#i also had low-hymnal
Note
Could you do Mel x reader where reader normally LOVES all things Christmas and gifting presents to people but this year she’s feeling down and just not as festive so Mel goes out of her way to give reader the most magical Christmas 🎄
Please and thank you! May you have the best day 🫶
frosted hymnal
pairing: melissa schemmenti x gn!reader
summary: generally the request above, however, there is definitely a different tone to this then what was asked for, bit more sad underneath | 4.1k
warnings: grief/loss (thematic - not in depth), hurt and immense comfort throughout to makeup for this sad
translations: bambino (baby), cara (dear), tua stellina (your little star)
note: this one is a bit personal to me, especially in the details and a family tradition i snuck in. i’m also not feeling very festive and ‘hell yeah christmas’ due to similar things i put in which is why this reads more h/c than holiday cheer oops
Ever since that balmy night in August when you’d gotten a call from your aunt as you ate dinner, laughing at Melissa’s recount of her conversation with Barbara earlier in the day. As the phone cuts her off unexpectedly, you swallow your laughter as you say a greeting into the phone. Immediately, your smile drops and your eyes flick to Melissa’s, already red and a fist clenching and unclenching as you listen.
“Thank you for calling,” you say with a shaky voice, barely making it out before you gasped for breath. Another beat as your aunt says more to you, “yeah, I will. Love you, too. Bye.” The moment the call ends, your head falls into your hands and tears fall. Melissa is immediately next to you, pulling you into her. Her lips press into your hairline, just letting you lean on her and let it all out.
You’d just talked to your grandfather three days before.
For days after, you hardly spoke, ate, or even moved from the bed. Your arms stayed locked around Melissa unless she had to step away, only then would her pillow take her place. She barely knew what to do, most of her family were angry when in mourning, much like herself; she’d broken half her picture frames and almost her hand when she found out about her grandmother. This eerie silence, the lack of anything from you, it was different, and it scared her even if she didn’t want to admit it. It took days to get you downstairs, a week to get you into the sun in the backyard. Melissa just held you until you quietly asked to go with her to the store after two weeks, the same quiet tone that filtered into most gatherings since.
She’d noticed it at Thanksgiving, the silence and the empty stare when no one was interacting with you. First holidays are always the hardest, she’d felt the same when her Nana passed away, but that was years ago and she’d had everyone around her where your family was states away. You spent the holiday pressed into Melissa’s side, only speaking when spoken to, hand gripping hers for dear life. Aunt Deb tried not to look offended when you barely touched the famous apple pie that you usually inhaled.
It had been Grandpa’s favorite.
—
The silence and the stare never really went away as the table runners went from orange to red and green, apples and pumpkins became evergreens and snowflakes. Melissa tried to stay discreet in how she watched you detangle the gold beads that wrap around the tree, robotic movements and pursed lips. Slowly, she moved from the couch to the spot next to you with her ornaments and hooks, shuffling closer to you to gain your attention.
You turn to look at her for a moment, a tiny smile stretching your lips before your eyes go back to the beads in your lap. The redhead takes the chance to prop her chin on your shoulder, making you turn back to her again, tilting your head back to get a proper look at her. Cold fingers brush her hair behind her ear while you admire her, a low voice speaking to her for the first time in an hour, “hi, pretty.”
“Hi, amore,” she murmurs back, a gentle kiss placed to your shoulder over your sweater, “you’re awfully quiet over here by your lonesome.”
You huff a little laugh through your nose, “I’m sorry, I’ve just been spacing out while I untangle these damned things,” you hold up the beads, “seriously, did you tie these in knots before I put them in the attic last year?”
“All part of my secret plan to keep you here forever,” she jokes as she shoves the ornaments away to help you with detangling.
Melissa delights in the first smile she’s seen from you all day as you shake your head at her answer. Leaning in quickly, you press a kiss to her cheek and quietly say, “like I was planning on going anywhere.”
Half of The Apartment and two glasses of wine later, you both finally get the beads untangled and wrapped around the tree. Basic ornaments went first, then the intricate ones that had been gifted by Barbara from the craft store were next, followed by the more personal ones with names, dates, and pictures within. A fireplace ornament with a photo of you two in it made you pause and let a little smile on your face, but it dropped when you remembered who had taken the picture and hand written your names on the bottom. Melissa sees the warmth in you go cold, taking the ornament from your hands and placing it on a branch for you, front and center.
“Hon, we can hold off on this if you need us to,” she says with a gentle tone, as if the right volume would shatter you into pieces. Melissa had watched you sluggishly place ornaments on the tree, for every three she got on there, you’d only put up one. The blank stare that had appeared at Thanksgiving was even more pronounced, and every conversation about holidays and holiday shopping had been borderline dismissed unless absolutely necessary.
The sigh she gets as an initial answer is less than desirable for a response. You turn away to grab a penguin on skis, breathing out a real answer, “it’s fine, babe, really. I just want to get this over with.”
That was certainly not what she expected. She normally had to hold you back from decorating before Halloween even ended, by the last trick-or-treater you already had a plan for the decor for the winter months. Sure you’d brought down the boxes for her, not letting her help at all since she always complains about her back afterwards, and yeah, you pulled out the Ella Fitzgerald Christmas album, but only at her request. There was no bounce in your steps, no obnoxious lovely singing of carols, not even the reindeer antler headband had made an appearance when decorating. As much as she poked fun at you for all of it, she found herself missing it more than anything at this moment. Simply hungering for your unbridled joy during the season.
Even though her own shoulders deflate, Melissa steps towards you, arms wrapping around your middle. Immediately she feels you give into her, leaning fully and melting into her arms. Her lips pressed to the side of your head, “it’ll get done anyways. Why don’t we take a break? We have the weekend, honey.”
“Can we just finish it now?” you murmur as if you’re afraid she’ll get mad. In truth, you just want it to be over so that you don’t have to think about it anymore, pretend the holiday isn’t even happening. You turn in her arms and move your hands to hold her face, “I just want to lay down and watch movies with you all weekend and eat the cookie dough that’s in the freezer.”
“That dough is for my students, so keep your grubby little hands away from it,” she jokes to lighten your mood, which works fractionally given your soft laugh. She leans to kiss your cheek, “how about I’ll make some brownies while you wrap this up?” She gestures to the remaining ornaments on the coffee table. Your nod and smile have more life to them, making her grin and press a short kiss to your lips, pulling away despite your insistence to make it last.
She watches you from the doorway for a moment, watching you stare at the tree as you mentally mapped where the ornaments should go, almost akin to your usual behavior. Melissa takes the distraction and runs with it, calling your aunt as she pulls out cocoa powder and sugar.
Melissa keeps her voice low as she asks your aunt questions, and slows down as she repeats her address for your aunt. The next call she makes is to her own mother, knowing that Giorgia is near god-level when it comes to sewing, having made every blanket and bunny for her grand and great-grandchildren.
The night ends with only half of the brownie she gave you being eaten while you lay on top of Melissa, head tucked into her neck and a tight grip on her shirt. She resides herself to the knowledge her back will hurt in the morning, but your steady breathing and weight against her was enough to not care.
—
The last day of school before winter break arrives, finally. The next two weeks were going to give Melissa the peace she had been waiting for, especially for you. Half of her lunch today was spent worrying about you when you came in late with redlined eyes, evidence of your tears in the corner of your eye. You waved off concerned glances and questioning looks, just giving a look to your girlfriend that you would tell her later. Under the table, she knocks her foot with yours and keeps it there, a silent I got you.
Getting out of the car, you immediately turn when Melissa doesn’t join you, “where are you going?”
“I gotta run over to Ma’s, I’ll be back in twenty minutes,” she says, crossing her fingers that you won’t press more, “I promise.” Your eyes give her a once over before you nod and turn back towards the house. She pipes up again, trying to ease the guilt of not being able to spill the beans, “no kiss?”
You laugh from your spot at the front door, calling over your shoulder, “you can come collect when you get home, ditcher.”
At her mother’s she is given the creation already wrapped since it was “perfect” and looking would be “questioning the genius at work,” so she doesn’t peek, knowing her mother adored you too much to have screwed this up. Pulling into the driveway, she moves quickly to not gain your attention, slipping inside to run upstairs before the door even shuts. She hides the box in the spare bedroom closet, praying that you won’t feel the need to remake the whole bed over the weekend.
As she descends and joins you back in the kitchen, she sees your rigid posture as you stand over the stovetop. Soup. You always make soup when you’re sad, always watching it simmer and bubble, stirring near constant like the spoon is pushing your thoughts around and not the vegetables. Before she can wrap herself around you, you’re already turned to the side with an arm out, inviting her into your embrace. Melissa quickly accepts, taking the moment to bury herself in your neck, holding your waist tight as one of your hands rests on her back, the other still stirring.
“What happened at lunch?” she asks from her hiding place, pressing a soft kiss to your jaw.
Your blunt nails scratch her upper back as you speak, “Tamika gave me a card and was telling me all about her Christmas plans this year.” There it was. Tamika lived with her grandparents, and Melissa remembers from when she was her student that the girl was very close with her grandfather, always talking about their weekend adventures. You sigh as you play with amber waves, “I just needed time to cool down before I came to lunch. If I came in crying, I would probably still have Janine glued to my hip right now.”
Melissa just squeezes you tighter, “text me next time, won’t you? I could’ve been there for you, you don’t have to do this ‘suffer in silence’ bullcrap.”
“I know-”
“I don’t wanna hear it. You need me, you get me. Got it?” Despite her serious words, her tone is soft, telling you that she means every word, and that these words are coming from her heart.
“Yes ma’am,” you mumble, kissing her hair as she tucks into you more.
—
Christmas Eve at the Schemmenti house was loud, very, very loud. Melissa’s eyes were drawn to you every few minutes, gauging your reactions and facial expressions, knowing full well you’ll put on a face for everyone else that only she can see through. Her heart beat speeds up as she sees no sign of anything on your face as the nieces and nephews are practically climbing you like a jungle gym, all vying for your uninterrupted attention. When Giorgia finally allows everyone into the kitchen again, you enter with Michael over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes, plopping him into his booster seat as he giggles and squirms.
Falling into your designated seat in between the toddler and Melissa, you’re met immediately with a hand squeezing your thigh. You can feel the silent question in her touch, responding with your own squeeze of her hand, an answer telling her that yes, you’re okay. Giorgia captures your attention as she passes the bolognese over to you, but Melissa’s eyes stay on you and the crinkles around your eyes.
“Bambino,” Girogia says later on, pulling your eyes away from the kids playing together, “you’ve barely touched the tiramisu, I know it’s your favorite. Not even a second slice?” Leave it to Giorgia to ask you how you are without actually saying the words.
“Ma,” Melissa begins to warn, but stops as your hand falls on top of her on the table.
“I’m okay, mamma,” you say with a little smile at her concern, “I just don’t wanna eat too much of one thing and not get to enjoy the rest.” Unconvinced, but knowing not to pry, she cuts out another square of the desert and puts it on your plate. There is no room for refusal, so you dig your fork in and pray to whoever may be watching that neither woman notices your hand shaking. As the kids open their singular gifts for Christmas Eve, there’s a notable lack of smile on your face, unless one of the kids is looking right at you. The smile seems to come out easiest for them, but Melissa can see how quickly it falls once the attention is gone. She wonders if you’ve been doing the same around her when she’s been able to get a smile from you the last few days.
Everyone began leaving shortly after, most of the kids getting tired and cranky. Though she was half asleep in her father’s arms, Nicolette made a point to drag herself over to you to hug tightly before she left, barely wanting to let go. Vinny has to pry her off of you with a promise that she’ll see you in a week for New Year’s, though you end up having to give her a pinky promise to seal the deal. Melissa thinks that may have been the most you’ve smiled in months.
Once the kids and cousins are all gone, the redhead allows herself to drape across you, mumbling into your ear, “ready to go home?” She gets a nod as a response, your eyes shutting as you bask in her touch for a few selfish seconds. Saying goodbye to Giorgia, though never a want, was a must by the end of the night, your off-behavior making it that two Schemmenti women had eagle eyes set on you. Two big kisses to the cheek and a ciao set you free from the house, Melissa’s hand only ever disconnects from yours as you get into the car.
That night, Melissa and you lay in bed watching How the Grinch Stole Christmas while you braided little sections of her hair, releasing them and rebraiding every few minutes. Your fingers trailed from her hair for her forehead, gently gliding down to her chin to tilt her face up towards you. Her lips stretch into a smile as she watches you look down at her in adoration, eyes soft and searching over her face. Leaning over her in your lap, you relish in her smile growing at the sudden closeness.
She pushes up, pressing her lips to your shortly. Sitting up and turning to face you, she kissed you again, pushing you back into the pillows. Melissa’s hands gripped your hips while yours came to her face, thumbs gently caressing her warm skin. Whining as she pulls away becomes laughter when she presses kisses across your face, settling a last kiss to your lips.
You stay cupping her face as you take your turn to stare up at her. In a quiet voice, as if you were afraid to ruin the moment, you say, “I’m sorry for being such a downer lately.”
A kiss to your cheek, “you’re not a downer, you’re grieving. It just feels different this year and it sucks. You can be all sad, and I get to hug and spoil you without you complaining about it.”
“Name one time I complained about you kissing me, I’ll wait,” you say with fake indignation, before she can answer, you cut her off, “you can’t, don’t even try.” When she laughs, you feel it as you still hold her face, staring up at her dumbfounded.
“What?” she asks when she notices that difference in your gaze.
Your thumb brushes over her bottom lip, catching slightly, “I just love you so, so much.”
