#but its so good. so so so self indulgent its unreal

[opens-up-4-nobody]

Last night I was struck by the most grotesquely self indulgent naruto fic idea 😵‍💫

[drgnflyteabox]

a little kate laswell x gn!reader drabble

-> insecurity, anxiety, hurt/comfort, relationship worries, OCD, sooooo self indulgent lmao, self-hatred, therapy, compulsive behaviors, ableist language used towards self, shame, this is literally nothing and theres no real ending so mb <3

You've been working on it. You have. The anxiety; the fear of abandonment. Kate leaves so often she's probably gone almost half the year, anyway. Your relationship isn't exactly built on physical closeness, and as the years go by you feel more and more secure.

She fits, you fit, your cat Cheddar fits. The house fits, even though it sometimes feels too big when she's gone and you're still a little afraid of being home alone.

Security's tight, babe, she's assured you a dozen times. Locks, alarms, the whole nine yards. Everything works. You're usually close to sure about that.

So, you’ve worked on recognizing which feelings are rooted in reality, and which feelings sometimes come from insecurity, or jealousy.

Sometimes, it's fear. That old braying beast in your head, muddling up reality (Kate loves you) with unreality (she hates you, your life is a lie).

You know where it comes from, but that doesn't always help. On the bad days, it even makes it worse. Something is wrong with you, really really wrong. Irredeemably wrong.

Kate's been on an op three months. Longer than usual, but you've been through it a couple times. It's a serious one, so you haven't even gotten more than the odd phone call maybe once every week and a half.

Which fucking sucks normally, but its worse when you can't seem to shake the voice in your head that says she's found someone else, that she's delaying coming home because she's sick of you.

You do have a small laugh at the one that tells you she's got a secret family – even in the state you're in that's a ridiculous thought.

Still, it doesn’t break you from your worries. You begin backsliding. Your hands chafe from washing them, your water bill climbs and climbs and climbs as a result of your compulsive showering.

Am I too dirty? You think. You feel dirty. Contaminated. Maybe that’s why she doesn’t like you anymore, doesn’t love you. Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be, not with your insanity.

This is the cycle.

Someone will break in. You check the locks an even number of times. But did you? Okay, shower to ‘set’ the locks now, or someone really will break in. Don’t think of Kate. She hates you. Oh, hey Cheddar. Good boy. Did you lock the doors?

You’re exhausted. You lose track of the days, working robotically at your computer, burning your nose with the scent of bleach wipes. There’s not even any real cleaning, just you compulsively wiping the same four surfaces over and over.

When the wood starts showing a little damage from the incessant wiping, you cry in the fourth shower of the day.

You lose track so badly that you’re in bed rotting when Kate gets home.

The door opens, and your heart drops with fear – fuck, it’s happening. Then you check your phone and deflate. Fuck, you think again, for a different reason.

“Baby?” Kate’s voice is clear in the empty house. It makes you think of all the dust laying around, about how you usually tidy before she arrives.

You pull the cover over your face. Shame burns your face, injects lead into your muscles.

“You home?” she calls again. Cheddar meows, probably at her feet.

That’s how she finds you. Prone, upset, eyes burning.

“Oh, baby,” she murmurs. Her weight makes you dip towards her when she crawls on the bed. “Bad day?”

You pull the blanket down.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I meant to clean the house for you, and cook you something–”

“Hey,” she puts a finger to your lips, slipping in beside you to cradle one cheek in her rough palm, body pressed to yours.

You can’t help but lean into it despite feeling wretched, despite feeling like you’ve dirtied everything around you lately.

“I don’t need any of that, honey. I appreciate it, but I’m really just excited to see you,” she presses her mouth to your jaw. Not to entice, but to breathe you in, to feel you for the first time in months.

“But it’s awful,” you mumble. “It’s dusty, dirty, disgusting–”

She stops you again.

“Hey now, it looks fine to me,” then a frown. “How long have you been feeling like this?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. It’s the truth.

“Have you called Dr. Klein?”

“No,” finally, a tear slips down your temple. You’re confused, and angry about these feelings; why now? Why when you’ve recovered?

Kate tuts, wiping at your tear with a thumb. She climbs halfway on top of you, looking down at your face. She looks tired, which makes you feel even guiltier.

“God, I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to deal with this when you’ve just gotten back.”

Her frown deepens.

“Baby,” she starts. “We take care of each other, remember? What have we talked about?”

“Asking for help is okay,” you murmur. That’s one of the worst parts about this thing you have, the obsessions. They dress themselves up as the world's worst taboos. Speak them aloud and make them not only come true, but alienate everyone around you. In high school, you’d hardly spoken for fear of accidentally revealing your anxiety.

That in and of itself had been a years-long journey to heal in therapy. With Dr. Klein, with Kate, with yourself.

“Think we better set up an appointment, huh?” she says, and there’s no judgment in her voice, no sign of hatred.

“Yeah,” you whisper. You tilt your head towards her, and feel her nose against yours.

“I missed you,” she says, breath mingling with yours.

“I missed you too,” you say back.

[stitchthelilo]

what if pets had tumblr? you could even call it… petblr?! (this is very self indulgent)

just a quick warning, there will be unreality stuff in this, stay safe ^^

0 notes

🐈‍⬛ orangekittylover Follow

i hate people who call orange cats dumb like bffr that’s an EXTREMELY harmful stereotype and you should be ashamed

🧀 mrsqueaksalot Follow

username checks out

🧀 mrsqueaksalot Follow

why do i hear something clawing at the wall

39,276 notes

👑 goldenkitty Follow

me to the cats who don’t get the expensive shit (my parents actually love me)

🌑 gothcatqueen Follow

GIRL.. LITERALLY ALL CAT FOOD IS EXPENSIVE 💀

👑 goldenkitty Follow

the difference is mine is actually good

#bitches wanna be like me fr

🌑 gothcatqueen Follow

DON’T ACT AS IF WE DON’T SEE THAT TAG, NOBODY WANTS TO BE LIKE YOU!! someone humble this kitten already.. probably the runt of the litter 💀💀

🐈‍⬛ themoontoyoursun Follow

that’s a bit too far.

1,829 notes

🐴 fastestmare Follow

prepping for a race, wish me luck yall

🐎 imevenfaster Follow

i hope you lose so bad they throw you a pity party

🐴 fastestmare Follow

WHAT THE FUCK

160 notes

🛑 petinfo101 Follow

Signs of a Human trying to TRICK YOU!

1. Line of treats, humans tend to use this to lure you into carriers or anything of the sorts.

Read more

🍊 zerobraincells Follow

i wish i saw this sooner.

102,922 notes

🐔 cluckinallnight Follow

to whoever is making that racket right outside of the barn… stop, i’m trying to sleep

🐺 hungryforchicken Follow

no

🐔 cluckinallnight Follow

your username concerns me

🐔 cluckinallnight Follow

like.. a lot. SHOULD I BE MOVING TO AN ENTIRELY DIFFERENT FARM??

🐺 hungryforchicken Follow

WHAT NO STAY HERE I NEED MY DINNER

8,901 notes

❄️ babyitscoldoutside Follow

UGHHHH MY OWNER SWITCHED ME BACK TO DRY FOOD…… WHY EVEN GIVE ME WET FOOD IF YOU ARE JUST GONNA TAKE IT AWAY?? IT’S LITERALLY JUST TORTURE

☁️ balloffluff Follow

NO BUT EXACTLY BRO WHY CAN’T I KEEP EATING IT????????????

😾 angrykitty Follow

it makes me angry.

🧀 mrsqueaksalotjr Follow

username checks out

🐈‍⬛ orangekittylover Follow

if you don’t stfu right now i’ll give you the same fate as your father

🧀 mrsqueaksalotjr Follow

MY BAD? 😨

🐶 thebestboy Follow

your owners stop doing that??

1,892,483 notes

🐇 grasseater Follow

just built a new burrow!!

🐺 hungryforchicken Follow

let me just.. change my username real quick

🐺 hungryforrabbit Follow

you know what they say, it’s rabbit season!!!

🐇 grasseater Follow

IT IS NOT EVEN CLOSE TO RABBIT SEASON ITS JANUARY

🐺 hungryforrabbit Follow

every month is rabbit season for me :)

16 notes

🐾 shortkingsforlife Follow

i swear to dog why do humans make us chihuahuas have such a bad reputation?? WE DIDN’T EVEN DO ANYTHING, YOU ARE THE ONES WHO PROVOKED US AND MADE US GET HOSTILE!

🐈‍⬛ orangekittylover Follow

i can relate, humans say black cats are "bad luck"

🐾 shortkingsforlife Follow

aw i’m so sorry :(

🐾 shortkingsforlife Follow

hey how about we talk more in dms?

🐈‍⬛ orangekittylover Follow

i’d like that :3

🐈 thesuntoyourmoon Follow

finally a wholesome moment on here for once

220 notes

[actual-changeling]

Uh. Hi! I'm Alex and I love writing pain.

I've seen the angst war going on and I am incredibly tempted to contribute; I'm not quite sure of the rules (if there are any) so feel free to bring me up to speed. Updates will be at whatever pace is fun/doable for me, interactions, asks etc. always very much appreciated 💚

@goodomensafterdark @daneecastle @gleafer @gahellhimself-blog @vavoom-sorted-art @kotias

I will put appropriate content tags on every chapter and make a masterpost once I have a handful of posts. Please keep in mind that this series is going to deal with a heavy dose of unreality, self-injurious behaviour, substance abuse, erratic behaviour/mood swings, and more. There will be a happy ending.

