#conservati

[ruby-red-inky-blue]

i'm not at ALL asking that we model our political campaigns any further on US politics than we do already... but there are incredibly pivotal elections in Saxony in a MONTH and the only sign of it is election posters - and the extreme right has clearly spent way more money on those than all the other parties. For every lamp post with a Green party or SPD poster, there's another lamp post with FIVE AfD posters in my neighbourhood, or one for a tiny extreme-right splinter party full of batshit insane claims like "Free State (official term for the state of Saxony) instead of caliphate". The AfD paid for huge posters all along the university campus, which is so concerning to me. Also, every month or so there's some bizarre AfD party newspaper or flyer in my mailbox. Only AfD.

On state news, it's CRICKETS. On the mdr website, there's one big header, and it's about the summer holidays.

I got my voting papers in the mail yesterday. I live in the state capital. Where are the reports? Where are the politicians? Where are the public events? Am I *that* out of touch with public life here and they're happening and I just haven't heard about it?

I honestly feel insane. Polls are saying we might get a majority for the AfD and uh. Where is everyone? Elections are in THIRTY-ONE days and nobody seems to be having a conversation about it what the fuck

[ocelotrevs]

The Labour Party isn't perfect, and they have their own set of issues.

But openly being a Black Conservative... Each to their own etc, but that could not be me.

Everyday this government does something anti Black people. It feels like they are actively trying to evict people who could be my mother, or father from this country. And you want me to put my lot in with those people. And that's not even considering the general shitty things that this government is doing every day.

[makiruz]

For those of you confused, the point here is that everybody should get married at age 16 (no really) and have a lot heterosexual sex for the purpose of having a lot of babies; and any deviation of this is immoral and evil

Any form of sex that does not produce children, including heterosexual sex? Evil. Refusing to have sex? Evil Refusing to get married? Evil. Gender transition that can lead to sterility, specially of those assigned female at birth? Evil. Waiting until you're 30 to get married and start having children? Not entirely evil, but selfish and wrong, you could have had 10 kids by now

So within two days of each other, Fox News writes an article comparing aromanticism and asexuality to pedophilia, and then Matt Walsh releases a video saying asexuality is a mental illness and asexuals are tricking teenagers into having depression.

Not sure what’s going on right now over in Conservative World, but it’s a hell of wild U-turn for them to suddenly switch from “Oh no! The left is sexualizing our children!” to “Oh no! The left is asexualizing our children!”

[feelingthedisaster]

being in the supernatural fandom is so funny. there are pages-long essays about characterization, metaphors and picture. there is a lot of crack. the fandom is divided whether you ship world's biggest age gap or incest. one of the main actors has an ao3 account and has probably read the fanfiction. another one of the main cast made his own fanfaction and turn it into a tv show. your favourite characters dies, you laugh bc it wont last, the stay dead for a little bit too long and you start to get worry, they get resurrected and damn, these writers dont know when to stop, its the third time they died and came back, fucking commit to it. we all hate the writers and producers. literally invented queerbait and we all fell for it. a random character from a totally unrelated show is canon bisexual and wow, we are trending. you want to defend your fav character and your main obstacle is your fav character (you gaslight yourself into "all fault is on the writers not my baby"). we out-trended the us elections and contine to trend on every anniversary of that day. we discuss which season is the best like they arent a recycled plot we already seen. the show was meant appel to conservaties and the fandom is made of gay people somehow. the main characters are alcoholic murderers that do extremely questionable stuff every season and we love them for it. someone outside the spn fandom finds out you are in and they look at you like you are insane and you cant even blame them.

[dee-the-red-witch]

Fresh month, fresh pinned bio....

Why did I decide to do it this way again? Oh, right, because it's FUN.

Anyways, Hi.

I'm Dee. 46 year old trans woman. On HRT for almost 3 years now. Queer lesbian. Poly and kinky. Absolutely Not Your Responsible Adult (I will not screen off porn, sex positivity, body positivity, and a few other things. if you need censor your own experience for whatever reason, don't follow me, because I will not censor myself for you.)

Got the basics? Good. Now for the advanced. I still don't know what a jerma is, nor do I want to, I don't sell content, I do absolutely support those who do, and so should you. Yes there's a discord. Yes you have to actually ask me for an invite. No, I really am only 5'6". Yes, I'll still record voice requests, even scripted bits. No, you may not call me mommy. I work full time when I'm not being a mom (which has, unfortunately eaten a LOT more of my time than normal this year) as an artist, writer, and leatherworker. You'll find a lot of it available for purchase right here: http://tormentedartifacts.com Here's a few highlights:

I'm also working on teaching myself tattooing, both on myself (Over the last 4 years, yes most of the ink in my selfies was done by me) and a few other willing victims. Which also means building up a collection of flashwork to put on people. Here's some of that:

I'm a writer and occultist as I said before as well, and my first book and companion tarot deck are available through my site, or you can catch me doing weekly card readings and media reviews over here.

