#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.

[sugurouge]

— diabolic waltz : getō suguru x f!reader

content warnings! DARK CONTENT, dubcon/noncon, yandere themes, size difference, strength difference, corruption, power dynamics/imbalance (reader refers to geto as master), pet names (doll, whore, toy, bunny, little one), hair pulling, water torture/forced drowning/waterboarding, punishment, deep throating, mind break, degradation

summary: You should know better than to behave greedy or entitled, but if he so sweetly entices you to misbehave, even the impeding punishment doesn't stop you from taking what you need. Until it's time to pay up. And Getō makes sure you always pay your debts.

wordcount: 2k | my kinktober masterlist

──── ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧ ────

by clicking read more you are agreeing to consume dark content. don't interact if you cannot differentiate fiction from reality.

Geto rests comfortably in his armchair, dark purple eyes rake over your needy body—only hidden beneath a layer of satin. With you in his lap, there is at least a sort of solace to his tiresome days. He likes to view you as a sick way of rewarding himself, his prize for making it through another 24 hours. Hence why you're always kept on display whenever it's just the two of you. Him and his property, the weak human that somehow won his twisted interest. Nothing more than eye candy for him. You're so pretty until you turn needy and start talking too much.

"Master, please—" you start your advances all over again. Ever so prettily as your nails drag over Geto's exposed chest; you have long since pushed aside the layers of his attire.

Geto heaves a heavy sigh. It's his first indicator for you to shut your pretty mouth before he sends curses your way. Yet, simultaneously, he can't resist the torture; cannot keep his right leg from bouncing to cause friction against your puffy lips. Teasing you further to hear more whimpers instead of your actual voice.

Your hands press against his body as you try to control the bouncing, but the friction created by your dress brushing against your nipples makes it impossible to form coherent or cautious thoughts. Your legs clench around Geto's muscular thigh, attempting to maintain the pleasurable feeling.

"You really wish to bother me like that right now?" His dangerously low voice challenges. Suguru is well aware that he is the cause of your distress, but would he ever admit that? Not in a million lifetimes.

You know full well what will happen if you say yes, how your day will turn out if you give in to your own neediness when your master isn't the one to initiate. Your glossy orbs beg him without another word spilling from your lips as you nod.

A small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. You're just so dumb; how could he not adore you? The minor tilt of his head gives you the okay to shed your dress, to expose your perfectly clean body to his eyes. It's one of his priorities, to always have his doll look prim and proper. Soft and dewy skin, rose oil spoiling your figure to make it shine in the low afternoon light and envelop you in faux innocence for him to ruin.

You sink down to your knees right between his legs, your delicate fingers running over his muscular thighs up to his stomach, but the "tsk" coming from Geto's lips has you freeze immediately. Doe eyes look up at his intimidating stare, while his entire face remains stoic—almost bored, as he rests his cheek in one of his palms.

"Hand or thigh, no cock," he bluntly states.

You try to suppress the whine rising in your throat, try not to furrow your brows at his statement.

"Well, what will it be, bunny?"

He doesn't actually ask. Geto simply enjoys oversaturating your lusty mind with difficult decisions. You're always so afraid he will leave you.

"Hand, please, please," you bat your lashes at him even though you're painfully aware of how little effect it has on him. Yet he pats his thigh, indicating for you to sit on his lap once again. Your body follows suit.

"Any other wishes?" Narrowed eyes stare at you, they make you feel small and vulnerable as his hand dances along your thigh, drawing close to your needy pussy.

Your eyes snap down to his dishevelled clothes, raking over the layers of fabric that hide his perfect body from your gaze and touch.

You inhale sharply the moment his fingers snap you out of your thoughts, penetrating your walls deeply without warning and immediately curling against your clamping muscles. Yes, Geto might be okay with listening to your begs once in a while, but his pleasure lies in overwhelming your pathetic body, not preparing you softly.

Your head lolls back, fingers holding onto his shoulders, though they twitch to run through his black strands. You are well aware of the fact that he'd never let you ruin his hair.

