old folk songs


i did this a while ago now. There’s an old folk song called ‘silver dagger’ - Loads and loads of covers of it- anyway I decided to cover it myself! the song is really about over-procective mothers, but i wanted to do a different take x

i hope it looks okay. it’s very traditionally done, but i don’t know how the quality comes across as a result.. anyway enjoy!

for those interested, here is info on the song; https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Silver_Dagger_(song) 

and my fave cover of the song by fleet foxes! [ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=98h4Cl_vOHo  ]

Fată Verde / Zburător aesthetic

Fată Verde is an old romanian folk-rock song (the song here) about a “Green Girl” with “forest hair”. The night weaves her a “ie” (romanian traditional blouse) for the Flyer’s visit.

Zburător / Flyer is a romanian folklore roving spirit who makes love to maidens by night. He appears as a ghost, as a shooting star, sometimes winged, coming down in the shape of an incredible handsome man and, sometimes, in the shape of the man the girl loves, although he cannot be seen by other people. He is actually the personification of the intense feelings of erotic desire and longing for a man. They met and consume their love in the world of dreams but everything is so intense, almost real that the young woman becomes exhausted and obsessively in love. Some old books even tell stories about young girls haunted by this mysterious man, becoming so desperately in love that they started acting like lunatics, walking almost undressed and untidy, obviously exhausted and sometimes semi conscious.

The “zburător” or “sburător” can also refer to a demon that takes the shape of a young handsome man, visiting women in their sleep: incubus. 

Old Old Fashioned
Frightened Rabbit
Old Old Fashioned

Old Old Fashioned // Frightened Rabbit

So give me soft, soft static
With a human voice underneath
And we can both get old fashioned
Put the brakes on these fast, fast wheels

Oh, let’s get old fashioned
Back to how things used to be
If I get old, old fashioned,
Would you get old, old fashioned with me?


“When she sang that song, it broke my heart. There was something that she did in that song. I remember I was with Danny Cohen, the cinematographer. Samantha had to sing in the rain again and again. She was shivering… There’s a moment when she has sung her huge last note. She has her head into her chest and she goes, ‘I love him,’ and her head comes up. It’s like she finds the thought. It is when her head is almost away from the camera. All of us behind the monitors went, ‘Oh.’ There was still that chill in our arms. I remember Danny saying, ‘I wish more film actors would realize the strength of keeping your head away from the camera sometimes.’ This moment of her, hidden, and then coming up broke my heart.” ‒ Eddie Redmayne

“Samantha has a unique ability to embody whatever a song asks of her, that’s an incredible talent, and I think it’s what separates her from other people in her field. There’s never a moment’s doubt about who the character is when Sam Barks is singing the song, and that’s true whether she’s onstage in Les Miz or you’re in the pub and it’s three o'clock in the morning and you’ve had a few pints and she’s singing an old English folk song. It’s a very unique and special thing to find somebody who can do that.” ‒ Alan Doyle

“She is so wonderful. The thing about Samantha which struck me from day one was her emotional intelligence and her access through those emotions. I think that’s the main criteria to be a great actress.” ‒ Max Irons

“I happened to be at the studio when she did her costume and make-up tests, and I was struck by her confidence. You’d expect an actor or actress who had never been in front of cinematic cameras to be nervous, but she was like an old pro. She was at home, and it’s clear she loves what she does. She doesn’t have fear or failure in her make-up.” ‒ Eric Fellner

“I walked on the set as Samantha was doing the last take of the big song, ‘On My Own.’ The applause on that set was so massive from everybody. They’d been standing in the rain for five hours. It gave me the chills.” ‒ Hugh Jackman

                                           Happy 27th Birthday, Samantha Jane Barks (october 2, 1990)

There's always that one freshman

That one who sings in the shower. Maybe they forgot the Rules or maybe they think that running water will keep them safe.
The ones that sing old lullabies and folk songs are usually Taken, but those who sing hymns or country are always left alone.
Sometimes, if the singer is returned, they continue their shower serenades, but with the ability to sing duets by themselves, or they sing in an unknown language that makes you want to sing along. Those that do end up biting off their tongues.


