the thickest forest

Imagine; Thranduil x Reader

Imagine being caught spying on the elves by Thranduil himself as he pins you to a tree trunk to interrogate you, learning more than what he bargained for.

My breathing quickened as I hastily ran through the Murkwood forest, I knew he had seen me as I had reckless lingered in the one position for too long. Elves are miraculous at being able to spot the smallest of movements within the thickest and darkest of forests, his eyes had landed on me for no more then a milly second.

That’s all he needed. I saw him turn to his guards as he chanted off orders, turning on his heals to dash into his forest, the king himself.

Idecided to climb the nearest tree, and stay quiet, my breathing staggered as I held my hand over my mouth in order to keep quiet. His long silver white hair is what I saw first, his glorious crown second.

He was beautiful.

Thranduil stayed poised just underneath my position, his head turning ever so slowly as he listened intently. I stayed as quite as I could, my hand still over my mouth, my feet pushing me against the trunk as much as possible.


“An arrow flew past my head as I quickly ducked- how in the hell had he heard me? I quickly jumped down and turned to dash only to hit something hard and fumble backwards, seconds later I was pinned against the same tree trunk, Thranduils blue eyes staring into mine.

“Not many females can avoid my arrows, none in fact, who are you?” he pinned my arms to the trunk his leg between my own.

“Greeted by the King himself, I guess I should be bowing or something… oops” I decided to go with a more sassy attitude, I was here on business after all, Gandalf had wanted me to pass a message of his company passing through in a few days, it just hadn’t occurred to me to walk up like any normal young witch would to explain herself.

I could have sworn I saw the slighted hint of a smirk at my words on the Kings face, but it shortly disappeared as he pinned me harder against the bark, his leg holding me on my tippy toes. I squirmed a little uneasily, which he seemed to enjoy as he leaned forward to whisper. “Perhaps I should make you?”

I felt my face flush with embarrassment, my cheeks hot. He leant back and met my eyes, now he was smirking, he snickered at my bashfulness. “That, would be an unwise action, King” I said almost angrily.

He smiled and his grip on my hands lessened a little, “As King, I could if I so wished, it is tempting” his eyes ravaged my body, I felt myself squirm uncontrollably as he did. “Or you could tell me who you are, I’ve seen you out here for two days, little one.”

“Wait, you knew I was here?” I blinked for a moment before Thranduil lowered his head in a mock head wobble for “seriously?”

“I also know you are a young witch of great power being trained by Gandalf and Lady Galadriel, sent here to send me a message, which you have failed to do” he eyed me suspiciously, a brow raised.

“You’re the first Elf I have officially met other than Galadriel…do you all look so… so..” I stuttered trying to find the word or words to describe the perfectly sculpted king in front of me.

“You don’t speak Elvish yet, do you?” He chuckled. “I was waiting for you to approach my home, but you never did, when I caught your eyesight I thought it best I caught you and retrieved the message myself” he smirked.

“So, do you have to pin me like this?” I squirmed against his leg and avoided his eye contact, his eyes never left mine. “It’s weird coming from a King” I noted.

“Deliver your message little one and I shall let yo-” Thranduil didn’t finish as he in one movement twirled and sliced the head off of a huge arachnid.

I dashed. He laughed and gave chase, quickly catching up and tripping me, moving himself in front to catch my fall as we both fell to the forest floor. “Why do you run from me?” He questioned as I lay with my back to his chest.

“You make me nervous King Thranduil” I said quietly, “There are rumours you are a harsh King, a cruel King… I didn’t want to get caught in your wrath for delivering a message”

Thranduil flipped us in a second, his white silver hair dangling down over my face as his eyes searched mine offended. “Who thinks this of me, you must tell me, who spreads this amongst the lands?”

“Oh, I don’t give names, it’s rude to tell others a secret they have told you” I said with a slight grin seeing the King so flustered with the concerns of a few opinionated Dwarves.

