#The Tower of the Angels by Philip

[a-bee-wizard]

My biggest pet peeve is when people refer to The Divine Comedy as "dantes inferno", bc like. Thats not what its called! Its called The Divine Comedy!!! If u r going to act superior online about this poetry collection the LEAST u could do is refer to it correctly!!!

[nothoughtsonlytrance]

Hey everyone! So earlier I posted my idea for a fanfic based on some fan art I saw of Sister Daniel and Blonde Phil by @cowboykate and @lumintsu! And now the first chapter is finally up on AO3! Here’s the link!

I also have the first chapter posted below if you wanna read it here. (I’ll be posting the rest of the chapters on AO3.)

Chapter 1: A Not-So-Grand Entrance

BGM: https://youtu.be/QFnNDj42Eig?si=9DZyNjeirH1sTLn6

“C’mon, c’mon, I can’t be late…not like last time!”

Phil mumbled incoherently in a panic as he grabbed his travel coffee mug and stuffed it in the bag on his shoulder mixed in with unorganized bits of paperwork. He was called in earlier to a last-minute urgent meeting held by the Council of Heavenly-Earthly Affairs, although he wasn’t informed what the discussion topic would be. Whatever it was, it was extremely important.

Phil took a deep breath and flapped his wings a few times to get a feeling for the air. He opened his door and quickly flew out into the Celestial City, darting through the ethereal streets. Each beat of his wings flapped with an urgency that was on the border of panic. He zigzagged between towering spires of light and around floating gardens, nearly colliding with a few other angels, who yelled at him to watch where he was going as he passed them by. Phil managed a breathless “Sorry!” as he twisted and turned, looking in the distance to see the shimmering building that housed the Council of Heavenly-Earthly Affairs looming closer.

As Phil slowed the beat of his wings and landed at the bottom of the grand steps, he could already hear the steady hum of the meeting from inside the grand chamber. The massive golden entrance doors loomed in front of him, shut tightly. Phil’s face grew in fear as he glanced at the ornate floating clock above the entrance.

He was late. VERY late.

Phil quickly darted around to the less dignified entrance-a small, nondescript door that was often used by maintenance angels to keep the building in shape. He prayed a silent prayer and yanked the door, squeezing through. His wings suddenly got caught in the frame and he was sent tumbling into a dimly lit corridor. Breathing heavily, Phil quickly scrambled to his feet, his pristine white robe slightly askew and a feather or two out of place.

Phil emerged into the blindingly bright council chamber, and hundreds of angelic heads turned simultaneously to look at him. At the head of the room, the Archangel Gabriel, who was chairing the meeting, stared down at him with a serious expression. Phil felt the heat rise to his cheeks as he adjusted his crooked halo.

“Ah, Philip,” Gabriel intoned, his voice echoing through the vast hall, “I was beginning to wonder when you would arrive. Might I say your sense of punctuality is in need of..amelioration.”

“Phil wanted to roll his eyes at the higher angels' use of big words but did it mentally as Gabriel’s temper was..unpredictable at times. And Phil already knew what his bad side was like. Pretty much the whole of Heaven itself did.

“M-my apologies, Archangel Gabriel.” Phil stuttered, trying to regain some semblance of composure. “I got..caught up with a flock of migrating seraphim on the way.” A few murmurs and chuckles spread throughout the assembly. Phil forced a fake smile and stepped forward, taking his place at his respective seat in the room. Sure, he had a not-so-grand entrance, but he was here and Gabriel (thankfully) left it at that. Now he just had to cross his fingers (and probably his wings) and hope that his tardiness wouldn’t overshadow his contribution to whatever critical matter was at hand.

Gabriel cleared his throat and the murmurs subsided instantly. “Now, as I was saying before Phillip untimely joined us, we have pressing matters at hand concerning the relationship between earthly destinies and celestial mandates…”

But Phil’s mind drifted far away from those discussions. The rhythmic drone of the angelic voices discussing the fine details of divine plans blurred into a gentle hum. Phil’s gaze wandered to the stained-glass windows high above, depicting scenes of cosmic splendor and past divine interventions. He couldn’t help but imagine himself soaring through those starry skies, free from the heavy responsibilities of heavenly bureaucracy. Because although Phil loved working for the Council, he had to admit it got boring at times.

And this was one of those times.

“Philip!” A sudden firm voice boomed, sending a loud echo through the room.

Phil blinked and snapped his head forward, finding the piercing gaze of Archangel Gabriel locked onto him. The room once again fell silent, all eyes turning back to where Phil sat, his face now a shade of red that was deeper than the darkest pits of Hell.

“Y-yes sir?” Phil replied, trying to steady his voice.

Gabriel’s expression was a mix of sternness and amusement. “It appears your mind has wandered far from this council. I hope you’re ready to pay attention now, as you’ve been given an assignment of the utmost importance.”

Phil’s heart skipped a beat. An assignment? For him? Usually he was given simple paperwork, but something like this? The back of his neck pricked with nervous anticipation. “I-yes, of course. What is it, sir?”

Gabriel’s eyes softened slightly, though his tone remained authoritative. “This assignment has come from none other than God himself. You are to receive the details directly from him immediately.”

Phil almost spat out the coffee he was currently drinking. He quickly placed his cup down, trying to get a hold of himself as he coughed. After a few seconds he looked up. A collective gasp echoed through the chamber upon hearing Gabriel’s words. Phil’s wings twitched nervously and his palms suddenly felt clammy. Meeting God? Himself? This was beyond the realm of normal ordinary assignments. Usually responsibilities such as these were given to higher-up angels such as seraphims or virtues, but not lowly angels like him.

“Sir, there must be an honest mistake,” Phil protested. “Why me?”

Gabriel stepped down from the dais and flew down towards Phil with a measured pace. “God tends to work in mysterious ways, Philip. He sees potential and purpose in ways that others cannot.” He eventually stood in front of Phil, continuing to gaze down at him with authoritative eyes. “You are to go immediately to the Sanctum of Light. He is waiting for you.”

Phil swallowed hard, nodding quickly. His mind raced with a thousand questions and fears, but he knew better than to voice them here. He slowly rose to his feet and flew down from his seat to the exit doors, the various angels in the room parting like the Red Sea to let him pass. As he flew down, the murmurs of his fellow angels followed him, a blend of envy, curiosity, and encouragement.

Another higher-ranking angel, a seraphim, met him at the doors to escort him to the Sanctum of Light. Once they exited, the grand doors of the chamber slammed behind him. Phil once again found himself in the long main corridors of the building. The seraphim, without saying a word, gestured him to follow them and Phil was led down a series of unfamiliar hallways that only his escort seemed to know. They seemed to stretch endlessly, every flap of his wings echoing and amplifying his trepidation. He'd never felt so small, so unworthy.

Finally, the two reached the Sanctum’s entrance, a pair of towering radiant doors that pulsed with divine energy. His escort turned to him and nodded.

“Good luck. May God grant you mercy.”

Phil wasn’t sure whether that was an encouragement or threat, but it made him gulp nervously either way. The seraphim then teleported out of sight, leaving Phil alone at the entrance doors.

It was now or never. Taking a deep breath, Phil placed his trembling hand on the door. It swung open silently, revealing a blinding expanse of pure light.

Phil trepidatiously stepped inside as the doors closed behind him. Although the Sanctum was mainly used for meditation and reflection purposes, he was feeling far from peaceful. Why wouldn’t he be? After all, he was meeting THE GOD. The Creator of all life on Earth. The Ruler of Heaven himself.

“Philip Michael Lester,”

A booming voice echoed in the air. Phil turned his head and gasped as he saw a brighter light envelop an elderly-looking man with a long white beard and eyes full of love and kindness.

Phil’s eyes widened in a mixture of awe and fear. Gulping harder, he nodded. “Uh, yes, it’s me, Lord. You said you had an important assignment for me?”

God nodded and spoke once more. “Indeed.” He clasped his hands behind his back and looked in the distance towards the Celestial City. “We have been getting several reports of multiple demonic invasions happening on Earth from undercover angels. The Council is unsure of why this is so, but after a few meetings with some earthly priests, we have come to the conclusion that it is highly possible that Satan and his Counselors are preparing for Armageddon.”

“Wait..what?? You mean…” This couldn’t be. Sure, Phil had read about some reports of demonic possessions happening among mortals as of lately, but he didn’t think it would become this bad. And now, the apocalypse on Earth was probably a few days from happening. But that still didn’t answer his question of why God summoned him. “Um, sir.” He cleared his throat. “I understand those events have been occuring, but why did you call me here in the first place?”

God turned around and smiled with a warmth that dispelled some of Phil’s fear. “Because I’ve chosen you to recruit a moral on Earth to assist you in preventing this hellish plan. The Council has already picked out who that person will be, and your task is to find them, guide them, and persuade them to help you in thwarting Satan’s plans.”

Phil’s pupils contracted in fear. He swallowed nervously. Traveling to Earth to persuade someone to help him stop an entire army of demons? No, there was absolutely no way! He had never even been to Earth before in the first place! He shook his head. “Sir, I don’t understand. Why me? I mean, I’m just a low-ranking angel who mostly works behind the scenes of the Council. I-I don’t do field work! And-“

“Because Philip,” God placed a reassuring hand on the angel’s shoulder. “You possess a unique understanding of humanity and a compassionate heart. Not only that, but your persuasion skills are beyond comparison.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you remember the time you persuaded Raphael to travel to Earth to protect those in Europe during the Black Plague?”

“Well, yeah, but that was hundreds of years ago-“

“Or the time you convinced Archangel Michael to go undercover when a group of demons were plotting an attack in America during the Salem Witch Trials?”

“Of course, but I-“

“Phil,” continued the deity, “there are many other examples I can name, but the point is that you have a gift like no other. Trust your instincts. I have faith that you will be the one to lead this rebellion. Even if you may not have faith in yourself.”

Phil nodded, though the anxiety still gnawed at him. “Are you sure that I am the one to do this? Out of all the angels in Heaven you could have chosen?” God nodded sincerely, chuckling. “Phil, I wouldn’t have summoned you here if I didn’t. Believe in your purpose.”

Phil was still trying to wrap his head around the concept of him leading a rebellion against the entirety of Hell with a random mortal from Earth. The thought seemed to be insane, but who was he to deny a request from God Himself? To deny something like that would be blasphemous, he thought. After much debate in his mind, he took a deep breath, the weight of the responsibility settling on his shoulders. “Ok, I’ll do it.”

“Perfect!” Exclaimed God. He snapped his fingers and another angel appeared before him. It was the seraphim that escorted Phil to the Sanctum before. “Phil, I’d like you to meet Zion. They will be your main point of contact while you are on Earth. If you need any assistance, just give them a heads up..”

Zion stepped forward and placed a small device that looked like a smartphone in Phil’s hands. “It’s designed to look like an earthly cell phone to avoid suspicion.” They explained. “All of my contacts are in there with everything updated. If you need anything, I’ll be at Headquarters ready for your call. I’ll also keep in touch just to check how everything’s going.”

“Thank you.” Phil nodded and slightly gripped the smartphone. God raised his hand and suddenly a portal of shimmering light appeared before Phil. “Go now, Phil. Time is of the essence. May you find courage and strength in your mission.”