I like to imagine Nor sings old Norwegian folk songs (except the fourth is literally “Frozen Heart” from Frozen)! The last song they’re singing is Sami ‘u’ 

priincey this was a beautiful headcanon holy shit hahahaha it’s so damn cute! You should all listen to the songs! They’re really great: Liti Kjersti, Villemann MagnhildRolandskvadet, Hjertefrost Iđitguovssu

Red River Valley
Squeek Steele
Red River Valley

Red River Valley - Squeek Steele, Pianist

“Red River Valley” is a folk song and cowboy music standard of uncertain origins that has gone by different names—e.g., “Cowboy Love Song”, “Bright Sherman Valley”, “Bright Laurel Valley”, “In the Bright Mohawk Valley”, and “Bright Little Valley"—depending on where it has been sung. It is listed as Roud Folk Song Index 756, and by Edith Fowke as FO 13. Edith Fowke offers anecdotal evidence that the song was known in at least five Canadian provinces before 1896. This finding led to speculation that the song was composed at the time of the 1870 Wolseley Expedition to Manitoba’s northern Red River Valley. It expresses the sorrow of a local woman (possibly a Métis) as her soldier lover prepares to return to the east. The earliest known written manuscript of the lyrics, titled "The Red River Valley”, bears the notations “Nemaha 1879” and “Harlan 1885."Nemaha and Harlan are the names of counties in Nebraska, and are also the names of towns in Iowa.The song appears in sheet music, titled "In the Bright Mohawk Valley”, printed in New York in 1896 with James J. Kerrigan as the writer. The tune and lyrics were collected and published in Carl Sandburg’s 1927 American Songbag. In 1925, Carl T. Sprague, an early singing cowboy from Texas, recorded it as “Cowboy Love Song” (Victor 20067, August 5, 1925), but it was fellow Texan Jules Verne Allen’s 1929 “Cowboy’s Love Song” (Victor 40167, March 28, 1929), that gave the song its greatest popularity. Allen himself thought the song was from Pennsylvania, perhaps brought over from Europe.


Hi ^^

Today I’m sharing the unofficial anthem of Occitania, Se Canta (also known as Se Chanto in some dialects or Aqueras Montanhas). This song is very beautiful and the lyrics are asolutely lovely. So much gets lost in translation, but this is the best version I could find.

The song is said to have been composed by Gaston Fèbus (1331–1391). In the different regions of Occitania, the song adds or changes some stanzas. You can see the different verions and the English translation of each one of them in the Se Canta Wikipedia page.

This singer in this version is from Valadas Occitanas so it is sung in their dialect. All dialects and variants are wonderful and very interesting, but to make this easier for learners I will write the lyrics in standard spelling, and I will mark the words that are different in this dialect between brackets. For example: canta (*chanto), where “canta” is the standard spelling, and “chanto” is the Valadas spelling.

Here’s the lyrics in Occitan and the translation to English:

Dejós (*Davant de) ma fenèstra,
Outside my window,

I a un aucelon
there is an little bird.

Tota la nuèch canta (*chanto),
Singing all night,

Canta (*chanto) sa cançon.
Singing its song.


Se canta (*chanto), que cante (*chante),
If it sings, let it sing,

Canta (*chanto) pas per ieu,
It doesn’t sing for me,

Canta (*chanto) per ma mia
It sings for my love,

Qu'es al luènh de ieu.
Who’s far away from me.

Aquelas montanhas
Those mountains

Que tan nautas (*tant autas) son,
that are so high,

M'empachan de veire
keep me from seeing

Mas amors ont son.
where my love has gone.

(Repeat chorus)

Baissatz-vos, montanhas,
Lay down, o mountains,

Planas, levatz-vos,
O plains, rise up,

Per que pòsca (*pòsque) veire
so I may see

Mas amors ont son.
where my love has gone.

