sand stream

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Original caption:

When we observe the landscapes of Scotland, it is like attending the realization of a sumptuous symphony. The whisper of the wind sweeping the tall grass, the roar of a waterfall, the wave shattering against the cliff … All these notes resonate to form a harmonious whole.

For our first trip to Scotland with my wife and my 2 young children, we discovered an incredible country, a dazzling nature. From Edinburgh to the north of Lewis, I wished to show you some of these beauties.
Filmed & Edited by Gilles Havet

4

Decided to post some doodles I’ve done of my sphinx-sona over the past few days! (Feat. good friends @pizsospa and @tzds-gt, go give em some love!)

Also sorry for the inactivity, hopefully I’ll be be back to draw and answer questions again!

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Panorama of sinuous-crested sand waves (dunes) and water-filled troughs on the surface of a sandbar, Cimarron River, Oklahoma. These features are visible immediately after a drop in river level (or stage) following large, powerful rainstorm events. Flow direction is toward the camera.

well played svt, well played with the teasers =-= (theory time!)

So tHEORY TIME AGAIN YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH WHOOP

The damn vocal unit did it again and im so mad at seventeen in general right now for making the teasers fit in with this whole thing, freaking hakuwefhkuawheufauwA. 

Anyways I love the vocal unit! :) and Seventeen :))

Okay so I’m pretty sure a bunch of you noticed that the song is called pinwheel and woozi was holding a compass. THIS WAS ALL IN VERNON’S AL1 TEASER WHAT THE HELL. 

The thing I circled is the compass that Vernon throws to Woozi aksjhdakjhduawh cries. I literally can’t even write this theory without fangirling ahhhhh
And instead of pinwheels, it’s windmills, so the thing is it could be a language translation thing or it could be that the pinwheel/windmill represented each other cuz they are super similar.

Jeonghan’s trailer. Y’all thought the camera was the important thing? WRONG.

Guess who decided to freaking draw/write a thing?

The YOON JEONGHAN OKAY.

I bet you’re like okay Mingyu’s teaser doesn’t have anything to do with it anyw- WRONG WRONG WRONG (btw im going in order for the teasers)

um yes, Mingyu and Woozi have really nice hands bUT BY THEY WAY, THEY ALSO ARE BOTH PLAYING THE PIANO AHHHH AND NOT ONLY THAT, MINGYU NEVER PLAYS IT, BUT WOOZI DOES AND THEN…

MINGYU FALLS INTO A FULL POOL, AND WOOZI IS WALKING OUT OF AN EMPTY POOL??? COINCIDENCE??? I THINK NOT.

Y’all remember Joshua’s call in the Jun’s teaser, I know you do. Like who couldn’t forget that?? We all thought it was with connected to Hoshi’s teaser cuz of the phone in there, bUT WE’VE BEEN PROVEN WRONG LIES AHHHH

Nice that they have the same phone fOR CALLING BELOVED ONES HUH. BECAUSE JOSHUA’S LINES IN JUN’S TEASER ARE

Hey. How are you?
Hmmm?
I don’t know why I called you but…
Will we see each other again?
No…nevermind, bye.

He was calling a bELOVed ONe.

And then Jun holds letters and stuff which could represent whatever Jeonghan was writing???

oooo DK’s teaser he run faaaaaaaast but his time stayed the same. So he drops the stopwatch, and Seungkwan picks it up.

Guess who dropped his compass, but no one came to pick it up? Woozi :’D

Nice nice seventeen ;w;  Not to mention that all of the vocal unit is running again in the song close to the end of it.

I’m gonna skip over Woozi’s teaser and get back to it later. 

In Dino’s video he has that little game thing, that keeps telling him to go back to the start. 

How convenient is it that Woozi is running back towards the camera while everyone else was running away?? Going back to the start for Wooziiii omg

Even S.Coups is running away but KEEPS ENDING UP AT THE SAME PLACE.

So this is just the beginning kids :’D This was only proof that the trailers were connected to the song. 

Next lemme tell you a secret about Trauma and Pinwheel. The lyrics of Trauma talk about singing away the trauma, or singing/listening to music to help themselves not drown in it right? Well guess what DK was doing.

SURPRISE! IF YOU DIDN’T ALREADY REALIZE IT, DK IS TRYING TO DROWN OUT THE FEARS OF BEING ALONE YAYAYAY.

