#the inimitable duo

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

current editing moodboard, please send help

[hazbinshusk]

huskerdust x fem!reader. a birthday present for the wonderful, inimitable @mckeeks. if anyone deserves to be lovingly spoilt (and dicked down) by this duo, it is unequivocally her. ❤️ happy birthday, babe!

when you reluctantly reveal to the other residents of the hazbin hotel that you're still a virgin, angel graciously offers up his and husk's services in rectifying that condition for you. and how could you turn down such a kind offer from hell's best couple?

(as always, the dynamic here is one in which husk serves as the hinge between the reader and angel). way longer than I thought it'd be - 7.8k.

featuring: afab/fem-presenting reader, established!huskerdust, polyamory, soft!dom angel dust, voyuerism/exhibitionism, praise kink, lowkey daddy kink, oral sex (reader receiving), handjobs (husk receiving), masturbation, facials, husk has barbs (and you're into it), unprotected sex (it's hell so who cares), gendered petnames, the hotel rooms have cuck chairs (sorry).

“Sooo…” Angel draws out liltingly, his glass clasped between two hands, and you immediately regret accepting his invitation to join him at the bar. His voice isn’t teasing – just curious – but you can still feel your face begin to burn before he even gets the question you know is coming past his lips and into the air between you. “…A virgin, huh?”

Dear God or whoever is listening, if there is any chance that the ground could open up and swallow you whole, you really needed it to happen right about now.

“Angel.” Husk says from his usual position on the other side of the bar. He has his back to you as he sorts the bottles back into their designated positions after a long night of ‘family bonding’ with the rest of the residents. You’re grateful, for once, that his eyes aren’t on you. Husk’s voice is edged with a gentleness you think might be reserved just for the spider. Still, there’s a warning there, too. “Leave it.”

Where he’d usually make some teasing or sarcastic remark, Angel’s silent for a moment. When he speaks again, his voice stays gentle, still curious. “You one of those god-fearin’ types or ya just never had the opportunity?”

You loved Charlie, you really did, but right now…

Right now, fuck her and her bonding activities.

“I just…” you swallow the knot sticking in the middle of your throat, keeping your eyes trained pointedly away from Angel’s face. You notice that maybe Husk’s hand pauses for a moment, as though he’s waiting for an explanation too. Well, who wouldn’t? You might have died younger than most, but not young enough to just chalk up your inexperience to the innocence of youth. “I just never met anyone I liked, I guess. And Hell’s not exactly lousy with decent men.”

“Huh.” Angel says simply, finishing his drink. He sets the glass back down, stretching one pair of arms above his head, the other two behind him. He settles all four of his hands in his lap as Husk refills his drink. And then,

“You should get Husk to help ya out with that.”

Your cheeks flame, and Husk chokes on the drink he’s just taken. Eyes watering and his throat burning with the whiskey that sticks in it, he coughs his admonishment. “Angel!”

You grope for a response, for a joke that’ll get the conversation away from your sex life… or lack thereof. Before you can find one, Angel continues, ignoring the way Husk is still hacking up the last of his drink. Even as mortified as you are, you feel your lips quirk upwards slightly in amusement as Husk reaches blindly for a new bottle before he’s even done coughing up the remains of the first.

“Look at you two, blushin’ like some kinda…” Angel smirks as he glances pointedly at you. “…well.”

You frown. “I really don’t need you mocking me, Angel.”

“I ain’t mockin’ ya dollface,” he replies, raising two hands in surrender. Still, that placid note stays in his voice, something that could be read as sincerity if what he was offering wasn’t such a ridiculous notion. “I’m bein’ serious here. Huskie’s downright godly in the sack.”

Husk finally turns around to face the two of you properly, bright pink staining his muzzle. You notice his eyes dart towards you, and you could swear the blush deepens. The idea that it does sends a thrill through you, and you clutch tightly at your glass as though it could somehow stem the feelings churning inside you.

Husk was Angel’s. You’d accepted that, you had. You’d written off your attraction to the bartender as some silly crush. You didn’t think about him like that anymore.

You didn’t.

“Legs, I’m beggin’ ya,” Husk says, even as he refills the spider’s glass, “For the sake of whatever you believe in, please shut the fuck up.”

“What?” Angel protests, waving a hand almost dismissively. He actually looks confused by the objection. “I ain’t got a problem sharin’ if it’s with a friend.”

Husk sighs, directing his eyes towards the ceiling. There’s a tightness to how he stands, in the way his tail is switching back and forth behind him. He’s still avoiding your eye, his face still warm with colour.

“That ain’t the—” he breaks off, taking a deep pull from the bottle in his hand. He grimaces, tilting the bottle to read the label – watermelon vodka of all things – but shrugs and takes another drink as though it helps him gather his thoughts. Or his nerves. “She ain’t a toy, Angel. You can’t jus—”

“You tellin’ me ya ain’t interested anymore?” Angel interjects pointedly, raising a brow.

Husk stiffens, his ears dropping back against his skull. “I—”

“What?” you finally find your voice again, straightening slightly in your seat. You turn your attention fully to the bartender, and he meets your gaze with equally wide eyes. “You… you were interested? In me?”

“I…” Husk seems to struggle for words for a moment before he sighs, an almost sheepish, self-deprecating smile touching his lips as he exhales. “C’mon, doll. I’d have to be blind not to notice you.”

Something warm and wonderfully light settles in your chest, and Angel’s smile widens as he takes in your reaction. You jump as you feel one of his hands touch your arm.

“Told ya so,” he says, skimming his hand up along your arm as he stands. He continues to caress across your shoulder blades, moving to stand behind you. “Shoulda seen it, baby. How he’d bend himself all outta shape feelin’ guilty for feelin’ all warm and gooey over ya.”

“Angel, I didn’t—”

“’s okay,” he assures you gently, his hands taking your shoulders and waist. He leans against your back, meeting Husk’s eye as he speaks in your ear. Angel’s voice is low; his warm breath against your neck makes you shiver. “Like I said, I don’t mind sharin’.”

Your eyes flick back to Husk.

“So, why not get somethin’ out of it? Huskie here can be real romantic about it… he’ll make ya feel so, so good…”

You can feel your breath leave you unsteadily. Husk’s pupils all but eclipse the gold of his eyes, and his gaze falls to your mouth for a moment before he meets your eye again.

“There’s no pressure, baby,” Angel assures you, and you can tell he means it. “I’m jus’ sayin’, we’d have a lot of fun together.”

“‘We’?” you repeat, surprised enough to turn and face him. Angel wears his pride like a second skin, and as far as you were aware, he never swung back the other way without being paid for it. You try to find the right words as Angel beckons Husk to join the two of you, and heat pools in the small of your back as you hear, feel, the bartender round the bar towards you slowly. You choose the words carefully. “I didn’t think you were…”

Angel smirks, lifting your chin with two delicate fingers. That same heat burns in the pit of your stomach at the gentle dominance of the action. “Don’t panic, dollface. I ain’t joinin’ in the ride. It’s your show; yours and Husk’s.”

He leans down, bringing his face so, so much closer to yours. You feel Husk’s presence beside the two of you, and Angel reaches out to take his hand. Husk takes it wordlessly; he’s so close you can feel the soft fur of his stomach brush against your knee as he breathes. It puts images in your head of him stepping between your thighs, taking hold of your hips… trapping you between his body and the bar…

There’s a heat in Angel’s eyes that makes it impossible for you to look away; one that floods through every inch of you. It makes your entire body tingle with need for connection, for touch. Angel seems to recognize this; he reaches up with another hand to brush hair behind your ear and his smile twitches wider when you shudder.

“I jus’ want a front row seat.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Nerves war with the excitement that has bloomed in the very centre of you, and you feel alien and out of place sitting on the bed, one knee bent against the mattress, the other leg hanging off the side. Husk sits in a mirrored position, wings tucked tight against his back. He’s so close that his knee bumps against yours.

The lights are low, but his eyes still glow as they study you. Your eyes keep falling to your hands where they tangle in your lap before they find his again, and you can feel just how flushed your cheeks are under his gaze. The feathered end of his tail twitches back and forth slowly beside the bed, and he clears his throat.

“We don’ have to do anything you don’ want to, sweetness.” he says in a low murmur, his voice all warm velvet and silk. The pet-name makes you press your lips together, the tip of your tongue darting out to wet them. Husk’s gaze falls to follow the movement, and he inhales sharply. “We… I don’ want you to feel like we’re forcin’ you into anything y—”

You lean forward and press your lips to Husk’s impulsively in a brief, fleeting kiss. You hear, feel, the quiet mrrp of surprise he makes, his wings fluttering and relaxing behind him. You can feel the softness of his lips before you pull away again, your face aflame. He blinks at you before his lips curl into a smile, and your breath catches in your throat as he closes the distance between you again.

Husk’s hand cups your cheek in the same moment his lips meet yours. This time the kiss lingers, and your nerves give way to desire as you feel his other paw touch your knee. Husk kisses you softly, searchingly, his lips brushing gently against yours. Your own lips part, his nose bumping against yours as you take a breath. Then he’s kissing you again and you whimper as you feel his tongue touch your bottom lip, begging permission.

God, the way he groans quietly when you part your lips and meet his tongue tentatively with your own.

Husk strokes your cheek with his thumb, the pad of his palm soft against your skin as he slides his claws carefully into your hair. It makes you shiver and you lean into his embrace, reaching up with uncertain hands to card fingers through the fur of his chest. A rumble sounds from deep within him, a rusty purr that you feel as a light buzz under your fingertips.

You can’t help the light, breathless laugh that leaves you as you realise that’s what it is – you’ve made the bartender purr – and Husk smiles into your kiss as he pulls you back to him, catching your lips again. His touch on your knee becomes more confident as you relax into his embrace, and he ghosts the tips of his claws up over your inner thigh, teasing just under the hem of your dress.

