#create more mouths interacts with a body that cannot have more than what it was given. tell me more.

[froggomcdoo]

you ever read a work of fiction so good that you immediately need to find more and consume it but it doesn't have any more and there will likely be no more so you just suffer and think what if.

[boundinparchment]

Storm’s End

Usually, he can manage just fine when the season comes. Every season, he fights this. And every season, it gets harder and harder to ignore. Until he cannot wait any longer and you are perfect, just as you are.

Neuvillette/Female Reader, in which Neuvillette is a dragon, determined to breed. Explicit sexual content; breeding kink. MDNI.

Story also on AO3; link only accessible for registered users.

Usually, he can manage just fine when the season comes.  Bury himself in work, keep busy, limit his interaction with you until it passes and he is no longer blinded by pure, needy lust.  You are disappointed, nerves frayed, but nonetheless, understanding.

He doesn’t want to hurt you, or force you into a decision all because of his instincts.  Instincts that override all basic logic.

Neuvillette is fighting them as you wish him a good morning.  He can smell the difference in your hormones, your body undergoing your own cycle, priming itself.  Very rarely were you in sync with him.

He swallows.

You’re perfect right now.  He could take you, here in the kitchen, and have you filled to the brim before the pot of coffee has even finished—

“Neuvi?”

You blink up at him, eyes wide and lips slightly parted.  Concern lines your brow for the briefest of seconds.

“Let me help,” you plea.  “Please, Neuvillette, I’m your partner…”

“You do not know what you ask of me, mon cœur.”

“Then tell me.  Prepare me.  How is it any different than what we’ve done before?”

That fire, that fight, in you isn’t helping anything.  Certainly not the strain of his members against his pants.  The knowledge that you are ripe, absolutely divine and essentially guaranteed to bloom only compounds matters more and he grips the top of his cane tighter, gloves squeaking slightly.

Every season, he fights this.  And every season, it gets harder and harder to ignore.

“I cannot stop once I give in,” he says at last.    “Not until…”

You step up to him and whisper teasingly against his lips.

“Then breed me, Neuvillette.”

The last of his self-control snaps as your breath carries every reminder, changed by your hormones.

You are pinned to the kitchen wall in an instant, skirt hiked and panties pushed aside, his forked tongue tasting every inch of your mouth.  His teeth graze your lips and he tastes tiny drops of blood as your moan catches against his tongue.  His fingers delve, finding you not only wet but eager.  He pulls away just enough to take in your swollen lips, flushed face, half-lidded eyes.

Beautiful.  And he intends to make you even more so.

He holds your gaze, under no impression he is composed any longer; your eyes flicker to his lips and you wiggle against him, creating friction that sends a delicious shiver up his spine.  Neuvillette presses you against the wall further.

“There’s no going back,” he says with what little control he can muster.  “You won’t be leaving his house until your womb is full or the season ends.  The former is far more probable.”

It’s your turn for your breath to catch and you swallow audibly.

“Then at least take me in bed, first?” you ask.

The bedroom isn’t far.  In the haze of your musk, Neuvillette manages to swiftly throw you onto the bed, unfasten his belt, and return his mouth to yours with unprecedented speed.  His tips nudge you, one aligned at your clit and the other at your entrance.  Neuvillette cannot help the growl that escapes him as he pushes into you to the hilt.

His strokes are deep and your walls clench, already demanding seed from him; he hasn’t even begun properly and you would see both of you undone in mere seconds.

That won’t stop him.  Not in this state.

You buck against him, meeting stroke for stroke but far too eager to keep a solid pace.

“Both, please, Neuvi.  I can take it,” you whine.  “Want to take it.”

You never have before.  His heart quickens and his cocks throb at the prospect.  He feels pre-cum drip from his exposed tip.

He obliges you without hesitation, withdrawing entirely and slowly parting you with both members.  You are tight, perhaps too tight, and he fights the urge to bury himself immediately.

And then, all is lost.

He can feel nothing but the warm velvet of your walls.  The room fills with your delicious moans and cries and the wet sounds of your coupling, the slap of skin on skin as he lifts your legs and pounds into you.  He has perfect access at this angle.  As your orgasm rips a silent scream from you, Neuvillette shoots deep inside, pumping into you as you ride out the first and then a second peak.

Neuvillette doesn’t leave you and instead helps turn you both onto your sides, facing one another.  You roll your hips, still eager, but your movement is languid and fatigued, your eyes glazed over with satisfaction and exhaustion.

A good session, but not successful.

Not yet.

The mere thought makes him twitch inside you again.  But first, he must let you rest.  It was a delicate balance now between caring for you and seeing to it that his seed took.  And it will.  It is only a matter of when, for he is nothing if not dedicated.

“Sleep for now, mon cœur,” he whispers.  “We are far from finished.”

[roseykat]

TITLE: SKZ members as submissives

WARNING: minors DNI with this post or my blog. I create NSWF SKZ related content and I know I won’t be able to regulate/monitor every single potential interaction with those posts so please do not engage with my work or page whatsoever.

SUMMARY: An OT8 blurb of how each of the members are as subs.

TAGS: sub!skz members, implied dom!reader not necessarily gender specific, mentions of sex, orgasms, humiliation, edging, collars, leashes, spitting, nipple play, implied brat behaviour, praise, choking, gagging.

MASTERLIST

A/N: my next work that will be uploaded after this is Venom Eater! Also trying out a new layout for when I do OT8 blurbs…

This man is 50/50. He can be so good for you by letting you use him in the ways that you want and then be a devious, disobedient little upstart if you look away for one second. If he’s in that type of state, expect him to whine to you about what it is that he wants; ‘make me cum~’, ‘but I need you to use me,’ ‘need to get off on you, please.’

Denying him is always so fun because he gets so teary eyed and agitated. At that point, he’ll cave. He is strong, but when his needs are being compromised, Chan will see your instructions through to the end. Whether it’s to use his mouth for your own pleasure, his cock, fingers, whatever part of his body you see fit to seek an orgasm out of, he will make it happen as reparation.

A sub that can be a full on stubborn brat who won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. Trying to get him to listen is like pulling teeth and it can take a lot to strip Minho back into a conforming, incoherent mess. Overstimulation usually does the trick, bc he gets what he wants at first then realises he’s bitten off too much that he can chew and finds himself running into multiple orgasms bc you keep getting him hard enough to make him cum.

You like showing him how much cum he’s dribbled out of his stiff yet sore cock just by lifting up your hand, forcing him to see your palm glisten in white. Seeing it is like a slap of humiliation to him which paints a nice deep red blush across his cheeks.

A very sensitive sub that can only handle being touched so much. Edging works so well that it’s almost always part of the bedroom routine. You try to utilise it in order to see his strong, taut body writhing, and to hear him moan out ‘please, wanna cum so bad. Can’t take it anymore.’ Just hearing him say that invites you to cuff his hands to the bedpost so that he doesn’t try touching himself when you refuse him from orgasming.

The one thing that he absolutely cannot take is watching you get yourself off. Therefore, in the instance where you do attach him to the headboard, you peel yourself right off of his body and get into a position where he can see you make yourself cum. Whether it’s by your fingers, a vibrator, a dildo, whatever it takes to make him see what he’s missing out on, is a form of torture to him.

Obedient when he wants to be, but for the most part, he will let you use him whenever you want because Hyunjin is too in love with you not to. He likes having a collar fixed around his throat with a leash attached while you get him to fuck you in positions where he may appear ‘on top’ but you still have every degree of control over him.

He’s a relatively messy sub as well but adorns it with pride. Sometimes he cries from overstimulation, drools when you gag him with your fingers, chin and nose wet from you using his face, and will leak a decent amount of precum when you edge him. All in all, he’s versatile to use especially when he wants you to.

Is a sub that requires a lot more attention than most. He is very needy and reactive to the things he allows you to do to him. However, Jisung does explore when it comes to new kinks but to him, nothing beats just getting absolutely fucked. That being said, this man is a pillow prince. You have to put in all the effort - which you don’t mind, but there comes a time where you make Jisung work for it.

If that’s the case, he gets all whiny, mopey, and annoyed because he doesn’t want to ride you - he wants you to fuck him. He gets so stubborn that sometimes he’ll prep himself, fingering his hole even though it’s not nearly as satisfying as when you’re involved. In the end, he will end up riding you, but either very lazily or angrily.

Is everyone’s darling, innocent, and placid submissive that they just want to ruin. Whatever it is that you want to try, Felix is for it. He wants to please you and make you happy. He’s a sub who needs a lot of praise and boy does he deserve it because he’ll let you fuck him, let you clamp his nipples, spit in his mouth, edge him, a combination of all if not more of these activities - you name it.

Sometimes you have to remind Felix that he doesn’t have to do the things you suggest to him, that there are alternatives also or that he just doesn’t have to do it at all. But he always, always assures you that he does. He likes to experiment with you in bed but also wants to test his own limits while achieving pleasure.

Seungmin can be a very hard sub to work with at times. He has the ability to use his words as a weapon, yet sadly, it’s a double edged sword because it does come back and bite him in the ass when you clock him for his behaviour. So if he tries to trip you up with his words when you’re in full dom mode, saying things such as, ‘are you sure about that?’ ‘What makes you think I can’t take it?’ etc, you know how to handle him - with a ball gag.

