#Touched by Fingerwork

[neathnights]

The Neath's Mysteries

They say the Neath's destiny is bound with these deeper secrets. Are your eyes on these futures?

They say only six letters of it should ever be written together. The seventh will doom all. Four jewels are lost. Hold tight to the fifth!

→ A singular phrase They say that history is seven jewels on a necklace, but two have never been seen. Doesn't one of your friends have a book on the subject?

A long evening You pace your lodgings, wearing a trail into the carpet. Let's hope your friend comes soon with the book.

→ A strange sort of prank You keep seeing something. A flash of vivid green in shop windows and the reflections of gaslamps in puddles. Perhaps you know someone reliable who can help you catch the joker.

Why would anyone do this? There it is again, the briefest green flash, reflected in your own pocket-watch. This is maddening!

The light comes from the jungle behind the glass. Where isn't is.

→ Going to the theatre The show is cancelled, the poster claims. Mahogany Hall – London's most notorious Music Hall and Theatre – is closed tonight. You know better. You have two tickets to a secret performance of the forbidden Seventh Letter. Find a friend – you don't want to see that alone.

Going the back way The urchin eyes you suspiciously as you wait in the cold fog behind Mahogany Hall. Where is your friend? The performance starts soon.

→ Sharing a dream The same dream again. The lush, bright garden. The half-eaten fruit. The mirror and the panther. And you're not the only one. Who else has had this dream?

[thegreatyin]

Quick question is it bad that i have touched by fingerwork at 38 without really knowing what it does?

you gotta get more fingers touching you dude. your fingering skill is way too low rn you're gonna die to the boss on floor 3 unless you have the BiS AoE greatsword and a few dozen good healing relics. you need like 500 experience with fingering minimum to get past the ultimate deadly death touching attack of ultimate destruction

[devouredreaper]

I've started playing Fallen London again and I forgot how fucked up my character is getting

[t6fs]

Having Recurring Dreams: What the Thunder Said is increasing… (5)

Nightmares is increasing… (3)

Melancholy is increasing… (5)

Touched by Fingerwork is increasing…

[chloessleepystories]

Sisters part 5

Don’t want to be

Brainy

Brainy

Brainy

Alone now, Chloe stretched her sister’s nude body out, face-down, on the couch in the studio, and, straddling Kenzie’s calves, began rubbing her sister’s thighs and hips with her favorite lotion. Kenzie moaned at her touch, her soreness and ache being soothed away by her big sister’s strong hands.

“You took those cocks like a queen, my pet,” Chloe murmured. “What a good girl, I’m so proud of

you ...”

“Mmmmm thank you ... You know I love pleasing my sister ...”

She massaged Kenzie’s perky round bottom, licking her lips. “Yes you do. It feels so good to obey, doesn’t it.”

“Uh huh.”

“You’re going to take lots of cocks for me, angel. But there’s only one pussy you’re addicted to, isn’t that right?”

“Yoursss,” whispered her limp, broken sister.

“Good girl.”

Chloe was feeling a lot more tender toward her sister than she used to. After all, the girl had given her so much pleasure. And she wasn’t the little genius, lording her brains over her anymore. Nothing wrong with a little aftercare.

And anyway, Mom had always taught her to take good care of her toys. Chloe giggled to herself.

“Turn over now, babe. I need a taste.”

Chloe luxuriated for a moment in the sweet taste of her sister’s juices, mixed with the tang of the boys’ cum still dripping out of her cunny. She sucked tenderly on her clit, grazing it over her teeth (to an arched-back moan from Kenzie) before plunging her tongue back into her folds.

She cupped Kenzie’s perfect bottom with both hands and feasted. Finally, she raised her shining face to say, “You love this don’t you.”

“Oh fuck I do ...”

“You’re my suggestible little dimwit, aren’t you?”

“Am I?”

She was about to say, “Yes, you are,” when she paused. Without saying another word, Chloe devoured her sister’s pussy thoughtfully.

She was giving suggestions every time she did that, she knew. Even asking the question was putting an idea into her head, and confirming it seemed to cement it even further. And she’d spent plenty of time making sure that any of Chloe’s suggestions seemed like very, very good ideas to Kenzie.

Should she lock it in, even more than she already had, that Kenzie was, by nature and by definition, suggestible? A suggestible dimwit, to be guided by ANYONE’s input?

She sat back on her haunches, two fingers working deep inside her sister’s pussy.

“The subliminals in my music have lowered your inhibitions,” she mused aloud as Kenzie moaned, “and have been making you think less and giggle more. That by itself has been making you more horny, and in turn more suggestible even without the subliminals directly impacting your need for sex, and need for physical validation.”

Kenzie began pinching her nipples, writhing, lost in pleasure. She let the words pass her by without comprehension.

“Knees up, princess,” Chloe said, and Kenzie instantly lifted her knees to give her sister greater access. “Rub your clit,” she said, and she did.

“Let’s see, there have been messages about obeying Chloe, and about being a good obedient sister. Wanting to please your sister. But did I ever ... You know, what I didn’t think to do was make that connnection for you. So that you’ve been listening to suggestions from ANYONE, not just me, and thinking they’re great ideas ... I never said you only obey your sister. Is that right?”

“Uh huh ... uuunnggghhh ...”

Chloe hadn’t really thought that Kenzie was listening. “It is?”

“Yesss ... I’ve heard so many good ideas this week ... It feels good to do things for my sister, like stupid good!! And I love agreeing with Chloe, it makes me feel so warm and tingly, I’m such a good devoted sister oh fuck that’s good ...”

“But ... honey? Listen ... does it feel good to obey other people besides me?”

“Oh yeah!!!! Like, the other day ... ohhh ffffpleez I needa cum ...”

“Not yet,” said Chloe, slowing her fingerwork, watching her sister’s hands flit from her nipples to her clit to stroking her belly, her whole body on fire with need. “Who else?”

“The other day, some – some boy told me I liked it when he came on my titties ... and uunnghh ... an’ I realized he was RIGHT!! I LOVE it!! I came instantly, the next time somebody came on my boobies!!”

“You did??”

“Uh huh!! I just wish I had bigger titties, so it would feel even better, and I could get more cum on them!!! Oh godd, rubbing cum in my big giant boobs I’d cum over an’ over ...”

