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flowerflamestars · 6 years ago

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Ivy Moon: Part Five

Cassian had many expectations about getting to see Nesta work.

He was almost used to the ease with which she used her power. Constant- like breathing- so casual it couldn’t bely the astonishing depth of her strength. He also knew, from Rhys and Feyre, that Nesta was one of the best in the world at what she did.

So he hadn’t expected her to find the object that cursed him, and start laughing.

Nesta listed toward the toward the stone wall, trying to catch her breath.

“Nesta- what”-

She waved a hand at him, and the tower room before them was engulfed in a circle of flame. Not the rainbow of colors Nesta had shown him before, but white hot. Cleansing fire.

“Stay here,” She called, and jumped through the flames like parting a curtain.

—-

Nesta was glad not just that the potency of her fire could cage in a curse- but that through the arcing flames, even with wolf eyes, Cassian might miss how badly her hands were shaking.

Because she was right.

And it was more- more than she’d dreamed of or hoped for, imagined or wanted. More than Cassian’s heartbeat under her teeth or his perfect laugh meeting Amren.

It was magic.

At the very middle of a round wooden table, centered in spelled tower, a globe of gold sat.

Nesta knew at the touch of bare skin, a spindle would extend to draw blood.

But like this, it would have fit in the palm of her hand. A perfect sphere, the surface a mad tangle of roses and moons, stars and blossoms that seemed to shift if she stared too long. Within the fire she could hear it’s song.

Ancient and fae, it promised everything: devotion, love, partnership.

Nesta stripped off her jacket and threw it over the table. Muffled, it was nothing to pick up, contained in the leather.

She bundled it in her arms, fighting down another delighted laugh, and vanished the fire.

—-

Rationally, Cassian knew Nesta had been inside the circle flame for seconds, minutes at most.

That this was what she did. And above all else, that this witch was dangerous. But he couldn’t see anything, and it was making him crazy. Wolf stretched beneath his skin, agitated and unhappy. Even his magic- not keyed to curses, or anything like them- seemed to say danger, danger.

And then the flames vanished and Nesta stepped through, stripped down to an incredibly distracting tank top and carrying a jacket wrapped bundle.

“Got it,” She said, with a smile that was almost eerily pointed.

Nesta started back down the stairs before he could reply. Cassian found himself tripping behind her, eyes unerringly drawn to the pale curve of her shoulders, the nape of her neck.

“What is it?” Cassian asked, when it became clear Nesta wasn’t going to say anything.

They were crossing back through the main floor of the library, lights slowly fading to extinguish behind them. Nesta stopped in the doorway to pat the wall, as if in silent thank you, before replying.

“Cursed spindle,” She said, too casual. “I think it called you. You picked it up, got stabbed, and your blood keyed the curse.”

Nesta strode forward into the antechamber and finally stopped, glowing in the chandeliers soft light. Cassian slid to her side, and the look she glanced over him was pure and untempered mischief.

What the hell?

“Where,” Nesta asked, head tilted like a predator, “Does the third door lead?”

Cassian blinked. He didn’t have a fucking clue what was going on, but his wolf couldn’t resist even a bit of the challenge in her stance. “Underground garage? Rhys’ dad loved cars.”

“Perfect,” Nesta replied, and stalked forward.

If the library castle itself was a heart wrenching mix of elegant and ancient, the garage was the same, amped to an entirely different level. Winding steel stairs led them down, lit in neon light. White slowly melted through the color spectrum to blinding, electric pink before they reached the floor.

Nesta took one look and snorted.

A cave overhead, rough hewn and dark. Bellow, gleaming pavement interrupted only by inset white lights, and rows of cars. The light flared as Nesta walked forward, framing the drive out in bands of throbbing white.

“Rhys is seriously never going to drive any of these cars?” Nesta asked.

“Most likely never,” Cassian said, rueful. Something about the hunger in her gaze, the sharpness of her movements was making the blood pound in his veins. His wolf liked that- so damn much.

Nesta danced down one row of cars, and then another, quick steps ringing in the cavern.

Cassian tried very hard not to look like he was literally a wolf, slavering at her heels.

Finally, she stopped in front of a small car, silver gleaming in the neon light. Nesta laid a single hand on the hood, ignition starting at her touch. He bit back a laugh at the utterly pleased look on her face.

She dropped the bundle in her arms on the hood, a strangely melodious thunk echoing.

“So we’re stealing a car,” Cassian drawled, “And you’re enchanting it?”

She was circling the vehicle, magic at a low hum. “Exactly,” Nesta said, voice low. She tapped each wheel, leaving a strange sparkle in the air, before sliding into the drivers seat. The jacket wrapped magical object disappeared, like she’d spelled it to follow her.

Cassian took a deep breath, and did the same.

In the small space, there was no escaping her scent- his touch lingering on her skin, intertwined with her magic and aggression, overlaid with gasoline.

“Okay,” Nesta began, pulling out onto the dark drive out of the cavern, “I can destroy the cursed object.” The way she said it made his heart stutter.

“But?”

She smiled, realer and softer. “But it’ll be bloody and very time consuming. I know someone who can take care of it quickly, and will enjoy the process perhaps even more.”

They emerged into the not quite right, incredibly beautiful fall light of the castle drive. On a road properly, Nesta sped up, the engine purring. Cassian felt just as combustible.

“I’ll do it myself if you want,” Nesta offered, eyes flitting over his face, “But it’ll be faster this way.”

Cassian made himself breathe normally. There was no question to whether he trusted Nesta, but he wanted answers. And the sooner the curse was handled- well, court was the wrong word, but date didn’t fit either.

He wanted to know her, to keep getting to know her, without the curse pulling them together. Without magic blurring every boundary, Cassian wanted to find normal reasons to earn sleeping at her side. To return to the library, to bring her that horrifying coffee at work, to be a real part of her life.

The words caught in his throat, and Cassian could only nod.

But Nesta- because she was Nesta- understood well enough. “Okay,” She repeated. “Do you know where the wards end?’

Easy- it was always so easy with her, Nesta’s words grounded him again. “The closest?” Cassian said, pushing his hair from his face, “About a mile east.”

Nesta nodded, and the world blurred.

Without even a thud, or a bump in momentum, the car was suddenly on a different road altogether. They sped the last few feet over the wards, and the world outside became bright and bluer. No longer all golden and magic, but real and still lovely forest, half turned toward winter.

“What the fuck?” Cassian spluttered before he could stop himself, choking out a laugh.

Nesta grinned back. “Journey spell,” She said, “All roads are one.”

He followed her out of the car, colder air here blowing through the trees. The bundle had reappeared at Nesta’s feet. If she felt the cold on her bare skin, Nesta didn’t flinch. Cassian had to wonder how much magic she was pulling- unfeeling to the elements like he was before the change.

“Two rules,” Nesta said, pulling a knife from somewhere, that keened greeting in her hand. “Do not say thank you, no matter what. And use full names, always.”

It clicked in Cassian’s head the same moment Nesta sliced cleanly down her palm.

“You’re summoning a faerie?”

Nesta waved her bleeding hand in the air. By some old magic, the blood remained, an outline forming. “Something like that,” She agreed, “It’s polite to make a door.”

And a door it was- blood smeared lines coming together. Until the moment it all locked in place, chiming, and a hole in the world tore. Through it, Cassian could see vivid forest, gnarled and ancient. A lavender lake lapped gently under moonlight.

This was faerie.

On soundless steps, Nesta returned to his side. “Ready?” It was a challenge again, enough to make him bold.

Cassian reached for Nesta’s bleeding hand. Meeting her eyes steadily, even as he felt the blush starting on his face, Cassian healed her again- just like he had that first night. But this time, he licked away the blood.

The soft sigh that fell from her mouth made Cassian shudder. His wolf was keening.

Nesta let out a long breath, slowly pulling back her hand and stepping away.

From around her neck, the chain pale beside the warm gold of the amber Nesta had yet to take off, she pulled another necklace. It hadn’t been there a moment before, and pooled in her hand like moonlight.

At it’s end a small horn hung- bone bound in silver and gold. A hunters horn, but the magic felt like the Archerons home. Old and powerful, protective and enchanting. Nesta sketched one more long look over Cassian, before she raised it to her lips and blew.

Like it knew what she had called, the doorway shuddered, and the landscape shifted.

Cassian was painfully alert at the sight of that green, luminous land.

