#petri ft

[lightningcola]

Local Vintage Market

Expired Price Club 200 - Petri FT EE

[iso-photo]

ペトリFT。

コニカミノルタα7 Digitalで撮りました。

[clickbeetle]

i don’t remember this monster being in stardew valley

[feastonkings]

@scryptids

Kie and JJ

[wokelander]

LIMERENCE !

ft. jimmy x fem!reader

tags. implied/reference rape, failed rape recovery, talk of incest and underage but not in regards to reader, public humiliation, obsession on readers part, sort of stalking, one mention of suicide, slight boot kink, just humiliation tbh..

note. waow.. don’t know what this is.. unedited and kind of sucks.. rbs n feedback always appreciated. ignore any typos!

What do you do when your rapist is the most handsome man you’ve ever had the pleasure of fucking?

He wasn’t ugly or fat and he wasn’t the tallest, but everyone has their shortcomings.

You feel like a total fraud, picking at the lint on your sweater as you listen to a girl bawl her eyes out while recounting the time her father raped her in the back of his pick-up after school.

The woman before her was gang-raped by her delinquent boyfriend’s lackeys, the man to her left is the victim of his middle-school teacher, another lady pushed out two rape babies from her deadbeat husband before she managed to get away from him.

They’re all ghosts; beaten down, so broken, and you are you.

The same as before, if not a little bit better.

In fact, you’ve stopped getting those night terrors where all your teeth fall out.

You got raped and everything just felt right.

Like he knocked something into place, dug so deep into your cunt he rewired your brain.

Your therapist said this would be a chance at community, some place to bring you comfort, like-minded individuals who have gone through all the same things you have. Circle time for victims of brutal, life-ruining—life-changing rape, you should fit right in.

But you have never felt more out of place.

Pick-up girl can’t continue, she’s choking on her words, they come out her throat like the creak in an old floorboard. The box of Kleenex is significantly lighter.

“We can move on,” says a lady with kind eyes, shifting on her chair to face your way.

They all look at you with their haunted, dark eyes, gaping black chasms that lead right to fucking hell. God. You’re going straight to hell.

“Erm..” You squeeze your hands into fists. You unstick your thighs from the plastic chair. You count to ten and try not to think about how nice he looked on top of you.

“It’s okay, honey, take your time.” She places her hand on your knee. You think of him. His hand on your thigh, squeezing your tender flesh until it came right off the bone, the way it inched up your skirt.

You go stiff and she notices, gasping softly like she has done something wrong. And she has. She’s turned you the fuck on, the warmth of her encouragement going straight to your cunt.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think about—“

“No, it’s okay,” you strain to get it out, avoiding her eyes like sympathy is a highly contagious disease of some kind.

They’re all feeling bad for you when you have finally started to feel good about yourself.

Man, you suck.

“He was my boyfriend.” Your voice cracks for dramatic effect, hold the applause. You wish he was your boyfriend. “He did it almost everyday.” You wish he did it everyday. “It would be after I came back from work…” It would be great stress relief after your Friday shift, it’s nearing Christmas and everybody is crushed into the stores like cattle in free stall barns.

You open and close your mouth, unsure of where to go from here, so you stand up and the chair screeches against the ground. “Sorry… I’m so sorry—I need to go.”

You leave and it looks real.

Like you are a real victim with a real story and very real feelings. The type you see on TV, dressed in white, trembling like lambs, abhorred by the notion of anything sexual. Squeaky clean like you should be.

For just a moment you feel normal. Your therapist is not eyeballing you like a mildly fascinating organism in her Petri dish. Your friends don’t give you a funny look when you say you’re fine—great actually. Your mom is not hanging her head in secondhand shame when you refuse to file a police report, disturbed when she unearths your bloodied underwear beside the prayer book you keep tucked beneath your pillow, rosary nowhere to be found.

They mutter quietly amongst themselves.

Poor thing she can’t even speak about it, it must’ve been awful, I can’t even imagine what she went through, so young.

You can’t speak about it, you really can’t, you might start reciting wedding vows if you think about him longer than a second.

