underwater home


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Rán is the Norse Goddess of the Sea. She’s the wife of Ægir and they have nine daughters. Rán owns a net with which she captures unfortunate seafarers, only to drown them and drag them down to dwell in her underwater home. She is also associated with the practice of sailors bringing gold with them on any voyage, so that if they drowned while at sea, Rán would be pleased by their gift.

anonymous asked:

Mer!Roddy, Drift and Rung seeing the human!reader and falling in love with them?

Rodimus whistles then hides behind a rock when you turn around. He splashes you and once you’re riled up and angry, then he introduces himself. It doesn’t really matter to him that you’re human, except for that he wishes he could see you more. 

Drift finds pretty shells and presents them to you. He likes to float on his back with you cuddled up on his chest. It bothers him that you can’t be together more often, and he tries to find some magical way to become human (little mermaid anyone?)

It takes Rung forever to approach you. For one thing he’s shy, plus he fears it wouldn’t work out. But he just had to at least try. He loves to hear about life on the surface and eagerly tells you about his underwater home. He also stares at your legs; they’re just so graceful and pretty.

sufxup-deactivated20170308  asked:

Seahorse and/or Wrasse for solavellan <3

seahorse: surprisingly domestic; wrasse: those lips

The weather on the coast isn’t exactly known for its predictability (aside from being predictably awful), but the storm still takes them by surprise.

They’re a good distance away from camp when the weather takes a turn from bad to worse. Despite the relentless downpour, Solas had expressed an interest in seeking out some ancient artefacts in the area, and even though none of the others had been inclined to join him (“your old-as-balls curios have been sitting there for centuries, Chuckles, they can wait a few more hours”), Ellana had offered her assistance. Although truth be told, her reasons for joining him had little to do with ancient elven history, and more to do with the leap-and-dive dance her heart sees fit to make, at the prospect of stealing a few moments alone with him.

Of course, the coast doesn’t exactly make for very romantic scenery, between the sheets of rain and her dripping curls plastered to her face, and she’s regretting her decision one cold and drenched hour later, when the roiling skies decide to properly empty their contents over their heads. The deluge is accompanied by a crack of thunder so loud Ellana feels it reverberate against the inside of her skull, and then it’s all she can do to walk straight without slipping on the wet grass and sending herself tumbling headfirst down the viciously steep slope they’re climbing.

A hand under her elbow keeps her steady, his fingers warm even through the fabric of her robes (and Dread Wolf take her, why had she forgone her long-sleeved coat? Because the velvet robes were more flattering?), and then he’s steering her off the path, towards the copse of trees she can spot in the distance, through the curtain of rain that’s obscuring most of her vision. But his change of direction makes sense a moment later, when he’s nudging her though the doorway of a derelict cabin tucked towards the edge of the cliff. And despite the drum of the rain against the roof and the creak and whine of the planks boarding up the windows, the inside is mostly dry, and the sudden respite from the onslaught of the skies leaves her blinking dumbly into the dim, musty light of the cabin.

She’s drenched – all the way to the bone, it feels, her thin robes clinging uncomfortably to her skin. It hadn’t been this cold when she’d dressed that morning, but she misses her thick wool robes dearly now, torn between wanting to peel off her wet layers and keeping them on, if only to ward against the draft creeping through the cracks in the walls, salt-tinged and unforgiving. She’s aware that her teeth are chattering, and that she’s so tense with cold a breath could knock her over, and it’s the single worst idea she’s ever had, she’s sure, volunteering to look for dusty old relics in a storm just to be alone with a guy.

Hypothermia will kill you long before this damn infatuation, she thinks miserably, as she begins to peel off her outer layers, rubbing her hands together to warm herself, but she’s too cold to wring so much as a sliver of warmth from the pool of magic within her – not even enough for her to stop shivering so badly she can’t make use of her hands.

Fingers touch the soft hollow of her elbow, the sudden contact startling her into looking at Solas, only to find him offering his coat – the spare she knows he keeps tucked away in his rucksack, still dry, by some small miracle. But, Ellana notes, balking slightly at the sight – in her moment of self-absorption he’s forgone his tunic and undershirt, and along with his own coat they hang draped over the back of the room’s only chair, all dripping wet, and their absence leaving him completely stripped to the waist, save that odd pendant he’s so loath to part with.

Oh, Mythal have mercy, she thinks, and wonders idly if she ought to take her chances with the storm.

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Marina’s underwater fantasy. I could only assume her fantasy was a day in the company of dreamboat DJ Octavio, the most famous octopus on the planet, after his heroic stand up against the inkling race. They went out for a swim around some underwater ruins, originally constructed by a now extinct race.


Water nymphs of Slavic myth and folklore, the rusalki (singular rusalka) are portrayed as beautiful young women who live in underwater palaces. Sensuous and dangerous, she would lure men to her hidden lake with her haunting voice. Merely seeing a rusalka was enough to drive a man to his doom as he plunged himself heedlessly into the waters in a desperate attempt to be with her. 

