#prepowers

[space-mermaid-writing]

I didn't realise you are the author of vamp and the were! Love the fic and how unique it is. And so fun to read. Thank you for writing it.

A generic hospital prompt for ironstrange. I know its generic but its fascinating to see how different its interpreted and also since its canon that as characters both of them have a distaste for it. It can be taken so many ways. I leave it upto you unless you want me to be more specific :)

Thank you! I'm happy you liked The Vamp And The Were <3

For your generic hospital prompt I went with pre-powers. If you had something more specific in mind, feel free to drop that in my inbox. Until then you get a Tony who picks up Stephen at work for a lunch :)

Ko-fi | Masterlist | Word count: 0.5k

It was safe to say that Tony hated hospitals. He had never been a fan of doctors who were way too eager to check and touch his body. He didn’t like it as a kid when he was sick and his parents called them, and he still didn’t like them now. Hospitals were even worse; with the ever present smell of antiseptic and their overall aesthetic of white and gray.

The fact that Tony had just entered a hospital voluntarily was nothing short of a miracle. He wasn’t in actual need of medical attention, so that was a plus. No, he was here to pick up a certain doctor.

Tony took the elevator to the fifth floor. He knew the way to the surgeon’s floor by heart.

Curious glances still followed him – something that would never change no matter where he went. But he also got some friendly nods from members of the staff who were by now used to his visits. Tony returned them, even if the sunglasses on his nose hid his lack of interest.

Tony tolerated being here. But only because of one man.

He stepped out of the elevator and walked to the office.

Halfway he heard the familiar deep voice as Stephen stepped out of it, talking to a nurse. When he noticed Tony his face lit up noticeably.

Tony smiled. This was what made it worth it to endure being in a hospital. And he liked having this effect on the doctor. It stirred something in his belly; feelings he wasn’t yet ready to deal with. So he shoved them deeper down.

The nurse seemed confused about his reaction and followed his gaze. As soon as her eyes landed on the approaching Tony, she understood.

“I’m here to pick you up for our meeting, Doctor Strange.” That was their code for a lunch date. Tony knew Stephen preferred to keep their relationship professional in front of co-workers and Tony respected that. Except in the presence of Christine, who called them out on their bullshit. And she often sided with Tony; one of the reasons he liked her so much.

Stephen handed the chart he was carrying to the nurse. “Take that to Doctor Robinson for the blood test.”

“Yes, Doctor Strange.” The nurse left, not without throwing an amused and knowing smile at Tony.

Only when she was gone Stephen spoke again, keeping his voice down. “A surgery came in an hour. A transfer from Huntington with a pituitary tumor. The transnasal transsphenoidal operation has to be done.“ It almost sounded like an apology – only that Stephen didn’t do apologies.

„We can go to Papa John’s down the street and you can take your book for the read up of the case with you. It will just be a quickie.” Tony winked at him. He knew any surgery that Stephen was involved with would take at least a few hours and Tony felt better knowing he had eaten beforehand.

Stephen scoffed because Tony had brought that innuendo into his workplace. A quick look around reassured him that no one was within earshot. He thought about the offer. “Alright, I’ll get my coat,” he then agreed.

Tony had already learned that Stephen had a hard time refusing Tony’s offers – as long as they were well-thought-out and convenient.

He followed Stephen into his office. Maybe he could convince him into another kind of quickie before lunch as well.

[nadiegesabate1990]

I like listening to European music.

We are seriously affected by the supremacy of the united states. Then develop, together, a model designed to compete with what? I'm just trying to create good music.

My project: country music with electronic opera I think I'm happy: it's music for happy people! I use a European music program. However, people often forget the initial difficulties.

I listen to German, French and British music and they have great capacity.

My project is short music. ''Trails''.

Given North American prepower, Europeans are at a clear disadvantage: no isolated European DJ can compete with the United States.

When I heard Inna songs on the radio, my interest in DJ music increased and they have great capabilities.

the European project; I was thinking it was to impose itself in this sector.

But at the time, the radio stations planned something different as they played the songs and were very competitive.

And music creators are very ambitious about electronic music development programs I do not have any. I like the sound of the guitar and orchestra.

and the radio presented the first French song

I love French music.

British music. Spanish music. But I like French music.

I'm organizing each song.

England provides the support plans, music from Germany, Spain.

But I like French music I promise to provide here…

but the world of music is in deep crisis. When I heard electronic dance music I was 16 years old. Of course, at the time, not a single hit was sold and the North American competition predicted European failure.

However, in 2010 I bought a tablet and listened to music on the radio, which meant worldwide recognition.

Until 2012 I heard around 500 songs like these but I can only remember these songs from last year.

is, along with 00's, one of my favorite radio stations and modern music.

After 30 years, this music model seems to consolidate. The European project.

[bigjoe11]

Chord teases Suzi pre/power amplifier concept

https://www.whathifi.com/news/chord-teases-suzi-prepower-amplifier-concept-thats-like-lego-for-your-hi-fi The pictures above give an idea of what the Suzi pre/power will look like, but it’s hard to gauge more details or dimensions without seeing them in person. However, we know the Hugo 2 and 2go combo is about the size of a paperback novel, which gives an idea of just how compact the Suzi combo…

[autistictaylorhebert]

I heard you were doing powergen?

-cape with a hollow body that they can store things in. There are nearly invisible seams all over their body that they can open like a hinge to reveal a pocket dimension, which can also absorb attacks, if lined up right

-a biocape with the ability to create flesh constructs that can be programmed with a specific command via touch and then sent out into the world with no range, although they do need to eat/metabolize to survive. Can be very detailed, up to creating a realistic looking human person. Specializes in making big kaiju that they control from a chamber inside, although this takes a lot of biomass, which can be sourced from meat and plant matter

-cape triggers after a group they’ve been fighting against prepower kills their child in front of them during a supposed diplomatic apology party that was a actually a trap trying to summon an eldritch god with human sacrifice. They’re very focused on maintaining moral high ground, and will put down others that don’t meet their standards. Also revenge

uhhhhhh

Stranger, Changer (or at least self/body focussed), and maybe Brute. A "quiet kid" from a relatively rich background who gets mixed up with a group of drug-using older teenagers, trying to maintain the facade of being a well behaved kid while keeping their "mature" friend group. They get more and more anxious, and start injecting opioids to help deal with the anxiety. One day their parents+guardians get over a certain threshold of suspicious and hold the kid down with force, revealing the injection marks under their clothes. Trigger.

So, Master, with Changer, Shaker, and arguably Tinker flavouring? Maybe it's like, a child from a black family gets a scholarship for a prestigious high-school. The triggeree is their older sibling, does more work to get them prepared for their school life than their parents do, and watches their younger sibling get on the bus off to their mostly white boarding school. Each time the younger sibling comes back they've been hurt or suffered some form of racist attack at their school, and each time the older sibling tries to help them stop it from happening again (trying to contact the school, trying to give the younger kid advice to help fit in). They trigger hearing that their sibling has been hospitalised, and that the school doesn't see it as a problem.

Master? I'm imagining a single, very pristine and very fragile minion, where any kind of unexpected attack can destroy it. If the triggeree master knows what's coming they can change the defences to protect it, which makes it a physically powerful fighter, but any kind of surprise attack (even weak ones) causes it to crumble, with a cool-down before it can be "re-summoned".

[eolian-234]

The Supplejack

Previous Chapter Twelve: The End

Hi all! Hope you are doing well and staying safe. I'm not entirely happy with this chapter :/

Thank you all for reading and commenting!

Chapter Thirteen: A New Normal

Routines were the foundation Peter built his life on. Like playing the long game in chess, Peter chose his pieces carefully and played each move keeping the end in mind; only moving when all routes had been thought out. He made his decisions when he knew it would be safe.

But his routine was gone now and Peter was walking on a crumbling chess board. Or maybe he had never been playing chess. Maybe it was a different game altogether.

-

His body stiffened under the sheets that clung to his skin. Peter ran a hand through his hair, grimacing at the sweat at the back of his neck.

A sliver of moon shined through the window and into his room. Peter turned his phone on the dresser, blinking at the brightness of it and groaned at the late hour. With one eye closed he read through the messages and put the phone back down on the nightstand without answering.

He threw a wrist over his eyes and focused on his breath. The sheet moved with every inhale and exhale. Still feeling restless, Peter turned to face the wall. He reached out, brushing his fingers against the imperfections in the wall.

Peter sighed and waited until it was early enough to get up for the day.  

-

Allowing himself a few days of moping was hard as he only wanted to stay in bed for longer but he couldn’t stand the hovering May was doing. How she was casting worried eyes on him for longer and longer.

He created a new routine for himself. It was just as good as his old one, if not better, he argued with himself.