Next, next. Something that all of the songs (the unit songs + Smile Flower + DWC) have in common with the trailers is the theme of being alone and also very important, TIME. So we all guessed back when the teasers were released that something was supposed to be with time. At least one thing we guessed was true lol ;w;

So Smile Flower being alone and all, fun right? It also has a theme of time because they sing about smiling no matter what, FOREVER. Yes, forever is a time word because it takes on an infinite amount of time. Even though they were SEPARATED AND ALONE, they would be okay. (Lololol they were sooooo wrong about it haha)

Next in line is Trauma. Trauma was about realizing that they might have actually been left behind and are now alone. In Trauma they throw in a lot of time phrases, but it’s really subtle. All of them rap/sing about the fears they had and things they did in the PAST and how the fears are connecting to the PRESENT situation, which is being left ALONE for good. They also have a bunch of sand in the MV that they used.

They literally represented an hourglass yay. Wonwoo is guiding a stream of sand down, and Vernon’s room had this huge mound of sand. Time is passing slowly.

Then Performance Team had Lilili Yabbay aka 13 Month’s Dance. They also told a looooooooot about the song in their SVT RADIO broadcast.This time the song is about the FUTURE, hoping to meet the person again and reunite on the 13TH MONTH because they only see them in dreams. But we don’t have 13 months in the calendar, which means that they are referring to the Lunisolar Calendar, where they add an extra month on leap years that occur every two-three years. That means they realize that it will be a while till they can actually meet the person again, but they think that they are guaranteed to meet them again. Maybe they do also realize it could be the last time they see the person again since one of the lines from the song is Open up the time where only the two of us can exist. There is only a time for so long that they can exist together but eventually they will have to part. I think that they’re trying to accept it and be hopeful but it doesn’t work out. Also we have to talk about the choreo, because they mentioned that it’s super meaningful

The performance unit does this cool flower thing and I mean Smile Flower much?

They also said that Dino’s part has a lot of things that can be interpreted.

If you remember the video, the hands were going clockwise, and really fast unlike Trauma’s hourglass. They were speeding up time into the future because they wanted to meet the person. Dino also mentions that the thirteenth month was a special time for Carats and SVT to exist.

So this could also mean that Carats are the the subject they always sing about (they do like to say that everything is about us anyways xD). I personally think that it means that Carats are Seventeen’s future and without them they would be alone and hopeless. 

And then we got Vocal Unit’s song where basically everyone’s a mess beCAUSE DAMN. I’m pretty sure the Vocal Unit’s song is about the PRESENT instead. In the lyrics, Jeonghan sings I’m looking forward to seeing you, which way, is it that way over there? It’s like the cold wind that keeps blowing. He knows that she exists somewhere but doesn’t know which way to go to find her, just like how the wind blows wherever it likes. Seungkwan sings after that The small pinwheel that’s standing there, It’s like staring while waiting for someone desperately, It’s like me doing things breathlessly. This is like S.Coups’ part in Trauma where he raps Barely spit out my breath, it’s like I’m forgetting how to do it and The8 and Jun’s part where they sing Where I’m thirsty and cold, I’m standing at this place which means that in the cold wind they wait for the person and barely catching a breath. DK then sings after that It’s like I’ve done nothing wrong which is again similar to Trauma because all of them rap about how they feel that they’ve done something wrong to make her leave. Woozi sings To you in the distant future, I won’t be sorry always waiting. For me, yeah that easier. He promises that he won’t regret waiting for her and basically pleading for her to come back. So Pinwheel is like a combo of both the Future and Past and connecting it with the Present.

Skipping over the teasers, Don’t Wanna Cry happens. They don’t want to cry because if they do they might lose sight of the other person.

Going to the beginning of the song, Vernon sings

Funny that Vernon sings that there aren’t enough words because he’s a rapper. As a rapper, he puts his emotions into rap lyrics to make them meaningful, but he can’t even say them in this case. And in Trauma he says Imma sing this song, anybody listening? He’s literally talking about the part in DWC.

And then Hoshi sings…

He says that he only cared for the other person and wonders why they left, just like in Lilili Yabbay where he sings I’m waiting, you made me wait. He doesn’t want her to make him wait and wonders if she just left him because she was tired of him or because he did something wrong, like in Trauma and Pinwheel. Dino also sings My eyes only see you, which implies that he only cared about the person, no one else. 

Then Woozi and Joshua sing that they knows that the other person still exists somewhere.

So he keeps waiting for her to come back to him. Possibly waiting for the 13th month where they sing Open up the time where only the two of us can exist?? And in Trauma S.Coups says To me, the extent of missing of you is the hardest since he’s waiting for so long. In Pinwheel Joshua sings Turning round and round as long as you find me in the distant future. He keeps staying in the same place because he wants her to find him.

And you know how S.Coups sings that one part?

We can tell from this that Pinwheel is directly related to DWC because in Pinwheel, they keep looking around like they are lost, especially Woozi since he holds the compass.

