#painted wings | mun art

[mxthbladed]

[[ he's a work in progress but ]]

[aefitoranight]

[[ Still a WIP but I needed some more Styliani ]]

[palisraven]

[[ not the most recent state of this WIP but I wanna show off how pretty she is ]]

[suturcd]

narafran 100% correct quotes // @outwards​

alt. ver under the cut (just fran’s mask)

[comparativetarot]

High Priestess. Art by Stephanie Pui-Mun Law, from the Shadowscapes Tarot.

The High Priestess turns her face to the sky. She basks in the radiance the stars cast upon her upturned cheeks. She soaks in that tremulous incandescent light, feeling it glow within her mind, opening corridors and dancing into filigree patterns.

The stars chant: we were here when the mountains were young and the sea was only a dream we've seen the hills bloom with countless millions of seasons we've watched the clouds paint their visions in a slow language across the centuries let us speak

At the light brush of a moth's wing across her palm, she turns her gaze to it.

"Take this as a present to your mistress," she says. She plucks the filigree orb of light from the air and holds it out to the emissary of the Moth Queen. "I know my sister appreciates tales. Tell her that this holds the stories of the stars."

The little orb pulses with a fiery heartbeat, and the moth flutters as if to acknowledge.

Meaning: Wisdom, knowledge, learning, intuition, purity, virtue. The Owl is a keeper of knowledge, and he bears a key to unlock mysteries. The pomegranate is an icon of Persephone, who tasted the seeds and thus tied herself to Hades -- it is a fruit of fertility and death; and the moons embroidered upon her garments wax and wane. The new crescent, and gibbous moon that create the full cycle, embraced in one.

[mutatiio]

GET TO KNOW THE MUN.

basics.

NAME: break.

PRONOUNS: they / them.

ZODIAC: scorpio.

TAKEN OR SINGLE: single.

SEXUALITY: aroace.

three facts.

i'm an art student!! i can't pick what i love the most, but i'm exploring lino, print and paint.

i have two dogs. dexter, he was born with old man attitude. toffee, she was born being mean.

i like big, flowy pants.

experience.

PLATFORMS USED: tumblr mostly. i'm not against writing on discord - i do it casually rather than dedicated roleplaying. my brain can't take owing replies on tumblr AND discord.

PLOTTING / WINGING IT / MEME: i'll do any of the three, but for something long-lasting plotting is better.

muse preference.

GENDER: male.

MULTI OR SINGLE: multi!! but it's likely that one will beat the other's in attention.

LEAST FAVOURITE FACECLAIM(S): youtubers, i guess. or known weirdos.

fluff / angst / smut.

FLUFF: fun!! but i will get bored if it's constant fluff. need some action.

ANGST: my personal favourite.

SMUT: not usually.

tagged by: i nabbed it!!

tagging: you nab it too :)

[toussainttwins]

The Carnival of The Animals

The Dreamveil is a heaven of disguises - the most fanciful, equally artful and ridiculous, mysterious and charming, costumes are gathered under its roof. Yet it would be an error to conclude that the sewing succubi have created dresses for their human - or elven, or dwarven ( or even a doppler one ) - patrons only. Sir Cervantes - a steadfast and loyal steed of Palmerin de Launfal’s - has donned the festive attire too once. As an attempt to reconcile with the over-protective horse, Nistana suggested to her lover that the three of them could go equally dressed. After all, don’t knights reel in grooming their horses most lavishly for tournaments and battles? Why not let the beast have some fun during the carnival procession, when many masked people flood the streets of Beauclair and fill the air with songs and laughter that fall down like rose-petals? The hoffed coquette even had a fitting legend in mind - the fashionable story of Roger and Angelica, that featured a fearless knight, a beautiful maiden in distress and a magical flying horse*. Sir Cervantes, despite his initial neighing and nagging, warmed up to the pretty succubus - a common task is the best material for building bridges. Indeed, it required patience to be measured and to wear fake wings amidst a crowd; the flippant attire secretly made Cervantes very proud, for he and his knight fought a griffon once, and the pair of gorgeous wings haunted his daydreaming moments ever since.  Still, he didn’t cease his disapproving grunting when the hoofed seamstress called his master “Tubbynubs”. At least, not at once. Having one dream fulfilled makes even a heart of a beast more gentle.