The absolute biggest thing right now, though, is my surgery fund- My Gender Confirmation and Facial Feminization operations both happen this November over a two week span, and I'm trying to get enough in to cover my stay and the downtime I'm going to have to take off from everything up there.

So here's the link for my GoFundMe for that.

if you can kick in on that, or just spread word around of it elsewhere, I'd REALLY appreciate it.

Terfs, swerfs, bigots, conservaties, and other fash can fuck directly off. Tipping should be mandatory. Plastics suck, and yes that includes your vegan leather do not start me on that rant. Landlords and borders should be immediately expunged. Give the fucking Land Back. Do make it weird, do it alone if you have to, don't make it creepy. Start HRT if you haven't already. Do make it terrifying, otherworldly, and possibly even wondrous. Buy more leather.

Otherwise, that's it. My inbox or messages are open if you've got questions

[c0rvidfagg0try]

This post has reached the ‘leftist’ side of tumblr!!! Woo!! Let’s advocate for a revolution that will kill millions (which would most likely include myself!) to make ourselves seem like the perfect martyrs while actually having no concrete plans for a revolution besides ‘kill all morally bankrupt people’ which sounds exactly like fascism to me!

Every leftist talking about revolution plz gain some perspective.

Say we do have a revolution, ppl dead in the street, a civil war, and you, the lone heroes. Who do you think will be left behind? Because it won’t be conservatives, it’ll be those who you claim to be fighting for.

Disabled ppl, poor ppl, ppl in red states (many BIPOC and queer ppl), you don’t care about us. You will leave us to the wolves to have your revolution. You have no plan, no care for your fellow person.

Shut the fuck up and vote. Don’t do it for yourself, do it for everyone you say you want to help. Because that will actually help us.

[starebenevuoldirestareassieme]

La scarsa comunicazione è qualcosa che molti di noi hanno vissuto crescendo.

Forse i sentimenti non sono stati discussi e le urla hanno sostituito conversazioni significative. A volte, i segreti venivano conservati per evitare l'imbarazzo, lasciando sepolte emozioni importanti.

Ma non dobbiamo ripetere quello schema.

Possiamo scegliere di interrompere il ciclo parlando apertamente, ascoltando con cura e creando relazioni più sane dove tutti si sentono ascoltati.

Inizia da noi, e può fare la differenza.

[chouncazzodicasino]

Prima sono andata a casa di mia madre per prendere in prestito un trapano visto che il mio è in negozio (nb. Scopro che mia madre non ha più il trapano perché ho anche il suo in negozio. Perché? Che cazzo ne so).

Sono scesa al piano interrato e ho cominciato a cercare, cerca di qua, cerca di là, mi sono imbattuta nella scatola con i miei progetti dell'Università, la riapro sempre quando la vedo, sfoglio le prime cose, guardo i vari pezzi di poliplat, ma non arrivo mai al fondo, non voglio rovinarmi la sorpresa perché so che un giorno arriverò al fondo della scatola e penserò "seee vabbè e questo chi se lo ricorda?" oppure "ma quando mai ho fatto sta cosa" o probabilmente "che cacata" ma anche "geniale, che talento sprecato". Poi ho intravisto su un mobile una scatola con scritto "Camera vecchia C'houncazzodicasino". L'ho aperta e ho adorato tutto. I pochi cd originali che avevo, insieme alle varie compilation, la macchinetta portatile con cui facevo le foto in ogni momento ai miei amici, sempre, sempre, ad ogni occasione avevo quella macchinetta in borsa, un soprammobile in resina che raffigura un fungo del mondo degli gnomi con occhi e naso, un vecchio pass per maison et object, i quadernini e le moleskine dove prendevo appunti all'università di storia dell'Architettura (conservati gelosamente), il vecchio lettore mp3 e una scatolina con alcuni ricordi del nonno. Anche qui non sono arrivata al fondo della scatola. Volontariamente.

Quanto mi piacciono quelle cinque sei scatole piene di ricordi e cose che ho sparse per casa mia e casa di mia madre. Mi passano di mente o forse ci penso ogni giorno. Mi passano di mente e ci penso ogni giorno.

