28.11.16 This is a clock that i walk past every day, and on the face it reads:
“Remember, time lost has gone forever.”
It’s very motivating, because my essay is underway! I’ve been feeling very apathetic towards life recently, so I’m going to an appointment with my personal tutor to ask for some help. In the meantime I’m writing about the history of geography since the year 1500! Wish me luck guys. Xxx emily
Uhm... I-I have a plot bunny for you. Kakashi and Obito where Obito is a water creature of some sort, like a selkie or a siren, and he meets Kakashi when they're both really young. Kakashi has a new best friend, but Sakumo (who knows all about fairies and their tricks, after the naga prince Orochimaru disappeared and broke his heart) is concerned. So, he asks to meet Obito, and is surprised that instead of a tricky fae he's just been tackled into the sand by a hyper child of the sea.
I TOTALLY MEANT THIS TO BE LIKE 600 WORDS WTF. OOPS??
Sakumo is just a little worried,
He stands on the porch
overlooking the crooked path down to the sea, twisting the chain of the pendant
he normally wears around his fingers. It’s a bad habit, and he always thinks he
might be loosening the setting, twisting the metal out of shape. Thinks of one
day reaching down to touch it and finding the ruby gone, lost forever along the
paths he walks. His heart clenches just imagining it, this last gift gone and
never to return, just like the sly, beautiful, cunning prince who once pressed
it into his hands.
That’s the reason he’s fretting
over Kakashi, really. He’s seen the signs—bits of coral, sea glass from far
shores, shells that can only be found in the deepest places, pearls larger and
brighter than any that land-dwellers can reach without dying in the process. He’s
found bits of seaweed in Kakashi’s hair, swept the sand from his room in the
mornings when he knows it had been
clean the night before. Watched the way he eyes the ocean as it breaks, with something
very much like longing.
Sakumo’s sword rests on the
chair behind him, cleaned and polished to a mirror shine. He hasn’t carried it with
any regularity since Kakashi was born, but he keeps it in repair. There are too
many dangers not to, and sometimes he can earn a few coins guarding a traveler on
their way. It’s not something he wants to use now, in any way, but if Kakashi’s
safety is on the line, he won’t allow himself to do anything less.
He thinks of Orochimaru, of
waking one morning to an empty bed and an empty home. It’s impossible to regret
any choices that gave him Kakashi, no matter how he still mourns both his wife,
a dear friend if nothing else, and the naga prince who stole his heart, but—
But he wants to save Kakashi the
grief that he’s felt all these years, of adoring a fey creature with a mind
half-full of magic and too many dreams that leave no room for more human kinds
Kakashi is stubborn, smart. He won’t
listen to Sakumo, not at first, but Sakumo has to try.
He hears footsteps in the dirt
of the path and drags his eyes up from the ruby in his fist. Kakashi a coming,
steps light, a smile on his face and a string of fish dangling over one
shoulder. They’re not fish that swim anywhere near these shores, but Sakumo smiles
regardless, waves to his son, and allows himself to enjoy the way Kakashi lights
up a little when he sees him.
“Kakashi,” he says warmly,
leaning down to offer a hand up onto the porch, since Kakashi rarely deigns to
approach from the front and use the stairs. “Did you have a good day?”
“It was decent,” Kakashi says
decisively. There’s a flower tucked behind his ear, one the grows near the
mouth of the river that empties into the sea. It’s a fair distance from the
house, and worry twinges at Sakumo’s chest again. Too far for him to hear a
call for help, should it come.
When he manages to wrestle the
feeling under control, Kakashi is watching, dark eyes faintly narrowed. “Are
you okay, Dad?” he asks, tipping his head. “You look like a constipated frog.”
There’s nothing in the world
better for the ego, Sakumo thinks wryly, than having children. “I’m fine, cub. Just—wondering
if you’ll ever introduce my to your new friend.”
Kakashi blinks, but doesn’t bother
asking how he knows. For a brief second, he glances down at the ruby pendant Sakumo
is holding, then away, and says with perfect disinterest, “If I’d known you
wanted to meet an idiot like him, I would have introduced you weeks ago.”
