my heart yearns for these two

what is home?

home is the yellow of his hair
golden as the sun
and soft like the rays that fall from it
home is the dotting of freckles across his nose
like sprinkled stardust on his skin
in constellations yet to be discovered
home is the broadness of his shoulders
strong and sturdy
built from the weight of his country’s name that he carries with resilient pride
home is the blue of his eyes
pools of endless sky
searching for his next horizon and yearning to cross it into uncharted waves
home is the pink of his lips
two rose petals pressed together
softer than silk as they brush across a lover’s mouth
bruising at even the hint of a gentle kiss
home is the boy he used to be
the punk who fought in back alleys
an underground patriot that sought justice before justice had the decency to find him

home is everything he is
everything he was
and everything he will ever be

—  my heart dwells in the church of his name (j.b.b)

you are that unattainable ideal
I admire from
my perch below,

an embodiment of joy
that does not seem real,
the stranger
I will never know.

you are the light
when the universe sings,
the sun can only rise
when you smile.

I am the bird
with two broken wings
who passed through
your life for a while.

I watch from below,
above me you soar,
as I try to fathom
a heart wanting you more.



the misery of
a lonely heart pleading.


the pain of a tormented
soul burning.

burning if only that I
may shine it’s light
to the sky,
to catch one more
stolen glimpse
of the wonder of you
passing by.

So I've come to a realization.

I’m in a lot of fandoms. Past and present and probably way more in the future. That’s not my realization though. My realization is that I’ve never before missed a fandom as much as I do with Hannibal. I’m a relatively new fannibal. I finished the series about a two to three months ago, but I do feel as if I’m pretty connected with the show. I find it fascinatingly complex, and I just miss it. I miss being able to follow the story of two men that share yet repel each other’s minds. However, I’ve never missed a show like this. I miss all my other fandoms whenever they go on hiatus or something, but it’s different than with Hannibal. I just genuinely miss and ache for more of my murder husbands. It’s amazing. It’s as if this show is a physical person in which my heart yearns for. It’s so strange. Look at what you’ve done to me, Hannibal fandom. I’m a longing and sad mess now.


Aftermath: Life Debt

Grand Admiral Rae Sloane and Fleet Admiral Gallius Rax

Oh man, I’ve been enjoying this book and the interactions between these two are incredible. I’ve not been this entertained in a long while. I love Rae and Rax is a great new addition, he’s such trash. Anyhow, they’re honestly my faves and super important to me! (For the ‘good guys’ side, I love Mr Bones and Sinjir).

I’d say I could talk about them for hours, but I’m already doing that, huge thanks to @permian-tropos for the heaps of inspiration fuel. This is also a public howl to please contact me if you wish to share thoughts about these two. Thank you.

NaruHina: Happier

A familiar trill of laughter breaks through the cold night air and stops Naruto in his tracks. For a moment, he wonders if he just imagined it, if somehow in his yearning, he’s starting to hear things. It wouldn’t be the first time. But he looks ahead and finds the source. His heart drops and his immediate reaction is to hide behind the alley like a scared little boy.

The brick wall he leans on is cold, but still not quite as cold as his hands have gotten at the sight of her. She laughs again, this time louder, less inhibited, and the habitual clenching of his chest begins again.

He takes a cowardly peek from behind his post, stealing a curious glance at Hinata and her new companion. He regrets it, but he can’t look away. So he keeps staring, studying the little changes in her face, in her manners, like he’s relearning her all over again. She’s chopped off her long, midnight locks. She now wears an uncharacteristically short bob that hid none of the beautiful features of her face. But he remembers the way he used to run his fingers through her long hair, or how it draped around his lap like silk when he cradled her underneath the shade of their favorite nara tree.

He smiles secretly as he watches her nose crinkle and her eyes narrow gleefully in laughter. She throws her head back and he swallows a pang of jealousy at the sight of her dainty hands clutching another man’s arm for balance. He doesn’t remember seeing her laugh this hard. If she ever did, it wasn’t because of him.

