#icelandic hymn

[eye-of-the-purricane]

Árstíðir - Heyr himna smiður

Icelandic hymn, recorded at Wuppertal, train station.

The hymn "Heyr, himna smiður" was written by the Icelandic viking Kolbeinn Tumason in 1208. The music was composed in the 1970s by Þorkell Sigurbjörnsson (1938-2013), one of Iceland's foremost contemporary composers. We performed this impromptu at the train station in Wuppertal, Germany, on September 15, 2013. We had just finished playing a regular concert in an adjacent music venue and we're hanging out with our listeners after the show when we discovered the amazing acoustics inside the train station hall.

[unicornbeck]

You may remember this song from a train station in Germany in 2913. That’s haunted me for a decade, but this may be my new favorite version. Cheers

[aurora-daily]

AURORA hosting Tearjerker on BBC Sounds!

On the first episode called "The First Tear" she "shares a playlist of nostalgic songs from her younger years that have provided solace and comfort, from the first songs she cried to, to the music she still uses for support today. Featuring pieces from Chopin, The Chemical Brothers and Nick Drake." [link 1]

Tracklist of the episode 1:

Prélude in D Flat Major (Raindrop), Op. 28, No. 15 by Frédéric Chopin

The Brothel by Susanne Sundfør

Sofia (feat. AURORA & iris) by Askjell

Hanna's Theme by The Chemical Brothers

The World Spins by Julee Cruise

Adoration by Florence Price

Anthem for No State, Pt. I by Godspeed You! Black Emperor

This Woman's Work by Kate Bush

Lump Sum by Bon Iver

That Home by The Cinematic Orchestra

Après un rêve, Op. 7, No. 1 (Arr. for Cello and Piano) by Gabriel Fauré

Tchaikovsky: The Nutcracker, Op. 71, Act II: No. 14c, Pas de deux. Variation II Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy

Landslide by Fleetwood Mac

Three Hours by Nick Drake

Suzanne by Leonard Cohen

The second episode called "Songs for the lonely" AURORA curates "a playlist to make you feel less alone. Featuring music from Erik Satie, Radiohead and Anna Clyne. Plus Aurora has a listener submission for the "Song That Saves Me"", as "It’s hard to be a human today. Somehow we can all feel lonely with the weight of the whole world on our shoulders, but music has the power to make us feel less alone." [link 2]

Tracklist of the episode 2:

Where Life and Death May Dwell (Icelandic Folk Song) - Upright Piano by Snorri Sigfús Birgisson

Gnossienne No.1: Lent by Erik Satie

Lover, Where Do You Live? by Highasakite

To Speak Of Solitude by Brambles

Hymn for Khadija by Anna Yarbrough

Exit Music (For A Film) by Radiohead

The Armed Man - A Mass For Peace: XII. Benedictus by Karl Jenkins

Fólk fær andlit by Hildur Guðnadóttir

Spiegel im spiegel by Arvo Pärt

It's Hard to Be Human (feat. Marissa Nadler) by Lawrence Rothman

Streymir (Voiceless) by Gabríel Ólafs

Tell Me About It by Thea Wang

Hoppípolla by Sigur Rós

The third episode "Beautiful sounds for human connection" celebrates the power of music that connects and brings us together: "Humans have always sung. Music is a natural part of us, and it has always been. Since the first sorrows, we sang to release the pain. And from the first births, we sang to celebrate. Music connects us. And when we sing together, and experience music together, we truly reconnect to a part of ourselves we were dangerously close to forgetting. In this week's episode of Tearjerker, Aurora celebrates the music that brings us together with pieces from The Staves, Clara Schumann and Astrid Sonne. Plus, Aurora has a listener submission for the 'Song That Saves Me'." [link 3]

Tracklist of the episode 3:

Journey to the End of the Night by Lisa Morgenstern

Down To The River To Pray by Alison Krauss

Love Is Colder Than Death by Questo Mostrarsi

momentary - choir version by Ólafur Arnalds & VOCES8

Whitacre: Lux Aurumque by Eric Whitacre

No Me, No You, No More by The Staves

happiness by Taylor Swift

cellophane by FKA twigs

Boadicea by Enya

Kiuá by Andréa Daltro

Io by Miyako Koda

Hide and Seek by Imogen Heap

Soirées musicales, Op. 6: II. Notturno. Andante con moto (Version for Harp) by Clara Schumann

Strong, Calm, Slow by Astrid Sonne

[arleniansdoodles]

Atreus and Angrboda from my post-Ragnarok AU, with an ambience inspired by the medieval Icelandic hymn, “Heyr himna smiður.” Admittedly, they look a bit older than they are in the AU loll so let’s just chalk it up to their Giant genes!

These two are definitely endgame in my story, but they’re also kinda going at a slow pace with their romance, since neither of them are experienced in this field. Not even Mimir’s lessons on how to “woo” have gotten Atreus far, because those customs don’t work with Angrboda (like giving her a flower)! So Atreus had to start all over again with learning how the Giants court each other XDD

For this pose study, I referenced pictures from Shakespeare’s play, Cymbeline, performed in 2007 starring Tom Hiddleston and Jodie McNee.

(Edit: I added in Atreus’ neck tattoo! I can’t believe I forgot to include it T_T)

[gosmigenergy]

FEELS LIKE CHRISTMAS / Maxwell Lord (Lorenzano) x F! Reader

Summary: Celebrating Christmas for the first time with Maxwell.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Mostly holiday fluff but turns explicit, holiday stress, mentions of family, mentions of Christmases alone, mentions of food, drinking, sixty-nine dude, oral - male receiving, oral - female receiving, P in V, unprotected sex (use protection irl please), language, no use of Y/N

Word Count: 5.9k

Author’s Notes: I did plan on making some continuous fics about Bunny and the Boys but I work in retail, have just come back from Iceland (panini delayed holiday) and I’m going to Norway to visit my sister over Christmas. When I was considering what to do because I really wanted to post something, I found this unfinished Maxwell Lorenzano seasonal story hidden away on my computer.

Anyway, enjoy!

You normally loved the season, you basked in multicoloured lights, engulfed by the smell of roasting chestnuts, ears ringing with the constant playing of hymns and cheesy pop songs.

