#OPEN || Words are like bees some create honey and others leave a sting

[waspandr]

After a stretch, Soifon dropped her arms down, letting them fold at her chest. Things were quiet these days... Too quiet. She'd grown bored.

[nomnomnomvore]

The New Spider-Man in Town: Sweet Sting!

(Third image was drawn by a friend of mine btw)

So due to popular demand, I've decided to post about my bee OC! His name is Rin Haruki, and he's a horny gay gremlin who loves nothing more than to feed and fatten up people with his sweets or simply by stinging them full of honey.

Despite that, he's still a sweet boy who will make anything to make you happy :3

Feel free to ask me whatever you want about him btw!

Backstory and a few silly details under "read more":

Backstory: Rin is actually the heir of an incredibly successful candy factory (which is definitely not a rip off from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory). However, one day, instead of a radioactive spider, he gets stung by a radioactive bee; and from then on, he gained a lot of bee like abilities such a stinging, flying, bee wax, making honey, all the good stuff.

That being said, all of this massive gain of power also "corrupted" him slightly. Not by making him fully evil, but by making his horny desires even stronger. which was something that was starting to show in the candies he made. So much that it was gaining public attention due to the effects the candies had on people, such as making them gain so much weight pretty quickly, turning them into blueberries, etc.

As one would expect, this obviously caught Spider-Man's attention as well. However, despite all of his efforts, many of his battles with Rin ended up with Spidey stuffed with food or ballooned up, but nonetheless, unharmed. Their "encounters" became so frequent, their relationship actually became one of "enemies from lovers" between them.

Unfortunately, their relationship takes a tragic turn when the Carnage from Rin's universe makes an allience with the bee to create a weapon that is somewhat similar to the one in "Into The Spiderverse", having the objective of opening portals to several multiverses and stuff.

Rin plays along and brings Spidey in, thinking this will be the same shenanigans as usual. However, it is only too late when Rin realizes that Carnage wants Spider-Man dead. Needless to say, he didn't take that revelation too well and he actually tries to fight Carnage, with the symbiote beating the poor bee to a pulp.

Thankfully, Rin avoids being killed by Spider-Man taking the finishing blow for him. While hiding away from Carnage (who also escaped), Spidey shares his last words with the bee before passing away, leaving Rin full of guilt over what he brought upon the city, himself and his beloved.

That was his "canon event".

Rin was actually considering turning himself in after what he brought upon, but then he realized: If there was no Spiderman, then what was going to happen next?

And thus, the new hero of this world was born: Sweet Sting.

Some time passes, and eventually Rin gets accepted into Spider-Society, with some hesitation coming from Miguel. However, they eventually start to develop a strong bond with how happy the mischievous bee makes him feel with his dumb shenanigans.

And with how much Rin loves to feed him as well.

Lil' facts of the bee:

-Rin has a rather unique venom in his fangs, which has the ability to turn whoever he bites into a blueberry.

-Since he was stung by a bee, he doesn't exactly has spider senses.

-He loves to cook, and will cook almost anything and in great quantities, too.

-He has many sisters! And they all share the love for cooking and feeding cute boys with him.

-His antennas are pretty expressive at times.

-His home universe is known as "Earth-69" (HAHA). It shares a lot of elements in common with Devilman and many other of Go Nagai's works, but with Spider-Man lore instead (so no apocalypse is happening, bois). Therefore, Rin's usual appearence is that of a manga character from around the 70's/80's.

-His huge crush and affection towards Miguel is quite linked to his love to the now deceased Spider-Man of his universe.

[soclonely]

The Clones as Quotes Connected to Bees or Honey and Flowers Because I Need a Good Emotional Buzz

Rex-"Honey doesn’t lose its sweetness because it is made by bees that sting." Echo-"When the flower blossoms, the bee will come." Fives- “To be successful, one has to be one of three bees - the queen bee, the hardest working bee, or the bee that does not fit in.” Jesse-“We think we can make honey without sharing in the fate of bees, but we are in truth nothing but poor bees, destined to accomplish our task and then die.” Kix- "Where there are bees there are flowers, and wherever there are flowers there is new life and hope." Tup-"That which is not good for the bee-hive cannot be good for the bees" Dogma- "Those bees, which chose thy sweet mouth for their hive, to gather honey from thy works, survive." Hardcase- "If bees only gathered nectar from perfect flowers, they wouldn’t be able to make even a single drop of honey." Coric- "How doth the little busy bee,Improve each shining hour, And gather honey all the day, From every opening flower!" Bly- "For bees, the flower is the fountain of life/For flowers. The bee is the messenger of love" 99-"The bee is more honored than other animals, not because she labors, but because she labors for others." Cody- "The busy bee has no time for sorrow" Waxer/Boil-“Bees do have a smell, you know, and if they don't they should, for their feet are dusted with spices from a million flowers.” Wolffe-“The keeping of bees is like the direction of sunbeams.” Boost/Sinker- "It is not how busy you are, but why you are busy — the bee is praised, the mosquito is swatted." Hunter- "The hum of bees is the voice of the garden." Wrecker- "It was the bumble bee and the butterfly who survived, not the dinosaur" Tech- "Handle a book as a bee does a flower, extract its sweetness but do not damage it!" Crosshair-"Words are like bees – some create honey and others leave a sting." Omega- "The lovely flowers embarrass me, They make me regret I am not a bee." Howzer- " Gracious words are a honeycomb, sweet to the soul and healing to the bones." Fox- "Take time to smell the roses, and eventually, you’ll inhale a bee." Gregor- "The bee is domesticated but not tamed."

[psycho-slytherin]

Turtledove

Your love of nature pays off... in an unexpected way.

Request: Could you do fae prince!Jungkook who has stolen you away? 

Pairing: Fae Prince!Jungkook x Reader

WC: 1.5k

Genre: fluff, drabble, idk?

A/N I just like bees, ok? Thanks for the request, anonie!

|mlist|

“Let me be your ruler, ruler, you can call me queen bee…” You sing to yourself as you weed your backyard. You’ve got half a dozen lavender bushes waiting to be planted, but first you’ve got to prepare the soil. Just as you’ve finally yanked out a particularly stubborn nettle, you feel a soft tingle on your skin. A bee has apparently made itself comfortable on your wrist.

“Hey, little lady,” you say with a smile. Maybe this is your signal to take a break from the relentless sun. You’ve never been scared of bees. Even as a child, you always seemed to attract insects and animals. Your mom called it magic; you’re of the opinion that good souls can sense each other. “It’s hot today, huh?” You ask the bee, who buzzes contentedly on your hand as you move back into a shady patch beneath the cherry tree. “You’re gonna like the lavender once it’s all grown up, there’ll be plenty of pollen.” It must be your imagination, but it seems like the bee buzzes more happily at your words. “Well, go on,” you say, waving your hand lightly to encourage its flight. “Get back to your queen, honey- ow!”

Almost in slow motion, you watch the bee press its stinger into the flesh of your palm before looking right into your eyes. The world tilts sideways and everything goes black.

Something cold pokes your cheek and you suppress a groan. You feel dirt and leaves beneath your feet, and something softer, wet– moss?

“Mina, you weren’t supposed to kill it,” an airy, male voice says.

“I didn’t mean to,” a girl whines. “I panicked.”

Your head is killing you, and when you at last open your eyes, you blink weakly. “Where…?”

“Ah, good, it’s awake.” And in front of your eyes is the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen– his hair is a soft forest green, his skin inhumanly perfect, his nose tilted up just slightly and his ears pointed, as though he’s wearing prosthetics. He’s draped in shimmering green-blue robes that seem to move despite the stillness of the air. “I’m sorry for Mina.”

“Who…?” Normally you’d be scared, but the ethereal man in front of you practically radiates calm; against your instincts, you feel yourself relaxing. “Who are you?”

The man opens his mouth but before he can respond, a blue-haired girl– this must be Mina– claps her hands excitedly. “This is his royal highness, heir to the forest fae kingdom, the Crown Prince Jungkook!”

“Thank you, Mina,” the… prince? Responds bemusedly. “This is Mina, my aide, and the one who brought you here.”

You stand up groggily. “Where’s here?” You’re in a forest, certainly: tall trees with broad leaves create a dappled pattern of sunlight on the soft floor. You don’t hear even the hint of civilization. No cars, no chatter, just the occasional bird call.

“Oh, this is my kingdom. And you, human, are my guest.” He snaps his fingers and it’s like reality melts away. Where there were nests or messy branches suddenly appear small treehouses. What you thought was an animal’s burrow transforms into a beautifully decorated hut built into the earth. The messy rocks and moss beneath your feet rearrange themselves into neat paths leading throughout the forest. And right behind the prince, an enormous redwood tree simply becomes a magnificent palace, complete with arching doorways and large windows, perfect except for its size.