Now, without further ado, the first instalment of what is going to be us following Crowley down the path of (hopefully temporary) insanity.

rest your head \\ chapter 1

(~800 w, no additional warnings)

Sleep deprivation, while usually not fatal, is not the least bit pleasant. Human brains require sleep to function—and not just their minds, either. The entire body breaks down oh so slowly as every system designed to keep it alive deteriorates without the comforting embrace of unconsciousness.

However, the actual cause of death is yet to be identified, and luckily Crowley's corporation functions on the principle of 'what it doesn't know won't kill it'.

Over the centuries, earthly indulgences have become more and more common, pleasures easily sought and found no matter where he went, although nothing ever beat a good night's (or decade's) rest. Sleep calms his mind and allows him to drift through time without a care, surrounded by ever-shifting dream clouds and the occasional vivid interference. In short, it takes away the pain, and Someone knows there is a lot to carry when he returns home for the first time in four years.

No dust had dared to settle on the furniture, and the familiar smell of damp earth welcomes him. Locking the door behind him, Crowley blindly finds his way through the corridors, kicking off his shoes as he goes and throwing his glasses onto the nearest surface. When he pushes into his bedroom, which is just as pristine as he had left it, the anger churning in his gut cools.

Home. Has he ever had a home? Once upon a time, maybe, before time had been born, surrounded by breathing nebulae and void, and then—

Eden. Him. Right, that's done.

A snap of his fingers and his clothes change into a set of silk pyjamas, the fabric brushing over his skin like liquid silver, and the black-out curtains snap shut. Darkvision is one of the advantages of being a demon, but he finds the dark has nothing to offer him today, so he closes his eyes and pulls back the sheets to curl around a pillow.

Images flicker in the pulsating emptiness left behind, piercing blue eyes and fluttering hands, a press of lips against his, words digging into his skull like tadpoles making a home within his brain matter. Electricity crawls over his slowly numbing body, urging him to disappear, to sink into nothingness and waste away until he is a dried stain on the mattress. 

No one will come looking for him, after all.

Maybe the world will be brighter once he wakes, the pain duller, the loneliness less aching and all-consuming. Within his chest bleeds a hollow, jagged wound, dripping black blood and drowning the radiant remnants of Aziraphale's presence; his essence is familiar, it's- home. 

Crowley does not need to sleep, yet somewhere between Rome and the present, he had forgotten about it, his corporation shifting and changing, craving rest and punishing him for its absence. It will not kill him, it does not even occur to him that it might, but there are countless fates worth than death and he is already living one of them. What's another added to the mess his life has become?

His nails dig into the pillow case, his consciousness choking on the scorched battlefield of the day, but no matter how hard he tries, how desperately he commands his body to bend to his wills, sleep refuses to come. A new, different kind of pain rises, worse than fatigue and infinitely more addictive. Its sting is battery acid on his tongue, infusing him with a restlessness that is scratching on his bones, and when blue irises keep mocking him behind closed lids, he forces his eyes open, turns onto his back, and stares at the ceiling, waiting.

Light wanders and shifts, barely visible through the heavy fabric adorning his windows, and it dips behind the horizon before reappearing on the other side. Crowley stares at white paint and counts the moving dots gradually clouding his vision, absently pressing his knuckles against his sternum over and over—whether to calm himself or to chase away mental pain with physical is beyond his awareness. 

Both, neither, maybe. 

His too-human body protests and whines, and once he begins to see blue shadows in his periphery, Crowley bites his tongue and gets up. Coffee will help, then a hot shower, and yelling his plants back into order is going to occupy most of his afternoon anyway, so what's a night without sleep?

The next one will bring him the rest he needs, and Aziraphale's eyes will stop striking him down whenever he blinks. He is alone now (alone in London, alone on earth, his chest constricts and twists at the thought, stealing his breath) and he will have to get used to it; it'll be fine eventually, right?

—

Three days later Crowley is staring at his bedroom ceiling, impatient, restless, exhausted, and attempting to chase away the bone-white teeth hovering underneath lightning-blue eyes.

"Fine, have it your way," he snaps eventually, his voice too loud in an empty room, and feels the smile breathing down his neck all the way to the kitchen.

[xxcallmemaryxx]

HIYA THERE!! im in absolute LOVE with everything u write like omg idk how many times ive reread everything here BAHSJBDGAS

ssssoooo if youre still doing ur lovely requests, may i ask for how a virgin AFAB reader's first time with the ghouls would be?

like the reader is hella scared of intimacy but is damn fucking horny and badly wants to take the next step with them? yeah hnggh

ITS UH FOR A FRiEND

Heheheehee this is gonna be soooooo self indulgent

Ghouls x GN reader

(Obviously talks of sex, but no smut and nothing going into detail)

Mountain knew before you even said anything to him. Ever the observer, he picked up on your change in behaviour almost immediately. He was aware of your lack of experience, so when you felt you were absolutely ready to share this moment with him, and from your own change in behaviour around him… Mountain put it together pretty quickly. Mountain spent days mentally planning how he was going to make the night perfect for you, so when the night came, and you were both sure it was happening… he spent every second focusing entirely on you. He is very observant and he pays very close attention to your body and the way you respond to him. Mountain will constantly ask you if you’re okay and if what he’s doing feels good. Of course for your first time he takes it easy, and focuses on getting you used to (not only him) but to lots of different sensations that come with having sex for the first time. All in all, it’s very very intimate with Mountain. He makes sure you can feel every ounce of love and affection has for you, he secretly has a lot of pride in the fact that you trusted him with such vulnerability. And he will cherish this very moment for the rest of eternity.

Aether almost can’t believe you’re trusting him to share this moment with you. When you tell him, he asks you about one million times if you’re sure, not because he doesn’t want too… but because he is so ecstatic about this he doesn’t believe he isn’t dreaming. Once it really sinks in that yes, you want to have sex for the first time with him he immediately sits down with you and has you throughly tell him what’s good and what’s not good for you. He goes nice and slow, his self control with you is unreal. Only focusing on you feeling good, to Aether his own pleasure is not important right now. This is about you and you having a good first time. He holds you so gently, and checks in with you constantly. And Aether looooves to tell you how good you feel and how good you’re doing and how proud he is of you. He will absolutely hold your hand the whole time to keep you nice and grounded with him, keeping you close to him and as comfortable as possible. To Aether, sex isn’t about the end goal. It’s about the act itself. The intimacy and the real and raw feelings that flow between the two of you. That is what he loves the most, and he is just so unbelievably grateful that he gets to share this with you.

Swiss takes a bit of a different approach, in the sense that he still wants you to have a good time but he doesn’t want you to focus too hard on it being as perfect as possible. He wants you to feel good, and he wants you to feel good with him. So he sticks to what he knows… which is being a little bit goofy with you. He 100% helps you get comfortable, and makes sure you have everything you need before you two start. Don’t get him wrong, he completely understands how important this is to you and that this is a big deal. It’s a big deal to him, Swiss is over the moon to share this with you and it’s something he too will never ever forget, but ultimately he’s going to keep the mood light, that way if something doesn’t feel too good at one point, or if you don’t finish (because that is completely natural, which he made a point of telling you just incase) he wants to ensure that you still had a fun first time despite the possibility of it not being as perfect as possible. The time for experimenting and having more serious or intimate sex is later, the time for just enjoying the moment and enjoying each other is now. So expect some hushed giggles between the two of you, expect him to be all smiles the whole time and expect him to just be really chill and happy. Happy to be with you. Happy to be experiencing this with you. And happy that he is able to make this moment as enjoyable and memorable as possible for you.

Dewdrop is all guns blazing ready to run at whatever the hell the world throws at him at every waking minute since he was summoned… so when you told him you wanted him to be the ghoul you lose your virginity too he could barely keep himself calm. He pretty much drags you back to his room with the biggest smile on his face. Let it be known he has zero malicious intent here, this behaviour is pure excitement to experience this with you. He’s got about a million questions to ask, everything ranging from what you think you’re into to what’s on or off the table tonight. Dewdrop is eager, partly to feel good with you and partly to be the reason why you feel good. He can’t stop kissing you, you two haven’t even made it to the bedroom yet and he just can’t stop himself. He’s a real talker, he likes to tell you every little detail about how good he feels all because of you and how amazing you feel and how well you’re doing. He picks up on the way your eyes light up and your shoulders untense when he tells you this. His claws are all over you, pulling you closer to him and touching you everywhere. He reminds himself to chill out a little, and there will be more opportunities to switch things up a bit later. His eagerness to please you shines through quite a few times and he speeds up a little without realising, but he catches himself. Despite all this, he still keeps a close eye on you. Making sure you’re still present with him and enjoying yourself as much as he is, if the sounds he’s happily pulling from you have anything to do with it.

Rain was not at all prepared, he was happy to be with you and exist with you and love you without the sex for as long as you wanted. Even if that meant forever. He never wanted you to feel pressured at all, so if it never happened between you two he was okay with that. But imagine his surprise when you very confidently brought it up to him, and told him you wanted him. Him!! He almost didn’t believe you, and he absolutely had to double check you were sure you wanted him right? So when the time came and you were both in bed together he was nervous. What if he does something wrong? What if he does something you don’t like? What if you don’t enjoy yourself? He cuddled up with you for a bit to settle himself down and then he was able to snap himself out of it and realise even if it didn’t all too smoothly you two could always try again another time. He checks in on you a lot, double and triple checking that you felt good and that what he was doing was okay. He presses constant little kisses all over your face and neck, trying to keep himself as grounded as possible because damn you just feel phenomenal. He tells you too… but he figures you already knew that from the sounds he’s not able to keep to himself. He coaxes the most beautiful sounds from you as well, and he can’t help but get a little bit lost in you. You both soak each other in and really just take the time to make love to each other for as long as you both want. There’s no end goal here, just loving each other.