He was fine.

-

Peter sighed as he bypassed the hallway he knew Ned was waiting in and made his way out of the school. One in the midst of a crowd.

He slipped away, down the stairs and outside. Breathing fast he quickened his pace and kept his head forward when he heard his name being called from behind.

“Peter!”

The toes of his shoe dangled off the top step. Peter turned around as Flash reached him. Flash put his hands in his pockets and Peter shifted under the gaze of his friend.

“You’re avoiding me.” He said.

Peter rubbed the back of his neck, pulled the hair there when he felt the blush rise on his neck and cheeks.  

“No, I’m not.”

“Let’s not pretend I’m stupid. I know you’re avoiding me and the rest of the little group.” Flash said.  His eyes pierced Peter until he dropped them to the ground, looking small for once. “We need to talk about it, Peter.”

He was beginning to hate the sound of his name anytime someone said it. Since Oscorp, his name became more of a plea, a worry from the people around him.

Peter glanced at his watch.

“No, we really don’t. I’m late so I’ll see you around sometime.” He said turning around and walking down the stairs.

“Answer your text messages.” Flash yelled from the top of the steps to Peter.

Peter shook his head to himself and continued on his way. His stomach clenched at the confrontation and he turned off his phone, even though it was only a matter of time before something would happen and everyone wouldn’t be content with only trying to talk to him.

Still, they hadn’t tried anything too uncomfortable yet and after the conference he could distance himself further in the summer. He would have to keep working, now in the library, until after their presentation.

The subway ride was full of people on their way to jobs in the city.

It was the same subway he’d taken before to get into the city. The same one to get to the internship.  

Peter put his headphones in, blocking out the thoughts that threatened to overrun him.

He was fine.

After he got off the subway he walked by a rusting news stand. Across ten screens a woman was crying, speaking between breaths about being mugged. She called for help to the people and the government to stop the frequency of crime in her neighborhood. She called for someone to help.

Peter pulled his jacket tighter around his body and began walking again. Peter navigated through the other hordes of people and kept his head down.

Barry Electronics was situated across from a Bagel & Coffee and a Starbucks. Barry, the owner, joked with Peter that they would never run out of snacks and more often than not Peter found himself waiting in line, food order in hand.

The small brick and mortar shop door was innocuous and the sign nonexistent. Dave, his Ham friend from Dayton was the one who the one told Peter about the store and their opening.  

The bell rung as he entered the shop and rows of transmitters and radios greeted him. Classical music wound through the aisles. Peter sat behind a desk in the back where a Yaesu FT-DX3000D sat exposed. Its parts were scattered across the desk all in place where he left them yesterday.

“How’s it going back here?” Barry leaned around the doorframe, taking in the tense set of his newest employee’s shoulders.

“It’s going well, Mr. Barry.” Peter said. He stood up, pushing the chair in to face his boss. He played with the hem of his sweatshirt before looking down at the man’s shoes. The white plastic covering the toes of the Converse were pealing and brown but the red color of the canvas was bright. Peter looked at his own black ones and the holes forming in the side.

“I just wanted to apologize again, sir. I’m not the best with peo-”

“Now stop there, young man. You don’t have anything to apologize for. Mr. Steffes has been coming here for a long time and you were doing your job is all. Not your fault you knew more about the FT than he did.”

“But isn’t the customer always right?”

The man stepped into the room, pulling the ends of his beard and observing Peter.

“Well, normally that’s right but us radio folks sometimes think we know everything and when a new comer, especially a young one such as yourself, arrives it can be intimidating.”

“Intimidating?” Peter never in a million years would have thought he would be described as that.

Barry shrugged and Peter smiled with a fresh blush and another thought to the sale he’d lost them at his boss’s next words.

“You’re young and you know your stuff. That’s why I hired you, kid.”

At the nickname Peter flinched, curling his shoulders in on themselves.

“Sorry again, Mr. Barry, and thanks for putting me back here.”

The man sighed and Peter stopped himself from remembering another person who sighed the same way only a couple weeks ago.

“Think nothing of it, eh? If you’re more comfortable back here, I can deal with those pesky customers, alright?”

His shoulders dropped a smidge when Barry left and Peter got back to work. He allowed himself to get lost in the turn of the screw and the electrical board.

-

The street lights were long on by the time he arrived back at their apartment. May was already asleep and Peter leaned against the counted in the kitchen watching the ramen spin around the microwave.

He piled blankets over his lap and ate the siracha soaked noodles in bed while trying to finish some last-minute math homework for the next day.

The empty bowl sat on his nightstand beside his turned off phone. Peter worked until he fell asleep, slumped over the Pythagorean theorem.

His woke with a start, chest heaving against his pounding heart. Peter grabbed his t-shirt. Hands raked down his chest trying to wipe the blood dripping off of it away.

He brought his knees to his chest knowing in a distant part of his mind that there was only sweat there. There was no blood now. It was only a memory now.

Shivers racked his spine. Without turning on a light Peter swung his legs off the edge and walked over to his backpack. By feel he found his old notebook and brought it

Without turning on the light Peter swung his legs off the edge and walked over to his backpack. By feel he found his old notebook and brought it back to his bed. He curled under the covers and flipped to a random page.

Peter couldn’t see the words but he knew they were there stained across the page. The indents from the pen on paper created strange patterns on the tips of his fingers. Some were deep and others he could barely feel at all.

He knew his were the deeper scratches. His scrawling handwriting stabbed into the paper in an attempt to sow all his thoughts into something coherent. In the urgency to prove himself Peter often found his wrist cramping and the sides of his hand smeared with black ink. He wrote as if this was all he could, as his life poured onto the page along with the ink.

The other handwriting took up the margins and like small vines plunged into the spaced between his own thoughts on the page. The indents there were shallow, casual, in their impression. They began sparse, only filling in spaces here and there with notes of encouragement or corrections, but as Peter flipped farther into the book they began to intermingle with his writings. The two merged, playing off of each other and entangling.

Tear drops fell onto the pages, smearing the words into something illegible.

And sleep stayed a stranger till the morning. Peter woke to find the notebook crushed between his fist.

He shoved it in the crack between the wall and his bed frame as the alarm blared, before stumbling to the shower.

-

Please answer. We’re all worried about you - Julia.

Peter shoved his phone into the locker and straightened the visor he was wearing. He’d have to make sure to email her the rest of his work for their project later.

Suppressing a yawn, he walked to the front of the café mentally going over the different coffee recipes he needed to learn.

Cindy, his manager, stared at him as he began cleaning the counter and he wondered again why she was a manager at a coffee shop if she was not a morning person.

“You’re taking orders today. Can you handle that?”

No.

“Sure.” he said.

The cash register glared at him. He tapped the counter wishing the shift would go faster and hoping, against prior reason, school would get there faster.

As he typed in the code for a chai latte and toasted bagel, he berated himself for thinking he would excel at a job at a coffee shop.

There were appealing aspects such as the routine which was filled to the brim with recipes and schedules, but there were drawbacks.  People, however kind they were at normal hours of the day, weren’t at their best in the morning.

His late hours were making work before school a problem he should have seen coming. But all he thought about filling out the applications was that he needed to keep busy, to do something with his time now and not how to talk with customers.

Not to mention, now that his involvement with Stark Industries had ended so prematurely, he had to make up for it with something for his applications.

Cindy wasn’t as accommodating as Barry it turned out and this morning Peter was taking a woman in a smart suit’s order.

“Right up, Ma’am” he said, not making eye contact.

The woman stepped aside, she was a regular and knew the drill, and two teenagers around his age stepped forward asking what their specials were and how they were made.

He couldn’t wait till school.

-

He couldn’t wait till school was over.

Peter sat in stacks of the library, lunch forgotten beside him. His eyes traced over his work and school schedules again. He swallowed. One more glance at all the deadlines in red and closed his planner.

His eyes closed. He exhaled. The air around him was still.

Peter’s mind wandered around safe topics: his new jobs, May’s attempt at making flan, and the laundry he needed to do.

Someone poked him and Peter flinched back, hitting his head against the books.

“Sorry.”

Ned sat next to him munching on pretzels. The boy glanced over from the corner of his eyes and back up the aisle. Peter went to gather his stuff but Ned interrupted him before he could stand up.

“Don’t go. I- I’ll go if you want to be alone but I won’t pester you. Not right now at least.” He said the words softer than necessary for the library and Peter settled back tensed against his spot.

As if calculating his movements, Ned settled back against the shelves. He handed the bag over and Peter grabbed a pretzel, nibbling at the ends of it.

Ned smiled at Peter.

They sat in silence until the bell rang. Ned squeezed Peter’s shoulder before he hurried off to class and handed him the rest of the pretzels.

Peter held back the tightness nestled in his chest.  