“Husk…” you breathe his name against his lips and he chuckles, eyes closed as he presses his forehead against yours.

“Fuck, it sounds so pretty comin’ from you…” he murmurs, his nose cold against your heated skin as he moves to kiss you again.

Your hand journeys up from his chest to slide through the fur of his neck and up to his cheek, and Husk leans into your touch with a soft smile. His paws close around your thighs and he tugs you closer, your legs unfolding to rest on either side of his. Husk’s touch moves to your hips and he kisses you again, guiding you gently back against the pillows as his body covers yours.

Winding your arms around his neck, you feel his feathers tickle at your knees as you bend them to rest against his hips. The move brings him flush against you, and Husk breaks away from your lips with a breathless sound halfway between a groan and a disbelieving laugh.

“Fuck…” Husk lets his head fall forward, his forehead bumping against your collarbone. You feel his hips rock into yours before he can stop himself, and you whimper as you feel his arousal press up between your thighs. He exhales shakily, brushing his lips against your shoulder, your throat, your cheek before he meets your eye again. “’s this okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod, carding your fingers through the fur at the base of his ear. Husk shudders against you, eyes rolling back slightly at the touch. A crease forms in his brow as he forces himself not to move, not to grind himself down against your warmth. Your dress is bunched up around him, baring your inner thighs to his tickling fur, his breath warm against your cheek. “Yeah, please… do it again, Husk.”

“Christ,” Husk mutters as you tease at his ear again, knocking his hat off his head. He kisses you firmly, deeply, one paw taking hold of your thigh and squeezing the soft flesh in a way that you could almost call possessive. “You got no idea how dangerous you are…”

“Holy shit, you two are cute.”

Angel’s voice breaks through the haze between the two of you, and you pull away from Husk slightly as you’re suddenly reminded that the spider is there. Your cheeks flush with heat; you’d been so wrapped up in the man in bed with you that you’d almost forgotten your friend was watching. Instead of being cowed by his interruption however, you’re almost taken aback by how much it excites you, knowing he’s watching.

Husk presses another kiss to the edge of your jaw before he turns his head to roll his eyes and smile at his paramour. “You plannin’ on jus’ addin’ colour commentary here, legs?”

“For now, yeah,” Angel replies with a grin, lounging comfortably in the armchair in the corner. He’s watching the two of you with hooded eyes, and there’s something almost sensual in the way he strokes a hand lazily back and forth along the velvety fabric of the arm of the chair. “I’m jus’ waitin’ for ya to do that thing with your tongue that’ll make her go blind for a second.”

Husk snickers and, feeling daring, you lean up to tease the side of his throat with your lips. You feel him groan as your teeth graze over his pulse point. The bartender’s hand tightens on your thigh, hitching it higher against his hip. “Fuck…”

“Ooh, she’s a quick study,” Angel coos, and you thrill under the praise as Husk turns his head to catch your lips in another kiss. “Think you can keep up with her, kitty?”

“Don’ call me that,” Husk mumbles without breaking the kiss, and Angel giggles. Husk dusts kisses down over your throat, and you feel him grin against your neck when he sucks a bruise into the curve where it meets your shoulder and you curse. The sound of it is low and throaty and begs for more, and Husk rewards it with a louder purr and a trail of kisses that teases down along the neckline of your dress. You arch up into his touch as his lips brush over your sternum, his whiskers tickling at the swell of your breasts.

His paw continues its journey up your thigh, taking the skirt of your dress with it. His tail sways back and forth behind him, and when he reaches your hip, he pauses, pressing one more kiss to your chest before pulling back to meet your eye. A smirk plays over his features, eyes half-lidded and pupils blown wide with desire.

“You got me at a disadvantage here, sweetness,” he murmurs, lips catching yours again briefly. “You’re a little overdressed for the occasion.”

You giggle. “Well, of course you’d think that; you’re the one who walks around the hotel half-naked all day.”

Husk chuckles, and you hear Angel hum a laugh, too. The cat kisses you, his thumb hooking in the band of your underwear and snapping it tauntingly against your hip. “Cheeky girl.”

You sit up and Husk helps you tug your dress up over your head, and God the way he looks at you…

Pulling him down into another kiss, you massage your fingers against the base of his ears and Husk moans, rough and worn and needy. He retakes your hips as you buck up against him, eager to feel him again with one less barrier between you. Husk snickers, kissing your cheek.

“Slow down, princess,” he tells you gently, claws tickling against your ribs as he strokes them soothingly. He hooks them in either side of your underwear, and you whine. He draws them down your legs slowly, pulling away from you long enough for you to kick them away. “I’ve got you, baby. One step at a time.”

You hear Angel shift in his chair and look towards him automatically. The spider smiles and winks, still watching the two of you with that same addictive intensity. You hold his gaze as Husk kisses his way back down your chest, sliding your bra strap down your shoulder gently. You gasp, arching up under Husk at the first touch of his tongue to your nipple. Angel’s smile widens.

Husk’s tongue is warm and wet and deliciously rough, and you moan as he sucks a teasing pressure around the hardened point. It makes your fingers tighten in his fur, and his other paw comes up to brush is claws over your other nipple. He pinches it and tugs, and the sudden pain makes you jump, and Husk snickers into your chest.

“Fuck, Husk…” you whine, eyes squeezed closed. You shift long enough to reach behind yourself and unclip your bra, tossing it aside as Husk immediately returns his attention to your breasts, paw kneading into the soft flesh. “Shit…”

“Ain’t he jus’ got the most magic tongue:” Angel coos, standing slowly. He makes his way towards the bed slowly, focused intently on how Husk’s back arches as he grinds himself into the mattress between your thighs. “Oh, he’s gonna make you feel so good, baby…”

Husk lingers at your breasts a moment longer, still purring deeply, before he continues lower. He dusts soft, teasing kisses down over your belly, paws smoothing down over the curve of your waist. He pauses just above the apex of your thighs, pressing the cold heart of his nose hard against your skin and inhaling deeply, his eyes closed.

“Christ…” he mutters, running his paws down over your hips and over your thighs, pressing them gently apart. His back arches in a long, fluid motion as Angel scratches his fingers through the fur along the cat’s spine. The spider’s touch lingers between his wing joints, and Husk groans, bumping his forehead against your thigh. “Fuuuuck… you smell so good, baby…”

“Husk…” you murmur, an ache throbbing between your thighs. You press your hips up, desperate for him to bring his mouth lower. “Please…”

“Oh, don’t you sound so pretty when you beg?” Husk rumbles, pressing an infuriatingly chaste kiss to your inner thighs, first one, then the other, his eyes watching your face hungrily. The smirk he wears is maddening, as is the snicker you hear from Angel. The spider sits next to you on the bed, stroking his fingers through your hair. You lean into the touch, eyes closing, a frown tugging at your lips as your impatience grows.

“Don’t she?” Angel agrees, nails scratching pleasantly against your scalp. “Be a nice kitty for her, baby.”

Husk’s smirk widens and Angel slips behind you, lifting you gently just long enough to fold his legs under you so your head is in his lap. The spider winks at you again, upside down, just as Husk finally slides his tongue slowly up over your clit.

“Oh, fuck!”

Angel giggles at the way you gasp, your hips rising off the sheets. Your eyes roll back as Husk flicks his tongue over your clit and the cat groans into your cunt at the taste of you. His paws clutch at your thighs, pinning you against the mattress, and while he planned on taking you apart slowly, the taste of you is already too addictive to let him pace himself.

Angel keeps stroking your hair with two hands, and your own reach down to grab at fistfuls of the fur between Husk’s ears. The bartender’s wings quiver as your nails scratch at his scalp.

Grinding your hips up against his mouth as best you can under his hold, you bite your lip against the downright pornographic sounds you can feel catching in his throat as Husk tortures your clit. Angel smirks, another hand coming up to glide over your chin, gently unhooking you lip from beneath your teeth. He giggles as you wrap your lips around two of his fingers blindly, curl your tongue against them and suck.

“Fuck, that’s hot.” he sighs, and Husk moans between your legs as he watches. “Oh, you’re in for a fuckin’ treat if you get her on her knees, Husk-baby.”

Husk chuckles, fangs grazing your inner thigh for a moment before he slides his tongue over your clit and down into your dripping cunt. He fucks you with his tongue eagerly, pressing the pad of his thumb against your clit. When your fingers brush against the shell of Husk’s ears he purrs again, and you moan, loud and broken and keening as the sound vibrates up into your pussy.

Angel hums approvingly, withdrawing his hand to slide it down around your throat. He cups it, squeezes it just a little, and you cum with a hoarse cry of Husk’s name. There’s no doubt you’re being loud enough to be heard in the hallway but you don’t care, not with the way Husk’s tongue feels inside you, the way his claws are digging into the flesh of your hips.

Husk doesn’t stop until you’re shaking, your thighs clamping around his ears, one hand clutching at the fur between them. You can feel a wet patch on the comforter beneath your ass, and Husk’s expression is decidedly smug as he climbs back up your body, one suspender hanging off his shoulder. Angel intercepts him before you can kiss him, and you whimper as they kiss over you, Angel cupping the bartender’s head with two hands. You can see their tongues sliding against each other and when Angel moans at the taste of you, you whimper, grinding your hips up against Husk’s clothed erection.

He groans, breaking away from Angel with a breathless chuckle. “Needy little thing…”

Husk leans back down to kiss you, and you can taste a heady mix of the sweetness of Angel’s last cocktail and your own arousal on his tongue. When you reach between you to fumble with the fastening of his pants, he closes a large hand over both of yours, stilling you.