“So be it, now you will see my wrath” Thranduil stated, his eyes piercing through mine in anger. I gulped and put my hands up in front of me.

“No please! I didn’t mean to offend you! I promise!” I spoke quickly, too quickly and it made the king smile.

“Oh it’s far to late for apologies I’m afraid, perhaps you will be first on one of my newest torture devices?” He questioned, pinning my arms with one of his as he straddled my waist.

“NO! Please! Gandalf will be here soon! His company is passing through-that’s the message!” I blurted out as he glared down at me, he kept his eyes fixed upon me as I squirmed on his grip wishing I had focused more in my defence lesson with Lady Galadriel.

Thranduil looked furious, he wasn’t going to give mercy, I whimpered in his grasp. Suddenly I feel his free hand scampering up under my leather garments and into my shirt, his hands lightly grazing all over my stomach. I blurt out into short squeaks and giggles as my legs kicked out behind me.

“A cruel King…A harsh king. Who do they think they are, commenting on my behaviour like they are my own kin” he talked to himself as he continued to tickle my stomach, he brushed over my belly button as I squealed which brought him back to my reactions, causing him to chuckle as he passed over my belly button again. “Oh dear, I think this is quite sensitive little one”

“Thranduil! Stahahp!” I cried out between laughter, shaking my head as I squealed loudly feeling his finger dip inside of the rim.

“I will if you promise to approach my home without worry or suspicions acts next time, understood?” he stated, I nodded as he wiggles his finger around gently causing me to thrash into hard laughter. “Tell me you promise” He said playfully as he dug in deeper, enjoying the innocent laughter as he himself began to blush slightly.

“I promise!!” I yelled out in between my laughter as tears formed in my eyes, Thranduil stopped immediately and pinned my arms still hovering over me as I giggled slightly.

“See, I’m not harsh or cruel, you shouldn’t believe everything you hear” he smiled, getting up and holding out his hand as I grasped it. He pulled me to my feet as he began to brush himself off. “Well, that was fun, now- I order you to tell me who said those things” he turned to me, standing with his hands behind his back and his head held high.

Oh no this wasn’t going to end well. I began backing away from the king slowly as he watched me curiously. “You see it was um… dwarves.” Thranduil went quiet, his eyes narrowed as he walked forward till he was inches from my face as he smiled wickedly.

“I think it’s time I have a one on one lesson with you, about who to trust when it comes to Dwarves and Elves, and I know just how to convince you” he launched forwards and threw me over his shoulder as I squealed.

Originally posted by trickster-god-loki

Commander Princess II

I’ve read that three times and it doesn’t get any less perfect, I don’t know how you write as beautifully as you do, it’s fucking art man, you make me fall in love with words all over again. Any chance we might get a bonus short scene from that prompt? Like the first time River beats Lexa in a play fight? Or Lexa catching River trying on her warpaint when she’s too little to know what it all means? I won’t just love you 4eva, I’ll love you 5eva. fuck 5eva. i want 6ternity.

She is one with the woods. Fifteen and gawky normally, when she slips from her boots and ties up her hair, River is lithe and a ghost in the forest, at home there in ways that make others uncomfortable. No one can keep up with her, her thin frame betraying her strength at first. She doubles back behind Thomas often, his loud footsteps unsure of untrodden paths. She laughs and he hears it before he sees her. He is clumsy and awkward and just as young, but that laugh, he will tell her one day, it was that laugh that convinced him he’d spend his life chasing her through thickets and brambles forever.

Keep reading

This is one of my favourite creepypastas, and because I can’t find any version of it that wouldn’t be impossible to read on this format, I’ve transcribed it directly from the screencap I have of it.

Story originally appeared on /x/ on October 10, 2013, and was written by a user known only as hawkeye !!ASKzWwNPKxw. Accompanying photograph was taken by me and isn’t associated with the piece in its original form. Aside from grammatical corrections and a quote from the author from a reply to another user at the end, the story appears exactly how it does in the original image.