Soft moans spill from your parted lips. He taught you to stay quiet, to not ruin his image of you—his sweet doll.

Yet the feeling is too good. The way his fingers stretch your cunt, your slick dripping down over his digits and palm. Your hips roll against his hand, pretty whines causing your chest to heave so perfectly for Geto to enjoy the sight of your tits.

He adds a third finger with ease and uses his thumb to draw intricate patterns on your clit, applying more pressure on the nub once he feels you tighten around him. "Such a needy whore..." he mumbles impassively.

But his cold voice, the boredom laced in his words mixed with his brutal ministrations, are exactly what you've grown to love from your master. It's so clear that you're doing something wrong, that you're messing up his perfect routine—but you just can't help it.

Your whines grow louder, small fingers now gripping onto his wrist as the coil in your stomach tightens further and further before it explodes. You fall forward, against Geto's chest, covering his neck area with moans, tears, and sweat as you gush all over his hand and dirty his robes.

Goosebumps run over your heavenly skin, clearly proving how overwhelmingly good he can make you cum with just his hand by now.

"Disgusting..."

You flinch slightly at that, eyes squeezing shut from just one word coming from Geto. He pulls his hand out of your tight cavern, your slick clearly coating his skin as a scowl spreads on his face. "You enjoy this? Staining me with your slutty needs?"

You create some distance between your bodies, shamefully staring at his hand before your eyes trail over his tainted clothes. You didn't plan on this happening, didn't plan to make such a mess, especially not over him, but why does he have to be this good?

Being a disappointment still has the same effect on you as it did from the start, causing tears to spill from your eyes as your body starts to shiver. "'M sorry, I didn’t—I wanted—"

"Time for a bath, no?" he sighs and gets up, pushing your smaller body off his lap with little care as disgust is clearly painted on his features.

Your butt meets the hardwood flooring and you try frantically to stop the tears from running down your face. Pleading ever-so sweetly with a shaky voice for your "Master..." to have mercy.

The clacking of his shoes stops the moment he stands beside your body once again. Long fingers card through your locks before he kneels beside you and tugs at your roots.

"How much longer are you going to make me wait, little one, hm?"

The sting on your scalp rips you out of your struggling mind; it forces you to rely on your instincts if you want to get out of this unscathed tonight. "Forgive me," you whisper.

So incredibly cute.

Geto takes a deep breath, eyes running over your body as he hums. "Five minutes."

You nod in perfect understanding and immediately grab your gown before hurrying over to the bathroom.

Aftercare is important, he always tells you. And aftercare you shall give him.

So you let water fill the spacious bathtub, let the most expensive bubble bath fill the room with a soothing scent as you light candles to set the mood and welcome Suguru in.

You stand in front of his large frame, looking up at his face to grant you permission to undress him, carefully undoing the ties of his gown before letting the heavy garments hit the floor. You will wash them as well.

Only his briefs aren't yours to touch as he walks past you and finishes undressing himself before he sinks into the warm bathwater.

You watch him the entire time—how he leans back against the expensive porcelain of the tub, arms resting around the rim—looking oh so inviting. His eyes meet your gaze, appreciating your obedient state as he slightly tilts his head to make your body move.

You follow his silent order, going down on your knees right behind his back, cool fingertips carefully reaching out to lie on his tensed back.

The stark difference in temperature makes Geto hiss in annoyance, slightly flinching out of your reach as he glares over his shoulder. You are quick now to rub your hands together, mumbling your apologies before trying to touch him once again.

Small fingers soothe his skin, spoiling his muscles. You always start with his shoulders, using a sponge to have the warm water coat his exposed back and chest, massaging the well-trained area until his breathing calms down and little groans escape his throat.

Only then do you move on to kneel next to him, carefully admiring his relaxed features—he looks almost angelic. So calm, almost innocent.

Until his eyes meet yours and he holds out his hand to you. The exact hand he used to make you cum and that was tainted with your juices.

You focus on it, carefully massaging his fingers and ‘cleaning’ him further. "Good little doll..." Suguru breathes his praise out between his soft lips. It's usually the only compliment you receive, so you make sure to savour it.

