taniel-tow replied to your quote:I seduced the museum curator into employing me by...
Taniel: *shrug emoji* Yolo. (Tan, that doesn’t apply to you, you are immortal. Tan: “Yolo!” This is because you encountered a guy who uses the words ‘totes’ and 'brah’ while in a susceptible state, isn’t it.)
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taniel-tow answered your question:dlsjhfgg screeeeems @ the ostrich I–I’m kind of...
/offers red paint for the purpose of becoming purple. I’m trapped in an infinite loop of computer majong. Very tile, much click. Also imagining Ishtar wearing one of Taniel’s shirts as a dress bc she is smol.
what kind of Halsey lyrics are these
also that. That sounds fun? If eternal? and that is an adorable image oh my goodness. I love that. Bless you. Bless Ishtar.
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taniel-tow answered your question:taniel-tow answered your question:calla-tow liked...
omg though? What is the title of this book? I, too, want to be friends with demons. And angels. Better to have friends on both sides, right? (PS Ancillary Justice bc I will snare you all eventually)
It’s called “Play It Backwards”. owo and I saw a cool book with the angel Gabriel on the cover but it turned out to be teen romance. :v I just want an exciting novel about an ace angel with witty rapport. Is that too much to ask for. I’m gonna have to write it aren’t I. Or try to.
(mAYBE WHEN I GET THROUGH THE OTHER-- /checks Amazon wishlist NINETY-FOUR BOOKS, OKAY. MAYBE. I also hate trends. I have Undertale and Homestuck blacklisted for reasons. It’s easier to say “wait, stop, don’t” to me in the apathetic Willy Wonka way.) ?
White-gold hair sprayed water as Suvi shifted shapes in the glittering pond, pushing aside a water lily she’d nearly upset in the sudden change. Feathery garb drifted around her in the early morning light, before she carefully tucked it onto the edge of the river bank, alongside her satchel and a sketchpad thankfully undampened by her Little Mermaid antics.
A frog nearby surveyed her with what she deemed a dubious (if walleyed) expression, and Suvi made a face at it, before apologetically inclining her head, selecting the loose lily pad from the water’s surface to plop onto her head.
“I had to have a hat to tip to you,” the swan maiden said contritely, and did so. The bullfrog repaid her by flipping off its own perch and vanishing into the water, swimming away with rippling legs. Suvi snorted and twisted her hair out of her face entirely, making her way to the shore and hauling herself up.
She got dressed in the early rays of day, admiring the way the gold glanced off the water and gilded it; shaping sunlight in arrows and shields. She dawdled, trailing her feet in the gentle current, nibbling the handful of granola and the apple she’d packed for her breakfast by the estuary.
It was her place of peace; of reflection. It was hers, she’d made sure–save her and the occasional frog, no spirit came here, no fey had claimed it, and she’d left stone offerings in the forms of tiny temples and dedications by the riverside just in case an old god wandered home from his or her (”or their!”) amblings in the wilds.
It was here she felt safest, and here she swam away her problems, shook the water and woes from her feathers, and conjured inspiration from the Monet landscape to translate to fabric and art–
And weave into her very soul the freedom of places untouched and untarnished; places unclaimed and free, so that she might, too, always feel this way.