restless and relentless


Humans, from the planet Earth, are the newest sentient species of notable size to enter the galactic stage and are the most rapidly expanding and developing. They are generally seen to be very intelligent, abnormally ambitious, highly adaptable, individualistic and thus, unpredictable. They have a powerful desire to advance and improve themselves, and do so with such assertion that the normally staid Council races have been taken aback by their restlessness and relentless curiosity.

tomorrow is an important day
or should i say,

its past midnight
the time streetlights
outshine the starlight

yet my mind is so restless

a body in a bed
weighed down by a heavy head
and a soul filled with dread

i should be fast asleep, not counting sheep
~~Pictures on the wall~Hannah x fem!reader

Sorry this took me so long. Here you go @need-to–get-her hope you approve. Keep requesting please. Have a good day.


Everyone in the whole pace knew that I had been stood up on Valentine’s Day. Sighing begrudgingly, Hannah, picked up her phone from the table.

{He’s beyond late!!}- Hannah

{He’s beyond stupid!}- _______

{He’s here! But so is the basketball team x( }- Hannah

{Ugh! Call me if you need anything!}- _______

“The fuck Marcus? I’ve been sitting here  for an hour.” Hannah stated matter of factly.

“Sorry. Hey, want a milkshake or something?” Marcus tried to concede

“I already had a milkshake. Ya I had two milkshakes.”

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It’s been centuries, but the sea never stops trying to climb the shoreline and if that’s not a metaphor for never giving up then I don’t know what is. You can’t lose till you quit. You won’t drown till you stop swimming. And if humans are born 75% water then you are made of more seaside than flesh. You are an ocean; your smile is the horizon; your eyes are the water’s edge. You carry the seven seas under your skin and every part of your soul is rushing forward towards the shoreline; towards your purpose. So be restless for success. Relentless as the waves. Because your tsunami tide is coming.
—  @mentamo

anonymous asked:

Your a man of Odin. When I got the prompt to pray to him to assist in re-establishing communications with someone, is it normal for him to do it in the most DICKISH way possible? I mean serious pain, suffering, the whole shebang? Because I am being royally fucked at the moment due to someone (else) that ODIN (and Loki) sent my way. They gave me the sign that this person was to be trusted (they weren't). Yet the result 'appeared' to be re-establishment of communication but not in a good way.

Dear Anon, I’m going to be making a couple of assumptions when answering this, so if they’re not accurate ones, please yell.

Assuming that it is in fact Odin and Loki you’re in contact with, and not some other spirits pissing around with you, and also assuming you believe that you interpreted the sign correctly, whatever that was, then I’d answer the following way:

The Old Man aint like us. That’s the first thing to bear in mind. We’re talking about, even on the simplest level, a god who ripped out his own eye for a chance to drink from Mimir’s well. We’re talking about a god who stabbed himself with a spear, and then while wounded and bleeding, hung himself from a tree for nine whole nights, with no bread, no water, no nothing. Just his pain and the intention that it be made holy - that everything he was be given as a sacrifice, so he could become Something More.

This is a god who will raise up a hero, so that they may lead armies and have  songs sung about them forever, and then turn the tide of battle against them so they are violently slain,and gathered up by the Valkyria.

This is a god who will throw a spear over a battle to make it his own, so that the battle itself is his to manipulate, regardless of what side wins. This is a god who, with a sly wink and tip of his broad-brimmed hat will go about the worlds, proudly bearing the name Bolverk - Worker of Evil. A god who will, according to lore, be willing to commit genocide and murder in order to create the worlds we now inhabit.

Yet for all that, this is a god who is a healer, who sought knowledge so that he might manipulate the inevitable end of existence into a better form for all of us. This is a god who is fiercely kind, who wears ten thousand faces and forms - who gives the gifts of inspiration to poets and artists. This is a god who sees the potential in the worst of times, the wonder in the darkness and the beauty in the most horrific of situations.

If anything, this is a god who embraces non-duality. This is a god who leads us into darkness so that we may see the relentless, restless nature of creativity - who teaches us that all materials can be used for the furtherance of who we Really Are.

Remember, this is a god who is very old, and very much a giant in some senses - unflinching and uncompromising in the expression of his Being.

I’ve seen people call his attitude ‘abusive’ - as if he’s some parent with a twisted idea that what he does is for their own good. I’ve equally seen people say you can only serve him by suffering, pain and ordeal.

