water leves

Norwegian Vocab - Nature 🍃🌍

et tre - tree

en skog - forest

en blomst - flower

en gress - grass

en planet - planet

en jord - earth

en sol - sun

en måne - moon

en vinter - winter

en vår - spring

en høst - fall

en sommer - sommer

en plante - plant

en frukt - fruit

et blad - leaf

en grønnsak - vegetable

en rose - rose

en hage - garden

en luft - air

edit: et vann - water


å leve - to live

å  dø -  to die

å vokse -  to grow

å vanne -  to water


et dyr - animal

en fugl - bird

en bie - bee

et insekt - insect

en sommerfugl - butterfly

I am done being a puddle-jumper.
I want a lover I can drown in.
Give me the monsoon,
flood waters,
let the levee break.

Look me in the eye. 
I promise I am not afraid.
I want you to touch me
like you are trying to pull the ocean
from my trembling flesh. 

Breathe me in ~
and I will prove how even water
can burn.
—  K. Stocker (shewantedstorms)
You see, the God-honest truth is that I have always been an accidental survivor. Never once been courageous. See, I throw a punch like a coward; only when my issues have their backs turned to me.
I always linger at the intersection between “Scarred Body” and “Screeching Brain”, laughing like I just heard a joke when they ask me where I’ve been because “out” is the only sufficient answer.
Out of here.
Out of luck.
Out of my mind.
Just out.
There are entire wars trapped in my veins and I am just a drummer boy here, innocent in red, in flowing red, in the red coming out my wrists, staining my white skirts turning them an ever dainty pink. A quiet pink that hides the red’s origins.
My first relationship was with the Hospital. We would meet up twelve times a month and french kiss til the screams in my head were finally quiet.
Where is the first-aid kit for nightmares that steeped into reality? The only bandaid my soul needs will not take my phone calls anymore. I can not blame her though.
No matter how strong the levees, flood waters do not ask permission when they want to drown people.
—  B. Damani || What Keeps Me Up At Night

climbing

—warm water-

fall,


leveeing —space

—between the

sunrise-diamond


the kingdom—

of puce fluorescence


a ripening flower

—above the bridge-

water tower


hours and hours

ago— the three of

us slept in separate


cities, the first

my heart—


your home of

dusk, the


pendulum

swing set that

I jumped— from


and couldn’t come

—back, my eyes

matte for you


one day— I can’t

say which, the

water-fall —will


break and

the veil will

— lift


shackles from

my wrists


a dawny bride

near sleep and

dream to—


trade me

spades

with


kiss

You see, the God-honest truth is that I have always been an accidental survivor. Never once been courageous. See, I throw a punch like a coward; only when my issues have their backs turned to me.
I always linger at the intersection between “Scarred Body” and “Screeching Brain”, laughing like I just heard a joke when they ask me where I’ve been because “out” is the only sufficient answer.
Out of here.
Out of luck.
Out of my mind.
Just out.
There are entire wars trapped in my veins and I am just a drummer boy here, innocent in red, in flowing red, in the red coming out my wrists, staining my white skirts turning them an ever dainty pink. A quiet pink that hides the red’s origins.
My first relationship was with the Hospital. We would meet up twelve times a month and french kiss til the screams in my head were finally quiet.
Where is the first-aid kit for nightmares that steeped into reality? The only bandaid my soul needs will not take my phone calls anymore. I can not blame her though.
No matter how strong the levees, flood waters do not ask permission when they want to drown people.
—  B. Damani || What Keeps Me Up At Night
4

Elmira, New York. The Great Flood of 1902.

At the low point between South Main Street and the Railroad Bridge, water went over the [levee] at 8:00PM. By 9:00PM a great torrent tore down Ferris Street and West Chemung Place.

South Main and Hudson Streets had 8 feet of water.

The next morning “everybody owning a camera had it out and the picture harvest of the flod of 1902 will be immense.”

Men and boys played and rode bicycles in the water 1 foot deep on South Main Street. The crowd cheered. When they fell in the water - people cheered louder. Boating parties were hastily organized and cruises were taking place in all directions. Water was still very deep around Hudson and Partridge Streets. Boats tipped over. People laughed.

Spaulding Street - a great canal. East Hudson Street - 3 feet.

At 7:45AM a large crowd gathered at Water and State Streets to see the “water sights.” They realized that boating in the business district was a novelty and made the best of the opportunity to use it. Camera enthusiasts were out in large numbers…whenever a friend would be met plodding through the knee deep water, the man with the camera would say, “Hold on a minute.” The other looked up and he would be told to go on, for the one with the camera had taken a good photo.


Hold Me

a little bit of hurt/comfort, because today has been a strange day. ^^

read it here on AO3 

Cas slipped off his trenchcoat, let it fall to the floor. He was made of tiredness.

There was a sadness caught in his throat like a cobweb, and he couldn’t cough it away; and there was a sprain of doubt across his chest that only seemed to twist a little further out of shape with every move he made, every word he said.

