Galatea (Castiel, Zachariah, Dean) Gen, PGlexhibitionMarch 29 2010, 11:36:00 UTC
His brothers and sisters bring back stories, along with their wounds. While they heal their torn and broken wings they tell him things, in hushed, scared voices. There are fires in the deep, foul creatures and vile horrors. There are rivers of blood that ripple with the strength of the screams that blast across them
( ... )
To be honest, I meant to write all this stuff about Cas sculpting Dean's body from clay, like Adam was, and mimicking the creation of man and then being tied to the earth and drawn down here to live among humans and that's what happened to God and why he's MIA and...
Then I remembered I was writing commentfic and wrote this instead. I'm glad it's still worth reading! XD
Sorry to butt in butvikkiMarch 30 2010, 05:55:07 UTC
Cas sculpting Dean's body from clay, like Adam was, and mimicking the creation of man and then being tied to the earth and drawn down here to live among humans and that's what happened to God
OH MY GOD YOU NEED TO WRITE THIS. YOU NEED TO WRITE THIS LIEK WHOA
Re: Sorry to butt in butlexhibitionMarch 30 2010, 09:19:03 UTC
IT WOULD BE ALL; CASTIEL IS MORE LIKE HIS DADDY THAN HE KNOWS AND THEY BOTH FALL FOR THEIR CREATIONS AND THERE IS ALL THIS IMAGERY ABOUT DUST AND EARTH AND WHAT IT MEANS TO HAVE FLESH AND POSSIBLY THERE WOULD BE SEX (OR MAYBE MUD WRESTLING, IDK)
But I have no time for anything but commentfic right now! :( Maybe when I am on semester break.
Oh man, it makes me so happy that you like that end bit with Zachariah, because I was cackling with glee when I wrote it. He's so smarmy and awesome! I almost enjoyed writing him more than Cas. (Almost. Cas kind of wins by default!) Thanks! <3
Oh, this is fantastic. ♥ I love all the detail, and the fact that Castiel crafted Dean's new body so lovingly. And Zachariah is just so spot-on-perfect, I just--yes. ♥
You like my Zachariah? Okay, this is me FOREVER: =D =D =D TY!
And, unf, Cas. I like to imagine him as a tortured artist, slaving away over Dean's eyelashes and forgetting to eat manna with the other angels and getting all pale and consumptive like he's an 18th century poet or something. Because I'm peculiar.
Once upon a midnight dreary, while Cas pondered weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, While he nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at the garrison door. `It's just Uriel,' he muttered, `tapping at the garrison door - Only this, and nothing more.'
Ah, distinctly he remembered it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember streaked the walls with golden sheen. Eagerly he wished the morrow; - vainly he had sought to borrow From his books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost man Dean - For the rare and radiant hunter whom John and Mary had named Dean - Nameless now since halloween.
AND THIS IS WHY COMMENT FIC IS BEYOND EVIL. *headdesk FOREVER*
I LOVE. Just...I can't even think of the right words. The way you told this story was extremely poetic, and I love that Castiel does not want to make him obedient against his will. Just, love <3
Thank you, this is awesome to hear! Until about a month ago poetry was really all I'd ever written for fun, so it's not surprising it creeps into my prose. &hearts
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Then I remembered I was writing commentfic and wrote this instead. I'm glad it's still worth reading! XD
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OH MY GOD YOU NEED TO WRITE THIS.
YOU NEED TO WRITE THIS LIEK WHOA
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But I have no time for anything but commentfic right now! :( Maybe when I am on semester break.
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♥
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And, unf, Cas. I like to imagine him as a tortured artist, slaving away over Dean's eyelashes and forgetting to eat manna with the other angels and getting all pale and consumptive like he's an 18th century poet or something. Because I'm peculiar.
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I like the idea of Castiel as a tortured arteest. XD;; Now you've made me want Cas hanging with Edgar Allen Poe. XD
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Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While he nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at the garrison door.
`It's just Uriel,' he muttered, `tapping at the garrison door -
Only this, and nothing more.'
Ah, distinctly he remembered it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember streaked the walls with golden sheen.
Eagerly he wished the morrow; - vainly he had sought to borrow
From his books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost man Dean -
For the rare and radiant hunter whom John and Mary had named Dean -
Nameless now since halloween.
AND THIS IS WHY COMMENT FIC IS BEYOND EVIL. *headdesk FOREVER*
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Oh, nice job with the iambic pentameter and other poetic terms I've forgotten since eighth grade! That's hard. And this is awesome. And ILU! ♥ ♥ ♥
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