(Repeat chorus)

Aquelas montanhas
Those mountains

Tant s'abaissaràn,
will lay down so low,

Que mas amoretas
that my dear love

Se raprocharàn.
will come closer.

legendarybane  asked:

i'll take uhhhhh number 27 with malec, extra gay?

this is a good one omg (extra gay always) (under a cut bc it’s p long or on ao3)

27. “Tell me again.”

They’re curled together in bed, and it’s late enough that Magnus has already tried to say goodnight twice. Alec is awake, in the way he gets sometimes, where even though his body is completely lax against Magnus’s he can’t quite get his brain to shut down. In the year they’ve lived together, Magnus has learned that it’s better to let him talk until he calms down than to try and force it. Besides, he tends to say sweet things when he’s like this, and neither of them has anywhere to be early in the morning.

“You ever think about the stars?” Alec says, voice heavy with sleep and yet still animated. “Half the ones we can see burned out ages ago. Before you were born, even. But they burned for so long and so far away that we’ll still see their light for hundreds of years? Does the night sky look very different than when you were a boy?”

Magnus chuckles. “Not that I’ve noticed? Though you can see a lot less in New York City, of course.”

“By the angel,” Alec says, as though he’s been hit by a revelation. “There must have been almost no light pollution when you were a kid. That’s so many stars.”

Keep reading

Humans are Songbirds

Inspired by the “Humans Are Songbirds” post by @damdesi which you can find here.

“Are the rumors true?” She turned in her chair to see who spoke. Behind her he stands, a male of the species whose name she’s never learned to pronounce right, tall and brilliantly colored. “What rumors?” she asks, desperately trying to remember his name. Something with a P or maybe a Dgh sound? 

“Your kind,” he says, moving closer. “Some say they have an ability like no others do. They say the sounds you make can be almost… hypnotic.” 

“Oh,” she says, smiling with closed lips. “You mean singing, don’t you?”

He extends his hands to her, long and thin fingers of which he had only three. “That is correct.”

“Well, I have heard that before. I’ve never seen it for myself though.”

He begins to say something, but seems to think better of it, and closes his mouth. Instead, he offers her a formal greeting, something like a curtsy. “I am B’Chn of QtSlr.” 

She stands and offers her hand, which he shakes after a moment of confusion. “I am Rupa of Earth.” 

B’Chn was kind, she discovers. Their work often overlapped, she a translator, he a diplomat. Charisma made him a great diplomat, and he could ease the tension in any situation, except with that one species from the desert planet, whose severity could rival a school nun’s. 

The valley of stars hangs outside the giant window, arching over the hall in which they walk. There is no one else around, and nearly everyone, except for the bridge crew, is already fast asleep. She watches the stars while they walk. The closest glows red. 

“Will you sing for me?” B’Chn asks. 

She looks at him, but he stares straight ahead, still walking. “Will I sing for you?” she asks. He clarifies, “I have heard the songs of some humans. But not you.” 

She smiles. “Count yourself lucky. I’m a bad singer. I sound like a donkey,” she laughs. 

“I sincerely doubt that. Perhaps your song is dissimilar from your kind, but outside of your species, every song is-.” He stops, cuts himself off.

“What is a donkey?” he asks instead.

“It’s a load-bearing animal. What were you going to say?” 

“I have never heard anything like the voices of your people. I am certain that any of your kind could sing, and it would be beautiful.” 

Heat rises to her cheeks, and for a moment she thinks she might cry. 
“I’m still not singing for you,” she says, and he barks out his laughter.

There is music thrumming from four rooms over, and the floor seems to sway beneath her. She giggles at the patterns it makes, and when she looks up, B’Chn is there, looking torn between grabbing a medic and laughing at her. 

The space station is huge, she doesn’t know how he found her. Or maybe, Rupa thinks, he came to the party with her? He doesn’t drink, she knows that. Maybe he’ll drive her home. 

“Can you drive me home? I can’t find my keys,” she says, rifling through her pockets. 

“What?” He’s laughing at this point. 