“Wo-woah…” you take a step backwards in wonder, suddenly feeling dizzy. You’re hallucinating, right? An allergic reaction to the bee sting? Or you’ve been kidnapped by a very handsome and definitely psycho magician?

Although… You know it’s irrational, but you can’t help but sense goodness in him. And Mina too.

“Am I dreaming?” You whisper, suddenly realizing that those pointy-ear prosthetics look very real.

“You’re not dreaming.” Prince Jungkook draws closer. He smells like clover and rain and lavender. “Human, all your life you have been good to us. The butterflies and bees for whom you planted flowers, the hummingbirds and squirrels you kept well-fed, and the very earth beneath your feet, which was always left fertile and healthy. I have watched you save my subjects from ill-meaning humans, from injuries, from cold.” He reaches out a hand and lightly touches a finger to your chest, right above your heart. You can feel it beat faster in response. “And for that, I shall reward you with a glimpse into my world. Will you come?”

His eyes are a deep green, and staring into them, you feel like your every sense has been heightened. If you’re dreaming, it’s the most intensely sensory dream you can remember. And if not… “Yes.”

The prince’s eyes flash. “This may hurt a little.”

From his finger on your chest you feel warmth spreading throughout your body. “Ah!” What began as a pleasant warmth morphs into pain; You feel a sharp, searing ache shoot through you. Your ears, eyes, and back especially feel as though they’re burning. “Stop it!”

As soon as the words leave your lips, the pain stops and you collapse onto the moss, which seems bigger now. Your body feels inexplicably light, and when you look back at the prince and Mina, your jaw drops.

“Holy– you have wings!” Tossing your confusion to the side– it’s a dream anyways, it doesn’t have to make sense– you bound over to Mina, who indeed stands before you with beautiful blue and black wings fluttering lightly in the breeze. Prince Jungkook’s wings are silver, almost transparent, and yet so bright they practically glow. “Can I…” you reach forward cautiously. “Can I touch them?”

“Gently,” the prince replies.

“But, your highness–” Mina says, falling silent as you lightly stroke the prince’s wing. They seem to emerge from between his shoulder blades, and though you thought they’d be light and fragile, you can feel a strength in the material. You notice the prince tensing slightly at your touch.

“This is all so beautiful.” You finally take a step back and look beyond the fae in front of you. “Oh, wow.”

The burrows and treehouses have grown in size. The palace that seemed awkwardly small now looms over you, impossibly large. In fact, everything seems much bigger now. You stare at your hands and finally notice that they look tiny in comparison to the humble blade of grass beside you. Nothing’s grown– you and the faeries have shrunken.

“Do you remember some fifteen years ago? You were just a child when you found a turtledove with a broken wing.” Prince Jungkook says with a soft smile.

You do remember the incident– you’d come into the house crying, asking your parents to help you bring it inside.

“You spent days and sleepless nights nursing it back to health. And for years the turtledove would return, wouldn’t it, to say hello?”

“Y-Yes. It always slept in the fig tree outside my window.” The dove stopped visiting four or five years later; you figured it had died.

“That turtledove, lovely human, was me. And this is my kingdom.” He gestures, and the silent forest suddenly bursts into chatter, movement, noise. Hundreds of faeries appear as though they’d been there all along, walking or flying, dressed in all manner of tunics and robes. Most seem to be going about their business, running errands, or doing work. Some stop and stare at you, or greet the prince with a bow. The doors to the redwood palace swing open, and you hear an unfamiliar kind of music fill the air.

“Will you join me?” Prince Jungkook asks, a brilliant smile lighting up his features.

You grin mischievously. “That depends, do I get wings too?”

“Oh, Y/n. Look behind you.”

“What?” You crane your neck and yelp in surprise; In your peripheral vision you can see the edges of black-and-yellow wings, the pattern resembling a cross between a monarch butterfly’s and a bee’s. You focus intently on your back muscles and for a brief moment, you see the tips of your wings flutter.

“Er… your highness, can I keep them?” You ask the prince, hurrying to keep up with him and Mina as they enter the palace. The interior is beautiful, perfectly blending the decor in with the natural color of the wood. Patterns and symbols you don’t recognize are carved into the walls, and well-dressed faeries turn to eye you from around the foyer.

“Call me Jungkook. The wings are yours within the fae world– and you are welcome to stay as long as you’d like, princess.”

Your heart seems to glow. You’re a faery, a real faery! Even if it is just a dream… you never want to wake up.

“Jungkook!” You say his name like it’s a ray of sunshine, laughing at the pure delight flowing through you. The prince stands next to you, his wings catching the light of the lanterns. “Jungkook, thank you. Your world is so wonderful. Thank you for bringing me here.”

Jungkook takes your hand and draws it to him, pressing his lips to the back of your hand. “No, thank you. You’re all goodness, princess. Now, let me show you around.”

[radiantmists]

A Playful Diversion

Read on AO3

The demon Aziraphale arrives in the Garden and takes a deep breath, smiling at the full moon above and savoring the taste of rich earth and growing things.

He looks down at his pale new body, admiring the soft rolling curves of it, and stretches just to luxuriate in the pull of the muscles below. Then he spends rather a lot of time brushing off the dirt from his travel through the ground, finding a stream to wash his face in until he’s sure he looks nothing like some of the filthy demons he’d seen down below.

(This thought comes with a prim, petty sort of disgust that feels extraordinarily satisfying, now—Pride is a sin even if it’s passive-aggressive and condescending rather than loud and bragging.)

Aziraphale wanders through the Garden after that, keeping a vague eye out for the two humans. He’s supposed to be causing trouble, and they seem to be a likely target, given Her special interest in them. He doesn’t make too much of an effort, though, not even to stay hidden; it’s not as though he could truly hide from Her anyway, so why bother? She will do what She likes, after all, so he might as well just enjoy himself. There’s no rush.

(Sloth is also a sin, but he’s a demon now; no reason he should try to be diligent.)

And he is enjoying himself. Whatever quibbles he may have had regarding the reasons for the whole thing, the Garden is gorgeous, replete with flowers and butterflies, with charming little streams and hidden nooks where the wildlife sleep peacefully. And the fruit…

Aziraphale tries everything he sees. He delights in the tartness of the raspberries and the crisp crunch of the pears, the sweetness of strawberries and the cool juice of the peach running down his chin. He finds that biting through the rind of the orange is a mistake, but ultimately the bitterness is rewarded with the sweet tang of the flesh within. After that, he starts to peel away thick skin and crack open gourds, scooping out the white meat of coconuts and cherimoya with his fingers. There’s a false start before he realizes that the good part of the pomegranate is the seeds, but once he does… oh.

(Gluttony is also, of course, a sin, when appetites are selfishly carried to excess, and Aziraphale has no thoughts of moderation.)

Pineapples and watermelon are a bit more of a challenge; while plucking gooseberries, he raises pale pink scratches on his arms, and the less said about the ordeal with the prickly pears, the better. And that’s to say nothing of the honey. He has to do some very fast talking to convince the bees that he’d repaired their hive, see, there was no need to sting, and he’d be ever so careful in the future, if they’d just let him have a little more…

Eventually, though, he finds the most well-guarded fruit in the Garden.

It isn’t immediately obvious; the fruit is an inviting dark red, with skin that looks thin and easy to bite through. But as Aziraphale reaches up through the branches, a warning hiss makes him jerk his hand away in surprise.

In the dappled shadow of the leaves, a pair of glittering golden eyes reflect the moonlight. Slowly, he makes out the shape of a great long body wound through the branches of the tree, sleek black scales shifting to a deep crimson at its underbelly.

“Oh, hello, dear,” Aziraphale says. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there. I’m Aziraphale.”

The snake stares at him, and he thinks it would probably blink in bemusement if that were something a snake could do.

“I’m Crawly,” it says finally.

“You certainly are,” Aziraphale replies dryly, and then realizes—that was its name. Creatures do not have names, which means that he isn’t speaking to a snake. He’s speaking to an angel. And he’s just told an insipid joke about his (admittedly rather ridiculous) name.

Before he can panic at all, there’s an odd hissing sound, and he realizes that the angel is laughing.

“I really didn’t mean to disturb you,” Aziraphale says uncomfortably. “Just… the fruit looks rather lovely.”

“It’sssss forbidden,” Crawly hisses, scales whispering over the branches as he readjusts his perch in the tree, freeing up the front of his body to strike.

Aziraphale blinks. “This one? Are you quite sure?” When the angel only stares, unblinking, he adds doubtfully, “only there are others that seem to be rather more… threatening, you know.”

