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sad-boys-book-club · 4 months ago

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"&" Ampersand - A Literary Companion

Selected stories with the themes of Bastille's upcoming project "&" Ampersand. And, of course, a love letter to my favourite band.

PART 1

Intros & Narrators: Wallace, David Foster. Oblivion: Stories. Little, Brown and Company, 2004./ Nancherla, Aparna. Unreliable Narrator: Me, Myself, and Impostor Syndrome. Penguin Publishing Group, 2023.// Eve & Paradise Lost: Bohannon, Cat. Eve: How the Female Body Drove 200 Million Years of Human Evolution. Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group, 2023. / Milton, John. Paradise Lost. Alma Classics, 2019.// Emily & Her Penthouse In The Sky: Dickinson, Emily. Emily Dickinson’s Poems: As She Preserved Them. Harvard University Press, 2016. /Dickinson, Emily. Emily Dickinson: Letters. Edited by Emily Fragos, Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group, 2011.// Blue Sky & The Painter: Prideaux, Sue. Edvard Munch: Behind the Scream. Yale University Press, 2019. / Knausgaard, Karl Ove. So Much Longing in So Little Space: The Art of Edvard Munch. Random House, 2019.//

PART 2

Leonard & Marianne: Hesthamar, Kari. So Long, Marianne: A Love Story - Includes Rare Material by Leonard Cohen. Ecw Press, 2014./ Cohen, Leonard. Book of Longing. Penguin Books Limited, 2007.// Marie & Polonium: Curie, Eve. Madame Curie. Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group, 2013./Sobel, Dava. The Elements of Marie Curie: How the Glow of Radium Lit a Path for Women in Science. Atlantic Monthly Press, 2024.// Red Wine & Wilde: Wilde, Oscar, et al. De Profundis. Harry N. Abrams, 1998./ Sturgis, Matthew. Oscar: A Life. Head of Zeus, 2018.// Seasons & Narcissus: Ovid. Metamorphoses: A New Verse Translation. Penguin, 2004./ Morales, Helen. Antigone Rising: The Subversive Power of the Ancient Myths. PublicAffairs, 2020.//

PART 3

Drawbridge & The Baroness: Rothschild, Hannah. The Baroness: The Search for Nica, the Rebellious Rothschild. Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group, 2013./ Katz, Judy H. White Awareness: Handbook for Anti-racism Training. University of Oklahoma Press, 1978.// The Soprano & Her Midnight Wonderings: Ardoin, John, and Gerald Fitzgerald. Callas: The Art and the Life. Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1974./ Abramovic, Marina. 7 Deaths of Maria Callas. Damiani, 2020.// Essie & Paul: Ransby, Barbara. Eslanda: The Large and Unconventional Life of Mrs. Paul Robeson. Haymarket Books, 2022./ Robeson, Paul. Here I Stand. Beacon Press, 1998.//

PART 4

Mademoiselle & The Nunnery Blaze: Gautier, Theophile. Mademoiselle de Maupin. Penguin Classics, n.d./ Gardiner, Kelly. Goddess. HarperCollins, 2014.// Zheng Yi Sao & Questions For Her: Chang-Eppig, Rita. Deep as the Sky, Red as the Sea. Bloomsbury Publishing, 2023./ Borges, Jorge Luis. A Universal History of Infamy. Penguin Books, 1975. // Telegraph Road 1977 & 2024: Kaufman, Bob. Golden Sardine. City Lights Books, 1976./ Wolfe, Tom. The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test. Pan Macmillan Australia Pty, Limited, 2008.

Original artwork created by Theo Hersey & Dan Smith. Printed letterpress at The Typography Workshop, South London.

#mine #bastille #dan smith bastille #dan smith #dan bastille #ampersand #&#literature

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davasmedia · 2 years ago

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#davas media #davas news #tory lanez #megan thee stallion

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junkyard-gifs · 6 months ago

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have you heard about this ballroom-style production happening in nyc this summer? i'm so intrigued!

https://www.instagram.com/reel/C6EnK7xuf8_/

Yes! It's been on my radar for a while though I don't think I've posted anything about it yet - at least, I haven't decided on a tag for the production.

Honestly, going by my usual tagging system it should probably be '2024 pac' or '2024 nyc' but. For these guys. I sort of want to name it after its most prominent attribute which is. '2024 ballroom' 😌

Anyway have a promo clip, from their official insta, and some random cast photos out of costume.

(We don't have a lot of costume photos yet but we do know that these Jellicles will be fully humans, not feline: they are people existing within the ballroom cultural milieu of the period and 'jellicle cats' is just the pride name they use for themselves and each other. So if you strongly prefer your cats as cats, this might not be the show for you—but it's certainly a show that speaks to somebody else!)

(Also I'm just really enjoying the flurry of excitement from former Jellicles in comments on this production's posts.)

Dudney Joseph: Munkustrap (Emcee) (he/him).

Dava Huesca: Rumpelteazer (she/her)

Jonathan Burke: Mungojerrie (he/him)

Andre Deshields: Deuteronomy

Sydney Harcourt: Rum Tum Tugger

Baby: Victoria

Choreographers Arturo Lyons and Omari Wiles. (Obvs we're not going with Dame Gilly's choreo here.)

