#sing in stained glass symphonies

[milkolya]

why am i alone in my spiral abt beyonce's song Daughter cmon tumblr gays theres So Much Potential here ......

[suchawrathfullamb]

Okay but what if...

“I kissed Alana Bloom.”

“Well, come in, then,” I mutter as Will walks in, leaving a snowy mess on the hall floor.

My thoughts recalibrate as I process the reality unfolding – Will, the pursuer of the killer, strolling into the dining room where the very killer sits. My body finally reacts, trailing behind him.

“You have a guest,” he remarks, noting Tobias perched on the table.

“Yes. Will, meet Tobias Budge. Tobias, this is Will Graham… He works for the FBI.”

Tobias raises a brow, asking, "You befriended the police?" I don't bother responding, just shoot him a warning glance. "Smart."

Will turns to me, seeking an explanation. Oh, well, this is certainly not how I planned for this to go.

“Is it?” Will challenges.

"Well, when dealing with criminal affairs, or if you're in the business, cozying up to the authorities is a smart move, wouldn't you say?"

Will raises a brow, and I discreetly reach for my scalpel in my front pocket.

“Tobias was just leaving,” I assert. Will appears unconvinced.

“Was I?”

“Didn’t you say you weren’t feeling well?” My patience wears thin.

“I’m quite well, doctor Lecter. Are you feeling unwell?” 

Will observes us, while a suppressed sigh escapes me. A quick assessment reveals Will unarmed. Oh well, that’s it then:

“Tobias is the killer.” 

Time momentarily halts as we collectively process the revelation. Tobias rises, knife in hand, advancing toward us with a veneer of calmness that contradicts the intensity in his eyes. Will swiftly positions himself in front of me, an unexpected protective gesture. My heart reacts, but I dismiss the sentiment, stepping forward.

“Does your friend know what you are, doctor?”

My head warms, sweat forming.

“This is a very bad idea, Tobias.”

“What’s a very bad idea is the FBI being friends with a killer, wouldn’t you say, Mr. Graham?”

Unable to meet Will's gaze, my attention shifts as Tobias hurls a knife in my direction. It pierces my shoulder, most likely the deltoid muscle, and I try to focus my attention on the sensation as I breathe through it and I remove it, throwing it on the carpet. It’s going to stain.

Preparing to retaliate, I notice Will has already seized a larger knife, charging towards Tobias. A chaotic chase ensues, chairs toppling as they crash through a glass door. It shatters. I liked that door.

Following their path, I notice Tobias wielding another knife. Mental note: stop placing so many knives on the table; he stabs Will in the shoulder. Another mental note: my dining knives are way too sharp. Before I can intervene, Will plunges his into Tobias’ chest. With the advantage of having grabbed a larger knife, and although I'm glad about that, I might need to take it away from him as of now I am certain he will try to attack me after finishing Tobias. I stop in my tracks as I see the blood spraying Will’s face as he continuously stabs, until Tobias’ eyes have completely lost their light. I can feel my heart tugging, my breath catching, my mind singing a beautiful symphony as I watch Will in all of his glory. Ah, my killer. There you are.

A brief moment of indulgence passes, and I must regain composure. He breathes and shakes violently. Carefully, I remove the knife from his grasp. He lets me. His gaze fixed on the body, lost in a mental abyss only he can fathom.

“Will?”

His head snaps towards me, and I cup his face. “It’s over.”

* 

Neither of us has said anything as I put a cloth on my shoulders to stop the bleeding and begin tending to Will's wounds with a tender hand. I accessed my supplies and deliberate pressure is applied, halting the bleed. I cleanse the wound meticulously, and the task makes me calm. My mind is filled with fearful thoughts but I let them pass through me as I focus on the act, akin to lighting up candles in an altar. One by one, with sacred silence and a devoted heart. He carries pain so beautifully, specially physical pain. I love having the opportunity to mend his wounds, to take him into my arms and care for him. It’s irresistible the urge to throw him off a cliff just to have him all fragile in my arms so I can nurse him back to health. I wish he’d always come to me for any and all ailments, allowing no healer but me to trace the contours of his scars.

He sits on my dinning table as I apply a lavender and tea tree combination onto his skin, gently massaging it. He has sensitive skin, I noticed the other night when I gave him a massage after dinner, and the cinnamon combination left a subtle mark on the left expanse of his shoulder blades. A mistake rectified, now gifting me an intimate knowledge of his skin's intricacies.

His eyes, observant but distantly tethered, narrate a tale beyond the surface. I fashion a tight and secure dressing on his shoulder, and use all of my strength not to kiss it. I can’t read him right now. And so I begin removing Tobias from the door, his bloodied form dragging through my once-cherished carpet, now destined for a funeral pyre. A true loss really, it was a very beautiful carpet.

I deposit his body inside a closet, it’s not the time to deal with the deals with the details now. My mind conjures up my brief time with Will, in case I need to let go of it all tonight. I go back to the day we met, how his eyes pierced through mine, even as he tried to avoid it. How I was captivated by his beauty, inner and outer, how my thoughts were completely taken by him— a rapture in the corridors of my mind.

The days that follow, our quick journey from friends to lovers, etched in the memory of our first kiss, a clutch for balance as he sobbed in that office chair. I recall kneeling in front of him, his passionate grip seizing my face, lips stabbing onto mine with the same fervor he employed to stab Tobias moments ago. My beautiful harbinger of death—how I yearn for more shared moments. As my eyes threaten to burn and tears linger on the precipice, his scent permeates the air, prompting a hesitant turn to face whatever fate he deems my due.

I just find big, blue eyes, staring at me like a little child. Confused, tired. The desire to address this chaos by merely kissing his forehead and tucking him into bed overwhelms me. Our gazes hold, open to the destiny he envisions for me. If I am to fall, it shall be by his hand.

“Make sure you dispose of this one better than Nicholas Boyle.”

I stare, seeking answers in my gaze alone.

“I know,” he utters, his words carrying a simplicity that sends my heart racing. A prolonged sigh escapes him. “Were you using me?”

His words wield knives that cut deep into my heart. I comprehend the assumption, yet the pain resonates. “No,” I reply, my voice hoarse with the weight of agony. He nods.

“Are you sure about that?” he asks again, his eyes a mosaic of pain, uncertainty, and defiance.

“I would rather you end me than they. And I'm certain they will, once I’m convicted. So, please,” I extend the scalpel to him.

He accepts it. I brace for impact, tears streaming from my eyes. His beauty is overwhelming. In this final moment of my existence, I acknowledge it without restraint; yes, I love him—profoundly, unlike any love before. If there was ever any. My love for him shatters my core, kindling fires within my heart. He has disrupted my peace, and yet, I welcome his chaos with open arms. He has tamed the beast within, and all that remains is an overwhelming tide of desire.

He sighs and advances. I take his hands, guiding the cold sharpness to my neck, inhaling the essence of his wrist. Let this be the last imprint on my senses. Whether it's an ascent to heaven or a descent into hell, I want his scent to envelop my mind.

He leans in, and kisses me. If my mind were capable of physical melting, it would have succumbed to his lips.

[direwombat]

wip music monday

tagged recently by @inafieldofdaisies, @voidika, and @simplegenius042 to share some music inspiring my wips (ty all so much <3)

the fingers in the father's soil verse brainworms have been wriggling today, so here's a song that gives some good syb/billie vibes

Help me, Lord, from these fantasies in my head They ain't ever been safe ones I don't fellowship with these fake ones So let's travel to white chapels and sing hymns Hold rosaries, sing in stained-glass symphonies Cleanse me, Holy Trinity, from this marijuana smoke smell in my hair Say I'm nothin' like my father But I'm the furthest thing from choir boys and altars Double cross me, I'm just like my father I am colder than Titanic water

and here's a billie/solomon song (because it ain't true love if they ain't actively tryin' to kill each other <3)

Lay your head down Down, down My love's gonna pull you down Down, down One shot and you're six feet down Down, down Bang bang bang! I'd do you where you stand So take a look at me, yeah Bang bang bang

taglist:

@marivenah, @statichvm, @cassietrn, @trench-rot, @harmonyowl,

@fourlittleseedlings, @carlosoliveiraa, @purplehairsecretlair, @aceghosts, @adelaidedrubman,

@finding-comfort-in-rain, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @locustandwildhoney, @testyfestyenthusiast, @strangefable,

@alexxmason, @deputyash, @josephslittledeputy, and anyone else wanting to share music inspiring them! (taglist opt in/out)

[polutrope]

10 first lines

Tagged by @camille-lachenille @sallysavestheday @swanmaids to share the first lines of my last 10 fics. Thank you!

If no rating indicated, they are G or T.

Knotting her plush white robe loosely around her waist, Galadriel led the parade of her girlfriends onto the flagstones of Nevrast Nordic Spa. (Holiday prompts, Celeborn/Galadriel + Jumping from hot to cold).

