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love: a verb, a doing word
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cherryshadowz: Consider the Jellyfish - Supernatural/Spongebob Squarepants - Sam, Spongebob - rated G, omg - Spongebob knows what will cheer Sam up. 118 words.
And now for something completely different, because sometimes when you are up to your ears in multivariate regression analysis, you relax by writing theological language porn, idk. We continue to ask, "What if Castiel were words?" The first wordsverse fic is untitled. This next one is a Dean POV, PG I guess, 500ish words. Will there be a third installment? I dunno, it'll depend on how pretentious I'm feeling.
So I'm wondering, if Castiel can be words, what else can he be? What if Castiel were ice cream flavors? What if he were footwear. Would he be toe socks? What if Castiel were currencies pegged to the dollar? The possibilities are endless!
More important questions:
1) Why are there not more stop-motion t-shirt battles?
2) When will Bradley James and Misha Collins team up to fight zombies in space?
3) Clueless + SPN = <3 Y/Y?
unnamed
Dean & Castiel
i.
the sigils on his bones, the tattoo below his clavicle: they blind and block. on his shoulder is the sign of his duty to things he can't control.
an understanding of symbols is necessary to his line of work, but so is the glint of iron, silver, bullets & knives; salt, to ensure that what is cast out cannot return. salt, the taste of sweat, an honest thing.
if Castiel is a message then perhaps Dean cannot fault him for that, but he can fault whoever sent him, whoever wrote him out in such opaque script. Dean's own penmanship is expansive -- the large loops of his B's, the yawning valleys of his W's -- and is unlike his brother's too-small scribbles, too many letters trying to fit in one word, too many words in a sentence, too many sentences. it's not a story he wants to write, but who ever wants the story they're saddled with? some days it's enough to believe that you're the one holding the pen.
Dean isn't surprised to look inwards and find a foreign language etched beneath his ribs. he learns to make its sounds, to write them down. writing can go from left to right, right to left, up and down, but this particular language works from the inside out.
it waits for comprehension, and it has all the time in the world.
ii.
once you learn a language, you are trapped by it. the dust settles, and you lose the words you could have known had you chosen a different tongue, the stories you could have written, the meanings you could have divined which might have illuminated different paths, had you known exactly what to call that shade of gold. can words exist without language? can a language exist without words? far from Heaven, Castiel is transliterated, and he catches himself on new phonetics and wonders at the sound.
fluency is relative. it's a matter of practice, or familiarity, like the way the faithful read their holy books over and over, the same passages, the same stories, until understanding becomes less important than connection.
the trick is to read the message until it reads you back.
iii.
to communicate is an instinct and a habit for Dean, but for Castiel the verb is something wild and new, having only known the noun. perhaps once you know a language, you are free within it, trapped without it, here, within the four chambers of your heart, here, on the wordlessness that accompanies true revelations, here, in your breaths, coaxed from your body by someone else's prayers.
there are, Castiel teaches him, a thousand ways to pray.
there is a desert tribe for whom every drink of water is a communion with God. you worship that which is rare to you, and which you cannot understand outside the context of your own deliverance. worship is every bit as selfish as it is submissive, because prayer is the act of disguising your weaknesses as love.
So which is it, Dean asks. Is this love or is this weakness?
Castiel replies, This is salvation.
new words for old things, new songs for old devotions: language is part memorization and part improvisation, and when Dean rereads Castiel, he anticipates every word.
cherryshadowz: Consider the Jellyfish - Supernatural/Spongebob Squarepants - Sam, Spongebob - rated G, omg - Spongebob knows what will cheer Sam up. 118 words.And now for something completely different, because sometimes when you are up to your ears in multivariate regression analysis, you relax by writing theological language porn, idk. We continue to ask, "What if Castiel were words?" The first wordsverse fic is untitled. This next one is a Dean POV, PG I guess, 500ish words. Will there be a third installment? I dunno, it'll depend on how pretentious I'm feeling.
So I'm wondering, if Castiel can be words, what else can he be? What if Castiel were ice cream flavors? What if he were footwear. Would he be toe socks? What if Castiel were currencies pegged to the dollar? The possibilities are endless!
More important questions:
1) Why are there not more stop-motion t-shirt battles?
2) When will Bradley James and Misha Collins team up to fight zombies in space?
3) Clueless + SPN = <3 Y/Y?
unnamed
Dean & Castiel
i.
the sigils on his bones, the tattoo below his clavicle: they blind and block. on his shoulder is the sign of his duty to things he can't control.
an understanding of symbols is necessary to his line of work, but so is the glint of iron, silver, bullets & knives; salt, to ensure that what is cast out cannot return. salt, the taste of sweat, an honest thing.
if Castiel is a message then perhaps Dean cannot fault him for that, but he can fault whoever sent him, whoever wrote him out in such opaque script. Dean's own penmanship is expansive -- the large loops of his B's, the yawning valleys of his W's -- and is unlike his brother's too-small scribbles, too many letters trying to fit in one word, too many words in a sentence, too many sentences. it's not a story he wants to write, but who ever wants the story they're saddled with? some days it's enough to believe that you're the one holding the pen.