In Pinwheel, Joshua sings Losing the way here, even if it takes a long time. Even though the place should be familiar, it isn’t because they’re so focused on finding her again.

Jeonghan sings that he hopes she’s looking for him while he’s looking for her.

Interesting cuz he literally sang the same line in Pinwheel. I’m looking forward to seeing you, which way, is it that way over there? It’s like the cold wind that keeps blowing.

Then Meanie enters (:D) and are trying to not miss her.

They have to actually lie to themselves to feel better which supports what Mingyu states in Trauma, Why can’t I forget? 

Jeonghan even goes similarly off of this proving that his heart won’t let him lie to himself.

Seungkwan sings for her to come back which is basically in every song so far. And Wonwoo then sings

which is a pretty cool line if you ask me. It’s also interesting because Mingyu’s teaser was about everything being double, and then his reflection in the mirror stays when he leaves.

Cool right? 

Seventeen is awesome and I hate them so much for making me spend like 4-5 hours on this but it’s totally worth it. The best part is I’m not even close to done but I’ll make a part 2 on how the teasers connect to the songs and how change up might be part of this whole game too because this one is too long and you’re dead already. I’ll try posting it soon! I hope you didn’t die after this lol
If you haven’t seen my other theories you should check em out :)) (just use the my theory tag)

flickr

Good Morning from Scotland 

Periphery of Sunrise by David Langan
Via Flickr:
Another photo taken on beautiful Balmedie beach. This time I was on the beach witnessing a biblical sunrise. The colour, saturation and intensity from the rising sun was pretty spectacular. I really liked the long whisps of clouds picking up some of this colour against a cooler sky so set up this composition with the main part of the sunrise out of shot . Even though the bright and fiery part of the sky is way over to the right hand side i believe the curve of the water heading left is a good counter too this. Just for your info, the strange concrete blocks are the remnants of WW2 coastal defences The eagle eyed among you will spot where this stream exits into the sea, I would rather it featured a bit more prominently in the photo but you cant have everything!

vimeo

I think this is probably a trip through Iceland even if unlabeled. Features some neat photography, including closeups of flowing water.. An acid mine drainage covered stream, a waterfall, ice and ice caves in Iceland, and finishing with clouds floating through an Aurora.

Aeonian AU Series Part 2

Part One >>> Here <<<

Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night,

and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt — Sun Tzu

Aeonian 2

I.

A deal with a God.

Between mortal and immortal. A need to survive, and a need for sensation. Instinct and desire.

There was a line threatened to be crossed.

Nesta wanted no part of it, and moved to shoulder her belongings, cold determination written across frozen features. The Archerons had long  familiarized themselves with prison layouts, and another night in a cell would not be another shackle to their future.

It seemed Elain no longer wanted a part of that cycle, as it was she who surprisingly stood up—shocking both belligerents—and placed frail hands on small hips—bone that had weakened over the years, blemishing and bruising over the slightest touch.

“Nesta,” the middle Archeron sister said simply and firmly. “It’s either we keep running forever…or settle.”

A pause.

“I’m not settling with him.” Or any self-entitled male. Nesta jerked her head towards the God of War, who merely raised a dark brow.

“Him has a name, you know,” the God crossed his arms, golden plates of gleaming armor glinting, and Elain blinked. “Must I point out I could revoke the deal so you would not have a choice in the first place?”

Nesta seethed in her spot. “You must really want us if you’re resorting to threats.”

The God smiled, sheer strength radiating from him. “You, Nesta,” he said without a pause. “I only want you.”

Elain turned red.

Nesta hissed. “You males think you can get whatever you want, control whatever you want, receive what you please.”

The eldest Archeron sister would have expected the immortal creature to claim her then and there—to simply show he could—would have expected a snarl to rip her to shreds in front of her sister—would have expected the soldiers to come bursting in, pointing swords to their necks—

—but the God didn’t.

Hazel eyes stared at her, levelling her an easy gaze—unblinking at her unflinching, equally matched stare.

“If other men got what they wanted, controlled whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted,” he said slowly, “Then your tongue would be pleasuring, your body covering another’s, and your mind forced into willingness. That is the way of both the mortal man and male god.”

But not mine, the words lingered in the air.

“And yours?” she bit out.

The God’s eyes crinkled. “I would allow your tongue to snap otherwise, bones ready to attack me, and mind ready to extinguish my existence.” A pause.  “I like your sniping.”

Nesta certainly did not like his sniping. “Perhaps you like the fight. And the gruelling victory afterwards.”

“Not everyone is a sadist.”

“Then you do not know of mortality.”

“And you have lived for an eternity? And seen that not every intent is to mar?”

“I believe the word for that is called naive.”