Bollocks. Sheer. Bloody. Bollocks.

This is the Master of Fury we’re talking about here. Woðanaz. The one who gave breath to humankind. Lord of Inspiration. This is the one who pulls back the curtain, and reveals to us that change is the only constant in the whole kosmos - and that it is literally impossible to remain static. This is the god who shows us that everything literally everything - is interconnected, that everything affects everything else.

This is Oski - the fulfiller of wishes. This is One Eye, Weak-eye - he who nonetheless sees more than any except Frigga. A disabled god who binds himself, wounds himself and starves himself.  He accumulates his weakness to its most terrible extent and yet emerges triumphant. This is the Deceiver, the Masked God. The one who tells the Truth even as he spins lies.and tells tales.

Friend anon, you ask me if it’s normal for the Allfather to come across as a bit of a dick? If it’s normal for the master of wind and storm and howling dead riding across the sky to seem a little socially unacceptable? For the one they call Contrary Screamer to propel you into places beyond the light and comfort of your life before?

If it’s usual for the Fetterer to bind us so tightly we can barely breathe, his noose about our necks? If it’s usual for the Loosener to set us free with screaming ecstasy, to soar across the world?

You ask if the Blinded God would have us use our eyes, our conventional  notions of the world, to see the way - or if in fact we must learn to perceive life in new and creative ways?

You ask me if it is normal for the Old Wolf to prowl around the edges of your life, so as to remind you that safety is a human conception, and that you may die in the next moment? That you may be hit by a bus, or struck by an aneurysm?

That this most uncommon of gods, this strangest of wanderers, this most Blind of Guests, should bring experience which forces us to make a choice, and to understand that The Only Way Out is Through?

There is only one word for this, anon. Only one by which we engage, and survive such things:


Of course, I could have said this, right back at the beginning. Three little letters arranged so as to answer your question. Of course I could.

I could have stayed silent, and not written, not spoken. But then perhaps, you might not have the same experience as you do now - assuming you’ve read this far, that is.

Be well, anon. If there’s one thing the Old Man teaches, it’s that This Too Shall Pass.

It Has Always Been Forever - Part 20

Previous Chapter :)

Part 20.

With the wedding only three weeks away, Jamie had left early for Lallybroch to help finish the preparations, while Claire worked a few extra shifts in order to free herself up for Hogmanay. That included working over Christmas. It also meant this would be the longest she’d be away from Jamie since they’d been together. The prospect was not a pleasant one.

She, Joe, Gail and the Bugs’ were to drive to Lallybroch together a couple of days before the wedding for Claire’s final fitting with Jenny, and a constant frantic reminder of, “carefully, mind!” from Jamie every time they spoke. As much as she wanted to see him (going so far as trying to convince him to Skype), he insisted they only speak on the phone when necessary and briefly even then. She knew he wanted a space that made the next time they saw each other have an impact. Which made her also think he’d keep his distance till the wedding once she got to Lallybroch as well.

She was right.


Lallybroch had always been beautiful. She’d marveled at the rustic simplicity of it during Samhain; before she and Jamie’d left, it had felt very much like home. But there was something magical about the place caked in snow in the soft evening light.

“Feels like we’ve just been transported back in time,” Gail said peering out the window at the estate. Even though Lallybroch had been fitted with every modern convenience imaginable, it had been done in a way none of those conveniences showed.

Jenny met them at the top of the front steps, her smile as wide as her outstretched arms. “There ye are! Hope ye didna have any trouble finding the place on your own?” she asked, as Claire stepped into her embrace.

“No. Thought I’d maybe taken a wrong turn some time back, but then saw the village,” Claire replied, a bit distracted as Jenny stuck a hand out stopping Joe from coming in. “What’s the matter, Jenny?”

“Och! Nothing’s the matter, only the lads will be staying in the wee cottage up near the kirk till the wedding,” she said, pointing Joe and Arch down the path they needed to take. “Just follow the sound of the stramash, gentlemen,” she added encouragingly.

“Isn’t the cottage a bit… battered?” Battered was rather the understatement; last Claire’d seen it, it was an utterly bedraggled shell. Jenny laughed.

“Aye, but seeing as how Jamie’s insisting on this prohibition of his, I’m sure he won’t mind roughing it for a few days. The lads on the other hand,” she said giving Gail and Mrs. Bug a look, then taking them both by the arm and steered them toward the parlor.