“I love you, too,” her lips press to your thumb. Her eyes shift to the clock on her nightstand, 12:02 AM stares back at her, “merry Christmas, baby.”
Your only response is pulling her down to kiss her again.
—
The sun wasn’t even up yet, why the fuck did she think this was a good idea?
The better part of the early morning was spent desperately searching how to get her laptop connected to the TV, and God forbid the sound works one of these times. Melissa is just about to scream into a throw pillow before the screen lit up and the tester video finally played through the speakers. She got her present for you all situated, wondering how the ones for her got there without you waking her up, she’d both fallen asleep and woken up on top of you. After what felt like six hours but was only two, she slowly moves upstairs to wake you up, but is met with you groggily sitting up in bed.-
“I’m surprised you’re up already,” she says as she moves closer to you, her arms raising to rest on your shoulders. Your own go around her waist, pulling her in until she’s straddling your lap, hands pushing under her shirt to warm against her torso.
“It was too quiet, no one was snoring in my face,” you mumble, smile stretching across before wincing as she smacks your shoulder, “you wound me, I may never recover.”
She can’t hide her laugh, “if this ends with you saying the cure is taking my shirt off, it is too fucking cold in here and you can stay wounded.”
“I thought you loved me,” you huff as you flop back down on the bed.
Melissa leans over you, “would breakfast and presents work?”
“She really does love me,” you say with a giggle as you push up to kiss her quickly before patting her thigh to ease her off of you.
When you walk downstairs, you almost completely walk past the TV without noticing half your family on the screen, waving as they see you. Nearly jumping out of your skin makes them laugh, but your attention goes to Melissa. She just points at the laptop, showing you that the call is live, that your family is sorta-here for the holiday. There’s heavy effort that goes into making sure you don’t start crying on the spot, overwhelmed by the work that you know Melissa put into getting everyone on the call together.
“Merry Christmas guys,” you say, waving at your nephews as they start cramming into the camera, desperately trying to reach you through the screen.
“Aunt Mellie said we surprising you,” the oldest one yells, grinning with a front tooth growing in.
You smile, hands almost reaching like you wanted to grab him, “oh, you did, you totally did, buddy.” Turning back to Melissa you walk into her opening arms, needing to express the love for her that felt like Coke and Mentos in your chest. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” you murmur into her neck as she sways you from left to right.
The rest of the morning is spent watching the kids open their presents from you and Melissa on the video call, listening to your cousins, aunts, and uncles update you on everything, and staring at Melissa as she talked easily with your family. She’s so good with them, and more importantly, they’re good with her, most of the little kids already prefer her to you anyways. Who are you to complain, you already know she’s the best.
When everyone hangs up, the tears in your eyes are no longer sad, but happy, carefree. Melissa put an arm around your shoulders, “have a good morning, hon?”
“You did all that for me,” it’s not really a question, moreso a statement of disbelief.
She nods, “I got one more thing, even though it does break the ‘only a stocking’ rule.” Your face screams unimpressed, she’s the one who said if it couldn’t fit in a stocking, neither of you could get it for the other. Before you can argue she amends her statement, “there was no purchase involved, cross my heart.” That seems to get the irritation off your face.
From behind the tree, she pulls out a box in ice blue wrapping paper, paper you recognized from her mother’s house. You eye her carefully, but her face gives nothing away, only the fidgeting of her sleeves says that this was a big deal to her. Carefully, you undo every piece of tape, pulling out a which box. Melissa’s hand urges you to open the box, nodding at you even though her eyes stay trained on the lid until your hand begins to open it.
In the box is a teddy bear, a worn-maroon color, tortoise shell buttons for eyes. Your thumb runs over the fabric, eyes flicking across it as the bear starts to feel familiar. Raising it to your nose and inhaling, there’s a lingering scent of wood and shoeshine, and this indescribable smell that brought you back to hanging clothes on the line at your grandparents house. It was his shirt, it was your grandfather’s lucky shirt. He’d worn this shirt the day you were born, when each of the grandkids graduated high school or college, and to every anniversary date with grandma.
Tears fall down your cheeks freely. Looking up at Melissa, she seems unsure of what to do, finding it hard to look at you while you look at the bear. Flying out of your seat, you launch yourself at Melissa, knocking her backwards onto the couch, “thank you. Thank you so much. This is so... you’re too perfect, thank you.”
“I’m glad you like it,” she answers as she holds you to her tightly.
“I love it,” you press a kiss to her skin. You trace your finger over the stitching on the arm, recognizing the pattern, “did your mom do this?”
“She did. I called your aunt and asked her to send a shirt, and gave it to Ma at a dinner a few weeks ago to make into a bear or rabbit or whatever she could with the material,” Melissa clears her throat, “this way, you can give the old man a hug whenever you need one.” The sincerity and adoration in her gift, her words, her actions, were all too much. She felt a choked sob against her as fresh tears fell, mutterings of I love you from both of you.
The cocoa on the table went cold, the breakfast she was going to make completely forgotten. Melissa was never one to care this much about what she got from or gave to other people during the holidays, truthfully she threw out almost everything anyone by you or Barbara gave her, save for the pencils from her students. Sure the novelty items were great, and the scratch tickets weren’t bad either, but she liked the look on your face seeing that bear more than anything she’d ever get.
This was everything. You in her arms, holding onto her, kissing her face everywhere as the appreciation and love for her overflowed into the living room. Nothing else has or will ever matter as much as this, as much as you with her in this moment.
“Merry Christmas, baby,” she whispers into the space between you.
“Merry Christmas, gorgeous,” you answer, closing that space.
happy holidays my angels, love u all ❄️
as always, feedback appreciated <3
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over and over again
author note: i’m ngl, this is my first fic thst i’ve ever written so pls don’t come for me. i also may have wrote this on my school ipad and didn’t want to get flagged to it’s not exactly sexual or anything. but if you have any requests, just message me. if they’re closed… lemme look at my requests for a moment. but that’s all
warnings: choking, fluff, mentions of crying, mean mommy larissa (for 5 seconds), dom/sub ig idk? jealous larissa
Cold was the night. You were sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace, shivering as if you couldn’t feel the roaring flame on your face. You were wrapped in your heated blanket as you scrolled on instagram. Only seeing your wife, Larissa’s, photos, due to the fact that she was extremely jealous. If she were to see that you were on another woman’s instagram, she would tell you to unfollow them. And you would, given the fact that Larissa was always the dominant one between the two of you. It was worse when she was at work. If she saw that you had liked a girl's post that wasn’t her own, she would immediately text you. Sometimes you may have done it on purpose, just to see how mad she would get. You loved how she looked when she was angry with you. But you would never admit it. She was like a mama duck. And you would always be her little duckling, following her every demand she would throw at you. You loved Larissa with your whole entire heart, and yes, of course you loved that she cared about you and wanted you all to herself. But sometimes she let her jealousy get in the way of other things. Like the time that you smiled at a girl while you were on a date with Larissa at the promenade. Like you would every Friday. You guys were walking to dinner when you saw the woman. She smiled at you, so you smiled back. Larissa, of course, saw you since she wasn’t taking her eyes off of you. She gently squeezed your hand, letting you know to stop before she were to say something she would regret. You never disobeyed her. To be honest, you were scared of her. Thinking back to the time when you guys were working together at Nevermore Academy. At the time, you were the school's only choir teacher. And of course, there were a handful of students who joined the choir. You were standing up in the center of the classroom, conducting the students while they were singing a winter hymnal. About 30 seconds into the song, you hear the familiar clicking of her heels. Although the students were loud and you were right in front of them, those clacks which drowned out any noise from a mile away were heard. Your students finished their song and you let out a low breath, which frankly, you didn’t know you were holding. As Larissa started clapping, you turned around and saw the familiar, beautiful face. All of the students' faces lit up when they saw the principal. A few even went to give her a hug, which you both responded with a smile on your faces.
“Darling, can you come to my office for a minute? I’ll have Ms. Brinks look after your students while you’re gone.” Larissa said with an innocent smile on her face.
“I’m sorry Lariss- Ms. Weems but I'm afraid I can’t.” You said, slightly scared for your life. You informed her that the students really needed to practice for the concert that was occurring that night. Before you knew it, she was whipping her phone out of her pocket, and calling a teacher to come and watch your students.
“There. Now you have no reason not to come to my office. It’ll only take a few moments, students.” As she told your students, smiling. She then grabbed your arm and you felt as though she was dragging you through the hallway.
“Slow down Larissa, I’m nearly tripping over my own feet.” You choked out, laughing.
“You will call me Ms. Weems at school. Now be quiet. I don’t want you to distract anyone in class.” She almost shouted at you. You were more scared than you were before. She had never talked to you that way before. She was walking quite fast. That was mostly because she was standing tall at 6 foot and 3 inches. She was a whole foot taller than you. You picked up your pace, practically jogging. Once you finally made it to her office, she sat you down in a chair that was in front of her desk. She rounded her desk sitting on the side of it.
“Darling, why did you say no the first time I asked you to come with me” Larissa cooed out.
“I already told you, I had students to take care of.” You said, looking at the ground.
“Don’t. You. Dare. Use that tone with me, young lady. And look at me when I am speaking to you.” Larissa almost shouted that last sentence out. Embarrassed, and also worried, you refused to look at her. Without saying a word she grabbed your chin with her pale hands. Her long fingers squeezing your cheeks gently. It hurt. It really did. You didn’t want to upset her anymore by saying something but it just squeaked out.
“Ouch!” You said, immediately looking away from her, even though her hand was holding your face in place. You were too scared to look her in the eyes. She looked at you like you were crazy. You looked back at her, and she was staring you dead in the eyes. Like she was penetrating you with lasers that came from her own blue sets.
“Make another noise, and ill make sure your crying and begging to leave.” Larissa said in a stern tone. You knew you were done for. But still you sat there a made the smallest whimper when her hand slid down to your throat. She started squeezing. And you thought that was it. You were going to die right there in her office. But then suddenly, she came close to you and whispered something to you. Barely audible if there was anyone else around.
“I want you y/n. You have no idea how much i love you. I wish I could wake up every morning next to you. I hope you feel the same.” Larissa said, slightly nervous.
“I love you too Larissa.” You said before you could even comprehend what you had just said. Now back to the present day. The fire is booming now, and you feel warm enough so you go to your room and lie down. You hear the garage opening but ignore it. Once again, you hear her heels clicking against the hardwood floors. She came into your room, somehow knowing what room you were in. She discarded her coat and heels. As she let down her headache causing updo, as she did everyday. You felt the bed dip down when she bent over it to give you a long, passionate kiss to your soft, touch starved lips. She whispered sweet nothings into your ear and kissed you down your temple. She was in the crook of your neck when you flipped her over in the bed, switching spots with her. Now you were the one all of her. You needed her. This is what you had been missing all day.
“How was your day my love?” You asked her with compassion in your eyes.
“It was good darling. How was your day amor?” She responded with the same look in her blue pair.
“Better now that I’m with you.” You said smiling, but also visibly cringing at yourself. She couldn’t help but control her laughter. Which then caused you to start laughing along with her until you two were syncing. She then went to the bathroom and changed into her bed clothes. Walking out, she was wearing a black satin dress with lace at the top of the chest area. It fell just above her knees. Seeing her sweet porcelain skin made your mouth go dry. As she was walking to look in the mirror, brushing her hair, she made sure to sway her hips a little bit. Just to tease you. And she did it on purpose. But you already knew that much. She watched as her lips curled into a smile. She sat her brush down on her night stand and she slipped under the covers, with her body touching yours. This was the type of warmth you had been looking for, which you couldn’t get from the fireplace. She hugged you tightly while she ran her fingers through your hair, massaging your scalp. You and Larissa eventually fell asleep, holding each other. When you woke up, she was already looking at you with a slight smirk on her face. She looked beautiful all the time, but it was times like these that made you think how lucky you were. Getting to wake up with her every morning and seeing her in her early morning state. With her hair in her face, eyes puffy, drool all over the face. You had fallen in love with her over and over again.
(a/n: i realize the end is super rushed but i have been asked to make a part two so i will be making one very soon (:)
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Hi! Anglican here (Episcopalian’s British cousins). Overall the services are very similar in basic structure- a thing that has thrown catholic friends of mine before is that we do have slight variations of some of the prayers (someplacesthe Lord’s Prayer ends in ‘for yours is the kingdom, the power and the glory’ rather than ‘deliver us from evil’ and I believe the creed is slightly different!) and in my own experience quite different hymnals. Idk if you’d want to take communion but probably a good idea to ask the vicar first- most churches are okay with it as long as you’re some kind of confirmed Christian. Usually you can take the pamphlet thing they give you up to the alter to indicate you just want a blessing! Keeping your arms down and if needs be asking also tend to work- most anglicans and Episcopalians I know tend to prefer having the host put in their hands. Most churches have near obligatory cake and coffee at the end, it’s either bad or the best thing you’ve had. Usually worth the gamble! There might be a lot of variation- our tradition focuses a lot on compromise so some low churches seem very ‘Protestant’ while others can be really high church so my apologies for the generality of the advice! I hope you have a good service and a lovely week!
Thank you for your response.
I just got done with the service today. It was extremely modern. All white walls and very minimalist decor. The art depicting the liturgical season was absolutely gorgeous.
The music was very….well, hippie Protestant. I’m glad there was a pamphlet with the order of the liturgy. The Nicene Creed is slightly different and threw me off quite a bit.
The deacon was so nice! I’m glad I got a chance to see her in her element and outside of a professional setting. The deacon is a former catholic I work with so it was nice chatting with her afterwards.