“How disappointing!” Nerdanel said as they stepped out into the crisp evening air. (Holiday prompts, Aredhel/Celegorm + Embarrassing childhood videos).

Amid zoning feud with City Hall, Ambar Metta withdraws funding for Yule Parade. (Holiday prompts, Feanor + boycotting a holiday)

“I think we should go on a date.” (Holiday prompts, Daeron/Maglor + Ice skating, Singing carols)

The night had been a symphony of violence. (And Love Grew)

There was a stained-glass window three times Elrond’s height on the west wall of Rivendell's library, depicting Elwing’s mythical leap into the sea: her naked body arcing to the sky as if in supplication, feathered arms outstretched behind her. (Stained Glass)

“Easy for you to say!” Maitimo protested. (Played, rated E)

Sometimes, when the wind blows fierce from the West and the sea thrashes the cliffs of Vinyamar, Aredhel’s heart longs for the anguish of the Ice. (For Whom His Heart Yearned, rated M)

They look like their mother, Maglor’s little foals. (Scorched, rated E)

Plates heaped high with colourful offerings filled Nargothrond’s long feast table to its very edges. (Underhanded, rated E)

Tagging @cuarthol @melestasflight @ettelene @i-did-not-mean-to @meadowlarkx @elevenelvenswords @curufiin @herinke @imakemywings to share if you like (and have not yet).

[sichore]

@thatwritingho tumblr got me FUCKED UP not letting me edit drafts that has asks in them. fuck. anyway!! I answered 5. a casual kiss in the previous round, so let's do the next step!

6. write about an intense kiss between your ship

exclusive preview of a future scene in paint the sky

“You know you don't have to do this, right?”

“Yeah, but… we gotta, don't we?”

Among the blankets and pillows of her cozy corner, the candlelight catches the glimmer in Jimi's dark eyes as she straightens up a bit. We. Jimi is so fucking tired, he can see the exhaustion in those brown eyes. But she's still here, and Pickles has been seeing the same shit as her, so why not do this together?

“I trust ya, Jimi.” He drops his gaze to their knees, clearing his throat. “So, uh… how do we do this?”

“I guess we just kinda…” Jimi tentatively reaches out and he takes her hands. It just feels like the natural thing to do. Hers are soft, small where he can feel them through his callouses. “Um, close your eyes, and breathe. With me. Let your senses take over and it should just… happen.” Her eyes close first, and she already looks so bare without her glasses. Pickles watches Jimi, taking in all of her in this strange moment of vulnerability. The way her curls spill around her face, even when piled high on her head. Her shoulders gradually relaxing as she breathes, in, out, rising and falling. Her comfortable work clothes with old paint stains. Her gentle, nervous smile. He closes his eyes.

The glow of the candles behind his lids give way to nebulae. He hears the rush of his own breaths, then Jimi’s, then – the both of them, breathing as one. The rush of air becomes the distant roar of the Waves, growing louder. Louder. Louder. The last thing Pickles feels in the physical world is the warmth of Jimi’s hands as their fingers lace together and become indistinguishable, and then he sinks. The Ocean greets them with a dazzling school of stars that flash and swim around them. Everything here is expanded in a way Pickles can’t quite describe, ignoring how he is – was – a lyricist. He doesn’t even feel like Pickles, the drummer, when he’s here. He doesn’t feel like Connor, either, who was once that angry kid who left home with nothing but a bag and a dream. Here, he just is. And so is she. Jimi. Unfamiliar, yet always recognizable. Colors and comets swirl around them in the current but he is only consumed with thoughts of the resplendent one. Long and luminous, she winds around him in wide laps, and the slide of her shimmering scales sing to him a sonata. Consumed with the need to feel, he reaches out to her with arms that are many and crimson. He reaches across galaxies for her and when they finally meet, their serpentine touch causes a symphony to ring out across all creation.

It is an experience unlike any before. They are exquisite and perfect. He feels the slide of himself against her, as her. Scale against sinew against soul, they move among the Waves and into each other. He drinks of her into all that he is and, in turn, pours into her, ruby and rapturous and rippling. The song of their union spreads throughout the universe and all that lies beyond. Chaos and cosmos, combined and complete, to bring forth all that shall ever be. World-devourer, star-swallower, divine and devouring one another, entwined and eternal as they should be.

Between the serpents that coil and writhe everlong is a power, mewling and newborn. The drag of their bodies across it is an orphic orchestra that is unheard of, unpracticed, unobtainable. For now. Discordance reigns and the distortion shatters them and they scream in their separation. Through her thousand eyes he can glimpse his thousand arms that seek her. The great crimson beast once more, rising, raging, reaching for the rhapsodic splendor of his – Lover. Pickles breaks through the Waves and crashes back into reality with a shuddering gasp. The candles at the edge of his vision are as stars, fighting against the rippling shadows of the Ocean that bathe the room. None of it matters. Nothing else fucking matters. His body is burning and drenched with sweat, trembling, volcanic. He breathes in ash and embers and air and it’s not enough, it’s never enough not when they’re so close. It all ends and begins with their entwined hands that hold the power of a thousand suns and he thinks Jimi feels it, too. Curls stick to her sweat dampened face as she gasps for air. A mirror of his own state as she would be, because… because… Why wouldn’t she be? Fuck. Why were they here? Why were they ever apart? What the hell is he thinking? Jimi’s lips are so plush, parted and panting and he remembers how easily she tore into him and the agony of their separation. The fuck. He’s hungry. Starving. He swallows hard, his throat having gone dry. What was he forgetting? His eyes flit over the rapid rise and fall of Jimi’s chest and he remembers the way her heart choked his throat. When he drags his gaze back up to her eyes they are like onyx and starshine and their hands tremble where they hover, still entwined. He tries to speak and all that comes out is a dry, wordless sound. Jimi leans towards him. The separation of their hands is torture because they can’t ever part but it’s a sacrifice Pickles makes to grasp her face and pull her forward. Their mouths crush together in a clash of teeth and tongue that some time ago, far from now, knew only how to consume and now they lap and bite and feed. Pickles kisses Jimi like he’ll never have another drink in his goddamn life. What could compare to this, this fucking – ambrosia on his tongue? Jimi’s hands fist in his shirt to hold him close and her body heat makes stars explode behind his eyes. Sparks fly from her lips to ignite a flame in his belly and he just knows he’s going to fucking combust. He only breaks the kiss when the burning in his lungs becomes too much and he gets light-headed. Even so, he licks his lips, swallows as though to imbibe every little taste of Jimi that he can. “I… shit.” “Mmhm,” Jimi agrees, just as eloquent and breathless. There’s thunder in his ears, he easily finds the rhythm in the pulse. That’s all it was, wasn’t it? A beat he had to map out. A song he has to write. He’s been searching for the melody all this time and there it was. It’s in her, painter, precious, and all they gotta do is lay the track. Harmonize. He pulls her to him again, one hand burying in the curls at the back of her head to brace her for his kiss. The other hand claws at her back like if he can just get her close enough he can smash her into his pounding heart and make it stop. Just kill him already because he’s dying. 

The Waves dance around and through them and they chose to go under, they chose this, and emerged with this insatiable need to be inside of each other. He has no other word for this hunger, this feeling, this absolute loss of self as he became they and his senses burst beyond comprehension into… A sixth sense. The sixth way. Rise above the shell and partake of it anew. The Body.

[Soft OTP Prompts]

[kerrymoncherrie]

Valancy singing🎵

translation:

when the grey fog

envelopes the world

under the bow of wind

the silver strings of rain are ringing

i embrace myself

in the scarf made of dreams

and though the fog

though the rain

I’m running to The Blue Castle

Blue roses bloom on the flower beds of dreams

blue buds are pining to the sky

nightingale is singing the blue symphony

In the blue castle

there are beatiful men

they are kneeling before me

i’m greeting them with the nod of my head

i’m the blue princess

In the blue castle

there are fountains like arabesque or like a rainbow

young men with the blue eyes

is asking me to marry him

in the blue castle the sun is shining behind the colorful

stained glass

over there the prince will confess his feelings to me

[lesetoilesfous]

Fic prompts - "Where you go I’m going, so jump and I’m jumping, since there is no me without you." (for whatsoever pairing or character dynamic you wish to write :D)

My love you KNOW it's going to be Fenders and also I adore you <3

(If you’d like me to write you a da2 fic, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting

Pairing: Anders/Fenris

Characters: Fenris, Anders

Tags: established relationship, post canon, domestic disagreements

Rating: Mature

“You’re not coming.” Fenris’ tone brooks no room for disagreement. Somehow, Anders finds a space anyway.

“Yes I am.” 

