harsh desert

I’m just saying

so here’s our favorite adoptive space dad Bail Organa in Revenge of the Sith:

and here he is in Rogue One:

meanwhile, here’s Obi-Wan in Revenge of the Sith:

and here he is after the exact same amount of time: 

I’d like some of whatever Bail is having on Alderaan and exactly zero of what Obi-Wan is having on Tatooine 


It’s 120 degrees in Phoenix — and inmates at a local jail have to sleep outside

  • Phoenix is in the middle of a devastating heat wave. Temperatures nearing 120 degrees grounded flights on Tuesday, and physicians are warning of health risks associated with the heat.
  • But for some inmates in Maricopa County, there is no other option but sleeping outside, even during a heat wave.
  • In 1993, former Maricopa County Sheriff and controversial Donald Trump surrogate Joe Arpaio erected “Tent City,” an outdoor jail complex where inmates were housed in Korean War-era tents and forced to endure the harsh desert weather as part of their sentence, the New York Times reported. Arpaio once referred to Tent City as a “concentration camp.”
  • In April, Arpaio’s newly elected successor, Sheriff Paul Penzone, announced that the Tent City complex would shut down after years of criticism from human rights advocates
  • But months later — even after reports that Tent City had been dismantled — there are still inmates forced to sleep outside in tents even as the temperatures soar. Read more (6/20/17)

anonymous asked:

What are your thoughts on succulents?

COOL NEAT BABIES i will now list several things i know about succulents off the top of my head

-a ‘succulent’ refers to a plant that holds a ton of water in its leaves. so all cacti are succulents, but not all succulents are cacti. 

-the lead botany professor at my college studies cacti systematics (taxonomy). i asked him about how he prepares dried herbarium specimens, and apparently they’re crazy to prepare. like, you gotta cut them in half to preserve the shape, carve out the fleshy water storing places, then put them in a special plant press that heats up as it presses down. he says that even after all that treatment where the plant is literally burned alive and squished and cut open, sometimes he comes back to find the samples growing new shoots out the side of the plant press

-many cacti and succulents are r selected organisms, meaning that they produce a ton of babies that all have a low probability of survival. this makes total sense when you think about it: it makes more sense to just set a ton of babies free into the sand then to assume that you’ll be able to survive to nurture them (put a ton of energy into making big flashy fruits and stuff)

-some succulents have weird transparent looking leaves like this:

these are called epidermal or leaf windows, and they’re there to help the plant survive under the harsh sun of the desert! for a normal plant in the desert, light of that intensity would burn the leaves and kill the plant. but in some succulents, those transparent ‘windows’ are made with a thin layer of cells designed to filter the light out; the actual photosynthesising leaves are on the inside, so they’re all tucked away and protected from wind, sand, and other harsh conditions. its also pretty cool because it means that theres more actual photosynthesising surface area for the plant to make more food. 

okay but i know a lot of people are on the knight jeremy train, but hear me out for a second

king jeremy

one of the youngest kings out of the current kings to rule. he may not know a whole lot, but he tries his best to learn all he can so he can run a successful kingdom. who always puts his people first and is one of the kindest rulers. who creates beautiful buildings and structures either for people to live in or to decorate the kingdom. who is fair and kind and courageous. a man who is a nightmare on the battlefield and can destroy armies with little effort. a man who charges into battle with hell’s fire in his veins. who, after every battle, weeps for the lost lives and goes to the homes of the knights who gave their lives to say his condolences to the families, should their families be alive. a king who gives it his all to protect everyone, even if they have committed crimes.

literally just give me king jeremy who tries his best and is always optimistic and trying to make his kingdom a welcome place for all to come to.

Twin Suns trailer like...

A Tatooine moisture farmer trying to find his lost bantha comes across Maul screaming “KENOOOOBIIIII!” in the middle of the desert

“Fucking Off-worlders…….”

Kenshi Yonezu's Monster Encyclopedia (Text Translation)

Kenshi Yonezu released his first book, Monster Encyclopedia, on December 10th, 2016. It’s a collection and expansion of a monthly series he did for the magazine ROCKIN'ON JAPAN, where he drew monsters and gave a short description of their ecology. Here are translations of all the descriptions from the book.


Keep reading

remember when rey lived on a harsh desert planet for most of her life just like anakin and luke?

remember when rey built a speeder that looks like luke’s flipped vertically and how anakin built a podracer by himself at age 10?

remember when rey found a droid carrying important information vital to the resistance just like luke did?

remember how rey could successfully pilot a ship on pretty much her first try just like luke and anakin?

remember when rey dropped the doors on a rathtar just like luke dropped a gate on the rancor in ROTJ?

remember when rey had a force vision in a dark place just like luke did in empire strikes back? and that anakin was also known to have force visions predicting the future?

remember when maz kanata said “that lightsaber belonged to luke and his father before him and now it calls to YOU.” clearly framing it as a FAMILY heirloom and not a “wow what a good person so you can have it”?

remember when rey initially denied her destiny like luke did?

remember when rey witnessed her mentor die in front of her, screamed “NO!” and shot wildly at stormtroopers just like luke did when his mentor died?

remember when rey pulled the saber from the snow just like luke did?

remember when rey pulled the lightsaber from the snow and the burning homestead music played? a piece of music that has only played ONE time in the saga and it was during a pivotal luke scene?

remember when kylo ren said rey would envision an island when she was desperate to sleep and then what d’ya know luke is on an island? 

but idk i guess she’s a k*nobi or a p*lpatine or a random ass person from dagobah and they just ~accidentally~ put all those parallels in there to show you she’s the hero character even though anakin’s journey ALSO paralleled luke’s to show the family connection. 

Have some handmaiden feels

For @fireflyfish who got me thinking about the handmaidens meeting little Luke. This was meant to be a short snippet about a happy reunion, but it just kept growing and growing and getting sadder and sadder until it turned into this monstrosity of angst ( @albaparthenicevelut you can stop laughing!). Comment and criticism extremely welcome - this is the longest bit of fic I’ve written in a very very long time. 

