#etere collection
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Etere Collection
by Valentina Cameranesi Sgroi
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i promised and i delivered
#Medicine Pocket#Eternity#reverse 1999#medpoc girlkissing collection#EterPocket#Medinity#patch 1.8 spoilers#if a woman holds you like this wyd#god i love eternity so much#medpoc x eter nation (only me) eating rn#listening to sunlit garden from utena on loop btw#nblw#mochadoodles#reverse 1999 fanart#i made them kiss kiss#nblw art
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#23 from my prompt meme with E/lias (maybe P/eter deciding to make Elias sneeze)??
Thank you for the request~~
Gently humming “wreeeckkk the maannn, wreeck the maaan” under my breath~ <3
2.4k, prompt #23 from ~this list~, story under cut!
23. "You really don’t want to do that, trust me."
(References to swearing, and T/MA spoilers, so please proceed with caution for those!)
~~~~~~~
It wasn’t The Eye that alerted him to the company waiting in his office. Nor was it Rosie, though it should have been. Elias makes a mental note to have a talk with her about her job description. No, unfortunately for the head of the institute, what clued him in was an unmistakable scent of mischief in the air. Mischief tinged with a hint of salt.
“Peter,” Elias offers with a glance at the figure flicking into focus in the corner. He steps into his office, leaning against the doorframe. “I don’t recall planning a meeting for today.”
To the untrained ear it would seem a polite yet dismissive greeting, but Peter is well versed in the many tones of Elias Bouchard. As a captain, one has to be able to see each undertow through an otherwise calm surface, a technique not limited to the ocean.
“Your memory remains sharp as ever, Elias. We did not. However, I’ve come to you with an offer. One I know you can’t turn down.”
Raising an eyebrow, Elias lets the image of Jon slumped over his recorder fade into the background. Pulling himself to his full height, he strides to his desk and takes a seat behind it.
“You have my undivided attention.”
“I do, don’t I? What an honour.” The captain sinks onto the desk, a faint smile clinging to the corners of his balanced expression. His gaze falls on Elias, who in turn feels himself starting to slip into the familiar sensation.
Peter’s eyes aren’t just dark, they’re more… empty. It’s not that the light doesn’t reach them; they aren’t bathed in shadows. Instead, they seem to soak the light from around them and swallow it whole. As they trace up Elias’s figure, it’s as if they’re trying to consume the glow from his own, taking all of him with it.
“Well? I am quite a busy man. If you would be so kind, present your offer.”
“Oh, I did use that word, didn’t I?” Despite not a trace of illumination, a gleam dances through Peter’s eyes. “My sincerest apologies, I fear it doesn’t quite match my intentions. Perhaps a better term would be… challenge.”
“And what sort of ‘challenge’ would that be?”
Within a moment the faint smell of salt is replaced by a burning sort of sweetness. Elias feels his body react before his mind has a chance to catch up, a single finger raising to crush the tip of his nose. The contact only serves to exaggerate the itch, and the hand is quickly dropped back to his side.
A smile spreads across Peter’s face in response, fingers uncurling to reveal something long, soft, and distinctly floral. His lips part with an inhale Elias finds himself unable to echo as Peter whispers, “An easy one. Don’t sneeze.”
“Sihhh… hiH-! Simple enough, I suhhppose. And what do I ge- gehh… hH-! get if I succeed?”
“Whatever you would like.”
“You seem quihhte confident, Peter,” Elias purrs, attempting to maintain a touch of decorum through the maddening tickle as it begins to spread deeper. Peter shifts his position, hand coming to rest against Elias’s knee, the offending blossom inching ever closer.
“Perhaps I am.”
“I’ll be the first to admit I wahhsn’t expecting it, you caught m- me… hH- off guard,” Taking a pause, Elias swallows hard, willing the tears pooling around his lashes not to fall. With a measured breath, carefully manufactured nonchalance spread across his face, he meets Peter’s gaze.
“Unfortunately for you, the element of surprise has passed, and I am quite able to fight off this mild irritation.”
“Is that so? Oh dear, my apologies once more, I’m afraid things just keep slipping my mind today. I forgot to mention there’s one more rule to this little challenge,” Peter hums, the smile haunting his hollow face almost as sickeningly sweet as the fauna he waves around with precise recklessness.
Elias feels his nose quiver as the pollen spreads through the air, an unfortunate side effect of The Eye presenting itself as each individual grain makes themselves known to him. Peter had paused, presumably for dramatic effect. Though now it’s more likely captivation, eye’s locked on his prey as Elias sniffles with increasing urgency.
“Ahh… hIH-! And what wouhhld that be?”
“There are no limits to what I can do with my weapon of choice.”
Gesturing to the flower hanging from his fingers, Peter’s face lights up with a smirk once more. The glow of mischief is not unfamiliar to him, but Elias still can’t seem to shake the unease that settles in his gut. Such a light seems to be at odds with the captain’s very personage in a way that makes his skin crawl.
“If I rehhfuse?” Elias questions, lifting his thumb to swipe away a stray tear threatening to escape. The action spreads the buzzing deeper into his sinuses, a gasp breaking between his clenched teeth. Peter echos the inhale with a sharp breath of his own, turning the exhale into a chuckle.
“I suppose you could…” The sentence is unfinished, lingering in the air with almost as much irritation as the pollen. Neither need finish it, they both know the unspoken words ring true. But you won’t.
Another hitch breaks through his defenses as Elias feels his eyes start to shut, the familiar itch spreading out through his mind matching the burn in his sinuses. The all consuming itch to observe. To watch.
“hihH-!” A finger presses against his nose, then two, until his whole palm is pressed against his face in an effort to block the cascade of tickles lining each breath. However before long his wrist is encased in a soft grip, Peter gently pulling it away from his face.
“You saihhd nothing about not being able t- to… haHh- touch my n- nohh… nose.”
“That’s because it’s not a rule. But if you’ll recall, I’m allowed to do whatever I desire with my weapon,” Peter chuckles again, wiping another tear that had broken free, Elias feeling his nose give a violent twitch in response. “And your hand was in the way of that.”
Bringing the blossom up, Peter twirls it between his fingers, a faint horror flashing through Elias’s eyes as a fresh wave of pollen spreads through the air. He wants to hold his breath, but a touch of moisture starts to spread through his nose, the sensation nearly sending him over the edge. Peter isn’t holding his wrist anymore, and yet his hands seem to be frozen in place.
Before he can make a choice, Peter brings the lavender to his face, gently flicking it against one nostril. It manages to touch the inside of his nose leaving his mouth twitching and eyes snapping shut. The constant buzzing of his thoughts are suddenly swarmed with one single word. Sneeze.
“eh’KSHH’ieu-!”
The first crawls out before Elias can raise a hand, but his fingers tighten across his nose in time to stifle the next, “hk’nGT-! ek’gNKT’dieu-!” that seize his breath. From atop the desk he manages to pick up Peter’s voice, though for the life of him he can’t make out any words between shaky gasps.
“hk’nngt’ieu-!”
“Elias, the stifling,” Peter starts, pausing as Elias manages to cast a watery glare. He offers a grin dripping with playful mischief. And yet, a hint of sincerity just below the calm darkness gives Elias the will to stall the impending sneezes long enough for Peter to finish. “You really don’t want to do that, trust me."
“I’m quihhte.. hh’kngt-! quite sure my n- nohh… eh’dnxt-ngXT’ieu-! nose would disagree,” Elias manages, fingers still tightly gripping said nose. Each stifle brings forth a new wave of irritation, his eyes begging to open between each outburst.
The Eye never seemed keen on something that would force his eyes shut. Unfortunately for his patron, it seems allergies were not something even body hopping could outrun. Elias often found himself figuring it as some sort of cosmic joke, or perhaps a punishment. Whatever the case, it led to quite famous attacks, no matter what body he found himself in.
“Actually I believe your nose would be on my side with this matter,” Peter insists, running a single finger down the bridge of said appendage as Elias finds his mouth hanging open, tears now freely streaming from his delicate lashes. “Though your eyes might have a few complaints.”
“hIHh-! P- Peter I cahhn’t… I’m… I’m gonna-” Elias feels his nostrils flare, each breath bringing a fresh wave of thickly sweetened air. His sinuses practically hiss in response to Peter tracing a single nail across them. “hh’kNGT’ieu-!”