“Slow down, pet. I’ve…” he kisses you gently again, steadying his voice. “Hell ain’t exactly left me with the anatomy you’re expectin’…”

“Say it like that and you’re gonna scare her,” Angel teases, reaching out to rub his fingers against the base of Husk’s ear. The bartender purrs, leaning into it instinctively. Angel looks down at you, giving you a smile that’s somehow both reassuring and downright lascivious. “You’re gonna love it, aren’t ya, babydoll?”

You nod, and there’s a surprising thrill that’s curling inside you at Husk’s warning. Or maybe that’s the way his claws trail lightly up over your hip. He swipes his thumb over your clit again, and you jerk under the touch.

“Angel…”

“Look at her, Huskie,” Angel coos, giving his partner a teasing pout. “It’d be cruel to deprive our sweet girl now. She’s about thirty seconds away from beggin’ ya for it. ‘Sides,” he shrugs. “I got lube if she needs it.”

Husk raises a brow. “You’ve got lube?”

“What d’ya take me for? Some kinda amateur?” Angel says, affronted. “Course I’ve got lube!”

The bartender chuckles, rolling his eyes and apologising by pulling the spider into another kiss. You feel his paw loosen its grip where it still holds your hands against his zipper, and you palm his erection through his pants. Husk moans, shuddering under the touch as he pulls away to meet your eye. “We… we take it slow, alright?”

You nod, maybe too quickly from the way Angel smirks, but Husk accepts it and releases you. You make quick work of his fly as he slips off his suspenders, and your eyes widen as his cock is freed from the fabric. It’s tapered slightly, thickening to the base, and along the length of it are small, pointed barbs. Angel brushes hair away from your face, cooing softly. “They’re gonna feel so good inside you, baby… you’re gonna take his cock so good for us…”

You exhale shakily, a sound echoed by Husk as you wrap your fingers gently around the base of his cock. You stroke him experimentally, and the way the barbs feel against your palm… Husk moans as you squeeze him, stroke your thumb over the tip of his cock. He peppers kisses over your forehead, your temples and your cheeks, catching your lips again and kissing you deeply as you pump his cock slowly. Angel hums his approval and when Husk kisses your brow Angel hooks his fingers under the cat’s chin, bringing him up for another kiss of his own.

You can hear every reaction Husk makes to your touch, the way his breath catches, the way he moans into Angel’s mouth. He thrusts himself into your hand, and you stroke your other hand through the fur over his ribs. When Angel reaches past him to massage the base of Husk’s wings the cat gasps, jerking away from the both of you. “Christ, fuck, you two are gonna kill me here.”

You giggle, and Husk grins, leaning up to kiss Angel’s cheek before he settles himself back between your thighs. Your breath catches as the head of his cock presses up against your cunt, and Angel strokes your cheek as Husk slides an inch slowly into you.

“Oh, God, Husk…” you whine, hips shifting as you feel his cock stretch you open. “Fuck…”

“Look at you,” Angel whispers sweetly as Husk pulls back and presses into you again, sliding another inch into you. The bartender groans as you flex around him, his paws tight on your hips. “Look at how pretty you look like this...”

You reach up to clutch at the pillows and Angel wraps his hand around yours, interlacing his fingers with your own. Husk’s body is warm and firm and a wonderful weight over yours, his face buried in the curve of your neck as he tries to maintain this torturous, glacial pace. Each thrust of his hips stretches you further, and it aches wonderfully, each barb of his cock taking the breath from your lungs in a little ‘hahh’.

“You’re doin’ so good, baby,” Angel continues, trailing fingers of another hand along your other collarbone. “Bein’ such a good girl for daddy… makin’ him feel so good.”

Husk moans into your shoulder, teeth grazing the supple flesh. His paw spreads possessively over your waist, kneading into the flesh of your belly.

“Listen to how hot you get him,” Angel says, a third hand scratching the fur between Husk’s ears. “Look at how kitty fucks you… he’s tryin’ so hard not to hurt you, baby. But you’re so wet for him, aren’t you? You’re so wet and so ready and all you gotta do is say ‘please’… say ‘please’ pretty baby and Huskie’s gonna fuck you so deep and so good… fuck you like you deserve for bein’ such a good girl for him…”

“Fuck…” you whine, rocking your hips up to meet Husk’s. He’s almost completely inside you; the way he corkscrews his hips makes the barbs of his cock drag against the flesh of your cunt deliciously, and your eyes roll back at the feeling of it. “Fuck!”

“C’mon, baby,” Angel urges, sugar-sweet. The hand on your shoulder dips lower, teasing over the curve of your breast. He flicks his fingers over your nipple, and your breath catches in what could almost be a sob. “Beg nice and pretty for daddy and he’ll fuck you just how you need it. “

“Please,” you whine, brow furrowed in frustration as Husk pulls out completely, sliding his cock up against your clit. His breathing is heavy, torn with need of his own, and he dips his head to kiss you, hard and deep. You moan into his mouth as his barbs drag against your clit, and you wrap your arm around his neck, your other hand still locked in Angel’s. “Please, Husk… fuck me, please… Fuck… I need you to… please, Husk…”

“That’s a good girl,” Husk sighs, and the two of you moan in unison as he slides his cock back into you, his hips finally, finally flush with yours. “Holy… fuuuuck…”

“Listen to you two,” Angel says admiringly, his voice strung with his own desire. “Sound so fuckin’ pretty together…”

Husk fucks you deep; each time he pulls back he thrusts in again far enough to make your breath leave you in quick, cut moans. You raise your knees higher, trying to get him deeper, and Angel reaches down with his lower arms, hooks his hands under your knees and draws them up towards your chest. The angle makes Husk’s cock brush against something inside you with each press of his hips into yours and you keen with it, the sound tearing hoarsely from your throat, high-pitched and broken.

“That’s it, baby,” Angel tells you. “Tell daddy how good he feels; tell him how good he feels fucking you.”

“So good…” your breath catches in your throat as Husk touches a careful claw to your clit, your body shuddering with the added stimulation. “Fuck, it’s so good…”

Husk kisses the other side of your neck, tongue and teeth teasing over your pulse point before he kisses you again, sweet and deep and addictive. A purr rumbles through him as he speaks against your lips, bumping his nose against yours. “You feel so fuckin’ good, doll. Fuck, you’re like pure fuckin’ silk…”

Your voice comes out high-pitched, a whine that matches the tears burning in the corners of your eyes. “Please, Husk… I’m so close, I can’t… Husk…”

“’s okay, baby, I got you,” he kisses you again, brief but tender. “I got you, doll. Fuck, you’re so… Christ…”

You clutch at the fur at the back of his head, urging his face back down to your neck. Husk moves obediently, sinking his teeth into the side of your neck just as he thrusts deep into your quivering cunt. You moan aloud as you cum, eyes rolling back and rocking your hips up against his as soon as Angel releases your thighs. Husk groans into your throat, keeping his teeth buried in your sensitive flesh until he feels you slowly relax again. He laps gently at the mark he’s left behind, the roughness of his tongue making your body jerk with each stroke of it against your neck.

Husk’s breathing is just as laboured as yours, and he presses kisses over your cheeks, your chin as he steadies his hips. You whine as he slips his cock out of you, bucking up against him as he slides the barbs of it slowly against your clit.

“Fucking… holy shit,” you reach down to grasp at his hips, and Husk chuckles brokenly into the edge of your jaw as he stops moving. He kisses the bridge of your nose and you wrinkle it when it tickles, and you echo his laugh breathlessly as he brings his lips back to yours. Husk purrs against your lips.

“Fuck, you two are hot as shit,” Angel sighs, squeezing your hand. You hum happily, squeezing back, and Husk breaks the kiss to lean up and kiss him. It’s soft and languid and sweet, and Husk groans into it, rutting himself against your thigh. Angel coos against Husk’s lips, kissing him between words. “You still need to cum, don’t ya, kitty?”

Husk nods, groaning as you stroke your fingers through the fur of his chest. “Don’t tease me, legs.”

“Never, baby,” Angel promises with the sweetest smirk, petting the bartender’s cheek. “Now be a good boy and sit back for me.”

Husk does as he’s told, and Angel strokes your cheek with careful fingers. You lean into it contentedly, and his expression softens further with an affectionate smile. “How ya feelin’, dollface?”

“Take a guess,” you sigh happily and he snickers.

“Atta girl.”

You feel Husk smooth a paw up over your calf, and your body warms as you shift to meet his eye. He has his other paw wrapped around his cock, stroking it slowly. Each time he reaches the base he squeezes, his breathing unsteady. His pupils are still blown wide, his wings quivering and his tail switching behind him.

“Roll over for him, baby,” Angel instructs you gently. “Up on your knees.”

You groan at the soft ache between your thighs as you roll over, hear Husk’s breath catch as you bare your naked back to him. You feel his paw smooth up the back of your thigh to squeeze your ass, and you lean back against him, his fur tickling at your bare skin, his cock hard against the curve of your ass. He wraps his arm around your middle, claws digging into the soft flesh in what feels addictively possessive, his other hand catching your chin and turning your face towards him. He kisses you over your shoulder, that sweet purr vibrating into your back.

Angel leans forward, turning your face away from Husk’s so he can kiss him instead, moaning quietly into the embrace. When they part, Angel surprises you by brushing his lips over yours. “Bend over, sweet girl.”

You shudder at his tone, a moan catching in your throat as you do as he asks. Husk moves to slide his cock between your thighs, and he groans, low and rough. Angel smooths hair away from your face as he guides you down to rest your cheek against his thigh, and your excitement sparks even brighter as you notice the spider’s erection beneath the tight fabric of his skirt, only a few inches from your face.

Husk thrusts into you again, nice and slow, exhaling heavily as your warm, wet cunt squeezes around him again. A shiver rolls up your spine as he takes hold of your hips, palms pressing into the flesh of your ass, claws digging into your skin. Angel’s lower hands move to your shoulders, pinning your chest to the mattress so your back is arched almost obscenely. He moans as you nuzzle your cheek against his clothed cock, and he gathers your hair in his fist so he can watch your face as Husk rolls his hips into yours.