“Umm ... Wow. OK.” Chloe had removed her fingers completely, and was sucking on them absently, enjoying her little sister’s taste. “What else?”

Her corrupted sister was molesting herself mercilessly, her eyes pointed toward the ceiling but dazed and unfocused. “Ummm ... well just now I found out what spit-roasted means!! And I found out I like it so much it makes me cum buckets!!! I can’t wait to do it again!!!”

Chloe watched her for a moment. “OK, I gotta think about this. Go ahead and cum.”

When the screaming had subsided, Chloe brought iPod #3 to the limp form of the girl. She was completely drained in body as well as mind. “I’ve got some work to do, hun. You can listen to your favorite song while I work, okay?”

Kenzie barely stirred. Just stared at the wall, a little drool dribbling from the corner of her mouth.

Sisters ... Sisters ...

You are such a good devoted sister ...

[viric-dreams]

Four days until my account anniversary. Touched by Fingerwork is still sitting at 73, and I don't think I'll be able to max it out by the 14th. Any alternative thoughts for how to celebrate Ockham's birthday?

[galaxyvoided]

I have been playing fallen London for a week now and at this point i have had:

a lot of nightmares,

gone insane for a bit because i didn't really read the fine print on the mirror i looked into,

have the touched by fingerwork at 9,

got two "a voice from a well" cards in one day,

picked up a monkey that can play cards,

and now im at Abor, of the Roses.

This has been a fun week!

[missamyrisa2]

how about some tickles for a shy lee after you walk in on her making herself cum? a lee who is blushy and flustered after being caught touching herself, combined with the increased post orgasm sensitivity is just *chefs kiss* <3

"ooooh what do we have here?" How unfortunate~ I've arrived home a little earlier than expected and happened in your ménage a Moi in our living room. You try to play it off, but there's no mistaking what I just witnessed, and suddenly I'm cuddling up next to you, arm around your back holding your side snugly with the cool metal of my chunky bracelet gliding along your skin as I get into position. The silkiness of my mermaidy top brushes on your hot skin, as does the material of my soft black leggings when I throw one leg over yours to pin you gently~ I make sure you get plenty of sensation on those over sensitized nerves.

"Ahhh, ah, ahh ~ naughty naughty girl. No, no, no, don't cover it up now let's see let's see what my silly girl was up to ~ Ooo you were doing a little finger painting huh? Working on a button-based masterpiece? Mmm? Did it feel just so good? Yeahh? So tinglyyy~ and y'know what? I bet you're alsoooo ~ oh yes, a little tinnnnny bit...ticklish!!" My fingers start pinching your side playfully as I giggle at your ears and start planting little flirty kisses.

"Does it tickle? Wittle kissies on your ear? Aww, look at you, you're just soo melty. Why, I'm barely touching youuu. Post orgasm tickles! Yeah you're just the cutest thing. Come hereee let mama see how pink you are down there." I lovingly move your hands aside and inspect your fingerwork, smiling warmly and blowing little puffs of air at your thighs and girlihood.

"Coochie coo my little lovey dovey songbird. Post orgasm tickles. Look at how you twitch and wiggle. Are you just so sensitive and blushy and cute? Are you my adorable little giggly gigglegasmed angel? How about these buttons? Did you play with these? Mmm?" I lean in and wiggle my nails along your chest, exploring your curvature. With a sly grin I pluck up one of my braided pigtails and start stroking the soft supple tip along your nipple. "How does that feel? Soo tickly? On a scale from one to ten. Tell me~ tell me how it tickles. Is it more ticklish or less ticklish after you came? Come on now, this is for the science. Inquiring minds want to know. How is Amy's adorable cutie pie feeling having her nipples tickled by a little bit of soft hair following a lovely little orgasm?"

I snicker and follow your hyper sensitized reactions, hovering over your squirming wiggles with a knowing smile. I toss my hair aside and make kissy faces. I nod yes yes yes to your no no no and lean down, but divert and playfully start nibbling at your underarms. "Oooh we'll get to the buttons but first let me show you a fun trick. After a climax your skin can get sooo sensitive to nibbly ticklies and these underarms just looked sooo deliciously yummy" I easily pin your arm up through your post-orgasm state and bury my soft lips, kissing and nibbling at the tender crevice. "What ticklish little pits you have my dear! I bet it's just sooo electrifying with all that lovely residual gigglegasmic energy floating about~"

I kiss my way down to your ribs and start tickling at your sideboobs with my fingers as my lips brush your swollen buttons. "Ummmh. Nice girly buttonsss so soft and ticklish and sweet." I muah muah muah all over them, darting my tongue about as nails glide up and down your upper sides, occasionally digging into your underarms or working down to squeeze at your hips as you buck and struggle. "Aww are you getting all worked up again? Do we need toooo~ butter your muffin all over?"

I scoot up and take your hand, kissing it gently before guiding it between your legs. "There we go, you just butter away my dear, work that button now. I'll tickle you all the way through" I start moving your hand on your girly part, snickering as you get all aroused anew. My other hand plays at your thighs and belly, my lips brush your neck and occasionally kiss at your cheeks to urge you along. "Mmhh. So lovely ~ you keep being so beautifully cutely giggly and I'm afraid this is going to turn into a mutual session~"

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Meteor Shower (Part 18)

How long has it been?

She can’t remember. 

But it has been a long time.

At the very least, it feels like it has been.

But she is holding a microphone again.

She is looking out at an expecting crowd again.

She tells herself that it will be fine. All of the Trix’s practices have gone well.

She tells herself that, even if they do terribly, they will not do worse than whatever Samantha had been doing. Rather attempting to do. She almost feels bad for the witch. But not quite; Samantha’s failure is a safety net for the Trix. No matter how bad they are, Samantha’s improv comedy sketch will be the talk of the school.

“Hello Cloud Tower.” Darcy greets. “We hope that you are having a delightfully dastardly evening. We’d like to start our show with a little ritual. Just a little something to set the ambiance, if you don’t mind.” 

She didn’t know it then, but that is how they would open every show from then on out. No matter how their sound may change…no matter how the Trix themselves may change that is how they always open. It just feels right.