It’s long, but well worth the read, and has stuck with me ever since I first saw it. For those of you that have experienced something like this, it’ll hit even harder.


Human Nature

So, first let me describe how I’ve spent the last three summers.

>Live in Ohio
>Be camp counselor at INNAWOODS camps in hocking hills region of southern Ohio
>Clear creek valley is one of the most biodiverse areas in the entire world. (Not kidding. More than some rainforests)
>Nearest civilization is town of Rockbridge (TINY) many miles away.
>Everyone lives in cabins with no air conditioning, power, or lights
>I’m assigned to the older boys, because I’m better with the bushcraft
>Teach then bataonning, fire building, debris huts, edible plants, the works.
>One night every week, we camp out, use the skills, and sleep under the stars
>Every week, each cabin has to do a “Camp Improvement Project” (chores)
>Little kids pull weeds on what few (unpaved, barely maintained) paths we have
>Big kids (14-17) use saws, rakes, and shovels to clear out new campsites, or refurbish old ones
>There’s always been a rivalry between the older boys and girls, especially among the counselors

Keep reading

Dear Lydia,

Between “Chemistry 101” and “Mythological Beasts”. That is where my heart stopped beating. That is where the past two years of my life flashed before my eyes as I desperately tried to make sense of your words. That is where I found your letter.

I didn’t want to read it, I swear. But when my name is written in your handwriting, it’s hard to not want to know why.

Where do I begin? Every breath I take when I’m around you is followed by a thought of how “I love you” would sound coming from your perfect pink lips. When I’m not around you, I’m remembering how your hair smells of coconuts, or how your thoughts are so intricate, I can see them being formed when I look into your eyes.

Since the third grade, Lydia. Since the third damn grade, I have been completely mesmerized by who you are, what you are, how you are. You say I’m your hero, but since our lives became fairy tales, you have been the hero who saves me in the end. Time and time again, you pick me up as I fall, and drag me along for a while if you need to. You have been nothing short of a miracle for me.

You don’t notice, or maybe you do, but when I place my hand on your back for support, or grasp your tiny fingers when you lead me, I feel as though there are cities crumbling to pieces in my core, and I shake like I am the epicenter of an earthquake. I am nervous, and excited, and in love.

Your eyes could lead me through the thickest forest, on the darkest night of the year. The hazel saturation of your irises are like porch lights left on for me to get home safely. I sometimes find it hard to match your gaze, and stare at your button nose instead. I’m afraid if I look at them too long, I’ll have no other choice but to act on how they make me feel.

Your kiss has never left my mouth. It’s like your lips are needles that tattooed themselves onto mine. When I think of that moment- your hands on my cheeks, the pinching in my lungs, the way the sun seemed to flash like the light of a camera-I lose my breath all over again.

There is not a second that goes by that I am not more in love with you than I was before. Every day, I think it’s impossible to love you more, like if I do, I will physically collapse, but every day you prove me wrong, and keep me from crashing to the ground. This started as a crush on the cute girl in my third grade class, but now I do not remember how it feels to not be irretrievably in love with you.

I should be mad that you’ve kept this hidden. I should be yelling because you let me date someone else when you’ve always been right in front of me. I should be angry that you still weren’t going to tell me. But I can’t be. Because you’re you. You’re Lydia, and you’re selfless, and courageous, and will die for the people you love. How can I be mad at that?

Come talk to me. Love like this is scary, but it’s better to be scared together.

sincerely yours, Stiles

a letter to Lydia, in response to this one

Forming Habits

Second installment of the Crowley “Mr. Lonely” series. Requested by anon :) “I’m having Crowley feels because I went back and re-read your previous imagines for him. They’re all amazing of course, even the 2nd time around. I was wondering if you could do a continuation of Mr. Lonely. One where the guys are gone again, maybe on a hunt that takes a few days and the reader spends the whole time with Crowley and when the guys get back they can’t find her and check with Crowley to find her curled asleep in his lap and he death glares at them making sure they don’t wake her” Alright, this imagine has been edited for reposting to boost the detail-count and cultivate a more in-depth story. I highly suggest you all read “Mr. Lonely” (also found on the “The Story Continues…” page with summaries, titles, genres, etc) before continuing on with this imagine. Hope you like it!