-

The time in the library replayed in his mind on the subway into the city.

He’d almost forgotten how understanding Ned could. How patient his friend was.

But he knew the questions would start soon. From Ned or Julia or someone. The curiosity practically burned in their eyes and he couldn’t talk about it. Any of it.

Barry smiled from the front desk when Peter walked in.

“The FT is waiting for you in the back. I got the part she needed.”

Peter nodded and after punching his card, wandered into the back.

May was gone when he got home and a note sat at her place on the kitchen table.  He didn’t heat anything up for dinner and played his filled lunchbox back into the fridge to use tomorrow.

Peter climbed into bed, clothes on and cracked his back. He set an alarm for the coffee shop in the morning and refused to think about May’s handwriting and her missing him at dinner.

He closed his eyes and thought about coffee orders and radio parts.

The new routine was good. Peter was busy now and busy was good.

Not two hours passed from when he laid down that Peter jerked up with nightmares clinging to his pores and sweat sticking to his back.

He groped the notebook in the slot besides the bed and laid there thinking about how tomorrow and the next day would be the same.

How he hated his new routine.

Thank you all for reading! :)

A/N: Barry Electronics is a real shop in New York!

Thank you all!

You can check out my fan fiction (Elizabeth234) or AO3 account as well :)

Taglist (message me if you want to be added): @demi-starzak @whatisthou @warmwithafewfrostymoments

Next Chapter Fifteen: Encounters of a Third Kind 

[frcstbites-blog]

@scvoy

he surfaced from the subway, hot and lethargic. stumbling slightly as the toe of his shoe caught on the chipped top stair. his heavy wool coat billowed in the sudden wind, a train entering the station and the breeze above ground caught him in a split-second maelstrom. without thinking he fell into step, a walk he’d done a thousand times before to his little apartment, just large enough for him and his leaning tower of paper-backs. a moment before he reached for the door to the cramped lobby he spotted his landlord, mrs krasinski, a portly lady in her 50s who seemed to struggle between choosing whether she adored or loathed him. jay ducked back, cursing under his breath, dodged round to the fire escape at the side of the building and squinted up at the metal ladder. he had never been athletic but his sudden and scorching need to be left alone was motivation enough. he’d done it several times before without breaking his neck at least. 

“what the fuck?”

the person sprawled beside the dumpster was not the usual fare for this alleyway. where there weren’t slowly blooming bruises there was a coat of grime and scrapes. a wound at the guy’s side oozed an alarming amount of blood. the way he half-curled made him look like he’d been trying to hide. jay dropped to his knees in the filth of the side-street, quick grey eyes attempting to catalogue the extent of the injuries. “hey? can you hear me?”

[audiogold]

Beefy. #pioneer #pioneerspec #pioneeramplifier #prepower #poweramplifier #preamplifier #vintagehifi #vintageaudio #knobs #knobsquad #bigknob #vumeter #rackmount #audiogold (at Audio Gold) https://www.instagram.com/p/B9EQNrLpTGx/?igshid=togacnbjkgza

[ironstrange-is-the-endgame]

Could you do the details for IronStrange since the og account is deactivated? Please.

who’s the cuddler: Stephen, and Tony absolutely loves it.

who makes the bed: None of them, Stephen uses magic when they sleep at the Sanctum while Tony doesn't really care about making it.

who wakes up first: If Tony went to sleep the night before, then Stephen, otherwise, Tony would already be up when Stephen wakes, but he's definetly more of an early bird than Stark.

who has the weird taste in music: they tastes in music are pretty much aligned and none of them has weird ones. They sort of live in the past when it comes to favorite genre tho.

who is more protective: they both are, but it come with their job description. Tony is more protective of the image magazines and people make of Stephen, while Stephen doesn't really to begin with even if he hates when gossip periodics start to bitch about Tony.

who sings in the shower: Stephen

who cries during movies: Tony, probably, but it takes a lot to make him cry anyways.

who spends the most while out shopping: Absolutely, totally and completely Tony. The only occasion in which Stephen could rival him is if we are considering a prepowers!AU

who kisses more roughly: It depends, but generally I'd say Tony? Not that Stephen can't, but he'd rather not to.

who is more dominate: I'm team top Stephen!

my rating of the ship from 1-10: 1000000000

[stark-strange-love2]

*at a gala, prepowers*

Stephen: *winks and boops tonys nose, smiling flirtatiously*

Tony: Ooh I like where this is going~

Stephen: Oh do you?

Stephen: *sticks his fingers in Tonys mouth*

***

Rhodey, years later: AND THAT WAS THE FIRST FUCKING RED FLAG THAT STEPHEN WAS FUCKING CRAZY

Rhodey: but now they’re married so I guess it worked out

Stephen: ☺️

[nicodiangelone]

carol/maria hcs

carol will eat anything. like, anything. if you dare her to eat something, she’ll eat it. she did this prepowers but is all the more willing now that she’s indestructible

they sang a lot of karaoke at Panchos. maria is a pretty good singer. carol is......decent. she gets by. she’s a belt it at the top of your lungs regardless of how you sound kind of person 

based on a fic i just read, maria kicks ass at pool, like she sinks shot after shot. carol sucks at pool. even after all this time, she still sucks. maria thinks she lets her win sometimes, but no, carol is just shit at pool 

killer at pinball though, it’s them killer reflexes and she’s very proud of her high score 

carol is merciless when it comes to board games. maria and monica have a love/hate relationship with game night because carol is here to win at risk and takes no prisoners. it’s amusing and hilarious and mildly terrifying. she’s here to win at life. she’s crazy competitive at card games. she’s rowdy as fuck when they play yahtzee 

maria boxes, and when carol is home she spars with her/volunteers to act as a punching bag 

“did you hit me? i didn’t even feel it” 

“why do i let you come back here”

carol loves using her powers for mundane shit. absolutely loves it. boiling water, heating up coffee or leftovers, keeping bathwater warm, being maria’s reading lamp, starting campfires and roasting marshmallows/hot dogs, shocking talos and fury as a prank, jump starting the car, later on charging laptops and cell phones (this ones a learning curve, she overloads a few computers and sets a few flip phones on fire)

carol takes monica on space dates, like stargazing but in space

they have a picnic on the moon (in the safety of their very own spaceship that now lives under maria’s biplane. it’s a kree ship that carol stole and remodeled, maria helped.)

[acediting]

Nano Day 5 and 6 (catching up and rolling it into one longer story blurb)

Oliver had a problem. Well, as the Citadel Master and current descendant of the Lunaean Cassandra, he supposed the number of problems he had on any given day were numerous. Between board meetings and ensuring the Champions and hunters had what they needed, as well as maintaining relationships with Vandeberg industries to ensure the manufactured shards were properly charged and maintained, keeping the power flowing and the lights running in Cassa, he had his hands full. He had come to expect those issues over the years. Solutions were easy enough to come by with a bit of critical thinking and negotiating. When a solution was not clear he had enough allies and brilliant minds willing to provide their own insight.

 No, his problem was something completely different. To be frank he had not expected this to ever become something he would have to deal with. It had risen thanks to one of his solutions to the power needed to run their ever growing cities, as well as create a method to bring magic back to all mankind so that a united front could be formed against the rogues rather than place the entire burden on himself, the shard bearers, and their partners. He stared thoughtfully down at the small magenta gem laying on his desk. Even after three decades, Oliver still marveled at the success of replicating the natural shards to this extent, and in such massive quantities. Though certainly the manufactured shards could not replenish energy on their own as the natural shards could, nor hold the sheer quantity of power as their original counterparts, the prepowered gems could do virtually anything so long as their energy quantities were high enough and the proper spellcast was written inside. He introduced the first of these those thirty years ago, proudly stating how his Lunaean bloodline had finally manifested its magic, and with it his ability to create near countless shards filled with the seeming limitless supply of Lunaean energy, this generation’s blessing from Cassandra’s bloodline. What was more, with the Citadel at its heart a network of power stations had branched out from the heart of the capital to the farthest reaches of the country. They refueled the natural shards plugged into the power grid, and those that were not could be recharged by plugging in at home or at the various stations found around cities and towns. Now the shards ran everything, replacing virtually all the old methods for creating power and fuel, as well as provided hunters and Champions the means to go head to head with the rogues, particularly those under the Mad Queen’s influence. All  had gone without a hitch, even when the appearance of a new type of shard, a JEG as those who used it called them, began to appear and gain popularity among the contributors to the Queen’s Duels, the manufactured shards still ran everything smoothly.