Dean isn't surprised to look inwards and find a foreign language etched beneath his ribs. he learns to make its sounds, to write them down. writing can go from left to right, right to left, up and down, but this particular language works from the inside out.
it waits for comprehension, and it has all the time in the world.
ii.
once you learn a language, you are trapped by it. the dust settles, and you lose the words you could have known had you chosen a different tongue, the stories you could have written, the meanings you could have divined which might have illuminated different paths, had you known exactly what to call that shade of gold. can words exist without language? can a language exist without words? far from Heaven, Castiel is transliterated, and he catches himself on new phonetics and wonders at the sound.
fluency is relative. it's a matter of practice, or familiarity, like the way the faithful read their holy books over and over, the same passages, the same stories, until understanding becomes less important than connection.
the trick is to read the message until it reads you back.
iii.
to communicate is an instinct and a habit for Dean, but for Castiel the verb is something wild and new, having only known the noun. perhaps once you know a language, you are free within it, trapped without it, here, within the four chambers of your heart, here, on the wordlessness that accompanies true revelations, here, in your breaths, coaxed from your body by someone else's prayers.
there are, Castiel teaches him, a thousand ways to pray.
there is a desert tribe for whom every drink of water is a communion with God. you worship that which is rare to you, and which you cannot understand outside the context of your own deliverance. worship is every bit as selfish as it is submissive, because prayer is the act of disguising your weaknesses as love.
So which is it, Dean asks. Is this love or is this weakness?
Castiel replies, This is salvation.
new words for old things, new songs for old devotions: language is part memorization and part improvisation, and when Dean rereads Castiel, he anticipates every word.
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WHO DOES MR. KRABS HANG OUT WITH?
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Though honestly, you could write tax receipts and I would probably read them. You've a lovely light touch that I really admire.
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You've a lovely light touch that I really admire.
I'm so pleased you think so! Especially, y'know, coming from you XD . Thanks <3
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I'm in love with this series. Please, don't stop here!
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Please, don't stop here!
I wonder where to go next from here. How much more can I belabor the point, so to speak hahaha. Maybe I just need a break for a bit. I kind of have a sorta unrelated crackish metafic idea now where Castiel finds God and bawls Him out because he finds out that the world is nothing more than God's abandoned WIP, with grammatical errors and misspellings and everything. Or maybe when Castiel finds God, it's actually Kripke.
...THEN WHAT IF CASTIEL/JENSEN? omg I need to stop thinking about this.
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ASDFGHJKL! You shouldn't say things like that if you don't plan on following up!
The idea of world as God's abandoned WIP is at the same time very profound and crackstastic. God tried cutting down the boring parts and giving vitality to the plot and he renounced to all his darlings, but it just wouldn't work. He's thinking of using the better parts for that other project He's very excited about.
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"'Sup, Misha?"
"I've found God. He's not what I expected. Quick, I need your help!"
"O...kay."
+
"...Eric, is that you?"
"Jensen! Misha's gone mad! He won't untie me!"
"Misha, what the hell is going on??"
"Why do you all keep calling me Misha?!"
He's thinking of using the better parts for that other project He's very excited about.
OMG YES. Exactly! And Castiel feels betrayed because ONCE AGAIN the angels aren't good enough for God, aren't enough to make Him stay. Once again He's moved on to another better project because apparently God has ADD or whatever, or -- worse -- He is a perfectionist. Thinks He can just sweep his mistakes under the rug and no one will notice. But Castiel notices, goddammit, because the world is being torn apart right now! Or his world is, at least. It's the fucking apocalypse! Not the apocalypse, God thinks, just entropy.
And Castiel, he loves his Father and loves His creations because he is a good son, but it is tiring to be shrugged off all the time. And so, what, Castiel is just a mistake now? He's just gonna be erased, cut, cut off, whited out?
No, you were not a mistake, God replies. You were the first draft.
and Castiel doesn't know if that's better or worst. now what the hell is he supposed to do?
God shrugs, That's now completely up to you.
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No, you were not a mistake, God replies. You were the first draft.
*hertclutch* but at least God isn't leaving him in a drawer to be forgotten. Characters sometimes just need a chance to live their life.
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Characters sometimes just need a chance to live their life.
Yes! Maybe letting go of old stories is the best thing any one of us can do. Sometimes it's just time to move on. God trusts Castiel to move on without Him, because he beliiiieeeeeves in Cas!
Have you read Sophie's World by Jostein Gaarder, by any chance?
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I'm afraid I haven't. I'm Italian, as you may have seen from my profile, so I'm not up with all the English authors unless they're classics. Should I read it?
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And I still LOVE IT. LOVE. <3
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<3 Thanks!
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far from Heaven, Castiel is transliterated
Awesome.
2) When will Bradley James and Misha Collins team up to fight zombies in space?
LOL! I would love to see this! On the other hand, the ridiculous levels of beauty and funny and adorableness might kill me.
3) Clueless + SPN = <3 Y/Y?
