ice pillar

Light pillars over Alaska

When it’s very cold and very still, moisture in the air can form crystals that are flat hexagonal plates, and they will tend to orient horizontally as they fall. When the air is full of horizontal slowly falling ice crystals, they will reflect light sources that are directly below them and not those to the side. This makes it look like there is a laser beam coming up from any light source on the ground.

Wings and Embers

Fellow acomaf fans,

Because I love Wings and Embers (for those who don’t know, Wings and Embers is the bonus nessian story found in the target edition of acomaf) I turned the pics I found — taken by @bookofademigod (@this post) HUGE THANKS btw. Without you, we would’ve been missing a lot!— into text so I can easily reread it. And I thought why not share it?? So here it is!

Keep reading

Unit 202: A Guardian with advanced AI that has freed itself from Ganon’s control. You have heard rumors around adout it attacking other Guardians roaming around Hyrule Field, as well as laying siege to numerous monster camps.
Late into your journey, you encounter said Guardian, and after recognizing you as the newest reincarnation of the Hero of Legend, it begins to follow you around assist you on your quest.
With the help of Loli at the Hateno Labs, you are able to wirelessly connect your Sheikah Slate to Unit 202, giving the Guardian to abilities similar to those of the runes on your Slate: Unit 202 can launch Remote Bombs, levitate metal objects with Magnesis, generate ice pillars with Cryonis, and freeze objects with Stasis.
All of these upgrades, paired with Unit 202’s unparalleled capability to analyze, asses, and counter it’s opponent’s attack patterns makes is a formidable ally.
Until the two of you arrive in Sanctum to challenge Calamity Ganon.
And Ganon re-assumes control of Unit 202.

Kehlani

For the anon who requested the bed-sharing trope. It kind of turned out peculiar.


“make it look pretty, but train it to kill”

Kehlani          

The timer sharply ran at ten o’clock, and Nesta plucked the micro-device out of her ear, tossing it onto the soiled Earth. Her heels crushed the piece of tech, and soon her legs stalked forward, hands holding the edges of her ruby gown swishing around her. Once her high-stiletto shoes reached the marbled tiles, she dropped the silky fabric, a slight breeze in the crisp night kissing her skin.

Rounding the corner of the castle grounds, her eyes darted over the faceless security patrols who spared her a passing glance, some daring glance over the high slit of the dress on her right leg. She merely smiled prettily, running a tongue over her lower lip, painted with blood-red lipstick. Her fingers dipped into the curve of her breasts, and she smirked at the dazed and glazed looks cresting over the younger guards marching past her. Snapping the golden embroided invitation out of her bra, she winked at the flustered males, and continued her walk. Fanning the invitation against her face, she studied the towering columns and dark, tinted windows peeking from the upper walls.

Flipping her brown strands gleaming with golden flares, Nesta Archeron stalked to the entrance, listening to the faint whispers of orchestra’s melody and courtesan’s small talks.

She considered it a shame midnight would end with cacophonies and rumors. Pressing the papyrus into the butler’s white gloved hands, she stared down the escort who stepped from the long line of males and held out his elbow to user her up the gilded stairs. The escort swallowed and she dismissed him with a sparse look, striding up and into the gleaming castle. Inside, drafts of warm currents pierced her flesh, the beating sounds of blended notes spiraling throughout the domed room with glass chandeliers sparkling from several quadrants. Low murmurs arose as she stalked through the entrance, a bland smile curled onto her face. When an arm reached out, slightly bent, Nesta gladly took it, and stepped into the lines of circles to dance. Faces turned away from her, the attention of wave’s receding lapping into the back of the mind, as she disappeared from the main sight, and the next guest walked in.

“You didn’t walk with an escort,” the male voice murmured. “Meaning your date’s not here or you want to be scooped up by some other higher ranked—more than a courtesan in the royal courts could offer.”

Nesta offered him a sharp smile, one cultivated from dancing with the viper and drowning in poisons. Her eyes turned towards the warm body offering pouring heat, and blinked at the hazel eyes intently studying her under those dark brows that framed his rough, unshaven face. Wide shoulders corded with thick muscles roped around to his arms, and the black coat hung unbuttoned across his buttoned shirt.

He dipped her low, and leaned back as his eyes skimmed over her exposed collarbone.

“If it’s the first, I frankly don’t believe you’d be stood up,” he leaned down to caress a breathe against her collarbone. “But you already look powerful enough to not need someone else. So what is it?”

They arched back up, and resumed their small circles of steps and little twirls.

A third option, she silently mused, allowing the music to bounce around them, their bodies swaying together in synchrony. Noting the guards slipping behind the curtains and hugging the shadows along the walls, she cocked her head. A distraction fit perfectly as all the royals would be dining and dancing in the other secluded areas, choosing to grace the other invitees later on in the night.

“Want to go somewhere else?” she murmured, weaving her around his chest, each step they took too precise and full of the tensions lurking beneath the luxuries exteriors.

A flash of a grin. “Anything to loosen you up, sweetheart.” A hand strayed near the small of her back, guiding her to one of the dimly lit hallways. Goosebumps flew over her skin as she felt focus slipping from her.

A hush fell over the crowd, the faint tinkling of the glorious music halting. From the opposite direction of the entrance, two goldened and darkened double doors had flung open, one shadow of a figure descending the curve of slanted stairs.

A crown of pure obsidian—no fringe of gold or silver or diamonds or rubies. Not when the King’s own phantom absorbed all darkness and riches. Not when the King’s soldiers had pillaged her own village, one lower-ranked cornering her into the barn the night her house had been set afire. Not when she’d been separated from her own sisters, and then sought her revenge for seven years.

A cold smile settled on that square face—ancient and heavy, full of curses and endurance, eliciting pulses of hatred and demise to pound through her veins and echo within the crevices of her own heart chamber.

Every shape and figure bent, bowing to the King. Nesta let out a low hiss, clenching her teeth.

The music began, sharper and faster, and clean cut blade caressing her ear.

“You still want to get out of here?” the male muttered, not bothering to mask boredom.

“I’m going to greet the King of Hybern,” Nesta said, and started to detach herself from the male’s arms.

A hand wrapped around her wrist. “This is your first time attending this type of event, isn’t it?”

“What?” she snapped.

“Talk to the King and have your head disconnected from the rest of your body.” Those hazel eyes stared down at her, contemplating more than she liked.