However this was the first year you and Maxwell chose to celebrate Christmas, with him came Alistair and with him came the pressure of presents. For Maxwell, they had to be perfect even though he wasn’t loaded with fake Black Gold money, he had to give his son what he never had, the one gift every kid was asking for.

The Ghostbusters Firehouse was proving to be one of the most desired toys of the season, it had been since Halloween.

Alistair had dressed as one for the school disco, you’d found a jumpsuit and dyed it brown, found an embroiderer who made the name tag and spent hours building a Proton Pack from cardboard boxes. All that effort was worth it, to see that kid running up the steps with several other Ghostbusters in similar attire, be it triple the price.

“I love you,” Maxwell said, beaming with a lopsided grin and tears framing his eyes.

In that moment, you felt a warmth that you’d never quite felt before, one that was reflective of a proud parent.

You didn’t feel that right now.

After hours of following the herd, going into what felt like every toy shop in DC and coming out empty handed each time, you broke.

“Alistair is back in two and a half hours, I just want to go home,” you cried. You were literally crying on a bench, cheeks hot with the freezing air.

Maxwell’s smile had disappeared long ago, replaced with a straight line.

“Fine.”

He huffed into the space next to you.

The bus ride home was quiet, Maxwell keeping his emotions to himself, his grip tight on the shopping bags. You’re grateful as the tension seemed to drop a little when you rest your head on his shoulder.

“Please talk to me.”

The pair of you had finally stripped yourselves of your winter accessories and coats, abandoning the gifts in your bedroom to stop prying eyes, yet neither of you had said a word.

“What’s there to talk about? I’m a shit father who couldn’t get a present for his son.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

“Maxwell Lorenzano,” you walk to him and place your hands on his cheeks so he couldn’t look away. “You are not a shit father.”

His deep brown eyes glossed, his chin crinkling as he tried to stop himself from having an absolute meltdown.

“I can’t even get my kid the one toy he wants, what am I going to do?

“What are we going to do? I’m not letting you blame yourself for this. This is companies exploiting Christmas, making people feel shit for things out of their control.”

“Don’t you love Christmas?”

“Yeah but not this. Not making a father feel guilty for not getting his son a toy, that’s not what this is about. I love everything around that, the delight of snow and the rush of having to get outside.  The warmth of a hot chocolate settling in your stomach, nights on the couch wrapped in copious amounts of blankets with It’s a Wonderful Life on the tv…”

Your heart twinges.

“The smile on the face of someone you love getting something unexpected, the voice on the other end of the phone as you wish them happy holidays.”

That’s what it always was for you. Your family far away, you unable to afford to get home.

“Mi amour.”

Maxwell brought a thumb to your cheek and caught the tear that had escaped.

You sigh, “It’s just been a long day.”

“I know.”

He pulled you close, resting his slopping nose on top of your head, breathing you in. You hold each other for a fragile moment.

“I need to go and have a think, ok?”

He kissed your forehead.

You nod before looking around your shrinking space, somehow the apartment the three of you shared was getting smaller.

“I’ll get this place in order before Alistair arrives and start on dinner.”

“Thank you, baby.”

He walked away almost defeated.

“Hey, you better not go in there and make some elaborate plan to make everyone’s deepest desires come true.”

“That was one time.”

You giggle.

A while later, the knock at the door interrupts your flow but you couldn’t stay mad for long when that wide smile greets you.

“Max, Alistair’s here!”

You’re almost knocked back as he throws himself at your legs and in for a hug, you squeeze his head to save yourself from falling.

“How’ve you been?”

“Good.”

“How was your mom?”

You didn’t really care, you were just making pleasantries to try and pretend you didn’t find the woman absolutely insufferable. When he lets go and gives you a shrug, you take the hint.

Ok, you mouthed.

“Alistair,” Maxwell appeared, his smile matching his son’s as he fell to his knees to embrace him enthusiastically. “I’m so happy you’re home.”

“Me too, mom said she wants to talk to you, she’s downstairs.”

“Alright, why don’t you help with dinner?”

“Ok!”

Alistair ran to the kitchen.

You guessed what this might be, the exchange of presents from ‘Santa’ as discussed between them. Alistair was going to be away from his mother for the holidays, not that either of them seemed to mind. You and Maxwell would have him until New Year so you had plenty planned.

“I’m sure you can keep him distracted for a while.”

“Of course,” you winked.

---

“Why is your tree so small?”

Alistair cocked his head to the artificial tree placed on a side table next to the television.

“Oh, I got that tree when I first moved to DC. I couldn’t afford much but I was desperate for some sort of Christmas decoration and there it was, last on the shelf at Goodwill.”

“Were you on your own that Christmas?”

“Yeah, my family were all back home.”

“Have you ever been back?”

“No, I’ve never had the chance. Though I’ve had loads of good Christmases here with friends and neighbours, Mrs Zonana gave me the biggest chocolate log you’ve ever seen.”

“Really?! Do you think she’ll make one for the party?”

“I’m sure she will.”

“Have you ever wanted a big tree? Mom had one that almost reached the ceiling.”

You shrug, “I’ve never thought about it, it’s just been me but, yeah, I guess something a little bigger would be nice.”

“And colourful lights for the window?”

The more he inquired, the more excitable he became and your smile grows.

“Colourful lights would be good too.”

“How’s everything going in here?”

Maxwell wrapped his hands around your waist, the chill prominent from his trip outside. He rested his chin on your shoulder and looked down at the carnage of flour, butter and cheese, Alistair’s hands coated in the ingredients.

“It’s gonna be later than expected.”

He pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“It’ll be worth the wait.”

---

“Can I just sleep here tonight?”

Alistair’s eyes were heavy, belly full from dinner and his body warm from a combination of flannel pyjamas and a fleece blanket.

“No, we all need to go to bed.”

Maxwell was the only one moving, he’d cleaned up and offered to make special hot chocolates, two of which would feature alcohol. He handed his son a mug brimming with whipped cream and marshmallows.

“But it’s comfy here,” he moaned.

“I can’t disagree with him.”

You were stretched on the couch, waiting for Maxwell to return to fill the space he left behind. He was your headrest, allowed you to snuggle within the crook of his arm and listen to his heart beat slowly. Once he was back, you were asleep for sure.