At first he thought it was the false moons hanging in the sky- three phases all in one- but the man striding toward Nesta really was that pale. White, white, skin. Huge grey eyes that could swallow the sky, hair the silver color of true starlight.

It wasn’t until he stepped through the doorway- fearless, grinning- that Cassian realized he knew that face.

Those were Nesta’s eyes. Her dangerous cheekbones, sharp features. The same face entirely, but sharpened further with masculinity. More alike than Nesta looked like her own siblings.

If not for the undeniable glow of immortality, the knife blade ears that marked this man as fae.

The smile on his face grew even more familiar as he strode straight to Nesta, swooping down to kiss both her cheeks. Cassian was going to rattle out of his own skin.

“Darling,” The faery said, ageless voice accentless and silken. “How fairs the heir of my heart?”

“Gwyn,” Nesta began, and stopped when the faery made a low noise.

“That’s not what you used to call me.” It was odd to hear such a rambunctious tone come out of that familiar but not mouth. He was teasing, after he’d been called from another world and arrived fully armed.

“Papa,” Nesta sighed, half a laugh. “I need your help.”

“Of course! But first,” He pivoted, tossing a long arm over Nesta’s shoulders and turning them both, “Introduce me to your mate.”

Mate.

Mate, mate, mate. With a great horrible shudder, Cassian’s heart briefly stopped in his chest. Did she know? He hadn’t thought of a way to tell her yet- felt like an ass beyond measure if this was how Nesta found out Cassian belonged to her.

But Nesta only briefly closed her eyes, sighing. When she found Cassian’s gaze, whatever apprehension he felt melted with the soft amusement twisting her mouth.

“Papa, meet Cassian Leandro Aguilar.” Her head tilted with the words, taking in Cassian’s surely blushing face like she wanted to eat him alive.

The fae man strode forward to grab Cassian’s hand in an enthusiastic grip. “Ah, a wolf!” He said, eyes sparkling, “I knew a hunters heart was always for my girl. Be welcome, Cassian Leandro Aquilar.”

He inclined his head, regal as any monarch.

Nesta, visibly smirking, stepped closer to Cassian’s side. With a possessive sweep up his arm that did nothing- absolutely nothing - to calm him down, she said, “This is my great grandfather, Gywnn Ap Nudd, Lord of the Wild Hunt.”

Fighting, and probably failing to keep the thousand questions he was thinking off his face, Cassian replied with the traditional fey words. “Well met, Gywnn Ap Nudd, Hunter’s Lord.”

With a laugh that sounded like thunder booming, Gywnn clapped Cassian on the back, hard enough he was pushed forward.

Nesta was definitely trying not to grin.

Pleased, and strangely looking like he was growing taller by the minute, the faery turned to his granddaughter. “How may I aid, dear heart? I know you didn’t call me to meet your lover, though you should have.”

His voice was like a bonfire, warm and laughing.

Nesta waved the knife in her hand, “You would have met him at Feyre’s wedding.”

“Ach, bad form to upstage your little sister!”

Cassian had heard the stories of the Wild Hunt. It was impossible to be supernatural and not know the name. The immortal warriors, who rode the storms lightening. Savage and free, led by the incarnation of every violent dream and raging passion- the Hunter’s Lord.

Who Nesta called Papa.

But what echoed harder through his head was- upstage?

Cassian tuned back into the familial teasing, as Nesta vanished the knife in her hand and thrust the golden globe beneath her grandfathers beautiful face.

If it had seemed like Gywnn was growing taller, he was massive now. He bared sharp teeth at the faintly keening metal. “Which one of you?”

Around them, the smell of ozone and moisture was growing. A burst of sharp wind snapped Nesta’s hair free from it’s tie, the silken mass blowing against Cassian’s shoulder.

“Mine,” Cassian admitted, meeting ageless grey eyes.

Gwynn growled.

“How long has it tried and failed to take root?” As if in response to his utter anger, the spindle popped free from the globe, smelling of Cassian’s blood.

It was still tempting- terrible longing, like every fear and loneliness Cassian had ever felt could be fixed. Promised love, promised home, promised family. He took a deep, shuddered breath, and thought- pack.

Azriel, the brother and best friend who’d never left him. Rhysand, who tried so damn hard. Bright Feyre, terrifying Elain, tiny godlike Amren, rough and tumble Lucien.

And Nesta.

Nesta, Nesta, Nesta- power and beauty and challenge, his anchor to this life that he’d been lucky enough to find.

The siren call faded like it had never existed at all.

“They know better than to touch our bloodline,” Gwynn was still speaking, thunderous. “No matter that your power holds. Seelie filth.”

He turned his head, and Cassian met head on eyes with lighting streaking across their grey skies. “I will hunt,” Gywnn intoned, weighty and old as the bones of the world. With the words, he grew more seemingly human again, but the eyes remained. “Truly, am I sorry this was the push fate chose. A wolf is always welcome in our family.”

Nesta snickered before Cassian could reply.

“Ach, child, you know your uncles are going to want to visit now and run with a pack once more.” Gwynn told her.

Right- faery lord grandfather, faery uncles? Cassian could handle this.

Like she could sense his mounting confusion, Nesta tucked an arm around Cassian’s hip, leaning with the motion. The anxious pressure on his heart melted away, but it remained racing.

“Alaistair is always welcome,” Nesta said, “Finn too, but Oberon has to stop getting in fistfights with Lucien.”

Gywnn laughed again, and a little more of the horror dissipated. “Friendly fistfights,” He insisted, waving a hand. “And I’ve heard the son of oak will have backup these days, when his inability to resist mischief gets the better of him.”

Nesta only raised her eyebrows, “Elain asked me to set him on fire, last yule.”

“But who’s more loyal than a wolf?” Gywnn shot back. “Truly, I am pleased by all of this. It will be a fine hunt.” He looked back and forth between then, the space between their bodies that had ceased to exist, and with a smile that Cassian suddenly saw Feyre in completely, Gywnn swooped forward to kiss them both on the brow.

His lips felt like frost.

But his tone was that of a pleased parent, jolly and proud. “Go with my blessing, Cassian Leandro Aguilar. And with my love, Nesta Nimue Marianne Acheron.”

And he disappeared, the blood door Nesta had carved from the world vanishing as well.

Cassian felt a little like he’d been too close to an explosion. His ears were ringing, white in his vision, thoughts a wild scramble. He knew Nesta was looking up at him, waiting for the questions he needed to ask.

But instead, what came out was, “Your middle name in Nimue?”

Nesta punched him in the chest, playfully. “Fuck off, Leandro,” She said his name perfectly, of course, a loving caress around the syllables. “My mother was an artist and a seer- Elain’s middle name is fucking Guinevere.”

Cassian caught her hand, twisting their fingers together. “Does that make Az Lancelot, or Arthur?”

She huffed in disgust and began tugging him forward, back to the car.

With a single snap of Nesta’s fingers, it started, engine purring to life. Grinning, Nesta waved that same hand out toward the road, like the windshield didn’t exist. It was the only warning Cassian got for the world shuddering with change all around them again- until suddenly they were on a highway.

One he was sure didn’t exist- and hadn’t ever been there before.

“That,” He tried not to gasp, “Is some journey spell.”

Nesta flicked bright eyes over him, “It depends,” She said, punching the car forward fast enough that Cassian felt slightly flattened, “On how much you think you’ll enjoy the trip.”

It was impossible not to smile back.

They made it into another forest, green racing past- because Nesta drove like a god damn demon- before she broke the silence again.

“You can ask,” Nesta said, voice amused.

Cassian dropped the thread he’d been slowly ripping from his jacket, and sighed a breath. He’d didn’t know where to start- he wanted to know everything. About the curse, about how, why, it had effected them both, about her.

He’d wanted to learn her slow. Natural, not to ask for too much.

“You’re an eighth fae?” Cassian asked, softly. It didn’t change anything at all. Aside from a wild urge to laugh at the thought of the Lord of the Wild Hunt meeting Rhysand. He’d need a camera.

Nesta shook her head. “A bit more than a quarter Unseelie. My father was human, but my grandmother fell in love with one of the forest knights.” She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, and said carefully, not looking at him, “Feyre, Elain, all three of us- we’re different than other witches. Maybe because of the mix of bloodlines, or elemental magic, no one knows- but, we get less mortal every year.”

Less mortal- less human, she meant. Less- Cassian’s throat went tight.

“Feyre isn’t going to die on Rhys in a century,” He blurted.

