidays with family who don’t live in Brooklyn or Santa Cruz are slightly less of a cortisol-bath dumpster-fire sham-fest clusterfuck

Only one person whose IG stories you are required to ❤️ / 😂

Only one person to dump when it get boring 

Polyamory had a good run, right alongside chlamydia, that quirky little bacteria that rose to prominence underneath Z Cavaricci jeans and neon boy shorts in the 90s and was passed around modern Brooklyn like a dodgeball in gym class. But these sobering, penurious times require a simpler, more efficient romantic container for a more beautiful, gym-fit, botoxed and face-lasered population. We thank polyamory for the wild memories, ceaseless drama and poorly edited art films, but the next few years will find bleeding edge hipsters walking the gangplank above the perilous waters of a flailing economy and detonated geopolitical climate into the Noah’s ark that is their parents’ Greenwich guest house in pairs of only two. Long live monogamy…at least long enough for the favorable terms of the prenup to kick in.  

This essay was made possible by a generous donation by the Divorce Attorneys Special Interest Association (DASIA)

[thefarfield-s5s]

snow days

[ledenews]

Erik Huey Visits Coals Mines for New Album 'Appalachian Gothic'

Erik Huey, aka Cletus McCoy, co-founder of The Surreal McCoys, is releasing his debut solo album, Appalachian Gothic, on January 20, 2023 via Appalachian AF/CEN/The Orchard. While the McCoys were a cowpunk, outlaw country outfit known for their originals and creative mashups such "Whole Lotta Folsom," Huey dug closer to home for the songs and stories on his debut, mining his own history — he's descended from four generations of West Virginia coal miners — for the album. "Eric "Roscoe" Ambel (producer/guitarist) and I wrote "The Devil Is Here In These Hills" for what we thought might grow into 2-3 songs that could be used in a soundtrack — a future TV series based on historian James Greene’s incredible book about the West Virginia Coal Mine Wars called The Devil is Here in These Hills," Huey says. "As soon as Eric played the opening riff on his Dulcitar, it was like a doorway opened that revealed the entire album. "My father, grandfather and great grandfather (who came over from Ireland) were all coal miners in the Monongahela Valley and I wrote this song before I’d even finished that book," Huey says. "So many immigrants from Ireland, Scotland, Italy and Eastern Europe—along with African-Americans from The South—came to mine coal in Appalachia, and this song is an attempt to tell their story and the story of the generations that followed in their footsteps." On his first solo album, Huey takes a nostalgic deep dive into the Appalachia of his WV youth while wrestling with the contemporary realities of a hardscrabble region that’s been left behind in many ways. While Appalachian Gothic explores darker themes and raw subject matter such as the legacy of coal mining and the ravages of the opioid crisis on songs like “The Devil is Here in These Hills,” “Dear Dad," “The Appalachian Blues,” and “The Battle of Uniontown,” it also taps into a defiant streak of optimism on twangy upbeat rockers like “Winona” and the pro-union anthem “Yours in the Struggle.” Huey mines the Classic Country seam of the '60s and '70s on the rollicking “You Can’t Drink All Day” and the torchlit two-stepper “That’s What Jukeboxes Are For,” a duet with alt-country chanteuse Laura Cantrell, then roams into Spaghetti Western territory on the eerie “Death County.” He taps into his inner punk rocker on the swampy and lustful “Lucy”—songs he co-wrote with Ambel (the pair cowrote roughly half the songs on the LP). In a similar vein, Erik’s chugging cover of John Cooper Clarke’s “A Heart Disease Called Love” nods to The Ramones and is highlighted by the jump-blues baritone saxophone of Steve Berlin (Los Lobos). Appalachian Gothic was recorded at Cowboy Technical Studios in Greenpoint, Brooklyn and produced by rock 'n' roots guitarist Ambel (Bottle Rockets, Jimbo Mathus, Yayhoos, Sarah Borges). Along with Eric Ambel on guitar, musicians include Jeremy Chatzky on bass and Kenny Soule on drums, with additional appearances by Keith Christopher (bass), Andy York (guitar), Neil Thomas (accordion), Cody Nilsen (pedal steel), and drummer Phil Cimino. Guests include Steve Berlin and Laura Cantrell. Coming of age during the early years of punk rock, Huey got into music via on-ramp of The Blasters, X, Jason & The Scorchers, The Beat Farmers, and Mojo Nixon, then wandered upstream along the Hillbilly Highway until he unearthed a couple of old cassettes by Johnny Cash and George Jones — artists he’d first heard as a kid riding along in the cab of his Uncle Jack’s 18-wheeler. Hearing these artists pulled him back to his musical roots. “This record is a love letter to Appalachia,” he says. “Like so many West Virginians, I had to eventually leave the place where I grew up. As the locals say, I had to ‘get out to get ahead,’ which created a lasting sense of exile. So this album is a homecoming of sorts. It’s a realization that although I spent my life tunneling out, those rugged hills kept calling me home.” Read the full article

