#peter pontiac
Text
by Peter Pontiac
1 note
·
View note
Text
PORCINE, PURPOSEFUL, & PULVERIZING -- A CHAMPION OF AMERICAN HARDCORE.
PIC INFO: Spotlight on a Pig Champion-themed POISON IDEA headlining concert poster, with punk band's HUMAN ALERT and BRUTAL OBSCENITY supporting, performing live at Patronaat alternative pop music hall in Haarlem, Netherlands, c. 1991. Artwork by Peter Pontiac.
Rock in peace, Tom "Pig Champion" Roberts (1958-2006) of the mighty PxIx, another legend lost.
Source: http://crewchro.blogspot.com/2012/02/daniel-nagelkerke-promoter-nl.html.
#POISON IDEA#POISON IDEA band#Tom Pig Champion Roberts#Tom Roberts#Poster Art#Concert Poster#90s punk#Kings of Punk#Guitarist#Punk rock#Peter Pontiac Artist#Peter Pontiac#Graphic Design#American hardcore#Pete Pontiac Art#POISON IDEA 1991#American hardcore punk#90s Music#1990s#1991#Haarlem Netherlands#Hardcore punk#American Style#90s#Patronaat#Pig Champion#Poster#Illustration#Poster Design#Punk Art
0 notes
Text
Pontiac Aztek "Rally Edition," 2003. An option package that included lowered front suspension, a larger rear spoiler, body coloured grille and 17-inch chrome wheels. The Aztec as designed under Tom Peters, who would go on to design the C7 Chevrolet Corvette. Alas the Aztec has frequently been named one of the ugliest cars ever made. It was supposed to herald a design renaissance for GM but it failed to achieve even half General Motor's projected sales. It wasn't a terrible car and owner satisfaction among those who did buy one was good. However the model's fate was sealed and the last Aztek rolled off the assembly line on August 31, 2005.
#Pontiac#Pontiac Aztek#2003#Pontiac Aztek Rally#special edition#dead brands#crossover#V6#Tom Peters#2000s
128 notes
·
View notes
Text
Since this started out as a birthday fic, I really wanted to get Chapter 2 done in time for my birthday, but I missed my deadline by 4 days.
Never mind.
Thanks, as ever, to the cheerleading and alpha-reading of @thatbanditqueen, who bestowed the glowing critique of 'tolerable' to this labour of love.
Anyone needing to catch up, here is Chapter One
Chapter Two
For two weeks after the night Aurora barged into Elvis Presley’s house and somehow didn’t get chased out by security, the ladies at the hair salon would ask her every day if she had heard from him.
At first, when she told them no, they would smile gleefully and say it was going to happen any day, after all he must have asked for her number for a reason. Then, the smiles began to dim and they would start to make excuses to make her feel better. She felt like she was letting them down each time she had to answer in the negative. There was no space to feel her own disappointment because she was carrying enough for other people.
After that two weeks, it petered out into sympathetic looks and attempts to ‘cheer her up’. Honestly, Aurora didn’t need the cheering up, though of course she took all the free food and extra tips that were offered. It had been a strange, fun, surreal experience, but men like Elvis didn’t call back girls like her. She had already got way more than she deserved.
Joanne showed up just before closing one Thursday when even the sympathy was beginning to fade and Aurora was sadly eyeing the dip in her tips. Joanne threw herself into Aurora’s chair, studying her Farrah bangs with a critical eye in the mirror and trying to rake the volume back into them with her fingers.
Aurora nudged her legs out of the way with her hip as she swept under the vanity, feeling tired, hot and impatient after a long day. She was envisioning a cold shower and laying flat on the back porch with the noisy fan, maybe sneaking a beer from the ice box before her mama got home.
“You’ll never guess who I bumped into last night,” Joanne began.
“Probably not,” Aurora agreed, shoving the broom into the closet and going to collect her purse from the poky kitchen in the back.
“That guy Dave? Elvis Dave.” Aurora wondered how he would feel to know that he had that nickname while ignoring the way her stomach swooped at just the ‘e word’. “I was at the gas station with Beverly from work and he pulled up in that sweet ride of his and blocked me in.”
Aurora was trying to feign nonchalance as she felt Joanne’s eyes studying her intensely in the mirror.
“Why? Did he even call you after that night?”
“Nope, and I didn’t expect him to since I didn’t give him my number and we’re not in the book. You guys aren’t either, are you?”
“No, Mama thinks having a lady’s name in the phone book is like advertising that you’re easy pickings for creeps and weirdos.”
Joanne nodded, because they had known each other long enough that Aurora’s mama and her ‘interesting’ ideas were not a revelation.
“So, giving Elvis the wrong number, was that a brush-off?”
“What?”
“Dave said that the number you gave Elvis was for a store, a hardware place or paint… something like that.”
Trying to force her brain back through the hot sludge of the days since, Aurora was sure that she had written down the right number. Or had she? Her penmanship was not going to win any awards on a good day. At dawn after an eventful night…
“So, it was a mistake?” Joanne asked as they stepped out into the dripping heat of the late afternoon and walked across the parking lot to Aurora’s busted old Pontiac GTO. Aurora eyed the dented fender ruefully and ran her hand over the dusty hood as if in apology.
“Oh my God!” She covered her burning face with her hands, laughing slightly manically. “I’m such a loser!” What must he have thought of her?! Wait, he had called her! A dam had broken in her brain and all the thoughts were rushing and swirling around, taking out any sensible notions in their path.
“Well, that’s good, ‘cause I gave Dave the right one.”
“What?”
“You made a mistake giving him the wrong number?” Joanne was a smart girl. Street smart anyway, but that was probably the dumbest question she had ever asked.
“Yes!”
Despite the overly airy way Joanne said it, it hit Aurora like she had put force into it. The way her stomach swooped was unexpected since she had even been denying to herself that she was upset by the radio silence. For a brief, quavering moment she let herself get excited, maybe even a little bit hopeful, before practicality rammed down to crush those emotions into tiny specks. It was stupid, it was all so stupid: her jolting whenever the phone rang, the relief at realizing she had given him the wrong number and that he had tried to call her, the excitement that he might try again.
At no point in Aurora’s years on Earth had anyone or anything ever been cruel enough to lie to her about her station in life or what she should expect from it. No, God had been kind and straight with her from the get-go: His plan for her was basic, a very rough draft if you will, a couple of words scribbled on an old envelope.
“So, you gonna come out?” Joanne asked, fiddling with the fringe of her purse. “Or you thinking you’ll head home and wait by the phone?” Aurora rolled her eyes as she opened the creaking car door and dropped into the oven-like interior.
“I am gonna go home, take a cold shower and probably pass out in front of the tv,” she corrected.
“Sure you are.” Joanne leant in the window and poked her index finger against Aurora’s forehead, laughing as Aurora swatted it away. “Drive safe rushing home to wait by the phone.”
“Only thing I’m in danger of is cracking a headlight driving it into your smart ass!”
Joanne’s cackle traveled across the mainly deserted lot, the nail polish of her extended middle finger catching the light just beautifully. Aurora snorted as she turned over the car, praying through the warm-up grinding and growling.
“C’mon, baby, don’t let me down,” she murmured to the dash, patting the wheel appeasingly. “You can do it.”
It took a few more seconds of sweat sliding into uncomfortable places before the engine finally caught and the car revved. Aurora let out the warm, stale air she’d been holding in her lungs and peeled out, eager to catch the breeze through her open window.
The phone was ringing when she pulled up at the house.
Without thinking about it, she left the car in neutral and shot inside, leaving all the doors open between her and the receiver.
“Hello?” She was afraid that she might not be able to hear the caller because of the swirling whooshing sound of her blood pumping around her body and her heart pounding in her ears, but her grandma came through crisp and clear, complaining that her fan wasn’t working properly and that Aurora’s cousin Denny had promised to come round and take a look at it, but had not shown up yet. It was all Aurora could do to keep the disappointment out of her voice.
Tapping her fingers against the formica surface of the telephone table, Aurora willed Denny and his lazy ass to show up so that Grandma would get off the phone to yell at him instead, but of course that little shit was probably already out, fumigating some bar or disco with his Old Spice.
Biting down on a sigh, Aurora reached out with her leg and hooked a chair from the kitchen with her foot and dragged it over so that she could rest her weary legs as her grandma started talking about which of her friends had died, lost their husbands or bailed their grandkids out of jail this week.
Nearly an hour later, still cursing Denny, Grandma announced that she didn’t want to waste any more of Aurora’s time, because no one wants to hear a silly old woman prattling on, and Aurora of course told her she wasn’t silly or old and she loved her and loved talking to her, which earned her another thirty minutes on the phone before she finally managed to hang up. Her elbow ached, her hand was numb in patches and the hair around her ear was damp with sweat. And Elvis had probably called another girl by now, some beauty queen whose grandma never tied up her phone line.
Weary in every way, she trudged through the little one storey house, returning out front to grab her car keys out of the ignition and shut the door. Brian, who used to go to school with her brother, lifted his beer bottle up at her from where he was sitting on the steps of his front porch across the street and she threw up her hand as she turned to go back into the house.
Mama got home later, complaining about her manager and the new girl whose cash desk hadn’t come out even at the end of her shift.
“It’s not like she even has to add up the change in her little pea brain!” she ranted, leaning over the pot of spaghetti that Aurora had thrown together earlier. “Spaghetti, in this heat, Rora?”
“Nothing else,” Aurora shrugged. “I’ll pick up some groceries after work.” She fought very hard not to point out that her mother worked in a damn store the size of a warehouse full of food that she could easily buy after work, because that sort of back talk never ended well.
“I thought you’d be out tonight,” Mama said later, sipping from a beer as she pushed the congealing spaghetti around her plate on the little stand, eyes on Barnaby Jones on TV. “Betty was saying that Joanne was going to Ladies Night over at Sal’s. They got a new bartender that looks like that boy from… Lord, what was it, ‘Shazam’?”
“Yeah, maybe in the dark with your eyes closed!” Aurora snorted.
“Betty’s always had her work cut out for her with that one. Back in my day, her folk’s would’ve been hurrying to get her tied up with some nice boy before they ended up having to send her away to family in the country for a few months, if you get my drift.”
“Mama! She’s not that bad. You can’t tell me y’all didn’t go crazy about boys when you were kids. Aunt Margie told me about how you never sat out any dances when you were our age.”
“Yeah well, Marg should mind her own business and pay more attention to that son of hers. You know, he promised Grandma days ago that he’d take a look at her fan and she’s still waiting.”
“I know,” Aurora sighed. Boy, did she know.
Admitting defeat, Aurora finally climbed into bed just before midnight, checking the screen of her open window before settling down with a huff. Maybe she should have gone out with Joanne. As much as she knew that Thursday nights at Sal’s were a horror show, it didn’t stop that nagging feeling in her stomach that maybe she had let something slip away, and ignored possibilities. At the very least, she would have laughed until her sides hurt as she and Joanne danced to the jukebox.
Tomorrow night, she told herself as she drifted off, her blurring eyes fixed on the shard of moonlight that sliced into her dresser.
The moon had set by the time she startled awake a few hours later. Her mother was hunched over her, a silhouette of curlers and rounded shoulders, fingers tight against her shoulders.
“Rora, wake up!”
“What’shappeningisitbad,” she mumbled as the pieces of her conscious mind tried to converge and accidentally passed one another, blurring even further. She jolted as her mother shook her even harder.
“Wake up! There’s someone on the phone asking for you.”
“What? Why?” Aurora squinted at her mother who seemed flustered, fiddling with her headscarf and the neck of her nightgown over and over.
Trying to blink sleep from her eyes, Aurora let her feet drop heavily to the floor and shoved herself up into a seated position. With her eyes half closed, she shuffled out into the kitchen and picked up the receiver laying against the counter.
“Hmmmello?”
“Hi, is this… Aurora?” Whoever was on the phone said it like a substitute teacher trying to take attendance, not sure whether they were being played.
“Uh, hmm, yeah. Who’s this?”
“I’m gonna ask you to hold one for a minute.” There was fumbling, which she might have found intriguing if she hadn’t been sprawled with her cheek against the counter, eyes squeezed shut against the brutal overhead light.
More fumbling.
“You are one difficult chick to track down, Tiger, you know that?! Goddamn.”
“Elvis?” she said, even as her brain was processing the voice. At the same time, her mother prodded her sharply in the back, whether to get some sort of explanation or to make her stand up straight while having a conversation with the King, who knew, and Aurora was not about to pause the proceedings to find out.
“Yeah, Elvis,” he returned, miraculously making a drawl drip with sarcasm. “You were taking ‘seek and ye shall find’ a little too far, weren’t ya, sweetheart? Almost called out the US Marshals trying to track you down.”
It sounded like a fifty-fifty split on whether he found the mix-up amusing or annoying and she couldn’t help cringing into her hand yet again, but he was calling. He was calling!
“Not sure, early… or late, one of the two. Goddamn, I can’t believe I finally got you. I bet you didn’t think I’d be able to do it, right? I tell you, ain’t nobody won money betting against me, honey, really.”
