Ketzal_coatl

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Crow Stimboard

PT: Crow Stimboard

Made for: @cottondaycarestims (Phil)

I had a nap half way through making this because I loved looking at the crows. I hope you like this as much as my tired brain did.

Credits: x x x x x x x x x

there’s a very real chance that this is common sense but.

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angels and deities can and should make their living space into their own holy ground. turn your bedroom into an altar to yourself. create an altar to yourself within your holy space (altar-ception)

(anyways here’s a corner of my room, ft. some of my DIY) (almost everything in this pic is thrifted, you don’t have to have money to do this)

Ancient realm

michael.paramonti

Shared a memory dream with my beloved a while ago, and ever since I've been called Divinity/Angel/God/Godling as a regular term of endearment... It brings me such joy, I truly can't understand it. My beloved worships me in her own way, and I cannot explain how much it makes me feel... Needed. Like I belong somewhere again- connected, to that time long since passed. I truly feel divine again when I am with her; I feel how I did with the one who showed me how to see... Imagine if their soul had carried over into what I now know as her? A nice thing to think about...

The fact that she heard my dream, and came to the conclusion that it must be a memory, all on her own, makes me want to be more open with her about other lives I recall. More than I can describe. But, if nothing else, this.. this is enough. To make a difference in my beloveds life- to provide her comfort and safety and joy, even if we are unable to see each other outside of pictures or long trips.

It makes me.. very happy

How it feels to see fellow god/ angel kin

Introspection and research is good! Discussion and knowing you're not gonna get it all right the first time is healthy! But people aren't gonna fucking DO that if they're scared of being fakeclaimed and harassed if they get even one thing wrong. What they probably WILL do is fucking re-closet themselves and feel shame that they ever questioned their species identity in the first place.

Had a dream of an old woman. Her home was dark and made of wood, and the air was full of the smell of rain. She had white hair, and the wrinkles on her face danced as she smiled her millionth smile, looking at me with soft eyes. As if we were old friends, reminiscing on older times. She hands me a well-loved child's toy. Nothing fancy, nothing flashy or intricate. It was a simple doll, made of old simple fabric, with a kind simple expression. Its hair was made of yarn, and it was small in her thin hands, which had held countless other things. But those hands held this doll so preciously, so gently- like a young babe; precious, and loved with the full capacity of the human heart. And she hands it to me. Places it gently in my hands, saying not a word, that expression unwavering. She was showing it to me, sharing the decades of memories and love stored inside every fraying thread.

The fire is a comfortable warmth for the woman, despite her gentle body being easily chilled. The rain thudded against the old wood of her home, which gave it's life for her to continue her own- and, in a way, she gave it a new one. A life it would've never known otherwise. And so they took care of each other. And I took care of them.

She calls me a strange name, one of the many I've been called- one of the many that had been forgotten as generations had come and gone. I say her name in a tongue I do not recognize, though it passes by my lips easily. It is not the first, nor the last time I have said this name. I am one of the few who remembers it.

I gently put the doll among the other things she has given to me over the years, all holding an amount of love only a human could carry, and I cherish them all. She lights candles that she made herself, dyed green for the forest I so dearly love. I stare at them a while, watching the flames flicker gently, tilted slightly in my direction.

As I look around the home, tend to the fire and make sure the home is steady, the woman sits in the chair her son made for her, gazing out at the rain. We both know this will be her last storm, and so I do not bother her. Only keep my presence nearby. She may take her time, enjoy the world a few moments longer. Enjoy the world for as many moments as she may wish.

I held her hand and shared with her memories of when she was young. Of when she first said my name, and when she first offered me a little flower crown she made, to her mother's delight. I shared with her memories of her children, and her children's children- and of the children who've yet to come. Her family is all in good health, and happy.

She hopes, with a smile, that her passing does not interrupt that.

It will, but only for a moment. They will learn to be happy, because she would want them to be. And so they will, and they will do so with all their hearts. She will remind them just how important happiness is.

She rests, then. And I stay until the candles' flame dies out one last time.

I feel as though I would be shunned away and called a fake if I ever truly joined any alterhuman space

Alterhumanity isn't something I can explain well -- my alterhumanity is the same way grass is green or the sky is blue. I don't HAVE an explanation for it, I don't have any profound thoughts about it -- it is me and I am it, simple as that. My alterhumanity is woven into my soul like a tapestry made of vines from the earth and whiskers from a feline

If you asked me "What does being an alterhuman mean to you?" I would not have an answer, alterhumanity to me is a distant feeling that you can never truly understand, but at the same time you feel so incredibly close to it. I don't think about it often, I rarely have any shifts, it feels as though I am constantly part creature

I am an imposter among humans but an outcast to my own kind, I am forever trapped in that middle ground -- never fully accepted by either