Phil took one last glance towards the deity. With a final nod, he stepped through the portal, feeling the familiar pull of the mortal realm like a magnet. As the light enveloped him, he silently prayed that God made the right decision. The fate of not only Earth, but both Heaven and Hell depended on him.

And at this rate, he vowed to not let them down.

[masonhawthorne]

What I read in August

Don't Panic!

This looks like a super long list, but actually there are a lot of short stories on here!

The Henchmen of Zenda, KJ Charles ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Morning Star, Peter Atkins ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Subsidence (ss), Steve Rasnic Tem ⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Man in the High Tower, Philip K Dick ⭐️⭐️⭐️

What the Dead Know (ss), Nghi Vo ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Maze Runner, James Dashner ⭐️

Unfit to Print, KJ Charles ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Chill, Elizabeth Bear ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Bryony and Roses, T Kingfisher ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Confessor (ss), Elizabeth Bear ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Grail, Elizabeth Bear ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Babylon (nf), Paul Kriwaczek ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Unquiet, E Saxey DNF

The Ritual of the Labyrinth (ss), Esmée de Heer ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Terminal World, ALastair Reynolds ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Essays of Flesh and Bone (ss), Victoria Audley ⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Book Eaters, Sunyi Dean ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Future of Work: Compulsory (ss), Martha Wells ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Lady or the Tiger (ss), Frank Stockton ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Too Like the Lightning, Ada Palmer ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Falling Free, Lois McMaster Bujold ⭐️⭐️

Dreamsnake, Vonda N McIntyre ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The First Fossil Hunters (nf), Adrienne Mayor ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Shards of Honor, Lois McMaster Bujold ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Red Land, Black Land (nf), Barbara Mertz ⭐️⭐️⭐️

On Planetary Palliative Care (ss), Thomas Ha ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Nova, Samuel R Delany ⭐️⭐️⭐️

ss= short story nf= non fiction

stars awarded at my whim

I think the ones that really stick with me this month are Elizabeth Bear's Jacob's Ladder trilogy (Dust, Chill, and Grail, reissued as Pinion, Sanction, and Cleave).

The series is about a long-lost generation ship, which has been travelling so long that it has forgotten its destination (if it ever had one) and the people on board have developed incredible biotechnology, and some nasty internal politics.

The vibe of the Jacob's Ladder Trilogy is impeccable. It's Arthurian legends grafted onto military sci-fi. It's body mods, and body horror. It's talking plants. It's angels, and knights, and incest, and quests, and cannibalism, and wonder.

I don't quite know how to explain the way that these books fit exactly into the niche of things that appeal directly to me personally. So if you like the stuff I like, definitely read them.

The other standouts were Dreamsnake by Vonda N McIntyre, and Too Like the Lightning by Ada Palmer.

Dreamsnake is one of those incredible sci-fi's of the 1970s that does interesting things with gender, and familial relationships, and social structures, and concepts of childhood and responsibility and environmentalism. It also has a dreamy kind of wandering quality to it that made it really enjoyable.

Too Like the Lightning was not at all like I had expected, but in a great way. I think I had read a negative review about it some time ago, and put it to the bottom of my list, but a friend read it recently and told me I should read it. So I did. This is my jam. There's so much going on in this book I can't even start to break it down. Huge, elaborate political machinations, weird gender stuff, a narrator with an agenda. It's a lot of fun.

Honorary mention to Morning Star for being one of the strangest vampire novels I've come across.

And that's what I've got to say about that.

[likeastarmuses]

pinned post!

primary muses.

women

elizabeth 'lizzie' opal rojas | fc: rosa salazar. retired drug dealer trying to make a name for herself in the digital art world when she's not waiting on tables at a greasy diner.

felicity isabel mendoza | fc: odette annable. former biker girl in her teenage years, now a single mom and midwife who is undoubtedly the glue to her family.

nancy inez martin | fc: deborah ann woll. mousy former combat medic dealing with so much trauma from war that she's in compassion fatigue and in need of human warmth and connection.

peyton marie tower | fc: halston sage. the nepo baby who dared to be something else, refusing money and fame from her tech giant CEO father while forming a legacy with her small-town game shop.

soleil jessamine smith | fc: madison davenport. rebel without a cause seeking the spotlight, trying so desperately to be different from her backwoods roots but losing herself in the meanwhile.

twyla mae mooney | fc: margot robbie. a rainbow personified, left a cushy cosmetology job in north carolina to do makeup and costumes in los angeles.

una carys tempens | fc: samara weaving. petty thief and stripper, all in the name of supporting her much younger twin siblings while her mother suffers from drug addiction.

men

beacon jace namara | fc: daniel kaluuya. old soul music teacher in love with jazz, constantly seeking gigs where he can show off his trumpet skills.

elisha 'eli' james king | fc: jon bernthal. loud but also a sweetheart of a former firefighter from jersey living in a firewatch lookout in honor of his late best friend.

ezekiel 'zeke' isaiah lim | fc: steven yeun. mid-tier gamer/streamer who is the anchor of his large family, having spent a lot of his 20s caring for his mother who was diagnosed with alzheimer's once he graduated college.

ford atticus smith | fc: adam driver. quiet and stoic veteran who is taking care of his large family farm, as well as running his own ferry business across lake pontchartrain in lousiana.

jamie alexander thompson | fc: paul rudd. english professor and lover of sports with a few published books, mostly a dork but also occasionally perceived as a dilf.

jesse gabriel mendoza | fc: jd pardo. fresh out of prison and trying to find his place in society again, keeping out of trouble by taking care of his motorcycle and dabbling in tattoo art.

kirk tiberius james | fc: andrew garfield. longtime comic book artist looking to make his big break in the profession while managing a coffee shop in a college town.

quinn 'soap' philip shepard | fc: pablo schreiber. brooding mercenary with hardly a soft spot, thinks with his fists before his brain, and will likely try to intimidate anyone who dares to peer behind his guard.

**horror-based AU details under the cut.

please go to each individual muse to see the horror-based plot ideas i have for them! and please keep in mind muses aren't limited to the plots i've quickly scribbled down for them. i'd love to explore more verses and horror-based fandoms! some of my favorite horror movies/franchises/genres include but are not limited to:

the conjuring/insidious/the nun

evil dead

saw

slasher - child's play, friday the 13th, halloween

nightmare on elm street

ready or not/you're next

the thing/alien/predator/annihilation

pearl/x

the witch

hereditary

giallo-type stuff/dario argento horror

[moonlightmile12]

“We were stuck in our caravan, and there were fights breaking out all over the place. I remember standing on the side of the stage with Michelle Philips, and we both got thrown off the stage, and this big fight broke out between some Hells Angels and Marty Balin from Jefferson Airplane. It was a really tiny stage, very low, and when we played it was like people were towering above us.”

“It was a relief to get out, but that was terrifying too. People wanted to get away so badly there were too many on the helicopter.”

Mick Taylor

[letterful]

here be two decidedly incomprehensive lists based on highly arbitrary criteria — off the top of my head and in no particular order:

rattling like a bag of bones:

"gretel, from a sudden clearing" & "the promise" & "what the silence says" & "calvary" by marie howe,

"i watched you disappear” by anya krugovoy silver,

"song of the hen's head" & "a sad child" & "the saints" by margaret atwood,

"bruise ghazal" & "i go back to may 1937" by sharon olds,

"harold's leap" & "do take muriel out" & "the orphan reformed" & "not waving but drowning" by stevie smith,

"we who are your closest friends" by phillip lopate,

"the loft" by richard jones,

"eating together" & "death poem" & "party" & "the numbers" by kim addonizio,

"thanks" by w. s. merwin,

"the bee meeting" & "lady lazarus" & "daddy" & "sheep in fog" & "fever 103" by sylvia plath,

"yesterday he still looked in my eyes" by marina tsvetaeva,

"we don't know how to say goodbye" & "the last toast" by anna akhmatova,

"unknown girl in the maternity ward" & "lessons in hunger" & "the truth the dead know" by anne sexton,

"anne sexton’s last letter to god" by tracey herd,

"aubade" & "the mower" by philip larkin,

"the blue bowl" by jane kenyon,

"her long illness" by donald hall,

"myth" by natasha trethewey,

"in bertram's garden" by donald justice,

"the drowned girl" & "the leavetaking" by bertolt brecht,

"ovid in the third reich" by geoffrey hill,

"musee des beaux arts" by w. h. auden,

"report from a besieged city" by zbigniew herbert,

"napoleon" by miroslav holub,

"to a poor old woman" by william carlos williams,

"the emperor of ice-cream" by wallace stevens,

"me up at does" by e.e. cummings,

"snow line" by john berryman,

"the hollow men" by t. s. eliot,

"dedication" & "in warsaw" & "a song on the end of the world" by czesław miłosz—

resonating like a bright bell:

"what the living do" & "my dead friends" & "magdalene, afterwards" by marie howe,

"funny" & "a prayer that will be answered" by anna kamieńska,

"woman unborn & "i'll open the window" & "i am panting" & “tomorrow they’ll cut me open” by anna świrszczyńska,

"the book of hours" by b. h. fairchild,

"there is a gold light in certain old paintings" by donald justice,

"when eurydice saw him..." (an excerpt) by gregory orr,

"sometimes, when the light" & "the blind leading the blind" & "there are mornings" & "monet refuses the operation" by lisel mueller,

"try to praise the mutilated world" by adam zagajewski,

"the end and the beginning" & "the tower of babel" & "discovery" & "thank-you note" by wisława szymborska,

"while eating a pear" & "the dead" by billy collins,

"never again would the birds' song be the same" by robert frost,

"a meeting" by wendell berry,

"death at daybreak" by anne reeve aldrich,

"next time" by joyce sutphen,

"the god abandons antony" by c. p. cavafy,

"goodtime jesus" by james tate,

"lana turner has collapsed" by frank o'hara,

"all my friends are finding new beliefs" by christian wiman,

"angels" by maurya simon,

"dirge without music" by edna st. vincent millay,

"i’m glad your sickness" by marina tsvetaeva,

"you will hear thunder" by anna akhmatova,

"do not go gentle into that good night" & "and death shall have no dominion" by dylan thomas,

"an arundel tomb" & "love, we must part now" & "high windows" by philip larkin,

"please read" by mary ruefle,

"men made out of words" by wallace stevens,

"ash wednesday" by t. s. eliot,

"on angels" & "this world" & "if there is no god" & "encounter" by czesław miłosz.

i do love listmaking…

[thoughtcatalogue]

Reading

The Anthropology of Religion, Magic, and Witchcraft, Third Edition, Rebecca L. Stein, Los Angeles Valley College, Philip L. Stein, Los Angeles Pierce College, 2016 by Routledge

The Anthropology of Religion, Magic, and Witchcraft, Fourth Edition, Rebecca L. Stein and Philip L. Stein, Routledge, 2017

The Oxford Handbook of Political Ideologies, Edited by Michael Freeden, Lyman Tower Sargent and Marc Stears, Oxford University Press, 2013

Encyclopedia of African American History, Leslie M. Alexander and Walter C. Rucker, Editors, ABC-CLIO, LLC, 2010

The Cambridge Companion to Modern French Culture, edited by Nicholas Hewitt, Cambridge University Press, 2003, UK

