i am salt and new life, the cry of gulls as they pass over my tide, kisses of wave against a slope of sand, a force of nature both chaotic and serene, a wading open of cerulean and sea foam pressed deep into the lungs of all those unwilling.
i am a chill of worry up the spines of new sailors, a terror that falls from the mouths of mothers to children in the form of fables and warnings. carbon and plankton, gills and feathers drifting along with my current, bubbles of oxygen rising to the surface only to become swallowed by the rush of my waves.
i am not a saviour.
when humanity was new, they feared my calling. their five toed footprints would be gulped whole by my reaching tongue as i raced after them, perhaps hoping to swallow them down, instead. they are brave, cautious is all the wrong ways and filled with such pride that they allowed themselves to believe that i would not hurt that, that i would carry them on my back and welcome them into my cells and never bite their soft flesh or snap their fragile necks or hold them under while they trashed and called out to others for salvation.
i am salt coated prays of mercy rushing down the backs of their throats, wisps of darkened hair as i held them under, a siren’s call under a new moon as i heaved in my absence of life.
i am salt and new life, but i am always a death, as well.
My ugly thingstiel mug :’). I can’t throw for shit so all of my stuff in ceramics is handbuilt sigihh. I’ll be posting more pics of the few other things i made later. Wasted so much time trying to throw but ultimately got nothing done on the wheel rawr.
Anyway I rather like it but it coulda been better~ I don’t really like the glaze color (steel brown) it’s too shiny. I was gonna make it tea dust but I forgot I was gonna glaze it that color and just thought “okay brown… OH STEEL BROWN”
True form!Castiel with Soul!Dean.
One of the things I love about this ship is that they could literally be together for eternity, even after Dean’s body dies.
I will never be able to draw hands.
the angel has always been there, even if he doesn’t always remember. it’s not easy, after all, to think in veins of leaves and haloed particles once one becomes used to the solidarity of blood and electric nodes, bones under muscle under skin like so many layers of earth, right down to the molten beating core. human brains have trouble with the language of winds, the laughter of grass, the poetry of stones. so much gets lost in translation.
it’s much easier when you speak in stardust and the twitch of feathers which might, or might not, be there; this angels understand, a tongue of indefinites. when he can remember what it was like, he misses this. he looks at two winter-eyed, summer-skinned boys and would like to be able to say—
(the turning of the moss as a fawn flees to mother, unbearable sunlight spilling around the curve of the moon, the spinning eye of a galaxy, the iron in the heart of a dying star, a breath of air down the tiger’s back, the vibration of a thrumming bass in metal and leather, the space between fingers on the steering wheel, prismic songs of water against the flanks of leaping salmon, carbon dioxide like milk in tea blooming white in the air, constellations shining on a dark mirrored hood, a lullaby in the hollow of an ear, the last sigh of autumn, hey jude, on her lips, hey jude hey jude hey jude)
—but he has forgotten how.
(by the banks of a river he hums a song that he does not remember, cracks “make it better” over his wrists and wonders why he says it)
He sighs and blinks and looks away instead, and later, forgets.
bolt-ridden down and clutched from the night air, the knife pounds in, the knife glides out, mud-met knees, brother, here, desperate. head heavy, thick with wool, blood in the mouth, brother, here. brother, please. running night, sharp yell, moths beating at the brain.
sammy? it’s not even that bad—
feverhot hands, please. brother, please. scarlet lights flicker blood-pulse-ooze, the knife pounds, pulse in spine, heart robbed, airless. chest tight, grip tight, brother, here.
nail-gun slam ripped down from high heaven all feathers, all clueless, blasted. shot bullet-like into the throat, castiel, unforeseen unchosen unburdened. doesn’t know these lips. doesn’t know hell. precious—taut—final—breath—brother. here. numbgone.
sails over the wind of the collapse with talons in the soul. hammered into death, cold dark. lonely children, brotherless. the dead one pleading don’t sigh away. the angel whispering i cannot sigh. i am the sigh.
brother, please. brother lonely calls him home to leave the tattered feathered thing to wander, wait, half-chosen. one year. he will be another dying breath before the twelvemonth ends to rest fickle and shattered on the brother’s lips.
castiel, the sigh. lifts his eyes to murmur, oh heaven.