“Will you drive me home? I think I lost my keys. Have you seen my keys?”

“I have no idea what you’re saying,” he tells her. She rolls her eyes, and suddenly she’s sitting on the ground. 

“Oh, are you okay?” he asks, finally looking concerned. 

“Sit down with me,” she says, patting the floor. “You’re too tall.”

He stares at her, but when she pats the ground again, he finally understands, and sits with her. “Is this normal for your species? Or are you sick?”

“‘M not sick I’m drunk,” she says, resting her head on her knuckles. “I don’t know that language,” he tells her, and she realized she had been speaking her native tongue, not Standard. “Oh. I’m drunk.” She thinks she said it in Standard, and he nods. “I can tell.”

“You want a drink?” she asks, suddenly feeling inconsiderate. He looks like he’d like fruity drinks. She stands to get him one, but her grasps her arm. “No thank you, I don’t want anything to drink.”

“Okie,” she says sitting back down gracelessly. She sighs, and lies on her back, closing her eyes. “Can you drive me home?”

“We don’t need to drive anywhere. We’re at a starbase.” 

“Oh. Where’s my room?” 


“I’m gonna sleep, ok?” she says, rolling over and curling up. 

“Don’t sleep on the floor,” he laughs. “Why?” she mutters as he pulls her to her feet. 

“It’s uncomfortable.”

“Have you ever slept on the floor?” she asks, trying to figure out where he’s leading her. The hallway looks familiar. 

“Once or twice. It’s not quite like a nest.”

She’s quiet for a minute, and in that minute, he finds her room. She sits on the bed, and he turns out all the lights but the bathroom’s. “Go to bed. I’m sure you’ll feel better in the morning.” She nods, flopping facefirst onto the pillows, not bothering with a quilt. “I’ll be hungover,” she says.

“Maybe. Good night,” B’Chn says, headed for the door.

“B’Chn?” her voice is muffled.


“Thank you. I’ll pay you back.”

He barks out his laughter. “You don’t need to.”

“I’ll buy you breakfast or somethin’”

“Well, if you insist on repaying me, can I make a request?”


“Will you sing for me one day?” he asks.

She snores and he closes the door quietly.

The captain of their ship is a human, and when he marries, people from all over the ship band together and surprise the happy couple on their wedding day with a ragtag band. 

The dancing’s been going for hours, and all but a few souls have left to nurse their tired feet. Rupa sits at a table and picks at the cake. A rare treat in the far reaches of space. She looks up when someone takes the seat across from her. B’Chn sits, skin unintentionally in tune with the color scheme. They sit quietly for a moment, Rupa finishing her cake and saving the icing for last, B’Chn staring in wonderment at the band. They play an old folk song. Rupa recognizes the tune and smiles, remembering when her grandfather would sing it to her grandmother when they danced in the kitchen. A swell of homesickness overtakes her and she sits back, listening to the song with closed eyes, letting the memory wash over her but not wash her away. 

“Do you still call it a song if there are no words?” B’Chn asks, pulling her back to the present. 

“Yes,” she says, taking the last bite of cake and pushing her plate away. 

“I thought a song was the words associated with the sounds.”

“Those are the lyrics.”

“If there are no lyrics, then does the song still have a name?”

“This song has lyrics. They’re just playing the instrumental version.”

“Well then, what is this song’s name?”

All I Want Is You”

“What are the lyrics?” he asks. She almost answers, but when she looks at him, he’s suppressing the flutter of his whiskers, and she grins at him. “Sneaky little- nice try. You can’t trick me,” she sing-songs, and he stares at her with wide eyes, the lyrical echo of her words hanging in the air. She blushes, and pushes a napkin around her empty cake plate. She came close there, and he curls slightly with disappointment. “If I ask you nicely will that help?” he asks, and the tension breaks.

“Maybe,” she says through a smile, showing all her teeth now that no one thinks she’s looking for a fight. 

“Will you sing for me?”

“No,” she laughs. 

“I didn’t think so. Is there any cake left?”