Nesta’s mouth twisted happily. “No,” She replied, “None of us are going anywhere.”

The tightness in his throat grew like swallowed tears. Most witches were closer to human than any other creature. They’d live a century, maybe one and a half- ageless and graceful and magic, but still mortal.

Cassian- a full-blooded wolf dredged in magic, with old lineages on both sides- hadn’t known the touch of time for what felt like an age. Sure, he could die. If someone tried to kill him, if something more powerful hunted him down- but- but he wasn’t going to have to outlive her.

Swallowing hard, Cassian groped for her hand, only to have Nesta meet him halfway.

“Oh fuck,” Cassian realized, “So when Lucien said, our court, he meant?”

Nesta breathed a laugh, her grip on his hand tight. “Lucien was being dramatic. As witches, we cannot be counted among the courts of faery.”

“But you’ve ridden the Hunt’s storms,” Cassian guessed. It was easy to imagine- the wind in her hair and fires burning all around. Women weren’t allowed permanent membership in the Wild Hunt- they were too fierce - but it was impossible not to imagine them taking a death blessed witch as a guest.

She finally looked back at him. “The Wild Hunt brought us home, when my mother died.” Nesta said. “Gywnn is the only father we ever knew. “

Slowly, Cassian traced circles on the back of her hand. The world was still blurring past, but he was almost certain she was letting magic drive for her now.

“So, Uncles?”

Nesta let go of the steering wheel entirely, and twisted her body to face him. “The hunters,” She replied simply, eyes sparking. Like they weren’t the legends and nightmares of the supernatural world. “They helped raise us. Alaistair, Oberon, Alcheon, Finn. Gim Won-Sul - all of the twelve, and some of their husbands.”

Of fucking course.

Of course- Nesta, death walking, magic incarnate- had been raised by the most feared and noble warriors the world knew.

Twelve, always twelve- who’d been culled from their final battlefields and granted immortality to ride with the Hunt, honor and violence and wildness in their blood forevermore.

And Cassian was going to meet them. At his brothers wedding, apparently.

Nesta laughed at the look on his face, and squeezed his hand once more before letting go and taking control of the car again.

Tamping down on the urge to touch her- to make sure this was all really happening- Cassian raked a hand through his hair. “So how does this all tie into the curse?” He asked, carefully, “The spindle was Seelie made?”

Nesta took a vicious turn on the empty round, car skidding with speed. Over the sound of the engine and his own heart, Cassian wouldn’t have heard her if he weren’t a wolf.

“Do you know the story of sleeping beauty?”

What- what? “Um, faery doesn’t get invited to a baptism, girl gets cursed, poor dragon gets hurt,” He ticked off the moments, uncertain, “Creepy sleep kissing? It’s a human story, isn’t it?’

Nesta’s knuckles whitened. “Not the real one.”

Cassian waited, and tried very hard not to think- so I’m the princess? Nesta the knight had a ring to it that was borderline erotic in his head, admittedly.

Finally, she sighed. “Once upon a time, a girl asked a faery to find her true love.” Nesta flicked an irritated hand, “She was a princess, or a witch- either way, young. Young and without any knowledge of the Seelie court.”

Cassian pushed down the image of Nesta holding a sword, and listened.

“Seelies like rules, and playing with mortals,” She continued. Cassian couldn’t help but remember his mothers voice telling him about the Unseelie- too busy taunting monsters and testing themselves. “So the faery asked her, why do you ask for love? Why not riches, or good fortune? And the girl replied, I cannot live without love. So the faery says, so you shall not.”

“And with his promise- the spell was cast. He made a spindle of gold, molten from the fire of a dragon, and told her to prick her finger. The world is a tapestry, the faery explained, and fate are it’s threads.”

“That’s true though,” Cassian interrupted. “Magic users feel the tug of fate all the time.”

Oddly, Nesta flushed. “That is true,” She agreed, “But we’re getting to the important part.”

She switched gears and continued, the road they were on a wild curve now. “Blood is the best binding for any curse. And Seelie cannot lie- but they can omit. He promised her she wouldn’t live without love, so she didn’t. For mortals who touched one of the faery spindles, it usually meant death. But if you were magical, you disappeared- slept, or dreamed, elsewhere, while the Seelie siphoned away the magic that made you.”

That was- “But my magic stayed intact,” Cassian said, “It never changed.”

“Nope,” Nesta said, sharp and happy. And slammed on the brakes.

While Cassian had been unable to look away from her, they’d changed places more. The magic road turned real, Nesta somehow driven them straight to the coastline.

“I thought we could use a detour,” Nesta said, but from the way her eyes wouldn’t stop moving over his face, Cassian didn’t think that was actually what she meant.

He followed her out to the sand, couldn’t help the small chuckle as she plopped right down onto the cold ground, hair whipping in the wind.

The arm she let him tuck around her pale shoulders almost made him laugh outright, sprawling beside her. Cassian took a deep breath, for second all wolf- salt and sea, bracken and wet sand. And in the center of it all Nesta, smelling like fire and his touch.

He bumped her shoulder lightly, grinning. “You brought me to a beach.”

Nesta had to twist to meet his eyes. “You took me to dinner, first.”

Overhead seagulls screamed of an oncoming storm, but the sky had nothing on the light in her eyes. “And you took me dancing, at the only bar in New York where we could actually get drunk.”

Nesta smiled. “I did, didn’t I?” She’d grabbed a handful of his sweater when she turned, the weight of her hand on his stomach some kind of wonderful torture.

Rather than kiss her- because if he kissed her right now, Cassian had no idea if he’d ever stop- he dragged Nesta even closer. She turned her face into his shoulder, laughing.

For a long time, neither spoke.

Nesta seemed completely content to lean on him and watch the ocean. There was no pretending that simple action didn’t make his heart swell in his chest. The third time, however, that the wind flipped her hair in his face, Cassian started idly braiding it back.

“So,” He began, fishtailing together soft locks, “No one who touched the spindle ever found love?”

It seemed infinitely sad, but also- impossible? If rules were set, magic had to obey them. Most of the time, at least.

“Mhmm,” Nesta replied at first. She was nuzzling his neck, her scent so warm and happy that Cassian almost regretted asking. “Not quite.”

She sat back, pulling her legs under her to kneel facing him. “When faeries say true love, they don’t mean what humans or even most magical creatures do.”

The sky rumbled, and the ocean sang its soothing song. But Cassian got it a moment before she said it, pure unadulterated adrenaline crashing through him. A burn- a promise.

“It’s the rarest thing in the world, a soul bond.”

He stopped breathing. With cold, shaking hands, Cassian cupped her face. It took a few tries to get the words out. “Nesta- Nesta- we’re soulmates?”

And she smiled back, not a sharp edge in sight.

“Fuck,” Cassian breathed, uncaring as the wind kicked up around them, as soft drops began to fall. “I’ve been trying to think of a way to tell you that you’re my mate- that I’m- but you’re my soulmate.”

“Soulbonded,” Nesta corrected, with a watery laugh. “With the red string of fate. There’s no life where we haven’t met. Our bones are the same stardust, our magic the same alchemy.”

Cassian stopped pretending the only wetness on his face was the rain.

He’d lost his father and then his mother. His oldest brother hadn’t known he’d existed for his first century of life. His entire pack, ripped from his soul. Had grown up close enough to humans to know what fear looked like on their faces, and for a long time, fought alongside his brother just to have a safe place in the world.

But he had a soulmate.

Cassian lurched forward until his forehead touched Nesta’s. He didn’t have the words for what he was feeling, only that he was so god damn lucky. The tears were coming in earnest, silent and embarrassing, but Nesta held him tight as the storm crashed in.

Finally, saltwater on her lips, Nesta murmured. “Precioso lobo.” His heart wasn’t made to contain this much happiness. “Do you know I always hated dating? It was always too much, or not enough.”

Cassian laughed, low and abbreviated. “And left a trail of broken hearts behind you, probably.”

“I’m sorry,” Nesta shot back, close and dripping and perfect, “There is no way in hell you learned to dance like that without many partners.”

He laughed for real that time, the noise too big for the precious space between them. “That’s true,” Cassian admitted, “But I started learning from my mom.”

The light in Nesta’s eyes flared, wicked. “That makes sense,” She said, utterly serious before sliding into a laugh, “Since she taught me to speak Spanish when I was four.”