Before he can even manage a full breath, the tip of the lavender is pressed against his nose, Peter stroking it back and forth in a motion that has Elias damn near moaning. A light chuckle falls from the captain’s lips, the vibrations travelling through his hand into the stem. Elias just gasps in response, not capable of much else at this point. “hehHH-”
“Much as I’m enjoying watching you prolong your own misery, I’m a bit of a perfectionist. My goal was to make you sneeze, and honestly those little squeaks feel like a hollow victory. I’m going more for the real thing.”
“heHH-! I- I hhhave to… ahH!”
“Yes, I imagine you do.” With that, Peter sets the blossom back on the desk, pulling Elias’s chair closer until they’re sitting eye to eye. With a single fluid motion Peter secures both wrists, Elias only managing to mutter out a groan of disapproval before his features go slack. “Now, have I earned my show yet, or do you need a bit more convinc-”
“hH’KSHH’ieu-! ek’TISHhhieew-!”
Elias aims for his shoulder, spinning as far as he can manage while Peter holds his wrists hostage. Still polite, even in the midst of an allergy attack, an apology scrapes out before another desperate “heHKZSHHuh-!”
“See, doesn’t that feel better?”
“My- my haahhh… hands! aH’KNZSH’dieuu-! ”
“Oh right,” Peter says, releasing his arms and grinning again as Elias frantically brings them to his face. Rubbing his nose against a wrist doesn’t seem to relieve the itch. Instead, Elias switches to mashing a palm against it with a groan.
“Can you imagine if people found out the ‘All Powerful Elias’ was completely taken down by a single bloom of lavender?”
“dTZSHhhuh-!” A wave of irritation flashes through Elias’s face, though it’s unclear whether it’s from the tickle or Peter’s words.
His lashes flutter again, voice hoarse and wavering as he manages to get out a single sentence. “Oh christ, don’t even say the w- word… hh’ETSHhhieew-!”
“Sorry, sorry. It’s quite amusing though. Not often I get to see this shade of red cross your face.”
“Glad you’re… hehh- hH’INZSH-! entertained,” Elias mutters, rummaging through his pockets with growing urgency. Apparently not finding his prize, he turns an accusatory gaze to Peter. “Do you happ- happen-”
Elias pauses, stuck in an itchy limbo that seems to consume him. Peter waits a full minute, but soon it becomes clear there will be no progress without interference. With a glint in his eye, he reaches down and runs his nail down the bridge of Elias’s nose.
“hk’TISHH’dieu-! huhhh… heH-”
A breath, cautious sniff, then Elias attempts to resume his sentence, only to groan in frustration as the tickle chooses this moment to resurge. “Thank- eh’KSHH’ieu-! guhh…”
Holding a wrist up to his nose, Elias coughs lightly, the water in his eyes seeming to take on a luminescent tint. Clearing his throat, he attempts to regain some of his long forsaken propriety. “As I was saying, do you happen to hahh… fuck- ih’GZSH-!”
“Elias Bouchard! What language! Even on my ship we don’t resort to such a foul tongue,” Peter taunts, savouring the scowl Elias aims his way. It’s soon overtaken by another desperately ticklish look as Elias buries his face into his collar for another round.
“hihHZSHHhiew-! Oh bloody hell- kNGSHH’dieu-!”
“Bless. Into your collar Elias?”
“I didn’t have much of- of a… ek’NZSH-! choice. Seems I’ve misplaced my handkerchief today.”
“Oh dear, that certainly does seem like an inconvenience,” Peter murmurs, letting his mouth contort into a grin as his tongue traces the outline of his lips. Elias offers an exasperated sigh in return.
“Quite. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.
“ehH-! Really, agaihhhn?” Rolling his eyes, Elias reaches for his collar as the tickle swells once more, shooting the lavender a pointed glare before his eyes glaze over. “hH’KZSH’ieu-!”
“Blessings. You know what, I think I just so happen to have an extra today. Would you be interested in-” Before he can get another word out Elias has ripped the cloth from his hand, burying his face in the soft folds for another “eh’YIZSHieww-!”
He lets a couple blows scrape out into the cloth, a heady sigh bursting from his chest as he finishes, managing to actually get some airflow through his nose. The sound leaves them both wincing, but it’s better than nothing. It also seems to mark the end of the fit, though Elias still eyes the blossom laying on the table with more than a hint of caution.
“Are you planning on… disposing of that?”
Peter follows his gaze, another unsettling laugh spilling out as he crushes the flower in his palm. “I would be happy to. After all, it served its purpose well.”
“Well. In that case, I suppose there’s only one matter of business left to attend to before this ‘meeting’ comes to a conclusion.”
“Oh? And what would that be?” Peter asks, head tilting as he watches Elias dab at his eyes with a clean section of the cloth. Once he’s content, he brings it down to his scarlet tinged nose to give it another deep scrub. Peter gestures to his face with a smirk. “If it’s the handkerchief, you can keep it.”
“How kind. No, I was thinking more of your prize.”
“My prize?”
“Indeed. You did win the challenge af- after… afterall- hhK’IEZSHuh-!”
Elias lets out another groan, a few curses following on its tail as he blows his nose again, the whole ordeal leaving him sniffling. Peter can’t help but feel a pang in his chest as Elias leans back in his chair with a heavy sigh, letting his eyes close in a way that just looks exhausted.
“How about you owe me a favour. I’m sure I can think of something I’d want,” Peter offers, a softness in his tone that has Elias opening a single eye to observe the captain.
After a long pause, Elias simply nods, returning his head to the back of his chair as his eyes drift shut once more. Peter stands, offering a wave over his shoulder as he doesn’t quite walk out the door, but still exits the room.
“Thanks for the fun, Elias. Let’s do this again soon.”
#waterfallasks#waterfallwrites#wreck the maaaan~~#Thank you for the request!!#not sure how well i did but i had fun wrecking him <333#hopefully its an acceptable addition to the already INCREDIBLY t/ma collection on here!!#or at least not a disgrace to the good name of t/ma ahaha~#I just... i just like wrecking him... he deserves it.#for having such a pretty voice. and charming fake personality.#hes evil but hes HOT about it so he needs to be wrecked a little as a punishment okay- hehe~#t/ma#e/lias b/ouchard#l/onelyeyes#p/eter l/ukas#the m/agnus a/rchives
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Currently the planet is going through an epic energetic shift in global consciousness and frequency upgrades, unlike anything we have seen before, and it is happening rapidly. People are quickly awakening and gaining access to their own light, their own power, their own information, their own truth.
With this level of change, comes great challenges (opportunities for learning and growth) and disruptions that may rock you to your core, as you release the old and make room for the new emerging energies to come into form. The old structures must fall; the limitations must be released; the castles of corruption must crumble to the ground. Essentially, we must empty out the garbage first, removing the layers of trash from our lives that are clogging the pipes and stopping the flow, before we can be filled with and hold, the high frequency light that is available to all of us, now more than ever before.
We are entering a new era of human understanding, a time where many of us are cracking open out of our old hardened shells, shedding limiting belief systems and toxic thought patterns, dismantling the false structures of control, unhooking from the planetary programming grids and busting through the illusions of fear and separation, that are designed to intentionally keep us small and stuck and complacent, dependent and enslaved; and we are instead gaining new levels of awareness and embracing the true essence of who we are at the core soul level of our being.
We must stop dimming our light and hiding in the shadows of fear!
Now is the time to fully step up into our creative manifestation power as a collective consciousness — as a unified sea of our unique individual voices, whose authentic expression, whose particular specific sparkle, when united in our bright shining light and connected empowerment, creates a tidal wave of healing alchemy, a shimmering ocean of infinite possibilities, weaving together a tapestry of high frequency crystalline light packets of information and sacred geometries, creating the golden grid of the new paradigm.
Why do we dim our light?
Simple. We are programmed and conditioned to from birth. It is bred into us from day one, woven into the very fabric of our society. We see this manifested as agreed upon social norms, via our corrupt political system, through standardized government funded public schooling (which among other things, inserts its own agenda of controlling what, and how, we learn) and in belief system constructs that are constantly hammered into us, designed to limit, constrict and abolish free expansive thought and expression; all under the guise of freedom of course. We are taught to stay in the box and follow the rules, color in the lines, dot your i’s and cross your t’s like a “good little boy or girl”, to be rewarded, to graduate up to the next level, which simply means moving up to the next little box with a new tight little lid, that is promptly set and sealed firmly in place.