Your loneliness is like the crack in a China cup, fine and glossy on the outside but delicate from years stowed away in show cabinets, passed from bidder to bidder. He pressed golden lacquer into the seams of your fracture, put you back together like you were something worth holding, something to be used.

Stored away in your bag, a sacred place your mother has not yet invaded, is his work ID. You say his ordinary name like you’re uttering a prayer, you drag the jagged tip of your nail over his tiny photograph. His hair and beard are longer than you remember, he’s handsome underneath the scruff, a strong nose and a broad chest. The collar of his company-issued jumpsuit is half popped, and he’s scowling at the camera like it’s an inconvenience.

There’s no phone number on it and part of you is glad you won’t have to call into the company, requesting Jimmy like The Pony Express is a sex hotline and he’s their newest, youngest, bustiest doll.

You wait outside the warehouse instead. It’s a big old thing, the last of its kind, muted in colour, blending into the silver skies. You look at the horse who sits on top like a weathervane on a cathedral, oversized features and the stomach of a pudgy toddler.

Every day from two to eight you circle the block a few times, take a window seat in the cafe opposite until the staff begin to stack tables and chairs, sit at the bus stop beside the same lot of people who wonder why you never get on.

The horse watches from above, wide eyes glowing in the dark beside the moon, unsettlingly reverent, sparkling with diamond-sharp logic, like it knows something you do not, a silent witness to your dog-like devotion.

One day, you leave work early and find a truck parked in front of the hulking, metal mass. Two men are unloading it, one is old and the other is blond, but they don’t matter to you. A third steps out of the cab, your breath gets caught in your throat, scared your exhale might blow him away.

You don’t look when you cross the street.

“Excuse me?” You call out, you’re sure he hears you, but he’s choosing to ignore it. “Are you Jimmy?” You ask once you're close enough to go unnoticed.

“Depends,” he says in that voice you have heard so many times in your dreams, rough like the serrated edge of a knife. “Who’s asking?” He hasn’t looked up once, disinterested and completely unaffected while you burn just being near him.

There is a woman near those other two men, leant down amidst some crates, a clipboard pressed to her chest. Her face is white and her nose is long like the snout on a hound dog, her charcoal eyes are sad and droopy.

You wonder if he has touched her like he has touched you. Either she just has one of those faces or she can take your slot at circle time. She would fit right in with the rest of them. Herbivores hiding in long grass.

“I’m asking.” You clear your throat, he looks up at you with his lidded eyes and you don’t look away, openly admiring the colour of them, how they look in the sunlight. There are a million things you want to ask him.

Was it just me? Was I your first and only? Have you been thinking about me? Do you want a summer wedding or a winter one? Vanilla or chocolate cake? We could do floral arrangements in your favourite colour.

He seems to grow slightly antsy when you continue to stare, Adam’s apple bulging out of his throat when he swallows. He looks like he’s started to feel sick, like he’s waiting outside the principal’s office after breaking a window.

It’s different, he’s different in the day. Long gone is his barbed tongue and wolf-like smile. “What do you want?”

You.

Your fingers toy with the rounded edges of his employee card, if you hand it to him now it’ll all be over.

“Listen,” Jimmy starts, lowering his voice, “if it’s something I did, I’m sorry.” Apprehension twists his mouth into a frown, and he doesn’t sound all that sorry. “But you can’t show up—“

“Here.” You fish his ID from your purse, reluctant to hand it over. His fingers don’t brush yours like you hoped and he seems all too eager to get rid of you.

“Thanks, cool,” he says with all the enthusiasm of a funeral celebrant, tucking it into his breast pocket for safekeeping, his disengagement is a knife in your chest. You’re a stain on a shirt he has no intention of cleaning.

“Yeah…” Does he not remember you? Is there nothing about you that is worth remembering? Were you not good? “Cool.” The longer you stand there the more likely it seems he’s going to grab a broom to chase you away. “Well, bye, Jimmy.” You blink at him sadly, expectantly, longingly. This is it.

You walk away and that was it. That was it. You’ll never see him again, you have no reason to be caught lurking outside the warehouse.

You start to think long and hard on your way home about the fuck is wrong with you.

