Crashing wave

screamersuccubus  asked:

The ssj4 vegeta and bulma pic reminds me of those romance novels. Like i imagine waves crashing in the background and some white glistening horse galloping in the distance. Hella rad art i love your style!

you better believe thats what i was channeling when i drew that lol

“As North American Indians had their distinct warrior societies, so Ancient Indo-Europeans had distinct warrior groups with their own customs and “willfulness.” The Sanskrit word swadha (“inherent power, habitual state, custom”) is the same word etymologically as Greek and English ethos and the Latin sodales (“men of an organization”). Berserks would have formed such groups.

To do deeds of berserk daring, one had to be raging mad. Homeric warriors fought best in a powerful rage, and Gaulish warriors could not help falling into the grip of battle madness. Shouting and singing were ways to rouse such rage. Early Greek and Roman warriors screeched like flocks of raucous birds—a mark of manhood. With a song of thunder and wind, the young Marut warriors of the Rig Veda awakened Indra’s prowess. Husky Thracian, Celtic, and Germanic war songs, like crashing waves, heartened warriors.

Dance emboldened even more. Not only Tukulti-Ninurta’s berserks danced on the battlefield; Vedic Indians did the same. Indra and his band of Marut warriors danced adorned with golden plates. Greek and Iranian warriors likewise danced, and to Hector battle itself was dance. Ancient Thracians danced on the battlefield, and so did naked Celtic warriors, wearing only golden neckbands and armrings. In Caesar’s time Romans still danced with weapons in hand, albeit no longer as soldiers but as teams of Salian priests. Dances, though done by all early warriors, mattered particularly to berserks as they fanned their fury.

Germanic warriors, too, danced on the battlefield. Tacitus describes the dance of their young, naked warriors thus:

They have only one kind of show and it is the same at every gathering. Naked youths whose sport this is fling themselves into a dance between threatening swords and spears. Training has produced skill, and skill, grace, but they do it not for gain or pay. However daring their abandon, their only reward is the spectators’ pleasure.

Both Indo-European war dances and images of early medieval war dancers bear out Tacitus’ tale of naked youths dancing with weapons in hand. Naked, the youths were berserks. Assyrian berserks, Celtic Gaesati, even Aztec wild warriors all danced naked. Indeed, being barefooted and barechested as the best getup for strenuous dancing may, in itself, have been a reason for fighting naked. Woden, as god of the berserks, led the dance. A Danish bracteate gold amulet shows him dancing, wearing but a helmet, a neckband, and a hitherto overlooked belt-like the warriors from Grevenswaenge, Hirschlanden, and elsewhere. Overarmed, like a hero, he twirls shield, ax, spear, and club, all bent to show that he shakes them as he dances (see the pic.).

Rhythmic song and dance bonded the warriors together, entranced them, and aroused their fighting madness. War dances, like war songs, however, also re-enacted mythical battles and thereby changed warriors into mythic heroes. As Mircea Eliade has put it, “The frenzied berserkir ferocious warriors realized precisely the state of the sacred fury (wut, menos, furor) of the primordial world.”

Woden’s wolf tail, recognizable on the Danish medallion by its bent-up tip, makes him also a wolf-warrior and shape-shifter. Changing into animal shapes, as it were, had much in common with being overcome by battle madness; this may be how bear- and wolf­ warriors, too, came to be seen as wild and woundproof, in a word, berserk.

Whether all ancient naked or half-naked warriors thought themselves woundproof, as did their medieval counterparts, is an open question. The psychological and physiological state of fighting frenzy with its rise of adrenaline levels could foster such a belief, for adrenaline “dilates the airways to improve breathing and narrows blood vessels in the skin and intestine so that an increased flow of blood reaches the muscles, allowing them to cope with the demands of the exercise… . During surgery, it is injected into tissues to reduce bleeding.”