[fashionbooksmilano]

Alexander McQueen Working Process

Photographs by Nick Waplington

Damiani, Bologna 2013, 304 pagine, 200 ill., 24,8x29,5, ISBN 978-88-6208 295-2

euro 50,00

email if you want to buy booksinprogressmilano@yahoo.it

Nel 2008 Alexander McQueen incaricò il fotografo Nick Waplington di documentare la sua ultima collezione Autunno 2009 dall’inizio fino all’ingresso in passerella. La collezione da lui denominata The Horn of Plenty [Cornucopia] vede McQueen rivisitare l’archivio costruito in quindici anni di lavoro e riutilizzarlo in una nuova collezione. Si trattava in effetti di una sua personale ricognizione, in cui il set era costituito di specchi rotti e di un mucchio gigantesco di resti degli allestimenti di show precedenti. Secondo i critici questa modalità rifletteva il sentire di McQueen nei confronti del fashion system e del suo modo di obbligare i designer a essere geni creativi, contemporaneamente relegando ogni collezione nel cestino della spazzatura della storia non appena effettuata la vendita. A Waplington fu garantita una facilità di accesso senza precedenti a McQueen e al suo staff, compresa Sarah Burton, attuale direttore creativo del marchio. Ogni fase del processo creativo è documentata, ma la cosa più interessante è che il layout del libro è stato disegnato da McQueen in persona, che si servì di immagini fissate su bacheche. Il libro era pronto per la pubblicazione quando McQueen morì e il libro rimase in sospeso fino a ora. Il libro viene pubblicato esattamente come lo aveva impaginato McQueen, come tributo alla sua personalissima collezione. Nick Waplington è un artista che lavora con la fotografia, la pittura e la scultura. I suoi lavori sono conservati in molte importanti collezioni nel mondo, tra cui al MoMA, a New York, e alla Tate Gallery, a Londra.

25/10/24

[papercutsunset]

idk, i like making "mean girl stereotypes," but i never post all of the stuff i write or make. on a scale of elle duffy (genuinely very nice) to valentina valentine (horrible. get her out of here), aline's in the middle, closer to elle's side. like a liberal, if elle's a communist. anyway i wanted to make a "mean girl in stem" and then she got one hug in before she died so

lest we forget... aline is chilean...

[arinbelle]

Inevitable - Part I

A/N: The way that I am tired. I started this fic for @simpingfornestaarcheron way back in 2022. And it took me so long to get it here. We both wanted more of the mating frenzy that they allude to in the books and while the Solstice scene was beautiful, it just wasn’t enough. I wanted more. She wanted more. So, this one’s for you Beawulf.

Summary: Nesta and Cassian mated on the night of Winter Solstice. But before they could mate properly, Cassian left soon after, leaving Nesta reeling and Cassian wanting more. When they mate under an official ceremony, with ancient magic, that mating call is renewed, and Nesta and Cassian are going to be in a frenzy. I.e. I wrote 20k fic full of smut.

Part I  | Part II  | Part III  | Part IV

~*~

Cassian was no stranger to beauty. 

He’d been alive for a very long time and a direct impact from that was the ability to experience a vast and ever changing world, where beauty could always be found.

He’d visited springs and mountains, explored new cities and ancient villages, some still standing today and others having crumbled away long ago. All had encompassed beauty of some sort, all of which Cassian could still recall to this day.

He’d met so many people in his life. Some were only beautiful on the outside and what lay underneath had been deceptively ugly. Others were pure from within, and the outside reflected. He’d had many lovers throughout his life, males and females of astounding beauty that he would also never forget, nor was he trying to. 

Yet, even then, Cassian knew that the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life, the most beautiful that he would ever see in his life, was Nesta Archeron.

From the moment they’d met, the moment her eyes had slashed into his own, slashed into his heart, he’d known his world would never be the same. The world had faded away from around them, and all that lay at the center was her.

Nesta, Nesta, Nesta.

The wind had sighed her name incessantly around him, chattering presumptuously, as if he were some lovesick fool who would propose eternity together the minute she let him into her heart.

Of course, he was. He was that fool although he may never admit that aloud. Maybe to Nesta but only if she promised to keep it to herself. Which she wouldn’t, of course. And then he’d never hear the end of it from Gwyn or Emerie and worst of all, his brothers.

Nesta had taken his breath away the moment he’d looked at her all those years ago, angry and vicious, almost snarling with Fae contempt even when she was still delicately human.

Now it was her smile, soft and almost invisible, that took the breath straight out of his lungs and refused to give it back. Fitting, of course, since she’d stolen his heart too and would likely never let it be his own ever again. He’d never be alone again, and the thought was almost too consuming to ignore. He felt the tears well up in his eyes as she took the last step towards him, as Feyre and Elain each took her hand and placed it in his. 