"A radical reimagining of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s iconic musical based on T. S. Eliot’s Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats. Inspired by the Ballroom culture that roared out of New York City over 50 years ago and still rages around the world. Staged as a spectacularly immersive competition by Zhailon Levingston (Tina: The Tina Turner Musical, Chicken & Biscuits) and PAC NYC Artistic Director Bill Rauch (All the Way), with all-new Ballroom and club beats, runway-ready choreography, and an edgy eleganza makeover that moves the action from junkyard to catwalk.  Come one, come all, and celebrate the joyous transformation of self at the heart of Cats and Ballroom culture itself." (X)

#2024 ballroom #arturo lyons #omari wiles #baby #andre deshields #sydney harcourt #jonathan burke #dudney joseph #dava huesca #videos

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justforbooks · 16 days ago

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The Elements of Marie Curie by Dava Sobel

A fresh and feminist study of the pioneering Nobel laureate reveals her impact on the women she mentored and set on the path to prominence

Marie Curie carried out some of her most pathbreaking work under an actual glass ceiling and the toxic particles that swirled beneath it eventually killed her. What Dava Sobel wants to convey to us in this unabashedly feminist account of the great woman’s life is that the metaphorical glass ceiling was just as toxic to the society over which it was clamped.

Each occasion the two-time Nobel laureate had a new advance to announce to the world, she had to beg a male colleague to present it to France’s scientific academy, which barred women from its ranks. This iron-clad rule outlived Curie, hobbling her daughter Irène – another Nobel laureate – in her turn, and by the time a woman was finally granted full membership, in 1979, not only were both Marie and Irène more famous than most of the men who had blocked them, but that first female member gave her affiliation as the “Pierre and Marie Curie University”, Paris.

The academy couldn’t even claim that Marie was riding on her husband’s coat-tails, since Pierre had died tragically early in their marriage and she went on to great things – including a second Nobel prize – alone. A true scientist, she was never really alone, though. There were individual men – Pierre first among them – who recognised her brilliance and whose support for her never faltered. The physicist Paul Langevin, briefly her lover once she had been widowed, remained loyal long after the affair and accompanying scandal had fizzled out. That much we knew. What wasn’t so well known, and which Sobel brings out in her new biography, is that Curie created her own school and that many of those she mentored and set on the path to prominence were women. Each of those women inspired many others, in a radioactive cascade that would have lit up one of Irène’s cherished cloud chambers.

These were, necessarily, unconventional careers – and all the more inspiring for that. It’s hard to imagine a young woman arriving in France or any western country today, as Marie Skłodowska did in 1891, penniless, lacking a university degree, barely speaking the local lingo and going on to win a Nobel prize just over a decade later – and credit must go to the institutions and individuals who made that possible. There were women who passed through the Curie lab whose discoveries were feted around the world before they had obtained their baccalaureate, let alone a PhD. These “laboratory daughters” were fiercely loyal to Curie, and when her real daughter showed intellectual promise, she assembled a version of the “flying university” that she had benefited from in her youth in Russian-occupied Warsaw to help realise that promise. Irène was home schooled by some of the most respected thinkers of their generation. This is how scientific dynasties are born.

There were enough holes in the periodic table in the early 20th century to keep Curie in the lab for several lifetimes, but she didn’t hesitate to step outside it when the world called. The first world war having created a demand for mobile X-ray units, she built the units and learned to drive, then enlisted the ever-willing Irène as her aide-de-camp. If the book has a fault, it’s that the world doesn’t get the same attention to detail as Dmitri Mendeleev’s brilliant ordering of the elements. In the spring of 1919, the Curies’ otherwise healthy second daughter, Ève, came down with double pneumonia, aged 14. Sobel doesn’t mention that this happened against the backdrop of a flu pandemic – a disaster that claimed many more lives than the war.

Overall, though, her short and well-paced book succeeds in dispelling the dust that clings to some accounts of this most famous of lives and makes it fresh again. Her explanations of the science allow the reader to grasp how one experiment led logically to the next in the search for radioactive elements and particles, and to puzzle or rejoice with the scientists as the results come in. Their thirst for knowledge might have come close to an addiction, because even after they knew how toxic their workspace was, they were drawn ineluctably back into it.

They paid the price. We knew that too, but perhaps not to what extent. In an appendix entitled The Radioactivists, Sobel provides potted biographies of the dramatis personae. It’s shocking how many died of the effects of radiation exposure – effects that were sometimes recognised at the time, sometimes only later – and of course they weren’t the only ones. But then there were the countless others whose lives were saved or prolonged thanks to Curie’s discoveries – as well as the discoveries of the many women (and some men) who, but for her, would never have seen the inside of a lab.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

#just for books #Dava Sobel #The Elements of Marie Curie #book review

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primepaginequotidiani · 1 month ago

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PRIMA PAGINA Opinione Della Liberta di Oggi mercoledì, 16 ottobre 2024

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diceriadelluntore · 1 month ago

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Storia Di Musica #345 - Buzzcocks, Spiral Scratch, 1977

L'Extended Play ha avuto un momento di grande successo durante la stagione del punk. Nell'era d'oro del movimento (1976-1980) la facilità e i minori costi di produzione resero il formato piuttosto amato dalle giovani band punk, che così, in pieno stilema del movimento, potevamo mettere sul banco quel poco che erano capaci di suonare all'inizio: lo spirito ultimo del punk era, soprattutto all'inizio, la ribellione (fittizia a volte, ma è un altro discorso) ai canoni del musicista preparato, per virare in una sorta di spontanea espressione personale, a volte al limite del dilettantismo (principio che se allora poteva apparire rivoluzionario, ai giorni nostri ha tutt'altro significato). La storia musicale di oggi riguarda una band che non solo esordì con un Ep, ma, cosa davvero storica, fu la prima ad autoprodurselo, dando il via alla strada delle etichette indipendenti in Gran Bretagna.