“I moved all the poisonous ones, honeyface,” Crawly says, defensive. Aziraphale resists the urge to self-consciously scrub at his suddenly very hot face, trying to find a retort, and then pauses suddenly.

“There are poisonous ones?” he asks, a sort of retroactive worry curdling his full stomach. Beelzebub will not be impressed if he’s ruined this body already. “Where did you move them to?”

“A cave. It’s got a stream running through and a great hole in the top for light, but you couldn’t have just wandered in there in that shape,” Crawly assures.

“I should like to see that,” Aziraphale replies, relieved now and imagining the picture it must make, light shining down in a column on the lush greenery, the whisper of water trickling along just out of sight.

Crawly eyes him suspiciously. “I’m sure you would, demon,” he accuses. “I put those out of reach for a reason, I’m not showing you where they are so you can go make the humans sick.”

“Are you implying I’m going to poison them?” Aziraphale asks, affronted. Then he tilts his head in thought. “Actually…”

The angel winces.

“They—they know better than to eat those anyway,” he insists, and angels don’t lie but there’s something a little too keen in the warning. “She pointed out all the things that were dangerous.”

“Then why did you have to put them out of reach?” Aziraphale asks mildly, and Crawly hisses in frustration. Which means that poison is still a possibility, assuming he can figure out how much is needed to just make the silly things sick without getting himself in too much trouble. Fortunately, he realizes, there might be a much more interesting opportunity right in front of him. “What’s more, if you moved all the others, why did you leave this one? Did She forget to point it out? Or,” he adds inncocently, “is it too big?”

“I’m an angel,” the angel says, testily. “I can move any tree I like, size isn’t an issue. And She did tell them if they ate it they would surely die and all that. But She placed it specially here—“

“Did she now?”

“Um, yeah…”

“The Lord took special care to place one single poisonous tree in this specific spot? In Her rather enormous Garden?” Looking around, there is a grassy sort of clearing around the tree that Aziraphale might have noticed if he hadn’t been so consumed with excitement over the fruit. What’s more, it seems possible based on where he’d started, and the direction he’d been walking and the amount the moon had moved, that this was the exact center of the Garden. Which means it must be a rather important tree.

“Well, it’s technically not—“

Crawly cuts himself off, but it’s too late—Aziraphale’s mind is in motion, picking the words apart. What was not what? The Garden is certainly enormous, and certainly Hers; the angel had said himself that She placed the tree specifically, and that She told the humans the fruit was—

No. No, that wasn’t quite what Crawly said, was it?

“It’s not technically poisonous, is it? You even said,” Aziraphale realizes, “you moved all the poisonous ones. This fruit isn’t poison at all, it’s just forbidden.”

“They’ll die if they eat it,” the angel insists stubbornly. “She said so.”

“Maybe,” Aziraphale says, because trying to convince a loyal angel that the Lord lied is a fool’s errand. “But if it’s not the fruit that will kill them, what will? Her?”

“Ssssshe wouldn’t do that,” Crawly replies, hissing with outrage. “It’s wrong. They’re her favorite creation, and it’s just a fruit, that wouldn’t be—“

“Right? Fair?” Aziraphale scoffs, fists clenching, and Crawly rears back at his sudden vehemence. “It isn’t right to make us create all this and then ignore us to focus on them, and then cast out anyone who wants to know why. It isn’t fair to pick favorites.”

(Envy is a sin, a horrible ugly little ball of resentment that sits in the stomach like rotten fruit, weighs the soul down like a stone.)

There’s a long, bitter silence. They stare at each other, neither willing to budge, until finally Aziraphale sighs and relaxes his posture, shaking his head.

(Wrath is a sin when anger festers and vents itself at undeserving targets, but it’s one he frankly finds rather distasteful.)

“It’s hardly fair, either, to put such a delicious-looking fruit they can’t eat right in the center of a Garden full of ones they can. It seems… confusing.”

“Well, that’s what I’m here for,” Crawly says.

“She put an angel here to remind the humans not to eat a fruit?” Aziraphale had known she was fixated on them, but that seemed excessive.

“Well, all She said was that I’m a guardian, gave me venom and a flaming sword and all,” Crawly replies, mouth wide to show his teeth, and Aziraphale resists the urge to flinch back at flaming sword. “But I mean, it seemed implied. Who else would I be guarding, the trees?”

Probably just this specific tree, Aziraphale doesn’t say, because he’s too busy gaping at this ridiculous, wonderful angel. ‘It seemed implied’—maybe it had, but only from a very specific vantage point. A naïve one, of course, one of blind, unquestioned faith, yes; but it was faith in the idea that She reflected this angel’s simple, perfectly instinctive love, the conviction that nothing was more valuable than life.

Aziraphale doesn’t have that kind of faith anymore, has felt firsthand the imperfections in Her love. But perhaps…

No. Crawly is an angel, he reminds himself, a loyal soldier of the Lord who might be friendly and delightfully witty but who has been armed with a flaming sword that he’ll probably try to drive through Aziraphale’s heart when their conversation ends. His love is no more perfect than Hers.

“Hey, you okay?”

Aziraphale started, blinking up at the branches. It made sense how he’d managed to miss Crawly; weaved between the branches as he was, his black scales blended with the night shadows, while the glimpses of red scales that were visible were a perfect match for the fruit.

He’s not up to date on serpentine body language, but Crawly actually seems concerned.

“Yes, yes, quite alright,” Aziraphale replied, trying to regain the thread of the conversation.

“Do you still want one?”

And now Aziraphale’s completely lost. “What?”

Crawly laughs, the same soft, hissing delight. “The apples, do you still want to try one?”

“I—well,” Aziraphale stutters, thrown. Is this some sort of test? Will he be allowed to go without a fight if he doesn’t seem interested? “I don’t want to ‘surely die’, if that’s what you’re asking—“

“Oh, that’s just for the humans.” At Aziraphale’s surprised look, Crawly explains, “I asked, because the animals kept trying to eat them.”

“I see… but this still feels like a trap,” Aziraphale says worriedly. All the same, he can’t stop himself from glancing at the fruit again, ripe and inviting and new.

Crawly laughs again, sounding almost fond, but this time he starts to move, coils flowing over the branches until he hangs in a single loop, and for a moment Aziraphale thinks the angel’s laughed himself right out of the tree. Then something changes, the loop over the branch melting into strong fingers with black-tipped nails, the head shifting and the red scales flowing back over it into long russet curls, lids forming gently over golden eyes and then blinking open to reveal them glittering in mirth. The black scales have retreated but not disappeared, tracing a path down Crawly’s neck and disappearing over his slim dark shoulder, reappearing at the bony hips and branching over lean thighs to curl around his dark, pointy knees before spilling out to cover his slender calves and ankles.

Crawly drops to the ground on scaled feet with a final chuckle, plucking an apple from the tree as he lets go of the branch.

“Look,” he says, and with glinting white teeth and thin, grinning lips he bites into the apple, ripping away a full mouthful, large enough that when he swallows without chewing Aziraphale can follow the lump down that long, slim throat before it disappears.

Aziraphale jerks his eyes away from sharp collarbones and what lies below them and gulps convulsively.

(Lust is a sin, he tells himself, and you’re a demon, there’s nothing to be ashamed of, but maybe it’s a sin he doesn’t understand all that well, because somehow Aziraphale is sure that Him Below would disapprove of the way he wants to stare at this angel just as much as She would.)

“It’s perfectly safe,” the angel tells him, and Aziraphale wants to snort derisively, but then Crawly smiles soft and a little teasing. “Come on, I know how much you want to—it’s delicious, really, and I promise I don’t sting.”

“How do you know—“

“It’s all over your face, honey,” Crawly drawls, eyes shining with amusement, and it takes a moment for Aziraphale to process the jibe, to blush brick red again and scrub viciously at his sticky chin with the heel of his hand. So much for not looking like a grubby demon, he thinks.

“Why,” he asks, and Crawly softens.

“It really is delicious,” he repeats, “and it’s clearly meant to be enjoyed. And somehow, I don’t think anyone will enjoy it more than you.”

And he holds out the apple.

Of course no one is going to enjoy it more—neither demons or angels, or even the Lord, make a habit of eating, and the thing is forbidden to the humans. There’s no one else who’d enjoy it at all, really. But somehow, it’s obvious that that’s not what Crawly means. Aziraphale can’t suppress the feeling that there’s something being offered here beyond a sort-of forbidden apple, something intangible but very, very important.

He reaches out and takes it.

(Greed is a sin: wanting in excess, more than you need, more than you deserve, all for yourself, and it must be excessive the way he wants everything, it must be too much and selfish even if he has the fleeting, mad impression that Crawly is offering.)