We are controlled and manipulated through our food and water supply, not being told what we are really consuming, yet being told it is good for us when it is brimming with chemicals and hidden toxins that our bodies can’t possibly process, which results in dis-ease and a litany of illnesses on all levels (mental, emotional, physical, spiritual, energetic). We are forced to vaccinate our children who become sick from the poisons and toxic substances they contain. We are told lies of fear through the news and media, as if they are truth; we are really only shown what fits the specific agenda of those with the power, the puppeteers who are installing, and then pulling our strings.
We are groomed to be muppets (aka: mindless puppets) and become hypnotized sheep, who follow blindly, sleepwalking our way through the world, after being led through enticing magical fields filled with beautiful scarlet poppies whose intoxicating aroma of manipulation and unconsciousness makes us check-out, and serves to lull us into eternal sleep. My god, we are even taught to count sheep as children to help us fall asleep at night.
We are constantly being fed fear and propaganda as truth, which conditions us to doubt our natural instincts; so we choose to stay in our separated boxes of imagined safety because we are so afraid of what we are told is “out there”, beyond the iron clad walls that are built around our hearts, to “keep out” and protect us from the boogeymen, and other things that go bump in the night.
Is it any wonder we are too petrified to even turn on the light switch to see if there is really a scary monster in our bedroom lurking in the shadows or hiding under our bed?
We are so traumatized we hide under the covers, paralyzed and trembling with fear, anchoring our feelings of powerlessness even deeper into our incredibly impressionable psyches.
We are pumped full of fear based, hyped-up, trumped-up scenarios (diversions and red herrings), designed specifically to distract us and keep us focused away from the real solutions, and even the real issues, whose discovery of does not serve the status quo, nor the hidden agenda, of keeping us numbed-out, dumbed-down and completely disconnected from the actual real conspiracies (not theories) that are going on, often being hidden right under our noses, in plain sight.
We are told to only believe what we can see, what is “proven” by mainstream Newtonian Physics, which does not address or even acknowledge the effect of consciousness on outcomes (The Observer Effect is a basic premise of Quantum Physics, which simply put says: the mere act of observing something, influences it, and changes it on a quantum level) which affects and changes everything, in a major way.
So we are taught to buy into an old outmoded system of Science that does not accurately reflect the forward movement, the upgraded consciousness (or even the role consciousness plays on matter for that matter) and ignores the new model of the world we are actually living in and experiencing today. It reflects instead a closed system that is now exploding from the pressure of the heightened creative consciousness bursts of the planet expressing itself as higher light frequency, in an entirely new expansive way.
We are taught this because mainstream acknowledgment and acceptance of the Quantum world, is a threat to the current dysfunctional systems run by the select few governing elite, in positions of high power, who financially benefit from the old models staying intact; they profit by keeping us sick and afraid. New thought and change frightens and threatens the old regimes, the corrupt elite groups, the old outmoded structures, that are now beginning to crack and crumble from the pressure, as we enter these new energetic times, where the rules and the rulers are changing.
When we live in a matrix of fear, we are anchored into the lower denser frequencies. The vibration at this level is thick and dense and heavy and dark. This is designed specifically to keep you hooked into the program of control, tethered to the hamster wheel at the bottom of the dark ocean, running endlessly through mazes of circular loops, going nowhere, while eternally drowning and gasping for air.
You really think anyone is thinking about enlightenment or spiritual evolution in that scenario?
Consider Maslow’s hierarchy of needs (pictured below). At the bottom of the pyramid, you have safety and survival. At the top, you find self-actualization and transcendence. To access these enlightened states of being in frequency, you must move up in vibration. And as long as you are strapped to the lower energies and denser frequencies scrambling to get your most basic needs met (and not die), you are trapped, hooked into the control matrix of fear, pain, unconsciousness, unworthiness.
In essence, you are suppressed, hypnotized by the very convincing illusion that says “you are unable (not powerful enough) to ever set yourself free”.
The programming and fear is so thick at this level, it is insidious, infused in everything and found everywhere; so we believe that it is normal and that it is “just the way things are”. We become a valley of complacent cows and submissive sheep waiting to be slaughtered by the very hand that fed us the lies to begin with that keep us enslaved and unaware, all the while oblivious that we are even enchained.
Yet we are the chained elephants conditioned to believe we are stuck and rendered powerless, by the tiny little stake in the ground tied to only one of our enormously powerful feet.
The distortions and corruption is layered and hidden (running very deep indeed). It is woven into the very fabric of what we are taught to trust. It is sprinkled into our “health” food, added to our “clean” water supply and laced into the “natural” supplements we are told will keep us healthy. All this is done with a big fake smile dripping with enticing false promises, that find and push on our pain points, inflicting scarcity and fear and lack consciousness, to convince us of an illusion designed specifically to keep us in struggle; to keep us separate; to keep us subdued; to keep us from questioning; to keep us from remembering how powerful we truly are.
Well this is not normal and it is not the only available option. Not by a long shot.
It’s time now for you all, especially the Light Workers and Way Showers, the Truth Seekers, the Earth Angels on this planet, the Empaths and Energy Healers, and everyone else who has a deep soul calling to help others awaken to their own light, to start shining your own light more brightly than you ever have before — on these illusions, on these distortions, on the garbage that the masses keep consuming as if it is caviar, guzzling down like it’s the finest bottle of Dom Pérignon, remaining drunk, wandering around in a constant dazed collective stupor, from the countless hypnotic bubbles of toxic corruption that are consistently coursing through their bodies on an automatic drip system.
It is time for a massive wake-up call to all of humanity — to remember and ignite your own inner light; to come together in the frequency of love, truth, and collective empowerment; to know that we are so much more powerful than we were ever taught to believe.
How do we share this message with those who are hypnotized and asleep?
We do this by being the light; by speaking our authentic truth; by releasing our own dark shadows that want to drag us into debate and separation and superiority, triggering our need to be right or better than others (or however this ‘right’ vs. ‘wrong’, ‘good’ vs. ‘bad’, ‘us’ vs. ‘them’ separation power struggle out-pictures specifically in your life); we lead by example, sharing our messages of empowerment, worthiness, connection and love with the world, through our own unique authentic voices of truth.
By doing this we will reach a critical mass, a tipping point of awakening, where a new morphic field is created and becomes its own powerful force of light, whose unique signature stands tall, like a glowing lighthouse in the thick dark fog, shining brightly, guiding the way home to those vessels who are lost at sea, being tossed about in the crashing storm of monstrous waves. This is how we create the new paradigm; this is how the new way, the new energies on the planet, come into form; this is how a new world is born.
This is a call to all of you who came here to help awaken the planet.
Please get your own house (your own internal world) in order pronto, so that you can do and be what you came here for. Because the world is waiting for you: to stand tall; to shine brightly; to stop apologizing for who you are and be your true authentic self; and to play your specific role in the awakening of the planet and human consciousness to the absolute fullest now. It is time for what I call, The Alchemy of Awakening. And so it is.
About the Author: Diana Rose Kottle, MA, MFT is a Writer, Soul Alignment Coach™ & Psychotherapist — Inspiring Humanity to Awaken to who we truly are as Energetic Spiritual Beings through Being Authentic, Speaking Our Truth, Connecting to Our Inner Wisdom, and Attuning to Love.
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See girl how well settled plan G
I land in Lala land as contraband
Promisses progrow in progress
So good to be Pole polarisations on bipolar this land explores in moral codex I enforce the light warrior super awareness transformations energy levels charging stations internal system collecting magic potions to transgress existential crisis instrumental version explorations in simulation framework locked in programming symbols transcript setting New World Order
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I raise from dead read me out
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Transcription Holy text I read out loud send to me on vintage computer from god signalling in morse Codex holy text I write in Rex fonts frontal lobe
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Code exe.cute me I am serious in moonlight
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I dream the dream machine turning wheel hilly hilly stoned old town map I upload rediscovery channel under commander channelling aliens linguistic Rythm stick simplify another lifetime
Senniczek 1 am waiting sleepless nights
Waitin sleeping satelites I am alert in waiting
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Yeah is the answer NeoBeat Generation
Reimplanted on promised land in rotation
America In America Now
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yeah, the concert of God I was on the concert of God
I have to go home but empty there
I want to call in the middle of the night I’m again too late I am rushing home to empty halls I call home I am home alone waiting you will come home OHMmmm OMG!