A brief year into their mission of diplomacy took them to the homes of many species, of many cultures, all ranging between kind to a fault and hostile just shy of violence. But never violence. 

Not until today. 

They welcomed the party into the hall of their capital building, an arching thing of emerald and silver. 

They separated the party. A single sensor back on the ship sounded an alarm, and the team was pulled out within seconds. Not quick enough to stop the execution of the trade ambassador at point-blank range. Not soon enough to stop the fury of firepower that sliced through the bigger party in the lobby. 

It was chaos when they were taken back aboard. Pure chaos, the kind where thoughts are impossible, and words spoken are ripped from the air by a passerby. Rupa cannot think, She can barely see, it is all a mass of bodies and multi-colored blood, her own showing red on her sleeve. The ship rocks as it flees from the solar system, the injuries of dozens not enough for this planet, who fires final shots at the retreating vessel. 

Someone bandages her arm. She can’t remember who, and she wishes she had thanked them. Her clothes are soaked, though. A deep green stains the legs of her pants, and brick red of her own dried blood sticks her shirt to her like glue. 

The chaos has lessened, and the ship is struck with a bone-deep sorrow. The vibration of the hull sounds like the ship itself is wailing. Rupa walks on shaky legs, brain on auto-pilot, headed to her room, a horrified need to shower rising in her gut. 

Someone catches her arm, though, as she walks through the hall. “Rupa Virk?” the woman asks.


“Someone’s requested you.”

Rupa takes in the woman’s scrubs, the surgical mask pulled down around her neck, and icy dread trails like fingers down her back. 

He’s bleeding through his bandages when she gets there. He slits his eyes, just glancing at her before closing them against the harsh light of the medic ward. He stretches out his hand though, and she tucks it in both of hers. It’s cold in a familiar way. 

“Hi,” he gasps out. It’s not the bloody bandages. It’s not the dullness of his normally vibrant colors. Nothing about his horrid state fazes her. But that one word undoes her, and she has to speak around the lump in her throat. “I think we can do a little better than ‘hi,’“ she tells him. 

“Are you okay?” B’Chn asks. She can’t help but laugh thought it sounds like a sob, and she clutches his hand tighter. She hopes she’s not hurting him. “Me? I’m fine, It’s-” she swallows. “It’s you who needs to be worried after.” 

“Can I ask something of you?”

She nods, moving closer. 

“Will you sing for me?”

He wouldn’t ask that, their little joke, now, right now at the worst possible time, unless- unless-

She blinks rapidly. She opens her mouth. She doesn’t know what to sing. Sudenly he blanches, the last of color bleeding from his skin, leaving him all but grey. An alarm sounds, and someone’s pulling her away. She hits them. She can’t leave. Not yet not yet not yet, she only needs a minute, but suddenly her arms are pinned behind her, and she’s taken away from him, how dare they take her away from him and all she can think is I never sang for him.

It’s dark. She can barely see her feet. She shuffles in anyway.

She stubs her toe once or twice, but it’s worth it. She needs to do this. 

He’s breathing slow and deep. It’s a sight to see.

She takes his hand, the same hand as before, when everything was wrong, when he almost left them. When he did, for a moment. He stirs at the motion, and he opens his eyes. They catch the starlight and glimmer, blinking at her.

“Hi,” she says, sitting in the seat by his bed.

“Hi, says B’Chn, quiet and thick with sleep. They sit in silence for a time. It feels like hours. He dozes, but every so often the starlight glances off his eyes, staring at her through the dark. 

She squeezes his hand, and he looks at her. He says nothing.

She sings. She sings until her throat is sore and the words crack in the air. He listens. He watches. He is struck by wonder, and he weeps. She wipes the tears, not clear like her own, and she sings until she cannot anymore, and when her voice stops and the hush returns to the air, he thanks her. She falls asleep in the chair by his bed, and he lies awake for hours, replaying the sound in his mind. 