The Cambridge Companion to Modern German Culture, Edited by Eva Kolinsky And Wilfried VAN Der Will, Cambridge University Press, 1998, UK

New Dictionary of Christian Ethics & Pastoral Theology, edited by David J. Atkinson, David F. Field, IVP Academic, Inter-Varsity Press, Nottingham, England

Encyclopedia of Hinduism, Constance A. Jones and James D. Ryan, J. Gordon Melton, Series Editor, Facts on File

Encyclopedia of Judaism, Sara E. Karesh and Mitchell M. Hurvitz J. Gordon Melton, Series Editor, Facts on File, Infobase Publishing

The Blackwell Companion to Judaism, Edited by Jacob Neusner, Bard College , Alan J. Avery-Peck, College of the Holy Cross, Blackwell Publishing, 2003

Christianity Through the Centuries, Third Edition, Revised and Expanded , A History of the Christian Church by Earle E. Cairns, Zondervan

Encyclopedia of Buddhism, Volume One A-L ,Robert E. Buswell, Jr., Editor in Chief, ©2004 by Macmillan Reference USA

Encyclopedia of Protestantism, J. Gordon Melton, Series Editor, Facts on File, 2005

Encyclopedia of Islam, Juan E. Campo, Facts on File, 2009

Encyclopedia of Catholicism, Frank K. Flinn J. Gordon Melton, Series Editor, Facts on File, 2007

[zineanastasia]

Hello guys I am making a BSD RP discord server if you wish to join add comment your discord user here and add my account:

zine_anastasia

Taken:🌸

Available:[blank]

< • Armed Detective Agency • >

Dazai Osamu: 🌸

Kunikida Doppo:

Yosano Akiko:

Kenji Miyazawa:

Atsushi Nakajima:

Ranpo Edogawa:

Fukuzawa Yukichi:

Kyoka Izumi:

Tanizaki Junichirōu:

Tanizaki Naomi:

Kirako Haruno:

< • Port Mafia • >

Ougai Mori:

Chuuya Nakahara: 🌸

Ace:

Karma:

Kouyō Ozaki:

Paul Verlaine:

Ryuunosuke Akutagawa:

Gin Akutagawa:

Motojirō Kaiji:

Ryūrō Hirotsu:

Michizō Tachihara:

Elise:

Kyuusaku Yumeno:

Sakunosuke Oda:

Arthur Rimbaud:

Ichiyou Higuchi:

< • Decay of Angels • >

Fyodor Dostoevsky:

Nikolai Gogol:

Sigma:

Bram Stoker:

< • The Guild • >

Francis Key Scott Fitzgerald:

Edgar Allan Poe:

Lucy Maud Montgomery:

Luisa May Alcott:

Howard Philips Lovecraft:

John Steinbeck:

Margaret Mitchell:

Mark Twain:

Herman Melville:

Nathaniel Hawthorne:

< • Hunting Dogs • >

Okura Terukō:

Jouno Saigikū:

Tetchō/Tecchou Seuhiro:

Ouchi Fukuchi:

< • Special Division • >

Ango Sakaguchi:

Santoka Taneda :

Mizuki Tsujimura :

Yachiyo Murakoso :

Takuichi Aoki :

< • Order of the Clock Tower • >

Dame Agatha Christie:

< • Rats in the house of the dead • >

Mushitaro:

Ivan Goncharov:

Alexander Pushkin:

< • Extras/other characters • >

Aya Koda:

Yuan:

Shirase:

Bella Donna:

Lippman:

Iceman:

Doc:

Piano man:

Adam Frankenstein:

Albatross:

Yokomizo:

Ayatsuji Yokito:

Karl the racoon:

Detective Minoura:

Coffee shop guy:

Sasaki:

Soseki Natsume:

[cleoenfaserum]

JO (2013) PARISIAN COP ENGLISH SPOKEN TV SERIES

This is a TV series I came across scrawling around on OK.RU and detained my scrolling because of the actor Jean Reno, who I think made a name for himself as a good actor, which he is. The movie series of the only season of 8 episodes (which I have included) Reno playing the main character is well played out, though, as far as I am concerned, not his best acting, though, he did perform well. The bottom line, I enjoyed the series, however, the script was simple with some intrigue but the highlight was Reno.

Jo (previously known by the working title Le Grand) is an English-language French police procedural television series created by Canadian-American screenwriter René Balcer with French writing team Franck Ollivier and Malina Detcheva.

The series, shot entirely in Paris, is centered on Jo Saint-Clair, a cop played by French star Jean Reno in his first lead TV role. Along with his team, Jo attempts to solve murders taking place around some of the French capital's most famous locations. (Jo (TV series) - Wikipedia)

Let's let the show speak for itself.

The lifeless body of famous organist Johan Van Vliet is found at the foot of the "Portal of the Last Judgement" of Notre-Dame. His eardrums were pierced and his face set towards the statue of the angel who plays the trumpet to sound the waking of the dead. An outstanding musician, Van Vliet was also an egocentric man known to be a womanizer. In making the victim symbolically deaf to the call of the angel, the killer seems to have wanted to prevent the victim from receiving divine mercy.

LINK: https://ok.ru/video/3513989466807

During a Fashion Week show, a 38-year-old former model is hurled off the Eiffel Tower. Her lover's wife is initially suspected, but Jo then follows a trail back to 22-year-old Jasmine, a showgirl in Quartier Pigalle and the dead supermodel's abandoned illegitimate daughter.

LINK: https://ok.ru/video/3514004736695

Mountaineer Bernard Lang's body is discovered with a broken neck in climbing gear at the foot of the Luxor Obelisk in the Place de la Concorde. Fascinated by the obelisk and its history, Jo knows that the monument is also a great vantage point of the surrounding area, including the suites at the Hôtel de Crillon. And in one of them, that evening, a well-bred young woman (Miranda Raison) was cheating on her husband.

LINK: https://ok.ru/video/3514071321271

Charlotte, a 35-year-old Mirage pilot, is found dead in front of Les Invalides, wearing a ring stolen a year earlier during the murder of a family in the south of France. Her lover, a mysterious mechanic, is quickly suspected, but while unearthing the details of that forgotten crime, Jo discovers a conspiracy.

LINK: https://ok.ru/video/3514266159799

In a parking lot on Place Vendôme, firefighters uncover the charred body of Philip Roquin, an accountant for one of the square's many jewelry stores. His wife admits that he was kidnapped and that a ransom was requested. The investigation leads Jo Saint-Clair to a prison where a woman called Lisette was incarcerated.

LINK: https://ok.ru/video/3514280184503

Marie-Eve Lambert, a young gallerist, is found lying on the Place des Vosges, killed by a violent blow to the head. Believing at first in a crime of passion, Jo discovers a mysterious message in the victim's hand which leads him to the Archives Nationales, where Marie-Eve was doing research on women in the French Resistance deported to Auschwitz.

LINK: https://ok.ru/video/3514295323319

Leaving the Palais Garnier where he had just dropped off his daughter for her dance class, Raymond Sittler is assaulted on the steps of the Opera. A few seconds later, he starts convulsing, collapses on the porch and dies. Initially suspected, his mistress is also murdered at the Barbès-Rochechouart station, through poison. The investigation leads Jo to the prestigious Sorbonne University and to the door of a troubled student and his ambitious girlfriend.

LINK: https://ok.ru/video/3514326452919

A young geneticist was stabbed in the Paris Catacombs, a Satanist symbol etched on her back. Jo is convinced that this is a crime of passion. But the case takes an unexpected turn when the team discovers that the victim was conducting experiments with plague bacteria recovered from skeletons of the catacombs. The trail leads to a mysterious woman who could well be a serial killer on the run. She seems to already have chosen her next victims: the family of a prominent politician. The killer turns out to be Nicole Wallace (played by Olivia d'Abo), the one-time nemesis of Det. Robert Goren in the series Law & Order: Criminal Intent (also created by René Balcer).

LINK: https://ok.ru/video/3514344016567

[thetransversespectator]

A NOTE FROM DOCTOR CHERBRONKLY

During the summer of 2015, a wave of hospitalizations in the Berkeley-Oakland area suggested the development of a rare psychological phenomenon: a mass formation psychosis centered around a supposed messianic figure.

One patient, 56M, described a “blue angel” who wrote the word of God into a book using only his mind. The patient was referred to my inpatient unit by Dr. Antoine Lini, who noted a “preoccupation with religious themes” related to sites visited by this supposed angel in the Berkeley Area. Specifically, he believed this man had opened up a portal next to a tree on Telegraph Avenue, which he referred to as “the rib.”

Another of Lini’s patients, 67M, claimed to have met “the devil” at a guesthouse near the UC Berkeley Campus, and that he had changed the color of Sather Tower from green to silver using some form of magic. The patient believed this man to be a false reincarnation of Philip K. Dick and told doctors to “not believe a word he says” and to “not look at the maze he left in the closet.” He insisted that this demon’s name was Praetor.

A group of patients in a long-term unit at Herrick Hospital spoke of being “rescued from another world” by a man with deep-set blue eyes, brown hair, and a beard. He was described as competent artist (working in crayon), a smooth talker, and a shit poker player. When asked to elaborate how, exactly, he had saved them from this “underworld” they said it had something to do with a wristwatch, but that it was too painful to talk about further.

What do these cases have in common? They all mentioned the same, and quite unusual, name: Praetor Loos. You may already be familiar with this name from the now ubiquitous graffiti trend sweeping the Bay Area: the so-called “Praetorian guard” and their vandalism of government offices, streetcars, and even private residences with the apparently meaningless question: “Who is Praetor Loos?”

No such person seems to exist, nor have they existed at any point in time. Praetor is simply not a name that people seem to be given, nor is it one that people tend to adopt. As such, we have been led to assume – until now – that this name was intended to evoke Roman law and military power; a vaguely intellectual way of questioning authority. Is it possible that the Praetor Loos mentioned by these vandals did, in fact, exist?

A vital clue to this puzzle was uncovered in 2019, as a sheaf of handwritten pages – now known widely as the Telegraph Avenue Codex -- was discovered behind a wall in Berkeley by a real estate company converting an old halfway house into premium student apartments. The workers thought it must have been written by a student so they left it there, stuffed into a blue plastic binder on one of the new residence’s many handsome shelving units. Later, it was discovered by student residents whilst stoned and became somewhat of a literary scandal. I was first made aware of this Codex after one of the students who discovered it was referred to my clinic after suffering chronic syncope for a period of five months. She claimed that a satellite called the Ruby Slipper was stalking her; after a brief course of anxiolytic therapy, she was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder, Type I, with Psychotic Features and sent happily on her way.

The identity of the author remained a mystery until just last year, when an envelope was delivered to the Cao Đài temple in Tây Ninh, Vietnam from Pakse, Laos. Inside was another envelope addressed to the New Yorker containing the signed manuscript “Becoming Praetor Loos: A Psychotic Narrative.” Vietnamese police interpreted it to be a suicide note and worked with Lao authorities to stage a manhunt in the Thousand Islands region, but no trace of the author was ever found. Praetor Loos, now finally unveiled in his authentic form, is presumed to have vanished into the jungle, like Jim Thompson before him, in search of the “other world” he wrote so curiously about. 

Jonathan Cherbronkly, M.D.

