#I wanted to give him wings on the head but it was too cluttered-

[darie-vox]

My god I hate him <3333

Gestures are really fun to do with his body type, especially the wings

[desiderio-dixon]

Darkest Before the Dawn

Chapter two : Wildflowers

Pairing : Daryl Dixon x f!reader (endgame), (unrequited) Glenn Rhee x f!reader

Series summary : When Glenn Rhee comes into your life, you become convinced he's a guardian angel sent by your late best friend. You think he's your soulmate. But then he falls for the farmer's daughter, and you find that your own angel may be a little more blatant than expected; wings and all.

Chapter summary : As time passes, you grow more concerned about the group in Atlanta. Daryl faces an internal conflict while hunting.

Chapter warnings : I believe just language? Please let me know if you notice anything else!

Word count : 1.6k (I wanted this one to be longer but it felt too cluttered, so the next chapter will just come in quick succession)

A/N : Thank you so much for all the positive reception on the first chapter! I'm open to starting a taglist for this series if anyone's interested. Just send me an ask :)

Series masterlist

❀~~__~~❀~~__~~❀

When Carol returns, she hands you two mini Hershey's chocolate bars. "Courtesy of Sophia," She tells you with a gentle smile.

You gave your best smile in return. "I'll have to thank her later."

After eating the candy, you started to feel a bit better. Carol stayed with you until you declared you were going back to your tent, trying to catch a couple more hours of rest.

❀~~__~~❀~~__~~❀

When you awoke, a few hours had passed. Enough for the sun to emerge from the horizon and the camp to grow lively with the sounds of everyone starting their day.

Crawling out of your tent, you were satisfied to find that your head didn't spin. Really must've been an episode of low sugar; thank god for Carol. You should find both her and Daryl, to thank them for their help.

You find Carol pouring dry cereal into bowls for the kids at a picnic table. Mischievously, you sneak behind Carl to snag a freeze-dried marshmallow from his bowl. "Hey!" He calls, a pout heavy on his lips while you toss it into your mouth. You stick your tongue out at him, ruffling his hair. He makes a face, but sinks back into easy conversation with Sophia in no time.

Turning to Carol, you find her eyes already on you. She's staring at you with an emotion you can't quite place, but it seems sweet and somber simultaneously.

She pours you your own bowl wordlessly. When she hands it to you, you place it on the table behind you before grabbing her hands in your own. You regret the sudden movement instantly, when she briefly flinches before relaxing into your gentle touch.

"Thank you for earlier, I don't know what I would've done without you." You say with a genuine smile and a tone of exasperation. She nods, returning your smile. You let her hands go, sitting down on the bench with your bowl of cereal.

Sophia sits on your left, enthusing with Carl about one of her dolls, kicking her feet and shoveling spoonfuls of sugary cereal between words. You eat your cereal silently while you wait for her rant to come to an end. This is a very important topic, after all.

Finally, she concludes the telling of her doll's very intricate backstory. "Sophia," You call gently. "Your mom lent me a couple of your candybars this morning. I promise I'll bring you a king size bar soon!" You wink. She giggles and nods, ever the shy kid.

❀~~__~~❀~~__~~❀

After breakfast, you decided to try and track down Daryl to give him your thanks. Weaving through tents and trees to reach the far end of the quarry, you arrive at the Dixon campsite. To your displeasure, there's no Daryl in sight. Only Merle, sitting on a tree stump cleaning his rifle. He doesn't look up when you approach, and you debate just turning back. But, Daryl truly does deserve your thanks and you want to be sure he receives it. "Where's Daryl?"

Merle chuckles, hands stilling over the rifle on his lap. He looks up at you over his brow-bone with a smirk. "Wasn't sure my baby brother had it in him," His chesire grin only grows when you scoff and roll your eyes. It's not like that with Daryl and you're certain he knows that too. "Oh, cmon, sugar! I ain't one to get in the way of young love! Sorry to say, though, Darylina ain't here. Went huntin' before the sun." So that's why Daryl was fully dressed in the early hours of morning. You suppress a sigh of disappointment at your failed mission, knowing that would only egg on Merle's teasing.

❀~~__~~❀~~__~~❀

Word had spread quickly around camp about your early morning escapades (though you'd hardly label it that as it wasn't quite exciting) and you'd been sternly grounded; no runs for the near future.

As the group prepared for their journey to Atlanta, your heart felt heavy. Nothing quite prepares you for just how boring the apocalypse is, especially when your favorite person is going on a run without you.

You flick the rim of Glenn's cap, standing in front of him next to the van. He swats your hand away gently, always careful with you. This is the first time he's gone on a run without you since he found you, and you're not sure what to say. 'Goodbye, hope you come back alive.'? 'Good luck not getting torn apart by the living dead.'?

Glenn beats you to the punch. "I'll see you later." He says, casually. Something about the way it's so easy for him feels like a knife twisting in your gut. You know he's an optimist, you know he believes he's going to see you later, but it hurts to think that he's not as worried about never seeing you again as you are. Overall, you're reminded that you're nothing but a friend to him. One he's only known for a month.

"Yeah, I guess I'll see you later." You breathe, lump forming in your throat when he just grins at you before hopping into the back of the van.

You walk away before you can watch it leave.

❀~~__~~❀~~__~~❀

The day seems to drone on, time moving slowly. You're holding a variety of tools for Dale, handing them off to him each time he makes a request. He and Jim have their heads firmly pointed into the hood of the Winnebago. Wiping the sweat off his forehead, Dale sighs exasperatedly. "Boy, that hose isn't long for this world, is it?"

Jim shakes his head solemnly. "No, sir." Dale hands you back a variety of tools for you to tuck into the toolbox at your feet. He slams the hood shut.

"Where the hell are we gonna find a replacement?"

"Maybe Glenn and I could find an auto store in the city." You offer, shrugging. Dale had made a great friend and mentor; you think you'd do just about anything to make that old man happy. Including risking your life for a damn radiator hose.

"It's late. They should be back by now." Amy yells over. You agree. There's been a nagging sense of concern in the back of your mind. Your trips never take this long.

Dale looks to Amy with an empathetic expression. "Worrying won't make it better." He tells her. The words weren't meant for you but you let them resonate. Worrying won't make it better.

When garbled speech starts to spew over the radio, Dale snatches it up. "Hello? Hello? Reception's bad on this end. Repeat, repeat." He yells into the radio. There's a crowd now gathered around, awaiting a response from the other end. You'd gotten a strange signal the day before but even still you were certain this time it was your group.

More unintelligible speaking comes through. "Is that them?" Lori asks. The next message is clearer. T-dog is speaking, something about trapped and the department store. Your heart sinks to the soles of your feet at what that may imply for their fate. Dale tries once more to get a clearer message when the radio cuts out completely, leaving everyone with a pool of anxiety in their chest.

There's minimal chatter before Shane shuts down the thought of sending help immediately. "No way," He says. "We do not go after them. We do not risk the rest of the group. Y'all know that."

Amy's face turns from scared to red hot rage. "So, we're just gonna leave her there?" You watch Shane, who frankly looks agitated by Amy's reaction. He runs his hand through his hair, the other one placed firmly on his hip.

"Look, Amy, I know this isn't easy."

Amy cuts him off before he can finish that thought. "She volunteered to go to help the rest of us!"

Shane sighs. "I know, and she knew the risks, right?" The question hangs in silence for a second before he goes on. "See, if she's trapped, she's gone. So, we just have to deal with that. There's nothing we can do." You scoff at that.

Amy has a stronger reaction. "She's my sister, you son of a bitch!" She yells before turning and stomping off. Lori goes after her.

"And what about Glenn?" You ask Shane. He doesn't answer. "You people wouldn't have half of the shit here if it wasn't for him." You spit. Just then, thunder begins to rumble in the distance, and you retreat to your tent to wait out the incoming storm.

In classic southern fashion, the rain comes and goes just as quickly. You decide to stay in your tent, worry implanting in the back of your skull keeping you from wanting to socialize. The cheesy romance novel you found on your last run is all the company you'll need for now. A nice distraction from the images of your friends, trapped in Atlanta, being torn apart.

You've read two chapters when you hear it. A blaring car alarm and rock music. Louder than anything you've heard since the bombs dropped.

❀~~__~~❀~~__~~❀

Daryl feels stupid. He barely knows you, certainly doesn't like you. But here he is, staring at a patch of wildflowers. You'd like them, he thinks. He's noticed that embroidered patch on your bag. Flowers of all different pastel hues, some spots stained with dried blood. He crouches over them, pulling his knife from his belt.

His fingers stutter where he goes to slice the stems. It's what people do, right? A 'get well soon' gesture. He's nearly cutting it when a groan sounds behind him. It breaks him out of his trance. Standing, he scoffs, stomping on the flowers. He uses the same knife to plunge into the walker's skull. He doesn't know you, and he's sure as hell not going to be seen carrying around a bundle of flowers to give to a girl.

[acourtofbooksandshadows]

Not So Routine- Chapter 8

Summary: Unexpected visitors cause your night to go astray. Luckily Mor is there to help anchor you.

Pairings: Eventual!Nessian x Afab!Reader Current!Mor x Afab!Reader

Warnings: Angst, men being disgusting foul little things, blood, weapons, swearing, wounds, passing out, vomit, bones breaking, child abuse from parent and death. Just please tread lightly if you are squeamish or uncomfortable with any of the above topics.

Word count: 3233

Bookshelf Series Bookshelf

It seemed that all the eventful experiences of the day were not in fact over. Because when you got home that night you paused dead in your tracks and stared widely at the forms waiting for you. Out of everyone you’d expected to be at your door it definitely wasn’t Azriel and Rhysand. You stared at them in shock and Rhysand tried to give you his best calming smile while Azriel didn’t even try to look less intimidating. 

“Oh, hello, I wasn’t expecting company today.” They were blocking your door and didn’t seem like they were going to move until your keys rattled. Rhysand stepped aside and Azriel tucked his wings in as you approached, you made quick work of the door before ushering them inside. You groaned as you realized you hadn’t cleaned up your apartment in a couple days. You hadn’t thought you’d need to since Mor was the only one that ever came over and she didn’t mind a bit of clutter. 

“I’m sorry for the mess. I wasn’t-” Your words were cut off by Rhysand. 

“Expecting company.” Nerves were working through you at a fast pace. You had a feeling that this wasn’t a friendly visit. Especially with the way Azriel seemed a little on edge. 

“Is this about Devlon?” You chewed on your lower lip so hard you started to taste blood before releasing it. 

“I’ve been gathering information on him and the males in ironcrest. I’m just wanting to iron out a few details with you.” Azriel’s voice surprised you as you realized this was the first time you’ve heard it. 

“Would either of you like tea or anything?” You stood awkwardly in the doorway to your kitchen that was just next to your front door. They both shook their head and you lead them towards your dining room table. You were thankful for the bench that lined one side of the table as Azriel was able to comfortably sit without his wings being in the way. 

“What would you like to know?” Azriel shot off a list of names in reply and had you confirm or deny their involvement. But you hadn’t known any of their names so that didn’t help at all. 

“We could try something different instead. If you’re comfortable with it of course.” You eyed Rhysand curiously already suspecting you wouldn’t like the words about to leave his mouth. 

“I could look at the memory and we could narrow down who they are that way.” A large wave of nausea took over you at the thought of reliving the experience that had scarred you not only physically but mentally and emotionally as well. 

“Does it have to be tonight?” You hadn’t realized you were picking at your nails until you pulled on a especially tender spot and you dropped your hands into your lap. 

“The sooner the better. I’m afraid that if they get wind of me digging around they might flee or try to hide any evidence of their activities.” Azriel’s voice shook you once again. Though from the stories you’ve heard of him you doubted anyone would figure out what he was up to. Unless of course he wanted them too. Rhysand seemed to take pity in the way you shook as he placed a calming hand on your arm from his spot next to you.

“Would you like me to request Mor join us?” You nodded your head quickly at his question, you knew her presence would help you undoubtedly. His eyes glazed over for a moment and after waiting with baited breath he came back. He didn’t even have to tell you what she said as she appeared in the space behind Rhysand. 

“I’m scared.” You whispered to her as she pulled a chair next to yours. She grabbed your hand that was closest to her and intertwined her fingers with yours. 

“I know but I’ll be here the whole time. Then we can go to bed afterwards.” She dragged the smooth skin of her thumb along the smooth skin of the back of your hand soothingly. You nodded your head at her before turning back to Rhysand, who was eyeing you and his cousin curiously. 

“I’m ready.” Somehow your voice came out steady and your hands didn’t shake. But nausea was something you couldn’t push away. This would be the first and the only time you showed it to someone else. 

“Would it be alright for me to share the memory with Azriel and Mor as you share it with me?” You nodded your head at him and began chewing on your lip again. Your eyes fluttered closed and then squeezed tight. Rhysand began to claw at your mind and you let out him enter as a shaky breath left your mouth. Once he found the memory you were whisked into it. 

When you had awoken that morning you groaned in pain. Your stomach and back felt like it was on fire and being stabbed all at once. You sat up with a wince and that’s when you noticed the wet feeling between your legs. You lifted the blanket up and stared at the blood that pooled between your legs. Panic set through you like water breaking through a damn. 

You weren’t exactly sure what was happening to you. But you knew that if your father found out that he’d find some way to punish you. So you got out of your bed and stood on shaky legs. There were chores that you needed to complete before Devlon came home. Even though you felt an ache and a sweat all over your body you couldn’t leave the chores unfinished. 

Your legs barely held you up as you exited your cramped room and made your way to the bathroom. You bunched up a small towel in your underwear to hopefully hold the blood that still steadily poured out of you. The rough feeling of the walls dug into your hand as you caught yourself from falling down the stairs when a particularly sharp jab spiked in your side. Your wings unused twitched open and closed behind you. After two large glasses of water to hold down the nausea and a mug of tea, with a bowl of oatmeal you finally started on your chores. 