The apple is delicious, divinely sweet without being cloying. He savors the first bite, the way his sharp front teeth pierce the delicate skin easily and the satisfying crunch between his molars as he chews, the weight of the fruit on his tongue and the way the juice lets it slide smooth down his throat.

He opens his eyes to find the angel staring at him with eyes wide and shocked and almost plaintive, sort of leaning forward and altogether consumed with something Aziraphale can’t identify.

“Do you want another bite?” he offers.

“No,” Crawly blurts, “no, you can finish it. Like I said, never see anyone enjoy it like you.”

“Alright then,” Aziraphale replies, and does. Crawly leans back against the tree and watches, smiling, and maybe that should make Aziraphale feel self-conscious but something about that golden stare just leaves him feeling warm.

When he’s done, he licks the juice off his fingers, closing his eyes and humming in satisfaction, then startles as a wave of pure lust hits his demonic senses.

He opens his eyes and grins knowingly, and Crawly sucks in a breath, biting his lip with teeth that are a touch too sharp. Aziraphale fancies that there are more scales spreading across that dark skin than before, and for a moment he thinks Crawly will dart back up into the tree to coil up and hide in the branches again. He suppresses a laugh.

“That was wonderful, thank you,” he says, and Crawly shifts a bit before leaning back, deliberately careless.

“Well, I’m glad you found it… diverting,” he says.

Aziraphale chuckles, surprised and a little delighted. “Were you distracting me?”

“Well, it’s been twenty minutes since you walked up, and who knows how much trouble a demon could cause in twenty minutes,” Crawly replies. “Think I did a good job.”

“In that case,” Aziraphale says, “I suppose I should be getting on. I can’t have a sweet little angel like yourself thwarting all my demonic wiles.”

For a moment, it looks like Crawly is going to take issue with that description, but then he tilts his head, challenging.

“You could do that, and see how sweet I really am,” he drawls, “or I could show you some other sweet things in this Garden. Have you tried mangoes?”

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” Aziraphale replies, intrigued, and Crawly grins, standing.

“There’s a tree over this way,” he says, starting out of the clearing.

Aziraphale goes to follow, frowning back at the apple tree. “Shouldn’t you be on guard?”

“I am. I’m guarding them from you,” Crawly insists, turning back. His tongue flickers out from between his teeth, and he shrugs. “They’re asleep miles away, and besides, I’m sure you could get them in far more trouble than any apple tree.”

(Later, of course, he’s proven quite thoroughly wrong, and Aziraphale laughs himself silly. Crawly glances up at the twitching white wing still sheltering him from the pouring rain, and has to remind himself to glower rather than laughing along.)

***

I'm not sure if I'm going to write more for this, but I sure have a lot of thoughts about it, so if you have an opinion, a question, or just want to know a random fact about this au, or just want to yell about good omens, my ask box and chat are open for business :). Also, if you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging!

[fuckinsteverogers]

All These Broken Rules: Part 1

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x Reader : Chris Evans x Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Rating: 18++++ SERIES

Warnings: Nothing. 

Synopsis: You and Chris Evans have been best friends since high school and when he becomes a part of the Marvel family and makes some new, very attractive friends, some ground rules need to be set… But rules are made to be broken… right?

Author’s Note: Wow, this is the most I’ve written in months. Wtf is happening. I am so not happy with how this is going so far. I am trying to get my creative juices flowing and getting this thing going, but it’s sorta boring atm. I promise shit is going to get better as it goes. 

When I said this was based on ‘The Kissing Booth’, I meant loosely, like very loosely. I am basically just using the rules part and best friends angle, but less teenager centric and less ‘I won’t talk to you ever again’ vibes (Chris is too mature for that), plus Chris x Reader is always a good angle... right?

You wipe your sweaty hands on your scrubs and move towards the receptionist desk in the hospital.

“Already leaving?” Hannah, the receptionist, asks. She looks just as tired as you feel. You nod, smiling at her tiredly.

“Yes, thank God. If they didn’t let me leave, I’d have had to find a spare bed,” You joke, watching her hand over your booklet, to write your hours in for the day. Your hospital had yet to upgrade to a booking system, another thing on the to-do list.

“Going home to that handsome boyfriend of yours?” Hannah smiles and you furrow your brows at her, confused as to if she’s mistaking you for another female doctor in your large hospital.

“Boyfriend?” You question, signing the paperwork and handing it back to her.

“Chris Evans, right? I see you guys all over the internet. He’s so dreamy,” Hannah quirks up, the comment almost makes your stomach churn but who are you kidding? You’d be lucky to have a guy as great as Chris even glance at you.

You begin to laugh, hunching over the desk.

“No, no, no. He and I...” You stop for a moment and regard her expression, she’s looking up at you with the same look every girl gives you when you tell them Chris is single. “We are best friends, have been since high school.”

“Better secure him soon, honey. He has definitely got his options,” The comment sounds so sweet coming out of her mouth, which is why you’re confused when it stings. 

“Thanks, Hannah. See you tomorrow, yeah?” She nods and you leave, nursing the sore she just created. 

Surely, you have options too right? You’re a doctor. A doctor in Los Angeles. You’re best friends with Captain freaking America. You live in a big house, drive a nice car. You’re sweet, compassionate, selfless. Fuck, any guy would be lucky to have you... At least that’s what you tell yourself.

You push the self-doubt to the back of your head and drive in the direction of Chris’ home, looking forward to a nice, hot shower and some good ole leftovers, maybe a beer to go along with it.

“Honey, I’m home,” You yell out as you shut the front door. You hear the vague sound of voices from what seems to be the living room, but with how damn big your millionaire friends house is, you can’t really tell.

“In the living room, darling,” Chris’ voice echos back, and you smile to yourself at the pet name, something you and Chris embraced from a young age. 

So many people in high school, from classmates to teacher told you both that you were destined to be together, which eventually evolved into pet names that only served to stir the pot, but didn’t actually mean anything.

“Did you order food? I’m starving,” You note aloud when entering the living room, chucking your handbag onto the floor and moving towards Chris, only to notice the two other men seated in the living room. “Oh, I didn’t know you had company.”

You stop and regard the two ridiculously attractive men looking directly at you.

“You’re still going to stay, right?” Chris raises an eyebrow at you and a smile spreads across your face.

“Yeah, but I should probably shower and change,” You reply, looking down at your blood splattered scrubs.

“Surgery?” Anthony asks, looking down to where you’ve got blood dried into the fabric. You nod, wiping your sweaty hands onto your thighs; your eyes momentarily shifting towards the dark-haired Romanian man that has his eyes boring into you.

“Open heart. Patient forgot to mention he was a haemophilia sufferer, so it wasn’t the cleanest.” You watch Mackie’s face twist into disgust and a smile tugs on your lips.

“Couldn’t do what you do, doll,” Sebastian perks up, leaning back and taking a swig of the stella he’s nursing in his hands.

“My little worker bee,” Chris contributes, which only serves to drag your eyes away from Sebastian’s fucking ridiculously handsome face and grin at your best friend.

“My little performer bee,” You add, quickly making your way over to him. You wrap your hands around his shoulders and nuzzle your face into his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of home.

“Okay, now get away from me, you smell like death,” Chris chuckles, painting a peck onto your cheek and pushing you off of him. You laugh and throw your hands up, moving for your handbag.

“Did you wash my clothes?” You ask, picking your handbag up and moving for the stairs.

“Yeah, I left them on my bed,” Chris replies, and with one final glance at the three men, you climb the stairs to where your relaxing, hot shower awaits.

The boys have fresh beers and are watching football when you return in sweats and a t-shirt, hair wet and smelling like roses. Chris greets you with open arms and an already opened beer, tugging your body into his as you settle beside him to watch the Patriots.

Though, your attention is almost non-existent on the television when Sebastian’s movements catch your eye. He sweeps his long, tanned fingers through his dark hair and shifts to cross his legs, his thighs thicker than the last time you saw him, probably due to the men just having finished filming their latest Marvel movie.

The sight sends heat throughout your body, it’s unnerving how attracted to him you are. The thought of Rule #2 sends you slamming back to Earth. Sebastian is off-limits, you know that you’ve known that since the moment Chris pulled you aside, you’ve known it since the moment you knew you were attracted to him, but there’s this pull, this unmistakable need for him that won’t leave you alone.

Attempting to forget about the thoughts rushing through your head, you lean back against Chris’ chest and press the empty bottle of Stella between your thighs, shutting your eyes as he wraps his arm around your chest.

You listen to the shouts from the men, vibrations travelling through you when Chris perks up, and slowly fall into a deep sleep after the gruelling 16-hour shift.

“Sweetheart,” Is what you wake to, the sound of velvet in your ears. Humming, you roll over, towards the sound, seeking the comfort of the soft voice, you reach your hand out, only to come in contact with rough stubble on top of soft skin and you keep your hand there, just feeling. “Food’s here, sweetheart.”