[wolint]

FRESH MANNA

THE DWELLERS

Psalm 91

Dwellers are those who abide permanently or for a time in a place. A dwelling place is where someone lives, in biblical times either a tent as seen in Genesis 25:27, a house in 2 Samuel 7:2, or the territory in which one lives like in Genesis 36:40,43.

The Old Testament repeatedly promises that those who keep the covenant of God will dwell in safety-these are the dwellers in God, not so much of a physical dwelling but more of a spiritual state, a spiritual abiding or hiding oneself in God.

Proverbs 18:10 calls the Lord a strong tower where the righteous take refuge and find security: this is an intentional action on the believer’s part to hide in the Lord.

The dwelling place of the Lord is a secret place where we hide under His shadow from every attack of the enemy. As we dwell in God, Psalm 27:5 says He will conceal us in His shelter in the day of adversity.

Where do you shelter from the storms of life? When fear arises, do you run out or run into the secret place of God? To take cover under His tent? Where do you seek protection?

A hiding place, a secret hiding place is where you take shelter and plan your defensive attack and defeat of the enemy, God is the hiding place according to Psalm 32:7, only within Him do we find protection in the day of adversity.

Sometimes, our nights are filled with terror and all kinds of arrows are shot at us in the day real or figuratively but when we dwell in God, they neither intimidate nor harm us.

Regardless of the dangers we face daily, and we can see through the passage that there is no shortage of dangers, even then, God covers His own, especially the dwellers with His faithfulness.

We will do well to study the word of God as prescribed in 2 Timothy 2:15 as Satan knows the Scriptures also. He quoted Psalm 91:11–12 when he tempted Jesus in the desert in Matthew 4:6, only misapplying it for his evil purposes.

This is not to say we should intentionally put ourselves in unnecessary danger because we “think” the Lord will deliver us, like Philip Bracey of Los Angeles who on February 27, 2017, jumped into the lion exhibit at the Los Angeles Zoo because he was daring to be a Daniel, believing that God will shut the Lions’ mouth but was immediately mauled by the beasts. Jesus said, “Thou shall not tempt the Lord your God” in Matthew 4:7.

A dweller in God doesn’t go seeking and courting danger, they run into the Lord for protection, security and victory says verse 4.

God protects those who trust and dwell in Him from all harm. If you don’t yet trust God to dwell securely in Him, let me encourage you to do so now, so that no harm can befall you, especially in the unstable, unsafe and uncertain atmosphere of today’s society.

Call upon the name of the Lord, the shelter, strong tower and refuge encourage verse 15, and I will answer you, promises the Lord, even as He promises to satisfy all our needs including long life, that is eternal life by His salvation. Be a dweller in God, make Him your safe refuge and hide in Him.

PRAYER: Thank you, Father, for being my Refuge from pestilence, destruction, terror and plagues. Help me continue to dwell safely in you in Jesus’ name. Amen.

Shalom

WOMEN OF LIGHT INT. PRAYER MIN.

[alwaysmarveling]

Call Me Back

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Warnings: death, a small sexual innuendo, and lots of commas and long sentences

Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: You and Wanda promised each other you would always call to check in, and Wanda’s going to do her best to keep that promise, no matter what.

The first time you met Wanda was… well, when was the first time you met Wanda? Was it when wisps of red flashed in front of your eyes, projecting images so horrific and lifelike that you all but collapsed in a heartbeat? Or was it when she stepped forward to shake your hand timidly, grief and determination filling the witch as she promised to make up for it?

“I- I wouldn’t have done it if I… we were just trying…”

“Don’t worry about it,” you had told her with a smile before confiding in her about your own missteps, how you’d wreaked havoc on all of New York with your powers of body modification after your own parents died, how Fury finally got the Avengers to catch you, and how they quickly became your new family.

-

“You mean they really almost burned the kitchen down trying to make you a birthday cake?” The brunette giggled later that night as you recounted the story of your sixteenth birthday, the two of you sitting comfortably beside each other on the living room sofa.

“Yup. And when Nat showed up with an ice cream cake fifteen minutes later to find smoke in the living room, Sam told me she freaked on everyone.”

“Excuse me, Y/N, I did not do any ‘freaking.’ God, is that what you teenagers are calling it now?” The two of you erupted into laughter, and the redhead could do nothing more than shake her head, a smirk playing on her lips no matter how hard she tried to conceal it.

---

Much like Nat and Steve predicted, the two of you became fast friends. You sat next to each other on movie nights, sang karaoke in your room when you thought everyone else was asleep (if they weren’t awake when you started, they certainly were once you were thirty seconds into Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance With Somebody”), and, much to Steve’s dismay, when you finally became confident with your ability to grow wings on your back, snuck out regularly for late-night flights around the compound.

But you also insisted on being there for Wanda’s training sessions, even if it meant you had to wake up an hour earlier. You cradled the witch in your arms when she woke up night after night with an aching hole in her heart before you eventually insisted you guys just share a room. And you promised her, above everything else, that when you went out for anything, whether it be a quick grocery run or a month-long mission, you’d let her know you were okay.

You knew the promise she pleaded you to make was a result of the anxiety she suffered. She’d lost everyone she cared about; if a simple text or call was enough to put her at ease, you’d do it in a heartbeat.

---

“Wanda,” you’d whispered, the teen immediately sitting up straight when she’d heard the cracks in your voice. “I- I don’t know what to do. I’m safe, but...” She told you to stay there, don’t move, she’d be there in minutes. And, with your brain unable to function enough to think of any other option, you listened.

Her heart broke at the sight of you, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself and your head hung, you feet occasionally kicking the wet sidewalk. The neon sign of the restaurant your date had promised to meet you at illuminated one side of your face, allowing her to see the tears that you had tried but failed so desperately to hold in. But the witch didn’t let you see her emotions, instead whisking you away from the unfamiliar section of the city, brushing the tears off of your cheeks and bringing you to the twenty-four-hour diner for milkshakes. She made a fool of herself in front of the waitstaff until tears flowed from your eyes once again, but this time, the crystalline drops rolled down your raised cheeks, aching from smiling too hard. 

-

When you had a panic attack during training because you couldn’t get one of your body modification attempts to reverse—”Wanda, I cannot be stuck with claws for hands, I can’t!”—she refused to let you hang up until the steady sounds of her own breathing calmed you down, the sharp nails receding and making way for the soft pads of your very human fingertips.

-

And when she called you after the mission in Lagos, you worked tirelessly to complete your own solo mission as soon as you could. You returned to the tower to find her holed up in the bedroom, news broadcasts playing nonstop on the television to remind her of the horrors she’d committed; accident or not, she told you, she needed to hold herself accountable. You simply shook your head at her, holding out your hand without another word. She didn’t take it at first.

“You can’t fix it, Y/N. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you.” She was expecting you to fight her back on it, yell at her and demand that she take your hand, or perhaps you’d go the complete opposite direction and leave her alone, let her be swallowed by guilt and anguish, rip open old wounds and form new ones as she thought of how she tore apart families that were probably much like her own. You did neither.

Wanda’s green eyes remained fixed on your outstretched hand. You stayed silent, one eyebrow cocked as if daring her to see what would happen should she choose not to take it. It was only then that she realized, for once in her life, the person she most loved wasn’t leaving; the support she so desperately needed wouldn’t be yanked away from her when it was mere centimeters from her grasp.

So she rested her fingers in the palm of your hand, and you pulled her out to the balcony where the two of you had spent night after night watching the stars instead of sleeping, making up funny names for each of them and rolling in fits of laughter that only came to those delirious and sleep-deprived enough to understand just what was so funny. Except, this time, instead of dropping into the oversized beanbag chair that was the usual spot of your stargazing shenanigans, she watched curiously as you removed your shirt. Her mouth dropped as you closed your eyes and allowed the white feathers to emerge from beside the ridges of your spine. Although it was a process she’d seen several times before, your modifications had never ceased to amaze her, and your angel-like wings had always been her favorite. The witch admired the additions as you allowed them to flap slowly, once, twice, before turning back to her.

“Let’s go,” you finally spoke, the order gentle but leaving no room for negotiation.

“Where are we going?”

“Away.” That was enough for the brunette, who squeezed your hand before following your lead. She allowed you to guide her through the maze of clouds and couldn’t help but smile softly as the sun’s rays hit your face at just the right angle. You wore the exhaustion from your recent mission on your face, and streaks of dirt covered the bruises that she was sure littered your body. But she was content, in awe, because you were you. You didn’t put up walls to hide your scars from the world, didn’t use passive-aggressiveness to hide the passion that burned in your heart. At the end of the day, you were good, purely and truly good. You were an angel; even the sun knew it.

What Wanda didn’t realize, but what you taught her that night, as she sat surrounded by sunflowers, the moon, thousands of gleaming stars, and the tickle of your feathers as your wing pulled her close to you, was that she was one too.

“I’m glad you called me,” you whispered, your eyes not leaving the open sky as you pointed out a particularly bright spot. “I’m gonna call that one… Philip. He looks regal, real proud. Look at him, so much brighter than the others, and he knows it too.” The witch breathed out a soft chuckle, stroking her fingers over your feathers as she responded.

“I’m glad I called you too. And I think Philip is a good name for him. What about that one?”

“Hmm… Walter? He’s a bit more serious, I think. But you see the one next to him?” You waited until you got a nod from the girl before continuing. “That’s his sister. She makes sure he has fun, even when he says he doesn’t want to. But you name her, Wands. Naming stars is a two-person job, you know.” She squeezed the elbow that you nudged her with before giving in.

“Alright… that’s Delia. And, yeah, she’s the best. The life of the party. Walter keeps her grounded, though,” Wanda added, to which you agreed to with a hum. You two fell quiet after that, enjoying the comfortable silence and looking up at the twinkling lights, some of them gaining names and stories, others waiting to be named another night.

“Wanda?”

“Yeah?”

“You call me if you ever need me, okay? I know we started this with me calling you, but I’m here for you too.” The witch met your eyes with a firm bob of her head, but you continued, desperate to make sure she understood. “And if I don’t pick up at first, you call me back, okay? Call me until I respond, promise?”

“I promise,” Wanda soothed gently. “I will.”

“Okay, good, good. Because,” Wanda felt a brush of your feathers against her upper arm as you fluttered your wings, slightly agitated, “because I think I love you. I mean, um, I know. I know I love you. I love you. Yeah, I-” Wanda shut you up with a kiss, her lips pressed urgently against yours. And if you hadn’t lost your breath from your rambling or your declaration of love to the girl of your dreams, then you most definitely lost it as your lips melted into hers, in the comforting warmth of her palm against your cheek, and in the words that left her mouth as you finally pulled apart, breathless.

“I will, Y/N, I promise. Because I love you too.”

---

People thought you were inseparable before you started dating, but they all realized how wrong they were after that night. The two twin beds quickly became a queen-sized mattress, sideline support during training sessions became fierce yet playful spars, and the private giggles you guys shared grew tenfold. Fury wasn’t exactly happy that his unofficial daughter was now dating, but he was pleased by how efficiently the two of you worked together, which led you to this moment, the two of you covering the Quinjet while waiting for the rest of the Avengers to finish their business inside the massive Hydra base. With Wanda covering the ground and you in the sky, flying with the white-feathered wings that Wanda loved so dearly, the two of you held off the swarms of Hydra agents relatively well. With a small break in between incoming agents, Wanda looked up to check on you, but she was a moment too late. Before she could even think to warn you, the pure feathers she loved to brush her fingers through fell from the sky, the white stained with red, your screams ripping through her eardrums.

