so it looks like the safety pin thing has been co-opted by white supremacists. we need other, better ways to show solidarity anyway. wear an “i’ll go with you” pin, if you want that badly to wear a pin, or better yet, stand up for marginalized folks when you see them being harassed (online and irl). join an organization, volunteer your time, donate money, join a protest, if you’re able. wear a “black lives matter” or a “not my president” t shirt. there are so many ways to show solidarity and we need to get started now.
I will be your ally. I will be an advocate. I will embrace you as a friend. And i will fight to protect you. We rise and fight together. If you should falter, I will pick you up. And when the fascists arrive and tell me to stay down, I’m gonna smile, hold up my fists and say, “I can do this all day.”
This blog and all my social media accounts are a safe place. There will be no hate here, ever. Only love and support. When I see you or you see me irl wearing a safety pin know that we stand in solidarity as a hate free safe place for all people.
Dean yanks open his bedroom door to find the bunker bathed in cool darkness, the sound of the driving rain sending echoes bouncing off all the walls, punctuated by a violent clap of thunder. The lights flicker on for just a second, just long enough to illuminate Castiel, standing pinned to the wall outside his own bedroom, eyes wide with fright, before the darkness returns and with it another loud crash of thunder. He hears a pained yelp come from Cas’ direction, and the rain lashes against the building with more fervour.
“Cas, buddy, it’s just a storm. It will pass.”
Dean fumbles around on the table near his bedroom door in search of the flashlight he knows is there, and manages to turn it on. He shines the beam of light down the corridor towards Castiel’s room, and finds his angel just where he was before: clinging to the wall with his chest heaving and his skin ashen grey. For a second he wonders if something else has happened, if the sound of the storm drowned out some other noise he should have been listening for; Castiel can’t be this scared of thunderstorms, surely.
His name leaves the angel in a fearful, broken whisper, and Dean beckons to him, unable to stand the petrified look in his clear blue eyes for a moment longer. Cas hesitates, then crosses the few steps to Dean’s room as though he were walking across a disintegrating bridge over a canyon, and collides brutally with Dean in his desperation to get inside and get safe. Dean’s arms automatically come up around the angel, and feels the tremors racking through him. He almost smiles; almost. If Cas wasn’t so completely shaken by all this, it would be mildly amusing. Adorable, even. But right now the angel needs reassurance, not ridicule.
“Dean, what’s going on? It sounds like the sky is falling!”
Cas is still standing in Dean’s arms, his own wrapped tightly around the hunter’s waist, his terror overriding every social skill he had spent so long learning, and Dean finds himself rubbing Cas’ back to try and transfer some comfort though his touch into his shaking friend. It’s so bizarre that Dean wonders for a moment if he’s dreaming: the famed Castiel, angel who had commanded thousands and fought in battle over centuries, is frightened by thunder.
“It’s just a thunderstorm, Cas. You’ve experienced these before, surely?”
Another clap of thunder splits the air and Castiel yelps, loudly, right by Dean’s ear. The lights flash on and off again, the wind and rain outside playing havoc with the power lines, and for a moment Cas’ white face is illuminated, only inches from Dean’s. All humour in the situation dies as Dean sees the tears in his friend’s eyes and the tense, defined lines between his brows and crossing his forehead. Cas is really scared, and it’s not so funny any more.
“Hey, come on. It’s OK.”
Dean manoeuvres them both back into his room and kicks the door shut. Cas is still clinging to him, reluctant to let go, so it takes Dean a minute or two to get them across the room to sit down on the bed. Thunder splits the air again and Castiel tenses violently. Dean sets the flashlight dow on the bed, angled so that it casts the room into as much light as possible, and reaches over to turn his iPod off. He had been listening to a little classic rock, trying to wait out the storm, when he had heard Castiel cry his name from down the hall during a light instrumental. Shadows are jumping across the walls, and probably not helping Cas’ nerves but the only other option is total darkness and that’s less than preferable right now.
“Dean, what’s happening? This is what a thunderstorm sounds like on earth?!”
“Yeah, Cas, what did you think it would be like?”
