songbird says

first kisses


You see it coming because somehow you get the feeling he’s been planning this moment for weeks now. It’s just like him to plot behind those soft gazes that land on your lips and the sharp inhales of his breaths when your tongue darts out to moisten the dryness of the July heat on your mouth. Tonight, sitting at the back of his parked jeep and listening to the sounds of summer on the wharf, the air is thick with humidity and thrumming with expectation. He leans in or maybe you lean forward— it doesn’t matter. What matters is the shadows chasing the rose-gold light that falls upon his face as the sun blinks off into the horizon. And yet somehow, he still manages to catch you off guard.


When it happens, he pulls back in a panic like he had meant to do something else but somehow his lips found yours instead. You tell him it’s okay, but the words— apologies, excuses, something about the bubbly— are coming out of his mouth too fast for coherence or sense or anything but the inflamed dribble of sounds pouring unfiltered and unpracticed. So you wait it out until silence falls over you both like a cold blanket. But when it doesn’t, your hand slides up his chest to take a fistful of his shirt, but even that only slightly derails him from his seemingly endless ramblings. At least, that is, until you catch his lips and shut him up. For now, anyway.

young k brian

The first time renders you helpless and weak in the knees, bass in top volume pulsing hard and deep into your bones. Falling apart in his embrace, you’re barely held up by his strong arms around your waist. One by one your senses roar back to life. First, his lips warm and soft. Next, the smell of his cologne and the feel of his sweater under your palms. Then everything all at once: the drops of rain trailing a path down your hair, your cheeks, and into your kiss, the crisp chill of the night air creeping underneath your clothes, and the carefree laugh that escapes your mouth as you say wow. Guitarist fingers threading into your hair, he pulls you in again. Once is never enough.


It’s challenging focusing on a piano lesson when your instructor is pouting at you with full bubblegum lips. Staccato, he says, like songbirds hopping on the hot concrete. His fingers jump ever-so-lightly across the keys, hop-hopping from one note to another filling the practice room in a sweet clack-clacking sound that reminds you of the beach and bubbles. Thoughts elsewhere, you rest your chin on his shoulder just as he declares you hopeless, playfully flicking the tip of your nose. Another pout and you’re hopping forward like that poor bird on hot concrete. Ever-so-lightly your lips touch his, one-two-three-four, each kiss its own. Each kiss separated by the spaces in between. Staccato, you think. You learned your lesson well. Again. Again. Again. And again.


You kiss him first because it’s taking him forever and patience is not one of your finer virtues. You all but tackle him when he sits next to you on the sand, uncaring of the cans of soda threatening to spill on his hands and his clothes. For a split-second his eyes grow wide until understanding dawns upon him and you see the expression on his face shift from shock, to awe, to acceptance, and defeat when your lips finally descend upon his. For another moment you’re both frozen under the fireworks unfurling in the technicolor sky until a soft laugh escapes his throat and the pieces fall into place. Then you let him kiss you first, just so you’re even.

Bumbling Fool

Originally posted by giveme-yourattention

Requested by @myteenwolf-world:

“Hi, can you do a Merlin imagine where the reader is also a servant, but she’s always smiling and dancing around the castle and everyone gets along with her because she’s so kind and different from the other servants. Merlin fancies her but he thinks he’s not good enough for her and someone finds out about his crush and something cute happens between the reader and Merlin in the end. Thank you <3″

Warnings: FLUFFFFF

“Did you get those herbs I asked for?” 

“No I was busy- ow!” Merlin hissed when Gaius smacked him over the head with the scroll he was reading. 

“For gods’ sake boy I ask you to do one thing and you can’t even bother to do it, why do I even keep you around?” Gaius grumbled and Merlin rolled his eyes as he turned his attention back to the hunk of bread and soup on the table in front of him.

“Oh who bloody is it now?” Gaius snapped when there was a knock at the door. “Come in!” Gaius shouted as he ambled around the table to get to one of his flasks. The door creaked open and Merlin immediately sat up in his seat at the sight of *yn*. 

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Hey Nonnie.

Songbird is a Tumblr prompt game that I have only played once but enjoyed. Someone sends a message that says “songbird” or “songbird+trope” and then the writer shuffles their music and whatever song plays becomes the inspiration for the fic. It can be really fun creatively.  Here are some of mine so you can see how it works. . 

Free Falling-Emma meets a stranger when her car breaks down 
Our Swords-Night on the town for a single parent with a twist 
Thinking of You- Angsty drabble-ish Killian mid-season 3 )
Get Busy Living of Get Busy Dying- Emma has a stalker and Killian is a detective 
Yours To Keep- StarLiar or Wooden Dragon A tragic love story

Did that make sense? 

1)  what is their favorite genre of music?

G’rha: Folk Songs
Marke: Orchestral Music
Alta: Synth-Pop and Metal (yes, these exist in Eorzea, surprisingly enough)

2) Do they have a favorite song?

Kind of have to bullshit just a little bit, for G’rha

G’rha: One Night in Amdapor, A Lonely Soul Did Sing
Marke: The Corpse Hall
Alta: Brute Justice

2) Do they have a favorite band/artist/singer?

G’rha: The Songbirds, because his daughter says so.
Marke: The Ul’Dah Symphony
Alta: “Whoever Made Those Sweet Jams I Listen To”

4) Can they sing well?

G’rha: Yes, but he’ll probably depress you or kill you with corny lyrics.
Marke: No.
Alta: Worst. Singer. Ever.

5) Can they rap?

G’rha: Most certainly not.
Marke: Does ancient chanting count?
Alta: No.