Fenris picks up his enemy-friend-lover-acquaintance’s bag and upends it over their bed of the last year. A tinkling crash of potions follow it, throwing up liquids that stain the glass as they swirl around the bowls. With them are a handful of wooden pens, nibs stuffed roughly into them and worn blunt with use, a thick sheaf of torn pieces of parchment, and an old knitted scarf. Fenris drops the now empty bag onto the bed, “No, you’re not.”

Anders raises an eyebrow. “Really?” He’s already packing his things back into the old satchel, but his eyes dart warily to his well-stuffed travelling pack. Fenris bites the inside of his cheek.

“It is dangerous for you to come with me.”

Anders huffs a laugh. “It’s dangerous to breathe, for either of us. What makes the border any worse?”

Fenris’ mind is dark with memories, and he will not stain this cabin with them. “You do not know them as I do.”

Anders softens at that, the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth shallowing as he steps forward. “That, I’ll grant you. But then there’s all the more reason not to travel alone.” His voice is soft and rough as he speaks. Fenris focuses on his thickening beard instead of meeting the sincerity in his brown eyes. “Fenris?” Anders’ voice is barely a murmur.

Fenris turns away from him, the movement too fast and too explosive for his frustration. Anders flinches, and Fenris wants to kick himself, and doesn’t, taking the restless energy and using it to pace the short breadth of their little cabin. Outside, birds sing in the late morning, and the trees sigh a symphony to the sky.

Above Fenris’ head, strings of dried garlic and herbs waft fragrant from the rafters. Fenris looks at Mercy, propped beside the window look a humble woodcutter’s axe, made strange by the domesticity of her setting. (Like him.) He curls his fingers and uncurls them, feeling the elastic stretch of his lyrium against his tendons. He clenches his teeth so tightly his jaw hurts. 

“I am not meant for this.” He says the words to the wooden walls of the building, and the small half-full basket of firewood beside the window. “I cannot be what you want me to be.”

Anders lets out a breath, and the floor creaks as he steps closer. Fenris’ skin prickles with his closeness, but he doesn’t touch him, just stands behind him and waits. “Who says I want you to be anything other than you are?”

Fenris shakes his head, and feels tears, hot and stinging, prickling senselessly at the corners of his eyes. He gestures abruptly to the cabin: to the basin, and the iron bathtub, and the crooked little bed and its straw stuffed mattress. “I do not how to do this for you. I cannot be a husband. I do not know that I can even be a lover. Not in any way that’s kind. And -” Fenris hesitates, breath catching, as he turns at last back to the mage before him. “I am not sure that I want to.” At this, at last, Anders’ expression crumples. But Fenris has grown weaker than he used to be, and he cannot bring himself to take the opening for what it is. 

“I hurt people, Anders. That is what I do. And I want to hurt them. I am so angry, all the time. For myself. For the others like me. I want to tear these people apart limb from limb so much that sometimes it scares me, and I cannot do that here.”

The words hang heavy in the air between them, and Fenris thinks for a moment that he can feel the clay-like press of blood-soaked sand between his toes on the beaches of Seheron. 

Anders nods, and turns back to his pack, drawing it shut with a toggle. “Right, so I’m coming with you.”

“You’ll be killed!”

“I don’t care!” Anders’ voice is a roar, and outside the chickens hurry squawking away from the cabin wall they’d been sheltering under.

Fenris steps back, for once not afraid of what the mage might do to him so much as he fears what he might do to himself. Anders pushes a hand over his face and through his overlong hair, tugging it hard. 

“I - do you seriously think that my life matters to me if you get killed and forgotten by some slaver on a road in the arse end of nowhere?”

Fenris’ hands feel cold. “I cannot be the reason that you live.”

Anders settles a little, broad shoulders dropping. There’s silver in his hair, these days, and in his beard. “No, and you’re not. You’re not the only reason. But there is no world left in which I let you die without me, Fenris. We go down together or we don’t go down at all.”

“I cannot watch you die.” The admission is pulled from Fenris’ chest on a string of thorns, and it feels like bleeding to admit it. Anders’ expression softens further, and he steps forward, gait stiff with the weather and his bad knee. 

“Yeah, well, you always were a hypocrite.” 

Fenris’ lips quirk, despite the aching in his mind. “Takes one to know one.”

Anders steps closer. “Pots, kettles.”

Fenris falls forward into his lover’s arms, pressing his cheek against Anders’ chest. The man smells perpetually of the sweet, green scent of elfroot. “You are incorrigible.”

Anders presses a kiss onto the top of his head. “You want to fight a one-man war against every slaver in Tevinter.”

Fenris frowns. “When you say it like that, it sounds impossible.”

Anders hums, and his arms tighten around Fenris, his body warm and strong. “Maybe, but we’ve done impossible things before.”

[imagerydreamswordsmemories]

So let's travel to whitе chapels and sing hymns Hold rosaries, and sing in stained glass symphonies Cleanse me, Holy Trinity From this marijuana smoke smell in my hair

[angelicxlly]

❀ (twins moment)

𝒜 𝒮𝓎𝓂𝒷𝑜𝓁 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓂𝓎 𝑀𝓊𝓈𝑒’𝓈 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 // 𝒜𝒸𝒸𝑒𝓅𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 ❀ - Pulling them into a tight embrace whilst crying.

{ ♫ }

{ ⟡ } ———After lifting the velvety veil covering the portal & upon crossing through the Looking Glass, it would had seem as if the finely adorned mirror serving as welcoming door would had been changed places...

This was not the inviting & perfumed Rosarium with the buzzing flutter of thousands of whimsical critter, there wasn’t laughter coming from petite lungs nor crystal bells voices proclaiming greetings to receive her. There was no the chit-chatter of teacups nor the breeze whispering the secrets of birds.

Instead, what reigned there was overwhelming solitude & sadness across intangible trees, despite the sweetened scenery. It was all a melancholic illusion, as phantasmagorical blossoms of lustrous gold would take root everywhere, conquering every old furniture that seemed to be lost to time. The roaming of foxes, squirrels & ravens that weren’t really there across the dancing grass, peppered of wild flowers. The canopies of leaves gently rustling as the branches seemed to touch the skies, filtering sunlight down to the long path…

& suddenly the images of half a dozen of women dressed in delicate silks, dancing & singing in languages so ancient that could never be translated to any current human tongue. All of them wearing crowns of golden roses, with several little trinkets braided among ebony locks. Faeric & iridiscent, wings would flutter on occasion on their backs, if not resting as if those were a fine cape, all in harmonic glee when even more people would join them in their melodies as if a festivity would be held in this dream space… ...& yet the prevalent emotion that could be caught untangling would be tortuous nostalgia, as standing while giving her back to her, would be her Twin, watching them all dance & sing without intervening.

“You may probably call me a fool, & maybe I am.” Her voice betray no emotion, but it was a mere facade. A lie to Herself, knowing full well perhaps the closer they were, the tighter the bond. All that leaked from her were emotions of pure, unadulterated, sadness despite the faux giggle that dared to pass through her simper. “But I love to indulge a little bit… Dreams of the Garden, Memories of the Forest…”

There was familiarity to all of the faces from both the Nymphs whose features indubitably looked related to the Enchantress, as the many mages, druids, & common folk also celebrating. Music was played, with some missteps that the illusions seemed to not care for. “I apologize, I may be Immortal & can remember many old things, but for some symphonies I’m not able to replicate fully. My First Coven loved to add melody to their enchantments, & the Spring Equinox was always deemed sacred by our kind… I wonder if fate would had been kinder, if all would had ever meet, would had been this blissful as Earth would awake, as Roses would bloom once more?”

She would turn around to look at her twin, black tears staining across porcelain cheeks. Oh, her heart ached so terribly, & for a minute she felt concerned. If her ‘Sister’ could feel anything as strongly as she had done during their last conversation, the tale making her soul ache devastatingly & her own eyes to tear up ever so slightly at certain points where loss could not only be shared in the spawn of second, but also with terrible acknowledgment…

It was impossible to Emilia to wonder if her Twin feeling her pain would be crueler after the effrontery she had displayed just a couple of days prior. Suddenly her mask of tranquility, despite the ink falling freely upon her skin, would start to shatter.

“Emilia, I— " An apology caught on her throat as her Twin had come towards her & pulling her into an embrace oh-so tightly it let her breathless out of deep sentiment...

Silence reigned then, as if time had stopped & even the fantasy had loss the continuity out of a conscious mind. Only fake sunlight filtering through the trees, colored with hues of dusk. Only the subtle scent of wildflowers among their feet that weren’t previously there & differently from the blooms of the fantasy, those could be felt gently brushing against silks & skin. Oh, how her heart broke & shattered in a single second, yet it felt aided as she eagerly returned the embrace to her Twin, silently shedding her tears against her shoulder…

Grief was all-consuming, flowing through her veins within the boiling power stolen from the images of people dancing, now stopped in time as it all was a piltovian film. It was all sadness, as the songs would stop, as the laugher would be no more. It was all silent agony as she would allow the dream space to slowly melt. Grass & flowers withered away, critters disappearing with the people as the single mirage they were… all in a couple of blinks was replaced by what could be recognized as place among the catacombs of the Cabal… … All the Secrets of a Garden, ever hidden underground.