She arched a brow, and debated whether slipping out her opinion. She refrained.

“No one’s allowed to infect his presence,” the male recites. “Unworthy to near his space, and worthy to watch from afar.”

That complicated things for a bit. Her information briefing hadn’t been exactly accurate, it seemed.

“But if you want to catch his attention, I suggest you tug down that dress.”

Nesta shot the male a sharp glance. “Excuse me?”

A shrug. “These things get quite dull. I wouldn’t mind a little blood spilled.”

She matched his grin, and they sashayed towards the fringes of the east hall. Rolling her shoulders, she tilted her head, and watched the dark robed King stalk through the corridor, the backs of guards swallowing up his form.

She pressed her hands against the male’s chest, and said a bit loudly, “Let’s find some privacy.” Tucking her face in the crook of the male’s neck, she allowed him to guide her into the darkness and away from the glamor of the middle of the ball.

“Anything you want, sweetheart,” he whispered, stroking her hair.
Nesta noticed the patrols closing in towards them, most likely about to command them to return back into the ballroom. Nesta wrapped her leg with the open slit around the other male’s, and kissed him fully on the lips.

A cry of protest rumbled from the male’s throat, but he quickly absorbed her lips, wrapping her around him, one hand grounding around her hips, the other pressing against the small of her back. A low growl thundered from the base of his throat as they broke apart for air, a crazed and wild look flailing within those hazel eyes, and those orbs raked across her form as if seeing her for the first time.

He leaned down and slammed her against the wall, the shadows of metal and steel streaming away from them. Nesta watched a guard retreat from them, shaking his head, and resumed soaking in the warmth of the stranger of a male. He held her tightly, emanating warmth beyond her once dreams, and devoured her. She groaned as he slowly nipped his way down, exposing the pale column of her throat. A thumb stroked lower from her waist and fingered the fabric of her gown. Her finger lashed out and she tilted his head back up, capturing his mouth within hers, and they waged their own war between teeth and tongue, soiled in the seconds of heat and devourment. His own fingers travelled up over the curve of her shoulders and down, leaving lingering sensations of desire and need erupting within every pore.

A loud crackling sound of metal grinding had Nesta peeling away from the male and mentally scolding herself. She’d gotten too cooped up in the moment, and allowed herself to become too exposed. By the cold, dark eyes of the one wearing the blackened and solid crown, the King of Hybern had spotted another prey, those fathomless eyes staring at her tousled state.

He jerked his chin at the male embracing her, dark eyes flickering. “Out,” he droned.

The hazel eyed male smoothed his hands down her back and tightened his hands on the small of her back, grasping the folds of the back of her gown. A second later, he abruptly released her and stalked into the light where the tinkering of music sounded.

Coldness flooded her once again, an emptiness settling within her core.

The King stalked towards her, and Nesta flattened her back against the wall. She knew that predatory look, the one who forged her into the pillar of ice and steel.

Her hand itched down, as if covering her slit in the dress.

“You dare disrupt my halls,” the King mused. “To lose yourself in feeling.”

Dark eyes, dark heart.

“I wonder what it would be like for a damsel to lose all sense of feelings,” the King pondered.

Nesta spotted the syringe, and danced around the first stroke.

Cold eyes, cold heart.

“You cannot escape,” the King warned, and reached out a hand, which Nesta realized was dripping with blood. “The end of this hallways lies for my…experiments. You’d do your country an honor to join them.”

Nesta knew, knew of the experiments, of the agony, of the horror, of those who walked out there, and were never the same.

Not when Tomas, her first lover of six years, had volunteered service to the King, and returned with dark eyes, a dark heart, cold eyes, and a cold heart.

Nesta unsheathed a dagger from her knife strap, and allowed the reflection of the blade to arc within the darkness.

A weapon to match that inked soul.

A sick smile. “I see,” the King said slowly, and tossed the syringe to the side, the sound clattering.

He lunged towards her, and grabbed her wrist so harshly the knife dropped. He tossed her against the wall, her head colliding with the hard surface. He reached down and ran a finger against the blade.

The strength the King possessed—but the deed had been done.

Nesta smiled, and watched the King prick his finger.

Dark to flame, shadow to madness, lunacy to bone.

Nesta stalked to the syringe and tucked into into her thigh strap securely. Then she strode the King of Hybern, who stared at the domed ceiling with criss crossing beams with an empty look. That ancient face now glazed over, the pulse at his neck fading.

Nesta leaned in. “Not so fun to be experimented on, is it now?” she whispered. “Took me six years to concoct.”

Blood gurgled from the King’s lips, the strangled sound lighting her veins.

“I know you’re going to die. Slowly. But I have to leave now. So,” she twirled the hilt of the dagger around her fingers, her red nails flashing in front of the King, “I’m going to have to speed up the process.”

Nesta Archeron drove the blade. Not through the heart where layers of armor awaited, but across.

Horizontally.

She’d practiced this move too many times for too many years.

In utter patience into utter completion, where the head flew across the spine and body and rolled across the ground, coming to a halt. The crown slithered off the black hair and crashed against stone, the sound of the rim of the onyx and ink symbol echoing through the corridor.

The King’s body crumbled at her feet.

Dark eyes lolled up and dark heart unbeating. Cold eyes ripped from this world and dark heart ceased. Picture perfect.

Footsteps neared, and Nesta braced herself.

She stared at the hazel-eyed man, who merely looked at her, and then at the body—and the head.

“Cauldron boil me,” he managed to gasp out, and crossed his arms.

Nesta waited, finding herself oddly rooted to the ground.

“What the hell?” the man snarled, and Nesta angled the knife carefully under her arm and wrist. “You killed my kill, with less blood. Damn my ego and mission.”

She blinked, and stared at the large sword in his hand.

Too obvious, yet obviously typically male.

She silently scrutinized the male in front of her, hearing the distant and clunky patter of footsteps. Slipping the knife into his free hand and damning the aghast look on his chiseled face, Nesta tossed herself against the wall, mustering one of the facades she knew too well.

“Hands up!” Large seas of coats and suits swam through one end of the hall, swords, metal, and steel pointed towards them.

A tear leaked down her face, and Nesta reminded herself to not wear waterproof mascara again. By the looks on the castle’s guard’s face, she’d successfully portrayed herself as the damsel in distress.

“He—” she hiccuped, and stared at the body and head, waving her arms frantically. “He killed the King of Hybern!”