“Fuck, you’re an eager lil’ thing,” Angel giggles breathlessly. He pulls up his skirt, and you watch through heavy-hooded eyes as Angel strokes himself through the barely-there lace of his thong, the fabric damp with his pre-cum. “Look at how much you’re turnin’ us on, baby… fuck…”

He moans as you clutch at his thigh, nails digging into the lithe muscles hidden under downy fur. You rock your hips back to meet Husk’s every thrust, urging him deeper into you. The bartender is muttering a string of curses the closer he gets to release, the swearing broken by moans and half-there praise for the two of you. When Angel pushes his underwear to the side to wrap his delicate, talented fingers around his own cock, he and Husk moan in unison. Your eyes roll back as Husk’s hands tighten on your hips and his pace quickens desperately.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuck…” you grunt out each time his hips meet your ass, your throat raw. You reach beneath yourself to play with your clit, the sounds you’re making turning high pitched. Angel’s fingers grasp at your hair tighter, his hips rising beneath you to fuck himself into his hand. “Fuck, Husk… Angel… I… fuck…”

“Christ, baby, I can’t…” Husk moans, tail wrapping itself around your sweat-slick thigh. His feathers tickle at the soft, sensitive flesh of your inner thigh, at the back of your hand as you roll your fingers hungrily against your clit. “Fuck, I can’t—”

“Hear that, babydoll?” Angel asks you, his usually almost teasing lilt broken by his own desperation. Instead his voice is reedier, breathier, and it’s far hotter than any of the moans you’ve heard him make in any one of the pornos he’s showcased for the other residents. “Don’t ya want our sweet kitty to cum for ya?”

“Yes…” you choke out, your thighs shaking, heat pooling in the small of your back. Husk bends over you to press kisses along your spine, and you feel like you want to cry from all the warring sensations. “God, fuck yes—Husk…”

He growls in response, fangs grazing the middle of your back as he kisses the curve of your back. His paws tighten on your hips further, despite himself, and you find yourself thrilling at the idea that he might mark you.

“Gotta – shit – ask nicely, sugar,” Angel reminds you, nails scratching against the nape of your neck. “Beg for daddy.”

“Please,” you whimper immediately; you can taste iron from the way your teeth dig into your lip. You’re so fucking close, each thrust of Husk’s cock keeps you teetering on that precipice. Each graze of his rigid barbs against the inside of your cunt makes heat pulse through every inch of you and you need to feel him cum. “Please, Husk… please, I – uhnn—I want you to… fuck—cum for me…”

You reach back to grasp blindly for him, closing your fingers around his paw. You swear Husk almost whimpers at your touch.

“Cum inside me, Husk.”

The sound the bartender makes is sinful, an addictive mix of a deep, throaty moan and this cattish growl that you hope will be imprinted on your brain. He squeezes your hand back as he thrusts hard into you, his body curving over yours to press his chest against your back as he spills himself deep inside you.

A few more seconds rubbing furiously at your clit and you follow him, burying your teeth in Angel’s thigh in an attempt to muffle the way you cry out as you orgasm. Angel moans loudly, eyes rolling back, hips thrusting up, and you feel the warmth of his cum on your cheek. “Oh, fuck!”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The flush of the toilet seems a little too loud, and you stand on shaky legs in front of the bathroom mirror as you wash your hands, run damp fingers through your hair to tame it. Your eyes seem too bright, your cheeks still flushed and your bottom lip bee-stung. You touch fingers to the bruises darkening on the side of your throat, flashes of the way Husk’s mouth had felt there replaying in your mind.

Even after three orgasms strong enough to knock the breath out of you, excitement tickles between your thighs at the memory. You exhale shakily, trying to calm yourself, fill the glass on the side of the sink with cold water from the tap and swallow it down.

Holy shit.

There a few lighter bruises across your breasts; your nipple aches as you brush your fingers against the darker bruise beside it. You glance down, making a happy note of the scratch marks on your hips. They’re light, barely there, but a thrilling reminder all the same.

Holy.

Shit.

You’d just lost your virginity.

In a threesome.

With a former Overlord and Hell’s most famous porn star.

Holy.

Fucking.

Shit.

Pulling on the oversized tee-shirt you use a pyjamas and wishing you had a clean pair of underwear with you, you take another steadying breath, preparing yourself for an empty room. After all, Angel had explained at the beginning of all this that by going to your room, you’d ‘feel more comfortable telling them to fuck the hell off’ if you needed to. Now that the… experience was over, why would they stay?

So, when you open the bathroom door to find the two of them waiting for you on the edge of the bed, you almost trip over the area rug.

“We were startin’ to think you weren’t comin’ outta there,” Angel says lightly, giving you a reassuring smile. “You okay, sugar?”

You nod, tucking hair behind your ear uncertainly.

“You sure?” Husk asks. His expression is soft, and you’re surprised to see his muzzle is once again stained with a blush. “You look like you’re ready to rabbit. If we did somethin’ you ain’t—”

“What? No!” you assure him quickly, your cheeks warming to match his. “No, I just… I guess I wasn’t expecting you two to stick around.”

Husk raises an eyebrow, and something that could be hurt flashes briefly across his features. “D’you want us to go?”

“And skip the afterglow?” Angel says, like he’s playfully offended shocked Husk would even suggest it. He stands, and you notice then that he’s changed his clothes – his everyday outfit exchanged for a pyjama set and thigh-high socks. He glances down at himself, offering by way of explanation, “Had to check on Nuggets. And ‘sides, I look cute as shit in this.”

The comment breaks some of the tension you’re feeling, and you huff a quiet laugh. Angel’s own smile widens and he closes the distance between the two of you. he turns and wraps an arm around your shoulders in the same friendly way he’s done a hundred times before, but this time he squeezes your shoulders, another hand coming up to play idly with the ends of your hair. You feel his lips brush your temple as he bends down to speak in your ear. “You want us gone, baby, all you gotta do is say so. But Huskie’s big on the aftercare and checkin’ in and all that. He waited here while I changed – don’t think he’s leavin’ ‘til he knows you’re happy.”

The sentiment warms you, and you lean into Angel’s side. You speak louder than he did, so Husk can hear you, too. You smile softly as his ears flick upward at the sound of your voice, husky and worn from overuse. “I’m happy. Still… not entirely sure if what just happened, happened, but happy.”

“If it didn’t, it might jus’ be hottest fuckin’ dream I ever had,” Angel laughs, fingers playing teasingly with the edge of your towel. “Now go cuddle up to our boy before he combusts.”

Our boy.

Husk’s worried expression softens into a smile as you approach where he still sits on the edge of the bed, and he holds up a paw to you invitingly. His touch is warm and soft and wonderfully comforting as it wraps around your hand, and you blush when he turns your hand over to brush his lips to the inside of your wrist, a crease between his brows.

“How’re you feelin’?” he asks against your skin, his eyes opening to meet your gaze. You smile, bending down impulsively and pressing a kiss to the lines between his brows. A quiet purr sounds from him at the touch, ears folding down. The fur between his ears is dishevelled and it makes him look younger, less worn.

“I’m good.”

He smiles back up at you. “Good.”

“Fuck, you two are givin’ me a toothache over here.” Angel interjects in amusement, and you hadn’t even realised he’d made himself comfortable against the pillows and the headboard. “Now, am I gettin’ my ass cuddled good and proper here or what?”

You giggle, and he opens all four arms to you expectantly, a smirk playing over his features. Husk seems reluctant to let you go, his hand following you as you move to join his partner on the bed. Tugging your shirt down as best you can to cover yourself, you crawl onto the bed and laugh as you collapse into the spider’s waiting arms. He snickers, wrapping them around you, swatting your ass playfully with one hand. You shove him away with a laugh, breath catching in your throat as you feel Husk climb up the bed and wrap his arms around you.

You settle on your side between them, cradled against Angel’s chest and Husk pressed against your back. His wing curves around you, feathers tickling at your bare arm, his thighs pressed up against the backs of yours. He reaches over you to interlock his fingers with Angel’s, his face tucked in over your shoulder. Husk’s breath tickles at the side of your neck, and he hums contentedly as he inhales the scent of you.

“… Did you two change the sheets?”

Angel nods and grins, trailing fingers up over your thigh idly. “Ya left a hell of a wet patch, baby. Next time we should probably put down a towel.”

You swallow, tilting your head back to look at him. “… Next time?”

“Only if you want, baby,” Husk murmurs into the side of you throat. He shifts, leaning up over your shoulder. Angel hooks a couple of delicate fingers against your cheek in the same moment, turning your head so Husk can kiss you. It’s soft and sweet and wonderful, and you sigh into his kiss. Husk’s purr deepens. “No pressure.”

You turn back to the man you’re laying on, studying his expression. “Angel?”

His smile is warm and sincere, even as that teasing lilt to it remains. “Like I said, baby, I got no problem sharin’ with a friend.”

Husk rubs his forehead against your shoulder, up along the curve of your throat. His voice is soft and velvety, warm in your ear. “’s up to you, pet. We’d love to keep you.”

.

.

.

Again, happy birthday Keeks! Hope you liked this thoroughly un-proofread piece of smut. I am once again letting you know just how grateful I am to have you in my life - we've almost known each other for a year now, and I already cannot imagine life without you. You're an angel, and I love you :)

[sambhavami]

Krishna: a character adored for over two thousand years, revered as one of the most significant political masterminds of the ancient world with his words forming the philosophical core of the country today. Concurrently, he is the god shrouded in inimitable domesticity- as a friend, a lover, and a child. No other deity in the Hindu pantheon has probably achieved as dear a position in the hearts of people as this flute-wielding cowherd of Gokula.