No one, including Wanda, had time to think as she exploded with a new rage, one that hadn’t run through her in years. One that she hoped she would never experience again, but here she was. And there you were.

While you were held in the air by her signature red mist, the opposing agents fell to the ground. She didn’t care about their screams, only yours. And with them all dealt with, she could turn to you, rushing you both into the Quinjet and yelling for the other Avengers to get back here, now.

But her efforts were futile. She could press down on the wounds all she wanted, beg for you to come back until her voice was nothing more than a whisper, but nothing would work. You were gone the instant the missile had hit you, and as much as Wanda wanted to deny the truth, she knew it just as much as your other teammates did when they rushed onto the Quinjet. You were gone before you could say a single goodbye.

---

The first time Wanda called was from your shared bedroom. She dialed your number before tracing the pillow where your head would have laid, running her fingers over the cartoon carrots that covered the comforter. The yellow bedding set was a gag gift Tony had gotten the two of you when you got your new bed.

“You know, since I figure the two of you will be going at it like rabbits,” he winked before getting immediately smacked in the back of the head by Steve.

“They will be doing no such thing,” the supersoldier had chastised him with a roll of his eyes. “God, Stark, sometimes I forget you have a brain when you say such stupid things.”

But you loved it, telling Wanda, “The carrots remind me of you, Bunny.” And how could she return the present when you were being so sweet about it? But the sheets didn’t make her smile in the same way they once did because you were gone. No one was there to tease her about the way her nose wiggled much like the little white fluffy creatures or promise to get her carrots from the market the next day.

The call went to voicemail, and as bittersweet as it was, Wanda savored it because it was you. Your voice. But the beep came far too soon, and your turn was done. So she spoke. 

“Y/N, hey, it’s me, Wanda. I, um, I love you. I’ll always love you, yeah?” The witch put the phone down, thinking that was all she could bear to say as the lump in her throat ballooned in size and hot tears filled her eyes. But just before time was up, her hand shot up to press the device against her ear again. “Call me back, milaya.”

---

The second time Wanda called was from the balcony. The brunette eyed the sparkling diamonds that filled the sky, wondering how you could be gone when, the last time she was here, you were right there beside her, laughing over the boys’ latest shenanigans and Ned, the newly named star. 

Now, the beanbag chair felt too big, too empty without another person sitting next to her. Without you. So she dialed your number, the only number she bothered to learn by heart, and waited for the dulcet tones of your voice. As the dial tone rang, she ran one hand over the white feather that laid gingerly in her lap. Natasha had given it to her along with several others a few days after your death. Each of the team members had one to remember you by, but the spy had picked out the biggest and most brilliant ones to give to Wanda.

“I know how much her wings meant to you-” Natasha stiffened as Wanda threw her arms around her. But the witch didn’t care, her tears soaking the redhead’s shirt as she tried to find the words to thank her. She couldn’t, but it was okay. Natasha knew anyway. Wanda had little time to reflect on the memory before her face brightened at the sound of your voice.

“Hi, this is Y/N-

“And her girlfriend, Wanda! She’s taken, so don’t even think about it, you jerk!” Wanda smiled slightly at your jubilant laughter, remembering how you’d pushed her away for interrupting you.

“I’m not available right now, but leave me your name, number, and message and I’ll call you back as soon as I can, okay? Talk to you soon.” The witch’s eyes closed slightly as the greeting ended with a spell of your giggles before it was interrupted by that damn beep. God, how she hated that beep. Nevertheless, she took a breath and spoke out into the clear night sky, looking up at the stars as she did so.

“Hi, lyubov moya, it’s me. Wanda. I’m calling you back, just like you told me to. I’m not okay. I need you. I love you.” Her breath caught in her throat, forcing her to pause for a moment, but she forced herself to keep going a second later. “Sam and Bucky did the stupidest thing today. Nat and Steve were all over their asses. You should’ve seen it. I miss you. Please, call me back. I’ll tell you all about it.”

---

The last time Wanda called was from the sunflower field. The two of you hadn’t been here since the night you told her you loved her. In fact, it took Wanda several hours to find it since she hadn’t been paying much attention to the route the first time you came.

Once again, the night was clear, the stars lighting up the dark canvas with their radiance. She missed the feeling of your wing wrapped around her, of your presence next to her. But she had one of your feathers in her fingers and your voice in her ear, and to ask for more would be greedy, right?

“Hi, angel. It’s Wanda. I’m calling you back to leave a message, but I can’t do it again after this because I don’t want your voicemail to fill up, okay? I’m sorry, I know I’m being selfish, but I need to be able to hear your voice, so I can’t let it fill up. But I haven’t forgotten you, I promise I haven’t. I never will. I’m still-” Wanda swallowed, a fighting effort to calm the waver in her voice. “I’m still not okay, but I’m trying. For you. But I’m not okay, I need you to call me back. I’ve named one up there Halia, but her twin sister needs a name. And naming stars is a two-person job, you know.” The witch sniffed once as the corner of her lip curved up slightly, remembering the playfulness in your voice when you’d first said the line. “Call me back, Y/N, please.”

With the message over, Wanda clutched the phone to her chest, her breaths becoming faster and shallower as she closed her eyes, trying to accept the knowledge that it’d be the last time she’d ever leave a message, the knowledge that she was really losing you… the knowledge that she already lost you.

---

Months went by. Wanda wasn’t sure how they did, but they did. The first sign of it was the first Halloween without you, as she saw the other couples dressing up in matching costumes that you would’ve loved, costumes you would’ve pointed out to Wanda with an excited bounce and told her you’d have to wear next year. The next was Thanksgiving, when Wanda ran through the list of everything she was thankful for and came up short when she thought about the people she still had left. And then it was Christmas, and Valentine’s Day, and the first day of summer.

And while Wanda did her best to move on, she always found herself under the stars, dialing your number. She sat on the balcony, in the sunflower field, wherever she could see the sky, and she listened to your voice telling her that you’d call her back as soon as you could, always forcing herself to hang up a second before the beep could cut you off. Wanda named every other star she saw, leaving the ones in between for you and hoping that you’d approve of the names she chose.

“I’m naming that one Angel for you, Y/N,” Wanda murmured. “It’s even brighter than Philip. It’s the brightest star in the sky. I know you think it’s silly to name things after people, but this one’s just special, so you’re gonna have to make an exception, okay?” The brunette’s lips stopped moving, but her eyes stayed wide open as she watched the star as if, if she watched it long enough, studied it hard enough, you would materialize from its luminescence. As if you would come back to her. But when you didn’t, she finally allowed her watering eyes to rest, her eyelids drooping to surround her in darkness.

“I’m not okay, Y/N.” The witch’s voice was softer than it had ever been, more tired. But this time, there was no one to whisk her off and make her forget the heaviness of it all. “I need you so badly. I love you so much. I always will. But, please, angel, call me back.”

[riseofthecommonwoodpile]

And so we end this project, a little over 2,000 albums in about a year and a half. Gonna do some Sum Up things for it later, but wowzers. So much good shit. I was probably overly charitable with my 9.0's this time around, but oh well. They're celebratory I suppose.

Alias- Muted (7.0/10, deleted from library)

Aloe Island Posse- Aloe Island Adventures (6.0/10, deleted from library)

Angkor Wat- When Obscenity Becomes the Norm… Awake! (8.5/10)

Annie Gosfield- Flying Sparks And Heavy Machinery (8.5/10)

Arthur Russell- Tower of Meaning (7.0/10, probably deleting from library)

Awenden- Golden Hour (9.0/10)

Barbaro- Nolte (9.0/10)

Bone Sickness- Theater Of Morbidity (8.0/10)

Breather Resist- Charmer (8.0/10)

BT- ESCM (9.0/10)

Califone- Everybody’s Mother (Volume 1) (7.5/10)

Carlos Giffoni- Welcome Home (7.0/10, deleted from library)

Caroliner Rainbow Solid Handshake and Loose 2 Pins- Transcontinental Pinecone Collector (7.5/10)

Charli XCX- Crash (8.5/10)

The Cherry Point & John Wiese- White Gold (8.0/10)

Chicane- Far From the Maddening Crowds (9.5/10)

Chris Corsano- The Young Cricketer (8.5/10)

Cities Last Broadcast- The Cancelled Earth (8.0/10)

Cobalt- Eater of Birds (8.5/10)

Constance Demby- Novus Magnificat: Through the Stargate (8.0/10)

Cristian Vogel- Specific Momentific (8.5/10)

critical_grim- Beach Party (6.0/10, deleted from library)

Daniel Menche- Guts (8.0/10)

Dark Angel- Time Does Not Heal (9.0/10)

David Holland & Derek Bailey- Improvisations For Cello And Guitar (7.5/10)

Deathpile- Final Confession (7.5/10)

Demolition Squad- Hit It (6.5/10, deleted from library)

Derrick May- Innovator: Soundtrack for the Tenth Planet (8.0/10)

Dip in the Pool- Silence (8.0/10)

Easley Blackwood- Microtonal Compositions (7.0/10, might delete later)

Eat Static- Implant (8.0/10)

Ellen Fullman- Through Glass Panes (8.5/10)

The Ex- Mudbird Shivers (7.5/10)

Faust- So Far (8.0/10)

Fire for Effect- The Beach (7.0/10)

Future City Love Stories- 油尖旺 District (8.0/10)

Gary Clail And Tackhead Sound System- Tackhead Tape Time (8.0/10)

The Gero-P- The Gero-P (8.0/10)

Gil Evans- The Individualism of Gil Evans (8.5/10)

goreshit- with all my heart. (7.0/10)

Greg Kelley / Olivia Block- Resolution (8.0/10)

GUDSFORLADT / non-- GUDSFORLADT / non- Split (7.5/10)

Han Bennink- Solo (8.5/10)

Hantasi- Tusop® (7.0/10, deleted from library)

Hash Jar Tempo- Well Oiled (9.0/10)

Horde- Hellig Usvart (8.5/10)

Incapacitants- Unauthorized Fatal Operation 990130 (6.5/10, deleted from library)

James Rushford & Joe Talia- Manhunter (8.0/10)

Joanne Robertson & Dean Blunt- WAHALLA (9.0/10)

John Butcher- Invisible Ear (9.0/10)

John Wiese- Circle Snare (8.5/10)

Kano- Kano (7.5/10)

Kim Cascone- cathodeFlower (8.5/10)

Kit Clayton- Lateral Forces (Surface Fault) (8.5/10)

Lancaster_- Press Play (7.0/10, deleted from library)

Legal Weapon- Death of Innocence (7.5/10)

Logos- Cold Mission (8.5/10)

Magik Markers- I Trust My Guitar, Etc. (8.5/10)

Malfeitor / Strid- Strid (8.0/10)

Mammal- Lonesome Drifter (9.0/10)

Maren Morris- Hero (9.0/10)

Marina Rosenfeld- P.A. / Hard Love (9.5/10)

Mathieu Ruhlmann- The Earth Grows in Each of Us (9.0/10)