“Hello?! Sonovabitch, d’I lose her again?” She giggled at his mumbling and quickly interjected:
“Hello! No, I’m just trying to wake up. What time is it?”
Aurora opened her mouth to explain that she hadn’t given him the wrong number on purpose, that she wasn’t the sort of girl that set a scavenger hunt for anyone wanting to call her, but he was talking fast and leaving no place to jump in.
“Anyhow, the reason I was really callin’ was to make sure you’re takin’ care of Cupcake. You looking after him, feeding him, petting him and all that?”
“You mean Muffin?” She glanced up over the counter at the large tiger ornament sitting in pride of place on top of the TV. “Course I am.”
“Hot damn, Muffin, that was it! Well, are you sure? I feel like maybe I should barge into your house in the middle of the night and find out for myself, you know?”
Aurora couldn’t force a laugh, couldn’t even inhale as her dismayed eyes surveyed the sagging couch and faded wallpaper. If Elvis Presley set eyes on her home he would know everything there was to know about her within ten seconds and lose interest.
“You don’t even know where I live,” she prodded with a shaky wheeze. “And even if you think you do, you’re wrong. I could bring him to you? You want to check on him so bad, I’ll send him on over to you.”
There was a long pause, Aurora’s turn to wonder whether she had lost him, and when he spoke again there was an odd intonation to his voice, a knowingness that made her feel flayed open for all to see.
“Yeah, you should come here, bring ole Cupmuffincake so I can check you’re treating him right. I’d send someone over to pick you up.” She heard murmuring and the edge of Elvis’ voice cutting through the muffled sound like he was having a conversation with his hand over the receiver, and it hit her what was happening.
“Hello? Elvis! Hello?!”
“Honey, I’m just-”
“I can’t come now. I’ve got work in the morning- soon!”
There was another long pause. Each time, she balanced on her toes, wondering if this was the time, this was the final straw and he would hang up, give up, and drop her.
“I- I understand, your- your job’s important.” He sounded like a bad actor at a table read. She suspected that he had long forgotten quite how important a job was if you wanted a roof to stop the rain falling on your head and food in the ice box to stop you starving to death. “What time d’you get off work, honey?”
“I can finish at five,” she replied, knowing she could reschedule her last appointment. “And I can drive over. You don’t need to send anyone. I know where you live after all.” She forced a little laugh, but his voice was subdued when he replied:
“Yeah, I guess you do. After five then? You’ll come straight over?”
“Sure, I’ll come straight there.” She was reassuring him, like she was doing him a favor by showing up at his mansion all sweaty and messed up after a day of work. She wasn’t sure how this situation had come about, but had no doubt that it was wrong. A man who has a wall with gates around his property and security guards, cameras and barbed wire on fences did not have to make anyone promise to come to his house.
Elvis then told her that he had been planning on going for a ride on his motorcycle. He asked if she had ever ridden one before and when she admitted that she had, because she sensed that he had wanted her to say no, he assured her that his was better than whatever souped up
bicycle she had tried before. He made her promise that she would come dressed for a motorcycle ride.
“You know, one time this one little girl showed up here in a cute little dress. Hair done up all pretty and everything, see, and-” He laughed to himself. “You should’ve seen her after we’d gone out on the hogs. She was all mad and I said to her, I said, I ain’t the kind of guy that just sits around, you know, having a damn tea party on a date. I gotta, I gotta be doing something, going somewhere, otherwise I’m gonna get bored.” He sighed loudly into the phone and Aurora half imagined she felt it against her cheek. She wondered if he was telling her this because he didn’t want her to think that she was visiting to sit on his bed and read books again, or to let her know that their night together had been a rare occurrence and she shouldn’t expect more of the same.
“Well, I promise not to wear a cute dress or make any effort with my hair.”
“You are trouble,” he laughed. “I knew it the moment I saw you, man. Trouble with a capital T! I’ll tell ‘em not to let you in, you see if I won’t.”
When they finally hung up, Aurora again had an aching elbow, stiff elbow and partially numb hand. She turned slightly and faced her mother, who had been walking in and out the kitchen throughout the whole conversation. She eyed her pointedly over a cup of coffee.
“I know he’s Elvis, but I think that means he owns a watch or two,” she remarked. “And some of us need to be getting up at a decent hour to get to work.”
“I know, Mama, I’m sorry. I didn’t expect it.”
“Just…” Her mother sighed, lowering the coffee cup from her mouth. “Just be careful, honey. Remember Memphis is chock full of girls that Elvis used to call at 3AM.”
“I know, Mama.”
Afterwards, Aurora would have no recollection of her day at work, and was surprised that she received no complaints about uneven bangs or stripey dye jobs. Her mind was definitely not on her tasks. She kept planning and replanning and unplanning what she was going to wear. What outfit would look like she had made some effort, but also wouldn’t have her showing her underwear to passing motorists on a motorcycle? She needed to look like she belonged with Elvis, but couldn't afford the time and money that would require.
Although, maybe that was the point? Maybe he was making a show of slumming it, maybe he wanted her to look ordinary? She couldn’t think why that would be, other than some sort of publicity strategy? She imagined herself, wide-eyed, her waves flattened after the heat of the salon, eyeliner caking in the creases of her eyes, staring out from the front page of the National Enquirer as it screamed: “Elvis drops his standards!”
When work finally ended, she sped home, ignoring the ringing phone and performing a hop, skip and jump into the shower that would have qualified her for the upcoming summer olympics. She brushed her teeth and blow dried her hair at the same time, shaving her legs and layering on the eyeliner like a motivated octopus.
She was pulling up at the gates of Graceland by 6.30, both annoyed and relieved that no one would ever know the heroic efforts she had made just to be there. She gave her name to the guard at the gate house, maintaining eye contact like a crazy person as if this would convince him that she wasn’t trying to sneak in without an invite. You know, like she technically had done a couple of weeks before.
When the gates started to swing open, she hesitated a little too long, not quite believing that it was for her, and also a little frightened that it was. The guard came back out and directed her up the right hand side of the drive as if she was unsure of where to go.
After Aurora pulled up in front of the famous portico in her grubby, dented Pontiac, she waited. She had no idea what she was supposed to do next. Ring on the doorbell like a nervous prom date? Ding dong, Avon calling? Hi, can my friend Elvis come out to play?
When she had come before, they had parked around the back of the house, but that seemed too familiar. She smiled as she thought of fans standing at the gates and glimpsing her rusty old lemon through the trees parked in front of a millionaire’s mansion. It just summed up this whole silly situation.
Finally, she climbed out of her car, grabbing her jacket and purse as she stared up at the looming fieldstone walls with their barred windows. The windows gave off a strange vibe, a sense of seeing and being seen, and she glanced away, the loser in the staring competition.
Aurora had barely rung the bell when the front door swung open and a short, older guy, who may or may not have been wearing eyeliner, stood beaming at her like they were best friends.
“Well now, you must be Aurora. Everyone said you were a pretty little thing. C’mon in, darlin’, don’t be shy. I’m Charlie.”
Aurora thought of herself as a pretty good judge of character, a skill hard won through bad experiences. And this Charlie made her think of the uncles you knew to avoid at family gatherings, especially once they had a few drinks in them. Something about the amount of teeth in his smile compared to the lack of warmth in his eyes. She trusted her gut and took a few steps away from the arm he had wrapped around her back.
“Well, Elvis is right upstairs. I think you know your way around up there, right, darlin’?” She forced a smile a second too late and they were stuck in a toothy standoff as Aurora wheeled round in a wide arc and headed for the stairs, her cheeks burning at Charlie’s insinuation. She wondered what Elvis had said to him.
As she climbed the stairs, Aurora’s mind was strobing with thoughts. The first, obviously, was marveling at how thick and soft the carpet was. It would be very difficult to have an argument and stomp down the stairs here. The second was that she was walking up to Elvis Presley’s bedroom, invited, and that would never stop being surreal. She caught sight of herself in the mirrored panels on the wall and checked her teeth for lipstick and wiped beneath her eyes.
Reaching the landing, she heard the resonating sound of an organ being played and she faltered, but reminded herself yet again that she had been invited.
When she reached the doorway of what she vaguely remembered being an office she had passed through last time, she caught sight of Elvis, just his back and side profile as he sat at the organ. Another man, slight and shorter, was standing by it as an audience of one.
It seemed rude to interrupt the intimate concert, so she waited in the doorway, listening as Elvis sang a hymn, putting in as much effort as she imagined he did when performing to thousands. It made the hair on her arms prickle the way his rich voice enveloped her and an odd stillness fell upon her, in spite of her nerves and the awkwardness of the situation. Somehow he managed to distract her into forgetting she was anxious without even being aware she was watching him.
With a grand flourish of his hands on the organ, Elvis brought the song to a close with a tremulous plink of the last key on the keyboard and then laughed quietly to himself and his one man audience, mumbling something only his friend could hear.
‘Go in!’ Aurora silently instructed her feet. ‘Just walk forward!’ They picked the worst time to launch a mutiny.
Sliding his fingers across the keys again, Elvis sang, “She thinks I don’t know she’s there” to the tune of the George Jones’ song ‘She Thinks I Still Care’. She could feel her cheeks heating up as he looked over his shoulder straight at her, a playful grin lifting and lighting up his face so that she was smiling before she could think.
“Look, there she is, Billy, the damn fugitive. Tell her- Tell Tiger what you said to me, man-”
As Billy went to open his mouth, Elvis gripped his shoulder while rising from the organ bench and spoke over him like a little kid who couldn’t wait to share the secret.
“See, man, I told you she was real! Y’all think I’m crazy- and I am- but not this time. Come in here, honey, come let us all have a real look at you.”
“I had him and some of my other guys searching high and low for this girl called Aurora, and after a while, ole Marble Eyes here says to me- Tell her what you said-” Billy managed to get one word out before they finished in unison:
“Elvis, I ain’t so sure this girl really exists!” The two men laughed, and Aurora was glad that the annoyance that had been dripping from his words on the phone seemed to have evaporated. Elvis slapped Billy in the chest with the back of his hand and gestured at her.
Apparently Aurora’s feet paid more attention to Elvis than to her, because they walked her right into the room like the traitorous traitors they were.
“See?” Elvis said to Billy in a low voice, seemingly settling an argument that extended beyond whether or not she really existed. Billy shrugged, a little grin on his face, but Aurora didn’t miss the way his eyes, though not as jarringly dissonant as Charlie’s, followed Elvis almost anxiously as he crossed the room to meet her.
Even though Aurora was wearing a thin jacket, she still thought she could feel the heat of Elvis’ touch as he squeezed her shoulders and leant in to lightly kiss her cheek. In fact, the temperature of the air around her seemed to shoot up as she breathed in his spicy citrus cologne and squinted slightly to stop him blurring around the edges.
“Yeah, you’re real alright,” he murmured, his hand sliding down her arm and his fingers tangling with her own as he stepped back and brazenly looked her up and down. It was a struggle not to recoil, attempt to cover herself or blush, but she sensed that this was what he was testing, pushing to see if she would crumble or curl up under the weight of scrutiny.
“Honey, I know you came after work and all, but don’t you think you could’ve dressed up a little?” His tone was teasing and he was smiling, but the question was clearly genuine. She looked down at her red cotton flares and then back at his baby blue leisure suit with the racquetball court logo on the chest. That was the moment the cushiony awe and anxiety wore through; she could almost hear the -pop- of the bubble and then it was just her.
“Watch your damn mouth,” he laughed. “Remember who pays all the bills around this goddamn place. Keep on and I’ll take that fucking trailer and give it to the dogs, man. Edmund’ll be pissing up the walls by next week!”
“You were the one who told me not to wear a dress!” she returned spiritedly, looking him square in the face for the first time. “You said we were going out for a ride and not to get too dressed up.” He paused, his expression uncharacteristically blank, and she almost started questioning herself, until Billy, who she had forgotten was still standing there by the organ, put in:
“Oh, hell, you don’t listen to what he says. There’s a reason we all call him Crazy, you know.” He had a soft, slightly country, soothing kind of voice and almost like magic, Elvis’ cloudy expression burst into radiant sunshine again as he feinted an attack on Billy.
Aurora stood stock still as Billy darted around her, jerking out of the way of a reckless and, judging by the way that Elvis grunted as he did it, forceful karate chop that cut through the air so close to the side of her head that her hair ruffled.
“Boys, no roughhousing in the house!” she said with forced playfulness.
They were all playing along, Aurora realized. Even she was acting out a script that she had not glimpsed, but had immediately started reading her lines and hitting her marks just as readily as Billy with his teasing words that masked worried eyes, and Charlie with the wide easy smile that tried to outshine something slightly twisted and angry beneath the surface. And Elvis? Either he was one of the greatest actors of all time, or this was him. It unnerved her the way that she couldn’t read him like she read most people, that he had no tell she could easily discern.
Billy edged backwards towards the door and Elvis slowly advanced on him. Aurora decided to choose self-preservation and step out of the way, but Elvis moved too and scooped her up against him, suddenly losing all interest in Billy. Aurora found herself with her face pressed against his shoulder, arms wrapped around his waist to stop herself from flailing backwards and one of his palms hard between her shoulder blades, while the fingers of his other hand gripped her hip.