Rabé was beginning to truly appreciate why Anakin Skywalker had hated Tatooine. The rasping howl of the sandstorm outside was relentless, and what could not have been more than a few hours felt like years as she waited restlessly for it to end. It felt far too similar to the last time she’d been here, years before. Really, she should have known better. Everything had been going so smoothly - her arrival in Mos Eisley had gone unremarked, her contact had been waiting in the cantina as expected (just two travellers sharing a drink while waiting for the next leg of their journey) and the datachip carrying key intelligence was safely stored alongside several decoys in one of the pockets sewn in the bodice of her dress. Her informant had left  while she waited a little longer for her prearranged lift off planet. Then the sandstorm arrived and with it the inevitable delay in her departure. Now here she was, slumped over a table in what was, thankfully, one of the more reputable watering holes in town, trapped with the memories of another time, and the aching hole of grief threatened to draw her in.

Keep reading

Desert Eagle

Not really about the pistol, more about the sights. Aftermarket front and rear sights are few and far between. Fords Custom Guns produces and sells a fiber optic front and rear replacement. Designed for low light applications, the sights are able to withstand the harsh recoil of the Desert Eagle. MSRP is about $170. (GRH)

This shot just… really fascinates me.

I don’t think Rey has ever seen rain before? We know that The Last Jedi is picking up right from where The Force Awakens left off, so it looks like this is going to be the first time that Rey experiences rain.

That’s just incredible to me. I can’t find a better quality image, but it looks like she’s smiling - and that strikes me as so wonderful. Because, on the one hand, you’ve got this grizzled and tired Luke who seemingly isn’t quite the man Rey expects him to be, declares an end to the Jedi.

But, on the other hand, here is somebody who has grown up and had to endure the harshness of Jakku’s deserts, of working and fighting every day so she doesn’t starve, somebody whose origins are built as a parallel to Luke’s on Tatooine…

Here is someone can find something as mundane and expected as a change in the weather extraordinary and joyful.

Of all the amazing things we’ve been shown of The Last Jedi, this is actually what excites me the most. Knowing that the trademark optimism of Star Wars will always be there, that little things like this articulate how it’s not the Force that’s the real magic in this setting - it’s experiencing the things we think of as ordinary as if they’re the most alien and unknowable joys imaginable.

anonymous asked:

Fic title "a face in the crowd"

First off, anon, I’m terribly sorry for how late this is. I can’t even pinpoint when I got this - this has been sitting in my inbox since before I came up with Silent Measures. Which means months. But I’m trying to clear my inbox so here’s something I came up with on the spot.

A Face in the Crowd

Summary: During the Clone Wars, the Jedi were lauded as heroes, but so out of reach of the masses that they seemed at times to be toy soldiers selling war bonds more than actual walking beings. But there were four Republic Days that fell within the Clone Wars, and in each one of them, if you look carefully enough, there are things to be seen that are special. A child watches, is inspired, and remembers, twenty years after.

Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker, Aayla Secura, Plo Koon, (and many clones, though only in passing)

(note: this is after Ahsoka leaves, so she isn’t here)

Little Meron Junshi is not sure whether he likes this Republic Day parade.

It technically hasn’t started yet, but the heat is stifling here in the masses milling behind the railings along the Senate boulevard. His father has put him on his shoulders, and the air is a little clearer up here, but Meron would much rather they be back home on Alderaan, where the air is sweeter and the skies much, much bluer.

And less loud. There are many interesting species around him that he has not seen before, but Meron finds the noise rather distracting. And the boulevard before them is still empty, except for the red-and-white armoured clone troopers that stand guard at equal intervals along the railings themselves.

But he will behave, because he his a big boy of eight and his father is here to do important business with Senator Organa, and Meron is only here because he pleaded and pleaded until his parents said yes.

And then suddenly, there is thud of a plasma cannon from high above, so deep and low that Meron feels it shudder through his frame and down to his father’s wide shoulders; and the guarding troopers snap to attention with a muted thud of armoured boots against duracrete.

This first thud echoes across the suddenly silent masses; and in the distance, under the Senate Building itself, comes an answering drumbeat.

Then another. And another.

And then a steady tramp-tramp-tramp comes filtering down the boulevard, and before Meron can do anything but sit up straighter on his father’s shoulders, the first company of clone troopers come into view.

The Coruscant Guard is first, led by a proud-shouldered trooper with a helmet visored in grey and painted in red, the etched plaques on his armour marking him as a commander.

Meron gapes as row after row of red-white troopers follow, posture ramrod-straight, each holding a blaster at parade ready. The cadence of their steps are so well-matched that if Meron were to close his eyes, he could imagine a singe titan was thundering down the boulevard, and not nearly a hundred and fifty men of one company.

The crowd around them is shrieking with excitement.

A company of soldiers, each with stylised wolf-head painted  on their grey-lined white armour, and striding confidently at their head, a Kel Dor Jedi with russet robes flowing jauntily in the wind.

Plo! The crowd is screaming. Plo Koon!

The Wolfpack! Meron stares, wide-eyed, so engrossed in the clean lines of General Plo’s wolves that he nearly misses the ground-shaking thud that follows.

Five paces after the last grey-painted trooper comes twin files of eight AT-TEs, six-limbed bodies creaking with every solid stamp of durasteel legs. And marching between, standing on, and holding to the side of these giant assault walkers are many yellow-striped troopers. Most strikingly, somehow balanced perfectly on a walker placed centrally between the two main lines, is a blue-skinned Twi’lek woman with a smile on her face and a lightsaber at her hip.

SECURA! The masses yell, in a hundred thousand different sentient voices. SECURA!

She stands tall, but her smile widens.

Company after company come, whole battalions and legions painted every colour of the galaxy, each with a Jedi marching before them, or sometimes two, with the younger marching alongside a clone captain.

Meron watches, dumbstruck, as hero after hero steps off the war-reels and into reality, like toy soldiers ripped from the holonet and placed within reach.

But then a roar of pure sound sweeps through the masses like an oncoming wave, and Meron is nearly unseated from his father’s shoulders.

The troopers coming into view now are painted with bold gold stripes.

And at their head, stepping with a calmly fluid gait-

-is a Jedi with red-gold hair and cream robes, and eyes the colour of a silent sea above a beard trimmed to immaculate neatness.

Meron forgets to breathe.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, The Negotiator.

The multitude raves. There is no collective chant, now, not like before; overlapping screams of KENOBI and NEGOTIATOR and OBI-WAN rise in an increasing cacophony of unleashed madness.

Throughout all this, Meron only watches the Negotiator.