Everyone is shaped by the sum of their exposures. A product of the people you meet, the enemies and friends you make, who you go home to. Every smile, every scowl, every bad habit is the reflection of another. But to be completely fucking honest, you think you’re just like this. The root of the problem is you, it stems from deep inside your very core, a fundamentally fucked up instinct that makes life a fucking inconvenience. It turns everything into a complication and that is why you’re like this.

God, you wonder what it would be like to wake up and think about normal things like normal people who do not have this constant flurry of wrongness whirling around inside of them. You want to go through life like you’re meant to be on earth, not like an alien species that crash-landed here and never managed to get out, unable to acclimatise to the human way, not like you’re a manufacturing defect.

You want to laugh at the right moment, you want to know what everyone else is thinking, you want to be raped so badly. Again and again and again. You can’t be normal if you can’t stop thinking about the most abnormal thing about you, that just defeats the fucking point.

Your friends think it is their fault for bringing you home that night, for letting you go home all on your own, for getting drunk and leaving you sober. They feel responsible for the best night of your life and you hate it. You hate that they don’t get it. You had a good time in your own right, they don’t need to feel guilty—Or maybe you need to start thinking how they do. Like normal people. They’re horrified when they’re supposed to be horrified. Their minds are tailored to the tastes of this world, yours is somewhere else, some rotten, tumultuous, toxic planet.

Therapy is supposed to be helping you learn how to be even slightly human, little by little, step by step. But you can’t take it in small doses, you need all of this wrongness gone at once like a decidual cast. It doesn’t make you lighter, it doesn’t put a pep in your step, it doesn’t do shit.

So you keep going to wait outside the Pony Express warehouse. You camp out in that cafe all day on days off from work. The staff know you by name, six holes punched in your reward card, special access to the staff bathrooms. You’re set for stalker life.

He never comes again, but you do everyday.

The nights are getting darker, stars bleed into the sky as the sun dims, the moon is larger than usual tonight and if you weren’t so taken by the brightness you would be quicker to notice the dark figure in your peripheral.

When you finally do, you think it’s the devil, cloaked in darkness like the devil probably should be. “Oh, it’s you.” You try to hide the smile in your voice as you watch him put a cigarette between his crooked lips.

“Yeah, it’s me.” He’s unbothered in tone, indifferent in manner. It would be flattering that he remembered you if he hadn’t said it like that.

“Do you remember me?”

“Yeah, from last week.” Jimmy’s eyes glow radioactive in the dark like tiger eyes when he lights his cigarette, the flame flickers and casts him uneven light, softening the right side of his face with a golden haze and plunging the left into shifting darkness. “You stalking me?”

“No!” You say all too quickly. “No, no… I study at the cafe opposite you.”

“Okay.” He was joking you think, making fun of you maybe, you wouldn’t be able to tell either way. “Studying the menu or what?”

That was a joke, that has to be a joke. It’s your cue to laugh so you force one out, it crackles unnaturally. “I wish, but I meant before that, do you remember me from before that?”

You look different under the street lamps, they do nothing for your skin, light pools unfavourably in every pore, the jewel-toned dress you picked out today must look washed out.

Jimmy’s lazy eyes rake up your body, and then he shakes his head slowly. “No.” Even to someone like you, it’s clear he has no interest in taking this conversation anywhere.

“It was in November, the beginning, I was on my way home, and it was late...” You should’ve done this at circle time. “You grabbed me and I let you take me, and then after you told me to walk down the block and call a cab, and I did.”

“Hm,” Jimmy shrugs, though you notice his hand trembling as he raises his cigarette to his lip, “nope, don’t remember that.”

Frustrated, you clench your fists, wondering what could jog his memory—Did he do it often? Nab a girl off the street corner so regularly that he didn’t remember a single one, faces all blurring together, the same hole with a different set of tits.

“Remind me again.”

“How?”

“Take off your jacket.” Jimmy’s cigarette gets crushed beneath his boot, he’s looking at you now. Really looking at you, and this is where it all goes pear-shaped. Your whole life is pear-shaped of course, but this is just fucking sad. You beg yourself to think it over, to think of the dozens of security cameras on this street alone. None of it seems too important when he’s here.