Nesta booked it, slipping out and pushing past the guards, slicing those limbs who reached out to ensnare her. It was another maddening dance, one learned from monstrosity, and living as a corpse within.

She hurried away, away from the male and from the dead and from the memories.

Her eyes turned away from the castle as she stalked away and leaped out the entrance, the stares of many driving her away. Hitting the rendezvous point, she didn’t cast a look back at the towering, tall, and dark castle. She slipped off her shoes and unhooked the rope wrapped around the stern of a slim boat, and pushed the vessel into the river, quickly jumping in. Balancing the boat, she picked up the paddle and rowed, ignoring the beat of the drums of the peals of alarms.

She didn’t bother to catch her breathe her arms continued to move in synchrony, once to a longing beat of music and desire. The cold air kissed her skin, whispering little slivers of words and gentle caresses.

Nesta stared at the moon as she quickly rowed, hours seeming to pass by as she passed by, listening to the chirping of crickets and unidentified howls. In the wilderness, she coexisted.

The vessel hit the edge of the river, and she dragged it under the cover of mosses and overgrown leaves. Trudging up the bank, Nesta listed the edges of her gown, and slipped back on her heels.

She caught the light from the distance, and followed it, ignoring the branches reaching out with ghostly hands to chain her back. Nesta picked apart the sharp tendrils and trudged forward.

A hand wrapped around her elbow, and she jerked back to no avail, only to have her entire body encased by another towering one.

Her body flared in response to the other male’s heat.

She stopped squirming and hissed lowly.

“Kill the King,” the voice snarled. “And frame me? Whose damned side are you on?”

She shrugged as well as she could. “Saw the opportunity and took it.”

“Took what?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” She twirled around, not before she shot him her infamous viper’s grin, her knee flashing out.

Through the darkness, the moon shining down faint rays of shine, Nesta could recognized the hazel-eyed male.

“How’d you escape?” she bit out.

A roll of eyes—that much she could decipher. A closer look, and she saw flecks of blood coating his hands.

She walked forward, her back to him.

Nesta didn’t understand the underlying feelings running undercurrent through her, her heart vying to trust him, her mind accepting him.

She continued her trek forward.

Those bloodied hands found the small of her back.

“You wondered about the contact who gave you the false invitation?” the male murmured. “That was me. My dealings include women desiring to meet a courtesan or indulge in royalty for one night. Their fantasies fill my pockets with gold.”

The orange glow grew brighter, and Nesta picked up her pace, the male behind her easily matching her strides.

“I didn’t pay your dealer one trove of gold to merely worm into a man,” she noted.

A pause. “No. I plan on returning the trunk to you.”

Nesta faltered a step, and the male crashed into her. His arms instantly wrapped around her, and she sucked in a breath.

“Because you killed the man that killed my parents,” he murmured against her ear. “For having more balls than I.”

Nesta could make out the lanterns of the inn, and jerked her head to it.

The male released her and gave her a nod.

They stalked through the clearing, and Cassian opened the doors.

The receptionist gave them wary looks, observing the muddied fringes of Nesta’s gown and the red painting the other male’s black tux.

“A single room,” said Nesta.

“A single room for me as well.” Cassian winked at the receptionist, while Nesta surveyed the dimly lit entrance, too small for a large command of troops to search through. The back alleys had potholes to impeded vehicles, while the insides did have the array of tables and chairs to use as shields and weapons if utilized correctly.

The receptionist coughed. “I only have one spare room available. You’ll have to share.”

Nesta glared at the male next to her. He merely held up his palms and leaned across the front, winking at the receptionist. “Are you sure?” he said lowly.

The other woman flushed. “I’m sure.”

Nesta held out her hand. “I asked first. Give me the key.”

Cassian slapped a bloodied hand over her palm. “No way. You owe me.” His eyes bored into her.

The receptionist coughed, and Nesta reached out with her other hand for the key.

Cassian’s other hand went into his suit and came out with a thick wad of bills. “One night, one room. Give me the key.”

The traitorous female handed him the key, and Nesta’s jaw hardened. She attempted to disentangle her hand from the male, but he gripped her tightly.

The receptionist took out a pen, and scratched something down. “Name?” she asked.

The male looked at Nesta, full of surety. “Cassian,” he drawled out, and stroked a thumb down the back of her hand.

The receptionist cleared her throat, and eyed both of them. “The room may be single, but has a King’s bed.”

Cassian dragged her deeper into the inn, a cocky grin etched onto his face. No doubt the fate had worked in his odds.

“Release me,” Nesta snapped, but her heart snapped back the opposite. Cauldron, what was happening to her?

The male released her hand, but wrapped an arm around her waist. “You think I’d let you sleep in the wild?” he asked, and guided her up the first step of stairs. “We’re sharing the bed.”

“No,” she simply said.

“Oh really?” he arched a brow. “But who paid for the room?”

Nesta said nothing, and stalked down the hallway until he reached her, those hazel-eyes dancing over her.

“You owe me,” he repeated. “You killed the man I wanted to kill.”

“The King was not a man,” she sneered. “A monster beyond humanity.”

The male inserted the key through the last door, and pushed it open. He beckoned her in, and she pushed past him.

“I don’t see why you’re full of ire,” Nesta continued. “When you were the one who allowed the King to look at me.”

“Because I decided to have you use your feminine wiles so I could get close to him. You think I expected you to be the King’s assassin?”

“Sad you didn’t claim the title?”

Cassian leaned forward, his nose pressed against her forehead. “I’m sad that you’re going to make me sleep on the floor, Nesta Archeron.”

Her eyes flashed. “How do you know my name?”

That cocky grin. “I do make it my business to know those who request false papers, sweetheart.”

She crossed her arms and kicked off her heels. “How’d you escape?”

Cassian unabashedly started to undress himself, shrugging off his coat. “While I didn’t have a damned boat, I did have legs that walked at the same snail pace you were rowing.”

Heat flooded her cheeks. “Excuse me?”

Cassian leaned down and took of his shoes, displaying the soles, beaten and reinforced with secondary material. “Once I killed the guards, I followed the trail of red, and followed the sounds of the rowing through the river.”

The male flicked the buttons of his shirt, and displayed the toned and muscular, thick skin underneath. Nesta felt her body warm up, and she took a step back when he stalked towards her.