Выйду ночью в поле с конем
Кубанский казачий хор

“Kon’” (“The Horse”) or better known as “Vyydu noch'yu v pole s konem” (“ I’ll go out at night to the field with the horse”) is a very popular Russian song. Many people believe that this is some old folk song. Surprisingly it isn’t. The text was written in 1993 by Alexander Shaganov and the music by Igor Matvienko for the Russian band “Lyube”.  

In this case it’s a good example of recreating Russian traditional musical motives. I post here the performance of the Kuban Cossack choir which I like best of all but there are different versions of it (including the original).

Old Lady & The Devil
Bill & Belle Reed

The old lady went whistlin’ over the hill
Said the devil won’t have me, and I don’t know who will
Singin’ fie-diddle-eye-diddle-eye, fie-diddle-eye-diddle-eye-day!

Now you seen what a woman can do
She can outdo the devil, and the old man too
Singin’ fie-diddle-eye-diddle-eye, fie-diddle-eye-diddle-eye-day!

EXO Finds You Singing a Lullaby

Contains: fluff / parenthood / singing / eavesdropping / cuteness overload

[[ // Masterlist // ]]

// Minseok

When he heard you singing, he was quick to get his phone to record some of it.  You finished singing and put the baby in her crib, unaware that you were being watched.

Later on, when you went to bed, you heard a familiar sound coming from Minseok’s phone.

“Is that…?”  You hopped into bed and peeked over his shoulder to find the video he’d taken earlier.  “You recorded that?  I didn’t even hear you!“

“I wanted to save it forever,” Minseok said, pulling you closer and putting his phone on the nightstand.  Just as he was about to pull back the covers, the baby began crying again in the next room.

You sighed, but he grinned.  “Now I can get another live show.”

Originally posted by putoss

// Junmyeon

This was the highlight of his week.  Maybe his year.  He didn’t know whether to keep out of the nursery or approach you and be part of the moment, maybe join in.

Ultimately he decided to watch for a bit, then joined in, which made you stop.  You’d always told him his voice was just right for singing to your little one, but Junmyeon frowned when you stopped.  You started again quietly and he harmonized with you.

“Why don’t you sing more often?” he asked once you’d left the baby to sleep.

“I don’t know… I only do it for the baby.”  You were usually shy about singing, but saw it as a necessity for parenting.

“You know I love your voice…  Next date night is at the norebang!” he declared, and you reluctantly agreed, only since you knew it’d make him happy.

Originally posted by veriloquentmind

// Yixing

Yixing burst into tears outside of the room when he heard you singing one of his melodies to the baby.  The sudden outcry startled you, which startled the baby, and then there were two crying boys in the house!

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Baobei, shh, shh,” he said quietly, taking the baby from your arms.  He continued where you had left off, sniffling, tears still sliding down his cheeks.  The sight made you want to cry as well, but you held back and listened as Yixing’s soothing voice calmed your son.

When the baby was finally asleep in the crib, Yixing wiped his face, turned on the baby monitor, and led you out of the nursery.  All he wanted to do now was hold you and tell you how happy you had made him, not just at that moment, but overall in his life.

Originally posted by purpleuhan

// Baekhyun

Fourteen repeats later, you finally got the baby to calm down and fall asleep.

“Why don’t you ever sing for me like that?” Baekhyun asked, not trying to hide that he’d been listening to you.  You hadn’t noticed him standing in the doorway.

“Because you’re not a baby, and I don’t have that kind of energy, Baek.”

“Waaaaaa!” he faux-cried.

“Shh, shh, you’re going to wake her!”

“Sing more, then I’ll be quiet!  Waaaaaa!”

You shook your head and quickly began singing one of the lullabies, pushing him away from the nursery so he wouldn’t cause the baby to wake up.  

For the one song you sang to him, he massaged your back, your hands, and your feet, admitting that your voice had calmed his nerves after a stressful day, and he had really needed it.

He kissed your cheek.  “Thank you, my love~”

Originally posted by aceyng

// Jongdae

As you rocked your daughter and sang a lullaby, she began to close her eyes.  From the other side of the closed door, you heard a second voice chime in.  You and Jongdae had agreed that he sounded better at full volume, but it was too loud for the baby, so he would join in sometimes from the hallway.