“Everyone is going to bed,” he reiterated.

He remembered the last time the pair of you fell asleep on the couch, his cricked neck played up for almost a week.

“Boooo.”

“Careful you two or Santa won’t bring you presents.”

Alistair laughed.

“Oh dad, Santa isn’t real.”

“What makes you say that?”

You try to deflect, Maxwell was hoping for another year of illusion at least.

“Jake told me.”

Curse you, Jake.

“Well, it’s not that he’s not real, it’s more that you’re old enough to allow Santa to bring joy to another kid. He’ll make sure this year’s extra special, I’m sure of it.”

His expression scrunched, “That sounds rubbish.”

“Oh no,” Maxwell shook his head, “it’s very true.”

Alistair’s eyes flitted between both of you and you knew the game, keep a straight face just long enough for him to believe you.

“That’s cool.”

He continued to watch the Christmas special on the tv. Maxwell handed you your hot chocolate and slipped into his spot. He let you settle back before leaning down and kissing the top of your head.

His words were soft, “Thank you, baby.”

You had gone to check on Alistair one last time before heading to bed.

“He’s out of it.”

Maxwell was already cosy under the duvet, glasses on as he read a battered copy of A Christmas Carol. Closing the door gently, you tiptoed across the room and slide into the other side, resting your fuzzy head on the pillow.

“How are you not dizzy reading after that drink?”

“Because I didn’t put an extra shot in mine.”

“Max!”

“What? You deserved it.”

You huff, you can’t stay mad at his stupid face, his wide toothy smile looking down on you.

“How did it go… with the present swap?”

He put his book down, “Fine.”

Maxwell was a man of little words when it came to his ex wife.

“You know you told Alistair that white lie about Santa Claus? Well, lucky for us, she managed to get that firehouse.”

“Of course,” you scoff.

The moment Maxwell lost his ‘wealth’, his then wife dropped him for someone who could pay the lifestyle she was after.

“Paid triple the amount for it.”

You let out a singular laugh.

“At least Alistair will be happy.”

“Do you think he’ll like what we got him?”

“Why do you ask?”

Maxwell’s brows furrowed, maybe he did make a mistake putting another measure of Irish cream in your hot chocolate.

“He knows we’re not necessarily as well off as his mom but I don’t want him thinking that we don’t love him as much because we can’t give him that.”

“Alistair knows we love him, maybe even more than his mother does.”

“We got him underwear,” you throw your arms up as you spoke.

“He needs new ones.”

“I know he does but we’re giving them as a present.”

“I was very happy when I got underwear one year.”

“You’re lucky to have a kid like him.”

“I’m lucky to have you too,” he said, cuddling closer. “Not every girlfriend would go from toy store to toy store trying to get a present for a kid that isn’t theirs.”

“You both mean the world to me.”

“And you’re everything to us.”

He cupped your cheek, feeling the heat seer through his palm before his lips met yours.

“I love you.”

“Love you too.”

You can’t remember falling asleep, only Maxwell gently shaking you awake. In your groggy state, you could sense it was still dark out yet you rolled over to see him fully dressed.

“Alistair and I are heading out,” he whispered. “He forgot to get a present for his friend.”

“I’ll get dressed.”

“No, don’t get up. Have some time to yourself, ok baby? We might be a while.”

“Ok,” you immediately roll back over.

No offence to Maxwell but it was way too early and you were far too hungover to kick up a fuss, he told you to stay and you wouldn’t put up a fight about it.

The phone started to ring the moment you stepped out of the shower.

After a lie-in, you visited Mrs Zonana ahead of her Christmas party, hosted every year in the apartment complex’s courtyard. You offered to help in some way and after much persuasion, she had you and another neighbour putting up the gazebo and decorations. Then you got back and knocked up some cookies for the evening before getting ready.

“Hello?”

“Hey, baby.”

“How’s your day going, Max?”

He groaned, “It’s gone fine but we’re running late, we’re waiting for the next bus. Do you mind if we meet you at Mrs Zonana’s?”

“Not at all, can’t promise there’ll be any food left.”

“It’s Mrs Zonana, she’ll save us a plate.”

You hum sarcastically.

“Don’t deny it, she loves me.”

You roll your eyes, “Am I being replaced?”

“Of course not,” the phone crackled, “I’ve got to go, love you.”

He hung up before you got the chance to reply.

When you finally made it downstairs, the outside was already buzzing. You made your way through the throng of your neighbours, stating you’d catch up later before reaching Mrs Zonana.

“Oh, I’ll make the boys their plates and keep them warm in the oven.”

“You don’t have to, they’re the ones running late.”

She battered you with a tea towel, which you were unable to decipher whether it was meant to be playful or if she really did want it to hurt.

“Sorry we’re late!”

Everyone practically cheered at Maxwell and Alistair’s arrival. You swiftly apologise to Nico to ensure you got to them first.

“Finally! Where have you two been?”

You jokingly put your hand on your hip and pout, Alistair giggling at your phoney expression because you, of all people, were never mad.

“Sorry, baby.”

“It’s not me you have to apologise to,” you smile wickedly as you sense Mrs Zonana’s presence.

“Alistair, come get yours and your father’s food.”

He runs away immediately.

“Did everything go ok?”

Maxwell hummed.

“You look exhausted.”

“I know but it’s all with a good intention.”

You rubbed your thumb along his cheek, warm in a rush to make it back, the faintest sensation of whiskers from lack of shaving.

“How have I not been greeted by my man yet?”

“Hola, Mrs Zonana.”

Maxwell slipped seamlessly into Spanish around her and you always prayed that they were saying kind words when your name popped up. You drew your attention to Alistair for a while and listened to him talk about his day with his father.

Occasionally, yours and Maxwell’s eyes would catch across the courtyard and you’d exchange the softest of smiles throughout the rest of the evening.

“I’m tired.”

Alistair was valiant in staying up, most of the other kids had gone to bed. He flopped onto the edge of the garden box with you and Maxwell, who had escaped another lecture on ancient artefacts from Mr Fennec.

“We should probably get you boys to bed, huh? It’s been a long day.”