A hand yanked the frills of her dress up, wielding the torn scraps of fabric. “The layers of your gown were my breadcrumbs.”

Nesta cursed. This was too sloppy.

Cassian seemed to read her mind, and shook his head. “Looks like you’re going to have to destroy that dress, sweetheart.”

Before Nesta could open her mouth, Cassian ripped her dress off of her.

Nesta’s knee lunged up again, but he caught her kneecap. “A cheap shot.” His hands released her knee, and he grinned. She steadied herself, and grabbed a pillow and blanket, tossing them on the floor. Within the movements, she stuffed her thigh strap within the pillow covers.

She wouldn’t risk more mistakes tonight.

“What are you doing?” Cassian growled.

Nesta stripped the remains of her gown, and yanked the complimentary bathrobe, hanging over the single chair, over her shoulders. “Sleeping on the floor.”

She laid on the floor, ignoring the cramps shooting through her back from the paddling, and wrapped herself within the blanket.

Seconds later, her body was lifted within her cocoon of warmth, and tossed onto the bed. The pillow slammed into her face a beat later. Snarling, Nesta started to disentangle herself from the blanket, but a body hovered over her.

“I will not force anything on you, if you are worried about that,” Cassian snarled equally back. “You are meaner than you demons, Nesta.”

Her name sounded seemed to be filled with more life, rolling off his tongue.

“You don’t know me,” she hissed. “Who I am, what I’ve done, or what I will do.”

The body rolled off of her, and daftly whacked her with a pillow.

She arched off the bed and crossed her arms.

The male laid across the bed, his chest decorated with scars. His eyes locked on hers. The pillow rested within his fingers again, and when he moved to whack it again, Nesta pounced, and landed on top of him.

Cassian stilled. And then slowly reached out to move a piece of hair that had fallen across her face. “Who says I can’t try to learn?” His breath fanned across her face. “I want to know the woman who can dance like hell and put a royal in hell.”

She laid a hand across his chest, and traced some of the scars, noting the rise and fall of his chest.

“I don’t think—”

The pillow hit her squarely across the jaw.

“I’m trying to knock some sense into you.” He chuckled, the sound vibrating from his chest, deep and rich, and full of life. “Don’t think,” he whispered, and dropped the pillow. “Feel.”

Nesta looked into those hazel-eyes and damned her brain.

She leaned down and kissed him fully, and surely, staring into those warm eyes and warm heart that opened for her, and felt her veins spark with the sensation of desire, shivering into the heat and security in the single room with a King’s bed.

Light pillars over Alaska

The eerie sight in the photo is perfectly natural, being caused by the interaction between ice crystals drifting downwards through the air during a night ruled by Father Frost and lights pointing upwards from the human dwellings below, which pick out the tumbling crystals as though they were searchlights. They are the ground to sky equivalent of sun pillars which form the same way as sunlight meets ice crystals high up in the air, but on cold nights the ice crystals form much closer to the ground and can be picked out by human lights.

Loz

Image credit: Allisha Libby via EPOD

Nesta Rant

I received a message on why Nesta was worth being Feyre’s sister. And dear god, did that get me triggered. Here’s the response unedited. My fingers just kind of lost their mind over the keyboard. Good day.


You can bash me all you want. 

But don’t bash Nesta.

Nesta-rutting-Archeron.

Because Nesta is one of the first characters I’ve come across that changes literature in general. And I think SJM is utterly brilliant in making you Nesta-haters despise her in the first place, because, clearly, you must have not endured difficult situations.

Yes, block me. Yes, report me. But do so with an open mind.

Nesta has her steel walls like every single human out there. We cannot all be easy to love like Mor nor the heroine like Rhys. Nor can we be the innocent of Elain nor the outright villain like Tamlin.  We forget that everyone has a broken side, and really, Nesta is broken.

Nesta is neutral. 

Nesta is human. 

Or at least she once was.

Nesta hates her own human body as a victim of rape. This assault transforms the mindset into one of  a victim, but we do not see Nesta crying in the back corners as a weak human.

No. She is the pillar of ice and flame

She did not let Tomas fully break her.

She has learned to hate her own human body, and now she is transformed into something she hates irrevocably more, the Fae. Imagine that you are given a second life, except as in a form you absolutely despise. How do you live with yourself?

But we cannot forget that SJM shatters character tropes. And that the 21st century sees authors across the world contributing. Dark themes seep through regular novels, and killing is commonplace. We tend to turn the other way when one of our favorite characters, such as Aelin, kills, because we hold them with respect and view them with high ethos.

Why not Nesta? The older sister who protects her youngest sister because the middle one can take care of herself? Is that not evolution, or survival of the fittest? The fact that Nesta puts up these iron walls epitomizes how she is not cold-hearted. It takes a broken person to cast these defenses.

And for you Nesta haters, how can you forget Tomas Manadray? He is so pivotal to Nesta’s development. Yes, Feyre slew the Middengard Wyrm, and sacrificed her life and happiness like Rhys, but Nesta sacrificed her own contentment or chance at love as soon as she shoved up those walls so that she could protect her youngest sister. 

When males such as Tomas and society have looked you down so much, the only way to survive is for them to not let them touch you at all. So Nesta has these walls to protect herself. Can you blame a girl for trying to protect herself? 

Nesta is not a just a bitch.

She’s a bitch because she was crafted to be one.

So for those who look down upon Nesta bitterly and with scorn: are you arguing against free choices? Sure it’s selfish to not stop a girl who provides food for her family by hunting, but in this book, one of the larger themes are fate, such as mates. 

And it was Feyre’s fate to kill the beast that would bring her to Tamlin. It was Nesta’s fate to not interfere with that as so much as it was Elain’s. Sure, you might excuse Elain because she’s the youngest, but if she’s the sweetheart as you Nesta-haters believe, then why did she excuse Feyre’s hunting as well?

Feyre is the Huntress.

And hunters do not let the cages of words confine them. This is the 21st century, in which our characters are no longer perfect, because this world is not perfect and neither are the people living in it. We see villains as essential to books, but never quite are they so vital as the protagonist. Now we get another perspective on the slide, with Nesta’s actions. 

I, for one, cannot watch Nesta open up. Because it will speak on personal levels for those who also have been hurt, to show that there is up. That all is not cruel. That is why Nesta needs Cassian. Because now Cassian has now reached his breaking point with the loss of his wings. So now we have two characters, one further broken by a body she did not want, to a character who lost a fundamental part of his body.