“Oh, what do we have here,” he murmured in a soft little boy’s voice that should not have caused her to shiver and break out in goosebumps as his mouth brushed the shell of her ear. “Got myself a tiger by the tail.” His hands slid slowly down over the curve of her ass, thumbs kneading into the muscle and she took a sharp inhale, but then he started patting around frantically, practically spanking her. “Uh oh, no tail.”
Aurora threw back her head, almost choking on a laugh as his sideburns tickled against the line of her throat and he buried his face into the crook of her neck. When he pulled back, pink-faced with his hair all rumpled, she found herself reaching up to smooth it without hesitation, only pausing when her fingers were tangled in his inky black locks. They stared at each other in a freeze frame, her, wide-eyed and panicked at her over familiarity; him with his eyes sparkling and his cheeks brimming as his lips twisted into a little smirk. She dropped her hand awkwardly, though her other arm was still gripping his waist as she remained draped across his chest and stomach. To stop herself from falling, she reminded herself.
“I brought a dress,” she blurted. “For after we went for a ride.” His smile spread wider and she could almost feel it cracking her wide open even as all her defenses battened down the hatches.
“Well, we ain’t going for a ride right now, honey,” he informed her. After taking a momentary study of her face with his head tilted pensively, he added, “I’m gonna give you the tour.” He nodded to someone behind her and she twisted slightly to see Billy still leaning in the doorway. Elvis, it seemed, needed an audience to his flirting just as much as he needed one for his singing.
It would have seemed impossible to her a couple of weeks earlier, the thought of her being led by the hand around Elvis’ mansion by Elvis himself, listening and laughing as he swung between genuine pride and mocking himself.
“And this here is the whore house,” he announced as they stood in the archway looking over the living room. She took in the overabundance of red, gold and white, feathers, velvet and shag, glad that he had said that first. She was beginning to notice that about him, his ability to predict reactions and pre-empt them with a joke or a sly comment, like he was somehow with you as you viewed him, making it impossible to feel enough distance to gain proper perspective, or really any distance at all.
“Where are they?” she asked, since feeling predictable didn’t quite sit right with her. “All the ‘ladies’?” She made a show of looking around.
“Oh, honey, we don’t talk about that,” he replied, moving ahead and tugging her through the living room towards another doorway curtained in chintzy red and being guarded by glass peacocks. “All of this was white before that fateful night.”
The unexpected laugh exploded out of her and she yanked her hand away from the loose grip of his fingers to slap both of her hands across her mouth. Smirking again, that naughty little smile made her stomach try and wrench itself into ringlets, he glanced over at Billy, who was laughing. “Little Billy here still has nightmares.”
“You’re…” She scrambled for the words, silly, naughty, crude, funny, amazing, unpredictable, so much better than I would have thought. “Crazy. You’re just crazy.”
Through the music room, they passed through a hallway into what Elvis called the ‘Trophy Room’. Aurora was overwhelmed by all the items to look at. There were toys, clothing, paintings, ornaments, photos, plaques, citations, actual trophies and then the records, endless shiny metal discs with little plaques recording unimaginable achievements. Aurora slowly traversed the long room, peering into cases, lips moving as she read so many declarations of admiration and adoration.
Glancing up from a trophy that recognised him as ‘The World’s Greatest Entertainer of All Time’ from ‘The Loving You Fan Club of Murcia and Alicante’, she looked over to where he was talking quietly to Billy by the door. He glanced over too and winked as they locked eyes, so she had to turn and stare very intently at a creepy doll thankfully encased in a glass cabinet until she could feel the blush cooling from her cheeks.
“It’s like a whole museum of you,” she marveled, finally wandering back in their direction.
Elvis seemed to misunderstand, mumbling awkwardly about needing to have somewhere to store everything because someone took the time to give it to him, so she risked interrupting him.
“I mean, having this solid proof of everything you’ve done and how much you’re loved. It’s amazing, it must make you smile just walking in here. It’s unreal!”
The clouds that threatened to beset his mood drifted back and he shrugged diffidently, this little smile diametrically opposed to his naughty smirk. He looked positively bashful.
“It is unreal, man,” he murmured. “I keep waiting to wake up and find out this Elvis fella wants his life back.” He shrugged again and absently grabbed her chin with his fingers. “Well, we gotta make the most of it before he does.” He moved her head up and down, a strange little mime reflecting him back.
Aurora tried to ooh and aah in the right places as she was led through Elvis’ plush, sleek racquetball court. Having never even heard of the game before, Aurora mentioned that she had never played and he squinted at her cryptically and assured her that she would, sounding like a fortune teller who could foresee oddly specific destinies.
“I’m pretty good at pinball though,” she offered, eyeing up the machine with all its shiny chrome and flashing lights. No greasy fingerprints and rust to be seen, unlike the one at the bowling alley that she used to feed her lunch money when she was hiding out from spelling tests or book reports.
“Maybe later, Tiger,” Elvis murmured, ushering her past Billy and back out into the darkening night.
Aurora looked around as the inky shadows started to claim the white fences and golden fieldstone and let out an awed breath. Imagine having all of this at your fingertips, so much to look at, to entertain you, to enjoy just right there for the taking. It was just so titillating that she couldn’t even bring herself to feel any envy. It seemed an impossibly perfect existence, something too good to even yearn for.
“Over there’s the barn and the horses and so on,” Elvis said, waving his hand flippantly. “I’ll show you some time.” That, at least, she was glad to postpone since horses had frightened her since she was a kid. Her head was still on a swivel as they walked back along the little walkway to the house, her eyes desperately trying to drink everything in.
Ending up in the kitchen made Aurora smile, thinking back to her last visit. During the past couple of weeks she had been regretting how fast it had all happened and how little she had taken in. The next morning, she could barely answer the breathless, demanding questions of her customers as they quizzed her on what colors the carpets were and how many cars were in the carport. This time, she was determined that she was going to take note of everything, just in case it was her last opportunity.
“You got eyes as big as this ‘un here,” Elvis remarked, jerking a thumb at Billy, who shrugged and smiled good naturedly. “You've seen all this before.”
“No, you were distracting me too much before,” she returned. “I didn’t take it in.”
“Me distracting you?! That’s rich when you- you showed up in your little shorts with your legs and everything.”
“Oh, the shorts did it for you?” she smirked.
To her surprise, Elvis gave her an almost stern shake of his head, and she hesitated, finding herself on unstable ground. Brusquely, he informed Billy he would call him later, told the cook to send up some drinks, and then headed towards the stairs Aurora now knew led up to his bedroom. It was only when he turned and flashed her an impatient look that she realized he expected her to follow him.
As she trailed after his broad back, trying not to look at the way the chains hanging from the belt peeking from beneath the hem of his jacket were swaying and bouncing as he slowly climbed the staircase, she replayed their exchange in the kitchen, trying to understand what had made him switch so suddenly. He had started it with his comment about her shorts, she had only been repeating what he said.
They stepped back into the office and then through into the bedroom, where Elvis whirled round and kissed her. It happened so fast that she didn’t have time to prepare, nor get flustered. Instead, her body did what came naturally and melted like ice in a furnace. It was as if he enveloped her, the warmth of him, the smell of him, the feel of him all around her and, as his tongue lapped tentatively against her pliant lips, within her. Her forearms were just beginning to slide up his chest, hands scrambling to touch and grip, when he stepped back. It took her a while to register that he was talking, her eyes fixated on the sheen of his puffy, wet lips as he spoke.
“Been waiting to do that again for, what is it now, a month, two months?”
“Two weeks,” she corrected cautiously.
“Two weeks, shit. Every time I close my damn eyes, I keep seeing those itty bitty shorts and thinking-” He cut off as his eyes fell upon her mouth and his lips curled slightly. Leaning forward to nibble on her lower lip, he let out a small grunt at the back of his throat as he pushed in to deepen it. Aurora didn’t react. A long second passed.
“What’s the matter, honey?” He was so close that she could count individual eyelashes and examine the crease between his brows as he frowned. Her heart gave a weird flutter at the concern she saw in his face. “Are you okay? Did I-”
“No, it’s fine. I’m just… Did I do something? Before in the kitchen?”
He shook his head, trying to jostle away her confusion along with his own awkwardness as he replied:
“I don’t like to do that kind of thing in front of the staff, especially the ladies in the kitchen. It ain’t respectful.”
Aurora swallowed a giggle upon seeing the sincerity in his face, but somehow, again, he read her mind and gave her side a poke with a long finger.
“You think that’s kinda old fashioned and silly, huh,” he remarked, teeth clenched in a playful show of irritation. She jerked at the painful poke, but let out the laughter she had been trying to suppress.
“Not silly,” she soothed. “It’s cute.”
“I ain’t cute, goddamn it!” he snapped. “Get on the damn bed, woman! I’ll show you how cute I am!”
Aurora raised her eyebrows, but before she could scoop together the words, he clutched her waist and kissed her hard to the point where her lips were almost painfully jammed against her teeth. He could only seem to bear to do this for so long however before he adjusted, and his soft pillowy lips kneaded hers. His breath fell light upon her cheek as his hands reached up to cradle the sides of her face.
“Get up on the bed, baby,” he murmured gently this time. “Please.”
“Since you asked nicely.”
She used her feet to pry off her shoes and clambered up onto the center of the expansive bed, where she dropped onto her back with her arms and legs spread like a starfish. She noticed the two television screens mounted in the ceiling and rolled instinctively, hit by sudden claustrophobic dread that they were pushing down on her.
The roll was just in time to meet Elvis joining her on the bed, and he caught hold of her by the shoulder and hip and slid her closer to him with practiced ease.
How many girls had lay in this bed, she wondered, even as she succumbed to his embrace and flexed her fingers up into the fine, silky hair at the back of his head. Did he ever wake up and not remember who his companion was until he pulled back the blankets? Did his memory ever shuffle through them all like flicking the pages of a photo album?
She was thinking too much, she was definitely thinking too much. Here she was, laying pressed up against Elvis Presley, his tongue caressing hers while his fingertips stroked a path down her neck and into the opening of her shirt and she was imagining other more beautiful women spread out in her place.
WIth effort, she emptied her mind and smeared her lips across his round cheek and down to his jaw, scrunching up her nose at the tickling from his sideburn. She tasted the salt from his skin as her mouth journeyed down his warm neck, pressing kisses against the rough, burgeoning stubble and flickering pulse beneath.
He growled a little at the back of his throat and submitted. No, submitted was not the right word, because he was practically pushing his neck against her mouth, hungry for more, reveling in the caressing care of her lips and the teasing of her teeth nibbling beneath.
Aurora could feel sweat beginning to bead at the small of her back and across her chest pressed beneath the weighty, hot pressure of his torso still covered in layers of clothing.
Blind and dumb with eagerness, she pulled back slightly and reached for the zipper of his jacket, already halfway down, trying to gain further access and salivating at the thought of his chest that she had glimpsed through the deep open vee of his shirt, adorned with damp, curls of hair. He grabbed her bicep wordlessly and pushed it back, pressing it up onto the pillows at the side of her head. The weight of him followed and she felt her legs forced apart by the pressure of a solid thigh slotting between them and pushing against the tingling, eager nexus where she was nudging her hips to meet him.
Swollen and tingling, her lips nonetheless widened into a smile as she felt him pressing his neck and his cheek against her mouth, demanding her kisses, caresses and attention even as his hands grazed over her breasts, the edge of his thumb teasing over her cotton covered nipple.
Aurora clenched her jaw, biting down on a whining sigh as he thrust his hip with celebrated skill and nudged all the right places, sending a spidery web of tingling electricity deep down and along the inside of her thighs. Her toes curled appreciatively as she hooked her leg over the back of his, squeezing them both together to a duet of moaning.
“That’s it, let me hear you, baby,” he whispered in a direct line from her ear down to her aching, tingly core. She tried to wrap her arms around his shoulders, to pull him closer to cover the shivery coolness of her exposed decolletage, but he held fast to her arm, pinning the other down beneath his side.
Aurora’s brain was too foggy with pleasure and yearning to be embarrassed or self-conscious about the noises she was making, or was trying to make, since he kept forcing her lips to perform supplication and worship different parts of him. Her whines were muffled by the soft, fullness of his bottom lip as he tasted and teased her, then the salty, slightly metallic tang of the broad pad of his thumb as he pushed it against the flat of her tongue, and his body, heavy and hot, thrusting against every willing, needy inch of her.
Like an opera singer sliding up the scale, the way her body answered his nudging and rubbing began to heighten. A thousand icy vibrations resonated through her, building and building until all her nerves sang in the same, piercing crescendo, threatening to shatter her as she tensed, squeezed, curled into herself and then broke apart.
With a weary but satisfied sigh, he sank back onto his side, leaving her shivering and exposed despite the fact that she was still fully clothed. Listening to her own slightly labored breaths, she was finally able to lift up her arm from the pillow and she tugged at her rumpled, damp clothes, trying to make herself more comfortable and presentable.