Other things I noticed:
Name tags! Each person puts their name on there. It’s a nice touch. They also asked me to put pronouns on, too. Which was different.
Coffee and tea before service. I’ve never been somewhere that served coffee before service, usually that’s for after. I also felt strange taking it with me to the pews.
No kneelers. I’ve been informed that kneelers are at some episcopal churches. They were not present at the one I attended.
Baptism free-for-all. A new member who had just shown up that day was asked if he’d like to get baptized after service. He asked if he needed to go to classes first and they said that was optional. That kinda made my brain go fritzy.
Holy Ghost vs Holy Spirit. I knew this from watching Call the Midwife but it was still strange to hear. It makes me think of Scooby Doo or Julie and the Phantoms.
Everything is The Great. There are lots of different things described as “the Great.” The Great Amen, The Great Silence, etc etc.
Overall, interesting experience.
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My grandmother went to be with all of her loved ones who had walked before her on the morning of May 7th, and I can only imagine that she greeted them with as much rejoicing there as she ever did here.
Unlike my grandfather, my relationship with my grandmother is the furthest thing in the world from complicated. It was always easy. It was comfortable. It was home. She was baking bread and cookies homemade fudge and cross stitch and crochet and french fries at the Burger King at Andrews Air Force base. For the majority of my life my grandfather was an incidental accessory to the brightness that was my grandmother, and it broke my heart when that light dimmed at all eleven years ago when Sharon died.
I really think that it shattered both of our hearts in similar ways. We could barely look at each other for years without crying. Each of us a memory of what was lost and how alone we felt in holding it. She lost a daughter. I lost a mother. But we had each other in the middle of it all. An anchor to the grief we couldn’t articulate.
My grandmother was stacks and stacks of books and old movies and the air and space museum and the library of Congress. Music. Humming along with the radio. She was Christmas morning presents in a pink chair covered in an afghan. She is a bookmark in every book. She was orange juice in an old Tupperware cup. Raspberry tea with too much honey. A chocolate pudding snuck before bed. The soft humming click of a sewing machine. Click of her low heels and swish of her pocketbook on a Sunday morning. Hiss of hairspray. Turning pages of the hymnal to make sure I was keeping up with the verses.
Piano, and choir, and handbells. Sunday school. Church dinners. Oxen Hill farm. Making lunch for Grandpa before he went to work and greeting him with a snack when he got home. She is me standing on a chair in the kitchen to help knead bread. She is magnets on the never used front door. She’s a stuffed otter, and a seal, and a Garfield pillow. She is every new family child’s star baby blanket. She is my baby blanket. She is my Puck, when a tiny one year old wouldn’t put down a stuffed cat. She is the scolding I got after cutting the eyebrows off a mink teddy bear hiding under the coffee table.
She is hummingbirds. She is a stained glass Angel on the tv stand. Grapes from the backyard. Bubbles and playing in the bathtub water. Mickey Mouse computer games.
She was souvenirs from every trip. She was handing me a new book to take home every time I visited. She was always asking if I had met anyone that made me happy, and she was delighted when my answer was finally yes. She took a sum total of 24 hours to find her way to a God that loves my wife as much as I do. And who would never hesitate to be in my corner.
She was an only child from rural Indiana who joined the navy to have a future that looked different than her parents. She raised three children in Maryland, South Carolina, Florida, and California while my grandfather was deployed. After her children were grown she became a research librarian, never stopped learning new things, and was sharp as a fucking tack.
She was easy with praise and with joy and support and also firm in what she thought was right and wrong. She was the gentler, softer half of their marriage but she was also someone you never wanted to cross. They were equals in every way and loved each other fully. She followed where Troy led, and often waited until he came back to lead her where she intended them both to end up.
She was my eternal constant, the reason for my name. The first person to hold me when I was born. She took me to the nursery, carried me herself while my father stayed with my mother. My entire life she was a steady presence that I counted on to be there. Always safe. The last piece of home. I knew she would be gone one day but I would be lying if I said I was ready. I’ve always known that losing her would be the next axis shift in my world and it is.
Fair winds and following seas Meme. I love you.
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winter is coming: songs for house briar
And I was catching my breath
Staring out an open window
Catching my death
And I couldn't be sure
I had a feeling so peculiar
That this pain would be for
Evermore
1. hibernation by random forest
I wanted to start this playlist off with a vibey instrumental song. I like this one because it starts off pretty bare and grows. The opening notes even sound, to me, like the wind! You can imagine walking across an empty snowy landscape and then you slowly get closer to the castle-- this is just the movie I am imagining in my mind. Because even though Winterfell seems icy and barren, there is a lot that goes on behind closed doors!
2. fine line by harry styles
I just thought this song flowed so well from the previous one that it had to go here. It was mostly chosen for the vibes (specifically the Bon Iver vibes... ask me about the Bon Iver-ification of Harry Styles...) but I think there is like a restrained anger/sadness going on here that just feels right for the Briars.
3. o come, o come emmanuel cover by the henningsons
Is it hokey to put a Christmas song on here? Perhaps. But the vibes are once again here and it really makes me feel like gathering around a fire in the dead of winter. And it’s a hymn about waiting and I think this particular version is both hopeful and fearful-- without knowing anything about the Starks, I do think that fits the Briars’ story of getting involved with the Knightleys! Like it’s supposed to be a good thing, but there’s an element of uncertainty...
4. nfwmb by hozier
Had to put a Hozier on it. Is it even a vibey atmospheric playlist if there’s no Hozier? This song in particular is very low and moody, it sounds like a murmur, and it’s about being super devoted to someone, wanting to stick with them and protect them but also maybe be hurt by them. I think looking at this from a family POV... two of the Briars are suspects in this which is interesting in a family that seems so close with one another. And some of the lyrics are just so haunting and gorgeous...
If I was born as a blackthorn tree
I'd wanna be felled by you
Held by you
Fuel the pyre of your enemies
like I’m sorry WHAT?!?!?!
5. white winter hymnal by fleet foxes
Sorry this is also very topical but it’s literally perfect. I wanted some choral-type songs on here, I don’t know if this has anything to do with GOT canon but I just picture like a giant children’s choir in Winterfell singing ominous songs about winter idk if they put me in charge of Game of Thrones I would do that. Anyway this song is about contrasts: stillness and war, red and white, beauty and destruction. “Turn the white snow red as strawberries in the summertime” are you KIDDING. Literally haunting and so perfect and vibey.
6. the wolves by watchhouse
Also topical! But also fitting! So I think this song is about America actually but I just think wolves as a metaphor are soooo great and I really wanted to include this song. My understanding is that wolves kind of represent this repressed inner anxiety and guilt and frustration with your society that you don’t know how to express. And I don’t know a lot about GOT as we have established but I think that’s really interesting in conversation with the direwolf thing so yeah.
7. north by sleeping at last
So I was kind of conflicted on including this one because it’s so #soft and I just didn’t know if it fit the vibe (even though again... topical... THE NORTH). I think we can talk about the soft side of House Briar, though. This is a family that is very tight-knit and loving, which makes what happened at the wedding all the more heartbreaking and scary. So I wanted a little testament to curling up by the fire with people you love. Before shit hits the fan and all.
8. collar of fur by fionn regan
Gonna be honest I’ve listened to this song so many times that it’s probably been added to my “on repeat” and I still don’t really know what it’s about. But it kind of reminds me of Aurora and it seems to be about performance and beauty in the eyes of others? And “crown of light” is making me think of like angels and stuff. And yeah this one is also kind of just for vibes.
9. all i want by kodaline
Another song that starts slow and REALLY kicks into gear, with a restrained pain and anger. What I’m saying is that this song has a lot in common with Fine Line! But WOW the bridge really takes it away. And I think it has a theme of loneliness too, which is often associated with winter. I just think this is a song you scream at the rolling frozen landscape what do you think.
10. evermore by taylor swift feat. bon iver
This song is so WINTERY. And it’s about feeling kind of adrift and lost and reaching for someone who helps you feel grounded. I think contrast is a big theme in this playlist so it feels right to end on a duet. And I like that the song isn’t totally resolved by the end but it ends on a hopeful note. And man this is just a gorgeoussss song.
ok that’s all thankssss <3
#is it an emma task playlist if she doesnt say vibe or vibey 70000 times#also i realized i basically#always do a tiana playlist au week lol#love u tiana <3#swyntask#swyngom#music
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Day off = song day
Sacred Harp #146, Hallelujah, as requested by someone on Tiktok. I feel like this is a tune that's made it out of the shape note bubble a bit? Like this might be in some modern hymnals, or maybe I've heard a folk group cover it? I'm not really sure, though.
I hesitated to do this one at first because I have such clear memories of it as a favorite at the singings I grew up going to, the kind of song that everyone sings with maximum energy and volume, and I felt like I couldn't do that justice as a single singer. I think it turned out okay, though! (This recording from Ireland will give you an idea of what it's like with 50-100 singers- although I would describe this as only a moderately enthusiastic performance!)
Sitting down to sing it, I was struck by how much all the parts, divorced from the octave they're supposed to be in, could plausibly be the melody (except the alto of course lol*). Sacred Harp generally wants all the parts to be sung at equal volume, but you can usually tell that the melody has more ornamentation to it, the bass part hops from the main note of one chord to the next it a typical bass-ish manner... This bass part could be a melody, though, and so could the treble.
I was also pleasantly surprised that I was able to fit this into my vocal range well, with the parts in roughly the correct relationship to each other- I didn't have to take the treble down an octave, and the bass note is generally the lowest note. The total range of notes I had to sing (once I moved the bass part up one octave) is an octave and a half, with the bass part covering one octave from "fa" to "fa" (the major scale of the key we're in) and the tenor and treble also both fitting within one octave, but from "so" (fifth note of the scale) on up.
Some tunes have bass parts that are exactly an octave below the rest- so when I have to raise them to fit my vocal range, they overlap with everything else and sound confusing. Other tunes have treble parts that are significantly higher than the melody, so that the total range of the song is too wide for me. But I was able to place this one in a key that was perfectly comfortable to sing in every part. (It's in F iirc.)
(What is the range of the alto part, I now find myself wondering? It goes from almost-as-low-as-the-bass-part to only-as-high-as-the-bass-part. Comfortably middling-low and not conflicting with the bass.)
--
* Many songs in the Sacred Harp were originally written as three-part harmony and the alto lines added later, and sometimes it shows in how repetitive they can be.
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@vityanikiiforov ahahahahahaha i cant believe u think that.... once i tried to make an exhaustive list of every url i've ever used and I lost track after like 25 urls
#lemme try remember some rn#okay so there was also summerstiel and raindropscas#on my sideblog i had anakinisnotonfire and then dozensofteapots#then dozensofteacups#tallcansholdhands has been reused a lot of times#i also had low-hymnal#my other sideblog was destiencestiel and then pleaseunfollowme and then yuri-on-top#i had one called phictuuri which i changed to enbypidge for like a day then it became keithmademegay and is now lxtor#i had one called tig3rb0y which changed to tigeryuri and is now cats-wings#yuri-hates-aphobes was my discourse blog before yuri-loves-aspecs became my posutivity blog#then theshit-on-ice was my discourse and ks blog until some drama happened so i moved it#thats not half of them#replies
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white winter hymnal - tom hardy smut
The one where you’re Tom’s PA and you two get snowed in.
Warnings: smut, boss/employee relationship, dirty talk, kind of sexist remarks?, that wasn’t my intention, but maybe that’s how you’ll see it, so I should warn you about it, reader is very sex positive in this fic, idiot in lust, PA!Reader, jealous!Tom, kinda possessive! or maybe asshole!Tom, again it wasn’t my intention, I just wanted to write some dirty talk, use of the term cockslut and another that I can’t remember, or maybe it was cockslut twice
A/N: I’m not really satisfied with this collage, but this will have to do 🤷♀️ Anyway, here’s another anon request I received a while back. Please take everything Tom says as nothing more than dirty talk. Also, I did that thing where I wrote a pre-POV intro, idk if it’s any good but when the inspiration hits, I just roll with it ✌
Y/N wasn’t having a good week at work. It wasn’t that something wrong had happened - actually when you considered the cold facts about what had left her feeling so high strung that a simple touch almost made her moan, anyone would think she was crazy. Those were nice things, good situations that she’d found herself in.
But she’d disagree emphatically. There was nothing nice about the fuck-me eyes with which Tom, her boss, had regarded her when she arrived on set with the pencil skirt that she knew made her ass look great. There was nothing nice about the way he’d commented on how she was out to get him, making his life more difficult because of the way she was dressing. There was nothing nice about how he had kept on complimenting her, telling her how pretty she looked with her hair down, or how he joked about how it must have hurt when she fell from heaven.
And especially, there was absolutely nothing nice about the subtle, fleeting touches he’d decided to shower her with, leaving her burning and more aroused than she cared to admit, considering how innocent they actually were. Tom had been flirting with her ever since her job interview, it was nothing new and she should have gotten used to it by now.
But the truth was that she didn’t, she couldn’t. And who could really blame her, when every day it seemed like Tom stepped up a notch, making it harder and harder for her to ignore his advances and keep things professional between them?
Especially considering just how badly she needed to get off and just how attracted she was to him and his stupidly perfect body and damn hypnotizing smirk. She was only human, after all. A human woman with healthy desires that seemed to revolve exclusively about her boss.
God, she was pathetic. At least, she could always count on Saturday nights. That was the time she managed to escape the acting world and the craziness of the set where they had been filming for the last month to go to the bar and find someone who’d take her home and help her deal with her growing levels of horny.