Buoyed by this “adrenaline rush,” frenzied fighters may well have thought themselves stronger and less vulnerable than others. Vergil says of the Latin Messapus that neither fire nor steel hurt him. Of some Italic wolf-warriors such as the Hirpi Sarani, it was said that they too were not hurt by fire. These are but scattered and vague hints for antiquity. We are on firmer ground in the Nordic middle ages. In the latter period, berserks, as followers of Woden, thought themselves safe from wounds by iron and fire, vulnerable only to wooden clubs. Half-way around the world, the Malabar amoks, … "stopped neither at fire nor sword.“

Whether all half-naked warriors of antiquity roused themselves to fighting madness is unknown. It is likely, though, for Strabo says that all Celts and Germans were battle-mad, and if regular warriors were prone to battle madness, elite warriors in the first line would have raged even more. Battlefield madness was certainly a telling trait of many Indo-European warriors, for they craved the fame and "unwilting glory” praised in the Iliad and in the Rig Veda alike.

To linguists, words and concepts shared by Indo-Europeans suggest that fighting madly was a very old custom that originated perhaps in the fourth millennium B.C. The word for “mad attack,” eis-, shared by Vedic, Iranian, and Germanic warriors, makes it likely that the berserk fighting style comes from the time before the dispersal of the lndo-­Europeans. Dumezil put it thus:

Aesma [to Zoroastrians] is one of the worst evils, and later, in the eyes of the Mazdaeans, the most frightful demon, who bodies forth the destructive fury of society. Yet it only personifies as something bad a quality that gives the Rig Veda, from the same root, an adjective of praise for the Maruts, the followers of Indra, and for their father, the dreadful Rudra: ismin “impetuous” and no doubt “furious.” These words come from the root of Greek οίστρος, Latin ira, and, it seems, from the Old Norse verb eiskra that describes the rage of the wild berserk warriors; hence we meet here a technical term of the Indo-European “warrior bands.”

The mind of berserk warriors in the second millennium B.C. was much the same, it seems, as that of medieval warriors two thousand years later. In English, the word “mind,” related to “mania,” comes from the same root as the Sanskrit manas and Greek menos, both meaning “spirit” as well as “fury.” For Homeric warriors menos meant “a temporary urge of one, many, or all bodily or mental organs to do something specific, an urge one can see but not influence.” Menos came from above; heroes owed their great deeds to it, and Indo-European heroic poetry sings its praise.  From it arose sundry forms of abandoning oneself to new identities such as those of wolf-warriors and berserks.

In Old Norse the word berserk at first meant a bear-shirt warrior. But when bera (bear) became bjom, the word berserk was no longer understood as bear-warrior and instead came to mean “bare-shirt.” Since those who fought without shirt and armor were reckless mad­ men, the word berserk took on its modem meaning of mad fighter. The old bear-warrior meaning is still seen, however, in the berserk custom of “biting” one’s shield. The custom is known from Snorri Sturlusson's Ynglinga saga, quoted above, but also from the famous twelfth­century chess set found on the Isle of Lewis in the Outer Hebrides. Some of the warrior pawns in that set “bite” their shields. Biting rapidly on a shield makes a sound like that of bears clacking their teeth just before they attack. Shield-biting that sounded like threatening bears further deepened the warrior’s shape-shifting trance.

Berserks thus embody an abiding spirit in unbroken tradition from Vedic and Homeric times to those of the Icelandic sagas. The history of berserk warriors offers rich religious, cultural, and military detail from about 1300 B.C. to A.D. 1300 and links the bronze, iron, and middle ages, three thousand years of history seldom understood as belonging together.”

~ Michael P. Speidel, Berserks: A History of Indo-European “Mad Warriors”

whereflowersbloom  asked:

I can hear the gentle sound of the ocean waves crashing against the shore, the links and oranges creating a masterpiece in the sky, and there’s no place in the world I’d rather be than here with you. But I guess that’s an unreasonable wish when your lover is just a mere ghost. A.

I have a loneliness only you can reach, a voice that carries the wind in the galaxies of your smile. i am the worst forgeter..but darling, we all want love until it kills us.

When He Looked Up At The Stars, He Wondered.

Hey Shepard///These Bonds Between Us

***

“Do you think that when people wish upon the same shooting star, they’re bonded in that moment?” He paused and took a sip of his lager before continuing. “In that moment and forever after it.”

The crickets chirped merrily around him, the gentle crash of waves against the shore a soothing rhythm. The world around him felt terribly still, as if time were halted in this tiny corner of his world.