“You wouldn’t happen to be immortal, would you, Nesta?” The God tutted. “To have the luxury of time to simply ponder your decisions?”

Nesta snarled. “Get out of my house.”

“That’s not very nice, sweetheart.”

“Neither are threats, prick.”

“You have options.”

“Limited options for an unwanted solution.”

Elain slipped into the room, slightly panting. Nesta surveyed her sister’s slightly red cheeks and beginnings of perspiration dotting her forehead. She’d been so invested at launching barbed words she hadn’t noticed Elain had left. Distractions.

A faint curse left her lips. The God tracked every movement.

“The town’s soldiers approach the gardens.” Elain heaved, a hand pressed against her chest. “They’re carrying torches.”

Nesta stilled. Bit her tongue.

The pyre had been rebuilt as she’d raced back, Ianthe claiming human sacrifices for an enigmatic festival.

It seemed she had set her sights on who’d participate, unwilling or willing.

Time wasn’t a luxury she had, and each heartbeat pounded into her ears.

“As much as I’ve enjoyed our lovely banter, I’ve got a schedule to keep. What will it be, Nes? You and soldiers who haven’t been laid in years—with a sister in her prime—or a God infatuated with you?”

Nesta swallowed, and stared at Elain, who wrung her hands nervously. The answer was clear on her face, of what she needed and wanted.

“Take my sister,” Nesta said lowly. “To safety. And then we have a deal.”

A tsk. “I want you, Nesta Archeron.” Calculating eyes turned towards Elain with an easy shrug. “No offense.”

Elain shuffled in her spot nervously, an animal trapped with no escape route. But Nesta could give her a way out.

“Take my sister first,” Nesta reiterated. “Then you can have me.”

She swore the God rolled his eyes.  “You drive a hard bargain. But if that is your term, then I will accept.”

Elain’s eyes widened, and Nesta lunged forward, her mouth twisted—but the God had already wrapped his arms, armor and all, around her sister’s waist—and vanished. Nesta cursed lowly, and spun around as the window glass shattered, fire and flames licking the walls of the house, the shouts of soldiers breaking the suffocated silence. The front door tossed open, and Ianthe stood in the doorway, hood covering her face, save for the sick smile etched across her face.

“Nesta Archeron,” she crooned, the glowing, blue gem on her forehead flaring, “It’s time to make amends.”

Nesta Archeron could only burn in her own ashes, simmering as the orange and red hues licked the house, smoke filling her nostrils and consuming her vision in a gray, gaunt inferno of gas. The wood crumbled around her, splintering on the ground below, snapping at the flames in great waves.

The guards leeched onto her skin, crawling around and over her pores, sucking her away from the collapsing refugee she’d once call home, and stole her out into the night, the tang of cold metal wrapped around her air, vacuuming her into a cold abyss.

It was a futile to struggle with chains clinking around her. It was beyond her to scream with a wet rag shoved down her throat. It was pointless to think as Ianthe, robe and all, swished from the burning house, hood lowered, eye perfectly healed.

There was only one thing Nesta was certain of:

Ianthe had to be claimed by a God.

And there was another thing she knew:

She was screwed.

A dead, mortal woman couldn’t keep Elain alive, but a God of War with an infatuation would suffice. But—she would be damned if she allowed her younger sister to toil in the hands of any male. First Tomas’s attack, second Feyre’s absence—Nesta would not allow Elain to be a third.

Ianthe seemed to read her mind, and she swirled to face the remaining guards. “Search the outskirts for her sister. She can’t be far from here.”

Then she stalked towards Nesta, a frozen smile tainting her lush, pale lips. Her hair on her skin prickled along with her nerves, heating her body in the cold of the night. The faint fragment of a whisper in the wind blew past her, dragging her along with the hard touch of metal’s hand.

Armor and arrogance dragged her along the dirt, thin twigs and grimy grins pricking at her exposed legs. Red shame and surrender no longer flushed her cheeks as they did three years ago. Instead, white-hot anger seared at her skin, enveloping her lungs in a casket of chills, head clouded with a haze of hatred.

“Dump her in the pit,” Ianthe ordered, and the guards flung Nesta’s body into a hollowed hole.

She flinched as she hit the bottom, hands scrambling for purchase, only to find grains of hand slipping easily past her fingers. The stench of the rotten and forgotten forced itself into her nostrils. Her feet crunched on feeble figments and connected with something hardened, dried, and yellowed. A closer inspection revealed scarlet spots of red strung with lines of moss and mold.

Nesta toed the figure, and bile rose in her mouth as a skull stared back her.

“Sleep tight, Nesta Archeron,” a sickly, sweet voice swept from the top. “I expect great things from you tomorrow.”