* As far as the mun is concerned the 16th century poem “Orlando Furioso” by Ludovico Ariosto, where the characters appear, features no flying horse (instead, there is a griffon) or even a mutual love story. Yet the horse with wings appears in many paintings depicting the couple such as by Johann Peter Krafft and Joseph Blanc. The last is featured for the post image. Nistana’s romantic interpretation is closer to the story of Perseus and Andromeda, which in turn inspired the creation of Roger and Angelica. The names of the later couple seems more fitting for witcher-verse; thusly the choice of them.

[fatgumtm]

🍼 + you know /eyes/

Send me 🍼 + a ship and I’ll draw/make a fan-child | Accepting (2 more only) 

They give me nonbinary troublemaker vibes ngl... 

[m0rb1dch1ld]

A little bit of light here...little bit of shading here...

[pluviacuratio-a]

♣ tag drop: ooc edition

[mxthbladed]

[[ WIP of the girl ]]

[aefitoranight]

[[ Well, I got to two of them but it's a quarter after 6, so I gotta get some sleep. Anput finally got a proper redraw and then there's Styliani who I haven't given any recent visible changes. I love my girls! ]]

[mintdrop]

Meet Nanami. A shy, selectively mute “witch” who spends most of her time tending to plants and making herbal medicines. She has a fascination with the ocean and occasionally daydreams about what it would be like to explore the waters. More info under the cut!

Basic Info

Real Name: Nanami Nami Age: 26 as of SHB Race: Dunesfolk Lalafell Sexuality: Bisexual Guardian Deity: Nophica, the Matron Main classes: WHM, SMN (purely for her familiar) DOL/DOH: BTN, ALC, a dream of being FSH Voice Claim: Nao Tōyama (Reina Prowler in Macross Delta, Chitose from Nisekoi, Lyria from Granblue Fantasy)

Personality

MBTI: ISFP Enneagram: Type 9 Wing 1 (The Dreamer) Temperament: Phlegmatic Alignment: Neutral Good

Nanami is soft; marshmallow soft. Introverted to the nth degree, she has no real experience in dealing with other people outside of those who have run a select few shops that she's patroned for years - and even then, she can't meet their eyes. She suffers from selective mutism, meaning words are few and far between in regards to anyone but herself for the most part. However, with enough time and trust, it's possible that you might hear an answer or two rather than see it with your eyes.

Because she knows that she can't function through life (alone or otherwise) without "speaking", Nanami is able to combine her magic with her aether to speak by drawing or writing in the air - she often chooses drawing, as it allows for quicker responses.

When observed from afar, Nanami's true character can be seen; gentle, and extremely caring of those around her. She handles plants and flowers as though they're her family, and more often than not will she end up somewhat red-eyed and sniffly when using a plant for herbal medicines.

Backstory

An orphan from birth, Nanami has lived her life in self-inflicted isolation. The other children of the orphanage were never very kind to her, given that she couldn't speak, was more interested in the weeds growing from the ground than the game they were playing, and often felt sick when in the sun. Of course, children can be cruel, and it would be a lie to say if she wasn't bullied because of it; this only led her to isolate herself more in the long run.

It was discovered at a young age that she was proficient in white magics, and thus spent a long amount of time training under E-Sumi-Yan to hone her skills; thanks to this, he is one of few people who Nanami is able to speak to normally, though only when nobody else is around. She now uses these magics in conjuncture with her "witch magic" to produce various potions and medicines to sell for income.

Nanami lives far within the woods of the Black Shroud, in a small cottage that she had built by herself. When adventurers, wounded or otherwise, would come seeking shelter and aid, she would offer it under few conditions; one, that they understand she would only be around them to administer care and meals. Two, that before they left, they repair a part of her cottage that was in disarray, as her own craftsmanship was fairly shoddy. Thanks to this, her cottage is much more stable than when it had been made.

