#tantalisingly complex

[electronicwitchcollection]

May I request for Urahara? Maybe the reader wakes him up wanting sex? Whatever you come up with is fine, but could you include some teasing and spooning? Please and Thank you!

Ask and ye shall receive 💜

Always happy to write about this eccentric fool 💜

~* Urahara smut*~

You woke early, sunlight trying to break through the blinds of your bedroom window. Laid on your side, basking the warmth of your boyfriends body pressed up against your back. His arm was heavily thrown over your waist, hanging limply in his deep slumber. You could feel his breath tickle the back of your neck with every snore he would later swear blind didn't come from him.

You had spent the night in your shared bed, doing what Kisuke liked best. Experimenting. Orgasm denial was his game of choice, bringing you to the edge more times than you had the capacity to remember, before torturously leaving you, gasping, begging for more. Only when tears started to escape from behind your lashes did he finally, finally let you cum, and what a climax it was.

Reminiscing drowsily about the night before had your libido reigniting that ember that never seemed to fully extinguish when with Kisuke. With Kisuke and his skilled fingers, dexterous tongue, there was no such thing as enough. You felt the familiar throb of need between your legs, the memory of his touch lingering over your most sensitive area. With a playful smile you roll your hips back, brushing the swell of your ass over his flaccid cock. The glancing touch wasn't enough to stir him from his slumber, or give you the satisfaction you were seeking.

Slowly creeping back, filling the small gap that separated your lower parts you gyrated again, feeling the silkiness of his length and the corse blond hair atop his manhood that trailed tantalisingly up to his belly button. A trail that when followed with lingering kisses and little nips made his eyes darken with pure, unadulterated lust. It was the quickest way you knew to get Kisuke fired up, using his larger frame to pin you to the closest surface and give into his cardinal desires.

Kisuke was as unpredictable in bed as he was in everyday life. You never knew what mood he was in until he had you exactly where he wanted you. Wether it be tied up, completely at his mercy, pushed against the nearest surface for a fast and brutal quickie or patiently being kept waiting as he worshiped each and every part of your body he could get his hands on. Everything with Kisuke was unexpected, Unpredictable and always earth shatteringly amazing.

Kisuke could pull you apart and put you together again as easily as he could all his inventions. He knew your body better than you yourself, knew the limits of what you could take, where to kiss, where to stroke to make you a blubbering mess of desperate need. He could be incredibly sweet and tender just as easily as he could be mercilessly Dominating. He was complex and meticulous. Methodical and sporadic. And you loved every moment with him.

You pressed your ass into him harder, slowly dragging your, as Kisuke repeatedly informed you, best asset against his groin. It was no secret he was an ass man, and he adored yours. Feeling the length begin to harden, you continued your sultry hip movements, anticipation building in your stomach for when he finally woke. You heard a deep inhale, felt him sleepily nuzzle into your hair, not yet fully awake.

His cock started to engorge, swelling across the cleft of your cheeks. Swapping your circular motions for slight up and down movements, you teased your bottom lip between your teeth, hungry for more. Kisuke's hand squeezed your hip, pulling you closer. His messy blonde hair appeared in your peripheral as he started kissing at your neck, his lips firm and warm. "This what you want?" He husked into your ear, voice low and husky with remnants of sleep and his own building arousal, so unlike his usual jovial lit he spoke with. He accentuated the question with a strong grind of his own hips, sliding his cock through your thighs, brushing against your opening

You nod, bringing your arm up to intertwine your fingers with his hair, keeping him close as you tilt your head, invitingly offering the space on your neck. He chuckled deeply, pressing hot kisses into the offered area, tracing over the marks he had previously left on your erogenous zone. "You're insatiable, did I not satisfy you enough last night?" 

You hummed, pleased with the attention you were receiving. His hand left your hip to cup around your throat, turning your face to meet him in a hungry kiss. His lips parted your own, tongue slipping through the gap to caress against yours languidly . He directed the pace, playfully changing from slow and sensual to demanding and desperate without notice, leaving you at his mercy. You didn't fight for dominance, loving the way he took control .

Occupying your attention with his tongue, Kisuke gently forced his idle hand through the gap between your neck and pillow, angling at the elbow to cup one of your breasts and massaging the globe. You moaned into his mouth when his fingers made contact with your nipple, rolling the hardened bud slowly. You left his mouth with a cry as he pinched your nipple, his dark chuckle getting muffled by your neck.

You wantonly rolled your hips back, silently begging for what you were craving. Kisuke knew what you wanted, the slick from your cunt dripping onto his cock nestled between your thighs attested to that. He wasn't going to give you what you wanted until you gave him what he wanted though. Another pinch of your nipple, the slow drag of his cock between your legs and he knew it wouldn't be long before you started begging

"Please Kisuke" there it was, the sweet sound of your voice massaging his male ego. He loved it when you begged for him, the breathy way you would whine around his name. You could do better however, there wasn't yet enough desperation in your voice to satisfy him. Kisuke wrapped his lips around the fleshy part of your shoulder, sucking hard enough to get the blood rushing to the surface, purpling under the suction. His hips slowly thrust into you, dragging his cock between the silky skin of your thighs, brushing the length over your wet opening. You moaned under his ministrations, fingers taking hold of his arm loosely still holding your neck. He could feel your nails digging into his skin, prompting him to suck harder around the flesh in his mouth. He wanted that bruise to last, wanted to see it contrast against your skin for days to come.

"please, please Kisuke" you whine softly, meeting his slowly dragging hips with erratic thrusts of your own, encouraging him to penetrate you. His lips release your shoulder, kissing softly the wet mark left there. He hummed in your ear, a noncommittal noise neither agreeing with your plea nor denying it, simply acknowledging its presence. His hand left your throat, smoothing it's way lazily down your chest, a trail of goosebumps erupting down the path he took. It bypassed his other hand sat idle at your breast, simply cupping the weight.

It was driving you crazy, the lack of stimulation he was keeping from you. The warm comforting blanket covering you suddenly felt too hot, too heavy, trapping you under its weight. You felt too tight In your skin, needing that burst of relief that only Kisuke could give you. His wandering, teasing hand brushed over the side of your breast, neglecting it entirely to follow the curves of your dipped waist and full hip. "Kisuke"  You said desperately, grabbing onto his hand to halt his teasing. You attempted to pull it to your core, where you needed his touch the most. He stubbornly wouldn't let it be moved from your hip, digging his fingers into the supple flesh.

"yes, YN?" He purred next to your ear, following the curved shell with his tongue. His breath ghosting over your ear made you shiver in the most delicious way, you were sensitive, every nerve in your body bursting to life, seeking every touch from your partner with anticipation. You were getting frustrated, the lack of stimulation where you most craved was torture. Your thighs squeezed together, rubbing tightly to try and generate some friction to relive your arousal.

Kisuke loved watching you squirm, needy in the way you sought stimulus. His cock was rock hard and dripping between your thighs, nicely getting massaged by your shapely thighs as you impatiently tried to create your own pleasure. He had half a mind to tie you down. Refuse you the freedom to take your own pleasure, have you completely at his mercy as he teased and worshipped every inch of your skin. He didn't have the restraint for that this morning, already aching to be buried inside you. He would however, hold out of more of what he wanted.

"touch me" the whine in your voice didn't hold the conviction you tried to portray. It came out as a beg and not the command you tried for. Kisuke rubbed circles into your hip, leaving a trail of kisses up your neck, taking his sweet time to answer you. His hand automatically slipped from your hip to your ass, squeezing in approval. He loved nothing more than having his palms full of your ass.

"I am" he smacked your ass playfully to prove his point, fondling the juicy flesh after to dull the sting. You pushed back into his large hand, pulling your top leg closer to your chest, offering room to the place you wanted to be touched. He maddeningly ignored the gesture, choosing instead to spank you once more. He wasn't going to ask you to beg, he preferred to wait until you were so delirious from denial, from your need for him that you offered it willingly.

Your groaned in frustration, attempting to turn in his hold to mount him yourself, take what you needed, what he was keeping from you. Kisuke was quicker though, and much stronger. His arm around your chest tightened, keeping you in place. He didn't need restraints to get you where he wanted you. His maddening kisses resumed, feathering over your heated skin, patiently waiting.

Tears of frustration started prickling behind your lashes, chest heaving with pent up frustration. "Please, Kisuke" you could feel him smirk into your skin. His hand followed the curve of your ass, dipping it lower to run the tip of his finger through your sopping folds. You tried to grind down, chase the feeling, get him in deeper. He was prepared for that, following your movements to just keep the smallest amount of contact.

"what do you want, hmm?" He husked behind you, slowly trailing his finger up your slit, coating it with your arousal. You could feel your pussy clench, trying desperately to coax his digit in deeper. You couldn't take anymore, you needed to be filled, feel the indescribable pleasure Kisuke could give you

"You. I need you. Please" Kisuke licked away the hot tear that had escaped from your lashes, rolling wetly down your cheek. You looked so beautiful like this, vulnerable, open, honest. Your face was flushed and your eyes were swimming with desire. So beautiful.

"You have me, always" he promised with a kiss to your shoulder, finger following your slit to your hidden clitoris, brushing over the swollen bud. You cried out at the brief but powerful spike of pleasure that surged through your body, writhing in his hold to seek out more

"Kisuke, fuck me, please fuck me. Please, please I need to cum." Hearing you almost scream out your need for him was exactly what he had been craving, his cock jumped, straining painfully hard at the sound. Mercifully he headed your plea, thrusting his two middle fingers into your hot, velvety walls. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, mouth hung open as he began to quickly finger you. His digits thrust easily through your already soaked centre, plunging effortlessly into your depths. The angle along with the practiced curl of Kisuke's fingers had moan after moan falling from your lips.

Kisuke basked in your high feminine wails of pleasure, lived for the breathlessly way you choked around his name, gasping as he increased the strength behind his fingers. The lewd wet noises he was pushing from your pussy, music to his ears. He loved the sound which had you blushing a furious red, the sound of your arousal squelching on his fingers. His cock was protesting at being ignored, aching to be buried in your tight heat. Kisuke wouldn't indulge himself until he had made you cum though, you needed the release and preparation in order to take him comfortably.

He watched your face as it contorted with pleasure, eyes screwed shut and mouth hanging open with constant moans. His fingers felt amazing, hitting deep inside, relentlessly jabbing against the spongy part deep inside that had you seeing stars. The scared over burns from experiments and callouses formed over years of training decorated his strong hands, the unique pattern's rough, raised exterior only added to the experience, the different ridges and raised bumps added dizzying texture to his fingers.