And with that, the slight tanging and shuffle of metal and the pulsing aura of something horribly twisted yet irrevocably powerful receded.

And so did her will.

II.

She tried to claw her way up, but the sand continued to pour around her. When she thought she could breathe, the sand washed down her, claiming her in a current of curses. She tried to dive to the sides, but her fingers met with hardness that cracked her nails. When she thought she had found an opening, her shoulder rammed into solid steel. She tried to rest, catch her breath, but the ground held the horror of the deceased, bone and marrow beyond definition.

The sand stuck everywhere, and she drowned in it. The grains rolled over her and crammed into every crevice. Her feet bled from chipped points, eyes half-closed in a state of overdue terror. If she looked closely enough, she could see Elain growing a garden of smoke and bone, Feyre emerging from stream of sand with the skin from her face shrunken  to reveal the structure of the skull, and the phantom of Tomas rising from the mound and her body sinking below with him.

Hallucinations and the helldoomed, the hideousity and heartless. Was that her destiny? Reigning upon a throne of her own sorrows, drowning in a sea of her own spite, and flying only in her soundless melancholy, she supposed she only rose when spurred upon another’s hand.

But one day, she promised herself, Nesta would seize integrity and initiative.

Fate disagreed, and the charred lines forming the pentagon glowed faintly, faint whispers creeping over the hair of her skins. The ground rumbled, and she clawed desperately at the air, holding her breath. Slowly and with a shudder, the dirt lifted, the sand pouring down toward the abyss below. With a start, Nesta realized that she’d been tossed in a cage, filled with the bones of the fallen, weighed down by the sand.  

The creaking sound from the cage’s ascent clocked in her ears. Each jolt sent shocks that emptied into her ribs, a secondary cage that rattled whenever the bars on bones crashed against the brown of earth. The slow momentum had her dirt-caked nails digging into her palms, wobbly knees knelt on the patches of cracked and culled.

When the first sliver of light flickered to a spot on the floor, she winced. Perhaps three years ago Nesta would have scrambled on her shins towards the ray. But time saw her fold, broken beautifully and wretchedly warped, molded into the pillar of ice and steel the fates saw her as today.

Her sight vanished into darkness when the layer of sand and dirt broke through the depths of the morning horizon. Her forehead throbbed to the swaying of the cage, vertigo and vices swirling through her head in a cacophony.

And when she did regain her vision, the cage thundering against the floor, jarring her adrenaline, Nesta wished she’d never opened her eyes.

Ianthe stood above her, resting upon a smooth stone, hood drawn and draped dramatically down, eyes glinting with malicious fever, filled with the fervor to forebear fear and fury in the flesh. The Head Priestess cocked her head, blond curls cascading down to the curve of her breasts.

“Cheating death only works for so long,” Ianthe hummed. “You’ve played with fate and fire, Nesta Archeron. And for that—you shall burn for that.”

Nesta surveyed her surroundings. Guards shouldered the perimeter, the cage encircled by a hexagon of red, marred lines, the hole behind her barren. In front of her laid a huge pyre of wooden crosses, Ianthe at the apex. Nesta’s eyes traced slowly back to the dark blue gemstone adorning the other woman’s headband, glimmering ghoulish gloom in daybreak’s dew.

The pyre—a purgatory for the punished, in which providence perpetuated pernicious practices, plotted by the premeditated powers to plague the pitted.  The abyss—an excavated, empty hole encircled by earth and filled by enmity. Both offered no sanctitude or sanctuary, no savior to save her except herself.

Except—unless—

I can help you, sweetheart.

The pure, predatory look, oozing hypermasculinity typical of all males—especially those belonging to those warrior-bred bodies—that had given her a choice. An option. A facet to her future she hadn’t had in years.

I claim you. As mine.

Ianthe stalked down the wooden stairs, each step equal predator, full of feminine fatale. A current of cold wind tousled her hair, revenge and retaliation cocooning her robed figure. Her fingers locked around each other, silence reigning around her in utmost fashion.

Three guards broke from the outer circle, torches in their hands. The red and orange hues caught in the sunlight, a gesture with all the gleaming, golden glory to grant grudge’s gratification. Two strode to the sides of the pyre, lighting the cages stacked with wood, littering with scratches and claw marks sinking deep within the hardened strips.

Flame flickered, licking and leaping in the air, greedily inhaling the innocence of the surroundings, vacuuming all the vices, veering clear of all virtues and valerians. Each flare of fire exuded emanations of heat, dousing her in sweat and stench.

Nesta had long strayed from the fire, a type of luxury in the wilderness that drew together unwanted attention. She had tamed herself in the shades of stillness, cherishing the coldness that culled all confrontations. For when the fire burst into a conflagration, the flames created a conquest that no child could conquer, and when flames wrought upon a wildfire, no warnings or wards could save the wills from the wreckage.