Rolling onto her side, she let herself bathe in the warm, affectionate glow of his eyes as he smiled at her, reaching up to smooth her hair. She leant down and kissed him chastely on the lips, still delighted at the way he pushed back, eagerly taking what she was giving.
“Can I? Could I… Do you need me to-” Unable to bring herself to say it, she let her hand slide down his chest, over the curve of his stomach, past the hem of his jacket, where he hastily caught it and tugged it back up.
“Whoa, let’s hold fire on that, Tiger,” he said, lifting her fingers to his lips. “I wanna take my time with you.” She tried to hide her uncertainty as she smiled and nodded in response. “I- I tell you what we’ll do. How about you go put on that dress you wanna show me and we’ll get some food sent up. You want to watch a movie? You know who Peter Sellers is, honey?”
Floating on a cloud while still immersed in mists of uncertainty, Aurora took her bag into Elvis’ adjoining bathroom and marveled at the gold fixtures and the shine of everything. It took a lot of money to make everything look so effortlessly shiny.
When she caught sight of her hair reflected in the long mirror framed in lights, she gasped and brushed it vigorously. She considered rooting around in the cabinets for a hair dryer, but got distracted by all the products on the counter. It was as if a drug store had exploded; every minor ailment from indigestion to dry eyes to, oddly, nappy rash could have been cured with items on the counter.
There were quite a few amber pill bottles too, she noticed, though she didn’t recognise any of the long names nor know how to pronounce them. She could read, however, that some of the patient names were not Elvis. It struck her as odd that so many different people would keep their medicine in Elvis’ bathroom, but her brain stretched to understand it by wondering if maybe all these people worked at the mansion and needed it be kept somewhere safe while they were working.
When she finally emerged, now clad in a floaty, pale pink peasant dress with a bardot neckline that showed off her tanned shoulders and back, Billy was back and accompanied by a woman with dark hair parted in winged curtains, apparently his wife Jo.
“Yeah, that’s more like it,” Elvis nodded as Aurora stood awkwardly in front of the bed. “Turn around, honey, let us get a good look at you.”
“It’s the same at the back as it is in front,” she replied tightly.
Goosebumps were breaking out across her shoulders, both because of the icy air conditioning and the discomfort of being stared at by so many people. For some reason, having a woman sitting there looking at her, sizing her up, made her enthusiasm circle the drain.
“No, really, give us a twirl, baby,” Elvis instructed with a tone that did not encourage refusal.
Billy grinned and looked to his wife like he was trying to lessen some of the pressure, but Jo continued to watch her. Women were not fooled by hair and make-up tricks and they saw through the illusion of a good dress bought on sale. Jo likely knew exactly how much of an impostor Aurora was, and her knowing made it impossible to continue the charade. Aurora turned in place with all the grace and enthusiasm of a zombie, helplessly watching Elvis’ eyes narrow with annoyance.
He didn’t even look her way as she perched on the other side of the bed to the rest of them, instead talking to Billy about the pizza they had apparently ordered while she was in the bathroom. Elvis was complaining that he was hungry and it had better not take too long or he was going to take away someone’s new car. BIlly suggested they start the movie to help take their minds off being hungry while they waited.
It was while Aurora was watching Billy set up the betamax that she had a moment of clarity that it did not matter whether she was good enough to be there, the fact was that she had evidently tricked someone into thinking she was and that might not happen again, so she had to make the most of it. Besides, she thought back to the taste of him in her mouth, his touch on her skin and realized that acting like a sulky teenager was not going to get that back. She knew that she wanted, no, needed to get that back.
Leaning on the little information she had picked up about what Elvis liked, Aurora shuffled across the bed to where he was half-reclined against his pillows and tried to kiss him in apology. She timed it badly because he was taking a swig of water when she hurriedly smushed her lips into his cheek and he instinctively turned towards her, the water pouring onto him instead.
“Oh, I am so sorry!” She clasped her hands over her mouth, mentally preparing herself to be frogmarched to her car and escorted to the gate.
There was a pause, the other two people in the room seemed to go very quiet and even the sound of the television was muted, but eventually Elvis forced a weak chuckle and made a comment about being given a warning next time she wanted to start a water fight. He placed his glass down with a decisive bang on the nightstand and went into his bathroom to get changed.
Aurora cringed and shrugged sheepishly at Billy and Jo, already mentally editing all of this out of the story she would tell everyone of her one and only date with Elvis Presley.
The arrival of the pizza coincided with Elvis’ reappearance, now clad in navy blue pajamas and a gray robe, both of which were monogrammed in white. There was a beat when she reflected on how he had just made her dress up for him while he had decidedly dressed down for her and she wondered if this was a signal on how the date was going.
Thankfully, his mood picked up considerably as he ate his food and spoke along with most of the dialogue of the movie. He and Billy joined together in unison on their favorite lines and sometimes even Jo joined in. She tried not to feel too left out, smiling appreciatively whenever Elvis slipped her a sideways glance, his eyebrow slightly raised, like he was trying to be sneaky.
The appreciation dimmed when Elvis ordered the movie be started over from the beginning again once it was done. Aurora scanned the room for signs of a clock and cursed her poor decision making for removing her watch. Instead, she had to exaggeratedly stretch and fake a yawn.
“Gee, it must be getting pretty late,” she remarked. “I guess I should be going soon.”
If it had been a movie there would have been a loud record scratch, but she didn’t need a sound effect to know that she had messed up yet again. After a minute or two of loud silence, Elvis asked if he could speak to her in the bathroom and he retreated to find more privacy than he could get in his own bedroom.
At his request, Aurora closed the door behind her and watched him glare at himself in the mirror, before smoothing his hand down the lapel of his robe and turning to face her.
“How was your food?” he asked, glancing away again, this time out the window.
“It was good.” It had been a little greasy, but the view more than made up for it.
“Good… good.” He inhaled deeply and also quickly. “Well, you’re right, it’s getting real late and the streets can be dangerous, especially for a sweet little girl like you. I- I don’t like the thought of you driving around, sweetheart, you never know who could be traveling those roads at night, all kinds of weirdos and sick motherfuckers. I think you should stay here.”
“And how’d you like the movie?”
“It was great, really funny.” Especially the first time round, what little of the dialogue she could hear. Again, she couldn’t fault the view and the company.
“Stay?” The word yes surged into her brain, whizzing around her body like a pinball before finally emerging through her mouth as something completely different. “I don’t know.”
It was the old song and dance, sounding like the good girl she was supposed to be while acting like the girl she really was. She had to argue that she didn’t have anything to wear to bed or toiletries. He countered this by promising to find her everything she needed. She considered that her mother might worry if she didn't show up after her date, and Elvis volleyed this back by saying that she was welcome to call Mama to let her know what was happening. He even offered to speak to her mother himself. She finished the back and forth by reminding Elvis that she was a good girl that didn’t do this sort of thing normally, but she would make a reluctant exception.
And with that they went back to watch the rest of the movie, Aurora now nestled up against his chest, listening to the forceful thump of his heart caged up beneath. His voice rumbled through his body and into her ear, a steady stream of movie quotes, innuendo and cheeky, foul-mouthed asides about the film.
In what seemed like a blink of an eye later, she was sitting upright in bed with the bed covers draped across her legs. Elvis had already pulled the blankets back twice, a boyish little grin on his face as he peeked at her long, tanned legs. The silky pajama jacket he had tossed to her after she had brushed her teeth using a brand new toothbrush from the seemingly endless stock in his bathroom cabinet barely covered anything, the sleeves hanging limping from her hands while the hem brushed her ass.
Steve had brought Elvis a package about twenty minutes before, an awkward reunion, and Aurora had watched Elvis carefully take the pills that were contained within. He smiled at her, and for the first time, she spotted the charade, recognising a script. He explained that he took lots of vitamins and health supplements to keep him fit and healthy for all the touring he had to do and that accounted for most of the pills, but he also took a little sleeping medication because he found it difficult to get to sleep. Aurora had nodded, but it was not an Oscar worthy performance.
The medicine kicked in with a surprisingly sudden punch not long later when he was reading aloud from one of his books and pausing to check she understood and to clarify words. Both his breathing and his voice abruptly deepened as well as slowing down. She frowned as she watched his usually animated and expressive face fall slack and blank
“Elvis?” He took a long time to register her voice, even longer to respond, his slow smile following on after. “Are you okay?”
“Just tired,” he managed. Adorably, he pursed his lips and she realized that he was waiting for her to kiss him. She dipped down and pushed her lips against his, and she missed the way he pushed forward to meet her. He was too groggy for that. Instead, he mumbled:
“... Been looking for you for so long…” She didn’t know if he meant in the past two weeks or more generally. It was sweet either way.
With her mama far away and Elvis’ soft, pouting face restful and beautiful right next to her, Aurora sank down and lay her head against his chest, pretending that maybe, just maybe, she might be different. She might be special.
As his thick lashes dropped down onto his lower lids and he released a big sigh of an exhale, Aurora thought of her mama’s words:
“... Memphis is chock full of girls that Elvis used to call at 3AM.”
I really appreciate everyone who reads, likes, reblogs and comments. If you wish to be added to a tag list, or removed, let me know.
Tag List
@ellie-24, @be-my-ally, @vintageshanny, @missmaywemeetagain, @peskybedtime, @from-memphis-with-love @cskidjgsjaoaknayan52782, @wildhorseinkansas, @atleastpleasetelephone
#elvis presley#elvis fanfic#elvis x oc#big daddy elvis#70s elvis#elvis imagine#elvis presley fanfic#elvis fanfiction#whositmcwhatsit
72 notes
·
View notes
Text
The first of two New Year concerts Elvis performed was 1975-76; one night at the Silverdome, Pontiac, Michigan, to a record in-person audience of over 62 000. Newspaper reports of the time conveyed the excitement with headlines, 'Elvis Still Shakes 'em Up', and 'The Legendary Elvis Dazzles New Year's Eve Stadium Crowd'. The $800 000 gross for the night also attracted widespread publicity, at that time a record for a single performance by a solo artist.
The time of year, and the unprecedented size of the venue, created a number of challenges. The weather was freezing, described by a concertgoer as 'the worst ice-storm ever', and there was an unfamiliar stage rig; Elvis biographer Peter Guralnick suggested that there was no way Elvis could have pre-approved the design which left him isolated on a catwalk several feet above the main stage, making the usual eye-contact and unspoken communication with the band difficult to impossible.
It appears the audience remained generally patient and did not allow the sense of excitement to be undone by ticketing mix-ups, troublesome sound and the freezing temperatures, as well as a seemingly endless pre-programme which on this occasion also included a group named Bodie Mountain Express, a side project of Colonel Parker who was trying to get them signed with RCA.
Early in the show, Elvis tore the seat out of the 'rainfall' jumpsuit and had to leave the stage to change into the 'white V-neck', on his return joking about being a 'quick change artist'.
The Detroit News;
"...Inside the stadium, there were some hassles over tickets. A few fans complained of duplicated seat numbers. Others, most of them $15 stadium floor seat ticket holders who were unprepared for the booming acoustics of the arena, complained about the sound. Others weren't happy about their distance from the stage, but many Elvis fans seemed content to watch 1976 come in through a pair of binoculars...Presley hit the 50-yard line stage - a platform 10 feet off the stadium floor, surrounded by speakers and connected to his dressing room by a 70-yard tunnel - At 11:10 pm; women in glittery dresses and billowing pantsuits joined kids in a rush toward the stage. Lots of screaming. Everything flickered as a generation of flashcubes meets oblivion..."
It was the most ambitious single performance since Aloha, and once again, after some nervous moments, and in almost impossible conditions, Elvis rose to the challenge.
He talked a little about the show in a lighthearted moment on stage in 1976;
youtube
The Pontiac Silverdome was demolished in 2018.
#elvis history#elvis presley#elvis in the 70s#rock history#elvis fans#elvis#elvis 1970s#live music#musicians#1970s rock#new years eve#happy new year#Youtube
54 notes
·
View notes
Text
man about town interview | spring/summer 2014
for the tweam! click through for my best attempt at deciphering this (maybe impossible to find?) throwback interview
‘’I don’t think I’m scary at all. It was kind of funny watching myself being scary. Because I’m not scary.’’ Says Evan Peters, the up-and-coming up-for-anything actor best known for his extreme roles on American Horror Story, the prestige television series that treats social taboos as map points. For three seasons, Peters has excelled at playing against his offbeat boyishness by amping up his young Malcolm McDowell intensity, with results that fall somewhere between ‘’teen dream in strangler’s gloves’’ and ‘’terrifying Michael Cera.’’ He most recently appeared in American Horror Story: Coven as Kyle Spencer, the good-natured university student who is decapitated and then reanimated with the body parts of his Kappa Lambda Gamma brothers as a temperamental Rocky Horror who beats his sexually abusive mother to death with a trophy.