Icy lights the first candle. Darcy the second. Stormy the third. They take turns until the stage is aglow and smoky with incense. 

“Join hands and close your eyes. Clear your minds…”

This is where things tend to differ depending on what their intentions are for that night and that performance. Tonight it is a chant for success. For longevity. 

And then, for the first time in ages, a space is filled with Icy’s voice. Low but light. Darkly spellbinding. The voice of a frozen, cracking pond glimmering glossy under moonrays. Like frost fringing a black rose. It is, she realizes, so very different than anything Kyanite has ever done. Kyanite who had a voice like waking up on a December morning to see a blanket of snow that hadn't been there the night before. A cadence and a equity akin to the jubilance that comes with hearing that classes have been canceled for a snow day. Icy’s voice isn’t so cheerful. She takes comfort in that. In how something as simple and subtle as a change of tempo and lyrical subject matter can set her voice so far apart from Kyanite’s. 

And in that realization there is power. 

Confidence.

Victory. 

She had two conquests that night; defeating each and every other student who had taken the stage that night and putting Kyanite in the ground once and for all. 

And as Kyanite dies once again, something comes to life. Something is reborn. A love of music, a desire to string ordinary words into ornate verses and choruses. 

She hadn’t realized just how much she had missed music. 

Along with Kyanite, fear and trepidation die too. And it becomes easier to work her way through each note. Easier to harmonize with Darcy and contrast with Stormy. Easier to put sound to words that had formerly only been on paper. Easier to sing of the four elements and triple spirals. Easier to musically recant a tale of the mother, the maiden, and the crone.

Working with the guitar is tricky. It still feels very heavy in her hands.

She thinks that she had plucked one or two wrong strings. But no one seems to have noticed. Her voice has a pull to it, they watch her lips not her fingers. And so clumsy fingerwork is forgivable. 

She closes her eyes and holds her final note. 

The spotlight is warm on her face. Tonight that doesn’t matter. Tonight Icy remembers that she still loves singing. Tonight she has a third conquest. 

Valtor doesn’t know it and she doesn’t realize it yet; but she doesn’t think of him anymore when she performs.  She thinks of Darcy and Stormy and of the music itself. 

.oOo.

The Trix had changed their sound before, she recalls. They hadn’t started out as deathrockers. They had made wicca music before that with death rock influences. Darcy had written much of their music then and had added her hippie, new age sort of touches. It worked well enough for them. But it couldn’t last because it was too sweet, too melodic. The music had its dark and witchy undertones and by all means that sound, that atmosphere did suit the Trix well. But it had come with the same issues that their new witch house and ethereal wave era comes with now; that type of music required a lighter, higher vocal quality. The sort that Kyanite had always been known for. And so it had to come to an end. Death rock was perfect, it required a deeper, lower vocal quality and left room for some more grating, growling vocals. The type that Stormy has mastered quite naturally. The type that Icy had to train her voice to achieve. But when she had mastered the that art she could finally feel safe making music again. Secure in that her voice had become so far removed from what it had been that she wouldn’t have to think about it anymore.

But she is thinking about it again. 

More than ever. 

“You doing okay?” Darcy asks.

Icy nods “well enough.” But the tightness of her grip around the neck of her guitar is more indicative of her mood than anything that comes out of her mouth. She isn’t shaking with fear. She is beyond that. The truth is that her nervousness has reached a high so elevated that shakiness subsides for rigidity. 

She remembers the first time she had played a live show. Her stomach had been fluttering then too but with anticipation and exhilaration. She supposes that there was a touch of nervousness, the sort that was typical of her at the time—typical of a dork who hadn’t yet realized that people found her attractive. Mostly she had been jittery with excitement. Chalcedony and Diamond had been giggling amongst themselves. Ruby and Topaz had given each other fist bumps for good luck. And Goldstone had slung an arm over her shoulder and asked her if she was ready.

She was. 

“Mmhmm, let’s go.” 

Three words. Technically two. 

Kick started what would become the worst  thing to happen to her.

But she didn’t know it then

She wouldn’t know it for a long time afterwards…

It is quite cruel that they had picked this particular stage. The very stage that she had given that very first show. The stage that she had been so delighted to stand upon. She had been so bright then; optimistic and lively. It was all smiles and laughs the first time that Dyamond had seen her. 

Dyamond had loved her…

The Winx are about finished with their show and the Dyamond crowd is sufficiently hyped. All she has to do is not fuck it up. Not let her nerves get the better of her. Not let howling ghosts of past mishaps and humiliations take the stage with her tonight and haunt her performance. 

“Sounds like we’re up.” Stormy mentions. And Icy’s stomach flops. 

Stormy gives her an encouraging little nudge. 

She feels ridiculous. She has never been this anxious about a show; not her first one as Kyanite, not even her last one as Kyanite had been so nerve wracking as this. As her first time performing in Dyamond as Icy. 

And Dyamond welcomes her back to the stage with very spirited cheers. It is, she reminds herself, a very different crowd than the one that she had looked upon when MeTor took to the stage. A different crowd, a different scene. Leather clade deathrockers and witches rather than starry-eyed tweens wearing frills and bows. 

The claps die down and Icy holds the microphone to her lips. She opens her mouth to speak. The words don’t come as soon as she would have liked. It is the slightest of hesitancies, completely unnoticeable to everyone but her. “It is…” certainly not good “...a pleasure to be back on stage.” She pauses. “It has been a while.” 

They murmur in agreement. They don’t know just how long it has been.

“Thank you for welcoming the Trix back to the stage, we apologize for leaving you with the Winx for so long.” This draws laughs mostly from the witches but some of the faeries titter along too. “I’m certain that they’ve already apologized for abandoning you to us.” More laughs. At least some of the fluttering in her belly settles. “I hope that it hasn’t been long enough that you’ve forgotten how we do our rituals…”

She leaves room for a response. The crowd swears that they remember just fine. She will take their word for it. “Well then I suppose that we shouldn’t waste anymore time. Darcy…”

Darcy nods and steps forward. “As you all know, the Trix like to begin a show with a ritual. Just a little something to set the ambiance, if you will.” She gestures for Icy to light the first candle. One by one until the ambiance grows familiar. And comfortable in its familiarity. Another bit of dread slips away. 