Stats

Strength: 3/10 Offense:  5/10 Defense: 7/10 Speed:  4/10 Durability: 6/10 Accuracy: 5/10 Agility: 4/10 Stamina: 3/10 Teamwork: 9/10 Stealth: 2/10 Magic: 10/10 Healing: 10/10

Nanami is a healer in all forms of the word; from healing magics to shielding magics, and even homemade potions, she functions as a pure supportive role in the heat of battle. Of course, she'd very much prefer not to fight at all if possible, but she's well aware that that simply isn't the case in this world.

Because she often gets uncomfortable in the sun, Nanami is never found without a massively large hat to mitigate the effects - leading to a hard drop in combative accuracy, as the rim of the hat will often block the far off view. Her close combat skills are basically nonexistent, which can sometimes lead to her being more of a liability if she's unable to protect herself in time. To say she fears these scenarios more than death would be an understatement.

Other headcanons

Could probably sing fairly well if she didn’t suffer from psychological issues.

Has a floating ferret familiar named Ren and a fat cat named Mr. Pibbles.

Has a love/hate relationship with spring - she loves seeing the plants flourish, but hates the allergies that come with them.

Paints as a hobby, but she hides all her artwork in a loose floorboard because she’s embarrassed about it.

Somewhat good at figuring things out on the fly, but her anxiety leads her to second guessing herself almost instantly.

She loves fruits in all forms, especially in drinks.

Fell in love with the ocean after visiting Costa Del Sol once with the orphanage - she wants to visit again, especially on a clear night.

Blind as a bat; she can’t even find her glasses in the morning after waking up - Ren has to put them on his back and bring them to her.

She knows sign language! She just doesn’t use it often because her art conveys things easier to those who don’t.

Aesthetics

Scents: Baked apples, cinnamon, flower shops, rose water Colors: Grayscale, dark purples and reds Animals: Deer, crows, squirrels Clothing: Long dresses, cloaks, large hats, circle frames, long sleeves, layered shirts, long socks Others: Autumn leaves crunching underfoot, candlelight, the faint sounds of a piano from another room, bird calls, whispers

Mun Notes

First and foremost, I want to say that selective mutism isn’t choosing to be mute - honestly, the term is very poorly named, imo. The link the phrase directs to has a few examples that accurately describe Nanami’s condition:

Twenty-six-year-old Hannah is only able to speak with her parents. In other situations like school, where she’s interacting with a larger group of people who she is less familiar with, her words get stuck, and even though she wants to speak, nothing comes out.

For interactions with Nanami, I know it’s hard to portray her when she’s unable to speak, so people are free to have her talk in sets. But she’s very quiet/soft, and pauses a lot. Ellipses are her best friend tbh.

Her design uses a custom face dds that I edited from Mint’s that I don’t mind giving to people who want to pose her if they ask ;w;

[fakedself]

“do u even remotely like this” no but i spent 2 much time on it so i can’t Not show anyone

[the-dimitrescu-seamstress]

Twelve Yards of Floral Damask - One Shot

(Mun here. I was quiet for the most part of last night, but after Nicole Tompkins stream, a fire was lit under me and I finished a drabble I had been working on ever since I saw that one portrait of Lady Dimitrescu. 

Below is a one-shot I wrote, one of many I have planned. Magdalena Petran is my OC, while Lady Alcina Dimitrescu belongs to Capcom. I hope you enjoy it.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The castle was immense and, if Magda had to admit it, a bit intimidating. It was rather easy to get yourself turned around in the hallways, or initially forget which door led to where off of the interior courtyard. The servants that were around, and willing to speak to her, advised the seamstress that, in order to make life in the castle easier for her, she had better learn the layout as best she could and as quickly as she could.

That was a task easier said than done. She felt safe in her part of the castle, even if safe was only a relative term. If she took a wrong turn or opened the wrong door, she could easily end up in a place where she would not return from. She was well aware of the screams that would echo throughout the castle. Sometimes they came from the direction of the family’s private chambers, but more often they would crawl up from the castle depths. Either way, Magda never wanted her voice to join them.