They both groan, playfully collapsing their heads to your shoulders.

“Come on,” you ruffle Alistair’s hair.

After saying your goodbyes, the three of you strolled up to the apartment.

“I have never seen a boy this excited to go to bed,” you laugh.

Alistair had run ahead the moment you reached the walkway. Maxwell brought you closer, locked an arm around your waist and breathed you in.

“Don’t think I can blame him.”

The holidays were always tiring even when you were on your lonesome, you were always invited somewhere with someone and keeping up appearances was the norm. You spent years coming back, crashing onto the mattress before getting up to do the whole thing all over again. It was nice that the building party was the only real big deal this year.

Maxwell chose to do his office party by himself because why would you want to be surrounded by drunk, obnoxious salesmen for the evening? You were better off with Alistair baking cookies, watching a film and secretly helping him wrap presents for his father. Then Alistair’s mom took him to the school party and to meet Santa, attending the Christmas light switch on was the one event you happily obliged.

“Why are you taking so long?”

“Because we’re old,” Maxwell shouted as he and you approached.

“Did you hang mistletoe on the door?”

Your inquiry was met with a shrug.

“You do realise that I don’t need a Christmas tradition for an excuse to kiss you?”

“Ew,” Alistair fake barfed.

Maxwell rummaged to find the key in his pocket, refusing to let go of you. Alistair snatched it out of his hand as soon as it reemerged. Maxwell’s hand came to your jaw and gently, he eased you to face him. He stared at you with his brown puppy dog eyes, bringing his other hand to meet your cheek.

“Shouldn’t we be under the mistletoe?”

His face was illuminated by an orange glow as Alistair made his way inside.

“Too much effort,” he smiled before clashing your lips together.

It could be because he’s tired or the alcohol or the fact he was trying to make the kiss more of a pantomime for his son to endure but Maxwell was messy. He practically pinned your face to his with both hands, slipping his tongue passed your lips sloppily, forcing your body to turn backwards to the door.

You gasped for air when he finished.

“I like the enthusiasm.”

You take a couple of steps back to see his expression soften, he knew what he’d done, chose not to say anything.

Then you notice something out of the corner of your eye.

Wait, that wasn’t there when I left.

And suddenly the room seemed to fill with pinpricks of every colour.

“Merry Christmas!”

Alistair leapt from behind you and slowly, inch by inch, you took everything in. You didn’t utter a word, couldn’t even scream as your chest began to heave.

The tiny desk tree had been replaced with one triple the size, overloaded with baubles. Every wall was lined with string lights, the kitchen sill decorated with ornaments and tinsel and the focal point, three stockings hanging from the breakfast bar, embroidered with golden letters.

“Do you like it?”

You fall to your knees and squeeze Alistair hard. You put every ounce you had in you to hug that boy and kissed his head multiple times.

“I love it, Alistair, I love it so much,” your voice cracked.

“You’re crying.”

“They’re happy tears, I promise,” the words were catching in your throat.

“Let me take your coat, baby, Alistair’s got more to show you.”

“There’s more?”

Alistair was beaming up at you, nodding passionately.

Maxwell helped you pull yourself out of your coat, your body shaking as it failed to follow basic instruction. He trailed a hand down your spine as you attempted to get it together, wiping the tears that were already falling.

Taking your hand, Alistair showed you what else they’d done. The old tree had now taken pride of place at the end of the corridor between your rooms. There was more lights along the ceiling and the pictures on the walls had changed to winter scenes of snowfall, ice skating and carollers.

“I can’t believe you’ve done this just for me,” you smile, more tears forming.

“Well, I said about it to dad and he said he overheard us talking yesterday and felt like we should do something,” Alistair said. “Also I didn’t have any money and I couldn’t get up high so I needed some help.”

You couldn’t help hugging him again.

“I couldn’t have asked for a better surprise.”

“Really?”

“Oh, I’m going to remember this one forever.”

Alistair excitedly returned to Maxwell to pass on the good news. Of course you were going to love it, Maxwell knew you would. Luck aligned for him, there was still some money left in the budget you two had built, Mrs Zonana gave a hefty contribution and Suzanne from the other block let him and Alistair hide whilst they also played look out.

Plenty of people loved you more than you realised.

He automatically hugged you when you came back, “You good?”

“There aren’t any more surprises are there, I don’t think I can cope.”

“Not from me.”

You laugh into his chest, “Thank god.”

He ran a hand through your hair, squeezing you a little tighter before reluctantly letting you go.

“Can I have another one of those hot chocolates?”

“Sure.”

“And me,” Alistair chimed in, “please.”

The three of you rested on the couch, Alistair retelling the day and how each decoration came to be. It felt like your heart could burst, he was so overjoyed. Maxwell’s arm was draped firmly over your shoulder, chest rising and falling slowly as sleep tried to take him.

You knew you spent too long in the bathroom, you worried Maxwell may have fallen asleep before he even got chance to see your gift. It was a risk you were taking but you hoped it would pay off.

“Maxwell. Are you asleep?”

“Just resting my eyes,” his head lulled against the headboard.

“Oh because I was hoping I could give you one of your presents early.”

He opened one eye, “Really?”

You hum, fingertips playing with the tie on your fluffy dressing gown.

“Well, you’ve been such a good boy these past couple of days,” you pull open the knot, “and I think you deserve it.”

You shrug your shoulders and let the fabric fall to the floor with a light thud. Maxwell’s head snapped up, both eyes wide with the delight of seeing you dressed in nothing more than a see-through babydoll in bright red, nothing left to the imagination. Your bush freshly trimmed and nipples pert.

His smile brought the dimples to his cheeks. He leaned forward, gesturing with both hands.

“Come here.”

You saunter to the edge of the bed and he moves to you fit perfectly between his legs. His hands run up the backs of your thighs, fingers burying into your ass as he pressed his forehead to your stomach, the refreshing scent of your favourite perfume catching in his nostrils. He moved his hands to your hips before looking up at you drunkenly.

“How long have you been hiding this from me?”

You hum, biting your lip sheepishly.

Whilst in the mall, deflated from toy shopping, you excused yourself to go to the bathroom, leaving Maxwell amongst the other male shoppers in the seating area. As you walked, your eyes caught something in the window of a shop.