The voice is so soft, yet rugged and you can’t help but hum, still too groggy to open your eyes, you do notice that you’re no longer propped against Chris’ chest, but laid on the couch with no heat of a man’s body to protect you from the coldness of the room.

“Is she okay?” You hear another voice, deep and manly, and almost makes your chest vibrate with how low the octaves are.

“Yeah, but I think she thinks I’m you,” The velvety voice says, and it makes you wake up a tiny bit. Who are you touching? Please don’t be a stranger, oh god.

When you crack your eyes open, your hand still encasing a sharp jawline and rough stubble, you see the gorgeous sight beside you.

“There she is,” Sebastian says, his hand coming up to yours that is laid on his cheek and bringing it to be encased between his hands, the warmth against the cold makes you shiver.

“I got your favourite, honey,” Chris talks, and you shift your gaze from the brunette beauty to your best friend who is standing tall in the doorway. 

“Just give me a moment,” You say, lightly tugging your hand from within Sebastian’s grasp, feeling mildly guilty for liking the feeling of his soft, warm skin against yours.

You take a moment to lift yourself from the couch, your body aching from the long day and lift your eyes back to the brunette beauty who moves to let you get up.

“Okay, doll?” He asks, a bright smile lifting up onto his face. You feel your cheeks heat up, and hope he doesn’t notice the way you quickly duck your head and shuffle past him; avoiding the burning stare of such an attractive man.

“I’m all good,” You reply, rolling your shoulders to relieve the tension.

Chris smiles as you walk towards him, draping his arm across his shoulder, pressing a tight kiss into your temple as he does.

“So what favourite did you get me?” You ask, tipping your head back slightly to look at the taller man. His eyes gleam as he looks down at you. Twenty years of friendship meant that Chris and you knew basically every food, every snack, every drink that you both preferred and Chris made a habit of always providing, not even giving you a chance to step up your friendship game.

“Seb, why don’t you go start without us? I just want to talk to Y/N for a second,” Chris says, disregarding your question, and you don’t have to look at Sebastian to know he’s confused. You are confused too, furrowing your eyebrows up at Chris, who just smiles lightly at you and pulls you towards the stairs.

“You like him, don’t you?” He asks when you make it into the bedroom. 

You pull yourself from under his arm and look at him, because fuck are you really that obvious, but is it really a like situation?

“Are you accusing me of breaking the rules?” You demand playfully, not wanting this to end in a fight, because you know if you admit to anything, then Chris will not take kindly. Chris smiles at your tone and moves to sit on the bed, stretching his long, long legs out in front of him.

“I know you haven’t slept with him. I’m just asking,” He admits, looking tentatively at you. The look in his eyes tells you he’s panicking. You know why he set the rules, you feel guilty for indulging in your emotions openly enough to harm your best friend.

“Chris,” You murmur, padding towards him slowly. 

You plaster your front to his and stand between his stretched legs, hugging his body into yours. Chris lays his head gently into your chest and his hot breath hits your skin, sending automatic shivers across your skin. He wraps his arms around your waist and you feel the tension soak from him to you.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” You say honestly, and this only proves to make his shoulders tense up.

“Then tell me the truth,” He replies. Like it’s that easy.

You huff out a breath, tilting your head down and leaning your head against the top of his, just feeling the soft hair against your face.

This situation shouldn’t be as difficult as it is, but you know that losing you and Sebastian is a constant threat to him.

As you pucker your lips and press a kiss to his head, in what would seem intimite from an outside perspective but from inside, you know it’s just best friends showing affection; you hear Sebastian’s loud laugh from downstairs and you breathe in slowly, calming your heart rate. 

What are you meant to say without breaking your best friends heart? Maybe, that should be rule #3: A little white lie to avoid hurting your bestie is acceptable.

But how little is this white lie?

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[harrietspatial400]

1500 word write up:

Globally there are more honey bees than any other types of bee and pollinating insects, making honeybees the world’s most critical pollinator of food crops. It is predicted that one third of the food that we as humans consume each day relies on pollination mainly by bees. It is proven that if honey bees were to go extinct there would only be four years left of human existence. This fact is unknown to a lot of people, and it is a problem of our society right now as we do not understand the risks at hand. Bees are responsible for the majority of the fruits, vegetables and other things like almonds, coffee and chocolate. Oilseeds like sunflower, coconut and oil palm, will run out eliminating more than half of the world’s diet of fat and oil. It’s not only cottonseed that’s important, without cotton we would be stripped of countless clothing and household items, including blue jeans, shoe laces, towels, mattresses and high-quality paper products. Honey bees are also known to pollinate clover and alfalfa, without honey bees alfalfa fields will perish which are fed to cattle. Because of this there is the dairy and meat industry will die out, also a massive range of food products that are manufactured are made from these ingredients. Another significant role that honey bees play in is the pollination of other crops such like cotton and flax, along side these there are a number of important non-food products created by the honey bee, such as beeswax used in beauty and cleaning products products. By keeping the cycle of life turning, bees boost the colour and beauty of our countryside. As the years go on bees become in trouble even more and it is not becoming a public and political concern all over the world. It is important that people become aware of the importance bees have on our lives and on nature. Years ago it was known for miners to carry a canary in a cage through the mines to act as a basic air quality test. Canaries are much more delicate to the air quality than humans are, so when miners saw a bird in trouble, they knew something bad was about to happen and knew to get out quickly. Bees are todays society’s “canary in the mine” by simply doing the same thing, warning us of the environmental and health issues of the path we are currently on. The various factors of this are things like, a poor diet, stress, pollution, infection, pesticides, climate change, and many more. It has created conditions that have dramatically decreased the number of hives. Some threats to bees consist off specific diseases. Bees can become too weak to fly or be unable to reproduce, or lead to death. Various mites and pests, a specific mite known as Parasitic tracheal mites causes a threat, these mites can take over bees respiratory system as they are so small, and as they grow they make it nearly impossible for bees to breather as they completely cut off their air supply. Along side these, climate change is a threat to bees. With all of these different weather events it can effect the timing of when flowers bloom, were flowers mean less food for bees and they will starve. Its important to help protect bees and their declining number, growing your own garden that produces food for bees will attract them to collect nectar from your plants. Some of the best flowers for bees to collect decor from are blue and yellow flowering plants. Mass plants are highly effective so bees can spend most of their time in one area foraging instead of looking elsewhere. The life cycle of the bee consists of each bee to have a specific job best suited to each bee, these jobs have been divided into three castes which is dependent on their age. The first caste is the workers, this is the most popular caste. The workers make up 85% of the colony, the worker bees are known to be the most hard working as it includes forage to collect pollen and nectar. Usually when the bee turns 20 days old they are able to leave the colony and forge. The second caste is the queen, the queen gives birth to every single bee in the colony. With her pheromones it influences the mood within the colony. The final caste of the colony are the drones, this is made up of the male bees, typically there are only a fee hundred male bees in a colony. The male bees don’t have forging tools or stings, they have larger eyes which are used to locate the queen on mating flights. In order for the colony to communicate it lies on the queen bee. The queen gives a signal which encourages workers, without the queen to give directions the colony would fall apart. The main movement bees make while foraging is often called the waggle dance, the waggle dance is how bees communicate if they’ve found a amazing nectar supply. As bees forage resources up to 8km away from their hive bees use the round dance. When the nectar is more more than 40 meters away from the hive the bees perform the waggle dance. This dance allows bees to share information on direction and distance. It is important to inspire environmental education by offering new ways of thinking about existing problems and working to protect the environment. Ecological art is something created by artists that are concerned with the state of our environment. “Artists interpret nature and create artworks to inform us about nature and its processes or about environmental problems we face”. (Green Museum 2003, 4). “Others define ecological art as a movement that uses art that is restorative too promote awareness, engagement and activism around major environmental issues”. (Blandy etal, 1998; Cembalest 1991). When a designer has a extensive understanding idea of a design problem, they get a valuable insight that informs the importance of the experience. An experience is a type of event to personally engage individuals to implant a impression or leave a memory. A experience is a different way of practice that creates opportunity for change, it gives the narrative a chance to engage and create their own experience that they will remember. Experiences give individuals the chance to visualise new solutions and understand the problem and issues at hand, this is a way to create a new comprehensive and dynamic path to innovation. Experiences are responsible for services, products and the environment. A great experience is a imaginative combination of al these things, it creates a single narrative for everyone. Joseph Pine & James Gilmore states that “Passion to serve our users, make meaningful work in this world, and of course, to provide a personal experience to them. This curiosity and openness to what design could do have led us into the fields of research”(The Experience Economy, 1999, pg. 9-15). To truely experience the essence of a design is to strip it back so its raw and you can see it for what it really is. The hive is made up of three major materials, wax, honey and propolis. Wax is the main material, it basically makes the hive. The structure of a hive which is majority comb is completely bee made. A series of hexagonal cells are made of wax which interlock the hive, bees store honey and pollen within these cells. The goal for a bee is to make honey. Propolis is the glue for a bee hive, propolis is 50% tree resin which makes it very sticky which is why bees use it to insulate and patch holes in their hive. The Hive, designed by Woolfgang Buttress, is a exclusive structure themed around the lifecycle of a bee inspired by valid research into the health of bees. The Hive shows an detailed metal honeycomb with an illuminated dome at its centre. This is made from thousands of pieces of aluminium which create a lattice effect which is fitted with hundreds of LED lights that fade and glow as a particular soundtrack hums and buzzes around you. These multi-sensory elements of the Hive are acknowledging to the real-time activity and movement of bees in a beehive. As the energy levels in the real life beehive surge, the light and sound within the instillation changes, allowing visitors to experience an insight to life inside a bee colony. 1000 LED luminaries line the interior of a beehive, vibration sensors are used to read the activity from the bee colony. A rotational twist in the structure proposes movement, symbolic of a swarm. “I’m not an architect, I’m an artist, so I was more interested in the experience and in how you could convey an idea and a feeling through an experience rather than an object or a building,” Buttress. The Hive is an abstracted analogue of a honeycomb, which speaks for the underlying and important relationship between bee and human, sound, science and landscape through an immersive and multi-sensory experience. “The Hive creates a powerful, immersive space for us to explore the urgent issues we face in relation to pollinators, their intimate relationships with plants and their vital role in helping us feed a rapidly growing population,” added Richard Deverell, director of the Royal Botanic Gardens. 