But, if she was so afraid, why was she quietly walking the halls this late at night? The simple answer was that the servants were right. She needed to learn how to navigate this world; both the physical and the social aspects. That meant she needed to learn all she could about the castle and its inhabitants. Repairing garments they were used to could only get you so far. Anyone could mend a seam or stitch a button, but Magda needed to make sure she was invaluable. The Countess seemed pleased with her work so far, but she had yet to entrust her with creating anything new. She needed to change that.

The other reason Magda was using the late hour to do her self-guided tour was that there were less people around. Most of the servants were already in bed, and she had picked a night that the girls were out on a hunt. The last thing Magda needed was for them to stalk her through the castle for fun. Their laughter in the dark was unsettling.

The lack of individuals also allowed her to take her time on examining the various portraits, busts, and ceramics that were thoroughly scattered throughout the place. She tried to piece together how old Lady Dimitrescu was by the decor, but there were items from across many time periods, keeping Magda from placing an exact age on the woman. The daughters could have been from the mid-1800’s, if the portrait in the Entrance Hall was any indication, but all she knew of the Countess was that she either had lived for many centuries or she was a collector of fine antiques and enjoyed living in great opulence.

The seamstress stood at the top of the stairs in the Main Hall, mentally mapping out the areas through the doorways around her. “That way to the Hall of the Four… Left and to the left again for the Entrance Hall, Carriage Gate, and the decrepit elevator of death. Though all this is a circle as well. Door to the right in the Hall of the Four leads to…” Magda didn’t complete that sentence, but through that door was the receiving room where she… where she became an employee of the castle. That would be a place to avoid for a while. Taking a breath and ignoring the brief ache of her left wrist, she continued.

“Dining Room below, and through to the left is the kitchen, while straight ahead is the courtyard. Once in the courtyard, to the right is the private chambers of Lady Dimitrescu. To the left is the Opera House, and my workspace.” To think that this castle had its own opera house. Yes, it was small, but still incredible to be in. With the bottom floor mostly mapped in her head, Magda began to walk the second floor. Here were the doors to the dressing and sitting rooms, as well as the Wine Room. Knowing that, she turned away from the dressing rooms and quietly went through the doors opposite.

The statue in front of her was large, unexpected, and the subject matter was really almost clichéd. Magda thought vampires were only supposed to have decadent art pieces of the sacrificial sort in works of fiction, and yet here was one being displayed before her. Perhaps it was a family heirloom or a macabre wedding gift. Either way, she decidedly turn her attention from it and continued on her exploration.

Light bled into the hallway from the room to the left, its door partially closed, and there were slight sounds of movement coming from within. Curiosity overcame self-preservation as Magda slowly crept forward, barely breathing in order to be as quiet as possible. Naturally, her careful steps found the one floorboard that squeaked under her weight, causing her to freeze in place and wait.

“To whomever is lingering in the hall, your eavesdropping presence has been noticed and it is not appreciated. Announce yourself before I lose my patience.” Magda closed her eyes and mouthed a silent curse as the voice of Alcina Dimitrescu sounded from within the room.

“It’s… It’s Magdalena Petran, ma’am. Your seamstress?” she replied nervously, before realizing how stupid she sounded. As if there was another Magdalena working here. There was a tense silence before it was broken by a simple command.

“Enter.”

Knowing better than to make her wait, Magda obeyed and quickly entered the room.

She had expected it to be a private study, but instead she found the room to be a simple art studio. No, simple wasn’t the right word. While it lacked the gilded decor of the rest of the castle, the ceiling was high and vaulted, complete with a skylight to let plenty of natural sunlight in during the day. Its simplistic appearance was only due to how older looking, more worn, and used everything was. The darker woodwork and wallpaper contributed to the effect as well. The floor lacked polish and uniformity in board shape and coloring. The few pieces of furniture and large quantities of books were all pushed against the walls, leaving plenty of room for a canvas and easel to sit in the center of the room. This was a place of work. Lady Dimitrescu, clad in an artist’s smock and with brush and palette in hand, gazed down at Magda in her usual authoritative fashion.