If it weren’t for random strangers who knew what to do in bed, she wasn’t too sure she wouldn’t have succumbed to Tom’s spell and climbed him like a tree already. And that’s where she was headed, just after she stopped by his rental house and went over their schedule for the week ahead.
She’d get through this, she thought as she made sure her coat was tightly wrapped around her waist before exiting her car and running towards the front door, ignoring the snow that had been lightly falling since that morning. Just two more hours and she would be on her way to drowning her needs in another stranger’s body, just to pretend that she didn’t think about Tom during the entire act.
Yeah. She could totally do this.
Tom was screwed.
He had been since he first laid his eyes on her, some five months ago, just before they moved to this fucking freezing country to start filming for his next movie. He knew even back then, he should have thanked her with a smile, explained that she wasn’t right for the job, and asked her out. The fact that she was the best person for the job shouldn’t even have counted, because he was head over heels for her in that first meeting, how the fuck could he keep himself away when she was supposed to be working by his side every minute of every day?
In the end, the idea of having to wait until the end of filming to actually get to spend some time with her made him take the impulsive decision that led him to this situation. Having her so close, but nowhere near what he wished for.
It was hell on Earth. Especially since he knew she felt the same way, he could see it in her eyes, in the way she squeezed her thighs together every time he so much as looked her way. If only she wasn’t so unbelievably professional.
“Tom?” He heard her sweet voice calling out from downstairs and casted a glance at the window. The snow had been gradually building up since that morning, it was a surprise she had managed to reach his house in the first place. But of course, she would never let something as silly as the weather keep her away from her responsibilities.
With a low chuckle, he made his way to the living room, rubbing his hands together to create some warmth despite the heaters that were working overtime since he arrived at that house. It didn’t matter, it was still too fucking cold.
“Ready to go over your schedule?” He trailed his eyes over her body, taking notice of the dress she was wearing over the warm leggings. What day was it? Oh, right. Her day off started the minute she finished this one last task, and then she’d be off to…
He knew where she’d be off to. Thinking about it made him see red, especially since he didn’t have the opportunity to do the same where they were. He envied her, but he envied the lucky bastard that got to fuck her tonight even more.
“Of course,” was all he said, assuming a spot on the seat next to hers on the couch. She visibly tensed, but then threw him a small smile that seemed to try to ease her own nerves, to which he returned with a grin of his own.
“What are you all smiley about?” It was nice to see her more laidback, it was clear that the prospect of letting off some steam tonight was relaxing her. Tom could work with that. In fact, it just made his plans that much easier.
“I can’t imagine how someone could be near a woman as beautiful and not be happy, sweetheart.” Her smile immediately dropped, her eyes growing twice their size as he maintained his grin. “But let’s get on with it, shall we? I have a lot to plan out with you.”
She raised an eyebrow at his lack of interest in continuing to mess with her but shrugged it off before opening her planner. They did have a lot to talk about before she could finally leave to the nearest bar.
Tom chanced a glance out the window as she tried to locate their current week on her faithful notebook. This might just turn out the way he needed it to be.
Y/N’s P.O.V.
“Aaaand… I guess this finalizes your schedule for the next week,” I commented as I made sure to correct the time for a phone interview Tom would be having on the following Friday, before glancing up at him. He’d been mostly quiet for the last few minutes, a stark difference from how he had behaved during the entire meeting. Through all my time working for him, it had been the first time he was actually really present for the scheduling of his following week, making changes and trying to be sure that it would go as smoothly as he wanted it to be.
It wasn’t an unwelcome change, but it sure was peculiar. And by now, I knew him enough to get that there was definitely a hidden reason for him to be behaving this way. Still, I couldn’t yet grasp what it was that he had planned, so I resigned myself to getting through with what I intended to do for the day, and thankfully, that was now done.
“Well, if you won’t be needing me anymore, I’ll be getting out of your hair now.” I smiled softly down at him when I left the sofa, making quick work of my scattered papers and random pens before straightening out to say goodbye. “What?” I had to ask since he was looking at me like he was trying to contain his laughter.
“Well, first of all, sweetheart, I always need you. Perhaps not in the way you’re supposed to help with, according to your job description, but it’s the truth.” I had difficulty maintaining eye contact after that, opting to stare at the mountain of documents in my hands while I fidgeted from one foot to the other, feeling the arousal inside of me sparkle before starting to burn even more intensely. Why did he have to be so honest about wanting me?
“Second and perhaps most importantly… I think you’re stuck with me for the rest of the evening, love.” That made me look at him again, desperate to find any signs that he was only toying with my emotions, anything to show me that he was only playing. But all I got was a nod of his head, pointing towards the windows, and that’s when it hit me.
We were snowed in.
A lot of different feelings took over me at the realization. First, there was despair. What would I do now that I couldn’t go to the bar? Then, there was anxiety. How the fuck was I supposed to survive spending the night with my boss - to whom I was attracted to - in a house with a single room in it?
Finally, sheer panic set in, making me shake my head in frustration. I’d never be able to find enough control to resist him without the release that my weekly escapades granted me. And by the way he stared up at me, with those darkened eyes filled with lust, I could tell that he knew.
I watched with a trembling body as he slowly rose from the seat and made his way to me until we were chest to chest. His eyes ran up and down my body until they finally settled on mine again, and I had to bite down a whimper.
That’s how weak I was for him. He could reduce me to a wanton mess with a fucking stare.
“You’re scared.” It wasn’t a question. Both he and I recognized it as a fact. Still, I whispered into the air between us, “Yes.” Immediately, he pressed on. “Of me?” I almost melted at the sight of such a burly, strong man, towering over me and devastated at the prospect of threatening me.
Tom’s P.O.V.
I waited for her answer with a heavy heart, but the hopeful expectation that she did actually feel just the same as I did: scared at the prospect of what could happen between us, but equally excited.
“No.” I tilted my head at the word, curious as to what was her explanation, then.
“Then what?”
“Of what could happen if I let go of my control. Of what I would become.” Slowly, a smile took over my face, and I finally felt confident enough in her feelings to feel like I could touch her. So I raised my hands to hold her hips, rejoicing in just how small she was in comparison to me. It felt like I could very easily pick her up and take her - in whichever way I wanted. And there were a lot of them.
“Let go,” I whispered in her ear, having leaned down so I could compensate for our difference in height. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to see you without that precious control of yours.”
Goosebumps had spread all over her skin at the difference in temperature of my breath and her skin. I watched in fascination, following their trail, rubbing my nose across her jaw before finally, her lips were inches from mine. And then they were mine.
I possessed her mouth just like I’d fantasized for so long, desperate to make up for the lost time, for all the nights I spent alone thinking about her while she was off with someone else. And she responded just in kind, her arms barely able to embrace my body, but her palms were spread over my back, pulling me closer, and that was more than enough for me.
For now, at least. Now that I’d captured her on my web, there was no way I was letting her go before I fulfilled each and every one of the dirty, dirty dreams I had about the two of us. I was going to ravish her. I was going to ruin her.
She let out a tiny whimper when I pried her lips open with my tongue, before melting in my arms as I explored her mouth, basked on her taste. “You know there’s no way I’m letting you go now, right?”
By the way she looked at me with hazy eyes, it was clear that there would be no resistance from her whatsoever. She was pliant and soft in my hands, easily following when I picked her up and climbed up the stairs to my room with her in my arms. And then, when she was on the bed, there was just no way I could control myself anymore, not even long enough to take off our clothes properly. So I just flipped her skirt up, before ripping apart her leggings and finding her underwear absolutely drenched for me.
“Fuck,” I whispered, already reaching out to rub my thumb over her nub, making her gasp and cry out for me. “I can smell you dripping through the fabric, sweetheart.” To my pleasure, she didn’t seem coy about it at all.
Oh, no. My little assistant, the picture-perfect of professionality was licking her lips, frantically nodding to my indication. “For you, I’m always dripping for you.” A smirk took over my face at her confession, my cock hardening even more at hearing that while I was suffering silently all that time, so was she.
So I ripped her underwear to shreds, spreading my hands over the inside of her thighs to get the perfect view of that pussy that had been haunting my dreams. “Shit, I can’t wait to eat that.” And with only those words as warning, I dove right in, attracted by the sweet smell that made my mouth water.
She was just as sweet as I thought, but the sounds with which she filled my bedroom were what drove me crazy. I couldn’t close my eyes to fully appreciate her taste, too transfixed by her beauty, unable to believe that I finally had her, that it was her pussy I was currently lapping.
“Damn, look at you,” I hummed against her clit, making her jerk and try to pull away for a split second before I threw an arm over her hips to secure her position. “You fought so hard against your instincts, only to end up right here, spread open for me.”
With each word that left my lips, she seemed to get closer and closer to her release. “And to think you could have had my mouth on you all this time. Tell me, darling, do you think a stranger could make you feel better? Were any of the people you fucked, trying to ignore our connection, this great at making you cum?”
I could feel her muscles quiver under the soft skin of the inside of her thigh, and I doubled my efforts on her pussy, determined to see her cum at least once before I finally got my cock in her. It was throbbing now, begging for any sort of attention, but I was too transfixed by the sight of her reaching her high, the way her chest heaved as I quickly rubbed her clit with my tongue before sucking it into my mouth.
“Gimme your cum, baby. C’mon. Been waiting so long to get you in my bed…” She came as I hummed against her, the sensations obviously flipping her over that edge. “Fuck, you’re sweet.”
I kept on slowly cleaning her up, mindful of not hurting her, as she struggled to get her breathing in check. Despite her sensitivity, I couldn’t get myself to part with her taste just yet, even considering the possibility of eating her out some more, making her cum one or two more times before I fucked her properly.
But that was all before she fractured my control with two simple sentences. “Want some help with that? I’ve really been looking forward to getting your cock in my mouth.” I hadn’t even realized that I had been grinding against the mattress as I pleasured her, just to relieve my needy member at least a little bit.
What I knew was that I most definitely would not be able to hold back enough to feel her mouth around me. At least this first time. So all she got was a growl as I pounced on her, forcing her to taste her cum as I kissed those gorgeous lips and held her knees open to accept my weight between them.
“Right now, I’m gonna fuck this little pussy until you’re sobbing for me, okay, love? If you beg nicely, I might let you taste me later.” She whimpered in response, and a smirk took over my face. “Wow, you really are cockdrunk for me, aren’t you sweetheart?” The whine I got only made me laugh, giving me a little bit more control to tease her some more.
“You think you’re ready for me?” I asked, pressing the head of my cock against her clit, rubbing it with my member. “Are you sure you can handle my dick, darling?” Watching her thrash around the bed in an effort to get me to push into her was something I never thought I’d get to see. It made that moment of victory just that much sweeter.
Y/N’s P.O.V.
I was trembling in anticipation to finally have him inside of me. To feel that fat cock stretching me open, filling me up like I’d always wanted it to. It was enough to drive me absolutely crazy with desire.
“Yes, yes, please, I can handle it. Please, stop teasing me,” I begged, my hands not able to choose what to hold as I struggled to keep myself from losing my mind over my boss’ cock. From the depths of my desire, I took notice of the way he smirked, one eyebrow raised up as he stared down at me, still slowly running the head of his cock between my pussy lips.
“Teasing? This isn’t teasing, love. Teasing is what you did to me, every single day since we met, parading everywhere with those fucking skintight skirts.” And with those words as preamble, he finally slid home, only stopping when he was completely inside of me, hitting my cervix and difficulting the now herculean task of remembering how to breathe again.
“Fuck, I knew you’d be this tight. I just fucking knew it.” Those were the last things I heard before he started pounding me against the mattress, barely having given me any time to get used to his thickness.
If I thought I was losing my mind before, it became clear from the way he was bruising my insides that there was no possibility of me ever leaving this bed as a sane woman. Tom had managed to reduce me to a blubbering, stupid mess. He truly had turned me into his cockslut, I realized. I’d do anything just to keep being filled by him, over and over again.
“See? This is what you could have been having this entire time. Me and my cock. Instead, you just had to leave me for those random men. And while you were out, having your fun, all I had to keep me company was my own hand.” Tom never stopped the torturing pace with which he kept on fucking me as he slowly drove me crazy with his words. It was just unbelievable how great he was at dirty talk, I felt like I could cum already from the rhythmic attack on my sweet spot and the filth he was spilling.
The mental image he elicited of him touching himself didn’t hurt, either.
“You’re so egoistic, sweetheart. Wasn’t it your job to serve me? Instead, I had to get off all by myself.” Despite the teasing nature of his remarks and the still brutal pace of his thrusts, his touch over my body was gentle, as he gathered my hair away from my face so he could bury his head in the crook of my neck.
“You… You could have had anyone you wanted,” I managed to remind him, starting to mirror his movements, fucking myself up on his cock. “You could have had anyone at all.” Abruptly, he stopped hiding his face against my skin, pushing away just enough to watch my expression - or maybe to show me his, in all of its seriousness.
“The only one I wanted was you. This was everything I wished for, since day one.” Tom raised himself slightly, changing the angle of his thrusts in a way that had me gasping in surprise, while also preventing me from being able to figure out what I could possibly say to that. So he continued, slowing the movements only a bit, but fucking me deeper, his eyes searching mine for something I couldn’t pinpoint.
Tom’s P.O.V.
She gasped, finally giving up that last little bit of control and allowing herself to relax against the mattress as I did all of the work. “But now I have you, huh? And this is where you should be spending your days, with my cock deep inside of your pussy, keeping me warm, keeping me happy.” I kissed her before finishing, “Keeping me fulfilled.”
With a moan that electrified every single cell of my body, she came and prompted my own orgasm, and I spilled inside of her with a roar, momentarily losing my strength and falling on top of her body.