“Oh my god,” Cassian grumbled. He was too happy to be truly embarrassed, but some part of him was. That explained entirely why Nesta’s accent reached right out for his heartstrings and pulled.

He buried his face in her neck.

Slowly, Nesta’s hands reached to card through his hair, hesitant. “I think,” She said, voice nearly swallowed by the ocean, “She wanted to make sure that when I said what mattered, it would feel real.”

Nesta was more than real- a dream, a gift. But Cassian thought of every word he wanted to give her- love, love, love; mi vida, mi corazon, the best parts of himself.

The rain began to pour down, dripping from Nesta’s face onto his.

He pulled back to meet her eyes. “Fate was always on our side.”

She breathed half a laugh. “Always is,” Nesta purred, before jumping to her feet.

And then she was running through the downpour, down the beach and back to car. It took half a second to rise and follow, her laugh cutting through the thunder as Cassian gave chase.

She cheated of course, magically traveling ahead when he got too close.

But when Cassian slid into the car to find her laughing- soaking wet, beautiful- it didn’t matter.

He had Nesta Acheron by his side, and he’d remain there for the rest of his life.

@bon-bon-salvatore @strangeenemy @sannelovesreading @maddieimhot @ladyvanserra @rhysand-darling @empress-ofbloodshed @highfaenesta @marianaftm @illyrianinterrasen @tntwme @the-smoldering-illyrian-beauty @jahelyden @sjmasstrash @sunsummoner @rairrai @rhysanoodle @a-trifling-matter @eastside-divebar @skychild29 @happy-smiling-things @missanniewhimsy @abillionlittlepieces @poisonous00 @macomafastraash @vampwitchel @symwinter @acotarfanfic @rapunzel1523 @the-regal-warrior @wolffrising @tswaney17 @they-call-me-cuatro @queenofillea1 @neverlandoftimespacefuckery @dayanna-hatter @mastercommandercaptain @vidalinav @mindnumbmikey @wewhohavefailed @city-of-fae @rhysanddarlingfeyre @fucking-winchester-trash @lordof-bloodshed @firemadeofgirl

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transindia · 5 years ago

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A day in the trans closet...

When you're a trans person in the closet, life is pretty much on edge at all times. Being outed is THE constantly threat you have to live with 24x7, and in certain locations it can be a matter of life and death. Apart from the constant incongruence you have with your mind, body, and expression, you have the weight of 'hiding the evidence' before someone finds out something up. There is only so much luck and quick thinking can do and I am often amazed at how I had kept this side of me so secretive for so long. Close shaves, I've had a plenty. . I had started to embrace my real self even before I hit puberty. You just can not imagine how aware kids are about themselves. It's freaky to think I knew something was "off" from the earliest memories I have. The only problem: I did not have the terms to define it, nor did I have anybody I could talk to. But I was well tuned to my surroundings and knew best to keep it to myself (unsuccessfully a lot of times). . As a kid trying to explore my gender, I remember dressing down to be the hardest part. It would always be a race against time. Mom and dad are out for a few hours, and I have to clear the "evidence" before they get back. If anything is out of place, I'm busted. If something is missing, I'm busted. I took every precaution, but I had to think of 'what-if' scenarios and keep multiple troubleshooting options at the ready. I still preferred to live in the shadows for my own safety back then. . Though the reflection in the mirror screams 'don't leave', I roughly have 20 mins to cruelly erase my identity. I always felt wrong about taking things that did not belong to me. I felt like a thief, working in the shadows. Dad's crisp 'jhabba' (a traditional white cotton Kurta) that I used to repurpose as a skirt has to be kept back on his chair. The clothes I "borrowed" from my mom's wardrobe have to be folded and kept just as they were (I'd make sketches and diagrams about the strategic location of garments in mom's wardrobe just to be sure everything was in place). The watercolour pallette which was my first "makeup" ever has to go back in the secret drawer, along with the liquid foundation my cousin left behind that I'd been using for a year. The clip-on hoop earrings I made by bending u-clips have to be trashed along with other DIY jewellery (including origami tiaras). The black shorts which served as a wig have to go back in the wardrobe. I'd have to make sure every pore of my face is cleansed with weird smelling Johnson and Johnson baby oil (couldn't afford makeup remover). I have to ensure no makeup stains are left on switches, mirrors, door handles, and other furniture. That’s the easy part. Then it's all about suppressing the rage that I HAVE TO do this. Not get sad. Pretend like everything is normal. Get ready to lie out of my teeth. Feel guilty. Feel horrible. Live in dread. Check if things are in place again. Recheck. Obsess over those 'what-if' scenarios. Lose mind. Obsess some more. Check again. Wait, I almost forgot to keep this bac....TING TONG! . Cut to: next day. No anomalies detected by caregivers. She lives to sass things up another day. Phew!

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romanovcain · 6 years ago

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( BILL SKARSGÅRD, MALE, HE/HIM ) I, CAIN ROMANOV am a LEGACY student and would hereby like to submit my application to Kingswood Boarding School. I am EIGHTEEN years old and will be a SENIOR I would describe myself as RIGHTEOUS and AMBITIOUS, but also AVOIDANT and UNTRUSTING which I plan to work on during my time here. This is my request to join the HENRY building as a house MEMBER and look forward to hearing back from you. [ jimbo, 19, est ;)]

hi this is cain and i love him treat him nicely ok thanks

tw: cults, abuse, heroin, weird religion shit

son of vaughn and adelaide romanov

vaughn being one of the senators of the state [whichever one that kingswood is located in] and his wife being a huge contributor to charity work over the years

adelaide was born and raised in england to a very, very, noble family and still keeps in close contact to them--often visiting them with the children

cain is the eldest of five children and always had a strong sense of duty to protect his younger siblings from harm’s way

the only one allowed to bully them is cain himself

right off the bat, cain could do no wrong. he was a perfect child who never threw tantrums or tracked mud throughout the house--he was obedient and had a great deal of respect for his parents and their reputations

they practically grew up down the street from kingswood, and he had always known he was going to attend the school. it was in his blood, both lines, and cain strove to never disappoint

being of such high status did, admittedly, give cain too much of an ego

he wasn’t boastful about his family, but he did give off an almost untouchable air

he either acknowledged you, or ignored you completely. often decided on who your parents were

at kingswood he was practically their golden child; the poster child.

he was respectful and charming, his smile could get him free of a month’s worth of detention, and he never let himself get into any bad publicity

he was part of several clubs, and was the star jumper on the track team

his presence at kingswood was known, and it was that simple. either you knew of him, or you wish he knew you

he was elitist and didn’t acknowledge those he considered ‘less than’ him; scholarship students, henry boys and victoria girls--anybody who would tarnish the reputation he had from birth was a no-go

he never sought out problems, himself, having always avoided unneeded conflict

that being said--when there was needed conflict, he wasn’t afraid to have it...handled

his best friend died sophomore year and it affected him pretty badly, though he would have never showed it

if anything, he became colder--if that was even possible. he was practically the ice king.

he went into senior year as head of edward house, the president of student gov, along with a member of several other clubs, and captain of the track team.

and months later; on january 1st, 2018--cain disappeared

nobody knew where he had gone; it sent the nation into a panic.

months long search hunts, constant activity checks on his cards and phone, national broadcasting of his information. radio silence.

cain was, not dead--but seemed like it

in reality, he had given up his life of luxury to pursue what he thought was a new beginning

his recruiters were carefree children of god; who believed wealth was the root of all evil, and that those corrupted by capitalism had to be saved

they were part of a much, much, larger cult--with many, many more followers

they met cain by coincidence; small talk in a bank. they knew who he was; everybody knew who cain romanov was.

the fact his name was cain, was a message from god

they had to have him

they managed to impress cain with their intensive knowledge of life, and from there they had stayed in contact

right until january 1st, when cain was ‘initiated’ into their cult

the new year symbolized new lives, and they stripped him of his sins.

it was fine, at first. cain enjoyed the simplicity of their lives and didn’t particularly mind the worship--he had grown up religious

they were minimalist, and didn’t want cain to own any personal belongings, but he managed to hide a secret journal inside his mattress.

it was at first, just something to record his days with, or write letters to the people he missed, despite the fact he could never send them

it soon proved to be his means of survival

as the months passed by, cain was finding it harder to please his new family. they wanted more out of him. they wanted him to bless them, but he was just a boy

he was just a boy.

