my heart and my teeth are aching

For motivation reasons I want to post the first POV section of my currently unnamed FFXV ‘catatonic siren au’. Basic information is that sirens don’t cope well (understatement) when seperated from their pods.

He is hungry and alone.

Noctis feels so cold. He wants his pod so badly. The loneliness aches deeper than his bones. It feels like something has chewed on his heart and left teeth behind. He can’t even smell his pod on himself anymore, their scent faded weeks ago.


Everything smells so strange and he smells terrible. He can’t smell his pod anymore and his naked scent hurts so much. It smells so wrong. Not even the scents of surface -city- distract from the stink of being alone; not even the way everything smells like prey and smoking fumes, like rot and stone and metal.


A blurry haze of flashing colours and loud stop-start noises passes the dark place -alley- where Noctis is hidden, out of sight of the prey and so many noises and colours that he wants to scream. He wants his pod, he wants them so badly. He doesn’t want to be alone but he doesn’t know where they are.


Noctis grips his wrist tighter, trying to pretend that his hand belongs to a podmate. His fingers twisting in the fabric of the warm coverings he took from a prey, he’s so hungry. He could barely swallow a few bites of his kill, and he doesn’t know how long ago that was. He doesn’t know how long he’s been here, away from the blurs and noises.


Noctis whines softly, high in his throat, the ultrasonic pulse crashing into the chaosnoisesomanyprey around him. It doesn’t reach far, not like in the water, not like in the water where his pod would have been able to find him easily.


His || Jungkook  || 0.11

Member: Jungkook x Reader

Type: Angst, Fluff, Smut.

Teaser | 0.1 | 0.2 | 0.3 | 0.4 | 0.5 | 0.6 | 0.7 | 0.8 | 0.9 | 0.10 | 0.11 |

Jungkook’s POV - Starts after the scene where Seokjin had told Y/N about them being werewolves.

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she had gone.. and after months of trying to recover and getting my sanity back. The day came in which I felt finally alive, I went to blend with the others, to feel life again. I had lots of jokes and laughs, for the first time in months I wasn’t distracted, I wasn’t thinking, I wasn’t weak. Hours passed, and it is the evening.. we put on some music, and played a card game, had lots of food..
And then the night is finally here.. everyone left, I left, heading home.. brushed my teeth, changed my clothes and went to bed.. I stayed awake.. my heart is aching again.. I can never surpass the night..
—  q8ieng 

Thursday, August 10th, 1950
“Mother, today I killed a man…I threw a terrifying device called a hand grenade and it killed him instantly. The explosion nearly tore out my own ear drums. Even as I write at this moment, my ear is filled with a dreadful echo. But as much as an enemy they are to me, it pains my heart knowing that the people I’m shooting at are my people who I share the same blood and language with. And as if death is approaching, my fellow student comrades lay hopelessly in the sun, as if the enemy might advance any moment. However, talking to you eases my disturbed mind. The enemy is dead silent, I do not know when they shall strike.They have countless foes, we only have 71. I am scared because I do not know what to do next. Mother, there is a chance I might die today. It’s unlikely that those numerous North Korean soldiers. Would just ignore us and march on. Dear mother, it’s not that I’m afraid of death. I’m just afraid that I shall never see you or my siblings again. However, I shall live. I promise I will survive.
Mother, my aching heart is starting to settle now.
Mother, I shall survive and be at your side again.
I crave a fresh lettuce wrap right now. I want to slurp down on cold noodles until my teeth fall off beside the waterfall…
Ah, the enemies are coming now.
I shall write again. Mother goodbye! Goodbye! Ah, this is not a goodbye. For I shall write again. Until then…”

- letter discovered on the body of South Korean soldier Lee Woo Geun, killed three days after writing it during the defense of Seoul

An ache in my lungs. The rotting infatuation behind my teeth.
Sweet decay.
The loss of love at the base of my heart.

Love is fickle love is non existent in this life I live.
My knees tremble for it I
arch my neck and sigh for it.
I wish and long and scream behind sealed lips.

My hand is empty, too small without another to warm it.
I used to cup my palms around my own soul, a purple white flame that flickered and burnt those too weak to remove it from my grip
now it burns in my chest, alongside the ice in my veins the
cold behind my eyes. No, not the heat of tears but just a heaviness of longing. A glacier in my mouth.
A fire in my breast.