Even though your father had a wife she did nothing to help you. Instead she would sit around most of the day and complain. She would complain about anything she could think of. Most of the time though it was you she’d complain about. Then there were some days where she would stay in her room and wouldn’t leave until your father came home. That left all the chores for you. It had become a routine at this point though. Wake up, eat breakfast, make your fathers bed, do the dishes, do the laundry, dust, sweep, mop, take care of the trash and then have dinner on the table by the time he comes home. 

You had just got done making dinner when your father came into the small house. The cramps had lessened as you worked around the house so you were going to bathe and wash the towels you had gone through while he ate dinner. But he called out to you when your foot met the second step of the stairs. You turned around nervously and you saw him take a deep breath. Then there was nothing but fury within his eyes. 

“Your first bleeding. Why didn’t you tell me about this?” Your whole body went on high alert as you looked at him. He was all but shaking with rage. The words wouldn’t leave your throat as fear settled within every nook of your body. 

“Answer me now.” He was baring his teeth at you, wings spreading out and chest puffing up. You shrank into yourself slowly under his gaze.

“It happened this morning, I didn’t know what was wrong. I am sorry.” You took the one step down and knelt before him. Wings sagging behind you and eyes gazing at the floor. You weren’t lying when you told him you had no idea what was happening. You had never been told of a first bleeding before. 

“You’re absolutely useless to me now. Go up to your room until I get you.” You hadn’t been prepared to be sent to your room. You’d normally receive your punishment immediately. It was typically a whipping with his belt or a couple of well placed kicks and punches to your body. 

You felt your breakfast from the morning coming up your throat as you stood and stalked up the stairs. Once you sat on your bed you stared at your wall for what felt like days but was really only a couple of hours. 

The trance you were in was broken as you heard your name being called through the house. You made quick work of going down the stairs and you went to kneel before your father again but he stopped you. The bile that you had finally choked down earlier threatened to come back up as he glared at you. He started walking towards the door and you stood in your place.

“Let’s go.” You hesitated at his words because you had never been allowed outside. From the day you were born all you had was the walls and rooms of your house. 

“I said let’s fucking go.” He stalked over to you and grabbed your hair roughly dragging you behind him. Your wings scraped against the floor as your legs stumbled beneath you to keep up right. The sharp chill of the breeze outside pierced the thin dress you wore and you hissed. You brought your hands up to your arms trying to rub heat into them. The snow seeped into the thin flats on your feet and chilled your toes instantly. 

You looked around and took in the sights of the camp you had only ever gazed upon from the windows in your house. No one was outside and that had you on edge even more than you already were. There was normally a slew of males drinking and rough housing at all hours. But right now it seemed everyone was inside. The wings on your back were twitching in agony at the sharp pricks of cold snapping at them. 

There was no sound to be heard other than your laboring breath and the curses from the male dragging you. The reality of the situation you were in finally set in as he dragged you closer to the trees. He pulled you through the foliage not doing anything to protect you against the lashing of the branches and leaves on your skin. You screamed as you hit a root in the ground and twisted your ankle, a loud crack ringing out through the silent night.

When you entered a clearing you noticed three males standing there. They all had wings but you didn’t recognize them as any of the males you had seen from the windows of your house. They didn’t even flinch at the way you were thrown to the ground before them. Your father spat at you as you cradled the wrist that had tried to catch you from your fall. 

“Do whatever you want to her. I don’t ever want to see her again.” His voice was pure venom as he directed the statement at the males. Before he promptly turned around and left the clearing.

Your eyes were wide and you pleaded with the males in front of you but they only laughed before one of them went to snatch you up. But you backed away from them as best you could with your injured leg and arm. That earned you a punch that went straight to your nose and cracked the bone efficiently. Blood sprayed out across your face and the ground and your head spun at the pain. 

You didn’t see the other one come up behind you. An arm wrapped around your neck and you clawed at the material of the shirt while you fought for your oxygen. He only squeezed harder even as your nails finally shredded his shirt and made contact with his skin. He brought you up and the tips of your now bare feet grazed the snow covered ground. Your vision blurred and you tried to let out a final plea but you couldn’t get a word out. The ache in your chest ebbed into a buzz throughout your body as your lungs continued to struggle. The last thing you heard before you passed out was the one that hadn’t approached you yet saying how much fun he was going to have with you. 

When you woke up, you gagged at the taste of blood in your mouth. You tried to open your eyes but they didn’t want to cooperate. It took you several more tries before they finally cracked open. You realized through the slits in your eyes that they were swollen. The dark room around you didn’t give you any clues as to where you were. But the laughing beyond the door gave you an idea. 

A loud scream ripped through your throat as you tried to stand. You looked down at your ankles and realized they were both shackled and the right one was swollen, bruised and had an odd angle to it. You tried to bring a hand down to your swollen ankle but noticed that they were also shackled and that your left wrist was in just about as poor condition as your ankle was. Your scream seemed to have garnered the attention of the Illyrians because the door was slamming open and light was flooding in. 

“Oh good, the bitch is awake.” You didn’t know where the voice was coming from as you squeezed your eyes shut. The light entering the room caused a sharp pain to throb through your head. 

“Now for that fun I talked about earlier.” You assumed he had a set of keys in his hand as you heard the sound of metal clanging together. Your suspicions were confirmed as you felt the shackles being unlocked from the floor. Two of them grabbed you under your armpits and started to drag you out to where they came from. You cracked your eyes open despite the light and tried to ignore the way the shackles pulled on your mangled wrist and ankle. 

The large table in the center of the room and the weapons lining the walls had you getting sick. The vomit mixed with the blood in your mouth and on your face and clothes as it came out of you. You heard one of the males next to you curse before a sharp pain radiated through your side. You glanced down and noticed there was a knife sticking out of your side. 

“Let’s get this done with. She’s fucking disgusting.” You figured you were even though you couldn’t see yourself. You knew there was blood and now vomit covering your face and clothes. You could feel blood pooling between your legs and down them. Your skin had tiny cuts and dirt and what not from being dragged through the forest and you were bruised in various places. 

“Get her on the table.” You tried once again to pull away from them but they only gripped you harder and the male that stabbed you twisted the knife. They picked you up and laid you face down on the table. Your nose smacked against the rough surface and you were sure they had broken it again. 

“What are you going to do?” Your question fell on deaf ears as they locked you down by your shackles and moved around the room. They all seemed perfectly in sync as they skirted around each other and handed each other different objects.

“Hold the half breed down. I’m gonna get started on the first one.” Your wings twitched at the words. Like they knew what was happening before you did. Pain shot through you with a vengeance as the first deep cut was made to your wing. You tried to push away the pain and fight but with the second deep cut you were succumbing to the black spots in your already hazy vision. 

The next time you opened your eyes you were numb. Every last part of you no longer feeling. You couldn’t feel the nasty cuts in your back were now laying bare on the dirty ground below you from where your wings were cut off. You couldn’t feel the snow seeping into your skin, the broken bones from earlier weren’t even a thought either as you stared up at the sun above you. A slow and cynical laugh left your lips as you realized this was the first time you had ever felt the sun on your skin. Because you couldn’t even feel the heat from it. 

A sound rang out somewhere near you but you couldn’t make it out as your ears rang. You hadn’t even noticed the blood that now poured down the sides of your neck and mixed in with your hair. Your eyes were still slits from the swelling when someone came and blocked the sun from your view. You blinked once and then twice, slowly as you tried to make out who was there. 

You watched their mouth move but couldn’t make out what they were saying. They came toward you and you couldn’t find it within you to fight them. Even when their wings finally came into view from where they stood tall and proud behind them. They knelt down beside you and hauled you into their arms. You didn’t feel any pain as they jostled you to adjust you better trying to avoid hitting the knife still lodged in your side. 

As you finally took in their face you realized it was a gorgeous female. You had never seen anyone as pretty as her, you decided. A small smile grazed your lips and you hoped this angel of death understood you were grateful for them before your eyes fluttered closed and you slipped into the darkness that had been fighting to consume you. 

A sob left your lips as you came back to your kitchen table. The males around the table looked at you in surprise and you shrunk into yourself but Mor was quick in standing up and gathering you into her arms, your legs wrapping around her middle. She smoothed a hand over your hair and laid a kiss on your forehead before whispering to her cousin and Azriel. You couldn’t understand what she was saying as your head was buried into her neck. 

She carried you to your room and laid you on your bed. You didn’t hear a door close but you felt a ripple of power through your apartment and figured that Rhysand must’ve winnowed away as Azriel slipped through his shadows. Mor carefully got you out of your day clothes and slipped you into a pair of sleep pants and a sleep shirt. She laid beside you once she was in similar attire and let you curl into her. She ran a hand up and down your back until you fell asleep with tear tracks down your face. Before you slipped into slumber you had uttered a sentence that rattled her bones. 

“I want the killing blows.”

A/N: I hope everyone enjoyed getting insight into readers past. There will be more Nesta and Cassian in the next part. Thank you all for reading and as always likes, comments, reblogs and follows are much appreciated.

Tags(open): @kmc1989 @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @luvmoo @wolfsbane44 @acourtofinkandpapyrus @moonlwghts @maddietheshoe @hyemishii @fanboyluvr @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @pinksmellslikelove @waytoomanyteenagefeels @littlebbb @cat-or-kitten @brandywineeeee

[bunneclair]

I have something for you guys ….

here are my redesigns of the four known 7 deadly sins from the hellaverse! I’ll go in order explaining.

Here’s Lucifer — the adjustments I made were primarily to his hair and smaller features, such as giving him goat eyes, a snake themed cane, and pulling more classical and biblical inspiration forward. I love a lot of the artistic liberties in the Hellaverse designs but I do think that him being a curly-redhead is a pretty important thing that I hated to see left out of his design. I also gave him hooves and claws because I felt like he was a bit too human compared to the other sins, and wanted to make him stand out a bit more!

Next is Asmodeus! My main focus was to make it more evident which sin he represented — while I love Ozzie’s design, I felt like his color palette could be slightly more representing of the sin of lust, so I shifted toward warmer toned colors such as red and purple, while sacrificing the green and blue. I wanted to bring across more gender-fluidity since lust is something I think it is important to represent through various gendered lenses and so I went for the whole upper-half masculine lower-half feminine thing that you see here with a vest+button up and a long slit skirt! I also wanted to show more heart motifs that appear to be evident in ironically all of lust and its inhabitants besides Ozzie most of the time, and so I curved his tail and head feathers in a way that made heart shapes, and I placed Bull and Ram in a way where they’re more visible and stand out more so as their own little entities since it’s implied they’re separately sentient.

My girl Beelzebub! I LOVE her design, but I do feel like it leans heavier toward hellhound (and fox somewhat) and not enough toward her insect features, so I gave her Bee stripes as well as putting more emphasis and effort into her wings. I kept the multicolored lava lamp hair and belly but made an extra effort to highlight the gold in it to emphasize the honey/bee theme, while also placing this texture in other places such as her paws and inner-ears. I also gave her a honeycomb crown, and more loose-fitting flowy clothing to display her fun and laid-back nature, while referencing her bee themes again by adding a yellow gradient meant to mimic pollen that gets stuck on bees during their pollination process. I also gave her the funky bug eyes :) anddd sorry but I took away the mohawk, it just felt too cluttered for me to draw among other things.

Here’s Mammon! I may be biased but I love his design so much already that it was difficult to change a whole lot. However, I did find things that I wanted to change. For one, you may notice there are hat and no-hat versions of Mammon here, and that’s because I wanted to display the broken imp-like horns I gave him. In biblical mythology, Mammon often disguised himself as someone who was poor or in need so that he would be able to garner profit from pity, and I think that there is no better way to represent that than ripping off his favorite little brand-baby. I edited a lot of the black in his color palette to be gold instead, as well as adding gold to the fingertips of his gloves as a reference to Midas’ touch. I gave him more of a spider-like appearance since according to a lot of the fandom his species is fairly ambiguous, and I made his shirt (or whatever you call that lol) a bit shorter and less cluttered because I often struggled with drawing it. I also attempted to adjust his proportions a bit as I feel like the designs for the fat characters in Helluva and Hazbin often struggle a bit with proportions and it feels important to me to better represent them.

That’s all I got, but I also created my own takes on the sins that haven’t been revealed yet, which may end up being one of my next posts! I’m doing my best to stay active in the art community and this media has given me some motivation and fuel. Any input is welcome as long as we stay positive ❤️

Reminder as well that my commissions are very open!

[somacruising]

One of the things I like the most about Tales of the Abyss is the careful attention to detail the devs did when creating the locations in the game. One of the highlights, for me, has always been Guy and Pere’s room in Fabre Manor.

One of the first things you might notice is Guy’s folded the banner above his head over. Knowing what we know about Guy now, it’s obvious that he did this because he couldn’t stand looking at the emblem of House Fabre. This was the most he could do to get them out of his sight without actually cutting the banner—which would be entirely too suspicious. 

Of note are those swords hanging on his wall, and the little metal trinkets on his desk. While Guy isn’t exactly an engineer himself, this seems to suggest that Guy’s gotten into the habit of tinkering with fon tech during the (likely very scarce) moments of free time he actually gets to himself. It’s a bit more cluttered than the desk on Pere’s side.

Another fun little detail is that Guy is very good about pushing his chairs in when he’s done and Pere leaves his out (lol).

However, the thing that I want to point out the most, that I haven’t seen a lot of people talk about, is that little metal box by Guy’s bed. Considering he keeps it close to him, it’s something very important. What it is is revealed in the Guy Cecil Anthology comic (which you find on the Wings of an Angel scanlation group website if you haven’t).

It’s a little music box. In the brief window we see in this panel, Guy and Luke seem much younger when Luke is giving it to him. We know from the game that Luke has purchased things before, though it was likely through some sort of catalogue where the household staff took care of the transaction for him.

Tear: You can't just take a store's products without paying! Luke: But the manor pays for everything all at once.

Which leads me to wonder if this gift was what got Guy interested in fontech to begin with. It makes me wonder how often Guy would listen to that at night, given it’s right next to his bed.

[nerdranttheories]

Toshinori Yagi is a Heteromorph, but Quirkless

Nerd rant of the day! I’ve seen many different takes on All Might’s muscle form, arguing about whether it’s a part of One for All, is just a visual gag, or it’s a separate quirk entirely, that’s purely cosmetic in Toshinori’s case. I’ve had this theory for a while, but after seeing some videos on TikTok disagreeing over his secondary form, I’ve decided to publish this headcanon. I also have proof for this idea, so hold, please.