You smile gently and finish up your care of his hand until he takes it out of your hold. He brushes your hair out of your face, leading his hand to reach around the back of your neck as you bend over the bathtub, nails digging painfully into your scalp while being pulled forward to be met with the bathwater.

You squeeze your eyes shut immediately, trying desperately to keep your lips sealed as you're pushed beneath the surface. Your nails grab onto the porcelain of the tub, weak muscles trying desperately to stop him from shoving you down further, but it's to no avail. He's much stronger than you'll ever be.

Geto lifts your head back up out of the water, and you suck the air back into your lungs—which quickly mixes with the bathwater as he dunks your head down again.

Your screaming is drowned by the transparent liquid all around you.

It becomes a loop—the pain of him tugging at your roots, being met with the cold air of the bathroom before he pushes you down again.

It becomes a loop—the pain of him tugging at your roots, the cold air of the bathroom meeting your skin before he pushes you down again. Your mind loses focus, your fight grows mellow until he pushes his erect cock between your lips. It jolts you back awake. Not only are you drowning in the water, but you also have his thick shaft infiltrating your mouth. Tears mix with the water, nails digging into his abs and thighs as your attempts to scream vibrate along his cock.

Geto groans. His eyes roll into their sockets as he completely relishes the feeling of your convulsing throat around his member—all while in the comfort of his bathtub. But he has to stop. Sadly, at some point, he remembers you’re not actually a doll. Your body grows slack, and the struggling of your throat diminishes.

Only then does he pull your head out of the water, letting your body slump over the edge of the tub as he slaps your cheeks until you wake up. Your head pounds as you choke up water; it almost feels like someone is ripping your lungs apart.

“Stupid toy…” Geto mumbles, already dragging your head down and forward again.

“No, no, please, not again!” you frantically plead, and he stops—stops right before the surface of the water meets the tip of your nose.

“Why not? I made you cum how you wanted to as well, didn’t I?” he analytically proclaims. “Now suck like I taught you.”

The sting of the water is maddening; only the stretch of his cock against the back of your mouth inflicts more pain upon your body as he guides you up and down with water infiltrating your lungs.

It all becomes a blur in the end, and it’s hard to tell what is real and what a bad dream when you wake up the next morning in your soft king-sized bed, dressed in one of his favourite baby dolls, and his strong arms around you.

dividers by @/cafekitsune

[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.

[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

[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.

[deleteddewewted]

Doc Headcanons

A/n: Just some headcanons of mine about Doc. I love him so much!!!!

MDNI

W: NSFW under the cut, Writer has a body hair fetish

He’s not usually the most showy about his affection but he isn’t hiding it either. He just doesn’t see the point in being loud about how he feels about anyone or anything.

Has a temper. You might think age has brought him a tolerance for ignorant and stupid behavior but you’d be surprised when he snaps at someone for not taking his advice to heart when he explains they cannot combine two medications that do not react well.

Doesn’t know what rest or a moment of peace is. If it’s not one thing it’s another. There’s no such thing as being relaxed to him.

Spends too much of his time being a big brother to most of his colleges, especially GIGN. So when Twitch wants to show him a new gadget of hers he’s forcing himself to ask questions and act interest. It’s not for a lack of caring he’s just very tired and very busy.

When he was younger he used to experiment a lot. Sexually he’s secure and knows what he likes, he explored and tried a lot of what he wanted to do when he was younger but now that he’s older he wants to still try knew things but with a consistent partner.

Has briefly thought about getting married just to fulfill a dream he’s had. He’s not big on weddings but sharing the rest of his life with someone sounds nice.

Hairy. Very hairy. His arms, his chest, his stomach and his shoot trail. Maybe not all that much on his stomach but you can still see some thin hairs that get thicker under his belly button and leading to his public area.

Happy to listen to your problems even if they’re minute. If he likes you he’ll enjoy listening to anything that interests you. He might not share the same taste in music but he likes creating bonds with people so he’ll endure.

