dead things appreciator

Put some stuff up on my Ko-fi shop because I still haven't finished revamping my site but I also really need the cash (+to get rid of some older stock)

Find: stickers, zines, zine AND sticker packs, an articulated doll, and some art prints. Thanks in advance for boosting and perhaps even picking some queer things up this queer month of June 🌈❤️❤️

(what's a little sex pollen between friends colleagues)

Azune isn't quite sure why Julien has asked him specifically to accompany him on this patrol. He's not sure why the Davinos heir feels the need to burden himself with patrols either, to be honest; there are plenty of people stationed in the Golden Orchard whose job description explicitly includes walking around keeping an eye out for intruders.

But then again, this abrupt decision might just be explained by the verbal fight Azune caught the tail end of before being forcibly recruited by a stormy-faced Julien; he had not been able to glean the contents of it, but the Davinos men had never needed a good reason to trade barbs for as long as he'd been here. An unsuitably chosen word, a misinterpreted glance — anything could be the spark that set fire to the powder keg that had become the rapport between Julien and his father.

And so: Azune had found himself caught in the blast once again. Julien had seen him as he was departing the site of the latest altercation in a huff, his eyes narrowing as they caught on Azune — who'd purposefully stiffened his back, fighting against the urge to hunch in over himself to make a smaller target — and had made a straight line toward him, snatching his arm without bothering to stop.

"With me, Nayar," he'd hissed. "We're going on patrol."

Since then they've burrowed into the depths of the forest that flanks the Western side of the Orchard; the familiar oaks and hazels have slowly but surely been replaced by foreign looking greenery. Long, purplish leaves reaching down to them like clawed fingers, bronze bark carved into organic spirals, thick trunks that split into gnarled branches high above their heads — fey trees, bleeding over from Faerie. One of the first thing Azune had been told when he'd been taken into the Golden Orchard's warden troops had been to never touch a plant he didn't recognize, and he'd since heard enough cautionary tales about rookies poking the wrong mushroom or sniffing the wrong flower getting irremediably changed not to take it seriously.