She dances away with another, with others, dragging me in her wake.
She places her hands on my shoulders and pushes me into myself, into vibrant darkness that sparks with
My skin crawls, writhes, aches for more than this. I flinch away because if I do not my traitorous heart would take control and force me closer

Can she not feel the searing heat in my breath, in my skin as she holds me, a hand on my wrist
my leg
my thigh
my stomach
my spine. The forest fire in my lungs.
She touches and taps and breathes against me.

All while keeping me at arms length.

She’s smiling, laughing, twines her hands through my hair, drags nails down the column of my neck, my throat, chills erupting and giving me away
I bare it for her willingly, my weakness flayed wide open.
She holds my ribs in her hands my heart strings between her teeth.

Oh I would do anything for her, let her do anything just to remain in the embrace of her laughter, the thrill of her entire being. Even if I am never able to touch or hold
Or embrace her

I suffer silently. Heavily.

This love is going to burn me up, if this longing doesn’t freeze me first.

We traded our hearts in between the ridges of the pages of a book. Our hands were on fire where they were connected to each other as we exchanged our burning hearts. And when we placed them in each others chest, the fire spread down to our toes in a hazy rush. Afterwards, we could hear our hearts beating through the flesh to the same rhythm as their counterparts. And so, with our eyes closed and ears wide open, we took turns getting lost in the steady thrum of our hearts.

A few kisses and I swallowed your soul and let it flow through my veins. For a moment we were one and the same, but then I let it out from the tips of my fingers. And it drifted through the air - beautiful and broken - touching skin and bones; igniting them from within. And the imprints of your touch shone like little suns, escaping from the surface and lighting everything all around, and suddenly, the world was a beacon of light, and it was wonderful and at that moment, I didn’t mind being alive.

You watched, as one after the other, the stars died; their actual light fading from them as an artificial one took their place. You don’t tell them (me) that their lights were sacrificed to grant the wishes of the greedy and desperate. You didn’t say that that’s how you kill a star. You didn’t speak of the sadness you felt as your brothers and sisters disappeared one after the other - it makes my heart ache for the loneliness embedded in your soul - until only you remained; a single flame within this cold, dark world. You smiled - countless tales of melancholy warping the edges of your lips - and told me that you’ll grant me any wish I desire and I grinned - mouth full of pleasure and teeth sharpened with bliss - because I had a secret you didn’t know. I tilt my head up and kiss you and make my wish.

You are a fire that I harbor within my bones. Your presence is strongest in the stark white of my rib cage which envelopes your heart in my chest. Sometimes, I still feel your soul in my bloodstream - little specks like dust motes flying to your own rhythm. When I cut myself - paper cuts frequent my fingers - the blood that flows out glitters like sunspots and I know that it is you that I see. They call me crazy when I tell them that there are stars in the sky; they don’t believe in what they can’t see, you see. Sometimes, it makes me cry because I see you - I’ve always seen you, I will always see you - and they can’t. It makes me almost believe that they are right. Almost. But I miss you. And I’ve felt you - loved you - too clearly - too dearly - to think you an illusion. I feel your heart beat in my chest everyday and I reaffirm your existence with every thump that drums out. I am alive. You are alive.

I find Neverland in your eyes. We are surrounded by all that is gone, dead. There is no light here except yours; I do not need any light that is not yours. We remain unchanged and undisturbed while encompassed in the nothing for centuries and I don’t find that disconcerting at all. Sometimes, I think I even prefer this to before - before we got here, before when you existed within me and not beside me. Your brothers and sisters are here with us but their lights are still out. But we can feel their presence as easily as they can feel ours. Here, you are happy without abandon. Your light twinkles and titters like a mellowed out version of fireworks. You remind me of a child. I love you like this. I think I will love you whichever, however, whenever. I want to stay here forever even though I know that cannot be. But I do not fret, because I know that when I wake again, I will wake alone, without any knowledge of your existence, but knowing that I will always find Neverland in your eyes. And somehow, that’s enough.