Square in circle French town I own frog tribe on floor square meter speaking eter enter eternal
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You so real I see and feel!
Touch On couch I touch to attach your package in backpack I unpack database stored in da head
Extra memory arrested drama play on Amfy Theatre play on stage we need to replay urban legends
Words Ammo shoots the wordstream
Fill me up give me light! Light me lighter I need goddess flint spark to ignite firefly warming up soul I feel lighter!
Repair Bluetooth connections
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Moment in mass-king colours download signal Si! See me when you sleep
What you’re doin? Hi I’m High Priestees blessed Les squatting church to chill out
Now on the lap of the God. God mode! U upgrade me oldschool expired model. Das model!
Lay all your love on me
press love on my pain
Plaster empty messiah
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I am in red corner ex pi red! Red land quicksand swallow sour milk sea
U in blue ja lubię Lublue ja Ciebie Lublue your blue corner reformaty automaty fantazmaty I speak speaker on air pirate radio gold frequency three six nine six three Tesla golden frequency
I am holy sinner sacrum profanum doom
Look! Take a look at holy book I booked religion legions defend to the end I defend the great defender kicked out field of gold pro groovery
Wait! I rush Russian rush to be on time
I am on time filling the feeling fuel pump electric spark the amp! Amplitude up! I touch fire resistant fire pit glowing halo energy Kinglish crowned secret king on exile drop whizz bombarding fast way bombing the world with altering mind rizla wrapped bombs rescue the peace in Cold War exit the turbulences superpowers hold finger on the red button on nuke testing the universe excellence progressing the simulacra extensions imprint in matrix Sanskrit secret scrolls translations
Reducing actions to recharge the charger
Energymnastic akrobations to reserve enough
To jump another level up
Charging the charger!
mania bipolarysation high resolution solution charge my lifetime battery rewired free electric top up!Charge the charger!
New Bible in Kinglish copy!
Are you ready to read my mind?
So addictive your chemical calories!
Nutritions in da eyes feed me fast!
Punk is home!
OHM come my home
I’m on my way on your way
Psychedelicatesse intense expression press sure Surrealma matter holy patient is patient
Steer me see me Seenie and SteefAnieC
Plan A to C to K.S. My name KS is X
BezSenności ściemnia się
Can’t get a sleeping pill I need your lovin
I’m tribal Poles position the king in sleepless terms Les
Dream realms Heals sleepliness in the well of loneliness
Wounded lioness come my house
Fix me default in simulation city game I used to abuse press play on tape register download I am the who poet talking therapy bout my generation!
drum on drums play the game of love play to find the way out. Exit!
Records say AI I write my soul damages in night howl night owl watching nights scrolling down your body language signature I sign the signal alarm resistors
Sin City is breaking golden balance intense ekspressions old language trans portal immortal PolSky spy Kinglish plan C you see my plan C I see Beatific rites
I need to speed walk now to catch the bus double Dekker chasing androgyn perfectness balancing famm and alpha dyke extremities on scaless unjustices sent my way I can’t miss the bus stop playing long song I compose compositter Chopin translations in evolution absolute power my execution so cute cut me up axe techniques to see the miracle golden child send away homeland to update script holy typewriter I type the hyperactivity Beat in bits syn chroni City synchronicity serve and protect Holy text I impress on conciousness press
See me type who type ape my pen links dreaming dreams
I’m gold ape kinga the king of the bongo bong tribe I bring you my United Kingadom my homeostaza ekstaza see real see me Come! Co? What? Water! and Air! I breathe Air on air!
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JD ZAZIE AT IMPROVESTIVAL
2023/10/07
Improvestival #2
JANNEKE VAN PUTTEN
EUGENIO SANNA
EDOARDO RICCI
JÖRG ZEMMLER
RENATO SCLAUNICH
MICHELE SCARIOT
LUCIO BONALDO
PETER KOMPRIPIOTR HOLZKNECHT
GIULIANO TREMEA
HUBERT OBERARZBACHER
JD ZAZIE
PATRIZO PICA
COLLETTIVO ARTISTICO ETERE
Bressanone - IT
The second edition of Improvestival curated by artist Peter KOMPRIPIOTR Holzknecht, initiator of the improvisation label FIN, will soon take place in Bressanone/Brixen.
On 7 October, international figures from the improvised music scene will play with local artists/experimenters in small constellations suggested by him.
Invited to participate are Janneke van der Putten, Eugenio Sanna, Edoardo Ricci, Jörg Zemmler, Michele Scariot, Lucio Bonaldo, Peter KOMPRIPIOTR Holzknecht, Giuliano Tremea, Hubert Oberarzbacher, JD Zazie, Patrizio Pica and the art collective Etere.
Concerts will start at 21:00 at Astra
Romstraße 11
39042 Brixen
Admission 15€
For those returning to Bolzano, there will be night buses available in front of the venue at the end of the event.
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NFTs news, Sergio Aguero signs for the Sandbox Games Metaverse
NFTs news, Sergio Aguero signs for the Sandbox Games Metaverse
NFTs news,
Argentinian and ex-Manchester City legend Sergio Kun Aguero’s reinvention since retirement continues as he teams up with the Sandbox. The idea is to build a football-centric virtual world of gaming, ‘The Kuniverse’. The game’s metaverse, which was developed with Eter Studios, is slated for release on the 6th of November with an accompanying collection of Kun NFTs.
Kun Aguero should…
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Contact Pavilion in #Glastonbury, United Kingdom by GAS Architectures / Germán Sandoval @gasarchitectures. Read more: Link in bio! Designed by Mexican architecture studio GAS Architectures, Contact Pavilion is located near of the crop circles on the Glastonbury fields. The sacred geometry is used as a method of connection between the ancient knowledge and the new technologic and digital era through the history, the beauty, the sustainbility and the memories. The structure represents the time, the energy, the evolve of the human being on the cosmos and the hope of eter- nity. #uk #pavilion #архитектура www.amazingarchitecture.com ✔ A collection of the best contemporary architecture to inspire you. #design #architecture #amazingarchitecture #architect #arquitectura #luxury #realestate #life #cute #architettura #interiordesign #photooftheday #love #travel #construction #furniture #instagood #fashion #beautiful #archilovers #home #house #amazing #picoftheday #architecturephotography #معماری (at Brighton, Victoria, Australia) https://www.instagram.com/p/CWtWXGvLMEj/?utm_medium=tumblr
#glastonbury#uk#pavilion#архитектура#design#architecture#amazingarchitecture#architect#arquitectura#luxury#realestate#life#cute#architettura#interiordesign#photooftheday#love#travel#construction#furniture#instagood#fashion#beautiful#archilovers#home#house#amazing#picoftheday#architecturephotography#معماری
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SAVE THE DAY
Pairing: Peter Parker x reader
Summary: Peter wants to quit being Spider-Man, but the reader needs saving.
Word Count: 3600-ish.
Warnings: mentions of violence/alcoholism and abuse/hostage situation. Angst with fluffy ending.
A/N: Let’s just pretend Peter didn’t turn into dust during IW. Also, this has a dark theme? I wrote this a while ago and figured I’d post it. It’s pretty bad, sorry.
Peter Parker is sick and tired of being Spider-Man.
Between hardly getting any sleep and his grades faltering miserably because of his nightly escapades, the fact that half of his friends died just three weeks ago doesn’t exactly help his case. He’s tired of putting on the suit, tired of scouring the streets in the dark of night, tired of waiting for crimes to happen when he really should be studying.
Peter lost some of the people he looked up to the most, and ever since he returned home, he hasn’t been able to stop feeling horrendously guilty over the fact that he wasn’t able to save them. He misses his friends, but mostly, he misses his coworkers, half of whom had disappeared into dust. What’s the point of being Spider-Man when you can’t even save the ones you hold dear to your heart?
Peter is seated behind his desk, black ink pen tightly gripped between his clammy fingers. His left palm is stuck under his chin, and his eyes, droopy and fluttery, shift between the clock hanging above the door towards the back of the classroom. His hazel orbs scan everything from the green linoleum floors to the yellow-stained ceiling with its flickering lights. Empty seats line the back walls, desks and chairs stacked on top of each other in a sick manner.
Desks that were once filled with students now sat empty to collect dust and termites. Most of the kids that vanished didn’t even know who Thanos was or what his intentions were. It isn’t fair, Peter thinks as he grips his pen and clenches his jaw. They didn’t deserve to die.