They sat by the fire, warm cups of tea in hand, listening to distant catches of laughter that came from the lads’ cottage. Claire had finished with her fittings about an hour after they’d arrived, and was finally ready to spend the rest of the time unwinding with the ladies. Yet last minute wedding prep questions ran haphazardly through her mind; every one she had though, was deftly answered. The caterers and the rest of the guests were to arrive within a day of the wedding and were to be housed in and around the estate - weather being what it was, Jenny preferred everyone and everything be at Lallybroch a day before the wedding. Everything was set, she assured. It was officially, the calm.

Jenny cradled her youngest, her other two little ones had long since been put to bed by Ian, who made a brief appearance to help settle them down. He’d spoken briefly and rapidly to Jenny in Gaelic, the only word Claire thought she was able to catch was, “Cha mhór”. Almost.

“Everything alright with the lads?” She asked quietly as Ian left.

“Aye, just a wee bit cold, is all,” Jenny replied, shifting Kitty into a more comfortable position. “And ye? How’re ye feeling?” She asked in return.

“I’m fine. Tired and my back and feet ache, but fine,” Claire said, gently rubbing at her the small of her back. Her pregnancy hadn’t been difficult so far - bar the morning sickness - barely three months, she’d only just started to really show. Her body had began to ache in odd ways she attributed to its change to accommodate her new occupant. Not to mention the heartburn, which Mrs. Bug confidently declared meant a baby with hair - Claire herself convinced was simply a result of her extra spicy dinner. “I do miss Jamie’s foot rubs,” she added longingly.

“Och, he’s a sweet laddie, true enough, but ye’ll get enough of the lad to make ye sick of seeing him,” Mrs. Bug put in. Her cheeks crimson from the wee dram she’d topped off her tea with. And by wee, was actually half the decanter. The others chimed in teasingly regaling her with all the ways her soon-to-be husband would annoy her. Leaving piles of dishes seemingly for the fairies to take care of. Dirty laundry kicked into a corner of the bedroom. The ever reliable “I’ll get to it tomorrow, aye,”. Even his breathing would grate on her nerves apparently.

Claire thought (or rather hoped) this highly unlikely. She’d thought like with every other thing in life, once the novelty of a thing wore off, that one would simply get used to the presence of it, settle into it. Not with Jamie though. Not yet anyway. Even though there were things that did annoy her - his stubbornness immediately coming to mind - she found that everyday brought with it something new, something different to love all over again. Whether it was the way he moved, or absently said something. The way he squinted in concentration when he read or fidgeted with his thick-rimmed glasses as he did so. Not to mention, she’d yet to get “tired” of exploring his body and all its hidden secrets. No, of that she was sure; there would always be something new to discover. To love. Even his breathing.

“Oh, I highly doubt that Mrs. Bug,” she said smiling to herself, taking a sip of her tea.


Jamie’d been surrounded by the lads and their bawdy, chafing humor for far too long, he thought. His body ached, and not from sleeping on the floor. In fact, he hadn’t needed to by the time Claire and the others had arrived the day before. They were nearly finished. His surprise almost complete.

He’d tasked Jenny with keeping Claire indoors till the wedding, lest she stubble upon it. Now, he found himself unable to stay indoors, restless and uneasy. The relentless ribbing from the lads not helping ease his wame. Even though he knew he needed to rest - the next day promised to be long, he left the lads to themselves for a bit and headed out into a snowy night for a bit of air.

It’d snowed all day, the evening bringing with it a heavy dusting, his footsteps making a pleasant crunching sound, breaking the night’s silence. He walked around the big house, which was quiet and cozy, as most had already gone to bed. As he rounded the corner toward where his mother’s rose brier grew along the side of the house, he saw a soft light spill from one the bedrooms upstairs. It took him a moment to realize it came from Claire’s bedroom. It wasn’t all that late, but he hadn’t thought to find her still awake. He was about to turn back toward the cottage, when he saw her pacing by the window.

He hesitated only a moment, the jests the lads had been making, made his mind up for him. He knew it was irrational, but he needed to talk to her. He crept through the house as quietly as he could up to her room, then with the lightest of taps, knocked on the door. 

“Claire?” He whispered, hearing her pacing pause, before her hurried footsteps headed toward the door.

She made to open it, but felt his grip on the handle keeping the door shut. “Jamie? Is everything alright?” she tentatively asked.