Firstly, I want to address the idea that All Might’s secondary form is just a visual gag, and not an actual thing that happens within the canon in the series. I can see why this would be an accepted headcanon, as it’s hard to explain this ability of All Might’s, when it has little to no explanation within the series. The often comedic times in which All Might changes also lend themselves to this idea, and make it hard to take his transformation seriously. However, there are instances where attention is called specifically to the transformation All Might partakes in. Well, and the gush of blood from his mouth every single time he reverts to his smaller form prove that there’s definitely a physical change going on.

With the idea that the transformation is a canon thing he does in mind, I want to address the idea that All Might only recently started doing this transition, since his injury. Boku no Hero Vigilantes disproves this as we see a young All Might do the signature transformation. (However, I’m not sure of the canonicity of ‘Might Ears’ so perhaps this can be taken with a grain of salt.)

So what is this transformation? Izuku doesn’t do it so it’s not a part of One for All. Here’s where my theory comes into play.

We see several heteromorph characters, even within Izuku’s class. Shoji, Tokoyami, and Koda are the ones I am going to specifically refer to. There are other hetemorphs, like Ojiro and Hagakure, but in their case, their different anatomy is their quirk. To some extent, so is Shoji’s and Koda’s. However, Shoji’s unusual facial proportions aren’t connected to his quirk “dupli-arms”, and while Koda’s ears seem to play some factor in his “ani-speak” ability, from a scene later in the manga. (I won’t add it just in case for spoilers?) but his overall shape doesn’t seem to affect his ability much. And of course, Tokoyami’s ability is Dark Shadow, which really doesn’t explain why his head is shaped like a bird’s.

As such, my guess is there is some kind of classification system in place in the MHA society that places heteromorphism as a quirk or not, most likely due to usefulness. Hawk’s wings allow him to fly, while Tokoyami’s head doesn’t seem to give him an advantage in any way.

Having said all that, I think All Might’s transformation, as well as his eyes, place him as a heteromorph. The eyes I’ll explain a different day, so as not to clutter this post too much. Flexing muscles does make them stronger, but in Toshinori’s case it may be that the transformation doesn’t add any extra strength outside of that, and so he’s considered quirkless. It’s only with One for All that he gets that super-strength. But his different biology may be part of why he was able to accept OfA without the same difficulties Izuku experienced, because it’s never mentioned that All Might has the same toe thing Izuku does. (You’d think if he did, his tailor (and David Shield!!!) would have noticed (which of course could just be the author forgetting but for now I’ll use it as support)) which adds even more to the idea that he’s a heteromorph, just not classified as having a quirk.

[goldenchocobo]

Dark Road Upperclassmen Daemons!

It seems natural that I make Daemons for the Upperclassmen as well, so here they are!

I think I only struggled with two of these- Helgi and Sigrun; since both don’t get a lot of lines or screen time, and when they do, it seems they’re mostly telling plot details. Vidar and Vala came to me naturally, and surprisingly, so did Vali. Hoder was a no-brainer giver her connections to the Norse mythos.

Instead of the usual line-up I do, I thought I’d do something a little fancier and give them all a little circle background based on their primary colours. I was going to add more detail, but felt it cluttered the images too much.

Out of all of these, Sigrun was the most fun to draw; I don’t know why, but I had a lot of fun. It may be unsurprising, but Hoder was the hardest to draw; I’m not sure what it is about her, or her brother- but those two are just difficult for me to draw properly. But I did my best, and I think she turned out well.

Images include their name, their Daemons name and species if you don’t want to risk spoilers.

Keep Reading for more info, and some spoilers for Dark Road.

Vidar

Settled: Grey Heron Daemon Name: Geirr Looks: A mostly grey bird with shimmering black and blue wing feathers and a white head tapering to a stripe along her neck. She has yellow feet and a yellow beak.

A focused Daemon who always reminds Vidar to stay on track of their goals, whether it be personal or academic.

Symbology: Vidar seems to be very precise and to-the-point when talking to Vor, much like how herons need to be precise when hunting fish. Not to mention some species of heron lure fish; much like how Vidar lured Vor to join him. Geirr is the Norse word for ‘Spear’.

-

Vala

Settled: Snowy owl Daemon Name: Frode. Looks: An almost completely white owl with black star-like shapes on his back. 

Always taking things into consideration, Frode is one to think about things and put them into perspective before making a decision on anything.

Symbology: Vala’s named is based on the Norse word for ‘witch’ or ‘seer’- Volva. Owls are often associated with wisdom as well as sorcery and magic due to their elusiveness and large eyes. Frode means ‘Wise’ or ‘Learned’ one.

-

Vali

Settled: Cape Genet Daemon Name: Alfhild Looks: A dusty-yellow genet with deep black spots and piercing icy-blue eyes.

No one has really heard Alfhild talk- except of course Vali themselves. They’re an observant Daemon who likes to watch rather than take action, but is often the first to move when danger is abound. 

Symbology: Vali gets a single sentence in the entirety of the game, so it was hard to pinpoint something for them; so I gave them a sneaky, arboreal mammal, since they always jump down from the ceiling, as well as them having the entire Ninja get-up. In a Norse legend, a woman named Alfhild disguised herself as a warrior to escape an arranged marriage.

-

Heimdall

Settled: white-tailed Eagle Daemon Name: Modgud Looks: A large dark bird with a shining white tail.

Not one to judge quickly, Modgud is a Daemon who likes to think first before taking action, as well as make sure she has all her facts in order first.

Symbology: In Norse myth, Heimdall keeps watch for invaders and watch for signs of Ragnarok. He was also noted to have exceptional eyesight and hearing, which is why I chose an Eagle for him; as Eagles have some of the best eyes in the animal kingdom. The name Modgug is a Latinised translation of a Jotun who stood on the bridge of Hel and made sure the dead souls passed through while letting no living thing pass.

-

Sigrun

Settled: Mute Swan Daemon Name: Hothbrod

Looks: A large white bird with black feet and an orange beak.

A sweet Daemon, he means well most of the time, but can be a bit over-bearing.

Symbology: I had a lot of trouble with Sigrun. In North myth, she’s both an instigator for a battle, as well as being reborn as a Valkyrie. I can’t find much on her apart from that tale, although sometimes it has an alternate ending where she is killed in the guise of a swan, so I simply took that and ran with it; as even if that ending is not true; Swans are both feminine-looking and very much an aggressive animal. Hothbrod is the Latinised translation of the Man Sigrun was arranged to marry before running off with Helgi.

-

Helgi

Settled: European boar Daemon Name: Svava Looks: A large mostly brown pig with no visible tusks. she has an unusually blonde tail.

A headstrong Daemon who acts first before thinking, and hates waiting when she could be doing.

Symbology: Helgi was the one I had the most trouble with, because there are two Helgis in Norse myth(Hundingsbane and Hjorvathsson); both are related as well, so I don’t know which Helgi this character refers to. Helgi in-game also doesn’t have a lot of lines either, but seems to be strong-headed and overly-confident, which is why I chose a boar. Svava is the Valkyrie who gave Helgi his name in Norse myth.

-

Hoder

Settled: Inland taipan Daemon Name: Tyr

Looks: A white snake with a dark head. he has gold flecks in the shape of mistletoe leaves that zigzag across the length of his body.

A Daemon who has a strong moral compass that never wavers from what he thinks is right. If he sees something wrong, he will convince Hoder to set it right.

Symbology: In Norse myth, Loki was bound to a rock forever to be tortured by a snake dripping venom onto him. Since the roles are reversed in Dark Road, and it's Baldr who killed the classmen, and Hoder wanting to kill him to get rid of the Darkness within his heart, I thought it was apt to give her a snake Daemon. The inland taipan is the most venomous snake in the world although there have not been any reported deaths from taipan since the invention of its antivenom, and Tyr was a Norse God of battle and justice.

[reborrowing]

this silly vampire idea kept rolling around my head so that's how I chose to spend my free time tonight. it's not really edited or polished, to the point where idk that I'd even call it finished, but here it is anyway. will I develop it more or will this get it out of my system? who knows.

I was very fuzzy, very suddenly.

No, not me. Or, I was, but...that was normal, I think, it was... My thoughts. My thoughts were fuzzy. Indistinct. I couldn't think straight, I wasn't—where was I?

I'd been flying. I didn't want to spend any more time on the ground in this wretched city than They required of me, I remembered that well enough.

They?

I was they, wasn't I? A swarm of me, of bats, or...

What city?

It was dark, even darker than I liked, and a frigid mist hung overhead. I went to push to my feet but not of my limbs would cooperate. My chest burned.

Why did it hurt? Had I been attacked? Were there hunters in this mystery city? Was I dying?

My heart raced, whatever the cause. But before I could solve any of my worries, the light disappeared and something went to smother me.

~

I really would do anything to put off writing that report.

Not that I was doing this to procrastinate, of course, I was being a good person. I'd been out for a late-night walk (not procrastinating—I needed that candy as a focus incentive) and found a bat crawling across the cold pavement about a block from my apartment. Even without getting too close, I could tell it was pretty badly injured. Its left wing was crumpled and out of sync with the rest of its movements.

What kind of asshole would I be if I left it there like that?

A dozen warnings about rabies echoed in my head, but none quite loud enough to give me more than a moment's pause. I used my hoodie to catch it. It didn't seem to struggle much and once I got it wrapped up, it gave up completely. I wanted to think that it knew I was trying to help it. Mostly I hoped it hadn’t died in my hands before I even had a chance to call the wildlife center.

I dumped a scattering of clutter out of a closet shoebox, swearing to myself that I’d deal with the mess later, and gently placed the bundled-up bat inside. I tentatively pulled back one edge of my sweatshirt to steal a look at the little guy. It was breathing, at least, if not conscious.

The wildlife center told me I’d (more or less) done the right thing so far, and told me to drive it down there as soon as I had the chance. I turned off the car radio for quiet as suggested, but couldn’t help whispering reassurances to the little guy as I drove. I guess it wouldn’t understand me, even if it were awake to hear me, but the silence in the car unnerved me otherwise, especially as I left the bright lights of the city for the preserve on the outskirts.

Inside, a friendly-looking man took the box off my hands. He didn’t tell me to stick around, but he didn’t tell me to leave either, so I stayed. I had other things I didn't want to do, after all, and it would be nice to know what was going to happen to the bat.

I wasn’t expecting to get my box back, but the man stepped back into the lobby with it tucked beneath an arm. His smile looked forced now, as he thrust the shoebox back to me.

“Ma’am, we’re very busy here. I don’t know what you were thinking, but please, don’t waste our time,” he said.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I opened the box and fell silent. The bat was gone. It had been replaced with a small, pale doll. 

“Is this some kind of joke?” I asked.

“Like I said, we’re very busy. If there’s nothing I can actually do for you…?”

I put up a hand and apologized for…I didn’t entirely know what I’d done here, but there was clearly no injured bat for him to help me with. I closed the box and awkwardly shuffled back out to my car to try and figure out what had just happened.

~

When I next woke, my head was clearer.

I was sure that I’d been captured by some manner of capture because God almighty, that light was blinding. No reasonable vampire would ruin a room with such a miserable lamp, save those few with a soft spot for their thralls’ visual needs. 

I was still blinking back tears to try and adjust to the artificial blaze when someone scoffed and the light disappeared altogether. An unknown force threw me to the ground. I tried to collect myself several times before I realized the room itself was shaking, at which point I simply settled into the fleece around me as comfortably as I could and waited for the chance to face my attacker.

There was an especially rough quake that shoved me up against the wall, and then the earth was still at last. I flinched as a sliver of light appeared overhead only to be mercifully bathed in moonlight. 

I didn’t recognize where I was, not even what sort of building this might be. The ceiling was distant and carpeted. There were windows all around, as if we were in a poorly shaped dome. Even the box I’d been transported in was strange. The wood was unnaturally smooth and I saw no hinges for the top side that had been pulled away.

As I was considering the low wall before me, a cloud passed over the moon and cast me in shadow. At least, I assumed that was the source until she gasped. I twisted to face the noise and gasped back. A massive woman, larger than some buildings, gawked down at me and at once, the pieces fell together. I had been not only captured, but cursed. I doubted I would be more than a half foot tall, were I to measure.

Her scent engulfed me as she leaned even closer, intoxicatingly sweet. The steady rhythm of her heart was near enough it almost enthralled me. I wanted her. And I would have her. But first, my dignity.

I opened my mouth to demand she turn me back and release me, or, if she couldn’t, return me to the one who could. I intended to order her to serve me as I deserved. The words died in my throat. 

My charm, my magic didn’t even make it that far. I needed to see my victims’ eyes if I wanted to bewitch them and I couldn’t bear to meet hers. I faltered after less than a half a second. but her whiskey stare combined with the sheer size of the behemoth looming over me was too much, too intense. My knees buckled; I was as helpless in her gaze as she ought to be in mine. 

“What are you?” she whispered.

[akocomyk]

November Weekend

2022's 2nd Most Memorable Moment

Nothing beats a day well-spent with the people you love—except maybe a memory that’s made so much impact in your life, nothing else that happened after that could be more memorable. Hence, this three-day event is only the runner-up of the year.

The following song was originally meant as an allusion to drugs. In a certain point of view, love is like a drug. It makes you feel good. It can liberate you. It’s more fun if you’re enjoying it with someone special. Ultimately, too much of it can kill you.

Nevertheless, the right amount of love is just perfect.

Last November, I posted three photo collages following the same visual theme. I did so because I knew right then that those days were one of the best memories I’ve had last year—if not the best—and it’s just interesting that they all happened consecutively.

I contemplated hard within myself if I should give this the top spot or not—obviously, the other memory won.

November 11

We were supposed to celebrate this day back on October 7, few days after our anniversary. Gerald was unfortunately sick that time, much to our dismay, and we couldn’t schedule at an earlier date because he wanted to focus on reviewing for his licensure exam.

It was a good decision, though. Having it in November made it a double celebration—our anniversary and him passing his exam.