Phantom could probably be considered a little bit less experienced too. Since being summoned not too long ago there’s a lot he’s still getting used to and things he’s yet to properly experience. Sex was one of them. Well… sex on the surface… and with a human. You two bonded over this, it came as a kind of comfort knowing there was someone else who just understood. Which ultimately turned into being the very person you both wanted to change that with. Phantom had a pretty good idea of what to do, you were the one that was going in with nothing to go off. The only thing with Phantom was… he wasn’t prepared for how good you were going to feel. It really threw him, and so as a result his mind went completely blank and all he knew was you. Just you. The way you looked underneath him, the way you felt around him, the way your hands held onto him and don’t even get him started on the way you sounded. And then just like that he was zoned in. Chasing pleasure he couldn’t believe he’d gone so long without. He held you close and buried himself within your being. Trying to just scoop up as much of you as he possibly could hold. He gets a little bit possessive over you, because he now has the knowledge that he was the one who introduced this pleasure to you, and helped you experience this for the first time. And he would rather march himself back down to hell then ever let anybody take this very special moment away from the both of you.

.

.

.

.

(Also hey requests are open but shhhh you didn’t hear it from me)

[carnocus]

writeblr introduction

Hey! I'm Arsen, I'm a Ukrainian-American in high school. I've been writing and making other forms of art for many years, and am planning on posting both my writing and my other art on this account! I've had this account for a while, yet it has undergone many breaks and changes so I'm reintroducing myself.

Some basic facts...

I'm 17 and will be 18 later this year

I currently live in the Northeastern US but my family is Ukrainian

My main blog for everything but my art is @thembones07

My account used to be under @/cryptidsandqueers

I tend to write mostly dark fantasy, horror, gothic, and literary fiction. I write both short stories and novels, and most of my works include a good deal of body horror. I am a big fan of using gore and horror as a vessel to demonstrate themes and put societal commentary in my writing ("A Modest Proposal"-style). I write mostly LGBTQ+ characters, and am a big fan of haunted house and mad scientist tropes. I make patches for clothes, including band patches, make other crafts, and draw. I am also into goth, industrial, metal, and grunge music, oddities, and fungi. I am currently planning on studying biology or mathematics after graduating high school.

I love doing ask and tag games, though sometimes I do get lazy and forget to. I also don't mind adults following me, but I am very liberal with my block button, so don't do any weird stuff no matter your age!

I've been wanting to connect to more writers on here, especially more horror writers, and refreshing my dash!

So with that out of the way, here are some of my works in progress...

Novels:

The Promethean Society (working title) - novel series - currently planning - dark fantasy/horror/apocalyptic dystopian

On a post-apocalyptic earth where some possess the ability to manipulate bodily tissue, a prestigious university opens its doors for the first time in 15 years, and young adults eager to serve the god of flesh pour in. The select few with the power are taught how to harness and grow it, given special treatment above the rest. They stumble into a world of lies, illegal experimentation, and fraudulent history. While trying to stay alive in the dungeons of the academy, which are crawling with unfinished experiments, the students must decide wherever to obey the Clergy and the god they supposably serve, or rebel and reveal the truth.

This is my main project right now, I am veryyy attached to it and it has undergone SERIOUS changes over the years. It features me being overly edgy and also a nerd, and is an exploration of corruption in the scientific research field but with body horror and gore. There is also a great deal of speculative biology, mad science, sibling relationships, and enemies to lovers.

Untitled - novel - currently planning, on the backburner - contemporary fantasy/folkore fantasy

After being away from her hometown for many years, a Ukrainian trans girl comes back and discovers a ecosystem she believed she'd imagined there. This is a novel about reconnecting with ones culture while feeling alienated from it because you are queer and grew up in a different country, as well as a love letter to nature and folklore.

This is a VERY self-indulgent story. The main character is Ukrainian-American and trans, like me, and the story deals with many issues I face everyday. I still need to do a lot of research before writing this because its setting is based on Ukrainian folklore and spirits.

Short stories:

The Architect - short story - 2nd draft completed - literary horror

A man is pressured by his dead mother's aspirations for him, with her dreams for him physically manifesting on his body.

This is a story about parents who raise kids for self-indulgent reasons and pressure them to fulfill the parents' unrealized dreams.

The House of Famish - short story - 1st draft completed - gore horror

A couple living in a carnivorous house fight over wherever to live by tradition or reject the harmful past.

I am very happy with this title and this story. It discusses familial attachments to unhealthy traditions through very cool visuals and features a subverted haunted house.

If you read this to the end, ily <3

[broadswordandpistol]

Fifth Wall

(( For context: Alvin has been teetering on the unpleasant revelation that he's an imaginary character for some time. Events at the Spring Festitales managed to push him off that tightrope and into an existential crisis. Fortunately, the walls between fiction and reality are particularly thin there, so his author decided to give him a hand.

Below the cut is some admittedly self-indulgent fic, because sometimes you gotta take care of your muse.))

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Alvin gave Elize a gentle squeeze, and nudged her off his lap. She looked up at him, worry etched across her small forehead.

“I’ll be fine,” he promised her. “Just gotta clear my head. It’s noisy in here.” It certainly was, with Vicious, Raven, and two different Judes going at it hammer and tongs.

He slipped out into the night, moonlight gleaming palely through the cherry blossoms. The path was paved with fallen petals; the festival would be over soon enough. He’d thrown himself into it with vigor, and for the most part, had felt good — strong, rejuvenated, and content.

But there was — not a voice, not like the one Ludger had in his head, but a definite sensation of another, and a physical feeling of unreality he couldn’t seem to shake. He could feel it time and again elsewhere, but here it was stronger. He’d nearly confronted it last year, until events had conspired to occupy his time and his energy. This year, he’d felt it again, too strongly to ignore.

You can keep walking. It’s safe here. All the instigators are back at the kiddie table.

He snorted. “Yeah, I thought so. Only matters if there’s something important going on, and even then.”

Are you angry?

“I — no.” That wasn’t a lie. “Upset. Feeling a bit lied-to. Ironic, I know. Who likes to find out that they’re not real?”

Who told you that?

“Julius.”

And you believe him?

That earned a pause. “I … don’t know. I feel real to me.”

That’s because you are. You’re not flesh-and-blood real. But you’re still real enough. That whole business about being a vessel for a story — that’s not wrong, but it’s not the whole truth.

You’re an Idea. You’re not even my idea, to begin with.

“The hell you say.”

I’m serious. Other people created you. But I liked your Idea so much that I kept it close. Gave you access to more people, more life experiences, more story, so your Idea would stay alive. At this point, you’re as much my Idea as you were someone else’s to begin with.

“I don’t —“

Like not knowing things, being pushed around, treated as a tool. I know. You’re not. I couldn’t tell you; you had to come to this understanding on your own.

I don’t ever force you to do things. But you don’t always get to know everything. That’d be counter to who you are, anyway. 

He flopped down on a bench, arms over its back, and looked up at the moon.

“Let’s say what you’re saying is true. Why would you even bother with an idea like me, anyway? There are a million better ideas.”

But they’re not you.

Your Idea is one of persistence and determination. The willingness to pick yourself back up and keep going no matter what happens. To play a bad hand, and try to make the best of it. To make choices and live with them, and their consequences. To be honest about being dishonest, and about being human. To learn to truly understand friendship. To suffer, to fail, and to redeem yourself.

You’re a really powerful Idea. 

Doesn’t hurt that you’re smart, strong, funny, and good-looking, on top of it.

He paused, taken aback, then chuckled. “Smart enough to know flattery when I hear it, too.”

Is it flattery if it’s true?

“That’s my line.” The corners of his mouth turned up. 

I can’t say I’m not pretty deeply invested in you. You speak to a lot of my values through your Stories.

That silenced him. “Role models” were one thing, and he would never be one, in his estimation. But values — those rang a different tone.

“So …” he looked around, seeing the world again from a different angle. He probably looked like Koun, seeing color for the first time, he thought dryly. “These are all Ideas. This — all of it — ” he swept a hand, indicating the people he’d left behind earlier, the others in his multitude of lives and scopes, that somehow he could always feel, even if he couldn’t bring them to bear — “it’s all Ideas, making up new Stories.”

That’s right. You know now why it is you can tell four different Judes apart from each other, but they’re still all your oldest friend. Your Idea and their Ideas are part of each other. It’s pretty cool.

“Huh.” He propped his elbows on his knees, and leaned his chin on his laced fingers. “And you — you chose my Idea, out of everything else you could’ve taken?”

That’s right.

“You’re crazy.” There was no sting in his words, just an uncomfortable surprise. “So, now what?”

Well, that’s up to you, isn’t it? I can’t make this easier. That’s not part of your Idea. But getting through tough times — that is. It’s what makes you so strong.

“Heh. So just — pick up and move on, and play it by ear, huh?”

Yep, sounds like you. You’ll manage. Besides, you’ve got friends now, who care about you. And you know that includes me. Between you and me, you’ve still got plenty more Stories left to tell.

“… Thanks. I think.”

You’re welcome. I love you. Now go get ‘em.

[storytellingbadger]

Tags! Okidokie, let's see...

Favourite colour: green. Specifically things close to and including pthalto green. Warm, deep, unctuous, rich, inky green. 

Jester: a bit of a cryptid - they’re absolute #000000 midnight black all over, like the Vogelkop superb bird-of-paradise. Vantablack black. But then when they dance and move, you realise their coating is like those sequins where you brush them one way, they’re one colour, and another, they’re something else. Like rufous hummingbird throat feathers - with a flourish, the inky black becomes vibrant, iridescent colours. They favour golds, reds, orange and hot pinks when colours are revealed.

