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Autonomy
Automation,
Augmentation
Automation,
Depersonalization
Autocratic,
Aughta do something
Automobile -
Got a crack
Autogenesis,
Autoexodus,
Autoleviticus, -numbers, -song.
Listen:
Aw, of adorable undoes
Awe, of divine.
Listen:
All that I owned is now somehow not mine.
Automimic.
Autotoxic.
Autocheckpoint.
Autoload.
Outta left field comes a breakthrough,
Comes a freedom,
Comes a road.
For @spnpoetryrenaissance day 2, Autonomy/Free Will.
It's the 31st for me lads so let's fucking go!! I humbly and excitedly present for @castielsprostate 's 1k event, my masterpiece: A 2k word Castiel/VCR Vore fic.
A collection of snippets:
He ran his thumbs around the opening flap to the VCR, feeling out its generous give. This machine was an object of power. It translated vision to vision, thought to thought, a brain-brain connection that slid daintily past the hard brick wall of imagination. The creation of worlds; no longer the arrogant privilege of a God. On the first day, the Director of Cinematography said Let There Be Light, and there was light. And it was Good.
Plus, bonus:
Shout out to uhm. The Human, mr Leg O'Lass and Dwarf Man. I'm not a "rings head" as you might say. I'm not a "ringer". I'm not a "fellowshipper" (but, heh, if you'll pardon the pun, I'm rather a fellow shipper!).
Of course I am only kidding. Pulling your leg as it were! I know the human one is called Borrower or suchlike. Like those little things that live under the carpets. Dreadful things they are. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed my "meme". Cheery bye, until next time old chaps!!
I want to throw myself into a ravine.
Google image search: Ravine, safe search off
Google image search: bruises
Google image search: head trauma, bones through skin, blood on rocks, teeth knocked out, promises broken, returning, returning from whence I came.
Wikihow: How to identify a ravine.
Wikihow: How to set a broken bone.
Wikihow: How to take my feet from the ground and fall forwards, weighted, gravity’s bitch, how to pummel the ground with my soft small body until it relents and hurts me back, how to take the impact and know it is mine and mine alone.
Yahoo answers: Why am I like this?
Yahoo answers: No, really, why am I like this? What’s wrong with my life that I’m afraid to truly live it? Where is Destiny, where is Chaos, where is the will to, the drive to, the need, the call, the truth?
Yahoo answers: Why didn’t I do it?
The author has indicated this post may contain content that may not be suitable for all audiences.
"You sure about this, Cas? I can wait. We can do it any time, it doesn't have to be tonight." Cas cocks his head. "Why should we wait? It's only sex." Dean scoffs and rolls his head back on the back of the couch. "Wow. It's only sex?" "Yes. I've had it before, I know how it feels."
Castiel. You fool. You're in love with him and you go crazy with sensations. Read my fic Don't stop, don't slow to find out how! Destiel romantic sex. In MY fanfiction? It's more likely than you think.
Here's a snippet:
Post-canon post-reunion post-reuinion-sex. Dean takes Cas out in the Impala for a drive for the first time since he got back a year after he was taken. Before Dean starts the engine he hesitates and gets a little shy and defensively says "don't laugh at me, okay? I need them." and he pulls a pair of plastic framed glasses out of his jacket front pocket and puts them on.
Cas does not stop staring at him, which Dean can only handle up to the first stop light. There's an heated blush on his face when he barks:
"Quit the surveillance Big Brother. Something wrong with my face?"
"You've aged."
"Jesus."
"It's a compliment. Your resourcefulness and resilience have allowed you to live past the time you were intended to by fate."
"You need to go back to charm school, Thermopolis. 'You've aged' is never a friggin compliment."
"It is. You've aged, and you're taking care of yourself."
There's a touch, light, to the side of Dean's face, tracing gently up under the gap of his glasses to caress his crows feet.
"Cas!" Dean complains, "I'm driving!" But he doesn't push his hand away.
"You're growing," Cas continues, sliding a long finger over Dean's eyebag, "You've lived." He taps the leg of Dean's glasses as he withdraws, adding, "You have defied God."
Dean tries very hard to follow the logic, feeling his face screw up as he does, but he's got nothing. "Huh?"
"Chuck's design for humans was faulty, amateur. There was much he did not account for. In creating the means to live, and live well, with the body you have been given, humanity has proven its superiority to God himself."
Dean scoffs, feeling a little shy again, "It's just glasses, Cas."
"The product of thousands of years of innovation. The work of thousands of people across millenia." Cas pauses for a moment, then asks, a touch breathless, "Can I tell you what I like to imagine?"
"Uh, sure?"
"I like to imagine, when I think of the work of other humans across all of time, that they were doing it all in service of you."
Considering this, Dean lets a Jeep turn onto the road in front of him. "Is it like a sex thing?"
"It's not a sex thing. It is the placement of my desire for you over the will of thousands. My love supercedes their true intentions, their ambitions, their circumstances. I am reappropriating their care to act as a vessel for the depth of my feelings for you."
"Hm. Sounds like a sex thing."