[waspandr]

“Don’t look so surprised. There’s a lot I never told you about,”

[tipsycad147]

Animal Magic: 12 Animals That Can Strengthen Your Craft

SL Bear

Loving animals is easy for most people. When we look at animals, we see the natural order, perfect symmetry of form and function, beauty, strangeness, and the long-dormant wild part of ourselves that many long to reconnect to. We became separate from animals and the natural world at some point, moving down from the trees to the grass, and slowly along the evolutionary path to where we are today. Though modern science and luxuries keep human beings alive longer and give our lives comfort, most of us will never be as free or self-assured as, say, the little birds who visit our backyards.

Cultures around the world include animal symbolism in their religions and systems of belief. In Haitian Voudou, they practice snake worship. Damballa is a serpent and is seen as the creator of all life. Hindus worship the cow in recognition of all the animal offers society. The ancient Egyptians revered cats, and many gods took on the appearance of animals. The list goes on and on; however, most relevant to us are animals associated with witchcraft. These are animals such as cats, birds, bats, toads, and other creatures that get a bad rap. Today, I’d like to share with you some animal associations you can use in spells, divination, talismans, altar-making, and just simple invocations to bring the power of each of these animals into your practice. I’ve only focused on a few animals, so if you need something more specific for your intentions, believe me, all you have to do is do a little digging — there is a perfect animal symbol out there for any need you have!

Wild Witchcraft

1. Bat

To some, the bat is a symbol of evil and death and fear for this animal runs deep. To others, the bat is a symbol of the night and all the hidden mysteries one can learn if they open their eyes while everyone else is asleep. Thanks to echolocation, the bat finds its way through the night with ease. Invoke the bat’s power before a night out by drawing a small bat somewhere hidden on your body to keep your wits about you when the sun goes down. If you’re struggling during a time of confusion in your life, invest in a bat talisman — any little bat figurine you can carry with you — to help find your way in the darkness.

2. Bear

The bear is a warrior. The name Artemis, goddess of the hunt, comes from the root word “artos” which means bear. This animal fittingly represents earth, and in European cultures predating Christianity, where lions are absent, the bear takes its symbolic place as a powerful king of the land it roams. Interestingly, Artemis is sometimes shown with a bear and both have ties to the moon.

Ursa Major and Minor are the constellations associated with this goddess as well — the Great Bear and the Little Bear, respectively. The bear should be summoned when you need strength. If you live in the Northern Hemisphere, Ursa Major and Ursa Minor can be seen year-round, so make a trip outside under the full moon and find these constellations. Draw a bear print on the sole of your right foot or on the palm of your right hand, and light a white candle. Ask for the strength to face obstacles or overcome overwhelming odds. And when the time comes, show no fear!

3. Bee

The symbolism surrounding the bee could fill a book. They are industrious, hard-workers and their symmetrical honeycombs are symbols of perfection and the harmony achieved when a group works as one. They also have mystical links to gods and spirits. Honeybees create honey, a sacred food of the gods, from sunlight and fruits of the earth, and therefore have ties to transmutation and the divine. In literature, you may recognise the name Dumbledore from J. K. Rowling’s Harry Potter. This word comes from the Old English form of the word bumblebee and unlike honeybees, these bees spend their time joyfully “bumbling” from flower to flower.

Though they look very soft and fuzzy, bees can sting if provoked and so they are a symbol of mothers protecting their families. Although there are several ways to invoke the bee in magic, I think their most admirable attribute is their singular focus and work ethic, and so if you’re having difficulty staying motivated on a project — especially involving others — use the symbol of the bee as a talisman to remind you hard work pays off. Wear yellow. Light yellow candles. Sweeten your tea or toast with honey. Keep the spirit of the bee close at hand when working on any project to stay “buzzed” about it!

4. Butterfly

Often quite beautiful and less driven than its fellow flower-lover the bee, the butterfly is a symbol of gentleness and innocence. The Greek word for butterfly is psyche, and so we therefore associate it with the soul in many cultures. To others, the butterfly is a communicator between us on earth and the spiritual realm.

The butterfly goes through a striking metamorphosis, changing from a squirming caterpillar to a breathtaking, jewel-bright creature that takes flight! Changing one’s life is no easy task, but the butterfly reminds us that just because something seems impossible doesn’t mean it is. Draw an image of a butterfly in black and white and hang it somewhere near your altar. Every time you actively make a change for the better, colour in a little part of the image and take a moment to reflect on your progress. Take in the whole image instead of just one small piece; see the big picture to stay motivated. Bit by bit and day by day, work at transforming the black-and-white image to one that’s brilliant and bold. It may not be a quick process, but you’ll be amazed at what you can accomplish with perseverance and a state-of-mind metamorphosis.

5. Cat

In ancient Egypt, Bast was the cat goddess, and cats in general were revered. Other religions and beliefs look upon them less favourably, especially black cats, which are seen as unlucky despite their nine lives. Where the dog is man’s best friend, a loyal and obedient sidekick, the cat is picky and will leave a home that doesn’t live up to their lofty standards.

Despite being domesticated 4,000 years ago, cats maintain a feral wildness we’ve bred out of other pets and farm animals. They roam. They can live quite happily without us. Cats are inquisitive, sleek creatures that move where they want and choose who they want. And by all accounts, across many cultures, the cat has chosen the witch. The black cat is a staple of the traditional caricature of a witch, as much as the pointy hat or broom. Like the witch, the cat is mysterious, elusive, and seen as a threat by many a superstitious person. There are many ways you could call upon the cat in your magic, but I suggest channelling their ability to relax and make every space their own. When you are overwhelmed with life, call on the witch’s companion. Things always look better after a good night’s sleep.

6. Dragon

The dragon, like most animals on this list, will mean different things to different cultures. In the East, the dragon means royalty and the word “dragon” can be used instead of emperor. In the Chinese zodiac, the dragon is the fifth sign and aligns perfectly with Leo — the lion being another symbol for kings and queens. The dragon can be fearsome or something marvellous, depending on your point of view, and in stories will often guard over a great treasure or secret.

The dragon is versatile, but one thing is not up for debate: The dragon represents power. While the bear is a warrior, lashing out fiercely at foes, the dragon’s mere presence is enough to instil fear. Keep a dragon symbol over your bed for prophetic dreams and place the dragon’s image on jewellery boxes and other treasures to ward against thieves. Draw or print out an image of a dragon and wrap it around a red candle during protection spells or use in curses to strike fear into your enemies. If you have a secret, no animal will guard it like the dragon.

7. Fox

In stories, the fox is the trickster, the cunning one who uses charm and sly words to achieve goals. In mythology, the fox is a seducer, and in Christianity, the fox is linked to the Devil. So naturally, women described as “foxy” are not just attractive, but devious, ready to lure innocent men to their doom. Misogyny aside, the fox’s ability to outwit its foes with a smile on its face and bushy tail high, make it a symbol of guile and craftiness — the perfect creature to invoke when you need help solving a problem or getting out of a sticky situation. Use the fox’s image covertly — drawing it underneath altars, on the bottoms of candles, or on the reverse side of sigils — when performing spells to add an extra element of cunning.