 But then Amelia contacted him. To say the least it had been a surprise. The shard bearer had been gone for nearly as long as the manufactured shards had been around, having moved overseas with her husband, Shade. From what he had understood, Amelia and Shade wanted time to adapt and rest after the Chaos lord fled, away from the limelight and the backlash that Shade would undoubtedly face for his initial part in the conflict that would  leave countless blood and power-thirsty rogues on Cassa. Oliver could understand this, the title Shard Bearer holding much weight. The Benidetti’s were held on the level of Aristocracy. Another shard bearing line was now part of the VandeBergs, whose industries were now the major producers of the manufactured shards on behalf of the Citadel. As for the last? Well, they had not been seen for some time. Many believed they had died out. He believed Amelia’s own line would die out with her, if he was being honest with himself.

 And yet, his assumption had been proven wrong with that call. There was a child. Well, less a child and more a young tween by this point, but a child nonetheless. She and Shade were parents. While Oliver’s initial reaction had been surprise and joy, the more serious matters regarding the call immediately overtook the joyous news. The boy had Shade’s blood running through his veins. According to Amelia, he was no stranger to the blood running in his veins, and due to the blood of his parents, he had expressed interest in one day joining the hunters and champions. However, he had yet to show signs of connecting to her own natural shard. Oliver understood what this meant. Typically a shard bearer began to connect when they were age ten, having gained full control of the shard and allowing it to pass down typically between the ages of fourteen and sixteen. Likely, he would not have that technique. Oliver had been hesitant to ask the question on his mind, and when he eventually did, he discovered with a sinking sensation in his stomach that his hunch had been correct. The boy had Shade’s abilities. Perhaps not as strong as his father, being only half of his kind, but certainly enough. Amelia feared that if he decided to use the manufactured shards, given her understanding that they were made similarly to natural shards and composed of Lunaean power, they might be harmful to her boy. Putting is mildly, the shards were more complex and had far more elements than more would be led to believe, but he did not find her concern unfounded. Rather, he also worried about how it would react, given those complexities. He doubted the shards would harm the boy, but he could not rule out a reaction.

 To better understand what he was dealing with, he invited the family to the Citadel. The resemblance of the boy to Amelia was striking, having her dazzling emerald green eyes and thick waves of honey blond hair. But the shape of his face was clearly turning into that of his father. By the time he reached adulthood, they would be twins in all but their coloring. So that ruled out any hope  Oliver might have been holding onto regarding some sort of infidelity on Amelia’s part, though she was hardly the one to play such part.

 All of that had led up this this morning in the Citadel. Oliver agreed to test the boy’s reaction to the manufactured shards, particularly when it came to combative spellcasting, in the safety of the Citadel itself. They had many test rooms where this could be done safely with the outputs monitored and analyzed. Though, it would require resources and personnel that who were going to follow a lead on the Mad Queen. Though reluctant, Amelia and Shade agreed to follow the lead in their stead with the promise that Oliver would personally watch over their boy while they were away. The boy seemed uncertain about this situation as well, but once he was told he would be able to use manufactured shards he quickly transformed, eager to use a spellcast for the first time.

 Oliver had led him down to the testing floor, which had been set up rather sparse for the boy- the white room with one way viewing windows only having targets set up. He was first given something that resembled a softball, with a shard embedded inside and a button to push. It worked along the same vein as a typical household used shard- no energy or connection required by the user as the switch, or in  this case button, activated the shard. Still, Oliver needed to confirm how the boy reacted in the vicinity of an activated shard first. Once Oliver was out of the room, the boy was instructed to press the button and throw the ball at the target. The boy had eyed the ball in his hand curiously for a moment, turning it over a few times before getting a comfortable grip. He pressed the button and pulled back his arm, throwing it as hard as he could at the middle target. Oliver was impressed when it hit the center, the ball flashing to life with a quick burst made to resemble a firework. The boy watched, pleased with result before turning to grin at the window, even though he could not see the others on the other side. Despite knowing the boy would not be able to see, Oliver returned the smile. If the boy intended to join the ranks of the Hunters or Champions one day he had set a good first impression.

 The second test involved something that resembled a laser pointer. The boy was instructed to aim at a target and press the button. Again, like the first it would not involve any connection to the boy. However the energy would be in closer proximity to him when released. Because this one would in fact be a weapon, the boy was equipped with gloves and gear to protect himself, a barrier shard not yet a feasible idea given  the nature of the test. But there was nothing to worry about. The boy took careful aim at the left target and press the button. Instantly a magenta light beamed out like a laser pointer. Unlike a laser pointer, however, when the dot of light appeared in the center of the target it began to smoke, the surface slowly being burned away. The boy released the switch, then looked to the window for approval.

 Though he would have to wait until Oliver came into  the room the third time to know he did well, the laser pointer being replaced with a machine that was wheeled in. It resembled an old arcade cabinet at first glance. However, rather than a game the screen showed many graphs and monitors. It also had the boy’s name and some basic information. Where the joystick and buttons may have been, instead there was a mounted sphere with a shard in the center. This would test the boy’s natural energy output, quantifying it in a manner that would show how much aptitude he had for activating shards without an external tool. Such a technique was fundamental for hunters and Champions, as it allowed them to write new spellcasts when necessary and create more complex casts on the fly. In addition, only one with a satisfactory output and ability to use shards raw could create the connections and contracts with spirits and natural creatures that would make them summoners. The boy listened with a mixture of anxiety and eagerness, already asking how to make the sphere work. It was an expected question, but not one with  a straightforward answer, Oliver explained. Some felt as if they were reaching out with an extension of themselves beyond their hands. Others said it felt like they were putting their thought or willpower into the shard. He recommended the boy experiment a little. If the graph started moving, he was creating an output.

 Oliver returned to the other side of the window as the boy regarded the machine thoughtfully, before placing his hand on the sphere. For a while, nothing happened as the boy scrunched his brows in thought, puffed his cheeks, gritted his teeth, and at one point even tried verbally trying to negotiate with the graph to work. Then, he took a deep breath, closing his eyes to calm down. When he opened his eyes again, Oliver saw something change in the boy’s demeanor, he was clamed, focused, and seemed like he had put himself in some sort of focused zone. It seemed to work. The graph slowly began to rise, showing the start of numbers appearing. A satisfied look appeared on the boy’s face as he leaned in, clearly focusing harder on what he was doing. The number continued to climb. Oliver looked at the readings appearing on his side. The climb was steadily increasing, getting to numbers that showed a decent output. For a first time attempt, this was excellent. Oliver made a mental note to recommend to Amelia that her son enroll in some Academy classes. He was extremely young, but Oliver would make an exception for this level of-

 His thought process was cut off by a sudden warning flashing on the screen. He looked to the graph again. Where the output had been steadily growing before, it now was accelerating, considerably at that. His attention snapped back to the lab. The boy was still focusing on the screen, though something was clearly happening. At his feet, his shadow was…wavering? No, it was shifting, and expanding. Oliver watched in shock as shadows moved across the white floor, making them look as if they were coated in black ink. He grabbed the microphone attached to the room, not having used it before so as to not startled the boy. Now his voice bounced through the test room space, ordering the boy to remove his hand. The boy jerked back, startled out of his focus by the loud voice and snapped his attention to the window. However, as he did, the stark black beneath his feet caught his attention. His eyes widened, and he howled in a mixture of confusion and fear. Even without his hand on the machine, the graph began to skyrocket, the shadows now racing up the walls and ceiling, turning the room pitch black. Then, to Oliver’s horror, it began crawling up the boy’s skin, snaking like inky swirls under his clothes, up his chin and to his left eye. The whites of the eye turned black, as did his iris, before the pupil itself turned pinpoint white. The boy grabbed his head and screamed. At once, the screen of the machine, the sphere, and the shard inside shattered, completely overloaded. The boy dropped to his knees, chest heaving and still grasping his head.

 Oliver called to him time and time again through the monitor, but received no response. He took one more look at the still black coated room and ordered one of the analysts at the monitor to get the medical team right away as he raced to the door. He paused only long enough to force his own shards to the side, not wanting them to make the matter worse, especially given their sheer size, and ran in. The boy was in a state of shock, and it took a considerable amount of time to get him to calm down. By the  time the medics arrived, the shadows had begun to recede, and the boy’s eye had turned back to green, albeit slightly discolored. Once checked over, it was confirmed that his vision was affected in that eye, probably permanently. Oliver had thought that the hardest part of this day would be figuring out how to break that particular news to Amelia.

 But then he talked to the boy. His intention had been to check on how he was faring as he recovered. The boy, much like Oliver, had questions on what went wrong. But unlike Oliver, he had some insight from his point of view. Oliver listened with a growing pit in his stomach as the boy explained how, at first when everything was going well, he felt like he had attached to something just below the surface of the shard. He had described it similar to the sensation of planting a hand against a balloon, which caused  his arm and fingers to buzz. The harder he “pressed” on the balloon, the more it felt like his arm was buzzing. However, as continued to push, he got the impression that there was something lower than the balloon. Eventually, he pushed through the balloon and touched that. It felt similar to the buzz in his hand, and when he touched it, the buzzing in his arm grew more and spread through him. He saw the numbers continuing to rise and thought he was doing something right. The boy hoped Oliver could explain what happened.

