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Damte

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sketches!!

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This did not hit well on Facebook but I'm hoping it will hit better in its native environment

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you do know there are no actual worms in your brain, right?

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Suns out. flowers are blooming. birds are chirping. yaoi shit is happening to me. maybe it'll all be ok

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unrepentant

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normalize flopping. it’s ok to fail baby. sexy even

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Jacob Elordi in "Saltburn"

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indulgence

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Amy Zerner & Monte Farber: The Enchanted Tarot Deck (1992)

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i feel like if you stabbed an angel the blood trail would look like this

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angel at rest

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interlaced

(click link to get as a print)

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Angel x Reader Head-canons

Romantic Headcanons for My Angel OC

Leaves delicate rosary beads or crumbling prayer cards at your doorstep as tokens of affection, each inscribed with your name in celestial script.

His voice echoes like a hymn when he speaks to you, but he often hesitates, fearing his presence feels more like a haunting than a blessing.

He monitors your life through the distorted reflections in your phone screen. When you catch him lurking in the static of your TV, he panics and sends a flood of emojis (🌹🔥👼)

Accidentally manifests thorns or chains when overwhelmed by emotion (e.g., gripping your hand too tightly, leaving faint scars he guiltily kisses later).

Draws parallels between your vulnerability and his own fallen grace, whispering, “You cry like the saints did—like it’s holy.”

Watches you through fractured monitor screens in abandoned churches, memorizing your routines to “protect” you. Leaves old film reels of your happiest moments on your pillow as gifts.

Taps into security cameras to glare at anyone who flirts with you, static buzzing angrily in the background.

His touch makes fresh flowers wilt, so he gifts you preserved violets from centuries ago.

Wears tattered lace gloves to hide hands scarred by holy fire, but removes them to trace your face, leaving faint ash smudges he’ll fret over for days.

Takes you on “dates” to crumbling cathedrals at midnight, reciting Latin poetry while his shadowy wings blot out the moon.

His halo flickers like a dying bulb when you hug him, terrified his love might accidentally smite you.

He steals your half-smoked cigarettes, pressing the filters to his lips to taste the ghost of your breath. The nicotine does nothing for him, but the burn reminds him he’s still capable of feeling.

Collects your discarded belongings (half-empty coffee cups, snapped hair ties) and hoards them in a reliquary, convinced they’re sacred.

Forgets human fragility—carries you too high while flying but praises your “mortal resilience”

You teach him softness. He learns to text without lurking in your notifications, to hold your hand without bruising, to say “I’m scared of hurting you” instead of vanishing for weeks. One day, he gifts you a locket containing a sliver of his halo. “It’s dimmer now,” he smiles, fragile but hopeful. “You make me want to stay earthbound.”