It limits his supply of verbal daggers and plea bargains that you never bother considering bc he stepped on your last nerve. Another way to get him to shut up is if you use his face. But, his reset button - something that forces him to switch up is by telling him that he’s a ‘good boy’. He gets all flustered and embarrassed but he loves hearing that type of praise from you.

Jeongin starts off as a seemingly disobedient sub, almost leaning towards being a brat, then will slot right into his place of being submissive when you ramp things up in bed. Therefore, it’s easy to snap him out of that phase by threatening that he’s not going to get what he wants - no head, you won’t fuck him or you won’t let him fuck you. When those stakes are on the line, he straightens his act out and behaves.

As a sub, Jeongin is into many things but has a particular interest for shibari. He likes the intricacy of the many different ways in which you can bind his body, the tight feeling of the rope around his muscles, and how it shapes his body well. That’s only if he’s behaved himself well.

[ncityprincess]

Never Too Much 🌊☀️

A lil something sensual and romantic for my taurus moon king Jaehyun 🥰

WC: <1,000 | minors do not interact

*side note I’m literally counting down the days until he drops his solo*

Songs: horizon by Jaehyun, never too much by Luther Vandross, risin’ to the top by keni Burke

Summer was always your favorite season. It was something you and your lover had bonded over. The warm temperatures and blissful days filled with calm and carefree joy is what drew you to the season. It was leisurely days like today that made you feel full of life.

You and Jaehyun rented a beach house for the weekend to escape the hustle and bustle of city life. Not out of hatred for the bright lights and skyscrapers, but simply to enjoy the beauties of Mother Nature in a different landscape. It was still early enough in the season to enjoy a relatively crowd-free beach weekend, and the sun was shining just right. The refreshing aquatic air breezed through the opened window, penetrating through the steamy atmosphere that lingered in the bedroom.

You felt a bead of sweat trickle down the back of your neck, and ran your hands that were anchored onto Jaehyun’s chest for stability through your hair. You were so utterly lost in the moment. Feeling the heat radiating off of your bodies. Taking in the distant sounds of the waves crashing and the music that played in the background. Being so caught up in the pleasure of it all.

He thought you were so beautiful like this, sensually grinding your hips against his. Jaehyun marveled at the sight of you deep in ecstasy and the way you chased the pleasure. The thin white bed sheet pooled around your hips, making you look particularly goddess like in the bright white room. You opened your eyes to see Jaehyun looking up at you with a dopey, lust filled look on his face. You just knew he was loving every bit of this, just as you were. The two of you lived for intimate moments like this. Not particularly chasing a high, not going too fast or too rough, just feeling one another. Letting your bodies convey what words cannot.

“So beautiful…” Jaehyun hummed absentmindedly. Your tummy fluttered with pride, and you guided his hands from his hips up to your breasts, encouraging him to stay there. Jaehyun took your cue and played with your nipples as he bucked his hips up in tandem with yours. You let out a soft whine as your orgasm washed over you, and moved up and down a few more times, bringing Jaehyun to his own release. He let out a guttural groan as he released inside of you, and you gradually halted your movements. Panting and spent, you both maneuvered back under the white sheet and embraced one another.

“A million days in your arms is never too much”

Jaehyun hummed the lyrics of love song into your shoulder in between giving it soft pecks. He caressed your whole body in appreciation for letting him have you like this. You snuggled your backside closer to his form, needing to feel his heat against you even in the stifling room. The two of you laid like this in gentle silence for a few more songs.

Ever the enthusiastic lover, Jaehyun’s caresses started to inch closer towards the front of your body, and he began to softly knead your breasts. You chuckled in amusement before turning your head slightly to give him a kiss. Jaehyun wasted no time and shoved his tongue against yours with heated passion. His desires took over him and he slipped himself right back inside of you, your glistening hole still inviting him in with ease. He gingerly picked up his pace before tossing the sheet off of your bodies and rocking into you with a little more force. Still not in a complete rush, but with more energy than your prior session.

The prettiest sounds of affirmation tumbled out of your mouth, creating a beautiful melody that blended with the sound of skin on skin, and the slight creak of the mattress. All of this drew Jaehyun deeper into the pleasure, and before you knew it, he had you on your stomach and laid on top of you, hips never stopping their methodical movements. He brushed your hair aside and whispered loving and filthy nothings into your ear, telling you how good you were being for him. Before you knew it you were sent over the edge once again, and Jaehyun’s hips faltered. He plopped down next to you in blissful exhaustion and rested his hands under his head like he was the king of the world. When your heart rate finally returned to normal, you turned to face your lover and ran a hand through his thick hair. He flashed you that dorky smile you loved oh so much, and somehow you found yourself going at each other yet again only moments later.

Oh how you loved the summer time.

[twinterrors29]

Goa'uld Clones AU

the Kaminoans, upon receiving an order for a massive army, quickly realized that their ability to produce bodies far exceeded their limited ability to train soldiers, even with the hired bounty hunters brought in for the job

so they decided to take a different tactic for fulfilling this order

they would create a more limited number of high-quality, highly-trained symbiotic brain worms, and then mass-produce interchangeable empty human bodies, grown at more than 10x normal speed to adulthood, for those worms to inhabit and control

this way, if a host body got hurt, it would be simple to switch the symbiote into a new one so their investment in that highly trained soldier wouldn't be lost

the host body could even be killed, and the symbiote conveniently retrieved if it exited in time and concealed within the fallen body's helmet for ease of return to their flagship or Kamino for a new empty host, and it only takes a week of training to adjust to the new body, rather than the months for treatment and physical therapy, or Force forbid the years to grow and train a whole new soldier from scratch!

this is of course not what the Jedi ordered, so they cannot be aware of this change in plans; the main contact, however, is informed, as it impacts their contingency plans with the control chips

but since the Jedi cannot find out about this, troopers who don't interact too closely with Jedi are not permitted to personalize their host body's appearance or armor to allow for easy replacement

the commanders and other troopers who do get to personalize themselves because of their close relationship with a Jedi treat that as a badge of honor and work harder than normal to keep their host body alive and intact, because if they have to switch bodies they also have to be transferred to a new battalion as a new shiny, as far from the Jedi who might notice the change as possible

Order 66, however, comes with an especially nasty twist: the clone commander is ordered to fake some sort of health issue requiring resuscitation from their Jedi, and uses that proximity to jump through the mouth to assume control of their traitorous commanding officer's body

which places the new Emperor in charge of the army and the bodies of the Jedi, including use of their powers and knowledge to support his regime change

[shieldherostuffs]

Life in Marble

L'Arc is a sculptor in secret, his one escape from his duties, in a hidden dungeon in the very corner of the castle grounds, overgrown enough to muffle the sharp cutting and carving of the stone and marble.

He's only told Therese where it is, so she can get him in case of an emergency, but otherwise, no one knows about it

For a while, L'Arc has been working on a large work, something he feels could be his life's work, with how much thought, time, power, and emotion he's put into the marble statue.

One day, after L'Arc finally finished the sculpture; a beautiful young man with short, messy hair, kind and and a warm smile, wearing simple robes, and positioned to be offering a hand to the person before him, and having spent a while admiring it, as L'Arc is tidying up, he hears something. The sound of stone grinding against stone.

As he turns to check, tensing in case of a fight, instead, he finds the statue he'd just made in a completely different position, now sitting on the simple pedestal, looking around with choppy head movements. L'Arc gasps as the statue moves it's hands up before it's face, movements still choppy and mechanical.

As the gasp, the statue whirls it's head towards L'Arc, and he gets to see it's face; eyes wide and seeing, eyebrows slightly lifted and mouth stuck somewhere between a smile and a line.

Later, L'Arc will figure out that, similarly to Jewel People, the statue he created somehow came to life, because of how much of himself he'd put into it. L'Arc names him Naofumi.

L'Arc decides to hide Naofumi away there for a while, just in case, and visit everyday he can. Naofumi cannot sleep, and doesn't need to eat or drink, so L'Arc brings him scrolls and book and other tools to increase his dexterity and practise moving his body, and each time he comes back to visit, Naofumi moves more smoothly. He emotes more, walks still mechanically, and moves more fluidly, like he's slowly becoming more and more a person, the more he's exists and lives.

After a while, L'Arc finds Naofumi some new, better clothes, and takes on a secret trip to the town, and he watches in fascination as Naofumi becomes more alive as he interacts with people and learns more about them, and becomes more and more his own person.

After that, L'Arc starts bringing Naofumi everywhere, stating that "he found a new friend in the town, and he's there to stay". After a while of Naofumi staying, most people warm up to him, and no one can deny Naofumi's obvious beauty; his skin and eyes pale like pure white marble, and his looks like he was sculpted by a God.

Later, Naofumi will joined L'Arc's group in leveling up and fighting monsters, and find out that he has an affinity for earth and nature magic.

However, during one of the Waves that came way quicker than anticipated, after years together, Naofumi pushes L'Arc out of the way of an incoming attack that would've surely killed L'Arc. In the moment before the attack hits, Naofumi smiles and reaches a hand for L'Arc, like his original position, and says "Carve me again, L'Arc, now that you know what I'm made of."

The attack hits, and Naofumi is thrown and shattered against the side of a mountain.

After the Wave, L'Arc gathers all the remaining pieces of Naofumi that he can, and takes them back home, to bury in a spot near the place where he was first carved.