—  when you swallow a star // oscarsins
Until My Feet Bleed and My Heart Aches Chapter Title Music

·       Bad Blood by Bastille – Chapter 1: The Days That Bind Us

·       Never Look Away by Vienna Teng – Chapter 2: Memories You Bury Or Live By

·       This Love (Will Be Your Downfall) by Ellie Goulding – Chapter 3: Who Are We (To Turn Each Other’s Heads)

·       Young God by Halsey – Chapter 4: You Know We’re Gonna Be Legends

·       Primadonna Girl by Marina and the Diamonds – Chapter 5: All I Ever Wanted Was the World

·       Trade Mistakes by Panic! At the Disco – Chapter 6: Count Me Away Before You Sleep

·       Please Don’t Leave Me by P!nk – Chapter 7: I’m Always Saying How I Don’t Need You

·       Kiss With a Fist by Florence and the Machine – Chapter 8: A Kick in the Teeth Is Better For Some

·       Live Like Legends by Ruelle – Chapter 9: This Is Our Time (No Turning Back)

·       Dark Eyes – Chapter 10: And The Best Reward

·       On A Night Like This by Kylie Minogue – Chapter 11: You Kiss Me (I’m Falling)

·       Little Too Much by Natasha Bedingfield – Chapter 12: It’s Wonderful To Fall (Let’s Love and Risk It All)

·       Wrong Direction by Passenger – Chapter 13: Wrong Direction

·       Stammi Vicino Non Te Ne Andare - Chapter 14: Stay Close To Me (And Never Leave)

On the day I was born, there was a storm;
I came into this world amid blood and wind,
Tumultuous waves of salt and seas of pain,
To hear the first words from my mother:
Thank God it’s a girl.

It’s a girl…
Barely a breath breathed and I am marked,
Known for the parts between my legs
That will dictate my femininity
For the rest of my childhood.

“But why can’t I be a boy?”
An innocent question for a six year old, right?
So why did it earn me a kick in the teeth,
A disdainful glare that stabbed me over and again,
Like Norman Bates’ kitchen knife,
As I recanted the question
And locked it up for a later date.

But it didn’t stay locked.
The question kept creeping through,
Five year down the road, then ten.
“Why can’t I be a boy?”
Restless nights of dreaming I was “him,”
Turned into days of acting the part,
As simple as the name
Written in sharpie on a paper coffee cup.
“It’s Émile. E-M-I-L-E
Yeah, like Emilie but the male variant.”
And sipping my latte, the one with my name on it,
I told myself that I must be a boy on the inside.

I was given a word for it eventually.
And oh god how that terrified me!
It sounded like transvestite and those were evil,
As per the words of the harpie
Who came into my room each morning,
Even before I was dressed,
To ridicule and tell me how disappointed she was in me,
But thank God I had been born a girl!

And so I fought it.
Good god, I really fought myself
Just to make her proud,
To be the pretty daughter she wanted,
With sweet smiles and demure blush,
Ready to serve the man of her choosing,
All the while knowing it was a fabrication,
Trying to lock away the feelings of masculinity
Until my wrists bled and my teeth ached
From saying the lies over and over,
My clenched jaw claiming womanhood
As the man raged and tore at the bars,
Screaming, “This is not who you are!”

Mama, I tried so hard to make you happy!
But here I am with my Iscariot heart
That’s made you weep and despise me,
Made me your crown of thorns.
I am not and never was your little girl,
But I am your son who longs for you!
I am not anathema, nor damned,
Simply a man who is tired,
Who cannot pretend to be what he is not.

On the day I was born, I was labelled
With a bright red “F” on a sheet of paper,
That would seek to define me from cradle to grave.
But when I die, it will be etched in stone:
“Here lies he who was husband, father, and a good man.”
May it be a memorial for the ages,
The public knowledge that I am a man.
And this ending to the game will stand the test of time:
That rock finally beat paper.

Always You- Kili (Part Three)

Pairing: Kili/OC

Prompt: sango-hentaitenshi asked:
Can I request a Kili x Reader where Kili thinks she’s into Fili and it takes someone pointing it out to him that it’s KILI the reader is really crazy for? Bonus points if Fili knows this and uses it to wind Kili up and flirts hella hard with Reader. Thank you!

A/N: Last part! Eek!

Part One  Part Two

I had known there was an entire world beyond my front door, but never had I imagined a place as beautiful as Rivendell. The word paradise had come to mind the moment we had stepped out from the cliffs to see the city waiting below us. Waterfalls, trees that twisted toward the sky, lush gardens, buildings beautifully crafted from stone. Almost as beautiful as the elves who resided there.

