The look that crosses his face is— Castiel can’t quite name it. Beatific, maybe. But rawer—less saintly, more human—than that.
...
There’s a whole strawberry cushioned in the cloud of whipped cream, and he plucks it between thumb and forefinger, places it between his lips, then sucks the fruit, almost obscenely, into his mouth. “I know you want me to be sorry. I wanted me to be sorry. But I’m not.”
Ohh!
That is so very much the Castiel I can see coming into being, that is so perfect. I very much wish this conversation could occur on the show, but this is fic and I would not want the precision, the delicacy of the language to be lost either...
I need to come back to try to articulate why this fic 'pushes my buttons' so much. I love how it confronts head-on the problem of falling itself, and Castiel's own uniquely complex situation and feelings about the prospect of his own fall.
no subject
...
There’s a whole strawberry cushioned in the cloud of whipped cream, and he plucks it between thumb and forefinger, places it between his lips, then sucks the fruit, almost obscenely, into his mouth. “I know you want me to be sorry. I wanted me to be sorry. But I’m not.”
Ohh!
That is so very much the Castiel I can see coming into being, that is so perfect. I very much wish this conversation could occur on the show, but this is fic and I would not want the precision, the delicacy of the language to be lost either...
I need to come back to try to articulate why this fic 'pushes my buttons' so much. I love how it confronts head-on the problem of falling itself, and Castiel's own uniquely complex situation and feelings about the prospect of his own fall.