“Fuck, I’m sorry, darling. Let me get out of you.” But she stopped me from leaving her arms and her pussy, hugging me to her chest until I had no other choice but to cuddle her.
“It’s okay,” she said, fingers lightly running through my short hair. “I like it.”
I fell asleep that night happy because I understood that was her way of saying that she was satisfied with this development in our once strictly professional relationship. And I couldn’t wait to wake her up with another reason why she shouldn’t regret this.
#my fics#tom hardy smut#tom hardy#smut#tom hardy reader#tom hardy fanfiction#tom hardy oneshot#tom hardy oneshots#tom hardy imagine#tom hardy imagines#tom hardy x reader#tom hardy insert fanfiction
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I was tagged twice and I finally have my laptop on for once so I guess I'd better do this one 😂 Thanks to both @awfullybigwardrobe44 and @theboredandkindaweirdhisotrian for the tags!
Favorite Carol to sing at church:
When the accompaniment isn't too fast, then O Come Emmanuel but it's usually too fast, haha. Otherwise...maybe Angels We Have Heard on High? I don't really know. I love too many of them. 😅
Favorite for Door to door caroling:
We go caroling every year, always with the same songs, haha, so that makes this easy: either Good Christian Men Rejoice or God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.
Carol you wish was sung more often:
I had literally never heard this one until we pulled it out to sing as a special so: O Sing a Song of Bethlehem. It's in our hymnal so it's a crime that we don't sing it, lol.
Carol you love that is most likely to have recordings you don’t like:
O COME O COME EMMANUEL. It is not supposed to be upbeat and peppy. It is not supposed to be fast. It is best when mournful and melancholy! That is why I love it: it’s so unique in expressing the joy of Christ as our ultimate gift but also the ache we feel as we await for him a second time.
^^^This is commentary from @awfullybigwardrobe44 and I'm just gonna leave it because I agree 100%. For the love of all that is good, I am begging artists to stop making it pop or rock or anything other than what it was written to be.
Favorite recording of that Carol:
The only arrangement with lyrics that I accept is the one that my high school choir sang one year. I think I may have found a professional recording of it, like, one time and I spent hours looking for it then, so I don't have a link to share, and I was going to share the really low quality recording I have from that concert but since the file isn't hosted anywhere online, tumglr won't let me. Boooooooo.
Runner ups for favorite recording (that you can actually find online, haha) are the Piano Guys for instrumentals, and Peter Hollens for vocals (I know I said I only accept one but his is decent, haha).
Favorite Christmas album?
I don't really listen to full albums tbh, but if I chose one, Relient K's Let It Snowbaby, Let It Reindeer will always be a fun one.
Tagging: I think most of the people I usually tag have already been hit, haha, but.... @getting-used-to-different @as-a-letter-to-you @real-truth
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My mom plays piano at a church, and she had trouble with some of the keys a few of the hymns were in, so I volunteered to transpose said songs for her if she bought me the staff paper. This song was 35 measures, but counting the bass/left hand, it turned out to be 70, so that took me roughly two hours to finish and my hand hurts now. Also I low-key hate how the notes are written in hymnals because all the eighth and sixteenth notes are detached and separate from each other??? Band has spoiled me.
#i transposed short songs in high school but this is a whole new ball game#which is fine because i enjoy it#i just wish my hands wouldn't cramp up from all this ; ;
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got a goddamn nerve
notes: may i make up the angst from the other day with some filth? fun fact writing yennefer is terrifying, she’s so beautifully complex and forceful and delicate that i am worried i can’t even do her a semblance of justice. but also. i really needed some smut with her. and i am feeling filthy in this chili’s tonight.
title is from fka twigs ‘in time’ (which is on my femme top playlist lmao)
not doing my taglist because this is - not geralt.
rating: explicit. this is straight up pwp. well. not straight. but you get it. (warnings: hairpulling, yen giving the strap, vaginal fingering, some d/s elements, lil bit of choking, cockwarming elements, dirty talk, mentions of Geralt during sex, mentions of public sex, maybe a hint of praise kink, just general filth.)
pairing: yennefer of vengerberg/female reader
word count: 2.2k
Yennefer is a force of nature, chaos barely contained. As a lover, she’s something of a hurricane, but you’ve always chased storms.
“My perfect little crescent moon,” Yennefer purrs.
You whimper.
She has one slim hand wound through your hair, her deft fingers fisted tight at your nape, little pricks of pain melting down your spine to puddle in your cunt. Yennefer is an unrelenting river, her hands eroding you to her will, forcing your head back until your spine curves like a bend in the riverbank. Until it curves like a crescent moon. She holds you still in the velvet expanse of her night sky, surrounding you, encompassing you.
She traces a finger down the skipping stones of your vertebrae. You can feel the waxy streaks of her lip paint drying on your skin, a meandering trail of her paths across the map of your body. She thumbs at one streak of it gently, rubs the stickiness of it from your sweat slick skin. Sometimes you aren’t sure if she’s rubbing the paint from you, or further into you. It doesn’t matter, you suppose. Each touch of her lips sinks into your skin. The imprint of her lips lives under every inch of you, marks you beneath the surface, burns like a comet below your skin. You know the touch of her lips will never truly leave you.
“Yenna,” you breathe.
The yank on your hair is short and sharp and vicious. The biting sting radiates through you, sends a moan tumbling from your lips. It trickles from you like wine, warm and full-bodied. Yennefer laughs, low and pleased, and the sultry sound of it makes you squirm on the thick stone cock splitting you wide, your thighs trembling.
She’s pushed deep in you, bottomed out, her slim hips flush against your ass. It’s the biggest you’ve ever taken. Yennefer had spent an inordinate amount of time opening you, had filled you with her fingers one by one, gazing up at you with violet eyes gleaming like twilight, until your slick dripped gleaming down her hand, your cunt clenching with each strong stroke. Still, when she had pushed home, her hips nestled against yours as she speared into you, your voice had broken on her name at the fullness.
You can feel every inch of it against your sensitive walls, even when she’s still, just her fingertips tapping against the soft skin of your stomach. That alone sends you fluttering around the stone, sensation dancing up your spine like lightning, each press of her fingers a strike point.
“Hush,” Yennefer tells you. “Don’t be impatient.”
She pulls your head to the side with her grip on your hair, tugs hard to expose the column of your throat, and lays a biting kiss at the junction of your neck and shoulder. She licks at the indent of her teeth. Her grip on your hair slackens, just a smidge, so that she can crowd forward, until you can feel the softness of her breasts against you, her nipples pebbled and tight. You swallow down a whine as she slips just a hint deeper.
“So pretty like this,” she murmurs. Her ebony hair flutters over the curve of your shoulder like a raven’s wing, drapes soft against your skin. “So pretty and so good, speared open for me. You always take me so very, very well.”
You clench.
“Mm,” Yennefer hums. “I could keep you clenching tight on me for hours, darling. I don’t think I could tire of the sight if I tried.”
She reaches down, draws a circle around where you connect, where the stone splits you wide. You keen at the touch, too light and too little, just a soft brush of her fingertips at the wet of you. Her hand tightens in your hair, gives a soft pull that’s still enough to make you shudder.
“Do you think they would notice?” Yennefer muses, slipping her fingers up your cunt to circle around your clit. You spasm. “If I had you take me at the dinner table, had you sit so pretty on my lap, had you warming thick stone in your tight cunt as the others bantered and laughed?”
She snaps her hips sharply, one quick, hard thrust, and you coil tight like a bowstring, swallowing down a scream.
“Well done, darling,” she says, unknotting her hand from your hair and petting at your flank.
Without her hand to keep you taut, you crumble like an ancient tower, collapsing into the soft cradle of the bed. The stone cock slips out of you, the thick head of it catching at your hole. You hiss out a quiet breath. Yennefer presses a kiss against your shoulder, and then another, and another. She kisses a constellation into your skin, and then she pulls you back up to your knees.
Yennefer swipes the fat head of the cock through the wet of your cunt. The slick sound it makes brings heat to your cheeks. She nudges at your clit with the stone, pulls a deep, primal noise from somewhere deep inside you.
“You get so wet,” she muses. “Geralt would know, I suppose. He’d be able to smell your ripe cunt before I could even fully seat you on my cock.”
The moan drips from your lips like thick honey, sweet and slow, and you fold like a paper crane. Yennefer laughs again, a low, predatory rumble, and slips an arm around your waist to keep your ass up. The bedsheets are cool against your warm cheek, and you close your eyes.
“You would do it though, wouldn’t you, darling, if I asked?”
You can’t even squeak out an answer, because she steals your air as she spears into you again. The cock presses heavy in you, the weight of it monumental, sending sparks skittering up your spine. You try to push back up to your hands and knees, to arch into every inch of skin that you can, but she places a slim hand between your shoulders to hold you down.
Her touch runs across your skin like heat lightning, darting from nerve to nerve until your synapses are singing a symphony to her storm.
“Would you let me choke you on his cock?” she wonders. Her fingers stroke along your spine, stroke at the damp hair at the nape of your neck. She shifts her hips to sink deeper into your fluttering cunt. Your whine rends the air, rises high like a hymn, a prayer at her altar. You have written her a hymnal of moans in your time together, a collection of sounds she pries out of you when she lays you bare in more ways than one. “You always look pretty when you’re gazing up through those damp eyelashes.”
You can feel her eyes on you, know they have darkened to the plum bruise of the night sky. She traces a finger under your chin. You turn back to her as best you can, pinned down as you are. She’s radiant, a lightning storm come to life, her obsidian hair tumbling like rain over her shoulders, something sly tucked into the corner of her plush lips.
“I don’t think I could bear to share you,” Yennefer hums. She presses her thumb against the pad of your lips. You part for her, roll your tongue over the digit, and taste the salt of her skin just beneath the tang of your cunt.
“Good,” she tells you. You tighten around the stone.
Yennefer drapes herself over you. She’s silken against you, soft like a spring storm, something warm and soothing and rippling with contained power. She flexes her hips and you sob out her name as she pushes deeper still.
“Yenna,” you plead.
“You sound as pretty as you look.”
“Yenna,” you say again, trying to push your hips back into the cradle of her. “Please.”
She brushes a featherlight kiss just beneath the shell of your ear.
You start to say her name again, the sound of it soft on your tongue, and your teeth snap down on the sound as she pulls back and thrusts.
Yennefer fucks into you with sharp, hard snaps of her hips. You sink your fingers into the sheets with a quiet wail, the pleasure spiking along the staircase of your spine, running down the ladder of your bones to pool hot in your cunt. She catches you off guard with a slow, deep stroke, one that scrapes along every nerve in your sensitive walls, and you choke on your breath.
Caught in the tide of molten pleasure, you don’t notice she’s woven her hand through your hair until she pulls. The sting of it lights up your nerves. You cry out, and she pulls you up by the hair, gets you onto your hands and knees, and then wraps a slim hand around your throat.
“So noisy,” Yennefer chides, but you can feel her pulse racing against you, can hear the little skip in her breath. She gives a few more short, sharp strokes, and you clench around the girth in you, little noises spilling from you ceaselessly. How easily she unravels you, pulls at the loose string of the tapestry of your pleasure until it takes you apart, until only the frame of you is left, the bones that have the print of her lips carved into them.
Her fingers tighten around your throat, just slightly, and you curse.
“There you are,” she says, pressing a smiling kiss against your shoulder. “I can feel you trembling.”
“Gods, Yen.”
“Not quite,” she says, and then she’s leaning back, pulling you with her until you are cradled in her kneeling form, your thighs spread wide over hers. She keeps you curved like a bow with her grip on your throat, lets you settle deep onto the cock. You grind down on it, let your weight carry you down on the girth of it.
Yennefer sets her teeth against your shoulder blade. You whine again, circling your hips, until the stone grinds over every nerve in your cunt and you’re fluttering around it. Yennefer fucks up into you with a strong flex of her hips, presses filthily deep inside you, until you are spasming around the stone, little tremors rolling through you. It’s just short of enough.
“I’ll be nice,” she says. “Because you were so good.”
You clench. She tightens her fingers around the column of your throat, pressing just hard enough, until you can feel the air catching in your chest. Yennefer thrusts up roughly, until you’re gasping, your breasts bouncing with each hard shove.
Her other hand slips to your cunt. She spreads you wide, her nimble fingers playing over you like the sun shimmering through the forest’s canopy, light and fluttering. You arch into her delicate touch.
“Are you going to come on my cock?” she purrs into your ear. “Clench tight around it and come apart at the seams?”
“Yes,” you grit out as she loosens the collar of her fingers on your throat. “Yenna, please.”
“Delightful little thing,” she tells you, her breath drifting hot over the shell of your ear. She sweeps a thumb over your clit. “Go on, then.”
Yennefer spears deep into you, the girth knocking your thin breath out of your lungs, and she rubs firm, steady circles over your clit. You sob, the sound torn out of you, your back arching as your muscles go tight. The gathering lightning knits into a single bolt at the bottom of your spine and strikes ground, rolls over you in a flash of white that leaves you blinking. Your voice cracks like thunder as you come screaming.
You slump against Yennefer, let her cradle you. Your thighs are trembling against her. She traces idle patterns over your hips. Her lips are gentle as she presses a soft kiss against your cheek, the return of softer clouds after the storm has rolled on.
When you start to stir, she slips out of you. You hiss a soft breath as the cockhead catches against your cunt and flop forward onto the bed. Yennefer brushes a kiss against your shoulder, hiding her smile in your skin.