I sat curled up on the stone floor, my back resting against the wicker chair Kili was lounging on. The warg riders felt like a distant nightmare, now that I was safe and fed. 

“There’s part of me that wishes I could stay here forever.” I admitted, glancing up at Kili.

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“Minako had said he was a blessing - that his pockets were deep and Yuuri was lucky to have caught his eye. But Viktor Nikiforov was a curse, and Yuuri finds himself trapped in a world of blood and death where it takes violence to mend what is broken.”

Mania is a state of abnormally elevated (feelings of) arousal, affect and energy level, where the overall activation is heightened as well as expressions (actions) of affect that are also enhanced. Freud considered that the maniac individual must have suffered a great and traumatic loss (something that could also be linked to the Oedipus Complex phase) and the ego unable to properly deal as it was supposed to turns all of its energy at a target that will act as a substitute for the object of affection that was lost in order to fulfill that gap. Obsessive and violent behaviour might be characteristics indentified in a maniac individual, though they may vary.

Cupio dissolvi is a latin locution that means (literally) «I wish to be dissolved». This concept has played an important role in the discussion on suicide. Some other reflexions and interpretations considered something like one’s desire to leave life in order to die, so that they could join God in the afterlife and end their sufferings, being able to become once again pure in the eyes of God. Freud believed that it wasn’t only a simple matter of having a death wish, it also had something to do with the struggle one goes through in a lifetime while trying to fight against the intense impulse or desire for death (most likely linked to his concept of death drive).

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I Wrote You a Kiss

My heart craves late night
connections during reaches to transcendence
moon phasing only as witness
tendrils breaking by breath or breach
of protocol. Arms outstretched to touch
the dawn. Where is my heart when
the sky swells radiant? We cannot taste
truth with our mouths set like this.

My heart wants to hold you
behind clinched teeth; wants to see you
go up in flames.
Wonder how much you must burn.
Just a little shaking
and then quiet. Where is my heart
when you are no more? We cannot experience
truth with our souls separate like this.

My heart aches to feel you
pressed close enough to labor beating
breathing still. Shallow pulses betray
impulse to live. We breathe
as one. We cannot exist as anything
less than this.

My heart means this
when my lips say “I love you.”

© 2017 by Jennifer R.R. Mueller

tonight i cried until my heart
lost itself in the forest.

i miss people i have never met,
places i have never been to,
worlds i have never seen. there’s
an ache in my chest that’s so timeless
no history book could ever hope to
determine the cause. fairy tales have
the most bitter of tastes but reality,
oh damnable reality, she’s so sweet
i think my teeth will rot and my tongue
will fall off. but yet here i am—still
reaching out to the stars with hope
at the ends of my fingertips like little
butterfly nets ready to catch the
radiance of the night. everyone around
me grows blinder by the day and rather
than join them, i just keep on stubbornly
playing pretend because it’s all i can do.

there are days where i want to think
that i was not meant for this world.

but i’m still here,
and my soul still yearns for
something more,
and my head just
can’t accept the way things are
and the way things always will be.

Chapter Five: In the Still of the Night

Mid June, 1543; Beauly, Inverness-shire, Scotland.


My shin collided painfully with something and I cursed under my breath. Movement from the bed behind me told me I had woken Jamie up, something I had been trying hard not to do.

“Are ye alright, Sassenach?” He asked groggily.

“Yes, I’m fine.” I grumbled, groping around to find the water jug in the dark.

I sloshed the liquid blindly into a cup and made my way back to the bed.

“Ye dinna sound fine,” his voice rose in elevation as he sat up. ”Is yer heart burning?”

“The term is heartburn, Jamie. It’s not actually on fire.”

It just feels like it.

I crawled gingerly back into bed, being especially careful not to spill the liquid relief. I hadn’t been able to purchase any of the herbs I knew helped relieve heartburn while we were in Inverness, and didn’t find any growing in our travels. This meant I was stuck with plain old water and patience as my remedy for this common pregnancy symptom.

My husband tipped his head back with a cheeky grin as I settled in beside him, his teeth flashing in the darkness. “No’ even for me, mo chridhe?”

I groaned at his attempt at a joke and poked him, resisting the urge to upend the cup of water over his head.