The wood charred, and her skin prickled. She seethed in anticipation as the third guard approached Ianthe, bowing lowly and offering the last torch. The High Priestess delicately snatched the metal hilt, and dismissed her bodies of armor with a glance.

The two guards lurched forward, and approached the fringes of the cage. Gray covered their faces, only beady eyes boring into her. Hands yanked apart the chains, inserting keys, and pulling the bars apart. With a grunt, the third guard reached it—and before Nesta can protest—a collar chokes her neck.

Shell shock slid off quickly like the sand., Rage, unbridled ire, and raw anger flowed through her veins, a palpable poison. The state she’d been reduced to—the power Ianthe held—the enigmatic state Elain laid in—the option that lingered in the air—

Her lungs clouded, and heaving a cough twisted her insides, pain flashing through her like lightening. The guards hooked hard hands under her shoulders, and dragged her forward, her toes dragging in the dirt. Ianthe’s eyes watched her curved back, the sign of submission, dark malice glittering in her eyes.

“You do not escape me,” the woman hissed. “You do not decide my decisions. You do not comprehend my plans. You do not understand—which is why this path has been laid for you.”

The guards hefted her up the bottom steps, her shins knocking against each edge. Pain throbbed away into a numbing sensation, her skin slick with sweat. The heat danced over her, and she couldn’t see how the guards hadn’t already melted.

The guards tossed her at Ianthe’s feet, and the third one bent down, attaching a chain to the collar. He offered the end of the link to the other woman, who took it with a slow smile—for the viper had sunk in her bite, vicious in all things vile.

“Look up,” Ianthe crooned.

Nesta jerked back, ignoring the flash of pain ripping the flesh across her neck, and watched with grim satisfaction as the High Priestess toppled forward, skirts flaring around her frame.

The ephemeral euphoria ended quickly, as the two guards caught the blond haired woman at her elbows, the third one yanking her forward with a blow to her haid. Blackness swept across Nesta’s vision, and her wounds stung in the heat, ashes seeming to accumulate at the bottom of her throat.

The chain jerked up, and her head followed.

Nesta paused.

Beyond Ianthe was another pile of wood—fashioned together to form a coffin.

“I offer mortal and unclaimed Nesta Archeron,” Ianthe murmured, twirling the the chain around her wrist.

The guards pulled her forward.

“As a tribute to my Goddess,” she continued.

The collar tightened, and saliva stuck at her throat.

“Mortal to be maimed,” she hummed.

The guards tossed her into the pit, the wood chipping at her skin, tearing open old scars, and blemishing old bruises.

“Soul to be claimed,” she murmured.

Nesta’s body screeched in agony, blistering with bitterness.

“For revenge’s respite,” her voice steadily grew louder.

Nesta’s head enveloped her in a consuming inferno that drove her heartbeat into a matching crescendo.

“For the callous crimes committed,” the voice hissed.

Her sides cocooned in darkness.

“To halt and heighten humanity’s horrors,”

Nesta refused this to be her hate, dealt by Ianthe’s hand.

Ianthe dropped the chain into the coffin, fingers now wrapped around the flaring torch.

The flames grew closer around Nesta and the wood bit at her back. Her vision blurred, but her mind did now waver: she would not let this be her end.

Nesta made the decision that would forever change her fate.

Staring into the flames, she embraced the heat, and croaked out, “I, Nesta Archeron, accept Ares, and his claim.”

III.

The fire vanished.

A different type of heat filled her body, a small noise of content unwillingly escaping her throat.

Only slivers of smoke curled in the air, winding into whirlwinds of loops that leaped into the skies above, casting the horizon into a gray canvas. The knobs of her wooden barriers collapsed around her, the floor of the casket rising forward, her body following until her two feet landed solidly against the dry, scorched Earth.

She tilted forward—

—and into the arms of solid warmth.

“Nesta, sweetheart, my booty calls take me to the battlefields, not sacrificial statements. But if you wanted to offer yourself, all you had to do was ask.”

That voice.

Another one cut in, jarring her.

“Seize the girl!” Ianthe screeched, and when a heartbeat of silence met her command, she hollered another order.

An arrow bounced of the God’s armor just as Ares pressed her flat against his chest, wrapping his body around her—as a shield, Nesta realized.

Her chin tilted up, and she watched the God of War’s eyes connect with the High Priestess’s.

The brute cursed—or as much as Nesta could believe with his furrowed eyebrows—in a language long forgotten and buried from the human tongue.

Ianthe stopped screaming, and breathed out the God’s title in near shock.