You only treated yourself to lingerie when it was a special occasion and after the day you two were having, it called for it.

Dress up wasn’t something you and Maxwell chose to do so, even though the enthusiastic sales assistant tried, you gravitated towards the little red number you wore tonight.

“I shouldn’t have got you tipsy last night, should I?”

You cup his face in your palms.

“It didn’t help.”

Brushing aside his stray hairs, you lean down and kiss him deeply, his back straightening to attention. You both part, catching your breaths.

“So, are you one of Santa’s naughty little elves or…”

Maybe you should have got the costume. You look at him, your eyelids low as the corner of your lips curled.

“I’d much rather be Mrs Claus.”

The smile grew back on his face.

“Now it’s time for you to go back to bed.”

Maxwell happily obliged. He made sure to look at the view in detail one more time before slipping his hands off you. Pushing back on the mattress, he rested on the pillow, hands tucked behind his head.

“Are you coming to tuck me in?”

You climb on the bed and crawl over his body, your index finger trailing along his underwear where his hardening cock was becoming visible.

“Not until…”

Your faces meet and he waits in anticipation for your next line, it doesn’t come easily. You think of all the seasonal puns but they’re all ridiculous - candy cane, north or south pole, Christmas has cum early?

He breaks first, a singular laugh ruining any chance of you being a seductive Mrs Claus.

“Hard to keep up the charade?”

“Yeah,” your expression scrunches. “I don’t think ‘not getting rid of your south pole’ does what I want it to do.”

He snorts at the terminology.

“Want me to take the rein?”

You thought he was going to make some sort of sleigh ride joke but nothing came after. He calmly brushed the hair from your face, breathing and heartbeat steady, his expression soft. Maxwell didn’t usually take control but this time, he seemed so sure.

“Ok.”

Then something changed, his pupils blew a dark black.

“Turn around.”

You listened, swapping your legs over each side. His hands travel up your legs before they claw your ass apart and you instinctively arch your back to offer him a better view. His cock twitched beneath the cotton fabric.

“Wet as always.”

“Always for you.”

He hummed, glad you were facing the other way round because he could feel the temperature rise in his cheeks.

You kiss the skin above the waistband of his underwear then lick in one motion, sending a shiver along Maxwell’s spine. He returns the favour, kissing the creases that joined your legs to your butt before spreading his tongue over your folds.

You shudder, leaning back further to try and catch the tip of his nose.

He knew exactly what you were doing, “Behave.”

You grumble, pouting your lips as you glance over your shoulder. You couldn’t see much past the sight of your ass but you caught each other’s eye.

Your fingers play with the elastic before you gradually peel his underwear off, inspecting his throbbing bright tip, precum glistening. To behave would be to not take the top in your mouth and spread your tongue over but you were going to get him back for his little remark, that and you were hungry for him. Dampening your lips, you took Maxwell in your mouth, rewarded with his lengthily moan.

“Oh fuck,” he says as you take him further, “you are not behaving.”

He felt your soft laugh against him, the vibrations pleasing enough to have him creeping closer to the edge.

There was only one way to play this game.

Swallowing hard, he spreads you wider before teasing you along your outer lips, soothing with his tongue after a gentle nip. You breath with a sigh and just as he gets you into a false sense of security, he buries himself into your weeping cunt.

You pull up, Maxwell’s cock falling with a slap to his navel as you gasp and whimper.

“Put me back in your mouth, baby, I don’t want you waking up Alistair.”

You massage his balls lightly and the air hisses through his teeth, he was going to blow if you weren’t careful.

“And what about you?”

Maxwell was the most vocal lover you’d encountered. He didn’t respond, returning to your cunt with more finesse, his tongue working against your blooming clit.

You let out a choked whine before wrapping your lips around his tip and sweeping around with your tongue. You felt his groan run through every nerve ending, your walls clamping round him. Slowly you took his length into your throat and back up again, picking up the pace according to his movements.

You couldn’t tell how long the pair of you were locked like this, in this pure unadulterated bliss.

He only came up for air to sing your praises and for his final admittance, “I��m so close, baby.”

You already knew that.

His hips had bucked a few times to get his cock further into that little throat of yours, the sound of you gagging sweeter than any music. His body was tensing, his grip on your hips making them numb, he was forcing himself not to cum out of the want of making you cum first.

“This is your treat, Maxwell,” you say after releasing his cock with a pop. “How do you want me?”

“I want to watch you bounce on my dick until we both cum.”

You smile coyly, turning yourself to face him, “Now that’s some Christmas magic I can do.”

Straddling his hips, you kiss him squarely on the lips and force him to lay with his back firmly on the mattress. Slipping your tongue into his mouth, you taste the tang of your arousal before pulling back, teeth nipping his bottom lip.

You lift yourself up, taking his cock in your hand as you line it up with your entrance. Eyes focusing on him, you slowly sink down, Maxwell releasing a choked gasp when just his tip slides between your folds.

His eyes flick up and down your frame as his palms trail your thighs, encouraging you to take his length.

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you lower yourself, a soft hum as he fills you. His cock twitches, his head falling back, eyelashes fluttering shut as you held steady.

“Fuck,” he sighs.

You sit for a minute, inner walls pulsing as your aching pussy readjusts to the stretch of his girth. All this time together and you still hadn’t gotten used to how heavy his cock was. He feels fingertips grazing the skin of his chest and opens his eyes. You’re gazing down at him, eyelids low but he could still catch the glint in your eye.

“I thought you wanted to watch.”

Oh, he did but he fucking adored how you felt around him, he could stay like this all night if you allowed him. But you started to raise your hips, your other hand lifting the fabric to your waist so he could see the drag of your folds.

He groaned, not too loud yet not too soft, just enough for it to hit your ears.

“Like that?”

You tease as you drop back down, knocking the air out of his lungs. He can’t answer, can barely move his head because his mind is solely on your pussy around his cock. You gradually begin to pick up the pace when your legs stop protesting, the slap of your skin against his getting stronger, his fingers digging further into the flesh of you.