An idiot? Sakumo raises a brow,
but doesn’t try to argue; this is already more of a concession than he
expected, honestly. “Well, maybe I was waiting for you to bring him up,” he
says mildly, tries to inject it with the crushing
parental disapproval via sigh that his own mother always used to devastating
effect, and apparently doesn’t do too badly given the way Kakashi winces.
“It wasn’t a secret,” his son tells him witheringly. “And
besides, I don’t have to tell you everything.”
Sometimes, Sakumo is absolutely,
entirely certain that he won’t survive Kakashi’s teenage years. If he’s already
like this at seven, there’s no hope left at all.
“No,” he agrees, and keeps his
tone light. “Of course you don’t. But I like knowing about what makes you happy,
There’s a long pause as Kakashi stares
at him, evaluating his sincerity. Then he nods once, decisively, and says, “He
should still be near the beach, because he’s a loser who never gets anywhere on
time. You can meet him now.” He hurries inside, leaving the door swinging, to
lay the fish on the counter, and Sakumo takes the opportunity to belt his sword
around his waist and clasp his pendant back around his neck. Kakashi will
notice it—Kakashi notices everything,
much to his chagrin—but he probably won’t say anything.
Then the rapid footsteps are
back, and Kakashi takes a flying leap off the porch to land in the sun-gold
grass. “Come on, Dad,” he says impatiently, looking like he’s going to dart
back and start tugging at Sakumo’s belt the way he did when he was younger. “Before
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Sakumo
protests, stepping down and following Kakashi’s path as he hurries back down
the hill. Ignoring the track, Kakashi takes the shortcut across the stream,
then down the steepest part of the incline, and hits the dune well ahead of Sakumo,
who isn’t quite reduced to running just yet. He watches his son disappear
around the edges of the dune, and when he rounds it Kakashi is already halfway
to the water, though he’s finally walking again.
“Idiot!” Kakashi calls, pitched
to annoy, impatient as anything, and Sakumo strangles a groan. The very least Kakashi could do not to get killed
by a magical creature would be refraining from insulting it, so of course throwing
around insults is the very first thing Kakashi does. It’s probably how he
introduced himself, knowing him.
“I’m not an idiot, you jerk!” a
voice shouts back. Young, Sakumo thinks with some surprise as he scans the
water. There’s a flash of iridescent scales among the waves, and the next time
one breaks it leaves a shape behind. A long, looping tail, dark blue with a
sheen of orange-gold scattered throughout, flared, feathery fins streaked with the
same colors, pale skin, dark hair chopped short. A siren boy, just pulling himself
up on the sand, and the soldier in Sakumo is assessing, calculating, weighing
the risk of a child who clearly hasn’t even managed to change forms yet.
The rest of Sakumo wonders what
a siren boy, so young and without mastery of his own power, is doing alone on
the surface, far, far away from any siren chorales.
Then he turns, pushing himself
up to sit as he twists to face Kakashi, and Sakumo’s eyes track over the deep
scars all up and down his right side. Cold certainty sets into his bones, and
he releases the hilt of his sword as if it’s burned him. Sirens are vain to a
fault, and scarred chorale members are usually driven out.
Gods, but how long has this boy
been alone, cast out and thinking himself unwanted?
Kakashi and the siren are still
bickering when Sakumo makes his way over to them, and it sounds angry and
cutting and irritated, but Sakumo knows his son better than that. Kakashi looks
fond, and even if Sakumo doesn’t know
the other boy, he’s fairly sure that light in his eyes is the very furthest
thing from hate.
“—wouldn’t have bothered,” Kakashi
is just huffing when Sakumo nears. “But my dad
wanted to meet you, and he’s the only reason I—”
“Your dad?” the siren
interrupts, and his dark eyes are wide with excitement, clearly not taking any
of Kakashi’s bluster to heart. “He wanted to meet me?”
“Of course I did,” Sakumo says
lightly, and smiles as both boys jerk around to look at him.
“So slow,” Kakashi complains, crossing his arms over his chest. “Dad
this is Obito. He’s an idiot, so don’t listen to anything he says.”