8. Horse

It’s no surprise that an animal so closely linked to mankind’s success will be spiritually significant to us. Where would we be if we hadn’t had the horse to carry us? On one hand, the horse is tied to the sun, pulling the chariot of Apollo. On the other, the horse is a symbol of the moon and water — just ask Poseidon, the god of the sea and the horse. This animal can stand for gods and goddesses alike, good and evil, life and death. Perhaps this then is the true symbolism of the horse: Usefulness. No matter in which context you see this animal, you’ll see it being put to good use. After all, without the horse, humans wouldn’t have gotten very far. In your magic, invoke the horse when you’re travelling by coupling its image with Raido, the rune for travel, or the Chariot tarot card. Do this before a long trip to ensure safe passage.

9. Owl

It will delight you to learn that Strix is a genus of owls, and another word for witch. They share many symbolic attributes with witches, like working alone at night under the moon and having mystical knowledge. Hekate, the queen of witches, has an owl companion. Some say owls are bad omens foretelling death, while others claim owls are clairvoyant — and know when you’re about to die!

Owls are skilled hunters and unlike other birds, their large eyes are positioned on the front of their heads instead of on the side. They can also swivel their necks to see behind them. This gives them complete vision, and so it’s no wonder owls are associated with knowledge and prophecy — they literally see all. Like other nocturnal animals, they are linked with occult wisdom, having access to the secrets only available in the cover of night. Cultures across the globe believe the owl is a traveller between the realms of life and death. Invoke the owl during any kind of divination to help you “see.” Carry an owl talisman for wisdom, and whenever you hear a hooting owl, make sure you ask it to take any bad luck away from you on its flight.        

10. Raven

Here is a shocking fact: The average human IQ is 100 and the raven, relatively compared, has an IQ of 138 [1]. They make tools and solve puzzles. They can recognise people by their faces, and they can learn and even understand different languages. For this reason, ravens are symbols of intelligence. Ravens enjoy a rich mythology and have a reputation for protecting mankind, whispering to shamans about what’s to come. However, ravens are also seen as death omens and their haunting calls feature in many horror films. This may be attributed to the fact they are often seen after battle, feasting on the dead. I choose to see ravens for what they are: incredibly intelligent. So, they are an obvious talisman for those seeking wisdom, like students. Keep an image of a raven near blue candles and light them every Monday to help you on tests, mental challenges, or to outwit a foe.

11. Snake

This much maligned animal strikes fear in the hearts of many. Perhaps this is a vestigial fear from our primate days when venturing down into the grass meant dealing with this poisonous threat. Maybe the “snake eyes” are what creeps people out. Maybe it’s their size (pythons can reach 25 feet!) or the way they shed skin or their “forked tongues” now synonymous with one who cannot be trusted. Ouroboros is the image of a snake eating its own tail, symbolising life and rebirth forever.

In the bible, a serpent convinced Eve to eat the forbidden fruit and learned of good and evil. The lore of snakes is closely associated with that of dragons, though snakes carry more sinister connotations. But ask any snake charmer or a person who keeps snakes as pets and they will tell you these animals are as gentle to hold as kittens. Invoke the snake when you’re being bullied or someone is actively working against you. Draw a snake on several pale stone and place them in a circle near your front door, then sprinkle black pepper and eggshells into this circle whenever you leave your home. You can also bring this circle inside and spread it so you can sit within it while working spells for protection or against your enemies to ensure no repercussions come your way.

12. Wolf

Who hasn’t heard the tale about men turning into a wolf under the full moon, only to turn back when dawn breaks? Or Little Red Riding Hood, who was nearly eaten by the wolf wearing her grandmother’s clothing? Or the boy who cried wolf? Or Peter and the Wolf? Though wild wolves try to avoid people, the image of a wolf as a danger is an old one. These stories are not really about dangerous animals; they are allegories for dangerous situations and people. The wolf is the animal in stories that represents the dangerous side of human nature, and acts as a warning.

[1] The Element Encyclopedia of Secret Signs and Symbols Paperback – March 1, 2009,  Adele Nozedar

https://thetravelingwitch.com/blog/animal-magic-12-animals-that-can-strengthen-your-craft

[lalobalives]

*An essay a week in 2017*

I haven’t been able to write for days. For two long weeks, I haven’t been able to write anything beyond a few sentences. Fragments.

Something is shifting in me. This something is heavy and dark and painful. This something is necessary..but shit, it’s so much when we’re in the shifting.

“…Transformation has some very harrowing phases. This full moon will exaggerate all that gets in the way of the balance we need to strike . This full moon illuminates the truth that balance isn’t static.

“Balance is a constant state of recalibration.” Chani Nicholas: Today’s Full Moon in Libra: Beauty Bound 

Yesterday, on my deck, after hours on my couch, I wrote this:

There is a hole where my words are. In the hole lives grief. Stealth and quiet with the fury of winds that can destroy. Annihilate. It is warm in NYC. I am on my deck smelling and tasting spring. Wondering when these seeds will blossom like those on the tree that peek into my window. Just yesterday they were tight in their buds. Today they are busting green. Aflame like my envy.

My hands cannot grip a pen. Those lines on the page stare. I grab my phone. I finally rise from where my body has made indentations in the cushions. They rise slowly, searching for space to be full.

Me…I miss my brother.

***

Today, I went to The Women Writers of Color group’s final installment of this year’s Breakaway Writing Workshop Series. The featured artist was Yesenia Montilla, who led a generative writing workshop inspired by women writers of color. She had us read poems by Brigit Pegeen Kelly, Aracelis Girmay, Valzhyna Mort, Mary Oliver, Audre Lorde, Laurie Ann Guerrero, and Natalie Diaz. After each poem, she gave us prompts and had us write for ten minutes. It was magical and hard and wrenching and necessary. So fuckin necessary.

***

Yesenia started by talking about duende, the term Lorca is said to have stolen from the gypsies of Spain. Duende is the idea of creating art that comes from darkness, from the ground, from the connection of the bottom of the feet to the earth. It is art created from the body.

Lorca visited Harlem in the turn of the 20th century. That’s where he first heard blues, which he said was the closest thing to duende he’d ever heard.

Yesenia had us hear Kathleen Battle singing “Summertime” at the Met. Then she had us hear the Janis Joplin cover of the same song. 

The idea here is that there are two places an artist pulls from, and Battle and Joplin were examples of both.

Battle pulls from the ethereal. From the heavens. “A voice from God,” Yesenia said. 

Joplin pulls from the soles of her feet. Her voice is gravelly and gritty. She is tapping into her ache.

My discovery: I pull from my feet. From the mother that is earth. I pull from my pain, like Joplin. I listened to her sing as I typed this.

***

I bought a new journal at an art supply store steps away from Pratt where the workshop was held. I bought new pens. Paid $10 for a mechanical pencil. 10 fuckin dollars for a pencil?

I was inviting duende. Calling duende. I know that now.

Truth is I thought I’d left all my pens at home. I chastised myself on the train. If you know me, you know that I only write with the blue Pilot Precise V5. I found it in the fall of my freshman year at Columbia, back in ’93. I’ve been writing with it since. I thought: How can I write without my pen? I sulked. Then I thought: “I’ll find one.” Sure enough I did. Later, I found that I had brought a pen. It was tucked into The Body Keeps the Score, which I’ve been reading slowly and quietly, digesting the mirror it holds up, annotating it heavily.

***

Inspiration: “Song” by Brigit Pegeen Kelly

Prompt: Start writing using the few words of the poem: “Listen: there was…”

Listen: there was a girl lost in the woods lost in the spring the earth just beginning to burst with life… the wet of it a pungent, mossy smell in the girl’s nostrils… she searched for the hawk whose cry she heard loud through the canopy.. She thought she felt the whisper of a wing on her cheek, but when she turned, nothing was there… just trees and brambles and bushes not yet fully green but trying for life… reaching for it…

She walked on, this girl who was lost in the woods… she followed trails that had been made by the feet of souls long gone… they too lost… they too, searching…

She, this lost girl, stayed off the paved paths… she didn’t/doesn’t trust paths laid down by men… she needed to feel the dirty under her feet, she needed to be cut by the thorns that tore at her bare legs…

Listen: this girl who is lost, felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned around quickly, “Who’s there?” she yelled. The wind shook the trees. A blossom, only days old and still trying for life, fell at her feet. She picked it up, sniffed its sweetness and walked on…

She came to a river. There, she stripped down to her underwear, and walked into the water. She felt something pull her head back, a soft tugging. “This is a baptism,” she thought, as the water rushed into her ears. She opened her eyes and saw her, blurry, hair dancing in the current. “Hija,” she mouthed, bubbles floating out of her mouth. The girl reached, cried out, “Mamá.” She swallowed water, gagged as she felt a push from the soles of her feet, pushing her body up so she could breathe…

When she came to, she was on the shore. Her dress back on her body. A garland of flowers on her head.