Over a bold chai tea with stevia, at a restaurant in Venice, California, Peters is lighthearted and dryly humorous, like a young Michael Shannon, with whom he should costar in a successful disturbing family sitcom. He wears black jeans, a well-worn t-shirt under a plaid flannel, and a necklace with a toy dinosaur pendant. He drives a 2004 Pontiac Vibe that he correctly describes as ‘’vintage’’; says that he just feels like growing his longish blond hair into a ponytail, and has a red thumbs-up permanently inked onto the to pof his right hand, that was traced over a nightclub door stamp. At one point, he raises his forearm to show off a temporary tattoo that he received the night before at the castle park family entertainment center in Sherman oaks. ‘’This is a Belle tattoo. It’s not real,’’ he explains playfully of a small portrait of the beautiful young heroine from the animated Disney film Beauty and the Beast. I tell him it’s very pretty. ‘’Thank you. She’s gorgeous,’’ he responds. I ask if Belle is his favorite Disney princess. ‘’Well, I picked her out. There was also Jasmine, Ariel and Cinderella. My other buddies got those.” ‘’What about Belle appeals to you?’’ ‘’She likes the Beast.’’ Peters says.
This summer, Peters appears as the teenage Mutant speeder Quicksilver in X-Men: Days of Future Past, the sequel to 2011’s X-Men: First Class, which has proven to be an eventful ??? movie. In October 2012, director Matthew Vaughn – who relaunched the franchise with much needed style and a new cast of young, indie + credible actors – left the film to be replaced by original trilogy director Bryan Singer. As such, fans were already touched when Singer announced that he would retell ‘’Days of Future Past,’’ the seminal X-Men time-travel storyline from 1980, an ambitious plan turned wild when he revealed that both franchises would merge into one. Cut to the 2012 San diego Comic-Con whereby unthinkable feats of scheduling – the sprawling casts of the modern-day first series and the 60’s era prequel (that include expensive names like Jennifer Lawrence, Hugh Jackmon, Halle Berry, Patrick Stewart, Ian McKellan, Michael Fassbender, and so on). Convened with ??? new additions like Peters to unhinge popular culture. ‘’You think to yourself, ‘’wow, people really, really love this stuff.” And it makes you appreciate it more. It makes you work harder at it.’’ he says about the experience.
Peters’ role in the films is crucial but concise. ‘’It’s a huge, huge opportunity but I always make sure to tell people it’s just one scene. Easy, it's just one scene.’’ Peters says, as if talking down a rearing horse. Quicksilver has already been the subject of film industry chatter regarding lawful usage of the character, who is both the son of Magneto and a colleague of the Avengers, making him fair game for inclusion in both Days of Future Past and the 20n5 Avengers sequel (in which he will be played by Aaron Taylor-Johnson of Kick-Ass). An Empire magazine Preview of Quicksilver’s costume design was greeted with comparison to Kid Vid, a ‘90’s cartoon form of the Burger King ‘’Kid’s Club,’’ and the news that Peters had been saddled with the Halle Berry “rough wig’’ role. But his fan’s enthusiasm for the project—in which desperate X-Men from a dystopias future try to stave off mutant genocide by altering the present day—is undimmed. ‘’I think it’s the best film of the francise yet,’’ proclaims Peters. ‘’It’s pretty dire. It’s a pretty epic situation. But there’s definitely some humor in there. Its’s just badass, man.’’
Quicksilver is a departure for Peters in some ways if not others. Both X-Men and Horror Story are tight productions that take extensive precautions to protect story lines. Peters says that he did not receive the full script for X-Men until arriving at the Montreal location days before shooting. Horror Story pages are often delivered the night before a scene. The short lead time can demand a ??? almost improvisational acting process. ‘’The minute we get the script, plans are cancelled, dinner is cancelled,’’ he says about working on Horror Story. ‘’Some of it you’re like, ‘Oh shit, I have to do that?’ Screaming and crying, realizing that my whole body is pieced together and I’m not myself? I’ll probably have to work on that.’’
Peters owes his career to television. ‘’I was watching a lot of TV and I kind of wanted to be on the TV and in movies. I love movies and TV,’’ he says, and cites inspirations like Joaquin Phoenix, Heath Ledger, Christian Bale, George Clooney, JIM Carrey, Chris Farley, Tom Hanks in Forrest Gump, and the millennial teen comedies Even Stevens starring Shia Labeuof and So Little Time with Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen. ‘’That sort of stuff. I just really wanted to be a part of it and loved acting and performing.’’ He moved to Los Angeles with is mother when he was 15 years old, and steadily won work in television, on shows including Phil of the Future (2004) and One Tree Hill (2008), and in movies like the independent films Clipping Adam (2004), his first big break, and later Kick Ass (2010). Being cast as Tate Langdon in the first season of American Horror Story in 2011 was his tipping point, playing a Skull Boy-faced high school shooter in a latex catsuit who rapes his girlfriend’s mother to please a ghost. He has since become one of the five main players to appear in all three season of the series, sterling company that includes Jessica Lange, Sarah Paulson, Lily Rabe and Frances Conroy.
Now the world gets to enjoy a lighter side of Peters, like when he appeared on a 2011 episode of the G4 networks Attack of the Show and blithely volunteered that he was working a a rap song called ‘’I’ll Tap That Fucking Ass.’’ He laughs off a request to recite a verse. ‘’I can’t. That never materialized. I tried but it was too much pressure. It was just a concept. I was just trying new ideas,’’ he says, and then volunteers a different musical direction. ‘’It’s called ‘Natch Snatch.’ Like all natural snatch. Big bush. Snatch. Cause it’s nice. You know, ‘girl, you’ve got that natch snatch.’ It’s another nice concept. Probably on the same album.’’ Peters laughs in agreement at the suggestion that he is a kook in the best sense of the word. ‘’I get called a weirdo sometimes,’’ he admits ‘’But it’s like, I don’t feel that weird. I don’t feel that different. I look at everybody else and I’m like, ‘’you’re a fucking weirdo, too. You like all of your shit. I like my shit.’’ Why does one have to be weird and one have to be normal? It doesn’t make any sense to me.’’ Meanwhile, he seems to be successfully negotiating his public and private persona. ‘’I’ll try to be myself as much as I can but you obviously can’t be who you are at home in your skivvies eating donuts. You can’t be that.’’ He explains, before confirming that guy exists, with his tongue sort-of-in-cheek. ‘’You bet he does. Yeah, definitely watching New Girl. Crying.’’ But while Peters seems fairly comfortable in the public eye, fame no longer interests him. The development is not unrelated to his intense, closely-watched relationship with fiancée and two-time costar Emma Roberts (on coven and in the 2013 ?? Adult World) ‘’When I was younger I was like, ‘’That would be awesome!’’ now I don’t particularly love it,’’ he says ‘’Emma gets paparazzi a lot, and because I’m with her we get paparazzi, so it’s kind of a weird thing that I don’t love. But it’s so small in the big picture of all the positives that come with this job that I can’t really complain about it.’’ he may be surprised by the attention he and Roberts receive, but he is hardly self-ptying. ‘’Honestly, it’s not that bad. If you don’t set up a Google alert on yourself and go out searching for it then you’re not going to see it. So I don’t see it.’’ Roberts has already endured the Hollywood learning curve that Peters is now experiencing. ‘’She gives me advice, like cut your hair. She likes my hair to look nice,’’ he says, and laughs. ‘’She’s been around and knows the ropes and how to play the game very well. And she has incredible social skills. She can talk to anyone and everyone loves talking to her. I’m not that good at that stuff so she kind of helps me out with that.’’ I wonder what guidance she offers him. ‘’You’ve just got to be personable and talk to people, even if you don’t want to. Put on a happy face and buck up. Grow a pair of balls. Don’t be a little wuss.’’ Petersa says, and laughs. ‘’I mean, she doesn’t say that, but you know what I mean.’’
Next for Peters is Lazarus, opposite Olivia Wilde, Donald Glover and Mark Duplass a 2015 feature from director David Gelb, known for the documentary Giro: Dreams of Sushi. Peters describes the project, about a team of brainiacs working magnanimously to reanimate the dead, as a “contained Sci-Fi horror thriller” as it mostly takes place in one laboratory setting. He plays the party animal scientist. Peters encouraging sidesteps the questions of his involvement in the next season of American Horror Story, to be set in 1950 and the present day, for which Jessica Lange is practicing a German accent. ‘’I don’t know what I’m allowed to say so I’m going to say no comment,’’ he says.
‘’At the end of the day it is acting. You want to go with the biggest, weirdest, boldest shit and see if you can actually do it and go there,’’ Peters concludes, ‘’I’m very curious about everything. I feel like I don’t know that much. I’m trying to learn it all and figure it all out.’’
#i did my best#i strained my eyes#typos are mine and i put question marks where i couldn't make out the words#evan peters#evanpeters#tate langdon#american horror story#kai anderson#kyle spencer#ahs
33 notes
·
View notes
Note
Mike got that car autism.
Mike has one of those car pinup calenders where it’s a different car for each month with a different half naked sexy girl on it but whenever someone mentions it he’s like “yeah I think Pontiac’s are pretty cool, if you look passed the chick you can see this one’s all decked out too, I mean look at that engine.” And they’re just like *blink blink*
Davy walks into his room and is like “that’s a pretty sick picture I’m getting caught in her headlights if you catch me” (he’s staring at her boobs)
And Mike is like “Davy if you see headlights coming you should always move out of the way. That’s very dangerous please be safe when crossing the road at night.”
Fr😭
When Mike was buying the calendar the guy behind the counter had a smirk and was going to tease Mike by asking if he was old enough to buy it but then he saw the small toy car model next to it and was like omg this kids serious
Micky is the only one who ever knows what Mike’s saying. Mike tries to teach Peter and Davy about cars in case of emergency but Peter can’t keep up and Davy can’t be bothered. Micky knows about cars but Mike still forbids him from touching the monkeemobile in case, that’s Mike’s baby
If the guys can’t find Mike around the Pad, before assuming he’s been kidnapped, they have to check the garage because Mike will just stand like a dad with his arms behind his back admiring the monkeemobile. One of the guys accidentally scratched it once and it was a dark time
13 notes
·
View notes
Photo
Photo 1 by Ric Klein.
“Hendrix injured his right ankle — the one which was originally broken and caused him to be invalided out of the US Army — while a passenger in Monkee Peter Tork’s GTO car at Malibu Beach, Los Angeles, at the weekend.
Tork was not in the car, which was spun round three times when another car crashed into it at a filling station. Co-passenger with Hendrix was Byrds’ Dave Crosby, but the Hendrix injury was not bad enough to prevent him continuing his tour.” - Jimi hurt in Monkee Peter’s car,” Disc & Music Echo, July 15, 1967
“Well, after Monterey, I got back down to L.A. and met Jimi at Peter’s house. We decided to go out to my house at the beach. Peter lent me his car, a burgundy GTO hardtop that was given to him by Pontiac. I loved it. My Rolls Royce was busted down. And so we all piled into his GTO and drove out to the beach.
I was driving along Pacific Coast Highway when, all of a sudden, this Pontiac, just the smoke, was everywhere. I started to pull over and some idiot creamed me in the back. Instead of stomping on the brakes, I floored it and got the car under control and then pulled over. And then, the cops came and all they did was get Jimi’s bottle of whiskey away from him. We went down the street and bought another one. But the cops gave us all a ride to my house.” - Stephen Stills, Canyon of Dreams: The Magic and Music of Laurel Canyon (2009)
#Peter Tork#Jimi Hendrix#Stephen Stills#Tork quotes#60s Tork#The Monkees#Monkees#long read#1967#Tork houses#Disc and Music Echo#Canyon of Dreams: The Magic and Music of Laurel Canyon#can you queue it
33 notes
·
View notes
Text
Jimmy Page and Peter Grant in Troy, MI, on their way to the Pontiac Silverdome, April 30, 1977.
#jimmy page#peter grant#1977#70s#led zeppelin#robert plant#john bonham#classic rock#classic rock fandom#rock n roll#rock music#hard rock#70s rock#rare zeppelin#by dee dee 🌺🕯️
82 notes
·
View notes
Text
Storia Di Musica #289 - Genesis, The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway, 1974
Quando si parla di dischi dove davvero si sente quanto siano bravi i musicisti, non si può non pensare all’epopea del progressive (che come quelli che mi sopportano in questa rubrica da più tempo sanno, sia uno dei miei pallini musicali). Il prog, che vorrei sottolineare è una definizione che negli anni è diventata sempre meno descrittiva e precisa, ma che per consuetudine e anche affetto si continua ad usare, è stato il primo e significativo della gioventù europea di creare musica pop fuori dallo schema del blues americano d’importazione. Sembra un particolare secondario, ma è fondamentale, come lo è l’estrazione sociale dei protagonisti: tutti baby boomer (termine che vuol dire la prima generazione nata dopo la guerra, non il sarcastico e odioso epiteto di oggi contro chi non è “giovane”), sospinti dalla crescita economica e, particolare importantissimo, la prima generazione che fa musica studiando a livelli superiori; quasi tutti i grandi gruppi progressive sono formati da ragazzi laureati, spesso in materie scientifiche (l’esempio più famoso è Brian May, laureato con lode in Astrofisica, ma ricordo anche i componenti dei mitici Van Der Graaf Generator tutti dottori in materie scientifiche). Tutto questo portò ad un approccio molto serio e tecnico alla musica, e al netto delle preferenze personali i capolavori del prog sono tutti dischi suonati magistralmente, e potrebbero essere tutti citati in questo mese. Aggiungo, in primis, disseminati nei post di questa ve ne sono tanti, e in secundis per celebrare degnamente i dischi stato dell’arte ho scelto uno dei più famosi dischi prog, capolavoro di una delle band leggenda del movimento.