Icy sets the final candle down upon their prop hedgestone, next to the case of incense sticks. They have decorated their stage well if she does say so. There are several fake gravestones and a panel of rusted fence posts that Stormy had demanded that they stop their tour bus to retrieve from the side of the road in some small town in Darcy’s home realm. Many of their candles find homes in the many lanterns that they have foraged from various antique shops. Icy finds herself a seat on the couch that they had hauled onto the bus. It smells like mothballs and she hadn’t bothered to remove the cobwebs, they suit it just fine. 

She raises the microphone back to her lips as the synths and drum machines begin their droning. She alternates between sitting properly and splaying herself across the sofa as she makes her way through different verses. Darcy stares at her through a lacy black veil. 

She is drowning in ruffles and petticoats so when it comes time for her to stand back up, Stormy offers a hand. 

She finds herself wishing that she had more practice dancing in such a plentiful, layered garment. She, come to think of it, has never tried to dance in something so restrictive. A corset impedes on many of her usual moves and so she finds herself mimicking Darcy who has undoubtedly danced in huge ballgowns many times before. Although tonight’s outfit looks much more like a tattered wedding dress than a ballgown. Stormy moves quite freely, refusing to wear a dress that has anymore than two layers. 

At this point dance is entirely improvised. Everything she had intended to do cannot be done in this particular dress. It is just as well, she doesn’t think that dance is meant to be planned. Dance just happens. When it is planned it feels stiff, manufactured, soulless. 

She is not a flouncy popstar. She has no need for painstakingly practiced choreography. Nobody is here for that anyways. 

They are here to listen to music. Dance and cinematography are bonuses. 

And they do listen to her voice. They listen quite intently. 

She listens quite intently to her own voice. 

A voice that is like Icy’s and like Kyanite’s at the same time. Light and breathy as ethereal wave and this particular witch house track call for. Tonight her voice is like a soft winter wind. Those tiny, peaceful puffs that come before a blizzard.

Her voice is the sound that snow makes as it gathers on a gravestone.

And when it comes to playing their older tracks, her voice comes like brushing webs and dust off of an old bookshelf in a manor ten years abandoned. It is the creaking of stairs that only spirits ascend. 

She gives a flick of her wrist and dips into some sort of half bow only to rise again and toss her head back to get her hair out of her face. She dreads, for just a moment, that her hair extensions will come loose. But they hold steady. She holds steady and she reaches for her guitar. 

She has missed her guitar so very much. 

It is light in her hands, fits them just perfectly. 

Her fingers slide up and down the fretboard with an artistic ease. 

A collection of silver rings and finger armor glint and flash under the spotlight. 

And as the song grows in intensity so to do the shadows and the falling of snow. So too does the breeze that flutters the curtains. She closes her eyes a second time and calls for the snow to swirl around her. She sings of a crown with frozen wings. It cannot fly. I had never been truly able to do so anyways. It is a broken thing, the crow. But it looks so beautiful in the throes of death. Darcy’s voice so perfectly conveys what it might sound like to be on the brink of death with feathers brushing against cheeks. 

And Stormy, her voice cuts like a blade dragged upon a gravestone. It is a unique voice. One of a kind. And the Trix have learned to utilize it sparingly so as to really make it count. 

Their final song ends in a peel of thunder and a sweeping of skirts. 

Snowflakes linger beneath the spotlight, drifting lazily even after the Trix depart. 

Icy’s voice keeps them company for just a few precious seconds until the echo too melts away. 

She forgets to fret over whether or not the people of Dyamond have recognized that voice. She forgets to dread anything at all. For a moment, as the crowd claps for them, she forgets that she had been anxious at all. Forgets that she is still quite tired, that her body is still fighting to recover fully. Forgets that there had been any hiccups or arguments at all. 

Stormy’s arm drapes over her shoulder and for once she doesn’t think of Goldstone. “Well I think that, that was our best show in a long time.” Darcy remarks. 

It certainly wasn’t short of theatrics. 

They ought to make more shows like that. 

Yes. They can end their brief witch house era and try for something with classical and operatic roots. 

Maybe they can go back to their earliest sound and make wicca music again. 

Maybe they can just throw everything together and see what comes out. 

Icy wants to make music again. 

For the sake of music.

Not for competition. Not for fame. 

For music. 

“It went well.” Icy agrees. She wipes a tear before the other two could notice it. It had gone well. After everything, after all of that stress and distress, the show had gone well. And well enough for her to feel alive again. 

Well enough for her to consider that it might not matter if they know that she is Kyanite. Might not. There is still a large part of her that clings to the hope that she can put Kyanite behind her once and for all, forever this time.

The Trix join the Winx in the dressing room. 

There is no bickering tonight. No banter.

The show had gone well for all of them and they are all so overcome with relief. 

It had gone so well that nobody has any qualms about going out for dinner.

No qualms about letting witches and faeries be seen together. 

Nobody says a thing when things finally become too overwhelming to keep down. She has gone through a breakup, several heated fights, had damn near lost her friends, had suffered through withdrawals and the resurfacing of old pains. All of that and this is the thing that makes her cry. She isn’t even sad. 

In fact she thinks that she is happy. Happy and relieved. 

She feels ridiculous for it but nobody laughs, nobody sneers, nobody taunts. Darcy rubs her back and Stormy looks rather confused. Nobody speaks ill of her at all.

But, when things are not so fresh and raw, she knows that Peters won’t let her hear the end of this one.

[doomedandstoned]

Austrian Death-Doom Ensemble ENDONOMOS Go For Epic on 2nd LP

~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~

By Billy Goate

Just in time for the change of seasons comes Austrian death-doomers ENDONOMOS, back for a pensive second full-length following their pandemic self-titled debut two years ago. 'Endonomos II - Enlightenment' (2024) delivers six more compelling numbers, and comprising the band are singer/songwriter Lukas Haidinger (also on bass), Christoph Steinlechner (guitar), Philipp Forster (guitar), and Marius Segl (drums).