Y! Perfection! XD
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Haha, yeah they're just both so CRAZY and WHATEVER YA'LL, they need to like hang out and be BFFs. And killing zombies is a totally valid bonding activity yanno. Shooting guns and wielding flamethrowers and tending to each other's wounds.
I forgot where I found that macro, but I love it to effing bits.
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So, you know. Thank you for introducing me to word!porn. I love it!
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I truly have NO IDEA how you manage to do this sort of completely awesome stuff, but you do and it mostly just leaves me speechless. CASTIEL IS JUST WORDS, but sometimes words read you back! this language works from the inside out! ENOUGH TO BELIEVE YOU'RE THE ONE HOLDING THE PEN (but you totally aren't).
this is salvation! part improvisation, omg. MY HEART, IT BLEEDS FOR THEM. they are so fabulous! you are so fabulous! LASSS. <33333
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Thanks, homie. <3333 <3
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GODDAMNIT LASS NO MORE WITH GIVING ME CRACKY PLOT IDEAS. D:)
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"Misha!"
"I'm fine," he rasps. "Just watch the barricade."
"You don't look fine, mate."
But there is no time to argue because that's when the zombies break through. "Brains!" they cry, and Misha and Bradley raise their laser blasters and try to stay alive.
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"BRAAAAAINS."
"Okay, we've got to get out of here," Bradley says, grabbing Misha's arm and pulling him along.
"Have we got any yogurt? They like yogurt," Misha says, covering their six as he struggles to stay on his feet.
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Momentum works against them. Misha yelps and loses his balance, and they both crash to the ground, Misha on his back, Bradley flush on top him. In the vague and disconnected clarity that accompanies near-death experiences, Bradley thinks, His eyes are really fucking blue. But there's no time to linger on that. Bradley begins to scramble to his feet, when Misha yells, "STAY DOWN."
And Bradley lets himself collapse on top of Misha, feeling Misha raise his gun, feels the heat of the laser as Misha shoots the abominations that were probably about to eat Bradley alive.
"Braai--" gibbers something behind him, and then it is silenced, and then he hears a thud.
"Come on," Misha hisses. "Come on, let's go." And when Bradley stands up and pulls Misha up with him, he says, "Lemme go, I can run."
Bradley says, "Can you run fast?"
"I can run a hell of a lot faster if you're not dragging me around."
So Bradley lets go, and the moans and groans behind them fade as they rush down the corridor.
+
"How's that? That good?" Bradley has ripped off his shirt and transformed it into a makeshift bandage for Misha's shoulder. The relief that filled him when he discovered the wound was not a zombie bite, he will never tell Misha about.
"It's fine." Misha swats away his arms.
"I never thought it would end this way, you know," Bradley says, trying to make light of the situation.
"It won't," Misha says tightly. "Besides, they'd probably go after me before they go after you. I have bigger brains."
"I don't know, your head's pretty small."
"It's bigger on the inside than it is on the ouside."
Bradley wonders if that's the blood loss talking or just Misha being Misha. It's hard to tell. It's cold in the spaceship and Bradley's getting goosebumps already, but that is of course the least of his worries.
"Do you think the CW or the BBC have received our distress calls by now?" Bradley asks.
Misha says, "We need more ammo."
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"Are you suggesting that I'm fat?" Misha slurs, somehow managing to leer at the same time.
"Why are you still leering at me when you can barely walk by yourself?" Bradley asks, because sometimes there are important questions to ask and this is definitely one of them, even though he's got one arm trying to keep Misha standing and his other arm is full. Guns tend to do that.
Misha doesn't answer, which surprises Bradley until he realizes that the dead weight in his arms is now actual dead weight, as Misha has gone and fainted on him.
Goddamnit. At least he managed to get them to the armory.
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Dean isn't surprised to look inwards and find a foreign language etched beneath his ribs. he learns to make its sounds, to write them down. writing can go from left to right, right to left, up and down, but this particular language works from the inside out.
i really love this. :)
and, 2) When will Bradley James and Misha Collins team up to fight zombies in space? afkdnsdsdfas
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Yeah, me and
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<33!
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once you learn a language, you are trapped by it. the dust settles, and you lose the words you could have known had you chosen a different tongue
ALSKDJJF YES
So which is it, Dean asks. Is this love or is this weakness?
Castiel replies, This is salvation.
AAAAAAGH YES.
bookmarking this so hard.
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This is excellent. I am going to remember this line.
Dean's handwriting! the bit about not wanting to write the story you're saddled with! it is awesome how you start with the premise that life is writing, and then writing/language as a representation of life gets turned around: what we think of as life is a representation, a metaphor for writing/language.
also, the heartbreak moment:
worship is every bit as selfish as it is submissive, because prayer is the act of disguising your weaknesses as love.
So which is it, Dean asks. Is this love or is this weakness?
Castiel replies, This is salvation.
SALVATION. *weeeeeps*
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lol, EVERYTHING IS EVERYTHING. I feel like I can make a Levi-Strauss joke but I haven't been in class for ages and I can't remember the references.
Anyway. Thank you! <33333
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