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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.
no subject
no subject
WHO DOES MR. KRABS HANG OUT WITH?
no subject
no subject