He’s not a self conscious person but when someone mentioned in passing that he was going to look handsome with grey hair he made an effort to take better care of his hair. Military regulations as well as medical ones require hair to be well kept and groomed so he’s always sported the same short and swept back hair style for years. He likes his grey hairs even if at first he thought it looked silly cause it was only at the side of his head.

If he could do anything other than his current job he would like to be a homebody. He technically could decided to retire right now but his need to help others trumps a desire to be at home doing nothing. He still tries to find opportunities to stay in his room with coffee and a book.

Gustave has a large family so he's used to being pulled in one direction and another while having his ear chatted off. He only minds this when he's visiting his family on leave and they begin trying to set him up on dates with people he has never meet before.

NSFW:

Very much the type to fall in love hard. His work brings him little to no time to himself, which means he will find himself fixating, daydreaming, and thinking about any and all interactions he's had with someone he is interested in.

Not the possessive or the jealous type but if he's dating you he will find it annoying if your attention is taken by someone else who's too handsy to you. He wants to spend time with you but he cant if someone else is having your full attention.

Kisses your hand all the time. Likes the feeling of your skin on his and he does it to reassure himself that you are there with him.

Likes it when you touch his body, makes him feel special and complete.

For however much he knows it is best to use a condom he cant help himself but want to fuck you raw. Lube, spit, whatever, he just wants to be inside you and fuck you till you're happy and tired out.

He likes seeing you come on done with his mouth. He loves giving oral so having your cum on his face or just dripping down his chin makes him even more aroused.

[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."

[oubliette-odette]

The Reluctance of Love Pt. 28

Heyo! How would you feel if I said that I finally have details of the ending basically ironed out the way I want and have about 20 more chapters planned for you? Honestly, I'm kind of stoked, because I think what I have planned is pretty great. When I first started writing about Drunrag and Altan, it was supposed to be just a couple of short chapters of fluff and nothing more, but my own journey figuring out my sexuality and stuff opened up a door that made my curious mind and heart wonder, "But what if there's more to Drunrag? What is there's more to Altan? And their story?"

And so here we are, basically writing a novel at this point for a small but lovely group of people who all say really nice things about my boys even though I never consistently schedule out my chapters and have spent more time writing about our boys apart than together. (I'm so sorry for all of that).

Someday I hope to be better at interacting with you guys because you all are so funny and sweet and I think we'd all be friends irl.

Take care and I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Orc Male x Half-Elf Male, Fated Mates, Forbidden Love, Slow Burn Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26 Content Warnings: unhealthy parent dynamics All orcish is from orcishdictionary.com, created by Matt Vancil.

Altan POV

I was used to the weight of my brothers laying on top of me. It was a comforting feeling to be weighed down by Robin’s warmth. Only his soft breathing cut through the quiet of the night. Everything was dark and simple, formless shadows in my vision. I could make out the shape of the guard who stood at the door, but nothing more. I had been lying awake for what felt like hours, just listening, thinking, and imagining. I had spent countless nights imagining while laying in this bed, tonight I couldn’t stop myself from pretending the weight on my chest belonged to Drunrag’s arm as he held me in his sleep and the soft breath tickling my neck was his. I could see his rough hands brushing against my arm, as he pulled me closer to him. He would be warm next to me and I would be helpless to not be drawn to it.

Drunrag had to be alive. I didn’t feel it in my bones like I hoped, but I held onto that belief, it was all I had.

I heard the cracking of a door opening and suddenly a strip of light exposing the torchlight from without, in the hallways. I did not move, but watched with narrowed eyes.

Selhar slipped in, and I heard him give a sharp retort to something that the guard had said to him. The door closed and the room returned to darkness again. I heard the guard resettle into his position in front of my door and then felt the warmth of Selhar sidle into the space next to me.

“Everything alright?” I whispered.

He hummed softly.

“Good news?”  I asked.

He hummed again.

“Well?”

I felt his hand tap me on my side and I reached for it. I felt a paper drop from his hand into mine and I grasped it tightly. I held it to my chest and willed sleep to come quickly so that I could read it in the morning.