General Kenobi steps in time with his men, but something in the smooth effortlessness of his pace and the gravity of the tabards over his shoulders speaks of a noble sadness, mixed with extraordinary determination.

Sadness, in the middle of the greatest parade of the year?

Meron lowers he hand he was using to wave, and frowns. He is struck with the sudden impression that General Kenobi would look much the same leading his men into battle.

But then there is a blare of trumpets, and Meron nearly gives himself whiplash as he jerks his head to look.

These new troopers are painted blue.

The crowd is shouting in synchrony, now.


The Hero With No Fear himself is stood next to Chancellor Palpatine, on a slow-moving barge surrounded on all sides by a sea of blue-and-white armour. His smile is rakish, his waving casual, and the scar that curves around the edge of one eye effortlessly cool.

Meron stares at Anakin Skywalker, and wonders if he imagines that those ice-blue eyes flicker towards him, if just for a moment.

Meron does not waste it. He straightens up so abruptly that his father grunts in surprise, but he does not pause to think about it - instead, he nearly slaps himself in the forehead as he salutes.

He is halfway through the motion already before he realises General Skywalker is looking at him.

Krayt spit! Meron tells himself, knowing his father would give him a good scolding if he heard the words out loud - I probably look stupid!

But what is done is done. The edge of his right hand is pressed to his forehead.

The General watches him for a moment - it cannot be more than half a second, but it seems the longest moment in Meron’s short life - and then suddenly, General Skywalker raises two fingers to his forehead and flicks them to the side in a jaunty salute.

In return to his.

Meron’s brain smashes into a wall of disbelief and disintegrates into awed smithereens.

It is only after the barge has passed by, and the next company is marching past that Meron remembers that he should drop his hand. He lets it fall by his side, numb.

He barely registers the rest of the parade.

He is grinning so widely his cheeks ache.

“Father,” Meron says, later, when a squadron of LAAT/is have flown overhead and the crowd is beginning to disperse, “I’d like to join the Alderaani guard.”

“Oh? And why is that?” his father says distractedly, holding one of Meron’s ankles to stop him from sliding off.

“I want to be a General,” Meron says.

There is a long pause. Meron’s father slows his pace, and stops.

“War isn’t as fun as you think, Meron.” His father’s voice sounds different.


“Talk to me when you’re eighteen. We’ll see then.”

“Okay!” Meron chirps happily, as his father carries him across the sea of Coruscanti crowds, and away from the Senate boulevard, its white duracrete surface stamped grey with the feet of two hundred thousand men.

Twenty years later, clutching a blaster and kneeling in a white-walled corridor swamped with shadow, Meron Junshi thinks of that long-ago Republic Day. Of the sun and the chants and the bright-painted soldiers with their Jedi Generals.

He had gone to his father when he was eighteen, and he had gotten his wish.

The Alderaani guard had led to a permanent place in the Rebellion, and the Rebellion…here.

Behind him is a short passageway, and beyond that, the Tantive IV, with a precious person aboard. In front of him is a darkened corridor, which lies silent and still beyond the echoing howl of the klaxons.

And then Meron becomes aware of another noise.

A sawing, unnatural breathing, like air rasped through a grille of harsh desert sand.

And the passageway is lit with a bar of crimson plasma.

“Open fire!”

Oh, Meron thinks, as his finger tightens on the trigger and plasma spews uselessly out of the barrel of his blaster. You were right, father.

War is not a parade, with sun in your eyes and bright-painted soldiers and their much-loved generals marching before them; war is red-painted white walls, and flashing bolts, and screaming, and the never-quickening and never-slowing breaths of a shadow that reaches for you, and grasps you with invisible hands, and sends a screaming blade of blood-red light slashing towards your chest.

“Take it! Take it!”

And Meron knows that perhaps there is a little truth in what his eight-year-old self thought about war: War is nothing without hope.

Hope, to a boy watching a war parade on his father’s shoulders, is to receive an acknowledgement from the General he loved so much as a hero.

Meron stares into those hard black lenses, and holds this image in his mind as he dies.

He has no time, before the end, to wonder if he imagined Darth Vader flinch.




I hope this makes up for how late this is, anon. I made up Meron on the spot; his name means soldier. Reblog as you like, and thanks for reading, everyone.

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The Desert Sun was Never Cold

There are many stories told of princesses, each described as the most elegant, the most beautiful princess who had ever lived. None of these stories are true, for the most beautiful princess who ever lived is, without a doubt, the desert Princess Sun.

From the moment Sun was born she has been graced with the gift of beauty, her skin is black and pure, her dark hair thick and coiled, eyes so brown you would believe they were born of the earth, and kissed by the sun with flecks of gold.

As Princess Sun grows, so too does her beauty and grace, sun gifted vitiligo on her skin growing and strengthening as she ages. Strangers travel the harsh desert of her homeland just to gaze upon her, and bring gifts to earn her favour. All those who come wish to be the one to receive a royal kiss from the Princess’ own perfect lips.

Sun is kind and gracious, she will offer food, drink and shelter to those who travel to greet her, but never will she offer a kiss. Some will plead and beg, others bargain and bribe, but not a single soul is able to pry the much yearned kiss from the lips of the world’s most beautiful princess.

“It is a silly tradition,” Sun will tell her servants, “A kiss will not heal them of their weariness, a kiss will not fill their bellies or dry their parched mouths. I offer them something they should value far more for their efforts and still they remain stubborn for the touch of my flesh upon theirs. I refuse to take part in such a useless exchange.”

A palace guard risks his life for hers and is refused a kiss, but offered medicine and a life of ease in the palace. A magician saves her people from a frightful Monster of the Sand, she too is refused a kiss, and instead given gold and jewels and rare herbs for her potions. Princess Sun gives only what is deserved and what is needed, she gives generously, her people love her, her people respect her, and yet-

“The Sun is cold,” her people say. “I hear she has never loved, she has never embraced another, never even touched another. She is generous in spirit but she is cold of heart.”

They pity their princess, incapable of love, cursed to be forever alone without a soulmate to complete her. They mean well, but Sun loathes the whispers. She is not cursed, she is not incomplete, but she is lonely.

She is loved by all and befriended by none, those she meet want her kisses, they want her devotion, they want her to bear their children, they do not want her unless they can have her lips or her hand or her womb, all things Sun is unwilling to give.