A squeaking moan escapes you every time you bounce from him, lips sealed together as you try to keep the volume down. You can still hear Maxwell, his hushed praises blending into his second language, his throat bulging as he tries to contain his grunts and groans.

Your walls were tightening, your hips stuttering when the tip of his cock hit somewhere new as you rolled your pelvis forward. His lips crashed into yours, swallowing the honeyed groan that came deep from your chest. He held you in place, your legs shaking with anticipation.

You could feel your arousal spilling between your thighs, preparing you for the final chase, the spark igniting low in your belly.

Maxwell coiled his arms around your waist, removing his lips from yours as he nudged his nose against your cheek. You catch your breath, fingers drawing circles over his shoulder blades before you finally looked in his big brown eyes. Always soft and sincere even though you were about to ruin him, he would happily take it.

You kiss his lips, palms moving to settle on either side of his neck. Lifting your ass a little, you let him shuffle his legs closer to boost you up before you rolled your hips.

A moan escapes you as your clit grazes the hairs above his cock. He sighs, lips parting as he focuses on your movements, your walls twitching around his aching cock. His broad palms fall from your waist and over the curve of your ass, fingers sinking into the muscle as he guides you up his length.

“That’s it,” he says breathily.

And when you get going again, you feel the tingle as it dances along your skin, your belly warming. Maxwell’s hands following as you bounce, legs locking beneath your weight.

Both of your hot and heavy breaths trickle down your flushed chest, his soft grunts seeping into your ears. Your hands trail over his outline, the shiver shooting up his spine as your fingertips tease.

His head fell forward and you pulled him close to your body, nestling his face in the crook of your neck. Keeping on hand on his back, you draw the other to his hair, the colour no longer a fake blonde. Your fingers delve into his thick roots and tug gently, the noise he makes having you close your eyes, riding his cock as fast as your ceasing legs would allow.

His hands grip tighter, his tongue so loose he can barely get the words out to warn you as his balls recede and he coats your walls. He manages to hold you down as you hiss through your teeth, body trembling as your own orgasm surges through your body.

“Shit, Max,” you choke.

Your cunt pulsates, milking him for every last drop before your muscles relax. He groans your name passionately, his body going limp, back hitting the mattress with a loud exhale.

You keep your eyes closed, your hand reaching for his chest as it rose, filling the lungs with much needed oxygen. Your legs shudder with an aftershock, his hand coming to your wrist. You blink, the room coming into focus and you catch his lopsided grin as he gazed up at you in a blissed out state.

“Best present a guy could ask for,” he chuckles.

You giggle, brushing the hair from your face with your free hand. Lifting your hips, you slide off his cock, thick white cum dribbling from your folds before you crawled up the bed to settle next to him.

He snakes an arm under your neck, across your shoulders to draw you closer to his chest. You snuggle to his frame, draping a leg in between his, hand fixed to his chest as his heartbeat slowed.

Glancing up, his eyes are already closed. You knew he was exhausted, all the rushing around, trying to give everyone the best Christmas, making up for all the ones he’d missed. All you wanted to do was tell him he didn’t have to but he wouldn’t listen.

Maxwell wouldn’t have it any other way.

When he came to in the morning, your side of the bed was empty. He could hear life outside of the door, the faint strip of sunlight breaking through the curtains. Stretching, he tried to find his t-shirt before guessing you borrowed it when Alistair came to wake someone.

In the now cramped living room, he saw you and Alistair on the couch, huddled under a blanket with mugs in your hands. The pair of you had soft smiles and were whispering to one another, you attempting to understand what was happening on the kids show you were watching. A few more presents had made an appearance under the tree, sugar cookies filling a plate on the coffee table.

“Morning,” his voice sounded groggy, vocal cords not quite ready to talk.

“Morning dad!”

“Morning, coffee’s fresh if you want some.”

Your smile grows at his arrival before he comes down and kisses you. He continues to watch you both while he wanders round the kitchen, semi listening to what was happening on the tv. Returning with a mug of coffee, Maxwell leans over and grabs a handful of cookies, met with a little groan from Alistair who had to tilt sideways to see the screen.

“Sorry, sorry,” he whispers before sitting down.

You wriggle to make room as he slumps into his usual spot. After he’s got comfy, you nestle back against him and he drapes an arm over your shoulder. His lips come to the crown of your head.

“You ok?”

“Perfect,” he strokes your cheek as you drop your head back. “Feels like Christmas.”

[poeticnorth]

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Better to be a Squirrel of Yggdrasil than a Wolf of Odin

[retropopcult]

"Lucky Man" is a song by English rock band the Verve, written by lead singer Richard Ashcroft. It was released as the third single from the album Urban Hymns (1997). The song was the group's second top 20 hit on the Billboard Modern Rock Tracks chart in the United States, climbing to number 16. It also reached the top 40 in Canada, Finland, Iceland, Ireland, and New Zealand.

Ashcroft said the song was "inspired by my relationship with my wife, and that sense of when you're beyond the sort of peacock dance that you have early on in a relationship. And you're getting down to the raw nature of yourselves."

Two versions of the music video were shot. Ashcroft sings the song in both with his acoustic guitar while he wanders around the city (the rest of the band looks on). The UK version of the video was directed by Andy Baybutt and sees the band in London. The US version was shot in New York City, featuring the band in an apartment and then traveling to a mountain top.

[ahedderick]

Whooo, boy. Last night we went to the county fair and stayed out too late. I slept well but had bizarre dreams that had nothing whatsoever to do with the fair. Translating a hymn from English into Icelandic? Like twenty minutes before I'm supposed to play it in church? A herd of gigantic weasels mobbing a ski slope, while I'm trying to take video of the skiers? Quite a restful night, just sayin'.

The day got far too busy. (even without 500-pound-weasel flashbacks) My daughter and I drove to town to pick up unsold artwork from the gallery (rats!) and swing by the farmer's market. Despite the fact that I had two TWO skin cancers removed Wednesday morning, I forgot the dratted sunblock. It was the hottest day we've had, here, and downtown was far hotter than the little valley my farm is in. After we picked up some good veggies, we set out to the next town west to get K some new clothes. I hate driving, and I have to do far too much of it.