Animal fact: sharks are older than dinosaurs. Older than trees. Older than Saturn’s rings. They have survived all five big mass extinctions, including the Great Dying that smoked something along the lines of 90% of ocean life (and 70-something % of terrestrial animals.) Sharks have been around the block and are awesome.

Favourite toy: good question, struggling to answer! Is it a cheat to say a pencil? I’ve always loved drawing and sketching. Consumed paper at an unhealthy rate as a kid. I didn’t really have a favourite toy in the traditional sense.

Favourite word(s): changes day to day. Current choice - paradigm. It’s a glossy word and I cannot quite explain why I describe it so. Today’s runner-up’s include quibble, sussurant and scripturient. That last one means ‘strong urge to write,’ which is gloriously self-indulgent.

Something I've written that I'm proud of: trick question, I'm not proud of any of it XD that’s not a sly beg for validation, that’s just a symptom of being my own worst critic. That said… I wrote a nightmare sequence in my fic Sunspots, Craters and Mortal Things chapter 28 “longjaw.wav” that got a sparkling review from the lovely @cipher-the-sidhe as a piece of horror writing, which considering their background is high praise. So pretty chuffed with that!

Favourite unreal creature: dragons. Easy. All kinds of dragons. Dragons are awesome. Closely followed by unicorns - not the horse with a narwhal prop glued to its forehead, I mean the old school depictions with delicate, deer-like physique, cloven hooves, fetlocks and lions tails. Werewolves honourable mention.

Tag time. I’m terrible at these, let’s see… @cipher-the-sidhe @brekwrites @noffy96, plus anyone interested. Nice list @shirajellyfish!

Making my own silly tag game

Normal tag games don't have the questions I think are really important, so here are exactly seven questions I actually care about.

What is your favorite color?

Describe the aesthetic of your favorite kind of jester. If you cannot vividly imagine a jester dancing in your head, describe any silly little guy that so strikes your interest.

Tell me an animal fun fact you think is particularly neat

What is/was your favorite toy, either from childhood or now?

What is your favorite word? You are entirely allowed to list multiple if too many are just so good, let's hear all your best words.

What is a line, section, or snippet you've written that you're particularly pleased with/proud of?

Favorite non-real creature? (Includes cryptids, fantasy creatures, mythical beasts, yokai, original species, monster, any creature that isn't real but still makes you go "Oh, this one is neat")

@ your pals to politely request they tell you these fun things about themselves via reblog. @ as many people as you want. @ no one. @ yourself. @ an image of a funny horse. There are no rules here.

I will tag some of my pals here :) @venomous-qwille @eyndr-stories @writing-forever @aviul @ohno-the-sun @pillowspace @kc-wilson-art

[unseconds]

watched Goncharov on a call with some friends and... yeah i can see what people are talking about

[cartoon-of-milk]

I have so many drawing ideas I might make into reality sometime soon

[sw1mmingfoolz]

[1:36] - bang chan

genre: absolutely tooth rotting fluff (this is so self indulgent it's unreal)

content warnings: none

requested? Y/N

wc: 709

a/n: i have narcolepsy, which means i have sleep attacks, and i wrote this after coming around from one because i would give a leg for someone to love me enough to care for me this way and i just know bang chan is That Bitch yknow? basically sleep attacks make your blood pressure drop suddenly (cuz your blood pressure drops when you sleep that's why you get cold n that yknow) so i get super shaky and my heart slows down and palpitates and i get dizzy and it's just all around not very pleasant. anyway enough rambling, sorry this is probably the least relateable drabble in the universe but it's what we call self indulgence 🤪 feedback is as always extremely appreciated and encouraged :)

Warm material touched your bare arms gently, evidently having just been removed from another's body. You weren't fully cognizant of its presence, however the softness and scent were consuming your senses, causing you to relax further into the sleep you were desperately fighting off. A dip in the sofa followed you being covered, a small whine wanting to escape your throat but lying dormant on your tongue when you realised your boyfriend had left the living room. Inwardly you were between dreams and reality, eyes flickering open every so often but never allowing you to fully pull yourself back to being awake, the plot of the film you'd chosen lost on you as you caught small glimpses and your brain filled the rest in with utter nonsense. It seemed he'd paused it when he got up.

The sofa dipped again, this time with a satisfying weight, a solid body close enough to radiate warmth over the right side of yours. He tried shaking your shoulder gently, eyes as affectionate as they always were when he looked at you. He fought back giggles as your eyes rolled, desperately trying to focus, vision hazy. The harsh, glaring light of the TV screen reflected softly in them, bouncing off the sharp planes of his face and forever filling you with a sense of awe - even when you were hardly conscious. His touches were light and encouraging, and eventually it felt as if something in your brain snapped, finally allowing you to open your eyes for good and depart the limbo between REM and wakefulness that left you feeling rattled every time you were unfortunate enough to visit. You looked at your shaky hands, knowing your face was just as pale, and looked up at Chan with a vulnerability he was eternally grateful you let him be privy to. He smiled knowingly and pulled you into his lap, large arms surrounding you easily, rubbing faint patterns on your back as you came around. His hoodie was still expansive over your upper half, sandwiched between you both, Versace Eros familiar and comforting. His mouth mumbled sweet nonsense into the top of your head as you slumped against his chest.

"I went to get you a Coke," he hummed, knowing you'd felt him leave, reaching for the can on the table next to the sofa as he spoke. The vibrations of his chest reverberated through your entire body, your heart rate steadying as he tipped your head up to look at him. He opened the can easily with the same single hand before holding it to your lips, seemingly insistent on feeding you it himself, observing intently to make sure sleep did not begin to consume you again. Your heart swelled at the simple gesture, letting him tilt the liquid into your mouth with blushing cheeks, knowing your hands were weak enough for you to risk dropping it all over yourself. He knew that too. He kissed you delicately after you swallowed, remnants of cola fizzing on his lips as he returned his hold to you and whispered random praise with hot breath on the shell of your ear. His heart felt as full as yours did, unable to fight back smiles whenever you were close. He felt so lucky you'd agreed to be his, and didn't think that feeling would ever stop.

"I can't believe you remembered," you murmured sleepily, pressing a gentle kiss to his jaw as you snuggled into his neck. He chuckled as his grip tightened, arms encircling your waist in silent protection, and returned the kiss on your temple.

"Of course I did, I'm always looking out for you, baby. Is your heart feeling okay?" You paused to feel it and nodded, thankful you'd gotten something to drink fast enough to stave off the brunt of the palpitations. Your blood pressure quickly rose as he bounced his knees to make your body move, however slightly. Another soft kiss, to his neck this time, which he mirrored in your hair. He was smiling against you so tenderly you felt you could explode.

"Thanks for caring so much, Chan,"

"You don't have to thank me, it's what I'm here for. It's part of loving you,"

"And you know I love you too."

[vanilla-bean-buttercream]

I'm In Love With A Fairytale

Pairings: Roceit, Intrulogical, Moxiety

Characters: Virgil Sanders, Remus Sanders, Janus Sanders, Roman Sanders, Logan Sanders, Patton Sanders, some pesky original characters

Rated: M for Violence, Gore, and Graphic Imagery

Content Warnings:

Witch Curses

Enemies to Lovers

Friends to Lovers

Angst with a Happy Ending

Fake Character Death

Temporary Character Death

break up to make up Roceit

super healthy Intrulogical

friends to lovers Moxiety

healthy brotherly Creativitwins

Platonic Virgil & Janus & Remus

rude/sarcastic humor

Sexual Humor

Dark Humor

Drowning

Blood and Gore

Body Horror

unreality

cursing

Kidnapping

Death Romanticization

Asphyxiation

Self-Sacrifice

Non-Consensual Kissing

Arguing

Cliffhangers

Stabbing

Fist Fights

sword fights

The sides are not afraid to kill

Suicidal Thoughts

Magical Silencing

Animal Transformation

Imprisonment

Unreliable Narrator

Unconsciousness

Major Character Death is temporary but graphic

past homophobia

Mind Control

catastrophizing

food consumption

Cults

Summary:

Who doesn’t like a good fairytale where the hero’s lover is cursed and they have to break it with true love’s kiss? Apparently Janus, who recently broke up with Roman after a messy lie. And Remus, who has a crush on Logan but feels like he can’t admit it. And Virgil, who lied and told Patton he was fine just being friends.

So of course when a witch escapes from Roman’s imagination and kidnaps Roman, Logan, and Patton, puts them under a curse, and expects Janus, Remus, and Virgil to break it, no one is amused.

Why can’t this be romantic like the books? And who gave that witch the right to meddle anyway? It’s not like they weren’t bound to get together eventually, but she could have at least asked first.

Ao3 Link

Author's Note:

Hello and welcome to my @ts-storytime Big Bang story of 2021. I originally started this story in June of 2020 and had no intentions of posting it, because I wanted to write the most self-indulgent thing in my life. However, with the encouragement of my friends, I managed to get it finished and share it with everyone.

This story is humorous but dark, graphic with its character deaths (even if they are temporary), and will make you squirm with certain descriptions. Please take the time to read through each content warning above each chapter. For your reading comfort, I have created a Google Spreadsheet that lists every content warning I could think of before posting it and gave a brief description of what that warning is. If anything bothers you, and you would like more information about it, feel free to Check out the Content Warnings Here. I'll post the link to every chapter for your convenience.

This story also takes place after "Putting Others First" so any information afterward (including Flirting With Social Anxiety and Working Through Intrusive Thoughts) are not included. Anything that is included from those episodes is strictly by coincidence.