“Aye, it is. Only I saw your light on as I was walking by,” he said, hand still gripping the handle tight as she tugged at it experimentally. “Is everything ok, Sassenach?” He felt the tension on the handle ease as she let go and heard her light, rueful laugh.

“I just sleep ill without you, is all. You know that,” she said.

“Aye. Me too.” She could hear his smile and the change in his voice as he sat down. Slowly she did as well, resting her temple against the door. They were silent for some time, listening to the subtle shift the other made on the other side.



“Are ye… I mean not that I at all think - that is - It’s only seeing ye pacing, I was wondering-” A quiet, yet sharp knock from the other side stopped his sputtering. He smiled, but went on hesitantly. “Are ye perchance having… doubts? I wouldna be-”

“Jamie.” She said in hushed disbelief. “What would even make you think such a thing?”

He sighed, letting his head fall back against the door with a light thump. “It’s only when I saw ye by the window just now, I’d just left the lads after they’d been chafing me something fierce. They’d said you’d lose interest if I kept insisting we didna see each other. I couldna help thinking of ye and yon Englishman. I couldna stop the thought… the fear from crossing my mind,” he ended sheepishly. She wanted nothing more than to wrench the door open and give him a thorough shake.

“God, love, you really can be a numpty when you want to,” she said, exasperated, yet smiling nonetheless. “It’s barely been a month, for one thing, yet my body yearns for you in ways I never knew possible. And that doesn’t even begin to describe the utter ache of not being with you I have within me. I can’t do without you… Don’t you know?” she said her voice becoming even more quiet. He heard the change in her voice as she turned her head slightly toward the door. “Don’t any of you? You are the part of me I never knew I was missing.”

He smiled feeling the inexplicable weight that sat in his heart, lift. He shut his eyes and said a silent prayer before replying.

“Aye. I ken. It has always been forever for me too, my Sassenach,” he finally whispered. “I’ll see you tomorrow, mo nighean donn.”

son of poseidon ashton irwin is this tall, muscular boy with beachy curls in his sandy hair and he always kind of smells like saltwater and sea air and he adores swimming, not only that, he’s captain of his school’s swim team and his teammates swear that he practically grows gills and fins once he dives into the chlorinated pool but what they don’t know is that when ashton’s near the ocean, let alone in water, he’s at his strongest and, like the restless and relentless sea, like his father, he’s a force to be reckoned with

It’s been centuries, but the sea never stops trying to climb the shoreline and if that’s not a metaphor for never giving up then I don’t know what is. You can’t lose till you quit. You won’t drown till you stop swimming. And if humans are born 75% water then you are made of more seaside than flesh. You are an ocean; your smile is the horizon; your eyes are the water’s edge. You carry the seven seas under your skin and every part of your soul is rushing forward towards the shoreline; towards your purpose. So be restless for success. Relentless as the waves. Because your tsunami tide is coming.
—  @mentamo
darling, the composer has stepped into the fire - enjolras/éponine - oneshot

neighbors in a shitty apartment and love interest in formal wear as requested by coeurdean, combined with inappropriately timed confessions as requested by tybaltmontparnasse and anon, and “i can’t go alone to my ex’s wedding” as requested by marineraguerrera!! :)

darling, the composer has stepped into the fire


Strangely enough, the chipped tin plaque on the entrance read LA MASURE GORBEAU instead of Hell. Enjolras had cultivated the habit of muttering “Lasciate ogni speranza, voi ch’entrate” under his breath every time he ascended the front steps, but even the Alighieri quote with all the nuance of its original Italian failed to encapsulate just how terrible the place was. The creaky old pipes doled out hot water with as much regularity as a game of Russian roulette, paint peeled off the walls, the shower tiles were stained with mildew, and wind whistled through the cracks in the ancient windows at night.

But it wouldn’t have been that bad, honestly. Enjolras could have endured these abysmal living conditions with grace, had it not been for his next-door neighbor. If Gorbeau House was Hell, then Éponine Thénardier was the Devil herself.

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I’m just guessing… that…. a Gemini is the sign that is usually most depressed but hides it so well. A gemini is the sign that is trying to bury itself in work or in just about anything in an attempt not to overthink because their minds are so restless, they are so relentless that they can’t help but to overthink over every little thing. Whether you told them ‘Hello’ first or not, whether you asked about their day or not, Gemini is the sign that seems to remember and overthink about the smallest of things.

……and the worst thing is that none of them like it….