Nesta supposed her God’s sheer size could leave any human in shambles, but both her and Ianthe were not those weeded out, wallowing in weeping weariness. Two sides cut from the rusted coin, both females remained unwavering forces, true to their own twisted truths.

The God sighed deeply, and hefted Nesta into his arms, running the pads of his fingers over her exposed skin. “Change of plans,” he grumbled, then pointedly look at her. “You really know how to choose your enemies.”

Great black wings exploded from the God’s back, tearing at the hinges of the bronze armor glinting in the hazed surroundings. In one beat, they shot from the ground, and a second later, a volley of arrows followed them.

The God angled her body so that she laid cradled to the open skies above, the tips of arrows barely grazing her sides. Nesta watched in inaudible awe as the arrows that did connect with Ares’s armor bent, and fell limply down the ground below.

Moments later, the assault halted, the wings carrying them lands away. The smoke cleared, clouds whipping by in blinks. The wind whistled in her ear, and the skin of her face felt sucked off to reveal the bones of her skull.

They rose higher, and her sight blurred. Sand ripped off her body, her clothes tearing. Years of stealing and hoarding her money’s worth dropped to the ground below, and she felt bile rising from her throat—not from the lack of money—though that would conjure later problems—but from the lack of strength.

She felt tired. Nearly defeated. Past emptiness.

She could sense this near abyss of a thing her kind called a breaking point.

“Get your paws off me,” Nesta seethed, her spine rigid ice, locked into frozen misery and formidable madness. The gushing currents slashed at her face, hair whipping around her, the god’s wings beating with mighty strokes as black canvas stretched across the palette of a horizon.

“These paws,” the God simpered, delicately raising a brow. “Are currently making sure you don’t plummet to your desirable death.”

He squeezed her waist to emphasize his point.

She instinctively gripped his shoulders tighter, ignoring the groan escaping from the god’s throat, and locked her fingers around the nape of his neck. A feeling akin to curiosity struck her, and her pinky stroked the outline of the large membrane curving around the edge of his wing.

His reaction was instinct: Ares, the God of War, tilted, and plummeted to the green grounds below, the air rushing around them in an inferno-like vacuum. If she could pinpoint an exact sound, she would have believed that this immortal being had whimpered.

And if that God had made that pathetic noise, then Nesta could only silently scream, her mind too-tormented, too overwhelmed and oppressed. She cursed the emerging sun above—that should have shed glory and good—should have protected all maidens in its’ blazing brashness—should have stopped her fears from three years ago that now crept alongside her in every inch—as she blacked out.

Forgive me, Elain, she thought silently to herself, and sent a brief breath of a prayer for Feyre’s wellbeing, for the first time, she willingly gave herself to the darkness.

And as her heartbeat slowed, she could sense another’s steadily alongside hers.

Claimed.


Did you see how I used Roman numerals as transitions because that’s the closest I could get to something related in Greek mythology? I crack myself up sometimes. Does that even make sense? Oh well ^.^. Anyways, HUGE thanks to everyone who patiently waited. I’m a horrible updater. That’s a fact I can’t find the lie. 

Time for me to tackle all the submitted prompts (my inbox is never closed, so feel free to shoot me anything, though it may take me awhile to answer) and reply to all the tags! S/o to the @the-little-dragon-faery for always keeping me own my toes. I love you so much Cresta I don’t know what I would do without you. 

Tags:  @katgirl05, @latinafangurl, @nicoletapink, @katgirl05@llyrian-rhys, @maachan-is-hungry, @illyrianwings-nightcourt, @literarynonsense, @aqueenpromised, @16ozamericano, @hierophantangel, @miss-phengophobia,  @samaykay912, @bluephoenix222, @yellow-spiraledbook, @hashtolanashoba, @aleex5253, @jjellybean, @daeniran

Mega Venusaur Y

The plant on its back has developed a mind of its own and the ability to speak. It only wants to eat and eat and eat everything in its path!

The surge of energy from Mega Evolution transformed the plant on its back into an ancestral form. It exhales dust instead of pollen.

Type: Grass/Rock
Ability: Sand Stream
Stats:
HP 80
ATK 82 (0)
DEF 103 (+20)
SPA 160 (+60)
SPD 100 (0)
SPE 100 (+20)
BST 625
New Moves: Ancient Power, Weather Ball

Let’s start from the beginning.

anonymous asked:

Can you do anything about how Tyranitar is basically indestructible? Or about how it can destroy mountains with its hands? Also it is basically Godzilla so that's pretty cool too. If not, Macargo is pretty absurd too, with it being hotter than the sun. And one more for the road: if the aliens decide to explore the desert for whatever reason Cacturn regularly stalk and kill people who travel deserts at night. Hope some of these help

i’ll just answer the tyranitar one, i feel like the others deserve their own posts.

dex entry:  Tyranitar, The Armor Pokémon. If it rampages, it knocks down mountains and buries rivers. Maps must be redrawn afterward. Its body can’t be harmed by any sort of attack, so it is very eager to make challenges against enemies. Extremely strong, it can change the landscape. It has an insolent nature that makes it not care about others.


so get this, MAPS need to be redrawn after it rampages. this lil beast terraforms the mountains to its own liking. and its ability, sand stream, kicks up sandstorms when its in battle.