With that out of the way, thank you for taking interest in my story, even if you don't finish it or decide it isn't for you! I hope you have a fun and exciting time reading it. :D

[devastatingly-handsome-friend]

five times where dean gets spoiled with love and affection like he deserves, and cas revels in having what he's always wanted

is this a fall out boy song

no plus one for this! just five :)

also rowena is back on earth because i say so

wc about 5000!!

au where cas' handprint scar never disappeared from dean's shoulder btw. this is like uh. the most self indulgent thing i could've possibly written, basically all the fics i wanted to exist so i was the change i want to see in the world.

i made myself feel so much better about the dirty way we were done with the last three eps by writing this! i had so much fun with it, and i hope you enjoy it! also if you happen to like my writing style, feel free to check my writeblr, @writeblrfantasy, for all my original content!

#

dean is standing at the stove frying bacon when he hears the familiar and all too welcome sound of cas' dress shoes on the concrete bunker floor.

for all dean has hinted at getting him to ditch the tax accountant outfit and switch in some warm slippers, maybe some of dean's clothes--and goddamn if that image doesn't get dean a little hot under the collar--cas favors his trench coat. there's no need for him to change it, and it's simply been too long with it for a change to make sense.

they've both gotten attached to it. if anything gives dean comfort other than baby, a gun on his person, and sam safe in his sights, it's that tie, the same color as those eyes, and the sound of cas' deep gravelly voice. cas got folded into the category of home long ago, and he's only burrowed himself deeper over the years.

dean smiles. he's been pavlov'd to smile at the sound of cas moving around now, coming to him, because cas always means good things. no conflicts, no fights, no secrets. when they hunt now, cas comes with them, works with them, makes the whole process ten times faster thanks to jack restoring his wings and grace to full power.

"mornin', sweetheart," dean murmurs, still foggy from sleep and waiting for the coffee to do its work. it was hard as ever to extricate himself from the warm clutch of cas' arms this morning. normally cas would follow him to the kitchen and watch while dean cooked, maybe wrap his arms around deans waist to maintain some of that warmth, but today cas wanted to go outside and say hello to the bees.

they went their ways silently, cas acting for all intents like someone who actually struggles through the slowness of waking up. it's far too domestic, far too perfect, far too unreal. dean has trouble believing this is his life. after everything, when he still wakes up with a gasp and a cry of fear on his lips, staring into a fleeting echo of chuck's smiling face, fingers raised to snap, it takes only cas' soothing touch to calm him down again.

sometimes the nightmares are of a world where cas never came back, where dean never got up from the floor with cas' inky handprint on his shoulder and his head in his hands, hearing i love you playing in his head on a tortuous repeat.

but they get through that too, because cas is always right there with his angel warmth and soft words and reassurances. he encourages dean to cry in the dark, press his forehead to cas' shoulder while cas' fingers run through his hair, saying i'm here and i'm not going anywhere, no more deals, and i love you this time too.

"good morning, dean." they didn't say it when they woke up, dean just grunted and grumbled his way into his dead guy robe, stumbling in the dark and blinding himself with the light. he remembers cas comparing him to a bear once.

when dean turns his head to smile at his angel, he finds cas right there, staring at him intently. dean doesn't jump like he used to because they're in each other's space now--hell, who he is kidding, they've always been, no matter what he said about personal space all those years ago. he was once afraid of what cas did to him, everything he made him feel, so he covered it with snappy remarks and demands.

cas tilts his chin up with a finger and kisses him, sending familiar butterflies waltzing through him, prompting a dopey little smile dean tries and fails to hide as he turns the bacon over. his lips are tingling. is that cas' grace, or just cas?

"where's my good morning kiss, cas?"

dean whips his head around at the sound of sam's voice, the sight of him standing in the doorway with his hair windblown. he must've come in while dean was distracted by the kiss. panic spikes through dean, alarms of, fuck, shit, sam knows, fuck, that quickly turn to confusion and relief once he sees the grin on sam's face.

"I--" nothing comes out when he tries to speak. he doesn't want to disrespect cas by saying it's not what it looks like. he wants to gain the confidence to say it's exactly what it looks like, say what he's been meaning to say to sam since this started, since their decade plus of pining ended. again, the words don't come easy to him.

it's not like they've been hiding it. they probably haven't been hiding it well, what with the constant touches and closeness and the way cas slips into his room every night. but if sam has noticed--he probably has, smart kid that he is--he hasn't said anything. yet. but now, sweaty from his ungodly morning run, he apparently couldn't help himself.

cas saves dean the job of answering, thank jack. "dean and i have, as he put it, gotten our heads out of our asses." he does the air quotes, of course. "jack bringing me out of the empty--again--kickstarted this at long last." they never told sam what cas said with tears in both their eyes seconds before the empty came to swallow him up. dean isn't in the mood to tell that story right now. not exactly breakfast table material. he’ll get around to it sometime. sammy deserves to know.

"we apologize for not telling you sooner, sam." cas looks at dean to check if the we is okay, stars in his eyes, and dean smothers another giddy smile. he needs to get a hold of himself. he tells himself it's because the coffee hasn't kicked in.

sam's still grinning. "it's fine. i'm joking, by the way, jerk." he walks by, and if he were a normal person, he would swipe a piece of bacon. instead he starts chugging a green smoothie he kept cold overnight in the fridge. freak. "about damn time," he says when he comes up for air, smiling at the two of them. he looks like a kid on christmas.

dean knows it couldn't have been easy watching the two of them struggle to wade through their seemingly endless list of problems keeping them apart for 12 years, one of the chief ones being dean's own thickheaded-ness. sam looks as happy for them as humanly possible. dean can imagine him running straight to factime eileen to tell her.

"yeah, yeah," dean mutters, but he's smiling, and he ruffles sam's hair as he scuttles by.

#

dean knows, as a 42 year old man, he should not be as giddy about sitting on a too small diner booth beside cas as he is, but frankly he doesn't give a fuck what brings him joy. he's saved the world one too many times to care about the constructs and expectations in it. took him a while to get there, but like most things, cas made the process easier.

so he is perfectly allowed to hide his smile in the rim of his coffee mug and enjoy every bit of this: the way cas' arm curves around dean's waist through their collective six or so layers of clothes, the way they're pressed side to side, arm to arm, and even through said six layers of clothes dean can feel his angel warmth. it's almost as good as when they're spooning at night, when dean is wrapped in cas' arms knowing there's nowhere safer for him in any realm. the booth is small enough that dean is practically sitting on cas’ lap.

dean thinks of lily sunder, ishim in the diner, the way he found room for heart fluttering affectation when he got to sit like this with cas in the midst of their spat. he took the little victories, always has. but this--there's nothing better than this, being able to feel cas' smiling eyes on him when he glances away from sam. dean reaches for his free right hand under the table just to hold it, just for the hell of it.

sam is babbling on about their current hunt in the booth across them, wondering if it was a werewolf or a vampire based on how destroyed the throats were. dean is a little groggy from getting up early and driving all day, a piece of pie devoured in front of him, and cas' warmth and hands remind him of peaceful, restful sleep like he's never had before.

he was never fully part of this conversation anyway, but sam's words slowly start to fade back in. coroner reports, his own theories, proposed plans for tomorrow.

"dean?" sam snaps his fingers in front of dean's face. "you listening? monsters?"

"uh, yeah. mauled throats. nasty stuff. my money's on a vamp." cas' hand travels up his back where sam can't see, and dean can't stop his smile.

sam gives them both a weird look but goes back to his ceaseless talking, his own way of keeping himself awake.

they'll figure it out tomorrow. all dean has to do right now is let cas pull him closer, lean his head onto cas' shoulder and close his eyes for a moment.

they've saved the world he doesn't want to think about how many times. dean can fall asleep on his angel's shoulder in a diner booth if he pleases.

#

dean recalls, a long time ago, eating a burger while cas watched while they were in town searching for claire. the mark of cain is now gone from dean's arm, the worries with it, claire saved to both of their ready contacts. but dean is now eating a burger in a different diner with the same shitty checkered tablecloth, cas staring at him with the same adoring expression he always did.

dean doesn't know how he didn't see the evidence on cas' face years ago--probably just chose to ignore it, so deep had he shoved down his own feelings.

dean is chowing down on his second burger, the one he ordered for cas, partly just to spite him when he said dean couldn't possibly finish both.

the waitress comes, a pretty girl in a skirt that dean would’ve tried to flirt with a decade ago. she’s been coming onto their table anyway, and dean has politely ignored that this whole time. "can i get y'all anything else?" she smiles, flutters her lashes. "my number, maybe?"

dean opens his mouth for an automatic response, well trained into him that's had to adjust recently from of course, darling to not interested, sorry honey, to sorry, I’m taken, which shouldn‘t feel so oddly good to say. then he realizes it's not him she's looking at. it's cas.

"sorry, honey." dean smiles at her, lacing his fingers through cas' and pointedly resting them on the table. this would be a better point proven if they had wedding bands, a thought that threatens to strike him dumb. "this one's taken."

"oh, sorry. how long have y'all been together?" the waitress asks with the same sugary sweet smile. an invisible pressure lifts from dean's chest.

cas and dean lock eyes. they've never discussed what to say if someone asks them this--how would that have come up? and dean doesn't know which date to choose. so many milestones, so many unbelievable situations to boil down for normal ears.

cas comes to his rescue. "twelve long years," he says, squeezing dean's hand and raising it to his lips. the waitress coos at them.

"oh, my, i've never had a relationship last longer than a year," she laughs. "got any tips for me?"

"it hasn't been easy," cas says, fond in his deep tone. he's looking not at the waitress, but at dean, smiling a little. "but love will persist through heaven and hellfire, and the forests of purgatory. even death."

dean nearly chokes. it's a normal enough metaphor, at least the first part, that the waitress doesn't look too weirded out. she raises an eyebrow, thanks them, and sets down the bill.

dean strokes his thumb idly over the back of cas' hand, wondering about those wedding bands.