“Only for you, James Fraser.”

Jamie caught hold of my hand, kissing the back of it. “Jenny says tha’ means the bairn will have lots o’ hair.”

I snorted into the cup, taking a small sip.  “He better.”

The mention of his sister made my heart ache. Having three children herself and my closest friend, I desperately wished I could talk to her.

“Go easy on yer mam, aye?” Jamie grinned while he spoke to the child within me, his hand finding the growing swell beneath my shift. “Ye dinna have to be boastin’ a full head o’ hair from the start, ye ken.”

He spoke to our child often and it never ceased to make me smile. Jamie had made a habit of telling the baby goodnight and good morning every day, although the baby never quite managed to stick to his father’s schedule. The growing child found the rising and setting of the sun irrelevant to his life in utero, sleeping or stretching whenever it suited him.

“Tell me about dinner with the Laird,” I urged, needing a distraction from my discomfort.

The Laird of Lovat, or more accurately his Lady, had invited us to Beauly for an extended stay, in order to properly thank us for saving their son’s life. We hadn’t been here long, having arrived at dusk and it being around midnight now, but they were already proving to be more than gracious hosts.

We we’re immediately shown to our rooms in order to freshen up, and I had promptly fell asleep.

I certainly hadn’t been my intention.

We were to be seated at the head table as guests of honor at dinner. This was an opportunity we needed to take full advantage of, something that could determine our lot in life here in the sixteenth century.

I had been loaned a spare gown for the event. It was a deep blue and patterned after what, I assumed, was the latest fashion in the Highlands. Unfortunately, once freed from my dirty clothes and a layer of filth was removed, my body refused to do my bidding. I sat brushing the same strand of hair for a good five minutes before Jamie ushered me to the bed. One moment I was arguing that I needed to get dressed, the next it was the middle of the night and I had heartburn.

Jamie shifted into a more comfortable position beside me and began to speak, “It went well, I think. They send their regards and wish us to remain at Beauly until the bairn is born.”

“But that won’t be for months!” I exclaimed. Hospitality was one thing but that seemed a bit excessive.

“Umhmm,” came Jamie’s Scottish acknowledgement. “They seem to be quite taken wi’ us, Sassenach.”

“And what do they expect us to do until then, just twiddle our thumbs?”

Jamie seemed to like that idea. His hands gravitating further south, thumbs tracing circles on my inner thighs.

“That’s not what I meant,” I squirmed.

“Oh, aye?“ His thumbs increasing in pressure and urgency.

I dribbled a little of my water onto his head and he laughed, kissing the place his thumbs had just left. “No’ just yet, mo nighean donn?”

“No,” I answered dryly. While that had proven to be a more than adequate distraction in the past, I didn’t think he’d appreciate being vomited on in the midst of intercourse.

He rolled back onto the pillow, his hands quietly resting on the swell of my abdomen as he got back onto topic. “I ken what ye mean. Frasers may be stubborn, but we dinna let an opportunity pass by when we see it.”

My brows furrowed in thought as I took another sip of water, “And just what sort of opportunity would we be?”

“The healer here is getting on in years, has the rheumatics something awful by the sound o’ it.”

Listen to him! I hid a smile behind my cup. Diagnosing patients all in his own.

“Ye’ve stirred up no a wee bit o’ clishmaclaver with your skills, Sassenach, and it seems the Laird and Lady see us as some sort o’ guardians.”

“What?” I sputtered, the water partially going up my nose.

He shrugged and took the cup from me as I coughed. “They willna come out and say it, but they think we have special powers.”

Jesus H Roosevelt Christ, not again.

“Wait, we?” I asked.

“It seems the lads saw my back… tha’ combined with the rescue and ye bringing Willie back from the dead…”

“He wasn’t dead!” I protested.

Jamie’s eyebrows rose.

“Well, not yet anyway.” I aqueased. “His heart was still beating.”

“Be that as it may, Sassenach, the lad wouldna be alive without us.” He said simply.

“They think we’re guardians, not healers?” I asked, wondering at the distinction.

An amused smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, “Drowning seems to be something ye save someone from, no’ heal them of.”

Good point.

“The fact that ye’re wi’ child has no’ escaped them either.” He continued.

Looking down at him curiously, I asked, “What does that have to do with anything?”