This time, Naofumi will not be carved of marble, he will not shatter like that again. Instead, L'Arc orders a large chunk of an especially rare and overly durable mineral, naturally imbued with magic. This time, he has a much clearer idea of what to carve. The tilt of Naofumi's eyes, the shape of his lips and nose, the rise of his brow, the cut of his cheekbones and jaw, the length of his hair, and the cut of his robes that he most enjoyed.

After months of careful carving, L'Arc is finished, and as soon as he puts the chisel and hammer down, Naofumi moves and speak, just a living as before.

"Hello, L'Arc."

[eatmangoesnekkid]

I have zero stress in my life, with exception that sometimes I do too much to pump up my skinny arms at the gym. This is not hubris or fantasy. I have a lover who honors that I only do what I love, not one day a week, but all days. But this is not about my lover because true love never begins or ends with a lover. This is about my devotion to love.  I feel that  we get too caught up in the acquisition of love, being chosen by someone and looking for what we can get in return, rather than doing the work to simply embody love as principle, evolving into the kind of person who is actually capable of loving another human soul well, first beginning with ourselves (our cells). Love also includes how we love animals and nature. It's all divine energy accumulating in our cells. I studied love. I studied love as a creative outlet. I studied strangers and couples of all sexualities and ethnicities whom energies resonated as loving. I would study their interactions and banter and fall in love with what I saw. I read simple books on love like Thich Nnat Hahn's "Teachings on Love" over and over again at least 30 times. I listened to songs that only felt like love. I discovered ways to unlock the tension around my heart/breasts and pelvis so that my body could release the archaic contractions and open up wide. I would bathe like love. As a result, it was only a natural next step that I would became a passionate lover. A passionate lover instinctively attracts more truthful love. When we have love, we have creative energy in our lives that we can utilize to help us to create heaven on earth. With more love energy embodied, life will start to feel really good for no reason at all. My way of loving and being in union was re-calibrated from the violent template I saw modeled in my home and community after a terrible breakup, breakdown, and breakthrough into one where loving is habit and self-love is principle. I am consistently spoiled with beautiful things, awakened to the presence of beauty in everyday life most days. I am encouraged to care for myself and do nothing at all, anytime, any day, at any hour. My body is nourished and easily orgasmic to the breeze of a gentle inhale.  It is no longer through the spirit of struggle, lack, tension, hustle, and deadlines, but from living the intimate, sensuous, tantric, magnetic arts that I birth a series of bestseller books that will burst hearts into mystical, sensuous, transformative, dewy pieces. I started to visualize a slow regenerative way of life 15 years ago, one that would include travels, naps, and time and space to cook homemade food without rushing, a real life where I adored being offline with ease far more than online. I would talk to nature and ask for guidance and just allow my body to hold a little more of the vision every day as if I was pregnant. I was! I also asked the holy spirit of love to utilize me; to utilize my mind and heightened intuition; to utilize this pelvis, hips, feet, cylindrical breasts, and heart and enhance my flow of energy; to utilize my tongue and warm mouth to sing beauty and write from loveliness; and even these hair follicles to amplify expanded possibilities for us all. Our mission is only valid when it includes evolving and expanding the light, universe energy, and possibilities within other people.  I stopped needing to possess this body; I know I cannot be contained by it. I can only serve as a conduit and create some deliciousness from its amplified attributes (as a result) of being utilized by Source energy. Most days my body is more a conduit of divine energy than something that I need to claim full ownership over.  We become conduits. This is how God uses us and how we help one another evolve and heal. Even our open-hearted nude bodies can be greatly healing for others. Life loves to fan the flames of our sweltering visions, warmest beliefs, swollen perceptions, and deepest desire frequencies. When you begin to own your mind and what's living in it, you shake loose your potencies. Your potencies are your divine energy. When you access the divine energy of love, your body gets softer. You now feel like love. The pitch/tone of your voice shifts; you now speak like love. You gait ascends; You now walk like love. Your scent evolves; you now smell like love. Your taste buds elevate; you now eat like love. Your relationship to your body, spine, and breathing transforms; you now fuck like love. You are love. Love has always been a noun, you see.

India Ame’ye, Author, Pictured

[villageoflight]

Rebecca’s Molded Creatures Guide - Pt 2

[The following notes are recorded in a lizard-skin bound journal always kept on the person of Rebecca, the co-leader of the Recovery Colony, for the purpose of documenting and sharing the details and record of events of the Mold infestation.] These notes include illustrations and details regarding the Molded, creatures of our world that have been infected and/or created by the Mold. It should be noted that all creatures listed are very dangerous and should be avoided at all costs to lessen the spread of the Mold. If interaction is unavoidable, these notes will also detail how to keep oneself from getting infected - if it’s possible.

Lizards

When a Lizard becomes infected, it has the possibility of mutating into one of two subtypes: regular Molded, or what we have come to call “Lickers”

Both subtypes are blind and rely on smell and hearing to navigate, and are more aggressive than usual thanks to the influence of the Mold, but that is where their similarities end

Molded Lizards are the smaller of the two and solitary. Their bodies have been completely overtaken by mold growths - spore sacks and fleshy vines covering their bodies - and bone-like spines protrude from their backs

The most distinct feature of the Molded Lizards, however, is the saliva that constantly leaks from their mouths. This saliva is a potent toxin and a powerful infectant. Any who are bitten by a Molded Lizard experience excruciating pain prior to mutation, and their following transformation is a violent one that sometimes results in the death of the individual rather than a turning. Some do not even make it to the mutation phase, succumbing to the poison in their system

What’s more, those that have been successfully turned by a Molded Lizard carry the excessive saliva as well, though it is less potent (but no less deadly) 

Lickers are much larger than their Molded and uninflected counterparts, often growing two-three times their original size 

The Mold does not take over their bodies, but strips them of their flesh, leaving a walking mass of bone, muscle, and sinew. However, fleshy spore sacks growing beneath the flesh cover their face and spray a mixture of blood and Mold when popped - a last defense if the Licker is incapacitated 

Lickers lack the saliva the Molded Lizards carry, but they have something just as deadly: a long - about as long as their bodies from nose to tail - prehensile, serrated tongue that can launch from their mouths to impale prey and drag them away

The serrated, tooth-like growths on the tip of the tongue point towards the mouth, catching the flesh like a fishing hook and rendering escape near-impossible 

What’s more, Lickers travel in packs up to three that patrol borders of large Mold Forests

Lizards should be avoided at all costs. They, along with Varcolacs, are the most dangerous of the land-based creatures that have proven to be too much for even large groups of Slugcats

If one finds oneself in the presence of these creatures, it is recommend to stay as quiet as possible and, if pursued, escape to a nearby body of water - Lizards seem to hate the water and cannot swim (though once in the water you have to be aware of other dangers, which will be discussed in a future entry)

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five 

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

Part Nine

[chip-potato]

Hey, so I think I figured out why the Gaster Followers are the way that they are, and also why nobody seems to talk about Gaster himself, despite his very apparent importance in the Underground society's history. The Followers are, literally, being hurt and consumed by bad memories. (tw: suicide mention) Monsters' bodies are made of magic, and as such, they work differently than human bodies do, which is evident especially with the concept of Falling Down, described by Alphys in the True Lab logs as a monster, after losing all hope, falls to the ground in a comatose state and seemingly has no way of reawakening or doing anything except for eventually dying. Hope, or rather the absence of it, plays a key role in this interaction. From this, we can gather that how a monster feels can have a tangible impact on their physical health. It stands to reason, then, that witnessing a traumatic event can cause a similar kind of damage to a monster's psyche, and therefore their bodies. Not only that, but turning our attention back to the True Lab, we can encounter amalgamates called “Memoryheads”--

-- which, if you interact with them in a specific way, can fill our inventories with an item called the "Bad Memory". These bad memories cannot be thrown away, and if you try to use one, you take a little damage. But that's just what happens to Frisk, a human. What happens if a monster were to be given a bad memory? The game, according to my theory at least, gives us the answer to that question in the form of the three Gaster Followers you can randomly encounter around Hotland. Yes, followers plural. It is my personal belief that all three of them have pieces of Gaster. Or, perhaps it’s more accurate to say that the pieces... have them? Deltarune finally gave us a look at what Follower 3′s normal self looks like, and due to the fact that everyone in Deltarune doesn’t change that much physically from their Undertale counterparts, we can (in my opinion) safely make comparisons between every Follower and their more colorful selves.

To be frank, it’s... a little concerning, because looking at it all at once, it’s quite obvious what’s happening to these monsters. They’re holding onto Bad Memories, which are apparently in the process of consuming them. Follower 2′s hand has been replaced or melded with one piece, the borders around 1′s eyes and mouth seem to suggest (at least to me?) that it’s practically being WORN, like some kind of bodysuit. 