“I do not understand,” she says to her servants, “I give them all that they need and they ask only for parts of my body. How can my body give them the pleasure of a soft bed, or a fine wine? What pleasures can my body give them that riches and jewels cannot buy? I do not understand.”

Her servants say nothing, they understand the pleasures of the body that Sun has never craved, but these are not things to be spoken of to a Princess.

Things change with the presence of a new visitor to the palace. His pale skin is wrinkled and sallow, face gaunt, eyes sunken and back bent, he appears simultaneously bloated and withered. The servants fetch Princess Sun immediately and she hastens to greet the ill foreigner.

“I have not long in this world to live,” he rasps. “Please, all I ask of you Princess is a kiss, a kiss from your own beautiful lips to ease my pain.”

“Nonsense,” says Sun. “You are not in need of a kiss, you are in need of medicine and herbs and rest. My servants will take you to a room of your own, you will have your own personal healer and food and drink delivered to your bed.”

The old man clutches his chest in pain, “But my lady! I have come all this way at the end of my life just to gaze upon you, and you will not even ferry me to the afterlife with the touch of your soft lips upon my cheek?”

Sun feels pity for the man, in his state she knows he may not last the night, but she cannot accept his request, he is ill and perhaps diseased, were she to kiss him she may become sick herself and she would not risk her own health for the sake of a simple useless gesture.

“I am sorry I cannot grant your request, but I can give you comfort, my most beautiful guest room and the finest foods you can eat. If my healers fail you and you pass into the afterlife this night, you will pass on in luxury.”

In the great arched entrance of the royal palace the hideous old beggar transforms. In his place there is a stunningly beautiful young man encased within a whirlwind of pure light, his hair is like spun gold and the blue of the sky dances in his eyes.

He points a slim, delicate finger encrusted in shimmering jewels at the stunned Princess.

“You believe your wealth to be of more worth to an old dying man than a simple gesture of love and warmth. The Sun of this kingdom truly is cold. You do not deserve the beauty you flaunt in the faces of all those who adore you, those you bring the hope of love and then snatch away in exchange for mere trinkets! You are a heartless beast!”

As the servants cower before this shining Sorcerer in his otherworldly beauty, Sun stands firm. A scowl on her lips and the flare of her namesake in her eyes, she is no helpless waif and she will not be intimidated.

“I offered you comfort and medicine!” Sun’s voice echoes through the halls of the palace. “I offered an old beggar the luxury of passing on in peace with the chance to live another day, a chance to keep his flame alight! Most paupers could only dream of such a way to pass! How dare you liken this gift to a mere ‘trinket’! Were I a princess of any other kingdom I would have granted you your precious kiss and left you on the street to DIE! And yet you call ME heartless?!”

The Sorcerer’s soft, pink lips pull up in a sneer. “I see you will not easily learn your lesson Cold Sun. It will take more than my words to prove to you the meaning of a tender loving touch to one in need.”

“Don’t preach false lessons to me Sorcerer,” Sun spits. “You come into my home a liar, here to steal my intimacy through trickery and now that you’ve failed you claim a higher morality to save your ego. I see right through you Sorcerer, you are no more than a selfish, deceitful, entitled BRAT.”

The Sorcerer’s face hardens in fury, his magic lashing out and twisting around Sun, grabbing at her with golden hands of light, fingers clawing and grasping until not even a strand of the Princess’ dark hair is visible under the blinding light of the strange magic.


As the Sorcerer’s magic peels away, the palace guards and servants look on in horror as a creature unlike anything they have ever seen is revealed in the place of their beloved princess.

Knotted locks of dull, tangled hair covers her large, hulking body, standing on all fours her sharp claws dig into the marble floor as she shakes off the tattered remains of her fine clothing. A ragged tail cuts sharply through the air as Sun rears her head, flicking a matted black mane off of her beastly snout and ghastly twisted horns.

All that remains of the beautiful Princess are the sun kissed markings upon her deformed face, and the bright flecks of gold within the black beads of her monstrous eyes.

The twisted beastly lioness turns to face her servants as they run in terror, pointed ears twitching at the sound of the Sorcerer’s manic laughter. Before she can leap upon him he disappears, leaving in his wake an enormous pulsing heart of molten flame. It hovers in the centre of the palace hall, shifting shape and shooting off tendrils of fire with every beat.

A mocking voice echoes through the palace doors, “If you fail to find someone who will look upon your monstrous form and willingly place a kiss to your beastly snout before the heart grows cold, then, and only then, will my spell be broken. It is your turn to yearn for a tender touch that will never come.”

Sun roars. She roars in anger, she roars in despair, she roars in outrage at this unfair curse undeservingly placed upon her. She has no lesson to learn, she has done nothing but show kindness and generosity to all who graced her halls, and still it is not enough, it has NEVER been enough.

She refuses to be punished for the greed of the Sorcerer, she refuses to bow to his whim and search for one who will kiss her, she has never wanted such things and this new beastly form will not change that for her now.

If she is to be this way forever, so be it.

Her servants quickly abandon the palace, guards blockade the front gates to keep the monster inside. Sun knows that she could easily jump the outer walls but she thinks better of it, her people are terrified of her, her presence would insight only violence and panic among them. She stays inside the palace, wondering what to do next, she no longer has a village to run, no diplomats to meet, no treasury to organise, no future to plan for.

Sun cannot remember a time where she had so little to do, so she sleeps.

Her claws tear up the fine silken sheets and her heavy mass collapses the bed frame, but she hardly notices once she lays her great maned head down to slumber. Sun does not dream, the fate of her village and her people does not come to her mind, all of her stress and worries simply melt away, but she cannot sleep forever.

When she wakes and finds herself unable to grasp the calming nothingness of her deep slumber once again, she concedes to the waking world. Lifting herself upon her large legs she walks the palace grounds. She has not eaten yet she feels no hunger or thirst, and so cannot use such needs to distract her, boredom settles upon her quickly and Sun begins her search for entertainment. She avoids the palace entrance, and the large pulsing heart of fire within.

Word spreads through the village fast, “The Princess has become a beast!” they say, “Cursed by a Sorcerer, only a kiss will free her!”