He felt as though… as though he were standing in a room filled with hourglasses, and everywhere he turned, he tipped one over. Smash, a friend died. Smash, another. Smash, he lost his grace. Smash, Dean couldn’t even look him in the face, not anymore. Sand on the floor, time he could have spent differently. Sand in his mouth, in his eyes.

He picked up a glass of water from the bedside table of the motel, and took a sip. He tried to see his problems from the outside; tried to see himself as small, finite, and insignificant, his endless screw-ups just one warped strand in a twisted, screwed-up universe.

It didn’t help overly much. He took a shower.

Dressed again, hair dripping dry, he sat down on the bed and ran his hands over the cheap covers. He sighed, and his breath filled the room, the only sound, terribly quiet and very loud, all at once. He felt suddenly as though he were the only being alive for miles. Between the lines of loneliness was a vague sensation of relief.

Dean’s face flashed briefly into his mind, but he pushed it away. No one’s coming to help you. No one ever does. Not even him.

Keep reading

Hotel Rooms - Ashton Irwin


You stepped out of the shower, steam swirling around you, watching the condensation collect on the mirror. You brushed through your freshly washed hair and quickly dried the rest of your body off. Just as you were fully dressed, there were two sharp knocks on the locked door.

“Y/N” Ashton whined, knocking on the door again to get your attention. You grinned to yourself before wrapping your hand around the cheap metal handle and pushing the door outwards, feeling it drag against the carpet of the hotel room. Your eyes quickly scanned Ashton’s form in front of you, and it took you a moment to process what you were seeing.

“Ashton. What the hell are you wearing?” Giggles escaped you as you took in his state and the drastic change of his outfit. He was still sporting the same black tank top he had an hour before, the material clinging to his torso perfectly. The idea of what laid under the stretched material made your mind run wild, but you had to bite back your thoughts before you came to regret them. His arms hung loosely at his sides, muscles somehow still prominent under his smooth skin. You swallowed the lump growing in your throat as you looked him over, feeling your face burn red. You kept your eyes moving, taking in the plain black shorts he coupled with the top. His thighs filled them out perfectly, the rest of his legs curving from the material. The most confusing part of his outfit were the pair of all too familiar high socks stretching up his calves.

“Where did you get those?” You asked, pointing down at the socks that you knew he pulled out of the dark recesses of one of your suitcases. “More importantly, why were you going through my suitcase?” Your voice rose with confusion and a small hint of anger, eyes flicking up to meet his. They flashed with mischief and he chuckled at your questions.

“You take years in the shower and there was nothing new on my phone. I wanted to see what kinda dark shit you have in your suitcases,” his response was casual, and he shrugged his shoulders along with his words. You crossed your arms over your chest and shot him your best annoyed face. “Oh come on, sweetheart,” he groaned, grabbing for one of your hands, which you gladly let him take. Your breath caught in your throat as he laced his fingers between yours, the feelings you were constantly pushing down awakening and making you wish the nickname meant more than you knew it did.

“Ash, what-” he placed a finger from his free hand over your lips to silence you, making you instantly quiet. He led you to the center of the tiny hotel room, which was just big enough for the two double beds it housed. In a split second he untangled your hands, grabbing for his phone and looking for something. Once he found whatever he was looking for, he pressed his phone again and turned the screen off as music began to fill the room around us. You couldn’t help the smile that crept onto your face as you heard the familiar tune. As you tried to speak again, he reached for you and grabbed at your forearms, the rough familiarity of his skin making you feel at home. He pulled you along with him as he danced back and forth, glancing at you as you reluctantly followed. The hands on your forearms shifted so the two of you were holding hands again, and he took a half a step closer to you so our chests were almost touching. He had a good height advantage over you, so he crouched over you a little to look at you better. Your chest swelled with happiness as you danced, your body split between continuing and telling him how wrong this was. You felt as if you were on fire, all your nerve endings screaming out for him to touch you all over. The burn of his eyes on yours made you want to look away, but you couldn’t. Your heart was beating at a pace that couldn’t be seen as normal by anyone, and you felt yourself falling into something you knew you shouldn’t get yourself into. In your haze, you didn’t notice that the song stopped and that he was looking at you with oozing concern.

“Hey, is everything alright?” The words fell from his lips and hung around us for a moment before you processed them, for you were mesmerized by the way his lips curved around words. You snapped back to reality, locking eyes with him again, feeling your knees go weak. You let go of his hands, feeling your palms begin to become slick with sweat. Quickly you backed away, feet sliding on the carpet as you stared at your toes.

“I’m fine I just, I,” your words were coming out garbled and confused, accurately mirroring your thoughts. You tried your best to ignore the confused and somewhat hurt look on his face as you backed away. Taking a deep breath and swallowing hard, you came up with what you figured would be a good enough excuse to let you get your thoughts together. “I’m sorry, I just; I need a smoke,” you rushed to your bed, careful to avoid his still form as you could tell he was watching you. You dug the pack of cigarettes out of your bag, looking around for your lighter that seemed to have vanished into thin air. Cursing under your breath, you glanced up in time to see a large hand holding a lighter out to you.