"Your soaking". Kisuke whispered dirtily into your ear, plunging his fingers deep. The arm wrapped around you began to fondle at your breast, squeezing the fleshy mound, adding to the onslaught of pleasure. "Making a mess all over my fingers. Dirty girl, so desperate so early in the morning " You subconsciously squeezed around his busy fingers, bucking your hips against his hand. You were already wound up before he entered you, at the pace he had set, it wouldn't take long for you to reach that peak you had so desperately been craving.

You sighed his name, keening high at the pleasure you were drowning in, too overwhelmed to construct any coherent sentences other than his name. "The sound of your messy cunt is driving me wild"  he husked gravely, scraping his teeth over your ear and making you shiver. He ground his cock against your ass, seeking stimulus to sooth his throbbing erection.

Heat rushed your face at the mention of the sloppy wet noises reaching your ears, groaning embarrassed at his dirty declaration. Heated fluid rushed through your pussy, coating his thick fingers as they unrelentingly brushed over your hidden pleasure spots. Waves of pleasure rippled over your skin, building up the tension in your lower stomach, depths clenching tightly around the fingers pushing deep inside you.

You could feel your orgasm approaching, hurdling it's way towards you at a rapid speed. Your muscles tensed, awaiting the blinding wave of euphoria ready to consume you. Kisuke immediately felt the signs of your body ready to explode on his fingers, the quiver in your legs. The short breathy moans increasing in pitch, the way you screwed your eye's impossibly tight. Keeping his fingers curling in an unbreakable rhythm, Kisuke started to whisper in your ear

"Should I let you cum?" You nod earnestly, keening at the building pleasure "that pretty pussy is clenching around my fingers, dripping all over my hand." You could feel it, your arousal coating his fingers, dripping onto his hand, between your thighs. Could hear the lewd wet slap of the heel of his palm pushing against your opening "so tight, going to fill you with my cock"

You moan loudly, hand scrambling to intwine your fingers with his messy hair, tugging on the captured strands to pull him closer. Kisuke slammed his lips to yours, forcing his tongue into your willing mouth. He kissed you hungrily, swallowing your choked out moans, tongue mimicking the movements of his busy fingers.

You turn your head with a gasp, moaning around Kisuke's name as you came. Heat rushed through your body, carrying with it ripples of blinding pleasure that pulsated through every muscle in your body . Your legs kicked out against the bed, unconsciously trying to get away from the overstimulating plunge of Kisuke's fingers working you through your release, keeping you riding the overwhelming high with his relentless probing.

You shout as you felt a searing gush of liquid being forced from your abused core, obscenely wetting your thighs and ass, squelching around his fingers deeply massaging you. Your second orgasm didn't spread through your body, it slammed into you hard, taking your breath away as darkness consumed your vision. You choked on the breath you were unable to suck into your lungs, groaning deeply at the intensity of the pleasure.

Dexterous fingers slowed, lazily pushing through your twitching cunt. Kisuke kissed your shoulder, allowing you to gather your senses after he scrambled your mind. Your body went limp, muscles tingling as you sank heavily into the bed, breathing deeply. You hardly noticed when he removed his fingers, wiping the excess arousal coating his hand over his rigid cock, slathering the rock hard muscle with your juices. You sigh, nuzzling into the pillow beneath you, blissfully satisfied and ready for slumber.

"no you don't" you could hear the amusement in his voice, feel his grin as it pressed into your shoulder "Im not finished with you yet." You couldn't decipher if that was a promise or a threat, it made you whine softly regardless. His hand caressed over your thigh, cupping the back of your knee and raising it up towards your chest. He followed the path back up, squeezing your ass appreciatively. Taking hold of his cock, Kisuke lined it up with your opening, kissing the back of your neck as he pushed through into your velvety walls.

He groaned, low and guttural as he bottomed out, panting deeply to strive away the overwhelming urge to explode deep in the vice like clamp you had around his cock. He filled you to the brim, exquisitely stretching your walls to accommodate his girth. The pull of sleep long forgotten, you moan softly at the weight buried inside you. You needed him to move, encouraging him with a small wiggle of your hips. Kisuke grabbed hold of your hip, stilling your movements with a sharp intake of breath

"Kisuke... move" you whine needily, attempting to fight against his hold to rub your ass against him encouragingly.

"As you wish.." Kisuke muttered into your neck, slowly dragging his cock through your velvety walls only to renter as torturously slow. You sigh contentedly at the full intrusion, lips parting with the deep breaths of enjoyment. Fingernails digging into the flesh at your hip, you knew he wouldn't be able to hold this pace for much longer, wouldn't be able to resist plowing into you with frenzied force. You clench the muscles in your cunt, squeezing tighter around his unhurried thrusts. A smirk played on your lips at the muffled grunt from behind, followed quickly by a more rapid roll of his hips.

Kisuke held you impossibly close, melding his body to fit perfectly along your own as he gave into his desires. The position didn't allow for much more than short rapid thrusts, the power he put behind each one more than made up for the lack of room though, as you moaned wantonly with pleasure. He expertly jabbed the swollen head of his erection into your pleasure spot, giving little reprieve between every jolt of pleasure surging through you. His breathing deepened, wetly panting into your flushed, heated skin,

He left sloppy kisses along your shoulder, lapping over the sweat stained skin lavishly with his tongue. His hand expertly roamed over your body, caressing his calloused fingertips over where he knew would make you shiver, raked his nails teasingly exactly where would have you arching your back, paying attention to every curve on the way to your breasts. His exploration didn't effect the rhythm he had set, every thrust expertly, faultlessly crafted to push you closer to bliss.

Nonsensical moans fell readily from your lips, unable to form a coherent sentence in the throes of pleasure. You moaned around his name, the breathy way you spoke, like a prayer, had Kisuke's head swimming with arousal. Loosing himself in the tight, wet heat between your legs, taking his own pleasure from your willing body. Always the vocal lover, Kisuke grunted and groaned, muttering soft expletives into your ear

"feel so good. Fuck, so damn tight YN" 

The tingling of arousal spread from your cunt, spreading through your lower stomach. Every dirty praise, every unrestrained groan of your lovers deep voice only added to the lustful atmosphere holding you both together. Arms wrapped themselves around you, hugging you close to his impressive abdomen before flipping you suddenly, the ceiling of your bedroom coming into view as Kisuke rolled onto his back, keeping you laying over his body.

Your arms flailed about, trying to find something to hold to stop Kisuke bucking you off him at the rapid momentum he used to thrust up. Feet planted into the mattress, he used the purchase to powerfully rut into you, strong hips slamming into your ass as he chased the high of orgasm. Your head lulled back, nestled perfectly between his head and shoulder, you held tightly onto his arms, crossed over your body to keep you where he wanted you.

He painted heavily with excursion, moaning gravely in the back of his throat with every snap of his hips. The increased power behind his thrusts, the change of angle had him punishingly bumping against the spongy patch nestled within your depths with alarming accuracy, pushing you closer to the edge of euphoria. Moan after moan tumbled from your lips, eyes screwed shut with blinding pleasure.

His rhythm faltered, jerkily speeding his assault as he sought the end. With a shout Kisuke came, thick hot ropes of his ejaculate painted your walls. The rush of heat mixed with the hurried snapping of his hips had you joining him, spiralling into the depths of pleasure. A high keen overshadowed the rumbling groan of Kisuke as you voiced your pleasure, body relaxing and melting with the rush of endorphins flooding your body. You lay limply in his strong arms as he lethargically dragged his cock between your lips, milking every last drop of his pearly white essence to fill you up.

You could feel the deep rise and fall of Kisuke's chest at your back when he finally stilled, legs limply falling to the bed as all the tension left his body. Carefully you roll from him, landing on your stomach to lay beside your lover. You stretch out your tingling muscles with a contented sigh. You pepper his chest with kisses, taking advantage of finally being able to touch him freely. Kiskue huffed out a breath of amusement, giving you that lopsided smirk you adored,

"satisfied? Or are you already looking for round two?" 

You grin against the smooth skin of his chest, kissing your way up his sternum to reach his lips. "With you?" You mutter against his lips, edging away teasingly when he tried to capture them

"I always want round two"

[house-of-mirrors]

This is what I got with my main from the Museum of Souls in Burrow, having your soul examined. Thinking about the soul flaws from skies and I just learned from the wiki the text is variable based on your quirks:

First, for comparison, the text from skies for when your soul is pleasing: "The devils of Carillon claim to be experts in the assessment and improvement of the soul. They would describe yours as tantalisingly opaque, and rich with personality."

Now, onto my interpretations with the delightful flaws. (I refuse to be appetizing!)

High Melancholy: Flickering: "Soul-light is unpersistent, incurious, lacking. [...] intermittently tantalising with an aftertaste of disappointment."

"Here the Devils treat flatterers, the excessively malleable, and those who don't know themselves at all. [...] Maybe you've found yourself lying as a matter of course. Maybe you've forgotten a few inconvenient aspects of yourself."

High Heartless: Cold: "The soul is icy to the touch. Dispassionate, clinical, removed. [...] still, pale and chilly to the palate."

"Indifference to love can be corrected. But not easily."

High Austere: Lightless: Here, things get a little complex. The echo uses "flavourless" which corresponds neatly to "[...] distressingly bland, inoffensive and liable to dissatisfaction." However, Lightless is also described as "Slothful, viceful, willful abandonment of talent and interest," which does not fit Austere. More of the text does, though.

"Vision, imagination, the ability to see beyond the nearest convention: that's what the Devils are trying to evoke here. [...] Perhaps you have fallen into habits. Perhaps you haven't stretched your imagination lately."

Not a perfect match, but alas.

Low subtle: Clear: "Soul is fully transparent. No swirls, no clouding, no personality."

"Disregard of death is a serious flaw. It displeases the Blue Kingdom; it makes the Devils tut."

(Sticking my tongue out at the Sapphir'd King.)

Conclusion: I can't find any obvious comparisons for the ruthless or hedonist quirks. I'm going to remark upon the soul flaws that don't present parallels here.

A fermented soul is "pungent of odour and indifferent to taboo." What I did in skies to get it was commingle with a rubbery man and accept an eye tattoo from the Halved. Good times. If I had to guess, I might connect this one with the Daring quirk. Fermented foods may be described with a "sharp" flavor but that's a stretch; I really don't see a connection to ruthless.

