Things I should start asking cis people.
“How long have you known?”
“When did you start being cis?”
*random intrusive questions about genitalia*
“How do you know you’re not trans?”
“Aren’t you afraid you’ll regret your decision not to transition?”
“But… If you’ve never had to fight for your gender identity how do you know?”
The Rules Are Simple
The rules are simple.
Kill the monster, or it will eat
your heart, and all that will be left
is the empty space inside you.
Kill the monster, or it will eat
your brother, and you’ll have no one
to kill yourself for. You’ll hate
the sunrises and the sunsets.
Your heart, and all that will be left,
beg for release from your chest, and
the sun rises and the sun sets
to kill yourself for. You’ll hate.
Beg for release from your chest
and your brother. And you’ll have no one.
The sun rises and the sun sets.
Is the empty space inside you
your heart and all that will be left?
Kill the monster, or it will eat.
The rules are simple.
(Part 4)
He looked smaller on the floor of the basement; his body uncovered for the first time since they’d dragged him down here, dark hair unkempt and stark against his pallid, bloodless forehead. Under him was the long plastic tarp they’d used to encase him, a makeshift shroud.
The days hadn’t been kind to Jimmy’s body – he was sunken, his eyes collapsed inwards; his skin held the strange, ghoulish tinge of a thing that was lifeless, and though Dean had expected to feel a twinge of nostalgia, seeing the body – the suit Castiel had worn for so long – he felt instead a tangible disconnect; the sense that somehow this body wasn’t, had never been Castiel, never been his friend.
Castiel himself loomed in the corner of the room, on the stairs leading to the basement. He was a long oval, like a draped, starry sheet; he curved in on himself as if lamenting, and he was tall now – taller than Sam, brushing the high edges of doorways as he swept through them. Dean looked back at him, briefly – Castiel straightened a little, but gave no indication that he was looking back. The two brothers, knelt either side of this strange bag of flesh, looked at each other with faces drawn.
“He looks-“
“Yeah.” Dean murmured. He smelt, though not as badly as they’d feared; but to all purposes Jimmy looked like a corpse, not even just a mortal. Not anymore. Dean’s mouth tightened as he looked down at Jimmy’s greyed, staring eyes. They were wrinkled, fluidless, and the thought of touching them with a naked hand made bile crawl up the back of his throat. Sam glanced at Cas, but said nothing.
“Can we make him look a little less-“ Dean pulled a face, trying to communicate fucking gross with a downward twitch of his mouth.
“I don’t know.” His brother replied, turning back to the body.
Castiel made no sound as he rose and crossed the room to meet them. His long shape was strange now – at first he’d been disneyfied, maybe even cute, but now he was a stretched thing, like a cult member with their robes drawn around them; he was warm when the edges of him skirted Dean’s side – familiar, and Cas all over – but now so much more reminiscent of the thing he’d been, the thing he was no longer.
Dean looked at him, and a tendril of Cas curled out from his centre, hovered over the body – fit itself over Jimmy’s dead eyes like a sleep-mask, blotting them out. Dean expected something to happen beneath it, but when Castiel drew away, he was unchanged. The three of them exchanged grim looks.
“What do you wanna do, Cas?” Sam asked him, and Castiel slumped, formless, as if melting – then straightened again. He reached for Dean’s shoulder, and pressed through his shirt, inside him.
Do it anyway. Said his voice, in Dean’s mind, and Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Castiel shoved him. Please. He said, and Dean looked down at the body between them.
“He says do it.” He told his brother, and Sam nodded hesitantly.
“Okay. If that’s what he wants.”