For generations, he has shined as the muse of countless poetfolk, of unfinished business, of unspoken desires and of repressed lovers' qualms. In Meera's longing for her marble beloved, and in Kothai's dulcet dreams of a celestial wedding, Krishna blossoms not as a warrior, but rather as a confidante of young women- the keeper of all secrets.

Curse, o ye, this wedding of devotion, 

For I was better off unmarried,

Writes the lovestruck Nawab Sadiq Hilm,

I was well enough at my mother's; 

Oh, why did I pine for him?!

Who am I, or what: go ask Rizwan, the gatekeeper

For heaven has been rejected by my forebearers!

He says, in a nostalgic ode to the cowmaids from old tales. To the ones that massage the dust off their feet on Krishna's fevered forehead to soothe his illness, even as the apparent disrespect dooms their afterlives.

Jayadeva notes a more rugged form of Krishna, one that is almost hungry for love. His Radha smiles down upon Radharaman Dutta's kalankini. Of course, she would accept even infamy if it was in relation to her Krishna. However, in time, this epithet has been reclaimed as a celebration of the meteoric, tempestuous love that this unseemly duo had carved out for themselves of the pages of a mostly unwilling history.

Tagore's Krishna is mysterious, eagerly anticipated but rarely seen. Rather, here Radha's pining is crushing and all-encompassing, inherited from Chandidas' virahini. Radha's guttural desire to transform Krishna into herself, subjecting him to the same suffering that she undergoes as a woman in love with a furious ideology more than a man, reverberates eerily against the lighthearted cross-dressing tale of Surdas'.

As often as bards favour the songs extolling the love of the cowherd and the wedded maiden, Krishna's wives are seldom accorded any thought outside of Vasudeva's family tree. Their silence speaks to the stringent rules of a typical patriarchal household. Some of them do speak, and hence Satyabhama becomes conceited and Kalindi wayward. However, the mere few lines that they are mercifully allotted in the text are enough to speak to their resilience. The lines inadvertently hold up a window to the million unspoken words and unexchanged glances. It speaks to the long years, happy and sad. It speaks to the nights of waiting for the beloved to return. It speaks to the quiet lunches in curtained rooms and taste tests in the kitchen.

Each of Krishna's eight wives has their own life, and their own equation with Krishna. Each of their distinct personalities, coupled with their unique introductions to the prince has the potential to bring a distinct flavour to the story of Krishna, the statesman. The understanding that Krishna's heart belonged first to Vrindavana and then to his ambition, must have weighed somewhat on their hearts and yet, the choice to patch up the battle-hardened cowherd, after every blow, sans complaint, and send him out into the world as the architect of history, must have demanded restraint.

The distinct turn of events that brings each of the chief eight queens to Krishna's is quite interesting. Rukmini, the first, demonstrates heart, even if it is born out of desperation. Seizing control of her life, she sends a message, relying solely on rumours of his compassion. Her gamble yields returns manifold as Krishna not only rescues her from an unwanted marriage, but instates her as his chief consort, elevating her, alongside himself, to a divine status. Far from the impulsiveness of her youth, Pandhari's Rakhumai, astute beside her beloved, proudly bears a conch-shell, calling for harmony and community. In life as well, Rukmini brings to Krishna much needed stability, and oversees the blossoming of the city of Dwarika as well as Krishna's growing household.

Jambavati and Satyabhama are given in marriage to the prince by their respective fathers and do not seem to have much of a voice at the time. Jambavati fulfills an ancient destiny, a forgotten promise, then going on to mother the child that ultimately brings about the demise of the Yadava clan. Satyabhama, though often maligned with unfair accusations, is self-reliant. Making no attempt to hide herself from the eye of society, takes her rightful place beside Krishna, not on a throne, but by his side in battlefields. Kalindi however, is an extremely interesting character in Krishna's story. Enmeshed between mortal and divine, she exists as neither. Chancing upon the prince, she unabashedly declares her intentions to be married, and yet she is uncharacteristically silent after her marriage. Lakshmana and Mitravinda, are both won in conquest. They might have been able to sympathize with Rukmini, given their kin had turned against them, on account of their choice of a life partner. Bhadra, on the other hand, has no fancy contests to boast of, or an adventurous rescue. She marries Krishna at the behest of her brother, the only highlight being the arduous journey she undertakes from Kekaya to Dwarika.

After their marriages, these women practically disappear from the narrative until their last moments. We can assume that they were all presumably content with a life outside the spotlight. One can only hope to be privy to their lives after marriage, to know their dreams, nightmares and daily chores. They enter Krishna's life at crucial junctions, and I choose to believe they each had a unique effect on Krishna's worldview, bringing with them a fresh outlook into the mostly stagnant golden city.

[cosmichorrorlesbians]

what's your dnd campaign about?

smiles so sweetly. you have hit my obsession button squarely on the head. come closer I am a very normal dungeon master.

Beyond the Pale is a DnD 5e (yes I know) campaign set in a world that for the last thirty years has been slowly freezing to death, its one still-functioning city, and the tiny morticianry practice of the Morrigan (PhD) (played by the inimitable @thedapperraven), a bird-masked mortician with dark magical powers, the remains of a cult looking disapprovingly over her shoulder, and a lot of unresolved trauma. oh, and it's also home to her platonic life partner Scratch Silvertongue (played by the incomparable @mossycrumpet), a quick-talking bastard schemer of a thief, who crashed through her window with some nasty wounds one day following a heist (gone wrong) (gone very, very wrong) (gone eldritch) and never really left. when the duo are unexpectedly hired to investigate the brutal murder of a plutocrat coal baron, they quickly discover a network of religious conspiracy, capitalist cover-up and eldritch terror whose roots threaten to stretch back into aspects of their pasts they'd rather not see dragged back into the light.

it's gaslamp-fantasy apocalyptic horror murder mystery that would make a Victorian historian scream and tonally incoherent as DnD always is. Scratch and Mori bicker with detectives, screw over billionaires, fight their reanimated mentor's corpse, psychologically torture a mean-girl cleric, start gang wars, have homoerotic duels with hot mob bosses (quite literally. she was on fire) and witness two old women have one of the most cataclysmic divorces known to man. and-- both being characters utterly allergic to emotional vulnerability-- they both have to grapple with the way their pasts have fucked them over, how that has changed them, how uneasily loving someone coexists with keeping secrets, and what it means to care about someone else more than you care about yourself.

in my eyes? it's about free will versus fate, trauma, love, mentorship, dealing with the mistakes of the people who came before you, tragedy, codependent duos, the end of the world and what we do to get through it, and lots and lots of body horror. but mostly it's about how much I love my irl best friends.

misc art for the vibes <3

[itsallmadonnasfault]

Swathed in acres of black chiffon and draped in a long lace veil, Madonna took a front row seat at Dolce & Gabbana‘s SS25 Fashion Week show in Milan. The designers had dedicated their catwalk presentation, entitled Italian Beauty, to Madonna’s inimitable touring costumes – the singer has been a friend to the brand since the 1990s.

On her head, the Material Girl singer wore a gold and crystal tiara, cementing her status as a platinum-selling artist and undisputed star of the show. But almost hidden beneath her veil was an incredible high jewellery necklace with a special meaning for the Italian design duo.

The floral-inspired piece is from Dolce & Gabbana’s Alta Gioielleria collection, crafted from white gold and set with 461 sparkling white diamonds, including five astonishing pear-shaped stones weighing almost 80 carats in total.

Looking closer, one can also see three tiny skulls, carved from Bianco d’Istria stone – a slightly menacing motif, perhaps, but one that has been included as a tribute to themes that have always fascinated Dolce & Gabbana: the conflict between love and destruction, and the triumph of life and beauty over death.

The stone itself is an ancient material, prized since the Roman era for its pale beauty as well as its strength and resistance to moisture. It is one of the most noticeable characteristics of the carved façades in Venice, able to withstand the continuous exposure to salt water. The quarry that provides the city with its blocks of Bianco D’Istria is the same one that yielded the stones for Dolce & Gabbana’s necklace.

Like all of the designers’ high jewellery collections, this detailed piece also pays tribute to the art of ‘fatto a Mano’ (made by hand), preserving ancient skills of hand carving, setting and sculpting that are fast going extinct elsewhere – a small triumph, perhaps, over the incessantly fast-paced and increasingly AI-obsessed times we currently find ourselves in, and an important message for the Queen of Pop herself to promote.

[denimbex1986]

'*****

No sonic screwdriver. No TARDIS. No city-razing destruction, nor stupefyingly cute alien critters. As Doctor Who episodes go, ‘Wild Blue Yonder’ couldn’t be more different from the show’s blockbuster comeback, ‘The Star Beast’, if it tried. Last week’s adventure was Who at the peak of its silly, sugar-rush sci-fi powers: a spectacular kick-off to the show’s 60th anniversary celebrations, precision-tooled to dazzle newbies (Whobies?) and dyed-in-the-wool Whovians alike. This week’s, however — essentially a two-hander — is an insular Gothic chamber piece that goes toe-to-toe with Alien in the spaceship-as-haunted-house stakes. Invoking everything from NuWho favourites ‘Midnight’ and ‘Listen’ to sci-fi horror classics Event Horizon and The Thing, Russell T Davies strips everything back here to remind viewers at home that there ain’t no bottle episode like a Doctor Who bottle episode.

Arriving under a shroud of sworn secrecy (even press didn’t see this one until it aired), speculation had been rife about exactly what ‘Wild Blue Yonder’ would be. Rumours of a multi-Doctor story — Peter Capaldi, Matt Smith, Jodie Whittaker: you name ’em and someone had an in-depth Twitter/X thread red-stringing together a theory — abounded. But while technically this is a multi-Doctor story (and a multi-Donna one at that), it’s not one in the way anybody would have expected. And honestly, amid a landscape of disposable cameos and inconsequential fan-service, that the secrecy is in aid of storytelling rather than stunt casting is a blessed relief.