This imagine has been continued in “Conflicting Emotions”

Sam and Dean were tossing machetes into a duffel bag when you waltzed into the Men of Letters library, desecrating a place of knowledge and peace with gleaming blades and metallic clanking of their weapons jostling inside their arsenal-on-the-go. Your arms were laden with the impossible weight of the vintage marble chess set you had managed to clear of dust and grime, their weary eyes shooting to your haul as they sorted through their supplies. Sam’s jaw clenched, his hands deftly tugging the bag’s zipper closed before hefting their travel-sized armoury over his shoulder, projecting a silent-but-deadly type of warning with his eyes before turning on his heel and parading towards the exit. He, being the more accepting brother, was less apt to express his aggravation in regards to your newfound friendships with his words. Dean, on the other hand, was every overprotected daughter’s living, breathing nightmare; this hovering father-figure actually had a shotgun, and he knew how to use it. Well. Dean sighed, shaking his head in disapproval, a grimace of disgust and caution painting his face, pulling his full lips downward. Your cheeks burnt with agonizing prickles of heated embarrassment as you readjusted the wooden box in your arms, Dean struggling all the while to find a proper format to address your situation as you shifted the weight. He held up his hand, as if to stop you from proceeding to the filing room, shooing you back to safety as he blocked your path. His gemstone eyes held yours, friendly affection contaminated by his strong dislike for the subject of your playdate.

“Just… keep it short, okay. I don’t want him getting the wrong idea about… this,” he warned, presenting you with the routine ‘he-can’t-get-comfortable-being-imprisoned’ speech, which you ignored, walking past him and towards the dungeon, your mind already scrambled, the mere thought of having three full days with the King of Hell at your side intoxicating you like a fine brandy on a lightweight drinker. Dean exhaled loudly, tossing a smaller bag over his shoulder before following his brother’s route out of the bunker. You were alone. Your footsteps echoed off of the thick concrete walls, no need to shield the sound this time around. Crowley was expecting you.

After a five minute hassle with the box and the door (your coordination was about ten pounds off-balance), you were able to shove the business facade aside to reveal Crowley’s makeshift prison, complete with a bruised convict, chains and all. You would have called for help, if your only companion wasn’t chained to his chair. The convict in question grinned warmly, wincing as his lip split open, the heat draining from his body as his fingers prodded the injury, chains jangling loudly. You sprinted (as much as one carrying an addition few pounds of carved marble figurines can sprint) to his table, the box colliding with the table with a piercing clang, your shirtsleeve dabbing at the pinpricks of blood pooling from the tear in his severely chapped lips, your wrist prickled by his untrimmed stubble. He grimaced at the touch of cotton against the open wound, but allowed you to tend to him.. You momentarily lost your breath, your memories carting you to the last night of the year, your body consumed by overwhelming spontaneity, your mouth crashing into his before the Winchester brothers turned. It had been so simple, so instinctual… the way Crowley had molded his lips to yours, his breath rushing over your face, your heart rate skyrocketing as his lips brushed against yours. You willed your thoughts back into order, retracting your sleeve from those… those tantalizing lips, rolling the cuff up your arm until the blood was hidden. He sighed apologetically, unaware of your state of fantasy, mumbling a thank you before you hopped up onto the table, crossing your legs in front of you, an excited, uncertain smile erupting upon your face. His brow furrowed in confusion, your hands unhooking the tarnished silver latches on the carrying case of your treasure. You paused, hands resting against the lid. Your eyes met Crowley’s, his irises burning low with uncertainty. After a moment of tense silence, he spoke.