“What is your reason for wandering the halls of my castle at such a late hour, Miss Petran? I doubt that you are looking for clothing to repair.”

“I was looking...” she stopped and quickly corrected herself. “I was learning to find my way around the castle. It’s a large estate and I’d rather not get lost or open the wrong door.” Or get eaten, she thought.

“Could you not do this during the day?”

“I didn’t want to get in anyone’s way, mistress. I thought if I did it at night, most of the servants would be asleep, your daughters would be out hunting or otherwise occupied, and you would be…” Magda’s voice died in her throat as she looked down, not quite sure of what to say next.

“You thought I would be secreted away in my private chambers, busying myself with whatever womanly duties a lady of the house tended to do late at night. Is that it? Look at me when I am talking to you.” Magda’s head immediately snapped upward, fear likely showing in her eyes since an amused little smile, one with an edge to it, crept across Lady Dimitrescu’s deep red lips.

“Ma’am, I would never do something like that or presume anything about your nightly activities. I was not prowling or sneaking around. I was just exploring and figuring things out and I saw the light, so I came to look and then… I’m sorry, Mistress. I honestly didn’t mean to intrude.” The taller woman watched Magda for a long while, yellow eyes boring into her unwaveringly, before turning her attention back on the unfinished painting.

“Which is it?” she asked in a clipped manner, adding a few minute details to the wings of the angel depicted on her canvas.

“I beg your pardon?” Magda replied, confused.

“Throughout this entire conversation, you have used both ‘ma’am’ and ‘mistress’ when addressing me. Are you unable to make up your mind, child? Pick one or the other.” A few more brush strokes. “Now, which is it?” Magda was a bit lost. She didn’t know if this was a test or if she was simply making a mistake that needed to be corrected. Not knowing which was the better option, she went for a third choice.

“…Countess?” At that, the other woman paused and slowly turned to look at Magda once more, yellow eyes once again locked onto her, but this time her gaze was one of appraisal rather than judgement. This time her smile was one of satisfaction, as if saying ‘well, the mortal can be taught’. She then returned to her painting, the tension in the room having dissipated. However, Magda did note that she had not dismissed her. Whether this was another test, or the woman just enjoyed toying with her, she couldn’t say.

Rather than run the risk of spoiling the mood or the Countess’ artist moment, Magda took the time to quietly look around the room, taking in details she had previously missed; the large stuffed snapping turtles, the bell tower gears seen through the windows, and the immense portrait hanging in a ornate wood frame on the far wall.

You would think missing something like that upon entering would have been impossible, but then again, the subject in the painting was initially blocked by a living being of the exact same size. Now Magda could see it clearly, and it was gorgeous. It was the Countess, but perhaps a little younger. She still had a pink flush to her skin, still had life in her. No, that was wrong. Lady Dimitrescu ate, drank, and breathed like everyone else, but there was a difference that Magda couldn’t quite place.

The dress she wore was exquisite, and Magda took an unintended step forward before stopping herself. The Countess didn’t seem to have noticed, but she still decided to play it safe.

“Countess? That portrait… it’s you, isn’t it?”

“It is,” she replied with an amused half chuckle. “Unless you are aware of another woman of my stature.” She was clearly enjoying this. Good. Better an amused Countess than a wrathful one.

“May I take a closer look?” A gentle, almost absentminded, shooing motion with one hand was all the response that was given, but Magda took it as a yes, quickly walking over.

Up close, it was even more impressive that she originally thought. She had always been impressed by how artists managed to convey fabric and textures with simple strokes from a paintbrush. There were even minute wrinkles in the skirt. It was beautiful, absolutely stunning. Magda’s gaze hungrily devoured every detail she saw of this garment. At first she thought the fabric was a brocade, and from her initial distance, the mistake could be understood. The print was the proper size and detail for the material, but brocade would have been too heavy or stiff to have the folds of the skirt lay as they did.

“Floral damask?” she asked eagerly, not even thinking that she had just blurted out something in an otherwise quiet room.