And, of course, 3... good lord, look at Follower 3. Knowing what’s meant to be what in this sprite now makes it appear that 3′s body has Fallen Down, but the memory might be able to keep it upright and sort of... puppet it around? It’s almost like a burlap sack was thrown over the guy, honestly. Possibly while it was frozen in the second frame of its animation, as you can tell from its beak and wing shapes matching up with the “jaw” of their Follower/Undertale version. Follower 2, though, is especially interesting due to the fact that his piece seems to bear the most resemblance to an attack the Memoryheads are known for doing:

In any case, the trend is clear: holding onto Bad Memories (or in other words... trauma) literally eats monsters up. You can tell it’s eating them up in the metaphorical sense, too. Vague as they are, all of their dialogue revolves around Gaster, and as a matter of fact it’s basically the only confirmed sources of information on this character that we have. It’s all they know, too. Due to its importance to my theory, here is a comprehensive list of everything directly told to us by the three Followers: 1 - Doctor W.D. Gaster was the Royal Scientist preceding Alphys. 2 - Gaster’s brilliance is described as “irreplaceable.” This is corroborated by another Follower, calling Gaster an “act to follow.”  3 - Gaster created the CORE. 4 - Gaster, at some point, “vanished without a trace.” 5 - There was a rumor that “(Gaster) shattered across time and space.” I specify that it seems to be a rumor due to this being prefaced with “they say,” a common way to simply say that something you heard is a rumor being passed around. 6 - This same follower, #2, is able to say this “without fear,” due to possessing a piece of Gaster themselves. 7 - At some point, Gaster’s “experiments went wrong”. 8 - Gaster’s life was “cut short”. This wording of “cut short” is shared across two of the followers, and given Undertale’s style of writing, it’s likely significant in some fashion. 9 - Gaster “fell into his own creation.” 10 - Asgore “waited so long” to hire a new Royal Scientist. 11 - Asgore "took so long” to hire a new Royal Scientist, which seems to imply something different to the “waited so long” anecdote from another follower. “Took so long” implies a process that took a lengthy amount of time. “Waited so long” implies, well, waiting a long time before beginning the process. 12 - Alphys “works faster” than he did, most likely meaning that her output in terms of experimentation results and inventions were faster. 13 - There is speculation that Alphys will “end up the same way”. 14 - Despite everything else said about Gaster, Follower 3 refrains from elaborating on the experiments going wrong, claiming that “... it’s rude to talk about someone who’s listening.” Potential conclusions to draw: - (3 + 9) Gaster fell into the CORE. - (10 + 11) Due to Asgore seemingly dragging his feet, there was a long stretch of time where there was absolutely no Royal Scientist. - (2 + 12) Gaster was, seemingly, quite the perfectionist. - (3 + 12) Alphys was the creator of everything hi-tech seen in Undertale, with the exception of the CORE. - (7 + 13) Gaster and Alphys, perhaps, experienced similar situations of their experiments going wrong during their respective tenures.

Now, a lot of this is important, but I want to draw attention to the things concerning comparisons to Alphys, and Gaster’s experiments going wrong. Alphys, as I’m sure many of you know, is depressed. She is depressed due to her feelings of failure regarding the Amalgamates, an experiment into Determination that went wrong, in the True Lab... and she fights back against that regret by watching anime and blogging about her bad opinions online. It’s not exactly a healthy coping mechanism, but at least it’s... something. Something that Gaster, presumably, did not have. Now, let’s look back at Gaster’s Entry Number 17: “ENTRY NUMBER SEVENTEEN DARK DARKER YET DARKER THE DARKNESS KEEPS GROWING THE SHADOWS CUTTING DEEPER THIS NEXT EXPERIMENT SEEMS VERY VERY INTERESTING ... WHAT DO YOU TWO THINK?” Due to Deltarune's frequent allusions and ties to this piece of dialogue (and the noise being emitted in the room it’s found in), we now know, more or less, what was happening here: Gaster was witnessing the creation of a Dark Fountain, hinted at by the present tense of the words like “GROWING” and “CUTTING”. Due to Fountains requiring Determination to open, however, it is unlikely that he would be able to open one himself and survive, so it is likely that he enlisted the help of... someone. Possibly one of the “you two” mentioned at the end, or perhaps even a third party. Due to the fact that Gaster is a historical figure of sorts, this narrows down who this Fountain-puller could be by... a lot, actually. There’s only one real candidate, I’d argue.

But that’s a theory for another time, I think. Getting back on track, it would seem that, either soon after this Entry or at a later point, something went wrong with these Dark World experiments. Gaster presumably thought that things went wrong to such an extent that he would be unable to face the consequences of his actions, for whatever reason, leading to him “falling into his own creation”. Due to the parallels between him and Alphys made by the Followers themselves, and assuming this to be accurate information, it is very likely that Gaster was attempting to take his own life. However, that did not happen. Instead, while his life was indeed “cut short”, pieces of him scattered across time and space. Some, ending up in the hands of monsters who would later come to obsess over him and his legacy. Consider the broader context of this, for a moment: this sort of news would likely come as a deep emotional cut to a populace of monsters stuck in a cave with seemingly no way to break the barrier preventing them from leaving. Monsters that, mind you, go into a coma and eventually die if they lose hope. How could Asgore go about explaining to everyone that Dr. Gaster, one of the most brilliant minds monsterkind has ever known, was just... gone? It’s simple: he couldn’t. No formal announcement could possibly be made that wouldn’t result in bodies dropping like stones. We are talking potentially pounds of dust littering the streets. So, my theory-within-a-theory here, is that Asgore allowed news of Gaster’s fate to pass from one person to another in the forms of vague rumors. Once he felt confident in it being spread enough, he began to hold auditions for a new Royal Scientist, to complete the cover-up. The reason why nobody (aside from the Followers Three) talks about Gaster is because, due to the way monster bodies interact with their feelings, it quite literally hurts to talk or even think about him. Additionally, anyone who does think about Gaster for too long, starts to be consumed by those thoughts. The same Bad Thoughts that the Memoryheads give you. It's not any sort of memory wiping/timeline shenanigans, or at least not in the way people may think at first glance. It’s just... simple monster biology.

[hanyjar]

traverse the stars.

lilia vanrouge x time traveller! reader

summary: three times you meet: once for love, another for vengeance. a third for new beginnings.

notes: [1.8k words.] i’ve always loved the immortal x time traveller trope :(( reblogs/interactions highly appreciated!

disclaimers: lovers to enemies to friends, semi-angst & open ending, mentions of mortality, life & death, part ii is set in war so mentions of blood & mc ends some lives, mc time travels (duh)!!

masterlist.

Hello, dearest.

Once upon a comet, you and he were in love.

“You’re wrong about that, dearest.” He smiles at you with the brilliance of a thousand stars. “I am not the world, but the moon.”

The sky wavers in a way that only a millennia ago could. This was back then. Back when he wasn’t the general of the Thorn Lord, back when you weren’t cursed to live and see everything the universe has to offer. Back when he was simply Lilia, and you were simply [Name]. You, and a boy.

“What... Do you mean?” The timbre in your voice wavers incredulously.

“You are the world. And I revolve around you." Your eyes glisten at his words. Urging, no, begging him to continue. “I am forever watching you, after all.” The starry beings are beginning to settle their bodies above the skylines; the aurora borealis above is beginning to make way for the descent of Halley’s comet.

Couples all around you are star struck. Children and adults alike are applauding with joy.

And yet, even though the beautiful sight is so compelling within the winter sky, you had your eyes set on a different beauty.

The moon cascaded a glow so beautifully incomprehensible against Lilia's face. His eyes held the glow of the moon itself - sparkling with a youthful joviality and wisdom far beyond your own.

“If you feel that way towards me, why do you refuse to reciprocate my advances?” You tear his attention away from the shooting star back to you. His world, his dearest.

“Because,” he pauses. “Although I may wish upon this comet, and many more to come, we cannot be. You are a mortal. I cannot bear to watch you pass one day.”

You want nothing more than to shrivel up into a ball and cry.

“So, feel free to think of me as whatever you wish. But do not forget, young one,” A hand comes up to your face, wiping the tears away. “I love you. And I will continue to, forever and evermore. But that is exactly why I must go.”

Amongst the cheers of joy and gaiety, there remains the wish of a star crossed lover. One which reaches the heavens above.

Let me see it all. Let me live through the past, present, and future. Maybe then, I can stay by his side.

But even so, he leaves. Leaving remnants of a shattered you.

A you which is no longer the world, but the traverser of the universe.

The second meeting.

The next time you see him is amongst the bloodshed.

What is left of your kingdom is nothing but rubble, the grass soiled by the blood of humans and faes alike. And there, standing in the midst of it all, is - no - was, your lover.

Lilia Vanrouge.

Or as his men call him, General Vanrouge.

You've seen it all. And you can choose to see whatever you wish to. You’ve watched countless beginnings, and countless ends. Of kingdoms, of wars, of people, and then some. But never once did you take a glimpse into a future or past that holds Lilia in it. It will, it would, it does hurt too much.

But although you hold time in your very palms, as much as you can control the present, changing fate is out of your reach.

Destiny is time's enemy, after all.

You read his eyes from across the battlefield. You should have died, his eyes say. And yet there you stand, against the testimony of time, and on a pile of his now fallen men.

A sardonic laugh escapes from your mouth as you plunge your sword into a nameless fae's chest. This is for leaving me, you think. This is for cursing me with love; for making me foolishly wish the heavens to turn me into something inhuman. This is your fault, Lilia.

You step down the man-made throne you created back onto the soil, raising your golden-laced sword beckoningly. "Come, murders of my kingdom." The venomous tone in your voice breaks the cool of the winter air. "Come at me with all your might. I will still remain victorious."