Tutto nasce nel 1975 quando due ragazzi di Bolton, vicino Manchester, Peter McNeish e Howard Trafford, appassionati di musica, decidono che vogliono fondare una band. Si cambiano il nome in Pete Shelley e Howard Devoto, Shelley suona la chitarra e canta, Devoto canta soltanto, e chiedono in giro chi vorrebbe unirsi a loro. Hanno un accordo con un batterista, e leggendo sul New Musical Express che i Sex Pistols stanno iniziando un Tour in Inghilterra vanno a Londra per incontrare la band. Prendono accordi con il manager Malcom McLaren per aprire la data di Manchester, ma malauguratamente tutti i batteristi che contattano sono indisponibili. Ci riescono alla seconda data, nel luglio del 1976, quando vennero reclutati il bassista Steve Diggle e il batterista John Maher, e la loro esibizione d'apertura è possibile rivederla in un documentario su quel primo tour dei Sex Pistols, nel documentario Punk: Attitude diretto da Don Letts.

Quella sera si presentarono al pubblico con un nome decisamente punk: Buzzcocks, che è un misto tra il nome dialettale di quelle zone per chiamare i ragazzi (cocks) e una battuta di un celebre telefilm molto famoso in quei tempi, Rock Follies, che aveva una sorta di battuta tormentone in "that's the buzz, cocks" che vale più o meno "è la voce che gira, ragazzi". Tra l'altro Pete Shelley come lavoretto era commesso in un sexy shop a Bolton, particolare che dava una vena ironica alla scelta.

Decidono, con una mossa che farà scuola, di autoprodursi il primo lavoro, che è l'Ep di oggi. Fondano una propria casa discografica, la New Hormones, che è stata la prima etichetta indipendente di punk in Gran Bretagna. Producono, insieme al mitico produttore Martin Hannet (il capo produttore della Factory di Manchester, fido collaboratore dei Joy Division e di altre storiche band del periodo) questo Ep, che sin dal titolo, Spiral Scratch (a ricordo del suono della puntina sul vinile quando non funziona bene) è un inno al loro punk che sin da subito prende una strada diversa: abbandona i toni "politici" che in parte avevano i Sex Pistols e in seguito i Clash, per scegliere una vena ironica ma non meno devastante, parlando, per primi, dei problemi di droga dei giovani del tempo, della loro solitudine, del sesso. Chiesti 500 sterline a parenti ed amici, affittano con Hannett il 28 Dicembre del 1976 gli Indigo Sound Studios di Manchester, e in tre ore registrano 4 brani, che diventeranno loro icone e piccole perle del primo punk. Breakdown apre il lavoro, con il suo ritmo sostenuto e la chiara devastazione di essere non ancora formato in nulla di una generazione per la prima volta allo sbando (Whatever makes me tick it takes away my concentration\sets my hands a-trembling, gives me frustration\I'm gonna breakdown, I'm gonna breakdown yes). La nervosa Time's Up ha un piccolo refrain che è una dichiarazione d'intenti (Your time's up and me too\I'm out on account of you) prima che si apra la prima canzone icona del gruppo: Boredom prende alla lettera il titolo sviluppandosi in una canzone che in pratica utilizza solo due note, ed è il manifesto di una generazione apatica che ripete come un mantra "noia, noia noia" e, per la prima volta nella musica, ha paura nel futuro. Devoto, che lascerà la band dopo questo Ep dicendosi stanco del già sentirsi "definito e stereotipato" cambierà idea poco dopo fondando una nuova band, i Magazine. Friends Of Mine, con la voce diabolica di Devoto, è molto più estrema del resto, e rimarrà una sorta di unicum del gruppo, he nei lavori successivi amplierà il lato pop-punk, molto ironico, diventando la risposta europea ai Ramones.

Il disco, che fu stampato in sole 1000 copie, divenne una sorta di piccolo culto, e con il passaparola e con l'aiuto decisivo del manager del Virgin Records Store di Manchester, che lo consigliò ad altri negozi del gruppo, fu ristampato tantissime volte, fino a vendere nelle edizioni New Hormones oltre 16 mila copie. La casa discografica, che ebbe tra le mani i primi lavori di band poi eccezionali come The Fall, Cabaret Voltaire, Gang Of Four, in un primo momento non poté produrre nulla per mancanza di soldi. Solo dopo che la band, nel 1980, ebbe dissidi e non produsse niente l'etichetta iniziò a realizzare lavori, in tutto 21 dischi, ma a Manchester lo scettro era arrivato nelle mani della Factory, che produsse i dischi più innovativi e belli del periodo. Devoto una volta uscito, verrà sostituito spostando Steve Diggle alla chitarra, al basso Garth Smith, che venne ben presto rimpiazzato da Steve Garvey. Pur essendo stati i fondatori della prima piccola etichetta DIY (Do It by Yourself, termine coniato dal critico Simon Reynolds in un capitale saggio sul punk) la band siglerà un accordo con la United Artist per distribuire gli ultimi dischi della band. Con una formazione a 4 pubblicheranno nel 1978 Another Music In A Different Kitchen, uno dei migliori lavori del biennio punk '77-'78, decidendo di curare molto di più la produzione e a brani come Fast Cars, You Tear Me Up e I Don't Mind. Nello stesso anno pubblicano Love Bites, che doveva essere il nome del loro secondo Ep, che contiene la loro canzone più famosa, Ever Fallen In Love?, 2 minuti e 39 di chitarre e cori che sono un'apice del pop-punk, e vi consiglio di ascoltare anche la cover che anni dopo fanno del pezzo i Five Young Cannibals. Poi si sciolgono, e si riuniscono nel 1993, senza lasciare granchè. Una band punk ma non troppo questi Buzzcocks.