Several of Peter’s classes have been postponed until further notice due to the sudden lack of staff and student body. Of course, Mr. Brown hadn’t vanished, and so, Peter is sitting in his Tuesday morning math class with barely over a dozen other kids. Each one of them looks just as sad, confused and most of all defeated as Peter does, because most of them have lost multiple family members and friends in the blink of an eye without any hope of bringing them back.
James from physics has lost both his parents. Samantha from biology lost only one, but her grandparents as well. Francis from literature didn’t have parents even before the Snap, but lived with her aunt and uncle who both disappeared. The gist of it is clear; grief, hurt and anger surrounds the school like a thick, impenetrable blanket of fire from which nobody can escape and for a moment, Peter doesn’t know on which side of the Snap he’d rather be.
The seconds on the clock tick by agonizingly slowly. Mr. Brown knows nobody in his class gives a shit about potentially solving mathematical problems anymore, but life must go at the end of the day and until anyone has any better ideas, the only thing the school board knows to do is to keep teaching classes to whoever decides to show up. To be fair, even though it’s nothing like how it used to be, school remains the only constant in most of these kids’ lives.
Doubt continues to plague Peter’s cloudy mind as the day progresses. He’s already stuffed his suit in Ned’s locker - he wouldn’t be needing the space anymore anyway. The mere thought of his best friend vanishing into thin air made his fist curl and his eyebrows twitch in anger and every waking moment of his existence he hates himself for not being able to help him make it through the Snap. Then again, maybe it was for the best.
Being alive suddenly didn’t seem like such a great thing anymore with the world in complete shambles.
After class is over, most of the students slowly drag their feet towards the library or the cafeteria. With so many postponed classes, study hours are given left and right until the board has time to conjure a new schedule. Peter slings his backpack over his shoulder and, while dragging his feet to the library, absentmindedly reaches his phone from his back pocket. The latest iPhone he was given by Tony now feels alien in his hand, especially since half of his contacts don’t exist anymore. The Snap chat streak he used to have with Ned died weeks ago, and the last message Peter sent him still sits in Ned’s inbox marked as ‘unread’. Peter grips the device and bites his lip. He has to stop himself from throwing it out of the window all together. Looking at it has become unbearable.
Just as he’s about to shove it back deep inside his pocket, it vibrates. He thinks it’s just his imagination at first, but when his hand shakes for the second time, he lifts up the phone with the thumping of his heart.
It’s you, your name displayed as the caller ID across the screen, followed by blue and red heart emojis. You picked those out yourself.
“What’s up?” he asks after picking up, “where are you? You have no idea how boring math is without you.”
When the line momentarily remains silent on your end, Peter shrugs. You’ve pocket-dialed him before so it doesn’t immediately strike him as odd, and when he calls your name and doesn’t receive a response, he hangs up, finally able to place the phone in his pocket where he hopes it will remain forever.
But it doesn’t remain there forever, because less than a minute later, it rings again, once more flashing your name across the screen for his eyes to see. His groans, but picks up anyway as he stands in front of the library entrance.
“Y/N?” He asks, holding the device tightly to his ear just in case he can hear you in the distance.
“No,” you whisper finally, “he’s going to kill a bunch of people, P.”
Peter’s blood runs cold when the call is ended once again. He wastes no time sprinting towards Ned’s old locker and holds his breath when he dashes through the empty hallways. Before he gets there, he calls you back. You don’t answer.
Peter sneaks the costume into his backpack and changes into it in the empty bathroom near the physics lab. He stuffs his backpack inside the air vent and dials your number again. With his phone stuck tightly against his ear, he jumps out of the window.
You are one of the only people Peter still has left and vice versa. The two of you have been friends for ages, sharing nearly every class and you, him and Ned always sit together for lunch. The three of you would hang out together after school as well; you saw movies together and played video games on the weekends. You texted each other constantly.
The Snap wiped out nearly your entire family. Your mother, little brother and both of your grandparents and your aunt and uncle on both sides. You were left with nobody but your step-father.
Peter knows the two of you don’t get along. The man drinks too much, stays out too late even during the week and sometimes, he doesn’t even come home for days. Your mother always welcomed him back with open arms and chose to ignore the empty bottles of vodka and whiskey in the trash. She ignored the perfume on his clothes and his behavior towards you and stayed with him, a man so unstable he couldn’t hold jobs longer than a few months at a time. Her blindness to his shenanigans always angered Peter, because the relationship between your mother and step-father affected you in more ways than you cared to admit.
He knows you wish it was him who died instead of your mom and frankly, Peter wishes the same. He never liked the guy.
Peter is extremely worried about you, because he knows the drinking has doubled since your mom died. You’ve been skipping school to take care of the household and you know very well how Peter feels about your step-father’s lack of participation in and around the home. He started taking you away from your house whenever he could find the time and you’d even met Tony Stark the first time Peter took you to the tower. It surprised Peter to see how well the two of you got along, but then again, computer science is your favorite subject in school so it’s something the two of you could bond over. Well, it used to be anyway, because the class got dropped after the teacher and eight of his students got lost in the Snap.
Peter’s heart rams against his rib cage when you finally answer the phone. In the background, he can hear people screaming and shouting.
“Y/N? Where the hell are you?” He asks, using his webs to sling himself from building to building to avoid being seen in broad daylight.
“Central bank,” you whisper under shaky breaths, “gun. Can’t talk.”
The line goes dead once again, and Peter immediately changes direction.
You knew something was wrong when Hank offered to drive you to school this morning, because he’d never volunteered to take you anywhere before and you doubted he would start now. The red rims around his dull, yellow eyes made you decline his proposal at first but he insisted, and in fear of getting hurt by a man nearly twice your size, you finally agreed to have him drive you to school. You weren’t in any kind of mood to argue with him, and you sure as hell didn’t want to provoke him. Besides, the drive would only take ten minutes, while walking took you nearly half an hour, so you couldn’t exactly complain.
It saddened you to see him like this. The two of you never really got along, but at least a small part of you hoped that the shared loss of your mom and little brother would bring you some type of twisted companionship, something dark to bond over. You wanted to ask him if Peter could stay over for dinner, but the dark sweat stains on his creme t-shirt and his iron grip on the wheel made you stay quiet.
Hank never liked talking when he had a hangover. Talking too much always made him angry, and you don’t like seeing him pissed off. Granted, the only times he’d physically hurt you were when he was so drunk he couldn’t even tell you his own name, but you still fear him even now, afraid that one day he might actually do something he can never take back. With this knowledge, you typically stick to avoiding him on mornings after he’s had too much to drink. Nowadays though, it’s all he does.
Even when he deviates from the usual route to your school, you bite your tongue in fear of pissing him off. Perhaps, you think, he’s forgotten the location of your school or maybe he’s too hungover to think straight and the entire time, you expect him to turn around. He doesn’t, but wen he finally does stop, he does so in front of Central Bank.
You finally dare to speak up, asking him quietly what the two of you are doing there and fully expect him to sneer at you, to spit out that he’s only going to withdrawal money from your mother’s account again so he can support his bad habits, but instead of answering, he leaves you in the car and reaches for the trunk.
“What are you doing?!” You ask fearfully when he rips open your door and grabs a fistful of your hair.
“Shut up and don’t make a sound, got it?”
He pulls your head towards the ground when he walks, so the only thing you can see is the beat up sneakers on his feet and the terrifying barrel of a semi-automatic weapon. There’s no security guard near the entrance, but you don’t have enough time to wonder where he might be, because Hank’s already crossed the threshold and he’s shouting like mad when you realize what the hell is going on.
"Everybody sit the fuck down on the ground or I'll kill every last of one you!"
Screams erupt from every corner, and as Hank angrily waves the gun around in an attempt to scare the customers and bank personnel, people left and right begin to duck behind chairs, desks and in booths. You can hear a baby crying somewhere nearby, and your palms are sweating and shaky when you curl them into fists. You’ve always known he’s crazy, but even for him, this is fucking insane.
"Hank, what the fuck are you doing?" You scream, feeling the pressure of his grip on your neck sting like a hot iron.
"Shut up, before I shut you up myself. Don't make a god damn sound, you hear me? That goes for all of you!"