“Because I’ve been thinking, and yeah, this is silly, heh, but it’s been helping me sleep at night.” He thumbed the edge of the bottle, a little tactile nervous tick he never really could stop, despite his best attempts. “That two people could be bonded by the same star, wherever they are in the world, when they wish hard enough for something.”

Kaidan let out a breathy chuckle. “Maybe I’m reaching here, maybe I’m not explaining it right, but I’m starting to believe we wished on the same shooting star or something.” 

Keep reading

The ocean is an incredible thing.

I went for a swim around the capitola wharf today and it was so freaking good! I love ocean swimming but my brain likes to freak out and make me really nervous and uncomfortable in the water sometimes.

Tonight I was excited to meet up with the group because I need to get in the water before my Oly tri at Morro Bay in two weeks. When I got there I noticed some pretty big waves crashing on the shore and was worried it would be rough and I would freak out again like the last open water swim I went on.

However when I got in the water it felt amazing - not too cold, not too rough, and good visibility - and you know what? I got in an awesome 1300 years swim with absolutely not freak outs and some decent sighting practice. I’m really excited for my last race of the year. I’m going into this race feeling really grateful for a solid year of racing with way less injuries and so much strength and fitness gained.

I’ve been going to track more consistently again and my speed has been improving so much which is awesome. I love the feeling of pushing to go faster and I have some awesome teammates that help me do that. I’m looking forward to two solid last weeks of training before race day.

Mercy

The storm that night was the worst that Araseli had ever witnessed. Winds tore through the darkness, and waves crashed over head. She feared going up to the surface. What if she was swept away? If she was, how would she find her way home?

But the strange shadow, that moved above the waves, what was it? It jerked back and forth and if whatever it was made any noise, it couldn’t be heard over the roar of the storm or the crash of the waves.

Perhaps one of their traps had caught a Skyling? But, why would a Skyling be out in a storm? Especially one as bad as this? They knew better.

But it was Araseli’s duty to watch the traps. It was her second night on the job. At eight years old, she was just now beginning the training to be a soldier, and that meant watching the traps and reporting if they caught any Skylings.

Which meant she would have to swim to the surface to check.

Determined to prove that she would make a good soldier, Araseli flicked her tail fin and swam gracefully towards the surface.

Her head broke through the surface and she concentrated on breathing through her nose rather than her gills. She coughed and sputtered as a wave crashed into her face, tangling her long white hair around her neck. She went back under and took in water through her gills. The storm was too violent, waves too unpredictable to try and breathe air.

So she sealed off her nose and throat once more, a thin, nearly invisible membrane that blocked the water from filling her lungs.

She breathed in deep through her gills on her neck once more. She resurfaced, her gills struggling for the water of the waves that careened over her.

She heard faint, strangled cries over the storm’s raging and remembered why she had risked coming to the surface in the first place. Her fins worked furiously to keep herself from being whisked away by the waves and currents.

She propelled herself towards the stone columns that jutted out of the sea where the traps had been laid. Magical traps that ripped away a Skyling’s ability to manipulate the clouds they needed to walk on, forcing them to cling to the rocks, as the water was deadly to Skylings, much as the sky was deadly to Waterlings. And that was when the final element of the trap would spring into place. The mechanical insides of the stone driving metal spikes into a Skyling. If the spikes didn’t kill them, then the rising tide would drown them, and if they were found before that, the Waterlings would kill them, unless they were wanted for questioning.

Araseli hadn’t seen the Skyling yet, but it was obvious that it was alive, based on the screams and flailing. So she swam through the rocks, looking for which rock had a Skyling spiked to it.

And then Araseli saw it, him. Him, she told herself. Skylings are hims. All hims. As Waterlings are hers.

She had never talked to a him before. A man, or boy or whatever it was they called themselves.

The Skyling that was spiked to the stone was like nothing Araseli had ever seen. She had heard descriptions of them, but never seen one. This was the first time.

And while he was certainly interesting, Araseli certainly couldn’t say she was impressed.

Maybe because he was young? Or at least, she thought he was young. He must be. He was terribly small, after all. And she was sure that Skylings were supposed to be at least a little bit bigger than Waterlings, generally. True, he was bigger than her, but not bigger than the older Waterlings, that was for sure.