Once she had fallen asleep, you exited the room and found yourself in Jongdae’s arms being bombarded with kisses all over your face.

You laughed quietly to yourself and then and heard him sing,

Every day I’m so lucky 숨겨왔던
내 맘을 고백 할래
너를 사랑해 ~

You loved that song and pressed him to sing more downstairs, away from the nursery so he could sing with his whole heart.

Originally posted by etherealchen

// Chanyeol

The baby just wouldn’t fall asleep, no matter how much you rocked, so you had finally resorted to singing an old folk song from your own childhood.  It seemed to be working, so you continued.

You were surprised when you heard a quiet strumming behind you and Chanyeol came into the room holding one of his guitars.  He smiled as you continued to sing and matched chords with the song.  This worked like a charm, and your baby boy was fast asleep within minutes.

“I can’t believe how well that worked…  I wonder if it’ll work every time!”

“We should form a band!” Chanyeol suggested with a laugh.  “And we only give V.I.P. performances to our little guy.”

You laughed and agreed you’d call yourselves the Lullaby Duo until Chanyeol came up with a cooler name.

Originally posted by porkdo-bi

// Kyungsoo

“Kyungsoo?  Were you listening to me?  Do you always do this?”

“…It’s not the first time,” was all he said back to you.

This wasn’t the first time he’d listened to you singing to your baby.  Every time he heard you from the baby monitor, he would drop whatever he was doing to listen to you sing.  This was just the first time you’d caught him doing it.

“Well, I have a confession too,” you said.  “I do the same thing to you!  Only it makes sense for me, because your voice sounds like it was imported directly from heaven’s top shelf.”

He smiled sheepishly.

“Seriously, Soo.  I don’t know why you don’t do 100% of the lullaby singing.”

“Because I want to hear you sometimes,” he said, beckoning you to sit on the couch next to him, where you cuddled until the baby needed your attention again.

“…How about we sing together?” Kyungsoo suggested shyly.

You nodded and walked to the nursery hand in hand with him.

Originally posted by lovinthesoo

// Jongin

“Waa…” you heard behind you when you had finished singing and were about to put your daughter in her crib.  You turned around and found Jongin in his bathrobe, hair wet, a big grin on his face.

“Waa…” he said again, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he’d just seen.

“It was just a lullaby,” you said.

“It wasn’t though.  It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard!  I’m glad I didn’t take a long shower so I could hear.”

“More beautiful than Kyungsoo’s voice?” you challenged with a laugh.

It took him a moment to decide, but eventually he admitted that it was different with Kyungsoo’s voice, which was usually meant for a crowd, and he liked that yours was just for him and your daughter.

“I love you so much, Jagi!  Will you sing for me now?”

Originally posted by intokai

// Sehun

He was such a distraction!  You were trying to get your twins to sleep quickly, but there was Sehun, standing in the doorway, waving his arms in time with the lullaby like he was at a concert.  It was making you laugh, which would mean it would take a longer time for the babies to fall asleep.

“How do you have so much energy?” you asked him, nearly giving up on rocking them to sleep.  You were more exhausted than you’d ever been trying to take care of the two little ones.

“We can do it, Jagi!” he cheered in a whisper before taking one of the twins from your arms and rocking her while you continued to sing.

In a few minutes, they were both asleep, and in a few more minutes, you were on the couch in Sehun’s lap, also falling asleep while he rubbed your side.

Originally posted by angel-in-slow-motion

Meet the Ackles - Part Five

Aesthetic by @whatthecastiel

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

Pairing: Eventual Jensen x Reader

Warnings: Uhhhh…Language probably. fluff? IDK. DRUNK!JENSEN

Words: 3.3k

Summary:  Reader is an actress on the show Supernatural, and is attending a convention in Houston, when she misses her flight back home, and ends up stranded in Texas. Her Co-Star, Jensen Ackles, being the gentleman he is, offers to let her stay with him and his family in Dallas. Y/N and Jensen are barely work friends, let alone close enough spend a week together at Jensen’s childhood home. Seeing Jensen with his family might just change how the reader feels about her “just on screen” love interest.