And then, you shrug your coat off your shoulders.

“Okay.” You’ve always been obedient because you have no reason to say no, you don’t care if he’s going to mug you, at least he’s talking to you now. At least he is looking at you.

“Think I’m gonna need to see more to know who you are,” he says, detached like there are a million better things he could be doing with his time, but he’s spending it with you. “Take off your dress.”

“What…” You’re shaking slightly in the cold, wind stings your cheeks and the tip of your fingers have started to ache.

“Take off your dress, I might know you.” Fair enough. He’d seen your ass more than your tits and your tits more than your face. It was forced into a flat pillow for three quarters of the night, between his thighs for the last quarter.

You take off your dress, edging it off your ankles. He drapes it over his arm - he’s got enough humanity to not leave your pretty clothes on the pavement.

It’s cold. The type of cold that makes your brain freeze, the type of cold that only Siberian Huskies and yetis enjoy.

And yet here you are in nothing but your cotton panties, t-shirt bra and boutique winter booties looking like the most expensive kerb crawler in all the world.

“Turn around,” Jimmy hums, his hand is cold but not as cold as you, tracing along your spine when you listen like a good girl.

From here, the horse is watching you. Seeing it all, cartoonish eyes forced in your direction. It’s late so the cars that whiz past have no intention of stopping, some houses have their lights on.

Humiliation prickles your skin, it could be the cold, but you don’t think the cold gets inside of you like this. What are you doing? What are you doing? What is mom going to think? What is dad going to do? What are they going to tell your family when you’re sectioned for Christmas?

”That’s good,” his voice comes out in a whisper, “take ‘em off and get on the ground.” Lukewarm hands slide over your hips, checking you over like a piece of meat.

“Okay,” you whisper back to him, and you’ve gone so far there’s nothing to lose, stepping out of your underwear and doing just as he says.

There’s no praise from Jimmy’s end and you don’t expect any. His stern face, his flat tone, it’s all unforgiving like this cold, hard sidewalk is on your hands and knees.

“Jesus, there something wrong with you?” He sounds surprised and you don’t know what you’ve done wrong. (You do know. You do know.) Isn’t this what he wanted? “Sorry,” Jimmy says, not sounding sorry at all, “I shouldn’t say that, you’re not all there.”

Your head isn’t entirely intact, and there is this worm hole that eats away at your insides, but you’re here. You’re here and you’re on the ground, on your knees with your cunt bared to him. Does he not see you?

The horse sees you, perpetually wide-eyed and forever watching.

Something cold, like the nose of a dog, presses against your pussy. It takes you a moment to figure out that it’s the toe of his boot, the leathery texture is wet almost, smooth and still textured, grainy. The cold is making it too hard to focus on the feeling of it nudging your swollen clit. You close your eyes and focus on anything but your hands burning on the ground, how the wind is going straight to your bones.

You’re going to make this worth it. You will. You’ve been wet for months and you won’t let it dry up so quickly, not when the cause of the leak is here to plug it up.

Just as you’re about to push back into him, grind your clit into the leather, show off how much you want him—He kicks you down, your body skids forward, elbows scraping on the cement. It’s painful, but you’re so cold, so shocked, so confused.

Quietly, you hear him under his breath. “What the fuck… Fuckin’ freak.” You don’t know if it’s in awe or disgust. He drops your coat and dress over the flat of your back, you scramble to put them on. “Why did you do that?” Jimmy asks, and he is looking at you like you’re crazy, like he’s disgusted.

You can’t tell if it’s a trick question. “Because you told me to.” It’s a simple answer, the only answer. Your chest heaves, teeth chattering as you stand on aching legs. God. It feels like your bones are fragmenting.

“Are you a dog?”

“No.” You check your pockets to find some loose change is missing.

“Then you didn’t have to do that, it’s not fuckin’ normal.”

Rape is not normal. And neither is asking seemingly nice, well-meaning girls to undress in sub-zero temperatures. But you don’t want to talk back, you don’t like to talk back, you don’t want to scare him off.