Yet, in the morning, I was awoken to my doors being banged open and my father’s shouting voice. 

“What’s going through your head, son?” I blinked up blurrily and felt Selhar and Robin’s bodies tense next to me. Feeling that shot me awake and I rose up, keeping the paper crumpled tight in my hand. “Do you have any idea what you are doing?”

I raised my chin and held his gaze. 

“What you’re demanding cannot be done.” My father continued. His posture and his facial expression reminded me of a snarling beast, a rabid dog, foaming at the mouth and chomping to dig his teeth into me.

I put a hand on Robin and Selhar, each on either side of me and shifted to sit myself in front of them. “What exactly is so impossible? He is alive, isn’t he? I don’t find my request all that unreasonable.” I kept my voice light, but I knew my father caught the hardened expression on my face. He hated me, and while that used to be the thing I feared most and went through painful obstacles to prevent and avoid accepting, I finally exulted in that reality. We both understood where one another stood, and that gave me power. 

“Selhar, Robin, leave the room.” My father didn’t look away from me when he growled the demand.

“No.” Selhar said, his voice was venomous. 

Robin said nothing, but I could see his head shifting between myself and my father. He was too young to understand, and too young to be subjected to this version of my father. 

“Selhar,” I said softly, “Take Robin outside.” I turned my head and I saw the silent pleading on my brother’s face.

“Altan.” He breathed.

I shook my head. “I’ll be alright. Go.”

Selhar’s eyes darkened and he looked behind me to where our father stood. He grabbed Robin by the arm and pulled him off the bed and towards the door. The guards that stood there silently moved aside. 

“A moment with just my son, please.” The Duke said to the guards and they followed my brothers out the door.

I remained sitting, the paper in my hand, my heart pounding, but my face passive. It would be alright. Soon the dam would burst, and it would be over. 

“I had believed that we were on the same page when the Red Hunters brought you to me. But I see that you are more spiteful and ungrateful than ever before. Why do you resist this? After all I’ve done for you?”

“Talking about this doesn’t fix things. It never has.” I answered calmly. “I’ve told you what I want. The wedding will not happen unless you bring me Drunrag alive.”

“No.” He said. “That will never happen.”

I had to hold my face together, had to remain strong like stone. “Then for the safety of our people, I cannot agree to this wedding.”

“What nonsense are you talking about?” He exasperated. “You keep speaking about the safety of our people. From what?”

I blinked slowly before answering. “It wasn’t obvious to you what I meant?” I smiled meekly. “I mean you, father. You are no longer fit for your position. And you may think that because I am your son that that means my witness means nothing, that the council will simply laugh me off my theatrics as an ungrateful, spoiled child. But I am prepared for that, and they will listen to me.”

“You’re threatening me.”

“Yes. If that’s how you wish to see it.” I said. “I already told you the games would end. I won’t subject Selhar or Robin to what you did to me.”

“What I did to you?” I caught the way his entire body was slowly clenching, like a wild cat ready to pounce. “I did what I had to!  Do you forget the debts I’m trying to pay off? The measures I’ve gone through to prevent economic collapse to our people? I let your mother coddle you because I thought it was what was best, I had to fight bigger battles than that and yet I’ve been proven again and again I was wrong to do so.”

“My mother at least told me she loved me.” I said, and I saw his eyes flash with disdain, “To her I was her child, her son. But you were more concerned about how I could benefit you in your plans and what you could do to cover up the flaws that made me undesirable for them.”

I finally slipped off the edge of my bed and walked towards him. “Without repeating myself too much, this isn’t really a conversation that helps either of us. We know one another 's motives. I know you wish me to be your pawn to pay off the debts you accrued and I want the prisoner Drunrag - wherever  you have him - brought  before me and the Council where a decision will be made that protects us and his people and benefits both sides.”

That was when my father smirked, “And how exactly do you plan to accomplish such a feat? As you said, the Council will hear me before they will ever listen to you.”

I lifted my chin. “We shall see.”