#buzzcocks #spiral scratch #1977 #recensione

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moonmaiden1996 · 1 year ago

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Summoned Part Three

Discretion Advised 18 ++

Warning smut of minor characters.

In total, eight golden apples had been given, including your own. None of your fellow beings hung around, either insulted by their lack of an apple or not wanting to outstay their welcome. Lord Morpheus had not always been known as the most hospitable of Gods. For most it was the first time that they had be graced with a visit to the dreaming.

Without the crowds, the palace was empty, isolated. In the distance, the vivid prairies of the Dreaming seemed almost magical, like the time before the first war and every so often, the winds would carry to sounds of the visitors, the pureness of humanity as it had once been. Yet it gave you no comfort. You were trapped out on the edge of billions of dreams, trapped by wolves, vipers and vultures, ready to attack in one swift movement.

After all, that is what you would do. You had been a Goddess long enough to know how it worked. The King wanted that; of course, he did; how better to discover his new consort than in a thinly veil battle between his chosen candidates. Why you, though? You prided yourself on your skill and knowledge but were humble enough to know you could not compare to the others. So why was it that you received one?

The apple still tasted sweet in your mouth; even after a few bites, the taste lingered, swelling magic within you. Yet, trapped here, the apple seemed so insignificant. What use of magic against an Endless being? Before you might have used your cauldron to poison the whole court or to bring about the humiliation of some of the snobby upper-ranked Gods or Goddesses but being stuck here with the icons of war and nature was concerning. You had always prided yourself on surviving; it is why you were still here after all. For how much longer, though, was not certain.

For the most part, you could cling to the outside of the group. It was not too difficult, the others had a way of demanding attention, and when the King graced the assembly with his presence, it was partially easy. Though he never spoke without good need, he seemed content to simply listen to the gushing's of the other deities. And they sort constant attention from the King.

Tired eyes scanned the current assembly, all dressed in finery.

Kratos was a figure you had only known by name before this; he was seven feet of God, his face a stoney canvas of cruelty, which certainly lived up to the rumours. Tonight, his outfit covered very little, it was a low toga, which left little to the imagination, but it dominated the room with his bulging muscles. Much to Indra’s chagrin. The King of Davas, Indra, whose dark skin glistened with the rain that followed him; his physical was not as impressive; yet his power made the skies shiver as he sent lightning bolt after lightning bolt into the air. Much to the dismay of the God of Sparta.

Aphrodite was Aphrodite; even in her previous demised state, she still retained that air of beauty that allowed her a degree of trespass that no ordinary creature might take the liberty of. Olive skin shinning out against the baby pink of her gown, wrapped in a gold lifted crown, but now she had consumed the apple, she gave off a blinding shine, as was the shell she had been draped over. Which was dangerously close to the throne. You did have to give it to her, though; she had to position her just so that it gave her a rather wonderful outline.

Next to Aphrodite’s shell Bastet, sat tall, will all the regal bearing which one would expect from a cat, slender and aloof, just as you would expect from a God of the Old Kingdom. Unlike their Greek and Roman counterpart. Bastet exuded royalty, much like the Spring Goddess Ostara.

Ostara was the most well-known to you; after all, she had many guises, like most deities. She had been known as Eostre and often sorted the knowledge of the cauldron from you or your mother. That was after she had been Persephone, of course. She had finally become sick of Hades and his many nymph lovers, Leice, Minthe and, of course, Theophile, the stupid girl who claimed that Hades loved her better than Persephone, which was the finally straw before she completely abandoning the underworld for life as her own goddess, as the Spring Equinox.

To see all five of the supreme gods together made the remaining choice all the more questionable. They at least had carved a mark on humanity; they had prestige, power and a pedigree. The rest of you did not.

Spriggan was the strangest choice, stranger than you; they had spent their entire life in the remote lands of the British Isles. It preferred to peak out from one of the pews, and closets to the King, never talking, just watching. A tree spirit that was neither man nor woman or at least gave the impression of it. Moss covered its skin, making it impossible to tell its age; wizened like an old man or woman, but what skin you could see was smooth like a child.

Like you, Puck lingered at the side, or as many knew him, Robin Goodfellow. His dark, mischievous eyes darted from side to side as he strummed lazily at his lute, occasionally stopping to tune the strings. You had been travelling through the pit of desire that had become London when you stumbled upon the sprite teasing Shakespeare. You had been friends; you even helped him make his name with a simple one of your potions. After all, how better to immortalise yourself by putting yourself in a play by the bard himself and becoming the epitome of fairy kind. That had been before he betrayed you.

You really wished Puck had kept his mouth shut. Perhaps he wished to deliver you some favour with the King, or perhaps he saw this as an opportunity to direct the other god's attention away from himself and onto you so he could make his move. Either way, it would bring you no end of trouble. You did not like how the burning eyes of Lord Morpheus fell on you so intently they seemed to pierce right into you, more so the way the others glared at you.

"... it's true...little witchy, tell them it's true," Puck giggled as he twirled around, the material of his ridiculous costume fluttering in the air around him.

You bristled at the nickname. Narrowing your eyes at this little fiend as he twirled around you.

"...did the fae really trick this John Dee to allow another man to bed his wife and father her children?" Bastet's voice purred, whiskers twitching in the air.

"He was only meant to pretend to let the pompous old fool believe he was talking to the angels... but like always, Puck took it too far." You hissed as the fairy pirouetted away.

"And the meany witch put a stop to it...but I got you back! Did I! I got you back good." You hated the child like glee that filled his voice.