The palace guards stay by the gates for days, they stay as the people flee to neighbouring villages, wishing to keep their children safe from the monster behind the palace walls. The beast makes no move to escape, but every so often the guards will hear the heavy footfalls of the creature shuffling through the gardens and they remain in place. Their princess would have wanted it.

As days pass the village degrades, most left the day the curse was laid, others followed slowly as resources dwindled and looted homes become empty of valuables. The guards are the last to leave, ensuring that no one has been left behind.

Sun wakes one morning to silence from outside the walls. In her boredom she had circled the grounds, listening to the guards chatting outside. She recognised most of them by voice, she had considered many of them friends after all, but her friendship had always been one-sided. She could speak freely to them, but they could never speak freely to her, it had always been that way. Sun will miss listening to them talk casually amongst themselves.

Years pass and the princess swiftly runs out of ways to keep herself occupied and the palace begins to fall apart with neglect, her library is useless to her when her claws tear apart any book she sets her paws on, the gardens become more and more overrun with weeds every day, the once beautiful golden sheen of the palace walls become dulled without regular cleaning. Floors begin to crack under Sun’s immense weight, many narrow doorways are destroyed when she tries to fit through them. Parts of the palace roof and walls degrade quickly from her daily climbs up to watch the sun rise and set over the dunes.

Though she does not require food Sun still eats from the overgrown trees and vines from her once impeccable garden and leaps over the walls to reach the large oasis that her servants would fetch water from to deliver to the castle so long ago. She had never visited the large lake herself before she was cursed, but she now does so regularly, as splashing through the water feels wonderful on her thick, dark fur.

With every year that passes, Sun forgets more and more of her human life as she falls into the nature of a beast, hunting rodents and small critters through the empty streets of the village, sharpening her claws on the remains of sandstone walls. Chasing and pouncing upon the surviving abandoned livestock for sport, eating only out of boredom than any real need for food, more interested in chewing on the bones left behind.

There is hardly a shred of Princess left in the beast that roams the neglected desert kingdom, and the Cold Sun lords over the grounds with eyes of pure gold and a heart that no longer feels.

Until the day comes when a stranger enters her palace.

She is small and weak, young and fragile. Damp from a dip in the oasis but the smell of unwashed clothes and many days of travel still cling to her skin. Sun stalks the malnourished waif through the ruined village, watching as she raids old stalls and homes in search of something. Food? Treasures? The girl’s search leads her to the palace, she climbs over loose stones through a break in the dilapidated wall and enters the great doors.

Sun, focused on the hunt, follows the girl, she forgets that she has not been inside the entrance hall in many many years, she forgets why she has been avoiding this place for so long, she forgets until she looks upon the great heart slowly pulsing in the centre of the room. Every beat sends a weak tongue of flame flickering through the cracks of the icy skin that has grown around it. Heat shimmers below the cold armour, splashing the walls with eerily beautiful patterns of light.

Sun remembers.

The Sorcerer, the curse, her Palace, her people. Sun is a princess, Sun is a leader, Sun is a woman who cares deeply and gives generously. Sun is not a beast, Sun is not cold like the heart before her. Sun is not cold. Sun is NOT cold.

“Sun is not cold.” her great, gravelly voice echoes through the chamber.

The ragged girl, entranced by the heart before her, quickly turns to find she is not alone. Sun can see the fear on her face, she can smell it in the air, it sickens her.

“Do not be afraid child.” Sun sits on her haunches, tail sweeping lazy across the grand marble floor. “I mean you no harm.”

“You are the Great Beast,” the girl says. “I believed you to be a story, a legend to frighten away thieves.”

“Are you a thief?” asks Sun.

“No! I am not here to steal treasures! I simply seek shelter from the harsh desert winds.”

The girl’s skin is rough, her eyes and lips are red, chapped and raw, but there is also hunger in her narrow emaciated face. Sun knows it was not merely the promise of shelter that brought her here.

“Did not the temptation of my lush gardens draw you in? Did you not hope to find food behind the palace walls?”

“I had no intention of theft Great Beast! I did hope to perhaps find food in your garden, but now I know this garden has not been abandoned, and so I will not take from it. Unless you would allow me? I have little to trade but I will give you everything I have for a night’s rest and a full belly.”

Sun thinks. She thinks of the curse and the girl and a trade. A kiss on her beastly snout for a night of rest and respite. The heart is close to frozen, she has little time left, it is a fair trade is it not?

Sun shakes her wild mane in disgust. Never in her life has she asked a price for food and comfort, she has given freely to all those in need who have graced her halls, she refuses to change now. Curse be damned. The Sorcerer’s magic heart can grow as cold as the lands of the far north for all she cares, for her own heart will always be warm as the desert sands, warm as the great celestial being she was named for.

Sun does not need a kiss to prove so.

“The palace and gardens are yours to roam at your leisure, the garden’s spoils and the water of the oasis are yours to gorge yourself on as you please. I need only look upon you to see that you have lived a life of poverty and pain, so know that for as long as you remain here, you will be cared for. I will give you all that you need, child.”

The girl’s face is clear with suspicion. “Do you intend to fatten me up to eat me?” she asks.

Sun laughs, a mighty roar of a laugh that sends the short, black hairs on the young girl’s neck standing straight. Her blazing eyes soften to a comforting dark brown, only subtle flecks of their previous gold shining through.

“Child, of food I have plenty. Of company, I have only you.”

The girl, though still weary of the beast, does not turn up her nose at the generous offer. She feasts upon the sweet fruits of the garden, returns to fill her water-skin at the oasis when it runs dry, and the Great Beast simply sits and watches, leaving her side only once to return with the leg of a large, hoofed animal for her dinner. The young girl sleeps in the most comfortable, luxurious bed she has ever laid eyes on that night, pleasantly surprised to find that she has not been eaten in the morning.

The girl does not leave the next day as planned, never has she been so comfortable and well fed, never has she had such a pick of fine, though dusty, clothes to wear, never has she had someone look over her with such generosity and care.

“If the Great Beast truly wishes to fatten me up and eat me,” she thinks to herself, “perhaps I won’t mind if it means living my last days like this.”

The girl does not merely spend days living alongside the Great Beast, she stays a much longer time. Every day she wakes fearing her generous host less and less, she passes time telling stories of her travels, the places she’s seen and the many languages she speaks. For a girl so young she has been through so much, and she is grateful to have a place to rest and feel safe.

