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“Poetry must be read out loud.”

Some more Cas! This time inspired by the fanficiton And This, Your Living Kiss by @asecretvice

It’s a great fic, and I’m enjoying reading more work by the poets mentioned in it!

#deancas #destiel #castiel #and this your living kiss #opal bullets #supernatural #supernatural fanart

Read and this your living kiss again. Would like to know what those two are up to these days.

#ever want to read a fanfic of a fanfic?#because i sure do #and this your living kiss #opal bullets

fic rec list

(these are just my top fics as I continue reading new stuff! these are potentially subject to change/be added onto as I read more, the top 2 are pretty set in stone though- REMEMBER TO READ WARNINGS ON EACH FIC!)

#1, So Says The Sword by komodobits || 85k (this changed me so DEEPLY) ✿

#2, Four Letter Word for Intercourse by bendingsignpost || 194k ❖✧

#3, oh sooner or later it all comes down to faith by sobsicles || 62k @sobsicles ✿

#4, Sweet Dreams and Scattershot (series) by Elliedew || 528k (HEARTWRENCHING) ✧✿

#5, Ascend by quiettewandering || 50k @wanderingcas ♡

#6, Teaching Poetry To Fish by aeli_kindara || 52k (holy shit this opened my soul to the universe) ✿

#7, And This, Your Living Kiss by opal_bullets || 56k (this made me get back into poetry & now im working on my own poetry book!) ❖✿

#8, Fire and Ice by Castielslostwings || 189k ❖✧(x2)

And This, Your Living Kiss

fic by opal_bullets | art by elliot draznin

Only a very few people in the world know that the celebrated and reclusive poet Jack Allen is just Kansas mechanic Dean Winchester, a high school dropout with a few bucks to his name. Not that it matters anymore; life has left him so wrung out he never wants to pick up another pen. Until, that is, a string of coincidences leads Dean to auditing a poetry course with one Dr. Castiel Novak. The professor is wildly intelligent, devastatingly handsome...and just so happens to be academia's foremost expert on Jack Allen.

Keep reading for a sneak preview!

That night, instead of taking his quick plate of spaghetti to the couch, Dean sat down at the small kitchen table and opened the Howl facsimile again, and examined each draft more slowly. Then he read all the extra materials, the articles and letters Ginsberg had written about his process and his influences, discussion of the obscenity trial that nearly stopped it from being printed, and most of all, first person accounts of its premiere. Ginsberg hadn't written all of it yet by the time he found himself in that little smoky room in San Francisco, but he stood up and read out his heart, his poem, his I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness and the crowd…went into ecstasy. They felt him. They understood him. They clapped and cheered and shouted, egging him on, begging him to go on, because the words resonated in the room, in their souls. Dean knew that feeling. He remembered it. It rose up in him now, causing his eyes to water. He thought that childish little part of himself had been scrubbed out, but it was there, a tiny seed suddenly bursting a shoot, deep in his chest--he slapped his hand to it, felt his heart beating wildly against his ribcage, the bone all too solid. Do I dare? it asked. Do I dare? Dean thought of Sam and Eileen living 2,000 miles away. Thought of the invitation to live in their guest room, watch Jack a couple times a week to help save on daycare. So his nephew could grow up knowing him. So he could be near the only family he had left. Dean thought about how, for a dozen years now, Dr. Moseley had taught at some fancy little liberal arts college just an hour away from them. He thought about how Charlie moved around every couple years anyway, no job holding her interest long enough, no one tying her down well enough that her own restlessness didn’t compel her to leave before long. Who else was he beholden to? How much longer was he going to live in the shitty little house his father had died in? When was the last time he’d even felt something so strongly, that now to even recognize that he had emotion was like a waking limb, pins and needles? It was so much better to be numb. (Courage, poor stupid heart of stone.) He picked up the phone.