A curdled soul is "Overly willing to please, envious, obsequious." I can't think of any obvious quirks this would correlate to.

Finally, a stained soul: We know what terrible things this means in FL. One gets it by being a seeker, asking what shouldn't be asked. From skies: "Soul appears damaged, scorched. Reckless, dangerous and fatally curious. [...] over-rich, cindered and irrevocably damaged."

"Perhaps you've looked into topics you should not have. Perhaps your soul has been consumed and spat out again by an unspeakable beast."

("The starveling cat! The starveling cat! Soiled your soul! Grew glossy and fat!")

Now go forth and consider your characters' souls. Be unappetizing!

[sweetdreamsjeff]

Jeff Buckley: Grace

Mick Houghton, MOJO, September 1994

OVER THE LAST FEW MONTHS Jeff Buckley has become a contender. A minor critical furore greeted his first live mini-LP, while a handful of mesmeric solo performances in March met with ecstatic drooling – this despite the disadvantages that famous parentage usually carries. Jeff's dad, Tim Buckley, was genuinely unique force in music, a tough act to follow even for a son who scarcely knew him. The questions remain, however: Is Jeff Buckley merely wearing the emperor's new clothes, or his father's hand-me-down, or is he a truly major, emergent new talent? Somewhat tantalisingly, the answer on the strength of this, his first real album, appears to be all three.

Sensibly, Jeff Buckley has tried to play down the 'like father like son' aspect, but there is no escaping it. His vocal dexterity alone, one of Tim Buckley's calling cards, is uncannily similar. They also share that same poetic soul and the tendency to excess and exaggeration, something which marred Tim Buckley's first two LPs, Tim Buckley and Hello And Goodbye. It wasn't until Happy Sad that Buckley Snr curbed the overly baroque arrangements and lyrics that have rendered his first two LPs largely hippy period pieces. The path forward was there in controlled, measured songs like 'Once I Was', 'Song Slowly Sung' and 'Morning Glory'. And he rarely looked back thereafter.

Jeff Buckley is by no means going up a blind alley – far from it – but he often drops emotional depth charges that miss the mark. These are mostly showing off. Then again, if you had a voice that could swoop, dive, fly and fall at will, wouldn't you use it? Gifts of this nature, however, need to be used wisely. When he does it's a wonder to behold. When he fails you feel you must have picked up a Colin Blunstone LP by mistake.

'Lilac Wine' (that same Elkie Brooks hit) is simply a crowd-pleaser. Performed live it's soulful and impressive but, as sensitively as it's handled, it has no place here. Such songs work live because the artist can convey them by his presence – on record they're mere cold work-outs. The most extreme case is 'Corpus Christie Carol (For Roy)': arranged from a Benjamin Britten composition it is, undeniably, executed to perfection. So he can sing like a choirboy, but it lessens the impact of the two fine songs either side. If there's a lesson to be learned from his father then it's knowing how to create a mood, and atmosphere, and suck the listener in – these two songs simply stem the flow.

If all this seems harsh, it's because Jeff's own songs are too good to diminish. Even better are his arrangements. Using mostly just his own Telecaster and simple bass and drums, plus occasional and wonderful strings, he can create extraordinary musical constructs. It's no mean achievement that he can convey the essence of a bygone '60s song-writer era but give it contemporary flavour. At best he drags in influences from all over the place – Hendrix, Zeppelin, the Beatles – and makes them seem like perfectly normal bedfellows.

Opening the album, 'Mojo Pin' sets the tone, an inter-racial ballad that comes in early with the line "this body will never be safe from harm". He then mixes Zeppelin-influenced heavy blues with dreamy Cocteaus guitar and the first of many subtle Beatle reference points – the backwards guitar of Revolver.

Two master strokes follow: 'Grace' and 'Last Goodbye', one so complex in its arrangement that it belies the simplicity of the end result, the other simplicity itself. Both are uncomfortably moving – one fixated with death, the other with lost love. You want to tell him to lighten up, but you don't want to stop the sheer enjoyment that you feel at the expense of his misery. Mixed emotions. Happy/sad. 'Last Goodbye' is simply breathtaking . A choppy, strummed rhythm drives the song, under more Beatle-esque, raga strings and a lyric of a doomed relationship reminiscent of the fated Bogart/GloiraGrahame pairing in Nicholas Ray's film In a Lonely Place. It's that good. It also recalls Tim Buckley's 'Sweet Surrender'. Like I said, it's that good.

Rarely has a tortured soul been so appealing. Take 'Eternal Life': "Eternal life is on my trial/Got my red gleaming coffin/Just need one more nail." This mortality-confronting epic, set against sub-metal riffing, as grinding as he can be delicate, is again arranged remarkably. As this bluesy grunge gets into its stride, 'I Am The Walrus'-type strings swirl in and Buckley, briefly, even lifts Lennon's melody line.

Grace contains other such remarkable moments. A depth of feeling combined with a mature sense of song structure and musical direction make the superlatives already dished out to Jeff Buckley not merely an exercise in critical wishful thinking. He is said to have dismissed all this critical sycophancy because it doesn't fit with the way he feels about himself. Put it another way: when you're this good you don't need to be told. You need to learn how to live with it.

Jeff Buckley is potentially that good. In Howard Hawk's western Rio Bravo, when comparing his fast draw ability with the Dean Martin character, John Wayne spits out that classic line: "I wouldn't want to live by the difference." Time will tell what the difference between Jeff and Tim's talents might be. For now, Lilian Roxon's famous line, said of Tim Buckley in 1968, at a similar stage of his career to his son's, is eerily appropriate: "There is no name yet for the places he and his voice can go."

© Mick Houghton, 1994

[laspocelliere]

Day Five: Barbarous

In the cold, and the darkness, Zenos waited.

The Ascian had promised him the world, singing honeyed tunes of destruction and death, where retribution and blood rained down like starshowers. Dull, and distasteful, but holding a glimmer of potential nonetheless, and one that Zenos tolerated to its barest extent. Each piece of this scheme shone pale and dull, scuffed against the mortal mechanisms that were beneath his anger, or even his notice.

Entombed in the steel spires of Garlemald’s fallen palace, Zenos sat, chin in hand, staring into the darkness with a blank, unseeing gaze that was unchanging as whenever he looked upon any other living or inanimate object beneath his notice. Man, woman, child, flea; they all measured to the same barbaric worth before his impassive gaze. Even the Ascian’s plan held only singular goal, channelled towards singular, unparalleled bliss.

She was all that mattered.

Absently, the disgraced prince ran one lazy finger along the edge of the throne he occupied, feeling along the edges as though it were a blade. Somewhere, out in the cold, she was close. Somewhere, her weight, real and warm and breathing with unfiltered life was fracturing the ice of Garlemald, calling him to her. Her saviour complex had brought her ever closer to him, circling him like an animal seeking prey. Soon, tantalisingly soon, he would face her again, once more bringing forth that base desire of hers to hunt, kill, and destroy.

He’d seen it once, in those armageddon eyes of hers, piercing deep into his own as the blade had slid across his throat, warm blood filling his mouth until he knew naught but silence.

He’d kept it burned into the backs of his eyelids, as he’d traversed the star, returning himself to life, and limb, and that same, unwavering desire to once more feel that rush in his veins.

Only she had ever managed to provoke it.

Only she was worth the trouble of dealing with maggots. 

He would dirty his hands however she wished, if only for the chance to face that exquisite, beautiful rage of hers again.

He would understand her, this time. He would know his mortal enemy, his dearest and most beloved, inside and out, by the time they faced each other on the battlefield again. This, the Ascian had assured him, would be possible with very little effort. The puppeteer’s brazen disregard for his dear friend’s abilities irked him – it was, after all, a reflection of his own skills then, that she had once bested him – but irked him as a fly irks a wolf. Easily batted away, and beneath most notice.

What mattered was her. Only her.

Absently, Zenos ran his fingertips idly over the smooth arm of the throne, thick as bone and nowhere near as satisfying to grasp. It was nowhere near what he needed, which was to have her under his hands once more, violent and snarling, teeth bared and that steady pulse nearly a beacon against her throat, one nearly asking him to reach out and take from her everything that he could have ever wanted. 

And wasn’t that an intriguing thought to follow.

An indulgence, then. One born of thoughts barely birthed, and only recently attended to as his waiting for her grew weary. 

His hands, circled around those slender, bird-boned wrists of hers, tightening to find the exact pressure point where they snapped. His nails, scraping curled rivets into the milky, unblemished skin of her thighs. His fingers, fitting along the hollows between her ribs, pressing in and in and in until he could find the very core of her. He found no satisfaction in the base savagery of a kiss, but he thought that maybe tasting the very marrow from her splintered ribs could come nearly as close.

Alone and unfettered, Zenos’ breath quickened, just enough to spark the slightest flicker of amusement in his breast. 

Yes, he mused, more satisfied at a hypothesis found correct more than the banal pleasure he found in his fantasies. Yes, of course.

Only her.

The Ascian would make it so, delivering her to him on a golden pedestal, and Zenos relished the anticipation of the moment, even as he betrayed nothing but indifferent calm.

He needed to know her, to consume her, in every definition of the word. He would split apart her lovely skull, press his fingertips behind those blazing eyes of her and find where the colour came from, watch it leak from her irises as he sought out the light behind them, that haunting brightness that followed him even in death. He would unspool her veins from her severed throat, as like gossamer scarlet spider webs dancing across his palms as he found the map of her very being, unravelled it for him, and him alone.

Perhaps, he mused as a value afterthought, more bestial – carnal – pleasures would be satisfied before the more ethereal. It would depend, rather, on his whims in the moment, and where their moment of ecstasy brought them.

And would you welcome it, my dearest companion? Or will you gift me the look of fear that I so covet to see fall deadened in your gaze?

Clicking his tongue in disdain, Zenos straightened in his seat, shifting position to lean on his opposite elbow. The small movement jarred him out of fantasy, and firmly back into practicalities. 

She wouldn’t show fear. Never her. Fear was for base animals. Barbaric, savage creatures.

They alone, destined to meet in celestial bliss, rose above that banality.

And how he craved it. The sweet release of carnage and death that only his closest friend could offer him.

“Soon,” Zenos found himself muttering to himself lowly, his voice haunting an echo in the empty, cavernous great hall. “Soon, we will be reunited.”

“And at last, you will understand.”

[ftlow-writerandbinder]

Is anyone talking about this book? It's good, you should read it!

Illusion of Stars. I need the sequel. I need to reread it. I need the shelf trophy. I need to get everyone else to read it.