We had a staycation at a cheap hotel somewhere in Pasay. It had a swimming pool on the roof deck.

We ate a lot—Manam, Greenwich, hotel food—and we played Nintendo.

November 12

After checking out from the hotel, we went to SM Mall of Asia where my sister joined us. We watched Black Panther: Wakanda Forever.

November 13

Wilma and I went to the Pintô Art Museum in Antipolo, Rizal. We ate breakfast there—pizza and pasta.

She was astounded at how quickly I roamed around the galleries—she expected me to observe longer than she and Jemar did when they visited the museum, knowing the artistic person that I am.

Don’t get me wrong. I love viewing art. Not to say anything bad about the artists who made the pieces, but I think the museum was just too cluttered—it didn’t give the pieces the ample space they deserve. I was just looking everywhere and I’m like, “Why are these displayed like this???” 

It’s difficult to appreciate a work of art if everything surrounding it is trying to grab your attention. Having said that, I still gave some time to appreciate and try to interpret some of them if they were given enough space and justice—or if I find the piece very intriguing.

So for me, the museum itself—its galleries, the collection of pieces from the different artists, and everything that makes up the whole place—is the artwork. The obra maestra of the museum's owner.

Going back to our story... We went to a nearby café right after. She had coffee and I had a calamansi juice—if I remember correctly.

Then we headed back to Cavite to grab my keyboard from her house, then to Marjette’s house to eat dinner—it was the feast day of Cavite City.

November 14 (just some extra)

Wilma was in Cavite City once more and wanted to pass the time to wait for the traffic to ease—there was heavy traffic outbound from the city. She invited us for dinner, only I responded, so we ate at Papa Chon’s Ribs and Wings.

[benefits1986]

YE Countdown 2023: Lessons from Gen Alpha and Gen Z Goslings

Let's try giving "Lessons from Geese" an update it deserves, shall we?

One of the first things I vividly remember back in Leon Guinto days is the session in Marketing 101 staged by my second dad. Back then, I'd nonchalantly listen to his mentions about Katips, his alma mater. Honestly, I found it trivial because he's housed in Taft Likod or Taft Tabi-tabi. He's fond of using terms like Jesuits and angling it toward his dry humor about Benedictines.

However, his deep dive about "Lessons from Geese" caught my usually bored self. It was rather long and a bit too poetic and unapologetically philosophical for a class that's right after lunch time. Though I knew I wanted to ace this class since it's my major, this particular session turned my grade-focused existence to my yearning to be under his wing. I guess it's the pivotal moment when I wanted and needed him to mentor me. Check the full document here --JICYMI, this may give you more context about what I'm talking about. ;)

You see, I am fully aware that schools and any social spaces are not just about grades. Mother Dragon said that it's always important to get to know how any situation, any person, any conversation and all things in between should enable me to bring a lesson I can use as I go through life. She didn't mention anything about getting a 1UP based on status or title. All she wanted me to do is to go beyond the medium to masticate the message as I come up with a derivative that would allow me to learn from other's mistakes and milestones. She reminded me passionately about this a little too much, but, I knew that the wild child in me had to whacked in the head a little too much to let her message rise from the noise and the clutter.

This holiday, I spent a whole lot of time with my Gen Z 4th anak-anakan and her three Gen Alpha siblings. I wasn't expecting anything from this long holiday leave as I planned a very detailed Iloilo & beyond trip. This "coming home to ina's house" is easily the longest time I've stayed here. This time around though, this stay is the most intentional that's not too focused on averting a family matter that matters most. This time around, it's my homecoming to heal the wounded healer in me.

I actually paused as I plugged in the previous sentence. This statement made my insides swell with nostalgia that's like a really deep, dark chocolate with Level 5 matcha laced with vanilla.

I've shared that I love interacting with Gen Z and have been wondering how Gen Alpha would come in the picture. And then, poof. Here we are! I'd like to list down some lessons that aim to marry a classic and an upcoming school of thought, because we're weird that way, yes?

(I'm kind of excited because postmodernism is a staple in my book, however, I seem to have too little time to indulge in it. Perhaps, this is a good start as I fine-tune my slants, writing-wise.)

#1 Before the "V" formation comes the battle of the egos and the "lost in translation" phase.

I used to be so irritated when I see Gen Alpha get too physical and too graphic when they have sibling rivalry. While I know so well that sibling rivalry dates back to Cain and Abel, this generation is off the roof. They don't murder each other literally, however, they indulge in really cutting words tripled with bloody punches, bites and the like and are teeming with hate that makes my empath aura bleed so badly.

However, I've tried using lines like "You hate your sister? Did you know that love and hate are the same? Love and hate are both energies and you just choose one each time you talk to your sister."

Gen Alpha and Gen Z are already loaded with biases based on their algorithm, their digital and analog selves along with the influence of millennials, Gen X and boomers as the supporting characters in their avatar-filled his/herstory.

Their comments, questions and answers are too personal and at times, unforgiving. However, it's their way of asking for help about managing their one too many biases that they're yet to test out and figure out.

#2 Flying alone is a choice and shouldn't be antagonized. However, choosing to fly with a group is also a moral obligation.

Speaking of the avatar-filled digital and analog selves of Gen Alpha and Gen Z, I strongly feel and think that this generation's silent pandemic is the managing being alone, feeling alone and thinking alone.

I really can't imagine how the lockdown mutated their genes and impacted their spheres mentally, physically, emotionally and the list goes on and on and on.

Social awkwardness in these two generations is more pronounced; however, these generations ache for connections that are both digital and analog --no in between, no but's, no if's.

I've seen how my Virgo Baby Girl (VBG) cousin indulged in really, really bad tantrums that made my boomer dad unleash his boomer parenting without the belt slash or hanger flyer. LOL.

I've come across this random parent who shared that moody kids like hers are usually overstimulated, overwhelmed and yes, may well be overreacting. She also recommended giving hugs and words of affirmation a good try. Her comment section exploded and when I scanned, the netizens are both hating and loving her content piece.

And so, since I'm a fan of social experiments, I tested this hypothesis on my VBG in the light of trying to up my ante as a progressive millennial Tita. The reason is that VBG is too similar with my Virgo Baby Brother (VBB). LOL. It's me trying to see a quantum jump of some sort, too. Back then, I was too tough love on my VBB, and this time around, I'd like to be a bit better to him through my VBG interactions which are still calculated risks because I'm not always out of Manila. :p

Most importantly, hugs and words of affirmation combo is my waterloo. I'd want to try making it a waterWOO this 2024, because, late is better than never ever, right?

The first time I hugged and affirmed my VBG was when she's about to burst. As a recovering overthinker, I cling to my people watching skills to detect when's the best time to jump off the cliff. LOL. Akala mo naman napaka hirap, but, that's how I egg roll. CHOZ. It felt weird then wonderful. Kaya ko naman pala e. She didn't reject me vehemently, but she pushed back, obviously. There goes, my ugh vibe when it comes to being rejected. But, mature roles era na tayo, so, I hugged her again. This time around, she didn't bulldoze me. Instead she rested her head on my chest. Chest pa talaga, mhie. She just stayed there and I tried super tiny words of affirmation na gentle and no bashing. HAHAHAHAHA. Again, bloody baby steps po kasi nga, I'm not exactly in my element as an ember girl.

Milestone ko when she didn't clench her body and hugged me back. OPAK. Real quick naman din pala e. WOOT. WOOT. Tacca. Kaya naman pala e. You know what's even better? When she was dressing for our luwas to Manila yesterday, she asked me to tie her hair using the pink big bow I gifted her. She even told me that she'd use the water bottle I gave her even when she has one too many Aquaflasks na. HUHUHUHUHU. Ang babaw ko talagang tao. But wait, there's more, she showed her wrist to me and proudly said: "Ate, we have gold and silver bracelets. Look." LUH. Syempre, wala akong comment kasi caught off guard ako, so I just said OK. Did you know? OK is my word of affirmation, believe it or not. Ang lala ko 'di ba? I'm the type kasi who's always saying no and I don't care, literally and figuratively.

Happy to share that she had ZERO tantrums kahapon so we managed our super duper limited time in Manila very wisely. Hihihi.

#3 Rest is not for the weak, but rest if meant to strengthen your flying performance and stamina.

Gen Alpha and Gen Z have sleeping problems that may be worse than the previous generations. I think this is anchored on synchronous and asynchronous communication.

The gift and curse of being the multi-hyphenated generation is off the roof. Again, millennials are trying to live vicariously through these generations. I've seen Kumon top tier kiddos sleep and snore like adults hustling and working so deeply. I've seen the defeated cries of kids losing a super "wala lang" game in spite being Top 1 in class across all subjects. I've seen kids fear rivers because they don't look like pristine chlorine-filled pools. I've seen kids try posing as grown ups even when their drips don't fit their vibe and mood.

NKKLK. And so, when I interface with my Gen Z med student cousin, I try my best to be gentle and firm. Bashing and crashing and limited time love language namin, pero when she shared, "Ate, ang gusto ko lang naman in life, 'yung kalmado naman. Ayoko na nga sigawan na walang tigil. Bingi na nga ako e." It felt so graphic and true. Kaya, 'di man ako kalmado, eto na tayo sa ultra femme era natin. I don't know if I can wing it, pero OK. OK. Hahahaha.

Rest is something that ALL generations lack. Choosing not to rest seems like a mortal sin to this population. However, as a recovering burnout bitch running on adrenaline addiction x anhedonia mash up, rest is integrated in all my flows. Hindi siya madali. Hindi siya part ng sistema ko. Hindi siya nakakakalma, however, rewiring your totality is integral in all spaces and places you go to.

Huminga. Kumalma. Magpahinga. Then, saka ka balik-sabak na. GAH. I miss my home buddy tuloy sa work RN. HUHUHU. Alam mo 'yung sobrang simpleng feedback niya na kahit ang kalat ko talaga nitong Q4 2023, he tells me na 'yung tip ko na huminga siya in between his lines sa reporting, gamit na gamit niya. Not always pero a good number of times. This Gen Z is teaching me na it's OK to be gentle and firm. HUHUHUHU. OK. OK. Shemay, kamusta na ba sila? But, wait, kalma. Magpahinga. Huminga.

#4 Encouragement is both a blessing to the healing ones; and may be a loud senseless honk or curse for those who are yet to see and feel that they're badly wounded.

Another lesson I'd like to overhaul about the geese is the HONKING to keep the "V" formation pop and fly high. LOL. Eto na po tayo sa highly polarizing bit ng piece na 'to na napaka haba. Gawin ko na ba 'tong thesis proposal? Hahahahahaha. Gusto comm-focused e. CHOZ.

There's encouragement that's called for and uncalled for. Gen Z and Gen Alpha don't like to be scolded and honked at. LOL. That's the other thing that seems crass about these new generations; however, honking is kinda outdated when I revisited these geese lessons.

How so? Honking may be intrusive and kinda condescending. A honk is usually loud and triggering. A honk is typically making you jump, like that of a bike or car honk, right? So, what?

Instead of honking, I picked encouragement as a better alternative so it's more empathic and inclusive. Encouragement is something that should be used and not misused or abused. Gen Z and Gen Alpha already are in deep pain points that have not existed since The Land Before Time Era. (OA ko na naman, pero I want that graphic reference right here and right now e.)

I am trying to be more encouraging and taming my wild horse while at it. Gen Z and Gen Alpha are generally not afraid to ask for help, however, the manner they ask for help is something that I'm learning as it is not the same as the older generation. They usually lambing to say they are in trouble. They usually go offline when there's something bothersome. They usually mask their depression with fancy and fluffy stuff. It's kind of the same with millennials, but not quite.

#5 A damaged geese either dies or lives. It's all about how the perspective of the geese who help the wounded PLUS how the damaged geese perceives it.

Lastly, the circle of geese and the depth and stamina of that circle defines the life and death of any damaged goose. I view asking for help as a demerit. Ang lala natin talaga. But, what I'm painstakingly learning is that asking for help is a choice. People who help are also making choices. It's not about wala na lang silang maggawa kasi kawawa ako. LOL. Milestone achieved. Akala mo again kung anong napaka profound learning, ano po? I won't say sorry kasi akala ko talaga tama 'yun e noon e.

The quality of your circle of control is also impacted by the quality of the people you cling to as you try your best to control your circle of control. Read that again and again. When you're in a chaotic space and state, it really is a plus to have people who believe in you no matter what. 'Yung tipong won't baby you pero medyo delulu levels ng tiwala sa'yo kasi kaya mo naman talaga... sabaw or traumatized ka lang talaga. Or puwede rin namang wala sa mood. LOL.

Help is a two-way thing and multi-faceted as well. Hindi siya one-sided lang featuring nangaabala 'yung kabila so walang choice 'yung naabala. I guess, this is my first time to ask for help na taos-puso tulo ang uhog at dugo era ko. HAHAHAHA. As a recovering wone wolf, this is always a coliseum for the mere mortal me. However, OK OK OK na, I am giving this a really good try and nag-start na ako.

Gah. I started this at around 430 AM and I just finished. Daming hugot-lagot niyan? LOL. Maybe, I just love the sound of my suking electric fan on a balmy Thursday morning with the pitter-patter of soft rain coupled with soft glowing ambient lights na walang maingay. Add queen sized bed and the chirping birds, too. Ah, provincial life. Sa Year 41 na tayo mag-tuos sa araw-araw. Piliin ko muna 'yung good fight sa araw-araw din, because, the best things take time and sanay naman ako maghintay kahit impatient ako.

<3

[theramseyloft]

Beginner’s housing for a pet pigeon

We can go into the complexities involved in housing multiple pigeons at a later time.

Right now, we’re going to focus primarily on setting up for a single bird who is intended to be a companion animal.

The biggest problem you are going to run into is that the housing commercially available for birds is designed either to display a finch or a parrot.

Finch cages make excellent hospital cages for pigeons, but that is their only useful application.

A Hospital cage needs to be small to discourage the bird from moving around too much and doing anything other than eating and drinking, so that their recovery, be that from disease or injury, can progress with as few delays as possible.

A healthy bird cannot tolerate this degree of confinement for long.