“Your plans won’t work, son.” He said, and he sighed. 

“This is what you wanted from me, isn’t it?” I asked. “I’m finally taking charge and doing something. You should be proud that I’m finally taking responsibility..”

“Son, this is not what I meant.”

I smiled wryly, ‘I’m aware, but I’m not really afraid of what you think you can do to me.” I yawned and raised my chain as I regarded him. “Was this all you wanted to speak with me about?”

“Altan.” His tone felt like a warning.

I lifted my eyebrows, “Yes?”

He held his tongue and held my gaze for an uncomfortably long period of time before he sighed and I saw his body release a portion of his tension. He stepped back, “You will learn the hard way it seems.”

He walked out of the room with no other words. 

I unwrinkled the paper from my hands and recognized Commander Gideon’s untidy scrawl,

I cannot return to the Great Hall, but I am safe. Your brother was very clever in finding me - and just in the matter of time. Thank you for the information you gleaned from the Lady of Triel. I agree with her that this evidence is enough to topple the powers that be. I trust the Gods are on our side and our efforts will not be in vain. 

Doxxah believes they are familiar with the herbs that Lady Allara may be under and is researching for an antidote that may help Allara resist the effects on her mind.

I believe I was able to locate the Red Hunter’s hideout, or at least one of them. There is no guarantee that Drunrag will be there, but I promise I will not give up until he is found. I do not know how long I will be, but if you are in an emergency and need refuge, you will find allies at the Soaring Elk. It’s near the edge of town and few guards ever travel there. You will be safe there for as long as you need.

Selhar said quite confidently that he believes you will win this battle, and I believe him to be right. Whatever the future holds for you, I know it to be good. For you, and for your beloved.

My loyalty goes to you,

G.G.

I folded the paper again just as Selhar returned, sans Robin. “What happened?” He asked urgently.

I shook my head, “Nothing yet. I don’t think father is ready to make the next move yet.”

“What are you going to do next?” He asked. “Father knows you’re opposing him, he’s going to fight back.”

I nodded, “Yes, but I think he still misunderstands me and won’t expect my next move.” I sighed. “At least I hope that’s true.”

“I think you’ve definitely rattled him.” Selhar’s voice lowered. “I think if the guard hadn’t been there, he would have hurt you.”

“He didn’t.” I said. “And he won’t. Not anymore. Have you had any luck finding that vial?”

He shook his head, “Nothing, I’ve been through Father’s office twice. There’s nothing.”

“How do you get around so easily?” I exclaimed. “You’re honestly terrifying.”

He grinned. “Mum taught me.”

I felt like my heart softened. Of course she did. I reached and tussled his hair. “I’m going to be summoning a meeting with the Council, would you join me and bear witness to father’s crimes?”

He let out a breath, one that felt like the release of something, “It would be my honor.”

Want to be updated on new chapters? DM me to be added to the tag list!

@eltrolodecadadia

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[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

[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

[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.

[numberonekingdomprince]

Yn 'Demon' Ln

Yn Ln is 14 (season 1) and is in class 1a. He is tall for his age but his longer than normal arms make him look taller. His hair is YHC and YHL (Your hair length), his eyes are a bright YEC he is half British, and his father relocated to Japan in his early 20s for a job opportunity. He was a pro-hero for 30 years before an injury took him out of the game, and his birth mother is from Northern Japan.

Yn’s quirk is a fire-based one, he’s able to create fire from any part of his body or out of thin air and is able to control it however his quirk is very emotion base and if he shows extreme emotion, i.e sadness or anger, it’ll encase he’s whole body within the flame, and depending on how extreme or what emotion he is showing then it’ll change temperature, to combat this his body products a fire resistance protein within his sweat, however, if this is to be produced then Yn has to stay hydrated having to consume a minimum of 4L per day. And in some cases, it’s been reported that he was able to breathe fire, but it has yet to be confirmed.

Yn also has a ‘physical’ quirk which is him having two black wings on his back and a long tail, from afar his wings look to be made from scales, even though they are feathers. Yn’s legs are very bird-like, meaning he has talons and cannot wear shoes without them causing him pain.

