wails into the wind

So there’s this moment in 1D Day where Ziam are blindfolded and standing next to each other

And Liam (LOAM!) lifts his giant 19th century frontier’s man hands and reaches out to find Zayn

And when his massive paws make contact with Zayn’s tiny kitten man body, he breaks out into this HAPPY GRIN :’(

While simultaneously gently caressing Zayn’s waist and shoulder. Liam gets in a boob grab BUT ITS THE MOST GENTLE AND REVERENT BOOB GRAB

And he says “I’ve got Zaynie” with a smile made of the sun and my tears

“I’VE GOT ZAYNIE”!!!1! MEANWHILE I’M

AND ZAYN JUST, HE LEANS INTO IT AND GRABS TO TOUCH LIAM’S HAND

“Thaht’s yew, Leeyum”

And I am a withered husk in the corner, my wails carried on the wind and used as a renewable energy source 

astro: the Earth

if astro were things that made up the Earth, mj would be the sun. he’d be the sun yelling at you through your curtains when you refuse to wake up for breakfast, the warmth kissing your cheeks on days you need them most. mj is the sun peeking behind the clouds and waiting quietly for his chance to shine on rainy days, and is the soft rays of the sunset casting everything in an orange glow.

jinjin would be the blue, blue sky that encompasses everything. he’s the sky not a lot of people spend enough time looking at but will always, always be there, welcoming every change in weather and patiently listens to their wails when it rains or when the wind howls. he’s the vast sky that takes care of the earth as best as he can and watches over you day and night.

eunwoo would be the oceans that wrap the earth. he’s both the calm surface on bright days and the rough waves during stormy nights: he’s the feeling of the sea washing up on the shoreline and caressing your ankles. eunwoo is all the layers of the ocean, the deepest, darkest depths and trenches still waiting to be discovered, quietly glimmering in the light of the sun and moon.

moonbin is everything in the sky at night. he’s the moon in the far distance that shines brilliantly on clear nights, listening to you when you cry yourself to sleep at 3am. he’s the dance of the infinite stars across the sky that captures your attention when you see him; he’s the moment you decide to sit back and watch the night sky, the chilly wind giving you goosebumps across your skin.

rocky is the earth that holds you up and the mountains in the distance you can’t touch. he’s the cracks in the concrete you always feel like slapping a sticker on  and the feeling of soil between your toes. rocky’s the grand canyon that stands tall and proud, the deserts that change during the day and night, the volcanoes in the ring of fire and the push and pull of plates deep underground. he’s the many layers of the earth right down to its core.

sanha is nature, from the unexplored undergrowth in forests around the world to the little, dainty flowers sitting on your window sill. he’s the grass that tickles your bare feet and the daisy pushing itself through the ground to take a peek at the world with big hopes and dreams. he’s the sturdy tree you lean on outside your house and the vines crawling up fences to get what they want. he’s the field of flowers you’ve always wanted to frolic through.

this is astro, which means star in spanish, but really they’re the things that make up our world.

harper’s lure draws my 
mind away to wistful 
dreaming, 

the dark of what was
and always was

lurking beneath

almost reluctant, the redwood
has fingerprinted time to him,

obscuring sick shadows

cold,
the color of blood in the undulant
light of Arae

one frail glimmer-gleam in the  
long mechanical hew of eternity -

we build our days out of teeth
deprived of anatomy,
to gnaw or be gnawed

finite and astral ink, sweet blue
and holy days of distant moon,

wind, wailing,
bloodblind

Watch on defilerwyrm.tumblr.com

Look, look, I just feel the need to explain something here. This came out in ‘96 when I was a teen and already deeply into industrial and NIN in particular. This soundtrack was my bedrock. I’d never heard anything like it from a game and rarely have since. It left a deep, deep impression.

Then this comes along, and after listening to the first one you will understand why I lost my shit watching CA:TWS.