Life isn’t fair. And Nesta’s entire life hasn’t been such. She’s learned to breathe rage and settle for it. So when the Hybern King meets Nesta, I cannot wait for her to be the one to end him. Because it’s just how bullies shape their victims into unwillingly figures who have to put up defenses in order to remain sane. Nesta was a victim of her family situation. Never once had she had the experience of true family welcoming, like her other sisters. They never once got their normal life. Pray, tell, when did we meet their actual father other than mentions of him across the sea?

They had no fatherly figure, save for a merchant.

And Nesta, bullied and broken, could not be that fatherly figure. How could she, when she Tomas existed, and her family struggled? How can you be the light when your own had been snuffed out?

It is not Nesta’s tale to be warm, or the be the beacon. She is the vengeance and the facet in life where the victim rises above the bully. Nesta doesn’t need kisses or pats on the back, not when she knows what she truly needs, other than her younger sister’s protection. 

For so long, SJM described Prythian as scared by the Fae. How do you become something your own society feared? And live with it forever?

So, excuse Nesta. Because she is the heroine for me, for those who have been mocked and bullied. She has been touched where she should have been respected. She has been mistreated because she had been protecting herself.

Nesta is the figure in the book I can connect most with. She is fire, she is ice. And I respect that because it shows how much she will still fight, despite all she and her family has been through.

I don’t understand why there are people who cannot accept Nesta. She’s gone through her own tribulations, and they affect her personally. Does she really have to meet Tamlin the tool and go through Amarantha for you to approve of her? If so, then please overlook the fact that everyone is their own person and dismiss individuality. 

Everyone is unique. And that’s why I’m glad SJM didn’t have another Feyre-like sister. Because, personally, siblings don’t like being compared to their other siblings and having to listen to gushing on how they’re quite similar looking. SJM gave us a pair of sisters, unique in their own way.

While Feyre hunts, and Elain adapts, Nesta protects. She protects her hearts. She sent the letter to the queens because she still wanted to defended her land. She demanded that Rhys be prepared to help her homeland. And Rhys is the High Lord of the Night Court? She  demanded of the Defender of the Court of Dreams. 

Because she desired to defend the mortals. Because mortality does not deserve to be snuffed out. She places on the cold exterior because she has been hurt by society, and why bother with fake cheerfulness when you know betrayal awaits?

So I applaud Nesta for not giving up, for continuing to continue.

You’re an angel? Pt 2

Originally posted by superherofeed

Pt 1 : http://mattstarrxfandomimagines.tumblr.com/post/149752378001/youre-an-angel-pt-1

Warnings: Violence

Fandom: Arrow, Flash, Supergirl, Legends of Tomorrow, Justice League??

You are a superhero who has recently gotten her powers and has finally gotten a chance to use them. You run into Flash, Supergirl, and the Green Arrow. This prompts them to try and recruit you into the Legion of Superheros. This causes many adventures- and new villain to step into the limelight.

I might make this a series??? Tell me if you guys like it!




You know- this superhero gig might be turning out harder than you thought.

This had never occurred to you- you had just always known that you needed to help people.

But that was it.

That was really the only extra resource you had.

A reason.

It honestly hadn’t been problem in your head until now.

And now you were getting your butt kicked.

You dropped to the floor of the bank, back flat against the tile as a beam of ice passed right through the space where you had just been standing. That was too close.

You lept up and dodged to the side as the beam of ice followed after you.

“An ice gun? I didn’t know that was a thing!” You exclaimed, tugging your small black mask closer to your face, scared it would fall off.

“You seem to be way behind new girl, maybe you should leave this to the professionals.” The shooter quipped, a smile on his face. You scowled, and then launched up from behind the pillar you had been hiding behind.

“Bad move.” The shooter shot ice right in front of you, stopping you in your tracks. A pillar of ice shot up, in your path and you flipped around, placing it between you and the shooter.

“You know, you’re really bad at this.”

“That’s what you think.” You growled and then slammed your back against the ice pillar, breaking it free from the ground. The ice started to tip and you grabbed it, holding it like a shield as you rushed at the shooter. You threw the pillar, and the man pointed his gun at the flying ice. The beam and the pillar connected, shattering themselves. Ice sprayed everywhere, a white mist spreading itself through the bank. The shooter looked around through his goggles, confused. 

Where had you gone?

“Hiding in this mist won’t help you for long.”

“I don’t need a long time Mister Ice-fetish.” You said as you broke through the icy mist, tackled the shooter and lifted him up by the collar of his jacket. You forced him up onto the wall, finally getting a good look at his face. Younger than you thought- he had sounded like he belonged behind a desk making dark, calculated decisions. You had even thought he would be wearing some weird monocle. Oh well.

The man grunted, surprised by your incredible strength when you pinned him to the wall. The shooter looked at you in a new light, impressed.

“Huh. Stronger than I thought.”

“Well you’re dumber than I thought.” You said, spitting out the first thing that came to your mind. It wasn’t your best- but it would have to do.

“Cute. Now are you going to put me down or are we going to have to do this the hard way?” You flushed, embarrassed by the way he was talking down to you. He was the one pinned to the wall wasn’t he? You pushed him harder against the wall, hearing something in his body pop.

“I guess that means it’s the hard way?” The man said through gritted teeth and then shot you in the arm.

His gun.

You forgot the gun!

You stumbled back, ice racing up your shoulder as you fell to the ground. This was hurting way more than you thought it would. The ice crawled up your neck, stinging pain flaring through your skin. The ice moved across your arm and neck, turning your lips blue and your veins solid. You grasped your arm, water vapor rising from your shoulder. The shooter knelt down next to you, the cold barrel of the gun grazing your temple.

“Sorry. For your first time, you did pretty well. But next time, try to catch someone when you’re actually ready.” You gritted your teeth, turning onto your side. He hadn’t beaten you- you weren’t going to let him. You reached for his leg, ready to break his ankles.

And then he was gone.

Or more exactly- you were gone.

Someone had grabbed you and ran off- and they could run at superspeed. You wanted to toss your lunch. You leaned into the person who was carrying you, trying to ignore the biting pain in your shoulder. Suddenly you were laying on a couch, staring up at a low, dark ceiling.

You laid there for a solid couple seconds, taking it in.