Parrot cages are huge and expensive, but too narrow for a pigeon to be physically able to use.

The bare minimum requirements for any cage a pigeon will be housed in for more than an hour a day is that it be two inches wider than the full wingspan of the bird at the narrowest point, to allow their wings at least an inch of clearance on either side.

They are cliff nesters that don’t roost on branches. Round perches hurt their feet, so they need either flat platforms or square perches.

Pigeons cannot climb the way parrots can. They can only walk or fly, and they cannot comfortably fly if their wings will clip into things like hanging toys or ramps.

So they tend to prefer their enclosure be as uncluttered as possible.

Socialization is best done outside the enclosure, so that’s where most of the toys should be.

Dog kennels set up like this one above are kinder to both the pigeons and the wallets of their care taker than pretty much any indoor bird cage available.

A Labrador sized (usually marketed as a “Large”) kennel will fit bird about homer sized and smaller.

Larger breeds or breeds with longer flight and tail feathers will need a larger size as a base line.

These are very simple to modify.

The nest box is a bunny/ferret corner litter box, about $8-10 at most pet shops. Easy to clean and comfortable.

The perch is a garden stake cut to length, about $5 from the garden center at Walmart or a hardware store like Lowes or home Depot.

Honestly, if I had this to do over, the birds would get a wider, shallower food dish.

Pigeons are ground foragers. It’s easier for them to eat comfortably from a shallow dish than a deep one.

The water dish can be as deep as the pigeon can reach the bottom of.

This is the upper level of a ferret nation Double modified for my first breeding pair of Lucerne waaaay back before my loft was built, when I had a grand total of four breeding pair of pigeons and 16 pairs of Ringneck doves.

This one also has a garden steak cut to fit as a perch.

Their nest box is a large dog bowl full of timothy hay.

Notice that this enclosure has a single hanging bell toy exactly at standing head height for the birds, well out of the way of their wings.

This probably looks unbearably spartan, especially if you come form a parrot back ground.

Remember that pigeons cannot climb and will not fly in a space where their wings may bump into clutter.

The cage for an indoor pet pigeon should serve the same function as the kennel does for an indoor dog:

That is NOT where the dog lives!

At most, it’s where they sleep at night, and where a puppy stays when they can’t be supervised until they’ve learned the house rules.

Pigeons are absolutely smart enough to learn house rules just like a dog or cat.

And pet pigeons are happiest when they have the freedom of motion to exercise, play, and interact with their human flock mates at will.

While they can free fly an entire house, a single bedroom is enough space for most breeds to move around happily.

Pigeon proofing is pretty simple.

They aren’t capable of chewing like parrots, so no need to worry about your electrical chords being damaged and your bird giving them self a nasty shock.

They can’t damage wood or drywall or fabric by chewing.

Pigeons don’t eat plants, but do like the feel of ripping them and will use strips of leaves as nest bedding, so house plants may need to be protected by glass covers.

Things displayed on shelves in the room or rooms the pigeon will have access to need to be heavy enough or well enough wedged in that the bird can’t pull them down if they land awkwardly on them or push them off if they bump into or try to squeeze past them.

Papers need to be stored where they won’t be scattered by the wind that their powerful wings kick up in flight.

Any crevices too high or awkward for you to easily clean need to be blocked some how.

Poop is simple.

The poop of a well fed, healthy pigeon with a good diet should be round and solid enough that it can be easily picked up with a square of toilet paper or a tissue when wet or vacuumed up when dry.

Once you know your bird’s favorite perches, you can make clean up even easier on yourself by laying down puppy pads under them that you can just change out as often as needed.

Once a pigeon has mastered the house rules, you can do away with the cage entirely.

This is the feeding station we set up for Ankhou and Bird-bird.

On the little feed tray for cats were the feeder and waterer with oystershell offered free choice from a dish between them.

Pigeons are one of the very few animals that recognize their reflection in the mirror as a a reflected view of themselves, instead of another bird.

Most like to practice dancing, strutting, their sweeping charge, and bow-cooing in front of mirrors, so those are excellent enrichment for them.

Being cliff nesters, bricks are simply the most comfortable thing for a pigeon to stand on.

Strutting back and forth on the rough surface in front of a mirror will help them keep their claws blunted.

The bricks are holding down a crinkle sack for cats, laid out flat. 

Pigeons love noise stims. Particularly crinkly, jingly, or chiming.

The noise it made made dancing in front of the mirror extra fun on the crinkle mat.

The dead keyboard serves a similar function.

This beans box from Walmart full of straw served as Bird-Bird’s nest box.

She laid eggs fairly regularly, and slept in there most of the time.

Ankhou was a man of simple tastes. 

This baby doll blanket on the nightstand at my bedside was where he slept at night.

Social bird was social and wanted to be as close as possible to us at all times and involved somehow in everything we did.

Pigeons like to take baths, and our free flying pet liked to be offered the opportunity to take one when we showered, but did not like to actually be in the shower with us.

So we got him a little pyrex casserole dish about as long as he was that stayed on the side of the bathtub and made a habit of filling it for him before we got into the shower.

Anhkou didn’t care much for forage pans or puzzle toys, but many pigeons do and they are very simple to make.

A pan or tray with a few fists full of straw, paper strips, sand, or a mix of all three with a high value treat like Safflower seeds sprinkled in to find mimics the way rock doves would forage for seed in the wild.

Puzzle feeders for pigeons are as simple to make as crumpling a sheet of paper with a few high value seeds inside.

Pigeons love crinkly sounds and tugging on the crumpled paper or blowing it around by flapping at it will reward them with a few spilled seeds and a fun noise.

The little wicker balls for kitties with a jingle bell inside complete the holy trinity of stick-texture, shiny, and jingly, and many pigeons love to kick, peck, and toss them.

They like to pick up and shake and toss bread ties with a small jingle bell fastened to the end.

Bird-Bird’s favorite toy was the bell intended to go on a kittens collar. 

She liked to strut around with it holding it by the loop by which it was supposed to fasten and very softly jingling it.

Q-tips with the cotton tips removed and toothpicks with blunted or clipped ends are basically pigeon Legos.

Miniature wind chimes like this little angel and her harp are fun auditory stims too.

If you can swing it (ha!), pigeons enjoy swings, as long as the perch is flat.

Experiment with your birds and see what kind of enrichment they enjoy. ^v^

[zoroara]

A couple of days ago I decided I wanted to redesign the Carnage boxes. Why? Because A. Their theming was all over the place, saying that they were dinosaurs and then only 3 out of 5 are. B. As a person who’s favourite dinosaur is the Spinosaurus Kikyo is an atrocity to me.

So in redesigning them I have changed the theme to mythical creatures/monsters, since I didn’t have to change that much that way. Plus it goes with Byakuran’s angel wings and dragon box weapon.

This was very fun to do! also down below is what they are and the changes I made.

Daisy - The one with the biggest amount of changes done, I chose the phoenix to fit his unable to die quirk of how powerful his flame is. additionally Phoenixes tend to heal very quickly from injury. Though I didn’t want to fully get rid of his lizard like form, thanks to an earlier suggestion from @neko-mama I took a bit of inspiration from the Cockatrice/Basilisk to keep some of that.

Zakuro - Keeping with his impenetrable skin and general fire abilities, a dragon would have been a shoe in. However since Byakuran already had a dragon box weapon I wanted something very distinct, so I chose a Tarrasque, specifically the old lion/tortoise/bear version of it in myth. Especially since it’s well known for it’s toughness.

Bluebell - Bluebell was very easy since she was pretty much already a mermaid. But I always hated just how plain she looked in comparison to the others so i decided to spruce her up a bit with some bioluminescence, adding some gills, and new fins.

Torikabuto - What was extremely hard to actually decide was what the fuck creature he was. I was starting to get so specific that it wouldn’t be known or at least would be hard to tell what it was. Thankfully @chierry gave me the helpful suggestion of a fairy which broadened the horizon and pulled me out of the narrow scope i put myself in. I did change the design of his wings in addition to adding arms to give him a more moth like feel and give more emphasis to the eyes. The original wings were a little too cluttered at least to me.

Kikyo - Oh man he was a doozy, not in design but he took 2 days to draw. It was obvious that he should be a hydra, since that was of course literally what those heads did. I wanted his design to be more cohesive because I found at least for me personally, there was too much difference between the main body and the actual heads. Random maroon colours splotches on his face, horns that kind of confused me as the why they were there since spinosaurus never had any horns. Green on the dinosaurs despite them being supposedly his teal hair. The whole thing felt like a mess. Hopefully I did fixing it up justice. 

[kim-monsterlings]

Galan - M Gargoyle x F Human (Reader) // NSFW

The pictures do not belong to me. I only created the mood board. Do not repost my work anywhere.

Content: NSFW/Lemon; moving into a new home, mention of a ritual (just some words), tentative friendship turned intimacy (+ bathing him, no explicit nudity), nervous gargoyle, fluff, drinking alcohol (reader - not drunk), kissing, minor angst, fluff, inexperienced monster, general dirty talk, handjob and giving oral (no release yet), receiving oral, penetrative sex, kissing, clitoral play (+ with his tail), alluding to more

Notes: Galan is a really old idea of mine. I’ve wanted to redo him for ages, and I love him so much. He’s a sweetheart. I think this is my favourite mood board, too. It’s so pretty.

Wordcount: 4835

Masterlist

Of your closest friends - those same people lending a hand to rearrange your new furniture, or to offer help in lugging weighted boxes indoors, too many had asked when you would dispose of the stone creature resting in your garage. Only with a slight pinch of guilt were you glad to finally be alone now.

This new home of yours was beautiful. Beyond the garage full of your old clutter and a south-facing balcony leaning to the small woodland, the promise of the gargoyle had sold you. The last owners had little love for the statue, never removing the sheet darkened by dust in their years living there, and that sheet had been thrown over it from their sellers.

With the incessant ribbing - in particular that the stone would only waste space, it was with a struggle that you dragged him from the garage and up. On a thick quilt to protect the walls and new flooring, you fell onto the same bedding when you finally had him resting in sunlight on your balcony.

He belonged there, on display; the protector of your home.

As beautiful as the faded stone was in the dimming sunlight, it wasn't only for decoration. There was no promise he had ever been sentient, but you still lit the small tealights - more for the aesthetic, and lifted your hand to the broad expanse of cold stone, unwarmed by the setting sun. You kneeled between two, muscular forearms, the gargoyle perched on thick knuckles, and rested your forehead where the dip of his strong chest fell.

Not that you had a pinch of magic coursing through you, but this ritual was standard practice - nothing more elaborate than a few words whispered. If it failed, you could try harder and seek someone with experience in waking gargoyles.

You hoped he would wake.

Though when you uttered the last word with half in a foreign language, a tongue you weren't familiar with, the candles surrounding you extinguished. Maybe the wind, but you couldn't smother the rush of warmth rising through you.

The sun set slower, like a taunt.

Waiting for the last glimmer of sunshine to fade brought with it a chill, and one you couldn't yet ease without abandoning the creature of stone. To wake him, if he woke at all, and then have him wake from years unconscious and alone would be too cruel, so you tucked your knees against your chest and hunched back against the wall beside him.

The ache in your chest seemed binding as the sky darkened and your breaths began to cloud before you. It wasn't so late you were tired, so you left him with a lingering stare back.

Within the rite, it required the gargoyle to bathe in sunlight. He had only been free of the garage for one afternoon and you had all of tomorrow before repeating the ritual. Simpler than that, even, your pronunciation may have been off.

If he didn't wake tonight, you would try again.

No sound had come yet from the open door in your absence, yet you rushed in making a hot drink. With a blanket and thicker socks, you returned to the cushion beside him, though your presence earned no response; no flitting of those delicately carved wings nor a twitch to the thin tail curled to his back thigh. You resigned yourself to finishing only this drink before locking the door for the night.

It was an hour from sunset with your mug now cold and emptied that you sat up. If he became no more than a decoration to your new home, the gargoyle was still captivating, with curves of precision following the bend to his posture. Mug aside, you leaned closer and touched him for the first time properly bar the ritual, to trace the deep grooves dirtied with years of abandonment along his ridged wings.

Sharp claws pressed to your wrist. Dust clouded your failing sight but through it, you discerned a tremble to the stone, those wings tucked tighter against the large frame now angled towards you.

"You're awake," you whispered. His hand tightened - almost a paw, with a smooth touch of pads along his palm, his fingertips pinching. Slowly so the wholly dark stare could follow, you lifted your other hand to his, carefully easing him off. "You're okay. You've been sleeping for some time. Do you have a name?"

Unmoving, he stared back at you. Only the slight curling of his fingers against yours betrayed him, assuring you he hadn't fallen into a sleep again.

Really, you hadn't anticipated this working. There hadn't been guidance for how to greet newly woken gargoyles, and you couldn't leave now to research, not with his head tilting down in scrutiny.

Even bowed low, he was larger than you.

You introduced yourself quietly and held your breath at the pull of his thick lips when you rose closer. Whatever you whispered worked, be it an assurance of no harm or a promise to be careful, and you brushed your hand against the soft skin of his cheek. It was so soft, you wondered if it nearly felt furred.

His face mimicked that of a canine, with a jaw jutting forward like a smaller snout, his teeth evidently sharper. His nose scrunched back and was far from human, so unlike those eyes widening and focusing on yours when your thumb ran the length of his angular jaw.

When you lifted your hand back to trace the curve of his ears, a deep rumble rose from his chest. The gargoyle trembled and fell into your touch, but you faltered when he spoke in a rough breath, "Galan."

"Galan?"

"My name," he said. "You woke me."

"How do you feel?" Now tracing the two stubs of horns at his temples, his hand curled against yours. "You're supposed to stay in sunlight for a day until you've woken properly. After that, you could stay here on the balcony, or the garage-"

Lengthened claws pricked your palm again. "No."

His immediate aversion to going back twisted your stomach and you nodded. "Or, you could leave. I'll be here. You don't need to decide now."

The angling of his body back captivated you. Galan's strong frame trembled, muscles along his bare chest tensing, but you couldn't help watching as his breath left when finding the clear sky overhead.

"Here."