Trafficking in the terrain of Ahab, Evoken, Mournful Congregation, Katatonia, My Dying Bride, Candlemass, Swallow The Sun and Paradise Lost, the new album fills up our tank with dark, brooding doom (the strange, dirge-like opening to "Atheon Anarkhon"), featuring some wicked fingerwork (all throughout "Inversion"), contrasting murky and melodic singing that can be either brutal and caressing (as in "Entrapment"), and all of this surrounded in a mysterious, dreamlike fog that pervades the record.

Lyrics decry the brainwashing that leads to war and the oppressiveness of religious totalitarianism throughout history, imagining utopia "outside the grip of man." I couldn't help but conjure the famous image of Rodin's "The Thinker" while listening, as words often seek reconciliation with a past too tangled and labyrinthian to take fully into comprehension.

The theme that bookends "Inversion" is a powerful doom anthem that I keep turning up the volume on. There are some beautiful dual guitar harmonies on "Atheon Anarkhon" is dismal a.f. and I love it. The sequence of rhythm, riffmaking, melodic guitar antics, gruff and haunted crooning builds fantastically, like pillar of ashen smoke taking shape into a terrible Phoenix and claiming the expanse of the sky.

"Resolve" brings us rainy riffmaking that goes for Serpentine Path depths of low, with strong rhythmic architecture, dazzling guitar play, and dissonant stretches that juxtapose with vocals that come through like a ray of sunshine piercing dark clouds. The slow guitar is almost mesmerizing and the plaintive melodies touch a sorrowful place in my brain, as I contemplate the lyrics: "In time I'll resolve into the void, to blissful unconsciousness." This coupled with powerful, thudding rhythms that ground the listener to the hard, cold physical reality of the here and now.

"Entrapment" is pure winter -- one can imagine trudging through feet of snow in a landscape blanketed in white and covered by low hanging clouds. In fact, the lyrics speak of being taken "back to days of cold." There are some touching and effective guitar harmonies in league with the beautifully tragic intro/outro of Pentagram's "I Am Vengeance." And when the downtuned low-end joins in the emphatic latter moments, it's so damned heavy it shakes all around.

"Hostile" has that misty feeling from the aftermath of tears that Pallbearer fans will appreciate. Vocals are appropriately subterranean as it features the growls of Daniel Droste of Ahab fame. These are paired with clean pipes that, while forlorn, are accessible, and can also really soar.

"Kafir Qal'a" ends the record on a dismal note and has the feel of epic doom about it. Big chords, resounding soundwaves, grim arpeggios, screeching axework that hints at the extreme metal background of its handlers. The dark/light pairing of vocal styles works very well as the verses unfold, which may reference a battle fought around an ancient citadel somewhere in the first century.

Keep this one playing and really soak it in for max effect. Endonomos II - Enlightenment comes out Friday, September 27th, on compact disc and digital via Argonauta Records (get it here).

Give ear...

SOME BUZZ

Austrian epic doom metal Endonomos announces new album "Endonomos II - Enlightenment" via Argonauta Records. On their second album Endonomos refined their sound, going deeper and more eclectic in their particular vision of Doom Metal.

From the uncanny intro of dissonant chords and unsettling sounds to heavy, mean riffs and a highly melodic chorus, this one sports all the trademarks of Endonomos' distinct style, while pushing its boundaries.

The ancient Greek song title "Atheon Anarkhon" could be translated as "no god, no sovereign" and deals not only with the inseparability of atheism and anarchism, but mainly how their counterparts (theism and autocracy) contradict human nature and corrupt the human mind." - says the band.

Endonomos II - enlightenment by Endonomos

Recorded, mixed and mastered once again at DeepDeepPressure Studios, the album delivers thick riffs, epic melodies, uncanny chord progressions,

The first single "Hostile", boasting at almost 9 minutes length, is a highly melodic doom monolith, dealing with the inherently ill-disposed nature of life towards each other, and features guest vocals by Daniel Droste of German Doom Spearheads Ahab.

Endonomos is the brainchild of Austrian multi-instrumentalist, producer and session musician Lukas Haidinger, who is mostly known for playing extreme metal in bands such as Profanity, Nervecell, Distaste and many more, but as a longtime doomer, he finally brought his sinister yet melodic sound to tape.

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[heritage-instrument-insurance]

The Story of Fiddle Instruments Evolution

Close your eyes and picture this: a fiddle snuggled comfortably in your hands. Just four strings and a bow, right? Simple, perhaps. But this little musical instrument holds a world of magic that has traversed the globe for centuries. It has been there for the lively jigs of Europe, the soulful whines of Appalachian evenings, and everything in between. The fiddle has been a companion, a storyteller, and a way to celebrate life's ups and downs. Simply put, this string has been a constant friend of the human spirit. Let’s know a bit more about it.

Europe: A Tapestry of Folk Fiddling

The fiddle's story starts way back. It begins with its medieval ancestors like the rebec – a pear-shaped string gear with just one drumhead! By the 16th century, the fiddle we know and love had taken shape. It was not just for fancy folks in castles either – it became a regular at lively parties and community gatherings in Ireland, Scotland, and Wales. Jigs, reels, and strathspeys were not just fun dance tunes. They were a way for people to show their spirit and keep going, even through tough times.

Meanwhile, over at the grand courts of Europe, it had a more sophisticated cousin – the violin. Famous composers like Corelli and Vivaldi wrote beautiful pieces for it. But the lines between fancy and folk music were not always distinct. Elegant dances like the gavotte and minuet found their way into village celebrations, and sometimes catchy folk melodies snuck into the grand ballrooms too.

All credit goes to trade and cultural exchange that the fiddle kept transforming and growing. The lively Celtic styles met up with the unique sounds of Scandinavia, where musicians loved using drones and special harmonies. In Eastern Europe, it became a part of klezmer music, the energetic and beautiful tradition of the Ashkenazi Jews. So, it is a whole family of sounds, constantly evolving and reflecting the cultures it touched. If you are lucky enough to have this gear, make sure to cover it under a comprehensive fiddle insurance policy.

The Fiddle Sails West: A New World Songbook

Across the Atlantic Ocean, European immigrants were not just carrying their belongings – they were carrying an absolute musical heritage in their trusty fiddles. In the melting pot of North America, the gear found a whole new way to sing.