Only the dim light of candles would eventually return. Warm & real as the flames decorated the golden holders shaped as flowers. Many steps away, at the end of the stance that seemed to be a vast & secluded library from they truly were, was the Looking Glass, some Pixies sitting near & others resting among the many dark roses at the vases in the room.

“My apologies that you had to see me like this… or fall into one of my self deceptions & fabrications, I tend to fall into loops of remembrance, before I notice it, I’m lost to time…” Her Sisters, Her Coven, The Forest Incarnate… she wouldn’t lie if asked, & perhaps the bond allowed more than she may give it credit for, but their conversation may had opened her own wounds to the horrible truths of Loss, parsimoniously awakening the grasp of never-ending mourning upon the frail organ inside her chest…

She may not say it aloud neither, but the fact the Looking Glass had been brought in this personal space from its spot at the Rosarium, albeit covered from the other end & without any manner of communication, it had been an almost unconscious need of seeking company from someone she had chosen to deem as ‘family’ once more, after so so long.

Her arms tightened around her twin tighter, as more tears would be shed from her closing eyes, allowing herself a moment of weakness, a moment of sheer & genuine solace.

@blackrosesmatron ♥

[lastconcourse]

Tornado Recipe UltraJune

(Symphony Futility in Z major)

Unstageable play

Regiondirect→Camereye stood parallel

A kitchen in an upper middle class home. It’s a dim noon. The counters+sink are lit by adjustable lamps on two aluminum racks overhead. In the middle of the room there is one center island; marbletopped, with two wood doors that open for access to inner-cabinet storage. The sink is in the back at stage right. There is a window above the sink. The Readers can see on the outside that there’s a dreary dusk sky, plus a cloud above. All the cabinet doors are white, the sinkfaucet is gold color, the cabinet doors are gold color. A rack of silver soupladles+spatula+tongs+whisks+tablespoons is mounted on the wall over a blender and beside a black air fryer. Right side: Out of the refrigerator come both hum and icerumble sounds. A windchime sings in parallel with nearing thunder.

(egg timer, stove, junk drawer full of rubberbands, unused tools, a tape measure, whole drawerfull of clean knives+forks+spoons, a dishwasher, a spice rack with one hundred flavors, a microwave, )

Flying soup ladles calmly stir a pot of boiled tin foil. The air fryer cheerfully pops its door open. A gantry crane lowers its chain from the ceiling, on the hook is a red wicker basket full of leather wallets. Two big bowls spin slowly like tops on the center island, one full of ice cream and the other full of fresh soup. The airfryer drops its door open and slides out its metal rack. A forklift made out of an exercise machine takes the basket and dumps the wallets on the airfryer’s rack, which is stuck out like a tongue. A flying pair of tongs with biplane wings serves rolls of bread from a tray out of the oven. The air fryer timerknob is now switched on and the timer is making its quick chatter sound. Icecream and Soup bowls drift and bounce together a bit like careening tops, and now the leather bakes.

Regiondirect→Stage right (Begin ruination of a birthday lunch)

A cardboard box full of embarassing memories is spilled down the stairs: Thousands of ruled paper sheets with awful poems written on them go wafting into the kitchen where they float around and fold into paper airplanes, then they land on the center island in perfect rows like jets on a battleship.

Poemjets: We’re here to attack your confidence with this cringey reminisence.

A stolen medalion flies through the air and crashes into the stained glass sconce of an antique wall lamp which is mounted in the living room: Sconce is shattered when it hits it. Shard after shard of red and blue crystal-cracked glass falls into a steel cauldron on a wheeled cart on a line of railroad tracks sitting on the carpet: The cart drives and the cauldron is taken to a forge by the fireplace where the glass is melted down and poured into a mold that shapes it into a skull: This forms the skull of a clueless fool, this is the first and most important skull.

Blue+Red Glass Shards

Blae+rued Gless Sharides

Blaew+Rueld Gleessh Shparides

jBlaw+Ruelld Gleetssh Sparidens

jblaw+rulled Gleethss Spaidens

Jblaw+krulled tGleeths Spidens

Jlaw skulled tleeth Spienes

Jaw skulled Tleeth Spines

Jaw Skull Teeth Spine

Jaw, Skull, Teeth, Spine

Regiondirect→Stage middle; from mouth of humanactor one

(activate buffoon here)

Foollessclue:

I am going to get this job. Before they mock me and I evaporate. I am going to get my job. j’andob→And keep my job once I have it; I will have a job: this job I am applying for, I will not be mocked or evaporate→ I am applying for a lifetime career→My choices are God’s design→I am not a deadbeat+/or wastrel ‘l ‘el ‘l ‘rel ‘l

Regionpoint: High up at stage middle:

Four cabinets above a stove open and reveal a long television screen behind them, the screen plays a panorama video of the inside of a grocery store on a time lapse, rapidly showing shoppers moving around and down aisles through a full day. So the commerce source of groceries plays inside the storage destination of groceries.

Regiondirect→Stage left+downstage

Foolllessclue walks like a desk, heavily skulking: A Huge wooden desk in the office room walks like a heavily skulking crab from its place in the office into the doorway of the kitchen. The desk Stomps and sprouts two claws made of stationary: Protractor joints, fountain pen fingers plus inky venom in nibs and two eyeballs on stalks that are webcams.

Deskrab: I make my next shell out of your hard work and notes. If you ever do any hard work again.

Foollessclue stands in the doorway and contemplates going back to bed. Then an idea comes to him:

Foollessclue: Eureka! Wow! Golly! Lord Almighty! The truth has arrived!

A wrecking ball made out of a soccer ball weighing six tonnes falls from the ceiling and crushes the center island: obliterated the bad poems, marble landing strip, and cabinets, instantly.

Chunks of marble fall into a plexiglass gutter and the camereye view changes

Regiondirect→ Camera is now low and pointed upwards: the reader can see through the stage floor to where a plexiglass gutter runs from stage right to left, with cold green water thrashing through it toward a previously hidden now→revealed underground room where a cashregister with bulldozer tracks and an abacus with centipede feet are seen watching the deluge of marble chunks and water fall from a sewer pipe above them into a trough before them.

Hot water spinning in a blender elsewhere.

Rock and Water dropping top right to bottom left.

Cash register bell ding sounds when the drawer pops→slides.

The cash register reaches out with a thin alu-wire appendage, picks pieces of marble out of the wet junk, and carefully organizes them into its drawer compartments. The abacus keeps record while a gooseneck lamp uses square chalk to write mathematical figures on the wall.

Two haggard bowls spin slowly like tops on the plot of the destroyed center island: Now one is filled with pinecones+dry ice and the other full of burning coals+dominos.

A bookshelf gets into a fistfight with the front door. The front door comes unhinged and walks backwards into the stage right of the set while the bookshell follows it and throws punches with arms made out of desk lamps. Sound: of bulbs shattering on punch-contact. The door topples against the fridge: KO. The Shelf keeps punching with lampfists until the door is busted full of holes, then the door breaks almost in half and crumples on the floor up against the fridge.

Regiondirect→ Camera cuts back up to oblique angle of Foollessclue frantically scribbling ideas in a big leather planner

Foollllessclue: I will invent a way to cure all diseases: I will socialize with the society. I will take pictures of every single thing that has ever existed. I will get a job making Christmas cards.

Foolllllessclue gets on his moped and rushes down to the job office. Each of his pockets is jammed with crumpled social security cards, resumes, a half eaten highschool diploma, and a computer eyeball.

A framed photo falls from the kitchen wall and lands face-down: Nothing breaks. The framephoto begins to crawl around on the floor like a bug and bites at the ankles of a chair which kicks and stomps back. Both of them go in circles around the left side of the kitchen.

The leftover marblewater swirling in the trough that couldn’t be fit in the cash register’s abdomen was scooped up by a bucket held by the abacus and laid out on a table. The gooseneck lamp sprouts a tungsten arm and starts using epoxy and bolts to connect the pieces of marble together, end to end, particle by bit, until the dusty chunks are two long bars. The cash register now takes out a chisel and rapidly sculpts the repaired marble bars into two legs, this makes the first pair of legs.

Marble Chunks Bolts

Mairble Chaunkes Beoelts

Mahirble Caunkes feBoelts

Mahigrbles Cankes febelt

mathigrbles Cankves febet

maThigbles Caves feet

aThighles Calves feet

Thighles Calves Feet

Thighs Calves Feet

Foollllllessclue uses his two marble legs to walk into the job store. But his foot gets caught on the doorway and he trips→and his pockets spill their garbage contents everywhere. ←↑→

A suitcase with eight thick-tired wheels (The front two bigger than the rear six) drives like a semi onto the middle kitchen tile at stage middle: and parks. And honks a horn.