“Captain, I think we’re lost. our maps don’t match the environment”

“check the other maps”

“we’ve done that, but none of the maps match!”

“that cant be right, we made sure the maps were right. this must have been done by the human captive. bring the human to me, i will interrogate her”

the human was brought to the front of the line, to the Captain, making eye contact without a care in the world.

“you’ve messed with the maps, human”

it was a statement, not a question, as if the Captain knew the human had changed the maps

“have you tried turning it upside down, captain?” she replied, the tone riddled with sarcasm

“very funny, human” the Captain replied, clearly not finding it funny. “but you will be punished for messing with the maps, im thinking that we put you in the front line, so whatever happens, happens to you” he replied smugly, expecting some kind of plea for mercy, which never came

“are you sure about that? you and your troop might become smug when you witness my very awesome and epic skills, and end up getting yourselves killed. I mean, I heard what happened with the troop over at Hoenn. you called that GVF-452, right?” the human replied not the least bit impressed, eyes wandering over the mountain landscape. “what kind of map messing is it anyway?”

“the maps dont match the landscape” someone behind replied, and the captain hissed and them.

“well thats obvious. you do know there are Tyranitars here, right?” she replies at the stupid statement, anyone of their sane mind would know that there are Tyranitars here, after all

“and what are those? are they like those Murkrows? have some mountain dwelling pokémon tinkered with our maps?” he replied in aggression

“boy you wish it was that simple. but the maps havent changed or anything, its the mountain that has changed”

the human go the reply of clitter-clattering sounds from the troop, their version of laughing. A whole mountain changing so much that the maps became outdated? please, not even the weather can do that. clearly this was just the human playing with their minds.

“…anyways… Tyranitar lives at mountains, and they’re so strong that they can change the landscape to fit to their needs, like when they’re nesting. maps get redrawn all the time because of them” 

and as the statement was finished, a distant, echo of a roar was heard, making the troop look around in fear

“id say its on the other side of the hill. they’re pretty strong, but since its probably preparing a nest, you can probably chase it away if you attack it- it will see the place as unsafe for its eggs and go find somewhere else” 

either the general was stupid or just very trusting, because he signaled for the small army to prepare their weapons and take aim, ready to attack the beast once it showed itself.

all eyes on the Tyranitar as it emerged, shoving up the ground, smashing smaller boulders, the human took the chance to run off, steps barely heard because of the loud shatter of rocks resounding in the valley.

“TAKE AIM AND WAIT FOR MY SIGNAL”

the tyranitar looks at the small figures and begins to walk towards them, unsure of the situation.

“FIRE!”

The Tyranitar roared as it got blasted, and as the smoke and dust settled, seemingly unharmed, the mouth opened, and shot a Hyper beam right beside where they stood, and then moved it towards them, blasting the ground and the aliens to bits.

one of the lower ranking officers managed to run away, and begged the awaiting human for help

2

I just want to talk about Pokemon I like, dammit

Ability: Sand Stream (Summons a Sandstorm that lasts 5 turns)
Nature: Jolly (+Spe, -Sp Atk)
Item: Tyranitarite
Moves:
Stone Edge (Level 63/TM 71)
Ice Punch Move Tutor ORAS)
Crunch (Level 47) / Fire Punch (ORAS Move Tutor) / Earthquake (Level 54/TM26)
Dragon Dance (Egg Move)  
EVs: 252 Atk, 252 Spe, 4 Sp Def

Dragon Dance once as Space Godzilla

There you go

You’ve won

2

Flying over the sand, Farasha was a bolt of dark lightning spearing across the golden desert. It was all he could do to keep up, to grit his teeth against his barking muscles.

He forgot about them anyway at the blur of reddish brown and black that emerged in the corner of his eye - and the white rider atop it.

Yrene’s hair rose and fell behind her in a golden-brown tangle of curls, lifting with each thunderous pound of her mare’s legs on the hard sand. White clothes streaming in the wind, the gold and silver sparkled like stars, and her face-

 Chaol couldn’t breathe as he beheld the wild joy on Yrene’s face, the unchecked exhilaration.