“Okay��� Then, I’m sorry.”

“What…” His tone lilts in what might be confused laughter, everything you say is a twist or turn in a tangled thread he can’t quite follow. “Don’t say sorry, no, I don’t—I don’t know, just go home.”

“You’re not going to take me?” You gaze at him sadly. Wanting, yearning. “I think I’m going to kill myself tonight,” you proclaim softly, not because you want to make him feel bad, but because you don’t know what to do with yourself and he is distant enough to confide in.

“Alright,” Jimmy shrugs, he lights another cigarette, the smoke billows out of his thin lips, lined with the slightest smile. “Tell me how that goes.” Well, now you feel stupid and wish to take it back. Then, before he goes, he asks a little too casually, “Your dad touched you or something?”

“No…” You answer slowly, wondering if you should’ve said yes, if that was what he wanted to hear, gauging his reaction like you’ll be able to read it at all.

“Right.” He laughs, and his shoulders are still shaking in disbelief as he wanders into the dark like something out of a nightmare.

You look over to the horse, it tells you he’ll be back.

Considering he works there and all you thought the same, so you’ll be back alive and well.

[odysseusilver]

Ok so one of my lectures got cancelled so I had enough time to do this, here is a short list of the heights of some of the Terror cast!

Jared Harris as Francis Crozier = 6’0 ft/ 182cm

Tobias Menzies as James Fitzjames = 6’1 ft/ 185cm

Paul Ready as Harry Goodsir = 5’9 ft/ 175cm

Adam Nagaitis as Cornelius Hickey = 5’8 ft/ 172cm

Ian Hart as Thomas Blanky = 5’8 ft/ 172cm

Ciarán Hinds as Sir John Franklin = 6’1 ft/ 185cm

Tom Weston-Jones as Graham Gore = 6’0 ft/ 182cm

Declan Hannigan as Henry Le Vesconte = 6’2 ft/ 187cm

Matthew McNulty as Edward Little = 5’10 ft/ 177cm

Christos Lawton as George Hodgson = 5’11 ft/ 180cm

Ronan Raftery as John Irving = 6’0 ft/ 182cm

Sebastian Armesto as Charles Des Voeux = 5’8 ft/ 172cm

Trystan Gravelle as Henry Collins = 6’1 ft/ 185cm

Alistair Petrie as Stephen Stanley = 6’3 ft/ 190cm

Charles Edwards as Alexander McDonald = 6’1 ft/ 185cm

Liam Garrigan as Thomas Jopson = 5’9 ft/ 175cm

John Lynch as John Bridgens = 5’10 ft/ 177cm

Kevin Guthrie as Henry Peglar = 5’7 ft/ 170cm

Charlie Kelly as Thomas Armitage = 5’11 ft/ 180cm

David Walmsley as Solomon Tozer = ? (I couldn't find his height but didn't want to not include him :( )

Edit: multiple people ( @gadzooksvol1 @jammans ) have said that Nive Nielson is 5’7 /170cm so thank you for that addition!!

[hopeofhouse]

i finally finished dos2.... thoughts ft. drawings + choice playthrough phone notes (spoilers obv)

my godwoken was an elf witch named allegory. he ended up as a necromancer/hydrosophist combo. blood damage + healing was a fun mix! odd contrasts <3

his backstory, 2 me, is that he was lost in a marshland as a little kid, and tir-cendelius saw the chance to keep him isolated (seeing off any potential rescuers, magically expanding the marshes every time he tried to trek out and leading him in circles) + raise the perfect tiny loyal godwoken for when The Time was Right. he let him out when he was an elf teen. t-c should have kept him longer because if anything it just made him weirder when he got reintegrated into society a couple decades later. F

what if your god grew you in a petri dish to [major game spoilers, redacted]. but you were a capricious little know it all with a jester's soul. what then

gorry took sebille, fane and ifan with him because i thought he would assemble a team of hot emos if given chance. this paid off + i love them all dearly

i wasn't expecting the origin characters i didn't take with me after act 1 to UP AND DIE. but it actually added a really good set of stakes. responsibility for ur actions. lohse yelled at me for leaving her to her fate and i felt SO bad. sorry miss thing

LOVED the worldbuilding....i was super familiar with 5e before i played bg3 so i sort of knew what was coming most of the time but for divinity i had to LEARN. super fun. 100% recommend

also i thought bg3 went in on the body horror but divinity was Something Else.