I Genesis sono stati i principi del progressive, una dei gruppi mitici di quel periodo. Eppure l’inizio fu tutt’altro che promettente: dopo una scrittura per la Decca e due singoli, esce From Genesis To Revelation (1969), che ha così poco successo che tutti i membri della band, Peter Gabriel, Tony Banks, Chris Steward, Anthony Phillis e Michael Rutherford tornano a fare gli studenti universitari. Fu però l’intuito di un grande discografico, Tony Strattor-Smith, che fondò la Charisma, la casa discografica motore del prog, a intuire il potenziale: entra a fare patte della band John Mayhewm con cui registrano Trespass (1970), che sebbene non ha vendite confortanti è apprezzato e ha il primo, grande brano, The Knife. Ma il meglio deve ancora venire: Mayhew se ne va con Phillips, e tramite un annuncio sulla famosissima rivista Melody Maker, vengono scelti due nuovi musicisti, Steve Hackett alla chitarra e Phil Collins alla batteria. Nasce qui la line up leggendaria, e piano piano inizierà a prendere forma il loro mondo di testi colti, ironici e surreali, con tanti riferimenti letterari e alla mitologia non solo classica ma anche del folklore locale, una musica maestosa e a tratti magicamente ipnotizzante con largo uso di tastiere e sintetizzatori, creando o anticipando stili futuri, tipo il rock sinfonico. Nursery Crime, Foxtrot, Selling England By The Pound sono i primi tre capitoli di una tetralogia magnifica di capolavori che impongono lo stile musicale del gruppo ma anche l’istrionismo di Gabriel, cantante superbo, e da ricordare soprattutto che fu il primo ad introdurre l’aspetto teatrale e scenografico nei concerti, usando travestimenti, trucchi in volto, caratterizzando la voce dei vari personaggi delle canzoni. Il disco di oggi è l’apoteosi di questo concetto, un disco che è molto di più di Gabriel che dei Genesis, nella stessa misura di The Wall disco di Roger Waters che dei Pink Floyd.
The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway, che esce nel 1974, è il primo, e unico, concept album dei Genesis. Racconta la storia di Rael (anagramma di Real, reale, ma anche parziale di Gabriel), un ragazzo portoricano fuggito dall’orfanotrofio di Pontiac che va a New York a scrivere graffiti, unica forma per esprimere i suoi sentimenti. Camminando per Broadway, Rael si imbatte in un agnello sdraiato fra i vapori dei riscaldamenti sotterranei, che si trasformano in una nebbia che lo trasporta in un'altra dimensione spazio-temporale, quasi interamente ambientata sottoterra. Qui troverà mostri mitologici, uomini mezzi rettili, personaggi grotteschi, ma troverà anche suo fratello John. Proprio per salvare la vita di John, al culmine della storia, Rael rinuncerà a tornare nella sua Manhattan, magicamente riapparsa oltre una finestra nella roccia, per gettarsi fra le rapide di un fiume. Subito dopo il salvataggio tuttavia Rael si accorge sgomento che John ha assunto le sue stesse sembianze, rivelandosi di fatto una proiezione del suo io, e appena capito cosa sta per succedere immediatamente dopo i "due Rael" scompaiono in una misteriosa foschia purpurea assieme a tutta la scena e alla storia stessa. Non esiste un brano “killer” come ci sono stati in altri lavori precedenti, ma basta il brano omonimo che apre il disco, che raccoglie come una ouverture di musica classica tutti i temi del disco ( il doppio LP dura oltre 90 minuti), la dolcezza di Hairless Heart o The Carpet Crawlers, o la forza di In The Cage o di Counting Out Time per decretare questo disco di una tale ricchezza di spunti, sia lirici che sonori, da dare il capogiro. La storia di Rael è l’ennesimo, e più sofisticato, tentativo di Peter Gabriel di critica al consumismo, alla imminente globalizzazione, agli idoli fallaci di un mondo dove i confini tra illusione e realtà sono sempre più fittizi, dove essere e apparire si fondono perdendo di contorno e significato, e molto più di altre occasioni c’è una dimensione personale di racconto emozionale per dar forma a temi che riguardano la sua interiorità, come il rapporto col sesso (The Lamia, The Colony Of Slippermen), con la paura o con la morte (Anyway, Here Comes The Supernatural Anaesthetist), visti con gli occhi di Rael. E se per qualcuno c’è il dubbio, in It, misterioso e sarcastico brano di chiusura, Gabriel canta “Se pensi che sia pretenzioso, sei stato preso per un viaggio\Guarda attraverso lo specchio figliolo, prima di scegliere, decidi” e finisce con “it's only knock and know-all, but I like it", che storpia il titolo di It's Only Rock 'n Roll (But I Like It), degli Stones, traducibile pressappoco: «criticare e [fare il] saccente su tutto», quasi a profetizzare le future critiche delle riviste musicali al lavoro, accusato di essere uno spaccato di megalomania, per la storia così complicata (che ha, per essere precisi, un finale aperto, come a sospettare un continuazione prevista). Gabriel dopo il tour successivo questa faticaccia se ne va, nel 1975, anche perché gli animi degli altri non vedevano bene il suo protagonismo. Ci sono le ultime tre cose da dire: i Genesis ne volevano fare un film con William Friednik, recentemente scomparso, ma non se ne fece mai niente; il disco fu accompagnato da 102 concerti, dove Gabriel cambiava vestito per decine di volte, ed è un peccato che non ne sia mai stato fatto un live come si deve; i Genesis, dopo l’addio di Gabriel, passano le redini a Phil Collins, che dopo la bufera del punk (che odiava la maestria del prog, a cui opposero i suoni viscerali e spesso sgangherati), specializzerà il gruppo in una sorta di pop d’autore, che regalerà risultati di vendita mai visti, soprattutto negli Stati Uniti, che ovviamente non capirono mai del tutto il prog. Ma il passaggio tra le due epoche equivale a passare in una strada dove prima sorgeva una cattedrale maestosa, tra le più grandiose di sempre per meraviglie, al cui posto adesso c’è una villetta in riva al mare, che accoglie l’ondeggio lento delle onde. Un cambiamento non da poco.
20 notes
·
View notes
Text
Lissete Denison Forth was born enslaved sometime in 1786, in Detroit in the then-unincorporated Northwest Territories. Forth was unfortunately born three years shy of the adoption of the Northwest Ordinance, which prohibited slavery in what would ultimately become Michigan. In 1805, Lisette's parents, Peter and Hannah Denison, were freed upon the death of their owner --but Lisette and her five siblings were transferred to the ownership of that owner's brother. Peter and Hannah were encouraged to sue for their children's freedom and while the territorial courts ultimately ruled only in favor of the four Denison siblings that had been born after 1789, it further asserted that the unincorporated territories were under no obligation to honor the tenets of the Fugitive Slave Law (see Lesson #123 in this series). Following the letter of this ruling, Lisette and her older brother coincidentally crossed into Canada and established residency there, returning to Detroit as immigrants in 1815.
Lisette took a job as a domestic servant for famed Detroit entrepreneur (and future mayor) Solomon Sibley, and invested her pay in land ownership, eventually incurring enough money to buy four lots in Pontiac, Michigan --making her the very first Black property owner in the city. She later leased the lots to her brother and eventually sold the property. In the meantime she took on another job in the household of another well-known Detroit figure (and another future mayor!), John Biddle, and continued her practice of investing her earnings into property and stock ownership, to include a steamboat and a bank: unheard-of ventures for a Black woman at that time. The Biddles moved first to Philadelphia and then to Paris, imploring Lisette to come with them, who by then had become a close family friend, particularly with John's wife Eliza.
Upon her return to Michigan in 1856, Lisette had accumulated enough capital to build a chapel, and after her death in 1866 her estate (administered by the Biddles' son William) hired famed architect Gordon Lloyd to design and build St. James Episcopal Church in what is now Grosse Ile township. The church was completed in 1868 and stands to this day as a dedication to Lisette's memory and life.
Teachers: Need some resources to engage your students this Black History Month? I'll send you a pile of these trading cards, no cost, no obligation. Just give me a mailing address and let me know how many students in your class. No strings attached, no censorship, no secret-relaying-of-names to Abbott or DeSantis or HuckaSanders. #blackhistorymonth
#black lives matter#dothework#black history month#Lissete Denison Forth#teachtruth#northwest ordinance
9 notes
·
View notes
Text
Cathy Moriarty and Mary Steenburgen in Peter Medak’s Pontiac Moon (1994).
21 notes
·
View notes
Text
│Identity Saga │Narrative Discourse (Steve Rogers & Peter Parker)
Identity Theft: Chapter 6 │ Breakfast at Tony's
“Oh god, my driving test…” Clint set down the coffee pot while raising his mug to his mouth. “I drove up in this dinky-rinky 1963 Pontiac. The passenger door was a whole different color, the trunk wouldn’t stay closed, and it was covered in dents. The entire class was laughing at me.”
“You sure that’s why they were laughing at you?” Natasha teased with a wink.
He stuck his tongue out, coffee-covered and all, as he returned to his seat across from her.
Peter watched the interaction with what smile his mouth could make, chewing eagerly on his next forkful of food.
“That’s the kind of car my aunt drives,” he managed between bites of food — pancakes made most the words incoherent and garbled.
“Oh yeah?" Clint asked, taking a sip of fresh coffee. "Kids still as harsh as they were back then?”
Swallowing heavily, Peter paused halfway to stuffing three pieces of bacon into his mouth.
“I, uh, I actually — I didn't use that car," he started to say. "Mr. Stark lent me his Audi prototype for the test.”
Clint's coffee mug froze half-way to his lips, no different than the bacon that Peter now devoured. Natasha locked her eyes with Peter's, her neutral deadpan expression falling flat as she quirked an eyebrow — and she arched it high. Looking over at the bar, Peter saw that Sam was flabbergasted with his mouth gaped open. And Rhodey seemed equally shocked.
Steve, of all of them, looked to be the most confused.
“Tony…let you borrow his car?” Rhodey asked slowly, not hiding the disbelief that laced into his tone.
Peter decided it was best to just nod instead of talking, both worried that he might say something to further upset them, and worried that the food would come pouring out of his overly stuffed mouth.
Rhodey went on to mumble about ‘bastard won’t lend me his cars’ and Sam just shook his head, bemused.
Peter returned to eating, finding it easier to focus on shoving food into his mouth rather than have a conversation where he might slip up and say something even more stupid.
Steve, who had since disregarded his newspaper, watched Peter with intent interest. A quick glance exchanged with Natasha told him he wasn’t the only one with a sudden change in thoughts. Her eyes reflected a similar notion — realization.
Turning a bit on the stool, Steve kept his eyes on Peter as the kid stabbed his fork into his eggs. If he noticed someone staring at him, he wasn't saying a word about it. And Steve — well, Steve couldn't get his thoughts straight.
Sure, Tony had admitted last night that he was the one who made the Spider-Man suit, and it was him who lent Peter all the tech and gadgets.
But that was professional. It wasn’t even out of character; in fact, it screamed Tony Stark, the man all but eager to have others use his tech. A day that went by where Tony didn’t create something for the Avengers, Stark Industries, or anyone else was a day they needed to worry about.
His car, though?
Steve was taken aback. The man had a hundred cars, easily. Lending one out wasn’t an inconvenience of any sorts. Yet to lend a new one; an expensive prototype to a kid for his driving class — Steve had seen the YouTube videos. Spider-Man didn’t drive well. At all.
Steve liked to think he got to know Tony well over the past handful of years, well enough to know he didn’t trust easily.
He had to have put a lot of trust in the boy for that.
Watching Peter swallow down mouthfuls of eggs, somehow looking even younger than last night— Steve really didn't like that — he subconsciously wondered what it was he'd done to deserve so much trust.
And just maybe, if Tony could manage it — maybe he needed to give it a shot as well.
Identity Theft: Chapter 28 │Handle With Care
With that thought, Steve cleared his throat, gesturing an open palm at Peter. “I haven’t really had the chance to talk with you, one on one. You’ve been quite popular here.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Peter muttered, chewing noticeably on his lower lip. “If only I could take some of that popularity back to school with me.”
Steve sympathized, “It was similar for me back in my day, too. It can be hard, being at the bottom of the barrel like that.”
His eyes slid down to Peter’s lap as he spoke, where the kid kept tugging on his blanket, his nail beds pushing white from the pressure of his grip.
Steve frowned — he related all too well with nervous habits. With a deep breath, he fixed his gaze resolutely on Peter’s face. “But you got something special that they don’t. You know that, right?”