“General Vanrouge, call for a retreat.” A Briar Valley soldier appears by Lilia's side. “We do not stand a chance against the one who has the universe on their side; we are no match for the time traveller."

His face turns grim. How did his beloved turn into a fearsome bloodhound? One that delves fear into the hearts of faes?

"...You dare to give me commands and underestimate my strength?" Lilia sends a glare towards the soldier and the others, as if challenging them to stop him. “They and I have history. If anything, we are on equal footing.”

One moment he is by his men's side, and at the next, he is by yours. Not lovingly, as it once was, but with a fervour that is only seen between ex-lovers, now foes.

"My dearest, what happened to you?" The general adjusts his stance to mimic yours. On guard, and a weapon pointed towards your heart. But there is something about his demeanour.

It is as if he does not want to fight.

"You. You happened to me, Vanrouge." A scornful smile makes its way up to your face. “Once upon a time, I wished to be by your side. But because of my naivety, the celestials have stripped me of my mortality.” You pause. “Because of you, I am forced to walk upon this land. Through the past, present, and future.”

The moon casts a glow upon your face. A view all too familiar to him. “…Because of that, I will kill you.”

“So end me.” His proclamation catches you off guard. “I refuse to retaliate.”

You waste no time to pin him to the ground, your sword lingering dangerously close to Lilia's neck. It is a situation you found yourself in countless times before. Bait the enemy. Trap them down. Kill.

But then the memories come. His moonlight-soaked stature; sharing hushed kisses beneath the bridge; you two pursuing a forbidden love that only historians can dream of. It is enough for you to hesitate. Enough for him to reach out for your hand, with the same tenderness he had a thousand years ago.

“It is not too late to yield, my dearest.”

You hate him. Truly, beyond words. You despise how your heart still flutters when his hand touches yours; loath how he makes it easy to blame him for your own naivety. You detest him for making you adore him.

But above all else, you hate yourself for still loving him.

That is why you cannot bring yourself to seal the deal.

But, isn’t his death what you wanted? It would finally put an end to the love that torments your heart. Isn't that what you dreamed of for centuries on end?

You bring your sword closer towards him.

…No. You couldn’t do it.

Not like this, anyway.

Pushing his outstretched hand away, your sword lands ungracefully onto the blood-stained soil below. “I do not wish to kill a man who does not want to fight back. That is simply unmerciful.” You turn, whispering an incantation to the constellations above, ready to escape from the battlefield. Ready to escape from him. “I will let you and your men live to see another day.”

A multitude of stars awaken from the one empty sky; the celestials above have responded to your call. It is time to go.

“Next time we meet, if we ever do, let us start anew.” He says, an unreadable expression growing on your face. “Not as lovers, not as enemies. But just as the immortal and the traveller.”

You do not respond.

And this time, you are the one to leave. Amongst the stars once more, off to traverse wherever your heart leads.

Countless centuries pass by before Lilia sees you once again.

Life goes on.

“You’re here again, traveller.” An all too familiar voice breaks you out of your reverie.

Lilia Vanrouge.

The world has granted him many titles since you have last crossed paths. Those in the past remember him as the loyal knight who vigilantly served the Briar Valley lord; civilians in the future will acknowledge the name Vanrouge as the right-hand man for king Malleus Draconia. But as for the present? People associate Lilia and his troublesome demeanour as the vice-housewarden of Diasomnia.

You? You recognise him as the one who lives through it all.

And he simply knows you as the traveller who leaps through time.

You and he, the once star crossed lovers, are now mere strangers. Distant, yet familiar.

“Vanrouge.” A solemn smile breaks out of your face. “We meet again.”

The tired teenager next to him eyes you wearily. He’s heard of you before - his father tells stories about you: the one who bends time to their will. But the boy who holds auroras in his eyes never thought you’d be so beautiful. The stories that he’d once hear his father tell, the ones where he’d gaze at the teller all starry-eyed, could never do you justice.

You’ve heard of him, too. Silver is his name. You recall seeing him amongst your many fleeting dreams. A boy whose fate is not yours to change, but whose life is yours to impact for the better.

“I must say, sire,” You gaze at the now small man with scrutiny, beneath your cloak woven by the celestials. “I never thought I’d see you play school boy.”

“And I never thought I’d see you look so sullen.” He pauses to remove the hood from your head. “Tell me, little traveller. What brings you back to me?”

The sun coats his face with a sheen of beauty that you’ve never seen before. Lilia looks gloriously different in the sunlight; he looks like second chances and new beginnings. No longer like love or retribution, as he once did in the moon’s dusk.

“Why, is it such a sin to say hello to a familiar face?” The smile that grows on your face is nothing but the epitome of longing.

And that was enough for him to know.

Lilia knows. He knows the life you live is tumultuous, one of which is shrouded in misery. You know the past, the future, the present - a burden he cannot bear to carry. You continue to live and breathe, while others come and go. Just as he does.

You two aren't so unalike, after all. Not anymore.

So when he gazes into your eyes, he knows you will be here for a little bit longer. To not merely linger, but to stay. “Come, my dearest.” He smiles. Genuinely. “Stay with me in Diasomnia. I’m sure the prince will be happy to meet you.”

And this time, when he lends you an outstretched hand, you don’t deny it.

[swanmaids]

Ruindis for the ask game

Yayyyy what an iconic ask....

one aspect about them i love

I'm biased because I created her (in a sense. In another sense, she sprang fully formed from my forehead) but I love that she's someone who's really hurt inside and cannot cope with it and takes it out on outsiders until it totally destroys her life and so many other people's lives...

one aspect i wish more people understood about them

Hmm, this is a bit tricky to answer as I created her so the onus for making people "understand" things about her is very much on me! However, I really hope it comes across in my writing that her relationship with Celebrimbor is too complicated and messy to be boxed into "good mother" or "bad mother". Also, she's cloth mother, not wire mother!

one (or more) headcanon(s) i have about this character

She's a horse girl, being an extremely accomplished rider who prefers spending time with her horses than with most people. She names all of her horses and sees herself as having a unique bond with each. She's known to cry whenever one of her horses dies.

as well as

one character i love seeing them interact with

I love her weird evil psychosexual sadomasochistic thing with Luthien lol. Definition of bisexual unsolidarity between them (but make it hot).

On a less evil level, Celebrimbor! They love each other. She considers him the only good thing in her life/ the only good thing she ever did. They cannot understand each other. They are constantly talking past each other. She is way overprotective. Celebrimbor disowned her so she wasn't forced to make the choice between him and Curufin. Part of him was devastated when she died. Part of him thought that at least she wouldn't hurt anyone else...

one character i wish they would interact with/interact with more

I need to write more of her interacting with Nerdanel. I think Feanor liked her quite a lot - certainly a lot more than he liked Tindawen- and Nerdanel couldn't stand her, seeing her as a negative influence on Curufin.

one (or more) headcanon(s) i have that involve them and one other character

She died just after Curufin. She had just enough energy left to drag herself over to his body and open-mouth kiss his corpse (maybe drink a bit of his blood too,...) before collapsing across his body

[karahalloway]

(Un)Common Attraction: When the Lights Go Down Comic

The amazingly talented @blueberryarts18 has done it yet again! 🤗 She created a truly magical-looking comic that captures another important moment from (Un)Common Attraction - when Drake decides to own up to how he feels about Harper!

This... this might just be the proverbial icing on an already decadent cake. The other comics she made for me have been incredible, but this just has something special - maybe it’s the dawn sky... maybe it’s the way she captured Harper and Drake’s interactions... maybe it’s the topic being covered... Whatever it is, it is absolute perfection, and I honestly cannot stop staring at it! 😭

Extract of accompanying scene below the cut.

Extract from Chapter 36: When the Lights Go Down

The first tendrils of dawn find me perched on top a stone balustrade, dangling my bare feet over the edge as I gaze out over the Beaumont's rolling vineyards from one the House's balconies, extracting the pins from my hair.

Listening to the opening notes of the dawn chorus, a wry smile forms on my lips as I think back to the craziest night of my life.

[...]

As the sky lightens from inky blue to red and then to gold, I take a deep inhale of the crisp morning air, marvelling at the beauty of the Beaumonts' estate as the majestic sunrise paints the rolling hills into colour once more.

As Drake would say, it was one helluva view...

Given that this could very well be one of my last nights in Cordonia, I had been determined to make the most of it, especially since the Bash had been nothing like the stiff, formal balls and the fancy high-brow gatherings that had dominated the social season to date.

Letting my breath out, I take one last look at the beautiful vista spread out in front of me before grabbing my heels from where I had placed them beside me.

Lifting my legs up onto the stone, I feel warm hands wrap around my waist.

"Easy there, Gale. Don't want to go tumbling off now."

Glancing up, I see Drake looking down at me with that impenetrable gaze of his as he helps spin me around to face him.

"What are you doing here?" I query, gazing up at his ruggedly handsome face as it becomes illuminated by the golden light of the early morning sun. "I thought you had called it quits hours ago."

"And miss the view?" he asks, brushing a stray lock of hair from my face, his eyes boring into mine.

"Haven't you seen it dozens of times before?" I breathe, running my hands up his chest as I inhale his heady scent.

At some point during the night, he had ditched his suit jacket and tie and had reverted to his preferred array of rolled-up sleeves and top two buttons left undone on his shirt. If anything, he looked even better like this than he had at the start of the night.