For pioneers pushing westward, it became a steady partner. Small and easy to carry, it was perfect for livening up barn dances, community gatherings, or even a lonely night under the vast frontier sky. Tunes like "Soldier's Joy" and "Forked Deer" were not just catchy melodies. They echoed the struggles, the grit, and the deep longing for home the settlers fronted.

But the fiddle's story in America did not stop there. Up in the Appalachian Mountains, a unique blend of European, African, and maybe even Native American influences came together to create bluegrass music. The fiddle, alongside the banjo and mandolin, became the heart and soul of this new sound. Bluegrass fiddling is all about driving rhythms, fancy fingerwork, and sometimes even playing two notes at once (called double stops).

Its influence was not limited to just one region, though. Down in Louisiana, they joined forces with accordions to create the lively sounds of Cajun and Zydeco music. And even in American country music, it became a staple. Think of iconic artists like Johnny Cash and Charlie Daniels – their signature styles would not be the same without those unmistakable melodies. Therefore, industry experts recommend getting a dedicated fiddle insurance plan in the first place.

A Legacy That Endures

The string's journey is not over yet! Modern players like Alison Krauss and Mark O'Connor have been keeping things fresh by mixing old tunes with new ideas, making this gear a welcome guest in today's music scene.

So, what makes this instrument so special anyway? It is all about how adaptable it is. A skilled musician can use it to create wild, happy jigs that make you want to dance all night. But it can also be a gentle voice, expressing sadness in a mournful ballad. It is versatile.

[glassandgoblet]

My mind keeps going back to that woman in Arbor. The one we encountered in the dream-streets. I will likely never see her again, hopefully so, even... but ever since I saw her I’ve noticed coiling shapes on the edges of mirrors, and I...

...I think I will see that lost expression on my own face, someday.

[thegreatyin]

your posts made me go play on the fallen london website and uh- should i be worryed that in the first 10 minutes or so i had a dream about a mist and something about being touched by Fingerwork?

no no ur doing great. feed a weasel to a snake. nothing weird and/or bad will ever happen. i prommy

[sanriolvr777]

NSFW Alphabet with Ron Slater

A/N: No one has done anything for this character yet, so here you go. :)

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Slater is the sweetest. After sex, he would always ask if you were okay. He would bring you some water and a cloth to clean yourself. He would always want you close to him. He would roll a joint for the both of you to share. You two would just smoke and speak sweet nothings in each other’s ears. After a while, you hold him into a tight embrace and tell each other how much you love each other.

B = Body part (Favorite body part of theirs and also their fave body part belonging to their partner)

To Slater, everything about you was perfect. But if he had a favorite body part of yours, it would be your thighs. Your thighs were so soft and he loved how it cushions his face when he goes down on you. Your favorite of his body was his hands. His skillful fingerwork alone would make you climax.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically)

He likes to release on your stomach and breasts. The beautiful sight of your covered in glistening sweat and his seed turns him on all over again. He also likes when you swallow.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Slater is would never keep a sexual secret from you. You were a person that is easy to talk to and open minded. Since he is the same way, he’s quite open with speaking of sexual things. He loves talking dirty and seeing you squirm.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Slater has some experience. As he stated, he wanted someone with quality. He wants someone who could match his energy when it came to this topic. Lucky for him, you were the perfect match. You both had enough experience to please each other.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He actually has two positions that he truly loves. His number one fave is the classic missionary. He loves to share kisses and moans with you as he penetrated you. His second favorite position is when you straddle him. He could grab your hips and guide you up and down his cock.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Slater can be a goofball during sex sometimes. He says some of the weirdest and funniest things during sex. He loves it when he makes you laugh in the moment. Your laugh was music to his ears. For the most part, he is very serious when it comes to sex. He’s gets deep and lost in you. He’s in love with the way you feel underneath him, how you react to his touch and he sounds you make when he’s taking you so good or the sounds you make when he’s taking you so good and how you feel wrapped around him.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Slater is a little on the lazy side, but for someone like he manages to keep himself groomed. He trims every once in a while, so he is fairly groomed.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Slater is really romantic in the moment. Sex is very intimate for him and for you. He tries to always make it about you and your pleasure. Moments like these make both of you realize how lucky you two are to have each other.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He jacks off every other day. He loves to look at the polaroid that he took of you to help him jack off. It was such a pretty picture of you. The sight of you topless and vulnerable in his bed.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Slater loves cockwarming. When he’s too tired to move around so much or he just wants to relax, he’ll let you warm his cock. Sometimes he lets you make it more exciting and allows you to touch yourself or play with your clit while he stays inside you. You make him cum a few times like that, all the while without moving or thrusting inside you.

Slater also has the biggest worship kink. He loves to hear you tell him how huge he is, how good he is doing, and most importantly when you thank him for how good he makes you feel.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He prefers doing it in the bedroom out of all places now. You did it in the car plenty of times and in an open field while stargazing. But one time, you two did do it in the back of Pickford’s car one time at a party, but you both ended up getting caught. Ever since, the bedroom was the only acceptable place for the two of you.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

He love watching you dance at parties. The way you move always turns him. He would join you to and you would move onto each other, fluid with each others movements. Right after these dances, you two would definitely have sex. He also loves seeing you wear his shirts with just your panties underneath.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He’s up for anything. As long as it’s not harmful. He’d never want to hurt you. Bondage is a big no for him. He doesn’t like orgasm denials either.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He prefers receiving over giving. The sight of you with his cock in your mouth is the hottest thing ever. The feeling of your tongue swiping over his length drives him crazy. He loves giving and he’s pretty good at it. His tongue flicks in amazing motions while working with his fingers.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He’s a total softie, so he likes to take his sweet precious time with you. The majority of the time, he’s passionate and slow. If you want him to be rough, he is willing to do so.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He’s not a big fan of quickies. He likes to take his time with you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He’s willing to try new things as long as you’re comfortable with it. He just won’t participate in anything that is harmful to you or him.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Most of the time, he can only go for 1 round. Sometimes, he can do 2. Overall, sex is pretty energy-consuming for him.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He’s not a fan of using toys. He wants to be the one doing all the pleasuring for you.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He doesn’t do teasing much. He does it occasionally. But majority of the time. He starts to feel bad, because he just wants to make both of you feel good.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s loud. His moans and whimpers are pleasing your ear. The sounds just turn you on some more. He also slips out curse words here and there as he starts reaching his climax.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

When he's stoned, he gets more clingy and soft when he's with you. He's so touchy and sex is even more soft.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He is about 6 inches, 7 inches when hard. He has some girth to him. He’s not too thick or thin. He’s the perfect size for you.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Slater’s sex drive is fairly average. He doesn’t have a high sex drive as many others think. He has many dirty thoughts about you all the time though.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

As stated earlier, Slater is such a big softie. He cuddles up next to you and lays on your chest. You start running your fingers through his hair. Once he feels that repeated motion on his head, lights out for him. The sight of him sleeping was so peaceful to you.