“What?” came the terse response.

“The fabric, it’s a floral damask, isn’t it? Sterling gray and white.” Not even waiting for a confirmation, she went back to her examination. Too low a neckline for Victorian, also wrong hairstyle for the time. Late Victorian perhaps? Edwardian? That would make sense. At least she had a decade to work with, but Edwardian fashion changed every year of that decade. Either way, her mind was already clicking, and the desire to make or even see this garment had nestled itself thoroughly into her psyche, digging its damned little claws into her. Magda was like this when she saw a piece of clothing that intrigued her, flaming an odd passion inside of her. There was no way she would let this go so easily.

“Does the gown still exist?” she asked, turning around and looking unexpectedly at the Countess, who was now standing directly behind her. For a woman her size, it was unnerving how quietly she could move if she wished to.

“It intrigues you, doesn’t it?”

“I… If I can… I would love to make this. It’s twelve yards, at least, if that was when… if you were…” The Countess’ eyebrow quirked a little, and Magda immediately changed her wording, knowing it was a very bad idea to mention sizes, especially to her. “Historically, at least twelve yards of fabric would be needed for a Late Victorian or Edwardian dress like that. If… Countess, I know you think I’m babbling, but I believe I can recreate this gown for you. Please. I know I can.”

“Whether you can or cannot is not the issue, Miss Petran. The hour is late and I would rather not hear you prattle on about fabric or garments that have not been worn in quite some time. I believe I have indulged you for long enough. I suggest you retire back to your quarters for the night before you find yourself anywhere else in this castle.” It wasn’t quite a threat, but there was an edge to it, and the seamstress knew better than to test that edge.

“Yes, Countess,” she replied, giving her a bow before heading for the door, her mind still processing the gown.

“And Magdalena?” Magda froze upon hearing her first name spoken, a chill running down her spine. Why the sudden name change? Had she done something wrong? She was at the door, she could have simply continued on, feigning ignorance. But instead, she turned around, ready to face whatever faux pas she had unwittingly done. Alcina was still at the portrait, back to her.

“Yes, Countess?”

“Three days from now, I would like a tailoring session. Mid-afternoon. That is all.” It was good that she could not see Magda’s face, as her jaw went slack and she stared. Three days. She had three days to  ready and prove herself. The workshop wasn’t a mess, per se, but she knew she could make it better for her visit.

“Yes, Countess. Absolutely.” Another bow, and she was gone. Magda may have just made herself useful.

[fxllxnbx]

Byun Lee Baekhyun

Date of birth (fell) : May 6th. Blood type: heavenly. Species: (Fallen) angel (Abilities: Come from the runes on his right arm. His power’s source is light. He can manipulate it, can create shields, and protection with it. Empathy. He can see through lies and hallucinations. One of his runes can trigger creativity and bring comfort to people. His light can form wild horses that will chase away the demons and monsters. Dimensional travel, He’s allowed in heaven and hell and he can fly with his wings. Size manipulation: can make his wings huge to a limit.. or tiny.) From: Heaven, but currently in Seoul. Languages: Can speak any language. Height: 174cm Weight: 69kg Relationship status: Married to Bae on 14.08.2020 Working as: Tattoo artist at his own shop called The Archangel. Tattoos/Piercings: 4 Tattoos, a labret piercing. Hobbies: Drawing, spray painting, flying, traveling. Likes: Art, music, dancing, singing at karaoke, french fries, fast food, motorbikes, people with a kind and caring behavior, people that have a strong faith in God, the color red, and blue, sunflowers. Dislikes: Cucumbers. Bullies, traitors, liars, cheaters…….. Pets: Darth ByunLee (a black rabbit), Luke SkyByunLee (a hedgehog)

A big no for this muse: People that cause any harm to another being by utter pleasure.

Must know before interacting: He smokes. He cusses every five words. He gets loud out of nowhere. Baekhyun is empathetic. He can sense emotions from others and feel them as if they’re his own. And that gives him a short temper. He might react aggressively if his buttons are pushed (I’ll talk to the mun first). Low alcohol tolerance.  While yes, he is a fallen angel, he is still strongly devoted to Father. Which allowed him to keep his powers and wings. 