“Y/n, darling, enough with the foreplay. You’ve got a box… feel free to clue me in any time you see fit,” He joked,chuckling, his eyes holding fast to the mysterious cask before him. You were sure he thought you had brought some elaborate torture device, his eyes betraying his amusement when you removed the sparkling white King. He rolled his eyes, the metallic jingling of his bindings reminding you that he was your prisoner, that you shouldn’t be fraternizing with the enemy… but the chains carryied a sort of merry tinkle now, banishing your straying logic. He was now more friend than foe, regardless of his past actions against the Winchesters. Crowley had yet to harm you personally, therefore your friendship was justified. You would gladly (if somewhat warily) dismiss his infractions. You slid the massive casket of soldiers in his direction, putting the pieces within his reach. “Chess? Since when do hunters play chess?” he inquired, his hand slipping into the box to retrieve the gleaming black Queen, admiring the craftsmanship, the curves delicate despite their tough exterior. You lined up his pieces close enough for him to handle before removing the thick wooden board, lacquer gleaming in the fluorescent lighting of the naked bulb dangling overhead. You moved your pawns to attention, the milky contrast to the creamy board shouting deliciousness. Crowley brought his army to the front lines, sheltering the royals behind a wall of pawns.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just bash my career,“ you smirked, your eyes flashing to his to see a grin pulling his lips. He was glad that his jab had elicited some kind of emotion out of you. "Since I pity you, you know, all chained up and pathetic, I’ll let you go first,” Crowley rolled his eyes playfully, shifting closer to the table, his chains prohibiting much movement. “Tell me about your mother,” you demanded, his eyes snapping up in questioning shock, a hint of anger, a tang of longing, a flash of adoration blooming in his usually stoic irises at the mention of such a distant recollection. He raised and lowered his eyebrows, sighing deeply.

"So it’s going to be like this, eh?” He grumbled, submitting to your request. He embarked on a short tirade about his mother’s ghastly occupation and lack of adoration while moving his glistening stallion to stand guard before both his pawns and his Queen, his calloused fingers lingering on the steed’s immobile mane for a second too long after he finished his thought. “Your move, love,“ He whispered, smiling grimly. Your hand laid against the piece of choice, contemplating patterns of movement. "I suppose I’d like to know who died,” he decided, lacing his fingers together to a chorus of metallic clinks, his vagueness a clear sidestep to keep from insulting or offending you. Your hand froze atop your pawn, your lips pursing. You dropped your gaze to the chessboard, understanding his choice of interrogation. One didn’t become a hunter for shits and giggles. Something had to go wrong before anyone went chasing monsters, guns blazing. You inhaled slowly, moving your pawn forward two spaces. It wasn’t who died, but who had survived. You were the only remaining member of your family after the wendigo attacked your camp, your lust for revenge fueled by the two men you met when day broke in the thickest part of the forest. They came armed with rifles and flamethrowers, while you were armed with a shattering heart. They assured you that they could teach how to kill the beast that had torn your life to shreds… and here you were, playing chess with a demon in a monster-proof bunker somewhere in Kansas. He dipped his head in apology, his face open for the next topic, his hands skirting over his pieces.

He won, of course, as his technique had been honed to perfection over centuries while you had an insubstantial six years under your belt. You could have sworn you saw a piece move when you relocated one of his pawns (or “disposables” as he referred to them) to your little dark kingdom graveyard to join the other soldiers you had captured… regardless, the game was over, and the bunker was growing colder as night fell. Underground housing tended to be quite unpredictable, temperature-wise. You extended your hand for him to shake, his chivalry surprising you when his lips brushed against the backside of your knuckles, a violent blush igniting across your cheekbones. He winked, holding onto your hand in his, chains going silent.