Peter finally stopped fidgeting, his hands freezing in place. He looked up and over at Steve. “What —being bitten by a radioactive spider? Could’ve happened to anyone.”
“True,” Steve said, nodding. “But it happened to the best of us.”
The compliment seemed to momentarily go over Peter’s head, as if there was no way such a good thing could ever be said about him. Instead of reiterating the statement, Steve gave it a moment to sink in, taking the pink blush that began to heat Peter’s cheeks as the sign that he understood.
“You know,” Steve leaned back in his chair, entwining his hands together and letting them rest on his stomach. “It’s kind of hard to trust someone when you don’t know who that someone really is. I know we got off on the wrong foot, Pete. But I couldn’t be more proud to have you here now. You’re a strong kid. And I don’t just mean your physical strength. Don’t lose that quality.”
In his lifetime, Steve had seen a lot of young, resilient men eager to please, the type that would bend over backward to receive such praise. He’d see them light up with joy and have a skip in their step for days after one good remark directed towards them.
All those men combined did nothing to top Peter, grinning so enthusiastically, so full of pride that it almost overwhelmed him to bear witness to.
“Thanks,” Peter finally managed, swallowing hard. “And–and that’s...that’s okay. I’ve been wrong about a lot of things, too.” He paused, briefly looking down to his hands with a noticeable sense of hesitation. Slowly he dropped the blanket altogether, his fingers going to tap against an open palm instead. “You know, when I first got my powers, I...I did stupid things with them. I made money...helped my Aunt. I thought that’s what powers were for. I...I was wrong about that. I was wrong about a lot of things.”
Steve let him talk until he was sure there was nothing more to say, patient through each pause and stutter that kept the young lad from finishing. And though he’d keep it to himself, there was no denying the pulse of warmth that fluttered in his chest, a sudden swell of pride at the pure heart he saw coating every bit of Peter’s character.
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for believing you were a criminal just because you wore a mask,” Steve said, his voice both firm, serious and yet still gentle. “I understand now that you make that choice to protect your family.”
Peter nodded, meeting Steve’s gaze head-on.
“I do — I want to protect them, as much as I can. I don’t want anyone to get hurt because of what I do. But it’s also...” Peter paused, dipping his chin low as he waved the thought away. “Never mind, it’s silly.”
Steve shook his head, leaning forward slightly in his chair. “No, what?”
The hand that went to grip the blanket beneath him let go almost as quickly, the tight fist uncurling before ever really getting a chance to stress the muscles in his wrist. Steve took note that each deep breath the kid pulled in lifted his shoulders high.
He remained patient — if that’s what it took to get a little closer to Peter, he’d wait all night. After all, he was considered one of them now, part of the family.
Peter lifted his gaze from his lap, surprising Steve when he looked straight at him.
“I don’t want anyone to know my identity, who I am. I want to keep Spider-Man and Peter Parker separate, I do. But...” He blinked furiously, forcing unshed water in his eyes to stay put. “I also wear it because...because no one can see my face. So no one can see how scared I am.”
Steve let out a soft sigh. He hesitated to lean forward, almost fighting the urge to rest a comforting hand on Peter’s shoulder and offer the contact that he felt was right in the moment. The warning signs to stay back were all there — the anxiety, the fidgeting — Steve pushed them aside, grateful when Peter didn’t shy away from his touch.
“Bravery isn’t just about not being afraid, son,” he said, squeezing his grip. “It’s about being scared and doing something anyway. Back there in that base? You showed more bravery than I’ve ever seen before. I mean it, pal — when you grow up, you’re going to be the best of all of us.”
For a moment that felt as long as it did short, Steve and Peter looked to each other with no words, no additional comments needed to fill the silence that washed over.
Identity Crisis: Chapter 30 │ All In The Family
“I meant what I said to you, you know,” Steve broke through his thoughts like a runaway train with broken brakes.
“Hm?” Peter squeaked, shaking his head to get out of his head. His hands worked on his earbuds, but he didn’t look at what he was doing. He kept his eyes on Steve, and nowhere else.
Steve met that gaze, head on, with a smile that grew at the edges.
“That you’re going to be the best of all of us?” Steve tilted his chin low, a sincerity warming the cool blue to his eyes. “I meant that.”
Peter swallowed, a bit too hard for a mouth that had run dry. It was impossible not to look away; his eyes found his hands and his fingers sorted through the knots one tangle at a time.
He remembered that conversation with Steve, back in spring — half a year ago, now. It shook him then as much as it shook him now. When he talked about bravery with the Captain America, opening himself up to the man like they didn’t just personally meet a few weeks ago.
But that was something he always noticed with Steve — not Captain America, not ‘on the clock’ Rogers. No, when it came to Steve — a moment like this, Peter noted — it was easy to talk with him.
Like there was something between them that just...clicked.
“Jeeze, no pressure or anything...” Peter trailed off, his frustration with both the conversation and his earbuds causing him to throw the latter into his dufflebag. “Aren’t you, like...I don’t know, don’t you think you’re expecting a bit much?”
He stopped a plane from taking off with Mr. Stark’s stuff, sure. He helped with Awesome Android, yeah, and he’d always be there for any problem New York City had — no matter how small.
But the best of them all?
Peter couldn’t even ace his history essay.
He looked to the window next to him, the towering buildings of the city keeping him from seeing the Wakanda skyline. But he still knew the Citadel stood at half its height, and though the smoke had cleared away, it didn’t take with it the reality of what occurred.
Peter wasn’t the best of all of them; he was the one causing the problems. He was tempted to make a quip at Steve’s expense — ‘ Are we sure you aren’t high as the statue of liberty right now?’ — but when he turned away from the window, the look on Steve’s face kept the poorly tasted joke at bay.
“If it were anyone else…” Steve began, a small shrug pulling at his one shoulder. “Maybe. But you?”
A pause made its way between them, where Peter idly picked at the strap to his dufflebag and Steve adjusted himself in the chair, leaning so casually to the side it was as if they were talking shop.
“Trusting you, Peter, has been one of the easiest decisions I’ve ever had to make.”
#don't mind me I'm just screaming about my own work and the characters I love so deeply#you know just because a fangirl like all fangirls do#avengers#avengers fanfic#fanfiction#fanfic#writing#writing discourse#fic discourse#steve rogers#peter parker#tony stark#superfamily#irondad
18 notes
·
View notes
Text
HI!
I’M KAT JOONDALUP
...and I'm ISO new, queer, and queer-friendly friends for chatting, sharing, bonding (and dating?)!
STATS:
Genderqueer
AFAB
1973
Lt. Brown Hair
Grey Eyes
Fair, Neutral Skin
5'5", 165 cm
260 lbs, 118 kg, 18.5 st
47-43-53
PERSONALITIES:
MYERS-BRIGGS: INFJ-T
ENNEAGRAM: 4 Wing 5
CHRONOTYPE: Wolf
ALIGNMENTS:
DnD: True Neutral leaning Lawful
HOGWARTS:
Ravenclaw 42%
Hufflepuff 40%
Gryffindor 12%
Slytherin 6%
HERITAGE:
Irish 45%
Italian 25%
English 15%
Scottish 10%
Dutch/Flemish 5%
AFFILIATIONS:
Pro-choice Christian
Law Enforcement Parents and Friends
Armed Forces Parents and Friends
Centrist/Per Issue Voter; Socially Liberal, Fiscally Conservative; Foreign Policy: US Safety First
Sober Driver
SPOONY:
Fibromyalgia (meds)
Arthritis
Psoriasis
Reactive Hypoglycemia
IBS
Multiple Chemical Sensitivity
Food Intolerance/Sensitivities
Heat Intolerance
NEURODIVERGENT:
General Anxiety Disorder w/ Executive Dysfunction (meds, therapy)
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (therapy)
PTSD (therapy)
ADHD Mixed (therapy)
Major Depressive Disorder (meds, therapy)
Echolalia (daily)
Night Terrors (rare)
Somnambulism (rare)
HEROES:
Deputy Rick Grimes
Dr. Henry 'Indiana' Jones
DREAM JOB:
Full-time Artist
Author/Illustrator
Police Officer
MARVEL or DC:
Marvel by a longshot, especially Avengers and X-men, but Im also a Justice League fan, especially Supercavill Batfleck, Aquamomoa, EzraFLASHMiller, and WonderGadot.
I LIKE:
High tea, hugging and cuddling, leaning on each other, touching legs, dancing, taking off-season cruises
Zoos, Museums, Gardens, Antiques, Americana, Folk Art
Full french toast breakfasts and rib dinners, black coffee, tea, soda, whiskey, taste tests, chips, chocolate, cereal, oatmilk
Muscle cars, especially a 1967 Pontiac GTO
IRL Roleplaying
Texting, sharing memes and reels
Board, card, dice games, discussions, crafts, doodling. I'd love to learn to sew, and to play DnD.
All things law enforcement, fire fighter, paramedic, military, camo, tac boots, gun belts, Interceptors, Engines, helos, battleships, cargo pants.
Tall ships, pirates, 18th, 19th, 20th century films and genre pieces.
Superman (DCU)
Captain America (MCU)
Iron Man (MCU)
MOVIES & TV:
GENRES: Horror, Crime, One-man Action, 19th C., Prohibition, Cerebral Comedy, Psychological Drama & Thrillers, Artsy/Indie Queer, WWII, Dystopian, Serial Killers, Coming of Age, Fish Out Of Water, High Fantasy, Space/Sci-Fi, Vampyre, Werewolf,
TV SPECIFICS: Stranger Things, The Walking Dead, Fargo, ADAM-12, Emergency!, Andy Griffith, Big Bang Theory, The Office, Peaky Blinders, Sopranos, True Blood
ACTORS: Tom Hardy, Hugh Jackman, Jake Gyllenhaal, Henry Cavill, Gerard Butler, Cillian Murphy, Sandra Bullock, Jennifer Lawrence
MUSIC (My rotating Sirius Channels):
All the Classic Rock stations, Yacht Rock, 60s, 70, 80s, 1st Wave, Mosaic, Prime Country, Radio Classics, Octane, Turbo, Ozzy's Boneyard
ARTISTS: Rammstein, Bastille, Crowder, Andrew Bird, Chris Tomlin, Garth Brooks, Five Finger Death Punch, Slipknot, Corey Taylor. Journey, Styx, Judas Priest, Megadeth, Meg Myers, Sia, Lady Gaga, Garth Brooks, George Strait, The Outfield, Elton John, Billy Joel, Kenny Rogers, Ronnie Milsap, Jerry Reed, Dwight Yoakam, Fleetwood Mac, Commodores, The Police, Sting, Peter Gabriel, Eagles
PODCASTS & YOUTUBE:
Horror, True Crime, Cryptids, Unexplained, Disasters, History, Wildlife, Mummies, Mortuary/Funerary, Archeology, Psychology, Psychiatry
CREATORS: MrBallen, That Chapter, Fascinating Horror, Brief Case, Thoughty2
GOOD THINGS TO KNOW:
I’m sensitive, a weeper. If you're uncomfortable around emotion, I'm probably not for you ;(
I don't always get the joke. Sometimes I take things the wrong way. Executive Dysfunction can be frustrating. Please don't assume I'm simple. I do have standards. I do have ideologies. Sometimes my ire is more than appropriate when someone is being rude, a bully, or just a dick.
I can act like a mom or a big bro. I may encourage you to hydrate more, or eat more protein and fruit. It's because I care, not because you're not meeting standards.
Sometimes I'm very quiet and have not much at all to say. It's probably not. I'm an introvert and need to recharge. Sometimes just sitting quietly together doing our own thing is as nourishing as chatting about all the things while adventuring about town.
I nap A LOT. I sleep a long time. I can sleep almost anywhere, at any time. I'm a night owl IF I get a second wind, but I can still sleep late every. single. day. I'm more of a mid-day person than either morning or night person ;) See link to know more about the Wolf Chronotype.
I am loyal to a fault.
Friends don’t lie.
Please don’t lose my trust once you gain it.
I am moderately toy-experienced as a Top, but VERY inexperienced as a bottom. Can you teach me gently?
I don't own any formal attire and have a bitch of a time finding business-wear that fits well. My "dressed up" is pretty casual (clean, dark or black jeans, button up shirt, and blazer) and I'm a little embarrassed about it, but I'm trying to find better clothes.
I’m re-learning to do my makeup. I can always use pointers/tips/help.
Let's not be too shy about sharing our views and opinions on sensitive subjects. We may have to agree to disagree on some things. And if anything becomes a dealbreaker, so be it. Let's move on amiably. But please don’t assume that being a Christian who votes "Centrist" and has Independent friends who own guns means I’m a right-wing NRA “Trumper”. You may be surprised what MY views actually are when we get a chance to talk things out. And I'm open to new perspectives. I live with ambivalence. I prefer to make decisions knowing both/all sides to an argument.
Small talk can be awkward. Feel free to ask the deep TMI stuff early on. It's easier to learn about each other now than end up heartbroken too late. I’m really good at oversharing, too. I often can’t tell if you're offended and being stoic, or just feeling neutral about something I've said/shared. Please be patient. Let's always be open and honest with each other.