"If having me hanged as a witch class at that." you snapped.

"Hung by humans...how quaint." Bastet perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched, amused.

"That's not the best bit, Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble..." he cackled "I made her and her silly cauldron the centre of Shakespeare's best plays."

"And in doing so spread the propaganda that condemns many.' You snapped.

'So, a few little humans died. They breed like rabbits, kill one, and seven more take their place."

‘’A few....’’ You growled. 50,000 people, men, women and children burned, drowned or hung. 50,103 to be exact.

‘’This is boring,’’ Aphrodite pouted, ‘’can't we have music? I adore dancing; Fae plays something! I wish to dance for My King."

The eyes shifted and you were forgot once again as the music filled the air and Aphrodite began to sway. Enticed b the way her hips shimmed. All eyes except Ostara’s, who abandoned her seat to stand next to you.

"Nicely played, but don’t think this aloof fair maid act will get you somewhere. But it will not work. Watch yourself; those here will not hesitate to get rid of a little thing like you. Watch your back, little one."

The gathering had long since broken up. Ostara's warning, or threat twirled over in your mind. Puck has put you in a stupid position. A dangerous one. One that made walking the halls alone a night dangerous. If they are though you a threat, one that could be easiest gotten rid off, your life would be in peril. But you had grown tired of staring at the four walls of your rooms. You did not want the companionship of the others, not that there was any to take, especially with Ostara and Puck seemingly disserting you. Puck, you could understand, but not Ostara; she had been once your surrogate mother.

"Good evening, My Lady." the familiar pleasant tone cut through the silence.

The dark skin elf from the gather stood at the side of the hallway dressed in the same immaculate dress suit. Buttons polished to a soft gleam. The flower still pinned in their buttonhole.

"What are you still doing here? Will not the King be annoyed that you have not departed with the others?"

You were aware that some of the Gods had disappeared into the Dreaming to revel in the pleasure of the place a bit longer, but if the King found an unwanted being still lingering in the castle, there might not be a pleasant outcome.

"I fear he will be even more annoyed if I leave, My Lady; I am Lucienne, the chief librarian and guardian of the Dream realm. Forgive me; I should have introduced myself earlier but did not wish to trespass on the gathering." She smiled.

Now that was something unexpected. Many creations graced the place, attending to the gods that currently had taken up residence. But not one that was trusted enough to be a Guardian. Now that might be useful information.

You returned the smile. "You still wear my flower. Has it bloomed yet?"

"Yes, my lady, it is rather beautiful, and I cannot bear to take it off."

Pride blossomed within you; you had made it yourself nurtured, tended it, till it was just right before picking it. It was appreciated.

'Well, with such praise, I hope it inspired you."

"Indeed, My Lady...it inspired me to start my own account of the King."

Information that was defiantly intriguing and could be helpful. Any information on the King could make the difference between making it back home or being scavenged for a bit from the vultures that circled above.

"I am glad; perhaps you can tell me about it again. I do so enjoy seeing the fruit of my inspiration." Even more, if they get me out of here.

"While you're here, My Lady, could I tempt you to a book? The library is just down the hall, and it has been years since I have had a visitor."

"I would be honoured."

xxxxxx

When you returned to your room sometime later with a book. The missing Shakespeare plays seemed worthy of your reading and apt.

The leather creaked as you opened the page, your eyes finding the formed ink before a moan halted you. It was not the haunting noise of the wind. Instead, it was gruntal, deep and masculine. Waiting, you heard it again, this time longer, louder, tilting you heard as you listened intently, other noises now filling the air. You knew those sounds, the deep moaning, the rhythmic thud of skin, the groan of furniture bending to the force of thrust.

Staring out of the balcony, it was dark, as it often was at the palace; even with the shining white stone it was made of, it was hard to decipher where one body ended, and the others started. Your view from your room was obscured by the thicket of ivy clinging to the balcony column, but you could see enough, the giant frame of the Greek god, face twisted in pain and pleasure as he was being pounded from behind. The dark locks of the King Morpheus were just visible in the light. There was another, maybe, it was so hard to tell, thin arms of women, maybe even a sprite, dipping between the two male bodies, roaming and squeezing, and from the shuddering roars that filled the space, they seemed to know what they were doing. As in jerked the God of Strength back and wrapped slender fingers around the thick cock that swayed in the air, jolting with every thrust of the slender but powerful hips of the Dream Lord himself.

You knew something like this was going to happen. This was very bad. Very. Very. Bad. Gods were jealous beings and power hungry. If the others found out, there would be bloodshed, or God forbid Kratos, and this other being saw you. It didn't even bare thinking about.

The slick sound of flesh slapping against flesh jolted you directly into the eyes of the Dream King himself; how long the King had his eyes set on you didn't know; his eyes had this strange ability to not be on you but see right through you. His eyes stared across the balcony to where you stood behind the pillar. They were bright but different.... paler somehow than usual.

His thin lips curved up at the side as his moonlight fingers curled around the thick hips of the Greek God, jolting his back against him, allowing the King to push him down, shoving the war-beat face down and renewing his thrusts with an almost punishing vigour. The muffled cries of the Kratos were all you could hear, and the simpering sighs of the other who wrapped tight around the King’s shoulder as it sucked on his neck.

You gasped at the sight. Gulping as the eyes shone across at you, you waited for a second for something to happen. You are to be smitted or thrown into the waking world for trespassing on something so intimate. Yet, nothing happened. Instead, the smirk grew to near wolfish proportions.