[mcybank]

⇢ CODE RED  ;  JJ

summary jj went a little too far and drove the reader to say something he thought she’d never have to.

pairing jj maybank x female!reader

warnings Smut; use of safeword, dominance, bdsm, etc. angst(?)

The tinted window to your room allowed you to see the sunset in a different tint, but that wasn’t what you were focused on. JJ had just had a rather frustrating day out, and you were all for calming him down. His mind went into domspace in an instant, picturing you under his control and dominance. 

“I want to try something new today,” he spoke, his eyes were set upon your bare body that was ready to take him. You weren’t necessarily opposed to trying out new things with JJ, especially in bed, but dominant JJ, you knew that you were in for a hell of a ride. You gulped, your eyes were fixated on JJ’s hands and how they were distressingly tugging on the sheets of your bed, before responding to him, “Yeah? What do you have in mind?”

His lips molded into a slight smirk, the excitement radiating through him at the thought of doing what he wanted to if you agreed to it. He wasn’t one to force you into doing something, nor did he want to physically or emotionally hurt you whilst doing something, and you knew that he would never do that. “I want to cover your eyes,” he spoke, his voice laced in eagerness and lust, hoping that you would say yes. You bit your lower lip whilst thinking about his suggestion; you two had spoken about it previously, you weren’t against it, you felt anxious about it. But the more you thought of it, the lesser you thought about what might go wrong and it actually being a good experience. 

You looked back up at him, his eyes already set upon you patiently, and when he saw your lips curve into a slight smile, he had an idea that you were on the same boat as him. “We can try that,” you finally said, and you felt your heartbeat pumping faster when you saw him instantaneously take out the pieces of white cloth you had for him from your drawers, that were waiting to be used. 

“I’m gonna tie your hands to the bed first, okay?” his voice was gentle, he didn’t want to overwhelm you before it began by treating you degradingly, he wanted to make you feel safe; he knew how badly this could go and how you might feel. 

You laid down on your back and raised your hands up, signalling for him to tie them to the wooden headboard of the bed, and he did exactly that. Although his mind was thinking about tying your legs too, he was afraid that it was too much freedom taken away from you already, with your arms tied as well as your eyes shut by tying his infamous bandana around it. 

Once you had your sense of sight taken away by JJ, you were feeling a wave of emotions. You didn’t know if this was going to go amazingly or horribly wrong, hoping it wasn’t the latter. “Remember, the code word is muffin,” was the last thing he said before he began with his act. He didn’t ever think that you would use the safeword, but he always felt better by reminding you of it in any case you feel like you need to use it. 

And so, he began. He toyed with your clit first, and not being able to see his beautiful face while he did so was a downside for you, even though you felt the amazing sensation down there. You were upset that you couldn’t look him in the eyes while he fingered you, enough to make you orgasm instantly, you couldn’t stare at him being concentrated on warming you up and making you feel good before he inserted himself in you. But the way you were moaning said otherwise. JJ always had a way with his fingerwork, it was always enough to pleasure you to the maximum. 

He stopped for a second and repositioned himself on the bed, sitting on his knees as he stared at your legs spread wide open waiting for him. He was unsure of whether or not he should inform you before he put himself in you, but since you weren’t able to see what was happening, maybe he needed to do it without any notice. “JJ?” You began to ask, feeling empty down there due to no contact, and it was a coincidence that as soon as you said his name, he pushed himself into your hole in a surge, causing you to scream in pleasure as well as well as the inundating feeling you were feeling. 

You felt goosebumps on your arms, uneasily wrapped to the bed. You didn’t have anything to grip on, not his back nor the bedsheets, so you made do by curling your palms into a fist and digging your nails deep into your palms. 

A few minutes passed, he had turned you to the side into a rather uncomfortable position as your hands were tied, but you didn’t mind. That was until you felt a sharp pain on your ass at the collision from his palm. He spanked you, mainly because he knew that you loved the pain, and the yelp of pain you let out, he mistook for majorly pleasure rather than excruciating pain. It wasn’t extremely hard, the spank, but it was enough to make your covered eyes swell up in tears due to the instant shock that went through your body at that moment. 

“Muffin, muffin,” you said, your voice was covered by his loud groans as he thrusted in and out of you, as well as the screams you let out in the middle of saying the safeword. He didn’t understand what you were saying first, until he heard you say it again, this time, a lot louder along with your voice filled in torment and discomfort. 

“What?” he asked confusingly, removing his hard cock from you, not caring that he wasn’t able to finish. “Muffin,” you sorely said again, breaking out in sobs. “y/n, baby, what did I do?” he quickly questioned as he began untying your hands from the bed, and then undoing the bandana to allow you to open your eyes. You didn’t answer the question, instead, you brought your knees up to your chest and whimpered in pain. JJ looked at you, his hair disheveled and his eyes calming down from the rage going on in his body. He walked closer to you and tried to place his hands on the side of your face, something he’d do to calm you down, but seeing you flinch away from him was enough for him to mentally curse at himself for causing you this much pain. 

What he didn’t know was that you weren’t specifically flinching from his touch, you would’ve done the same for any contact trying to be made with you from another person. “Babe, you’ve got to tell me what I did, please,” his voice was shaky, he couldn’t bare to see the sight of you sobbing into your knees and trembling due to something he did. 

“It- it was too much,” you managed to say in between hiccups. JJ’s hands went to his hair, sliding his fingers through his blonde locks in guilt. “Can I touch you?” he asked, his voice gentle and welcoming. You slowly nodded but your trembling wasn’t slowing down. 