“Are you crying, General?,” she whispered softly between them as he pulled her up to the dais, a wicked, knowing grin beginning to overtake her face.

Cassian forced a grimace, blinking furiously as they settled and faced the priest. “Of course not. You know I have allergies. And you still let Rhys bring an entire garden into this place.”

Nesta rolled her eyes but didn’t respond. The only sign he had that he’d been caught was the press of her lips as she held in her laughter.

Cassian didn’t remember much of what the priestess was saying, only hearing when to turn and face Nesta, when to lift his hand to be tied by the ribbon, to lift the wine to her lips. All he could think of in those first few moments was her scent, her own mixed with whatever fragrance had likely been forcefully sprayed onto her by Mor. And her dress…

Cassian hadn’t been able to stop sneaking glances at it every time the priestess looked down at her prayer book. He’d expected a white dress, more conservative than what Fae fashion ever opted for, and essentially everything but what Nesta arrived in.

The dress was red. 

Somehow, in some way, it was the exact red of his Siphons, all of which he’d kept on top of his Night Court garb, even against Mor’s insistence. Nesta had asked him to keep them on weeks ago, and he hadn’t questioned it until he’d seen the dress. Feyre had remarked offhandedly once that she planned to paint the pair and the view of them standing at the dais together as they were mated. Now he understood just how beautiful it would look on canvas.

Cassian in black courtly finery, gilded with silver threads and buttons, embellished only by the ruby from his Siphons, would serve as a striking contrast to the brightness of Nesta’s ruby dress, setting off a light against her skin that seemed to make her glow. 

Lady Death swathed in bloodred with her dark Lord of Bloodshed beside her. 

He’d always hated the title and how it had grated on his nerves each time he heard it. But today, in that moment, it seemed to fit perfectly.

They said their vows, reciting them after the priestess, and made their agreements to the mating. Nesta had smiled so joyfully, so freely as she’d said “I do,” that any thought of hesitation, any worry that she didn’t want this completely left his mind.

The priestess made some more prayers in an Ancient Language that he could only partly understand, with Nesta looking wholly lost, and then it was done. The priestess declared it so and took her step back.

This was the only part he knew he would have down perfectly. Nesta seemed to know the train of his thoughts and he heard a soft scoff leave her, even as she took a step forward, matching him.

“Nes…,” he started, already grinning.

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Bat.” 

Then she reached up with her free hand to pull his face down, rising up on her toes as she sealed his mouth to his in a kiss that Cassian could feel in his soul. In the thread that tied them together from within. 

His. She was his.

Cassian deepened the kiss, pulling her even closer, and Nesta welcomed it. It was only cheers and whistles behind that had Nesta pulling away from him. A slight blush stained her cheeks and he knew it was from the bold display, so different from how they often interacted in public. He smiled knowingly as she turned away from him, rolling her eyes. 

Emerie had screamed her congratulations when they’d come across her and Nesta had been temporarily whisked away as the pair spoke in excited whispers. He knew Gwyn had tried her best to muster the courage to come and for that alone, he was immensely proud of her. 

Azriel had clapped him on the shoulders before enveloping him in a rib crushing hug. Rhys had joined in soon after. Azriel had placed a kiss on Nesta’s cheek before hugging her as well, murmuring something in her ear that had made her laugh joyously. Cassian had reveled in the sound, in the life and true happiness it signified for her. 

It took what felt like ages to make their way down the aisles and greet their various guests, accepting their many blessings and congratulations. Cassian noted that the blush he’d caused from kissing Nesta so boldly had not faded through it all. It sent a ripple of satisfaction through him to see it. 

It was only when they made their way back to their seats, a table set up now where the priestess had confirmed their bonding ritual, that Cassian had a chance to speak to Nesta.

Making sure everyone else was milling around conversing, busy with filling up their plates with the rich variety of foods Rhys had bought, or finding their seats, Cassian leaned closer to Nesta. Holding the hand ribboned to his own tighter, he dragged the back of his free hand down her cheek.

“The things I’m going to do to you Nesta Archeron…this blush is going to pale in comparison then.”

Nesta flushed again and pushed away from him, shaking her head.

“Lech,” she admonished sharply, but he could feel the faint amusement in her voice. “There are people here. Children,” she pointed out, nodding at some younglings running around with sparklers. 

“Everyone is too busy getting food. They’re not paying attention to you,” Cassian dismissed. Then, just because he wanted to incite another reaction out of her, he leaned close and whispered in her ear, “Not the way I’m going to the minute we’re out of here.”