"It is not a sex thing."
"Okay, tell me this, then," Dean says, turning to face Cas at the next red light, "Do you or do you not want me to wear the glasses next time I suck you off?"
"...yes, I do want that."
"I rest my case. And hey - just a tip, from one flirt to another. Next time you want to bring up your hot librarian fantasy, or whatever, don't start by calling the other person old."
"It's not a librarian fantasy, it's a you fantasy."
"Yeah, yeah. Not like I haven't got you-fantasies of my own. How about this: I'll wear just the glasses if you wear just the trench coat."
"I think I could be persuaded," Cas says, and he's smiling, and Dean's smiling, and when he catches a glimpse of his own smile-lines in the rear-view mirror magnified through his glasses, he thinks maybe he gets it. They made it. They're alive. There's proof of it.
A friend of mine asked for advice on writing a poem so, I figured I'd share it more widely. This is how I personally tend to go through the process (although sometimes poems just come in a stream of consciousness and I'm like damn where'd you come from???)
This gets long so, under the cut
Ik we love female friendships but I think that Jo (resurrected but aged up with them) and Charlie (still alive) meeting as Dean's Best Girl Friend would be rough to begin with. Because this would be funny to me. They don't have a whole lot in common other than being Girl - Jo never displayed any interest in fiction from what I recall and that's 90% of Charlie's interests. Charlie defaults to placating and Jo defaults to caustic AND would read Charlie's placating moves as using her girliness against her. Both of them are territorial and jealous over Dean's affection and (more importantly) over ELLEN'S affection (she's back too dw about it). Charlie is desperate for a mother figure and Jo sees Charlie as trying to replace her especially when Ellen is nice to Charlie where she's nitpicky to Jo. Charlie views Jo's skillset as more inherently valuable to the team and initially assumes that Jo is less good at research skills than her because she's good at physical stuff (to protect her own ego) (Charlie is insecure about her position on the team). Obviously the sexual tension.
They would eventually work through it and become close friends and perhaps friends with benefits but isn't it fun and character building to introduce some conflict before they get there !
After the disaster of Charlie and Jo's first introduction, Dean is trepidatious about them meeting Mary and decides to get it over with both of them together. They look at Mary. They look at each other. 👀. Dean hustles his mom out of the room as quickly as humanly possible before they can attempt to seduce her.
In that first long awkward and stilited getting to know you conversation where they find they have little in common on the surface, and whole Dean has left for the bathroom, Jo learns that Charlie is a lesbian and lights up excitedly goes "ah! So you like softball then?" (Jo is from the 2000s) and Charlie has to be like. Awkward. "Not really."
"WNBA? Women's soccer? Field hockey?"
"I'm not really into sports. I could talk about esports?"
"What's esports?"
"Like, sports on the computer. Pretend sports." "Oh."
"Or, I follow the speedrunning charts. H3ll10n1800 has been having a great year. I actually think there might be some magical intervention going on..."
"Wait, like, you run on a treadmill and it goes into the game? I could do that I'm pretty fast."
"No! Ha ha!" Charlie clocks Jo's face dropping at being laughed at but she's can't stop the nervous babbling to apologise and explain that she's laughing at her own lameness, "It's playing a game as fast as possible. Going out of bounds and using cheats."
"Playing a game to cheat at it. That's what lesbians are doing these days." Jo is blatently unimpressed.
"Not all lesbians, we're not all the same!"
Muttered rudely under Jo's breath. "Thank god for that."
[imagine there have been a series of vignettes where Ruby died pre-Apocalypse, and Hell and Heaven have conspired to get her back on Earth in order to start the Apocalypse, so while all that paperwork goes through she and Billie who was assigned as her reaper have been hanging out and getting closer, despite them both knowing exactly when Ruby is going to die for real. Billie made them wait for confirmation every time, because she's a stickler for the rules, and neither of them said it but they were both glad for a little time where nobody expected anything of them. Finally it happened - the church, the betrayal, the start of the Apocalypse, the end of Ruby's life:]
One more miracle, Ruby asked for, when she lead her to the edge of darkness, one more miracle so I can meet my father. So I can know it was all worth it. Please, Billie.
It was never a miracle, Billie had to reply, it was never a gift. It was a sentence, and now you have come to the end of it. The Book Of Ruby: The End. You knew that.
I thought it would be more satisfying.
Everybody does.
So, what, I'm just part of everybody now? Not so special?
You are part of everybody. You are special. This had always felt true, but there it felt less true, more like a platitude, like Billie was afraid of the depth of her own emotion, and Billie would not allow herself to lie like that, so she added: And you are a part of me.
Yeah? It had Ruby smiling, however bittersweet it was. The annoying part?
Yes. The annoying part that wants to ask for a miracle.
But you won't.
But I won't. It wouldn't be given. And if you got it, it wouldn't be what you asked for. It never is.
It is for some people.
But not for us.
Ruby looked away. She didn't like it, Billie knew, but she knew she understood. They both did. Billie was always honest, with herself and with others, even when that truth hurt. She wished, for the first time, that she didn't know so quite much of what is true.