A comical cold open sees the Doctor (David Tennant) and a newly memory-restored Donna (Catherine Tate) flung back to England, circa 1666. There, the duo catalyse Sir Isaac Newton’s (It’s A Sin’s Nathaniel Curtis) discovery of ‘mavity’ (a communicational mishap) and the Doctor’s discovery of bisexuality (“He was hot, wasn’t he?”). But a classic ‘Doctor-meets-historical-figure-and-hijinks-ensue’ caper this is not. And before long, the Doctor and Donna find themselves stranded aboard a seemingly abandoned spaceship harbouring a threat so terrifying that even the TARDIS has done a runner.

The eerie, empty (save for glacially slow Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy-homaging Chekhov’s robot Jimbo), seemingly endless spacecraft corridors and wheezing hydraulic pistons of ‘Wild Blue Yonder’ represent a stark counterpoint to the crashy, bangy, flashy Meepiness of ‘The Star Beast’. A sublime combination of pneumatic practical effects, soundstages, and nifty CGI made possible by that sweet new Disney dollar, the distinctly Nostromo-esque sense of isolation about the ship aptly evokes the abyss of the episode’s edge-of-the-universe setting. It’s a spatial oddity that serves the plot and augments the tone of the piece perfectly, centralising our focus on the Doctor, Donna, and their unique bond as the uncanny threat they face is slowly revealed. That threat? Why themselves, of course. Sort of.

Revealed in a properly creepy sequence that starts with the slow-dawning realisation that something isn’t quite right and climaxes with an injection of out-and-out Cronenbergian body horror, the ‘Not-Things’ are Weeping Angel-level nightmare fuel. Cosmic shapeshifters bent on universal destruction, the demonic doppelgängers — brought to life with palpable, dead-eyed menace by a multi-roling Tennant and Tate — are able to mimic the Doctor and Donna’s form, manner, and even memories.

This set-up leads to a succession of intricately written “I know I’m me but how do I know you’re you?”-type exchanges — including one particularly fiendish bait-and-switch — that really allow Tate and Tennant to flex their acting chops, underlining their inimitable chemistry in the process. It’s also an opportunity for Davies to really hammer home that this is the Fourteenth Doctor, not the Tenth — and Donna Temple-Noble with a family waiting for her at home, not Donna from Chiswick gadding about with a two-hearted spaceman.

One particular exchange, in which canon-reshaping events of the Chris Chibnall era of the show come to the fore, allows Tennant to really click through the gears as he embodies elements of the Doctors who’ve been and gone since last time around: Smith’s wistful longing, Capaldi’s bone-deep grief, Whittaker’s emotional vulnerability. In about 30 seconds, several years of head-spinning exposition is simply, beautifully reframed. The Doctor doesn't really know who they are anymore, running from reckoning with the weight of all that they’ve seen and done, hoping against hope for somebody else out there to understand — if even just for a little while. No matter whether you’re a hardcore Whovian or don’t so much as carry a provisional TARDIS licence, if you’re looking for a distillation of the show’s essential nature, you’d struggle to find one better than this.

‘Wild Blue Yonder’ is a brutally simple, slickly executed high concept that we’ve seen iterative versions of before in OG Tennant/Tate-era fan favourites ‘Midnight’ and ‘Waters Of Mars’. But, especially when considered in the context of Who’s recent turbulent history, its use here — in a conversation-heavy hour of TV that digs deep into the past 15 years of the show both on and off screen — feels utterly singular. Giving folks the Doctor, with their plucky companion and techno-babble and eccentric wardrobe is easy, Davies seems to be saying: anyone can do it. But without genuine emotion — without heart — all you’ve really got is a pale imitation of something truly great, iconography and nothing more. Lucky for us, then, that by the time the credits roll there can be no doubt. This bold new Whoniverse is the real deal, and nothing is wrong… nothing in the whole wide world. *Sniffle*.

Taut, tense, and frequently terrifying, this spaceship-in-a-bottle episode isn’t just an instant Who classic — it’s one of 2023’s finest hours of TV to boot.'

[myemuisemo]

What pleasantly stands out for me in the next part of Letters from Watson -- the one where Holmes goes off to a violin concert and also acts on some of his suspicions to see if he can get some new information (so stop right here if you haven't read it yet!) -- is the lack of moral disapproval in Holmes' reaction when his ability to spot tells of character and history is utterly thwarted at a key moment.

“Old woman be damned!” said Sherlock Holmes, sharply. “We were the old women to be so taken in. It must have been a young man, and an active one, too, besides being an incomparable actor. The get-up was inimitable. He saw that he was followed, no doubt, and used this means of giving me the slip. It shows that the man we are after is not as lonely as I imagined he was, but has friends who are ready to risk something for him. 

Holmes is irritated that someone out-smarted him, but what he isn't is morally shocked in any way. If anything, he's admiring of the hypothetical young man's skill.

Since Holmes knows every criminal scandal (as established some letters ago), he would absolutely have followed the 1871 trial of Boulton and Park, a pair of AMAB actors who habitually went out on the town dressed as women (and also had a wildly popular stage act dressed as women), and who were arrested along with some friends for "public indecency" (a misdemeanor). They were ultimately tried on the more serious charge of sodomy, since in the eyes of law and society, they were gay men interested in intimacies with men. The trial was a huge spectacle which, in a weird moment of aptness, was presided over by a Judge Cockburn.

According to this article by The History Collection, the prosecution got all fired up about their view of the defendants' lifestyles but was light on evidence. Boulton's mother, meanwhile, testified so calmly about how everyone knew about her offspring's ways that the prosecution's claims seemed overwrought. Boulton and Park were acquitted. Fanny Park moved to the U.S., while Stella Boulton went on tour as a female impersonator.

The trial record is a tangle of crossed-out pronouns, according to the blog of the UK National Archives, citing a somewhat fictionalized biography by Neil McKenna.

Newspaper reporters, court spectators and the clerks were all unsure of how to refer to Fanny and Stella. As Neil McKenna observes, the trial transcripts are littered ‘with crossings-out and corrections, turning ‘he’s’ into ‘she’s’ – and vice versa’. For some, the duo’s identities were baffling. Others found them to be an entertaining spectacle, which helped after the trial as the two began to tour Britain once more as a theatrical act. But of course there were those that were more hostile and less accepting, evident in the change of law some 15 years later.

The change of law was the Labouchere Amendment, section 11 of the Criminal Law Amendment Act of 1885, which passed the year before Doyle wrote this story. The main CLAA was intended to protect women -- it raised the age of consent from 13 to 16 and addressed various sexual offenses against women. The whole story of how Henry Labouchere rammed through his amendment that made it possible to go after gay persons for "gross indecency" when there was insufficient evidence for sodomy -- a law then used to persecute gay men horribly -- is so odd that you may as well go to Wikipedia and read it yourself.

It's at this time of homophobic hysteria that Holmes is entirely calm and accepting that an AMAB person can do a great job of presenting as a woman. This is an era when writers of popular literature did not hesitate to pause for a few paragraphs of moral edification. Yet Holmes and Watson are entirely blasé -- at minimum, they're men of the world who've seen drag acts at the Strand Theatre and think nothing of it beyond whether the act achieves its artistic purpose.

[randomvarious]

Today's mix:

Feed Your Head by Michael Dog 1993 Psybient / Ambient / Tribal Ambient / Dub / Downtempo / New Age / Trance

Well, it's definitely not my cuppa, folks, but if you want some early 90s UK spacey ambient acid chillout psychedelia, the Planet Dog label's Feed Your Head series definitely seems like a good place to look. Coming out of a hippy-ish British space rock tradition, Planet Dog, like a whole lot of other UK labels that launched at around roughly the same time, originally started out as uniquely quirky and eclectic club nights, first under the name of Club Dog in the mid-80s, and then as the more popular Megadog afterwards. And here for 1993, the biggest brain behind the operation, Michael Dog, puts together a partially mixed set that reflects upon his new label's then-current electronically-driven state.

Similar to what the San Francisco underground had been putting down at around the same time—as the Haight-Ashbury Grateful Dead spirit of the 60s collided with the contemporaneous techno-libertarian vision of Silicon Valley—this comp pulls ambient, dub, spiritually new-agey eastern tribal sounds, and trance all together, yielding a linked crop of tunes that feels fit for something like Burning Man, which is a festival that you couldn't pay me to ever attend, unless it was enough for me to quit my day job and explore the history of modern music full-time! 😁

And speaking of San Francisco, it also can't be ignored where this series' title obviously derived itself from: Grace Slick's repeated, finishing line on the late 60s psych rock staple, "White Rabbit," by SF heroes Jefferson Airplane.

(by the way, isn't it bonkers that the same band that made that song would transition to Jefferson Starship, and then just Starship, and then release that ridiculous early 80s hit of "We Built This City" too?!)

Anyhoo, I don't mind cyberhippy music altogether, but I'm much more partial to the downtempo side than I am to the ambient one, which means that I prefer the music to have some kind of consistent drumbeat that I can nod my head along to. And the only song on this album that really seems to hit me in that regard comes courtesy of the one-and-only Banco de Gaia, an inimitable pro's pro when it comes to that beautifully lush and psychedelic globally-quilted chillout sound. A more well-known Washington, D.C. duo like Thievery Corporation would take a similar approach to newer generations and masterfully enmesh themselves in that massive global chillout scene that would flourish between the late 90s and mid-2000s, but a song like BdG's "Qurna (Haj Ali's Birthday Mix)" is more or less emblematic of where that type of sound comes from, as it lays beautiful blends of psychedelic and string synths alongside nature sounds, hand-drums, and my sought after steady backbeat 😎.