First Listen: Sam Beam & Jesca Hoop, ‘Love Letter For Fire’

Love Letter For Fire was, at least in part, inspired by the pair’s desire to make songs that function as conversations rather than soliloquies, and their work backs that up. In the gorgeous “Every Songbird Says,” Hoop and Beam trade bits of the lyric rapidly, occasionally blending their voices as they build to a cooing earworm of a chorus. With the help of producer Tucker Martine and a smart, subtle band, the two achieve a fine balance — of songwriting sensibilities, of time in the spotlight — in the service of songs that feel at once fresh and timeless.”
Pretty Girls

So, I wrote a thing. A Quinncedes thing. A Quinncedes (belated) birthday thing for shaloved30. A little Tay birdie told me ages ago about Sha’s headcanon where Quinn (who lives in Paris) surprises Mercedes (who lives in New York) with a visit.Cue the reunion and thangs.

What better way to wish one of the loveliest ladies a Happy Birthday than with a little lady lovin’? Happy Birthday, Sha! You can blame Tay for all of this, btw. 

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Panoply - a Levihan fanifc/drabble thing

So I was sifting through my inbox for stuff to write when I soon came across a message from drinkyourfuckingmilk, in which she granted me permission to write her rock headcanon. And I was like, “oh right, i planned on doing that.” So, like, here it is. Sophie, I hope you like it!

Panoply–an impressive collection of things

The first time Hanji finds a rock, a fucking rock, on her desk is a few days after arresting Pastor Nick. It’s interesting looking for sure, but she doesn’t actually remember ever seeing it before. She wonders if maybe she’d just picked it up and stuck it here with the intention of looking into it at a later point, and just sticks it in a drawer.

She finds another one in the same spot two days after that, interesting-looking in a different way, and sticks it in a new drawer, more concerned with finding her notebook. Then there’s another one five days after that, and Hanji starts to wonder if she’s suffering short-term memory loss.

It takes a while–a few weeks, actually–before she manages to trace them back to Levi, but she never really gets a chance to ask him about them. She’s busy or he’s busy, and on the few nights Hanji gets to go to bed at a decent time and thus gets to spend an extended period of time with him, she’s either too exhausted or too excited to remember to ask him about some silly–but perplexing–rocks.

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Think of You

And here is another one. @willowaus asked for one hit wonder Klaus and rising star Caroline.  The song Caroline sings throughout is Think of You by Christina Grimmie, which is a really beautiful song.

Heartbreak affects people in so many ways.  Some of us fail, some of us move on.  And on rare occasions some of us, like Caroline Forbes, use it to skyrocket themselves to enormous success.

               Forbes, who has just released her first album, which has already gone platinum, wrote her hit signal Ages Ago, after her engagement to Niklaus Mikaelson, known for the single A Love Like That released in 2013, ended in early 2014.

               Now, just over a year later, Forbes is-

               Klaus growled and hit the mute button on the remote.  Rebekah looked up from the toast she had been chewing while staring at the television, with a glare.

               “I was watching that, Nik!”

               “You know, Bekah, you are supposed to be my sister.  Which means being supportive of me. Not watching shows that extol the virtues of my ex while reminding the entire world of my deficiencies.”

               “Oh, bugger that.  Caroline was my friend long before you ever charmed your way into her pants.  Not that it matters, since you drove her away from all things Mikaelson.” Rebekah hit the unmute button.

               … been seen in the company of Lorenzo Stone, the star of the hit series Riverview.  Sources close to both star and songbird say that they’re getting very close and have never been happi-

               This time, it was Rebekah who leapt for the remote, and quickly turned it the television off, but not before Klaus saw the picture of Caroline with her head close to that of a handsome man with dark hair and a wicked smirk. He said nothing for a long while, simply stared at the blank screen, and Rebekah shot him a hesitant glance, waiting for his response.

               “I’m happy for her,” he said, nearly choking on the words.  “She deserves all the happiness in the world.”


               “But I would appreciate it, greatly, if in the future you might allow me to ignore her existence.  It’s difficult to do when in public, I’ll admit, but within my own home I should very much like to have peace.”

               Rebekah said nothing, and Klaus walked away.

               And if his heart broke at the thought of Caroline moving on with anyone… well, that was something he would ignore as well.

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Writing Check-In: When the Moon, Ch 12

Fair warning: the Peeta-Christ metaphors kick in earlier in this scene, and the discerning reader might recognize a reference to Matthew 15:26-27 in this excerpt… :D

Also, “crumbs” are a bit of a motif in this chapter. There are literal and figurative crumbs, and Katniss references both here…


I’m in my hunting boots and Dad’s jacket when I recall the pretty cardinal-cap Lavinia gave me yesterday and run upstairs to retrieve it from my drawer. If I was actually hunting or doing butchering work I’d wear my plain old stocking cap from home, but for simply going to and from the stable and maybe wearing around the workshop if it’s especially cold, there’s little danger of the new cap encountering stains or other damages.

Peeta’s waiting for me at the foot of the stairs with the bird tray and a smile as broad and golden as a sunrise. “There you are, little songbird,” he says, and there’s more affection than teasing in his words. “Fly back to me soon, okay?”

Crumbs, I remind myself firmly. The birds of the woods eat the crumbs from his table and grow fat and cheerful upon them. Are you – a willow catkin, spun from starlight and sparrow-song; from winter and wildflowers and will-o’-the-wisps – so very different from those birds? How much more do you need to survive?

“Okay,” I lie.

Truth be told, I plan to stay in the stable till sundown. To stretch and scrape and tan till I’ve forgotten the whole morning, both good moments and bad, and remember who I am again. Plain, scrawny Katniss Everdeen, huntress and companion to Peeta Mellark. Not the moon, not a doe, and certainly not a snow-maiden, brought to life by a scrap of red cloth and a boy’s sweet mouth.