He was a child. Like her. Why had he been down by the traps, during a storm, alone? It didn’t make sense.

Blood dripped down his huge, bat-like wings. They were spread wide, three foot long iron spikes jutting from the membranes. He was screaming, most of it unintelligible, probably from pain. However, every now and then he managed to cry for help, or perhaps even a name.

His pale skin was the complete opposite of her dark shade, and their hair was opposite as well. Hers stark white and his inky black. The wind and rain plastered it to his forehead. Two smalls horns grew out of his head, black like his hair. Surely they weren’t done growing yet either. Araseli had seen the severed horns of Skylings on display and those had been as big as her arm. Yet again confirming that this was a child.

His black clothes were soaked, clinging to his gangly frame. His little feet dangled just above the crashing waves. Araseli realized he was being held in place by the spikes in his wings. She couldn’t imagine how much that must have hurt. If his wings were as tender as her fins…

She glanced over his face, noticed his fangs. They were bigger than hers. She wondered what Skylings could possibly use them for. Hers made eating fish easier, but why would a Skyling need fangs that large? His bright green eyes had tears flowing from them.

He’s… He’s crying, Araseli realized. Well of course he’s crying! I’d cry too if I were him. He probably thinks he’s going to die.

“He is going to die,” she murmured. Her voice sounded strange. She rarely spoke above the water and wasn’t used to it.

For the first time, the Skyling noticed her. The white hair and scales and dark skin, surrounded by wild sea. “You’re going to kill me?” he sobbed. “I don’t want to die.”

Araseli’s eyebrows knit together. “Well of course not!” she called over the screech of the wind. “No one wants to die!” She was confused. Why would he feel the need to clarify that? “And I’m not going to kill you. My superior probably will.”

She prepared herself to dive back down and report that the traps had a Skyling. They would be so proud of her and all the other young Waterlings would be so jealous! She got to see a Skyling! Even if he was just a little one.

“Please,” he begged. “I just- I was looking for my friend. He went missing and no one would believe me and I wanted to make sure he was safe.” His breath hitched as he talked, probably from pain and terror.

Araseli hesitated. “You are not a soldier?” But all Skylings were fighters, killers. That was what she had always been taught. The Skylings wanted to destroy the Waterlings. At least, she had always been told that.

“N-No,” he cried. “I’m too little, to do anything. It was an accident, I won’t come back here, I promise.” If you let me go, he seemed to be silently adding. “I’ll never, ever hurt a Waterling. Ever.”

She stared at him, confused. “Ever?” But, Skylings existed to kill Waterlings, and Waterlings existed to kill Skylings. Why would he promise something like that?

“I promise,” he gasped. Waves licked at his toes.

Promises are sacred, her superior had once told her. You promised to be a good soldier, so that is what you must be.

So if he promised, he must truly, truly mean it. He would never hurt a Waterling, ever. And if he would never hurt one of her people, then there was no reason for him to die. Especially if he was so young.

Araseli sighed and began to climb up the stone column. Her tail split into two legs and her white scales wrapped around her waist loosely, a skirt. Her legs were always shaky, weak. She wasn’t used to using them. She had no idea how Skylings handled walking about on the stupid things. Swimming with fins was so much simpler.

Although, she imagined that when they flew, it was much like swimming.

Not that she daydreamed about flying.

“You’re letting me go?” he dared to asked.

“I… I suppose,” she replied as she climbed up the stone, carefully making sure she didn’t activate anymore of the spikes.

“Thank you!” His big green eyes stared into her blue ones.

“Don’t tell anyone!” she snapped. “I’ll get in trouble!”

“I won’t, I promise.”

Araseli set to work, slowly clicking the spikes back into the rock. The Skyling cried out as they were torn from his wings.

“How old are you?” he suddenly asked. “You’re so little. But, you’re a soldier?”

Araseli frowned. But she answered, after all, what did it matter if he knew how old she was? So long as she didn’t tell him something super important about the Waterlings. “Eight.”

“I’m seven.”

“Almost old enough to be a soldier,” she muttered.

“No, I would have to be twelve. But I don’t want to be a soldier,” he corrected her.