Another thing worth mentioning here is that even though I don't really like this mix very much, kudos still need to go out to Michael Dog for how he went about making it, because rather than just doing normal transitions like almost every DJ does, he went out of his own way to create passages himself to link these songs together to make the whole experience feel more seamless. Not the first time I've heard of this happening—in fact, some in-house person did it for one of those pre-Jock Jams, MTV Party to Go mixes at Tommy Boy a couple years afterwards—but definitely not a commonplace practice by any means.

Also, the liner notes on this release give a shout out to Beyond Records, another UK label that was in a similar vein to Planet Dog at the same time, whose own Ambient Dub series inspired PD to put out this Feed Your Head one. I prefer Ambient Dub as a whole over this first volume of FYH, and you can find a bunch of my favorites from that series in the earliest sections of my own coveted 90s Downtempo playlists—word to the wise, though: the YouTube one has more Ambient Dub stuff than the Spotify one, including an extra super tasty cut from Banco de Gaia himself 😋.

And one other thing I wanna mention here is how a lot of the music on this album seems to have come from offshoots and side projects of already well-established psychedelic and space rock acts. Astralasia, the group that opens this comp up, are from the Magic Mushroom Band, duo System 7 came from Gong, and Eat Static, Nodens Ictus, and The Ullulators were all directly linked to Ozric Tentacles. All part of the same UK scene and all traveling along this sort of newfangled psychedelic electronic club thing together too. Interesting times, to say the least.

So, once again, not the biggest fan of this broad, early 90s psychonautic ambient vibe, but if that's your thing, or you think that it very well might be your thing, this release feels like a pretty wide-ranging and exemplary capsule of it.

Listen to the full mix here.

Highlights:

Banco de Gaia - "Qurna (Haj Ali's Birthday Mix)"

[aceredshirt13]

Hulloa! For a P.G. Wodehouse total newcomer- do you have any recommendations which story to start with? :)

Halloa, old chap! I think most Wodehouse folks - including myself - start with Jeeves, and I certainly can’t blame them, since I truly do think Bertie’s the most fun narrator he’s ever done. I read the public domain Jeeves stories chronologically in date of publication via Standard eBooks, but… I will also be sending out the public domain Jeeves stories in my Substack, Letters Regarding Jeeves! It starts next year on February 14th, and will begin with the telling of how Bertie and Jeeves first met, which I would say is a lovely place for any aspiring Wodehouse fan to start!

If you prefer to read things in print, then I recommend picking up a copy of My Man Jeeves, which has four of the earliest stories about the duo, and they’re quite a lot of fun. (The stories were rewritten for the more popular collection Carry On, Jeeves, but the rewrites are honestly inferior and cut a lot of humor and charm and sweetness in the intros. So start with these versions!) If you can’t get a copy of that one, then The Inimitable Jeeves is also a great collection to start with!

(I’m not a Wodehouse expert by any means, haha - I’ve read a portion of Jeeves, all of Ukridge (which more people should read lmao), a little of Psmith, most of Archie, and most of the Reggie Peppers, plus a few random assorted stories. But I can say if you want to start with something not Jeeves, start with the anthology just titled Ukridge, because it’s great fun also.)

[zorosdimples]

for the inimitable mara wintour’s blr gala ’23 @margumis !!!

entering fashionably late are a pair that have never before graced a red carpet—together or separate. kae and zoro have recently skyrocketed to fame through their separate professional endeavors: kae with her critically-acclaimed literary debut, and zoro as a hugely popular fitness influencer. photos of the two during a cozy night out circulated around various social media platforms a few months ago, and the duo has been considered #couplegoals ever since.

kae and zoro are attached at the hip; curiously, they haven’t so much as separated to take individual photos, opting to stay together through the red carpet circus. a truer pair of star crossed lovers there never was: the siren, who’s sole purpose is to lure men in with her enchanting song of death; and the pirate, who should never cross paths with such a creature lest he seek his demise.

kae’s look:

the details:

zoro’s look:

oh, here they are now! kae, zoro—what an interesting take on tonight’s theme. what was your inspiration?

KAE: we would love to stop and chat, but we’re running terribly late! we can’t afford to miss the start of the event. have a great night!

zoro nods in agreement and whisks his lover away to the inside of the venue. kae and zoro remain an enigmatic couple, and we hope to see—and hear—more from them in the future.

[90363462]

An inimitable trailblazer for women in music and an icon of style, stage, and screen, Cher’s voice and charisma have garnered her seven decades – and counting – of success.

Cher (/ʃɛər/; born Cherilyn Sarkisian; May 20, 1946) is an American singer, actress and television personality.

An artist so iconic she needs only one name, Cher has used her distinctive voice, stage presence, and avant-garde fashion to achieve unprecedented success while blazing a trail for women performers. A musician who personifies female creative freedom in a male-dominated industry, Cher is the only woman to have a Number One hit on a Billboard chart in each of the past seven decades.

Cher’s breakthrough came from her work with then-husband Sonny Bono in the duo Sonny & Cher. Their 1965 signature hit “I Got You Babe” was a definitive musical moment for the early hippie counterculture. Amid the pair’s success, Cher launched a solo career, scoring hits like “Bang Bang.” In 1971, The Sonny and Cher Comedy Hour TV variety show helped establish Cher as a consummate entertainer and fashion icon. From bell-bottom jeans to feathered headdresses to navel-baring evening gowns, Cher has always brought personality and bold irreverence to her looks.

In the early 1970s, Cher gained even more popularity as a solo performer, and for more than five decades, she continuously reinvented her style and mastered multiple musical genres. Equally adept at the earthy folk pop of “Gypsys, Tramps & Thieves,” the melodic disco of “Take Me Home,” and power ballads like “I Found Someone,” Cher’s versatility is evident. With acting roles in Silkwood (1983) and Mask (1985), Cher also became a star of the silver screen, winning the Academy Award for Best Actress for Moonstruck in 1987.

Cher released the quintessential dance-pop classic “Believe” in 1998, pioneering the use of Auto-Tune as an artistic tool. This worldwide hit became an enduring queer anthem, solidifying her role as a longtime ally of – and inspiration to – the LGBTQIA+ community. Cher’s work has influenced other trailblazing artists including Madonna, Beyoncé, and Lady Gaga. She has continued to fill dance floors with singles like “Woman’s World” and her 2018 ABBA covers album Dancing Queen. A tenacious performer who has triumphed over adversity and made comeback after comeback, Cher has earned her status as the Goddess of Pop.

Selected Discography

“I Got You Babe” (Sonny and Cher) (1965) 

• “Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down)” (1966) 

• “Gypsys, Tramps & Thieves” (1971) 

• “I Found Someone,” “We All Sleep Alone,” Cher (1987)

 • Heart of Stone (1989)

 • Believe (1998)

 • “A Song for the Lonely,” Living Proof (2001) 

• “You Haven’t Seen the Last of Me” (2010) 

• “Woman’s World,” Closer to the Truth (2013)

[boltlightning]

heads up, seven up

this is so cute. tagged by the inimitable duo @aloveforjaneausten and @tortoisesshells, thank you kindly <3

RULES: Post the last 7 sentences that you wrote.

“But — should we not retrieve the egg?” The egg! It was so important not an hour ago, yet now Norrington cannot bring himself to muster up any sort of urgency. He says after a moment, “Let us retrieve Cornett and tend your wounds. The egg will still be there in the morning.” Tempest accepts this compromise, however reluctantly, and takes to the air once more. Norrington feels the exhaustion in every beat of his wings. Tempest hums as he flies, a quiet melody beneath the cheerful clamor of the men aboard the Dauntless.

tagging @johnbly (yes again) @starsuncounted (yes AGAIN) @thesumdancekid @nickydoesadraw and you, the girl reading this

[anecdotik]

C'était Deux Gars !

Je vais vous parler d'un duo musical qui a marqué ma vie et qui, en tombant dans l'oubli, mérite un petit thread souvenir. Spoil : ce n'est pas Stone & Charden.

Si vous avez 2 minutes à perdre et des oreilles à nourrir, suivez le guide.

C'était DEUX GARS.

DEUX GARS se forme en 2008 pour proposer une punk pop originale, décalée et mêlant des textes graves et de l'humour au huitième degré. Si le style peut interloquer, le mélange des genres détonne et offre une fraîcheur nouvelle et peu entendue, aujourd'hui encore.

Un album ("Je suis deux"), beaucoup de titres originaux et surtout une méga tonne de concerts à la hauteur de leur style inimitable : dans les bars debout sur un canapé, dans les parcs chassés par la police, les théâtres et même en concert itinérant à la fête de la musique, sans oublier des concerts "chez vous", en déplacement direct chez les fans, DEUX GARS se fait un petit nom à Paris mais surtout prend et donne beaucoup de plaisir.

Des enregistrements, finalement, il y en a peu, mais quelques pièces d'anthologie survivent ! On écoute ?

Ton Prénom (en session goûter), où l'ode à un amour gâché https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=np7CbZxH0vw

J'aime mon pays (concert live), où un texte qui reste flambant d'actualité https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lqLT1KY6Y-4

Mon latin (direct à la maison), où le n'importe quoi comme essence des Deux Gars https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2bT0Y0eR1-0

Et les magiques bandes annonces de Deux Gars chez vous, pour inviter le groupe... chez vous (gratuitement), où on salue Rudy à la basse et Audric à la prod.

Certains, peut-être, se souviendront encore de Il pleut Marine, L'autre jour il a plu des bombes ou Faut pas s'en faire... Et difficile de nommer tous les gens qui ont été importants dans cette aventure, de Klaims en passant par Netsabes, en revenant par Maïa, Coralie, ou les fans fidèles de la première heure.