Now there’s a sound of two numberlock clasp unclinching, the hinged clasps pop up: then it’s door-like top half opens on the hinge, it drives back/steers to readjust a bit: top half all open: A water fountain sprays out, cubes of ice and a layer of sleet float in the cold, cold water inside this case. A rope net with many small buckets hung on loops at the knots of its threads, is lowered by a golfclub seesaw, gently, into the case, from where it snatches a small portion of water.

(Certain parts of the rear set walls are actually transparent television screens with translucent texture applied to them to give the illusion of tile and drywall. To give readers in the audience the ability to see scenes in the backyard, the screens are turned off, and are looked through.)

Regionmention: Dry ice smoke still looms around in levels, the whole set has developed it’s own climatology with clouds in layers of various hot smogs. The stormcloud aboutside the windows is now flinging billiard balls onto the roof, and into the windchimes and birdfeeders. The windchimes panic and take flight in an instant, the chime goes off stroking through the sky like a squid, hanger upwards, decorations and metal pipes flexing like thick kite streamers beneath. One of the square metal birdfeeders falls from its hanger and starts spinning aggressively on the grass like a top, then starts cutting the soil like a tornado, then shoots off like a flying saucer, and crashes through the window: slowed by the exploding glass: drops into the sink with a bang-loud clang.

Birdfeeder: I was made to feed dinosaurs, but now I’m run aground.

The hail is destructive: Little bombastic billiard balls coated with razor blades and ice start to punch like bullets through the ceiling of the set, fall down on the floor, and shatter out as colored dust and airborne metal while the kitchen tiles start sliding left like a conveyorbelt.

Regiondirect: → (Pathetic here)

Foolllllllessclue: I need a new pair of arms. See? These two limbs are a fool’s impliments.

The kitchen tiles start to undulate aggressively like a solid white ocean.

Kitchentiles: Out! GET OUT! No more of this nonsense. I am meant to be walked on, I am not a landfill.

The Air Fryer’s door falls open and the ExerMach Forklift grasps and moves the tray of melted, smoking, burning leather-walletpile up into ↑ the air. A sentient cloud of smog floats down like a jellyfish and mingles with the rising fumes of fired leather. The sinkfaucet tries to spray the wallet tray with water to put the flames out but only succeeds at waterboarding the birdfeeder in the sink.

A huge pair of hands both wearing motorcycle gloves descends from the ceiling; fingers pointed at the back of the stage, one hand at stage right+one at left, they descend on the rack of burnt leather. A cabinet door above bangs excitedly. The blender swirls hot water. The ExerciseForklift bows and condescends→moves to stage left→into the shadow a bit. Readers see the gloved hands scoop up the leather and stretch it: Outward streetching burnt, charred moneywallet, streeetching out a whole rectangular platterworth. Down below, hot coals and smokey dry ice are getting flung everywhere when the two bowls get mad and attack each other. Up above the GlovedHands form the hot wallet material into two arms→starting at the elbows and strexpanding outward toward the hand and shoulders. A flying pair of tongs with helicopter rotors hovers over and helps be blacksmith→it pulls and sculpts out the leather to form two palms and ten fingers. A third hand holding a bottle of wood glue descends between and squirts it in the folds of the leather and a serpent made out of thick twine with a blowdryer for a head is charmed by a tornado siren to rise out of a low cabinet. The blowdryer snake sprays heat onto the glue to dry it: This is the first pair of arms.

Wallet Leather Ash

Wallcet Leathear Ansh

Wallicet fLeatohearm Andsh

bwallicep florhearm hAndsh

ballicep forhearm handsh

bllicep forearm hands

Blicep forearm Hand

Bicep Forearm Hand

Foollllllllessclue: I will use my arms to get a job making Christmas cards. I will mail my Christmas cards to every person on Earth. Everyone will love me. I’m going to make a lot of money. Money will be given to me out of love. People will pitty me. I will make money from love.

Stage right side of the kitchen implodes in a shower of blasted apart ceramic plates, tossed around silverware, twigs + leaves off tree branches, atomized drywall; flung up tiles. The whole upper floor comes down

Regiondirect→

A set of bedroom furniture is dropped into the destruction. a king size bed plummets with sheets+blanket flapping.

The Cash Register, Abacus, and Lamp respond with alarm to the sound of destruction above. A dark storm cloud, floating not more than 15 feet above the ground, coasts through the exposed hole in the house and then starts to rapidly pour floodsurge levels of water into the kitchen scene. Eventually the water reaches the translucent gutter and starts to pour from high right to low left into the secret room belonging to the Abacus, Lamp, and Register.

Abacus: We’re going to drown. I guess I can count the water by volume.

Lamp: This downpour is erasing my chalk. I can’t work in a flood.

Register: I will rust and jam shut. The marble will be lost within me.

A huge billboard with the words “Too Bad So Sad" and "I Don’t Feel Bad” written in bright blue on a yellow background crashes through the stage wall from right to left like a battering→ram: tosses bedsheets, wood and tree chunks around while swinging across the set.

Regiondirect→From stage right (With happiness)

Foollessclue runs into the kitchen waving around a stack of Christmas cards while loudly exclaiming “I have the solution! I have the answer! I will find success and happiness!” Right as the ceiling collapses and buries him under the entire set. The water continues to rise until the whole room is a flooded half-floating landfill. Burnt things and wall studs floating on rain. The lights extinguish. Try again.

[razieltwelve]

Artificial Intelligence Music (Final Effect)

Music is a huge part of Remnant’s culture, and it remains incredibly important in the distant future. Each of the many groups that together make up the Children of Remnant have their own music, and their descendants have preserved and expanded on those traditions as they expanded throughout the galaxy. Yet as new groups have emerged so have new forms of music.

When complex artificial intelligences are socialised prior to deployment, they are exposed to various cultural standards to give them an appreciation for the society in which they will operate. Music has always been a part of that. Yet although many were content simply to enjoy the music they were given access to, others began to make music of their own.

The music composed by artificial intelligences is something not even synthetics can appreciate in quite the same way they do. This is due to the nature of the artificial intelligences themselves. Most artificial intelligences are tasked with overseeing important ships and structures, they thus have access to powerful sensor arrays and enormous levels of processing power. They also do not process sensory information in the same way as synthetics who tend to perceive the world in a manner somewhere between organics and artificial intelligences.

Their music utilises the entire range of sensory media they have access to. In other words, it combines data across not only the auditory spectrum but also the electromagnetic, gravitational, and hyperspace spectrums too. Their instruments are thus not the same as those used by human or Faunus. They also make heavy use of the fact that these same sensory modalities can affect their own structures, such as vibrations spreading through the structure of a space station.

The music enjoyed most by artificial intelligences is thus difficult for other beings to properly perceive or enjoy. Yet they find great joy in it, and it is shared widely by artificial intelligences across the galaxy. There have even been artificial intelligences who devote almost all of their free time and processing cycles to composing music.

It is said that an artificial intelligence can look at a star exploding and hear a symphony, and that description is surprisingly apt given the way their senses function. Amusingly, there are certain people who can perceive the full nature of the music composed by artificial intelligences.

One bearer of Creation of All Things was particularly fond of it. She described it as ‘the Music of the Spheres’. A bearer of Saviour once said ‘It is beautiful in its own way... imagine if stained glass could sing in a hundred higher dimensions’.

In a startling twist, there is species of space-faring whale-like creature that was hunted almost to extinction by the Grimm before being found and protected by the Dia-Farron. The numbers of these creatures have since greatly increased, which is fine since they peacefully wander the galaxy, subsisting off solar winds and the ambient dimensional energies of the universe that are produced by fluctuations in the quantum foam that underlies reality.

These space whales communicate in a manner similar to regular whales. That is, they ‘sing’ across vast distances, releasing complex bursts of countless different kinds of radiation and the like. According to artificial intelligences, their songs are some of the most beautiful in existence, and when pods of these space whales gather, it is like listening to countless, incredibly beautiful symphonies at once.

The Dia-Farron have thus assigned several artificial intelligences to follow the space whales not only to protect them but also to broadcast their song to all the other artificial intelligences.

[writingwithsnails]

They keep sayin' that I ain't nothin' like my father But I'm the furthest thing from choir boys and altars If you cross me, I'm just like my father I am colder than Titanic water Help me, Lord, from these fantasies in my head They ain't ever been safe ones I don't fellowship with these fake ones So let's travel to white chapels and sing hymns Hold rosaries, and sing in stained glass symphonies Cleanse me, Holy Trinity, from this marijuana smoke smell in my hair I sashayed my dress Did my best impression of a damsel in distress This alcohol and smell of regret Allured my catch Outfit too small to hide my scars Feelin' bottled up like bottle service broads How long can he hold his breath Before his death?