Rusalki were believed to leave their underwater homes in the early summer and dance on the riverbanks in celebration of the end of winter. It was during this time that rusalki were honored in the week long festival of Rusal’naya, which was held for villagers to rid themselves of the “improper” dead (which rusalka were themselves believed to be): unbaptized infants , men and women killed for witchcraft, and any who had drowned. Villagers would create an effigy of a rusalka and at the end of the festival throw it in the river. 

Rusalki are found in Magic as a cycle of uncommons in Guildpact that emphasizes their deadly nature: each one can pay one colored mana to sacrifice a creature for a color dependent effect.

Day 308 - Kibanha | キバニア | Carvanha

The surface of Kibanha is so rough that shed scales can be used as sandpaper. The rocks in underwater homes of wild Kibanha are smoothed over and polished by their bodies over time.

(P.S. New Pokémon drawing every single day.)

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Why We Must Try

Instead of “Yes we can,” many Democrats have adopted a new slogan this election year: “We shouldn’t even try.”

We shouldn’t try for single-payer system, they say. We’ll be lucky if we prevent Republicans from repealing Obamacare.

We shouldn’t try for a $15 an hour minimum wage. The best we can do is $12 an hour.

We shouldn’t try to restore the Glass-Steagall Act that used to separate investment and commercial banking, or bust up the biggest banks. We’ll be lucky to stop Republicans from repealing Dodd-Frank.

We shouldn’t try for free public higher education. As it is, Republicans are out to cut all federal education spending.

We shouldn’t try to tax carbon or speculative trades on Wall Street, or raise taxes on the wealthy. We’ll be fortunate to just maintain the taxes already in place.

Most of all, we shouldn’t even try to get big money out of politics. We’ll be lucky to round up enough wealthy people to back Democratic candidates.  

“We-shouldn’t-even-try” Democrats think it’s foolish to aim for fundamental change – pie-in-the-sky, impractical, silly, naïve, quixotic. Not in the cards. No way we can.

I understand their defeatism. After eight years of Republican intransigence and six years of congressional gridlock, many Democrats are desperate just to hold on to what we have.

And ever since the Supreme Court’s “Citizens United” decision opened the political floodgates to big corporations, Wall Street, and right-wing billionaires, many Democrats have concluded that bold ideas are unachievable.

In addition, some establishment Democrats – Washington lobbyists, editorial writers, inside-the-beltway operatives, party leaders, and big contributors – have grown comfortable with the way things are. They’d rather not rock the boat they’re safely in.

I get it, but here’s the problem. There’s no way to reform the system without rocking the boat. There’s no way to get to where America should be without aiming high.

Progressive change has never happened without bold ideas championed by bold idealists.

Some thought it was quixotic to try for civil rights and voting rights. Some viewed it as naïve to think we could end the Vietnam War. Some said it was unrealistic to push for the Environmental Protection Act.

But time and again we’ve learned that important public goals can be achieved – if the public is mobilized behind them. And time and again such mobilization has depended on the energies and enthusiasm of young people combined with the determination and tenacity of the rest. 

If we don’t aim high we have no chance of hitting the target, and no hope of mobilizing that enthusiasm and determination. 

The situation we’re in now demands such mobilization. Wealth and income are more concentrated at the top than in over a century. And that wealth has translated into political power.

The result is an economy rigged in favor of those at the top – which further compounds wealth and power at the top, in a vicious cycle that will only get worse unless reversed.

Americans pay more for pharmaceuticals than the citizens of any other advanced nation, for example. We also pay more for Internet service. And far more for health care.

We pay high prices for airline tickets even though fuel costs have tumbled. And high prices for food even though crop prices have declined.

That’s because giant companies have accumulated vast market power. Yet the nation’s antitrust laws are barely enforced.  

Meanwhile, the biggest Wall Street banks have more of the nation’s banking assets than they did in 2008, when they were judged too big to fail.

Hedge-fund partners get tax loopholes, oil companies get tax subsidies, and big agriculture gets paid off.

Bankruptcy laws protect the fortunes of billionaires like Donald Trump but not the homes of underwater homeowners or the savings of graduates burdened with student loans.

A low minimum wage enhances the profits of big-box retailers like Walmart, but requires the rest of us provide its employees and their families with food stamps and Medicaid in order to avoid poverty – an indirect subsidy of Walmart. 

Trade treaties protect the assets and intellectual property of big corporations but not the jobs and wages of ordinary workers.

At the same time, countervailing power is disappearing. Labor union membership has plummeted from a third of all private-sector workers in the 1950s to fewer than 7 percent today. Small banks have been absorbed into global financial behemoths. Small retailers don’t stand a chance against Walmart and Amazon.

And the pay of top corporate executives continues to skyrocket, even as most peoples’ real wages drop and their job security vanishes.

This system is not sustainable.

We must get big money out of our democracy, end crony capitalism, and make our economy and democracy work for the many, not just the few.

But change on this scale requires political mobilization.

It won’t be easy. It has never been easy. As before, it will require the energies and commitments of large numbers of Americans.

Which is why you shouldn’t listen to the “we-must-not-try” brigade. They’ve lost faith in the rest of us.

We must try.  We have no choice.