#my eords

[zagzie]

I thought the first time I’d go to California would be for you

[zagzie]

fire within

↳ @spnpoetryrenaissance's spn poetry renaissance: day 24, elements

i was talking about ruby 2.0 earlier today and it hit me: has anyone ever thought of rubylilith?

transcript below cut

ⅰ. you first found me in the depths of damnation

lesser beings fled at your sight,

but you were the most beautiful despite

the way you lifted my chin, rubbing at the abrasions

you chose me to take up the cause

you saw my fire from within

ii. I was loyal to you, only you, and you knew

I was birthed from Hell’s weeping lips

and I will bring apocalypse,

because you believe in me to raise our king

I will not let you down

I stoke the fire from within

iii. blades and barbs strike my body

I am bruised by foe and kin alike,

but I have your love to hold me tight,

blessing me as your blood trickles onto the tile floor

iv. lord will not, cannot save me

I do not want saving, I do not need it

o, I am fire within

you love my fire from within

[zagzie]

The Bug Collector

Dean has a fear of wasps. One ends up in their house.

“Cas,” Dean says, voice wavering as he clutches onto Cas’s arm. “Cas, I think there’s a wasp in our kitchen.”

Our kitchen. Despite the circumstances, Cas has to smile just a little bit. He kisses Dean’s temple before taking a sip of the coffee he was handed.

“Would you like me to get rid of it?” Cas rumbles. His fingers intertwine with Dean’s as they begin to hold hands.

“Yeah,” Dean squeaks.

Cas sighs softly, applying another kiss underneath Dean’s eye. “Alright,” he says. “I’ll get it.”

He sets down his mug as Dean mumbles an embarrassed thank you. Cas smiles again. He walks into the kitchen. Our kitchen.

As if on cue, the wasp flies by the window, casting a shadow with the rising sun across the small island table. Cas holds his hand out, sending a soft wave of pressure towards the insect with the ebbs of grace he still had left. The wasp whizzes around some more before settling itself onto Cas’s finger. It knew he was friendly. It seemed curious.

Cas exhales. “Sorry, but you can’t stay.” He walks over to the window, propping it open. “My husband doesn’t like wasps in the morning.”

Getting the signal, the wasp shoots out of the opening and flies away. Cas gives a little wave. He closes the window.

“Is it gone?” Dean asks from the living room. Our living room.

“Yes,” Cas hums. He looks over as Dean shuffles in. Once he feels a bit more confident, he walks over to Cas with a big smile on his face. He puts his arms around Cas’s waist, and kisses him on the lips, soft and short.

“My hero.”

“If I were your hero, you’d have brought the coffee in here,” Cas grumbles, which earns a soft laugh.

They go out to the local diner for breakfast, anyways.

[zagzie]

@sikennatural’s (My) 200 Follower Celebration!

“Title”

↳ prompt: “I love you”

Cas POV. This a long one. Poem underneath the cut.

For the sake of argument: Let’s say I love you.

You’re beautiful and charming and

everything I could’ve imagined.

Here’s your problem: You never go first.

You have desired everything in the world,

seen it and felt it beneath your palm,

and refuse to take anything

because you haven’t been told to.

But you love me,

and I know you love me

and I know you know you love me because you’ve built everything on top of it.

You hug me and watch movies with me

and you pat my shoulder and keep it there longer than what you’ve told me is

acceptable

and you ask for personal space and then you don’t move away.

I love this about you:

you’re caring and you’re caring

and I can’t stand

that you do

these things

thinking I didn’t notice.

You are the most selfless, loving human being that I will ever know.

You are my greatest sense of joy and my worst flaw.

I’m the happiest I’ve ever been and I’m dying right in front of you.

Forget about my death. Let’s say you’re a mailman.

You take what goes to others and hand it out accordingly, and if something’s wrong or absent on the envelope, you collect your scraps from love letters that never belonged to you.

But sometimes, when something really interesting happens, you come to my house and whisper to me,

“Oh, Wesson sent her a letter today, and it smelled like cologne— I bet I know what happens next.”

And then we’d watch movies you’ve all seen before and whisper really close to my ear, “Watch what happens next.”

Are you watching, love?

This is the important part of the film.

And we’d do this every Sunday, except that one time I yelled at you to get off my lawn because there was a rabid dog loose in my house

and I’m sorry I yelled at you so harshly, I’m sorry I keep getting rabid animals in my house. I think they’re attracted to you.

Je suis mourir de faim et vous est le meilleur décès des nous.

I’m sorry about that. I’m so sorry. Can you forgive me for the things I haven’t done?

Can you catch me one last time?

Forget about the death. Forget about the mailmen. Forget about my awful insatiable appetite that kills me every time I look at you.

You’re willing to starve yourself out. Unfortunately, I don’t have that much time.

For the sake of the argument, let’s say I didn’t love you.

I would’ve left this TV screen forty-two years ago.

[zagzie]

@sikennatural’s (My) 200 Follower Celebration!

“love At The altar”

↳ prompt: altar

. . .

you were perfect to me

and unfortunately, that made you God

and in all which things desired,

I

gave

myself

to you

you didn’t know how to receive Love at the altar before

you didn’t know how to receive Love at all

and Love,

He is a beautiful thing, He is a killing thing

and unfortunately, you

were God and I

Loved you

[zagzie]

@tootiredmotel’s 500 Follower Celebration!

Thought you’d seen the last of me? Wrong!

October 8th Prompt: “I can’t believe you”

~500 words of familial softness. Dean, Cas and Jack have dinner.

The way to win over Jack is through sweet potatoes.