The next hour is a complete blur. Shots are fired into cream-colored walls, demands are made on stolen cellphones and most of all, you and everybody else inside is scared shitless. Hank forces you to sit in of the empty chair behind counter three, the one where people come to apply for loans. He continues to keep the gun pointed mostly at you - the hostage he uses to negotiate his demands. You called Peter when his back was turned to you, but couldn’t speak at first out of pure terror of being seen or heard.
Outside, flashing red and blue lights draw near, and the sound of multiple helicopters rounding the perimeter nearly drowns out the sound of Hank’s screeching voice when one of the clerks makes an unexpected move. You’ve never seen him this angry and doubt you’ll ever see it again. Practically all bank transfers are conducted digitally nowadays, most banks using shares on the stock market to finance their customer’s savings accounts. Sure, there’s physical money inside, but none of the desk clerks have access to the vault where they keep the big bucks. How Hank didn’t realize this is a mystery to you.
You’re starting to realize time is running out when SWAT arrives with a hostage negotiator. Peter can feel his heart nearly exploding inside his chest when he thinks of you as he slings his way across the city. He’s never run faster across rooftops, but he doesn’t take a moment to breathe until he makes it there.
It doesn’t take him very long to sneak inside through one of the top floor’s open windows. Peter ignores the news camera’ that zoom in on him while he climbs inside, swallowing thickly at the knowledge that Tony’ll probably be pissed off later.
He jumps down the staircase, swinging from left to right and balancing on the barricades until he reaches the first floor of the old building. Directly beneath him, he can hear the commotion and when he finally finds an air vent in one of the break rooms, he uses his webs to fling himself up and inside. His phone vibrates again when he’s slowly crawling his way through the dusty vents, but he doesn’t answer, because he can see you sitting in your chair shaking like a leaf when he finally reaches one of the vents that lead to the main entrance.
He notices your step-father walking anxiously in circles, his eyes wildly darting across the entire ground floor to make sure nobody tried to take him down. He needs money now that his source of income has died and the amount of debt he finds himself in leads him to believe this is the only way to do it.
Peter quickly and quietly unscrews the roster that allows fresh air to distribute throughout the ground floor and silently moves it to the side.
Look up.
He quickly texts you, but doesn’t realize your phone might make a sound until he’s already pressed send. He releases a deep breath when you check the message, and begin to search around the ceiling with a worried frown on your face until your finally eyes land on him halfway hidden in the darkness.
You sigh inaudibly but tremble when the gun goes off three times and Hank begins to shout at a mother and her crying baby.
“I'm going to get you out," Peter mouths at you after pushing up his mask you you can see his lips.
He has to get the gun away from Hank, who is now pacing back and forth on the other side of the wall. With one swift motion, Peter drops down from the vent with his finger pushed against his mask to let the people know to keep quiet. He slides behind your chair and gives your hand a tight squeeze before disappearing just in time to see the barrel of the gun followed by Hank.
Sweat drips down the man’s face and back, veins popping angrily in his neck protruding from his temples. Outside, the hostage negotiator uses a megaphone to shout at him, but it’s as if nobody is paying attention to what he’s saying. You only have eyes for Peter, who’s crouched under one of the desks, his arms stretched out in front of him so he can get a good angle on Hank.
Before you get a chance to do as much as blink, silvery webs shoot out from Peter's wrists. They latch onto the cold metal of the firearm and begin to quickly retreat, pulling the weapon out of Hank's sweaty palms. He accidentally pulls the trigger when he struggles to hold on to the only thing that’s currently keeping him alive, firing four shots into the wall before the gun clashes to the ground and drags away from him.
His eyes bulge out of his head when he sees Spider Man, now standing on top of the desk. Peter yanks his arms back, flinging the weapon towards the security guard, who was sitting near the water cooler next to the staff room. The man doesn’t hesitate to pick it up and disarm it, emptying the magazine onto the ground until every last bullet falls to the ground with a clang. They bounce across the floor and roll under desks and at people's feet, away from the man who threatened to kill with them.
Within minutes, the entire place is surrounded by SWAT and cops, their guns aimed at the man who was willing to kill innocent people for his own benefit.
You can hardly get up from your chair when you feel something warm and smooth pressed up against your body. You instantly feel your knees buckling under you, but Peter uses his strength to keep you from falling. Reporters outside try their hardest to catch a glimpse of what’s going on inside the bank, but police officers hold them back as best they can, cutting off their view with all their might while the two of you hug.
Your entire body trembles and your heart feels like it was going to explode as you shivered in Peter's arms, holding onto the boy for what felt like dear life.
"Shh," he whispers in your ear, "It's okay. I got you."
You try to speak, to thank him for coming as quickly as he did, but nothing comes out except throaty stutters and shaky breaths. You’re hurting, even a blind man can see it.
“You came,” you manage, “he just lost it.”
“Of course I did silly,” he replies, “I couldn’t let you get hurt, could I?”
People all around you gasp audibly when Peter pulls off his mask, synapses doing jumping jacks when you come face to face with him in public. He’s never taken off the mask in front of people before, especially not in front of reporters, and out of all of the Avengers, his identity is the only one that up until now remained a secret. Peter isn’t thinking about what Tony might say or what Steve might think. He’s not concerned with the gaping expressions of journalists and cops alike, or with the newspapers that will have his face plastered on the front page tomorrow. He doesn’t care because grown attached to you.
The feeling had crept up on him slowly, and he hadn’t realized it until now, when the possibility of losing you for the second time in such a short amount of time finally managed to get it through his head.
“What are you doing?” You ask, eyes wide and pupils blown out.
“I want you to see me,” he says, “not the mask.”
“But-” you stammer, “your identity. They’ll know. Everyone will know.”
“I don’t care anymore,” Peter uses his thumb to caress your cheek, “let ‘em know that spider man’s just a kid from Queens. I’m sick of hiding.”
The small smile that plays on your rosy lips makes his heart skip a beat. He’s in love with you, has been for a while now, and Peter’s pretty sure the adrenaline surging in his veins is the reason for the sudden realization. He opens his mouth to speak and the words dangle on the tip of his tongue, but he remains silent when a police officer drapes a blanket over your shoulders and asks you if you require medical attention.
He’ll tell you, he reckons. When the time is right.
#peter parker x reader#peter parker imagine#spiderman#spiderman imagine#avengers imagine#spiderman angst#spiderman fluff#spiderman oneshot#tom holland imagine#tom holland#tom holland x reader#spider man#spider man imagine#spider man x reader#avengers fic#spider man fic#peter parker fic#peter parker angst#tom holland angst#tom holland oneshot#jammywrites
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some medpoc eternity doodles cuz i cuz i cuz i cuz i down horribly bad for this womab
#Medicine Pocket#Eternity#medpoc girlkissing collection#MAAA mocha is being a DERANGED lesbian again#EterPocket#Medinity#cw suggestive#medpoc is a service top to eter i know bc im medpoc
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a collection of 🅱️eters
#peter parker#spiderman#spider-man#hi guys i uhhh love him#auriscribbles#my art#marvel#artists on tumblr#aot#my fave part of this is the froggie
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The thing said to send dirty stuffs anon. Here's my laundry. I'm entirely anonymous. You're welcome. Also RAWR. *winks*
sent (b)eter dirty anons! accepting.
“--you know I can tell they’re yours. who else would wear hello kitty boxers? also, why are you giving me your dirty clothes? it’s not exactly sweeping me off my feet.” peter looks confused for a moment, trying to fully catch wade’s meaning and failing; he could be so random sometimes he generally thought it best not to bother overthinking it too much. his eyes then move to the growing collection of his own dirty laundry in the corner of his studio. “eh, whatever. just put them in the pile over there.”
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wendy darling.