His arms wrapped around your shoulders, feeling as though that was the only safe spot of your body that he could touch without hurting you. He pushed himself closer to your body and put his index finger and middle finger under your chin, lifting your face to look him in the eye.

The sight of seeing you like this was unbearable to him. All he wanted to do was press his lips against your own and tell you and calm you down. “I’m so sorry, baby,” he managed to let out, he knew that if he tried to say anything more, he’d break down in tears too, and he didn’t want you to feel guilty for using the safeword for the first time in your relationship.

“It was- it was just too much to handle,” you told him, shaking your head thinking you were being rather dramatic, but he was quick to dismiss that you were. Your trembling gradually began to slow down and your heart was beating at a stable rate, you took this moment to look at JJ’s eyes and then down at his lips that were slightly quivering, you leaned in and pressed a quick peck on his lips to let him know that you forgive him.

"Finger?” you said, it came out more as a question. The confusion was present in his eyes, misinterpreting what you meant, “I don’t think you-” he began, putting his hand on your temple, but when you slightly opened your mouth, he knew what you wanted.

He placed the tip of his thumb in your mouth, allowing you to suck on it slightly as a coping mechanism. It wasn’t sexual at all, it was simply just something that you did in order to calm yourself down. He stared intently into your eyes and his lips curved into a smile at your gesture, and knowing that he could be of help made him even more happy. However, imagining the image of you crying due to what he did couldn’t leave his mind, but he tried not to think of it. 

“How would you like if I prepared you some food?” he suggested, his voice was raspy due to the dryness in his throat. Your face slightly lit up at the suggestion, you eagerly nodded as he removed his thumb from your mouth. “I love you,” you mumbled to him, nuzzling your face into his bare chest, your tear stains recognizable to him. He drew in a sharp breath, “I love you so much, you don’t know how sorry I am,”

[dustedmagazine]

Mujician — 10 10 10 (Cuneiform)

10 10 10 by Mujician

More than a decade after the fact, it is heartbreaking to ponder the dissolution of one of the finest improvising quartets this side of 1970. The phrase doesn’t even begin to describe Mujician’s elasticity, mind-bending precision and instantaneous communication that could change the music’s course even before the proverbial hat dropped. Keith Tippett, Paul Dunmall, Paul Rogers and Tony Levin were four in one, or was it the other way around? Now, Cuneiform, a label that has done more than right by the band, has released the final Mujician studio recording, captured during a brief 2010 tour. Leven would pass away only months later, effectively ending the ensemble. Tippett’s life ended in 2020.

Contemplating any moments isolated in writing this review, and it’s like reviewing a sunset or a rainbow, do nothing to speak to the totalities that constitute these two long pieces. Every Mujician concert and recording, as there was very little separating them, were as different as their disparate vocabularies were unified. Whether involving a plethora of instrumental timbres, as happened often in the early days and on Journey, the first Cuneiform recording, or with the more stripped-down version represented here, each player creates a universe into and out of which the others travel with the freedom of citizenship. Dig into the opening moments of “Remember,” just to sample the kinds of diverse relationships inherent in this freedom-via-chamber-music approach. Keith Tippet’s magical touch offers up a descending quarter-arc immediately answered by Tony Levin’s melodically gorgeous cymbals which, after a few phrases in contrapuntal chorale from Tippet, join him to end the line and to begin the next as Dunmall’s tenor and Rogers’ bass bring a fugal aspect to the quadrilogue. As if organically, like the deepest conversations or the multivalent ebb and flow of a perfect spring afternoon’s soundscape, everything emerges from that briefest of exchanges. Take your choice; engage with the groove that Levin and Rogers imply and encircle, momentarily stating it only for it to fragment and evaporate, or revel in each phrase Dunmall and Tippett leave hanging for the other to complete. The synchronicity is extraordinary down to the microdetail, as at 2:28, where Tippett and Levin complete a thought only for everything to stop, like those moments in a crowd where that no-language rush and thrum of human speech spontaneously subsides. The bass harmonics and breathy tenor leading into the fifth minute could not be further afield from the choppy lines and arrows occurring a minute later, and yet all has led to and encompassed each transition, negating even the idea of transition. If the pointillistic exchanges at 17:35 seem a long way off from the calm depth of the swining groove at 12:18, they merge in context, hanging together in a way few groups can even conceive, let alone master as did this ensemble of more than two decades. What other ensemble, save maybe the Mingus group of 1964 or the Futterman/Fielder/Jordan trio, could make a transition somewhere between a waltz and a mazurka swing?! Through the mountain-peak registral interplay of Dunmall’s soprano and Roger’s dizzying arco augmented by Tippett’s mildly prepared piano, all of which paves the way for a rip-roaring solo from Rogers, it is if all has been building up to the moment where Dunmall’s droning pipes bring the unity present all along into focus. The piece ends with Levin, Rogers and Tippett’s percussives in a kind of modal concurrence, inhabiting a place beyond geography, their collectivity having undergone, yet again, the transformation that happened whenever Mujician performed.

 Obviously, that unity of approach is far from the entire picture, or rather, it’s a component, an aspect of what the finest groups achieve. That symbiosis wouldn’t exist without the firmly established individualities that guide each moment. There is Tippett’s fleet fingerwork, often in the service of quartal harmonies which, in duet with Levin, grace the titular piece’s opening. Similarly, Dunmall’s pantonal lines imply as much as they state, like those five minutes into the same track. Paul Rogers can walk with the best of them, but the unique sound of his seven-string acoustic bass acts like a chorus at key moments, as he interweaves polyphony into the melodies Tippett and Dunmall lay down at 8:22 and beyond. Then, there is Tony Levin. No better summation of his art is needed than the album’s opening minutes. He was melodist and rhythmatist in tandem, as befits his diverse pedigree. Here, he teases out a groove on tom and snare only to let it slide, to resume it with high-hat changing the rhythm and then to launch into something encompassing and transcending not only swing but notions of fast and slow, rivaling the concise solos of old in which all needed to be said in thirty seconds. His power and delicacy balance in a way that supported and propelled his fellow musicians. He, Tippett and Mujician are sorely missed. We must celebrate the group’s legacy on disc, of which this excellently recorded session is the capstone.

Marc Medwin