This story is as magnetic to me as the Sanok Isles to Isabel. There were times I was so pleased that I'd seen a twist coming - only for the *other* twists to knock my feet from under me. The pacing, both of the plot and of actual sentences, is a masterclass. The narrator is wholly unreliable in the most delicious of ways. The question of trust, and who to give yours to, is tangled up in threads of politics, romance, and geography. The weather and the setting are tangible characters of their own. The foreshadowing and the timeline is tantalisingly tangled.

I adored the world building, which introduces an original and complex political and cultural setting smoothly and without complication. The characters are all complex, three-dimensional, tangible, and relatable.

This is my favourite book of 2024, without a doubt. I don't remember the last time I devoured something so wholly. I'm not into star ratings, but if I was, this one would be up there.

[jcmarchi]

Dark Energy Survey Provides Unprecedented Detail on the Expansion of the Universe - Technology Org

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/dark-energy-survey-provides-unprecedented-detail-on-the-expansion-of-the-universe-technology-org/

Dark Energy Survey Provides Unprecedented Detail on the Expansion of the Universe - Technology Org

A decade-long analysis of nearly 1,500 supernovae sheds new light on the mysterious dark energy that makes up around 70 per cent of the universe.

Results from the Dark Energy Survey (DES) are consistent with the standard cosmological model of a universe that is expanding at an accelerating rate, but they hint at the exciting possibility that the density of dark energy may have varied over time.

A supernova discovered by the Dark Energy Survey. Image credit: Dark Energy Survey

If this is the case, it would change our current understanding of this mysterious force and require more complex models to understand how the universe works.

The results were announced today [8 January 2024] at the 243rd American Astronomical Society (AAS) meeting in New Orleans.

Dark energy was first discovered in 1998 when astronomers observed specific kinds of exploding stars, called type Ia (read “type one-A”) supernovae. They made the Nobel-prize-winning discovery that the universe’s expansion rate is increasing over time. This was unexpected, as conventional theories suggested that gravity should be slowing down the expansion. While matter (including dark matter) pulls other matter together through gravity, dark energy has a repulsive effect, pushing matter away, causing the expansion of the universe to accelerate.

“Twenty-five years after we first detected that it must exist, we still know very little about dark energy,” says Dr Philip Wiseman from the University of Southampton, who presented the results at the AAS meeting. “That’s part of what makes it exciting. All the data up until now have been consistent with dark energy being a constant but these results open up the intriguing possibility that the density of dark energy could have changed as the universe expands. Knowing whether it is or isn’t a constant will help us to narrow down the theories as to what dark energy might be.”

The Dark Energy Survey is an international collaboration comprising more than 400 scientists from institutions around the world, including the University of Southampton, the University of Portsmouth and the University of Surrey in the UK. DES has mapped an area of almost one-eighth of the entire sky using a Dark Energy Camera, capturing data from 758 nights over six years.

With these data, researchers used type Ia supernovae to measure distances far into the universe. This is the same technique used to detect the existence of dark energy back in 1998, but with a much larger, higher quality sample. Using pioneering new techniques, including machine learning and photometry with four filters, the team have analysed 20 times more data, over a wider range of distances.

If dark energy is constant – which means it doesn’t dilute as the universe expands, ‘w’ (the parameter representing dark energy) should be equal to –1. Tantalisingly, the results of the Dark Energy Survey (DES) found w = –0.80.

Dr Or Graur, Associate Professor of Astrophysics at the University of Portsmouth, said: “At first sight, this is not the minus one that we expected, but our result is still consistent with that value within the margin of uncertainty. That means that we cannot rule out the standard cosmological model of the universe. At the same time, it shows how, the larger our datasets, the more we narrow down that margin of uncertainty, leaving less and less wiggle room. If a future, larger survey significantly agrees with our result rather than with -1, that would point to exciting, exotic new physics.”

DES found several thousand supernovae and ultimately used 1,499 type Ia supernovae with high-quality data, making it the largest, deepest supernova sample from a single telescope ever compiled.

Researchers from the universities of Southampton and Portsmouth played a key role in identifying these type Ia supernovae and finding the galaxies in which each one exploded. This allows researchers to measure the speed at which the galaxy is receding and make subtle corrections to these measures, offering greater accuracy.

The DES offers the greatest insight to date on the nature of dark energy, but future projects aim to go even further.

The TiDES experiment is part of a European-led consortium called 4MOST which also involves the universities of Southampton, Portsmouth and Surrey, the three universities working together to lead the Space South Central regional cluster. TiDES will use the Vera Rubin Observatory’s Legacy Survey of Space and Time to measure tens of thousands of supernovae.

Bob Nichol, Professor of Astrophysics at the University of Surrey, says “The Vera Rubin Observatory will revolutionise all sorts of different areas of astronomy. It will detect millions of new supernovae, allowing us to pick the very best ones and still have tens of thousands to study.

“This should allow us to definitively tell if dark energy is constant or not. Even so, once we uncover this piece of the puzzle, there will still be much about dark energy to discover, including a compelling theory for its very existence!”

DES was primarily funded by the US Department of Energy and National Science Foundation with some funding provided by the UKRI Science and Technology Facilities Council (STFC).

Source: University of Southampton

You can offer your link to a page which is relevant to the topic of this post.

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[shijas]

hunger and lust have never been brought as full circle as chainsaw man, it never fails to astound me. chapters 96 and 97 are somehow the most horrifying and cathartic chapters in the whole of part 1

[lokisgoodgirl]

Lesson Two: Schooling Steve [Avenger! Loki x Fem. Reader feat Virgin! Steve] 18+

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Schooling Steve Series List [LINK] Summary: Steve wrestles with his feelings in a steamy sauna encounter which threatens to overwhelm his sensibilities. Heckers. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Language. Implied M/M Smut. Smut. Grey consent. Public sex. Voyeurism. (w/c 2.7k) A/N: Thank you for loving Satchel! Steve. I couldn't not post this first after my time in jail considering all the excitement today. Enjoy!

After Laufeyson had left him alone and frustrated in the conference room, Rogers made a beeline for his apartment on the third floor of the compound.

A conveniently placed clipboard hid the arousal straining for freedom against his shorts as he shuffled in the crowded elevator, making broken small talk with Clint.

When he was finally behind closed doors, Steve reluctantly turned the framed photograph of Peggy to face the wall. “I’m sorry Ma’am…” he muttered, before reclining back on the sofa.

His quivering fingers pushed down the waistband of his shorts, moving to grip his thick reddened cock which bounced with anticipation.

He stroked himself mercilessly to the thoughts that devious God of Mischief had planted deep within his mind; thoughts of Y/N getting hot and heavy, thoughts of dark curls bobbing up and down between his legs. Of deepest desires and pathways to pleasure. Jeepers, thoughts of everything.

Steve came loudly over his hand, collapsing backwards on the cushions pink-cheeked as one name stumbled in a heavy moan from his lips while he rode his thunderous release. Loki.

Twenty minutes later, a sombre looking Captain America grabbed a towel from the pile at the door of the swimming complex. He needed to clear his head. He needed to meditate away from recent events that made his thoughts woozy like too much hard liquor on an empty stomach. He slipped his robe off and hung it on the wall, wrapping a fluffy towel around his hips and making his way barefoot down the corridor to the sauna.

The welcoming smell of wood and course dry heat drifted into his nostrils. He inhaled deeply, the relief of sweating out his unwelcome thoughts tantalisingly close.

“Gods darling you’re insatiable…look what you do to me…”

Steve froze in front of the closed doorway to the sauna. The lightly frosted pane of glass revealed the outline of two figures inside. He didn’t need a clear view to know who that voice belonged to. That insufferable scamp Laufeyson.

He considered his options briefly before pulling the door open. He was the captain of this team, darn it, and he was going to relax today if it killed him.

“Rogers.” Loki’s smug gaze met his as he sat with his thighs spread open on the Scandinavian wood benches that surrounded the walls of the sauna. A towel was mercifully placed over his lap, your head resting on his crotch as you stretched lengthways on the bench to his side.

“Hey Cap…” you said, a touch of coyness lacing your voice, eyes flickering to Loki’s as you both watched the awkward blonde make his way to the space furthest from you and sit down.

Steve cleared his throat dryly, the closeness of the air making his breaths feel sharp. “I’m just here to relax, so if you don’t mind folks…”. He shot Loki a stern look as the God smirked at his discomfort.

“Of course, Rogers…if that is your deepest desire then consider it fulfilled.” Loki straightened his legs and crossed his ankles, raising his bare arms to rest on the ledge behind him as he watched Steve’s reaction. You closed your eyes, an ill-timed laugh threatening to rise from your belly as you inhaled the dry heat to stifle it.

Cap’s suspicious eyes flickered from Loki to you, analysing the scene as his stomach twisted with dread. “You told her, didn’t you? Why I outta-”

Loki sighed, cutting him off. “I did, Rogers. I greatly feared that national security was in danger due to your ability to be utterly beguiled like a naive schoolgirl with mere words.”

“Everything?” Steve blustered, tightening the towel around his hips as he tried to sound authoritative in his current state of humiliation.

“Everything.” Loki stated, his eyebrows raising as a playful smile pressed dimples to his jaw, “Come now, Rogers there are no secrets between lovers…although I wouldn’t expect you to have known that.”

Steve stared ahead, considering throwing the basket of hot coals in Loki’s direction. It was tempting, but then…the paperwork.

“I trusted you. I should’ve known my onions…” he muttered regretfully, a frustrated sigh escaping from Loki’s lips. You felt one of the god’s hands brush your hair as he silently signalled for you to rise. You stood, making your way to the coals to pour on more water.

“Rogers, this is a little sooner than I had anticipated but the lovely Y/N has agreed to help further your education, should you wish. She agrees it is important for the team to…help speed up resolution of the matter in any way we can.”

Steve looked up from his lap, forearms resting on his thighs as he watched you bend over to scoop water out of the bowl and ladle it across the hot coals. Your own towel was tucked neatly across your body, pressed tightly to your chest as your hair brushed the moist sweat collecting on your shoulder-blades.

A loud hiss erupted as more heat sizzled through the air.

Steve was grateful the sauna was already so hot as he felt his cheeks redden. He turned his gaze from you to Loki, who was positioned to take up as much space as possible. His bare legs were drawn back to angle to the floor, hips spread wide. His muscled arms flexed against their resting place as they shone with a thin layer of moisture clinging to every curve.