Michel Chion- Requiem (7.0/10)

Milanese- Extend (8.5/10)

Miles Davis- Sorcerer (8.5/10)

Morton Feldman- The Viola in My Life (9.0/10)

N.Y. House'n Authority- APT. (8.0/10)

New Dreams Ltd.- Eden (8.5/10)

Nile- Ithyphallic (7.5/20)

Olivia Block / Kyle Bruckmann- Teem (8.0/10)

OSCOB- Everywhere, Beyond The Skybox (7.5/10)

Pacific Despair- ~~~Devour~~~ (7.0/10, deleted from library)

Peter Brötzmann- Nipples (8.5/10)

Philip Jeck- Vinyl Coda IV (9.0/10)

Pierre Boulez- The Three Piano Sonatas (8.5/10)

Pissgrave- Posthumous Humiliation (8.5/10)

Prosumer & Murat Tepeli- Serenity (8.0/10)

Prurient- Fossil (9.0/10)

Rajlib- Palm Readings (8.0/10)

Recloose- Cardiology (7.5/10)

The Rita- Lake Depths Lurker (8.5/10)

Robert Rich- Somnium (8.5/10)

Rollergirl!- Rollergirl (7.0/10, deleted from library)

Ryoji Ikeda- Matrix (8.0/10)

Sea Of Voices- Softcore Mall Inc. (7.0/10, deleted from library)

Sierra On-Line- Glass Shutters (8.5/10)

Soft Machine- Third (9.5/10)

Spokane- Able Bodies (6.5/10, deleted from library)

Steve Lehman- Sélébéyone (8.5/10)

Tim Berne- Fulton Street Maul (9.0/10)

Trist- Zrcadlení melancholie (9.0/10)

Tristan Murail- Gondwana/ Désintégrations / Time and Again (9.5/10)

Vatican Shadow- Kneel Before Religious Icons (6.0/10, deleted from library)

VentureX- Noctis Labyrinthus (8.0/10)

Whitehouse- Erector (8.0/10)

Whitehouse- Mummy and Daddy (8.0/10)

Yoshimi- Tokyo Restricted Area (6.5/10, deleted from library)

Yukiko Okada- Venus Tanjou (7.5/10)

死夢VANITY- f a n t a s y 真夜中のアパート (8.0/10)

[tinyshe]

THE IMAGE MADE BY ANGELS, VALENCIA, SPAIN According to tradition, the image of Our Lady of Pucha, or Nuestra Senora del Puche, was fashioned by the angels, and made of the very stone of the sacred sepulcher, where the most holy body of the Mother of God lay hidden for three days. After the assumption of the great Queen into Heaven, the holy angels took the statue they had created from Gethsemani to Pucha, placing it in a church dedicated to the Blessed Virgin. The statue of Our Lady of Pucha remained there until it was buried, beneath a large bell, by the religious who lived at that first monastery at Pucha, when the Moors entered into Spain at the time of the Goths. This statue remained in the earth for well over 500 years, until Divine providence facilitated the happy discovery by the great servant of God, Saint Peter Nolasco, founder and patriarch of the Royal Order of Mercy, in the year 1237. Saint Peter Nolasco witnessed, on four consecutive Saturdays, that seven strange lights, looking like seven stars, were observed at night over the same place. They would seem to drop from Heaven seven times, and disappear into the earth, always in the same place. Saint Peter felt certain that this strange phenomenon had a meaning and purpose; so he commanded men to dig about the spot. They had not gone far into the earth when they came upon a bell of prodigious size, beneath which was a beautiful image of the Virgin Mary. Saint Peter took it up in his arms, recognizing it as a valuable gift from Heaven, and built an altar upon the very spot where it was buried. This altar became very celebrated for the number of miracles performed there. The discovery of the sacred image of Our Lady of Pucha was a powerful encouragement to King James I of Aragon, who was resolved to finish the conquest of Valencia at that time. He credited Our Lady of Pucha, and the prayers of Saint Peter Nolasco for his conquest, when he received, into his hands, the keys to the city of Valencia from the Moors. He acclaimed Our Lady of Pucha the Patroness of Valencia, and of his entire kingdom. The holy image was always considered miraculous, and was universally revered throughout Christendom. Popes and kings, and very many people of the greatest holiness and nobility came on pilgrimage to Our Lady of Pucha. The powerful protection of Our Lady of Puche was confirmed through many long years, for, whenever there was a dangerous storm threatening, the bells in the church bell tower would ring and people would again witness the wonder of the seven stars. The angels could also often be heard singing soft melodies and sweetest chants in the choir of the church that were heard by the religious, filling their hearts with heavenly rejoicing. It is recorded that a boy named Jose Carbonell, the son of Agustin Carbonell, was pushed by another boy and fell with his arm landing in the path of a heavy cart. The boy’s arm was crushed so severely, that it was soon considered necessary for a surgeon to cut-off the arm to save the child’s life. The following morning the boy’s father went to work at his brother’s farm, from which he could see the church of Our Lady of Pucha. He prayed, as he worked, with humble supplication and many tears. At the end of the day the father returned home to find the surgeon had just arrived and was undoing the bandages over the boy’s injured arm. Once it was unwrapped, the surgeon cried out, “Gentlemen, what is this? This arm is good and healthy!”  In recognition of the favor, the boy eventually took the habit of the Religious of Our Lady of Mercy. The heavenly image of Our Lady of Pucha was eventually taken from Pucha to Valencia, at the request of the Catholic monarch Philip II. The people followed the venerable Patriarch Don Juan de Ribera, Archbishop of Valencia, on foot in solemn procession on Sunday, 17 July, 1588. All was done with the same solemnity with which the procession of the Blessed Sacrament occurred in this famous city. The praises of the angels could be heard for sixteen nights in the holy church of Valencia, and the wonder of the seven stars was frequently seen, filling with inexpressible joy the witnesses, both inside and outside of Valencia. It is known that the stars have appeared many times on the bell tower of the church of Our Lady of Pucha since then, and, not only in ancient times, but they were especially noted between the years 1723 to 1758.  

[+]

[twokinkybeans]

Four Times Peter’s Radioactivity Worked Against Him and the One Time It Worked In His Favor [STARKER]

Summary: Now that Peter is radioactive, his surroundings start responding to him. And he starts to respond to his surroundings differently as well. His newfound infatuation with bananas are a difficult thing for Tony to deal with. Note: there is a snippet of science-y truth in what I wrote, but I also took major creative liberty with what happens. Warnings/tags: Food kink, Praise kink, Dom/Sub undertones, Subspace, Under-negotiated kink, Teasing, Dirty Talk, “For science” sure Tones, Implied Blowjob, BANANAS! (also Peter is an adult when the sexy things happen). Read it on AO3!