^ and then larian said okay that was fun what if we do it again. and made bg3. anyway

i was hideously bad at combat for ages until i listened to all the people on reddit chanting 'put points in warfare' and then it was much much much more doable lol

ngl i actually very much prefer dos2 to bg3. i loved loved loved bg3 but after like 4 playthroughs during various patch stages it was such a relief to play a game that's actually completed and won't eat my laptop for breakfast!!! first two bg3 files i had i couldn't make it to the lower city because the optimization on mac was so diabolical that it wouldn't actually play until after patch 5. dos2 lets me also have photoshop on my computer. and files that aren't bg related. miraculous

but even ignoring technical issues: from a story and world standpoint dos2 felt way more expansive and inventive. campy but also harrowing in a way that bg3 just didn't hit for me. i also genuinely enjoy being given a zillion pieces of almost overwhelming info and then sorting it out so i am biased. may expand on this at a later point and not under a mile long read more. moving on

romanced fane bc i loved his voice acting and i thought the culturally cannibalistic elf/the one guy with no flesh to eat bit was funny. jokes on me i fell in DEEP. u canonically have disappointing sex because hes simply made of bones without nerves and afterwards he takes notes. he calls u dear heart offhandedly in act 1 like it's nothing then goes right back to being aloof. how many more times does he have to tell you? he has business in the blackpits. he spends the whole game having an increasingly worse time. he's a loser. it's all his fault. he got me. he got me good. god damn

my game glitched (?) and even tho he rejected sebille (sorry baby) her and allegory still made out right before the big final choice. no option not to. then he had the expected epilogue with fane. poly ending canon enough for me!

also the music was bonkers good and the audio direction in that one battle in the final act? mwah. and dallis' va knocked it out of the entire park.

last thing here's a gorry i drew when i was still back in act 1. 180 hours ago. titled on my phone as 'praying at every altar so i always come out on top'

anyway if u made it this far: thank u. go get divinity: original sin 2 when it's next on sale. wise wise wise choice of £6.99 <3

[jungleindierock]

Rebjukebox 2024 - No 1

Here's my first playlist for 2024, it's not gonna be a monthly thing, just once i have 40 tracks i like, then i will share it. So could be one or two or even three in one month and other months maybe none, this is why it's numbered. I am already close to No 2 being finished, cover done, just need to cut down to 40 tracks from the 80+ tracks in the provisional draft playlist. So could share this next week!! These playlists are great way to find new bands and artists and saves us having to post each on sepearatly.

I used to do these just through Soundcloud, but thought i might as well add it to my Spotify also. So i will add two links to the playlist and can use which ever one you prefer.

If your a solo singer or a member of a band, then follow me on my Soundcloud page here, if i like your stuff, i will follow you back, if i don't follow back then sorry but your not my thing. Whatever style of music is fine, i like many stlyes and will take a listen. You should always trust your own ears with music.

You can only follow 2,000 people on Soundcloud, so am limited. But if am following you there, i can see when you share new music, which means you could be added to one of these playlists or the main JIR playlist (one per month). What style of music is fine, i like many and will take a listen.

Enjoy and share, stay free, see you soon with No 2!!