Hinata eventually comes downs from her fit, dipping her head and coyly tucking her hair behind her ear. It reminds Naruto of how often he used to do that while she slept. That, and kiss her neck and wrap his arm around her waist and sleep with their limbs in a tangle under the covers. His chest clenches again, his stomach lurches. He has not slept in days and the evidence displayed itself in darkened eyes, sallow skin and chapped lips. A lump swells threateningly in his throat, making it harder for him to breathe in the biting night air.

He misses her, he admits bitterly, more than anything. He thinks of all the things he wished he said to her, things he wouldn’t be allowed to say anymore. He’s too late and somebody else tells them to her now. Somebody else gets to tuck her hair and kiss her hand and whisper to her ear. The thought hits him hard and knocks what air was left in his lungs.

She looks happier. The unfiltered news from Ino resonates in his mind. He didn’t want to believe it then, because how can she be when he was there struggling to make it without her as every miserable day went by. But he sees it now, Ino was right. It’s written all over her angel face. It’s in the way her eyes glint and the way her lips curl up and easy way she bounces on her feet. She looks happier.

His friends told him one day he’ll feel it too. He’ll be happier without her. It’s no longer a choice. But he looks at her and he continues to see everything he’s ever wanted and everything he doesn’t want to live without— everything that he’s failed to cherish, and now everything that he has to live without.

He loses himself in his harrowing thoughts and forgot his position. He has managed to step out into the street, in plain sight, open and vulnerable. He looks past their figures from right across him, as if not seeing them at all. Until their lips touched and he felt his knees about to give way from under him. He chokes back a sob, it comes out as a gasp instead. And they hear it. They turn.

The silver-haired man eyes him curiously. Hinata gapes, wide-eyed and unmistakably horrified. Her hand reaches to cover her mouth, establishing her shock, and they lock eyes– lavender against blue. He feels the heat of the tears on his cheeks as it betrays his hidden sorrow. He can gauge by the sadness in her eyes how much she pities him. He pities himself too. He wants to run, but his feet were rooted firmly to the pavement. His feet begin to sink from under him and Hinata breaks into a run towards him, hands outstrecthed to the rescue. She’s a little too late. The earth swallows Naruto and he plummets into the dark abyss.

“Naruto-kun!” he hears her call out for the last time.


Maybe it wasn’t for the last time.


He could just be hearing things again.


Hinata’s aggressive shaking finally pays off. Naruto opens his eyes and shields himself from the blinding glare of the lamp.

“Naruto-kun, you were having a nightmare.” Hinata squeaks, voice still shrill in panic.

Naruto bolts right up and grabs her shoulder, searching every inch of her as if to validate her existence, before finding her eyes. He doesn’t waste a single second more. He kisses her fervently, like he’s never kissed her before, like he’ll never get to kiss her again. He clings to her needily, desperately, afraid the dream would claim her again. Hinata humors him at first, but she senses a deeper concern in need of resolution. She knows Naruto is not good with words, so she takes it in her to coax out his emotional demons so they can vanquish them together.

He recalls the nightmare like a terrified child, pouting and seeking solace in her bossom. Then he tells her everything like a man seeking restitution. His confessions come in an unabated outpour— honest and uninhibited, crude and unapologetic— the only way Naruto knows how. All the while, he kissed her hands, stroked her hair and held her close. By the time he’s done, Hinata is speechless. Nothing she could possibly utter would rival his emotional veracity. So instead, she smiles, both to him and to herself, because Naruto never ceases to surprise.

He searches her lavender eyes again, not quite knowing what he’s looking for, afraid of what he’ll find. But he finds nothing but blaring affection and a gleaming promise of understanding.

Hinata cups his face and looks at him warmly, eyes now wet with tears.

“I remember watching you from afar, and the pain of wanting you for so long… Hoping that perhaps one day you’ll look my way and and see my love. And here you are, breaking my heart all over again.”

Naruto’s heart stops. He opens his mouth but words elude him. It wasn’t his intent to hurt her, the idiot that he is, he wanted the exact opposite of that! But Hinata smiles at him, the saddest of smiles he’s ever seen. And his heart breaks too, not from sadness, but from an uncontainable torrent of devotion for her that threatens to break his chest. He chokes back a sob; Hinata begins to laugh softly amid her tears. They embrace.