Nesta pursed her lips but he could see it all too well. She was trying not to react, not to laugh, and she so badly wanted to.

“Lech,” she remarked again, before pointedly looking away from him. Just in time as Feyre swooped in to check on them and Cassian was forced to keep his innuendos to himself.

He let himself get a little creative when they took their first dance, an old Night Court waltz that he hadn’t done in centuries. Nesta glided with ease as he led them through it, and with the orchestra playing loudly enough to drown them out, Cassian took all the liberty he could with whispering filthy musings into Nesta’s ear every few turns. The crowd would only see Nesta laughing every so often as Cassian spoke nondescript words to her, wholesome to their eyes and completely unaware of just how lecherous he could be.

“You’re disgusting,” she whispered, just as the orchestra crescendoed to their end and he dropped her into a low dip, catching her only with a hand on the back of her neck, the other holding her calf up high.

Cassian smirked. “You love it.” Then he lowered his face to kiss her, still holding her in that final, finishing pose. Nesta, to his surprise, kissed him back with just as much fervor and continued doing so even as he pulled her up and set them both upright. The cheers were thunderously loud when they pulled apart and Nesta laughed alongside Cassian before tucking against his chest. Cassian brushed a kiss over her head as he looped a hand around her waist and led them off the center of the stage, welcoming the warm press of her body into his.

Dinner could have dragged on for centuries as far as Cassian was concerned. There were varied courses that Cassian barely ate, performances and acts put on from the various courts that were invited, all of whom Cassian politely watched but barely enjoyed.

All he cared about was getting himself and Nesta out of there and burying himself in her for hours and hours on end. Already he could feel the magic thrumming under his skin. The ancient call to claim, to touch, to taste. 

He had no idea how it worked. No one did. But he knew from the stories that mates, even those who may have consummated the mating privately, would feel that claiming instinct renewed with an official ceremony. Perhaps it was just another way to make sure a youngling was assured sometime in the near future. That was what Rhys had always thought. Some thought it to be the works of the Mother, others preferred to remember different deities.

 The priestess residing over ceremonies could sometimes invoke the boons of fertility and love and a good marriage from the older Goddesses that few still continued to worship. 

Whatever it was, Cassian was itching out of his own skin and he knew it wasn’t going to end for at least a few more hours. 

“What,” Nesta hissed slowly into his ear, “is wrong with you?”

Cassian scratched the back of his neck subtly. “I told you not to put these many flowers here.”

“Bullshit, you took a tonic for the pollen. I saw you. Why are you looking so…feral?”

Feral indeed. That was the only apt enough description for the roiling emotions going through him. That and the sheer instinct that was becoming increasingly more difficult to ignore. Cassian tried not to look at her for too long. He knew if he did it would only worsen things.

“Cassian-“

Cassian growled in frustration. “Nesta if you don’t stop talking to me within the next twenty seconds, I’m going to throw you onto this table and fuck you while everyone watches.” 

Cassian didn’t look but he felt the shock stillness that went through her. Felt rather than saw the interest that he’d sparked. And the arousal. 

While Cassian had honed his self control over centuries of brutal fights that forced him to act with intelligence rather than impulse, everything about Nesta set him off in the wrong direction. Anything she said, anything she did, was enough to wither that self control to a weak, futile impulsivity that had only ever gotten him in trouble. 

Nesta backed away slowly and settled back into her chair. Only for a few moments though before she waved her hand and Feyre suddenly materialized next to them. She’d worn a dark maroon, almost black dress that seemed to writhe around her as she approached Nesta. Cassian didn’t know what was happening between them but he knew they were likely talking mind to mind.

Elain had opted for the same style of dress, only in a pale peach that suited her complexion better than any of the dark colors the rest of the Night Court favored. The three of them had looked every bit sisters though when they’d walked Nesta up to him at the dais and handed her to him. Such care between the three of them now, it was almost impossible to believe how rocky it had been months ago. He knew though that while Nesta and Feyre had become closer after Nyx’s birth, her and Elain now had a tenuous almost strained relationship. 

But he knew they were trying, Nesta was trying again, and he’d support her in however much she needed or didn’t need from him. 

A few minutes later Nesta was getting up, Cassian being pulled up behind her by Feyre.

“What’s happening?,” he asked, almost tripping over his feet as he snuck a look back behind himself at the festivities still going on. “Won’t people wonder where we are?”

Nesta didn’t answer but Feyre snorted, replying, “Please. With the amount of wine that Rhys bought for this ceremony, I’m pretty sure no one even knows why they’re here right now, let alone that you two are leaving. Don’t worry about it.”