Loki’s head was tilted back in relaxation, eyes closed and seemingly unphased by his indecent proposal; his dark curls hung damp with sweat as they coiled on the hot wooden ledge behind him.

Rogers had to admit, the God of Mischief’s body was a work of art. A strong chest, ridiculously defined stomach and powerful limbs were contained in a deceptively lithe frame. The captain's eyes longingly followed a bead of sweat trickling down the grooves of Loki's toned abs which gracefully rippled with every breath.

The towel thrown haphazardly over Loki’s lap shifted, threatening to slide to the floor. Steve’s breath hitched involuntarily. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from that forbidden expanse of muscle that had so pre-occupied his earlier thoughts. Cap realised with alarm that he had never looked at another man this way; so…gratuitously. Had he ever looked at anyone like this?

“He’s not suggesting a three-way, in case you were worried about that.” you said quietly, returning to Loki and perching on one of his thick thighs.

“That’s right, darling” Loki said as he brought his head back up and settled his gaze on Steve’s questioning stare, a small smirk pulling at the corner of his lips “just a little…practical demonstration.”

Steve cleared his throat, the dry heat making him thirstier with each passing second. At least, he thought it was the heat. “Then what are you suggesting?”

Loki rolled his eyes, sliding back on the wooden seat and pulling you between his widened legs. “Don’t worry Rogers, no one is going to sneeze in your precious satchel…”

Steve squirmed, his hand flying up to stop any misinterpretation, “Actually, technically it would be me sneezing in their satchel.”

“Keep telling yourself that Rogers.” Loki murmured, as he untucked your towel and let it pool around your seated hips.

Steve swallowed as your breasts came into view, the rich cotton sliding seductively over your skin to fall between Loki’s open thighs as you leant back into him.

Your eyes were firmly set on your blonde leader; watching his reaction as his innate manners commanded that he remain proper while his eyes deepened with need. He shifted on the bench, his body betraying him as he willed his mind to remain neutral. He was getting hard. You could always tell.

Loki’s lips found your earlobe, the secret part of you with a direct line to your needy pussy that he used to his every advantage. You moaned as his tongue lapped at your skin, drawing the soft flesh between his teeth and sucking it slowly as you rubbed back on his hardening cock. His large hands slid up your closed thighs over your towel, ghosting your stomach as he cupped your breasts and began massaging them gently; his thumbs playing your nipples repeatedly with practiced finesse.

Steve watched; still bent forwards on his forearms with his mouth slowly edging open. His brain was overloading as he succumbed to the tantalising vision of lust on display, the live theatre of Loki’s whispered seductions.

He leant forward as he saw the god edge one long finger into his mouth, coating it slowly with saliva from the tip of his tongue. He lowered it back to rub over your nipple, making you purr underneath the heightened sensation. The scoundrel made it look so easy to manipulate your writhing body beneath his touch. Steve wondered if Loki could do that to him. If he was honest, Steve already knew the answer.

Loki’s free hand palmed your other breast, rubbing in circles as he bit down on your shoulder. You moaned loudly as he sucked your skin, his tongue soothing the bruising sting as you raised a hand to tug his hair.

“Mmm love, remember we have company…” Loki growled seductively, “we mustn’t offend the captain’s sensibilities too harshly now, should we?”

Steve flexed his hips, the bent position becoming increasingly uncomfortable as his thickening cock pressed against the pile of the towel, scratching the swollen tip. For the second time in one day… he had never been more aroused in his life.

He didn’t know if he wanted to tickle-tail you or Loki…or both of you at once. His fingers found the side of the wooden slats beneath him, gripping them tightly as he leant back, revealing his straining cock rising against the towel wrapped around his hips. Loki smiled.

“It seems our Captain’s sensibilities have relaxed a little, darling…look.” Loki purred darkly in your ear, loud enough to make Steve shudder with need.

Your eyes travelled to Captain Rogers, panting lightly in the corner with his gaze fixed on you both. His muscled torso rose and fell sharply as his fingers repeatedly grasped the hot wood beside his hips in a desperate attempt to prevent them wandering to his cock. He was so needy. You fucking loved it.

“Our first lesson covered the mental side of seduction, Rogers” Loki began, his face buried in your neck; “…the second covers another related topic; foreplay.” His brow creased as he raised his eyes to meet Steve’s, a flash of amusement glinting as he relished the sight before him.

“Every time Y/N and I fuck, there is foreplay” he said authoritatively “it may be through words, or in deeds; but in both forms it can be just as tantalising as the act itself…” he trailed off as he sucked your earlobe again. You groaned, grinding your hips back into his crotch as your eyes fluttered shut.

Steve raised his hand.

“Yes, Rogers?” Loki inquired with bemusement.

“Why every time? Is it…necessary?” he asked, his wide eyes betraying no hint of insincerity as Loki pursed his lips; trying not to release the torrent of sarcasm seated behind them.

“It’s necessary for her pleasure, Rogers. So yes, it is necessary.” he said firmly, lowering his hands to your knees and gracefully sliding them up your thighs to meet the soft edge of the towel.

“When Y/N is truly aroused…it not only means she is able to be fully satisfied, but it is also a more pleasing experience for me.” he murmured coyly as his fingertips found their way under the edging of soft cotton covering your upper thighs. “It also makes her more willing to engage in our frequent activities…as you keenly noted yourself when you requested my help.”

Loki’s fingers brushed through your soaking folds beneath the towel, a needy moan escaping your lips as you were set alight by the small movement.

“Do you hear that, Rogers?”

Rogers nodded.

“That is the sound of a woman who desperately wants to be fucked.” he smirked, pleased at himself. “Isn’t that right, darling?”

You nodded against him, pressing your dripping pussy down towards his fingers which danced teasingly at your entrance. He obliged, sliding two long digits inside you as his thumb gently began circling your clit. You melted. The dry heat from the sauna seared your skin as the sweat from your bodies mingled. His chest moved against your back, reminding you of the delicious torso holding you steady against every gentle thrust of his hand.

Steve felt his head swim. The sight of your toes curling in pleasure, legs spread between the God of Mischief’s thighs with your bouncing bon-bons on display was almost more than he could bear. His cock ached painfully between his legs, the towel constricting against his flesh making him feel faint.

He drank in Loki’s powerful form, his brow furrowed in concentration as he read the waves of your body under his control. One hand steadied you between his thighs as the other was wrapped around your waist, arm muscles flexing as he worked your desperate icebox so…expertly. Steve shivered despite the heat. He saw Loki’s abdominal muscles clench to either side of your frame, his broad shoulders encasing you as moans of his name fell from your lips.

Without realising, Steve’s primal mind had overcome him – his towel lay spread on the wooden bench; his cock mercifully within his grip as he slid back and forth over his length. He inhaled sharply, wide eyes meeting Loki’s as the god nodded to him in approval, shooting him a wink.

Loki’s damp hair fell around his face, his eyes burning in deep satisfaction as he felt your pleasure coil around his touch. “Are you going to show Captain Rogers why you’re my best girl?” he muttered in your ear, his kaleidoscope stare never leaving Steve’s as the man’s pants grew heavier in the corner.

“Yesss baby…” you moaned; the reminder that you were being watched pushing you towards climax underneath the touch of your insatiable god.

“Say my name, darling. Remind him who you belong to.” Loki thrust his palm upwards, the pressure searing across your clit as you tumbled into ecstasy;

“Yesss, Loki…oh fuck, fuck Lokiii…”

Your cries were suffocating in the enclosed space, vibrating around the walls as you shuddered back into Loki’s firm chest; gripping his thighs underneath your needy fingertips as you came. One of Steve’s hands flew to the pine-clad wall beside him, his large palm giving a satisfying smack against the wood as he spurted his own release with a low groan.

Heavy breaths were the only noise in the sauna above the rustle of sizzling coal, condensation clustered on the glass door running gently to the ground. Loki raised the edges of your towel from the sides of your hips to cover you, kissing your cheek messily as he did so.

Rogers grasped the sides of his own towel and quickly concealed himself, wiping his hand on his thigh. You stood and walked the short distance to sit beside him, placing one hand over his as he looked up at you with trepidation in his blue eyes.

“I’m so proud of you Steve, you did so well.” you cooed, watching as his gaze softened under your honeyed tones. You rubbed his shoulder, looking back to Loki who nodded in silent approval.

“Well, Rogers…we’re going for a shower, so we’ll leave you to relax now.” Loki stood, his lazily placed covering falling to the floor revealing his long, hard cock in all its glory. He bent to pick up the towel, throwing it casually over his shoulder as Steve’s eyes widened at the sight. Gee whizz, it was even more impressive than he’d heard.

Loki registered your disapproving gaze as you glared at him, willing the mischievous god to quit his teasing.

“I think we passed the stage of being embarrassed when someone yanked off on the floor, darling – don’t you Rogers?” he said, sauntering towards the door and opening it with a flourish. You stood and took his outstretched hand, admiring his handsome face as it danced with lustful anticipation.

“We would ask you to join us, Rogers…but I don’t think you’re quite ready for that yet, do you?” Loki smacked your butt as you walked past him, winking coyly at the deflated captain as the door swung shut.

The cool air hit Steve’s face as he slumped back against the wooden bench with his eyes closed, his cock still twitching beneath the dampened towel.

-

PART THREE AVAILABLE HERE :)

Taggos

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[blog-of-a-multitude-of-fandoms]

Chemical- Jesse Pinkman

Pairing: Jesse Pinkman x Reader

Characters: Jesse Pinkman

Warnings: N/A

Request: N/A

Word Count: 409

Author: Aaron

“Alright y/n, are you ready to have some fun?” Jesse smirked as he eyed up the array of glass vials and tubs of hazardous chemicals. “You’re sure about this?” He gazed over with hope and light in his eyes.

“How hard can it be, right? You’ve had the best mentor in the world, it’s only meth it’s simple shit. If the crackheads around here can make it, then two intellectuals like ourselves should have no problem.” You reached out to pick up particularly tantalisingly labelled ingredient, large skull and crossbones adorned the otherwise bland tin, your fingers barely grazed the edge before Jesse slapped your hand away.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He pulled your hand away from the table. “Get some gloves on dumbass.”

“When did you get so serious?” Jesse turned to you with a stern face.

“Do you want to get your fingers burned off? Do you know what this shit is?” You eyed up the tub, the name far too long and complex for you to even begin to understand. “Yeah, well don’t worry, neither do I, not properly anyway. All I know is that it goes in towards the end and it makes this meth kick some hardcore fucking ass. I also know that if you manage to get some of that shit on your fingers it will go straight through the bone.” Jesse glared at you with a mouth agape with excitement. “Pretty fucking cool, right?”