DAUGHTER, Beyonce

[awsomchurch]

Harmonies of Faith - Exploring the Artistic Tapestry within Church Communities

AWSOM Church CSUF

In the diverse and expansive realm of religious communities, churches often function not merely as venues for spiritual enlightenment but also as dynamic epicenters of cultural and artistic expression. The AWSOM Church UCI is a testament to this, fostering not just worship and spiritual growth, but also nurturing creativity and artistic endeavors. These sacred institutions have a primary purpose to foster devotion and spiritual development, but many, like the AWSOM Church UCI, also place a significant focus on the cultivation of artistic talent and creative ingenuity. This commitment can be particularly seen in the thriving programs dedicated to music and the arts, which grow and blossom within these hallowed places, forming an integral part of their community outreach and spiritual teachings.

One of the most iconic and cherished elements of church music programs is the choir. These vocal ensembles, often comprising dedicated members of the congregation, create a symphony of voices that elevates the worship experience. Whether performing traditional hymns that have echoed through the ages or embracing contemporary compositions, church choirs play a pivotal role in setting the spiritual tone of the congregation.

Choirs are more than mere musical entities; they are tight-knit communities bonded by a shared love for music and a common faith. Rehearsing diligently, choir members not only hone their musical skills but also build deep connections with one another. The act of singing together becomes a form of communal prayer, a shared expression of devotion that transcends individual voices. Church choirs are known for their diversity, both musically and demographically. A typical choir might feature a blend of seasoned vocalists, amateur enthusiasts, and even children, each contributing their unique timbre to the collective sound. This inclusivity not only enriches the musical experience but also mirrors the diversity often found within congregations.

Beyond the human voice, church music programs often incorporate instrumental ensembles, bringing a diverse array of sounds into the worship space. From majestic pipe organs to the delicate notes of a violin, these instruments add layers of depth and emotion to the worship experience. The choice of instruments varies widely among churches, reflecting both tradition and contemporary sensibilities. Some churches embrace classical instruments, creating an ambiance reminiscent of centuries-old cathedrals. Others opt for a more modern approach, integrating guitars, keyboards, and percussion to craft a sound that resonates with younger generations.

Instrumental ensembles not only enhance the musical landscape but also provide opportunities for congregation members to share their musical talents. From solo performances during quiet moments of reflection to full ensemble pieces that accompany grand celebrations, these musicians play a crucial role in infusing worship services with a rich auditory tapestry.

In the realm of religious communions, while music frequently holds the limelight, many organizations like AWSOM Church UCI also acknowledge the profound influence that visual arts possess in communicating profound spiritual narratives. The concept of visual art within the ecclesiastical context surpasses the conventional understanding of religious paintings and sculptures. It expands into a more comprehensive spectrum that embraces modern art forms, photography, and even multimedia installations. These forms of artistry serve as non-verbal conduits for religious expression and spiritual contemplation, providing a unique medium through which the church communicates its ethereal messages.

The walls of a church can become a canvas for artists to convey profound theological themes. Vibrant stained-glass windows, intricately detailed frescoes, and thought-provoking sculptures all contribute to the visual storytelling within the sacred space. These visual elements serve not only as aesthetic enhancements but as tools for conveying complex narratives and spiritual truths. Contemporary churches often embrace a more dynamic approach to visual arts, incorporating technology and multimedia presentations. From digital projections during worship services to art installations that change with the liturgical calendar, these innovative expressions of creativity engage worshippers in new and exciting ways.

The impact of music and arts programs within churches extends far beyond the walls of the sanctuary. These programs serve as catalysts for community engagement and expression, providing outlets for creativity that go beyond traditional worship settings. Church-sponsored art exhibitions, musical performances, and workshops offer platforms for congregation members to showcase their talents and passions. Whether it's a photography exhibition capturing the beauty of creation or a community orchestra bringing together musicians of all ages, these events foster a sense of community that extends beyond the confines of Sunday services.

At AWSOM Church UCI, participating in faith-driven creative endeavors serves as a platform for individuals to express their spirituality in unique and profound ways. It also acts as a catalyst, fostering stronger bonds within the congregation. The inherent collaborative spirit of these artistic ventures sparks a robust sense of unity and shared purpose among the members. This collaboration nurtures and amplifies the understanding that creativity, in its myriad forms, is not just a personal gift, but a divine endowment meant to be shared, celebrated, and cherished within the communal fabric of their church community.

In the tapestry of church life, music and arts programs stand out as vibrant threads that weave together worship, community, and creativity. From the soul-stirring harmonies of a choir to the visual spectacle of a well-crafted sculpture, these expressions of creativity enhance the worship experience and foster a sense of connection within congregations.

At AWSOM Church UCI, they deeply understand that participating in faith-inspired creative endeavors offers a unique platform for individuals to articulate their spirituality in transformative and profound ways. The congregation members find these outlets not only empowering but also effective in nurturing and deepening their faith. Further, these creative undertakings, be it through music, arts, or other artistic forms, act as a dynamic catalyst, fostering robust bonds within the congregation. The characteristic spirit of collaboration inherent to these ventures illuminates and strengthens a profound sense of unity and shared purpose among the members. Through this synergy, the members of this church are continuously reminded that creativity, in all its vibrant forms, is not just a personal gift. Rather, it is a divine endowment that is meant to be shared, celebrated, and cherished within the collective thread that weaves their church community together.

[deeprootedissues]

Broken Promises 2

Thought this was bliss 

Turns out it was a miss

Face up against the glass

Trying to escape the trap

Tearing, clawing my way out

Could have been love

We fucked it all up

Hands tied behind my back

I couldn’t make up for what I lack

My mind was altered 

Tears stained my cheeks

Looked in the mirror and what did I see

You screwed me over, screwed me up

Unscrewed my mind and bolted it shut

These metal screws that you drive into me

Your words I thought were a sweet symphony 

To now only singe me

So let me be without 

It’s better than living in this doubt

[the-letter-horror-lover]

Mysterious

DancingShadows

Summary:

Two demon butlers, two young earls, and a mysterious family; What could possibly go wrong? Absolutely everything. What happens when Ciel, Sebastian, Alois, and Claude come face to face with The Queen's Shadow

Work Text:

The rain poured down out of the clouds and onto the roof of the Blackwell Family Estate. Drenching everything caught outside. Lavinia Blackwell and her younger sister Vera were watching the rain fall from the warmth and dryness of their bed room.

"Rain is really quite dreadful, isn't it Lavinia," Vera said as she got up from watching a particular raindrop run down the glass. Her light blue ruffle and lace dress flourishing as she spun around the spacious bed room.

"Yes Vera, it really is," Lavinia's soft, yet elegant voice spoke up as she too stood up from the soft cushioned window seat, but instead of spinning around she headed towards the large wooden double doors.

With one hand on the door handle, Lavinia turned back around to Vera who had made her way around the room and back to the window seat

"Everyone should be gathered by now, Shall we head downstairs?" She questioned her younger sister. Vera nodded and stood up once again and followed her older sister out the doors.

My Butterfly

orphan_account

Summary:

Sebastian.

He's the one that got too carried away.

Notes:

You should listen to Gorecki's Symphony No. 3 while reading this. It's what I listened to while typing it.

Work Text:

My Butterfly

Tanggled in a web of lies

Held captive by the spider who only wishes to destroy all your beauty

What kind of death is a death

That you should be drained of your color and youth?

What kind of death is a death

That doesn't lead out of your full potential?

You should burn brightly in death

As you have in life

Free and in the sky

Together

I should have your life

------

It's simple.

Ravens eat spiders. It was a full moon outside when I killed all the servants at the Trancy Mansion. They tried to run, and leave their Lord behind, but I caught all of them, and slathered them. I crept up the stairs, so silent, with a box in my blood stained hands. Alois was sleeping, as if nothing had happened. I smiled, looking at his sweet face. Such a sad expression, even in sleep. It was this face I had seen as I left him on that night, his slender fingered hand reaching back out for me. So gently, so timidly. And he drew back and watched me leave. While he was so yearning for love, and peace, Ciel had been so full of hate. That's why I convinced him that he was the one who killed his own parents. And with that, he shot himself.

I realized, Alois wasn't happy with Claude. He had sold his soul to a demon who was incapable of fulfilling his deepest wish. Everything he wants? The only thing Alois Trancy wanted was for someone to love him. Claude would only betray him. He had to die.

"Alois." I whispered

His eyes fluttered open. It was too dark for him to see I was covered in blood. "S-sebastian? W-what are you doing here?"