 And that was what brought Oliver back to his office, studying a shard and trying to determine what to say and do. He was nearly certain he knew the answer, and it was an answer that meant that the boy could never use a traditional manufactured shard. The power beneath had reacted with his father’s abilities, amplifying them, causing them to grow exponentially. However, the boy was young and not ready for that level of power in his body, and his price to pay was his vision. He supposed he could explain that to Amelia, then work with her and Shade for an alternative solution for the boy. He was certainly gifted, and with his aptitude would certainly do well on the field once he was given some training and the proper tools.

 But Amelia and Shade were smart. Amelia had always been extremely observant, and if it were not for Shade’s strategies and intel they may never have taken the upper hand when it came to the Chaos lord and the Mad Queen. They would ask questions about how the manufactured shards reacted. They would likely ask another burning question: why did it react the way it did? Even if he didn’t provide an answer, they would be in the best place to come close to the answer at the very least. Knowing the complexities, Oliver knew that answer, but it was not something he was yet willing to divulge, especially not to them. No, a solution to this situation had to be made before anything came to a head. If this information about the shard and how it affected the boy leaked, even if the reality was not explained, it may throw the public into a panic about the very power their society relied on. Who knew what would happen at that point- people could be quite rash when they didn’t understand the full nature of something.

 He considered again what the boy said about the “balloon”. It seemed significant. He had touched upon something that seemed to activate, likely before connecting to the power source itself. Frowning thoughtfully, he turned on his computer and pulled up the diagram of a output reading sphere. Judging from the boy’s description of the sensation going through his hands, he must have been directing the connection directly through his palm. Oliver searched his memory for how the boy had been placing his hand on the sphere, and moved the three dimensional diagram to match it. From this perspective, the sphere resembled multiple layers: the sensory glass sphere casing, the crystal shell of the sphere itself, which has a minimal energy output, the spherical spellcast written into the shard, the rechargeable power core of the shard. He considered the shapes and layers thoughtfully, the pieces slowly coming together as he considered the shadows also. There had been no spellcast set for shadow conjuring, but given Shade’s abilities and what Amelia had said about the boy showing signs of having similar that was no surprise. However he had to be able to activate them somehow…and it appeared he might have utilized that  same method to activate the  spellcast in the output sphere before even touching upon the core powering it. He would readily admit that it was a mixture of this output plus tapping into the core that cause the entire machine to shatter at least. Which meant that if the boy was going to use shards, he would have to have one that had minimal power itself. Custom making shards would be difficult, and might put him in a tough situation down the line depending on how much power was needed. He considered that, taking down the output sphere diagram and pulling up another. Oliver considered the JEGs crudely made and in poor taste. However, there was something unique about them. They did not require a generator to power them, though certainly they could  readily accept that energy. But their cores allowed for other types of energy to be accepted too, namely energy that could be created in the air charged by elevated human emotion. Perhaps there was something to this design that could help the young Reinhardt. It would take some work and experimentation before he could come up with anything concrete.

 In the meantime, he opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out an old phone. He  could not remember the last time he used the relic, and the lone number on it belonged to someone who would probably prefer to rip out his throat than listen to any sort of proposition. But she would listen, and he has a proposition for her.

[bigjoe11]

Krell Illusion II/KSA-i400 Pre/Power Amplifiers Review

https://www.hifinews.com/content/krell-illusion-iiksa-i400-prepower-amplifiers An Ethernet port is provided on the power amp for software updates, but the only means of control from the preamp is via 12V triggers for on/standby. The Illusion II itself has two sets of balanced analogue inputs and three on RCAs, plus two coaxial, optical and one AES/EBU digital input. Outputs are also on XLRs and…

[audiophileorg]

Parasound p5 + a21 pre-power stereo takım www.audiophile.org da satışta Ürünlerin kendi resimleridir Yüksek torka ve güce sahip bu takım ile süremeyeceğiniz hoparlör yoktur.  Hızlı gönderim. Ücretsiz Kargo imkanı . Araç ile teslimat seçeneği Silver Renk Ödeme seçenekleri için bizimle iletişime geçebilirsiniz   Parasound Halo P5 2.1 Channel Stereo Preamplifier   Burr-Brown PCM1798 DAC with USB, Optical and Coax inputs Coax and optical accept all sampling rates up to 192 kHz, 24-bit USB accepts up to 96 kHz, 24-bit Incoming jitter on all three digital inputs is significally attenuated with an effective clock recovery system Analog Bass management with high and low pass crossovers Home theater bypass input for surround sound integration Front panel subwoofer level control 5 RCA line level inputs 1 XLR balanced input (parallels Input 5 RCA jacks) Phono input for MM & MC cartridges with 100 Ohm or 47k Ohm load Front panel Aux input with automatic +12 dB gain stage Balanced XLR and RCA left and right outputs 1 balanced XLR and 2 RCA subwoofer outputs Bass & treble controls with defeat from remote or front panel Headphone jack with 10 ohm output impedance Rear panel IR input and IR loop output jacks 12 V output to trigger power amplifiers and other devices Automatic turn on with 12 V trigger or AC power Fixed level record output Premium motor-driven Alps potentiometer volume control Left/Right Balance control Remote control with discrete on/off power buttons 0.5w standby power consumption meets Energy Star spec Rack mounting adapter available (Model HRA 2 sold separately) Available in silver or black finish   Frequency Response  10 Hz - 100 kHz, +0/-3 dB Total Harmonic Distortion  70 dB at 20 kHz Input Sensitivity  300 mv: 1 Volt Out Total Gain: 10 dB Maximum Output: 7 Volts Input Impedance  Unbalanced: 24k Ohm Balanced: 100k O per leg Output Impedance  Unbalanced: 100 Ohm Balanced: 470 Ohm per leg   S/N Ratio - Line Inputs 1-5  > 108 dB, input shorted, IHF A-weighted > 88 dB, input shorted, unweighted S/N Ratio - DAC Inputs  > 108 dB, input shorted, IHF A-weighted > 90 dB, input shorted, unweighted S/N Ratio - Phono Inputs  MM > 80 dB, input shorted, IHF A-weighted MM > 70 dB, input shorted, unweighted MC > 67 dB, input shorted, IHF A-weighted MC > 55 dB, input shorted, unweighted Hi/Low pass crossover slope  12dB / Oct DC Trigger Requirements  +9 Vdc to +12 Vdc, 2 mA   XLR Pin Identification  1 = Ground (Shield) 2 = Positive 3 = Negative (Return) Dimensions  Width: 17-1/4” (437 mm) Depth: 13-3/4” (350 mm) Height, with feet: 4-1/8” (105 mm) Height, without feet: 3-1/2” (89 mm) Net Weight  14 lb. (6.3 kg) Shipping Weight  21 lb. (9.5 kg) Power Requirement  Standby: 0.5 Watts Power On: 20 Watts 100-250 Volts, 50-60 Hz (Automatic)         Parasound Halo A 21 2-Channel Power Amplifier       Circuitry designed by legendary John Curl THX Ultra2 certified High bias Class A/AB operation Balanced inputs with discrete circuits and XLR connectors Direct Coupled - no capacitors or inductors in signal path Complementary MOSFET driver stage and JFET input stage 16 beta-matched 15 amp, 60 MHz bipolar output transistors 1.2 kVA encapsulated toroid power transformer with independentsecondary windings for each channel 100,000 µF power supply filter capacitance DC Servo and relay protection circuits AC present, channel status, high temperature indicators Heavy-duty 24k gold-plated 5-way speaker terminals Gold-plated RCA input jacks; ground lift switch Auto turn-on by 12v trigger or audio signal, 12v trigger out     Continuous power output:  250 watts RMS x 2, 20 Hz - 20 kHz, 8 Ω, all channels driven 400 watts RMS x 2, 20 Hz - 20 kHz, 4 Ω, all channels driven 750 watts RMS x 1, 20 Hz - 20 kHz, 8 Ω Current capacity:  60 amper https://www.audiophile.org/Ilan/Parasound-p5--a21-prepower-stereo-takim/42606

[eolian-234]

The Supplejack

Previous Chapter Ten: Fast-Forward 

Hi all! Hope you and your loved ones are all staying safe.

This chapter contains violence geared toward animals and a death (off screen) of an animal.

Chapter Eleven: Welcome to Oscorp

Monday

Peter took a deep breath before stepping into the elevator.