“Through the bone? Bull fucking shit, people smoke this stuff all the time, wouldn’t their lungs like dissolve or something?”

“Yeah, but you like… dilute it and stuff… dipshit. If somebody smoked this, they would probably just turn into a pile of crackhead goo on the floor. So, stop being an asshole and put your gloves and respirator on so we can get this batch cooking. We can’t make bank if we don’t have any product, people aren’t going to be paying for your good looks, are they?” Jesse tossed you a flimsy pair of gloves and a firm fitting respirator before stepping outside to get the hefty generator running.

“I would pay for my good looks.” You shouted out the window, trying to rise above the monotonal rumbling of the generator. “Hey, Jesse…” You called out, his eyes which were squinting and fighting against the harsh sun popped up behind the window. “I’ll give you fifty bucks to drink some of that stuff.”

[lailoken]

“Faunus

One named deity, who appears to have been venerated towards the end of the Romano-British period, is Faunus, a Roman god of fields and woodland, of nature, fertility and oracles, who is not unlike the Greek god, Pan. The name Faunus is found on twelve of the thirty-three exquisite, inscribed silver spoons, which form part of the hoard known as the Thetford Treasure, discovered in 1979, at Gallows Hill, just North of Thetford (Johns and Potter, 1983). The site had been a ceremonial complex, dating back to the Bronze Age, but rebuilt at around the time Claudius invaded Britain. The area is near the old Iceni tribal boundary, and the route of the Icknield Way, where many travellers would have passed by (Nash Briggs, 2012).

The spoons, thought to have been made for ritual use of a close-knit group of worshippers of Faunus, include epithets describing him as "Noble" or "Lord", "God of Hoards", "Bringer of Spring Blossoms", "Giver of Plenty" and "Shelterer" or "Protector" (Jackson, 1983). These epithets could just as easily be applied to the Lord of Norfolk and have been used in this way in our rituals. Amongst the other objects in the hoard are a ring with a horned face depicted on the bezel, and another with two Woodpeckers, probably a reference to Picus, the Woodpecker God who was father to Faunus. It is possible that the rites of Faunus may have been celebrated in natural places, rather than elaborate temples, with feasting, drinking and ecstatic practices (Johns and Potter, 1983; Marsden, personal communication).

Some archaeologists have suggested that Faunus was the Latin name applied to a more local Earth deity. This might be the character depicted on some Iceni coins, with grain in his hair and beard, and sometimes Ash leaves around him. He is also associated with the Wolf and the Boar (Nash Briggs, 2012). There has even been a suggestion that the practitioners whose magical names are also tantalisingly inscribed on the spoons, may have been part of a witch cult (Johns and Potter, 1983).”

—

Of Chalk & Flint:

A Way of Norfolk Magic

Chapter Three: ‘Spiritual Beings’

by Val Thomas

[ngno-closed]

you said it was going to be one job. that this was a temporary phase until you found something more purposeful to do. but as your board hums beneath your feet and you head full speed to damnation it’s hard to care. overhead a multitude of neon streaks across the sky and you cackle as you kick up the board and hop over a sliding scale of steps. tonight is going to be a riot. across town you find your way home after a night of too much gigglewater and spice. there’s another with you and together you find your way up the stairs with a few missteps and raucous laughter. together you find company even if only for a night. she is beautiful and in the moonlight you paint. humming to yourself a hymn for a lover long gone. 

NAME Baast

ALIAS Cleo

APPEARS 25-35

PRONOUNS She/her

PANTHEON Egyptian

OCCUPATION Artist & courier

THE GODDESS HERSELF

It’s easy to miss Baast as she hurtles past you like a mirage, kicking up dust under the fluorescent glow of her hoverboard and popping her e-bubblegum. She’s an enigma, guardian of women’s secrets and protector of felines. Soft, and honoured, yet feared as The Lady of Dread by those that follow old lore. Nowadays, Baast is a far cry from her younger self. The temples of Baast have fallen to rubble in favour of fast food joints or sky scraping apartment complexes, but felines have come full circle. Once revered in the ancient world and now, mortals have returned to old whims. They dedicate their lives to their felines and igniting worship that has been dead for a millennium.

Now, you’ll know her as Cleo the Goddess come delivery girl for the divine. The temporary employment came out of boredom, a willingness to scratch an itch, but after reaping the rewards Baast was hooked. There’s certain perks to the job, bonuses in the form of revolutionary technology, a mediocre selection of Tez’s latest creations. For Baast she does it for the freedom to be herself when three am hits and she tears up New Orleans on her hoverboard driven by her innermost mania. It’s no different to her cramped apartment filled with half-finished paintings and strewn sketchbooks. Baast is hinged on intense bursts of motivation, and beyond that she disappears into her sanctuary of blankets for days on end.Every pantheon has their own rules, the Egyptians are no different and as keeper of secrets Baast knew of Sekhmets’ many affairs. It was never her intention. But that was how Baast justified falling, and falling hard, for her mortal. Baast told herself they’d only be friends and nothing more; the risk was too great, the pain unbearable. Not even a goddess can stop herself from falling in love. Everything was tantalisingly sweet, Baast started to forget why they were forbidden from falling in love and then, without warning, she was faced with the truth. Baast doesn’t have Hebe’s power of youth, but like all immortals she ages slow, slower than a mortal would. The last decade of Hailey’s life had to be the hardest years Baast has ever faced. Plagued with illness, she spent her time at Hailey’s bedside, holding her hand. Driven by grief she found the face of death and throttled him. She told Anubis with absolute clarity that Hailey was to be loved and cared for. She deserved a peaceful journey to Aaru.Now, she’s a lifetime on from that, but the grief haunts her and lingers in the paintings she’ll never finish. Baast threw herself into everything when she descended, for the better or for the worse. It got her a job she loved, friends and ambivalent associates, it also got her Hebe. For Baast it was a mistake, a foolish attempt to salvage what was left of her tattered heart with an immortal, someone who couldn’t succumb like Hailey did, but Hebe isn’t just any immortal. Hebe is her own brand of divine. Sweet as sugar, ready to rot you down to the bone, even aware of the risks Baast let herself fall for her. They were together for a mere passing glance in an immortal’s lifetime, even still those years burned Baast like a brand.

Under the name Cleo, Baast has worked for numerous immortals. She might not care for them directly, or think them particularly ethical, but they pay well. Besides her midnight mania is sated by frequent deliveries via hoverboard. Of all the immortals, she has worked with her favourite was Nintinugga. She delivered for Nin frequently, and irregularly would help in her clinic downtown whenever an extra set of hands were required. Without ever meaning for it to happen, Baast grew close with Nin. Their friendship was quiet and peaceful, but short-lived. Maybe if her ascension hadn’t happened out of the blue, the same week of Pan’s disappearance, the clinic wouldn’t be abandoned now. Without another healer to take Nin’s place Baast is at a loss with what to do with the clinic, she doesn’t have the expertise to run it, but mortals depend on it. Her choices are slim, Utu doesn’t know why Nintinugga’s ascension happened so erratically, Heph’s technology doesn’t help her contact her own pantheon, and Veles is too impudent to help without reward. For now, Baast has fallen back into deliveries and half-finished paintings, but every time she boards past Nin’s clinic she feels the same pang of guilt.

DID SHE MURDER A GOD?

Pan was an annoyance. A fly on the wall that Baast could never quite get rid of. He flirted incessantly with Baast knowing it would only irritate her and rile her up. Which it did. In every descension Pan has sprung up like a weed that Baast wished to be rid of. Though Baast is usually level-headed and calm, Pan has always pushed all of her buttons.

WHO DOES SHE LOVE, HATE AND DESIRE?

Tsuku Considerably large number of the deliveries Baast makes are for Heph and his ever sprawling, never ending, electric empire. Whenever she picks up the latest stash of goods to be taken across the city, she makes an effort to talk to Tsuku. She’s met him a handful of times, in a handful of lifetimes, but never like this. He’s quiet, never seems to know if he’s coming or going, just hopelessly lost in his own daydreams. It’s easy to judge a god based on their previous lives, or their fabled lives, but for once Baast is troubled by what she sees.

Anansi Anansi’s a laugh, which is a rare find in this town. Baast sees some interesting things in her job, things that she’s sure Anansi would love to get her paws all over. Baast keeps her lips tight, but Anansi enjoys her company nonetheless.

Hebe The goddess of youth, in all her damnable glory, was a fling that Baast never should have indulged in. Rule number one of immortality, don’t fuck the humans, rule number two, don’t fuck a god. In the moment it was all Baast wanted. She lived alongside Hebe in a glittering haven of affection and intimacy, but once the fire had burned out it became evident there was nothing else there. It shouldn’t have surprised Baast that for Hebe it was meaningless. A study into whether she was interested in women, apparently despite spending little time outside of their once shared bedroom, Hebe was not female inclined.

Heph & Tezcatlipoca She knows that they aren’t completely innocent with all they do, but as long as she doesn’t know what she’s delivering she’s happy enough to work for them, plus they see she’s well-rewarded.

FC SUGGESTIONS Ryan Destiny, Damaris Lewis, Imaan Hamman RECOMMENDED ACTIVITY LEVEL Low-middle AVAILABILITY OPEN

Resources

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bastet https://www.ancient.eu/Bastet/ http://www.ancientegyptonline.co.uk/bast.html

[trainsinanime]

I’m currently collecting a list of standard… well, I don’t want to say mistakes, but definitely beginner-quality hot takes and ideas for Miraculous Ladybug analysis. Like, the stuff that keeps coming up over and over again, but that never holds up to closer examination. So far I have:

True selves

Pedestals (sometimes, a bit)

Just added right now: Development means moving on (related: When will the love square invert?)

Symmetry (related to “fairness” when it comes to power-ups, but also deeper than that)

Simple moralizing

I’m not yet sure I’ll actually post the full post, but it’s definitely interesting to see how some tropes just keep coming back, because they’re so tantalisingly simple and straightforward… but they just don’t work, because the show is actually more complex and interesting than that.

Are there any big ones that I’m missing?

(I purposefully excluded the ones that I personally classify as “salt” here.)