Sweet potato home fries, baked sweet potatoes, roasted sweet potatoes, mashed sweet potato. Sweet potato, sweet potato, sweet potato.

So when Dean called Cas and Jack for dinner, he wasn’t surprised to turn around to Jack at the counter, picking pieces of roasted sweet potato and eating it.

“I can’t believe you,” he teases, chest hurting from holding back laughter and this other thing called tenderness.

Jack gives a sheepish grin. He still has potato in his hand, but he stopped eating it.

“Well?” Dean motions his hands at him. “Might as well keep eating it!”

Jack muffles “Thanks!” as he puts more in his mouth.

Then, from behind Dean, he hears Cas. “Jack,” he half-scolds.

“What?” Jack protests, “Dad said I could!”

Jack doesn’t call him Dad all the time, but he sometimes used it strategically, because Cas couldn’t help feeling as fond as Dean does right now.

“Please use a fork,” Cas replies before giving a quick kiss to Dean’s cheek.

Dean hums, leaning into Cas. If Jack’s looking for backup, he doesn’t get any.

“Fine,” he sighs as he grabs a plate, filling it up with food. Cas is next in line, with Dean behind him.

Cas doesn’t technically need to eat like Dean and Jack do, but he’s at the permanent cusp between angel and human that allows him to taste food normally if he wants to, so he scoops his food.

It was a quiet night. It was pretty common nowadays, actually. Sam and Eileen had moved out, which left Dean, Cas and Jack in the bunker. They had plans on moving out themselves, but they couldn’t find the right house that was close enough.

It isn’t all bad, though. Jack had recently gotten into Studio Ghibli, which gave them a lot more material for movie nights. It wasn’t Dean’s favorite, but most of them were good. Plus, Jack and Cas loved them.

Cas breaks Dean’s train of thought. “Are we still good for movie night tonight?”

Jack settles in his seat excitedly. “Can we watch Howl’s Moving Castle?”

“I don’t think we’ve seen that one,” Dean muses. They have a habit of rewatching things. Dean doesn’t mind.

“Of course,” Cas says, smiling, and it’s the brightest thing in the damn room. “That sounds wonderful.”

Jack’s smile back ties for first. “Awesome.” He digs into his food, hurrying to reach movie night sooner.

Dean could tell Cas wanted to tell Jack to slow down, but Jack’s too damn happy that Cas doesn’t want to stop it.

Dean doesn’t want it to stop either. He knocks shoulders with Cas. He looks at him, and Dean gives him a kiss over the cheekbone.

Yeah. Dean wouldn’t stop this for the damn world.

[zagzie]

@tootiredmotel’s 500 Follower Celebration!

October 10th Prompt: Handwrite

Transmasc Dean. 300+ words of projection, vaguely implied transphobic J*hn but he’s not there. Nice/neutral ending.

He needs to pick out a new name.

He frowns at the paper in front of him. Sammy was fast asleep in the bed next to him, and Dad was out on a hunt. So he was alone.

He was guarding the fort. Writing on a piece of paper while sitting in a motel bed, sawed-off shotgun lying beside the nightstand.

He scribbles out the name Micheal. Something about going by his middle name made his stomach roll.

Dylan Winchester.

Brock Winchester.

Micheal Winchester.

He sighs. At least it’ll help my handwriting, he thinks bitterly.

Here’s the problem: He likes Dean. But he also likes Eliot. But he can’t go by both.

He’d already spent so long convincing Dad on the whole being a boy not just in public, but all of the time thing. He’s a man. He needs to be taken seriously. Dad needs to take him seriously.

Dean or Eliot.

Eliot or Dean.

Eliot crumples the paper in frustration and throws it against the stained wall. Sammy doesn’t stir.

Briefly, he wonders what Sam would like better. He was half out of his mind to consider asking.

Dean makes him happy. It makes him really happy. So does Eliot. The Untouchables was so friggin’ cool!

Dean exhales and runs his hands through his spiky, freshly cut hair.

Eliot gets up from where he sat on the bed and grabs the crumpled paper. Dean uncrumples it reverently, flattening it back out on the book he was using as a table. He adjusts the shitty lamp for the fourth time that night.

Not that he had been counting. Or anything.

He starts writing them out as initials instead.

D.W

E.W

D.M.W

E.M.W

Dean Winchester. Dean Micheal Winchester.

He likes Dean. It came off of his tongue, quick and smooth. He thinks other people will like it, too.

Maybe he’d meet an Eliot one day. Maybe he can use it for someone or something else. He still likes the name.

Dean Winchester.

Dean shoved the paper underneath his pillow, partnering with his hidden knife.

Sammy doesn’t stir. Dad still wasn’t home.

Dean was guarding the fort.

[zagzie]

The beginning of @tootiredmotel’s 500 Follower Celebration!

First, I want to say congratulations to you, Gen. You’re an amazing friend and I’m so happy for you. Making all this stuff was really fun, so I hope you enjoy!

October 8th Prompt: Blue

poem is under the cut

your father comes through the door and asks you what god is

you don’t know god, but you know your father, and you know his will is to be carried out

you have your little brother to look after

you know your family as you carry shotguns

a girl like you slides into bed with you and asks you what god is

you aren’t sure, but you like lying in bed together, you like talking with her, and you tell her so

she smiles and kisses you

you love her and she knows

a blue-eyed boy walks into a barn and asks you what god is

you say you don’t believe in god but your body sings,

‘You, You, You. It’s You. I Know.’

“Cas, are you God?”

“That’s a nice compliment, but no.”

— f.c