Due to his looks and fire quirk, he was given the nickname ‘Demon’ by his father and stepmother and he made that name his hero name.

Yn lives with his father, David Ln, who has his ‘physical’ quirk but has the wing pattern of a magpie bird, and his stepmother, Lin Ln, who is quirkless. He has two other siblings, one older (25 s1) who is a pro-hero 14 called ‘Angel’ and has her fathers quirk but her wings are pure white her true name being Rin Ln (her birth mother being the same as Yn’s) she doesn't live with him and lives with her wife,  and he as a younger brother named Jin Ln (7) he is the son of Lin and David and has his father’s quirk his wings being a light brown however his wings are too small for his body therefore he’ll never be able to fly.

Yn’s birth mother is Aika Sota who has a family fire quirk being distant relatives to the Todoroki family, however, she has been arrested due to her treatment towards Yn and Rin using B-26 muzzles on the two causing scarring on the sides of Yn’s mouth from when he ripped it off his face several times. If you have any more questions on this case, speak to Lady Midnight as she dealt with this back when he was 10.

Strengths: Strength, stealth (silent flyer), ability to focus on things over 2 miles away, hearing, control over emotions (to an extent).

Weakness: Speeds over 100mph, struggles to focus/see things short range, social interactions, doesn’t drink enough water, struggles to trust older women due to his experiences with his birth mother, impulsive with directions, when an emotional outburst occurs can cause great injury to himself and others -HIGHLY DANGEROUS-.

If you wish to learn more about him or want his complete file please contact his homeroom teacher Mr Shota Aizawa or myself.

AN: What year do you want this to take place in? Casue I googled and it came up with 2016 (the year season 1 aired) and then 2100's so which should I do?

[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

[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.

[verysadnotsooldman]

“Stranger”

I don’t know who I am. When I look in the mirror, I see a stranger, and it scares me sometimes. My sense of self is lost, and I don't know how to find it again. I’ve always been water, shifting shape and personality traits, and fitting into every place I'm put, and yet, I had an idea of who that made me. I was so sure of myself. Now, I could list characteristics or traits I know I have, or preferences for the colour red and octopuses and 90’s coming of age movies, or daily routines and the habits I’ve had since I was a child, but if you asked me who I am, I wouldn’t know what to say. Maybe I would tell you what I liked, or who my friends were, or what religion or sexuality or political party I identified with, but it would all be a waste of time. Shallow and easy, like the icebreaker questions my community college english teacher had us answer to “get to know each other better”.

I could stand for hours in the bathroom, analysing the person staring back at me, and I don’t know that I could tell you that person was me. If I look too long, everything starts to get blurry and I won’t remember what day it is. Why is there such a disconnect between my consciousness and my body, my mind and my soul? Is there a spirit inhabiting the simplicity of blood and flesh and bone, or am I just a meat machine built to reproduce and die? I feel so strange. Half-formed thoughts dissipate as quickly as they are created, and I look to my relationships with others to find an answer. What kind of person am I, in relation to how I treat my friends and family? Am I loving, kind, cruel, bitter? And how do they perceive me? After many buzzfeed quizzes and interrogating others on ‘what animal I would be and why’, I leave with more questions than answers. I realise that my inconsistency in my interactions and personality makes for a disappointing mess of confusion.

Into the google search bar I type, “what makes up the self”. I misspell self, shaky hands typing “sef” instead, and the results load so slowly that I am sure even the internet does not know either. I choose the first website that pops up and without hesitation, find myself in an hour long research session. Self-concept, as it is referred to, and according to Carl Rogers is defined by three things: self image, self-esteem, and the ideal self. Then, we've got the idea of self-actualization, found in a link embedded in the article that I click on. Maslow's hierarchy of needs is highlighted and in bold, apparently very important to the concept. Even as I read the Times New Roman 12-point font I find myself thinking: “Am I reduced to my personality and characteristics, my social existence(which is bleak and rather limited), my idea of who I think I am, and my values and desires?” What does any of this even mean?

