SPN fic: "John the Revelator"
I have a headache. Other than that? Consider my brain squeegeed. \o/
Title: John the Revelator
Author: mona1347
Word Count: 540
Warnings/Rating: Dark themes (it is, indeed, from the demonic population's POV) but safe for almost everyone. References to Wincest, nothing overt.
A/N: I will upload the song in question (sometimes I think I just write glorified song-fic all the time) when I get home. Because this piece is totally the fault of Depeche Mode and my half-drunken brain.
ETA: Song uploaded! You can snag it here :-D.
Take him up to the top where the mountains stop
Let him tell his book of lies
John the Revelator
He's a smooth operator
It's time we cut him down to size…
Well who's that shouting?
John the Revelator!
All he ever gives us is pain...
~ "John of Revelator," Depeche Mode
He thinks he can win.
That there is anything to win. Weak construction. Human construction. Baseless.
Base.
When we are legion, forever. We go on. We keep coming, through all, through everything. History. Pointless human history. Means nothing. We will be forever, forever in the Darkness. Only thing. Illusion.
The Chaos of creation. Made in chaos. Come to be. To Be.
He will do nothing. He'll be capable...of nothing. We will harness the spirit of the flesh. Dead flesh. Angry flesh. Hurting flesh. Take into our own (belonging). We will become ever greater. Taking. Take.
His spawn, his disgusting (loved) spawn ruts like the animals they are (like him, like them all. contempt) and we know, we see, when he does not. Blind. Unholy sin (love). The men he created (loves) with his seed, filthy seed of Life (love, untouchable), are ours, ours forever with what they do (bite, kiss, lick, suck, rub, fuck, take, need, feel...)
Sin.
Sinful. Wrong in the eyes of their own pointless, groundless laws. Human laws. The only laws beyond pain and want and ability.
Sin. They sin together and love it, need it, we make them (we feel their) need, more pain. We feed. Weakness.
He burns.
Burns to kill us. End us. End. No ending. Forever. Take.
It burns, holy liquid and salt. Water, earth, fire and air forced from soiled human lungs in sounds making old words that scorch us.
Scourge.
Meat-y animal. Nothing but an animal wrongly given spirit. Mistake. Spirit shoved inside weak flesh. Our flesh. Own. We have no flesh and we want...want...want. Want to hurt (them), to feel (passion, pleasure).
Doesn't belong there. No spirit (endless) should be in something so weak (base). So breakable, permeable.
Flesh.
What is flesh? Pain, (love,) death, sensation. Muck. Ooze. Teeming. We want. Again. It burns to want.
He burns.
Pathetic.
We saw his ancestors (rutting fleshy seed through generations) rise up from the muck. From the ooze that began this hideous, simpering thing called Life. Survival. Fit for survival. Evolving in pain and death and adversity.
We are The Adversary.
Slimy matter, made of matter. All that matters. Ours.
He accomplishes nothing.
Unholy holy man.
Shotgun, arrow, silver blade. Human "inventions". Tearing, burning, pain. Fire. Burn. Now the flesh of his flesh, bone of his bone, blood of his blood, they burn us too. He taught them and kept them alive. We'll hurt them too, take them all - all Winchester flesh.
Banish us. Kill/Take/End us and we go on, we will always go on. Legion. Again. More. Forever. Always more of us. Innumerable as the stars in their flimsy sky.
Human weakness.
Weak.
Always take, always feed, always pain. Oh pain, sweet human-pain, tastes like tart victory. Revenge.
Sustenance.
That book, in that filthy book - sacred paper crushed out (fiber of growth and water), molded from green life -- he records our weaknesses, our strengths and our defeat (nothing, he'll accomplish nothing) for his filthy sons with their want, their need, their destruction. They need.
We will stop him, break his tiny, fleshy, fragile nothing.
Body.
Flesh.
Make him bleed, bleed red for us. The iron-copper tang will be so sweet…
Taste his flesh.
