"You mean how to approach shagging Dean?"
Currently, in not-a-real-haiku form:
Epic illness.
Loud music downstairs until very late at night is annoying as hell.
I am tutoring's bitch.
Writing will be the death of me.
Um. Onmyouji/Supernatural crossover fic anyone? And no, before you ask, I couldn't be any more random if I tried.
Title: Iroha, or Those Mountains of Deep Evanescent Existence
Words: 1,752
Summary: The angel Castiel and Abe no Seimei discuss the choices to come. Set immediately before episode 4x20 (The Rapture). Hints of Dean/Castiel-ness and Seimei/Hiromasa-ness in there. Obviously.
Notes: This all began when cienna and I started discussing how Seimei could really give Castiel some handy tips on effective stalking. Somehow this morphed into an actually very serious character study that was a joy to write, even if I did receive multiple beatings for doing it. (I'm supposed to be finishing the Epic, you see.) I am aware that only about three people in the world are going to know both characters, but let's just call this self-indulgence. But to be honest, you don't have to be familiar with Onmyouji to understand this.
There are many notes I could make about tennin (天人, which google keeps trying to tell me is actually "tennis"), and about the Iroha (伊呂波), but suffice it to say the former is a heavenly being and the latter is a very beautiful form of poetry, and also means something like "the basics".
.Iroha, or Those Mountains of Deep Evanescent Existence.
He hears the sound of soft laughter before he sees their form and he wonders at that, how preoccupied he must be, to not notice the presence of another being when he is alone, surrounded only by the beauty of his Father's world. His world of a thousand years before, with such clean air still, and silence impossible to find in that modern world.
"I have never seen," the soft voice says, and it is unafraid, "A tennin quite as strange as you."
The man is not tall, but he is clothed richly, his hollowed cheeks mirthful and his eyes dark with knowledge Castiel is sure humans do not usually posses. He is not all human though, and Castiel thinks that explains a lot.
"You have seen many of your tennin then?" Castiel asks.
"I have," the man replies solemnly. He moves gracefully, stands closer to Castiel. "And they were all as beautiful as the legends suggest.” There is mirth in his voice when he adds, “And quite female."
"Then why do you not think I am something else? A human perhaps."
At this the man laughs, throwing back his head and drawing his hands together in front of his chest. His sleeves are long swathes of silk and slide gracefully as he moves.
"I could never think you were a man. You are far too oddly dressed!" He pauses, his eyes resting contemplatively on Castiel.
He's staring, Castiel realises, and for the first time he thinks that perhaps he might understand Dean's discomfort with it.
"And I am not blind," the man says, raising his long eyebrows, looking over Castiel's shoulders like he can see something there.
This is not wholly a human, Castiel knows, so perhaps he can.
"Your eyes are old," the man says then, returning his gaze to Castiel's face.
Castiel looks away. He came here for peace and contemplation, removed from the decisions he is soon to face, and he has always loved the mountains with their cool breezes and deep green trees. He thought he would be alone here, where none of his brothers might look for him.
"It does not matter to me what you think I am," he says dismissively. He can't decide if he wants the man to leave or not. He seems so... knowing, something that Castiel doesn't think he has seen in any kind of human before.
Then the man says, "You are troubled, tennin. Perhaps I can help?" and Castiel wonders at the propensity of humanity to always involve themselves in everything.
"What if I am?" he find himself saying even though he thinks, there are many other mountain tops and many other lands, and this is bit a small place and a small time and he does not need to speak to this man at all. He should leave. He should make his own decisions.
But this stranger speaks then, carefully, "If one such as you is troubled, surely it is something of dire consequence to lesser living things?"
Perceptive, Castiel thinks, turning his head back to face the man. Of all the places he could have gone he is here, and so is this man, and perhaps then this meeting is the Will of God.
In his mind he can see magic and power, irreverence, ignominy and apathy, but also love and compassion and goodness.
"You are reading my thoughts," the man says, not a question but he sounds amused more than anything. Castiel thinks of Dean, who would be angry at him for doing such a thing.
"I am," he admits and turns away. Castiel feels the sun, warm on his shoulders and the wind, cool on his face and knows that he should not be feeling these things at all.
"It would be interesting," the man is saying, "To look at the mind of one such as you."
"That would burn you," Castiel tells him absently.
"Then you shall have to tell me, because I do not want to burn, but I could be of help."
The man seems more sombre now, but there is still some masked amusement in his eyes and a soft smile on his face.
Castiel shakes his head. "I can offer you nothing in return," he says, because he knows the ways of men and their bargains and deals and he may be considering disobedience but he is still an angel.