It’s all in the screams – that sound echoed again throughout the movie, especially in 7 Fallen, 13 The Causeway, and 15 Into the Fray (starting around 3:00). The ragged, haunting wail that comes through quiet like it’s dying on the wind, but with all the intensity of a raw and buzzing throat. You don’t forget a thing like that.

  • the clock strikes midnight on halloween night. it’s officially november 1st. no photos of alex turner’s halloween costume have been posted. it begins with a single tear rolling down the cheek of very fangirl who’d been patiently awaiting the images. the seconds roll by and the hills slowly come alive as the wind carries the fangirls’ despaired wails.
Signs in the night
  • Aries: The pitter patter of rain hitting roads and colliding with your windows, invisible in the blackness of night but soothing to the sleepy soul whose head rests on a pillow that has been fluffed one too many times.
  • Taurus: Smiling at the vast expanse of an ocean of constellations spattered on a charcoal sky. Pondering the frighteningly infinite size of the universe but thanking your lucky stars that you're able to witness and contemplate such a feat.
  • Gemini: The constant thrumming of something in the distance, perhaps its a siren wailing or cars passing or the wind howling. The perpetuity of this is familiar and endearing.
  • Cancer: Streetlights illuminating faces, transforming smiles into diamonds but forming and lengthening shadows. Snowflakes or motes of dust in the evening sky seem to stop to bask in the dim flickers of lamp posts, floating for eons. You crave that pause in time, not just to smell the roses, but to be in awe at life.
  • Leo: A candle's wavering flame casting warm rays into an otherwise dark room. A tired soul easing oneself onto a bed, feeling their spines meld to the mattress, staring at the blank ceiling above; wishing it were spattered with stars.
  • Virgo: Windows standing in the way of you and the sky. You trace the glass, pretending you're really tracing the craters of the moon. Swirling galaxies swim in your eyes as you enter a haze, your finger still and your mouth parted. You think of THEM. They and the moon are the last thing you think of before falling asleep.
  • Libra: A child's vision blurring in the back seat of a car and watching as all the harsh tail lights, traffic lights, obnoxious neon signs and headlights all turn into harmless spheres of wonder that linger when they blink.
  • Scorpio: The feeling before a firework goes off, the liminality of the wait for the thundering presence of the sparks. As fireworks colour the sky, you marvel at the vibrations that your heart hurdles through.
  • Sagittarius: A fire crackles, sputtering out cinders and pushing the aroma of smoke into flared nostrils. Glowing embers pulsating beneath stacked logs are hidden gems. A watchful eye regards the dancing flames with admiration and wonder.
  • Capricorn: Weak hands tug at a blanket and pull it just above their ears, a cocoon of cloth is formed as feet fumble for something cold to touch in contrast to the warmth the blanket provides.
  • Aquarius: Being woken in the dead of night, your heart pounds away in your throat and a hand settles on the chest as if to sooth it. The remnants of a dream are quickly fading and make your heart race faster. You try to latch to the slivers of fantasy, but your caught in a landslide that's headed straight for reality. So instead, you just go back to sleep.
  • Pisces: Words mean more at night. You notice this as a song plays, lyrics and verses imbedded with the fractals of a broken heart. The shards have seeped into the melody and rhythm, into the floor and up your legs, and it stays in the left side of your chest. The song is your secret, and you keep it in your heart.

Were she aware of his motivations, Lilith would have protested that she didn’t need protecting. What she needed was something she couldn’t put a name to. It was something that caused her to feel dreadfully empty inside every time she looked around her large room and listened to the hush of the house; interrupted only by the creak of old beams settling, the wails of the wind whipping past or the occasional tap of her brother’s shoes against the wood floors. 

Caleb meant a lot to her, he really did. Enough that when the Count had come for her– luring her out into the night with visions of glamour and beguiling whispers that promised immortality, but more importantly, excitement and freedom of expression– she had insisted that he be offered the same gift. Vladislaus was not one to turn down an opportunity for another devotee to feed his ego and, while the elder Vatore had been skeptical at first, he’d taken to the lifestyle with a gusto that had surprised Lilith.