[silverfishy]

Antivan Sip-Sip

Fandom: Dragon Age Pairing: Zevran/Dorian Rating: T

Notes: My first attempt at friday night @dadrunkwriting! Thanks @monsterthalia for the suggestion I use it to get through writer’s block! Also at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33804118

-

The air was heady with incense, sweet and smoky. Around the delicate filigree’d chandeliers floated winking sparks of magelight like drifting fireflies, and every corner one looked upon held a beautiful young body, alluringly clad in translucent silks, shimmering as they twisted and swayed.

Dorian rather thought it was a bit overdone.

He took another draught from the fluted crystal-cut glass and hid a grimace at the bitter undertaste – a necessary side effect of the evening’s catch-all antidote swirling through what had been a very fine Rowan’s Rose. Whatever might be said of Magister Tiberius’ extra-curricular activities, his wine cellar was without reproach.

Secluded in a corner, Dorian’s heartbeat had almost entirely returned to its normal rate when the host himself approached, clapping him on the shoulder with weight enough that he might have buckled had his breeding not been so impeccable, and the wall at his back.

“There you are, young Pavus! We were beginning to despair of seeing you tonight. Where have you been, hmm?”

Digging through the forbidden volumes of his library was unlikely to be an answer the man appreciated. “Merely appreciating the delights of your household, Magister.” His accompanying bow was short, meticulous, striking just the right notes of flattery to put an indulgent smile on Tiberius’ face.

“I bet you were. Ah, to be young again! I recall when your father and I were just the same, sneaking off into dark corners with a comely thing at every chance we got.” It was difficult and somewhat horrifying to imagine the elder Pavus in flagrante delicio, but Dorian was loathe to correct such a convenient assumption, and forced a laugh instead. “How is Halward, anyway?”

"Very well - He was particularly satisfied by the Magesterium’s verdict on the new ritual binding laws. Your work, I understand?”

Pleasure settled on the Magister’s features like a bird of prey in its roost – the law’s passage had been then unofficial reason for the party. “Indeed. A most satisfactory outcome. Well, I shan’t keep you; in fact-” He clicked his fingers and a slave appeared at his elbow, balancing a tray of drinks. “I insist you thoroughly enjoy yourself at my expense.”

The lascivious way his eyes lingered on Dorian as he drawled the word thoroughly made him feel faintly unclean, and left him in no doubt as to whether the Magister had heard the rumours. The ones concerning the Pavus scion’s proclivities, as Halward so distastefully put it.

He glanced at the creature who’d been offered to him as thoughtlessly as the slave himself presented the liquor. An elf, of course – and beautiful, as all Tiberius’ things were; golden blond and bronzed, lithe muscle and catlike grace, more like a dancer or a soldier than a serving boy. Dorian wondered, fleeting, what colour the elf’s eyes were behind the respectfully lowered gaze, had a brief image of taking the boy’s chin and lifting his face to see.

Sighing, Dorian accepted the proffered drink, and waved a dismissive hand when the elf lingered. “You needn’t stay – I'm not so crass as to bed the unwilling.” He took a long draught – a marvellous Sun Blonde Vint, smooth and strong, and wasn’t that the perfect metaphor for the elven treat laid out before him? The liquor sparkled tauntingly. “To tell the truth, I’m only here to establish an alibi.”

A raised brow, liquor-gold eyes raised disrespectfully to his own. “What a coincidence.” Honey-mead come to life. But the voice that had spoken was decidedly not Tevinter, nor the gaze like any slave Dorian had before met.

“You-” Surprise startled the word out of him before he was interrupted by a hand which yanked him further into shadow behind a gilded curtain, and the shock of that, of being so manhandled by a slave, quite left him speechless as the intriguing accent rolled over him.

“But I would hardly describe myself as unwilling, Magister.”

Dorian’s mind was racing – a spy? A runaway? One of Tiberius’ mad games? He could shout – Maker, he could light the bastard on fire – but they were sheltered behind the drapery, and all it would take was one inquisitive guest to draw back the curtain and their compromising position would be revealed. Dorian cursed the years of illicit trysts that had turned danger into a spice which made his cock sit up and pay attention. A pressure at his hip made him roll his eyes. “Why mysterious stranger,” he drawled. “Is that a knife in your pocket or are you just happy to-”

“It’s a knife.” That treacherous whisper against his ear, and Dorian’s heart rate spiked, blood pounding and already tight trousers becoming nigh-on painful as the distinctive cold bite of metal met the flesh at his hip. “Why Magister,” The elf drawled. “Is that a staff in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

“You do know,” Dorian murmured, fighting to keep his breathing steady, his voice unaffected. “That I could fry you from the inside out with lightning?”

“Perhaps.” The elf sounded nonchalant at the prospect. “But I am extremely fast. What if in my convulsions I...slipped?” He pressed the knife in closer, over the exact place Dorian had seen Magister Alexius draw forth a kidney from a corpse. Maker’s balls.

“What do you want?” Impressively casual, he thought.

“Silence.” The elf murmured. “Well, in the matter of my not quite being what you expected. In other matters...” He trailed off, and Dorian swallowed as the false slave pressed up against him and he felt a second ‘knife’, just as hard and no less dangerous to his sanity.

“Perhaps we ought to go and establish our alibis, ah, thoroughly.”

“An excellent idea, Magister.” He could hear the grin in that purr. “I hear Master Tiberius keeps a bottle of Golden Scythe in his desk drawer.”

“How interesting, I heard it was Antivan Sip-Sip.” Dorian raised a brow, footing somewhat regained now he was on steadier ground. “Perhaps you’re familiar?”

“Care to wager? Whoever wins, tops?” There was less menace in those rolling vowels now, but no less swagger, and Dorian felt a thrill as a genuine chuckle burst from his lips.

“You have a deal.”

The assassin stepped back, golden eyes never leaving his, and any thought of revealing the elf’s deception died a quick death as the sultry gaze was joined by a molten smile, a bow which put the man’s mouth tantalisingly close to Dorian’s waist. “Lead the way, Magister.”

“I’m not actually a Magister, you know.” Dorian muttered as they emerged, pushing past another slave who looked at them with wide eyes as they slipped out into the corridor.

“And I’m not actually a slave.” The elf rolled his eyes. “What of it? Did you want me to call your name out in passion, little Magister?”

“It’s Dorian.” He pushed the man into an alcove, feeling the muscles under the liveried tunic tense and the expected bite of the knife at his gut but paying it no more heed than the thrill it sent up his spine as he leant forward to whisper in a pointed ear. “And yes.”

The elf grunted a little, but there was a breath in it that seemed to be torn unwilling from his throat, a twitch in his breeches Dorian felt against his leg. “Perhaps it is you who will be calling out, hmm?”

Dorian ran his tongue along the delicate skin under his mouth, trying to recall what he’d done last time he’d taken an elf to bed, before he’d realised a slave’s consent meant nothing. His partner now was certainly no slave, the Dalish marks on his skin revealed as Dorian brushed powder away with a hand to his cheek. “And what name should I call?”

“Zevran of Antiva City.” The elf nodded a little mocking bow, and then did something complex with his hands and twisted so that Dorian was the one slammed against the wall, breath knocked out of him and off balance. “At your service.”

“Well, Zevran of Antiva City.” Dorian breathed. “Will you be staying in Tevinter long?”

“Hours.” The smirk played about Zevran’s mouth, and Dorian couldn’t take his eyes off it. “All night, if necessary.”

“Maker.” Dorian groaned.

“And then, once my business is concluded,” A hot, hard press against his thigh left no doubt as to exactly what business he meant. “I will be gone with the dawn.”

A pang of disappointment that Dorian quashed ruthlessly, smothered with determination. “We’d better get started on that Golden Scythe, then.”

“I thought it was Antivan Sip-Sip?”

“Ah, no, that I have right here.” Dorian murmured, licking his lips like a man parched, very much enjoying the way Zevran’s eyes seemed drawn to the motion, enjoyed the heat in the gaze.

“Drink, then.” Zevran murmured, breath close, and as he captured Dorian’s mouth the taste was all gold, liquor-sweet and sharp and heady.

Regret might come in the morning, but he’d never shied away from getting drunk.

[umbry-fic]

a simple game

Summary: Hikari wants to play a game with Tairitsu during lunch break. The rules are simple.

Last one to hold the Pocky wins.

Fandom: Arcaea Characters: Hikari, Tairitsu Relationships: Hikari/Tairitsu Rating: G Word Count: 1338 Mirror Link: AO3 Original Post Date: 11/11/2021

