happy 100th birthday John F. Kennedy (May 29, 1917 – November 22, 1963)
“When we think of him, he is without a hat, standing in the wind and the weather. It can be said of him, as of few men in a like position, that he did not fear the weather, and did not trim his sails, but instead challenged the wind itself, to improve its direction and to cause it to blow more softly and more kindly over the world and its people.” -E.B. White
Here’s the thing about selkies: they’re creatures of water. Our air is their water, in a way. Have you ever noticed how streams of water over your face make you blink and shut your eyes? The wind does the same thing to them.
If you ever see humans with eyes too big, too limpid, that cannot stay open against a gust, make sure you don’t fall in love.
It can be painful. Especially if they can never look at you.
I control the winds, you see. All the air that runs through this city (never mind its name) is mine while it is here. In a way, the life that lives here is mine, too. I am the gardener, you see.
I do not boast when I say I am the best gardener for miles. I sow more seeds, plant more things than the average green thumb could aspire to. I am the one who carries the pollen around, making more of the beautiful flora that this quaint little city is known for. I don’t bother the soils too much, instead blow fallen greenery into it. Fertile soils, you see. And I do more than that. I pick just the right plants so that there’s always flowers around, always light and joy. Just the right flowers that are always close at hand to spark the blossomings of romance.
It is one of my hobbies (indeed there are many) to blow hair just the right way, to cause eyelashes to flutter, precious things snatched out of hands, blown just the right way, into the right hands. I am the reason the eyes meet, the reason for shy smiles and spontaneous offers of “Coffee, sometime?”
There is nothing I love more than watching love blossom among my loves, my loves that populate thus city with their busy, determined faces that would too easily forget to “Stop awhile, and smell the roses”, if I weren’t around to remind them.
So I sow my seeds and watch patiently as flowers and romance bloom hand in hand. Daffodils, Camellia and Bloodroot in spring, more Sunflowers that the eye can follow in summer, deep, red roses in the fall, and Snapdragons and Daisies to tide through the winter. I watch the flushed cheeks and wonder, with a bittersweet ache in my chest.
And then all of a sudden, cutting into my world like a winter wind, came Nerida. I watched with wonder the thick brown waves that flowed down her back, a flower I had never seen before in her hair. Waterborn. I wondered at how she could not hold her ground against even the tiniest of my breezes, blinking as if someone had thrown cold water across her face. But that was the thing. Cold water across her face wouldn’t even make her flicker. It was me. The deep rooted ancestral dislike of the air and those who breathed it. The fact that it felt like a slap across the face, even after the water had been diluted many, many times over with blood.
The bittersweet ache was replaced by a rush of a different kind of pain. The pain that tore and rented, fed you a mixture of hope and despair until there was only chaos, and only one thing to dispel it.
The flowers began to grow wild, and they were mixtures of flowers of celebration and mourning. The chaos was still beautiful, and I could see her watching it in delight. The flower in her hair never wilted.
I noticed something odd. She seemed to have taken it into her head that she would face the winds with a will. She would often sit in the midst of the clusters of flowers, forcing her eyes open, joy lighting up her face when she managed to keep it up a little longer than the last time.
How could I stay away? I began to help her with her struggle, starting with just whiffs of wind that got stronger and stronger, until nothing short of a gust could make her press the long lashes together.
As I watched the joy move across her face (I would never tire of that), she looked straight up at me and smiled. The rush that went through me blew her eyes shut, but they were open again in an instant. She spoke to me as only selkies and cats can, with a drawn out blink that means more than words ever could, and confers worlds. I could feel the flowers rejoicing around me as I blinked slowly, rapturously back.
Ooh, I really wanted to get in on the selkies fun like everyone else, and this time I finally could, thanks to @caffeinewitchcraft. Of course, it’s nowhere near as moving as her story with Isolde (I still fangirl over that), but perhaps a little story to make your day a little brighter. *stares longingly into the sunset, wishing for a love life* Hope you guys have fun!!!
draw piling with my friend @somfunartdesign and we went on a long winded challenge to achieve on how to draw gromit with the expression of “so angry that he doesnt even know how to contain himself and doesnt know what he’ll do hes so fucking angry” and it was hard and we eventually spiraled into drawing REALLY sad wallace- like we wanted to see how sad we could draw wallace. its fucked up. i havent laughed as hard all day.
Marinette was going to kill Alya for talking her into this situation. Slowly, and in a very personal way.
It was one thing for Alya to weasel out Marinette’s guilty fantasies surrounding Adrien- a.k.a. cute crush turned irresistible beefcake in the span of only five years. It was quite another for Alya to then force those sexy daydreams (that were never meant to see the light of day!) to actually happen in real life.
In public, no less!
It was third, even more unfathomable thing for her to shove Marinette face-first into a closet with said irresistible beefcake, the click of the lock and her manic, half-drunk laugh echoing through the tiny space as Marinette stood there like an idiot. A tipsy, dressed-scantily-for-a-party idiot radiating nothing short of pure want for the young man sandwiched in there with her.
april drawing challenge day 9 (3) - a messy doodle, but a drawing nonetheless. I’ve been thinking about drawing medli in the botw rito style since the first time i stumbled into rito village in botw, so here’s a shot \o/