Important people: Bae ( @frczenpcetry ) his husband. Baekhyun ( @blueskybaek ) his twin. Somin ( @blkjkr ) his best friend. Chan ( @humminxbirds ) his adopted child. Hyunseung ( @89xhshb ) his best friend. (and all his friends and family tbfh)

Story:  (tw for mentions of suicide attempts, depression) This is messy and will be fixed later.

Created by the hands of God, made of light. Baekhyun was made a guardian angel almost 5 centuries ago. The angel with fluflly white wings, blonde hair, blue eyes, dazzling halo. He started with important tasks right away as to be taught the importance of responsibility. He took care of people during Joseon Dynasty. From non catholics, to people that would take pleasure in hurting others, and so on. Baekhyun had always been taught to keep a distance, for his own sake. He learned to fight, learned that he had abilities to see through people, and find who they truly were despite the masks they wore. His light guided him, God guided him. 

As of 1973, he was sent to take care of a girl. and Baekhyun had been told many times to be careful with her, to remember that God had a plan for everyone, and that some things were to not be interfered with.  As time passed, Baekhyun grew more and more worried with the woman he was a guardian angel to. She was lonely, she was sad, and even when he tried to comfort her, to bring her creativity to be distracted from her emotions, the emotions were still there. They enhanced the creativity even. Baekhyun couldn’t understand that.  One of his siblings had once more warned him, please be careful. Keep a distance. Angels never felt anything other than the peace and sense of responsibility.

The day had been rough on the woman, for reasons that had Baekhyun almost losing faith in humanity. She stood in front of the by the sidewalk, gaze longing at the road in front of them, but the lights were green. She couldn’t cross it.  The angel knew of her plan, it wouldn’t be the first time he saved her from taking her own life. It was considered a sin. She would be condemned. He stopped in front of her, trying to search in her eyes something that he could work on. Was he too close? She looked at him, deep in his eyes, as if she could see the angel in front of her. And that was when Baekhyun felt it for the first time, that deep sorrow that seemed to be eating him from inside out. A despair so big that took his breath away, the feeling of loss. He fell to his knees as those emotions took over him, and the woman took her step forward.  Now he understood how she felt, why she wanted everything to end. And still, the angel made himself visible to human eye, even if in his mind, Baekhyun remembered clearly of the words “God’s will”, and he lauched forward and grabbed her elbow, pulling her back in time to save her from a car that was speeding up. 

….. 2012.

It is morning, the sun is shining way too bright in his eyes. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he also doesn’t remember waking up. His mouth is dry but his body is still soaked, the waves breaking at the shore, and at his feet. He could taste the sand, the sun, and the salt from the ocean in his tongue. Someone, something had pulled him out of the water, somehow his wings were broken. After a good moment breathing, trying to remember what happened, trying to understand where he was, and what happened, he sits up, his whole body shaking. He can tell he is alone, but why? He forces himself to think, and notices that the more he tries to keep himself sitting, with his arms supporting his weight, more his arm, his right arm burnt in a specific spot. His eyes land on it and he sees a mark, a rune lighting up. He knows it, what it means… Honor. His memory returns like a harsh slap in the face, bringing tears to his eyes, fingers run through his hair and along with the water dripping from it, there’s blood. Panic starts rising in a way that he never, ever felt before in his life, and to make sure this isn’t just some sick game, he unfurls his wings and looks at them… Black like the night. And he screams.

———

For years Baekhyun lived his life in search of a purpose, he felt guilty and neglected himself, ignored the mark of honor that had been given him. He felt as if he had to prove himself still worthy of trust, even when sacrificing himself for his human already made him a being of honor, it granted him heaven. 

But he felt unworthy.

He opened his own tattoo studio, and made his name famous among tattoo artists.

It was only when he met Bae, and this person that looked like him and had his name, his human twin, that he felt like he was given another chance instead of being punished by being sent to Earth.

he understood, he had been given a chance of being happy again.