"I never get tired of it," he murmurs, cupping my face in his hands.

Dipping his head, his mouth finds mine in a heart-stopping kiss. As he pulls me closer to him, my lips part in a soft sigh as my body arches into his.

Whereas our previous kisses had been full of pent-up desire and much too brief, this one was truly awe inspiring in its langorous tenderness. Time slows to a crawl and I feel myself melt as he explores every inch of my mouth with a delicate slowness the likes of which I had never experienced before.

"D-Drake..." I moan in protest when he pulls slowly away.

"Yes, Gale?"

Opening my eyes with some difficulty, I see him looking down at me with a self-satisfied quirk to his lips.

"Wh-where did that come from?" I ask breathlessly, my lips on fire in the wake of his kiss. "I thought you said—"

"I've decided to tell Chris."

My jaw drops into my lap. "Really?"

He nods. "I'm going to arrange some time to talk to him after the Coronation."

"Oh, my God...! I don't believe it!" I gasp, throwing my hands over my mouth. "What made you decide to tell him?"

He flashes me a rueful smirk as he takes my hand in his. "I've been trying to convince myself to do the honourable thing and let you go back to the States, so Chris won't feel like I've screwed him over. But when I saw you sitting here with your hair down and your shoes next to you, I realised that as much as I wanted to avoid the potential press scandal and the definite fallout with my best friend, what I wanted even more was to walk up here and kiss you like I wanted to from the start. Because I'm tired of being careful all the time, of having to hide how I feel. Plus, you're the only girl I've ever met who's ever given me the time of day when I've been stood next Chris... and I'd be a monumental dumbass to let someone like that go."

"Damn straight, cowboy," I grin as I reach up to pull him in for another kiss.

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(Less Than) Noble Intentions only (let me know if you want to be added!)

@thetruthisthatiloveyou @anakjaybon-blog

[themauvesoul]

do thou shalt not covet

Ok so. This is gonna be part craft talk part commentary because craft is essential when talking abt authorial intent and like. What the story is trying to say. Anyways. Commentary below the cut.

The first time the Righteous Man sees Castiel’s vessel, he stabs it. His knife slips through the skin of its chest and scrapes against the collarbone, nicks its subclavian veins and arteries, and punctures the very top of the left lung.

Ok craft time. What I’m doing here is creating a little shortcut, so to speak. I’m priming the audience to think of cas (and his perspective) as somewhat alien, detached, and, crucially, as a being separate from his body. I want to immediately draw attention to the fact that there is a vast difference between cas the angel, and jimmy as the vessel. This is really important, because it sets up a lot of the thematic work in the rest of the fic.

He pokes at the knife with his grace, and it—it tickles. It sends some strange electrical impulse up the vessel’s spine, and Castiel does it again, and again, and again, though he cannot say why. He touches the hilt of the knife with the vessel’s fingers, again, and his true eyes slip closed. He will keep it, he decides. The knife will stay where it rests until Castiel is told otherwise.

Ok so. The idea I’m getting at right here is that, to Cas, pain isn’t necessarily a bad thing. At least, not yet. Right now, pain is just one sensation among many, and it’s just as fascinating and miraculous as like. Smelling the air around him, or feeling the earth beneath his feet. Like cas’s definition of pain is so alien and other that OUR version of pain just just sort of fun to him, at first. He literally doesn’t understand pain enough to be hurt by it yet. And the implication here is that this is a trend in cas and dean’s relationship long after cas learns that pain is bad. Like. Dean hurts cas, constantly, but he stays because even though it hurts, he likes the intensity of the emotions. Or, when dean is beating him up, the sensations. Men will be masochists etc etc.

He is due for a debrief—the Host clamors for it, their curiosity seeping into the edges of his thoughts. But inexplicably, Castiel finds himself reluctant to return. He has always enjoyed his time inhabiting a vessel; the dull human senses are so limiting, and so profoundly visceral in their limitation. How exhilarating, to feel the throat work as it swallows, to taste stale gasoline and fungal rot on the air, to feel the minute brush of clothing against bare skin! How incredible, to have a thing as wondrous and sensorial as a mouth, as a hand, as a squirming, reckless tongue!

So. I’ve gotten the reader to start thinking about Cas’s body as separate from himself. Now, I’m doing a little pivot, and exploring how CAS feels about his body. And what this section is about is really like. Comparing angelic existence to human existence. It’s about seeing everything from a distance vs interacting with it up close. Looking at a photo of the beach vs jumping into the ocean. And this, fundamentally, is what cas is hungry for. He’s hungry for sensation, yes, but also for experience. For knowledge.

In Heaven, Castiel is a creature with ten thousand roving eyes and dozens of wings and great, terrible rings of vibrating vocal cords, home to nine hundred ninety-two thousand, four hundred and three human souls slumbering inside their individual chambers. He is rather large, for an angel of his rank, and could easily hold twice that number. This makes him feel hollow and incomplete, sometimes, when he pays attention to the empty rooms inside him. He has no lips, no mouth. He has no tongue to taste or nose to smell—just his eyes, studded along his inner and outer walls, which see far more than the human nose or mouth can perceive. He does not touch, for he has no hands. He does not eat; he is not a thing that consumes. Instead, he is tightly bound to his brothers and sisters, slotted neatly together like kanawa tsugi joinery, and he waits patiently, hoping one of the newly dead souls will be assigned to one of the empty rooms inside of him.

And this right here is WHY cas is so hungry for those sensations and experiences. To put it simply, he’s so fucking bored. His entire existence is an extremely dull combination of watching things from afar and patiently waiting to be filled. Like. Cas’s fall is incredibly complex, and there are a lot of factors involved, but I think one of the big reasons why he was originally so fascinated by dean (and the rest of the world) is because he’s literally so fucking starved of stimulation (mentally, physically, emotionally, etc) that ANY source of stimulation is like. Hypnotic and addicting. Men will throw their entire lives away for one single crumb of deanpussy etc etc.

In truth, Castiel is somewhat envious of his vessel. And sometimes, when the Host is quiet, he contemplates keeping it, the same way he has chosen to keep the knife Dean thrust inside of him. He touches it once more. Runs his fingers around the split skin where it enters him, and pulls lightly at the torn flesh. He tilts his head and savors the hot, shivery feeling in the vessel’s gut and the warmth of its blood slowly dripping down his chest.

I love it when Cas is a little slutty. As a treat. Go baby finger yourself!!!

“Don’t say it,” Castiel says, and works his way back up the beach, towards where Uriel stands.

“Say what?” Uriel replies, and steps neatly into Castiel’s path. A hint of a smile plays about his vessel’s lips, and there is a mirthful look in his eye.

“The quick-witted quip on the tip of your tongue.”

“Fine,” Uriel says, and pouts, just a little. “I’ll save it for someone who appreciates my ‘quick-witted quips.’”

He’s the funniest angel in the garrison! But. Jokes aside. The point of this exchange is to gesture toward cas and Uriel’s shared past, as well as how their relationship works. The point here is to give the reader a little taste of how close Cas is to uriel, and by extension, his siblings. It’s there specifically to make you think about what cas will lose when he eventually falls, and make you feel a bit crazy.

“You didn’t see him, Uriel. Not the way I did.” And oh, what a sight it was. The soul, piercing white and overlaid with deep black, pockmarked corruption, towering over the blasted, blighted lands of Hell like some strange Medieval castle. And the self-image it projected; part mangled flesh, part sulphuric smoke. The sharp-edged tool it clutched tight in its fist. The way it carved into the weeping soul below it, the artful scene of pain and despair. How it felt, when Castiel scooped that raw, starving, screaming thing inside of himself. And when it bit at his innermost walls until he bled, then suckled on his grace—Castiel shudders at the mere memory. He feels the echoes of it even now; the faint impression of hungry, tearing teeth deep inside.

The number one way to build a theme in a work is through repetition. So. This is a repeat of a few ideas I’ve already touched on in the fic, but they’ve now been combined and interpreted slightly differently, because if you repeat yourself exactly people get bored. The idea here is that yes, cas doesn’t understand that pain is bad, and yes, cas is hungry for new knowledge and sensation, but he is SPECIFICALLY hungry for pain. For that new sensation dean introduced him to when he bit at Cas’s insides. THAT is what has him so fascinated with the knife dean stabbed him with. It’s not just the knife’s sensation on its own; it’s the similarity to what cas is ACTUALLY curious about. Cas wants to be full, again. He wants to feel so full that it hurts.

“No, we weren’t. Archangels are important. Our superiors are important. We are soldiers. We go where we are told to go, and we die when we are told to die.

This is here to provide insight into cas’s existence in heaven. He’s a cog in the machine. While he does have some sort of discrete identity, he is also part of a collective, and firmly knows his place within it.

He is afraid. Very afraid. Of what, I cannot say.” Castiel brushes his fingers down the handle of the blade in his chest. “Afraid of me, perhaps.”

And THIS is here to hint at cas’s relationship with dean. Cas understands some things, but he doesn’t understand the nuances. He knows what dean feels, generally, but he doesn’t understand why dean would feel that way.

“Why did you keep it, Castiel?” Uriel murmurs. As though he knows he is asking Castiel to confess a secret.