You had gotten your butt kicked- and then you were kidnapped.

“Ow.” You said, staring up at the ceiling like it was the most interesting thing in the world. But you knew you couldn’t look up ceiling forever, so you reluctantly began to sit up.

“Woah! Hey-you probably shouldn’t be trying to get up right now.” You turned and saw the Flash, a phone up to his ear as he told you to lay back down. You blinked, registering what had happened. The Flash had gotten you out the bank- he was the one who hadn’t let you keep fighting. You scowled, these thoughts coming to fruition. You sat up completely just to spite him now, even though your arm hurt like crazy. The Flash gave you a look but had begun to talk to the person on the phone.

“Oh hey, Caitlen. Is Cisco with you?” He asked as he waved at you to sit back down, which you replied to by putting your boots up on the coffee table. Flash looked confused but continued.

“Yeah- I need both of you. And can you call the others? Yes, those others. Thanks.” The superhero hung up the phone and looked at you, sitting on the couch covered in ice.

“What?” You asked, trying to keep your face straight and angry.

“Why are you mad?”

“I could’ve handled that.”

The Flash looked at you, shock apparent even behind the mask.

“Seriously? You were on your back with a gun to your head.”

“I had a plan.”

“Sure- was it to punch him?”

“…No.” You said sheepishly, realizing he had caught you. The Flash grinned smugly, proud of himself.

You turned away from him, remember your shoulder. You sighed, shrugging off your sweatshirt revealing a Star Wars t-shirt and the full extent of the ice on your arm. You cursed, gingerly touching the purple-blue tinted skin of your shoulder.

“My friends are going to be here soon- they’re going to help you.” You looked up, having almost forgotten that the Flash was there.

“Oh, thanks-I guess. The ice would have been hard for me to handle.” You said partly joking- partly talking down on yourself. But Flash wasn’t done.

“No- we’re going to help you- my friends and I never got to tell you thank you for saving us.”

“You remembered that?” You asked, giggling as you adjusted the small plastic mask and hoped it was enough to conceal your identity.

“Well yeah- it’s not everyday you see some girl with a homemade costume shoot a water jet at a clay monster’s face, teleport him, and then fly away.” Flash sat on the arm of the couch, explaining himself. You scoffed, turning to look at the red masked guy.

“Well, you’re welcome.” You said, the last bit of the pride in your chest swelling as you tried to act like a superhero.

“Your mask is crooked.”

You cursed and looked down, fiddling with your dollar store mask.

And then they arrived.

A girl with red hair, a shorter guy with long dark hair, another guy with shorter black hair- and then Supergirl and the Green Arrow.

@divine-sandstorm {x}

He could smell blood somewhere in this park, and while a part of him wanted to track it down for drinking, his conscious mind was concerned that it meant someone was injured. 

He wanders closer, tracing the scent, then comes to a stop before her.

Wasn’t this…one of the Pillar Men? But he - she looked different…He steps back. Though he was aware she was already drinking some blood, he was still wary of how easily they could consume vampires and humans.

“Excuse me, but…that blood is not very fresh, is it?”

Here is a photo of a stunning a sun-pillar reflecting light from the Sun setting over Ontario, Canada.

Sun Pillars occur typically during sunrise or sunset when sunlight is reflected off the surface of falling ice crystals associated with thin high-level clouds, like Cirrostratus clouds.

The crystals are hexagonal, plate-like crystals and as they fall they are forced into a horizontal orientation due to resistance from air.

The result is the reflection of this beautiful pillar of light.

-Jean

Image courtesy of Rick Stankiewicz

anonymous asked:

can you do a nessian prompt for: "you don't marry someone you can live with - you marry someone you cannot live without". i believe your writing style of angst and pain would be just perfect for this. i understand if you can't with you other duties, but i would be blessed.

My first prompt! This is an AU. Without a doubt. And written within a span of ten minutes so I apologize for any grammar errors.


“you were worth every mile between us until the roads came along and ran over us”

You don’t marry someone you can live with—you marry someone you cannot live without.

Nesta smoothed down the pale, peach gown twirling around her ankles. She stared at herself in the golden embroidered mirror, at the exterior of a hardened, beautiful female. Crystals embed her bracelet and large jewels fix onto the high heels. Her long, straightened hair fell flawlessly above a shoulder.

The door opened, and she turned her head to regard the intruder.

Elain.

There’s a sad smile tucked under her younger sister’s face. Elain, the blooming flower in this cold, seeping world. Indeed, there’s a bouquet of tiger lilies clasped into her own pale hands. They had both agreed on not having roses, the thorns Nesta would have most likely used to stab out the eyes of her husband.

The way he looked at her, like he wanted to devour her, own her, have her submit completely —

Her posture did not falter. This was for her family. To repay Feyre for the hunting in the coldness she had to endure. To repay Elain for never letting her see beyond these walls in her form of protection.

Her penance. 

A marriage in which her family would be given a warm home and money to eat. A marriage in which she would be trapped with a male who loved his ego and easy smiles. A marriage in which she’d be giving up her last part of herself that remained:

Love.

Elain set the flowers on the vanity table, and stared at the window. “The crowd is here. The town has shown up. Our father is not.”

Nesta didn’t expect anything else. Not when their father had arranged the marriage in the facade of a business transaction. Not when their father had arranged the marriage with the person that had taken away Nesta’s virginity. Not when their father had arranged the marriage between her and Tomas, the man who had hurt her where she should have been worshipped. 

A tear slipped down Elain’s porcelain face. There had always been a fragility surrounding the Archeron’s youngest, and thus the need to protect her young heart and mind from the intruding shadows and sinking darkness that whirled around their society. 

“I’m sorry,” Elain sobbed, standing a distance away from Nesta. Regret lined her face, an emotion Nesta had lived with every time Feyre had slipped from the house and returned, her body shivering and frailer. 

But she learned to not show regret, not when it would be used against her. Because when she allowed herself to give a few smiles, her offerings had been turned against her when her body had been violated. 

“I know you’re doing this for me,” said Elain. “But I want you to know that I cannot accept this. This gift of freedom and wealth you’re giving to me—I cannot take it.”

“Feyre is not at the reception.” It’s not a question, but a statement. 

A slow shake of Elain’s head, her curls bouncing. “She’s…” Devastation lined her face. “She’s restraining Cassian.”

This time, Nesta turned her head away. 

Cassian.