they found reasons to punish cain, no matter how small the error--he was punished

they involved him being grabbed at and tugged at, dozens of hands pulling at his limbs and clothes and begging him--chanting at him--to repent, until he did so

other times, they’d cleanse him via baptism, repeatedly, until water nearly filled his lungs

one of the worst things they did, were their attempts to subdue him and force him to conform back into their ways. everyday, they’d inject him with a small dose of heroin

this action led to cain’s eventual memory loss; his memory became fuzzed, shattered, only pieces and bits of his previous life left behind

but his journals reminded him of what he used to have. even if he didn’t remember it fully himself, he could read his own words and know that no matter what was going on--it was not right. and he had to get out.

he let the cult thing he was conforming, for a few months after that--to just, avoid the punishments.

it worked for a while, up until new years eve.

he had done something, unworthy to their god, and he was to pay in a terrible way.

they held him down, and attempted to brand cain with--well, the mark of cain

he bit them whenever they tried to come near his head, so they settled with his chest--right over his heart

at their cleansing ritual, that was when cain made his escape--running through woods and woods and woods until he collapsed in the middle of the highway, nearly causing an accident

it was soon reported, on january 1st, 2019, that cain romanov had been found

despite having been, running for hours, and extremely dirty--cain had been forced to recount to the police exactly where he had gone, what he had endured.

he broke down several times, sobbing, though it is a fact he keeps strictly to himself

and just like that--he was taken home.

the family reunion was....tough. some of his family had accepted the fact he was dead, others had always known he was still alive, somehow.

regardless, it was all very emotional.

despite how emotional, it was, every time somebody went to hug him, or shake his hand, or anything--he’d back away, cringe, with a repulsed look on his face

it was an extremely quick decision, but after a brief amount of thought--both kingswood and his parents thought it would be good for publicity if he finished the school year he never got to see--enrolling him for his senior year. again.

his father took advantage of the heartfelt reunion, and took the chance to announce his campaign for presidency--in name of his found son, who gave him hope once more. or some other bullshit.

cain is not the boy he was previously. he is much more reserved, yet not nearly as elite as before. he doesn’t give a shit where somebody came from. he just wants to finish his year and go about his life again

suffers from pstd and goes to therapy once a week; he still journals because his therapist told him too

also took up sketching (often, abstract portraits) as a way to help him think, or process, or cope. it was a method of healing.

looking at his old journals helps him with recognizing people, but he doesn’t really remember them

he doesn’t remember too much of his time at kingswood, and is struggling. it’s weird to know he meant so much to specific people, even though he has no memory of them anymore

he’s gradually regaining his memory, but is also dealing with heroin withdrawals. after all, they had been forcing it into his system everyday

he cant stand being touched, contact with others repulses him and often triggers flashbacks to the cult

he has no interest in any of his former positions, choosing to focus on schoolwork.

there’s probably more that i forgot tbh

EDIT: the police found the recruiters of the cult, but not the entire ordeal. cain is obsessed with the investigation, and follows it extremely closely. if anything, he’s creating his own mini investigation in following.

wanted connections !!!

past connections, mainly

old friends

ex-relationships

people he should really remember but doesn’t

he was an idol for many, and was notorious around the school. if theyve been at kingswood for a while, there is a huge chance they knew of him

god i dont know

just. give me angst. he doesn’t remember a lot about others.

#kings:intro #i know its a lot im sorry dfghj

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inspirehellfire · 6 years ago

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I like to start off my Yule/Solstice with some heavy duty cleaning and cleansing and I didn't think I was going to be up to it today after my long ass day in Retail Hell.

Luckily, my boyfriend is one of the greatest human beings ever and decided to do laundry for me today so I had time to relax to myself, and while I didn't do the perfect job I wanted to... I did a lot. And I'm very happy with it. I lit the fuck outta some candles, opened a few windows and plugged in the Christmas lights and listened to some Glass Animals and just got into a really good headspace. As soon as I left that headspace and started to get frustrated and nit-picky I was able to easily step away without getting overwhelmed or frustrated and watched Lucifer while I did a quick sketch for the first time in years.

I kinda lost track of what I was trying to say here. X) I'm just... happy, and hoping all my followers have a wonderful solstice/ Yule/Christmas/Whatever upcoming celebration you celebrate, and may the new year give you all the happiness and contentment I'm starting to find in my own life.

#personal #yule #solstice

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a-byronic-heroine · 3 years ago

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Kly took the bottle in her ink stained hands, sighing shakily as she calmed from the sudden scare. She leaned into Eskel’s touch as his hand trailed down her back, rubbing the tense muscles along her spine. She wanted nothing more than to collapse into him and just be held. She was tired, she was scared, she was worried. She felt like she did back in Tir na Lia, helpless to do anything but tread water to keep her nose barely above the waves. Instead of doing what she wanted to though, she turned and worked to finish the sketches. It was quick work and it would be done soon enough. As she finished the diagrams, she heard Eskel speak. She looked at him where he was staring at Crevan with no small amount of skepticism. He lacked many physical traits of the proud Aen Elle men. He was too short and thin. Something he received no small amount of derision for. But what he lacked physically he more than made up for in other ways.

“He’s far more powerful than he looks. He was hand selected to father children of the Elder Blood. Only Auberon was more magically gifted than him in all our species. Imagine the strongest, most cruel human sorceress you know and couple that with the Emperor of Nilfgaard. You’ll begin to understand exactly what he is,” she said darkly as she blew on the drying ink of the final diagram page. “He has orchestrated every ethnic cleansing our people have gone through. Any genocide we commit against another species, he creates and controls. There isn’t a thought in the mind of the common Aen Elle that he doesn’t manipulate, all from the shadows where he can’t be touched.” She scowled at Crevan where he slept, her fists clenched. Every time she looked at him she wanted to kill him. Boil him alive with his own blood. “He had is claws so deep in Auberon. He controlled everything when I was forced to marry and become Queen. But then I had control of illusions. Auberon enjoyed the escape from life I provided, and so Crevan lost some of his control. That’s when the assassination attempts started.

“He used Ziraeal to draw Auberon back into his clutches. He had the entire High Council eating out of his hand with a promise of a return to glory. A way to escape the White Frost.” She looked at the quill in her shaking hand. She wanted to drive it into his eyes, jam it under his finger and toenails and pull them out while he writhed and screamed for her mercy. “He saw I was against it and used that. He would get rid of Auberon and put a more compliant puppet on the throne, and he’d blame either myself or that fool Eredin for the entire thing.” She wanted to scream at how trapped she felt again. Locked in this awful stalemate where no one but her seemed to understand the danger of letting this bastard live. It was happening all over again, but it was worse now. Now she had someone to lose. Eskel. He would no doubt be swept up in the chaos and destruction that followed Crevan’s every step. She felt helpless.

She took a deep breath to try and calm herself. She motioned to the journal below her before shutting it now that the ink had dried. “That’s why I’m taking down these sketches. The tattoos are a closely guarded secret of Aen Saevherne that pass their tests. I think they better channel magic in areas where it’s concentration is low. It would explain why he was able to so easily conjure powerful magic here. I’ll need to study it further though before I can be sure.”

@wanderingwolfwitcher asked: [BEHIND]

[ BEHIND ] : unexpectedly, your muse arrives close to mine from behind, taking them by surprise.

Kly was standing over Crevan’s weakling form where he was still strapped to that ridiculous bench. She had warned Eskel and his brother to leave the misfired curse in place, but no. Geralt and Yennefer thought it was Ciri trapped in that ugly little meat sack. She refused to aid them in their attempts to break the spell. It would’ve been easy for her to do it, but she wasn’t about to help the Fox who had seen fit to torment her for so many years. The same Fox whose fault it was that she was trapped here. Now it was she that had superiority over him. He was sniveling there, shuddering and tossing and turning in pain. His insides were shredded mush and would likely remain that way for the rest of his miserable existence. Good. It was what he deserved for putting her through this.

She glared at his face in the dying firelight. Everyone else was asleep, likely exhausted from undoing the curse. And Geralt claimed he was going to find Zireael. That, too, she argued vehemently against. But to no avail. He would likely leave in the morning. How easy it would be, she thought to herself, for her to reach out and gouge his eyes from their sockets. To rip his venomous tongue out of his smug mouth. To crush his conniving skull under her boot heel.