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t care about Skylings’ soldiers ages. She would kill them no matter their age. And she really didn’t care about what he wanted to be when he grew up.

“What’s your name?” he asked as she pulled his first wing free from the stones. Her fingers were sticky with his blood.

“I’m not telling you that.” She maneuvered across the stone to his other wing. She needed to hurry. The other Waterlings watching the traps were probably already wondering where she was.

“I’ll tell you mine,” he offered.

“I don’t want to know yours either. And you shouldn’t tell others your name if they don’t know you. It’s dangerous.” Araseli wondered if all Skylings were this stupid. Probably.

He didn’t say anything else but he did start crying again as Araseli removed the spikes faster, not caring about his pain as much in her hurry.

“I can’t disable the magic, so you can’t summon clouds. You’ll have to fly.” The last spike slid back into the rock and the Skyling yelped as he slid down the stone and towards the hungry ocean.

Araseli grabbed the back of his shirt and squeaked as she began to tumble with him. “FLY!” she shrieked. Saving him would have been for nothing if he fell into the ocean now.

He beat his wings wildly, crying out. Blood splattered across Araseli from the holes in his wings. But he did manage to launch himself into the sky, despite the immense pain he must be experiencing.

She clung back to the rock with her arms and legs, hanging on for dear life as the winds raged.

It didn’t take him long to disappear in the storm clouds. Oddly, Araseli hoped he got back to wherever the Skylings lived safely. “DON’T COME BACK!” she screamed into the night.

She wasn’t sure why, but before she dove back into the water she whispered, “And my name is Araseli.”

She let her legs become a tail once again and let go of the stone spire.


“Did you find anything?” her superior asked.

Araseli shook her head. “No ma’am.”


@deepintothebooks @howlwiththerain @hanakumatrill @thebravelittletoasterthatcould @lonelyartistsandwriterssociety @alexis-bellissima @herdoftacos @k14dabral @pheita @machimaquiaveli @sormik-shipper @the-words-we-never-said @rhetoricalproceeds

9

This is my last Orkney post and also my favourite part of our journey: A walk along the dramatic coastline of Orkney’s Mainland. The colours of the sea were beautiful and the caves created from washed out sandstone looked majestic and mysterious. Hope to be back one day. 

LOVER BOYS

*sun, venus & mars*

ARIES The Angel. Sometimes, when you look at him, he bites his lip the way he does when he’s concentrating real hard, and your whole heart just sighs. And he just makes you feel, it. Like when he comes home from the studio with tired eyes and a big fat check, he grabs you so tight, and he tells you you’re fucking beautiful, that you’re his girl and that he’s gonna take care of you. Everything else fades away, and the only thing left is his lips on your neck and the sound of crashing waves from the balcony.

TAURUS The Vampire. You never see him when it’s light out, but somehow his Instagram story is always filled with juicy ass brunches. Tatted to hell and back, spends his evenings making Soundcloud beats and he has those glazed eyes making you wonder if he’s ever completely sober. You never knew he felt that way about you. Until tonight. Maybe you’ve never noticed it, or maybe he’s just good. Doesn’t matter now, because all you wanna do is kiss him from his abs to his neck, all the way up to where his tattoo peeks out from his shirt.

GEMINI The House of Mirrors. The one that puts your heart in the dryer. Seems to have fast paced life full of people that adore him. His sneakers are a holy entity. His entire aura is clouded with the illusion of a constant hustle, but when you get close to him you realize he never actually does anything. Has this trick of kissing you instead of answering questions, but it doesn’t matter because after about a month you get tired of keeping up with his numerous different aesthetic alter egos and bail.

CANCER The Firework. A surfer boy body with sun touched curls keeps staring at you from across the bar. Suddenly your face isn’t just red from working all night. He asks you when you get off, your boss leans over and says “She gets off right now.” After pretending to be offended for about three seconds you quickly take off your apron and enter that magical bubble. His voice is like caramel, his eyes look like they swallowed an entire ocean, you stare at him as his lips keep moving. The sparkle fades, melancholy sets in, and you think to yourself what a waste of a vessel for a man who wants you to be his second mother.