Four Times Peter’s Radioactivity Worked Against Him 1. Tick Tock It’s been three days since Peter Parker got his spider powers. He’s still trying to get a hang of everything, but at least he’s got his stickiness under control. Everything is just so loud and so intense. Constantly. The sensory overload has made him cranky to say the least, but it’s not like he can just skip school. With the sweaty, yelling students, screeching chalkboards and itchy PE uniforms. Not to mention the school bell. The anticipation practically hurts as much as the shrill ringing in his ears does. Another sound that has shivers run up and down Peter’s spine is Flash’s voice. “Check out my new watch!” He announces to the class as he saunters in, wrist raised to the ceiling. He grins, showing off the expensive piece of technology. Peter doesn’t know why but the device has his eye twitch. He stands up confused and walks over to Flash, drawn by the watch, somehow. “What brand is it?“ He asks innocently. “Wow, didn’t think it’d catch your attention, Penis,” Flash scoffs. “Gucci. Nothing you could ever afford.” “Huh…” Peter frowns, unable to look away from Flash’s wrist. His eyes go wide when he notices the arms are shaking slightly. Are they supposed to do that? “I know, it’s pretty rad. Even glows in the dark!” Flash turns to Ned, who just walked into the classroom. “Ned, turn off the lights!” Ned pulls a face but moves to turn off the light anyways, but when it’s dark in the classroom, no light comes from Flash’s wrist. “It- It works, I swear!” Flash taps the glass three times. “Stupid fucking watch.” With Flash’s limited patience, it doesn’t take long for him to rip it off and toss it away from him. Peter’s newfound reflexes cause him to catch it mid-air, but the second his skin makes contact with the watch, a bright flash of light makes everyone in the room cover their eyes and scream. ... 2. Emergency Exit Peter has no idea when he started eating bananas so much. There’s just something about them that tastes absolutely amazing. How did he never realize this earlier? The fruit is now part of his daily diet now. They give him enough energy to run around school and as Spider-Man, so he’s not complaining. At least he’s not addicted to sugar or hamburgers, right? Peter munches on his second banana of the day when the fire alarm stirs the school. All the lights go out. Peter looks up at the ceiling, but he doesn’t feel any alarm. He’s learned he can rely on his gut way better now, with his spider powers, so this must be a test. He quickly stands up, though, not wanting to seem disinterested in the fact that there was an evacuation going on. The emergency exit sign lights the way to safety for all the students. Peter runs towards the fire escape and stops, wanting to make sure everyone else gets to run out first. Above him, the escape sign starts flickering. He looks up at it and frowns, wondering why now of all times it decided to give out. Maybe that’s why this test was happening? To see which emergency lights still worked? Once all of the students are out of the cafeteria, Peter leaves too. When there’s a bit of distance between him and the door, he looks back and notices the light works properly again. ... 3. Thrifted TV It’s been over half a year since Peter has last gone to the thrift store. He’s very excited to get some new-old stuff to tinker with. Ben’s death and him becoming Spider-Man put a damper on his hobbies. He was able to make his goggles and web shooters with the scrap he still had lying around, but now he’s in desperate need of some new-old stuff. The thrift store is creaky and dusty. Exactly the way Peter used to like it. Now everything just tickles his nose. Still, he can’t help the feeling of nostalgia curling around him like a weighted blanket on a cold winter’s day. Peter snakes through the clutter filled paths, keeping an eye out for hidden gems. “Peter Parker!” “Hi, Mister Cheung!” Peter smiles politely at the thrift store owner. “I haven’t seen you in a while. Thought you moved on to another shop.” The old man shuffles away from behind the counter and folds his hands together. “Wouldn’t dare, sir! You’re my go-to for old tech.” Peter glances around a table and picks up a few items to study them up close. “That’s good to hear, boy. What’s your latest project? Anything you need? Maybe I can hook you up with the right stuff!” Mister Cheung grins and excitedly bops his head side to side. “My latest project is- eh…” Peter glances down at his hands, hiding his web shooters a little more in the sleeves of his sweater. “Something for school, actually. Nothing too interesting, to be honest. Do you happen to have an old TV lying around?” “Just one, but yes! Follow me, follow me!” Mister Cheung excitedly makes his way to the back corner of his store. “This ol’ Philips still works!” He pats it proudly, with his flat palm. “Though, I don’t think you need it to work, do you?” “Nah, there’s just one part that I really need, honestly. If you’d rather sell it to someone who-“ Peter takes a step closer and the TV suddenly starts to tick loudly. Mister Cheung takes a startled step away from it and Peter gasps. His yet-to-be-named sixth sense buzzes every part of him, so he quickly jumps towards Mister Cheung, and closer to the TV. It ticks louder and louder, as a warning of something that’s about to happen. Peter shields the shop owner with his body at exactly the right moment. A loud bang thrashes through the store and something hits Peter’s back. When everything seems to be over, Peter steps away from Mister Cheung. “Sir, are you okay?” The corners of the man’s mouth curl down, but he nods. “Are you?” “Something big tapped my back, but I’m fine,” Peter says with an encouraging smile. He turns around to see a large chunk of the TV on the floor behind him. Any regular person would’ve gotten floored by that. He decides not to mention that to Mister Cheung, hoping he doesn’t notice. He looks back at the wreckage again and frowns. He squats next to it and wonders what’s drawing him towards it. Peter rummages around it for a bit and pulls out a specific piece. The CRT. “That what you need?” Mister Cheung asks quietly as he looks around the corner of the store. More items got destroyed in the process. Peter feels bad for him- for what happened. Especially once it finally clicks. CRTs emit low levels of radiation. “Not exactly, but…” He looks back again at the mess that was caused by the explosion. “Let me help you clean up.” ... 4. Wet shoes Peter never dared to dream of being in the Avengers Tower. More specifically, he never dared to dream of being allowed in Tony Stark’s lab. To work with him. On whatever project. Peter didn’t really care what they were going to work on, the invitation in and of itself already had Peter nearly puking with excited anxiety. Right now, he was being guided through the hallways by the hero he looked up to ever since he could remember. “Right, so-“ Tony explain as he carelessly points around the space as he talks. “You’re still too much of a young sprite so we’re not letting you up to the penthouse just yet. You’ve got clearance to most of the labs, though. I trust you know your way around them.” Peter somehow manages to listen both super intently and not at all. He stares straight at the back of Tony’s perfect hair with wide, wonder-filled eyes. “-if that’s alright with you. And then this…” Tony stops walking and gestures at a closed door. “…is where all the magic happens.” If Peter’s grin could grow any wider, it would have. He bounces from his left to his right foot and with an encouraging nod from his mentor, Peter moves to open the door. In Peter’s mind, a bright, inviting light shines upon him and an angel choir sings. This is everything Peter imagined it would be and more. Slowly, he sets one foot in the room, taking in the space and its contents. The desks and holo-table. The little kitchen area in the corner and the robots. Oh, the robots! And the cars on display! And the older Iron Man suits in the other corner! Peter is about ready to throw up for real. He takes another step into the room and then… There’s a loud, insistent alarm blaring through Tony Stark’s workshop and before Peter can turn around to rush out, the door shuts on him. “Woah!” Tony exclaims from the other side. “Kid, that’s the fire alarm! Barn door protocol! Everything’s fine, just don’t be startled when-“ The sprinklers turn on. Peter yelps surprised at the amount of water hitting his body and within seconds he is absolutely soaked. After a minute, the sprinklers stop and the door gets unlocked. The blaring of the fire-alarm is still going. Tony walks in, absolutely confused as to what’s going on and he finds a shivering Peter, hugging himself as all the water drips down his body, making the puddle on the floor even larger. Lucky for Tony, all of his stuff in this room is water proof and the cars were separated by glass. “Fri, was there actually a fire?” “No, sir, the smoke detectors were activated. Something is interfering with its signal.” “Is?” “Yes, sir. Is.” Tony glances at Peter and sniffs once, wondering what made the detector tick when Peter walked in. “Can you source it?” “It’s Peter Parker, sir.” The AI replies dryly. Peter scoffs out loud, causing Tony to look at him surprised. “How sensitive are your detectors?” The teen asks. There’s a slight edge to his tone and Tony doesn’t know what to think of it just yet. “Quite. More than regular ones, at least. Fri, please lower the sensitivity of the detectors.” Almost immediately, the incessant beeping stops. “Are you telling me this happened before?” Tony puts his hands on his hips as he walks towards the kitchen to grab Peter a few towels. “I only learned this a little while ago, but…” Peter sighs and turns. “The spider that bit me was radioactive and ever since that happened some devices respond strangely to me.” His eyebrows raise up to his hairline. “Do your smoke detectors happen to be the kind that have americium-241 in them?” “Well, yes, but-“ Tony interrupts himself, scoffing a laugh when he realizes why Peter asked. “That stuff’s radioactive too.” “Slightly, but yeah. Made an old TV explode, emergency exit signs become faulty when I’m near them, it’s annoying. Did you know ceramics are slightly radioactive? I’ve had old plates snap the second I touched them!” “Fri, give Peter a scan, please.” --- The One Time It Worked In His Favor Bananaddiction It’s been about eight years now and Peter practically lived in Tony’s workshop at this point. They are so in tune they barely have to talk anymore. When they do talk, nobody else can keep up with them Bruce could if he put in the effort, but then, it also takes a lot of effort. So he doesn’t usually join conversations unless the topic genuinely interests him. Peter is now completely comfortable in the workshop and around Tony. His teenage crush on his mentor might be gone, but that doesn’t mean there are no feelings left. They are now more deeply rooted inside him. More solid. Real. It’s no longer as fleeting as the puppy love he felt when he was younger. He was glad his younger self was never stupid enough to act upon his obsession with the older man, but now they are so in sync that if you told a stranger the two tinkerers are married, they would believe you. Unfortunately, Peter is painfully aware the older man would never want him in the way Peter wants Tony. He still calls Peter kid, even though Peter’s well in his twenties now. Everything about Tony’s behaviour screams at Peter that he really is just Tony’s mentee. Nothing more. And that hurts. There’s one obsession Peter still has. His extreme and undeniable love and craving for bananas. Something about it made Peter feel a little self-conscious. So, he only ever eats one in the labs. The others that he eats during the day are incorporated in his breakfast and during late night patrols. Peter never really cared to figure out why bananas are so absolutely, insanely delicious and he doesn’t want any of his now-colleagues to think he’s weird. So, his bananaddiction is a secret. Up until now. “Hey, kid,” Tony says from his seat. He’s bent over some file work as Peter walks into the workshop and tosses his backpack in a corner. “How was uni?” “Boring. Still fourteen classes ahead of everybody else.” “Good for you.” As sarcastic as it may sound, Peter can take it from Tony. He knows Tony is genuinely proud of Peter for performing so well, as it also means Peter gets to spend a lot of time in the workshop that way too. It only takes a split second for Peter’s eye to twitch and his body practically guides him to the fruit bowl in the corner kitchen like a Looney Toons character would float towards a good smelling dish. His lips are pressed together as he stares at the yellow gold in the bowl. Twelve bananas. Twelve wonderful, beautiful, delicious bananas were right there waiting for Peter to devour them. “Noticed you eat bananas literally every day, so I figured I’d indulge. Saves you some money too, since you’re still on a student budget,” Tony huffs, quietly referencing the fact that Peter still doesn’t want to get paid more than necessary for his work. Peter’s eyes are stuck on the bananas as he contemplates how many he should eat with Tony around. Not many. Not three. Maybe not even two. Maybe two? One. Definitely. Peter practically lunges forward as he takes a banana from the bowl and gratefully makes his way to Tony’s desk to have a look at what the older hero is up to. He cocks his head to read the paper. “Still working through the amendments for the Accords?” “World leaders are frustrating people, Parker.” As Tony talks, Peter strips the banana of its peel. He wraps his lips around it instantly and closes his eyes when the familiar taste hits his tongue. His eyes open wide when he realizes he just moaned. Tony’s entire body is tensed up, the ball point pen clenched between his fingers. He doesn’t look at Peter and the young adult silently hopes the man will ignore what just happened. Thankfully, he does. After an hour, the banana bowl already calls to Peter again. Like a siren on the shores or the Dark Side of the Force. The temptation is excruciating and annoyingly distracting. When Peter only had his one banana on him, there were no other bananas left to eat. It was easier to think of other things. Right now, with the other eleven bananas still waiting for Peter to stuff his throat with them, there was no telling when he’d snap. He takes a breath. And another one. He can get through this. He’s strong. He won’t break. He won’t eat another banana. “Pete, this is your fourth banana, are you okay?” Peter’s lips are still wrapped around what’s left of the third banana he didn’t mean to eat. Okay, so maybe he was weak. For bananas, at least. With big eyes, he looks up at Tony, who now stands next to him, from his desk seat. The man’s pupils are dilated and it’s only when Peter realizes what he must look like with his cheeks stuffed with banana and his lips half suckling on the length, that he looks down to see Tony’s very obvious hard-on. Peter scrambles to take the rest of the banana out of his mouth, but unfortunately for him, it makes a wet popping sound, causing Tony to curse under his breath. “I- I weally wike bananas, m-sowwy-“ Tony blinks at Peter. Once. Twice. Something about the shift in his expression makes Peter imagine a little bulb lighting up above Tony’s head. “Potassium.” Peter quickly swallows away the delectable fruit. “Wha-?” “Bananas are radioactive, Pete. You eat them because you- well…” “I vibe with them?” “Yeah, I guess you could put it like that.” Tony takes a step back and scratches his goatee. The man then turns to walk back to his desk. “Just… Just don’t eat too many a day, alright?” Peter swallows again and then nods. “I’ll try,” he replies sheepishly, a lopsided smile plastered on his face. It’s nearing 2AM and Peter is trying really hard not to grab his sixth banana. He already informed Tony that the fifth one would be his last. He can’t go back on that now. He curses his high metabolism, because he is actually hungry. There are a ton of other things in the kitchen to munch on, but his mind and his cravings still gravitate towards the yummy bananas. “Do you want me to get the stuff out of here?” Tony snorts. “You’re obviously not focussed because of them.” Peter sighs and drops himself back against his chair. “Mister Stark, it’s just so good. I can’t explain it.” A sly grin grows on Tony’s face. “Try me. For scientific purposes, of course.” Peter stares at the ceiling. When he opens his mouth to speak, Tony immediately interrupts him again. “Wait-“ Peter sits up straight to watch Tony walk towards the kitchen area. He takes one banana from the batch and tosses it at Peter who easily catches it. The fruit seems to vibrate in Peter’s hand, but that might just be his imagination. Tony grabs a chair and pulls it closer towards Peter, until he sits down right across from him, leaning his elbows on his knees. “I’m really curious how it is for you,” Tony admits. “To me it’s just a banana.” Peter faux gasps. “Just a banana?” He then smirks. “Oh, you wound me.” “Go on, kid, tell me.” Both of them laugh as Peter starts peeling the banana, already infatuated with it again. It’s a long one this time, at least nine inches. “Do you… Do you know that feeling that you get when you haven’t eaten something in a while and then you put something in that taste absolutely divine?” Peter’s mouth salivates as his eyes are still glued to the yellow fruit. “The little orgasm-in-your-mouth kinda feel?” Peter barely notices how Tony’s voice is a little lower. Darker. As a reply, Peter only nods slightly. “Every bite.” “Sounds intense.” “It is.” Peter’s lips part as he brings the length closer to his mouth. He sniffs once. “The smell tickles my nose. And… And the way it sits in my hand, the… The stiffness and the girth of it.” Peter wets his lips, breathing coming out in shorter pants. He can feel Tony’s eyes on him. Studying him intently. The man is slowly inching closer and closer, as if there is only a little bit of oxygen left in the room and it’s right between the two of them. “And then, when I put it in my mouth- when it hits my tongue, I just-“ “You ride a high,” Tony whispers. Peter still stares at the banana, half surprised with his self-control. He would’ve stuffed his face way earlier if he didn’t have Tony’s eyes on him like this. “Feels so good,” Peter mumbles. “Tastes so good.” “What do you do then?” Tony’s voice is so close to him, right next to him. Peter didn’t know when Tony had pulled the chair close enough for him to practically graze his lips past the shell of Peter’s ear. He gasps quietly when Tony’s warm hand finds its resting place on Peter’s thigh. “Like to wrap my lips around it,” Peter answers breathlessly. “Suckle on it.” “Suckle on it.” Tony’s reply doesn’t even sound like a repetition of what Peter said. It sounds like an order. Peter does as told and immediately moans when the fruit hits his tongue again. “That’s it, kid.” A shiver runs down Peter’s spine. Peter can hear Tony’s heartbeat and how it quickens. Can feel how the blood is racing downstairs for the both of them. Was this actually happening? Maybe Tony did want him? Everything that’s happening right now, sure points in that direction. “Keep going further down, Pete…” Tony encourages softly. His other hand makes its way to Peter’s back, gently massaging through his shirt. “Show me how far you can take it.” Peter sucks on the banana, letting his tongue run circles and stripes over the length. His eyes are shut and he pushes further and further until he feels it hit the back of his throat. “Oh,” Tony groans. “Perfect.” The hand on Peter’s back creeps up into his hair and clutches it tight. It starts guiding Peter to bob his head around the fruit and Peter can’t help but grin. Tony wants this. Him. Definitely. Thank you, bananaddiction. “You got a hand left, Pete.” Tony’s soft voice rumbles through Peter’s entire being, making the experience of the banana even better. “Why don’t you have a feel for how hard your nipples are, huh? I can see them through your shirt…” Peter complies, pushing his free hand under his shirt and crawling up until- OH! He moans and rolls his hips in tune with how he rolls the sensitive bud between his fingers. His eyes roll back and he doubles his efforts to feel even better. Peter sighs around the banana as it slowly falls apart on his tongue. It’s even more sublime now that Tony is helping him, steering him, forcing him. “Good boy,” Tony whispers, placing a gentle kiss behind Peter’s ear. The young man’s hips buck involuntarily in their chair but Tony’s hand that’s still on his thigh squeezes to keep him in place. Peter gasps at the pull at his hair and the hand moves to cup his balls through his jeans. Every part of Peter is on fire right now. “Nearly there…” Tony is right. Peter’s cock pulses with the need to release. He nearly has all of the banana in his mouth now and it’s not long before his right hand drops the empty peel to the floor. “Now…” Tony whispers. “Swallow.” Peter whimpers and does as told, automatically opening his mouth wide and sticking out his tongue when all of the banana has disappeared into his stomach. “Oh,” Tony coos, taking his hand out of Peter’s hair to push his thumb down on Peter’s tongue. “So beautiful…” Peter has already forgotten how to talk. His mind is swimming with lust. Want. Need. Tony takes back his hand, but Peter doesn’t see it. He still has his eyes closed, after all, relishing in the aftertaste of the banana. A soft whine escapes his lips when the hand that was gently massaging his clothed cock also disappears. However, when Peter half-opens his eyes, his smile immediately returns. In front of him, hard and aching, dripping precum, swaying and twitching, is Tony Stark’s cock. Something he had only imagined up until now as he jerked himself off in bed. Tony’s fingers curl around the shaft and stroke a few times. His other hand finds its way back into Peter’s hair. The man playfully guides Peter to follow his cock left and right. Absentmindedly, Peter opens his mouth, letting his tongue roll out in an attempt to lap at Tony’s dick. Every time just a little too far away to be successful. “Want it, Peter? You want it, don’t you?” Peter nods in Tony’s tight grip. “So hungry for cock, yet you probably don’t even realize…” Peter frowns slightly, unsure of what Tony is aiming for. “When you get off, Petey, do you eat your own cum?” The question takes Peter off guard, but he’s taken back to every single time he was in his bed, mindlessly lapping at his fingers during the afterglow. “Do you?” Peter nods again, smiling dreamily. His half open eyes still follow Tony’s hard cock in front of him. “Every time,” he manages to moan out. “So good…” “Not just addicted to bananas then?” Tony chuckles. “Bet you’re also infatuated with cum. With the taste- the feel of it when it hits your tongue.” Peter gasps, his own cock twitching and leaking in his now way-too-tight pants. “Such a slut for it, aren’t you? I know why…” Peter lets his head be pulled back until he looks Tony straight in the eye. The man grins and licks his lips, inching closer until the tip of his dick rests on Peter’s cheek as a promise that Peter will get what he wants soon enough. Tony grins wickedly. “There’s also potassium in cum, you know?”