The man who had fought for her when no one else would. The man who had asked her permission to end Tomas. The man who had loved her when she could not love herself.

The man she one could have seen herself marrying. She’d never live to tell him that, not when serving her family came first. He’d find another female to satisfy him, Nesta was sure. Cassian had everything, while she had nothing.

The Archerons lived in squalor while Feyre’s recent friends from the other side of the wall had the riches to buy their town out and bribe every resident to search for a new home. The first time Nesta had met Cassian, she’d mistaken him as a peasant. 

He had been crouched over in the soil, attempting to plant a flower. A iris, to be precise. She had stooped down and asked him why he was bothering to spend time on a piece of nature that would wither away soon. Cassian had merely replied that the iris stood for hope, and cherished companionship, something he’d been looking for all his life.

Would you be my iris?” He had dimpled, shoving his soiled hands into his pockets, his hair mussed. 

Nesta had scoffed, and wondered why she had bothered to waste her own time on a stranger she’d most likely never seen again. She was familiar with all the faces in the town, but had never seen his before. Nesta had told him that.

Cassian had cocked his head, and raised a brow, an almost comical expression she’d soon associate with him completely. It was then he told her he belonged to the other side of the wall, where all the flamboyant lives flaunted their wealth.

Nesta had agreed to be his iris, telling herself it was because he lived among the upper class, not because she’d fallen for the sight of the strong male trying to create life among penury. 

“Are you ready?” Elain touched her arm, and gave a single sniff. 

Nesta nodded, and walked towards the door. She’d already denied Tomas’s demands to wear a white, stuffy dress. To wear a veil and not show an inch of her skin. 

I cannot wear white when I am no longer pure.” She had stared into her finance’s eyes, fiercely glaring at him, forcing herself to not toe the ground. She had steeled herself into a pillar of ice. “White will not suffice.”

She had denied the veil as well, desiring every emotion of silent rage to be written across her face. Wanted the pictures to show that she had not been willing. That she did not fully submit herself to a monster. 

She could live with this marriage for her family. She could live with this marriage so Feyre would be showered with jewels to buy paint and canvases. She could live with this marriage so that Elain would not be encircled and stuck in their poor excuse of a home, shivering their insides and reducing their souls of flaring embers into burnt ashes. 

She could accept this marriage as a means to seek revenge on her husband.

She could be strong.

Nesta flung open the door, and stalked down the corridor. Elain hurried alongside her. 

They both stopped at before the corridor, where the red woven path led to the entrance, the center under a dome of where she’d begin her first steps towards her husband.

“Nesta,” Elain said, sadness etched onto her brows. “You don’t marry someone you can live with—you marry someone you cannot live without.”

Cassian. If she peered down the hallways, she could imagine that the fringes of darkness would be his ink-hued hair, fleeting within her conscience. She could see the shared memories in which happiness had finally become a facet of her life. She could see the stars in his eyes as he offered the Universe to her. 

She swallowed, and lifted one leg forward.

She could do this.

Nesta grabbed Elain’s hand, and squeezed. She would not think of the male who had taught her to smile, not when if he were here, he would have soothed a hand down her back or stroked her inner palm with his thumb.

This was a future of where she could give her sisters everything they desired. She could give them a chance to live again and start anew. Without her.

The oldest and youngest Archeron sisters rounded the corner, stepping into the gazes of those that filled their town, the people who had turned their backs against them when their father’s business failed.

And Nesta slowly walked down the aisle, into the nest of snakes and vipers, casting any inkling of Cassian out of her head.

Because he was the Sun and she was the Moon: they were never meant to collide. 


Part 2

exaltlove  asked:

hands her a package, wrapped in cute, flowery paper. she's practically bouncing as she waits for alice to open the present. inside is a handmade purse, made of fabric and full of compartments, with flowers carefully stitched on the front.

          ❛ is … is this for me ? ❜ disbelief rings clear in the inquiry, hesitation etched in the twitch of her fingers. slowly, arm extends, palms to gently caress the carefully wrapped package. uncertainty casts an emerald glance towards the other woman, an elegantly trimmed brow arching in silent questioning.

           her motions are surprisingly delicate as she pulls at the floral paper, revealing the box concealed within. peeling away the cardboard, breath is stolen by the treasure held in her grasp. digits curl around the purse, freeing it from the confined prison in which it was trapped. thumb caresses the stitched fabric, warmest of saccharine smiles across the isle’s lips as she turns to her companion.

          ❛ maria … this is absolutely beautiful. thank you. ❜

A Court of Wildness and Ice

SO THIS IS FOR U @saessenach HAPPY BIRTHDAY WOMAN I HOPE U’LL LIKE IT!!!

CHAPTER 1 / 2 / 3 / 4

Chapter 5


The scent of her blood is the most horrible scent to ever fill his lungs;

it screamed wrong, wrong, wrong-

Why is she bleeding?

What happened?

Who hurt her?

He will go to her, he doesn’t care how, if he has to crawl to her he will, he will, he will not leave her side until he knows she’s alright, until her wounds are closed, until there is no blood on her perfect skin.

But then her scent, the cold winter wind of her, it gets closer and closer and he tries to raise, again and again, to get to her, to meet her halfway- and he can’t help but think that he should cover himself, cover the mess he has become from her eyes- but when she finally opens the door he sees the panic, the utter fear on her face-and her face, Mother, her face and everything of her is so perfect, it’s like a blow to his heart, it robs him of his breath,- and the blood dripping down her hand, the red on her dress and he wants to go to her, he needs to, he-

He sees as Nesta takes a step back, and then another and then she runs, runs out of the room and even if every movement is like a dagger slicing up his wings and his back, he moves until he stands on his own two legs, his hand braced on the bed for support.

Cassian tries to calm his breath, to put those centuries of training to good use and not fall in the middle of the corridor, because he will go to her, he will help her and even if she tells him to go to hell, he will try.

But then he feels something, just a moment, like the ripping of fabric, stitch after stitch after stitch and it’s horrible and cruel and-

And that’s when the screaming starts.

He can’t bear it, he can’t hear it, he can’t hear the desperation in her voice, how it cracks and it takes a second and he is already in the corridor, wincing at the pain, his hands on the walls for support and he will make it, he will not fail her again, he will not.