I think that maybe I could write it all, chase down an outline, make a character map of who I am based on these principles, but then it hits me. I'm not sure I want to know. I must have some subconscious reason for my self loathing, aside from factors like my weight or lack of success or other stupid things. Maybe it's better that I am a stranger, like someone you don't like and therefore don't make an effort to get to know. I look at my reflection, at the foreign face before me, and I realise I have no desire to heal. I am so separated from this creature, from this human being and its little life, that I can't imagine what it would be like to not be so apathetic towards my mind and body. I am nothing more than the thoughts I think, and the things my hands do(but not the words I speak, for my mouth is a liar and cannot be trusted). I think I am a stranger, and I think I am okay with that.

[nonbinary-beast]

Had a thought about KARR in the crossover, mainly what his specifications are for his new body.

Under a cut since it got a little long.

KARR is similar to AMaton in that they have a lot of the same basic features; x-ray, infrared and thermal imaging, advanced hearing, touch, taste, and capable of incredible feats of strength. The only thing is that KARR is not just going off of what he thinks a godly body should be- he knows how godly his body used to be.

Among machines and men, he was as close to a miracle as one could get. He certainly was not kidding when he dropped the line about being the Genie to John Stanton's Aladin, in more ways than one.

KARR is much faster than AM, integrating his previous top speed of 300 miles per hour into his new body. Given how his previous body was durable enough to withstand a rear-axle load of 28.5 tons, and had a frame tolerance of 111.5 tons, its easy to say he is on par with AM's strength after creating his new body.

Essentially, if AMaton could flip a medium sized dump truck like a cardboard box, KARR is easily keeping pace.

While KARR could not make a replica of the tri-helical plasteel 1000 MBS that coated his previous form, the alien tech AM lent him did a good job of making something very similar, if not a little better. He could definitely break through heavily reinforced concrete, and perhaps recreate that stunt he pulled while working with Tony and The Rev where he broke into a bank vault by smashing straight through the back wall. Explosions from conventional weaponry are not a problem either- not that he needs to worry.

However there are also quite a few other things KARR can do that AMaton cannot.

For instance, he managed to sneak his weaponry into his new body. He is equipped with a powerful laser, located within his eyes. He is equipped with jamming technology that consists of components that can generate a powerful electromagnetic field to disrupt electronic activity or completely deactivate electronics entirely, and allow him to remotely operate electronic and mechanical equipment. Although every phone on earth is dead now, and AM is the only other computer on the planet, he retains quite a few tracing, tracking, tapping, and monitoring functions- mainly out of his own personal comfort and possibly as a secret leg up on the other AI. He is also capable of emitting a heavy smoke screen and has a flamethrower built into his body (it probably jets from his mouth).

He also managed to integrate a workaround for his microscanners. Where previously he had an array of tiny visual and audio sensors lining his body, he now has many "eyes" lining his heavily armored body. They all integrate their individual images into one complete visual within his brain- removing virtually any blind spot he could have.

How exactly he slipped these under AM's nose was likely with clever wording of his end of the agreement that allowed him to have a body in the first place, and masking a few points of data regarding KARR's intended design. AM likely is more used to the blunt, brute force interactions he had with the other two AMs he had destroyed, dealing with an AI that is very good at manipulating others is likely something new for him, and might result in a few things flying under his radar.

This may especially be the case since KARR is not listed under any database for military/official equipment or vehicles. He is the result of an old rich man's passion project, and any information on himself outside of his history and processing specifications is kept under lock and key- AM was too focused on this new AI to think about the body he was in anyway to put much effort into getting more information on it.

There is also another secret thing he implemented into his body. The torso is capable of sprouting tendrils from certain points under his armored shell. They mainly act as extra hands and adaptable interfacing ports/plugs. These are probably the most alien looking and acting bits of equipment on his person, since they can shift their interfacing tips to whatever he needs.

Unlike AMaton he did not install genitals into himself. He did not see a reason to have them and tends to view reproduction as a very human thing- which of course means it is inferior.