LEO The Nice Guy. Has told everyone but you that he’s into you. That easy confidence he oozes draws you in, but when you finally confront him about liking you he suddenly shrinks in size. Brings you flowers just because. Tries to convince everyone and himself that he is driven by logic, but actually he’s just scared shitless of irrational emotions so he tries to ignore them. Usually ends up with a full blown meltdown you have to diffuse by explaining his feelings to him. He’s a sweetheart though with good intentions, even though his emotional intelligence will never pass that of a high school boy.  

VIRGO The Puppy Love. The one who’s had a crush on you since forever, the one who has always been around. You kissed once in the 6th grade, and now you’re wondering what he’s learned these last few years. He’s grown but there is still that aura of innocence around him. And then he starts dating one of your best friends, makes parties uncomfortable for about a year until he breaks up with her, gets mad at you for dancing with another guy and then drunkenly recites a poem about wanting to get in your panties on Easter Sunday. God bless.

LIBRA The Tender Hearted. Takes you out for sushi on your first date. Shyly asks if he can hold your hand, waits until you are at your front door to kiss you. And he kisses so softly. Doesn’t wanna come in because he “doesn’t wanna rush things”. Texts you memes all day the morning after, your heart melts because he’s such a dork. The next night you go to the movie theatre, he plays with your fingers and lets you steal his popcorn. And you realize you’re not really watching the movie, but focusing on trying to slow down your heartbeat. That night he’s so gentle, too gentle. And after you’re not sure how you feel about him anymore. A week later he’s only texted you once and you answered a day later, and then you hear he’s talking to some girl in his history class and didn’t think to break it off because he thought it was implied. Sure was bro.

SCORPIO The Forbidden Fruit. The one who shall not be named, the one you keep a ten meter distance of every time you are in the same place. Keeps his molly in a PEZ dispenser. Smells too damn fucking good. And that’s how you knew you were in trouble. You turn around and he’s behind you, looking at you like that. He doesn’t need anything more than a ‘hi’. You remind yourself you don’t wanna be one of his girls while his husky voice asks you what you’ve been up to. The party is so loud and he’s too close. It happens. It’s as good as you imagined it to be, but afterwards you pretend not to want him. Because him not wanting you would be too painful.

SAGITTARIUS The Young Daddy. The one who always tells you your man’s not good enough for you. Picks you up in three different cars in one week. All mommy and daddys of course. Hypnotizing brown puppy eyes. And that vein on his bicep after boxing practice. Driving through the hills, the view of the city from here is breathtaking. You feel so strange, like this isn’t reality, the leather seat of his Audi is so warm. Then you look at him, and he is so warm. And suddenly, you know there is nothing you can do to stop this.

CAPRICORN The Burnout. Crazy talented but no ambition. Justifies his bad habits with some fake deep motto, but in reality is just scared of his own potential. Makes you feel calm, like you can be yourself and he won’t judge you. One night he asks you if you wanna try some weed, and now every time you hang out you seem to be high. His bedroom is a like a little cocoon. It’s 4 am, and you’re having a staring contest with his Pikachu poster and a pile of laundry his mum folded for him, and in that moment you realize, you need get the fuck out of there.

AQUARIUS The Stranger. He’s the one, that when you see him, your entire being just screams internally. He’s not exactly shy, more reserved. To quote Alyssa from The End of the Fucking World, “Sometimes I look at him and I think, are you a bit dead?” Always so polite, from the old lady at the coffee shop to the little girl who ran him down as he was walking you home. His face is beaming, but his eyes are always a bit empty. Like you can’t see anything behind them. You find it hard to care because his face is so gorgeous, so you keep making him laugh just to see them sparkle for a moment.

PISCES The Hot Mess. Can’t help the way you feel when he looks at you. He knows you’re working tonight so he comes and sits in the corner booth with his friends. And just looks at you. So evanescent, just floats in and out of your life. Blames his attitude on his ex girlfriend. And yet you can’t help it when he calls at 2 am. You come sit in his lap while a party rages on behind the closed door, and tell him, “No, but someday.” He takes his hands of your thighs and softly places them around your hips, “Why not today?” his breath is hot on your neck, and the next few moments flash before your eyes. “Because I want you to remember it.”