Sakumo rolls his eyes, just a
little, but crouches down so that Obito won’t have to crane his neck looking up
at him. “It’s nice to meet you,” he says warmly, watching those black eyes
widen, and gods, the boy is adorable. Especially for a flesh-eating,
sailor-drowning monster of the depths, but, well. No one’s perfect, and if Obito
hasn’t drowned Kakashi yet the world at large is probably safe. On instinct, he
reaches out, ruffling wet hair a little, and offers, “Would you like me to
carry you up the hill so you can eat dinner with us? Those fish—you must be the
one who caught them, right?”
Without warning, Sakumo’s arms are
suddenly full of wet skin and slick scales as a baby siren wraps his arms
around his neck and hugs him tightly. Sakumo overbalances, too startled to make
a sound, but Obito doesn’t let go; if anything he clings tighter, and says in a
tone that’s close to desperate, “Thank
you! Yes! Yes, I really, really want to!”
Sakumo chuckles, picking himself
up out of the sand. “Of course. The least I could do for someone who caught us
such a fine dinner,” he says lightly. He gets an arm around Obito’s back, the
other underneath the glittering tail, and hefts him up.
The fin still curls on the
ground, and he hesitates, not wanting to drag it through the prickly grass, but
before he can say anything Kakashi heaves a disgusted sigh and stalks over,
hefting the feathery end up in his arms. “Can we just get this over with?” he
demands, though Sakumo can see his cheeks are a little flushed.
“Bakashi,” Obito complains, flicking
his tail slightly, and Kakashi makes a deeply offended noise as it slaps him in
Sakumo hides a grin. That’s certainly not how he and Orochimaru interacted.
And…maybe it’s selfish of him, but he’s a little glad Obito doesn’t have a chorale
to go back to, that he’s alone. Maybe he won’t disappear on Kakashi just when
he thinks their happiness is assured.
Before he can ask how in the
world they met, small fingers are at his throat, touching the ruby there
lightly. There’s a soft sound of wonder, and Obito looks up at him, expression
startled. “This is the same necklace the trapped prince is wearing,” he says. “How
does a human have it?”
Sakumo would swear his heart entirely
“Trapped?” he croaks when he can finally manage to draw even a
partial breath again.
Obito tips his head, like the question
confuses him. “Yeah. He’s been sleeping at the bottom of the forest river since
before I was born. My selkie friend says her mom told her there was a battle with
the sea witch Danzō, and an earth goddess and holy monk helped the prince but
even though they defeated Danzō he trapped them in the forest.”
Nine years. Nine years Orochimaru
has been trapped and sleeping and waiting to be rescued, so close at hand, but—Sakumo
He looks towards the forest, a
dark shadow on the horizon, and takes a breath.
Well. It looks like his sword is
going to see a bit of use after all.
Most people are aware of insects that undergo complete metamorphosis, where the lifecycle of an individual looks like this: egg > larva > pupa > adult This is the life cycle of butterflies, bees, beetles, flies, and many more. But have you ever wondered why you never see baby grasshoppers or baby stinkbugs? Well, you probably have!
Many insects undergo incomplete metamorphosis. The lifecycle looks like this: egg > nymph > adult There are multiple nymph stages that grow and look more like the adult with each molt. Once an individual reaches adulthood, it will no longer molt. Insects who go through incomplete metamorphosis can regrow legs if they are lost as a nymph; they will grow back a little bit with each molt. But once an adult limb is lost, it’s gone forever, since adults typically only live long enough to reproduce. An insect may live for many years as a nymph (think periodic cidadas! They live as nymphs underground for over 10 years!)
In incomplete metamorphosis, the newborn insects look like insects (not worms), and more or less have the same parts they will have as adults with one exception: wings. The easiest way to know if you have a nymph or an adult of one of these insects is to look for wings. If it doesn’t have wings, or it has little tiny wing buds, then you have a nymph! The one exception is some species of stick insects–many do not have wings as adults, and you will only know an individual is an adult by inspecting their private parts at the end of their abdomens.