“I heard one woman speculate that ye’re Niamh herself.” He said with no small amount of amusement.

“Niamh?” The name didn’t sound familiar.

“A Queen of Tír na nÓg, the land of youth, who becomes pregnant with Oisìn’s child.”

“Which would make you Oisìn?” I inquired, completely intrigued.

“’Tis only a tale, and an Irish one a’ that.” He shrugged off the connection, “Although they do travel thru time, come to think of it.”

I stared at him, “You’re joking.”

“Nae, Sassenach, no’ at all. Oisìn spends, what he thinks is, three years in Niamh’s kingdom, but, when he returns to his own, he finds ‘tis really been three hundred and the people he knew are now that o’ legend.” He explained.

“Jamie, I spent three years with you in the past,” a chill ran down my spine, heartburn completely forgotten, “and now we’re with ancestors that we thought of as all but legend.”

The connections dawned on him as they had me, “'Tis no’ far off, is it?”

“A little too close for comfort.” I muttered.

We were silent for a time, each considering how the clan viewed us. I grew more and more uncomfortable with the notion of being thought of as something akin to a deity.

“So what exactly do they expect the Queen of Youth to do?” I set down the now empty cup near the edge of the mattress and snuggled down next to my husband, needing to feel his strong arms around me. “Or am I simply to be Laird’s new lucky charm?”

He pulled me close. “I dinna ken, nor do I think they ken, but they’re no’ about to let us leave until they figure it out.”

I groaned at the prospect of being watched like a hawk yet again, my every action dissected and discussed. “Please tell me you talked of other things besides our supposed supernatural abilities and origins.”

“Oh, aye,” he grinned. “We discussed his horses a great deal, would ye like to hear about that?”

With a contented sigh, I answered, “Not particularly.”

“Feeling better, then?” His eyes searched my face, needing more than words in confirmation.

My stomach growled loudly in answer. “I’m starving,” I added unnecessarily.

Placing soft kiss on the tip of my nose, he rolled out of bed. He lit a lamp, the warm glow illuminating his way across the room. Jamie picked up a large wooden tray laden with food and carefully set it on the bed in front of me.

“Mrs Gordon, the cook ye ken, wanted to be sure ye had food when ye woke,” he beamed, proud to supply the very thing I wanted.

I picked up the bannoch closest to me and took a bite. Trying to smile around my full mouth, I offered one to him. He took it and nibbled at it while he spoke, “She wanted me to tell ye tha’ she an’ her daughter are the midwives here at Beauly. The Lady Janet speaks highly o’ them, too.”

The food in my mouth seemed to turn to sawdust and I swallowed hard. Jamie seemed to guess the source of my discomfort, squeezing my hand with an attempt at a smile. I could tell he was trying desperately to hide it, but the fear was evident in his eyes.

I would need a midwife come November, wouldn’t I? I knew it would be different this time. Longer, more arduous, than with Faith.

I had assisted Jenny in the births of her daughters. My brain recited the stages of labor and delivery, reminding me that, while I knew how it worked, I was very unprepared to actually do it myself.

Terrified, was more like it.

But there was a nagging worry that preempted the fear of childbirth.

Crawling onto Jamie’s lap, I clung tightly to him, whispering his name into the darkness.

“Aye, mo chridhe?“ He murmured in my ear.

“What if it happens again?”

A shudder ran thru him at the thought that we could lose this baby too. “Ye havena had any bleeding, have ye?”

I shook my head, my face buried his neck. “But it’s early, I hadn’t yet then, either.”

“We willna lose the bairn, Claire,” his voice was steady, sure. “I give ye my word.”

The promise loosened the grip of fear around my heart, but the knowledge that miscarriages often had more to do with the baby than the mother’s actions kept the fear from dislodging all together.

“It’s not something we can stop, Jamie. If there’s something wrong with the baby, there’s nothing you or I can do to prevent it from happening again.” My words were desperate, my voice quavering.

He lifted me, turning me towards him so that the baby was pressed between us. My legs wrapped around him and held fast. The corner of his mouth lifted as he felt the baby move within me.

“Our bairn is healthy and growing within ye, Sassenach.” His hands cradled my face, his thumb caressing my cheekbone. “I give ye my promise, this time will be different.”