Instead, she ripped the blanket placed over him off, letting it flutter to the floor. He was in nothing save poorly fitted undergarments. But now she could see what she needed. The tattoos of the Aen Saevherne. They were a closely guarded secret. One that few could interpret. He was covered in them, and they reacted to her magic when she reached out and probed at them. She withdrew and grabbed a candle, lighting it and dragging out a large leatherbound journal with empty pages. She began sketching the tattoos out in diagrams. She was on her second candle and the last bits of the tattoos when she felt a heavy hand on her shoulder.

She jerked, nearly dropping the quill pen. She did knock over her ink bottle as she whirled around to face whoever it was, but it was already nearing emptiness. A blade formed in her hand as she turned on her “assailant”, only to be met with a familiar face. She sagged and finally looked down at the overturned bottle, the blade disappearing as soon as it had appeared. “You startled me,” she snapped. She’d been jumpy ever since that sorceress just appeared and started making demands. The first day they met they had nearly brought Kaer Morhen down on top of all of them. Her edginess was only made worse when Geralt strode in with Crevan under his arm, all warted and deformed.

#wanderingwolfwitcher #witcher verse (interactions)

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honey-booty-chips-blog · 7 years ago

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TATTOO ARTIST MC HEADCANON + SAERAN

YESTHIS IS,, SO GOODthis will take place before the main plot of mystic messenger!

you were kind of weirded out by saeran when he first entered your tattoo parlor

he gave off a sketchy vibe

he didn’t talk much but the sketch of an eyeball he showed you was pretty simple and with no shading or intense details, the pain wouldn’t be too bad

you got to work pretty quickly and asked about the meaning as you began

HE BEGAN TO TALK A LOT

“yes. it is symbolic of the goal to end suffering and attain eternal life.”

……. what in the fresh fuck

or should you say

what in salvation

“this world is impure. it is up to use to cleanse it. it is up to us to save it.”

he went on for a really long time about paradise??????

you wanted to laugh but you also wanted to call the police

but luckily the session was fairly quick and—

FUCK HE’S BACK

it had only been 2 weeks but he already wanted to add around the tattoo you gave him

you avoided any and all conversation but he certainly didn’t

you almost slipped up when he started to speak

“this design represents reaching out. offering our help.”

……… uh. it’s just a fancy line but ok

“is that really what it means?”

“y-yes”

“ah. i see. you know, i’d… i’d like to make myself believe that planet earth turns slowly”

his eyes (holy shit is he wearing contacts) lit up

“that’s what our organization is all about!”

you smiled and you suddenly weren’t as freaked out by this guy anymore

he was back again in another 2 weeks with another detail he wanted

except this tattoo didn’t symbolize anything and he didn’t mention that cult once

he asked what you liked to do, what music you listened to, what genres of movies you enjoyed, and—

IF YOU WERE FREE THAT SATURDAY

oh. my god,,

he was blushing and actually he was really cute and wow ok alright wHOA

you both enjoyed your ice cream date that week

and the next week

and the week after that

you guys would definitely get matching tattoos after mint eye was disbanded!~ admin c & admin e

#mystic messenger #mystic messenger headcanons #unknown #saeran choi

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pixelatedlenses · 8 years ago

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So let me introduce myself. Im living in mainland Japan currently, serving a three year contract in the Marine Corps. My major is east Asia studies with a focus in culture.The requirements just say you need s bachelors degree. I know business majors who are in the program. What do u get out of it--that you can take back to the states?

I hope you don’t mind that I answered this publicly,but this is something that I want to share with everyone, largely because of myperson answer. If you would like it private, I’ll forward this entire messageto you via email or PM, and delete it. Just let me know: it’s your question andanswer, after all.

(Forgive me in advance because this is like a 9 pagereply. Feel free to ask for clarification or further details though!)

Let me introduce myself also: I’m Mercedez, a 24 yearold ALT living in Fukushima City, Fukushima, Japan. I like sewing, video games,sketching, and laughing. I listen to lots of podcasts, speak English and Japanand am learning Korean and want to relearn Mandarin and add in Russian, Hawaiianand definitely Esperanto.

And I love my job as an ALT.

I want to assure you about the degrees: I have twodegrees: my BA is in History with a focus in East Asia, and my MA is in Historyand Museum Studies. Both of these are far away from the majority of BusinessMajors I’ve met, though there’s a few of us –the Few, the Proud– Fine Arts andHumanities folks here too. I had them because I did both back to back, butyeah, all you need is a BA in any field.You could do something focused on Asia, or Japan, but you could also be aComputers major and get in. That’s not a make-it-or-break-it thing: you justneed a degree.

Coming in with that background –I typically focus inJapan from the 1980s to current, with a heavy emphasis on Women’s Culture interms of music, fashion, heritage, and feminism, though I want to expand a similarrange of 1970 to current to South Korea, but that beside the point– means thatI was coming here to emphasis the Ein JET: a cultural exchange where I learned and stopped being a teacher, andbecame student to an entire nation.

So the easy answer is that there’s a lot you can takeback. There’s a bicultural identity, there’s an openness to that comes frombeing explicitly Foreign too: you gain a lot of understanding and sympathy towhat you have, and what another culture functions as. I think that can be lifechanging and a solution to the social-cultural climate our world’s in right now:understanding.

(You also get lots of American men looking for a wifein a way that smacks of Yellow Fever fetishism. Sigh.)

The long answer is more personal, and will deal withwhat I think I’ll be taking home. Let’s go with that reply.

So I came here with a broad goal: learn about Japan.I’ve spent about 6 years –and probably almost all 52,560 hours of those years–focused on studying Japan. I cut my teeth on breaking the very prejudicedstereotypes I had of Japan in my early years of college, then went on to writeabout yukata and Japanese women’sculture and heritage in my MA. I wanted to carry on learning and breaking downwhat I had thought Japan should be orwas. I wanted to learn what the reality is currently. That seemed to bea positive way to

Now I can say that’s change, and I have three majorthings I want to take home

Number One: Community and Communal Effort

Community is a big part of Japan’s social-culturalidentity.

“The stake that stands out gets pounded down” –ugh, Iprobably messed that all up, but Ibelieve that’s close– is a phrase for a reason: standing out, being aberrant, makingtrouble or being different alter social dynamic, and can break harmony andcause issue .That can certainly be difficult to navigate, and at large,something I don’t always agree with as a way to handle social issues, but tuckbetween is a deep sense of community, a “we’re all in this together” vibe thatI –as an outside– really appreciate.

I don’t think I’m a part of a lot of communities. I’man American, sure, but I’ve never really fit in with the “Black community”, the“nerd community” can be grating, the “cosplay community” differs wildly inAmerica and Japan and can have the same issue as nerds –American, not Japan– andthough I have friends and that’s acommunity, I’m not so quick to call it that because it feels markedly differentto me. They’re my community but more, if you get what I mean.

However, the community of Fukushima City is certainlythe kind of community I’m focusing on: tight-knit, strong, and supportive.

Now, this may be because of a lot of reasons: location,proximity to others, culture, 3.11 certainly, but it goes farther back anddeeper than the disaster and really takes from both culture and manner. There’sa sense of support from folks in Tohoku, though I believe Tohoku is one of thebest, and kindest, regions in Japan. There’s a lot of smiles, lots of kindness,and helping hands: not always from obligation, but just from good folks beinggood.

America still has communities, of course, but I thinknot quite so much: the proverbial village to raise the child now criticizes themother, and the support systems that used to be in place to help in times ofneed are being decreased due to budget cuts and a desire for privatization.Because money and community have become exchangeable, a lot of groups suffer.Grassroots takes funds to start, community centers need funds for repairs, andit costs to join groups. It’s hard, especially in a time where it seems you can’ttrust your neighbour. Communities are very, very necessary, and having good,strong communities, more so.

Certainly you can find this in Japan, but you canalso find the free support of others.

I think that this is so important to me to rebuild ina similar manner because I like the friendliness of communities. I will admitthat I think millennials –my people, in fact– are onto the kind of communitiesI see here: support networks of people who see you, acknowledge you, and arethere for you. There’s a lot of love, a lot of “no problem” concern abouthelping others when you can, and that shows promise that my work and the workof thousands of others to help bring back community in a supportive, freelygiven sense is being realized.

Community is what we need in hard times, and theseare some pretty hard times. Seeing friendly faces, having people help me moveand make my way through Fukushima City, bolsters my and reminds me to pass onthat bit of kindness. Every bit I get is a sweet morsel: it makes me soft,gives me space to be kind and express kindness. It’s a really great thing thatI feel America just needs to be remindedof again: after all, there’s communities there, they just need to be given asimilar space.

