#old souls

[ingenuity]

[yeesiine]

The intimacy between two old souls.

[mindinthevoid]

[catthestampede]

Danny’s been a cleaner for a long time. DPX DC 

He never did quite figure out how he got into this business, but he can’t say he hates it

He cleans up after assassins

After mercenaries after spies, he cleans up as long as he gets paid and as long as he gets paid enough, he won’t say a damn word

Although recently he’s been getting a lot of jobs for this one particular spy

Agent A and as cheesy as that name is, Danny can’t help her find it slightly charming

But Danny is pretty sure agent A is the Butler in training at Wayne Manor currently

And that just makes his day job far more interesting now doesn’t it?

[hiraethletters]

[thegreatermassofdeath]

☠ ☠ ☠ GET 'EM HERE ☠ ☠ ☠

Prices in CAD. Hey, I never do this, but as more ~enticement~ for our humble Old Souls Kickstarter, you may commission me through the campaign rewards. As of writing, there are 4 slots left: 1 half-body [$100] and 3 full-bodies [$200]. If you've ever wanted me to draw your beautiful ocs or your favourite sad little meow meow (maybe kissing? maybe getting their ass kicked?) now is the time, I may never offer them again.

I get a kick out of drawing character interactions (fighting! stabbing! smooching!), so! While you're welcome to request 1 character, I'll gladly draw 2 or more, within reason. :] Use my nefarious art powers for evil but please be nice to me. We can be mean to your favourite characters together.

[colly-wobbles0]

Not everything beautiful has to survive an autopsy

I think one of the cruelest things a person can do is explain the magic out of something that was never asking to be understood. I grew up on folklore. On stories whispered after sundown. On grandmothers who never pointed at stars because "they were listening". On believing that if you carried a fallen feather home, someone somewhere remebered you kindly, and on quietly thanking rivers before crossing them, just in case they were older than they looked.

I KNOW THE SCIENCE. I know why the stars burn. I know why eclipses happen. I know why crows gather, why mirrors reflect and why the moon changes shape. I know constellations are human inventions stitched across indifferent suns. The other day, I said I loved the desperation of trying to find a constellation. The way you convince yourself, No, maybe that's Orion... no, perhaps over there. The excitement isn't in arriving. It's in searching.

Someone told me they just use an app. It tells you exactly where every constellation is. Every planet. Every celestial object. Efficient. Accurate. Foolproof. And I can't help but think 'But then what exactly is left to wonder?'. I don't want the sky handed to me with labels attached. There are people who can't let a story remain a story. Every piece of folklore becomes an opportunity for correction and a lesson in probability. They peel back every layer until all that's left is a mechanism. Well, as if reducing wonder to chemistry is somehow an act of generosity.

MAYBE they are right. Maybe everything worth-believing is explainable. But I don't think everything beautiful has to survive an autopsy. I have spent too much of my life beneath mountain skies to trade wonder for certainty. I hope to never become the sort of person who reaches for an explanation before allowing myself a moment of awe. Some things deserve to remain a little sacred. Not because they're true but because they make the world softer to live in.

And perhaps that's enough.

(If this sounds sentimental, I'll gladly accept the accusation.)