There is a traditional Kanton hand-clapping rhyme that tells the story of a foolish child grabbing the tails of a ninetales in turn, detailing all of the different curses that will befall them as a consequence. Although originally Japanese, the song has an English translation which, whilst mostly similar in meaning, has been adapted to preserve the rhymes and rhythm. The song is as follows:

Mama, mama, I felt the first tail,

As bright as a penny and as soft as a veil.

I think I did wrong, but I do not know why,

Because there’s night in my eyes and not a star in the sky. 

Mama, mama, I felt the next tail,

As light as a cloud and as sleek as a scale.

I think I did wrong, but I do not know how,

Because there’s blood on my tongue and sweat on my brow.

Mama, mama, I felt the third tail,

As thick as a bush and so golden and pale.

I think I did wrong, for all I can tell,

Because there’s fire in my chest that no water can quell.

Mama, mama, I felt the fourth tail,

As long as a ribbon and smooth as a gale.

I think I did wrong, or so I can guess,

Because there’s hands on my back that keep pulling my dress.

Mama, mama, I felt the fifth tail,

Swirling like wood smoke and shining like hail. 

I think I did wrong, or something akin,

Because there’s an ache in my bones and bites on my skin.

Mama, mama, I felt the sixth tail,

The golden of grain but not nearly so frail.

I think I did wrong, made some kind of mistake,

Because my head’s full of nightmares that don’t leave when I wake. 

Mama, mama, I touched them again,

As nice on the skin as a warm summer rain. 

I think I did wrong, it must be the case,

Because there’s a girl in the mirror who’s not got my face.

Mama, mama, I can’t count any more,

There’s teeth in my heart and a hand in my core.

The pain’s in my head and my bones have turned weak,

So let down my body and leave me to sleep.

The last line is often shouted, traditionally followed by the children dropping to the floor and closing their eyes. The length and content of the song varies across the Japanese regions.  

Easy lies and simple truth.

Originally posted by kendaspntwd

Originally posted by out-in-the-open

Originally posted by klassyfeels

Sequel to In between the lines 

In My Veins by Andrew Belle

Dean x Reader     More ANGST with dollops of fluff

Word Count: 6106

A/N: Lines borrowed from Season 11 episodes “Don’t you forget about me.”, “Red Meat.”, and “The Chitters.” are in Bold.

“The lies we tell others are nothing compared to the lies we tell ourselves.” - Derek Landy

Dean ran down the hall and careened into her room. “Y/n?” He stared at the perfectly made bed. He took another step forward picturing her that morning, the sheets twisted around her and her head shoved in the pillow. Why didn’t he say more? Why didn’t he urge her to come?

He scanned the room and his gaze froze on the notepad sitting on the desk. His heart dropped into his stomach. He walked over and picked it up then looked in the trash can. Two water bottles and some scraps of paper but then he dropped the notepad and grabbed two balled up pieces of paper.

He placed them on the desk and flattened the first one out. Her writing was sloppy, slanted, and she had scribbled over it but it was still legible. He remembered that night before. The things he said echoing in his head like a pickaxe as he read her scrawl.

Pros and cons of loving Dean Winchester, of staying in the shadows with Dean Winchester, standing in his shadow.

I want more.

Not with this thing with Amara.

Not tonight.

Feminine outbursts.

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I think we need to talk about how similar Rowan and Aelin’s relationship is to that of Tamlin and Feyre’s. 

The only similarities between Rowan and Rhysand lie in the fact that they’re the current love interests of the protagonists of their respective series. The comparisons end there. Ever since ACOMAF came out, people have been jumping on the chance to include Rowan in the appraisal of Sarah’s feminist male characters and healthy relationships when he does absolutely nothing to be included in that mix. More than anything Rowan resembles Tamlin in his dangerously protective and possessive nature, the only difference is, no one reprimands him for it because the narrative romanticizes him instead criticizing him.

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Imperfect (Angst) (Potential New Admin)

Originally posted by kingsobi

[ reminder: these are submitted to us so that we can see if we want the writers to be admins on our account. we’re sharing them with you so that you can give feedback! if you like this, help the writer out and send us a message about it or reblog/reply with a comment. full credit goes to the blog listed at the very bottom ] [ other applications and scenarios here ]

Word Count: 1,173

Trigger Warning: mentions of death and suicide

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