Number Two: Festivals

I love festivals.

Give me a reason to eat some grilled meat andcelebrate something and I’m there, 500 yen coins in hand.

Fukushima City has no shortage either: we’re justaround the corner from the season of festivals, which in the prefecture, seemsto extend from Spring to Early Winter, starting back up in February all again.

Certainly, America has festivals, but they’re almosta folksy thing: they’re rustic, rural and barely suburban events, and if they’renot something national like a parade or a state affair, are usually overlookedoutside of communities in the immediate area.

I want festivals to be mainstream, to be enjoyable,powerful celebrations of cultural heritage and a united place. I want to seefestivals that introduce culture in a way that gives a platform, but also helpsto continue positive change. Rather, I want to see those festivals that alreadyoccur in the vein given a bigger, more national platform.

I feel like I’ve learned a lot from Fukushima Cityjust from festivals: local specialties like shamon chicken from the Chicken Festivalin Kawamata, Fukushima; a strong Argentinean presence and cultural exchangefrom Cosquin en Japon; fighting spirit from Hachiman; respect for those whocame before me and protect me from Obon matsuri. These were really valuemoments that let me have the chance to engage respectfully with a culture, andunderstand a region.

I want there to be more of a festival and culturalcelebration in America, more than there already is. I want to see peoplevividly showcasing “This is me!” to everyone, because I think that willcontinue to bring understanding. I think that without understanding, America isonly going to continue to decline as it is right now.

But all Americans understand festivals, drinks, andfood: I think having a festival culture will allow education under the guise ofgrilled meats, good alcohol, and music.

Fun is a very powerful cure for ignorance: Icertainly found myself learning with every event. I had never considered thatJapanese persons might speak Spanish and perform in Cosquin en Japon’s musicalshowcase. I’d never considered Obon being a celebration and not a solemn event.Those changes of my mind changed me and helped me to understand different partsof Japan. Certainly the country is mostly Japanese people, but they’re notquite as homogenous as we encourage in America. There’s a lot of diversity ofthought and cultural sharing.

That’s super what counts.

Number Three: Food Culture and Sharing

Oh man, I love food. Like, I love food. I’m thinkingabout my lunch bento –I ordered it so I can eat with the librarian and mysupervisor today because they’re my girls and I love them both– and it’s onlylike… 9.

Food is good: it’s necessary, but cleansing, comesfrom hard work or deep friers, feels good, heals good, and makes you want tostrive for good. It’s just good.

So I feel this is best explained through a long, windinganecdote. Here goes.

When I first came, my American manners really stoodout: I wouldn’t eat until everyone got their food, I declined

But I wanted to, desperately: I wanted to sampleevery time someone offered, but it just felt bad. I was paying for only my meal, and these people –not friends,but simple co-workers and more mildly, acquaintances– weren’t. It would havebeen wrong to take a fair portion and still pay my 1000 yen for my meal only.It’s hard to describe why: I think it’s just how I grew up. Strange, because weshare food in mass, but there’s something about the “Mine” culture of Americathat makes it incredibly hard to do otherwise.

It took me months to break this habit of course: I’donly share at events where the food was meant to be shared family style, but Ithink around December, I finally gave inand said, “Yeah, I wanna taste that!” when someone offered me from their plate.I shared back and realized, yeah, this is okay. I won’t say that I’m a sharingfood now, but I will say that when I last went for Mexican, I share everything fromenchiladas to fajitas, a plate of nachos, some sides: save for my drink, we allshared everything, and just went at the bill in thirds.

I want more food sharing in America like this, notjust with family or at events or family style resturants. I want to be able toshare from each other’s plates and not feel a really strong sense of “Mine!”all the time. Certainly, there’s times where I want that one dish to be mine,but I like that there’s a comfort in sharing food with each other, in tryinglots of different things. It’s friendly and cozy, and definitely something Iwant to invite more Americans to do.

Plus, who doesn’t love eating lots of differentthings?

Number Four: The Art of Getting Lost

I chose to end this lengthy read on this because Ithink that in America, there’s a lack of getting lost for the sake of gettinglost.

We’re a busy culture: even as someone who loved logndrives, it became incredibly hard for me to indulge in grad school. Gas was acost, time was needed elsewhere, and so I cut back on journeying down littlelanes or dirt roads and went directly where I needed to and back to myapartment.

As I sit here, thinking of a train ride to somewhere,I think about the fact that Japanese culture allows for a lot of aimlessexploration via trains and buses. Being a small country, trains and buses arevery efficient, running often enough that unless it’s super late, you canalways get back to a main station or area.

I think there’s a kind of quiet beauty in that: yougo on an adventure to get away, and find your center again and feel mentallyclean. I find that here, I’m encouraged and given space to do that again:explore, get lost in a small town or big city, and come back to what needsdoing refreshed.

I think that there’s a lot of trips in America, butthere’s always stress with them. Mind, I know and recognize that Japanesepeople also stress: not all their trips are Studio Ghibli stereotypes. Sometimestrips are just stressful, even amidst having fun.

But I do think that Japanese culture’s harmony, whena positive attribute and not a way to keep peace over dealing with conflict,can be a really powerful blessing.

I won’t lie and say that I haven’t had a stressfultrip here: my Tokyo trip included the stress of over half a million people atComiket’s venue, which would honestly stress anyone. I will say that I do feellike I can remove myself pretty well and just enjoy, and that’s superimportant. Certainly it’s not perfect here, but I do feel that my more remotetrips force my mind only to the trip, and that’s a great reward.

Perhaps in America, in the rush of things, we steppedaway from that. I think a step back into separating and compartmentalizing ourlives for Fun and Work would be nice. Enjoyment is just as good as Hard Work,after all. I do see a lot of phones checking emails on trips, common in bothAmerican and Japan, but I think trips are just culturally different here, and Iwant them to return back to that same division in the states.

(I want to interject that a lot of this is alsocoming from the privilege of not being Japanese or perceived as ethnicallyAsian. I’m given a lot of leeway because I’m distinctly Foreign Coded, so myexperiences of being able to do unique things and adventure are because I’m notbound to Japanese culture or socio-cultural standards. I can leave work earlyand go to a bathhouse. I can take days off to go on trips to nowhere. My co-workersmay want to do that, but are a lot more bound. I think that’s always important toremember that my privilege as a Cool Foreign comes with the knowledge not tomisuse that and instead, help bridge a friendship between two nations.)

Everything I’m taking back is very cultural: it’sreminding America of how to be kind, of how to enjoy the diversity we have inour nation, of how to respect and celebrate Us. Certainly, I hope to take backways to change the mindset of Japanese persons, ways to celebrate women’sculture and advance the clock on how we perceive Japanese feminism in comparisonto Western displays of feminism. That work’s super important.

But I think remembering who we are –a nation of kindhearts, hard workers, folks who like good food and music, and a nation of opportunityfor all to find their happiness in a powerful, gentle way– is just as importanttoo.

tl;dr: This turned into an essay completely by accident, but I thinkit’s important to answer your question. These are my reasons, my things, that Iwant to take and share in America. I hope this all made sense, and hey, feelfree to stuff that inbox with even more questions.

#yamaguchi-hibiscus #asks #replies #jet program #cultural exchange #jet #alt #japan

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breelandwalker · 8 years ago

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Hey there! Looking for advice for moving to a new place, is there any thing I can do as sort of an offering to the new space? I feel like I could be doing something other than burning sage and envisioning warm light if that makes sense..

That’s a good start!

In my experience, one of the most important things to do when setting up in a new home is to claim the space. This can be done with the aforementioned smoke-cleansing (make sure you open the windows, that stuff can fill up a room in a hurry) or with visualization.

Also, quick pro-tip: If you don’t happen to have White Sage, please consider alternatives before buying more, as the plant is becoming endangered from overharvesting. Green Sage, Sweet Basil, Rosemary, and Cedar all work just as well. (If you already have White Sage among your supplies, go ahead and use it. No sense letting it go to waste!)

You may also wish to walk around the place, physically and verbally proclaiming that this is now your home and you will protect and care for it, and that anything unfriendly should leave. This is a witchy way of airing the place out, so to speak, and it will help dislodge stale or stagnant leftover stuff from previous occupants and allow you to put your own influences in place more easily.

I find that it’s helpful to cast any household protections you want in place full-time as you’re doing this walk-through or shortly thereafter. Put your stamp on the place; you’re going to be living there, so mark your territory and make it your own.