Cowering back, you fled down the hall and did not stop till you were safely away from your rooms, but not from those glowing eyes that followed you.

So what do you think? Got to love dark Morpheus playing games :P I know not everyone is into MxM but I only wanted to use it in this one chapter so to showcase the ambiguous nature of the Gods. Hopeful it was okay. More smut next chapter to come for the reader... maybe ;)

As always please let me know, your comments make my day.

Also- Claiming his Queen fans keep your eyes peels for an epilogue update....

@crispyduckpirate @musemaniac42 @aralezinspace @boofy1998 @cipher-needs-2-sleep @avatar4eva (couldn't tag) @sassenach-the-pie-maker @ella33 @suszanne @ladyredstar1991 @alexander-arcturus-black @maripositanoctruna @xushisuxi @imaginovator @dotieeee @honeybeezgobzzzzz @cryban6 @lonelyladyghost @isitstilldarkout

#morpheus x reader #morpheus x you #the sandman #dreams x reader #darkmorpheus #king of dreams #netflix sandman #morpheus #dream of the endless

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eroscandy · 9 months ago

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ANYA TAYLOR JOY? não! é apenas CANDACE SUNSHINE LOVEGOOD, tem VINTE E CINCO anos, é filha de EROS e a CONSELHEIRA do chalé NÚMERO 25. a tv hefesto informa no guia de programação que ela está no NÍVEL III por estar no acampamento há SEIS ANOS, sabia? e se lá estiver certo, CANDY é bastante MULTIFUNCIONAL mas também dizem que ela é MELODRAMÁTICA. mas você sabe como hefesto é, sempre inventando fake news pra atrair audiência.

LINKS IMPORTANTES: TASK1, TAKS2, POV - pais mortais, headcanons mortais, headcanons divinos, evolução de poder, TASK3, fechamento da fenda.

Evolução do poder controle mental: Nível 1 ( fase 1. )

ꨄ I like turning heads, breaking necks... High heels in the morning!

♡ Candace foi o fruto do amor entre Aimée e Lukas, uma modelo e um empresário. Queridinhos do público, bem sucedidos em seus ramos, faltava uma única coisa para a mídia deixá-los em paz: um filho. E não era por falta de tentar, era o que diziam, quando na verdade Lukas era infértil e Aimée fadada a gravidezes difíceis. Contudo, o amor deles eram tão grande e evidente que Eros ouviu suas preces e deu de presente uma menina. Seu sangue divino facilitando os nove meses e meio até o derradeiro parto, que quase levou Aimée para Hades.

♡ A menina nasceu saudável e encantadora, perfeita como o amor. Uma risada provoca comoção, um sorriso ao som de suspiros coletivos. Cada palavra um evento, cada passo um show. Ela cresceu no meio da atenção e do luxo, mas nada disso subiu à cabeça. Seus pais tiveram origens humildes, trabalharam para conseguir, então ela seguiria honrosamente atrás dos frutos do próprio esforço. Com quinze anos, Candace chegava ao auge. Popular, carismática, empreendedora, influencer. Desfilando de braços dados com a mãe, participando das reuniões no último andar de prédios chiques com o pai. E foi com quinze anos também que ela confirmou que sua imaginação não era tão ilusória.

♡ Não era incomum vê-la perdida em pensamentos, com a visão distante. Às vezes perguntando sobre o que outra pessoa via, às vezes se assustando com o nada. Mas ela deixava passar, culpando a estranheza normal do seu TDAH. Candace ignorou aquela repórter estranha entre os convidados pelo decorrer do desfile e ela só se fez perigosa quando foi tarde demais. Candace correu para fora sob o ataque da Fúria disfarçada e o florescer do poder, literalmente, encobriu seu rastro. Pegou o carro do pai e afundou o pé no acelerador, se perdendo rapidamente nas ruas estranhas do país nada familiar. Acabou parando ~apenas~ quando um grupo estranho de garotos 'cruzou' seu caminho.

♡ Ali foi explicada sua verdadeira origem, afinal, bastou pisar no acampamento meio-sangue para o símbolo de Eros aparecer acima de sua cabeça. Magia, mitologia grega, poderes mágicos. Não faz sentido? Candace tentava conciliar tudo novo com a vida antiga, intercalando na ligação para os pais e no treinamento 'de combate' de sua nova família. Para o mundo mortal, a mais nova Lovegood estava num internato secreto; no acampamento, ela explorava o raio de explosão de suas rosas e criava um nome para si entre os seus. Ganhando mais confiança, ela saiu mais do acampamento Meio-sangue e ingressou na faculdade de Economia no Júpiter, que era mais perto da sua família.

♡ Candace considerou ficar por ali, mesmo não era o acampamento do seu coração. A rigidez e o treinamento militar não combinavam com o seu jeitinho excêntrico, então logo voltou para casa. Contudo, entre desfiles e reuniões de negócios, Candace encontrava-se cada vez menos ligada ao divino. E com a ausência de Eros para "compensar", o mundo mortal ganhava novas cores e subia em prioridade.

♡ Só que... Não dava para desligar-se assim. Seus melhores amigos, os que entendiam realmente sua vida, estavam no acampamento. Os monstros não a deixariam fora do radar por não sustentar uma espada. Então ela aceitava missões esporádicas, principalmente associada a rede de contatos que tinha. Numa dessas, o humor não colaborou com a necessidade. Candace estava impaciente e mal-humorada, suja da cabeça ao pés e com bolhas nos pés no sapato de marca. Uma missão tão simples e essa dificuldade toda? Faça-me o favor. O ego juntou-se à equação e o desrespeito tomou carona... Achando que tinha o mundo nas mãos, o vento da sorte sob as asas, o sexto sentido e o terceiro olho trabalhando juntos; as palavras saíram sem querer. A semideusa menosprezou a lua. Ora? Está cheia? Eu consigo passar por aqui de olhos fechados! Quando aquela luz era refletida pelos espelhos escondidos da caverna e 'criava' a sensação de que os cristais eram iluminados.