She couldn’t bring herself to truly regret their circumstances, after all she’d lived to see of the world. More and better than her simple, short life would have afforded her without it. And she couldn’t blame her brother for taking them away from it. Not when she knew now what she hadn’t then. Yet that lonesome ache hadn’t begun until they’d been on their own…

Asking to hold a musician’s instrument is roughly similar to asking to kiss a man’s wife.  Nonmusicians don’t understand.  An instrument is like a companion and a lover.  Strangers ask to touch and hold with annoying regularity.
—  Kvothe, The Name of the Wind (Patrick Rothfuss)
Your Song

Imagine being an introverted person until Bofur eventually cracks your façade and you bloom into the most cheerful, dazzling little thing he’s ever seen.

Imagine Bofur telling you that he loves that little speech defect everybody has always made fun of.

The wind wailed like a wild boar over the rocky peak which hid the company of dwarves, hobbit, and wizard. The night was dark despite the full moon and twinkling stars. The shadow of the journey ahead loomed over all within the small cave though many had managed to capture sleep on such a night.

The brooding king sat outside with arms crossed across his chain-mailed chest, his iron ax leaned beside the rock beside him. His words had made the night darker as he carried the greatest burden of them all and would not let them forget it. Those within were gladdened thus that he had chosen to sit in the moonlight on watch leaving them to their slumber, though not all had closed their eyes.

Keep reading

the signs as florence + the machine lyrics

Aries: in the spring, I shed my skin as it blows away with the changing winds. 

Gemini: *WAILS*

Taurus: SHE’S JUST LIKE THE WEATHER, CAN’T HOLD HER TOGETHER

Cancer: the stars, the moon, they have all been blown out

Leo: TOO FAST FOR FREEDOM, SOMETIMES IT ALL FALLS DOWN

Virgo: the kindest of kisses break the hardest of hearts. 

Libra: *breaks foot jumping off stage*

Scorpio: I NEVER KNEW DAYLIGHT COULD BE SO VIOLENT

Sagittarius: you can’t choose what stays and what f a d e s  a w a y

Capricorn: no more dreaming like a girl, so in love with the wrong world

Aquarius: Oh, my love, don’t forsake me, when I let the water take me. 

Pisces: SUDDENLY I’M OVERCOME, DISSOLVING LIKE THE SETTING SUN

Wellington Gothic

The wind is blowing. It wails in your ears and you swear you can make out human voices.

The is always one more flight of stairs. When you have reached the top, another will appear.

The wind is blowing. It steals the words from your throat and swallows them down. You are mute.

Listen to the birds. Keep listening. The tuis are calling your name. Listen too long, though, and the locals’ eyes go black. You mustn’t touch the birds. The punishment is death.

The wind is blowing. It holds you motionless, shoves you back, knocks you to the ground. It laughs against your chest.

Keep away from the harbor on moonless nights. The water stirs and the old men on the docks won’t say the word taniwha. They don’t have to.

The wind is blowing. It moans through the cracks in your walls, clawing at the windows, trying to get in.

Home is up the hill. Everything is up the hill. “A nice walk,” the locals say. The ascent it vertical. They begin to climb the blank rockface. “Such a pleasant commute,” they say. They grow horns and cloven hooves. “Isn’t it lovely to be out in nature.”

The wind is blowing. It smashes the glass above your door. It’s inside, with you. There’s no hope now.