***

Inspiration: “Kingdom Animalia” by Aracelis Girmay

Prompt: How do we imagine loss? How do we process death? Start with a line from the poem: “One day, not today, not now, we will be gone from this earth…”

In the red woods where they took me that first day, when my brother died, I looked up at the trees, their long, hairy trunks… I learned that these trees entangle their roots with one another to keep themselves upright… These giants can’t be giant without other giants…

I think of my brother. I think of the last words he said to me: “You have to go write our stories, sis.”

I think of my second mom Millie, who when I told her on her death bed, “Millie, I think I wanna write a book,” she propped herself up on that arm that was perpetually swollen after the mastectomy, and said: “Pero negra, you’ve always been a writer.”

In some forests, trees keep stumps alive by feeding them sugar through their roots.

One day, I will be gone. I know this… I don’t want to. I think: “What will I leave my daughter?”

What did my brother leave me? Permission.

What did my Millie leave me? Validation.

What will I leave my nena? Stories. Love. The knowledge that I loved her like my mother couldn’t, wouldn’t love me…

I leave her knowing that she will hurt, she will ache, and with that, she can make sancocho that will/ can feed. She must gather her own viandas, herbs and meats to make her own sancocho. Mamá will leave her the broth.

***

Inspiration: “Belarusian I” by Valzhyna Mort

Prompts: This love loved to visit us… -or- I was born with… (An Argentinian poet wrote “I was born with red lipstick on…”)

I was born with sugar on my lips. Crystallized and syrupy, I was born with honey on my lips. But mommy was no bee. Mom was salt and glacier. Mom was too much vinagre in sofrito. Mommy was a love song on Super KQ — one of those corta venas ballads that she scream sang, her head thrown back, the King Pine scent snaking up her legs, underneath her bata… to where I came into the world… This girl who was born with honey on her lips.

But didn’t I tell you Mommy was no bee? She’d swat them away with her heavy, little hands. She’d go to their hives and snatch them out, her skin impervious to their sting. She pulled their wings off and cackled as they cried… scurrying over the earth they were made to fly over.

I am the girl born with honey on her lips to a mother who killed bees… I have spent my life trying to lick that honey off. To banish it from me. An exorcism… But bee killers smell honey from far away. Their sense of smell keen Iike a dog’s. They smell honey and think — kill, think — destroy.

These days I am building a hive for this honey on my lips that I was born with. I watch over it, tending and coddling. This hive. These lips…

***

Inspiration: “Wild Geese” by Mary Oliver

Prompt: Think about forgiveness and accepting forgiveness. Who have you not forgiven? Imagine the day you forgive that someone. -or- A blue door appears in the room. You go through it…

(I didn’t want to think about forgiveness. I wanted to stay mad…so, of course, she who I have not forgiven showed up, despite my resistance.)

Blue door beckons and says: “Come.” The words like a growl, teeth clenched and grinding. It calls to me. I should be scared but I’m not. I was born with sugar on my lips, pero that was a front. Honey to hide the growl in my throat, the howl like the sirens that coaxed so many men to their deaths.

Beyond the door is a field, there are flowers of all variety and color, they sway in the soft wind. They are like whispers beneath my bare feet. I’m not surprised when I feel the roots start to tangle around my ankles. They pull at me. They snare. I look down and I see her– the weaver. She who I want to but can’t forgive. I grit my teeth, the siren crawls out of my throat. I want to whirlpool her.

I wonder how that happens — how you can go from loving someone and protecting them to wanting to destroy them. To curling your lips when you speak their name, and so you don’t. That poison doesn’t mix with your honey.

You think of the girl you were who invited betrayal and disloyalty because you didn’t love yourself. Couldn’t. This was before you grew to own that honey. And even now, some days, when the roots wrap around your ankles and pull, the thorns dig in and you begin to bleed, heavy drops beading into the earth. You let your skin be sacrifice. You drip honey into the open wounds. You call your siren back into the flower of your throat.

You look back at the blue door and smile. “Remember,” she whispers back at you. “Remember.”

***

Inspiration: “From the House of Yemanjá” by Audre Lorde

Prompt: Think of mother figures. Think of the gods and goddesses we worship. Write an open letter to him or her.

Diosa,

Mi madre is my alter and my abyss… Why did you give me this mother who could never love me? Was there no other way to teach me these lessons I need to learn in this lifetime? Could the lesson not be gentler?

Don’t answer that. I know.

I am one who learns through trials. I have to drag my body across fire stores, feel their scarring, ripping at my organs. This is the way for us girls born with honey on our lips. Pero, mamá, madre eres, why could you not gift me a mother who could love?

My mother is TNT. She is dynamite. She detonates and erupts. She destroys everything… but me. Me — she couldn’t. Me — I didn’t let her.

My mother whose body knows the claws of rape, who knows the fangs of hunger. My mother who has wished for death since she was 15 — my mother…

I sit like her One knee propped under my chin The other leg tucked underneath. I hum like her, absentmindedly, while I cook and clean and stare off, into nothing. Here, but not. I didn’t know this until I was 40, after having left her house at 13…

I carry my mother under my fingernails  like dirt… This woman who is TNT.

***

Yesenia gave us time to share one piece we’d produced that day. One writer, a beautiful young woman with a hoop in her nose and tattoos on her arms, prefaced her piece with: “This poem is about my mother. All my poems are about my mother.”

And I said “Yasss.” And I felt that shame and anger in my body move and subside…that exhaustion with the altar and abyss that is my mother.

Why the fuck do I always have to write about my mother?

***

I listened to Janis Joplin as I typed this. In the gravel that is her voice, I saw myself, this woman who pulls from her ache in her joints, from the earth, from the soles of her feet…

Today, duende pulled at the siren in my throat. Today, duende grabbed and yanked at my pen. Today I surrendered to duende, and I’m so glad that I did.

Thank you Yesenia Montilla. You be magic, sis. Word.

Relentless Files — Week 66 (#52essays2017 Week 13) *An essay a week in 2017* I haven’t been able to write for days. For two long weeks, I haven’t been able to write anything beyond a few sentences.

[waspandr]

“You have a real innate ability to out-do stupid, don’t you?” 

[waspandr]

“I really do need more women recruits...” She’d mutter.

[waspandr]

“Go suck an egg!”

[waspandr]

Sneaks into your office and steals all your sweets.

[waspandr]

In the lull of the early winter afternoon, when all was quiet or still building up, Soifon had already found herself comfortably settled in for the day. Lying, lazed about on her stomach, and little more than partially tucked beneath blankets and her kotatsu. Deep and slow breaths caused her back to rise and fall like waves along the water. Inhaling a little deeper, she shifted, stretching both arms and legs out before readjusting, folding her arms under her chin, and sinking a little deeper into the void of warmth.

It had been a good couple of hours since she'd crawled under here, and ever since, she'd been falling in and out of consciousness. Yuu, her little grey tabby, had nestled themselves beneath the covers a little over an hour in and had since firmly attached themselves to her hip as they both lingered in the warmth and let the day pass them away.

After a few minutes, a succession of knocks from the front door would finally stir her from the swaying slumber. Her head lifted an inch from her arms, and she screwed her face together, squinting and scanning her surroundings as if to reassess them. There was silence again for a time, so she let her head fall back to rest, and in that dazed state, she might've considered the knocks a figment of her imagination had they not continued.

But they did.

She'd let out an irritated groan, muffled between the floor and her arms. What happened now?  

After a few more knocks, she sighed and slowly climbed out from the kotatsu, begrudgingly leaving behind that pocket of comfort in turn. It wasn't like the rest of her abode was cold, far from it, but she had been quite content with her position. Feeling Yuu's claws grazing at her side as she stood, it seems they weren't any happier with the disturbance than she was. 

Feet dragged as she trotted through the narrow kitchen and eventually onto the smaller foyer to the door. The slab cracked a sliver open, just enough so that she may peek a single sleepy eye out from betwixt it and the frame. 

"Are the Jigoku no Mon opening up?" As far as she was concerned, that was the only good reason she could be bothered over for today.  

[waspandr]

Juice in hand, Soifon faded into view behind them. After a quizzical raise of a brow and a long pause, she decided to make her presence known by taking an almost comically loud slurp from her drink before speaking up.

"Were you really trying to spy on me?"