“My name is Acacia.” the girl says one night as she lays against her friend’s great black hide, decorating her mane with tidy, twists and braids.

“You may call me Sun.” the beast says in return.

During daily visits to the lake they both romp and play in the water, splashing and roughhousing before drying off in the desert heat. Acacia helps Sun brush the clinging sand from her fur, and in return Sun will lick the sand from Acacia’s own short locks of hair.

Acacia spend the years teaching Sun the many songs and rhymes she has learned in all her languages, Sun teaches Acacia how to hunt and track and kill large prey. The two run together through the dunes, chasing the wind and challenging the sandstorms, for they know that no force on this earth can take them down when they ride together.

One day Acacia ask, “How is it that you became a beast? Stories tell of a curse, that you were changed for being cold of heart, but I can hardly believe such a lie about one so warm and loving.”

“Those who hold magic are not always deserving of their power,” says Sun. “The curse is what froze my heart dear Acacia. It is you who reminded me of it’s warmth again.”

“Is it true you can be saved with a kiss?” Acacia asks. “You have done so much for me, if a kiss is what is required to end your curse I will gladly give it.”

“Thank you my child,” says Sun as she bows her great head. “But I have no reason to return to my mortal form. My spirit has grown too large for the skin I once wore, and to accept a curse as a gift is a greater insult to a Sorcerer than playing his game and breaking it.”

Sun laughs to herself and nuzzles the young girl’s hair with her great snout, Acacia responds with a scratch behind her friend’s large ear, she does not ask about the curse again. The flames within the magical heart flutter with one last beat before finally succumbing to the icy cold of the Sorcerer’s spell.

Sun, enveloped by the warmth of Acacia’s love and friendship, does not even notice.

In time Sun knows her friend will grow old and pass away, but they have many many years to spend together before such a tragedy befalls her, and in that time Sun hopes that others will come to the old palace, others who may be seeking food and shelter. They will find all that they need here in this forgotten desert village, as they always have and always will, because despite what all the stories say;

The desert Sun was never Cold.

oh my god this is so long I’m so sorry but the tumblr app dOESN’T LET YOU USE READ MORES AND I WROTE IT ON MY IPAD AAAA

*cough* so here’s my spin on aromantic, asexual Beauty and the Beast, take care to notice my own aro ace ass projected literally everywhere and also my love for giant monsters mothering tiny humans, also changed the working title from The Cold Sun because The Desert Sun was Never Cold resonated stronger with me 😎👌✨

Sun’s looks are loosely based on Canadian model Winnie Harlow, (vitiligo yo it’s gorgeous) the setting is loosely based in North Africa, you can basically assume everyone but nobody’s-favourite-blue-eyed-blond-haired-asshole-Sorcerer are POC

Sun’s beast form is like a huge mix between a lion and a Tibetan Mastiff and I want to cuddle her SO MUCH and Acacia you will be braiding that mane all fucking day if you aren’t careful there is a lot of hair to work with and Sun will just sit there and let you do it

man but yeah, I wanted this story to highlight the importance of not assuming asexual people are unfeeling robots, and how we need love and attention just as much as any other person, we just don’t need the sexual and/or romantic kind of love and attention, and that doesn’t make us cold or selfish and ngl we are all secretly giant lions on the inside don’t tell anyone


The greenbottle blue tarantula (Chromatopelma cyaneopubescens), a native of theParaguaná peninsula, Venezuela, has some of the most dramatic coloring of any spiderspecies. Adult greenbottles have metallic blue legs, a blue-green carapace and a vibrant orange abdomen.

These tarantulas live in webbed burrows under bushes and tree roots in desert areas of northern Venezuela, in Paraguana. The entrance is often extended with webbing, sometimes resembling a tunnel. These webs may protect the entrance from the harsh desert climate, also acting as a trap for insects. They can also be found near the city of Punto Fijo in towns and rural places.

  • ganon in wind waker: sad old man that coveted the luxuries of the world outside of the harsh desert he called home, driven to evil by his desire to take what he could not have
  • ganon in breath of the wild: slime man
Bad Soldier

Another modern military au where Ivar is the reader’s supervisor. What happens is completely against every single army regulation ever and also it sort of reads like a porn. Yay, maybe? Hope you guys enjoy this!

Trigger warnings: dom/sub, spanking, some biting, self-biting, maybe some ildly bad etiquette. slight verbal abuse, maybe? You all know how Ivar is.

He was sprawled against the side of the large tan tent, in the sliver of shade it provided against the harsh desert sun. He glared up at you as you appeared, the scowl only making his sculpted features even more beautiful. Lieutenant Lothbrok was more beautiful than any man had a right to be. It was completely unfair that you had to work with him every day, to stare at his perfection and long to taste every inch of his probably flawless skin, when to follow through on that impulse would completely ruin both of your careers.

“What do you want, Y/L/N?” he snarled at you. You’d known some shit went down, but you weren’t sure what, and you had been sent to find the lieutenant after he stormed out from the update briefing. He seemed to tolerate you better than anyone else, probably because nobody else was patient enough to deal with his high-strung personality. He was easily one of the most intense and intelligent people you had ever met. He drew you to him like a magnet, you were completely helpless against his pull. Most people tended to give him a wide berth, but you were forced to work closely with him every day. After all, he was basically your boss.

“They sent me to find you, sir,” you answered honestly.

He sighed and slapped at the sand beside him. “Sit down, then.” You obeyed, and he scooted closer to you until your thighs were pressed flush to each other. “You know, Y/L/N, you’re probably the only person in this whole battalion who isn’t a fucking asshole at least ninety percent of the time.” He paused, rolling his jaw. “Besides that time you bit me when we were sparring.”

“I have to use every advantage I have. You’ve got like seventy pounds on me.”

He laughed, the sound warming you. “I fought MMA for a couple years, too. There was no way you were going to beat me. But damn kid, you just about made me lose my mind when you did that.”

“Why?” You had felt strangely thrilled biting him, even if it was his calf you had bitten as he used his leg to pin your face to the sweat-damp mat. You would take another mouthful of leg hair anytime, if it meant you got to taste him again.

“Because this.” He lunged at you, pinning you underneath him easily, and crashed his lips hard against yours, his teeth hitting against yours almost painfully. He parted your lips with his tongue and drew yours out to meet his before biting sharply on the tip of it. You yelped into his mouth, and he laughed, swallowing the cry. “Shut up or both of our careers are over.”