Notes: A short Pocky Day fic set in a modern AU!

~~~

“Hey, Tai!”

Tairitsu didn’t look up from the math textbook set open on her desk, continuing to chip away at the complex question she was working on. It appeared the annoying pest had returned early from lunch. If she ignored her for long enough, maybe she would get tired and go away…

“Pst, Tai!”

No luck, it seemed. Just like the flies that mindlessly buzzed around animals despite the insistent flicking of their tails, she wasn’t leaving. Irritatingly persistent. But she’d always been this way, and Taritsu wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Tai!” The nickname was drawn out, a disgruntled tone to it. “Stop ignoring me!”

A light punch to Tairitsu’s shoulder was the final straw. She slammed the book shut, crossing her arms over her chest and whirling to face Hikari.

Her one and only friend had her white hair tied up into a high ponytail, left hand hidden behind her back and her right still laid on Tairitsu’s shoulder, an adorable pout on her face that made the little anger Tairitsu harboured fade away instantly. They were the only two in the classroom, everyone else off for lunch, the afternoon sun falling on Hikari’s back.

“What is it?” she grumbled. Might as well give Hikari the time of day, or she would never be left alone for the rest of it. She would like to get some of her homework done before the sun set.

“Look what I got!” Hikari cheered, undeterred by her grumpy demeanour, pulling her left hand out with a flourish. Dangling from her fingers was a box - a familiar one, at that, with the easily recognisable snacks populating the cover together with their name, emblazoned above. “They just restocked the vending machines. Honestly, it’s lucky I got one before they ran out again.”

“You know I don’t eat while I’m studying.” She dropped her gaze to the scratched plastic of the desk, doing her very best not to let it stray back to the box of Pocky. She bit her lip, almost able to taste the sweetness on her tongue. It would be so easy to reach out and snatch the whole box out of Hikari’s hand, like it was the most precious treasure in the world.

Her one weakness: sweets. If she let herself fall here, she wouldn’t stop. That couldn’t come to pass!

“You can just eat one!”

The rustling of plastic made her turn her head again. Hikari had already popped open the box and broken the packaging, a mischievous grin on her face as she drew out a single pink-covered stick, waving it tantalisingly in front of Tairitsu’s face.

No… It was even her favourite flavour… Strawberry…

“F - fine,” she muttered, all remaining resistance crumbling like paper as the smell of the Pocky hit her face-first. She could already feel saliva gathering in the bottom of her mouth. “Just one.”

“Great! That’s enough to play the Pocky game!”

“The what?” she asked, incredulous, digging her mind to come up with any game she’d heard of that was related to Pocky. She drew only a blank - what could possibly be played with those tiny sticks? They were meant to be eaten, not turned into playthings. “Is this one of those silly things you’re making up again?”

“You really are too buried in your books, you know,” Hikari tutted, shaking her head. “This is a really popular game that people everywhere play. So I wanted to try it out with you! Please?”

Faced with Hikari’s wide, pleading eyes and the tremble of her bottom lip, Tairitsu was helpless to resist. Hikari always knew exactly what cards to play to get her to do her bidding.

The moment she nodded, acquiescing, Hikari launched into an explanation of the rules, hands waving wildly like there was no time to waste. The whole thing sounded ridiculous, but simple. Be the last one holding onto the Pocky? Sounded easy enough. She wouldn’t mind playing one round. In fact, she could totally win this.

“Judging from that expression on your face, you’re thinking you’re gonna win, huh, Tai?” Hikari said, setting down the stick she’d been swinging around for the past five minutes and drawing a new one out of the box, sitting down on the chair beside her. “Don’t act so smug so fast. It’s not gonna be that simple; trust me. I’ll beat you for sure!”

She snorted, watching Hikari put one end in her mouth. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Hikari had yet to win any of the silly competitions she herself initiated. What made her think this time would be any different, unless she purposely let her win?

That wasn’t going to happen, she decided, shifting closer to Hikari and taking up the other end of the Pocky stick, making sure not to bite down yet. After all, time and time again, Hikari had asked for a fair fight, making her promise to give it her all.

And she would, for she would keep every promise she made with her best friend.

The crunch echoed loudly in the silence of the classroom as Hikari made the first move, leaning forward.

It was only then that Tairitsu realised just how close the two of them were. She could make out each speck of blue and pink in Hikari’s eyes - 5 in the left and 7 in the right - breaking up the grey. Making it “not perfect”. But it was much more beautiful this way, wasn’t it?

Taking a shaky breath, heart beating just a tad faster, she took a big bite, leaning forward herself. No matter. She would still win this. Something as small as this wouldn’t affect her.

But that only brought them closer together. As did the next move Hikari took, a grin seeming to play at the corners of her mouth as she took an even larger bite, not slowing down at all. That flowery scent she always carried around was beginning to overpower the smell of the Pocky, making Tairtisu light-headed.

Oh. She hadn’t accounted for this.

Her next bite was small and timid, for she couldn’t go any further forward without… well. Surely Hikari would admit defeat at this point and proclaim the victory was hers, right? It wasn’t possible -

Any and all thoughts merrily vacated her head as Hikari took the final plunge.

It was only for a brief moment. Barely a second, yet it stretched into eternity. Frozen in place, unable to even breathe, Hikari’s lips pressed against her own. How soft they were, still tasting of the sweetness of Pocky.

And then it was over, air flooding her lungs again as Hikari drew back, the last of the Pocky, barely a tiny stub, held between her teeth. It disappeared quickly with a decisive crunch, a sunny smile spreading across her face. “Told you I would win.” She stood up without any trouble, despite Tairitsu feeling like she was about to melt into a puddle. “I’m gonna go grab actual lunch now, so see ya!”

Waving goodbye, Hikari walked out, humming to herself. Honestly, how was she so unaffected? She was acting as if nothing had happened at all!

Still dumbstruck, Tairitsu pressed a finger to her lips. Surely that had happened. She couldn’t have just imagined it. The heat creeping up her neck and washing over her cheeks, the tingling of her lips, the jumping of her heart… That was all evidence. Evidence that couldn’t be explained away as the events of the past minutes being nothing more than a mere daydream. They were real.

She’d gotten a kiss from her best friend. Or rather, a tiny peck, but one that had burned itself into her memory.

Every time she tried to return to her textbook, her thoughts would drift, mind replaying that one moment continuously as she realised, with horror, that she wouldn’t mind experiencing it again. And perhaps again. And even more…

Her homework most certainly wasn’t getting done today.

Oh, and how was she gonna face Hikari later?

[invisibleicewands]

Michael Sheen on becoming a Faith Healer to save theatre

For many, it is his greatest play. Northern Irish playwright Brian Friel’s Faith Healer (1979) is a haunting and transfixing piece of theatre: a drama that shape-shifts as tantalisingly as memory. And, like all masterpieces, it feels both timeless and timely. Yet, says actor Michael Sheen, who plays lead character Frank in a new live-streamed performance opening tonight at London’s Old Vic, “When it first came out there was a big discussion about whether it was even dramatic at all.” “I find that extraordinary,” he adds. “It’s one of the most thrilling theatrical experiences I’ve had.” On the surface, it’s certainly simple: a series of monologues on a near-empty stage. Three narrators — Frank, the itinerant Irish “faith healer” of the title; Grace, his wife; Teddy, his cockney manager — address us separately, recalling their ramshackle lives on the road, as they traipsed round remote parts of Scotland and Wales trying to drum up business with a shabby poster. Each character takes their turn in the limelight. At the Old Vic, Sheen heads up a stellar cast, with Indira Varma playing Grace and David Threlfall taking the part of Teddy. But what begins straightforwardly soon develops the grip of a detective story. We gradually realise that the trio’s recollections don’t add up: each monologue sheds new — sometimes shocking — light on the earlier ones. Frank appears more complex with each telling. And as the audience pieces together the fragments of information, the play delicately exposes the fragility of memory, the power of narrative and the hunger for meaning. “They were a despairing people,” says Frank at one point, recalling the lost and lonely souls who would turn up in dank village halls on dark winter evenings in the hope of cure, resolution or benediction. The Old Vic staging arrives at a time when uncertainty is the order of the day and a piece composed of competing narratives and disputed facts feels acutely relatable. Meanwhile the question that hovers around the charismatic Frank — genius or conman? — also hits home now, as we contemplate the damage done by populist leaders and seductive rhetoric. Friel grew up in a Catholic community in Northern Ireland in the 1930s, and Faith Healer was written at the height of the Troubles. While the play never addresses that political situation directly, many have noted that its wisdom about identity, place and belonging surely draws on Friel’s lived experience of a divided society. “You can’t grow up in the place where Friel did without having a sense of competing realities, competing narratives, competing stories,” says Sheen. “It’s about the ambiguity of everything,” adds Threlfall. “And, like any great play, it is specific and universal at the same time. We’re in the middle of truth-seeking at the moment aren’t we? You don’t have to look very far for the analogy . . . ” But any larger political resonance with the current moment comes wrapped in something much more personal and potent. And it’s perhaps in this respect that the play feels most timely. It’s a piece composed of monologues, lonely reveries in which factual memories collide with each character’s feelings and fantasies. There is no dialogue as such, yet the three solo narrators depend on each other, bound by the events that they struggle to articulate. “It’s accumulative,” says Varma. “Sometimes we use identical language, and then one little thing is changed. It’s like different colours being laid on top of each other. I lay one colour, David lays another, Michael lays another — and then suddenly the audience sees a new colour that’s been produced.” Matthew Warchus’s “Old Vic: In Camera” staging of this collage of lonely voices is a “scratch performance”, pulled together under the peculiar circumstances of semi-lockdown and performed live onstage but to a remote audience tuned in via Zoom (viewers book tickets to watch online). Where normally the cast might have rehearsed together for weeks, for this performance they have trodden a more solitary path to a final few days in the theatre. The audience, likewise, have all been through lockdown. It’s a play that might speak afresh to viewers familiar with solitude, doubt and reflection, says Sheen. “Why are there three different versions of events?” he asks. “Clearly there is a lot in it to do with faith and belief — what you believe in, how much you can trust that. And there’s obviously something about how we can manipulate our own memories and use the stories we tell sometimes to illuminate and sometimes to hide, obfuscate or justify . . . The aspect of Frank that is hiding from the truth himself, avoiding the difficulties of his reality, and the kind of emotional and psychological acrobatics that you can perform in order to cover up — we can see that going on around the place a lot.” Sheen, who has played many compelling figures in his career, including football manager Brian Clough, prime minister Tony Blair, quiz show host Chris Tarrant and a charismatic teacher in a 2011 large-scale reworking of The Passion in his native Wales, says he is fascinated by characters who have “a performative aspect to them”. “It can often give off a sort of confidence that can then be confounded by what their inner experience is. And they’re complicated in the moral line that they walk. With Frank there is sheer fabrication, he just blatantly makes stuff up. There are all kinds of things there to do with feeling flawed, imperfect and broken. He’s the healer but he’s also the one who needs the healing.” This staging arrives at a time of great uncertainty for theatre. The play wrestles with insecurity, and many see Frank as a conduit for Friel’s own self-doubt as a writer. For writer and critic Fintan O’Toole, “Frank Hardy is the nearest thing to an avatar in [Friel’s] own work: a haunted figure, unsure whether he’s a miracle worker or a charlatan.” And Frank himself voices confusion early in the play about the elusive nature and source of his talent: “Was it all chance?” he asks.

That doubt is recognisable to many artists, says Threlfall. He cites a legendary occasion when actor Laurence Olivier, having given a dazzling performance of Othello, was found plunged in gloom: “Someone said to him, ‘What’s the matter? It was brilliant tonight.’ And he said, ‘Yes, but I don’t know how I did it.’” Yet while Faith Healer is haunted by the fear of failure, it also celebrates the power of live performance. At one point, when Teddy describes Frank’s unexpected healing of a group of people in a shabby old church hall, he could be recalling a transformative evening of theatre. Frank is nothing without his “congregation”, just as Friel’s play is unfinished without an audience. “It’s not about the individual alone,” says Varma. “There’s something else that happens in between [the actor and the audience]. There’s an alchemy.” There’s a particular poignancy, she adds, to delivering this play about belief and memory at a time when many theatres are closed and audiences are still limited (the Old Vic performance is partly aimed at raising money for the theatre). Friel was not a screen writer, she points out: this is a subtle verbal piece reliant on the ability of actors in a space to summon up a lost world through words. “The play only exists if you can remember it,” she says. “Theatre only exists if we can remember Friel and all these amazing theatre writers and we can bring them alive for the audiences.”

Ft.com