“I’m gonna… um, I’m going to head to bed. I’ll bring you something to drink in the morning,” You vowed, your body angling towards the door, Crowley’s hand tugging you closer to him, his chains scraping along the rough flooring with an alluring shriek as your body bent closer to his, your free hand catching yourself against the surface of the table, scattering a few rogue rooks.

“You’re welcome to stay, love. You and I have a history of combating loneliness, you know,” he flirted, his voice lacking the usual implications of inconsiderate innuendo. You grinned, running off to grab a blanket for the two of you to share. You may have been able to combat loneliness, but the cold was another factor entirely. The days blurred by, each passing hour spent wrapped in wool and the arms of a renegade demon king, your time occupied by laughter and stolen by tears, emotions running rampant within you. There were a few… shiftier moments… or hours, you should say, when the chains almost came off, but Crowley was not your prisoner to free. Your emotions were difficult to wrangle, but even you knew, somewhere deep within your heart, that the possibility of his fleeing the bunker once unchained was high. You would have to cope, your hands wary of the heavy metal collar as you tangled your fingers in his hair, your lips pulling on his, jingles disrupting the speechless silence. You often couldn’t remember what brought you to his lap, what sparked the touch of his lips to your neck… but you could hardly care. The second night, you drifted to sleep in his arms, his body warming yours with every beat of his heart, your head nuzzled into his shoulder, his gravelly voice humming a foreign lullaby from a time you would never be familiar with…

“There she is! Y/n, come out of there- what the Hell is going on here?” Dean’s voice was escalating from whisper to a booming ferociousness, his volume rising drastically with his second complaint. Your eyes remained closed, convinced you were dreaming, your fingers closing tighter around Crowley’s lapel. If this wasn’t a dream, you’d surely be dragged away. Crowley shushed at the hunter, irritation polluting the sound. “Oh, don’t give me that, and don’t give me that look. You might be able to seduce her, but it’s not gonna work on me.” Dean breathed, docking his volume despite his words, Sam’s heavy gait stepping into the room at the sound of conflict.

“She’s sleeping, Squirrel, can’t you see that? She isn’t dead, she’s not unconscious, she’s sleeping. Bloody Hell, you act as though I’ve burned the Pop alive,” There was a pause, the air heavy with fury and tension. Crowley’s chains shifted quietly. “I was wrong to believe humans were obsessed with decency,” he insisted, a scowl tainting his caring tone. Sam began to protest, his feet moving towards you, halting abruptly, likely from the glare you could not see. “Allow me to rephrase for the clown on stilts; wake her, and you’ll never hear another shred of information on the tablets from me, you understand? Not a single word,” He threatened, duel huffs of frustration shifting through the stuffy air. The footsteps drew nearer, the shuffling sound of heavy boots attempting soundless movement reaching for your ears. Crowley was doing all he could with his bound hands to move you into Sam’s arms. The transition was awkward, but gentle, Sam hefting you to his chest before stepping away from the demon’s downgraded throne, Dean scraping the chess pieces into the wooden box before his footsteps followed his brother’s. Sam carted you away, his gait smooth, your body barely bouncing, Crowley’s chains whispering an unspoken goodbye as the cabinets hit home.

anonymous asked:

[1/3] (More on Geoff finding baby Gavin) Gavin grows up loved and absolutely adores Geoff and Jack. He's a strange kid though, and one day they catch him outside talking to air. Geoff is like. Whats wrong with my litle bit today. And Gavin looks at him and grins and is like. Don't worry, I'm just talking to the magic. And it turns out he's actually talking to Michael, a young elemental spirit, Geoff and Jack just can't see him bc he hasn't decided he wants to be seen. Gavin can for some reason

