dust is blowing in your face. you’re lying, facing upwards, on the cold ground. you laugh.
your heart hurts, and you realize this might have been all for nothing. you realize you might have lost the fight before it even started.
your bones splinter
(and isn’t that ironic? in these dying moments, you feel alive)
you pray to ares. your breath is threatening to leave your lungs, but you need to know. you need to know this wasn’t all for nothing
(but this is war, what did you expect?)
can you hear them? warriors just like you, their soulless cries echoing through eternity -
what are you still doing here? why don’t you follow them?
(maybe you are different after all, you and them)
the war is not over and you are not done
(your heart still hasn’t broken your ribs after all)
some fic writers probably dont realise that by writing silly fics, angsty fics, romcom-y fics, dramatic serious fics, crack fics, heart-breaking fics, or any kinds of fics, really, they might have saved someone’s sanity. reading fics have saved me too many times to count. you are all my saviours. thank you, for taking time to write, to weave letters and words and sentences together and create an amazing tale. all of you are my rock stars
there is no beauty within him. his laughs are as empty as his bottles, his chest heaving with something more akin to a wheeze. you scoff as you see him and yet -
yet you long to taste the blood and the smoke on his lips, to chase away the darkness from his wild soul, to calm his mind
he pulls you along with him, shows you his future grave and tells you there is no more death after death. he smiles but even now his lips are tilted downward
he is a paradox you cannot decrypt. you do not know if you want to.
he puts a cigarette to your lips and tells you to experience death and you know that this is your downfall because he is everything. you liken him to a wilting flower and for the first time in forever, his face softens and he tells you that you remind him of someone he once knew.
he holds up a bottle and comes up to you on shaking knees. his eyes are glossed over and he smiles an insincere smile.
he whispers words against your damp skin and you hate him. you hate him so much you have to shut your eyes and hold your breath and clench your fists and -
you love him. he is a paradox you cannot decrypt. you do not want to.
Please don’t apologize
for the oxygen your lungs take
or the carbon they make.
The elements by which you are powered
and of which you are made
and which you take and remake,
melt down, reforge,
in the furnace beneath your ribs –
these are given to you freely,
a love letter from the ancient stars,
and each of your exhalations
is a heartfelt reply:
Yes, I hear you.
Yes, I am yours.
And your breath feeds the green,
and your flesh feeds the earth,
and your light feeds mine,
fills this space, makes me shine.
So breathe deep. Breathe slow.
You have stories to tell.
You are one with the cosmos,
and you are well.
You know, sometimes I wonder about Cas and how he loves. Because he’s not human- at least, he wasn’t and he was and now he isn’t again- and I wonder- is love like peanut butter and jelly to him? Maybe he looks at Sam and Dean and see all their molecules and little bits that he loves, but he can’t quite put it together. It’s so foreign to him, but he knows he loves them, he knows it, deep in the roots of his grace he knows that he desperately loves these two precious hunters, the righteous man of hell and the demon boy king with grace in his veins, but he just can’t piece it together to make sense of it.
Love tastes like molecules to Castiel, and I wonder if in that one night he was with Dean, before Dean dropped him off at the gas station in the morning, I wonder if Cas was able to explain it to him. Maybe Cas didn’t just speak of molecules to Sam, maybe he finally told Dean, “I love you,” because Dean wasn’t pieces of the whole anymore, Dean was Dean. And maybe Dean understood and kissed him in the car that was his home, and held him all night, and told him that he loved him too, molecules and all.
Maybe love tastes like molecules to Cas again, and maybe that’s why he’s so sad- because he can’t feel it anymore. He can’t feel human love anymore, and he aches for it despite his deep angelic love for Dean and Sam, because he knows what human love is like now. And he wants it back.
you, apollo, were never the perfect man.
your light always burning too bright, your heart beating too hard,
fighting too much for things that did not concern you, praying too loudly for people you didn’t know
as you stood with the stars in the bright night sky, dionysus for once was still
you could never stay too far from chaos, and he could never stay too far from you, his heart long since taking it’s place in your palm
you were his world, love. he was not yours.
he loved you like the sun loved the moon, like the trees loved time, fell asleep with promises of the world on his tongue
you whispered prayers into his skin, begging for forgiveness from someone who was not there
(and wasn’t that ironic? the great apollo, brought to his knees by a drunk)
you, apollo, were never the perfect man;
so walk away, love
(and may the bridges you burn light your way)
he was the king of the world, crowned with rue and wormwood
his hands, calloused by winters long gone, were like stones, his eyes never quite focused, voice just loud enough to bark commands at his pawns
his head was heavy, and as he stood on the edge of the cliff, his knees shook, his steps wavered
his puffs of breath escaping into the cold air looked more like smoke from a half-burnt cigarette
his hands shook.
at night, he looked at the moon for too long, dreamed of ancient heroes, prayed to ares and athena, pleaded for salvation
he wanted to be like the stars sometimes
he was the king of the world, sitting here, feet dangling over the edge, the void calling out to him
the crown was the first to fall, rue and wormwood separating, and as it floated along beside him, he laughed
it was the last to land,
for what have crowns ever done for kings?
Fall in love with an affectionate drunk.
Find the person who respects your space
when you have that broken look in your eye,
but after three glasses of wine, smiles past your wounds
and pulls you out to dance.
Find someone whose greatest inhibitions
only stop them from laughing too hard,
touching too much, giving more than they should,
and for all that warmth, offer something in return:
an eye for an eye; a hand for a hand;
a heart for a heart.
You’re worth more than you think. You’ll see that soon, and it will feel like a debt you can never repay. But if you can give nothing else, give yourself. – s.s.