You roll over. She leans up to cage you beneath her. Her dark hair falls like a curtain around your face, shielding the two of you from the world. You cup her cheek; rub a thumb over her cheekbone, trace the curve of it. “Yen,” you murmur, eyes flickering to hers, finding spring peering back at you. You wonder if you can find a dress in the same shade as her eyes.
“How do you feel?” she asks.
“Fucked out.”
She laughs, her eyes crinkling at the edges. “Not too much?”
“No.”
“Good,” she murmurs, and then she is leaning down to you, is curving soft against you. You meet her kiss delicately, settle into the twilight dusk of her tenderness. You trade lazy kisses, lick soft into her mouth.
She’s tracing the tip of her tongue over the cupid’s bow of your lips when you feel the stone cock drag against the lips of your cunt. Yennefer slides it between your thighs and ruts there. She presses a soft kiss at the corner of your lips and pulls back.
“Once more, darling,” she tells you. “And then I want to come on your face.”
Yennefer leans down to kiss your half-hearted protest away, and you let her storm sweep you back up.
#yennefer x reader#yennefer of vengerberg x reader#yennefer imagine#the witcher x reader#the witcher imagine
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The Figure At First Church of Carnation
“The Figure at First Church of Carnation”
A Story by: Dying-Hemlock
Bart fell silent as the headlights of James’s car illuminated the front door of the church. It was falling apart and held together through a combination of rusty nails and strangler vines, which anchored what remained of the walls to their support posts.
“What the hell are we doing here?” Bart asked.
“You told me you were bored, so I figured we should so do something exciting,’ James said.
“And hanging in a church parking lot is your idea of exciting?”
James rolled his eyes, and he turned off the car, putting the keys in the middle console. Bart shot him a look, raising his eyebrows a little.
“Don’t give me that look. Nobody is out here. Nothing is gonna happen to the car.”
Bart rolled his eyes and turned his head towards the church. Somehow it made him feel cold, even with the car slowly heating up from the summer air. He couldn’t place what made him feel this way. It was just an empty church, right?
James stepped out of the car, a 2006 Subaru Outback, shut the door and motioned for Bart to do the same. He exited and joined James in the parking lot. Bart let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding in when he heard the crickets chirping outside. Hearing something other than the car’s engine helped make the scene before him less creepy.
“James. Really, what are we doing here?” Bart asked.
“I don’t need to tell you anything,” James said.
“Well, then you can take me back home.”
James sighed. “Fine. You always have to ruin my surprises, don’t you?”
“Get on with it, or take me back.”
“I heard some kids talking about it while I was waiting tables at Shoney’s last night. Apparently, this place is haunted by some deranged priest who tried hanging some ‘witches’ back in the day and can’t rest till his work is done. I don’t know. It was some bullshit like that,” James said.
“And you seriously believed some story enough to drag me out here?” Bart said.
“You are the one who said you were bored. Be grateful I’m doing something for you.”
Bart crossed his arms and stared at James. After a quick look, James huffed and turned around, walking towards the church. Bart followed and didn’t say a word to James as they approached the building. As he moved closer, Bart began to notice the only sound he could hear was the gravel crunching beneath his boots and that the air had grown unseasonably cold.
“James, I think we should go back.”
James did not respond to Bart as he inspected the door. Unable to find a lock, James took a few steps back and ran, forcing his foot into the door. Bart looked up and gritted his teeth as the structure began to sway.
“James, wait!”
Bart was too late to stop him as James had already started to charge the door again. With a loud crack from the dry wood, the door splintered, a portion of it flying into the chapel. Bart looked up, seeing the building swaying even more now, and pulled James away from the structure as it began to rock even more wildly than before.
“What the hell was that for?”
“Why don’t you take a look, you dumbass?!” James said, pointing at the church.
James quieted down when he saw the church’s walls and roof were rocking like the boats down at the town’s marina. Eventually, though the church fell back into place again, the vines that grounded the building still holding firm.
“Don’t try anything like that again,” Bart said.
James shook off Bart and entered the chapel, careful to dodge the large splinters poking out of the now broken door. Bart followed closely behind, holding his breath as he passed through the threshold. When he entered the space behind the door, Bart breathed again as he could see there was not much of a roof present. A few semi-rotted beams still made up the somewhat triangular frame above their heads, but others had fallen down, crushing a few up the pews. There were also large gaps in the shingles as well, making the starry sky visible through them.
“So…” Bart said. “Is there any way to summon this priest or whatever?”
“I don’t know. I lost interest in the conversation after they gave me their card. It’s not my job to satisfy them after that,” James said, poking around some of the more complete pews by the altar.
Bart stayed near the back, his hands in his pockets and his muscles tensed. He scanned his eyes around the room, which soon landed on a red book in a pew near him. Intrigued, Bart lowered his shoulders a little and walked to the book, and began flipping through it. It read ‘First Church of Carnation Hymnal.’ It was an old songbook. The pages were yellowed. He could make out a few hymns on some of the pages, “Doxology,’ ‘Mighty Fortress is our God,’ and ‘How Firm A Foundation’ were a few of the titles.
A yell from the other end of the chapel interrupted Bart’s skimming, “Hey, look at me!” James said. “Hear ye, hear ye. You all are going to Hell unless you repent of your sins, you filthy sinners.” James said as if addressing a room full of churchgoers.
James continued on for a little bit before he was interrupted. “You think that’s funny, boy?” a voice said from behind him.
James spun around. A tall and rail-thin man dressed in a black suit looked more like it belonged to a mortician behind him. His black hair was wild and had streaks of gray running through it, and his voice was like sandpaper to Bart and James’s ears as he spoke.
“Do you think that’s funny, boy?” the figure said even louder this time.
Bart and James were frozen in their spots. The priest began to approach Bart and repeated his question over and over again. James slowly backed up. He began to sweat heavily as the figure closed the space between them.
Bart tried yelling at James to tell him about the window behind him, but his voice
wouldn’t work. All that came out was a squeak. As the figure backed James into a corner, Bart dropped the songbook. It made a loud thud against the dusty floor and sent up a cloud that burned his throat. As soon as the book made contact with the floor, the figure turned its head to Bart. By that point, the figure had already trapped James against the wall and hand a hand around
his neck, and James’s pleas to Bart were getting harder and harder to hear.
“Bart…please…” James said.
“Do you think that’s funny, boy?” the figure said, this time to Bart.
The words sent a shock through all of Bart’s muscles when he heard them. He turned and sprinted out the door. The shards of wood scraped his skin, but he didn’t notice. He didn’t turn around, either. He kept going and looked for a way to get away from the church. Bart spotted the car and sprinted till he was at the old hatchback. He fumbled through the console, his fingers failing to grasp the keys due to the sweat coating his palms. Bart looked up and saw the figure
sprinting towards the car. Overcome with fear, he finally grabbed hold of the key fob and jammed it into the ignition, and turned on the vehicle. Bart put it into reverse and backed out onto the road, tires squealing as he did so. Bart sped off for several miles and stopped at the end of a long driveway leading. The sign near the road was hard to make out in the low light but read, ‘Heishman Farm.’ When he stopped, his chest was heaving and burning from a combination of the dusty church and exerting himself more than he had since high school. After
catching his breath, he suddenly jolted upright.
“James!” he said.
He couldn’t go back. What if that thing was still at the church? Better to take the risk than to leave James behind. Throwing caution to the wine, Bart turned the ignition. The car sped off once more, kicking up the dust in the driveway, and moved down the road back towards the church.
When he arrived, Bart leapt out of the car and began calling for James. The air was silent, except for the crickets, which were once again chirping. He tried calling again, but nothing. Bart ran up to the church entrance, trying to squeeze his way through, but a massive splinter by the base of the door caught his calf muscle and sent him to the chapel floor. He winced in pain. Bart tried to get up but had a hard time due to his injured leg, which was now coated in blood. Eventually, he got stable enough footing by using a pew as a crutch and pushed himself up.
Bart’s stomach fell when he saw the room. There was no figure anywhere to be seen. The songbook was gone too, but most importantly, James wasn’t anywhere to be seen. The pews were empty, and the altar was too, free of the tattered banners with the Methodist church icon and wooden podium that once adorned it. Bart was alone in that church in the middle of nowhere.
END
#american gothic#Southern Gothic#gothic horror#horror#horror stories#creepy small town#creepypasta#original character#original post#original content#original story#college gothic
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28 and 40 for the weird asks ✨
28. five songs to describe you?
white winter hymnal by the fleet foxes
liability by lorde
moderation by florence + the machine
oh no! by marina and the diamonds
palette by iu
40. weirdest thing to ever happen at your school?
my school was pretty tame ngl. that, or i was very much out of the loop from the gossip (also entirely possible). but at the start of our 7th grade (and first year at that school) there was a slightly older kid who hung out near the entrance and kicked the ass of us freshmen specifically, and he even stole wallets and phones from some kids before he was caught. idk what happened to him after, he wasn’t a student at our school. i never had to deal with him personally but some friends of mine got beat up and stolen from. there were a couple of teen pregnancies too but those were kept on the down-low, mostly. we weren’t a scandalous bunch compared to other nearby schools.
weird asks that say a lot
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Con Amore: Part 9
Bulletproof Melody Sequel
Description: Con Amore– A directive to a musician to perform a selected passage of a composition tenderly, with affectionate emotion, or in a loving manner; an instruction to the player of an instrument meaning ‘with love’ or ‘lovingly’. Three years with all seven of your loves, three years of relative peace. But now everything is threatened as darkness surges from the horizon.
Originally Posted: 09/04/2019
Tags: Superheroes, Ot7
Fluff/Angst: 1,766 words
A/N: I still don’t have internet, not that anyone cares. Also, this hallway at school smells like cigarette smoke and it’s giving me a headache.
“You’re sure she would have left you a sign?” Yoongi asked, looking around scrupulously.
“Positive, she…” You trailed off as a strange glint off of the burnt organ pipes caught your eyes. You smiled slowly, picking your way through the rubble to the organ. “Clever.”
“Um?”
“She fixed a point of light on the organ. Play the right combination and the light refraction changes—”
“Which lets her know that you found it because it would be something only you could figure out.” Yoongi came over as well, looking back at the entrance. “But that will definitely attract attention.”
“It’ll be a hymn, make us invisible and people out there will think that the place is haunted by those who were killed in the fire.” You sat down and cracked and stretched your fingers. You ran through a list of hymns, trying to figure out the best possible one.
“Should I find a hymnal?”
“Mmnnnno. I think I know what it is, I just have to remember how it starts.”
“How do you know hymns?” He asked.
You glanced up at him. “Hymns are actually one of the few things that were completely safe for me to sing. And my mom trained my music in an abandoned church. Now, let me think.”
He sat beside you quietly, facing outwards, covering your back. “So, they’re actually religious?”
“Some of them, most of them.”
“I just sort of assumed from the way you talked about it that it wasn’t, or that they worshiped their abilities or the elements.”
“They believe what they think is true. Not everyone believes the same, but they found a balance. A respect for everyone, and space for each belief. It was built to safeguard supers originally, built by some missionaries. Right before World War I. Then they were hiding Jews, and helping those who lost everything to the war.”
“That’s kind of surprising.”
“Not when you consider that, historically, hospitals and orphanages were usually run by churches. Don’t mistake a few for the whole. It’s the same with any group or organization. There are extremists in every interest group, from boy-bands to religions to sports. If you focus on the bad, that is all you will see because that’s all you’re choosing to see.” You settled on a likely hymn.
“You’re getting more philosophical with pregnancy.”
“Too much time to think. Besides, I can hear it in your voice when you’re uncomfortable with something. Does religion scare you?” You asked, turning your head to look at him.
He turned a bit pink under your attention, as usual, huffing and stammering as he tried to come up with an answer.
“Relax, Wilo. You don’t have to worry about me being religious. I’ve never hidden what I believe from all of you. Nothing has changed.”
“So, you’re not worried about polygamy?” He finally asked.
“Oh, I was. Sometimes I still am. Let’s just not point it out to the world, eh?” You started playing the hymn that you thought Nadya would have calculated for, watching the point of light carefully, and calculating the needed vibration to alter the light enough for her to know it was you and not some other bozo.
“Not exactly eerie,” He commented, speaking into your ear to be heard.
“Will be every time someone out there hears it,” You replied, suppressing a laugh. It was terrible and sort of thrilling too. You hummed along with the song, then finished it out when you noticed that the light was gone.
“We’ve got guests,” He whispered as you finished with a flourish. “They can’t see us.”
“Oh, should I give them a show?”
“Might as well,” He whispered, smiling a little in amusement. He was filming with his phone.
You started playing a slower song, playing it as beautifully as you could. There was a certain sort of beauty in the way the organ played despite the fire that had raged through days before, and though it was hardly the time to be feeling at peace or having fun, you were so happy in this moment. You could forget that everyone you cared about was in danger because of people who wanted to kill supers. You could push aside the fact that they would be in danger while you were hiding.
Like a coward.
Your voice faltered as you realized you were completely singing along. You trailed off.
Someone else was singing along before you could stop playing, and Yoongi was helping you play the song, playing an accompaniment to your accompaniment.
You kept playing, but you weren’t enjoying it anymore.
Finally the song was over.
“Time to go,” He whispered, and the two of you snuck into another room while people stared in a daze at the organ. He kept hold of your hand, not saying anything, but seeming to know you weren’t okay. “Now what?”
“We…” You took a deep breath, looking away in frustration as you choked up. “We look for the next sign.”
“You okay?” He asked after a moment, squeezing your hand.
“Yeah, just…fine. I’m fine.”
“Do you need a snack or some water?”