[2/3] see him no matter if he wants to be seen or not. Ray, a nature spirit, was the first to meet Gavin, and had told Michael about him like. Hey Michael, there’s this kid that just follows me around talking to me when he’s not even supposed to see me help. Soon Gavin is pretty popular with the younger spirits, Michael, Ray, and Jeremy (earth spirit) and he’s always hanging out with them. Geoff and Jack just think he’s got a v active imagination. Meanwhile, Ryan is an older spirit, and just
[3/3] observes from afar, making sure the younger spirits are okay. He’s a storm spirit, with domain over thunder and lightening, so he can look pretty scary, and he doesn’t want to freak Gavin out. He tends to linger near Geoff and Jack because they can’t see him. (Jack begins to wonder why rain never falls on him when he gets caught in storms on his way home from visiting Geoff and Gav)
[4/3] ALSO just adding more to that fire elemental Michael who is afraid of getting too close to Gavin, because duh he’s fire, and Gavin is a soft fragile human. Gavin fascinates him, though, because no human is supposed to be able to talk with them or touch them but Gavin does without thinking. To his dismay Gavin seems bound and determined to be close to him all the time, reaching for his hand to hold whenever he notices Michael in the

Here’s the like story idea I had on this:: Gavin gets lost in the forest during one of the worst storms Geoff’s ever seen. He’s not even sure how they got separated from each other, one minute Gavin was behind him, holding his shirt because Geoff’s arms were full with supplies, but then next minute he wasn’t.

Geoff drops everything he’s holding and runs around the forest the best he can, but the ground his soaked and the mud is eating his shoes. The wind is too strong and Geoff can’t see past the sideways blowing rain. He can’t feel his fingers because everything is so cold and wet, but lightning is striking and setting the forest around him on fire.

Jack’s suddenly there, dragging Geoff to his house because he’ll be no use to Gavin if he’s sick or dead. There’s just no chance finding him in this weather, they can’t even see their own hands in front of their faces, and it’s only getting worse.

A mile or two away, where the forest is thickest, three spirits are guarding a crying child like stone walls, while a much larger spirit directs the storm around them. Not a single drop of rain lands on his head, not a single hair blown out of place by the wind. It’s exhausting to do this, but Gavin’s important. There’s a reason he can see them when he wants, they need him alive to figure out what it is.

Jack and Geoff are both solemn as they look around the next morning, when the sun is out. They’re turning over every fallen branch, every sunken stone, certain they’re looking for a small body. There’s no way he could’ve survived that storm. They almost didn’t.

And then they hear Gavin’s laughter, quiet and distant, but clear as a bell and fucking alive. Both of them break out into the best run they can, Geoff loses a shoe in the still thick mud.

Gavin’s sitting alone under a big tree, it’s branches spread tall and wide, looking like something from a story itself. The ground isn’t wet here, there’s not even dew. And Gavin’s hair is matted to one side and his eyes are still heavy looking, like he just woke up. But he’s smiling up at the leaves and laughing, like there was never any danger.

Geoff runs forward and scoops Gavin into his arms, thanking whatever the hell it is that’s so determined to keep Gavin safe.

First Steps [Undone Nat/Jax]


The gods still considered her a child. Though she had been alive for centuries now, Nature’s age was nothing compared to that of Hades, Hera, Zeus. She hadn’t even walked upon mortal ground yet.

Not until now.

Her powers were rooted here, in the soil. It seemed fitting that, for the goddess born from stray lightning and the thickest forest, she learned about this word. It was the only way Nature would be able to protect it. 

The gods told her to mimic mortals during her time there. It wouldn’t be long; only a duration that would allow her to observe and learn. Hades had been tasked with providing a mortal vessel. The body was blonde, thin, and of course, beautiful, but young. It made her appear naive. Less powerful than she wanted to be. She didn’t desire power, but respect among the gods. Nature hoped this trip would provide her with the knowledge she needed to gain as much.

Mortal music was nothing compared to what the gods could create; it was loud and boisterous. Nature stared at the castle where mortals of her body’s age ran and laughed, small red chalices in their hands. She stopped at sight of a dandelion and brushed her fingers against the white petals. “Such beauty in such a strange place.”