Birthday - EF - Sandeep Singh Sandhu .. Lily D'Penha Mon, August 28 .. and our love and wishes for the two Sandeep and Lily .. fulfilment in life and the glory of time and prosperity ever … from the Ef …
the divine calls and the divinity gives us the divine ever .. such be the trust and faith of them that have belief and following .. images are the forbearers of that anchor in distress and storm .. servile to its presence fills us with the air of a guardian over us .. one that we remember and listen to and wish with and argue with and demand with .. whether He gives or not is another debate ..
.. and so year in and year out we praise Him and respect Him and decorate sing and ring in the nature of our love for Him .. and then we do the ‘visarjan’ in the waters about and wait and invite Him for the next year ..
AND .. I have the irrepressible Sudhir Ef to ask me the vital questions on ‘dharm’ .. this issue shall go on for sometime I gather .. that could be defeating in a sense, but NO .. it shall be the revolutionary rendering of what and how we interpret it .. if ever we do ..
DETACHMENT .. whistles past the ears often these days and I wonder if it is the age or the work or the willingness of that which shall come along hopefully ..
It is a vital part of each one of us .. and to detach, the phrase of the season .. run away into the horizon .. walk endlessly into the void in space .. spend the hours sitting in front of lenses that matter to see across to the stars and moons and galaxies ..
it is endless all this .. endless times and space .. endless thoughts and the endless penchant for them that have been lost and gone forever .. they shall live ever with us .. the heart shall acknowledge them .. the mind shall accommodate them .. and we shall live and exist in the delirium that is often referred to as the EARTH .. the SUN … the MOON ..
Author’s Note:*drags self along the ground, bloodied and beaten up, and hands over the newest chapter* I…I’m alive…barely…HOLY X_X
I’m not going to give anything away about this chapter, however, there will be an ending author’s note, elaborating why this chapter is crucial to the story.
WARNING: This chapter is incredibly dark and graphic. For anyone who read Part 6, it’s basically a lot like that. There is a horrible sense of dread and horror throughout the chapter. There is a detailed description of a surgical operation being performed, as well as the tools that are used. The patient who undergoes the surgery is conscious during the procedure, and as such, feels everything and is in horrible agony. There is bloodshed and a intensity here and there. There is also an overwhelming amount of angst - again.
With each subtle second that
ticked by, the green-haired Irishman’s dread increased. There he sat on the
stone-cold ground in the furthest corner of the cell, hugging his knees to his
chest. The poor man was a quivering mess from both the cold and the fear
creeping along his spine. His eyes were fixed on the watch that lay across from
him, not batting an eye as he stared directly at it; lifeless eyes blown wide
with horror. He had exactly two minutes left to live and then Anti was coming
Two minutes and then death was
coming for him in the flesh.
Summary: The reader is going through a rough patch, denying that there is something wrong. Dean and Sam are worried to the core, Dean even more so because of an awful suspicion and his hidden feeling for the reader. Is Dean going to be able to fix what is seemingly not broken?
Characters: Dean Winchester x Reader, Sam Winchester (friend and brother)
Warnings: mental health problems, depression, self loathing, swearing, death wish, self-harm, please, please, please say away from this if this triggers you
A/N: This is going to be a 2 parter. It has been a long time since I’ve posted, I’ll explain why in the next post and this already hints at what was going on. I am sorry for being away.
as you felt those dark waves come crashing down around you, swallowing light,
happiness and even dreams, you knew what was happening. Suddenly, at 3 in the
morning, you could feel it: the nagging dark feeling of emptiness, hopelessness.
It was right then and there, in the bed that you now
called your very own, that you wished you were asleep, or far away, or not
alone or just simply not there. Because it had started again, after all that
you’d been through.
Depression is a noun and defined as “feelings of
severe despondency and dejection”. It sounds all so easy in those very
complicated words, still so much easier than the truth. Because depression is
more than just a few words on a page, it so horrifying that no words can live
up to it.
But never ever, would you admit that what you were
experiencing was depression. No that would never be the case, even though it
wasn’t the first time this happened.
Like a blanket full of numbness, hurt and
worthlessness, draped over your body. Fully covering you and making you to a
whole other person on the inside. On the outside you put on a mask, showing
what you wanted people to see. Playing the main role of your own life, you’d
just pretend you were okay until no one was looking.