"You want to stay outside?"

"Tonight," he said, equally as tentative, and his hand squeezed yours. In an echo of you, he looked to the sliding, balcony door. "Go indoors. I will be here."

After waiting since moving in days before for this very moment, the rejection stung, but you left him. It was he who had just woken after however long in the garage, and not your place to demand his energy.

He would be there come tomorrow evening, and when you woke to a bright day, Galan rested in the same position. Crouched onto knuckles again, though his head no longer turned down but up, like his last thought had been to watch the sunrise.

Keeping his awakening to yourself burned the tip of your tongue. Not in doubt of your determination but in disbelief, your friends had never expected anything to come of the ritual should you have gone through with it like you wanted to - like you had, and now you had a new friend at home.

You would tell them soon. Soon, or whenever Galan was comfortable around you, first.

Some small part of you expected to find your balcony empty even before sunset, but he remained there, frozen, long into the evening. Time from returning home passed slowly until you settled in wait on your bed, the door opened just an inch.

The soft gasp and groan from his waking tugged you to stand, but you hesitated. From this angle, through the glass, he was still leaning down, the strain of his consciousness running back through the shaking of his head to the sway of his tail where the tip coiled and unfurled like a clenching fist.

Galan greeted you with a lowering of his head, but you lingered in the doorway until he turned as though to invite you out. Tonight, you didn't sit beside him, but rested by your shoulder to the wall.

Not admiring the deep rise and fall of his shoulders became a difficult task, so instead you stared out to the trees with him.

"How do you feel?"

He spoke hoarsely with a quiver to his voice. "Tired. Thank you."

With a returned, small smile, his revealing the larger curl to his lips, you asked, "how long have you been asleep?"

"Too long."

The night was somehow not as quiet as him, but the silence between you wasn't yet uncomfortable. He continued to shift his balance, and each gentle flutter of his wings let off a slip of old, ingrained dust.

"Galan?" The ear closest to you twitched in such an instinctual reaction, you smiled. "Would you like a bath? I could clean your wings."

When his head twisted back, a wing extending, you were torn between laughing or marveling; formerly at the frown twisting his scrunching face, and the latter for the beauty of his stretched wing, with how it rose into talons at the top of each.

Then, he looked to you. With only a soft nod, he began to rise and crept closer with his frame remaining lowered. Galan paused at the threshold, his arms crossed tight to his chest.

"We usually… usually stay outdoors."

"I can bring up a bucket and sponge, if you'd rather," you offered, only half-serious, and his lips twitched. "I'm asking you indoors. It's okay."

The bathtub wasn't small, but as Galan removed what little clothing he wore from its tie at his hips, somehow pliant though once stone, fitting him in it was harder. He sat angled, one wing curled to his side, the other extended beyond you.

He stiffened at the water filling around him until it began warming with bubbles, and you wetted the flannel. It felt right to begin with his face, but his hand rose to yours before you could, drawn against his cheek with a sharp breath.

"You are so soft," he whispered. "Be careful."

"I won't hurt you, I-"

Galan's almost inaudible laugh rumbled through him. "Careful I do not hurt you. Here," he said, and guided your fingertips to the small horns.

Too breathless even as he returned to hunching over his chest, clinging to the edge of the tub, it was his temple nudging up to your hand drawing you back to present.

"I'll be careful."

With every wringing of the flannel, the water dirtied until you filled the tub several times until it ran clear. Galan's eyelids had fluttered shut not long after you traced the deep lines of his face, reveling in the natural shade of his body emerging. His lips were a shade darker but you forced yourself not to linger.

Rather than risk overstepping - though he assured you with a gentle smile that he didn't mind when you hesitated at his breastbone, you instead sat back on your heels. "Could you turn?" Water nearly overflowed in his haste, until wings spread, translucent beneath the pale bathroom light. "Are they sensitive?"

"Quite. The talons-"

"Galan," you sighed, and his guilty smile fell at your first, gentle touch to the thin membrane. "Did I hurt you?

With a choked hum of denial, you rested your free hand to his bare back. Though as carefully as you could, his muscles still twitched with each run of the flannel, locking tight when you cleaned the hooked talons.

When you began to aimlessly trace them, you retreated to your lounge and left him to finish washing in private. Now, more than anytime before, you wanted to tell your friends - to tell anyone, but that urge hadn't overcome your desire to ease his transition back to living as much as you could, nor would it.

Gratitude rose from a wide smile as Galan emerged, still dripping a little. He could rise to his full height in the living room without tucking back his wings.

Curled to his shoulders, water droplets fell from his hair, and in an effort to convince yourself to look up from the towel at his waist, you asked, "want me to dry your hair?"

No amount of reassurance lured him back indoors, even with the hairdryer on the lowest setting. In his recoiling, his hand had risen not only to defend himself, but to coax you closer to him, and it fell to the heat in your chest how he stood tight to you; your protector.

Instead, you accompanied him outdoors, where Galan sat against your legs and you on a chair. His hair slipped like silk through your fingertips in plaiting it.

"Tell me of yourself," he said after you finished the first, thin plait. Hardly your finest work, but it saved him from the chill in the damp hair this late. "Who am I protecting?"

Whatever little you had to tell him - of the mundanity of your working life, of snatching your dream home and waking him, he listened with delicate twitches of his ears, sometimes brushing to your knuckles.

Leaving him tonight, you were content. Galan rested nearer the balcony, head angled up, but he turned with a smile and a nod when you locked the door.

Since the rite, each passing day had been only sunny and warm. By midday after a warm morning, the sky darkened and only with luck on your side did you snag a rain sheet on your way home from a shop on the way, one large enough to drape over his hunched form. Tucking it to his horns was the most you could do for him then, but come sunset, you were tucking yourself beneath the sheet, too. Galan woke with a soft sigh, far gentler than usual, and his arms swept forward to pull you close before he'd so much as opened his eyes. Your lips parted on a rushing breath with him so close, still rich with the scent of your fruity bath bubbles.

"You will grow ill outside."

"So will you!"

Galan's cheek rubbed against yours before you were both moving, with his free arm now beneath your knees. "I will not. You covered me?"

"From the rain. I didn't want you cold." In the fleeting moment before he lowered you, his arms had tightened. You tucked the sheet against the door. "Were you?"

His throated tightened. "Sorry?"

"Cold," you said. Water glistened in the stray hairs fallen from plaits around his horns. He turned into your hand as you reached to rub the rain from his cheek. "Galan?"

"No. No, I… we don't feel. Not like that."

Your hand fell. "Oh."

"Thank you. I," he paused, and in a sudden and sweeping step closer, curled you into his arms. His head rested to yours and after a deep breath, you embraced him, too. "Thank you."

That little touch played in your thoughts each following night you lured Galan indoors. On nights resting beneath a clearer sky, his wing would curl to you and tuck you close, but it came so naturally that you were often already leaning into him.

Still, he hadn't said anything of his plans; plans to remain or plans to go, and you weren't comfortable bringing them up. Selfishly, you wanted him to stay, and he hadn't made any moves to leave - yet.

Even having a work friend over late one evening, they were gone before sunset so not to overwhelm him, with Galan still startled by your presence so soon after waking, and to maintain this new and precious haven.

That same night, Galan followed you back inside - always coming indoors only at your invitation, before his face scrunched and his tail twitched.

"Smells strong," he'd said, and you struggled not to laugh when he lifted your near emptied wine glass.

Though he had no need for food nor drink, he could still indulge, and you grinned. "Try it." The dark wine painted his lips pink, but it was soon spat back into your glass. "It's an acquired taste."

He handed it to you with an eagerness to be rid of it as you left it by the sink. "Why drink something so… so-"

"Strong? It's for fun, usually. It makes people happy. It makes me want to dance, sometimes," you said, and his wings ruffled slightly. You faltered on your way to sitting down and instead offered him your hand. "Would you like to dance?"

"With you?"

"You won't hurt me, Galan. I might stand on your feet, though."

"How would we dance?"

"However we want to.”

In taking your hand, Galan tucked you close with such grace, you were entirely as ease. Claws traced down your scalp in tucking you beneath his chin, your arms risen to fall around his broad shoulders.

Your dance never amounted to more than a gentle sway until you leaned back. "Spin me out?"

Delicate touches freed you to lure you back again in a blanketed embrace between his wings and his chest. Talons tucked to your shoulders, Galan's body pulled nearer, and with your heart beginning to race, you tiptoed.

"Please," you whispered. "Kiss me."

Stone had never been so warm and soft, his lips fainter than his stuttered breaths. For only a fleeting second, he was there, until he tore away, the balcony door closing at his back.

He left you cold and aching.

With the balcony his safe space, you busied yourself - tried to, though you couldn't stop clinging to the fading warmth of his body pressed so close. Without him here, you fretted over how much of an overstep it was, to use this new relationship, being his only real friend, to feel for him like that.

He had been the one to lean down, but it couldn't undo the ache in your chest.

The balcony was bare when you peeked out to apologise. Nothing replaced him but empty space, no cloud of dust left to signal a recent disappearance.

You slept, but barely. When morning came, you crossed your fingers to your chest.

No stone creature waited for you. The space remained deserted and your composure cracked.

Galan had nowhere else to go - that you knew of. Unless he travelled in the short while you left to bed at night, he could have lost himself.

There wasn't anything you could do but wait. Wait late into the evenings with a blanket gone so long untouched since his wings would cradle you, it felt wrong. Wait from waking until sunset, hoping impossibly that somehow, he would return.

Seven days and seven nights gone, he hadn't.

On the rare occasion you had friends over later than usual - why wouldn't you, now? - one stepped into your bedroom, and your smile faltered when they presumed your ritual hadn't worked to wake him. Neither agreeing nor disagreeing, you only refilled their glass and yours with a white wine instead of red.

The first rainfall from his vanishing came a week and a half from the night you couldn't stop replaying. The rain sheet tucked by the door flapped in the wind as though beckoning you out and wherever he was, you hoped he was safe, but you couldn't rest with the sheet outdoors and tormenting you.

It rained harder on top of the garage. Full of your old boxes and miscellaneous nothings somehow too important to throw away, you winced on hitting something hard a step in and hit the light.

You almost buckled.

Just home from work, you knew he wouldn't wake, not yet, but you ached to hug him close. Galan bowed low in the dark corner but curled into himself, wings risen like a shield.

It could only have been a shield against you.

However long he'd been there, you couldn't snatch this from him. That he had resorted to the garage he loathed sickened you, and rather than lay the sheet nearby, you tucked it away so not to disturb him.

Though in bed before sunset, you weren't asleep.

Distant flapping and a soft rap on your door roused you to turn, but the shadow huddled beneath your rain sheet beckoned you to let him in.

He came inside without needing your welcome, the thin fluff to his arms soaked. The sheet fell with a small puddle formed at the door, freeing the silhouette of wings you missed.

"I'm sorry, Galan," you whispered. When his head tilted, you distanced yourself a step, tucking your hands against your chest to stop yourself reaching for him. "It wasn't fair of me to expect so much of you just from waking. You've hardly been living and to force myself on you, I…"

"I'm your protector."

If he declared himself to be, had he been here the whole time? Your breath caught. "So you'll stay?"

Galan's thin wings bound to his slumped frame. "Who will you protect you from me, if I stay?" His curved ears twitched at your shuffle nearer. "I've never… I've never been with another, not a human."

"You do want me?"

"That was never in question," he muttered, only to stutter on a gasp. Those familiar wings tucked you close and you whimpered at the fluttering kisses against your face. "More than anything, I want you. Is that what you thought?"

"You left after I coerced you into a kiss."

"Coerced? No." When the warmth of his lips brushed to yours, he lifted you to your tiptoes and whispered, "if I were to hurt you-"

"Is that why you left me? Galan," you said, tiptoeing to reach for his turned face. He shuddered at your touch but didn't refuse it, the warmth of his wings now ghosting along your back. "I'm human, but I'm not so breakable. You'd be surprised."

His hands brushed against your waist. "I want you."

"We don't have to rush anything."

"I need you."

Gentle kisses warmed against your cheek, still an avoidance of kissing you how you dreamed. Though with his wings embracing you, Galan followed with your every step, until whining quietly as you settled on the bed before him.

The fabric knotted at his waist almost fell apart from the simplest of tugs, and Galan with it. His sharp teeth bit into his lip and his palms cradled your head.

"I can see you need me," you whispered, and gently lifted your hand to stroke along the thick length of his cock. Ridged and thick, it twitched against your palm and you coaxed a breathless moan from him, stroking the pad of your thumb to its throbbing head. "Is this where you need me?"

His claws pressed enough to your scalp they stung, and he whimpered. "Be careful."

Giant wings unfurled with your lips parting at his tip. Galan's whines became soft groans and he eased your mouth wider, guiding himself against your tongue with a stronger hold. The musk of him had your thighs clenching, gently stroking what you couldn't take.

He held you there, unmoving for a breath, long enough that you squeezed his thigh. Every flick of your tongue weakened his stance, until only the expanse of wings held him upright.

"Please. Please," he rasped, a slight buck to his hips forcing himself deeper to your throat. When your breath caught, his cock twitched, and he cried with your hand rolling his heavy sac. Galan's touch tightened against your temples before he angled himself away, laying you down in the same move. "Enough. Enough of me."

"Enough of- Galan-"

The gargoyle pressed his lips to your navel and tugged at your clothing, an impatient nip to your stomach stinging. He hesitated until you softened, though drawn to the weight of his cock against his stomach, still slick with you.

Not his intention, as you discovered when his hot breaths flushed against your bare heat. With hardly any time to ready yourself, Galan's thick tongue slid up through your folds. You collapsed back against the bed and far harsher than him, tangled your fingers through his hair.

"Good?"

Such a soft laugh sent a tingle deep through you when you lifted your hips for more, curling at your toes when his tongue flicked your flushed bud of nerves.

"Is that good?" Those dark eyes blinked up, only for you to groan and clench around his shoulders. "So ready for me," he gasped, not a second before the length of his tongue eased into your tight slit, an exploration for himself as he groaned.

Somehow crooking, your stomach fluttered at the drag against your body, before you gasped. "Galan, I'm close. I'm so close."