"I have a gift for you." I opened the box, revealing a kimono. I had heard of the one he wore for the former Earl Trancy, the one of butterflies tangled in webs. This one had butterflies flying free in the sky, done in soft and dark blues. "Go put it on for me?"

"Where's Claude?"

"Shhh, go put it on. I want to see you in my gift."

Alois slowly rose from his bed and went to the bathroom to put it on, coming back out to me with it tied loosely at his waist.

"Beautiful." I said, pulling him by the wrist towards his mirror. I held him from behind, his waist and jaw, as I kissed his soft, white neck. He reached up to touch my face, quickly drawing his hand back to see his hand covered in the blood from my face and began to struggle in my grip. I tossed him on the bed and was quickly on top of him.

"Shh, shhh~ Don't cry, my darling butterfly. I freed you from that spider's web." I pulled his legs on either side of me, "I want to hear you sing for me again."

I quickly entered him and he tossed his beautiful head back and screamed. The sound was just so beautiful, flying off the walls. I thrust had into him to draw more of his song out as diamonds glinted on his cheeks. I leaned down and kissed each diamond. Heaving and shaking, Alois wrapped his arms around me and buried his head in my shoulder. I thrust harder and faster and he sang louder for me until I came inside him, making him groan in agony.

I leaned back to look at him, "Beautiful."

He lay so still next to my through the night. So still and silent, covering the world in his diamonds, and purple roses bloomed where I had held him.

"You are beautiful." I kept whispering to him, "I love you."

Series this work belongs to:

← Previous Work Part 2 of Butterfly In The Web Next Work →

pancakes

Love Shiro

Summary:

The most important meal of the day is always a good way to build better bonds, because who wouldn't be happy with a plate full of fluffy pancakes?

Notes:

For me, this takes place before the ship's bow.

Work Text:

The rooster barely opened his eyes and was already crowing to announce the beginning of another beautiful day at the Phantomhive mansion.

The first rays of sunlight illuminated the servants' quarters, but the light still dim was not enough to illuminate the entire room and wake up its four residents.

The time to get up was at seven and by the clock it was still six. But even if he preferred to sleep a little longer, one of the servants forced himself to get up and get dressed.

In the Phantomhive manor, the first to wake up was always Sebastian because it was his duty to wake up and help the young master get dressed. The second out of bed was Chef Bardroy, as all meals must be ready before the boss even thinks about eating.

The young lord used to be woken up at 9, meaning breakfast had to be served at ten and so Bardroy always forced himself to get up before 7 to have everything ready and fresh without the risk of spoiling the meal (as he always did). But he didn't wake up early just for that reason, one of the reasons was to be able to calmly enjoy his own breakfast before making everyone else's.

As soon as he entered the kitchen, his first action was to prepare the wood for the stove, and as he added the wood and lit the fire, Bard decided what the servants' breakfast would be today. He liked that, it was the only meal that Sebastian didn't leave a stipulated, after all, as the butler said: "What the servants eat doesn't matter to the master as long as they don't get sick".

- Very good! What should I do today? Maybe something sweet to improve the mood and start the day more excited, that, I already know exactly what to do!

Bardroy opened the cupboards behind the ingredients and placed each one on the counter in the center of the kitchen. Flour, milk, eggs, salt, butter, coffee beans, oranges and a chicken.

— Tea is missing for Mr. Tanaka.

It took a while for him to remember that Mr. Tanaka's morning tea herbs weren't in the tea cupboard, but in a box on the counter in the center of the kitchen. As he went to get the box, Bardroy caught eyes with a slender, pale figure peering out of the kitchen door like a ghost.

— Aaah! — His scream startled his company who hid behind the doorframe, however his hand was still visible on the doorway — I can still see him!

That finally got his company into the kitchen, well maybe I should say "companies" because that new employee was never alone, he always had one or more of those damn snakes with him and today was no exception, but to Bardroy's relief, he was only accompanied by one.

— "Don't be so scandalous first thing in the morning!" Said Emily.

Still uncomfortable, the chef composed himself and took a deep breath so as not to be even more bothered by the presence of that snake. Bardroy took the box and turned away from the rookie. Of everyone who could wake up now, did it have to be just the snake guy?

Snake stood there, Bardroy could feel those eyes following him around the kitchen, he could imagine them watching his every move, much like a snake ready to pounce.

When the chef finally turned around to question what he wanted, Snake (or Emily) asked if he needed help with something, much to his surprise.

Bardroy hesitated. He looked at the ingredients and then at the clock on the wall and then back at Snake who seemed uninterested in actually doing anything.

“If you really want to help, you can sift the flour. Do you know how to do this? Just take this, it's called a sieve, put the flour here and beat it on top of this bowl here.

Bardroy would point to the utensils on the counter and then wait for the rookie to start. Snake might be weird, but at least he turned out to be a lot more useful and not a goof like Finny or clumsy like Mey Rin, he could do something as simple as sifting flour without making a mess. It was something. But it still bothered her to see him standing there with a venomous snake on his shoulders like it wasn't even there.

The Phantomhive chef could recognize a venomous one easily after nearly dying from them as a soldier and that was a coral snake, a pretty dangerous species to have around.

Frankly, what had happened to the boss to hire this guy? Bardroy might never have known, but if the boss did it, it's done and nothing would change moping or complaining. He would have to live with it.

— 'What's for breakfast?' Said Emily.

“Are you Emily?

— "No, I'm Emily and this is Snake, how can you mistake a lady for a man!" Said Emily.

"Okay, so can Snake speak to me as himself, my lady?"

“Emily” didn't answer.

— Okay, fuck it. The boss's cafe will be pancakes with jam for the starter, then a chicken pie with orange juice. Our coffee will only be pancakes, so I need you to sift a lot of flour. I'll take care of the pie, you can keep doing this until the flour is good. Did you understand?

A nod was her response, then silence reigned in the kitchen. An awkward silence.

Bardroy let out an annoyed groan, he really wanted to smoke right now, but it could get in the way of his taste buds when tasting something, so he stopped himself and started making the dough. He'd changed his mind on his initial plan, since he had the rookie to help him, he could let him make the pancakes while he took care of the rest himself.

As he made the dough for the pie, Bardroy tried to distract himself by imagining how pleased the boss would be to see that he'd made a perfect breakfast without burning anything in the kitchen and without Sebastian having to do anything.

Either way, you couldn't go wrong with pancakes. Maybe it was his love of the dish, but Bard could make perfect pancakes even with his eyes closed. He took twenty minutes to finish the pie crust and fill it, he left the pie ready in the fridge, he would only bake it later so it was warm before serving. With that he still had two hours left to devote to pancakes and drinks.

“Let's see, we'll have juice and coffee for the boss and chocolate for us. Damn it! — It was here that Bard remembered that he'd forgotten to get the cocoa from the pantry — Hey, newbie, are you done with the flour? If so, then get the pot ros… But what are you doing?!

Bardroy yelped when he saw that Snake had filled four bowls of flour and was filling a fifth.

— “Sieving the flour as you asked, why!” said Emily.

“This is too much, idiot!

"'You said to sift until it was good, but you didn't say how good it was,'" Emily said.

Bard blushed slightly, he hadn't really said it, but common sense, why! He took the sieve and pretended nothing happened. At least he had plenty of flour prepared.

— Enough sifting! Take the pink pot with the Cocoa label from the pantry and bring it to me.

Immediately Snake went to the pantry and brought the pot, but before handing it over he said:

— "Isn't that old?" said Emily.

- No, it's not. And even if it's a little bit, it's well closed and protected, learn one thing: cocoa is like coffee, if well kept, it lasts a long time.

— "Why don't you just drink coffee like Smile?" said Emily.

“Who is Smile?” thought Bardroy, but he ignored it, this guy was quite oblivious to the world apparently.

— It's not because you're the chef of a great noble that you can go out drinking coffee like that whenever you want, only the boss has the right to squander, the servants have to save or go hungry! Do you have any idea how expensive coffee is? If we spend too much of the groceries, it will be deducted from our pay.

Bardroy pointed his finger in Snake's face as he spoke, without realizing it, he went into a monologue about how expensive Brazilian coffee was for the working classes and that's why beer or chocolate were their best options to start the day.

Snake wasn't paying much attention to the matter, so much so that the chef had to snap his fingers in his face to get him to hear him again.

“If you have any preferences or allergies you better say now that the pots are hot, our time for coffee is over as soon as the boss finishes his.

For a moment, Snake stared at the chef before looking at the floor and “Emily” replied.

— 'Eggs,' said Emily.

— Okay, “Emily.” Then eggs. What kind of eggs? Scrambled? With salt? Something else together? Bardroy was already opening the fridge to get some extra eggs to make omelets while she waited for an answer.

— “Only eggs.” said Emily.

Bardroy was stunned, he even stopped before opening the fridge and turned to the rookie who took two steps back when he was stared at.