Before he could ask again if it was truly alright to skip out on his own mating ceremony, Feyre nabbed his wrist tightly and he felt the familiar pressure of winnowing surround him and push at him. As soon as it had begun it was also over, and the world fell back into place around him just as his feet met ground.

Ground, not stone, because they were no longer in a hall or palace or courtyard in Velaris. No, he’d know this place even blinded, by the feel of the air and the smell of the earth alone.

Nesta walked up to the house, closer than Feyre and Cassian, simply staring with what seemed to be wonder. 

Cassian let her. 

If he wasn’t proud of anything else that he’d accomplished in his life, this house wasn’t one of them. He’d put his blood and sweat into building it, literally at some point, and the years it had taken was worth all the effort in the end.

“What…,” Nesta trailed off.

“Thank you, Feyre,” Cassian murmured, and Feyre squeeze his shoulder in response.

He waved at her as she stepped back from them. She winked at him. "Enjoy yourselves children. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Nesta laughed, waving back right before Feyre winnowed away, leaving them alone in front of the house he hadn’t returned to in months.

Cassian wound his arm around Nesta’s waist and led them to the door. Nesta didn’t ask where they were again, but he knew the question still lingered on the tip of her tongue.

“It’s my home in Illyria. This is where I stay when I’m doing work here.”

Nesta watched him curiously for a moment before looking up at the two stories looming up above them. It was no mansion but it also wasn’t a hovel, or worse, a raggedy tent that could barely withstand the elements. It had been a splurge on his part to buy all the parts, plan out the detailings of the inside of the house and make it something his childhood self would have loved to have had when his life had consisted of only cold winters and barely there meals.

“Cassian,” Nesta spoke gently, pulling him from his memories. Cassian met her gaze, the stormy blue looking electrifying with the darkness surrounding them. She raised a palm to his cheek. “Where did you go?”

Cassian shook his head, discarding the old memories. It wasn’t the time. Now was the time for new memories and new moments, and he wouldn’t mess it up. He procured the heavy key from his pocket, handing it to Nesta.

Nesta’s brows rose in surprise but she took it all the same, inserting it into lock and twisting carefully. Almost as if she were being gentle. Safe.

Cassian pushed the door open and before she could step over the threshold, Cassian reached over and picked her up, carrying her over it.

She began swatting at him almost immediately. “What are you doing? Let me down, bat.”

Cassian laughed as he kicked the door shut behind them. “New brides have to be carried over the threshold. Feyre told me it’s tradition.”

Nesta rolled her eyes but he didn’t miss the fondness in her expression, even as she crossed her arms across her chest. “Human tradition. It’s not your tradition. And it’s silly.”

“But it’s yours, isn’t it?,” he asked gently as he led them deeper through the main living room and the smaller joining parlor. “You deserve to keep some of your human traditions intact. Hell, keep them all if you want. I don’t care.”

Nesta didn’t say anything but he saw the small smile that lit up the corners of her mouth right before she pressed her head closer to his chest. He placed a small kiss at her temple as he adjusted his hold on her and began making his way upstairs.

Cassian had known how difficult it had been for her to give up her human life. Little everyday reminders also didn’t help. In the days after Nesta had told she wanted to be mated, everything had been a flurry of meetings in Illyria regarding the Blood Rite along with meetings with boutiques and caterers for the ceremony. They’d originally planned to do it as soon as possible but a few days had stretched into a week, and a week into three. Cassian had had no idea just how much preparation went into weddings. And it would be a wedding. 

Nesta may have asked for a mating ceremony, but only the week before she’d nearly run away from him terrified of even the word “mate.” She’d told him clear as day that in her world, husband and wife was as good as it got and he’d blown up with anger at her. He’d taken fear as rejection and confusion as regret, neither of which were true when it came to Nesta’s feelings for Cassian. They’d talked it all out eventually. It was needed, he knew that, and when she’d come to him suddenly wanting to call off the ceremony because she worried he didn’t care for her enough, he’d known it was time to clear the air. Even after they’d agreed on what was needed for the future, their future, he knew he needed to do more than just say pretty words. 

So Cassian had sat through every cake tasting and every bridal shop’s color panels. He’d listened to every wish Nesta expressed she wanted to have and made sure it would be done. They’d incorporated details of a traditional human wedding into the Fae customs, making sure the priestess would say a mixture of both Fae and human wedding vows for them. 

It had been three days before their ceremony when Cassian had come from a meeting with Eris in the Spring Court. Nesta had chosen to stay behind that day and use it to relax with Emerie and Gwyn in the House. When he’d returned, neither of the girls were with his mate and he was already on edge from trading verbal blows with Eris. Nesta hadn’t been in their room or her old one, nor in the library. It was only after climbing up the highest levels did he find her sitting on a ledge overlooking Velaris, a thick window separating her from plummeting over.