One last hum, the tip curling, and he whispered, "let me see how pretty you are," before sucking against your clit.

The heat overcoming you came hard. Galan stroked along your tense thighs but never sought a breath apart from your heat as you came, sharper gasps torn when he slipped his tongue back into your fluttering channel, chasing the remnants of your orgasm.

Warm kisses peppered from the dip of your navel and to your chest in your high. Galan held your limp legs to his shoulders until the slight stretch burned and you tasted yourself on his lips.

"Need your little body around me," he gasped into your throat. Galan's head dragged against your sensitive clit and again as you bucked. "Gently, I promise."

"I trust you."

"I'll take care of you," he said, lips to the shell of your ear, and the thick head of his cock filled you. Galan's promise of tenderness fell from your thoughts at the near immediate hastening of his pace, his hips rolling deeper until you dizzied. "Oh. Oh. That's it. Feels so good around me. You feel so good, so hot."

His rumbling and the sensation of him rutting in slow, sharp anglings of his hips burned in your stomach. The barely gone orgasm stole your breath and then Galan was filling you again. Faster, deliberately, and deeper.

Shadows cast with his wings spreading wider. Beneath him now, you could only whimper and clutch tight at the sheets. Galan teased you - though hardly intentional, by something so simple as taking your hips in his large hands with a roaming touch, exaggerating the arch of your body when lifting you further off of the bed.

"Kiss me. Kiss me," you whispered, and it was then he paused, his tongue jutted through his lips. The sharper teeth never fazed you and you coaxed him closer with your legs clenching against him, until he stuttered a breath and parted his lips for you. "I need you to touch my clit, please. Make me come again. For you."

"For me," he echoed, a soft rumble vibrating down to your bodies tucked tight together. "Here?"

It wasn't his hand that flicked your bud - both still stroking along your rear, claws tight to your soft skin and flexing with every faster thrust, but the tip to his prehensile tail.

With another stroke from the thicker tip and his lips soft to your flushed nipple, that heat rushed up through you once more. Your breath left you gasping and whimpering into his hair, against his horns, trembling beneath him when you felt his cock stiffening.

"I want to feel you in me," you breathed, and he came with a weak growl.

His hips angled as deep as they could when hot ropes pulsed through you, until he collapsed, wings fallen limp around you. The ache in your legs helped you loosen them to his waist, only to hold him close as he moaned.

Laying over you as he was, you traced the ease to his pale face. Gentle breaths flushed to your breast, his lips risen in a soft smile at your falling touches. Down to the skin between his wings and following the dip of his spine, until tracing the base of his tail, and his hips bucked into you with a softer whine.

With your thighs still slick and your bodies still flush, you felt him throbbing inside you, unhindered by your breathlessness. Galan murmured incoherently before kissing along the column of your throat and slipping his arms beneath you. He laid you carefully beneath him, now propped back against the pillows.

"Need you again," he whispered. His smooth hand framed your cheek and stroked under your blurred eyes. "Want you. Please."

"We've all night," you said quietly. You hugged him close, content to rest for a breath, but he returned a grin.

"All night," he echoed, and with your eyes rolling back at two, careful fingers rubbing alongside your clit, his hand against your crown, you knew he would have you up until sunset, but you weren't complaining.

[aetherknit]

kind of just threw this together in a rush before bed, but here’s a tiny ficlet based on this post about dream putting george to sleep during smp conflict to keep him safe

-

Dream lugs George through the marshes, soft as shadow.

This far into the bog the soil clumps under his boots, dragging at his heels, wet sticking noises littered amongst the scattered frog croaks -- generally, this kind of travel annoys him, too heavy, too cloying.

But Dream’s eyes cut down, and his temper is sated. A toadstool nestles above the curve of George’s ear, and Dream gently dislodges it with a lingering brush.

“Almost there, George,” he mumbles to no one, words curling at him hotly as they bounce off the back of his mask. Beside him, an egret uncharacteristically befriends a snake, head dipping into a bow, beak a nail-head to the wet earth. The snake understands but does not comprehend -- hunger before compassion. Springjaw, strangled cry, matted feathers in milky reds. 

Dream continues forward without looking, heel catching sharply on wing-bone.

George, he muses, won’t thank him -- even if he does realize what Dream’s done. But Dream knows best in this, knows George prefers to avoid the hassle of conflict, knows that war incites loss that incites forced vulnerability. Knows George has architect hands, slim in the wrists and long-palmed, that could but shouldn’t hold a blade or an axe like him. Knows that even with George’s skill in archery, he wouldn’t know who to aim for when the lines are so muddied and blurred.

George won’t thank him, but he never does, Dream reasons. And Dream will give him empires, will gut bellies, just to see that softness in his eyes one more time, to hear his balloon-pop laugh. Like the old days, they’ll both think, even when it’s nothing like that at all.

(There was a time before this, sitting perched on the waterlogged boards of oak splitting their house from the still lake, that George had told him, mouth cluttered with mirth: “To be with you, Dream.”

“Oh, shut up.” Dream shoved him away with an elbow, fingertips sticky from his half-eaten peach. “That’s what you want most in the world? You’re such an idiot. I’m literally right here.”

George burst with laughter, knocking his shoulder into Dream’s roughly. “Maybe I just want it to stay that way. I need insurance.” He stressed this with the sly raise of his eyebrow. Dream rolled his eyes, unamused.

“You don’t need insurance, George,” and it’s coming out too genuine, but it’s too late, the words spilling down his front and making ripples in the lakewater. “I’ll always be here. For you.”

It was some weeks after that, when Dream stumbled from the pine forests, shuddering and broken open, spilling ichor instead of blood. Eyes wild, sharp, untamed and smeared. A god.)

Dream picks a spot carefully, slipping beyond the willows to a drier patch framed by river birches, a fairy circle spiraling a few feet from the roots. Unbelievably gentle (especially to some, to the ones who hadn’t been there before all of this, back when he left flushes instead of frostbite), he places George to the earth; as an afterthought, he tucks an old folded cloak beneath his head, fingers lingering at the base of his skull where his hair is soft and cut short. 

Beside George, an orchid lazily rises from the soil, a spray of vibrant blue against the muted neutrals of the marsh.

“Stop,” Dream hisses. “That’s so obvious, stop.”

Unimpressed, it continues to grow, petals gleaming bright where the sun slices through the leaves. And right when it hits its peak, more flowers spring from the ground, pressing up from under George’s splayed palms.

“Ugh!” Dream throws his arms into the air, annoyed.

It’s a side effect, he thinks, of things he doesn’t want to think about. Because this world -- it loves George. Blossoming alliums and hooked fish and sharp sunlight-framing. Bountiful fortune, insistent beauty prying for his attention. Power pressing in eagerly when Dream discretely puts George to sleep to cart him away to safety. 

This world loves George. It is, after all, Dream’s world.

In this patch of privacy, alone with a sleeping boy that pulls Dream along with embarrassing ease, a fragment of himself remembers its softness. With a gentle, tired sigh, Dream scoops up George’s hand, playing with the creases along the palm. 

“Heart line,” he mutters, thumbpad pressing insistently against the fracture. And then, with a tremor, he shoves his mask up a few inches, surface rubbing hard against his nose.

Quiet -- desperately, achingly quiet, so that even the river reeds will not notice, Dream brushes his mouth to the delicate skin of George’s hand before sharply pulling away.

“I’m still here, George.” He rises unsteadily, readjusting his mask with a firm hand. “Always, for you.”

The forest watches him go. George does not.

[wolf-and-bard]

The Geraskier tattoo artist AU of my dreams:

-Geralt is one of those hidden gems in terms of tattoo artistry like he has absolutely no social media, most people who walk into his shop - a nondescript red-brick building with the smallest sign in some long-dead scripture - turn on their heels as soon as they are met with his grumpy glower; the only way he does get traffic is word of mouth; he's reliable, excels at his craft, just not good at the interpersonal side of things. The fact that he constantly has circles under his eyes and is inked toe to neck doesn't help

-One day, Geralt is just about to clean up, a man crashes into his shop, panting, hair tousled; he has the prettiest eyes, but doesn't look like a potential customer. "Sorry, was chased by an angry ex."

-"If you don't want to get inked, get out of here," Geralt barks and the man grins. "On second thought..."

-And Jaskier knows his agent will kill him for this, but he can't stop himself; one look at the brooding tattoo artist and Jaskier's practically crawling onto his table; okay, yes, he can be impulsive at times, and as a model, he should think long and hard before getting ink, but dammit he's intrigued; he figures he can always become a tattoo model

-"What do you want?" the man says, Geralt judging by the minimalistic business cards scattered over his counter; "Small thing really," Jaskier says, positive this is the man of his dreams "A buttercup blossom. On my wrist if you please."; so, Jaskier gets his first tattoo

-inevitably, Jaskier returns. Geralt greets him with a raised eyebrow - you again? - but is all too happy to comply when Jaskier says "Anything. Anything you always wanted to ink on someone, your pick" because for some inconceivable reason, Jaskier trusts this man with his skin, his future (his life if he wants to be melodramatic)

-While Geralt grunts and mutters to himself and his tattoo machine which he's named Roach (???), Jaskier wanders into the backroom. It's a simple room with a kitchenette and a table that is cluttered with paper. On closer inspection, Jaskier realizes they are pictures Geralt has drawn, most of them of fantasy creatures with elongated limbs, blood-dripping fangs, leathery wings. They aren't pretty but god, they are beautiful; "Get your pasty ass over here," Geralt calls then and Jaskier decides to pay him a hefty tip

-Jaskier leaves the shop hours later, a pack of wolves chasing each other up his left thigh. He's high on adrenaline and joy and he has a fucking plan; Jaskier calls his agent and tells him to cancel all jobs, tells him he quits; he has enough Instagram followers to make this work anyway

-the next time Jaskier brings a pack of nails and a hammer, about a dozen picture frames. "Your first two tattoos should heal before we put any more on you," Geralt says by way if greeting and Jaskier laughs. "I'm not here for that." Geralt makes helpless noises and watches in a sort of shocked paralysis as Jaskier frames his artwork and decorates one of the blank walls with it. The next customer that wanders in stays

-the next time Jaskier brings his friend Priscilla. They met on a photoshoot and have been trying to outdo each other since so naturally, she has to get inked too; Geralt gives them matching wild flower wreaths that curl around their upper arms and sends them on their way. Priscilla becomes a regular, brings a friend, and the dominoes start toppling

-the next time Jaskier brings a camera and teaches Geralt the in and outs of Instagram photography. Geralt doesn't join willingly, complains that he is a tattoo artist not a photographer and definitely no influencer, but when he gains 200 followers on the first day (not without Jaskier virtually nudging people) he starts to understand Jaskier's endgame

-the next time, Jaskier brings a giant plank of wood and buckets of paint. "You need a better sign." That night, Geralt marks him with a quote from a song they both like, nestled against Jaskier's collarbone

-So, Jaskier devotes all his time to building up Geralt's shop, his client base, his social media platform and gains a footing for himself as an independent tattoo model; he has an eye for these things; it works out

-Inevitably, Geralt and him get talking, grow closer over the long hours Geralt spends bent over Jaskier's body. Inevitably, Jaskier falls in love with Geralt, a little more every day. He's more than surprised when one day - Geralt had been working on Jaskier's backpiece, the ruins of a medieval stronghold overgrown with ivy and lichen - Geralt puts down his machine and hesitates before starting his aftercare routine. "Let it settle for a moment. You can sit up." Jaskier does only to find his face cupped by fingers stained with ink and blood. He gulps heavily, light-headed from the constant painful scratching on his back, and waits. Geralt tilts his head to the side, Geralt smiles. Geralt kisses him.

-"I never asked for any of this," Geralt says one night when the lay together in bed after sex because for once, no major part of Jaskier's body is still raw from fresh ink. "So?" Jaskier asks and kisses Geralt's nose. So, nothing.

The End.

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

De Amore

My fic for @aceomenszine is finally available on AO3!

Aziraphale has come to Paris to find the answer to an important question: What's it like to be in love? Crowley's not sure why he wants to know, but he's willing to discuss it to make his angel happy. Full text below!

--

“What’s it like to be in love?”

Crowley stumbled to a stop on the Paris street, glaring at the angel beside him. Aziraphale stared straight ahead, walking with his usual expression: calm, poised, slightly arrogant. As if he were talking about the weather.

“Dunno. S’a human thing, isn’t it?” He scowled at a few gawking peasants, hurrying to catch up. “Romance. Lust. Sex. Nothing to do with us.”

“You could say the same of hunger, or exhaustion, or boredom.”

“Yeah, and I’d be right.” Crowley held out an arm to stop Aziraphale from walking directly into a produce cart. “Neither of us gets exhausted. You’re never tired, and I just like a good nap sometimes.”

“Really?” A flicker of that mocking bastard smirk. “How many nights did you sleep this past week?”

“Nrrg. Five or six, but that’s not the point.” They started walking again, Crowley tossing an apple he’d snuck from the cart. “I could stop if I wanted to — I’d miss it, but s’not the same as being tired. Same with you and eating.”

“But if I desire a food, so strongly I can already taste it, surely that’s…if not exactly hunger, a close approximation?”

“Don’t think so.” Crowley offered the apple, but Aziraphale shook his head. “Spend a couple days in the city, you’ll see what hunger looks like. S’not about pleasure or wanting a particular food. It’s need, desperation. And we just don’t experience that.” He tossed the apple towards a group of children, and a girl in a ragged dress caught it. “Boredom I’ll grant you. I’ve definitely been bored.”

“So, we might enjoy things as humans do, but never desire them the same way,” Aziraphale mused, smoothing his hands down the front of his stolen jacket. “But is love the longing for a connection with another, or the pleasure of that connection?”

“Doesn’t really make a difference to us, does it?”

He waited for Aziraphale to respond, but the angel simply continued walking, hands folded behind his back, eyes more distant than usual.