He laughs, and it is deep and rich. Castiel wonders at what he has said that is amusing, but humans are unfathomable much of the time and make no sense anyway. He questions as to why, if he really thinks this, if he really believes they cannot be understood, he dares to even contemplate going against the very will of Heaven for their sake. Or perhaps it is for that reason; because he wishes to know them more. Because he wishes for them to live as their Father allowed.
For Dean to live, Castiel thinks wryly. He is not so blind to his fondness for that particular human to not realise this as truth.
Then the stranger is saying, "It is for my own interest, I assure you. I am intrigued." He reaches out a hand in a gesture that Castiel does not recognise. His sleeves are caught in the breeze. Castiel imagines that Dean would say this man’s clothes were the most impractical thing he had ever seen.
The man says, "And I have nothing else to do this afternoon. My friend is away at court." He shakes his head and Castiel thinks there is a great affection there. "He is troublesome, but friends always seem to be this way."
Castiel nods in agreement, then stops because he has found himself thinking of Dean as a friend and Castiel finds he cannot quite understand why. Dean is capricious, derisive, distrustful and hateful of their visits. His visits. But even so, there are times when Castiel thinks that perhaps Dean does not dislike him after all. And why, Castiel asks himself, should it matter?
"It is that, then?" the man asks. "A friend is causing you such discomfort? I am not surprised." And he does sound truly sympathetic.
"It is not that," Castiel denies. "Not really." He is really not sure why he answers at all. There is no harm in this though, and this not-quite-human could perhaps provide a perspective Castiel is lacking. Feeling. Humanity.
The man nods, settles himself down on a rock opposite Castiel, which Castiel is certain was not there previously. He gathers his robes around him. Castiel wonders how he climbed this mountain in such impractical footwear. "Then what?" he asks, curiously.
Castiel shrugs, catches himself doing it and thinks that perhaps he has been spending too much time on Earth. With Dean. Of all things, he should not want to become like him. Though that is perhaps not fair, because Dean can be brave and fierce and loyal in ways that even the angel Castiel might aspire to.
He realises, after a moment, he has not spoken, but the man is sitting patiently, watching.
"I must make a choice," Castiel tells him. He means to say more, but the man interrupts, asking,
"And what must you choose between?"
"It is not that simple," Castiel says. Laments.
The man shakes his head. "It is always that simple, tennin. That is what choice is."
Castiel considers this; the paths before him. He can simply follow orders, or he can not. He can stand by and allow Lucifer to rise and Paradise to follow, or he can not. The others are so sure. Castiel can see the surety of victory in their Grace, but Castiel is not. Because the angels are not as they once were and he sees his brothers are tired and some are angry and some are prideful. When did it become like this, he wonders, how did their Father let it happen? Or perhaps more correctly, how did they let this happen to themselves.
Castiel knows that Dean would not want this. He knows that he would not understand the blessing of Paradise. He could never give up his brother. He could not willingly allow another to die. Dean would hate him for this deception.
So he tells the man, "I must choose between everything I have ever known, and... a friend."
The man looks pleased. "That is easy then," he says brightly. "You must choose your friend."
It is not often that Castiel is surprised, but the absoluteness with which the stranger answers is so very unexpected that Castiel finds himself replying, "He is not even a very good friend."
"They never are," the man agrees sagely, but the corners of his mouth are turned up in a suppressed smile. "Friends," he says, "Make you do things you had never thought to do." Castiel is sure, from the way he talks and the fondness he hears when he says ‘friend’, that this man is speaking from experience. He wonders about this man's friend, and what he has done for them. The man’s face is soft, warm when he adds, "For their sake."
"But why?" Castiel asks. Why must he do this? Why must he care? He is not even supposed to feel, he knows, and perhaps that should in itself tell him that this is all wrong. That he, Castiel, angel of the Lord, is wrong. Mostly, though, it just makes him more confused.
The stranger's smile stretches impossibly wide at that, his eyes narrowing. "Because we love them," he says and Castiel sees the truth in that, knows the truth of it. Perhaps it is simple after all. He loves humanity, as many of his brothers hate them. And he cares for them. For Dean.
So, then, for his sake. For their sake.
Castiel thinks he is smiling too, but he doesn't know why, because he is about to do something no angel has done in a very long time and it could cost him everything. But at least he will know he has done everything he could. "So it is," Castiel nods once in agreement. His mind made up. He bows his head towards the man in thanks and the man bows his head deeply in return.
"You will go then? To your friend?"
Castiel looks to the sky, clear blue, and to the future where it is the cool dark of night. Dean is asleep. He will not have much time.
He says, "I will," and he is gone.
.End.
Comments and concrit as you like, as always!