#

"cas, i just love you."

cas smiles, rubbing a firm hand over dean's back over his shirts. they're sitting close enough to touch on the bunker kitchen bench. "yes, dean. i know. i love you too."

sam is clearly struggling not to laugh across the bench. he's got rowena on the phone against his ear, feeding him information about how to break this curse. his finger is plugging his other ear, for all the good that's probably doing him. if dean had half his normal faculties right now, he'd be hot faced and mortified, and it's a near thing he isn't even with the curse suppressing his filters and shame.

"no, but cas, you don't understand." dean couldn't stop talking if he tried. this damn truth curse. he needs to suggest one of them tape his mouth shut, though he doubts that will stop the talking itself. "i spent so long pretending i didn't, or hoping it would go away because it was the worst time and i thought you deserved so much better, still kind of do, but now i can say it and it's like i can't say it enough, but it's still so hard, and you say it all the time so easily--"

cas kisses him to silence him, thank jack, probably the only thing that will actually work. it's long and sweet, and when cas pulls back dean momentarily loses his capacity for words.

"i will say this as many times as you need to hear it," cas says. "i understand it is difficult for you to express your affection with words, and the other ways in which you do are no less real or meaningful to me. you forget i can see your soul, dean. you forget that i remade you from nothing, atom by atom. i know you.

"i appreciate the very human gesture of speaking your love, but i never need to hear it directly to know your feelings. i need only glance at you, the true you. i only wish you could do the same with me, and i could banish any doubts you might have as well."

dean opens his mouth, but again nothing comes out. he remembers then that sam is there, and his embarrassment is almost powerful enough to break through the barrier the curse has placed upon it.

sam grimaces like he wants to leave just as much as dean wants him to, and hangs up the phone. he thanks rowena with a promise to see her soon to continue his training. "okay, so she says it's simple. we don't need the black grimoire, the book of the damned, nothing, just a few simple ingredients and a crystal. she gave me the words to say to cast it. simple, for once."

"don't jinx it," dean mutters, biting his tongue on a useless tangent about how shit always goes wrong for them that's clawing its way up his throat. it is not enough for a curse to make him want to spew truth, but to spew it a mile a minute?

"i'll get the stuff," sam says, rising to his feet. "cas, you watch him."

dean buries his head in cas' shoulder in an attempt to keep himself quiet, listening to sam's footsteps fade out. it doesn’t last long. "so...you can see my soul, huh?"

"yes. when i have had grace, i always have been able to, to some extent. jack's restoration of my full powers has allowed me to see it as i did when we met, but when my grace was depleted or i was living off of stolen supplies, i could only see it sometimes, and muted. I admit one of the most jarring parts about being human was not being able to see it. but now--"

he smooths dean's hair back from his forehead, touching him for the sake of touching him. this curse causes no physical pain, not even much emotional distress, but dean appreciates the free touches anyway.

"i must set aside time to show you and explain to you what i see in you, dean," cas says. "i must better articulate what made me fall for you, in every sense of the word."

the reminder said aloud sends warmth through dean's chest. "we got all the time in the world, now, angel." cas has said before he doesn't really understand that pet name, since it's his species, and dean hasn't found the words to express what it means to him, what cas means to him. not with the talent that cas has. angels are watching over you. he swallows, and the truth spell does the rest.

"i want everything you can give me, show me, whatever. show me tonight, if you can, after we get this curse gone. i think you're so cool, cas, you and all your cool angel tricks. i don't even know half the shit you can do, do i, even after so long? powerful guy. god, I’m so lucky.”

the smile that lights up cas' face is perhaps the best part of this curse so far.

sam returns with a metal bowl filled with spell ingredients a moment later. dean's talking again before he can think.

"thank you, sam. i love you, you know, and i appreciate all this. and i know i give you shit, i gave rowena shit for so long, but this samwitch thing? i think it's cool. useful as fuck, too. but i'm glad you found a--healthier way to channel those powers of yours."

sam grimaces again, the lines in his face drawing up, looking caught off guard but not disgusted or totally weirded out. weirded out that dean is admitting this aloud, maybe, but a smile peeks through.

"you're gonna lock yourself away when this curse is gone, i can just tell. try not to. here's a little truth of my own: you don't have to feel embarrassed over admitting you care for your family. no one's going to judge you. we're both here for you." he glances at cas, probably wondering if he's said those very words to dean before. he has, but maybe dean needed to hear it from sam too. "love is not a bad weakness to have."

sam sets down the bowl of ingredients and the crystal, laying out the sheet of paper with the words. he speaks them slowly, his eyes flashing violet, and dean feels a tightening in his stomach. his inhibitions being put back on, his filters, his ability to lie. most of all, his red cheeked, burning hot shame. but he doesn't run away. cas and sam are smiling at him as they make dean say he is the queen of england to prove it's fixed, and dean can't really meet their eyes, but the warm light in his chest is still there.

when sam leaves to put the materials back, no doubt sensing he and cas need another moment alone, dean says, "cas, i shouldn't need a truth spell to tell you that i love you." saying it is still like tensing muscles, gritting teeth only to realize the pain wasn't as bad as he expected, a leap he didn't think he'd survive. everything cas just said about seeing his soul and knowing his love, though, that helps.

"i already told you, you don't need to," cas says patiently. "come with me?"

"of course."

with a quick text to sam that they might not come out of dean's room for a while, cas sits him down on the edge of his bed to explain to dean his own soul.

#

dean is tied to a chair.

demons, of course. he and sam got separated in the fight, the demons dragged him off to this stuffy old warehouse, tying him to a chair with his hands cuffed on top of that. he couldn't fight ten, twenty on one, and they've clearly done their homework on capturing a winchester.

he's waiting for the leader of the group to make their villain speech, biding his time while he tries to get out of his bonds. a little pit of anxiety rests in his stomach, as always, but it's shrunk much over the years as the threats against him grew and grew and made the regular hunts look like paradise.

the doors to the warehouse burst open with a bang. dean whirls his head around in his chair, dressing the arrival of yet more demons, and his heart clears when he sees cas in the doorway instead. cas storms through the warehouse with all the night of heaven, his power crackling through the air even.

dean follows him with his eyes, lips parted in shock as words evade him. cas was fighting the demons as well, trailing behind him and sam when they got separated.

dean’s hands ache and sting where the rope and cuffs have rubbed them raw, and his head throbs where the demons bashed it into the wall in the fight, but all he can focus on is the image of his angel here to save him.

cas' eyes glow blue, the shadow of his magnificent, now full and intact wings flashing against the wall. except--no, dean realizes quickly this isn't just a mere shadow, not this time. the feathers shimmer and move, coal black. cas' voice booms throughout the warehouse. "do not harm my righteous man, or there will be consequences."

dean gets full body chills, and that's before cas starts smiting.

he's as graceful and powerful in battle as he's always been, and dean can hardly keep up, hardly see at the rate cas smites demons and cries fall on his ears. one, sometimes two flares of light come at once to light up the warehouse.

dean never had to call out, cas, behind you, since cas always seems to know where the demons are attempting to gang up on him. he catches wrists behind his back, uses his wings to knock them out of the way and throw them off their feet. its a display of power unlike any dean has ever seen.

finally, the last suited meat suit falls. cas’ eyes stop glowing and dean's ears stop ringing, the light fades but the wings stay, and cas drops his fighting posture all at once. he races over to dean, who is more than fine and says so when cas asks, kneeling to uncuff him.

"damn, cas," dean laughs, a little breathless when he hasn't even moved this whole time. "that was impressive. kind of hot."

"i should've gotten here sooner," cas says, riddled with worry.

"don't worry about it. if you wanna make it up to me, you could, uh." he indicates pressing two fingers to his aching forehead. "heal me up, baby."

cas presses a kiss to his temple instead, and dean furrows a brow until he feels warm healing spread through him, soothing away the hurt in his hands and head, the aches in his muscles he didn't even know he had. the itchiness of dried blood disappears too.

he beams at cas. "you can do that? true love's healing kiss?"

cas smiles, something small and private, and dean is momentarily struck breathless that he's the reason. this mighty creature just smote twenty demons without breaking a sweat, without even losing any breath, and now he’s smiling at dean like he’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen.

"i think you forget the extent of my abilities, dean. i could've simply used my grace as a central beam to smite those demons if i pleased, i needn't have touched any of them, but i didn't want to accidentally blind you.

"jack played a large hand in restoring my powers, as i have told you before. i now have the abilities equivalent to what i had when we met. the fall, metatron's spell, all the times my grace has been stolen or tampered with or supplemented--it is all a thing of the past. this errand was trivial."

that, too, gets dean a little hot under the collar. the fact that this angel, this powerful wavelength of intent as tall as the chrysler building uses his wings and his smiting to protect dean, to kill demons on his behalf--it's a bit of a headrush. he remembers the all powerful cas he first met, how different the man--angel--before him is. no less hot, though.

he doesn't say that first part aloud, because he'll get a long and far too genuine speech from cas about how nothing fulfills him in life more than using his powers for dean, and now is not the time nor the place. he chooses a slightly safer, dean typical response instead. he slides his arms around cas' shoulders. "were you showin' off for me?"

cas doesn't reply, but the way his eyes darken and his feathers flutter are answer enough. dean has seen his wings before since they've been together, but never in battle. the way they shake now, puff up and rise a little, he's certain is the height of showing off.

"i don't know what you're talking about," cas says in the low, monotone voice dean mistook for emotionless for so many years. "i would never execute any mission with any flair. i would do only what was strictly necessary."

dean laughs, "big fuckin' liar," into cas' mouth to hide his pleased smile at the thought of cas showing off for him. that he even feels the need to. dean is his for life and beyond, they've established this, but dean thinks he understands. it's the same thing that happened with the waitress--the need, the pride to show the world that cas is his angel, dean is his man, and it may have taken them twelve years but they got there.

there have been so many and so much in between them, but at the end of the day cas is still coming home with them, sitting shotgun in the impala while sam sleeps in the back, holding dean's hand on the seat. they drive because dean likes the ritual of it, loves his baby, despite cas being able to fly them anywhere again in the blink of an eye.