“So?” Crowley prodded after nearly a block in silence. “What brought this on?” Aziraphale shrugged. “Let me guess. Reading novels again? Sappy poetry? Getting…ideas?” He stepped ahead of Aziraphale and walked backwards, to ensure the angel saw his suggestive eyebrow wiggle. No response. Crowley shrugged, falling back into step. “Look, f’you want to try falling in love with a human, s’your business. Let me know how it goes. Just do it back in London, I don’t need that…drama getting back to my bosses.”

“That’s not it,” Aziraphale snapped, wringing his hands. “It’s not — it doesn’t even work that way, Crowley. Humans don’t just decide to fall in love!”

“They don’t cross an ocean and charge through a revolution for a snack, either.”

“Oh, never mind. Clearly you’re the expert here.” Aziraphale froze, glaring at a shop just ahead, and threw his hands up in disgust. “And now they’ve closed my favorite creperie! Why do I even bother? Might as well return to England and feast upon whatever lumpy brown bread the first tavern I pass serves.”

“Stop being dramatic,” Crowley hissed, turning down a side street and gesturing for Aziraphale to follow. “If you get locked up again, I’m not rescuing you a second time.” The angel’s lips twisted sourly. “Look, gourmet crepes aren’t really in demand right now, but I know a place. Might still be open.”

“I suppose that will have to do.”

Crowley rolled his eyes and glared at the sky, thin grey clouds veiling the sun. He should probably just let Aziraphale stew in his own sullen displeasure. Might even give him an advantage — a distracted angel was easier to outsmart.

But Crowley hadn’t been in the business of thwarting Aziraphale for over a thousand years. Why oppose each other, when they could work…not together, but in tandem? Ensuring all their duties were fulfilled, their paperwork properly filed.

It was better this way. Less fuss all around, less inconvenience. Pleasanter conversation. More time for trips to the theater or quiet meals, either of which was a far better way to spend an evening than any sort of elaborate espionage.

He’d been looking forward to griping about his job over a mug of cider while Aziraphale worked his way through a plate of crepes, smiling and wiggling in his seat. Watching Aziraphale get excited over something was, in Crowley’s opinion, one of the best ways to pass the time.

Only the conversation had left Aziraphale annoyed, pouting and…Crowley studied him carefully, dark glasses imperfectly hiding his eyes. More than anything, Aziraphale looked hurt. A sight that always made Crowley’s stomach twist painfully.

He sighed, tossing back his head. “‘Love is an inborn suffering, proceeding from the sight and immoderate thought upon the beauty of another, for which cause above all other things one wishes to embrace the other and, by common assent, in this embrace to fulfil the commandments of love.’”[1]

“I beg your pardon?”

“Look, I don’t know. You asked me—!” Crowley walked faster, face growing hot. “It’s from some old treatise, right? Love, he says, is seeing someone beautiful and wanting sex. Then, when you have your fill…” he waved his hand vaguely.

“I see.” Aziraphale adjusted his sleeves. “I suppose that…makes sense.” But he still looked grim.

Up ahead, not quite along their path, stood one of Paris’s parks, gates now open to the public. Apart from some rubbish cluttering the entrance, it seemed well-maintained. Crowley tipped his head, inviting.

Aziraphale’s eyes lit up and he nodded, the first hint of a smile on his face. It always made Crowley feel light, that smile, however briefly it appeared.

They wandered in silence up the path, lined by trees here, flowerbeds there. Leaves had turned yellow and the grass was edged with brown, but the roses were still in bloom. Crowley paused to pluck a particularly well-formed bud.

As they crossed a bridge over a small watercourse, Aziraphale suddenly said, “Do you think it’s true, though? That — that treatise? Because it rather sounds like he didn’t see any difference between lust and love.”

“Mmh.” Crowley paused, gazing downstream, where a group of ducks swam contentedly. “As a demon? Yeah. Fits the party line. Humans don’t think of anything but their own pleasure, always wanting what they don’t have. Jealous, possessive, until something better comes along. Then it starts all over. If love and lust aren’t the same, well, they’re pretty close, right?”

“I see.” Aziraphale stepped beside him, holding out his red cap, now filled with grains of barley and cracked corn. They each took a handful and tossed it down. The ducks swam over eagerly, bobbing to catch the seeds before they drifted away.

“But as a being who’s been in the world nearly six thousand years?” Crowley threw another handful, then leaned against the railing, crossing his arms. “Not so sure. Humans do too much that can’t be explained by simple pleasure. Besides, I’ve seen what they do when overwhelmed by lust, and what they do when overwhelmed by love and…dunno. S’not the same.”

More handfuls of grains as a second group of ducks approached.

“What d’you think, Angel?” Crowley prodded. “Must be something in all those books you read.”

“Oh, quite a lot,” Aziraphale assured him. “Much of it contradictory. Many poets will only talk about their beloved’s face, or eyes, but if it were simply a matter of beauty, surely everyone would fall in love with the same beauties.”

“Sometimes they do.” Crowley rolled some seeds between his palms. “S’where the jealousy comes in. But yeah. Gotta be more to it than that.”

“I hope you’re not planning to make those poor ducks sink.”

“What? Nk — no. Course not.” He threw the grains down and the ducks quickly swarmed, turning bright shades of pink and blue and violet as they ate.

“Crowley.”

“Oh, it’s not hurting anyone.” He glanced sideways to see Aziraphale pressing his lips together, struggling not to smile. Grinning, Crowley tossed down more enchanted grains. “Go on then.”

“Hmm? Ah, yes. Well, the overall impression is that love is…transformative. Changes the way one thinks and feels at all times. They speak of, oh, the sun shining brighter, foods tasting sweeter, winter blossoming into summer. Metaphors. Others speak of — of attraction, quickened pulse, sudden heat and so on, but that’s a passing thing, part of a — a particular moment of closeness. Surely, no human could maintain such a state for an hour, never mind weeks or years!” Aziraphale offered Crowley the last handful of grain in his cap. “And once that moment passes…”

“Back to the metaphors.” The ducks below were now spotted, striped, every color of the rainbow. One bore pure white wings, beside another with midnight black. Aziraphale chuckled, very softly, which made Crowley feel immensely satisfied. Dusting off his hands, he circled the angel and continued walking.

“Yes,” Aziraphale hurried to catch up, cap twisting in his hands. “I get the sense that the feeling is so obvious, so…universal, they never think to describe it.”

“How inconsiderate.” Crowley thought it over. “So, flash of heat, racing heart, sun gets brighter, then ten pages about the color of their eyes? That about it?”

“I suppose so.” Aziraphale rubbed a finger across his lip. “Not always beauty, though. Some appear drawn by their partner’s clever mind, or acts of kindness. Some praise stories of bravery or great deeds, others fixate on meaningless symbols of wealth. But still, those only tell why one falls in love, not what it feels like.”

“Sounds like a sort of obsession.” Crowley furrowed his brow. “That treatise had a list of…sort of rules of love. Mostly about jealousy, really, don’t think the author thought much of women, but… ‘Every action of a lover ends in the thought of his beloved.’”

“I see…so that, together or apart, one cannot help but think always of the other. That certainly aligns with the evidence.” He started to replace his cap, then paused, looking inside. “Anything else of use?”

“‘Love can deny nothing to love.’” Beside him, Aziraphale turned pink and a brilliant smile broke across his face, like the sun after a storm. He pulled from the cap the bright red rosebud Crowley had hidden within.

Crowley watched as Aziraphale slid the flower into his buttonhole, drinking in the way the delighted shiver ran across his shoulders. Then the angel looked up, hitting Crowley with the full force of his smile.

Stunning. Blinding. It stole Crowley’s breath away, wiped every thought from his mind.

One day, that smile would destroy him, and he wouldn’t mind at all.

“So, this creperie — are we close?”

“Ngh. Smh. Unh. Nearly. Another block or two.” The park’s gate stood just ahead, half shut, the bustling street beyond. Crowley quickly stepped ahead, pulling it open for Aziraphale. “You, ah, find the answer you needed?”

“I…think so, yes.” He rested his fingers on the gate — so close to Crowley’s he could feel their warmth — then quickly pulled away, folding his hands behind his back. “I’ve been trying to work out…well…whether I’m in love with you, Crowley.”

“Oh.” What was he supposed to say to that? “Oh.”

“Indeed.” Aziraphale’s eyes darted nervously and he began to pace. “I-I want you to know, I don’t desire you. I’ve never felt that sort of attraction. And I’m not jealous by any means. I’m not even certain who I’m meant to be jealous of. But…” He turned back, tugging his jacket. “I think of you. Constantly. Every action, every experience reminds me of you. I go to a concert, and I can’t concentrate on the music, only whether you would enjoy it. I hear a joke and I imagine how you would laugh, or roll your eyes, and I can’t know a moment’s peace until I’ve shared it with you. And last month…when I was reprimanded…for days afterward I could think of nothing but how I wished you were there. When I finally found the strength to venture out, it was only from my determination to come here.”

“For…crepes?” Crowley offered stupidly.

“No, you silly creature, for you.” He stepped forward, reaching up as if to straighten Crowley’s lapels, but once again his hands dropped. “I hear your voice and no matter how dark my situation — no matter how absurd you look in the current fashion — I just…feel happy again.”

Aziraphale took a deep breath and lifted his eyes — hopeful, fearful, vulnerable — to meet Crowley’s.

“Oh.” Something more was probably needed. “Yeah.”

That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say.

“Well.” Aziraphale’s eyes dropped and he turned, trying to hide his expression. “Yes. I thought you should know.” He ducked his head and hurried through the gate. “Where — where is this creperie? We should try to arrive—”

“Me too.”

Crowley hadn’t meant to say anything. His mind was still ten minutes behind, struggling to catch up, but the pain on Aziraphale’s face hurt him like a blow to the chest.

The two words stopped Aziraphale in his tracks.

“I…I think about you, too.” Crowley stepped halfway through the gate, gripping the bar so tight it began to bend. “When I wake up, or fall asleep and…and away from you, here, I just…I miss you…but you — you idiot, with your crepes and your — your execution and…and then you smile and I just…” Blast! How could Aziraphale be so eloquent? Crowley swallowed and started over. “Look, m’trying to say…don’t think I can deny you anything. And. If that’s love…yeah. Me too.”

All this time, Aziraphale stood perfectly still, his back to Crowley. But now he turned, blue eyes furiously blinking. “That’s…ah…thank you. I know y-you hate being thanked but…” Aziraphale took one step closer, then another, until only inches separated them. “Thank you.”

“Nh.” He could so easily reach across that last bit of distance. Crowley didn’t know what that would accomplish, what he’d even do, but he wanted it more than he’d ever wanted anything. “Now what?”

“I don’t know.” Aziraphale’s gaze fell. “It…doesn’t change anything, does it? You’re still a demon, and I’m—”

“I don’t care,” Crowley hissed, shocked at the fervor in his own voice. “We don’t need to play by their rules. We could — run off, or—”

“We can’t. Crowley, both our sides would — they’d find us, they’d destroy you.”

“I’m willing to risk it.” He reached for Aziraphale’s hand.

“I’m not.” The angel jerked back, putting more distance between them, eyes wide. “Crowley that’s — that’s not a chance I’m willing to take. I’m sorry, but no.”

“Fine,” Crowley growled, pulling away. “What do you want?”

“I want…” Aziraphale shut his eyes, taking a shuddering breath. “I want a shop in London, where I can surround myself with books and foods and everything I enjoy. I want my superiors to trust me, let me bring good into the world my own way, without sending me all over Creation at a moment’s notice and — and punishing me for a few miracles to make my life easier. I want us to go to plays and gardens and balls together, not for clandestine meetings but because we enjoy them. To be openly in each other’s company, without fear of reprisal. And…I’d like you to visit my shop and bring me flowers or sweets. I’d serve my very best wine and…we’d talk all night about…everything and nothing. And laugh together.” His eyes fluttered open and for the first time Aziraphale looked sure of himself. “I want what we already have. Only I want more of it.”

This time he didn’t move as Crowley reached out. Long fingers carefully adjusted the rosebud, standing it straighter in its buttonhole. “Yeah. I…I’d like that, too.”

“And you don’t want anything…physical?”

Crowley snorted. “M’not a human.” But he wondered if Aziraphale’s cheek was as soft as the rosebud’s petals. “I’d like to touch you. Your hand, your face. Your wings. Hear your voice as I fall asleep. Feel your fingers in my hair. Is that…too much?”

“No.” Aziraphale smiled gently. “That sounds perfect.”

“Maybe…” Crowley fidgeted with his glasses, shuffled his feet, but refused to step away. “If we’re careful…”

“The Arrangement is already dangerous enough. You must understand…”

Crowley closed his eyes. “I do. Nothing changes.” Except there were words now, to the feeling he had when he thought of his angel. And that changed everything. When he looked again, Aziraphale nodded, as if he felt the same.

“Right then.” Crowley circled around Aziraphale, sauntering back to the main road. “Let’s see if these crepes are worth risking the guillotine.”

“My dear fellow,” Aziraphale easily kept pace. “One bite of true Breton crepes will silence your doubts forever.”

“Breton, huh?”

“Oh, yes, far superior to any others.”

“If that’s so,” Crowley smirked, remembering Aziraphale in his cell, “s’a wonder you came to Paris. Particularly in such a…controversial outfit.”

“The city has…certain other attractions.”

Something warm and heavy wrapped across Crowley’s shoulders, invisible to his eyes, though he could feel the individual feathers tickle his neck. Aziraphale strolled beside him, hands clasped behind his back, eyes forward, as if nothing were amiss.

Carefully, trying to look natural, Crowley scratched his shoulder, brushing his knuckles down a long flight feather, softer than any mortal bird’s.

Aziraphale smiled ever so slightly and flexed his wing, holding Crowley a little more tightly. An embrace that no one could see, no one could know about, except them.

“Dunno,” Crowley said. “Still seems pretty risky.”

“Yes. But I’m an incorrigible old fool. Sometimes I can’t help myself.”

“Suppose I can understand,” Crowley said as he extended his own wing, wrapping it around Aziraphale’s waist. The angel’s composure broke as he wiggled, burying himself in invisible feathers. Crowley smiled, heat running through him, a warm spring day after a long cold winter. “After all, we’re not so different, you and I.”

[1] De Amore, Andreas Capellanus, c. 1190

So happy to finally share this!