Can I ask for something that isn't a miracle? Ruby asked, and Billie gestured for her to go on. Ruby's essence had started to pull into the Empty, dethreading from the ether like cotton being tugged apart. Will you let me be selfish one last time?
You've never asked for permission before.
Yeah, well. Maybe I wanted to surprise you.
Ruby put her fading fingers to her own fading lips, then placed them on Billie's, a phantom kiss. Billie touched the place where Ruby's fingers had landed, delicate with herself. None of the times she and Ruby had touched had ever been physical, but all of them had been real. All of them had made Billie part of the present, part of the feeling, part of life. None of them were important and all of them mattered.
Look at that. I made you smile.
That wasn't selfish, Billie said, but too late. She had missed the final moment, for once. Ruby took that from her. Ruby gave that to her.
She stood by the Empty for a long time, rather than fading back into the timeless space reapers inhabit together between calls. She knew what she was hoping for: another miracle, given and not asked for. Some reward for the loyalty and dedication she and Ruby had put into the universe. Some consolation prize for being written off at the climax. Some happy ending to their part of the story. But it didn't happen. And she knew it wouldn't. The Book Of Ruby: The End. The Book Of Billie: To Be Continued. No ending, no completion, no closure; happy or otherwise.
The first time Ambriel came to earth, it was new, and fresh, and innocent. The lesser angels were taken on a tour in proto-humanoid-vessels, before the real humans were awoken. Ambriel had stepped into a pile of rotting fruit with her vessel's bare foot, and decided not to come again if she could help it.
Some older tumblr users will tag content with "_ for ts". You might not know what this means as a newbie so let me explain - "ts" is an initialism that's been made lower case, in proper english it would be "T.S.", and it stands for The Shark. They are tagging it for the tumblr shark that comes and eats bad posts. It is a way to put a horrible curse on you and it's very mean and nasty and they do it to hurt your feelings because they want a shark to come and eat you.
That's all! Hope you have a fabulous day xoxox
You might also see the tag "nsft" occasionally. This is another initialism. "N.S.F.T." stands for "Now, Shark! Fire! Turbokill!!". This means that they want The Shark to also hold a bazooka so they can "turbokill" you. Turbokill is like if you're dead but then get killed again. It is unclear how the shark holds a bazooka, due to being a shark, but anyone who has seen the shark with the bazooka has unfortunately been turbokilled so they can't explain how this is possible. Some contend that the bazooka is held in its side fins, but given sharks' notorious smoothness this feels unlike because it would surely slide off. I personally believe that the tumblr shark has a contraption that encircles its body and has the bazooka off to the side on a robotic arm of some kind. However, this is of course only speculation, and this knowledge will not protect you from the tumblr shark if it comes for you.
Cas stitching up his trench coat in one of the motel chairs while Sam and Dean are asleep and quietly talking to Jack about how to him the coat feels as part of himself now as his blade is. That it reminds him that he wasn't always aware of just how deeply humans could feel. How deeply angels could feel. How putting care into something can make it meaningful. The stars were mere pricks of light before humans decided to name them. The more he cares for his coat, the more of his perspective and memory gets sewn into it. The more it becomes his.
"And the pockets," he confides with a deep wink, "Are good for keeping snacks in."
Later, when Dean is asleep again, drooling over an open book of research in the bunker, Jack watches as Cas tucks his coat over Dean's shoulders and sees how he hesitates for a moment before brushing his hand softly through Dean's hair. Dean is transformed, through Cas’s careful attention, from the man who was the gatekeeper of acceptance and goodness to just a man, vulnerable and in need of care.
Jack wonders whether Castiel cares for everyone like they are a precious object. And he wonders what Castiel would transform him into, if he had to be repaired. Jack isn't sure that he likes the idea. He already has a hard time understanding his own morality, how can he also be expected live up to the idea of himself in Castiel's head? The object that Castiel loves? Does he need to be changed in order to become his?
"I could get him my pillow?" Jack suggests, swallowing against the cold mass in his throat when Cas smiles gently at that. He does like it, then, when Jack acts against his own interest.
"That might wake him. We should let him rest."
"He's precious to you."
"He is." Castiel reaches out and puts a hand on Jack's sleeve, expression sincere, "And so are you."
"Right," Jack says, then, "thanks," and holds his smile until Cas wanders back to sit perpendicular to Dean, to watch him until just before he stirred. Castiel and Jack, both, were good at pretending not to feel what they felt.
Watching the angel watch the man, Jack feels like a star. Immense and powerful but also distant, removed. Not special until a real person decides that he is. He is between angel and human. Person and object. Precious and disregarded. He is the blade and the coat, and Jack doesn't know which is worse.
The first time Ambriel came to earth, it was new, and fresh, and innocent. The lesser angels were taken on a tour in proto-humanoid-vessels, before the real humans were awoken. Ambriel had stepped into a pile of rotting fruit with her vessel's bare foot, and decided not to come again if she could help it.
BAD WORST END.
(This is how I worried Mouthwashing was going to end for a little bit).