“No, I need to find Nadya and make sure they’re all okay, then make sure your plans for fighting the Oasis Initiative is sound, and then I need to go hide.”
He didn’t say anything while you looked around for anything, but when you glanced back he looked angry.
“What?”
He met your gaze, making a face you had never wanted to see him regard you with. One of equal parts anger and disgust.
You dropped his hand, stepping away from him.
He looked confused on top of all of that. “What?”
“I asked first,” You replied quietly.
He looked down at your hand, taking it again. “I hate the timing of everything. I hate that they came now. We wanted a baby so bad, and now that we’re getting one, we can’t even do normal things like go to a doctor or talk about planning a nursery. You shouldn’t be away from us. You shouldn’t have to worry about if we’ll all make it out of this alive on top of worrying about the baby. I hate them so much for taking away from our happiness. I can understand being against the villains having these powers that can hurt people, but they’re against every super. Even those of us that do good. And their methods are too cruel, even for mass murderers.”
“Everyone has a reason,” You whispered, looking towards a window.
“I just wish…I don’t know…” He ran out of words, scowling at the ground.
“I wish my mom was here. I wish I could talk to her about everything. But even remembering her is painful. I still have nightmares about my father killing all of you. I want to hate my uncle so much for ruining my memories of my father, for tainting my life with such sorrow and pain. But I can’t hate him. I can’t even hate the Conservatory, or the Oasis Initiative. Maybe there’s something wrong with me. Because I should. I should hate them.”
“What happened at the Conservatory? I know that you were trapped there, but there seems to be so much more that you know and won’t speak of.”
“And good luck getting her to,” Nadya cut in.
You flinched in surprise.
Yoongi was immediately ready to fight, but once you placed a hand on his arm he slowly relaxed.
“Nightingale, Sowilo. Apologies for showing up in the middle of such an important conversation. I haven’t much time. We’re hidden safely for now, but they were after some of our acolytes. Huening Kai is safe with you still?”
“As is Taehyun and Yeonjun,” You confirmed.
She nodded. “Good. Keep them as far away from all of this as possible. I’m almost certain that they were after those three. Just as they are after you, not in your hero form, but as a human. They think you have something that they need to further their operations. But they’re also looking for Hummingbird.”
“What? Why?” You frowned.
“Because, rumor has it she’s the daughter of Sentry, who apparently took something very important from them, and has his powers.”
You ran through a mental list of anything remotely dangerous that your father had collected, but nothing popped out at you. “I’ll check my records, but I don’t recall anything specific.”
“We’re positioned to aid the Conservatory when needed, but we should discuss what happens with the conservatory after.”
You shook your head. “Nothing can happen.”
“Not if you aren’t there, but if you were to come after—”
“I’ll consider it, but for now, we just need to forget about it. Your Acolytes will be at the safe house with me, we’ll all protect each other and keep a low profile. Anything else?”
“Does she know?”
Yoongi looked particularly confused at that.
You pursed your lips.
“She doesn’t. I see. She will find out. Are you prepared for when she does? The repercussions?”
“I am prepared.”
“Then I suggest you make sure at least one other knows before it all occurs. I will be watching for the time for my people to attack. Oh, your friend, the strange metupal, he says you would know him as Papillon.” She was shimmering out of existence. “And he’s safe. He thanks you for saving the children.”
You dipped your head.
“One week.” She disappeared.
“One week?” Yoongi asked, then gave you a bewildered look. “And what was all of that about?
“It’s a long story, and it’s probably how long we have until the Oasis initiative attacks. She does work with time supers.”
“And the school? Who is the she you were both talking about?”
“Wilo, you asked me what the Conservatory did that makes me want to hate it so much. She is involved. I can’t explain now. Not here. Can you…?”
“Yeah, Raid should ready.” He wrapped an arm around you for light travel. “But you should explain it to us. So we know exactly what we’re against. Laguz won’t even talk about his time there, avoids it like the plague. We know it’s nothing good. But we won’t know how bad it is unless you tell us.”
You tucked your head into the crook of his neck. “I’ll tell someone, but I can’t tell all of you. Not yet. Not until we no longer have to work with them.”
He grunted, but didn’t argue further, turning both of you into light and transporting to where Taehyung was waiting with the supplies he was sent to get.
~~~~~
Part 8. Part 10.
Masterlist. ~ Series Masterpost.
#poly!bts#bts ot7#ot7 x reader#bts x reader#pregnant!reader#bts fic#kim seokjin#min yoongi#Jung HoSeok#kim namjoon#park jimin#kim taehyung#jeon jungkook#Superhero!AU#superhero!reader#Superhero!Jimin#Superhero!Taehyung#superhero!hoseok#superhero!seokjin#superhero!namjoon#superhero!yoongi#Superhero!Jungkook#bulletproofmelody updates#bulletproofmelodysuperherobtsfic#BulletproofMelodyFic#con amore sequel fic#con amore fic#con amore chats
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Hey I was wondering if you'd ever consider doing like a top 20 fav classical music albums or composers list or something. Obviously if that just sounds stressful disregard this but I know you are like, into classical music & I grew up with my parents playing it & recently got, like, into the classical station but aside from like 3 artists I like I don't know where to start & I like your blog and would be interested in hearing about like, your taste
Sorry for responding to this so late, I’ve had a real week and I wanted to make sure I had time to put some thought into answering this ask. I’d definitely love to help, I always like recc’ing classical stuff to people! The idea of 20 absolute all time favorites is a difficult one for me because I love so much stuff and it’s really difficult to compare like… Caroline Shaw’s modern experimental chorale stuff to Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos. Anyway, instead I will give you some full length pieces in different styles that I think are great for new listeners, and explain a little about what each one is doing and what I love about it, and some more pieces I recommend if you enjoy what you’re hearing. Hopefully that will help!
In no particular order:
Appalachian Spring by Copland: Let’s just get this one out of the way up front. If you’ve been following me for any amount of time at all, you know I’m deeply in love with Copland. He essentially invented the American compositional style by adding jazz elements to the established practices, which caused an absolute uproar at the beginning of his career as people then considered it an unholy mix of high and low culture. He doubled down on this concept when he wrote “Fanfare For The Common Man” which essentially stands as a celebration of the working class and those who couldn’t afford to see the symphony anyway. He was, I should also note, both gay and Jewish. A real icon. Anyhow, although I love so much of his work and could go on forever, I consider listening to Appalachian Spring in its entirety a spiritual experience, no exaggeration. Take it on a hike, listen to it while you look at the trees and think about whatever crosses your mind, and by the time the Coda hits you… well I personally can’t tell you what experience to have, but I feel for a second like I can see and be seen. Anyway, aside from that, just good music, very pretty. If you’d like similar music that incorporated jazz effectively into classical work, I’d of course recommend another favorite of mine: Rhapsody in Blue by Gershwin.
Russian Easter Festival by Rimsky-Korsakov: As a general rule of thumb, Russian composers are ALWAYS good for some drama. This piece in particular is great because it’s not only fanfare and excitement, there’s a touch of pastoral calmness that I really love (more on that as a concept later) at the beginning, but we still get plenty of wildness. There’s a frantic octave part the violins play around minute 5 that always makes me want to scream. If you like this, I’d also recommend checking out Rimsky-Korsakov’s Capriccio Espagnol. The man knows how to write sexy.
Romance in D by Berkey: I recommend this partially because it’s a lesser known and very beautiful piece, and also because it’s a good lead-in to a whole subset of classical called Furniture Music. Essentially called that - originally by the composer Satie - because it’s nice to put on in the background. Don’t get me wrong, it’s still fun to listen to, and from a compositional and performance standpoint it can still be very impressive. But it’s just good and calming and you could certainly sip tea to it in the restaurant area of a ritzy 1920’s hotel while you read a novel and ignore your rich husband asking if you’d like any marmalade. A good example of the same effect is the soundtrack to Phantom Thread. It’s also good for studying. If you like that conceptually, I’ve got a whole playlist here.
Pictures at an Exhibition by Mussorgsky: A really excellent intro to classical and one of my favorite works, AND like the last one, also a lead-in to an informal format. Pictures was written with the idea that each song was a separate painting that the listener could imagine they were looking at in a museum. For that reason, each one has a different style and personality, and feels very descriptive and exciting. A collection of small related pieces is called a suite, but I haven’t yet been able to find a technical name for that specific kind of storytelling structure within a suite. It’s not uncommon though, and in that same vein I’d also recommend The Planets by Holst (about the planets, as you might assume), and Carnival of the Animals by Saint Saens (about… yeah you get it).
Spem in Alium by Tallis: We’re taking a wild left turn now and veering into the Christian choral tradition dating back to the 1500s. Like anyone else who isn’t even a Christian, there’s a few things about Catholicism that I’m obsessed with. Namely the hymns and the stained glass. Focusing only on the hymns, Tallis is one of the best examples of polyphonic hymnal work. Polyphonic, essentially, means that the different voices in the piece are moving around each other and will frequently change their notes in a way that will compliment - but is not necessarily in line with - the direction of the piece as a whole. It makes more sense if you just listen. The style, however, was developed in an attempt to capture the idea of the stars and planets circling each other in their own independent orbits, because at the time people had just started to turn their gaze to the sky for answers about their own lives. Aside from that very cool background, I just find the really human side of the choir format in particular paired with the elevation of music being this untouchable but powerful thing paired with the holiness of the concept paired with how awesome the acoustics of a chapel can be…. It’s just a lot. If you like this I’d also recommend Miserere Mei by Allegri, Ave Maris Stella by Dufay, and O Magnum Mysterium by Lauridsen
Peter Grimes by Britten: Classical music is so rooted in every musical tradition, and visa versa, that it’s almost impossible to separate it conceptually from a lot of genres. Technically, “classical” refers to a period of time more than it does a genre anyway, but let’s not get pretentious about it. While we’re pushing the boundaries of what can and can’t be included in this list, let’s talk Opera, and specifically Peter Grimes. When asked to describe it, Britten said it was “a subject very close to my heart—the struggle of the individual against the masses. The more vicious the society, the more vicious the individual.” More specifically the struggle was an allegory for gay oppression, and ironically Britten wrote the lead role with his lifelong partner Peter Pears - an opera singer - in mind. To give a taste without giving too much away, the Prologue establishes that Grimes, a fisherman, is being questioned over the death of his apprentice. The townspeople are all convinced before the questioning even begins that he must have done it, but the coroner decides the death was accidental. Grimes is let free and advised not to get another apprentice, but he of course ignores this…. If the vocal side of opera doesn’t do it for you, there are 4 Sea Interludes from this work that are really great independently. If you want even more opera with even more drama, I’d recommend looking at Tosca or Turandot both by Pucccini. If you think classic opera is too high brow and you want something a little sillier, try Mozart’s Magic Flute. If you want something more new age and weird, try listening to Two Boys by Muhly or selections from Einstein on the Beach by Glass (but probably not all 5 hours, Knee Play 5 and Spaceship would be my top 2).
Symphony No. 6 “Pastoral” by Beethoven: I mentioned earlier when describing the Russian Easter Festival that I love a piece with pastoral calmness. Getting back to that point, I haven’t ever seen one word that’s commonly used to describe this particular sense in a piece, but I personally call it a Pastoral after Beethoven’s 6th. In general, the symphony is one of my favorites as a composer and listener, especially given that it’s really just about taking a walk in nature which is one of only 3 themes music should have anyway in my opinion. A good amount of my music is written with this feeling in mind. Aside from all that context, the first movement in particular is very nice, passionate but not sensational, and is just about being excited to be outside. Nothing wrong with that. This subset of music is probably the most informal of all the ones I’ve listed so far, but if you’d like more “Pastorals,” or pieces that have a nice calm passion to them, I’d also highly recommend Enigma Variations: Nimrod by Elgar, Fantasia on a Theme of Tallis by Vaughan Williams, Once Upon A Time In America by Morricone, Musica Celestis by Kernis, and of course again Appalachian Spring by Copland. (I would also be legally sent to jail if I didn’t mention that while we’re on the subject of Beethoven, his 9th Symphony is generally considered one of the greatest achievements in classical music).
Rite of Spring by Stravinsky: A lot of these pieces have been good jumping off points into different musical concepts, but with this one I’m sticking my description to the initial piece itself. I got the chance to email with a composer I admire and he at one point described composition not in the sense of writing something “smart”, but in writing something “detailed”. The Rite of Spring is a really great example of detailed composition. It’s extremely experimental with its time changes - essentially the way that you should be counting your notes as a musician constantly changes and always into a pattern that’s difficult to keep track of - and also with its chord structure. The music itself can be jarring and odd to listen to but the composition wasn’t random and when studied shows an obsessive elbows-deep involvement in the work that I really admire. It might not surprise you to hear, however, that at the initial performance the audience was so furious that the lighting technician had to continually flash the lights to confuse them, out of fear of a riot. If you’d like something a bit more fun to listen to by the same composer, however, Firebird is a good one. And if you’d like another great piece that was completely booed off the stage at its premier, I’d recommend Grand Pianola by Adams.
Romeo and Juliet by Prokofiev: While we’re in the general vicinity of ballet, I should get into that deeper. Ballets can have some of the most fun music to listen to because the timing is required to be so much more specific. Romeo and Juliet is a lot of fun, particularly the “Montagues and Capulets” and “Masks” sections. Another great ballet is, of course, The Nutcracker by Tchaikovsky. I’d also recommend Don Quixote by Minkus, and Rodeo by Copland…. I know I know
Violin Concerto in D by Tchaikovsky: I said Russians bring the drama, and it’s doubly so when it’s a gay Russian. This piece is a classic example of the solo concerto format, which is a staple of classical as a whole. The setup is a single player on whatever instrument the piece is written for accompanied by an orchestra, and is usually a showcase of technical skill by the soloist. This one in particular is basically THE turning point in a violinist’s studies and just about every violinist learns it as soon as they’re capable of taking it on. Personally I still vividly remember when my teacher finally gave it to me, it’s a very specific sense of accomplishment. Similar examples of the solo concerto format on different instruments would be Piano Concerto in F by Rachmaninoff, and Oboe Concerto in C by Mozart, both of which I absolutely love.
