Shapeless Emotions
folder
Supernatural › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
2
Views:
1,903
Reviews:
5
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Supernatural › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
2
Views:
1,903
Reviews:
5
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Supernatural and I’m not making any money here either.
Shapeless Emotions
Shapeless Emotions
Flora Winter’s
I do not own Supernatural and I’m not making any money here either.
Summary: Is there really a limit to how much you can love someone? This story will contain boy-love, strong language, OC, and explicit violence.
Warning: If you do not like homosexual themes, then this story is not for your eyes. I will not take responsibility if you are scarred for the rest of your natural lives, because you are too illiterate to read the warnings. The price for stupidity is eternal nightmares. You have been warned.
Prologue
Where I was, I had wings that couldn’t fly
Where I was, I had tears I couldn’t cry
My emotions frozen in an icy lake
I couldn’t feel them until the ice began to break
--Bruce Dickinson
He stood there in the falling rain, looking down at all the broken roses. Each crimson petal looked like a scattered ruby upon the glittering black asphalt. Tears were streaming down his golden cheeks with scarlet hot wrath from his shattering heart. It was like he could feel all the tiny cracks spreading out within the slowing organ, getting bigger and wider.
Lance had bought him all these beautiful flowers because he had passed all of his final-exams with A’s. He had been so happy. Now, his creamy amber hands were painted with his boyfriend’s blood.
It was over. It was all over. All the happiness he had ever truly known was being carted off to the city morgue. His life was zipped away into a black body-bag. He gazed down at the spot where his guiding light in this cruel world had been shot in the face right before his violet eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” the kind detective said from behind him. “But, I will need to ask you some questions.”
Jude slowly turned around, holding up his blood-soaked hands for Detective Smith to see. It was like the blood was crying out, burning him. He couldn’t even open his mouth, because he knew he would scream for the uncaring world to hear if he did.
He and Lance had been walking to the subway from the movie-complex when this guy in a mask had jumped out of the shadows, yelling for all their money. The guy had had a gun, and Lance had quickly shoved him behind his larger frame, telling the gunman that he could have their wallets. Lance was always protecting him, saving him from everything. It had been like this all throughout middle-school, and high-school. The jock was always coming to his rescue.
“You two fucking faggots?” The gunman had yelled, putting the gun right in Lance’s face. “Huh? You fucking each other, bitch?”
“Just take the money, man,” Lance had said, holding out his wallet. “We won’t even report you.”
Jude trembled as the single gunshot echoed in his ears. He could still feel Lance’s lifeless body falling over onto him, knocking him to the ground. The blond hadn’t even cried out. He hadn’t had the chance.
“LANCE!” He had cried.
“Disgusting abominations!” The gunman hissed down at him.
It brought back so many memories of his father, beating him when he found out that his only son was gay. He had yelled those same words at him, punching him over and over. Lance and a college scholarship had taken him away from all of that hatred and abuse.
Jude had looked up at the killer, seeing the gun aimed right at him. “God hates faggots!” The masked monster snarled. “Join your cocksucker in Hell, pillow-biter!”
Jude hadn’t even blinked when the man pulled the trigger. Nothing had happened. The guy kept pulling the trigger over and over, finally taking off running into the shadows.
He had just sat there, holding his fallen lover in his arms, trembling in the winter cold. “Help…” he whispered, shaking, covered in blood. “Help…us…”
“I know this is hard, Jude,” the detective said, bringing him out of his thoughts. “But anything you tell me will help me in catching the person who did this.”
Jude got down on his knees, and began to pick up the roses. He didn’t want to speak. There was nothing they could do. There wasn’t anything anybody could do. The guy had had a mask on. It had been dark. He didn’t know. He didn’t know anything. Lance…
“Jude!” The detective said in a sharp manner, causing him to flinch as if he were about to be struck. The older man got down beside him, putting his jacket around his slender shoulders.
He looked into the wrinkled face and the tears fell even harder. He couldn’t stop them. It hurt. It hurt so much. Why him? Why did bad things always have to happen to him?
Does God really hate me? Is what that man said true? Is God against people like me? Am I an abomination? Do I not deserve happiness? Am I to always suffer for what I am? Is it God’s will that those like me are never to be accepted? Apparently it is God’s will. Lance was dead.
“He was shorter than Lance,” he whispered in a broken voice, choked with sobs. “He had a mask on. I don’t...he just shot him.” He started to tear at the roses. Little thorns were biting into his hands like angry teeth. “THAT MONSTER JUST SHOT HIM! WHY? WHY?” His screams echoed. They were all looking at him, blaming him. It was like they were saying this wouldn’t have happened if they had only been straight. That guy would have taken their money and ran.
The detective gently put a hand on his shoulder as he tore at the roses with all his might. His blood was now mingling with Lance’s. He wanted to die. It hurt too much. His heart felt like it was going to explode in his chest.
“Jude?” The detective asked in concern. “Jude?”