[elcinelateleymickyandonie]

Ernest Cossart.

Filmografía

Cine

1916: The Pursuing Vengeance, de Martin Sabine.

1935: The Scoundrel, de Ben Hecht y Charles MacArthur.

1936: El gran Ziegfeld, de Robert Z. Leonard.

1936: Three Smarts Girls, de Henry Koster.

1936: Murder with Pictures, de Charles Barton.

1937: Angel, de Ernst Lubitsch.

1937: Champagne valse, de A. Edward Sutherland.

1939: Zaza, de George Cukor.

1939: Tower of London, de Rowland V. Lee.

1939: Three Smart Girls Grow Up, de Henry Koster.

1939: The Light that Failed, de William A. Wellman

1939: Lady of the Tropics, de Jack Conway.

1940: Kitty Foyle, de Sam Wood.

1940: Tom Brown's School Days, de Robert Stevenson.

1941: Skylark, de Mark Sandrich.

1942: Kings Row, de Sam Wood.

1945: Love Letters, de William Dieterle.

1945: Tonight and every Night, de Victor Saville.

1946: Cluny Brown, de Ernst Lubitsch.

1946: The Jolson Story, de Alfred E. Green

1947: Love from a Stranger, de Richard Whorf.

1949: John Loves Mary, de David Butler.

Teatro (Broadway)

1908: The Girls of Gottenberg, música de Ivan Caryll y Lionel Monckton, letras de Adrian Ross y Basil Hood.

1910: Mrs. Dot, de William Somerset Maugham, con Billie Burke.

1910: Love among the Lions, de Winchell Smith a partir de F. Anstey, con Ivan F. Simpson

1911: The Zebra, de Paul M. Potter a partir de Marcel Nancey y Paul Armont.

1912: The Typhoon, de Emil Nyitray y Byron Ongley a partir de Menyhert Lengyel.

1914: Marrying Money, de Washington Pezey y Bertram Marbugh.

1915: Androcles and the Lion, de George Bernard Shaw.

1915: The Man who married a Dumb Wife, de Anatole France, con Isabel Jeans.

1915: El sueño de una noche de verano, de William Shakespeare, con Isabel Jeans.

1915: The Doctor's Dilemma, de George Bernard Shaw.

1915: Sherman was right, de Frank Mandel.

1920-1921: The Skin Game, de John Galsworthy.

1921: The Title, de Arnold Bennett, interpretada y dirigida por Lumsden Hare.

1922: HE Who gets slapped, de Leónidas Andreiev, adaptada por Gregory Zilboorg, con Richard Bennett, Margalo Gillmore, Edgar Stehli, Henry Travers y Helen Westley.

1922: From Morn to Midnight, de Georg Kaiser, adaptada por Ashley Dukes, con Allyn Joslyn, Edgar Stehli, Henry Travers y Helen Westley.

1922-1923: Seis personajes en busca de autor, de Luigi Pirandello, adaptada por Edward Storer, con Florence Eldridge.

1923: The Love Habit, adaptación de Gladys Unger a partir de Pour avoir Adrienne, de Louis Verneuil, con Florence Eldridge.

1923: Casanova, de Lorenzo De Azertis, adaptada por Sidney Howard.

1923-1924: Santa Juana, de George Bernard Shaw, con Henry Travers.

1924: Seis personajes en busca de autor.

1924: The Steam Roller, de Laurence Eyre.

1924-1925: Cándida, de George Bernard Shaw, con Pedro de Cordoba.

1925-1926: Arms and the Man, de George Bernard Shaw, con Pedro de Cordoba y Henry Travers.

1926: The Chief Thing, de Nikolaï Evreinov, adaptada por Leo Randole y Herman Bernstein, con Romney Brent, Edward G. Robinson, Lee Strasberg, Henry Travers y Helen Westley.

1926-1927: Loose Ankles, de Sam Janney.

1926-1927: What never dies, de Alexander Engel, adaptada por Ernest Boyd.

1927-1928: The Doctor's Dilemma, de George Bernard Shaw, con Margalo Gillmore, Alfred Lunt, Henry Travers y Helen Westley.

1928: Marco Millions, de Eugene O'Neill, escenografía de Rouben Mamoulian, con Robert Barrat, Albert Dekker, Margalo Gillmore, Alfred Lunt, Vincent Sherman y Henry Travers.

1928: Volpone, de Ben Jonson, adaptada por Ruth Langner, con Albert Dekker, Margalo Gillmore, Alfred Lunt, Vincent Sherman, Henry Travers y Helen Westley.

1928-1929: Caprice, de Philip Moeller, con Douglass Montgomery.

1929: Becky Sharp, de Langdon Mitchell, a partir de La feria de las vanidades, de William Makepeace Thackeray, con Etienne Girardot, Arthur Hohl, Basil Sydney y Leonard Willey.

1930: The Apple Cart, de George Bernard Shaw, con Violet Kemble-Cooper, Tom Powers, Claude Rains y Helen Westley.

1930: Milestones, de Arnold Bennett y Edward Knoblauch, con Beulah Bondi y Selena Royle.

1931: Getting Married, de George Bernard Shaw, con Romney Brent, Dorothy Gish, Henry Travers y Helen Westley.

1931: The Way of the World, de William Congreve, con Walter Hampden, Gene Lockhart, Kathleen Lockhart, Selena Royle y Cora Witherspoon.

1931: The Roof, de John Galsworthy, con Henry Hull y Selena Royle.

1932: The Devil passes, de Benn W. Levy, con Eric Blore, Arthur Byron, Mary Nash y Basil Rathbone.

1932: Too true to be good, de George Bernard Shaw, escenografía de Leslie Banks, con Leo G. Carroll y Claude Rains.

1933: The Mask and the Face, de W. Somerset Maugham, con Leo G. Carroll y Humphrey Bogart

1933-1934: Mary of Scotland, de Maxwell Anderson, con Helen Hayes, Edgar Barrier, George Coulouris, Philip Merivale, Moroni Olsen y Leonard Willey.

1935: Accent on Youth, de Benn W. Levy

1937: Madame Bovary, de Benn W. Levy, a partir de Gustave Flaubert, con Eric Portman y O. Z. Whitehead.

1945: Devils Galore, de Eugene Vale.

1948: The Play's the Thing, de Ferenc Molnár, adaptada por P. G. Wodehouse, con Louis Calhern, Francis Compton y Faye Emerson.

1949: The Ivy Green, de Mervyn Nelson, con Hurd Hatfield.

Créditos: Tomado de Wikipedia

https://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ernest_Cossart