“You don’t even realize how much I am yours,” she whispers, and Naruto lets out a relieved sigh.

“Hime, I will never be happy without you.”

“I hope so,” she teases. Naruto looks at her and pouts before playfully showering her with kisses. He looks at her giggling and twisting in a sea of blankets, and he thinks to himself, she looks happier.

Loosely based on the song Happier by Ed Sheeran (big surprise).
This was actually an angsty headcanon I told @psyclopathe. It wasn’t supposed to have a happy ending but I love my friend too much to break her heart, so here it is. Hehe…

Werewolf Suho Part Eight

Part one Part two Part Three Part four part five part six part seven

I tossed and turned all night, remembering that I can’t sleep without Suho beside me. But, that means Suho can’t sleep either, so I wasn’t going to give up and go to his room. I laid on my side, staring at the city outside my large window, watching the lights shining and flicker. My heart yearned for Suho, having him so close but not being able to touch him, or be close to him.
I turned around as I heard the door open, but turned back around when I saw it was Suho.
“I can hear you tossing and turning from the other room. Please just come in bed and sleep. I can’t even imagine how exhausted you are.” Suho pleads.
“I’m still mad at you.” I grumble.
“I know that. Just come to bed so you can sleep. That’s all I’m asking.” Suho said.
“If I can’t sleep that means you can’t sleep. I want you to feel how I felt these past four days.” I said, still not facing him. Suho ran his hands over his face, sighing loudly.
“I realize I fucked up okay? You’re literally hurting yourself to hurt me. You don’t think this isn’t torture enough? Knowing my mate is so angry with me she won’t even look at me? I’m begging you, just come to bed. I won’t touch you, I just want you to rest.” He said, his voice thick with emotion. I let out a sigh, getting out of the bed and walked over to his bed, silently getting under the covers. I faced the window, feeling the bed shift as Suho got under the covers as well. I immediately fell asleep after that.

My limbs felt stiff, letting me know I slept for a long time. My eyes slowly opened, Suho coming into view. I noticed me laying on his chest, I immediately pulled away, hearing him let out a sigh.
“How long was I asleep?” I asked, my eyes locked on the plain sheets.
“16 hours.” He responded, making me nod. “You know I didn’t have it easy while you were gone either.” He said, him expression somber.
“What do you mean? You were passed out the entire time.” I said.
“I would fade in and out of consciousness, woken up by nightmares. Vivid nightmares, indescribable ones. You were in all of them. That entire time I felt like I couldn’t breathe, and my heart ached like it had split open. The day you came back, I knew you were back because the nightmares immediately stopped. My head and heart didn’t hurt anymore and I could breathe again. I felt whole again.” Suho explained, I finally met his gaze.
“What were the nightmares?” I asked.
“Most of them had you dying, in one, Baekhyun marked you, by the fourth day, I was looking forward to the nightmares because at least I could see you.” He explained.
“What’s marking? You’ve mentioned it a lot.” I asked him, still holding his gaze.
“It’s like me claiming you, it lets everyone else know you’re my mate. I just bite you gently on your neck, it doesn’t hurt, I promise.” Suho told me. “It usually happens the first time we- you know.” He added. 
“Then do it.” I said. “I can tell it’s bothering you.” I added. Suho looked at me shocked, before reaching for me and pulling me closer. He buried his face in my neck, taking a deep breath.
“If I hurt you, let me know immediately.” He whispered before I felt something pierce my neck, I gasped, my hands pushing against his chest, trying to get him away. As fast as the bite came, it went away and I could feel Suho’s tongue poke out and lick the wound, making me shiver.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He apologized, his eyes soft.
“It’s okay, I forgive you. I’m willing to move passed this as long as you don’t try to push me away again.” I told Suho, seeing his eyes light up. 
“Thank you.” He whispered before I pulled him to me and connected my lips to his. My arms wrapped around his neck as his find residence at my waist. 