"i am not a big fucking liar," cas rasps, voice deep as gravel, "because the sooner i get the monsters out of the way, the sooner i can get to you. at your side, where i belong."

before dean can think of a suitable response to that, sam's heavy sigh and voice interrupt the glow of the moment, breaking dean and cas' warm bubble. "ugh, ew. not something i ever wanted to see, guys." he's standing in the open doorway of the warehouse, gun drawn, a little bloodied up.

"you're just jealous, sammy," dean says with a grin, not bothering to put much distance between him and cas. he taps his fingers idly on cas' shoulder, keeping him close. a decade ago, he would've jumped away and pretended like nothing had ever happened, but now, as he told sam a while ago, maybe he's just too damn old to care. especially since it's just sam.

sam grimaces, lowering his gun and darting back toward the door. his eyes catch on the bodies littered throughout the warehouse and their still smoldering eyes, with a raised eyebrow. “whatever, i’m going to go bring the car around,” he says, probably wanting to give them a bit of privacy.

"uh huh," dean says, already turning back to cas. but he still feels the creeping crawl of sam's eyes on his neck, and he turns, annoyed.

sam is smiling. "i thought it would be better once you got your shit together, but i was wrong. it's worse." he shakes his head, holds out his hand. "dean. keys."

"right." dean tosses him the keys, and sam scurries away, looking grateful to go. cas will heal him up later.

as dean smiles at cas again, accepts his kiss, buries his fingers in cas' wings, murmurs his love into cas' lips, he thinks of how much better it is now. sam can suck it, though dean knows he is secretly pleased with how much worse it's gotten. sam just wants both of them to be happy, and damn if dean isn't the happiest he's ever been in his life, with his angel at his side.

[mongooseblues]

Well folks. Here it is. The horniest thing I’ve ever written. CW for some mess, as you might expect for a piece about someone in a shower with a running nose, but I’m not super into mess myself so it’s more implied than described for the most part. I couldn’t get the idea of shower sneeze out of my head so I’ll put it into yours.

-- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - -- - --

The first thing he does upon getting home is turn the faucet to the highest setting to start a shower white-hot enough to be appropriately described as scalding. That would help, that would probably help.

He undresses as hissing steam gradually fogs the room, his peaky reflection becoming little more than a blur in the mirror. It’s cloudy and dreamlike, almost some fevered unreality by the time he steps into the spray, the temperature change provoking an instantaneous smattering of goosebumps and a good hard shiver. It takes all of maybe one minute for the steam to depressurize his sinuses and leave him with a remarkably runny nose and a tickle so sudden and overwhelming that he’s sneezing before he realizes he’s going to.

He snaps forward into the gushing water with an urgent, “HihYISSHHue—” hard and sharp in the acoustical bounce-back from tile and porcelain, an echolocation of resounding decibels that’s loud in his own ears. One isn’t enough because it never is and especially not right now so of course he’s going to—

“IIXSHHOO!” Sneeze again, “hih!” and—

“ISSHHyue!!” Again.

One after the other and depleting what feels like all of the air in his lungs, mandating a gasp like he’s coming up for air which technically speaking he is, pulling his head from the discontinuous curtain of water, sputtering post-baptismal. He slides his hair back from his forehead, two separate streams now running down his face, and wipes at his upper lip with a sigh.

He supposes it’s not unhygienic, to use his hands to blow his nose into, considering he’s able to rinse them off immediately. It does feel a little gross, even though it’s basically clear and barely viscous, undergoing quick liquefaction in his hands and erased by rushing water. And the obscuring steam makes this an even more private unraveling. It’s okay here, to be sick.

His only objective is to rid himself of every milliliter of it, forcibly empty his sinuses as much as he can, fingers folded over his nose and pressing closed one nostril at a time. It begins, the hopeful emptying, in effortless production, but eventually after dwindling relief crosses some line where it starts to feel aggressive and there’s a stinging burn that reminds him of breaching the surface of a swimming pool.

His nose and sinuses are warm and swollen and ever tendering with his continual abuses. He really should be more gentle or at least pace himself over the course of this cold because there’s plenty more of it to come, so this is the last time he’s going to blow his nose for now. This final go however buzzes so intensely against oversensitive membranes that he has to wrinkle his face and perform a little head shake that actually just makes him want to sneeze again.

Which he does in short order, a stabilizing hand finding purchase against the tiled wall, drawing a tremulous breath, small droplets of water slipping their way into his parted mouth and very temporarily pooling there.

Wet but richly voiced and made louder by ringing echo, “HihIIDSHHoo! —HIISSHHuu!!”

The briefest possible cycle of inhale-exhale-inhale leads into a higher pitched and very breathy, “Hih’IIHHH-hoo!” that almost makes him stumble and causes a few wetted locks of hair to tumble forward.

The groan afterwards is rather dramatic. He blinks to refocus through wet lashes and lets the pressure of the water gently recline his head backward. Letting go of the wall, finally, to rake his fingers through his hair, other hand occupied with an absent swipe under his nose at the resulting not-so-fluid trickle until it becomes clear this effort requires both hands and the whole production of blowing his nose over and over and okay just once more.

It does again tickle terribly at one point, and for a few unsteady seconds he thinks he might sneeze three goddamn more times but then miraculously doesn’t, just squints vaguely toward the corner of the shower with gaping lips and widened nostrils, a wavering look of white-flagged surrender. It’s almost meditative to close his eyes and concentrate on the distorted rhythm of indecisive breaths waxing and waning, and the patter of water against his skin. But then the feeling dissolves into a huffy exhale and he remembers he does have other things to do in here besides sneeze. Wash his hair and body, for example.

He works soap into a lather and allows himself longer than usual, letting the water pound and pulse against his shoulders and the back of his neck, which feels particularly tight. Self-soothing, his typical brisk and efficient shampoo scrub lengthening, softening into indulgently slow kneading.

He takes a minute to rub at his face, pressing the heel of a hand between his eyebrows to massage an oval into the ache building there and emits an involuntary moan falling somewhere between pleasure and exhaustion. Employing his shriveled fingertips to travel along the lines of his sinuses beneath his eyes and above his cheeks, palpating the places where it hurts. He’s unable to make it through his routine to the point of rinse much less repeat before he’s pulled out of it and into yet another crashing crescendo he grits his teeth against.

“HrrRISSHue!” The sudden velocity of the motion sends suds jettisoning from his hair, combining with misty spray.

“hih!YIISHHoo! IIZSHH-shuue...!” It concludes with a deflated release and leaves him an overall streaking and streaming mess.

Blowing his nose in here is starting to become a very tiresome chore. He’ll reach a point where he feels like he’s done and then the steam and heat inspire a new round of melting congestion he goes on trying to rid himself of, in an almost mechanically continuous loop and okay it’s probably not going to stop on his account.

Finally he rinses himself of all remaining foamy traces of soap and shampoo, enveloping his entire being into the disorienting rush of frenzied water, for a few moments feeling that uncomfortable washing machine nausea. Frankly he can no longer tell whether or not his nose is still running. This is probably as clean as he’s going to get and that’s fine by him because he’s starting to get dizzy and this is no place to be dizzy with its hard slippery surfaces.

He turns off the faucet and leaves the sanctuary of steam, suppressing a shudder as he pushes the shower curtain back into its accordion folds and steps out onto the much colder floor. He’s toweling his hair off when niggling irritation stops him and somehow he can no longer do anything else but just stand there, forestalled, waiting. His chest swells with need and his breath catches on a jagged-edged inhale and oh apparently he’s just going to sneeze into this towel because there wasn’t really enough warning to be thoughtful about towels—

“ErrRIISHHue!” directed into scratchy terrycloth, hands folding the entire thing around his face but he’s never been very good at muffling anyhow “—IIXXSHHuue!” He pulls back for a second to draw a bated breath through curling lips before his still-wet shoulders seize him into the third act of this exhausting display.

“hehh’YISHHHOO!!” ...Wow. His face feels loose and fuzzy in the aftermath. He never thought a shower could leave him so spent. A single quick wet cough crackles and breaks in his throat, bluntly foreshadowing worse yet to come. He sighs heavily, manages a slushy snuffle. Waterlogged and goosefleshed and dripping over the ground. Feeling naked in more ways than one.

He really is about to be quite sick isn’t he.

[wormonastriing-moving]

OH MY GOD…. SHANE TICKLES………. post him whenever ur ready i will wait loyally like a lapdog

ANYWAY HC TIMEEE!!!!!!