You know it’s lovely to be alone once in a while.  The winds will be my friends.  They’ll wail and sigh and croon around my tower … the white winds of winter … the green winds of spring … the blue winds of summer … the crimson winds of autumn … and the wild winds of all seasons.
—  L. M. Montgomery, Anne of Windy Poplars
Ashen Dreams (poem)

Unbeknown of day or hour
Thoughts be thorough lost
I don’t recall how I’ve gotten here
Yet already I’m buried in the Frost

Sights blinded in purest whites
Flecks like angel feathers whipping past
There one second but here too fast
My skin suffering their cold bites

The snow expanding, without end it seems
Left, right
Forwards, back
I couldn’t find the exit to the frozen fields

I started my trek in the mounds of frozen water
With each step I sunk deeper
Started at the ankles now nearing my waist
The cold voraciously gnawed

The walk grew harder
My steps more forced
My heartbeat louder
My breathing worse

Behind the wailing winds
And the whistling snows
I could have sworn I hear some voices
A hiss made of their bellows

What are they saying?
Who are they calling?
My ears are nipped and frozen
Each passing wind an icy blade

I’m falling more than walking now
Tripping in the frost formed roots
A battle of strength and will
To rise again to foot

Too cold too cold
I don’t know how I bare it
Compared to the whipping gusts
The snow I lay in is a warmful welcome

How can I keep going?
I’m buried chest high
Why keep on walking?
When I simply cannot go on

Although cold and sunken low
Deeper deeper in the merciless snow
My heart feels happy
I smile with gleeful glow

I love the cold
I love it to bits
Every snowflake every chill
It makes me happy

Then without word or warning
Just as my eyelids descended
The snow becomes no more
The winds less icy

I open my eyes to sight never seen
A world before lit brightly
Was now darkened and gray
With barely sun to see

My frozen nose soon thaws
Released suddenly from frozen claws
But I breathe not a rich oxygen
But a decrepit smoke like poison

The flecks aren’t water
My tongue then tells me
Instead they’ve turned sour
Ashy

The winds woosh by
Not as sharp as before
But they carry more of nature’s peasants
Upon their long flowing backs

When the substance brushes off my face
Going with less than trace
I feel not a melt
But a sandy caress

Where am I now?
I dare to wonder
Is this sand?
I dare to inquire

Not quite my fingers inform
It’s too warm, too soft
Too delicate
Too kind to bite

I know what it is
I figured it out
The smell should have told me
But my nose seems to be lost of thought

It’s ash
All of it!
The gnawing ice is no more
Now it’s all burnt to crisp

The air is toxic
The smell, choking

The ash whirls and lays down
Rushing away again quickly
Never showing a clear path or flooring
Am I floating?

Unlike the snow
The ash won’t bury me
It refuses, it declines
It’s just too nice

What a world I think
Here the winds sing kindly
Guiding me swiftly
Towards a direction yet decided

There the winds cut me
The inhabitants too clingy
Refusing to let me leave them behind
But it was pure and untainted

Here air is rare
Poisonous in the most
Clinging in my throat like a clump
Leaving taste undeciphered

However I still love this new place
Although gray and evergoing
Enchanted in its own way
As I hear a distance bell ever tolling

Ding
Dong
Ding
Dong

The bell starts yelling
Louder it rings
As I close my eyes peacefully
To sleep it sings

My senses rewake
In my bed I’m then laying
The sun seen rising
Over our horizon

I’m back to reality
The dream gone, faded
Only a memory
One my heart won’t forget

Because whatever they say
I’m in love with the cold
I’m a lover of gray
And ashen snow

Every time a bell rings an angel gets its wings (closed thread with Tjeffs)

Alexander wasn’t completely sure what was happening. One moment he’d been back in his childhood home, curled up on the wire frame for a bed with a thin blanket wrapped around himself as the wind wailed outside and the room became flooded. And some part of him vaguely remembered choking on water and his eyes stinging, but he wasn’t there anymore.

No, now he was warm. He was still extremely dazed, drifting in and out as he rested his head against something warm and comfortable. Something in his mind was telling him that someone was carrying him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. This felt so nice. It felt so nice to be warm.

So, he closed his eyes and nuzzled into the chest.