Not that anyone was looking closely. Being a hunter is
a lonely calling; it isolates you from other people. Sometimes even from other
hunters. So no one would look too close, no witnesses you lied to, no other
hunters you crossed paths with.
There were no friends and family who were able to look
after you, there were none. Just like most hunters, your own fait got you into
hunting. A mother, father and little brother, all lost in one night. Gone.
Forever. Leaving you behind. And there were no friends either. This life doesn’t
allow any space for friends.
Or that’s what you thought.
Because one day, you came across people who taught you
better. Sam and Dean Winchester. Dangerous. Feared. Hunters. Legends. And
somehow also family to you, at least by now.
They came crashing into your life with raised guns,
unfastening the ropes and knots that kept you prisoner. In some way those two
brothers were special. Of course they were living legends and saved your life
but there was something else too.
Being with them was easy and felt good. So
uncomplicated that it was ridiculous. The only way to describe it was that it
felt like meeting your best friend, who you’d known since you were two.
And somewhere between giving up a normal life, living
in isolation amongst a world too full to ever truly be alone and suddenly
meeting Sam and Dean Winchester, you found yourself in a bed. A bed that was
your own, in a room that belonged to you as well, inside a bunker you called
home. Another thing you thought you never have again, a home.
You should be grateful, you knew that. And you were,
you thanked who or whatever was responsible for all these great things. Giving
you a family of an Ex-Demon, Ex-Law Student and an Angel. Giving you a good place to permanently live
in. Giving you a family and a home.
But you couldn’t help what was happening. The feeling
of losing balance as the floor crumbled beneath your feet. In realizing this,
the slow tears started to fall. A spring somewhere deep in the woods, a silent
and steady stream carving the features of your face like water once did with
the Grand Canyon.
Hey guys! So this is my first writing, so feedback is really appreciated :) it’s based on I Don’t Even Know Your Name, hope you enjoy!
All I saw was one pair of deep brown eyes.
My heart beat fast as I got lost in those round dark orbs. Her eyes were glued to mine, just as mine were glued to hers. I could feel the sweat collecting as a gripped the neck of my acoustic guitar. Luckily the words of Life of the Party were engrained in my memory, because lyrics were the last thing on my mind. The words spilled out of my mouth out of habit as my gazed was locked on one thing… one girl.
Her hair fell in cascades down to her bare shoulders. Her soft pink dress brought out the rosiness of her cheeks. I could tell she was doing her best to hold her petit frame up on her tip-toes to see over the crowd. Her pink lips curled at the ends into a subtle and irresistible smile.
As the final words of the song found their way out of me, the wild movement and cheering of the crowd took my attention for a mere second. When I turned to dive back into those chocolatey spheres, they weren’t there. I felt my heart sunk deeper and deeper into my stomach as a realized she was gone.
The rest of the show was a blur. I can’t picture the rest of the crowd, or even the venue. As I sat on the bus, southbound from the Twin Cities, I could feel an ache in my heart. I felt her eyes locked on mine, and pictured her face. She was the closest thing I’d ever seen to perfection.
The rest of the tour dragged on. Time seemed to stand still as one thought, one person filled my mind. We played our last show in Toronto, and I finally exited to bus for good as I stood in my Pickering driveway.
I spent day after day with a pen in my hand and a guitar in my lap. I wrote and sang and for the first time, the words had meaning. There was no imaginary girl, no figment of my own creation, for whom these words were meant. She was real… she was out there… and I was going to find her.
A new album meant a new tour. The plans were set and dates announced, catering to my one request: a stop in Minneapolis.
August 6. I took another sip of coffee as I saw the bright red lights of the arena sign. My eyes had not seen sleep since we crossed the crooked border from Wisconsin to Minnesota.
“Here we are,” Andrew said with a sigh. “Happy yet, Shawn?”
He didn’t know. He didn’t know what this show meant to me. He didn’t know the pain that shot through my chest when I thought of the last time I was here. He didn’t know the meaning behind the worst I would belt on the stage that night. He didn’t know.
“Not yet,” was all I said.
As I stood on the side, ready to take the stage, I closed my eyes. I pictured exactly where I saw her. I pictured every detail of the girl who consumed my thoughts for over a year. I opened them and took the stage.