A/N: I hope y’all know how fucking excited I was to publish this part Thank you to my other half @highonpastries for being my wonderful beta <3 Don’t know what I’d do without her.

Disclaimer: (I can’t believe I have to include this), LIKE ALL FICTION, this is fake. I have no idea what Jensen or his family is like. I try to keep people and places as close to real life as possible, but like I said this is fiction, and is losely based off of my ex-boyfriend and I’s relationship.


Keep reading

It’s a hard thing to explain to someone. Love, that is. It’s even harder to explain Love to one who hasn’t and harder still to one who Is Not You because not everyone Loves the same.

The hardest is describing unrequited Love. Love of an old flame that has since ceased to shine for them but still gives you paltry candlelight to read by. Love of an Old House, yours or someone else’s for it’s age, it’s floor’s scuffs speaking of families and life lived.

Love of things you may never see the whole of, the sea, the sky, the stars.

So many things can be Loved.

You chose the Sea. Like a Dreamer. Like a Fool. Like a Sailor.

It is unrequited. You Care for the Sea. Love her even. And it’s a pity and a shame that you can never tell someone in words how you Love her. They can’t fathom that.

So you ran. Or drove, rather.

Far from the cold coast in the East with it’s green water and old lighthouses.

Farther still from the warmer, bluer waters in the west, making war with high cliffs and desert sand

And farthest of all from the warmest waters in the south, where oil is found, dolphins male their homes and families revel in the sun baking them on white sand.

In your running from all this compass points, West, East, and South you went North. Then North-East, North-West and all the points between.

You found a college in all that time running. Your just as wise as the sophomores and some juniors. In time you enrolled in classes and found Love for other things. Practical things. Cooking classes, art, carving, dance. So many choices. A scholar would be drunk upon the knowledge in this place. Some did. Most never leave.

You were a fool twice for never reading the pamphlets and not heeding your RA when they told you to not go wandering alone. Not paying heed to the lack of students in campus when the sun was too low on the horizon. Dawn and Dusk reeking of Magic. Of things older than any boat you’ve seen or sailed.

And like a fool thrice, you followed that smell.

A footpath turned deer trail that had faded to a long thin trail that swallowed light as much as unwary fools.

You came to a field with a table before you, the sky above had shifted from high noon to dusk and the food and drink smelled better than any galley, diner or your mother’s kitchen ever could. The hosts and guests seemed delighted, joyful and… Wrong.

A man turns to usher you to a table but his hand stops short of your jacket. The one you wore all last sailing season. His lips curl into a snarl as teeth like a wolves jut from his gums.


He spits the word like poison as you take a step away and he closes the distance and reaches for your neck and closes like a vise.

The pressure lasts seconds, squeezing your windpipe like plastic straw before you smell… Burnt meat?
His pale hand yanks from your neck and you see blisters and scorch marks in the shape of the anchor you wore so close to your neck to keep it with you aloft.

You scrabble through jacket pockets for your knife, digging past bits of tarred rope and when you grasp something cold and… Steel!

You brandish it forward, shoulders set only to find a heavy spike of cold, old patinaed iron in your hands. The Not Man snarls as do the other guests as you slowly back towards the forest’s edge and make haste back to campus grounds. Clutching your anchor and marlinspike like your life depended on it. This time it did.

You, fool, Sea Lover, she may not know of your infatuation but your obsession with her saved you this night.

Dumb luck, your RA called it.

You picked up pamphlets that night, and salt, and cream and learned more shanties and old folk songs to sing. You busied your hands with lanyards and bracelets and carvings. And learned Old Stories of your new home, Elsewhere University.

Beginners’s luck only happens once.

And you cannot wait for someone, something, to save you every time.

This is knowledge, freely given, without debt nor lien.

Welcome students. From a fool.