Reb

Ok the links for the playlist:- Soundcloud I Spotify

Tracklist

1 - Paramore - Burning Down the House (Talking Heads Cover) 2 - The Delta Shake - I’ll Be Your Man (Alternative Version) 3 - Anja Huwe - Rabenschwarz 4 - Fat Dog - All The Same 5 - Loupe - Tested Waters 6 - Wynona - Feeling For Edges 7 - Nothing Rhymes With Orange - Friday Is Over 8 - Shannon and the Clams - The Moon Is In The Wrong Place 9 - KAWALA - American Adrenaline 10 - overpass - Stay Up 11 - Camens - Cynical 12 - Cinders - Going Nowhere 13 - Linn Koch-Emmery - Ebay Armour 14 - Grace Petrie - Start Again 15 - Neon Dreams (Ft. Matthew Mole) - The Art of Letting Go 16 - This Rebel - Same Every Time 17 - The Holy - Any Given Day 18 - Soundwire - Shake The Fever (Radio Edit) 19 - The Snuts - Millionaires 20 - Neck Deep - Moody Weirdo 21 - Softcult - Heaven 22 - Lurve - Pesnya O Lyubvi 23 - BARSTAFF - Tracy Island (Radio Edit) 24 - Sasha Assad - Bad Nature 25 - Red Rum Club - Hole In My Home 26 - No Windows - Song 01 27 - Mourn - Could Be Friends 28 - Sunglaciers - Cursed 29 - POND - Neon River 30 - Slow Time Mondays - Don’t Threaten Me With A Good Time 31 - Jeen - So What 32 - stillcorners - The Dream 33 - The Marra - Masterpiece 34 - The Hubbards - Hiding & Reading 35 - The Cheap Thrills - Last Orders 36 - Aqualine - No Answer 37 - Torrey - Bounce 38 - Low Blows - Normal 39 - ParisBlue - Remedy 40 - Bombay Bicycle Club (ft. Lucy Rose) - Willow

[wizzard890]

(watching @shakespeareandpunk make playlists blasted me back to 2015 tumblr, so I thought I’d share one that I listen to every year as the calendar changes. I specifically recommend playing this while looking out the window of public transport at the january rain. happy 2023.)

                                     SONGS FOR A NEW WORLD

                                     a playlist for the dawning year

tracklist / spotify

this year - the mountain goats

in whatever time we have - children of eden OBC

out of pawn - anaïs mitchell

closer - the chainsmokers (ft. halsey)

goodnight new york - vienna teng

tryin’ to get to heaven - bob dylan

this is why we fight - the decemberists

love it if we made it - the 1975

tom paine’s bones - grace petrie

knockin’ on heaven’s door - warren zevon

january 10th, 2014 - the world is a beautiful place & I am no longer afraid to die

the land of plenty - leonard cohen

.

[aussie-kittenart]

Sit back, relax and play some video games with the homies! 🎮 [Comm]

Comm for Petri ft. Arvo! ⭐️Other places to find me https://aussiekitten.carrd.co ☕️Support me further  https://ko-fi.com/aussiekitten 💬Join the community https://discord.gg/abmKHfM

[asundered]

@quismet     ft.     amy dunne.

Dear Reader, 

It isn’t often that I miscalculate. 

I say this, of course, bearing in mind the humbling knowledge that I am currently standing oh - for - two, with thanks being in order first to my sweet husband Nick in all his disappointing predictability, and now, to the beautiful wife of my most recent attempted conquest, Joe. Now, for my more avid readers, that's Creepy Neighbor Joe, as you'll remember from my Diary. For those of you just tuning in, allow me to shed some light! There's been something of a flirtation blossoming between myself and the lesser half of the burgeoning Quinn - Goldberg Dynasty. It hadn't been intentional, at first ... but there are only so many ways to respond when a man takes it upon himself to pocket your panties during his first uninvited foray into your home. ( You should have gotten to know me better first, Joe. I’m alarmingly meticulous. I notice, when my things have been rifled through. Three little hairs, and all of them broken. You’re not nearly as clever as you think. )  

Me, I take that sort of behavior personally.

I take that sort of behavior for everything it's worth. 

Obsession, I can use.

I don't mind telling you … I thought this part would be easy. As far as I see it, I'd even be doing Love a favor, relieving her of the sad, miserable, peeping - tom bush lurker that she calls a husband - but of course, like any woman petri - grown in Sunny Los Angeles after surviving the toxic and yet surely still quite elastic grip of Dottie Quinn's poisonous, Non - GMO cunt is bound to be  ;  Love Quinn - Goldberg is ungrateful.

Are we surprised, reader?

No, I would say not. What is surprising though, is how she's taken to me sniffing around her husband. Should I set the scene a little?