“Can I at least join you?” Ashton asked, glancing between you and the door that lead to the night. You nodded, knowing you really had no other choice. Your stomach bubbled with emotion as you walked to the door briskly, not even bothering with shoes as he held it open for you. You followed him, making sure to grab a room key before you both ducked out. Once you were standing on the concrete outside the room and looking in to the darkening night sky, he held out a hand for the cigarette package. You handed it over, and he lit one for each of us, handing yours over first. You took it quickly, placing it between your fingers and taking a drag. You shut your eyes, exhaling the smoke and resting your head on the wall. You used all of your energy to calm yourself and put together some cohesive thoughts.

“Will you tell me what’s up with you lately?” Ashton’s voice cut through the air and right through me, making your brain run wild. His head rested on your shoulder lightly, his hair tickling the soft skin of your neck. You shook your head, denying the burning at the corners of your eyes and the quickening of your breath.

“I can’t tell you, Ash,” you muttered, staying quiet to hide the pain in your voice. He sighed, taking a long drag on his cigarette before shaking his head. Despite the poor lighting at where the two of you stood, you could make out his features and see his eyes shining. His jaw clenched under the stubble decorating his face, and he shook his head side to side before putting out his cigarette.

“No. You can tell me. And you will tell me. Did I do something? Every time we do anything you back out! It’s like I did something to hurt you. I don’t want to see you like this. Hell, you even look at me different lately. And I can’t tell if you’re sad or pissed or if it’s just a normal day. I don’t know if you realize how much whatever is hurting you is hurting me. I hate seeing you this way. You’re my best friend. You’re like my sister. What is so bad that you can’t tell me?” Your fingers went limp, the cigarette falling to the concrete and fading as it laid there. You cringed at his words, feeling your breathing quicken as the few tears you were holding in slipped down your face. “Oh god, don’t cry. You know I hate that,” he breathed, his arms enveloping me comfortingly. Shaking your head, you sobbed into him, backing away reluctantly to wipe at your face. His face was full of confusion as he watched you back away, copious amounts of tears spilling from your eyes.

“See? Just like that! I hug you all the time. What’s so different now? What did I do? Do you not like me anymore?” He breathed, voice cracking. There was a persistent pounding in your head as your thoughts battled each other, two schools of thought fighting for dominance. You gripped at your head, biting your lip hard enough to draw blood as you looked at Ashton again. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, his fists clenched by his sides made his muscles flex and his veins pop. You swore you could see the hint of tears in his eyes despite his somewhat violent stance.

“A-Ashton. It’s the complete opposite of not liking you anymore. I love you, Ash. And not just best friend love. Love like I never want to spend a day without you and I want to grow old with you and tell our grandkids about how we met. And I can’t love you! You have a girlfriend to love the way I love you, Ashton! I watched you fall in love. I watched you act the way I wish you acted towards me, but I didn’t say anything because I know you love her. You don’t understand how much it kills me to spend time with you. To look at you, to dance with you! I just want to feel your lips against my skin, Ashton. And I know I’ll never get that.“ Your chest was heaving when you were done, all of your emotions spilling from you like water from a broken levee. You wiped at your eyes, backing away from him more when you saw he had no reaction. Your head shook rapidly and you walked past him briskly to push your way into the room. He followed you in, saying nothing as you hurriedly packed your suitcases again. You turned to go grab a few things from the bathroom, seeing him staring at you.

"Jesus, Ashton! Stop staring at me! I know I’m insane. I know you hate me. Just let me pack my shit and leave!" You exclaimed, the amount of pain in your voice palpable. You ducked into the bathroom, grabbed your personal effects and made your way back out, finding yourself held back by a pair of strong arms. You looked up at Ashton through tears, the spots where your skin made contact burning hot. "Let me go, Ashton,” you sniffled, doing your best to pull away from him. He kept you still, his hazel eyes burning into you but his mouth staying silent. “Would you just say something or let me go? I don’t want to be here any longer with you looking at me like that,” his mouth opened and closed again, like he couldn’t find the right words for whatever he wanted to say. In a movement you barely comprehended in your current state, he dipped his head down to your height, placing a small and gentle kiss on your lips. Your eyes widened, the unexpected turn of events making your head spin. It took you a second to react, but eventually you worked up the courage to return the kiss, curling your arms around his waist to pull him flush against you. In a second your better judgement took you over, making you pull away. You rested your head on his chest, eyes wide with realization of what had just happened and the repercussions it would have.

10

Katrina, 10 Years Later | Via

A decade ago, Hurricane Katrina triggered floods that inundated New Orleans. More than 1,800 people were killed as storm waters overwhelmed levees and broke through flood walls on August 29, 2005. Today, much of the city appears to have found its rhythm again, although some neighborhoods, such as the Lower Ninth Ward, remain works in progress. A number of photographers recently returned to the area to document the way things look today, including Reuters photographer Carlos Barria, who covered the disaster in 2005. Barria visited many of the same locations he originally photographed in order show the difference 10 years have made.