[mastergaragedoorngates]

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[kmgblog]

november 26, 2023

an introduction

hi :) and welcome to my blog. my name is kellyn, and i’m a 30-something living in nyc. i have lots of hobbies and interests, but music is the greatest among them (i call it my nights and weekends gig). i write songs and record them in my little bedroom studio and put them out in the world. sometimes i play shows, but it’s been a while. i intend to use this blog to chronicle my life in nyc, my music-making process, and all the little moments of inspiration that make life beautiful.

as an intro to me, here is the song “Foxes” off my last EP, Foxes.

it’s the end of thanksgiving weekend in the united states, and there are a million things to be grateful for, but today, a few stick out: my partner, my dog, our cozy (and sometimes hectic af) life in nyc. the view of greenpoint and beyond from our balcony, the sun rising over the wastewater plant in the morning, the way it reflects off the midtown skyscrapers in the evening (or, this time of year, late afternoon). my family and friends in nyc, dc, atlanta, south africa, everywhere.

me in brooklyn, nov. 2023

music that changed my life this week

Hayden Pedigo, “Elsewhere” – i watched Hayden Pedigo’s NPR Tiny Desk performance last week and was totally blown away. while i did a proper deep dive into his whole catalog (wow, so much beauty there), Elsewhere stuck in my brain something fierce, and i’ve had it on repeat for days.

Little Dragon, “Feather” (live) – i’ve been listening to Little Dragon for what feels like forever. definitely more than ten years, but maybe not quite fifteen. it’s hard to say. in any event, their live shows are always fantastic, and i fell down a bit of a youtube rabbit hole watching some of their live performances. this one in particular, a live stream concert from covid times, enchanted me, and i’ve been jamming out to this version of Feather, a perennial favorite.

that’s all for today. sending a little love and peace to your corner of the universe.

-kellyn

[pitchork]

Sunday, July 23

The Nursery: Carlos Souffront + Interstellar Funk @ Public Records [$40] (3-9PM)

Recess: deep creep, LOIF, Downloadable Content, Connor Wrong, como se DJ @ TBA - Greenpoint [$20] (11:30AM-10:30PM)

Arvin T / Solofan / sabrout @ Jupiter Disco [$0] (10PM-4AM)

[djspinna]

Sunday, May 28, 2023

💫JOURNEY💫  

Memorial Day Weekend

w/  DJ SPINNA + ST JAMES JOY

@ THE GOOD ROOM - 98 Meserole Avenue - Greenpoint - Brooklyn, NY 11222

Tickets @ RA.co -> https://ra.co/events/1699684

Doors: 6PM / 21+

•

DJ Spinna started 💫JOURNEY💫 more than a decade ago as a platform for open-minded and diverse DJs like himself to curate eventful nights filled with multiple musical genres from Jazz, Soul, Funk, and Brazilian, WorldMusic, to Deep and Soulful House, Disco, and Detroit Techno! There are no musical boundaries and a memorable story is always told within the unique *JOURNEY*.

For the May 28 edition of 💫JOURNEY💫 , DJ Spinna will be joined by Saint James Joy. Saint James Joy is a father-son DJ duo from Brooklyn, NY, composed of DJ Jo Vill and DJ Chill. Jo and Chad have collaborated to ensure that every party has a purpose while also demonstrating how music can deliver messages of hope, equity, and communal impact. They garnered international attention during the COVID19 Pandemic, where they created weekly socially distanced block parties in Clinton Hill-Brooklyn to show their support for the essential workers. The father-son DJ duo take pride in their smooth blends of House Music, Disco, Soul, Hip Hop, R&B, and everything in between. Guests can expect a full night of sweating it out on the dance floor.

💫JOURNEY💫 Presented By: DJ Spinna | KeiStar Productions