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logsinthenight2020-01-22 08:27 pm
lunchbreaks) wrote in logsinthenight2020-01-22 08:27 pm
Entry tags:
just as the morning became us // closed
characters: Az and Cas
location: Cas's place
date/time: End of the month
content: Turn out the lights
warnings: Extreme angel body horror. Trypophobia x 1000
At first, he thought it was just a pockmark or some sort of wound, boring into his skin. A mole, a freckle, something like that. He ignored it. Then, he'd had an excessive amount of white hairs growing out of his ankles, which was odd and frankly a little embarrassing, but he marched down to the general store to pick up a razor and that was that.
Looking at himself in the mirror this morning, he opens his mouth to inspect his teeth, and notices an odd cut on his neck. He runs his finger over it only to have it split open, and just when he thinks it will spill white pus all over his sink, it instead lolls into place as if waking from sleep, an eye as wide and blue as the two on his face.
In fact, some of his other eyes begin to open, eyes that he hadn't seen (and that hadn't seen) in a very long time.
"Oh, no."
Opening the window to his bathroom, he doesn't wish to alarm neither Crowley nor The Soldier, so once he pokes his head outside, he resolves to climb through and fly out of it, making his way towards the only other person he can even trust to look at him at the moment. In the meantime, he draws his collar up as if to hide himself, covers a few parts of his face with his hands, and wonders if his shoes have been tied on oddly or if his toes might suddenly become hooves.
This is not good. This is not good at all.
"Cassiel!" he nearly hisses, at a bedroom window. He doesn't know whose it is, but he thinks that it might be safer than going through the front. He ducks behind a shutter and taps the glass. "Is Cassiel there, please?"
location: Cas's place
date/time: End of the month
content: Turn out the lights
warnings: Extreme angel body horror. Trypophobia x 1000
At first, he thought it was just a pockmark or some sort of wound, boring into his skin. A mole, a freckle, something like that. He ignored it. Then, he'd had an excessive amount of white hairs growing out of his ankles, which was odd and frankly a little embarrassing, but he marched down to the general store to pick up a razor and that was that.
Looking at himself in the mirror this morning, he opens his mouth to inspect his teeth, and notices an odd cut on his neck. He runs his finger over it only to have it split open, and just when he thinks it will spill white pus all over his sink, it instead lolls into place as if waking from sleep, an eye as wide and blue as the two on his face.
In fact, some of his other eyes begin to open, eyes that he hadn't seen (and that hadn't seen) in a very long time.
"Oh, no."
Opening the window to his bathroom, he doesn't wish to alarm neither Crowley nor The Soldier, so once he pokes his head outside, he resolves to climb through and fly out of it, making his way towards the only other person he can even trust to look at him at the moment. In the meantime, he draws his collar up as if to hide himself, covers a few parts of his face with his hands, and wonders if his shoes have been tied on oddly or if his toes might suddenly become hooves.
This is not good. This is not good at all.
"Cassiel!" he nearly hisses, at a bedroom window. He doesn't know whose it is, but he thinks that it might be safer than going through the front. He ducks behind a shutter and taps the glass. "Is Cassiel there, please?"
no subject
He feels Aziraphale more than he hears him, himself withdrawn from the cabin, furled as far into himself as he can. He's not as big as he would be, something in Beacon keeping his true form manageable, but even here he's as tall as the trees, with the black wings adding additional height and bulk, unblinking eyes staring into the darkness around Castiel, grace crackling along his light made shape like lightning scars. There is damage he has retained, damage he cannot hide - tears in the feathers, a slit in his throat oozing black.
Aziraphale...
It doesn't come as a voice. It comes as crackling static and rolling thunder and painful shrieking, as stars collapsing and creation trembling.
Brother...
no subject
"Oh dear, I don't know what's happening to us." He still speaks with his mouth, even as more arms start to grow out of his skin, even as his voicebox threatens to shrivel up and leave his body bereft of a heartbeat and breath and replaced only with a roiling energy as stars are made of.
This is turning out to be more of a disaster than he thought. "Have you eaten something strange?" he asks, desperately, voice peaking. "Recently?"
no subject
When his own true form shred through the skin of his vessel, Castiel had a dizzying moment of relief at being able to stretch himself, quickly replaced with horror at doing so where just anyone could happen upon him.
His true form... it can be damaging for humans to behold. Maddening, at best.
Yet as Aziraphale unravels in more ways than one, Castiel feels protective. Odd, given that he feels Aziraphale understands much more than him; about humanity and about so many things that seem to matter.
A massive wing stretches out from the cabin's backside, blue eyeballs fixing upon Aziraphale as the black feathers curl around him.
My vessel has been tearing at the seems all week.
no subject
Odd, he thinks for a moment, as it should probably be the opposite: Castiel doesn't even have a throat anymore, or lungs, his voice reverberating around them as if being shoved directly into his core instead of being announced into the air. Aziraphale should be the one shielding him with a wing, one that he has shown to one or two humans in history, who had not gone mad at all.
He supposes that their differences in status might be thanks to his body being specially made to carry a heavenly host. And even that is falling apart.
And it could just be this damned place.
"Is anyone-- anyone else like this, or just us? My demon friend, he's fine, physically. I think. I--
"I wouldn't have left him there if he were not."
no subject
[ Castiel moves then, celestial wavelengths giving shape that's not quite as solid as it seems. He has the too long fingers of one hand clutched around a tree as if tethering himself, while the worried movements of another hand leave grooves within the earth underneath him. The eagle head is tilted up, alert, the lioness is angled down, towards Aziraphale. The aspects of a warrior, a soldier, but a caretaker, too. On guard, but inviting Aziraphale in.
Black and blue where Aziraphale is white and golden. ]
I might hurt them if they saw me.
no subject
[ And he takes his wings out as well, brilliant and white. ]
But I know the humans won't go mad if they see these.
[ He has shown them to humans before. ]
We should. Stay close until we-- ahh--
[ His eyes grow restless underneath his skin, and fracture lines split, revealing regular blue irises. ]
--Drats, they're usually golden and glowing.