As our bodies weak and trembling,
gasping ounces of breath
we’re unable to breathe
here comes the silence,
roaming around this room, 
you’ve kindle my heart,
I’m getting aroused.
Feel the delectation of our sweats,
now were entwined.
Two souls capable of just fucking in mind
I gasp as you hold my neck,
tracing your fingers down.
I yearn for you,
I’m still unsatisfied.
Press me softly on the window glass,
let the city watch us,

making love merciless and hard.

© lynne

I loved my mother desperately as a child. My fondest memories are of all three of us snuggling up to her for a bedtime story. She read very well and I often feel that she imagined her own books being read aloud as she wrote. They read aloud beautifully, as Neil Gaiman says in his obituary on the Internet. Later on I was to read all her books to my own children, and I discovered an almost poetic beauty at times, especially in the Dalemark books, which  always imagine being spoken by some bard who has scraped them together from various oral traditions.

It is in these books and a few others like The Homeward Bounders, Hexwood and Fire and Hemlock that one discovers the real heart of this deeply shy and guarded person: as with Charles Dickens and Georgette Heyer, two of her favourite writers, her books are sustained by an enormous love; a child-like yearning to create a world that fully satisfies the human soul. As with Dickens this yearning is so powerful that it creates an almost poetic language and rhythm which help to transform the everyday world. (Dickens, it is said, had constantly to guard against slipping into blank verse, and, reading Drowned Ammet, one feels that same song-like quality; music, always the most immediately emotional of the arts, constantly threatens to take over.

This yearning or elegiac quality that one finds in many of Mum’s best books ia partly a sign of the deep pain caused by her upbringing .At the heart of her books is a sense of loss. From this point of view The Homeward Bounders, the most tragic of her books, is also the most honest. The main character is left literally creating worlds for others while never being able to return to his own. This book is atypical, however; more frequently the poetic beauty, the humour and the sensuous vividness of the fantasy transport the reader away from this imperfect world. So many of the Tweets that have flooded in recently have referred to one or other of Mum’s books as the writer’s “comfort book”; read time and again in times of stress. The pain of her upbringing may have meant that she could only give and receive comfort sporadically in the “real world”, but what she gave us is in a sense real in a deeper way: a direct line to that perfect world which all of us yearn for whether we know it or not.

—  Richard Burrow at the funeral of his late mother, Diana Wynne Jones
I struggle with the thought that you might be aching for me silently. Won’t you let yourself feel loudly? Oh, please don’t love me quietly.
Do you remember last December? Hours felt like minutes while we sat and laughed together. Your girlfriend was watching, but
you shrugged like “Well, whatever.”
And I miss those happy moments,
but I just can’t wait forever.
You broke me when you loved her. The view and my heart aching were devastatingly lonely.
It burns that you’d likely
read these honest words and respond to them so coldly.
Here’s one more opportunity to show me what you’re hiding.
You don’t get another chance to
pretend you’re still deciding. Darling,
your two faces are simply killing me.
The hard one looks past me, but his eyes don’t really see. He’s
peaking at my shoulders, yearning to see my teeth. And his rejection is an ocean
he watches me sink beneath.
I drown because the water, it’s filling up my lungs; I choke on nervous words
when they’re crawling up my tongue.
You know what you’ve been waiting for,
of this, I’m more than sure. Yet you topple my only triumphs, remind me I’m
insecure. You look at me with a diamond’s gleam in your eyes, but I’m talking to you in spades.
Yet when I’m looking right inside them, I’d let you carve me with a blade. So, since
you’re evading risk by pretending you never see me, you should just cut out my bruising heart before
you wither it completely.
—  © Kayla Kathawa // peripheral paralysis

Westallen Alphabet

Angst: An intense longing or yearning for someone or something to happen in one’s life. It can be a driving force that pushes two people to be together because of the fact that being apart makes their hearts yearn for each other.

Adj: describes a situation or literary piece which contains dark, depressing, angry, and/or brooding emotions from the participating characters. 