He had thought to bring a card or something more lavish like flowers maybe, but the realities of who Friday was came back to him along with a burst of blush. It would have to come down to his words alone, which was the reason his palms were sweating already.

The doors slid shut behind him. He cleared his throat before his customary greeting.

“Hi, Friday.” He said, wincing at a bubble in his throat.

The elevator stayed silent and his stomach fell. Friday had every right to be upset. He’d practically blown them off when he was sick and ignored it in the following days he came to the Tower. Yesterday Peter had even taken the stairs up to the lab. Worse of all was he knew Friday deserved an apology and not ignorance.

They were friends after all.

He rubbed his palms against the seam of his jeans when the silent treatment continued and he took another breath.

“Friday, I wanted to apologize for my tone the other day.” He said staring up at the lights because he always pictured Friday there for some reason. “It was rude and you deserve better than that.”

He paused, waiting for a response but again none came. The doors opened but he stayed where he was for another moment.

“So anyway, I’m so sorry.” He shuffled his feet back and forth and with a drooped head stepped out of the elevator. “Thank you for the ride.”

Peter walked down the hallway cringing at how lame he must have sounded. He knew he should have written it down before or brought something to make it up to Friday.

Mr. Stark was already in the lab when he arrived. It was earlier in the day because his group cancelled saying they would take it easy this week to prepare questions and anything for the tour.

That meant Peter had more time in lab two.

He dropped his stuff down by the door. His backpack folded down in its familiar way and he laid his coat overtop of it.

This routine wasn’t enough to stop him from feeling lopsided.

In his life, Peter had many experiences with apologies. What he didn’t have an experience with as much is an apology to someone he cared about. Peter wielded his apologies like a tightly formed defensive mechanism. It was something he could say to defuse a situation quickly getting out of hand. It was a word, while being earnest, he could say to let the other person know he was listening but not quite expressing himself well. But apologies tangled with regret and hope was something he was less familiar with.

As he walked to the desk Peter thought of the ways Friday would greet him. Their tone of voice was steady and their banal chats would calm any lingering stress from school before he made it to the labs. Friday monitored him right along with Mr. Stark when he was sick. There had been a little email of his full health writeup in his inbox the next morning, complete with temperature updates on the hour. A small ‘feel better’ typed at the bottom of the email.

He swallowed the guilt down.

“What’s up kid?” Mr. Stark said without looking up.

Peter took his seat to the right of Mr. Stark and pretended to read over his notes. His fingers strummed in no particular beat on the desk. He didn’t notice Mr. Stark’s head turned his way.  

“Mr. Stark?” He said after a moment. When he looked up the man was already bent over the desk with eyes full of holograms.

“Hmm? What’s up?”

Peter strummed his fingers again not daring to look up yet. He’d noticed Mr. Stark would do that now. Ask an open-ended question or hum before waiting for a response. It never failed to make Peter uncomfortable. Normally the people Peter interacted with would fill the stretched-out silence. Like some sort of sixth sense they could perceive the tension and would start to talk about anything they thought of. This was ideal for Peter.

But Mr. Stark didn’t do that. The man seemed perfectly at ease in their shared quietness. He didn’t notice when Peter fidgeted in his seat when ten minutes passed. Sometimes Mr. Stark would gently ask Peter again and sometimes he would let the silence ride out.

He wasn’t sure which was worse to be honest.

And he was left disappointed time and again when he couldn’t work up the courage to take the bait. The fear of answering a question he wasn’t sure had a right answer was just too much.

The silence drew onward, crushing Peter after his latest failure to Friday.

He heard Mr. Stark sigh. It was so quiet he wasn’t sure if it was real or imagined but heat bloomed across his cheeks and the palm resting on the desk left an imprint of condensation when he clenched them in his lap.

“You hungry, Peter?” Mr. Stark said after some time had passed.

“Um, it’s okay, Mr. Stark. No worries.”

Food was the last thing on his mind and now he was thinking about it his stomach had been off since he was sick, but Mr. Stark went ahead with the food.

“J.O.C.A.S.T.A. can you order some burritos for us? Four vegetarian, one tostada, and then two of their flans, please?”

A smooth voice responded over the speakers.

“Sure thing, Boss.”

Peter’s hands stilled at the voice. The one that was definitely not Friday.

“What… Where’s Friday?” He said, gripping the edge of the table.

Mr. Stark turned his head to look at Peter, surprise evident in his widened eyes.  

“Friday is just going through some updates, Kid.” Peter grimaced. “It’s standard protocol. We’re making sure everything in Friday’s hardware is up to date.”

The breath left his chest and a laugh bubbled out of his chest thinking about how ridiculous he was. Mr. Stark turned further toward Peter and raised his eyebrows.

“I just… I was talking and...” Peter breathed in and burst out giggling again not even stopping when Mr. Stark’s hand clapped on his shoulder.

When he could stop enough to explain what happened, it was the first time he’d ever heard Mr. Stark really laugh.

-

The next time Peter spoke to Friday was reading from a text message he sent to himself. There was no way he was going to chance it and mess up again.

Friday forgave him without hesitation. After telling Friday, “I missed you,” he ran out of the elevator before slumping against the wall and smiling up to the ceiling.

Tuesday

Peter ran into the lab just in time. He braced his hands on his knees working to keep his breath even before entering the door.  Making sure it sounded normal though all he wanted to do was suck all the oxygen up in the room.

Without looking up he set his backpack down, watching it fold against the wall and then put his coat over it. He expected to see Mr. Stark already working like he normally was.

Instead, lab two was empty.

Peter sat in his normal chair, notebooks lined on the desk, waiting for Mr. Stark. He scribbled out some new ideas and started on homework.

Lost in the midst of Shakespeare and the mischievous Puck, Peter failed to notice the darkening sky. With one last glance around the lab Peter packed up his stuff, lingering in the doorway. Friday wasn’t sure where the man was either and his hesitation grew.

Should he wait or go?

“I’ll let you know once he arrives, Peter.” Friday said. “It’s dusk now. You should go home.”


He left a single piece of paper on the desk with wrinkled with a hasty message.  

Peter sat, restless and denied of sleep on his fire escape, listening to the sounds of the city. It was past the witching hour when his phone lit up with a notification.

Wednesday

The end of the day brought the arrival of a resurgence of weariness in his bones. Careful to follow the bends in the path Peter made his way home.  He stepped around a sunken pothole where the cement was torn up, scattered into the street, and began walking on a dirt path. The dirt was well-worn and he imagined, if he looked hard enough, there were small footsteps etched into the path from the children who would run and play there in the summer.

As he entered the small apartment the sounds of his aunt puttering around the kitchen flooded him along with the smells of her famous spaghetti.

“Hi May,” he called from the entryway lining his shoes with the others in the hallway. She yelled back and Peter smiled when he heard a crash of dishes followed by gruntled rumbling from May.

The foreign feeling of his stomach growling led him into the kitchen. He hugged May and grabbed the bowls from the counters, setting them on the table. With their plates loaded, May began talking about work and with little prompting went on to bash her boss.

“And how was your week, sweetheart?” She asked, wiping a trail of sauce down her chin.

“Oh, you know… the usual.” Peter twisted his own spool of noodles before answering.

“Okay.” She said not giving up. “Give me one good thing that happened with Ned.”

“I ate lunch with them the other day. Mike asked me what Harry Potter I thought was the best.”

“Your answer?” she said already knowing.

“Book or movie?” They said together and Peter smiled at his aunt.

“What’s one good thing that happened at the internship?”

This one he knew without thought.

“Frank lost a bet with Julia so now he has to wear pajamas to all our meetings, also his meetings with Lee, and not say anything.” May giggled and proclaimed she had to get to know Julia.

“And what’s one good thing that happened in the other project?”

“May...” he whined but all she did was repeat the question.

“I-” He thought about the warped memory. The one where Mr. Stark was checking his temperature. He thought about all the number of things he could say but he simply went with: “Mr. Stark told me good job last week” and left it at that ignoring the way the back of his throat seized up.

After dinner they sat on the couch watching reality TV. May was obsessed with the housewives and Peter was happy to cuddle next to her until he fell asleep.

The apartment felt like home for the first time in a while.

Thursday

Peter entered the lab, dropping his backpack in its spot. A sigh of relief escaped him before he could stifle it.

There was Mr. Stark sitting at the desk. Back from wherever he had been.

He was talking on the phone and hadn’t noticed Peter’s arrival. He stretched his legs under the table and tried not to eavesdrop.

“Jesus Rhodes… I couldn’t stop hearing his voice if I tried. The man can literally not stop talking… Yeah, look I’m on it but I don’t trust a single particle of oxygen around the guy.”

He looked toward Peter who gave him a small wave and returned to his notes to continue giving the air of privacy.