Clothes acquired, we returned home and I turned unhappy eyes on my computer, where College Paperwork awaited me. Son had forgotten to do the required password update, so everything of his is 'locked up' until he begs IT for help. I had the password for K's college - but it would not let me log in to check her bill or other things. Just - no. I. Have. The. Password. But.

Then my A reminded me that I had promised to go with him to a park an hour away where there is a really amazing boulder to climb. K was feeling under the weather. I quickly gave her a few tips for getting the simple salad dinner that I was planning, threw some things in a backpack, and off we set to Fork Run Rec Area. He drove, which helped a lot.

Fork Run is a big park, but there is one astonishing boulder area that is of great interest to climbers. These photos drastically understate how interesting massive the rocks are.

We spent about an hour at the rocks, him puttering around with various ascents and traverses and me reading my book or taking photos. When he was about finished he invited me to try a "simple" section. I was able to squirrel my way right up as far as was reasonable, then climb back down without too much trouble. As I got close to the ground, his phone rang. It was K, who had gone from 'slightly uncomfortable' to 'REALLY in pain'. She was checked at an actual urologist's office just yesterday, and they claimed she did not have a uti. But she does. And while they were dicking around failing to read the sample correctly, it got much worse.

I was over an hour away, and it was 4 in the afternoon. Grrr! I told her to drive herself to her regular doc, who has a lab on site and some pretty good techs. While A and I sped toward home, she got herself there, got a positive test for a uti, and her doc sent a prescription to the pharmacy. I found this out once I got home - and had to run back out immediately to get the prescription before the pharmacy closed.

Then I got dinner ready.

Then I collapsed.

[weather-mood]

so curious, what does a siren song sound like? how does the song change, if it all, when Lestat sings something into existence vs songs to keep others away?

Aha worldbuilding! Okay!

So siren song sounds like the siren (so in this case Lestat / Sam’s singing voice) and the song itself can sound like anything- typically wordless notes strung together! Think Ariel singing in Ursula’s cave while her voice is taken the way it moves through notes? Variations of that. Likewise, the wordless singing by the sirens in Sinbad. The magic of it is more in the intent than the actual song itself, the song is a vehicle for the intent, psychically infused so the song/melody itself isn’t important. Which is why Louis using an old hymn works 💕

Also inspiration from the band Sigur Rós and their hopelandic which they mix with Icelandic. Hopelandic is “a form of gibberish vocals that fits to the music and acts as another instrument” which has no syntax, grammar, or direct meaning. Here’s some Sigur Rós:

Since Lestat is so musically inclined, in the show especially, I’d imagine that all his songs are different, ever-changing, even if the intent is the same (so maybe every keep-away song we’ve seen in the text is actually different).

[mask131]

Cold winter: More about Siegfried

MORE ABOUT SIEGFRIED

Freely translated from the “Dictionary of Characters and Figures – from Literature, Opera, Cinema and BD”

It is at the age of 35 that Wagner, having just finished “Lohengrin”, took an interest into Siegfried, a mythical character part of various Scandinavian sagas such as the “Song of the Nibelungen” or the Eddas. He wrote for seven whole years the poems that will form the essence of the “Ring of the Nibelungen”, a tetralogy he will only finish at 61 years old: it shows how much he was haunted by this legendary hero, called variously Sigurd, Siegwart or Sigisbert depending on the countries. Wagner’s main textual source seems to have been the trilogy of the German poet Karl de la Motte Fouqué, “The Hero of the North” - he completed his research with “Lied vom Hürnen Seyfrid”, “The Song of Horn-skinned Siegfried”. Another poet of Wagner’s time, F. Hebbel, took an interest to those same texts, and published in 1861 his own “The Nibelungen”.

Siegfried symbolizes youth and the prime of life, with all of its recklessness and levity, but one that is carrying a grand destiny: the victorious fight against the wicked forces that prevent the workings of the world. Siegfried’s sacrifice is supposed to lead humanity towards the reign of an universal love. Present in primitive Irish mythology, as well as in Norway, Greenland, and among the Franks and the Burgundians, Siegfried is always depicted as the lover of Brunehilde, queen of Iceland, who has a divine ancestry and a palace surrounded by a wall of flames.

The Nibelungen are dwarfs that live under the earth and are ruled by Alberich (see Oberon). After having stolen away Alberich’s treasure, which was guarded by the dragon Fafner, Siegfried bathes in the blood of the slain monster, which gives him invulnerability – however, as a sign of his mortality, just like with Achilles, one part of his skin stays vulnerable and mortal, the spot where a basswood leaf got stuck as he took his blood bath. It will be there that Hagen will plant his spear, killing Siegfried. But much before that, he also took the dwarfs’s magical cope which allows him, among many other things, to become Brunehilde’s fiancé after crossing the wall of flames, using the magical cloak. This is the main subject of the third part of the Wagnerian work, “Siegfried”, and the first where the hero actually appears.

The fourth part, “The Twilight of the gods”, shows us a Siegfried carried away by a strong desire to accomplish new exploits. Joining the Burgundians, he meets there Krimehilde (or Gudrun), sister of Gunther (or Gunnar). Like a new Tristan, Siegfried drinks, as a welcome drink, a potion that makes him betray his love for Brunehilde as he gets attracted by Krimehilde (who in turn had fallen in love with him at first sight). A deal is made: Gunther will give Krimehilde to Siegfried if he agrees to help him conquer the woman he desires, Brunehilde. Siegfried uses again his magical cloak, and the whole business is quickly settled – but the happiness of the new couples doesn’t last. Brunehilde, angry at having tricked and betrayed, shows to Gunther the spot where the hero is vulnerable and Hagen kills the hero.

It is interesting to compare another work on the same legend, but part of a different generation and ideology: Fritz Lang also got inspired by the ancient legends, without however passing by Wagner’s work. His Nibelungen, composed of two parts (The Death of Siegfried and The Revenge of Siegfried) is an hymn of vengeance for the hero that will help the Reich get back up from its defeat. A grandiloquent and expressionist work, this movie presents us an Alberich bearing strong anti-Semitic stereotypes, against a very “Aryan” Siegfried. Strong socio-political subtexts were also present in Wagner’s work, where Siegfried was presented as a “good savage” who met his demise at the hand of mediocre and unworthy people, as well as a redemption-figure whose death brought forward the end of the old gods and the creation of a new order. It is however difficult to interpret Siegfried’s character solely as a nietzschean hero before his time, driven solely by a desire for power: after all, the hero will be crushed – for some by capitalism and its sinister deterministic machine (a metaphor of the “gold of the Rhine”), for others because he didn’t had the ability to surpass himself, unlike the grand hero Perceval/Parsifal.