I deny thee, NaNo! I have not a clue how many words I have done! Ha!
Epic illness.
Loud music downstairs until very late at night is annoying as hell.
I am tutoring's bitch.
Writing will be the death of me.
Um. Onmyouji/Supernatural crossover fic anyone? And no, before you ask, I couldn't be any more random if I tried.
Title: Iroha, or Those Mountains of Deep Evanescent Existence
Words: 1,752
Summary: The angel Castiel and Abe no Seimei discuss the choices to come. Set immediately before episode 4x20 (The Rapture). Hints of Dean/Castiel-ness and Seimei/Hiromasa-ness in there. Obviously.
Notes: This all began when cienna and I started discussing how Seimei could really give Castiel some handy tips on effective stalking. Somehow this morphed into an actually very serious character study that was a joy to write, even if I did receive multiple beatings for doing it. (I'm supposed to be finishing the Epic, you see.) I am aware that only about three people in the world are going to know both characters, but let's just call this self-indulgence. But to be honest, you don't have to be familiar with Onmyouji to understand this.
There are many notes I could make about tennin (天人, which google keeps trying to tell me is actually "tennis"), and about the Iroha (伊呂波), but suffice it to say the former is a heavenly being and the latter is a very beautiful form of poetry, and also means something like "the basics".
.Iroha, or Those Mountains of Deep Evanescent Existence.
He hears the sound of soft laughter before he sees their form and he wonders at that, how preoccupied he must be, to not notice the presence of another being when he is alone, surrounded only by the beauty of his Father's world. His world of a thousand years before, with such clean air still, and silence impossible to find in that modern world.
"I have never seen," the soft voice says, and it is unafraid, "A tennin quite as strange as you."
The man is not tall, but he is clothed richly, his hollowed cheeks mirthful and his eyes dark with knowledge Castiel is sure humans do not usually posses. He is not all human though, and Castiel thinks that explains a lot.
"You have seen many of your tennin then?" Castiel asks.
"I have," the man replies solemnly. He moves gracefully, stands closer to Castiel. "And they were all as beautiful as the legends suggest.” There is mirth in his voice when he adds, “And quite female."
"Then why do you not think I am something else? A human perhaps."
At this the man laughs, throwing back his head and drawing his hands together in front of his chest. His sleeves are long swathes of silk and slide gracefully as he moves.
"I could never think you were a man. You are far too oddly dressed!" He pauses, his eyes resting contemplatively on Castiel.
He's staring, Castiel realises, and for the first time he thinks that perhaps he might understand Dean's discomfort with it.
"And I am not blind," the man says, raising his long eyebrows, looking over Castiel's shoulders like he can see something there.
This is not wholly a human, Castiel knows, so perhaps he can.
"Your eyes are old," the man says then, returning his gaze to Castiel's face.
Castiel looks away. He came here for peace and contemplation, removed from the decisions he is soon to face, and he has always loved the mountains with their cool breezes and deep green trees. He thought he would be alone here, where none of his brothers might look for him.
"It does not matter to me what you think I am," he says dismissively. He can't decide if he wants the man to leave or not. He seems so... knowing, something that Castiel doesn't think he has seen in any kind of human before.
Then the man says, "You are troubled, tennin. Perhaps I can help?" and Castiel wonders at the propensity of humanity to always involve themselves in everything.
"What if I am?" he find himself saying even though he thinks, there are many other mountain tops and many other lands, and this is bit a small place and a small time and he does not need to speak to this man at all. He should leave. He should make his own decisions.
But this stranger speaks then, carefully, "If one such as you is troubled, surely it is something of dire consequence to lesser living things?"
Perceptive, Castiel thinks, turning his head back to face the man. Of all the places he could have gone he is here, and so is this man, and perhaps then this meeting is the Will of God.
In his mind he can see magic and power, irreverence, ignominy and apathy, but also love and compassion and goodness.
"You are reading my thoughts," the man says, not a question but he sounds amused more than anything. Castiel thinks of Dean, who would be angry at him for doing such a thing.
"I am," he admits and turns away. Castiel feels the sun, warm on his shoulders and the wind, cool on his face and knows that he should not be feeling these things at all.
"It would be interesting," the man is saying, "To look at the mind of one such as you."
"That would burn you," Castiel tells him absently.
"Then you shall have to tell me, because I do not want to burn, but I could be of help."
The man seems more sombre now, but there is still some masked amusement in his eyes and a soft smile on his face.
Castiel shakes his head. "I can offer you nothing in return," he says, because he knows the ways of men and their bargains and deals and he may be considering disobedience but he is still an angel.