♡ A missão foi bem sucedida. Nenhum semideus sofreu algum dano exceto Candace Lovegood. Foi em sonho, realista e arrepiante, a luz materializou em mulher e a voz fria cantou a maldição em seu ouvido. A luz da lua não será sua aliada, semideusa. Que ela te confunda, te desnorteie, até que aprenda a valorizar o que lhe é oferecido. Se ela precisava de um sinal para sair dali? Parabéns, ganhava um de bandeja. Assim que acordou, Lovegood arrumou as malas e voltou pra casa; ganhando apenas seis meses para aprender a lidar com a maldição antes de ser compelida a voltar indefinidamente para o acampamento Meio-sangue.

ꨄ Catch your breath, break a sweat... Leave the suckers snoring

♡ PODERES:

ROSAS MÁGICAS (ativo). Como o símbolo do deus do amor, as rosas nascem e crescem à vontade da semideusa que detém o poder. Seus efeitos dependem do sentimento imposto durante sua formação. Candace dominou a explosão durante seu treinamento no acampamento Júpiter e, agora, foca nas outras facetas das consequências.

CONTROLE MENTAL (ativo. nível I). Você se torna capaz de invadir o sistema nervoso da vítima, tomando posse de seu corpo, fazendo com que ele perca suas próprias vontades e seguindo as suas. Inspos: Cate Dunlap (Gen V), Allison Hargreeves (The Umbrella Academy), Wanda Maximoff (Avengers).

PASSOS DO ANJO (passivo). Os filhos de Eros conseguem se mover sem fazer quaisquer barulho, como se ao invés de tocarem no chão, fiquem flutuando a 2 centímetros do mesmo. Adquirido na dinâmica da hefestotv.

♡ HABILIDADES: Reflexos sobre-humanos e sentidos aguçados.

♡ ARMA:

♥︎ Escudo PASSIO. O melhor ataque é a defesa, certo? Disfarçado de uma bela (e caríssima) pulseira de ouro branco. O coração cravejado de diamantes se expande num escudo meio físico meio mágico. Leve e resistente, ele é perfeito para quem tem o arco-e-flecha como arma de combate preferida. ♥︎ Arco-e-flecha DESIDERIUM. Um arco dourado com corda feita de raios de sol que ajuda as flechas a atingirem uma velocidade acima do comum ao serem disparadas, as flechas são de ouro imperial. Esconde-se na forma de uma pulseira de ouro rosado, gêmea ao do escudo. Adquirido na missão bem-sucedida de resgate com Pietra e Indra. ♥︎ PERFUME de Eros. Permite tornar a pessoa tão profundamente apaixonada por alguns dias que a paixão chega em um nível obsessivo. Se esquecendo de comer, viver, e sendo perigoso até para quem o possui pela intensidade do sentimento imposto. Adquirido na TASK .2 ♥︎ Adaga SANGUINUM. Uma adornada adaga de bronze celestial, criada por Candace Lovegood na Oficina de Hefesto, durante a visita a Waterland. As pedras, por enquanto, são apenas decorativas e seu uso é categorizado como último caso. ♥︎ Rapieira DECAPITATIO. Arma criada para defesa durante o fechamento da fenda. Feita de Ferro estígio e se transforma num piercing falso de orelha. A forma é de uma argola de platina, cravejada de diamantes.

♡ MALDIÇÃO OU BENÇÃO: MALDIÇÃO DE SELENE. Candace perde qualquer senso de direção quando a lua está no céu. Não importava se faz o caminho de olhos fechados durante o dia, se é uma coisinha de dez metros de distância, a lua não a ajuda.

♡ DESEJA ESCOLHER ALGUM CARGO DE INSTRUTOR? Membro da equipe vermelha de arco-e-flecha e esgrima. Instrutora de Arco e Flecha.

#𖹭 ficha

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kretina · 5 months ago

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝔭𝔬𝔳.

local: chalé de éris.

trigger warning: o texto abaixo contém menção a suicídio.

raiva. dor. solidão. incerteza. foram as palavras que katrina escreveu na folha de louro, sentimentos que lhe atingiram durante aquela missão. não havia sido a primeira, tinha o sentimento de que a segunda deveria ser maior, melhor, inesquecível. o isqueiro que detinha no bolso fora aceso, queimando aos poucos a folha e por fim, antes que houvessem apenas cinzas, o chalé de éris se transformou, a mente mergulhando no passado.

estavam cansados, katrina e outros três semideuses inertes em fome, sede enquanto caminhavam pelas ruas de new orleans; tinham na mochila um artefato importante, que havia sido recuperado e deveria ser entregue a quíron. a missão até então, eles consideravam um sucesso, haviam encontrado monstros, mas nada que os tirassem do foco. katrina estava contente consigo mesma, havia controlado seu ímpeto de estragar tudo e seguiam em harmonia. contudo, o cansaço estava falando mais alto, os fazendo entrar em um bar com estrutura formosa, chamava atenção pela sua beleza, pela música agradável e pelas pessoas, que pareciam alegres. ela não havia prestado atenção no nome do lugar, mas o cheiro que atingia a todos era de torta de carne recém assada, refrigerante e batata frita. não hesitaram em entrar, mesmo que um frio os atingissem na espinha, mesmo que em letras garrafais estivesse escrito PERIGO sobre suas cabeças.