[moochilatv]

Mama Tjutju presents: Try

Good morning vibes here

New music from Lærke alias Mama Tjutju

Try is about breaking free from objectification as a woman, and it is a hymn to my fellow women and their journeys out of the male gaze and into a freer life.

BIO

Lærke it's a singer, songwriter and pianist.

In October 2021 she released her first EP "Iceland" which is three songs recorded in the wild and beautiful Iceland. The songs are intentionally long, the vocal is at the core of each song, they are simple, powerful and soulful. Primarily improvised record.

In March 2024 she released her second EP "Stockholm" which is a more lyrical project, based in soulful acoustic guitar, strong vocal and harmonies. The lyrics of the three songs are at the core of this project. It speaks of a process of healthy individuation.

Upcoming releases:

Autumn 2024: "Everything Breathes" Single

Autumn 2024: Manchester Piano - EP

Find more here:

[zahlenfreak]

More thoughts on The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes.

I was playing a gig last night with the folk band I'm in. We're part of a larger group that includes many dancers. Every song has a specific dance attached to it. We're a large and lively group. I'm sore all over today. All in all it went well. I sang (in Icelandic) while playing a bass voice on the keyboard for the first time and didn't mess up. So that's nice.

My point is music plays a big part in this book as well and I can relate very much to the Covey. Being in a band has helped me to feel as part of a group. Making music together is just awesome. Contrast this with Coriolanus who is not used to music at all (except for the hymn his grandma sings all the time). Some more complex music is even unnerving to him. He is deeply afraid of things he can't control. I find that so sad.

[abwatt]

Dear @thegodwhocums

Thanks for your question about the Korybantes/Curetes. Now... in traditional Greek mythology and history, these are the dancers/spirits/"shamans" who worshipped Cybele in Phrygia, or Rhea in Samothrace, and who are mentioned in Orphic Hymns #37 and #38. It's not clear to me if they're humans, spirits, deities, or some other class of being in the historical sources.

But I tend to adopt a revivalist (rather than a strict reconstructionist) idea about mythology, myself — I don't live in Greece, after all, or even in Europe; more than that, given the troubles in the world over what constitutes "holy lands" among the Abrahamic religions, I'm reluctant to declare Ireland, England, Scotland, France, Iceland, Norway, Sweden, or Denmark or even Greece as my holy land, anyway -- neither Norse nor Anglo-Saxon nor Celtic deities should hold particular sway over me so much that I think of the land of their origin as a Holy Land, right?

But we have this list, from Cosmas of Jerusalem, I think, which is the deities of the 36 decans in a Greco-Egyptian context. The Decans are the 10° subdivisions of the Zodiac, which have formed the basis of my astrological practice for the last four years, at least publicly. This decans-list has Hecate on it, and Serapis, and Hephaestus, and the Nymphs, and Hestia, and Persephone... but it lacks Zeus and Hera, Demeter or Ares or the other Olympian gods.

Now, because of how the Decans subdivide the sky from 360° into 10° units, the Sun is in one decan for 10 days at a time... -ish. But one decan is coming up over the Eastern horizon roughly every 48 minutes (more in summer, less in winter). Also, the Moon takes a little less than a day to pass through a decan (the Moon moves 12° 53' on average per day), so the Moon passes through all the Decans every 28-ish days. And all the other planets pass through all the decans, too, on their own cycles: Mercury and Venus in a year, Mars in two years, Jupiter in 12 years, and Saturn in 30 years.

So that means that there's a chunk of every day, and a chunk of every month, and a chunk of every year, and a chunk of every 30 years, when each of the deities of the decans has some level of prominence and honor. And I like that.

Now.... the Korybantes. As I said... I'm really reluctant to say, "the Korybantes are samothracian deities, and should be worshipped there." But Scorpio III appears to be dedicated to the Korybantes... and Scorpio I is dedicated to the Nymphai... the 'feminine' spirits of the land. And Scorpio II, in between them, is dedicated to Leto as the mother of the Sun and the Moon (Apollo and Artemis)... but also as "the tutor and bringer-up of children."

And I kind of like the idea of the Mother of Sun and Moon serving in this unusual and powerful role, as the tutor of young gods and goddesses... spirits of the land that are clustered around her on either side. These spirits exist in all kinds of places. They're not tied specifically to the land of Samothrace or Phrygia (an island in the Aegean Sea, or a region in what is now Turkey); but those kinds of spirits, "men" and "women" exist in all sorts of contexts and have all sorts of potential to be future gods and goddesses of some significance and power... and the nominal mother of the Sun and Moon, whether we call her Leto or some other name, has responsibility for their upbringing.

So, yeah... I think that's worth some level of worship and acknowledgement. And whether I acknowledge them in a small way on a day-to-day basis, or annually at this time of year, I think there's power in acknowledging that some parts of nature love human beings and treat us with good will... and some of them will @#I%* us up given the slightest chance. As the Tumblr meme has it, the ocean is old as fuck and it will still kill you.

So I hope that helps.

Sun in Scorpio III (12-22 November 2023)

The Kouroi/Curetes/Korybantes, the 'male' spirits of the more dangerous aspects of the Land, rule the next ten days. How do you relate to the risks of living life on Earth? Do you take the risks, accept them, or avoid them?

The Sun enters Scorpio III on November 12, 2023 at 11:01 am EST. We’ve passed the gate of Daylight Saving Time (falling back one hour), and we’re now in the season of darkness pretty definitively. Austin Coppock called this decan The Crow, relating it both to the constellation Corvus and a myth of how Crow stole the feasting-goblet of the sun-god Apollo and was burned black for his trouble.…

[poeticnorth]

I'm not sure if I'll be writing any more for Odin in my current project, barring the Chthonic Hymn To Odin, but here's the last addition to my ongoing project