He laughs, and it is deep and rich. Castiel wonders at what he has said that is amusing, but humans are unfathomable much of the time and make no sense anyway. He questions as to why, if he really thinks this, if he really believes they cannot be understood, he dares to even contemplate going against the very will of Heaven for their sake. Or perhaps it is for that reason; because he wishes to know them more. Because he wishes for them to live as their Father allowed.
For Dean to live, Castiel thinks wryly. He is not so blind to his fondness for that particular human to not realise this as truth.
Then the stranger is saying, "It is for my own interest, I assure you. I am intrigued." He reaches out a hand in a gesture that Castiel does not recognise. His sleeves are caught in the breeze. Castiel imagines that Dean would say this man’s clothes were the most impractical thing he had ever seen.
The man says, "And I have nothing else to do this afternoon. My friend is away at court." He shakes his head and Castiel thinks there is a great affection there. "He is troublesome, but friends always seem to be this way."
Castiel nods in agreement, then stops because he has found himself thinking of Dean as a friend and Castiel finds he cannot quite understand why. Dean is capricious, derisive, distrustful and hateful of their visits. His visits. But even so, there are times when Castiel thinks that perhaps Dean does not dislike him after all. And why, Castiel asks himself, should it matter?
"It is that, then?" the man asks. "A friend is causing you such discomfort? I am not surprised." And he does sound truly sympathetic.
"It is not that," Castiel denies. "Not really." He is really not sure why he answers at all. There is no harm in this though, and this not-quite-human could perhaps provide a perspective Castiel is lacking. Feeling. Humanity.
The man nods, settles himself down on a rock opposite Castiel, which Castiel is certain was not there previously. He gathers his robes around him. Castiel wonders how he climbed this mountain in such impractical footwear. "Then what?" he asks, curiously.
Castiel shrugs, catches himself doing it and thinks that perhaps he has been spending too much time on Earth. With Dean. Of all things, he should not want to become like him. Though that is perhaps not fair, because Dean can be brave and fierce and loyal in ways that even the angel Castiel might aspire to.
He realises, after a moment, he has not spoken, but the man is sitting patiently, watching.
"I must make a choice," Castiel tells him. He means to say more, but the man interrupts, asking,
"And what must you choose between?"
"It is not that simple," Castiel says. Laments.
The man shakes his head. "It is always that simple, tennin. That is what choice is."
Castiel considers this; the paths before him. He can simply follow orders, or he can not. He can stand by and allow Lucifer to rise and Paradise to follow, or he can not. The others are so sure. Castiel can see the surety of victory in their Grace, but Castiel is not. Because the angels are not as they once were and he sees his brothers are tired and some are angry and some are prideful. When did it become like this, he wonders, how did their Father let it happen? Or perhaps more correctly, how did they let this happen to themselves.
Castiel knows that Dean would not want this. He knows that he would not understand the blessing of Paradise. He could never give up his brother. He could not willingly allow another to die. Dean would hate him for this deception.
So he tells the man, "I must choose between everything I have ever known, and... a friend."
The man looks pleased. "That is easy then," he says brightly. "You must choose your friend."
It is not often that Castiel is surprised, but the absoluteness with which the stranger answers is so very unexpected that Castiel finds himself replying, "He is not even a very good friend."
"They never are," the man agrees sagely, but the corners of his mouth are turned up in a suppressed smile. "Friends," he says, "Make you do things you had never thought to do." Castiel is sure, from the way he talks and the fondness he hears when he says ‘friend’, that this man is speaking from experience. He wonders about this man's friend, and what he has done for them. The man’s face is soft, warm when he adds, "For their sake."
"But why?" Castiel asks. Why must he do this? Why must he care? He is not even supposed to feel, he knows, and perhaps that should in itself tell him that this is all wrong. That he, Castiel, angel of the Lord, is wrong. Mostly, though, it just makes him more confused.
The stranger's smile stretches impossibly wide at that, his eyes narrowing. "Because we love them," he says and Castiel sees the truth in that, knows the truth of it. Perhaps it is simple after all. He loves humanity, as many of his brothers hate them. And he cares for them. For Dean.
So, then, for his sake. For their sake.
Castiel thinks he is smiling too, but he doesn't know why, because he is about to do something no angel has done in a very long time and it could cost him everything. But at least he will know he has done everything he could. "So it is," Castiel nods once in agreement. His mind made up. He bows his head towards the man in thanks and the man bows his head deeply in return.
"You will go then? To your friend?"
Castiel looks to the sky, clear blue, and to the future where it is the cool dark of night. Dean is asleep. He will not have much time.
He says, "I will," and he is gone.
.End.
Comments and concrit as you like, as always!
I deny thee, NaNo! I have not a clue how many words I have done! Ha!