The Revd Mustard His Installation Prelude by Muhly: I’ve gone on forever so I’m trying to be quick. Nico Muhly is one of my favorite modern composers and Revd Mustard combines his classic ecstatic and constantly moving style with an organ, which I’m a sucker for. Contemporary classical in his style can be difficult to listen to because it’s gotten very experimental and as a result, very complicated. But if you don’t go into it with the expectation that you’re going to hear a structured and logical Mozart-like piece and you instead surrender your opinion until the whole thing has come together for you, it can be really interesting at the very least. As a side note, Nico has collaborated with Sufjan, Bjork, Jonsi, Teitur…. lots of people. You’ve certainly heard him before even if you didn’t know it. For more classical from the last few decades I’d recommend Partita for 8 Singers by Shaw, Tissue No. 7 by Glass, Different Trains by Reich, the Red Violin Concerto by Corigliano (especially because I just saw it live a few days ago and am still reeling), Perpetuum Mobile by Penguin Cafe Orchestra, and Cantus in Memoriam Benjamin Britten by Part. Each of which is vastly different, stylistically speaking, but all of which I really love. And for more organ listen to one of my favorite pieces of all time, Symphony 3 by Saint Saens.
Ok, you know what? I’m cutting myself off because I’ve gone on forever. If you haven’t been put off of asking me questions entirely by now, please feel free if you want even more recommendations in a specific style, or want to know more about something you enjoy. Clearly I love talking about this. Hope that helped!
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The Hanged Man
Art by Leandro Henriquez
The Hanged Man is one of the most mysterious cards in the tarot deck. It is simple, but complex. It attracts, but also disturbs. It contradicts itself in countless ways. The Hanged Man is unsettling because it symbolizes the action of paradox in our lives. A paradox is something that appears contradictory, and yet is true. The Hanged Man presents to us certain truths, but they are hidden in their opposites.
The main lesson of the Hanged Man is that we “control” by letting go - we “win” by surrendering. The figure on Card 12 has made the ultimate surrender - to die on the cross of his own travails - yet he shines with the glory of divine understanding. He has sacrificed himself, but he emerges the victor. The Hanged Man also tells us that we can “move forward” by standing still. By suspending time, we can have all the time in the world.
In readings, the Hanged Man reminds us that the best approach to a problem is not always the most obvious. When we most want to force our will on someone, that is when we should release. When we most want to have our own way, that is when we should sacrifice. When we most want to act, that is when we should wait. The irony is that by making these contradictory moves, we find what we are looking for. -Macauley Williams
Sederis wandered the grounds of the Sunguard encampment, dressed and ready for war. Though it was only the eve of battle, he wore his armor all the same. It was his way, this fine line between safety and paranoia; a paranoia that had, so far, kept him safe. He approached the tent of the Lifespeaker. It had been long since they last spoke. Too long. Not only as friends but even as colleagues. He had been so caught up in bringing order to the Emberglades and preparing it for war that he had neglected the world. It was time he changed that.
“Miss Stormsummer?” He asked tentatively at the entrance to her tent. But there was no response. He moved closer, lifting one of the flaps to her tent and saw only trees. Old and gnarled, reaching for light that did not exist.
I’m in a dream.
He stepped inside, into a dark forest where trees grew twisted and tall. The tent had fallen away, in its place, was Elleynah. She stood at a crate, at a crossroads. Her hands were still, and before her; a spread was a silk cloth... and a deck of cards.
"You have great need of the cards." The voice that came was flat and even; but its speaker still bore the shape of his friend.
He was taken aback at first, expecting the bright-eyed and cheery girl who he had spent his off-time with in Dalaran. But the sensation quickly passed. He understood. Times change, and so do people. Light knows that he had. "I do," he replied, low and even. "I do have a great need of the cards, and so does the realm. More than ever."
Elleynah nodded, two shining lights glowed from beneath the hood the woman wore. "Fate-filled times. Much is needed." The voice, hollow and unalive seemed to shift. "Speak, soldier, seeker. What would you ask, of fate?"
Sederis gave himself a moment to think. Of some things he was certain, but of others... Old and eldritch like the copse of trees he stood in, or the... Thing, that handled a deck of little windows into the unknown before him... Perhaps it was time to indulge an old belief. One that Sederis had thought he forgot. "How do I best venerate Lady Death. I am done appeasing her, slowly bleeding my life away, living in remorse for sins I can never atone. How do I best pay tribute?"
The Lifespeaker paused, and her fingers moved over the cards. "Oh, a worthy question. Worthy indeed." There was a thread of something in the tone, and then-- the woman's body shuddered, as though something was struggling within her flesh. Something made her flinch, and then... its over, and she is still once more. Her hands moved to the deck, and lifted it, sending the cards rolling through her hands like fluid. "Tell me when to stop."
Sederis waited, and waited until the forest is still. Silent. As if a predator had stalked amongst its ancient roots of the wood. "Stop," he said at last.
The girl seemed to shimmer before his gaze- hands too fast to follow- cards flowing like liquid shimmering light, and then at the word, they stopped. The world stopped. Everything; his heartbeat in his ears, the rhasp of breath. Cards exploded in every direction, catching alight, flames raining down around the pair like a storm. All cards, save five, which glowed in his face, floating, before rotating around him. He could see them, for a moment, and then- he was washed in bright and brilliant light, the forest fading into a battlefield; the undead charged against a line of bannermen, and then- on another flank, the elves of Teldrassil and Stormwind against the Sin’dorei, and on another flank- there, infernals and demons of all kinds against the Deathseeker. Chaos- confusion- every war. Every battle. Before Sederis, was Riah; she wore red and white, a wedding gown and banner both. She held Stenden in her arms; he was bleeding from a wound in his brow.
Suddenly, Elleynah was at his side, and her words were somber, soft. “You are drawn in too many directions- overcommitted to each act and war, to every part of what you have broken and forgotten.” Her voice wove, and the fighting stopped- freezing as a moment in time. “You will learn to choose your battles- or perhaps you have. But was it soon enough?” Riah crumples, Stenden with her, but before Sederis can so much as reach for them, he is swept into the Dawnspire halls.
He stands next to Telchis, and there is a wartable in front of him; across, Lor’themar and Kaelthas nod as the pieces move- a living Sylvanas lays a hand over the shifting map. Sederis feels the weight of his mantle and cloak; the age of him now. He hears Elleynah, but cannot see her. “To satisfy death is to feed death. To give it what it wants; to consume. Destroy. The end of living is a force that can be woo’d, can be turned in the direction of your foes for great effect, but she is a monster.” The table changes- Sederis stands with none but the wounded, ancient veterans and fresh-faced youths. The doors reverberate with the sound of the enemies that pound at them. Sederis is not himself; he is a young man, lost, alone, knowing that those gilded halls and great elven lords have set this fate upon him. The walls are breached, and he is then on a familiar hill.
He turned, expecting to see Riah, but instead it is a fairhaired woman. It’s Lirelle. She turns to him with her gleaming smile, but it is Elleynah’s voice that pours out. “You rely too much on those who wish for your life to continue. You have promised too much to both the living and the dead. You will never keep your promises. You must learn to accept you cannot be everything… not even to those you wish you could be. A lesson offered many times. Never learned. Choose truth; true clear sightedness. Choose what it is to be both man, and to be leader, but know you cannot always hold both masks.”
Lirelle shifts, and the starry night begins to burn again, the stars falling in flames like the cards had, until suddenly he was alone in the black. Alone, and the world was silent. For ages- aeons- it was nothing. And then, a single star broke from the nothing, and he once more beheld… someone. She was lovely; she was Elleynah, and Keltressa, and Lirelle, and more than that Riah, Caeliri, Azriah, Thanidiel- every woman. Her eyes glowed. She radiated heat. She spoke. “Death above all, is peace.” Her hand reached out, and she placed a fingertip on his brow. “Death is quiet, in the end. It is the peace of the battlefield, a hundred years after the dying is done.” She dimmed, a moment, and collapsed into his arms.
Sederis caught her, and the world dropped out from beneath him; he turned, inverted, and saw that this was a Lirelle as he had never seen her before. What she was- and all of the changes he bore witness to- were lost to him. For now he saw the war, the battles, the golden room and the starry hill in a new light; and understood everything. Then he saw himself, upside down.
“Now, you see.” The other Sederis spoke. “Welcome to perspective.” It offered him a sketched salute… and then he was in the dark forest, and there was no Elleynah, and the dream began to fade. Later, when waking finally caught him, he would remember this, in parts. But for now, waking from a daydream within a dream, he shifted to move, and a single card flittered to the ground; a man, suspended, seeing the world in a brand new way.
Sederis blinked once, twice, and then called out into the darkness. "Elleynah?" He never used her first name.
Whatever had been there was gone; though an echo in the wood followed, just a moment; like the girl was crying out from far away... and then nothing.
Sederis reached out into the darkness. Leaving the card behind him, turning his back on what the fates had revealed to him. True. False. It did not matter. Not to the man who had forged his destiny and the destinies of others with the edge of his sword. Lady Fate could wait, and if she was truly who he thought she was, it wouldn’t matter. They’d always come back to her in the end, whether they liked it or not. So he stepped into the darkness, deeper than anything he had ever known. "Elleynah," he called again, travelling through woodlands undone; the world was trying to steal him awake before he could find her, evict him from the dream. But his Patron was already too clever, too quick, and he slipped the reigns of the dream, pulling himself from the magic by knowing where it began, instead of ended. And he... found her.
Unlike the creature in the woods, this was Elleynah as she was; her face scarred, empty socket black and open, caul-covered frame a litany and hymnal of scars and freckles. She sat alone, staring into nothing, shaking. Her fingers bled, and they bled onto cards- her palms cut deep, strange and alien runed burned into the backs of her hands and up her arms.
Sederis approached, slow and cautious as if approaching a wounded animal. The girl he had sought out the find, the girl he remembered, was here. Beyond the waking world, trapped in a dream wreathed limbo of blood and darkness, here she was. Alone. A conduit- no- a vessel to things both great and terrible. "If I cheat Lady Death of what she's owed. If the fates allow it. I'll come back for you. But for now, this is all I can do." Sederis whispered, taking her bloodied hands into his, in the same way he did long ago when the dream had first begun to take hold of her in Shallowbrook. Just like he did then, he placed his hands over her rended palms, and channelled whatever he could into her. Chi. Life. Whatever the gods and mortal men gave names to things older than hunger itself. He shared it.
Elleynah had been still as he spoke, still as he neared. But as he touched her, her face jerked upward, and he could see the tears running down her face. She looked at him- really looked- and he saw the moment she realized. "You're real." Her voice broke. "You're real. You aren't-" She seemed to break down, bowing over their hands, the magic he gave her; it was and was not his own; he had tricked the Dream, and in so, taken some of it with him. It flowed into her, seemed to push her away- the more he gave, the less she was caught in this hell. He saw her skin clearing, cuts closing, burns fading.
Feeling her slipping away from the dreamscape, and unsure of what it meant, his grip softened. But she grabbed for him with ephemeral hands.
"No-- stop, don't go!" She cried, and he saw the torture; she did not know she was asleep. She did not know she could wake. She was alone, when the magic took hold; unknowing when it would ever let her go again.
So Sederis stayed. Determined to stay as long as the Dream allowed. Mending what wounds he could. Wounds of her dream wreathed flesh. Wounds of her dream addled mind. "I don't think it's up to me," he began, looking out into the darkness like he had done many times before. "But I'll stay with you. As long as I can." Sederis gripped harder, continuing to bleed into her. "You're in a dream," he said, in an attempt to calm her.
Elleynah 's cries grew weaker as he healed her, brought her back from this hell and pushed her out of the Dream. She gripped at his arms though her fingers grew translucent, reached for him, her sobs almost whispers as she tried to hold on to the only real thing she had ever seen here. The only thing that wasn't the magic, the whispers, the visions and sights. “Sederis!” Her voice was a scream, turned so low as to be only a breath in the silence. “I’m sorry, don’t leave me…” Pain, fear, it etched her features, and then… she was gone. Awake, somewhere far from here.
And yet… a voice remained. “She is young. She will learn.”
Sederis looked up and around him, not fully comprehending it all, but understanding that the voice belonged to something old. Older than anything he could imagine. "She will learn if she chooses to. Actions can be forced, but knowledge cannot," he spoke into the darkness. "She isn't yours to claim."
The dream vibrated with some emotion between laughter and indignation, huge and uncanny. He felt it roil, and a shadow appeared to him, briefly- so much like Elleynah, and yet not, her hair long and tangled, body softened by motherhood. Her eyes were empty, shifting, myriad colors within. "Some fates cannot be changed, Deathseeker. You will see." The being smiled, and smiled, too wide, too many teeth... and then in a thunderous roar came, tore the world, tore the woman, and the Dream was done.
Sederis stirred, disoriented. But as he stirs, the card that was Chosen- or had Chose him- slipped from his bed and to the floor.
A Hanged Man, seeing the world... in a brand new way.
@retributionpriest @stormandozone @thanidiel @thenaaru @dorksworn @curiouslich @azriah @forever-afk
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