She’d been crying- the scent of salt and sadness had been thick in the air when he’d found her.

“Sweetheart.”

But she hadn’t looked up at him. Hadn’t even turned around. So he’d done the only other thing he could think of. 

He’d joined her in silence until her tears had dried to what he knew had to be itchy invisible streaks on her cheeks. She had climbed off the ledge and into his lap eventually and after a little more silence, Cassian had taken her down to bed.

Nesta had spoken in a broken whisper into his chest, “There’s no one to give me away.”

“Hmm?,” he’d asked confused, carding his hand lightly through her hair.

Nesta had sniffled. Had pressed deeper into his side before replying. “It’s tradition. Stupid tradition. At our weddings fathers give the bride away. I never thought I’d care about that before but now, he’s just…gone. And he will never see it. He won’t give me away, he won’t see me married. He won’t know you and how wonderful you are. He won’t see our children. None of it.”

Cassian had listened silently, his heart cracking at her admission. He had never thought of it. There was no such tradition for the Fae and even if there was, Cassian had gone a lifetime without his mother. And even though her absence haunted him sometimes, he had lost her young enough to have very few memories of her. Had lost her for long enough so that some things truly didn’t pain him. But for Nesta, whose loss was still so fresh, it shouldn’t have been such a surprise to him that she was still struggling with his absence.

Cassian hadn’t been able to say anything to comfort her. So he had only held her tighter to him as if that alone could hold her together.

The next day he’d made sure to speak to Feyre about it and the sisters had decided to walk Nesta down the aisle together. Nesta had been elated to hear it and he’d breathed a little easier when he saw it.

Nesta began squirming in his arms, pulling him from his memories.

“Put me down Cassian. I’m serious.” She batted a hand uselessly at his chest but Cassian wouldn’t budge.

“I’m serious too, wife,” he replied with a snap of his teeth, “We’re doing this the right way.”

He didn’t miss the blush that dusted her cheeks at his newfound favorite word. He would always see her as his mate first, but for her, the word wife sent Nesta into a panicked, stammering, blushing mess. He never saw her so undone and he loved every minute of it.

It was only when they reached the first floor at the top of the stairs that he set her down softly. Nesta let her arms drop from around his neck slowly, her nails lightly raking along his skin as she pulled away. Cassian swallowed the growl that had threatened to rise to the surface at that innocent touch. Although knowing Nesta, there was absolutely nothing innocent in its intention.

Nesta stared down the hallway for a few breaths before finally turning towards him with a knowing glint in her eye. “Why don’t you give me the tour Commander?”

“How about you all the way down to that bedroom at the end of the hall and make yourself comfortable? It’s the only place you’re going to be in for most of this stay anyways.”

Nesta scoffed, rolling her eyes.

“Bathroom’s just on your left,” he added with a wolfish grin. 

Nesta laughed at that, undoing the ribbon that had bound their hands together up until then. He didn’t mind, didn’t even care, knowing they’d consummated this union in so many ways, so many times by now, it didn’t matter anymore.  

“You know what? Maybe I’ll go take a bath actually. I need to wash all this shine and rouge off. How about you go to the bedroom and make yourself comfortable?”

Before he could reply Nesta took a step closer, brushing her mouth over his. “After all, it’s the only place I’m going to keep you in for most of this stay anyways.”

Cassian laughed long after she’d locked the door to the bathroom on him, and long after he heard the water turn on too.

He made his way down to the lower levels of the house while he waited for her, washing off in a smaller bathing room he kept next to the birchin. The need that had been thrumming under his skin since they’d left their own mating ceremony had only intensified in the last hour. But the more Cassian thought about it, about how long the day had been and how exhausted Nesta had to be, the more he hesitated. He knew that once the magic took effect it would be hard to stop.

It had taken so much willpower the night after Solstice day for him to leave her there in the bed, still naked and smelling like sex and himself. So much willpower and they hadn’t even properly mated to the point of sated exhaustion. He’d avoided that mating frenzy that so often took over couples for weeks, sometimes months on end just by leaving her vicinity.

But he knew that now, especially with an official ceremony, with vows spoken and resided over by a priestess of the very magic that supplied all of Prythian, that mating claim would renew once again. 

And once Cassian had a taste, he wasn’t going to let go quite so easily.

Nesta had just slipped into his bedroom, in a silky, very short, black gown, interrupting all of his musings on the mating bond.