- shane looooves being tickled but since he has barely any recent experience with it AND how embarrassed he is about enjoying it he always needs a break after only a minute and it’s very cute bc he squeals like crazy if yr getting him real good n begs without even thinking

- alex is like …… Barely ticklish. which is a shame bc he has arguably one of the cutest laughs after shane, harvey and emily. don’t get me wrong tho he loves a good belly scratch even if it makes him giggle real quietly <:)c

- harvey is deathly ticklish all over which is why everyone loves poking/tasing his sides to get his attentionwsjiwjdd… he likes being tickled but is veeery shy about it to the point that even the sight of wiggling fingers has him covering his blushing face trying to nonchalantly slide away

- EMILY IS SUCH A LER ITS UNREAL 🙁🙁 she’s very sweet tho and always checks in with her lee, very teasy if they’re comfortable with it!! (self indulgent hc but emily and shane are absolutely best friends and even tho it’s rare just bc of how yk. reserved he is. he has absolutely fallen victim to emilys skills once or twice for making one too many snide comments and he still blushes about it). also, as good as she is at tickling other people! she’s also very ticklish!! not really the biggest fan of being tickled unless she started it bc she loves tickle fights

- look. i know tons of people hc haley as a cruel ler. and yes they’re somewhat right but also. haley being the cutest fucking lee ever bc she’s very uncoordinated when it comes to protecting herself, esp since her sides are one of her worst spots!! she likes being tickled but it’s very very unlikely she’ll admit it, but she does miss when emily would tickle her when they were both younger

- SEBASTIAN. oh my god. he rivals haley and harvey for most ticklish and he claims he hates it but abigail and sam have seen how his eyes get a lil excited sparkle when they start fooling around for the thousandth and it devolves into a tickle fight (he can actually hold his own in a tickle fight surprisingly, he’s gotten abigail and sam very good on separate occasions! he’s never won a tickle fight but he prides himself on knowing that he made abby squeal and sam whine)

i iwll maybe write more just not in this ask bc this got very long HELP……..

HAFSHSHS YOUR BRAIN...EXTREME. THESE ARE SO GOOD OMG

[astrolocherry]

Volumes of Saturn 

Saturn in Aries & 1st House - There is a consuming need to be loved, accepted, respected, and valued. But the mask can be so tightly sewn and programmed that the light is dim and people don’t have an opportunity to truly see them, the connections can therefore seem vague or unreal, but they don’t expose enough of themselves to make these relationships possible. The task is growing and evolving beyond what defines the ‘self’ and the dimensions that have tightly structured and limited expressing the natural forces that flow through this aperture. the self-expectation is to develop and become the person that they can be proud of investing in and holding onto life for. The Critical Parent can appear in the form of their own inner monologue Trust fund Gifts - Occult powers and possibilities of the Great Masters

Saturn in Taurus & 2nd House - The sense of being unworthy and void of value makes it difficult to enjoy what they have worked so hard for. They fear missing out on life to survive, but they can be so focused on surviving they forget to live, indulge, and remind themselves that they are important. May feel like they are depended on for their labour and the job would never get done if they weren’t present. they may have a lot of guilt regarding what they can support their dependants with and long to provide the ultimate opulence with intense pressure. the compounding tendency is to deny assistance offered or refusal to ask for financial help, instead they ask their boss for more hours or sacrifice their essentials and luxuries The Critical Parent can appear in the form of their family members, boss, and anxieties regarding potential loss, instability, lack of security  Trust fund Gifts - Ability to manoeuvre the laws of physics with the material

Saturn in Gemini & 3rd House - Thought patterns regarding lack of intelligence and reduced sense of mental value can create paralysis in the mind. Fear of fearing an exam can become so consuming that the mind is worn down by the time pen is put to paper. They can see the work on the board and feel reduced, telling themselves over and over that they are too ‘dumb’ to learn it and missing everything the teacher says in the meantime. The mind wants to be gratified, developed, and operating at peak potential. the mind is antagonistic, paralytic, and seems to work against the person until this point. Learning is an endless process and they can be ashamed with answering “I don’t know”. There may have guilt associated with their early schooling years for failing to reach their potential and contemplate how their lives may have turned out different  The Critical Parent can appear in the form of teachers or an oppressive sibling, and the inner monologue scrutinising the intellect Trust fund Gifts - The teachings and mental expertise of the Great Masters

Saturn in Cancer & 4th house - Fear of change can bind the individual very closely to mental and physical conditions. They can lean dependently on personal routines and practices until they become self-destructive ritual and they are forced with desperation to make the substantial internal reflection and change they shy from. It can reach such a low they may be forced to change residence. Intense pressure to conserve the past. this is not for the purpose of nostalgia or reminiscence, but to ensure that lessons have been learned and history will never repeat itself, and that their own history will not be automatically repeated. this is difficult, because they have not been exposed to alternate methods of operation  The Critical Parent can appear in the form of either parent and condition into the identity Trust fund Gifts - The inner awareness and direct unformed imagery conceived by the Mother Goddess

Saturn in Leo & 5th House - The sense of not being special enough to love can blind romantic opportunities when they present themselves, the individual can shut off from the person’s affections despite their need and desires, feeling that soon they will be exposed for what they are. The person may feel unworthy of a child or in desperate need for one, increasing stress on the body and physiology and obstructing its natural processes. Pressure is to transmute their creative resources and inspiration into material form that will stand the test of time and provide evidence that they existed at all. but they are rarely afforded internal praise or satisfaction for these productions, and they are not permitted to use the escape of the wounded inner child to hide behind, the audience is waiting in the shadows The Critical Parent can appear in the form of the ego, romantic partners, teachers, or coaches Trust fund Gifts - The primary incorporeal chaos that births divinely magnificent creativity, sexual magic

Saturn in Virgo & 6th House - Fear of losing employment can create a nervous or vigilant nature at work that draws exactly what they attempt to avoid the most - attention. Intense self-consciousness can cause them to make unusual mistakes before superiors and act of of character, much to their detriment. The working product is measured by an impossibly high standard. there is a job to be done, and they ensure this is executed with proficiency and effort - even if there is no supervisor, deadline, or credit. they also regularly fret about their job security and dispensability. in this mind, if the working life is stable, secure, and satisfying the rest of life follows The Critical Parent can appear in the form of colleagues, health practitioners   Trust fund Gifts - Inner wellbeing, hands of the virtuoso, mastery of skill, and the mental discipline that permits rest inside the body and mind

Saturn in Libra & 7th House - The image of the perfect, solid, and unproblematic relationship can be so consuming that the individual searches for a conditioned and constructed ‘spark’ or ‘feeling’ when seeking a prospective partner. It can be so tightly regulated that they ignore, deny, or evade the natural, mysterious, and evocative sensations they generate with the people who can provide what they are searching for. The state of their relationships and loved ones consumes much of the focus. They copiously self-reflect about the behaviours acted and imposed on within relationships and the role they play in these dynamics. it’s common to feel completely responsible for the emotions, security, and wellbeing of the partner. The Critical Parent can appear in the form of romantic partners, open enemies, and law enforcement    Trust fund Gifts - Ring of Saturn committing to provide peace, comfort, and appreciation for solitude

Saturn in Scorpio & 8th House - Fear of exposure, vulnerability, and submission can occlude the flow into natural intimacy and interpersonal trust with lovers. They individual can fear the process of letting go and allowing instinct to take over, instead they can watch themselves, create pains, and fail to build into that peak of union they deeply long for. The self-expectation is to make the internal changes and necessary growth to be a different or ‘completely new’ person. they are discontent when they remain at hostage to forces out of their control and habits that bind them, they must destroy that part of themselves first or be destroyed. The Critical Parent can appear in the form of intimate partners, demons or dark forces, and the ego   Trust fund Gifts - Personal tuition with the angels of death, sexual magic

Saturn in Sagittarius & 9th House - There is significant desire to accredit and accomplish the mind, but feelings of intellectual invalidity can cause the individual to doubt their potential and withhold enrolling into higher education due to ‘never feeling ready’. The intense fear of failing and high expectation can create such severe nerves and mental paralysis that university is extended due to illness, underperformance, and reconfiguring the course. The pressure is to make the necessary inner growth to finally be ‘good enough’ for god, or in other words to exist on earth and have a reason for birth. the simultaneous demand is to gratify and establish the mind, often in academic pursuits that are challenging and beyond their comfort zone. The Critical Parent can appear in the form of the inner monologue scrutinising the intellect, conditioned teachings of supreme and theologian beings, teachers, and medical professionals  Trust fund Gifts - Divine Consciousness and private astrologic and mythic tuition with the Great Masters

Saturn in Capricorn & 10th House - Fear of failure or unreadiness blind successful opportunities when they present themselves, and seeming like they are making no progress only exacerbates this complex. Self-lowering beliefs can obstruct them from stepping into the world they desire to conquer. The demands are all encompassing and hard, resilient, silent work seems like the condition of survival. but they are not afforded to merely exist, they must grow, ascend, and be noticed, they must leave a mark in the world and sever the conditions, cycles, and family secrets that plagued the heritage. The Critical Parent can appear in the form of either parent and condition into the identity   Trust fund Gifts - Enough time. The private estate and mentorship of Saturn

Saturn in Aquarius & 11th House - There can be significant self-consciousness with friends, the taunting complex that they are disliked or purposely left out of things. It can make them quiet and withdrawn socially and threatens the substantial connections they crave because friends have a hard time knowing who this person really is. The pressure is to connect with the community and social networks enough so that they can be relatable with others, while also retaining the authentic identity that can persuade their course of change by inspiring with their different vision. the individual is a public servant who never receives the pay. The Critical Parent can appear in the form of the society or the establishment they are forced to subsist in Trust fund Gifts - A vast and extensive platform to give and receive love

Saturn in Pisces & 12th House  - There is a highly tuned instinct and a great inner knowing that the inner waters lead to the right direction. But they can feel unworthy or undeserving of intuition or helpful guidance and put it down to childishness. There can be a need to prime and perfect the intuition to such acute degree that the flow from heaven is substantially obstructed. The pressure is to survive in a world they were not made for, and not make a single sound. there is immense guilt associated with focusing on themselves and the duty is to serve others. they may also feel like they will be resistant any help they receive, or they are too far gone. The Critical Parent can appear in the form of subconscious voices and emotional attachments, in the frequent case of the absent or negligent father the empty space left behind is filled by self-blame and responsibility they wrongly take for these actions and this eventually becomes the inner critic Trust fund Gifts - The vault of imagination, permission to rest and be left undisturbed by the world and the guilt inherent inside

Cherry