With each song I sang, my eyes scanned the crown. I looked for her familiar smirk, and those deep, dark eyes. But as each song ended, I was left with disappointment as she was no where to be seen.
Anxiety filled me as a realized I had one song left. I was disappointed that I hadn’t seen her face, and disappointed that she wouldn’t here the song I wrote for her.
“Ooo, you dressed up so nice, but all I could see was your eyes…
Another scan. No luck.
"And you’ll never know what you did to me, and now you’re gone…”
My heart sank as I sang the final line.
“I don’t even know your name…”
I sat alone in my dressing room with my head in my hands. She wasn’t there. She was gone. Lost forever, only to live in my memory.
Andrew knocked on my door, telling me it was time to head out. I rubbed my eyes on final time, hoping to get the sight of her out of my head. No luck. I grabbed my backpack and trudged my way to the back door towards the bus.
I dreaded stepping on the iron beast. It was filled with the words I had written for her, that I sang with her face on my mind and hope in my heart of seeing her again. That hope was gone. We had come back, but she did not return. She was gone.
I watched my boots hit the ground as I trudged towards the bus. Running my hand through my hair, I took one final look at the venue, and laid my hope of seeing her to rest right there in the parking lot.
I looked back down and took painstaking steps towards the bus. Just as I reached the door, I heard a small voice from behind stopped me in my tracks.
“Umm excuse me,” it said. It was so soft I almost didn’t believe it was real. I kept my eyes on the stairs of the bus, until I heard it one more time.
“Shawn?” it said. With the use of my name, I slowly turned around, only to be met with the deep brown eyes that had consumed my thoughts for what felt like centuries.
Posting this because an anon gently reminded me of this story. Thanks so much! Many many moons ago @sohypothetically challenged me to a Drabble challenge with the topic “Pumpkin Patch”. I was extremely excited because I was pretty new to tumblr at the time. This actually ended up as a short story instead of a drabble and is at least 2 - 3 years old at this point. Thanks as always to my beta @dianaflynn22! :-)
Summary: Little brothers sure can cause a lot of trouble but you just never know when it can be the good kind. Peeta loses his little brother in a Pumpkin patch but luckily Katniss is there to help him out.
Warning: There be fluff ahead!
“Rye! Rye! Where the hell are you!” Oh my god, I lost him. He’s gone forever, pretty sure he’s been kidnapped, and my dad is going to kill me.
The panic rises inside me as increasingly horrific scenarios multiple in my head of the different things that could have happened to my rambunctious little brother. Of course this would happen! With Rye, anything was possible. The task was supposed to be easy one, our father just wanted us to pick some prime pumpkins for carving and some for baking. He thought it would be a good distraction for my crazy little brother since he’d been wrecking havoc around the bakery all day, thanks to some pixie sticks that he had traded his lunch for. Who the hell knows how many he downed before we found him in the storage room like some drug addict snorting up coke.
“Come on Rye! If you just come out, I promise you won’t be in trouble,” I beg, but it’s useless, because there is still no answer. “Argh!” I yell out in complete frustration.
“Is everything okay?” a soft voice asks me from behind and my back stiffens at the sweet sound. God, I know that voice. Please don’t tell me it’s her.
Warnings: Angst, violence, blood, death, slight fluff, and it’s pretty long. Soulmate AU
Pairings: Arthur Ketch x fem!Winchester reader, Mick Davies, Dr. Hess
Ketch simply stood there in
confusion for several minutes, unsure of what had just happened. Did you not
experience the same kiss he did? His gaze traveled to the practically untouched
plates on the table and he sighed. “Can’t
very well let her starve. Her bloody brothers would never let me live it
down.” He carefully picked up the plates, put them on a tray and made
his way back to your room.
found your room easily enough and was poised to knock, but he stopped when he
heard your voice. “What do I do, Sam? That kiss…there are no words,
Sammy. But I don’t want to get hurt…Yeah, I know Ketch isn’t Lisa or Jess but
still…Yeah. Thanks, Sam.” You sighed heavily and Ketch decided it would
be a good time to knock.