o pedido fora feito, enquanto comiam, o artefato mágico na mochila fora esquecido. pareceram minutos enquanto deleitavam-se, matavam a fome mas horas se passaram até que algo aconteceu. um dos semideuses levantou-se, chorava enquanto dizia que a pessoa ao seu lado era mais bonita que ele; do centro do bar, um outro ergueu-se afogando-se em comida, vomitando e bebendo do próprio vômito, cheio demais para que continuasse, sedento para que parasse; além dela, havia outro semideus em nudez, agarrando-se com outras três pessoas. os sete pecados capitais rondavam aquele lugar, a névoa havia abaixado e dava para perceber as pessoas que haviam sucumbido ali antes deles. para katrina, estava reservada a ira.

esta aproximou-se com cautela, uma dor de cabeça, um aperto no peito; imagens da família a abandonando, o sofrimento de saber que ninguém a amava, foi o bastante para que começasse a bater a própria cabeça no balcão, para que copos e pratos fossem arremessados, cadeiras sendo quebradas; e antes que alcançasse uma faca para cortar-lhe os pulsos (já que a ira era muito sobre sua incapacidade de ser amada), a mente tornou-se calma, a voz de éris a guiando para a verdade, que ela nunca estivera sozinha, nem mesmo nas ruas quando passava fome e sede. e ali, conseguiu desligar-se do transe, trazendo consigo, todos os outros três semideuses para o acampamento.

ainda no chalé, katrina chorou; baixo para que ninguém a ouvisse, porque era mentira. éris nunca havia falado consigo, o que a ajudou a sair do transe foram os próprios poderes; tinha mais ódio do que o bar comandado por um espírito antigo esperava. katrina gritou a plenos pulmões, ódio lhe escorrendo pelas pontas dos dedos, pela respiração cortando a ligação mágica, a deixando sobre os pecados. mas com aquela onda de poder, o âmbito se transformou em um antro de carnificina; corpos eram dilacerados, mordidos, o ódio que a pertencia tocando a todos os presentes, os envolvendo em loucura. com exceção de katrina, todos foram machucados, machucaram uns aos outros e naquela noite, ela deixou que sua equipe fosse reduzida a dois membros: ela e um outro semideus. por fim, katrina sabia que jamais se recuperaria daquele dia e agora, tinha uma conta de argila com um símbolo de uma mão em punho quebrada, a lembrando daqueles que havia confiado nela e morrido esperando.

@silencehq

#vi. hatred of the followers of order. ヽ ❪ 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐊 ❫ * ヽ #task: 002.

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lunamagicablu · 3 months ago

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Il maestro era sceso verso la riva del fiume. Il sole si era appena alzato e dava luce al risveglio del mondo intorno al corso d'acqua. Il silenzio di quelle acque era ricoperto dalle grida degli uccelli, mentre ogni altro suono si armonizzava con gli altri in una musicalità che era solo di quel posto, in una bellezza che era unica nel suo accadere. IL maestro rimase in piedi davanti al fiume, abbandonò le braccia lungo i fianchi, fece alcuni respiri e le sue braccia cominciarono ad alzarsi mentre le gambe sembravano accompagnare quei movimenti, disegnando insieme alle braccia una forma che non aveva fine. L’armonia guidava i suoi movimenti. L'allievo aveva raggiunto anche lui quel luogo, fermandosi però a distanza, aspettando che il maestro desse conclusione a quella preghiera. Quando il movimento del maestro si raccolse per trasformarsi in immobilità il discepolo si avvicinò: - Maestro, vorrei fare come voi dite - Non puoi fare come dico io, perché saresti solo la mia imitazione e come tale non saresti tu. - Come posso allora diventare come voi - Non puoi diventare come sono io. Puoi però vedere come sei e da questa osservazione potrà accadere di incontrare ciò che tu sei, non diverso da me. Il maestro si rivolse ancora al giovane guerriero: - Se sei così ci sarà un motivo, aspetta di incontrarlo prima di buttarlo via... … ed insieme entrarono nel movimento appena concluso per un nuovo inizio, così che fine e inizio sono solo momenti di ciò che non ha mai fine… la vita. Sembrava che i suoni della natura cantassero insieme alla forma che stavano eseguendo, non esistevano in quel momento singolarmente ma esisteva una unica unicità… l’adesso. Franco Piccirilli *************************** The master had gone down to the river bank. The sun had just risen and was giving light to the awakening of the world around the watercourse. The silence of those waters was covered by the cries of the birds, while every other sound harmonized with the others in a musicality that was only of that place, in a beauty that was unique in its occurrence. The master remained standing in front of the river, he abandoned his arms along his sides, took a few breaths and his arms began to rise while his legs seemed to accompany those movements, drawing together with his arms a shape that had no end. Harmony guided his movements. The student had also reached that place, but he stopped at a distance, waiting for the master to conclude that prayer. When the master's movement came to become stillness, the disciple approached: - Master, I would like to do as you say - You cannot do as I say, because you would only be my imitation and as such you would not be you. - How can I then become like you - You cannot become as I am. However, you can see how you are and from this observation it may happen to meet what you are, not different from me. The master turned again to the young warrior: - If you are like this there must be a reason, wait to meet it before throwing it away... ... and together they entered the movement just concluded for a new beginning, so that end and beginning are only moments of that which never ends... life. It seemed that the sounds of nature were singing together with the form they were performing, they did not exist in that moment individually but a single uniqueness existed... the now. Franco Piccirilli

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