Après x années et de nombreux souvenirs incroyables DEUX GARS ne se séparent pas mais continuent chacun leur route, Rémi, avec son groupe Kickban ou en solo, nous gratifie encore de morceaux de bravoure à écouter.

Merci de votre attention et de votre potentielle découverte.

C'était DEUX GARS, et c'était chouette.

[themusicaldesk]

lan Yentob, Neil Tennant and Chris Lowe (Image: BBC Studios).

imagine… Pet Shop Boys: Then and Now ( w/t) Pet Shop Boys' Neil Tennant and Chris Lowe are the most successful duo in UK Music history. They have sold more than 50 million records, produced over 40 Top 40 singles, four UK number ones, performed in several world tours, and they are still making new music together.

In spring next year Pet Shop Boys are releasing a new album produced by Arctic Monkeys/Blur producer James Ford, which comes 40 years after the original release of their classic song West End Girls. imagine… is given a sneak preview of the album and talks to Tennant and Lowe about its creation and their evolution over the past four decades: pioneering, original, highly influential but always maintaining the integrity and quality of their inimitable style, sound and songwriting.

Their songs have often commented on Britain and the world around them with wit, sensitivity and intelligence driving the stories they want to share through perhaps some of the most memorable synth-pop music ever created. For their tours they have worked with the most innovative theatre personnel to create original and thrilling performances. Now for the first time they have allowed backstage access as imagine… accompanies them on their global Dreamworld tour, filming rehearsals in London and backstage in Helsinki. Contributors include fellow musicians, music journalists and creative collaborators. This is an intimate look inside the world of Pet Shop Boys and will be broadcast in spring 2024.

imagine… is a BBC Studios Specialist Factual Production for BBC One and BBC iPlayer. Alan Yentob is the Series Editor; Executive Producer is Tanya Hudson, Producer/Directors of the series are Catherine Abbott, Alex Harding, Laura Blount and Louise Lockwood. It was commissioned for BBC Arts by Mark Bell.

[bakerstreetbabble]

Granada TV Series Review: "The Empty House" (S03, E01)

And I'm back, after a most enjoyable Holy Week and Easter Sunday! Speaking of "resurrection"...

Sherlock Holmes is back for the second series from Granada TV, The Return of Sherlock Holmes, starring Jeremy Brett as Sherlock Holmes and Edward Hardwicke taking over the role of Dr. John Watson from the inimitable David Burke. I'm sure Sherlockians weren't the only viewers who knew what was coming up in this pivotal episode, and adaptation of "The Empty House."  There are no surprises here, especially when the series has the word "Return" right in its title! 

Other than the slight detail of giving Watson a more active role in the case of the murder of Ronald Adair, the episode follows the original source material very closely. After an opening sequence that is a bit slow, dramatically speaking, we are treated to Holmes's surprise appearance in Watson's office, as he suddenly transforms from the old book seller into the great detective, causing Watson to faint "for the first and the last time in my life," as Watson puts it in the story. For me (and no doubt, for most viewers) this reunion scene was the main source of enjoyment. Much of the story is told in flashbacks, as Holmes relates what really happened at the Reichenbach Falls. Indeed, if one looks very closely, one can see that all the wide shots of Watson searching in vain for his friend are actually shots of David Burke playing the role in the previous season.

There's a very brief but very emotionally stirring moment during the flashback, when Jeremy Brett as Holmes just begins to shout out Watson's name, but immediately stops himself. It's a beautiful little detail that shows the deep fondness Holmes feels for his friend. Indeed, Watson's response to hearing that Holmes has kept the secret of his survival for THREE YEARS is remarkably gentle. It wouldn't be any stain on Watson's character if he had been just a bit angrier. However, Edward Hardwicke does show a bit of sadness, as he tells Holmes that he believes he could have been at least as deserving of Sherlock's confidence as his brother Mycroft. 

Concerning Edward Hardwicke, he really did do a fine job at stepping into a role that had been played so capably by David Burke. Perhaps because Brett was already so comfortable in the role of Holmes, Hardwicke was able to make the transition into Watson's role as smoothly as possible. I still prefer Burke just a bit, but it will be interesting to watch the process of Hardwicke bringing his own skill set into the production. Certainly, by the end of the Granada series, Hardwicke was able to play Watson in a far greater number of adventures than his predecessor.

While it wasn't the most exciting episode I've seen thus far, "The Empty House" was a perfectly respectable way to begin the next phase of the Granada productions. And as I've mentioned, the joy of watching the Holmes/Watson duo resume their partnership was definitely worth the time I spent watching. Enjoy watching the YouTube video shared below! Once again, the game is afoot!

[dustedmagazine]

Henry Threadgill — The Other One (Pi)

The Other One by Henry Threadgill

Over the last five decades, Henry Threadgill has been creating a singular body of work, as both a distinguished reed players and an inimitable ensemble leader. Early on, Threadgill cultivated his sense of ensemble arranging and playing as member of AACM in the trio Air and in groups lead by Muhal Richard Abrams, Anthony Braxton and Roscoe Mitchell. But from X-75 Volume 1, his first recording under his own name released in 1979 with a group comprised of four woodwind players, three bassists, piccolo bass and vocals, he revealed a penchant for creating improvisational frameworks around distinctive voicings. Since that time, he’s honed his approach with long-standing ensembles, each building on his ear for angular, contrapuntal themes extended through open group interplay.

First up was The Henry Threadgill Sextet (a seven-piece group designated as a sextet because he saw the two drummers as a single percussion unit) featuring his alto sax along with trumpet, the low-end double bass/cello/trombone, and a percussion duo. A foray into social dance music, his Society Situation Dance Band, went unrecorded but his next ensemble, Very Very Circus, with sax, two tubas, two electric guitars, French horn, and drums added a pulsing groove while expanding on his multifaceted ear toward hocketed lines and intricate, stratified voicings. Make a Move and Zooid pared things back a bit in the size of the ensemble while still incorporating intriguing instrumental choices like paired acoustic guitars and cellos, accordion, oud and tuba. Then, with Double Up, Threadgill mixed in paired reeds, paired pianos, cello, tuba and drums, expanded even further with 14 Or 15 Kestra: Agg. With each of these ensembles, he extended his compositional approach, diving in to the timbral and dynamic opportunities afforded by an increasingly orchestral instrumental palette. All of this doesn’t even touch on the various commissions for orchestra, string quartet, and chamber ensembles he undertook. 

In May 2022, Threadgill presented one of his most ambitious projects to date at Roulette Intermedium in Brooklyn, New York. The composer prepared a three-movement composition entitled “Of Valence” for a twelve-piece ensemble made up of three saxophones, violin, viola, two cellos, tuba, percussion, piano and two bassoons. The piece, inspired by Milford Graves and his integration of the human heartbeat as a source of rhythmic understanding, is a meditation on human transience based on his observations of the exodus of people from New York City during the Covid pandemic. The performance incorporated an array of multimedia components including video, projections of paintings and photographs, electronics and recordings. Each performances was split in to two sets providing varying takes on the composition, the first set titled “One” and the second titled “The Other One.” This release, Threadgill’s eleventh for the Pi Recordings label, captures the second set of one of the performances in scintillating fidelity. 

The three-movement piece begins with spare, stabbing notes and rumbling open chords on piano, intently traversing the foundational angular motifs. The reeds join in setting up the entrance of the full ensemble. Threadgill maximizes the sonic breadth provided by the full range of strings and a broadened reed section. His conducting is supported by tubist Jose Davila, cellist Christopher Hoffman, pianist David Virelles and drummer Craig Weinrib, all veterans of the leader’s groups who collectively help helm the ensemble through the intricately evolving piece. Themes are introduced, fragmented, inverted, and hocketed as sections elastically play off of each other and branch off into sub-groupings as the densities of the piece ebb and flow. Threadgill’s proclivity for utilizing underlying galvanic pulse is an anchoring element, buoyed in particular by tuba, cellos and drums as the music bobs and weaves along with the countervailing, keening melodic threads. 

Threadgill’s pieces demand exacting execution, and the group fully embraces the compositional form while each displaying adroit capabilities exploring the inherent opportunities for improvisation. While Threadgill sticks to conducting here, the influence of his instrumental voice is readily apparent throughout. Milford Graves’ influence is heard most overtly at the start of the second movement where violinist Sarah Caswell, violist Stephanie Griffin and cellist Mariel Roberts each play their parts while listening to a playback of their own heartbeats as recorded previously by a cardiologist. The result is that the pulse of each individual players’ lines intertwine, mutably moving in and out of synch while maintaining an unwavering, galvanizing flow. One third of the way through the 16-minute section, lissome sax lines are introduced segueing to the entrance of the full ensemble. While density builds, there is a transparency to the orchestration as lines and instruments come to the fore and then recede. Midway through, sizzling transducer-activated cymbals play off of abraded cello overtones setting the stage for a freely lyrical tenor solo which wends to a closing section with percolating pizzicato strings and pattering percussion.

 The final movement kicks off with a short interlude for strings and drums, leading in to a section of abstracted melody, with alto and bassoon lines snaking around the ensemble voicings. Interludes for solos are woven through as the pacing constantly morphs. Here, sections are clear successors to the approaches that Threadgill worked through with Zooid and Double Up, inheriting the underlying coursing flow and arcing lyricism but shading and extending it with timbral orchestration, the bassoons being a particularly astute addition. In the final section, intertwined piano and tuba and the shifting shuffle of cellos and drums set the stage for an all-in re-statement of one of the central themes, leading to the finale of the piece for the full ensemble, crescendoing to dramatic intensity. Listeners have benefited from Pi Recordings’ dedication to Threadgill’s evolving and burgeoning oeuvre. The release of The Other One is a significant addition to these efforts and essential listening for those interested in Threadgill’s music. 

Michael Rosenstein