“I—“ Castiel cuts himself off and shrugs. The knife inside him shifts and grinds against the vessel’s collarbone. Like this, Castiel can almost convince himself that the sensation is not steel on mortal bone; instead, it is teeth inside him, ripping and tearing and sucking at his creature-parts and fifth-dimensional meat. “I don’t know,” Castiel says, decisively.

Obviously I have multiple reasons for writing this conversation with Uriel, but this exchange here is like. The crux. This is what the rest of the scene has been building to. Like the point is to force cas to interrogate WHY he kept that knife. What does he want from it? What does he gain? And the answer is, he doesn’t know. He isn’t familiar enough with naming his own emotions to even hazard a guess. All he knows is that it feels like dean, and he likes how it feels. Like yes babygirl refuse to think about your own desires.

For a moment, Castiel pauses. He turns his true eyes to the true Uriel, lashed to his side in Heaven; the true Uriel looks at him in turn, his eyes wary and afraid. Castiel feels cold, all along the many places where their heavenly bodies are pressed together. He wonders how many other eyes are turned towards their two infinitesimal vessels, perched at the edge of a beach millions of miles below. He wonders who they are performing for, in this little play with a humble cast of two.

And then, he brushes his grace up against the knife in his chest and finds he doesn’t care. “Well,” Castiel says, spreading his many wings, “our superiors aren’t here.”

Ok THIS. is designed specifically to cast a sort of spectre over the fic. Prior to this, it feels very intimate, right? You have cas by himself. You have cas talking to uriel. What this moment does is reminds you of the looming threat; heaven is watching everything. And if cas steps too far out of line, or goes too far off script, he WILL get lobotomized. Cas deliberately ignoring that threat speaks both to the sheer depth of his hunger and to canon events that happen later in s4. It also injects a little bit of danger and tension into the fic, which slightly changes the tone for the last scene.

Castiel cannot see his face—at some point in the night, Dean turned his face into the back of the couch, and now he lies pressed against it, as though he wants the misshapen cushions to swallow him whole.

Here, I’m setting up a thread that actually shows up in a different fic. I’m implying that dean WANTS to be swallowed whole. Their desires are complimentary.

Like this, his soul has slipped closer to the surface. Castiel finds himself captivated by its many twists and turns. He hungers for it, in a way that makes him wish his true body had a mouth with which to swallow.

We’re close to the end of the fic, so this is a more overt repetition of cas’s desires and hungers. It’s made more explicit and fleshed out. He doesn’t just want dean inside him; he wants to CONSUME dean. To swallow him whole.

And, so. Castiel watches over Dean the way he once watched Jesus of Nazareth sleep for one last time in the Garden of Gethsemane. He, too, slept fully clothed and afraid—the sandals still strapped to his feet, messy tear tracks still drying upon his face. That moment has since been memorialized in grand, blue-black paintings, a single streak of golden light haloing Christ’s somber, contemplative face.

Men will be Jesus figures. Anyways. This is about dean’s chosen status and his martyrdom. Cas finds it fascinating. Cas thinks of it as grand and important. He thinks DEAN is just as grand and important as Jesus.

Castiel wonders if this too will be memorialized in the centuries to come. If, once this story becomes gospel, some aspiring artist will paint this moment, just as painters of old have illustrated the entire arc of Christ’s life, over and over and over again. He wonders what such a painting would look like—would Robert’s house be as golden and bright as John Everett Millais imagined the humble home Christ was raised in? Or would it be transformed as the classical painters do—the grim walls replaced with delicate archways and spiraling curlicues. Castiel pictures it in detail; Dean’s blanket a lush brocade, his shirt a fine linen, open at the throat. His mouth prim in sleep, his hair curling delicately against his brow.

ok so. This is doing multiple things. First of all im setting up for @femchef’s art because it appears right after this paragraph. Second of all I’m adding another thematic element here; specifically, the question of memory, and how these events will be remembered in the future. So like. At this point, the reader knows that cas is hungry for sensation and knowledge. He’s hungry for dean. He wants to swallow dean whole. But now, cas is ALSO fantasizing about being part of deans story—a part important enough to be included in future paintings. This moment is speaking to cas’s desire to be important TO DEAN. in its infancy. This is where that budding desire to be an important person in dean’s life begins to form.

Would the Castiel in the painting be allowed to touch him? He pictures that, too; an errant, brush-stroked finger pressed gently against Dean’s bare shoulder, his lips just barely brushing the shell of Dean’s ear. He moves his own mouth up, up, until he, too, can just barely brush Dean’s ear with his own lips. It feels—Castiel can hardly stand it. It feels the same way the knife does, when he touches it.

Here, cas’s desire is sort of like. Coalescing. It isn’t just about hunger and sensation. On some level, it’s also about intimacy.

He palms the knife’s handle, inch by inch. He curls his fingers around the wood one-by-one, until his hand is wrapped around the hilt, but he still—even now, he cannot bring himself to pull it free. Instead, he wiggles it back and forth, and wishes for things he cannot have, and a mouth he will never possess.

Go hungry boy go! Become so so desperate for a single crumb of deanpussy that you can’t bring yourself to get rid of the knife he stabbed you with!!!

It leaves Castiel empty, as he was before Dean filled him so well and so thoroughly that he still craves it, even now. He—he longs, he covets. He wants to open his nonexistent maw and swallow Dean whole. He wants to take Dean from Michael—to claim Dean for himself, to take Dean’s vessel as his own and place Dean’s soul inside his innermost empty rooms and never, ever let either of them go.

And THIS. is the crux of the fic. This is what the entire thing was building to. This is how cas has interpreted his nascent desires. He’s taken this strange, new thing, and tried to fit it into his preexisting framework of understanding. He’s interpreted his hunger (or lust, or greed, or gluttony) as the simple desire to take dean as a vessel, or to be the keeper of deans soul in the afterlife. And the reason for this is because he doesn’t know how to think about it differently. He knows he wants to be full, and these are the only ways he knows how. It’s like instead of actually understanding what he wants, which is impossible, he’s simply translated it into something he DOES understand. Later, of course, his understanding of what he wants changes, but in season 4 I genuinely think this is how cas like. Thinks about his connection with dean.

After a time, the Host’s clamoring rises to a level he can no longer ignore. And so, he looks one last time—commits the Righteous Man to memory—and strokes his grace along Dean’s slumbering soul. It hisses and bites, just as it did in Hell. Castiel smiles, quiet and slow, and gently pries its metaphysical teeth free.

And once again. We return to the idea that cas LIKES when dean hurts him. He likes the intensity. Early on, he thinks it’s cute.

He leaves the knife on a nearby coffee table, the blade still red and slick with blood. He reaches out, tempted to press his palm to Dean’s cheek, but refrains before he can. And then, Castiel slowly, painstakingly reels his vessel back upwards, into Heaven. He is late for his debrief, and his superiors will have many questions.

And we end here because the implication is that this moment is when Cas first betrayed heaven for dean. Not 4x22. Not 4x16. Here. This moment. Because the truth is, cas betrayed heaven long before that betrayal became explicit. His motive here is selfish; he’s not leaving the knife because earning deans trust is part of his mission. He’s leaving the knife because cas, selfishly, wants to earn dean’s favor. He wants dean to like him. Like. This is where cas’s downfall starts.

[bloodcrave]

SOME STRZYGA FACTS ( quick disclaimer that most of these apply to my crafted lore for strzyga like alina and her existence.  will be adaptable in some areas if i ever interact with another strzyga muse or perhaps in certain other universes, but this is not going to match genuine lore fully )

they are rare creatures.  extremely so.  alina has never even met another one aside from her mother.  this is due to the rarity of being born with the conditions to create a strzyga.  naturally created strzyga are extremely few and most are discovered fast enough now to be eradicated properly when they’re young.  kasmira being one of the first and only to live as long as she has is what has given her the power to become a queen of hell. strzyga can be created through curses and mutations, but these beings are extremely disconnected from anything other than the instincts of their curse.  they tend to be more mindless, incapable of maintaining a human form, and their monstrous forms are disgusting and in poor shape.  they are still incredibly powerful in their own right, but they have nothing on the natural born strzyga and contain no magic. alina might not be a natural born technically, but she is more on par with a natural born.  what separates her is she actually has more humanity than her mother - able to understand compassion - and cannot achieve certain abilities that kasmira can, though she can come close in many ways. they share more commonalities in terms of “genetics” to demons than to vampires or bruxae.  the main connectors is simply their need for blood.  however, some vampires and bruxae can be part demon or in relation to demons themselves.  strzyga cannot become part vampire or the like in anyway.  the demonic blood will always win out. they can partial shift, but it isn’t anything extreme.  depending on the strzyga’s other form ( while they are all owllike in appearance, the exact appearance and structure can vary ) it can affect the ability to partial shift.  alina can have feathers along her body and in her hair, her mouth can stretch wide with sharpened teeth, and her hands and feet can become her monstrous talons. alina’s owlbeast form stands on two legs with regular knees but digitigrade legs/ankles.  she has taloned feet and taloned hands.  her arms become winglike, but she’s actually incapable of flight and can only use the to launch into the air and glide.  she sort of has a beak but it’s more like her mouth widens and becomes a full face of teeth with owl eyes.  her hair is still stringy on her head, but most of her body becomes covered in downy feathers, as well. kasmira is similar, but her wings form on her back and she is capable of flight.  she has smaller feathers and spots of scales.  she has a crown of small horns on her head and her golden hair remains thick and spreads around her.  her mouth is not as stretched wide as alina’s, however. without enchanting their clothes, they do not survive the shifts to their owlbeasts form... so shifting back will render them in either shredded clothes or naked without having done the enchanting or crafting/summoning an outfit with magic as they shift back. all of them can sing if they can maintain a human form.  while their voices don’t work like a siren call ( they can’t induce a trance ), this is part of their development in order to lure victims easier through song/entertainment. a strzyga’s first life is not difficult to kill since it is basically a normal human.  most are prevented from returning to their second life as the demon so long as they are properly buried to prevent the return ( decapitation and burning the head is one of the best efforts ).  if they do return, killing them becomes an extremely difficult task... it isn’t impossible, but it might as well be in some cases like kasmira’s. crosses of poppy seeds work like a salt circle to them but with enough force, they can break through the magical barriers these things create.  so it is only a temporary defense system.