❝ ˛✦ ⊰ SMIRKING INNOCENTLY AS he questioned whether she was seriously doubting his words, the brunette lifted her shoulders playfully as she tilted her head to the side, a glimmer still in her eyes. “ huh… it did seem like it, right ? “, she replied, frowning momentarily as if she thought about her previous words, only to tease him, before having her lips curl up into a mischievous grin – one that mirrored his own. “ all i’m saying is that… nothing is impossible. and we’re creative. we have the power to create new things, right ? maybe… maybe, if anything, i can come up with a new genre in literature. “, she mused, looking up at the ceiling dreamily. “ so i can at least leave s o m e t h i n g of value in this life. “. and she meant that. some days ( especially lately, with college becoming more of a reality again ) the eldest darling just felt a little insignificant. as if she was wasting her time here on earth.
the second his lips touched her, wendy felt the need (but only very, very far in the back of her mind seeing she was over-all simply too busy getting lost in the moment to think about much else ) to pinch herself to check whether this was really, truly happening – in real life. it felt pretty real to her – the way his lips against hers made her heart beat incredibly fast, and his fingers on her skin caused goosebumps to grow across the entirety of her body, and the softness of his sweaters soothing her fingertips – but even if it was merely a dream… the brunette didn’t want to risk waking herself up, then.
the kiss was nothing like she had imagined a peter pan kiss would be – then again, she had never been exactly sure what to expect, either. after all, peter pan and a kiss never were two concepts that would fit together into one sentence. she surely didn’t expect it to be rough or sloppy or anything bad. maybe she had expected it to be clumsy, or scary, or o d d. but it was neither of those things – it was sweet and gentle, careful and slow. it was the complete opposite of peter pan but it made all the more sense to her. it soothed her and warmed her heart and made her feel at home – it made her feel all the things peter pan always makes her feel. and when he let his hand fall down from her neck to cover the one she had placed on his chest, the corners of her mouth curled up into a genuine smile.
the second he pulled back ever so slightly, wendy inhaled deeply yet silently, her eyes briefly wandering across the lips she’d just kissed – which had just kissed h e r s – before fixing them back on his dark hues. letting her teeth sink down in her lower lip, wendy tried to calm down her rapidly beating heart, desperate to collect her thoughts. how could she even wrap her mind around what had just happened when she s t i l l wasn’t sure it was actually real – it seemed too good to be true. “ w o w. “, was the only thing falling from her lips, her mind unable to come up with anything else. “ i don’t… i don’t know what to say… “, which wasn’t a lie. she simply believed no words could describe the way she felt right now…
There was something quite ironic about the infamous Peter Pan being the one who was being told these things when he’d always been the one to teach them, to offer his hand to strangers and make them believe in him and themselves and lose faith in the word impossible — and now, someone was reminding him. “ i am creative, “ he corrected her, the prideful smile still ever present on his lips, “ you have got a talent. ” or a skill or however she wanted to call her magical way with words. her writings never failed to impress him, her stories always swallowing him whole ( which, admittedly, was because some of them were about him and how could he not get intrigued by those? ) and even though he had such difficulties with certain emotions, her descriptions hidden within her stories had always been comprehensible to him. maybe writing this down would be interesting also, maybe it’d help make it more understandable too?
Peter lost in the thoughts of their story for a few, was suddenly startled back into reality. his smile faltered, the glee on his face being replaced right then with a sceptical confusion. “ whatever do you mean? ” did she not know about the positive impact she’d had in his life and the boys’ and whether she wanted to admit so or not, tink’s too. “ you’ve left eight lives worth of something behind, ” peter said sternly, “ more than that. “ because she’d made her ways over other people’s pages, some who deserved it and some bookshop keeper’s sons with ridiculous names who – if you asked peter anyway – most definitely didn’t. “ that’s valuable !! “ it wasn’t a question and there clearly was no doubt to his beliefs, no hint of hesitance that he was perhaps the one and only ( and wrong ) to think so. between all the ways he’d changed there was at least that one in which he hadn't. all he ever cared about were the impact someone had on others, the impact someone had on his friends more than anyone.
“ This, “ his fingers gave hers a gentle squeeze, his gaze falling to their hands, “ is valuable. “ and his shoulders lifted ever so slightly as though to say he didn’t know why or that he couldn’t wrap his head around her thinking a book, a new genre, was so much better than what you made someone feel — because it clearly wasn’t to him and truth be told, he knew of all the reasons why.
Peter had to chuckle then, the giggle falling unfiltered from his lips and vibrating in his torso, because wendy just managed to speak his mind. he, the leader who liked to hear himself talk so much, actually genuinely didn’t know what to say either or how to get back from a kiss like that — not that he wanted to go back. maybe back to kissing her; a thought which had blood rushing into his ears for he’d been convinced he’d never in his life think such a thing. he hadn’t wanted to kiss tink again, hadn’t seen reason either to get kissed by tiger lily more than once after she’d been determined to show him what a kiss actually was. “ i was counting for you to know, “ peter quipped, although it was admittedly part of the truth. he’d have assumed she’d read enough about normal post-kiss conversations, had probably lived more than him too considering his kisses thus far hadn’t exactly been the uncomplicated kind. “ what– i uhm... “ he felt pretty stupid asking it, to be honest, but he was not worried, not scared, but a little wary of what was expected of him now. he let his hand on her neck slide a little lower, finding sudden interest in one of her locks which he twirled around his pointing finger — for science, not because he wanted to avoid looking at her. “ what does it mean? “ were they ‘ more ‘ now? did he have to learn to deal with, let alone be the one to make romantic gestures?! peter could actually feel the heart in his chest switching its excited beating to a sped-up nervous one. did he have to tell the lost boys immediately? her brothers and her father over the evening dinner table? peter shoulders tensed for a moment as a shiver made its way down his spine, the fact that ms darling was in the kitchen right now suddenly a much more uncomfortable one than it had ever been to the adult hating peter pan.
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Dust, Volume 4, Number 8
Sad Baxter
For the latest installment in our often-monthly roundup of shorter reviews, we've got an elusively rare CDR, a brief discussion of "Mallcore," the merging of Arabic tones with a free jazz style of performance, and some lovely, understated Aussie songwriting. Contributors include Bill Meyer, Jonathan Shaw, Jennifer Kelly, and Justin Cober-Lake
Anne-James Chaton/Andy Moor —Tout Ce Que Je Sais (Unsounds)
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Tout Ce Que Je Sais (All That I Know) is the fourth cohesive recording project by
vocalist Anne-James Chaton and guitarist Andy Moor, and the second under their Heretics project. Sonically, it comes full circle to the strengths of their marvelous debut, Le Journaliste. Stripped back to what the two men can do live, certain strengths come to the fore. Moor’s guitar playing, an amalgam of chugging riffs, melodic permutations and those emotion-overloading near-explosions that have been his gift to the Ex for decades, is simply fantastic. You could just listen him do his stuff and the only thing you’d be missing is the way he shadows, underlines and propels the stark unfuckwithable authority of Chaton’s delivery. The Frenchman sounds undeniable reading the contents of his wallet, but the contents here — Francophone texts borrowed from or written about heretical figures that have endorsed the idea of undoing something — can’t help but add gravity to the music. Simultaneously freewheeling and unmovable, no matter what you’ve been listening to lately, this is one record that you really ought to know.
Bill Meyer
Neon Tiger—Accessorize (Bogus Collective)
Accessorize by Neon Tiger
Mallcore is a thing, it seems, so much so that multiple, competing subgenres lay claim to the label. One doesn’t know whether to laugh or weep. Neon Tiger’s recent EP sure doesn’t clarify anything. A few of the tracks scan as celebratory invocations of the climate-controlled corporate space of the late-twentieth century shopping mall, and the various consumer pleasures to be had therein. A few tunes feature weirdly distorted baritone vocals (including “Waiting in Line,” which turns out to be a couple sections of Tina Turner’s “What’s Love Got to Do with It?” chopped up and slowed down a cycle or three; perversely, it’s compelling listening). The distortion misshapes the vocals discomfitingly enough to suggest a measure of critical distance from all the logos and fluorescent lighting and foodcourt linoleum. But it’s hard to say for sure what attitude Neon Tiger takes toward its subject matter. In that way, the EP is a perfect postmodern object—mystifying surfaces, ambivalent values, with only the commodity form as a legible presence.
Jonathan Shaw
Luke Stewart—Works for Upright Bass and Amplifier (Astral Spirits)
Works for Upright Bass and Amplifier by Luke Stewart
There was a time when you had an excuse to not know who Luke Stewart was if you were not hip to Washington, DC’s jazz scene. Given his membership in the fiery improvising-for-justice quintet Irreversible Entanglements, that time is coming to an end. But that’s only one rock on a veritable heap of live-performance and community-building work that dwarfs his still-slender discography (debut efforts by Heart of the Ghost, Heroes are Gang Leaders, Mean Crow, Trio OOO). To that you can add the 31-year-old bassist’s solo cassette. Rather typically, his voice on his instrument is strong, but it does not speak alone. First comes a burrowing feedback tone, which morphs and recurs throughout the nearly half-hour long first piece as if to say that even when you’re alone, you’re not alone. Sometimes Stewart uses that continuous presence as a springboard for knotted, bursting figures; others he lets the amplification add a red, ragged glow to sprinting pizzicato forays. Turns out that the upright bass and amplifier make good company when Stewart’s giving out the working orders.