“Look, I’ve got to go. No, it’s not a lady. Yes, I won’t promise not to look into Ross.” Peter could hear yelling on the other end of the phone and smiled. Mr. Stark said goodbye and ended the conversation with a flick of the wrist.

Mr. Stark smiled at Peter, setting his phone down on the desk. Peter couldn’t help but notice the dark circles under his eyes or the shadowed lines tightening around his mouth.

“Hey, Kid. Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay. I was early and all. Friday wasn’t very talkative, not that I was either but I was out of school early and I didn’t mean to listen in and …”

Mr. Stark chuckled. “It’s alright, Kid. There’s nothing to worry about.”  

They set to work but Peter couldn’t help notice the tense set of his shoulders. A slab of copper hit the desk and Mr. Stark twisted toward him.

“Kid, I hate to do this. Really, I do. But,” he ran a hand through his hair. “The call wasn’t about nothing and I need to do some research for it. I know it’s bad timing today and we have this time…” Now it was Peter’s turn to reassure Mr. Stark.

“Ah, I get it. No worries I can just,” he motioned to his backpack but Mr. Stark held up his hands.

“Stay here and work if you want. This lab is yours as much mine.”


Peter swallowed as Mr. Stark left lab two. His commanding voice already resonating through the hallway as he talked into his phone. Peter’s fingers were clenched shut and he hastily uncurled them under the table. A gnawing empty space hollowed out in his chest but with a quick shake of his head, making sure to file the name Ross away, Peter got back to work.  

Friday

Peter stretched his arms over his head flattening his palms on the wall. They shook with the weakness that comes in the wake of sleep and a lazy yawn overcame him, urging him to go back to sleep.

Knowing that wasn’t an option he opted to turn toward the window before his second alarm went off. His bed was at just the right angle he could see out past his fire escape and at the buildings across the way. While his window mate hardly opened the blinds, something he was grateful for, the small family above them hardly shut them. Peter could make out the plants growing up the balcony bars towards the sun. He unpeeled his hands from the wall and without moving more than he had to inched the window open. Their radio leeched into the room and Peter hummed along while he ran through the list of everything to do today.  

There was English reading to be done- most likely on the subway to school. Right before lunch period they were set to leave school and take the subway to the groups meeting spot. May called ahead last night to let the school know he was leaving early. Mr. Washington practically invited Peter to take the week off if he needed it to work on the internship which had May laughing. Then they would go to Oscorp, the butterflies in his stomach flared up at the thought, and back to the Tower to work with Mr. Stark.

He groaned into the pillow. It would be a busy day and all he wanted to do was sleep.

Four alarms and twenty minutes later Peter was running with toast in hand to catch the subway. A copy of A Midsummer Night’s Dream tucked under his arm.

He wasn’t sure if his leg had stopped bouncing all day. He was certain that Mrs. Brzozowski’s face was going to be stuck in an exasperated scowl if he were to remain in her class for a second longer.

With blessedly good timing, something rare for high school, lunch came before Peter knew it. Ned knew all about his fieldtrip so Peter made his way to the steps outside, scanning the students for Flash.

It wasn’t strictly necessary for him to come along with their group, but Flash insisted. Peter secretly thought Flash wanted to skive out of the chemistry exam today. No one during the group meeting put any objections up and he had been the one to get them the passes so it was decided.

He leaned against one of the pillars outside of school. Peter wasn’t sure how a pair of shoes could be so white but he’d heard some other freshman talking enviously about them earlier. Peter tapped his finger against his jeans before walking forward. 


“Hey,” he said pulling the straps on his backpack tighter.

“Parker, you ready?”

After the third time asking if Flash had the passes the boy shoved them into his hand.

“You keep track of them then, why don’t you.”

Peter thumbed through them, cataloging the different receipts and put them in his backpack for safekeeping.

He missed the look Flash sent over as his leg continued to bounce up and down and therefore was startled with he began talking about his own team’s project. The subway provided a numbing white sound and Peter fell into the easy role of listener, giving small utterances and, when desperate enough to keep Flash talking, asking questions.

“We’re in the final stage of editing now and the presentation’s almost done but Olivia is still freaking out.”

“Over what?” Peter asked.

“Hell, if I know. Wait until you see it, though. Our project is good.” He said. At the beginning of the year without hesitation Peter would have thought it was an arrogant response. Maybe it still was but all Peter did was smile and feel a sliver of pride for them.

This continued in a similar vein as they walked up the stairs and onto the sidewalk. They weaved through the sidewalks, eager to get away from the crowds until Peter spotted Frank.

He tugged on Flash’s sleeve and the two of them made their way over to his fortunately tall group member.

“What’s up guys?” Frank’s loud voice carried over the crowds. As they got closer Peter could make out Julia standing next to him. Monica met up with them farther down the street in front of a coffee shop.

Peter hung back, watching the mismatched group journey toward their destination. It was crowded, even for New York, and Frank took the lead. His height and the intimidating set of his browbone warded their path clear. He hid a smile with his sleeve when Frank, in mock deference, bowed to their group as they turned a corner.

The peace wouldn’t last for long. Peter heard Monica and Frank debating about who should be the spokesperson for the tour. Each argued their own merits and Peter could see the beginnings of sparks flying out of their ears when Julia stepped away from where she had been talking to Flash and told them it was Monica’s job because she was technically head of the group. She was also dressed the nicest out of all of them.

With an air of dignity, she pushed her chin up at Frank who didn’t really seem to get why that mattered. Peter did think her maturity a little dashed when she stuck her tongue out at Frank when she thought no one was looking.

Peter looked down at his own pants, bordering too short and the sweatshirt he wore almost every day. Maybe he should have dressed better.

The last corner passed without incident and Peter’s eyes were drawn to the skyscraper in front of them.

Glass windows plunged up into the clouds looking like they continued on into the heavens

If Peter once thought Stark Tower was an extension of heaven, gracing earth with its intricate and seamless structure, then this building in front of him was entirely the opposite. It was like a scorched earth; the hardened molten material of its core was penetrating into the sky. Its black panels tore through the clouds, forcing your eyes on it. Large, bold letters tinted with green glowed at the top, watching.

Oscorp.

He shivered.

“Peter?” Julia called from ahead. He hurried to catch up, each step bringing him under the shadow of the building. It was ironic, he thought, the steps would lead down to the entrance, not up.

Standing away from the line of people waiting, Peter bent down and grabbed the papers out of his backpack before handing them to Flash. Their group watched as he talked to the receptionist. He returned with badges labeled guest.

“We have to wait here for our guide and we’re all set to go.”

Flash began to point out various awards hanging around the lobby stopping when a bored looking woman came up to them.

“Team Stark?” She said raising her eyebrow at their group nickname. Monica nodded and stepped forward to shake the woman’s hand.

“My name is Estee and I’m one of the junior research members here at Oscorp. Mr. Thompson was kind enough to orchestrate this for you today. I hear you’re interested in the anaerobic turbine? We will go see that amount other facilities today. Follow me.” She said this with an efficiency of someone always five minutes late. They looked at each other and then followed behind.

“And this is where we test all the equipment contracted out to NASA among other companies.” She pointed to a large dome like room in the center of the building. The elevator they took was on the outer wall, but it was too difficult see out the dark glass.

“No way.” Monica replied with an uncharacteristic amount of enthusiasm. “You came up with the nanotube trenches technique?”

“I didn’t but, yes, Oscorp had a hand in it.”

“Those copper filings between the trenches are used all the time now in their equipment and spacesuits.”

They all looked at her and she shrugged murmuring something about being interested in space. Estee smiled for the first time since meeting her and they continued to talk about the different thermodynamic technologies utilized today. As they continued the tour Peter noticed her voice was quiet enough only Monica could hear.

“Aren’t they cozy?” Flash said and Peter elbowed him.

Their model was next and they were all interested in the introduction of chemicals to up the rate of decomposition while still keeping the end product viable.

“This anaerobic design catches the methane produced which can be further used for heating and electrical generation.” Estee told them and promised to send the analytics and design to them later.

Peter and Flash stayed behind to take a look at how the compost was loaded into the device. Flash drummed his fingers along the railing, complaining to Peter he had “already seen everything in this place” while Peter took notes. For the sixth time Flash glanced at his watch mumbling that now school was officially over he should duck out and go home. Peter didn’t respond.

The back of his neck prickled and he heard Frank ask: “Hey, what’s in there?”  

They all looked over to see a restricted personal sign. She sighed, first making it clear how many times the question came up in tours and then explaining it was where they did confidential lab exercises usually not open to the public.

It was normal for a facility like this to have a space like that. Peter had seen one at the Tower but that didn’t stop his curiously from being peaked. He wasn’t the only one. They all looked at each other in agreement. Monica, in a rare display of deception, stepped closer to Estee.