[smallbluelight]

Tis him, the man I dreamt about and I woke up terrified. Good times.

Nur Foley

A split-brain syndrome subject that escaped from a lab that wants him back so they've hired mercenaries to capture him.

Age: 25+ (he doesn't remember)

Gender || Pronouns: Male || He/Him (for Nur as a whole, left brain/right side) / They/them (for his right brain/left side)

Confusing I know. Remember that the left brain controls the right side of our body and the right brain controls the left. Nur's considered dominant side is his right, while his left is blind and mute.

Species: Cohntaka, a tasih-cohn hybrid. (Half human, half canine)

Ability: Misperception

(DISCLAIMER: the syndrome is used as a base for his behaviour and is not accurate to the irl syndrome. Please don't think anyone who has this syndrome irl act the same way as Nur bc this is fantasy! Nur has wildly different circumstances, like being experimented on and living in a fictional world.)

-----

Expanded info and more concept drawings of him

His name is the only thing he can remember. Who named him? How old is he? 20? 25? 30? He's definitely not a child or a teen, he can tell that much.

His brain is split; Nur's aware of this. It made two different aspects of Nur dominant in each side of his split brain. These sides of him are taught to be independent but still work together, to create a super soldier that is able to focus on two or more things at once, their abilities untouched. Because of the taught individualism, sometimes his left side doesn't seem to like cooperating with his right much, but they try to manage together anyway. At least both of the sides agree they needed to get out of that lab. They needed to live. They needed to survive.

Nur's right side still retains the ability to talk while his left side is mute. Despite it, both sides of him are very vocal. While his right side can speak for the both of them, his left side's gestures can be just as loud as the right's shouting. 

He doesn't have a keen eyesight. His right eye is slightly nearsighted and his left eye's vision is very blurry; yet he can still react to stuff on that side. He just can't describe anything he sees out of it, not even his other side can. Must be the result of the experiments.

Nur doesn't have any memory from before he got caught and experimented by the lab. He's a bit short-tempered, a little foul-mouthed and likes to yell but will be quiet and patient when he wants to be. He's naive and curious, but also very logical. He likes to observe and analyze things before interacting with them, but can often be seen as very hesitant and cautious, because he is. Nur's left side is really caring and compassionate, especially towards him. They make sure he eats, sleeps, and stays alert while he's off looking at a butterfly or whatever. They comfort him, or at least try to, when he's scared out of his mind. Perhaps this side can be the same towards other people too, but both sides are distrustful of them because of their experiences in the lab. People have proven to be untrustworthy and horrible so he highly dislikes them. However, his left side is willing to give chances, while his right side remains a harsh skeptic.

Since both of Nur's sides cannot communicate (internally), you'll see him shouting at himself more than at anyone else. Due to the sometimes vast difference of opinion in both sides, they would argue with each other a lot. His left side may be mute and blind but they can recognize things by touch and can still hear. Speaking to himself is his way of communicating with his half because that makes sense for both sides to do in order for them to come to a conclusion and understand each other. Even if one is loud and abrasive and the other is backhanding the other, in both senses of the word. And sometimes, actions speaks louder than words.

He can make people hallucinate with his ability called misperception. He can see what they see too. He doesn't completely understand how he's doing it but he can make people go insane. Which makes it fun and hilarious for him. To subject them to the horrors he had witnessed. To beat them up while they're scared. To make them leave him alone so he can run far away from them.

He has two tails. What are they for? Balance maybe? Holding them close to his chest just because they bother him doesn't help him walk any better when he's already trying to. Tasih hands but taluka feet. He's a hybrid. A cohntaka, to be exact. He understands that much.

As a half cohn, he naturally has a stronger sense of smell and hearing than the normal tasih. He can also sense the emotions and intentions of people around him so it's easy for him to escape the mercs chasing him down. Emotions are a mess, he doesn't understand them well (much less his own) but he can definitely pick out which intentions are bad, good, and neutral. But sometimes he fights his own instincts as it affects his reasonings. Most of the time he believes his reasoning when it comes to decisions. Instinct just helps him avoid danger better.

------

First drawings of himmm

His left is blind

Doodles UvU

[angelxxreaper]

[The following excerpt contains major themes of violence, manipulation, dehumanization, and abuse. Please proceed with caution.]

…

“Hello again.”

…Your hands ache. There’s parts where the skin has been rubbed raw from a few harsh slips on obsidian. You had learned quickly that as soft as the sand was beneath your feet, to let it creep in was to have the grating of sandpaper.

This wasn’t much better. You weren’t sure if this was a memory or a dream.

“You look as though you’ve run yourself into the ground,” the Enderian unhelpfully supplies. “..Is the manual labor too much for you, Angel?”

“No,” slips out before another thought. “You know how sand is.”

He most assuredly does not know how sand is. This would be His first interaction with sand. It had slipped out. It felt mindless. Some kind of autopilot.

“Hmm…” And there Ender goes, doing that circling thing. You realize in this moment that Ender really does pace more than any of the other deities you got to meet. Well. Not that any of the others don’t pace, but Ender circles as if He is a lion pondering what to do with His most recent catch. If you move, you will only freeze. Or die. It depends on Ender’s mood.

You’ve seen both happen more times than you’d like to admit. He has a particular fascination of circling you. It’s as though Ender knows something you don’t and likes to flaunt it by keeping you pinned to your spot.

Ender sighed.

“As usual.. Angels are always so fragile. The elytrian kind especially, none of you are really made for this kind of labor.”

You open your mouth to protest but it clicks shut for you. You feel his eyes crawling over you.

“…Well. You could spend the day with Me if you so desired.”

There’s a hand now. He’s much taller than you but has no problem patting your head. It sends your head through a thousand different feelings at once but the overwhelming conclusion was the icy chill of death flooding your veins.

Everything froze. (You weren’t even sure if it was your body or His that caused it. You can’t take your eyes off him.)

“You can stay in My court with Me. You enjoyed that very much last time,” Ender supplied. You didn’t enjoy that last time. Did you…? “I can let you perch on the arm of My throne and I can take care of your…”

“…Oh stars. Angel, your wings are a mess.”

Are they? They didn’t feel that way before, but suddenly with the way they were ruffled it felt like they were all messed up. A voice whispers to accept it as fact. Something quieter urges you not to.

“You’ve done well to present yourself in the clothes I’ve so kindly donated to you, but you cannot appear like that in my court. This isn’t tied correctly” Cold hands start to make adjustments.

“It was too tight,” you say awkwardly. It was true. You remembered that you shouldn’t lie, it was poor manners.

“Oh come now,” The King rolled his eyes. “You have no issue coming into My court in that commoner’s… garb that is so tight it sticks to your skin. The one with your chest showing and your arms on display? But this is too much for you?”

“It was suffocating me.”

The King sighed. “I swear. You elytrians and needing everything to be just so. Your species is so pathetically needy. You can’t even take care of yourself.”

There’s a hand on your wing. Ender’s words fall into a quiet mumble due to the roaring blood in your ears. There’s a hand on your wing. It’s petting it. It’s yours and yet it is only a pet to the King.

You’re embarrassed by the instinctual chirps that start spilling out.

“Come on now. Let me take care of these, little bird.” The grip is too harsh. “You wouldn’t deny assistance from a King, would you?”

Your mouth says no. Your body seems to have other plans.

In a newfound burst of speed, talons raked across the hand that held the wing, creating a yelp. The ichor burned on your hands. You bare your fangs and bolt.

You don’t know what came over you. You don’t know how you’re moving. You don’t know how you escaped. You don’t know if you’re making the right choice.

A warped voice assures you in a harsh spit that of course this is the right choice. You should have done this a long time ago.

You don’t know why you’re doing this. Why are you afraid?

Ender is your friend.

But he’s not. He’s not, something pleads. You have to wake up, you have to open your eyes he’s going to hurt you-

Ping!

…Smack.

Thump.

Sharp bolts of electricity course through your veins. It’s not a comforting Red for now. It’s blinding white. He’s holding you down by your tail. Every movement jostles and threatens to tear at the feathers under unforgiving scales.

“…You insolent animal.” The hiss is scarier than your position. You shouldn’t have done that. He would have helped you. “I thought we trained this out of you. Have you no manners? Is that any way to treat a King?”

.

The world shifts. There’s a harsh pang of iron against your cheek. You’ve stopped screaming a long time ago. You’re a little lighter and a little more chained. You hope quietly that She doesn’t see you.