He burns (love).
John.
Title: John the Revelator
Author: mona1347
Word Count: 540
Warnings/Rating: Dark themes (it is, indeed, from the demonic population's POV) but safe for almost everyone. References to Wincest, nothing overt.
A/N: I will upload the song in question (sometimes I think I just write glorified song-fic all the time) when I get home. Because this piece is totally the fault of Depeche Mode and my half-drunken brain.
ETA: Song uploaded! You can snag it here :-D.
Take him up to the top where the mountains stop
Let him tell his book of lies
John the Revelator
He's a smooth operator
It's time we cut him down to size…
Well who's that shouting?
John the Revelator!
All he ever gives us is pain...
~ "John of Revelator," Depeche Mode
He thinks he can win.
That there is anything to win. Weak construction. Human construction. Baseless.
Base.
When we are legion, forever. We go on. We keep coming, through all, through everything. History. Pointless human history. Means nothing. We will be forever, forever in the Darkness. Only thing. Illusion.
The Chaos of creation. Made in chaos. Come to be. To Be.
He will do nothing. He'll be capable...of nothing. We will harness the spirit of the flesh. Dead flesh. Angry flesh. Hurting flesh. Take into our own (belonging). We will become ever greater. Taking. Take.
His spawn, his disgusting (loved) spawn ruts like the animals they are (like him, like them all. contempt) and we know, we see, when he does not. Blind. Unholy sin (love). The men he created (loves) with his seed, filthy seed of Life (love, untouchable), are ours, ours forever with what they do (bite, kiss, lick, suck, rub, fuck, take, need, feel...)
Sin.
Sinful. Wrong in the eyes of their own pointless, groundless laws. Human laws. The only laws beyond pain and want and ability.
Sin. They sin together and love it, need it, we make them (we feel their) need, more pain. We feed. Weakness.
He burns.
Burns to kill us. End us. End. No ending. Forever. Take.
It burns, holy liquid and salt. Water, earth, fire and air forced from soiled human lungs in sounds making old words that scorch us.
Scourge.
Meat-y animal. Nothing but an animal wrongly given spirit. Mistake. Spirit shoved inside weak flesh. Our flesh. Own. We have no flesh and we want...want...want. Want to hurt (them), to feel (passion, pleasure).
Doesn't belong there. No spirit (endless) should be in something so weak (base). So breakable, permeable.
Flesh.
What is flesh? Pain, (love,) death, sensation. Muck. Ooze. Teeming. We want. Again. It burns to want.
He burns.
Pathetic.
We saw his ancestors (rutting fleshy seed through generations) rise up from the muck. From the ooze that began this hideous, simpering thing called Life. Survival. Fit for survival. Evolving in pain and death and adversity.
We are The Adversary.
Slimy matter, made of matter. All that matters. Ours.
He accomplishes nothing.
Unholy holy man.
Shotgun, arrow, silver blade. Human "inventions". Tearing, burning, pain. Fire. Burn. Now the flesh of his flesh, bone of his bone, blood of his blood, they burn us too. He taught them and kept them alive. We'll hurt them too, take them all - all Winchester flesh.
Banish us. Kill/Take/End us and we go on, we will always go on. Legion. Again. More. Forever. Always more of us. Innumerable as the stars in their flimsy sky.
Human weakness.
Weak.
Always take, always feed, always pain. Oh pain, sweet human-pain, tastes like tart victory. Revenge.
Sustenance.
That book, in that filthy book - sacred paper crushed out (fiber of growth and water), molded from green life -- he records our weaknesses, our strengths and our defeat (nothing, he'll accomplish nothing) for his filthy sons with their want, their need, their destruction. They need.
We will stop him, break his tiny, fleshy, fragile nothing.
Body.
Flesh.
Make him bleed, bleed red for us. The iron-copper tang will be so sweet…
Taste his flesh.
He burns (love).
John.