Around me there is always inappropriate laughter, burps, farts, naughty jokes, cursing. If you’re looking for LT friendship or anything intimate, you’ll eventually meet my friends and family and will need to be cool with cursing and the occasionally rank joke or discussion.
I often laugh out loud in public places, even restaurants, and sometimes I send my food back.
I don’t do well in the heat so prefer shade or indoors but definitely venture out as much as possible during the Summer.
I am trying to become debt-free. Please be willing to help pay for all outings, and easy to feed and entertain ;)
DISCLAIMERS*
NO 420, vaping, cigarette or cigar smoking
NO drugs of any kind, including holistic
NO children
ZERO Tolerance for ACAB and anti-military hate speech
ALL Lives Matter. ALL Peoples deserve Opportunity, Safety, and Justice.
Uberfeminism, Atheistic rants, cries of Fascism, Marxists, Anarchists, or male bashing are NOT OK. This is a safe place for kind people looking to thrive.
My Aussiedog Jemma is my furever furbaby soulmate. I talk about her a lot. I also have dog hair on all my clothes and in my car. If you are allergic to dogs, or just don't like dogs, this is a Dealbreaker.
I am afraid of large bully breed dogs. If you have a mastiff or pibble or a cross of either kind, I will probably be weird around them for a while, OR may never be comfortable around them. Once bitten, twice shy.
I live with my hetero BFF and her elderly mom. I probably won’t be able to have you over for games or meals until they are comfortable knowing you for a little while. I’m sorry if this is a Dealbreaker for you. I really do want to share my space(s) with you.
SOCIAL MEDIA
Instagram: JoondalupArts
Follow me for art, doggos, food, snacks, coffee, stupid swlfies (not cute, still don’t delete), current obsessions and random shenanigans.
*Disclaimers aren’t necessarily Dealbreakers if they’re not for you. If we vibe hard on a lot of common interests and ideologies then I’m sure we can be flexible on some of our disclaimers. Thoughts?
9 notes
·
View notes
Text
The first of two New Year concerts Elvis performed was 1975-76; one night at the Silverdome, Pontiac, Michigan, to a record in-person audience of over 62 000. Newspaper reports of the time conveyed the excitement with headlines, 'Elvis Still Shakes 'em Up', and 'The Legendary Elvis Dazzles New Year's Eve Stadium Crowd'. The $800 000 gross for the night also attracted widespread publicity, at that time a record for a single performance by a solo artist.
The time of year, and the unprecedented size of the venue, created a number of challenges. The weather was freezing, described by a concertgoer as 'the worst ice-storm ever', and there was an unfamiliar stage rig; Elvis biographer Peter Guralnick suggested that there was no way Elvis could have pre-approved the design which left him isolated on a catwalk several feet above the main stage, making the usual eye-contact and unspoken communication with the band impossible.
It appears the audience remained generally patient and did not allow the sense of excitement to be undone by ticketing mix-ups, troublesome sound and the freezing temperatures, as well as a seemingly endless pre-programme which on this occasion also included a group named Bodie Mountain Express, a side project of Colonel Parker who was trying to get them signed with RCA.
The Detroit News;
"...Inside the stadium, there were some hassles over tickets. A few fans complained of duplicated seat numbers. Others, most of them $15 stadium floor seat ticket holders who were unprepared for the booming acoustics of the arena, complained about the sound. Others weren't happy about their distance from the stage, but many Elvis fans seemed content to watch 1976 come in through a pair of binoculars...Presley hit the 50-yard line stage - a platform 10 feet off the stadium floor, surrounded by speakers and connected to his dressing room by a 70-yard tunnel - At 11:10 pm; women in glittery dresses and billowing pantsuits joined kids in a rush toward the stage. Lots of screaming. Everything flickered as a generation of flashcubes meets oblivion..."
Early in the show, Elvis tore the seat out of the 'rainfall' jumpsuit and had to leave the stage to change into the 'white V-neck', on his return joking about being a 'quick change artist'.
It was the most ambitious single performance since Aloha, and once again, after some nervous moments, and in almost impossible conditions, Elvis rose to the challenge.
The Pontiac Silverdome was demolished in 2018.
#elvis history#elvis aaron presley#elvis music#elvis presley#elvis in the 70s#elvis fans#pontiac silverdome#michigan#live music#entertainment#rock history
42 notes
·
View notes
Text
Top 192 Sonic Releases of 2022
000. Autechre, Gescom & Sean Booth - Hanalgig
001. Lala &Ce & Low Jack - Baiser Mortel
002. Rosalía - MOTOMAMI
003. Pontiac Streator - Sone Glo
004. VOICE ACTOR - Sent from my Telephone
005. Stone - Earth FF
006. Persher - Man With The Magic Soap
007. Various Artists - Lamkin: Versions & Variants Across the Northern Hemisphere
008. Various Artists - V4 Visions: Of Love & Androids
009. Vanessa Rossetto - The Actress
010. Romeo Poirier - Living Room
011. Various Artists - Ghost Riders
012. Ben Bondy - Camo
013. Félicia Atkinson - Image Language
014. TLIM SHUG - bbbootlegggs
015. Paperclip Minimiser - Paperclip Minimiser
016. Honour - HBK Vol 1 & 2
017. res_és_nostre - res_és_nostre-modular_juns
018. Authentically Plastic - Raw Space LP
019. Purelink - Purelink
020. Cypher - APPX-10 Glasgow
021. Planet 1999 - this is our music ♫
022. pent - live fold
023. Rhyw - Honey Badger
024. Signe Lidén & Espen Sommer Eide - Vertical Studies_ Archival Spirals
025. Catartsis - Acier Leste
026. Hoavi - Posle Vsego
027. Various Artists - SLINK Volume 2
028. Various Artists - Ever Since We've Known It_ More North Carolina Mountain Singing
029. Metrist - Forova
030. Derek Bailey - Domestic Jungle DAT
031. Various Artists - Begging the Moon_ Phleng Thai Sakon & Luk Krung, 1945-1960 CS
032. Romance - Once Upon A Time
033. FKA twigs - CAPRISONGS
034. Angelo Harmsworth - Vent
035. Mistareez - xenosonic
036. Shygirl - Nymph
037. Gilla Band - Most Normal
038. Second. - Rasuba EP
039. excel dj - phishermen
040. bad lsd trips - bad lsd trips
041. Duval Timothy - Meeting With A Judas Tree
042. Jennifer Walshe - A Late Anthology of Early Music Vol 1_ A
043. Perfume Genius - Ugly Season
044. claire rousay - everything perfect is already here
045. Two Shell - ❖-secretbox-❖
046. Noémi Büchi - Matter
047. Ojerime - Keep It Lo
048. Reinartz - APPX-08 Sequences
049. ayrtbh - EP8
050. Ulla - Foam
051. Felicity Mangan - Wet On Wet
052. JJ+JS - peeled
053. Boomerang - 300's
054. mu tate - the body is round
055. mos fet & eustress - surf031
056. Ura - Baby with a Halo
057. Frederik Valentin & Loke Rahbek - Together
058. James K - random girl
059. Chained Library - Dear Master
060. OL - Roaming
061. Mbulelo - Kalibre EP
062. Luc Ferrari - Solitude Transit
063. Various Artists - A Cloudy Dawn
064. perila - there are no words to describe it
065. Aldous Harding - Warm Chris
066. WOODMAN - WD1112JU2XX2
067. Scarcity - Aveilut
068. Kindohm - Merge Experience
069. bod -包家巷 - Music Made by Other People
070. Relaxer - Candy
071. Valentina Magaletti - A Queer Anthology of Drums
072. MINIKINGZ - ICONICY
073. Dominic Coppola & Angelo Harmsworth - Pavonine
074. Xenia Reaper - Plain
075. Kali Malone - Living Torch LP
076. SZA - SOS
077. Benedek - Zebrano
078. Laenz - Undue Valence EP
079. Moin - Paste
080. Hiele Kinsella - The Third Summer of Love
081. Richie Culver - Post Traumatic Fantasy
082. ssabæ - azurescens
083. datassette - Sentinel
084. Jacob Dwyer - The Devil Museum
085. Ani Zakareishvili - Fallin
086. ubu boi & r hunter - A Symbol for Disguise
087. Leikeli47 - Shape Up
088. Primitive Man - Insurmountable
089. Sébastien Forrester - Orpheus' Pipes (Object-Oriented Studies)
090. Henry Greenleaf - Kirkstone EP
091. K Wata - Dot Dot Dot
092. Prison Religion - Hard Industrial B.O.P.
093. Rabit - What Dreams May Come
094. Minder - Sanctuary
095. John M. Bennett - A Flattened Face Fogs Through
096. Candy - Heaven Is Here
097. Smpl Smpl - Embryo Issue #1
098. Peter Rehberg - at GRM LP (Rec. 2009-2016)
099. Vod Kasat - Mavi Maskara
100. Quixosis - Burundanger
101. Klahrk & KAVARI - Wax
102. Ákos Rózmann - Mass_Mässa
103. Contour - Onwards!
104. Carla dal Forno - Come Around
105. Brent Faiyaz - WASTELAND
106. wrk.dat - w.d o2
107. exael - Ice That Melts the Tips
108. Vanessa Amara - Fonetica Amara
109. Eric Lanham - Objet Dirt
110. Pariah - Caterpillar
111. Fibre Optixxx - Iris
112. Hyd - CLEARING
113. Nikki Nair - Renormalization Support Group
114. Etch - Predator Trax
115. Cocktail Party Effect - SNKRX010
116. Leo Kupper - Complete Electronic & Voices Works 1961-1987
117. Wench - Greatest Hits '88 - '16
118. Inland - BRETT001
119. torschlusspanik - intersexual healing
120. Mathis Ruffing - Further Explorations
121. Chat Pile - God's Country
122. MOBBS - CH002 - Untitled
123. Charli XCX - CRASH
124. Objekt - Objekt #5
125. Ziyiz - Pattern Factory Method
126. XHOSA - Push It (Remixes)
127. Small Car NRG - Road Legal
128. Slikback - K E K K A N
129. Marco Zenker - Channel Balance
130. NUG - Napping Under God
131. Dauwd - Psssh 003
132. bookworms - untitled
133. Warm Currency - Returns
134. Asher & Jordan - Foliage
135. Quelza - 47030
136. EVOL - The Worm
137. Kendrick Lamar - Mr. Morale & The Big Steppers
138. Kibosh - Jumping Heart
139. Strugglin' - Pitch Pine
140. MORTIMER DUBATON – ATHENS VS PREDATOR
141. Lauren Tosswill - 1- 2
142. Beatriz Ferreyra - Senderos de luz y sombras
143. Moor Mother - Jazz Codes
144. Itoa - Oh No
145. Freundliche Kreisel - Freundliche Kreisel
146. Frankie - Styx
147. Gabor Lazar - Boundary Object
148. Atte Elias Kantonen - POP 6 SUSURRUS
149. INGI - Fade EP
150. borderlandstate_the best kisser in l.a - direct message EP
151. SYZ - Burner FM
152. Temudo - Fidelio
153. Ali Berger - Nonsight Vision
154. Sister Zo - Screw Cheek EP
155. Cucina Povera & Ben Vince - There I See Everything CS
156. Drummy - Double Stop
157. Jacques Charlier - Art in Another Way
158. B.Michaael - Built2Crawl
159. Omaar - Marcha
160. Laura Cocks - Field Anatomies
161. Katatonic Silentio - Les Chemins De L'inconnu
162. Notte Infinita - Atmosfera
163. Divide - La Terra Di Egherlak
164. Gallegos - Pump Up The Sound EP
165. Overland - Paryía
166. Lea Bertucci - Murmurations (w_ Ben Vida)
167. Fergus Sweetland - Punching The Core
168. Pub - Autumn
169. Siu Mata & Amor Satyr - Speed Dembow Vol. II
170. Panda Rosa - Threatened
171. Alien D - To My Friends Nick & Tony
172. Baby Blue - End of Sleep
173. Caroline Loveglow - Strawberry
174. Can't Read - Mind's Eye
175. Rroxymore - Perpetual Now
176. More Eaze & Claire Rousay - Never Stop Texting Me
177. Liew Niyomkarn - I Think of Another Time When You Heard It
178. Harba - TDITD
179. Eliza - A Sky Without Stars
180. Brendon Moeller - Highly Concentrated
181. Ctrls - Your Data
182. Rustal - Nexus Zeal
183. Atrice - Backrooms
184. age eternal - universal feeling cs
185. Product Toss - Go Way 2
186. D. Tiffany & Roza Terenzi - Edge Of Innocence
187. Roll Dann - Amargura EP
188. The Bug - Absent Riddim
189. S T I N 𝟡 - mi7
190. Jan Bruyndonckx - Rails And Other Tracks
191. Ludwig Berger - Pseudo-Volcanic Voices
2 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
imaginaryhat
i'm a pussycat, kaz.
mayvette
mayvie
bendy-dreamland
In Toon World, Anything Can Happen, Mr. Henry
fortheloveofbeaitifulwomen
Untitled
adamcraft
Untitled