His voice was serious and commanding, but his hands were already unbuttoning your camouflage trousers. “What if we get caught?”

“If we get caught, then we’re both fucked. If we don’t get caught, I’m going to be the one doing the fucking. You’re basically my little bitch already, why don’t you be my bitch in the truest sense?” His harsh breathing and blunt words sent a wetness gathering at the junction of your thighs, and he swore under his breath as one finger found your folds, moisture coating his fingertip. “You want to be my bitch so bad, don’t you? You’re a bad soldier. I’m going to punish you.” He pushed himself off of you, leaving your pants half-undone and your mouth swollen from his hungry kisses. “Meet me in my office in exactly two minutes. No more, no less.” And then he stood in one fluid motion and was gone, leaving you trembling and eager on the hot sand.

You followed after about a minute, walking into the tent and straight to his office. The door was closed, so you knocked twice. “Enter.” His voice cracked like a whip from the other side, and you pushed open the door. He looked down at the stopwatch in his hands as you closed the door behind you. “One minute and thirty-two seconds, Y/L/N. You did not follow my orders. I’m going to have to punish you even more than I planned.” His brilliant, cool blue eyes appraised you, sparkling with passion. “Strip.”

His tone brooked no room for disagreement, and you hurried to obey, tangling your legs in your baggy uniform pants and nearly tripping in your eagerness. He tsked disapprovingly at you, but said nothing. “Good. Now come here.” You walked quickly to him, not wanting to delay whatever punishment he had in store for you. His hands were warm and firm on your skin as he bent you over the desk. Nothing happened, and you turned your head back to look at him. With a growl, his nylon-covered chest pressed into your back, and he nipped your earlobe. “I did not tell you to look. Close your eyes.” You closed them.

His hand cracked across your backside, and you barely managed to stop yourself from crying out. “Good girl,” he crooned, his fingers gently stroking the point of impact. “If you take your punishment well, you will be rewarded at the end.”

“What’s my reward?” You asked, excited and a little afraid.

“The privilege of sucking my cock after I fuck you with it. You get to taste my cum and your juices and know what we taste like mixed together. Don’t you want that,my little bitch?”

“Yes,” you moaned, almost completely undone at the thought.

“Then you better be a brave girl about your punishment,” he warned, with another resounding slap across your ass. You flinched, but didn’t make a sound, and were rewarded by his tongue tracing the red mark of his hand on your flesh. You felt him shift behind you, heard the rustle of his uniform as he knelt. His warm breath teased your nether lips, followed by the light drag of his even white teeth against your already inflamed folds.

You wanted to scream from the sweet pain of it, but you didn’t dare. How badly you wanted to taste yourself on his prick! Two of his fingers parted you, allowing his tongue to slip easily into your slit. He set a grueling pace with his tongue, eating you like a man starved half to death. You came undone on his hungry tongue, the taste of your juices barely quenching the thirst that raged inside him, and with a hard bite to the ridge of your hip, he stood and lowered his pants, dropping them to the floor.

You were still bent over his desk, and he slammed his cock into you from behind. Your eyes were still closed, so you hadn’t seen him and had no idea what to expect. You turned your head to your arm and bit down hard just below your elbow, releasing the pressure of his massive cock into your own flesh, since a scream would be the end of both your careers. A whimper escaped through your clenched teeth, and he laughed as he started moving in and out of you.

He was the biggest man you had ever taken inside you, and the pride in his laughter was obvious. He set a grueling pace again, the sweet, sharp pain of him stretching you to your absolute limits only adding to the overwhelming pleasure. He hit a spot in you no one had ever reached before, and it wasn’t long before you came completely undone on his cock, pressing your backside desperately against him, grinding your teeth together to keep from screaming his name like a banshee.

He suddenly pulled himself out of you, hands clamping on your shoulders to turn you around and force you to your knees before him. He tangled his hands in your hair, guiding you to his throbbing, reddened tip. You swirled your tongue over his head to taste yourself on him, moaning as you slid him into your mouth. He gasped, the vibrations of your moan almost enough to send him over the edge. He thrust into you, hitting the back of your throat. You gasped, spluttering around his thick length, and he chuckled as he withdrew, only to hit the back of your throat on the next stroke. One more time, and you felt his cock twitch in your mouth, felt the thick saltiness of his seed bursting into your mouth. After you sucked every last drop from him, he withdrew his cock from your mouth with a small pop.

He watched, eyes gleaming with fascination, as you rolled his seed inside your mouth, tasting the mixture of him and you, just as he had promised for your reward. He grinned, satisfied as a sated wolf, as he watched you swallow. “Such a bad soldier, but you handled your punishment like a good bitch.”

Amonkhet God speculation

Alright so since three of the Amonkhet gods were probably killed by Bolas (or something else), what does everyone else think they looked like, represented, and what colors they were?

I’ve found it interesting that none of the Amonkhet gods are representations of nature, perhaps as a way to not repeat any god-space used by the Theran pantheon? 

I think it would make sense if the three missing gods were representations of nature, because what better way to bring a plane under your thrall by eliminating its basic elemental manifestations? The other gods are aspects of people, and people can be controlled and confused, but nature? Not as easily.

No I’m no where near as versed in Egyptian mythology than Greek (and my Greek isn’t honestly that deep), but I think the obvious one is a hawk headed sun god. Now, I don’t necessarily think that the sun god needs to be hawk headed, WotC has shown that they’re willing to do things to make a setting their own (Making their jackal headed god not about death, for example). But I found it strange that the Egyptian mythology set didn’t have a hawk headed god, since there’s both Ra and Horus. In my mind, that’s a bit like making a Greek themed set without a god who has a thunderbolt. Though if our hypothetical hawk headed god is dead or something, that’d be pretty interesting. If it turns out there’s a sun god, I believe they’d be red/white, that way they don’t share monocolor status with the other sun god (Heliod) and the red god of Amonkhet (Hazoret). 

The other one I’m fairly certain of is that there’d be a god of the desert. Obviously, being surrounded by desert, that’s gonna have big mythological significance to the people of ancient Egypt. Now, since WotC seems to have made Amonkhet share it’s relationship to the desert with ancient Egypt (a bountiful oasis surrounded by harsh desert), and the Egyptians had their god of the desert (Set), be one of violence, disorder, and storms, and Amonkhet has a reaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaally scary zombie desert, it makes sense to me that Amonkhet would also have had a damn scary desert god.