After taking a particularly harsh whack to the back of the head with a bestriped rolling pin in the empty lobby of A Fresh Tart, you awake to find yourself in a cage of Hannibal Lecter-esque aesthetic and proportions. Your immaculately maintained cool girl blonde locks are matted in the back with dried blood, and when you sit up abruptly in the center of this monolithic ode to intellectual fetishism, you’re eye to eye with the woman whose husband you’ve been conspiring to sweet talk into killing yours. Do you . . . 

( Normally, I’d give us some A B C’s to choose from here, but since Love has gone off script, I’m going to play this one by ear. ) 

“Love?” Oooh, that doesn’t sound very sweet. My throat is sore from disuse, my head is throbbing. How long have you kept me down here, Love? How long until Joe notices I’m gone. “What’s going on?” 

I have to give it to her, reader . . . she’s dedicated. Strong - strong enough to drag me into what looks like the basement under her adorable storefront, strong enough to stop herself from killing me - or maybe too weak to do the job. I think we’re going to find out.  And don’t forget, reader. 

Obsession, I can use.

[bierbaum]

Best movie: -------- Best old movie I just saw: Elio Petri - His Days Are Numbered Best book: Philip Guston - I Paint What I Want to See Best short story: Michael P Lopez - Master of Horrors Best art show: Fiona Tan - Mountains and Molehills Best album: Nulifer Yanya- Painless Best concert: The Smile at Shrine Auditorium Los Angeles Best song: Denzel Curry ft. T-Pain - Troubles  Best music video: Fever Ray - Kandy Best short film: Pablo Hernando - El Ruido Solar

Best comic: ---- Best website: Le Cinema Club Best instagram account: Frog Home Video Best twitter account: Paul Trillo

Best restaurant: Michael Wolf - Wolf Atelier Best bar: Fruh Cologne Previous Years: 2021 2020 2019 2018 2017 2016 2015 2014 2013 2012 2011 2010 2009 2008

[eleanorpetry]

Still from "Running" music video by Lutalo FT. Claud

Dir. Eleanor Petry

[djlyer]

Vay-Cay K? July 25, 2023

Solo show?  Had to prerecord this one because I was out in unconnectivity land, which was well needed by the way:)  Hope you enjoy these picks of the week, more summer vacaycay shennanigans coming soooooon!

Ten Years After - Ten Years After - Hold Me Tight

Shay Lia - Single - TAKUTA

Ariel Petrie - Single - Rabbit Hole

Tony Bennett - Cloud 7 - While the Music Plays On

The Tragically Hip - Hoof Hearted - Little Bones (Acoustic)

Paul Langlois - Guess What - Been Waiting

Rufus Wainwright - Folkocracy - Hush Little Baby (ft Martha Wainwright)

Buffalo Tom -  Smitten - Under Milkwood -Megadisc Records

Flying Horses - Reverie - Unsettled

Brittany Howard - Jaime -  History Repeats

Adrina Turenne - Single - August Lament

Tunic - Wrong Dream - My Body, My Blood

[paincorpsrarefinds]

Petri FT 1000 35MM Film Camera W Exaktar 35MM 1:2.8 Lens

CAMERA DEALS: Seller: california545 (99.9% positive feedback) Location: US Condition: For parts or not working Price: 44.99 USD Shipping cost: Free Buy It Now https://www.ebay.com/itm/325651958546?hash=item4bd25e8b12%3Ag%3Aa-4AAOSwZd5kXRa9&mkevt=1&mkcid=1&mkrid=711-53200-19255-0&campid=5338779481&customid=&toolid=10049&utm_source=dlvr.it&utm_medium=tumblr

[hello-n-goodbye]

Rules: 🎶✨when u get this u have to put 5 songs u actually listen to, publish. then, send this ask/tag 10 of your favorite followers (non-negotiable, positivity is cool) 🎶

🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 thank you petri!!! ❤️

5 songs:

Jimin - Like crazy (been listening to this on repeat for the past few days)

ATEEZ - Horizon

Stray kids - Backdoor

Gemini & Fourth - You're blushing

Miley Cyrus - Muddy feet ft. Sia