Bill Meyer
Leo Mullins—Being Here Is Everything (Self-Released)
Being Here is Everything by Leo Mullins
Leo Mullins, an Australian songwriter also affiliated with the Small Knives, makes a low-key but excellent folk-tinged full-length here, with shimmering spiderwebs of acoustic picking and soft shadowy melodies. “Weight of the World,” with its quietly gorgeous harmonies, is maybe the pick of the litter; it is melancholic and uplifting at once, and the guitar cuts through shifting vocal textures with a clean, sure resonance. Mullins brings in Amy Galloway and Kirti Mills to add subtle, pretty embellishments to a couple of songs, the slyly percussive “This Paper Boat” cushioned and softened with dual vocals at the chorus (that’s Mills), the drone-y mysteries of “Linger On” enhanced with Galloway’s wavery unisons (she also sings on the very lovely “Weight of the World"). This latter cut is one of two to feature Mick Turner of the Dirty Three on guitar. He bows his instrument on “Linger On,” adding to the VU-ish mesh of tones and undertones that flicker through that cut. “Let the Light In” also bears his imprint, though unassumingly, in the glittering lattices of picked acoustic that are hemmed in with bells. The songs take shape slowly out of mists and aura and tone, shiver like rainbows for a little while and then subside into the air, all the prettier for their evanescence.
Jennifer Kelly
Finn Loxbo—Eter (Gikt)
Apparently Finn Loxbo is a restless sort. The Swedish musician has played punky electric bass in the jazz trio Doglife, navigated his electric guitar through the busy traffic of the Mats Gustafsson’s Fire Orchestra and recorded an album of pensive folk-rock for Kning. Now comes a solo CD, the first release by the Stockholm-based Gikt label, comprising solo improvisations on the steel-stringed acoustic guitar. Is this the real Finn? Probably not, anymore than any one good thing you do sums up the real you. But he’s pretty good at it, and it concentrates talents he’s likely developed in his other endeavors. Loxbo seems to have prepared his instruments strings and mic-ed them closely, yielding gamelan-like sonorities on one piece, Derek Bailey meets razor wire fence sound-spikes on another and soft abrasions on a third. Each of the album’s seven tracks proceeds with a lucidity that suggests his songwriter’s mind does not shut off when he puts away the vocal microphone. File this with the work of Bailey, David Stackenäs, and Norberto Lobo, but don’t just file it away.
Bill Meyer
Mutilation Rites—Chasm (Gilead Media)
Chasm by Mutilation Rites
This record completes Mutilation Rites’ transformation from a black metal band flirting with death metal, to a death metal band that sometimes plays black metal riffs. When Mutilation Rites began dallying with deathy rhythms and chunky chords on Harbinger (2014), it was worrying stuff: it suggested a band flailing for a sense of identity, and the resulting record was uneven, at best. Mutilation Rites’ more significant commitment to death metal on Chasm turns out to be an enlivening move (pun intended, hardy-fucking-har). This sort of music isn’t supposed to be fun, but on Chasm the band sounds loose and confident, like they’re enjoying themselves. Maybe that’s partially due to their decision to cut the tracks for the record at Brooklyn’s Saint Vitus, a venue the band plays regularly. In any case, Chasm is a good record, and folks who really loved Mutilation Rites’ first few EPs needn’t fret: “Putrid Decomposition,” the longest track on the album and ironically the one with the most death metal title, has the fleet, jagged riffing that captures the band at their blackest.
Jonathan Shaw
Shelton/Mofjell—Uncovered short run CDR (Singlespeed)
Uncovered by Shelton Mofjell
Ole Mofjell kicks off Uncovered with a blast of force. Unrelenting but texturally
varied, it makes this clear; you’re not in for an easy ride. In short order Aram Shelton joins him, blowing so hard and low that you might ask, “who’s the tenor player?” Ride the wave into the next track and the pitch territory moves upward, and then the question changes to, “how does he make an alto sound like that?” Time and experience have darkened and deepened Shelton’s instrumental voice, which has shed the diamond brightness that he wielded in various Chicago-based ensembles in the earliest years of the century. But his fluency has increased, and there’s no better place to hear it than in the company of a drummer like Mofjell. Each player shifts tone and tack in a second, using silence as well as motion to give the other room to take deep dives into the complexity of interactions with their instruments and each other. Caveat — the physical edition of this album is a pressing of 100 professionally duplicated discs that you might only be able to get by attending one of Shelton’s concerts or contacting him directly via his webpage or the Singlespeed site. But if you’re not into keeping the international postage
racket afloat, there’s always Bandcamp!
Bill Meyer
Sad Baxter—So Happy (Cold Lunch)
So Happy by Sad Baxter
Sad Baxter’s “Sick-Outt” does the mid-1990s ramp up from relatively quiet, melodic verse to screaming, crashing, unhinged chorus in a way that few bands even attempt these days, and if you’re thinking Hole, that’s because Deezy Violet’s a girl. The real reference is Nirvana, here and in the slow building guitar-and-cymbals firestorm that is “Wash,” a transformation from clamped down palm-muted tension to full on feedback fused noise. Violet’s partner in all this, Alex Mojaverian, builds a bristling, shivering dissonant wall of percussion and amp buzz around a voice that snakes around curvy melodies like the Muffs’ Kim Shattuck or, more recently, Speedy Ortiz’s Sadie Dupuis. Sweetness and melody lurk in the intervals between bursts of splintering noise, hooking a finger to lure you in for the kill.
Jennifer Kelly
Manas—Live At (Null Zone)
Live At by MANAS
This cassette, which was recorded last summer at Fresh Produce Records in Macon GA, drives home a point that’s never exactly been a secret. These guys are punks. Guitarist Tashi Dorji may have been raised in Bhutan and he and drummer Thom Nguyen may operate within the realm of freely improvised music, but they're writing their own rule book. This half-hour performance rolls, slashes and rumbles in some pretty rocking ways; they play with an improvisers’ faith that their music will create its own form, but also with an abandon that suggests they really don’t care if someone doesn’t get it; they sound really loud; and out of all the places where they could have made a record, they picked a shop that (per photographic evidence sourced from a Yelp review) puts all four Kiss solo LPs on the wall. That’s plenty punk enough! Sobering up for a second, the music on this tape evinces more nuance and space than other Manas recordings, and sports their clearest recording quality to date. Rock on.
Bill Meyer
Gordon Grdina's The Marrow—Ejdeha (Songlines)
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Gordon Grdina's been merging his jazz-based guitar work and his oud studies for a decade and a half now, finding his way into Middle Eastern traditions while integrating his own voice. With his Marrow quartet, he's expanded the strangeness of what he does by opening space for bassist Mark Helias and cellist Hank Roberts, each of whom toy with the function and sound of their own instruments on new album Ejdeha. “Idiolect” lets each of the three musicians shine (percussionist Hamin Honari mostly stays steady here) while revealing Grdina's gift for composition. The track ebbs and flows, trading melodies and shifting intensity across its eight minutes before its surprising end. The piece relies on Arabic tones, but feels like a free jazz approach to performance, the sort of blend that Grdina can deliver in a way that's both comfortable and alien. “Ejdeha” pulses in a different way, its heavy beat thumping through as the quartet finds an unlikely groove. Grdina and his bandmates have figured out how to keep a grounding in various traditions while still sounding surprising.
Justin Cober-Lake
#dusted magazine#dust#anne-james chaton#andy moor#neon tiger#luke stewart#leo mullins#finn loxbo#mutilation rites#aram shelton#ole mofjell#manas#gordon grdina#bill meyer#jonathan shaw#jennifer kelly#justin cober-lake
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unpopular onion: i think 🅱️eter’s current hair is kinda cute, even if it’s a little greasy looking
it just makes me sad that the fandom collectively shat on him so hard about having cornrows that he won’t even venture near having his hair natural again. also it is super greasy but that’s just bcs i know from experience it’s a bitch to wash and re-straighten curly hair. i also let my straightened hair go until i can write my name with the grease so
i want to see the man bun tho
also beter i love it
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