“It’s so loud. Does it sound this loud to you?” Cas’ eyes are wandering fitfully around Dean’s room, evidently trying to work out if the hunter finds it all as overwhelming as he does. It’s normally Castiel and his angelic powers making the weather storm like this, knocking out electricity and sending rumbling shockwaves through the air. Dean supposes it makes sense for the loss of that control to knock him for six.
“Yeah, Cas, it’s loud. But hey, after thirty-something years of experiencing them, you kinda get used to it. Maybe your angel mojo is magnifying-“ Dean is cut off as another rumble splits the air between them, twice as loud now. The storm is directly above them, and the lights flash and flicker on and off sporadically, making Cas tremble and Dean has to admit that this is one of the more violent storms in his recent memory. The wind is screeching outside, and he’s pretty sure that when they eventually venture out into the main area of the bunker that the rain will have seeped in under the door. Cas has his head in his hands, trying to calm himself down, but Dean can sense it isn’t working. He reaches over and grips his friend’s shoulder, rubbing gently and murmuring nonsense to him.
“It’s OK, Cas, it will pass. The thunder can’t hurt you. It’s the lightning you have to worry about, and we’re safe from that in here. It’s fine, you’re fine.” He shifts closer to Cas on the bed as another rumble crashes through the bunker, and the air between them is thick with Cas’ emotion. He brings his other hand up, moving Cas to face just a little away from him, and starts to massage his shoulders with gently but insistent fingers, trying to work through some of the tension. Cas leans back into his hands with a low sound of relief, tensing and cringing again at another crash. Dean moves closer, running his hands up and down Castiel’s upper arms, feeling tremors rock through his angel and trying to shush and calm him with his touches and low murmurs into his ear.
He doesn’t know how they end up lying back on his bed together. He doesn’t know how his arm ends up under Cas’ head, the angel using it as a pillow while Dean plays with his hair, or how his other arm ends up thrown over his friend’s waist, pulling him close. He can’t work out how their legs got tangled together, or how Cas’ hands are fisted in his flannel overshirt, his too-blue eyes studying Dean’s face, dropping down to his lips then back up until ocean-blue meets sparkling green. Being so close to his hunter is calming Castiel; the sound of the thunder seems to be fading into the background the longer he looks into Dean’s eyes, and his heart rate is steadily dropping back to somewhere near it’s normal region. Dean’s calm, controlled presence is exactly what he needs, and he’s staring back at Cas with an unreadable expression on his handsome face. Castiel thinks, not for the first time, how beautiful his hunter is, especially this close.
Dean doesn’t know what passes between he and Cas at that moment. Cas is looking at him strangely, an expression of awe and longing on his face, the fear all but ebbed away, and as Dean gazes at him he feels one of Cas’ hands come up to brush over his jaw with feather-light fingertips. Then over his cheekbone, temple, then back down…to his lips. Cas passes a thumb lightly over Dean’s full bottom lip, watching the movement of his own hand curiously as though he’s powerless to control it. His breathing is slow now, deep and controlled, and his brows are furrowed with intrigue rather than nerves. Dean’s hand plays gently in Cas’ hair, his other stroking circles onto the angel’s back as they lie and study each other in the semi darkness, warm and safe in the bunker, the driving rain and crashing skies all but forgotten. Minutes or hours pass them by, lost in each other as Cas traces the lines of Dean’s face and Dean pulls his angel closer and closer, and it’s only a matter of time before the inevitable happens.
If asked, Dean would have no clue who made the first move, who kissed whom. It just happened, the crescendo of their years of skirting around each other and swallowing their feelings. It was gentle but deliciously explosive, the feel of Castiel’s mouth against his, his chapped lips soft but persistent; Dean can feel him holding back years of want, trying not to push too hard with their first kiss. Maybe he’s worried Dean will pull away. Maybe he’s worried he will pull away. That’s when Dean takes control; he tangles his hand firmly in Castiel’s hair and locks their mouths together with a low, drawn out moan of pure joy. Cas’ lips part beneath his and Dean dips his tongue in curiously, tasting Cas and pouring all his love and adoration into his kiss. He holds Cas close, tight to his body, and Castiel returns the embrace and that’s how they stay, pressed together in an intimate embrace, using their mouths to memorise each other and commit this moment to memory, even as the thunder splits the skies above them.
He’s kissing his angel, and his angel is kissing him right back and this right here is what heaven truly feels like.
