eye is on the sparrow

Nursey Week Prompt #5 - Muse/Tomorrow.

“Nurse, if you move again, I will stab you with a paint scraper,” Lardo snaps out, not looking up from her canvas. She scratches her thumbnail over an imperfection in the white expanse in front of her, flicking off the offending fleck.

Nursey sniffs from across the room, muttering to himself.

“What was that?” Lardo says, looking up at him sharply.

“Nothing, Lards! Nothing at all.” He’s quiet for another few seconds. “My nose itches.” Lardo drops her head down to her chest and lets out a long-suffering sigh. She tosses her pencil into the wells at the bottom of her easel and circles her easel.

“Don’t. Move.” She chides him. Carefully, she reaches out and scratches gently along the bridge of Nursey’s nose.

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summary: yet another little sequel to this rockstar au mixed with best friends get pregnant fic (also read: the second part)

word count: ~2500

a/n: I accidentally wrote more and it’s all fluff again.

Emma met Killian when they were kids.

They both were sitting in the waiting room at the music store for their music lessons. Killian had his guitar, Emma had her sheet music, and both of them were dropped off and came in all by themselves.

She can remember it as if it were yesterday. He’s the one that wanted to talk to her. He came over, smiling, and asked what she was practicing that week.

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for someone so mild, you’ve got nothing on but a snarky smile. your beliefs gather like the copper coins beneath my mattress. you’ve been looking so much more like your demons these days. it’s good to see you’ve grown into them. I’ve heard the wolves howl to you now.

I hear you’ve been snatching terrible dreams right out of the children’s head. you make believe in worse things than miracles. I’m following you out into the night, your horns glowing like candles in the desert. in my heart. with your shadow stained hands & your ocean eyes. you can always walk steps ahead of me, you can always run the roughest path.

you can run away. but the wind catches the scent on your woodland fur. preach all you want about saving me, my eyes are after you like sparrows leaving their tree. I will never take back what I’ve said: you’ll always smell like mandarins to me.

—  SUPERSTITIONS // Patricia Camille Antony

Here, some Yvaine/Cullen pining, because I’ve missed these two and I need to write more for them. 1.5k.

He shouldn’t be doing this. She’s the Inquisitor, perhaps even Andraste’s Chosen, if some are to be believed, and he’s a half-broken lyrium addict who hasn’t had a full night’s sleep in more than a year. She’s surviving ambushes and rearranging countries; he’s sitting behind a desk ordering her to go no, there, because there is a better place for her to put her life at risk. The truth is that too often, there are no better places. Even if he knows that she’ll likely emerge victorious with some quip or other, ruffled but smiling… Most nights that allows him to live with himself. Not always, especially when the pain’s bad and he’s just watched her ride off to somewhere like the Makerforsaken Wastes. He’s seen her in a fight - she’s no sheltered Circle mage - but there are rare times he imagines what she must be doing out there, remembers some of her worst reports and thinks that more than enough people have died under his watch, and Maker, not one more. Not this one.

He remembers asking for a report when she was on an extended mission and receiving a piece of parchment from a raven. He’d opened it to see Pavus’ overly flourished handwriting instead of the familiar spidery scrawl, and thought - Not to worry, it had begun, she’s just broken her writing arm and the healing’s taking some time, and then it had launched into a recounting of the week’s events. He’d snorted in bitter amusement, making Leliana look up. Not to worry.

He may well be unworthy of a command post, and he’s not entirely sure he deserves her friendship, even if she’s insisted on giving it. He’s certainly unworthy of asking her if she might consider - 

He takes those thoughts and shoves them aside, even when he wants to put his face in his hands and ask himself what the bloody Void he thinks he’s doing.

He shouldn’t be doing this. That’s what he thinks as he walks across the gardens and spots a blonde-haired figure there, on her tiptoes, craning her neck to look up at the largest oak. 

She turns at the sound of his steps, and smiles. “Good morning.”

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ages ago @saintapathis tagged me in a rec-songs-for-moods meme and. it. got out of hand. so uh. some overly specific moods. some songs.

emotionally exhausted and in need of comfort:
- cobwebs, martha tilston and the woods
- born, over the rhine
- hold on, tom waits
- wild sage, the mountain goats
- drown out, the swell season
- his eye is on the sparrow, abigail washburn
- the party, regina spektor

- this year, the mountain goats
- the mary ellen carter, stan rogers
- firefly, over the rhine
- shake it out, florence + the machine
- morning comes, delta rae
- that one specific live version of “like a rolling stone” at the end of scorsese’s dylan documentary no direction home recorded right after dylan’s motorcycle accident where he starts it by yelling to the band “play it fuckin’ loud” and the organ is just searing

depressed but don’t want to be:
- firewood, regina spektor
- a better son/daughter, rilo kiley
- level up, vienna teng
- amy aka spent gladiator 1, the mountain goats
- redeemed, charlotte martin
- i wanna get better, bleachers

sad but in a nice way where i want to wallow for a bit:
- knocking on heaven’s door, antony and the johnsons
- annachie gordon, the unthanks
- my body is a cage, arcade fire
- top of the world, patty griffin (especially the live at the artists’ den version)
- ring them bells, sarah jarosz
- on a sea of fleur de lis, richard shindell
- florida, patty griffin

i wanna yell and/or feel some kind of complex emotion:
- s.o.b., nathaniel rateliff & the night sweats
- changes come, over the rhine
- harlem roulette, the mountain goats
- forgiveness, patty griffin
- it’s alright ma i’m only bleeding, the duhks
- after the bombs, the decemberists
- the next best western, richard shindell
- empty, ray lamontagne