“Do you get to work in there?” She asked Estee, her eyes trained on their tour guide.

“Yes, all personal above a certain security are encouraged to do their research there.”

Monica stepped forward a hair into Estee’s space and Peter watched as a wisp watercolor blush stole across both of their cheeks.

“That’s so cool. I would - we would - love to see what you’re working on. If that’s possible.”

Estee regarded them each then returned her eyes to their leader. There was doubt in the furrow between her eyes but after a moment – breaths held in their collective group – she motioned them forward.

Even Flash perked up as they walked toward the red signs. The door locks clicked open and they were in.

“Follow me.” Estee instructed with Monica on her heels, followed by Frank. The rest of them tagging behind at a slower pace trying to take everything in.

“Have you ever been back here?” Peter asked Flash, eyes not moving from all the people.

“Nah, my dad would never let me back here. Look at that thing,” he said pointing to something that looked like a laser. “It’s dangerous and so cool.”

His eyes hovered around its red tip imagining all the destruction it would do when glowing hot.

Someone on the lower level caught his attention.

There, in all the chaos of science, was Seymour. Flash and Julia stopped next to him where he halted and followed his gaze.

“Shit.” Flash said when Seymour looked up from his computer.

He smiled at them slowly and Peter’s stomach clenched thinking of how that same smile appeared when they saw each other at the internship finals. The phantom pain of a blow to his back tingled on his spine. Flash stood frowning next to him. Peter wondered if they were still friends.

“Who is that?” Julia whispered.

Spurred on by her comment, Flash tapped their arms and turned them the other way, aware Seymour had left his station to follow them.

Their group came to a reluctant halt at the sound of their names.

“Look who it is. Did you have to beg Daddy to get you in here Flash?”

The trio turned around to look at the intruder. His chest was pushed forward, Oscorp badge gleaming in the light. Flash smiled wide and like he’d been doing it forever relaxed into a confident stance, legs apart and arms to the side. Peter thought he saw a flare of uncertainty in his eyes but it was gone.

“Seymour,” he said. “You work here man?”

Peter was suddenly aware of the thrumming in his veins. Without thinking his eyes went to Flash. His tone was friendly enough but there was something weary, maybe the way he stepped slightly forward in front of them, in the interaction. He’d never asked Flash what happened in the fallout over the winners of the internship only observing during his lunch days with Ned that Flash hadn’t been so chummy with Seymour after. At the time it seemed like none of his business. Now it did. Sorry wouldn’t help in this situation.

“What else would I be doing here? Touring?” He said heavy with sarcasm.

“Look, we’ve got to go.”

Before Peter could breathe Seymour stepped into Flash’s space. He wound an arm around his shoulder, staring at Peter the whole time.

From a stranger’s perspective it would be easy to image an alternative perception of this whole encounter. Catching your schoolmates’ eyes across the room before rushing over and greeting them with a smile. Simple.

“I insist on showing you guys around. After all, it’s technically because of you I’m here. Right, Flash?”

Not so simple to get away though. Flash strained against the arm around his shoulder and stepped away. There was a tightening around Seymour’s mouth but he said nothing.

“It was fair and square and you know that. I tried explaining that to you.”

Seymour grimaced. They moved into an area less densely populated. No one from their group, not even Estee, was in sight.

“That’s what you said anyway.” Seymour ripped his badge from his jacket and swiped it. This time Peter held no curiosity about what was kept beyond the door.  He stepped closer to Julia.

Their footsteps rang alone in the hallway, closed labs framing them in on either side.

“I’ll think you’ll like what’s in here.” Seymour said giving Peter a wink.

The door closed behind them, sinking them further away from their team.  He closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing and the overwhelming sound of his heart.

On the wall across from them glowed a still image of a rabbit. Seymour must have turned on live footage because it started moving around the cage, nosing the hay and feed scattered about the cage.

Two arms reached into its space, the doors they emerged from snapping shut leaving no room to escape. The whirling mechanisms were open to see under a clear layer of protection, some type of pliant plastic Peter guessed. The rabbit stopped, nose twitching as it watched the arms move in closer. With a snap, the arms seized the rabbit up, holding it in place despite the thrashing and scared noises playing over the audio in the room.

Peter saw Flash take a step back out of the corner of his eye.

The camera filming moved to zoom in on the other side of the animal. Peter’s face paled. The new angle revealed an open wound on its side. Dried patches of brown and glistening red covered the fur and hind foot. He could see the patches of it staining the bottom of the cage and moved to look at his feet. For a moment, Peter swore similar patches were in the concrete where he was standing.  

“Watch this,” Seymour said without taking his eyes off the projection.

Another arm entered the frame carrying a small clear vial. The rabbit twitched uttering another squeal when the arm tipped the vial over and a transparent liquid rushed onto the wound. It sunk into it and created a pinkish layer of congealed mucous. Then it started moving. Before their eyes the wound began to close up. Another projection started underneath showing a microscopic look at what was happening.

It was a process he knew all too well.

The rabbit shook, trying to pull away from the arms. Its small squeals echoing around the room. Small tears formed in the gelatinous mesh concealing the blood from view. It increasingly fractured the more the animal fought, scarring into the center of it. After no more than five minters, though it felt like forever, the tear connected in the middle and dripped off, leaving a larger, more enflamed wound than before.  

The arms tightened around the rabbit and before they could utter any protests the hologram shut off. The audio did not and after a heart wrenching there was a dull thud.

Someone started talking, gloating over their protests at them – at Peter, but there was a film blocking his thoughts. He could not move, only stare at the grey wall. Someone grabbed his arm. Flash, he thought. Then a soft face was standing before him, whispering to him and holding one of his hands.

Sounds and smell and feeling come roaring back. He remembered the feeling of going on a water slide when he was young. The plastic tubes blocked out the sounds of the water park leaving you falling with nothing but your own thoughts and the water. At the last moment, when he thought everything was helpless, the water came rushing out into the pool right before the tube emerged into the world again.

Julia let go of his hand but stayed next to him. Flash continued to look between him and Seymour.

He should have stayed in bed today.

“Well, Parker. Congratulate me. Mr. Osborn took one look at it and let me come work here after school.”

Julia spoke up though her face was pale.  “I don’t know who you are but this is stolen property”

He really should have stayed home. The rabbit would have been alive then. None of them would have had to seen that.

“Who says?” Seymour’s smile never faded.

Flash had never seen Peter’s presentation and his face was lined with confusion.

“That’s…. Its mine.” Peter spoke, eyes blazing at the boy in front of him.

Seymour scoffed.

“I don’t think so. It’s here in Oscorp. That makes it their property.”

His nails bit into the skin of his palm while his mind racked itself for an answer to the unasked question. After months of hard work; of guilt fueling sleepless nights and unending days it was somehow in another’s grasp. Someone who hated him. Someone who had mocked him all year. Peter couldn’t even comprehend how it was being tested.

“He created this,” Julia spoke stepping in front of Peter. “That’s what he used get into Stark’s internship.” She paused again before continuing though Peter wished she would stop.  “But you know that, don’t you? Because you were rejected for bribery.”

It was the first time in all their interactions Peter could say a genuine emotion showed on Seymour’s face. He took a step toward Julia, mouth squeezed into a tight line. Peter’s hands reached forward to grab onto her and pull her back if necessary.

“Why you little bitch…” he said, stalking closer and then the doors opened tearing down the waterslide tube they were all stuck in and left them exposed to the outer world once again.

They all froze. Peter’s hand gripping Julia’s backpack, Flash stood to the side looking at Seymour with wide eyes, and Julia, proud with her chin up and standing tall. Seymour moved first, stepping back with a lazy smile.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Osborn.” He said gazing at the door.  

Peter couldn’t recall much of the newcomer’s appearance besides the eerie similarities he had to the very building they were in. He was tall, all sharp angles, shadowing all the deep contours in his face and neck. And his smile. His smile curled at the edges. The only soft thing on the man’s face.

“Hello, Seymour. Glad you are showing our guests your project.” The man brought his phone up and scrolled through it not taking mentioning the strange circumstances he found them in. “We’ve got Julia Lang, Flash Thompson, your father is an excellent employee, and Peter Parker.”

He glanced up and smiled largely, leaving them with no question of who was in charge. Peter stared at the ground but he could feel eyes lingering on him.

“Welcome to Oscorp.”

Hope you enjoyed!! Here is the link to the NASA page I used for reference. 

Taglist: @verdonafrost @whatisthou @demi-starzak

Next Chapter Twelve: The End

[audiovenue]

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[stark-strange-love2]

Dang this is pretty prepowers 😍

Practice makes perfect