When he enters the room he sees Elain, her face confused and worried, holding a broken cloth in her hands and she looks at him, but he-

Cassian looks at Nesta, at his pillar of ice and steel curled on the ground, her hands fisted in her golden brown hair, her breathing ragged between her screams and he moves, he goes to her, he can’t help it, every movement of his body feels as natural as breathing, as flying.

He lowers himself, takes her in his arms and she moves with him and he can’t help but feel that this isn’t right, to see her like this, like she’s too tired, too frightened and exhausted to fight.

It hurts him, makes him want to cry and rage at fate.

But she, she moves again, hides her face in his chest and screams on his skin and he wishes he could absorb her pain and make it his.

She stops abruptly and breathes him in and he knows she realized it’s him, he knows she will move away and take a piece of him with her and hate him even more, and Cassian tries to prepare himself for it but her scent-

Nesta, Nesta, Nesta

 

he wants to hide his face in the crook of her neck again, never let go, never let go of her because she’s so close and her smell is so strong it settles within him, entwines to his core and when her hands grip his tunic he can’t help himself, he can’t, he breaks

“I have failed you, I am sorry, I am so sorry, I-it will never happen again, I swear it, please, if- if you could forgive me, please, I-I can-”

 

He holds her closer and closer until there’s no space between them and every part where their bodies touch feels like a forest fire on his skin and she-she holds him right back and it’s more than he can take because it tastes of forgiveness and he sobs, for her life, for her fear, for his broken body.

She isn’t screaming anymore.

Cassian sees a movement, hears voices and he raises his eyes when he hears the Healer speaking, and he sees Mor and Amren with the Fae who smells so much like that damned room that Cassian can barely stand the scent of him.

And all of them are looking at Cassian like he is completely out of his mind.

“Let her go and go back to bed, now.” Mor says and the Healer nods in agreement, but he only tightens his grip on Nesta, his nose buried in her hair.

he can’t let her go, he can’t, how can they ask that of him

Mor looks at Amren, but the ancient one is looking at something else, not quite at them, and she smiles, doesn’t look back in Mor’s direction.

So Mor makes a step toward them, huffing in frustration, as if she will physically divide them if it will bring him back to the Healer’s room.

She takes a step and another and Cassian is on the verge of growling at her when she stops, her face a mask of confusion.

She tries again, only to bounce back, and Amren laughs, a low and guttural sound.

“The girl created a shield,” she says, and looks to Mor “good luck trying to get them out of there.” and just like that, she goes out of the room, but looks at them one last time.

Mor looks at the Healer, but is Elain who speaks “Just give my sister time to calm down, please. I will call you as soon as she does so.”

He looks at Elain and he hopes she knows how grateful he is.

“So, a shield? You really don’t want me to get out of here, do you.” he whispers to Nesta, his lips moving on the crown of her head and when her hand moves to the nape of his neck, bringing him closer, he hears a word loud and clear, booming in his mind

“No”

it echoes in his head and it is her voice and he can’t help but notice how delusional he is, to imagine such things.

He moves his fingers up and down her back, trying to soothe her, to calm her, because even if he can’t bear the idea of letting her go, seeing her like this is even worst; he hears her breathing as it returns to normal, as her heart stops beating frantically against her ribcage and it returns to its quiet rhythm and when she moves he tries to stop himself from holding her again, to keep her close to him but when she looks at him, the look in her eyes-

“Elain, call the Healer.” Nesta says, her voice hoarse and her eyes still locked in his and her hand, her hand moves, cradles the side of his face and he leans in the touch, helpless.

He knows that no matter what happens, war or death, he will never forget this, her touch on his skin, the look in her eyes.

Cassian can’t look away and when her thumb brushes his cheek he breathes her in one more time and holds her closer, no matter how much the movement might hurt, because he knows that the Healer is about to arrive and he doesn’t want this moment to end but the moment Elain, who he didn’t even notice got out of the room, comes back with the other Fae, Nesta gets up and turns to her sister and his hands and arms and everything he is can’t help but try to follow her.

She doesn’t turn to him but as the Healer helps him up and leads him out of the room he feels her eyes on him, on every move he makes, even when he is out of the room and back on that damned bed he feels her and feels her and feels her.

art4turtles13  asked:

what does 8 stacks of oreo filling do to the human body bc you took a pure bite out of it in the octoreo post i just saw lol

I once stacked a whole package, then consumed the icing pillar and rode the sugar high for an hour

that’s a lie I just really didn’t feel like eating anything sweet for several days.

Promise

A NaLu ch 507 One-Shot/Ficlet

Summery: All Lucy wanted to do was find her partner, everything else could wait.

A/N: This probably more a ficlet than anything. I was inspired by what Lucy could have been going through, so here is my interpretation. 

-x-

Grit, dirt, and gravel crunched beneath the soles of travel worn boots as she ran towards the sound of combat. Scorched shrubbery, melted rock surfaces, and charcoal footprints indicated his path. Potent energy clung to the trees and plants, smoke clung to the air clogging her airway. Breaths escaped her lungs in quick staccatos, making up for the lack of oxygen and rapid pace. Wrath, sadness, desperation knocked on her subconscious. Natsu’s emotions had a way of permeating her mind which had been confusing at first. Lucy shrugged it off as intuition or best friend benefits, but now as tears flowed at the intensity her concentration waned. Natsu was hurting, the kind she hadn’t seen since Igneel died. Recalling the devastation of the room when she awoke, witnessing Dimaria’s crumpled form as she muttered

“Monster, that thing, a monster…” Fear tightened her diaphragm. Surely it wasn’t Natsu, her partner, her team-mate, her friend, her family, her dragon slayer. The man who had been a constant in her life since he found her in Hargeon, a runaway with nowhere to call home. A man who had a smile that lit up Magnolia, and brightened the mood of those surrounding him, who took her hand showed her the world.  Natsu had disappeared leaving after defeating Dimaria. Lucy had been unbound, blood coating her eyes. The monster could only be him.

Keep reading

Katara, Consumed by Destiny: Water

[Link to previous posts in series.]

We are working backward from the end of The Legend of Korra, pretending we don’t know anything more about Katara than that she is a waterbender and a member of Team Avatar. At this point, however, we’ve accompanied Katara through four books of LOK, four comics series, and two seasons of A:TLA. The progression, or rather, regression, of her character, is all too clear. We’ve seen Katara’s biggest triumphs and most cutting remarks; what more could the initial season of A:TLA have to offer?

Keep reading