“Is that supposed to cover your ass too? Looks like it’s in Amren’s size.”

Nesta only toweled her damp hair slowly, cocking her head as she looked at him with wicked intent. “If you don’t like it Cassian, I can always just take it off.”

Cassian barked a laugh. She’d be the death of him. “Go ahead, Nes. I like a good show before bed.”

Nesta threw her towel at his head. Cassian ducked, grabbing it and just barely catching her mutter “Pig,” under her breath.

To his delight, Cassian didn’t have to go running after her as Nesta crawled onto the bed, lying down beside him. Cassian looked down at her, at the hair fanning out around her and before he could stop himself he was leaning down to drop a kiss on her lips. 

One kiss became two and two became many, many more. Somehow he’d ended up on top of her, their legs intertwining while Nesta bunched her fingers into his hair and tugged. Cassian took a breath, breaking away.

“Touch me,” she begged, flushed, out of breath. Because he hadn’t been. Because he’d been keeping it clean and simple, something neither of them ever did for very long when it came to sex.

Cassian ran a finger down her neck, past her fluttering pulse, and then lower.

Lower. Her chest heaved under his hand, breasts already pebbled and begging for him to taste, to bite. And Gods above he wanted to do it, to do all of it. But-

“No,” he finally managed to grind out. “You’re tired. It’s been a long day for both of us. I won’t be able to stop if we- don’t look at me like that Nesta. You’re the one that’ll regret it then.”

Nesta blew out a breath. “I don’t care.”

“I do.” He pressed a small, quick kiss to her lips before lifting off of her and getting off of the bed. “Go to sleep Nesta. I’ll still be here tomorrow.”

Before he could change his mind, or worse, Nesta did something to change it for him, Cassian left his bedroom with his mate in it. 

He cursed as she tugged on the bond, hard, and sent him some very clear, very lewd thoughts and emotions on what she wanted from him. What he’d been desperately craving himself. He shut down the connection, ignoring his own rumbling desire pulling under his skin, and pretended he didn’t hear her muttered curses down the hall as he forced himself to fall asleep.

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[geezerwench]

The Harris campaign is characterizing Trump's comment that if Christians vote this one time they won't have to do it anymore as a "vow to end democracy."

[capricorn-season]

[it-happened-once-in-a-meme]

Gotham Conservapedia Ridiculousness (Analysis of Homophobic Warnings 🤨) 🏳️‍🌈😂

I saw that there's a weird website with a page on conservative warnings/reviews thanks to @memesandmusicalss 's post

Spoilers for up to season 3 & non-explicit ones about how canon Ed x Oswald is):

Here's what I find especially hilarious(ly sad)/ironic about these "warnings":

•the author completely forgot/ignored that before Nygmobblepot, Barbara Kean was with Renee Montoya, even before she became a villain

•Since it's said that the show turned into a "homosexual propaganda" in season 3, Barbara and Tabitha were apparently never an item either, or their very sensual kissing doesn't count as propaganda. Maybe it's not gay if one occasionally has a boyfriend? 🤔

•Lucius and Ed's relationship, which is full of gay tension, is completely ignored too...or given a free pass because these two are too good together 😉

•Despite Barbara being described as bi & the author(s) thus knowing that sexuality exists, Ed is interpreted as only attracted to men while in the show he's clearly been attracted to women: conservatiness made him gayer! 🤣🏳️‍🌈

•The show never explicitly said he was attracted to men either, but it seems the author's on our side, fellow Ed x men shippers 🥳🤗. Something homophobes are actually good for: agreeing with us that the queerbaited, never explicitly queer characters are in fact queer. 🥳🤝

•Nygmobblepot is seen as propaganda when the actual show criticized their relationship so much & made them hate/dislike each other nearly all the time. But of course for them, the bad part isn't the possessiveness or jealousy, it's the gayness *shaking my head*

•There's no praise of Ed being the perfect house wife! As if they don't see him as a role model (for women) 🙃😂

[mythologer]

: Raffaello Sorbi (italiano, 1844-1931) ~ Fidia scolpisce la statua di Athena (1869), Olio su tela.

La produzione del Sorbi è molto caratterizzata da continui richiami al gusto settecentesco, medievale o addirittura pompeiano, come nel caso di questo dipinto dove ogni elemento è descritto con dovizia di particolari. L'opera fu commissionata allo scultore Giovanni Dupré, rimasto colpito dai marmi del Partenone conservati al British Museum. Nel dipinto l'artista è raffigurato in studio mentre confronta la sua creazione con una modella in posa, mentre sullo sfondo appare una lastra del fregio del Partenone.