MF Luder (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mf_luder_xf) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
crack_van2011-10-31 02:17 pm
mf_luder_xf) wrote in crack_van2011-10-31 02:17 pm
Entry tags:
Pomegranate Seeds by elaeazeph (PG-13)
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean/Cas
Length: ~2,200
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elaeazeph
Author Website: None
A heart-breaking world remade in the image of what angels think it should be where Cas tries to piece Dean back together through memories. It's haunting and terrifying and tragic, but ultimately, beautiful. The author has a lovely way with words. The title as an illusion to the Greek myth of Persephone is particularly moving and is captured well.
He will seek the twisted path of Dean’s life through the relentless banks of fog.
His feet will carry him through once-forests and once-deserts and once-mountains, and he will try to imagine what it was like to live this winding road when it was truly alive. To fly down highways bleached in sunshine and unbroken by the crush of years. To see colors not diluted by half-sheer grayness. To listen to the low grind of the radio, or birds and crickets, voices--anything that is not this oppressive silence. To see further than the pressing crush of fog and to not see death.
He will imagine it, but will never have it, and it will destroy him.
But these are the places that made Dean the man he became, and he will visit them all, searching for memories to keep close to his heart. A thousand fleeting moments and glances and touches he will catalogue, even if they are poor substitutes for the originals.
He will rediscover the smooth texture of brass where it lay crushed in the dirt, and the dry rasp of paper preserved in a tin amongst a pile of ash, and the rough coarseness of a well-remembered rubber stub that he pries from the body of a car entombed in sand. He will hold these treasures in his fists and breathe them in and he will remember Dean. Smooth, purposeful hands tending to his weapons and crisp, snappy movements as he thumbs through his cards at poker, and the slow burn of a smile on his face as he reaches out to turn the music up.
Dean, Dean, Dean.
He will find these small treasures in the cool dark pockets of the world where decay has not yet touched, and he will keep them on behalf of those who cannot, because someone must remember. He cannot be allowed to forget.
Pomegranate Seeds
Pairing: Dean/Cas
Length: ~2,200
Author on LJ:
elaeazeph Author Website: None
A heart-breaking world remade in the image of what angels think it should be where Cas tries to piece Dean back together through memories. It's haunting and terrifying and tragic, but ultimately, beautiful. The author has a lovely way with words. The title as an illusion to the Greek myth of Persephone is particularly moving and is captured well.
He will seek the twisted path of Dean’s life through the relentless banks of fog.
His feet will carry him through once-forests and once-deserts and once-mountains, and he will try to imagine what it was like to live this winding road when it was truly alive. To fly down highways bleached in sunshine and unbroken by the crush of years. To see colors not diluted by half-sheer grayness. To listen to the low grind of the radio, or birds and crickets, voices--anything that is not this oppressive silence. To see further than the pressing crush of fog and to not see death.
He will imagine it, but will never have it, and it will destroy him.
But these are the places that made Dean the man he became, and he will visit them all, searching for memories to keep close to his heart. A thousand fleeting moments and glances and touches he will catalogue, even if they are poor substitutes for the originals.
He will rediscover the smooth texture of brass where it lay crushed in the dirt, and the dry rasp of paper preserved in a tin amongst a pile of ash, and the rough coarseness of a well-remembered rubber stub that he pries from the body of a car entombed in sand. He will hold these treasures in his fists and breathe them in and he will remember Dean. Smooth, purposeful hands tending to his weapons and crisp, snappy movements as he thumbs through his cards at poker, and the slow burn of a smile on his face as he reaches out to turn the music up.
Dean, Dean, Dean.
He will find these small treasures in the cool dark pockets of the world where decay has not yet touched, and he will keep them on behalf of those who cannot, because someone must remember. He cannot be allowed to forget.
Pomegranate Seeds