- pay me my money down, bruce springsteen
- the magic position, patrick wolf
- we need medicine, the fratellis
- banjo pickin’ girl, abigail washburn & the sparrow quartet
- you ain’t goin’ nowhere, glen hansard and marketa irglova
- i don’t know, lisa hannigan
- the night that paddy murphy died, great big sea
- call me maybe, carly rae jepsen
- upside down, paloma faith
- orphan girl, crooked still
- tea with cinnamon, katzenjammer
- don’t carry it all, the decemberists
- california stars, billy bragg & wilco
- everything i saw, the weather station
- literally any cover of galway girl

it’s three am, there’s a thunderstorm, and i’m wearing a lot of velvet:
- girls that glitter love the dark, hannah fury
- when another midnight, sarah slean
- bells for her, tori amos
- mad girl’s love song, fisher
- the devil, pj harvey
- i will never die, delta rae
- #1 crush, garbage (SHUT. YER FACE.)
- black doe, mary epworth and the jubilee band
- devil of mine, moulettes
- bone mother, the ford theatre reunion
- horse and i, bat for lashes
- clap hands, tom waits
- tristan, patrick wolf
- black acres, elysian fields
- rest in the bed, laura marling
- bad ritual, timber timbre

having an emotion about the x-files:
- you were a kindness, the national
- goodbye (this is not goodbye), over the rhine
- recessional, vienna teng

Time dispatches a classy let down.
Trading colour, immortal canvas.
Blatant sky greets irregular sidewalk,
tap my heel in a mocking fashion,
eyes toward the plaintive earth.
Episodic harmony, the sparrow coos,
the worm becomes. Such an effortless
existence, solace plentiful, yet I am sore.


“Elizabeth” a voice called and next thing you knew somone had grabbed hold of your arm and spun you aroud. Instinctively you grabbed your sword and held it towards the stranger. “I’d thank you to keep your hands to yourself mate if you’d like to keep that pretty head of yours on your shoulders” You nodded, pursing you lips. “Elizabeth it’s me, Will” he said, swallowing the lump in his throat eyes on your sword. “My name is Y/N and I have never met you in my life… Will” you assured him as you tucked your sword away. “William, did you find more ru-” another voice trailed off, looking over your shoulder you saw who’d spoken. “Elizabeth?” he questioned looking at you as he neared. “The infamous Captain Jack Sparrow” you snorted rolling your eyes. “Why you do men insist on calling me Elizabeth?” you huffed, rolling your eyes. “If you wanna find out I think you outta come with us love” Captain Jack smirked deviously. 


so s h a m e on me now

Distorted, disturbed

Crowded mind
Crowded house
Not here
But above

Can sleep
Be restless
If you don’t do it?

An eye
For an eye
But if they meet
It rarely ends there

Snap back
Like a sparrow
Returning to consciousness
After hitting a window

I had to
Shut the door close
With both hands
Because someone tried to get in

Life’s been all like
Black pepper in ice cream
Ice cream stains on blue shirts
Blue mornings on ice cold days

It’s crowded
Up there
Not sure
If I can sleep
For more than one reason

Nice Try, Gentlemen.

A/N: I had a little trouble with this one, I apologize. Here it is.

Summary: As a pirate, nobody knows who you truly are until one day you were caught and was sent to the gallows, but someone saved your life.

Jack x Reader

Genre - Romance/Action

Requested by Anon

Written by Admin Ashley


Walking across the port, you took off your hat and jacket. You looked up at your ship and tossed them, your crew catching them on time.You brushed out your sleeves and felt the heat radiating from your arm. It was a hot day at Port Royal, even from your long voyage out at sea. 

You walked up to the harbor master and smiled warmly. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?” 

 He nodded in agreement and took off his dusty hat. He fanned himself with it and you could see his glistening skin. “Aye, it is,” he said and you nodded. “It’s way to hot to be outdoors, where ye coming from?” 

“Oh, here and there,” you said and reached into your pocket for your gold. “Could you point me to the pub?” 

 “Five shillings,” he said and you got out a pouch of coins. “The pub, right next to the blacksmith.”  You turned and idly saw your crew mates walking away from the port. You handed the harbor master some shillings for docking and smiled slightly. “You going to drink all night at the tavern?” He asked and you faced him. “There’s going to be some kind of show there, a bard with his lute, you should check it out.” 

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