(A brief aside, one pet theory I have is that Amonkhet’s desert wasn’t the zombie hellscape it was before Bolas arrived. Sure it could’ve been harsh, but it seems likely to me that there was plenty of other cities or separate civilizations that Bolas wiped out to consolidate power in one locations. The zombie infestation could be a result of all the damage he did to the plane. If that’s the case, than this hypothetical desert god may not be as scary as the current Amonkhet desert would make us think.)

I believe the characteristics of Set make it pretty obvious that a desert god of Amonkhet would be black, the other color I’m not sure of. White makes sense to me, just because I associate deserts with white mana (I’m not really sure why, do any of you do this?) And even though WotC doesn’t like to do pure copies of actual mythical deities, Set did serve a role as a combatant on Ra’s boat and helped fight the chaos serpent Apophis (also known as Apep), which shows that for all the violence and disorder, the guy did do his duty and what was required of him. Green or red also seem like possibilities. A green/black god of the desert would probably emphasis the “survival of the fittest” that would be required to live in such an inhospitable environment, and red would play up the aspects of Set for being a god disorder, violence, etc. As for what animal they’d use to represent the desert god, that seems pretty up for grabs to me. We actually don’t know what the animal that represents Set is, (take a look)

Animals like an aardvark, fennec fox, donkey, even a jackal, have all been proposed. Seems to me WotC could just do whatever they want with this one, though I like the idea of having an undefinable animal.

Finally, I have two options. Either a god of the dead, (Like Osiris or Anubis), or a god of the Nile (or Luxa, in Amonkhet’s case)/rivers. Both the afterlife and the Nile were EXTREEEEEEEEEEMELY important to the ancient Egyptians. For a god of the dead, obviously there’s going to be black, and honestly white seems like a perfect fit too. Maybe that’s encroaching too much on Athreos’ territory, but he’s more a deified Charon than the actual god of the dead. Ancient Egyptians have lots of ceremony and ritual surrounding the dead, and Amonkhet shares this. And since zombies appear in black and white, it fits with what those too colors are doing on Amonkhet as well. As for the animal, a jackal is already taken so it could be whatever they want. Even though Osiris was represented using human’s face, the story has already said the eight gods all had animal heads.

As for the Luxa/river goddess, I believe there’s two Egyptian inspirations here: The crocodile god Sobek, and the intersex Hapi. Sobek is also associated with fertility, military and pharaonic power, and also a kind of protection god. Hapi (who I just discovered googling these things) seems to be mostly associated with just the flooding of the Nile, which is the thing that deposits all the nutrients into the soil and makes the river valley so bountiful. For the animal representation, I’m gonna go with a hippo. There is a hippo goddess, Taweret, who represents childbirth and fertility. I’m saying hippo cause I love hippos, and hey they live in the water so it makes sense. For the color identity, Blue/Green makes sense to me, though I could see an argument made for Blue/White. Blue for the water, and Green for the growth it brings.

Sorry this post got longer than I intended and if some things seem a little underdeveloped but this took a decent amount of time for me to write and I got homework SO 

also I’m gonna tag @flavoracle and @sarkhan-volkswagen to help circulate this around cause I love mysteries and I want to see what solutions we can figure out (also I’m bad with egyptian mythology and I’m hoping some of you out there can help point me in a better direction)

So there are many breeds of camel: the most commonly known is the Dromedary camel. With a tall, slender build and single fat-storing hump, they are well adapted to the hot harsh deserts of the Middle East and surrounding regions. They have done well imported to Australia and the US deserts. Then there is the Bactrian camel from Asia. Commonly found in the seasonally cold and hot deserts of Mongolia, they are more stocky and heavier built, with two hump rather than just one. There are a few remaining wild members of the species that have not been domesticated, unlike the Dromedary that only exists domesticated or feral. 
Then there are hybrids. An F1 is a 50/50 mix of Dromedary and Bactrian. Retaining good qualities of both parents, they are hard working animals. They have the stocky build of the Bactrian with a single Dromedary hump. 
An F2 Bactrian is 75% Bactrian and 25% Dromedary; an F1 bred back to a pure Bactrian. And an F2 Dromedary is the Dromedary equivalent (F1 bred to Dromedary)

Hope you’ve learned a little about camels today! 🐪🐫


Originally posted by camelsandfriends

anonymous asked:

I love Symmetra's Oasis skin and Genji's nomad skin! Can I please request a Symmenji fic using them? Maybe a fantasy AU where Genji and Symmetra show each other their faces for the first time. Please and thank you!

“You should probably know that the only people who have ever seen my face have met a swift, painless death.”

Genji snorts at that, but Symmetra is deadly serious, her lips touched into a loose, soft line. He has learned that she is in fact far more dangerous than she appears, and that has slowly become something of a comfort, knowing that he can rest at night with someone capable watching his back.

“A trade, then,” he says, and doesn’t wait before reaching up to carefully undo the scarf wrapped meticulously around his face. When he lifts his goggles, blinking in the harsh desert sun, he grins as he sees her stare. “Prettier than you thought, perhaps?”

She hums at that, lifting her hands, and he doesn’t mean to hold his breath as she carefully unlatches her headgear, her mask and the veil that streams out behind her, and then he’s the one open-mouthed and dumbstruck when she raises her face to meet his eyes. “Rendered speechless. Truly, it is a miraculous day,” she says after a moment, and Genji flushes even as he lets out a startled laugh.

> from here <

when will the loz team make a better decision than making a zelda arc about a race of proud Brown women who thrive in the harshness of the desert while everyone else succumbs to it an to them. who also recognize the evils of men. is there anything truer


A Galaxy Far, Far Away Tatooine (requested by @wanderingthroughwickford)

If there’s a bright spot in the Galaxy, then Tatooine is the planet furthest from it. And yet: it seems to be where everything begins, the homeworld of Shmi, Luke, and Anakin Skywalker; the Lars homestead; and the exile (and delightful bantha ranch!) of Obi-Wan “Old Ben” Kenobi. A harsh desert planet dotted with moisture farms and roamed by bands of brutal Tuskens, life under the two Tatoo suns is not for the faint of heart.