Stolen Moments

Remember we said there’d be no tears
a final night to see us through the years
quite long ago those vows were spoken
now promises made were briefly broken 
it’s wrong we both know this love we feel 
yet this yearning even time cannot heal  
now wordlessly our two hearts are dying
with sighs and sobs as we’re both crying 
no more tears my love we shall be okay
and no one wants to live forever anyway 
I’ve never been so alive yet ill prepared
to bid adieu to stolen moments shared

We were both wanderers
on opposite sides of the universe
as the sun shines in a place where I stand
the moon and stars wave hello at your closing raven eyes.

We’ve tried to keep each and every moment we had
long and short messages became part of our lives
your smile can’t be measured by so many miles
and our silent laughter brought by jokes only the two of us could understand.

We were both dreamers
chasing all the things that were impossible
yearning to achieve what makes our heart flutters
making parallels to bend and meet at one intersection.

We were friends separated by distance
but our connection can’t be cut by flying airplanes in the sky
every detail of each other’s face will remain in our minds
and our hellos will never end with goodbyes.

Our waves and good night kisses
etched into my memories,
we were marble, we were stone;
a mountain moving itself,
the horizon split ends,
a sun is born within
the gaps of our fingers.

We had nightmares,
who doesn’t?
We crossed the railroad tracks
even if we watched our hearts
get tied on the railings;
they knew how to say bye
when the time was right.

We can be misunderstood,
but you stood up for me;
each and every time.
If friendship was platonic
and love was our eyes,
please look away,
stay as my shoulder.
Not as a cracked smile.

The lust of wandering,
adventurers searching for
rainbows lost in the
sand and snow,
if my heart raced quickly
and you melted in my hands;
my friend, my friend,
I’d love to be yours until the end.

—  Long distance friendship, a collaboration with @poetryleftbyher

you stand there, concerned look on your face
and ask me how i feel about this
this girl
on the sandy beaches
beside the ocean
a girl with waves in her eyes
like the sky opening up after a downpour
a girl who covers her mouth while laughing
and smiles all too widely
a girl who can’t speak
and feeds me slivers of her thoughts
you stand there, eyebrows raised
and ask me how i feel about this girl
“do you love her?”
do you want the truth?
or the lie i’m convincing myself of?

the truth?
i’m dying without her breath
my heart is throbbing constantly
and consistently
every beat accounts for two
im even dreaming of her
her face reaches even my deepest thoughts
and not
goes by that i don’t crave her hands in mine
i don’t even know what they feel like
but i know they must touch my fingertips
in all their gentleness
my body hasn’t ever yearned for something more
never has it felt such a hole
a gap in it’s existence
not even sprawled on the floor
in utter agony
yearning for relief or death
it has never felt this
the truth?
i crave her
and every essence of her existance

the lie?
we’re just friends

—  because how can i be this young and meet someone i wanna spend the rest of my life with

My heart is pounding and wants
To get out of the cage
It’s like a thousand poems raining
Page after page as my two hands
Can barely keep up collecting them
This is what it feels like to love you

Moon beams reflect
the color of your eyes
The cool breeze of the whispering wind
Tickles my skin as I yearn for a kiss
From your soft lips

And let the feeling remain as I
Take your heart and mine
Stitch it together with sequins of
Stars that I have borrowed
From the sky
They wouldn’t mind
There are plenty left to spare

It’s a love I’ve only gotten to know
And through it all I’m happy
To be the one you chose
For there are so many
And yet you picked me
Out of all of them

I would stand in the strongest storm
If it be between you and I
To love someone like you
Is ever my privilege
With honor I defend it

I would write my love
In the canvas of the sky
My voice is in the clouds
Like thunder it cries out
That the world may know
That I love you

—  Sequins of stars // Pablo Verzosa

“Tell us what you saw.” From far away Leaf looked almost a girl, no older than Bran or one of his sisters, but close at hand she seemed far older. She claimed to have seen two hundred years.

Bran’s throat was very dry. He swallowed. “Winterfell. I was back in Winterfell. I saw my father. He’s not dead, he’s not, I saw him, he’s back at Winterfell, he’s still alive." 

"No,” said Leaf. “He is gone, boy. Do not seek to call him back from death.”

“I saw him.” Bran could feel rough wood pressing against one cheek. “He was cleaning Ice.”

“You saw what you wished to see. Your heart yearns for your father and your home, so that is what you saw.”