DAY 2739(i)

Jalsa, Mumbai                 Oct 6,  2015            Tue 10:57 pm

Birthday - EF Ami Trivedi , Naresh Dhokia

Wednesday, October 7, 2015

And we wish you a happy birthday and years and years of goodness happiness and fulfilment .. from all of us here at the Ef home ..

And so to take on all the responsibility in promoting the Tiger as Ambassador for it in Maharashtra ..

This one just did not leave us as we drove past in the jungle .. quite unusual for tigers to do this ..

The official launch of the Tiger preservation campaign launched by the Government of Maharashtra, and the taking on the Brand Ambassador ship of this most deserving initiative ..

Did you know :

Over the turn of the 19th century into the 20th, India had 40,000 tigers .. by 2008 the number was 1411 .. Horrid !

Killing the animal for medicinal purposes, especially for the South Eastern country’s was rampant. Rampant too for its skin, which adorns many a drawing room of the affluent .. a mark of aristocracy, of superior gaming acumen, a mark of being among the few ..

With effort now the numbers have increased to 2226 in the country and to about 199 in the State of Maharashtra, which incidentally has the largest tiger population in the entire country ..

And driving to the functions to honour a week of this activity as a campaign , one passes through some of the thickest forest edifices that abound in the heart of the city. It is within the premises of the Film City. Many a time leopards have paid us a visit on our sets or our shootings. Many have been trapped and put back into the forest, if they were to wander beyond, but yes .. they do stroll around a bit to catch a glimpse of the stars that work within .. 

This has been a revelation. 45 years in the city and never seen the beauty of these natural habitats that abound within the heart of the city. Its lungs !!

Just not getting enough courage to step aside from the Blog and set aside an unusual experience .. 

But I shall ..

The work is devastating in its presents for the Tv Show .. the music composed by yours truly and the apprehension of its acceptance ..

AAAAAAAhhhhhhh … why cannot life be a lot simpler .. ya right !!

Amitabh Bachchan 

Into The Unknown

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It took Qessyn a moment to regain her senses, but she looked at Vin and nodded. “Yeah. That thing is the biggest, meanest predator on my homeworld. Watch out for that tail when it gets loose, it’s venomous.”

Motioning for the Midoan to follow, the Galra looked around for anyone who would try to stop them, before discreetly climbing the platform.

“How good of a shot are you? Because the control panel for the door over there,” she pointed at where they had entered, “needs a shot to bust it and keep the door from closing. Once these cages fly open, you RUN like Zarkon himself is on your heels. Ready?”

Vin drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, settling her nerves in spite of the growling and snapping going on all around her.  “I’ve got this,” she muttered, moving around to get a better view of the control panel, keeping light on her toes.

“I’ve got this…” she repeated to herself, a little unneeded assurance, erring on the side of preparedness.  Of course she had this.  If there was one thing she could claim in all her life, it was that she was a good shot.  Days and nights of guarding her family, taking shots at the enemy in some of the thickest forests around?  This was nothing.  This was absolutely… nothing.

She raised the rifle, lining up the sights.  Another breath.  Another exhalation.

“Alright, go!”  She squeezed the trigger, and hoped that Qessyn was on the ball.

Martyn is an awesome person, so I did some quick Fan Art.

The tree that never had to fight
For sun and sky and air and light,
But stood out in the open plain
And always got its share of rain,
Never became a forest king
But lived and died a scrubby thing.

The man who never had to toil
To gain and farm his patch of soil,
Who never had to win his share
Of sun and sky and light and air,
Never became a manly man
But lived and died as he began.

Good timber does not grow with ease:
The stronger wind, the stronger trees;
The further sky, the greater length;
The more the storm, the more the strength.
By sun and cold, by rain and snow,
In trees and men good timbers grow.

Where thickest lies the forest growth,
We find the patriarchs of both.
And they hold counsel with the stars
Whose broken branches show the scars
Of many winds and much of strife.
This is the common law of life.

Douglas Malloch