My mini altar. It’s excellent for witchcraft on the go and I have pretty much all I need besides my Book of Shadows for about any kind of spell/ritual. Gotta love portable jewelry boxes.
Inside I’ve got (from left to right, top to bottom):
String, feathers, a paper star, bottles of tiny rocks/crystals, a small drawstring bag, blessed/braided cord, fur, a scrying mirror, extra incense burner, (in the small jar on the top left) pine needles and rose thorns, safe travel viking ship amulet, silver coin, copper wire, pins, silver chain, dragons blood incense, rose quartz pendulum, iron nail, safety pin, 2 white candles/ stands, eyedropper with blessed water, clean beer bottle top (to put water into), 2 shark teeth, Taurus amulet, 2 smooth pebbles, a pentacle amulet, a mini altar cloth (under the stuff), an electric candle (with extra batteries for when fire isn’t a good idea) 2 incense burners/ incense, extra incense sticks, Theban script cheat sheet (because I can’t remember shit for the life of me), a deck of sigils/symbols and their meanings (also because I can’t remember shit), runes, and at at the bottom is my snake amulet for Loki.
I plan on making a mini BoS, adding matches, and putting a little pencil in there, but otherwise I’m set to go. :D travel safely fellow witches!
Heyo! Another clothing reference, this time for Yona!
Alrighty. So stated in the manga and anime, Yona is essentially part of the Sky tribe. Throughout the castle in the anime and manga, there is a certain style of clothing in the Sky tribe, even for royalty. The robes Yona wears definitely bears resemblance to a traditional Japanese kimono but looking closer, there is another coat over the light robes she dons. Also, a Japanese kimono has longer tsuma, or length of robe and longer sleeves as well.. Also, regular kimono skirts, do not flare out at the legs, but rather hang, like a big blanket over the body, making it quite hard to move around. As far as I know, Japanese kimonos aren’t exactly like Yona’s travel robes. However, there is a stronger influence of Japanese kimonos in Yona’s princess robes compared to her travel ones.
Yona’s travel robes is quite similar to Chinese robes popular during the Wei, Jin, and Northern dynasty in China. Yona’s travel robes are very easy for Yona to move in, which could relate to Wei and Jin’s dynasty clothes being loose and large. And her magenta overcoat that she wears over her white robes can related to the Northern dynasty style of robes, where the overcoat is tied together by the waist sash, similar to Yona’s hip bow. I didn’t go into the specific kinds of robes there were this time, because I am lazy trash.
Bonus! Ok remember when Soo-won was like ‘Yo happy bday here’s a hairpin’? That kind of hair pin relates to a style of Chinese hair pin, 钗(chai). It is a hairpin with two braids, as depicted above.
Extra bonus! So I read this article on how Chinese takes hair in many deep cultural ways. Apparently, the Chinese call a union between a couple ‘結髪‘(jie fa) which means ‘tying hair’. During wedding ceremonies, couples would exchange locks of hair as a sort of ‘wedding oath’. Or they would take a hair pin and break it in two, and when they were separated for a long time, take a part of the hair pin with them. Once they were back together, they would weld the hairpin together, just as they both been joined together, a symbol of their reunion. (anyone feel the smell of AnY irony? lol
As always, feel free to add on or politely correct me on mistakes.
My dude @black19chevy67impala is having a rough week, so I’m going to attempt to salvage it in some way <3 Enjoy the fluff, love.
Based on promo photos for this week’s episode.
Mary stomps into the library with a huff and splays her hands expectantly.
Dean, in response, sits up a little straighter and nearly chokes on his beer. “You cut your hair,” he sputters.
Mary nods resolutely, defiance sparking behind her eyes. “Yes. I did.”
It’s not supposed to matter, it’s just hair, but it does and it’s not. Dean remembers squeezing his chubby baby fists into that long blond hair, and now even that’s gone. A dumb haircut is another reminder that this woman is a stranger to him and he’s having a mini existential crisis over it. Because he doesn’t know any better, Sam only nods with wide, wet eyes.
Unfortunately for him, Castiel chooses this moment to walk through the door. Mary’s hard eyes pin him where he stands.
The angel stops, guilty and suspicious but not knowing what for. “Yes?”
“What do you think?” Mary asks, fanning her hair out behind her.