If you happen to have any protective talismans or sigils that you’re partial to, these can also be placed around the home as part of the space-claiming or protection rituals. I’ve heard of some witches who sketch their protective markings on the walls before painting, and some others (like myself) who mark them in chalk over doorways and windows and such.

If you have any patron deities or if you work with household helpers or Fae or land spirits, a quick gift of candy or fruit or milk or alcohol is always nice. If you have a property where there are trees, go and pour some water over their roots. If you have an altar, leave out a small offering. It’s a great way to open up a channel for possible partnerships later on. (I always leave out a bowl of trail mix and jellybeans for our household sprites.)

Hope this helps! :)

#thecrowandcauldron #witchcraft #protection magic #Bree answers your inquiries

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renejamesart · 5 years ago

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Burnish Angels

Oh pitiful human, caught in our inferno Oh stagnant spirit, locked from communion with the Earth

May the white-hot fire of the burning souls of the infernal heavenly maidens strike down upon you blazing vengeance and furious anger

Melt your loathsome heart and cleanse yourself by our righteous flames! Burn up, motherfucker!

This past Friday, I saw Promare, which will probably be the best movie I saw this year, outside of Spider-verse. It’s just... so, so good, and was such an optomistic film that left me wanting to race through the streets and believe in the innate power of thoughtfully reckless kindness.

While a lot of fans -including myself- noticed the underlying vibes of Gurren Lagann and Kill la Kill, I was struck by the intense Panty & Stocking with Garterbelt vibe I got from the film. Colorwise, and especially with Mad Burnish, Trigger pulls on this very raunchy series -in a family-friendly and quite queer film- and really it really stayed with me.

About ten minutes into my viewing, I was hit with the desire to draw Panty & Stocking Anarchy as Mad Burnish with full on armor. These were my quick sketches: I pulled elements from the character, including the fact that they’re angels. (You can see that on their ankles.)

For Panty, I went with a rounded rabbit theme. In PSG, Panty has a lot of angles: I decided to swap that with Stocking, who has a much more round shape, and added the bunny motif because, well... Panty is quite sexual, and rabbits tend to be associated with sex.

For Stocking, I went with a cat theme because of her stuffed anime, Honeko. I also made her much more angular, and used the sleeves of her shirt for general inspiration.

Together, they’re the terror of the city: two angels able to harness the wicked power of fire, and two angels who aren’t afriad to light it up!

I also really tried to pull on the saturated colors of the film, and I have to say that for my first time creating in Procreate, I really, really love how these turned out. I feel like you can tell that I pulled on the Anarchy Sisters base designs too: the colors are from their typical outfits, with touches added here and there to stylize them.

All in all... I’m just like super proud of this: it came out really, really good!

I really hope to develop the designs further in October -potentially traditionally, if I get the urge- and see what I can do with them. My adventures in Procreate are just getting started: I can only go up from here!

Originally created 9.27.2019 and finished 9.29.2019 in Procreate for iOS

#PSG x Promare #Promare Crossover #Panty & Stocking with Garterbelt #Panty Anarchy #Stocking Anarchy #Mad Burnish #illustration #digitalart #procreate #ipadart

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ramonastrzelecki-blog · 6 years ago

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bldeardorff-dfc-blog · 7 years ago

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Assignment 7: Build to Learn

Chapter 9 of The Art of Innovation began with a common thing everyone deals with quite frequently—barriers. As a designer, it should be common knowledge barriers will be a reoccurring factor in your process and work. It’s pretty much inevitable. However, I think when it comes to product design, these barriers begin to grow in size and quantity. As humans, we are so quick to judge and nowadays it seems to only becoming worse. Everyone’s outlook or opinion is the “correct” one and I could see how product designers may face severe frustration because of this "I’m right your wrong mentality."

Kelley discusses the cultural resistance to a new product or technology as well as ingrained rituals. He mentioned how his brother, David, faced a large obstacle where people won’t take the time to re-learn how they use a computer nor would anyone want to learn how to re-write. This reminded me a lot of my mom re-learning a new way to teach math to her first graders. My mom grew up in the 1960’s so she definitely likes to do things “the old-fashioned way.” So as she had to go to meetings to learn this new approach to elementary math, she struggled and honestly saw it as a waste of time. Even when she tried showing me the “new” way to add and subtract, I lost interest within the first 30 seconds.

Time is a precious thing and people can be so lazy. When designers push a new way of thinking they’re stepping into sticky territory. Looking globally at an approach to product is an awesome way to keep the ball rolling and stop while ahead. For example, places such as Europe and Japan, have outlawed Hydroquinone which is found in facial skin care products that brightens the complexion. This is because it is cytotoxic, meaning it has the ability to kill cells and chromosomes if overused, which can lead to some cancers. However here in America, we could care less so while these facial products boost their revenue in the States, they would ultimately bankrupt in other locations geographically.

Another great example of this is the food industry—America versus the world. In a lot of other countries, food coloring is completely unheard of. Therefore any innovators promoting the coloring of food ingredients would be better off staying in the USA. This goes for the Hershey's Company as well. There’s simply not a market for “fake” tasting Chocolate over in Switzerland or Italy. To add to this narrow-mindedness people have, Kelley explained the holdover effect. I once heard a story about exposing an infant to the color white and making a variation of loud noises that would frighten the baby. It was an experiment for learned behavior. Just like the holdover effect, in reality, something may not be what it seems, but it’s a personal perception that alters the way things are bought, used and popularized.

Products that are judged due to pre-mature ideas may be for multiple different reasons, however, if you’re riding the S-curve you must be doing something right, or at least sometimes. I’m glad Kelley mentioned this because this is exactly what my research project, the Airbnb Company, went through until just recently. Toys R Us has also been experiencing this curve for years now. Becoming a duo with Babies R Us saved them years back when they first began a decline in sales. It was just a month ago the company filed for chapter 11 bankruptcy but has come back again within the past two weeks with a new plan to incorporate virtual reality for children while shopping. Since, of course, our actual reality is now kids having a technological interest instead of playing with plastic, shiny Batmans or animatronic pet friends.

The FUD Factor is something I think all of my examples thus far have suffered from. There’s always that fear, uncertainty, and doubt racing through the people's minds. To this day, I experience this with any Apple update. I can remember when one of Apple's biggest updates surfaced and it involved a completely new interface. I was hesitant and remember updating my phone months if not a year after the new design was released. The thing that ultimately won me over were these cute little feelings called Emojis. Much like banking apps too, I think audiences are wary of exposing their financial information to an unfamiliar database.

FUD can also be because of an already well-established competitor. I myself at first experienced uncertainty and doubt when I began sketching for my group's dog leash design. I kept going back to the retractable leash and building off of that idea. Obviously, I was going in circles. I’m glad we had a second go at creating ideas and starting from scratch. I think it was more than necessary to cleanse our minds of what already is and seek out what could be. Like Kelley says, we all can use a little help now and then no matter your skillset.

I truly think in order to overcome any barriers, FUD, and brain blocks one must get out and interact with the people. hands down this is my favorite part about product design. I need that human interaction from time to time. I would hate to think my whole career would be perfecting things behind a computer screen until “beautiful” is achieved. I need to know what good affordances are and I need to know what my audience needs. Product Design is not a one-man show. This is why even the most distasteful products are booming because their founders recognize the importance of their users. Or more importantly, the desirable celebrities who will promote the product line presence in which in return gives the company a huge fan base almost instantly.

Despite the face of a company or a hundred person team, companies are still against the speed of time as mentioned in Chapter 11. For this, my mind immediately went to movie release dates. Imagine the team behind the Home Alone movies. Not only did they have to create the movie, perfect the scenes, and market the heck out of it, but they also had to do it all in time for the holiday season for an impactful release date and sales. They had no choice but to stay on schedule.

Not only do companies have to abide by time and dates, but also may have to reinvent the wheel or at least half of it. Once again, I’m going to use Apple as an example. Each year the company releases a new phone model yet never is it identical to its previous sibling. If this were the case, the company would’ve seen drastic sale decline and could very well be on their way out. It’s dangerous to get in habit of something as an innovator. It ultimately defeats the purpose. You wouldn’t really be innovating.

In all, I think this weeks chapter hit on really great topics that I could foresee being overlooked in the product design process by new designers like myself. It was very helpful to identify these pressure points that could drastically alter a product success rate before really reaching the market.

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