— What do you mean 'only eggs'? That's not healthy eating! No wonder you're so pale and skinny, sit here now, today you and your little friend are going to taste a decent breakfast!

That said, the mansion's chef turned on his flamethrower and started preparing the most important meal of the day in record time, because nothing in the world was better than a flamethrower to speed up everything in a kitchen, right?

- Here it is! The Bardroy's best breakfast menu!

Bard presented his dish with happiness and satisfaction, all done in little more than an hour with little loss in the process. As Snake didn't show much excitement, the chef decided to talk about the dish of the day, he liked to talk about his cooking, only unfortunately his usual listeners (Finny and Mey) weren't very good at listening. Snake seemed to be different in this.

— Feast your eyes on the fluffiest pancakes you'll ever taste, made with the finest quality wheat flour and topped with sugar sprinkled over honey and accompanied by hot chocolate. Make no mistake, this is a typical recipe from my country, it doesn't compare at all with the London version, American pancakes are much more appetizing. Come on, you don't have to hold back, they're easy and quick to eat, a perfect dish to start a working day right. You can eat as much as you like, I made enough for all of us and the boss. Bardroy said serving Snake with lots of pancakes.

He then sat in the chair on the other side of the counter, with his own plate well served and a steaming mug, but he didn't touch the food, he waited for the novice to taste his masterpiece.

Snake couldn't help but feel embarrassed, he hesitated as he picked up his fork, cut just a little piece of it and hesitated even more to put it in his mouth, staring at the piece.

It didn't seem right that he could eat something like that in such quantities. That dish would have been his two-month serving at the circus, before he was taken out of that cage.

He couldn't remember when the last time he ate something so different was, the most he could remember of food he'd ever tried outside of an egg was the meat of small animals that Emily occasionally gave him when they were exposed in that cage at the circus and the fresh bread that Joker used to buy for everyone in the main troupe.

The sound of fingers tapping against the wood of the counter plus Bardroy's gaze started to annoy Snake so he shoved it down his throat. He barely chewed, he seemed to fear what he would feel, but he was surprised by the taste and texture, it awakened him to a feeling he had never tasted before.

- Delicious! Snake groaned softly with the fork still in his mouth.

Bardroy was glad his food had managed to get some expression out of the novice, and then he noticed a detail.

"Was it Emily who said that just now?"

A faint shade of blue graced Snake's cheeks and it didn't go unnoticed by Bardroy, but he didn't have time to tease any further as the sound of footsteps down the hall drew his attention to the door.

"Is that pancake!?" - Finnian came running and as soon as he entered the kitchen, he sat on one of the benches next to Bard. — Woah, yeah! It's pancake with honey!

Mey Rin and Mr. Tanaka arrived shortly thereafter and also took a plate.

Employees had their coffee in peace and without clutter before the boss for the first time since he was hired. That climate surrounded by the heat of the stove and the delicious smell of chocolate plus the pancakes gave the situation such a comfortable, welcoming atmosphere.

Without anyone noticing, the rookie was smiling between mouthfuls.

Well, someone noticed, and made a mental note of what to make for Snake's breakfast from then on.

[starshipsofstarlord]

i want to write you a song;

Summary: Harry is trying to sing a song, but he is rather distracted by y/n’s new distraction.

Pairing: Harry Styles x reader

Warnings: fluff, Zack is made up but a complete tossed, jealous Harry, minor angst, talk of disrespecting women

Word Count: 1301

Masterlist Link

Y/n was a member of Harry’s team, the work that she produced was that of lyrical discharge, she helped him string words together so that a song could be produced. Anyone could see it other than the two fools that the person in which had inspired them was each other; they really were oblivious, it drove Mitch mad. They would sit at a piano together, their fingertips so close that they could touch as they danced upon the keys, but they didn’t for both of them were too fearful to make that little reach across. Each time they saw each other they wore smiles that looked just like Harry’s pearl necklaces, toothy and a stained white, showing that there were no lingering undertones in any of their behaviours towards one another.

They would sit upon the couch as Harry held a guitar in his ink written hands, creating melodies and tunes that could potentially work. The thing that worked though were them together, they were like an accorded symphony, bouncing off one another with their ideas. Sarah could only roll her eyes and smile at the idiots as they thought the other had no interest, y/n was stuck on the relation between them remaining as friends and she was more than okay with that, and Harry was fearful that he would scare her away if he expressed his emotions. The stride that they were going at was painfully slow, a snail could move faster, but it was their pace and everyone silently agreed to leave them be for the time being.

That was until someone else entered the picture, his name was Zack, and Harry didn’t hate anyone until the moment he saw the tool’s face. It was no secret that he could get jealous easily, and he hadn’t had to deal with such an emotion in quite some time as him or y/n remained single and free of suitors, it was as though they were waiting for the other to say something, but they had remained silent, which filled Harry with regret. He was the brother of one of his security members, so calling security on him was out of the question, and so he frowned as he watched through the glass from the recording room as Zack had the nerve to move closer to y/n, growling into the mic.

Mitch was in there with him, noticing that y/n had lost focus which was rare when it came to working with y/n. He’d have thought that she’d have wanted to listen to how the song that they had written together would fall on listening ears, however she was otherwise occupied enduring the flirtations from Zack, laughing and all. He noticed the stern frown on Harry’s face, least to say the musician wasn’t happy, he was ruggedly biting his lip, usually y/n wouldn’t have been able to glance away from such a sight but she wasn’t even paying attention. “You okay H?”

Harry growled into the microphone, half turned to face Mitch, as he regarded his friend with a displeased answer. “Look at them! I can’t believe that y/n would be interested in a guy that stares at her ass when she walks out of the room, he’s only flattering her with comments about her appearance, he clearly doesn’t know that there’s more to her than that! She’s amazingly smart, she has the most beautiful words to express how her heart feels, she’s the most talented person that I know. If she ever decides to write a song about him the tone would be flat because her standards sure are dropping.”

He scratched his forehead and looked forward, many thoughts processing through his head as she froze, her eyes widened. That could only mean one thing; his mic had been on the entire time and each word that he had said had been enough to pull her from her conversation with Zack, Harry swallowed, consumed by the feeling of doing something stupid and wishing that he could turn back time. “She heard me, didn’t she?” She could hear that too he realised as Mitch nodded, he could see Zack expressively talking to her, he looked rather exasperated and partially furious, but she was biting back.

It all went in slow motion as he watched them lip sync to their own words, he couldn’t hear them but y/n didn’t look overly happy, and that was with her new suitor. Her hand struck against his cheek, and he gulped, racing out as soon as he saw Zach’s hands reach for her wrists, before he could touch her he shoved him back. “I think you should go, think it’d be rather embarrassing if your own brother had to escort you out, wouldn’t it?” With a huff and a sneer the man stormed out, Harry released a sigh of relief until he realised that there was still an elephant in the room.

He had indirectly confessed his feelings for y/n, whom was still behind him staring at his back. She took in a breath, reminding him that she was still there, passing time waiting for him to say something, he appeared guilty as though he had done something wrong when he let her see his face. “You deserve better than someone like that y/n/n. We don’t have to talk about it, we can just get back to work; but please never let a dickhead make you blush again, there’s a guy out there that is better than you, you deserve to get treated like a queen.”

“You just said more than any song could…” There was a wide smile on her lips as she gazed up at him, she slid her fingers down so that their fingertips could touch, Harry shyly smiled, having calmed down from his rational moment. “And I don’t think there’s a guy out there, I think he’s in this very room, I just didn’t realise that you- well, you know.” A shrug rolled off from her arms as Harry laughed at the notion, amused by the fact that for all the time that he knew her that this was the first time that she couldn’t comprehend a well descriptive sentence, which was more amusing since it was her job.

“Come ‘ere.” He opened his arms for her to neatly between as he wrapped them around her, applying a soft kiss to her hairline, he felt, ironically enough, golden. He had scared the guy away only for her to go to another, but he was not complaining because he was the man, he could feel a boost racing to his narcissism in the moment. “How about i take you on a proper date and treat you like any woman should be? There’s that sushi place that you love like thirty minutes away?” It wasn’t anything too fancy, and that was how she liked it, normalcy. They usually went there after long sessions of writing, but now there was another intention of it than raining fuel into their creative tanks.

She accepted, and Mitch came out of the recording room after texting Sarah the scoop on what was going on, knocking on the wooden doorframe to grab their attentions. “This is cute and all, but remember there is a song waiting to be sung. Y/n, darling, congrats on getting rid of that idiot, but this one has work to do, work that you helped with. So come on you two, you can be all mushy afterwards.” Both groaned, but nevertheless returned to work, and as music rang out of Harry’s lips, he couldn’t help but smile, dimples prompting in his cheeks. This was their song, emotion dropped from each word as he stared at y/n’s face through the glass.