He couldn’t breathe. Was he dying? Was this what it felt like to die? Choking on sorrow…drowning in despair? Is this how all queers die when everything has been snatched and taken away from them by hating hands?
Darkness took him. It was warm, tender. The light never felt like this. It was always revealing everything that was wrong with him, mocking him, showing him what he should be.
000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000
Four Months Later
The room was spacious and violet eyes glittered in the light. Hundreds of candles had each been lit with a vile curse all throughout the large room. The pain in his heart hadn’t dulled at all. The cut was still just as fresh, deep, and bleeding as always. There was nothing else he could do. Therapy wasn’t working, his friends gave him little comfort, and his family wanted nothing to do with him. He was dead to them. It made him laugh. He threw his head back and laughed as his tears streamed down his moth-white cheeks. His tan was gone. He looked like a ghost. He felt like a ghost. He would soon be a ghost. His father told him he should have died right along with that faggot, too.
He walked across the marble floor, emerald-green silk robe glistening in the fiery light, stone dagger gripped in his power-hand. The black altar had been slowly erected in the center of the circular room. It had taken him all this time to just procure everything he would need. His creamy white hands were already stained with goat’s blood, and the black horns were securely protruding from his nest of snaky black hair. If someone had been watching him, they would have thought they were seeing a beautiful horned demon, dancing amidst flames.
The darkness within him was powerful. He could feel it swimming like serpents through his frozen veins. That was what he felt like. Frozen, like an icy wasteland of death. It would soon be time. The hour in which mocked the holy trinity would soon be upon him. It would just a few more seconds now.
“Lance,” he whispered to the image of his boyfriend upon the black altar. That handsome face and kind spirit he had fallen so deeply in love with was shining in the golden candlelight. He gazed into those deep green eyes that had held so much love for him, and all that love had been blown away with one little bullet echoing in his mind.
Kindness was weak in the face of Cruelty. Love was powerless in the realm of Hatred. Happy endings were not real for people like him. They were taken, shattered, and spat upon.
He closed his weeping eyes, feeling those muscular arms gently wrapping themselves around him, pulling him back against a firm chest. Oh, how he longed to turn around and Lance be there smiling at him. He could smell his fragrant scent. Lance had always smelled of Armani. It was the kind of smell you just wanted to be smothered in.
“I love you, Jude,” Lance had told him, smiling with such white teeth. “And that’s all that really matters.”
His violet eyes snapped open and he snarled. That love had been stolen from him. All of his happiness had been stolen from him because an impotent, prejudice, homophobic, prick of a god had deemed it so. Well, fuck him and that stupid cross he had died on for evil people’s fucking sins! They can all take their lily-white Jesus, nail him to a crucifix, ram him up their asses, and twirl away for Armageddon.
“Lord of Darkness!” He cried out, lifting the great stone blade up high over his head. “Master of the Underworld and Souls of the Lost, hear me! I swear my immortal soul to YOU and YOUR dark powers. Take my body in YOUR blood-stained talons! Fill me with all YOUR wicked powers! Make me YOUR vessel of vengeance in this fucking world I despise with every breath I take! Fill me with POWER! Freeze my HEART so that I may never have to feel again! Give me the POWER to destroy in YOUR name!”
He plunged that great stone dagger into his breast with tremendous force. He threw his head back, screaming the one true name of his dark master, falling to his knees, knocking over candles. A great voice filled his mind and snake-like amber eyes burned into his soul. He fell over onto his side, lighting up like a golden torch. He cried out, laughing in agony as his beautiful flesh burned, reaching for the picture of the only person he had ever loved with a clawed hand.
“YOU ARE NOW MINE!” That deep voice boomed in his ears, reminding him of those erotic dreams he had had for so many nights. “COME INTO MY ARMS, CHILD OF SORROW. I WILL MAKE YOU NEW, AND THIS PLACE SHALL FOREVER KNOW YOUR NEVER-DYING RAGE.”
He screamed with howling laughter as his body was consumed in hellfire.
0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000
One Years Later
“Dean?” Sam Winchester asked.
His older, but shorter brother turned to look at him. “What?”
“I don’t want to scare you or anything,” he said, feeling cold chill after cold chill race like a herd of horses down his straight as an arrow spine. “But, I think I just saw a guy flying through the air.”
That was when something suddenly crashed into the hood of their car, causing Dean to slam on the brakes and Sammy to grab the dashboard with both hands. Cars honked and brakes squealed from behind. He looked up to see that it was a person’s body.
“Son of a bitch!” Dean snarled, kicking his door open. People were yelling and cars were honking. “What the hell is this?”
Sammy got out, putting his hand over his mouth. There was a guy’s naked body on their hood. The head was missing. Both of them were.
TBC…
Please review and tell me what you think.
Flora.
Flora Winter’s
I do not own Supernatural and I’m not making any money here either.
Summary: Is there really a limit to how much you can love someone? This story will contain boy-love, strong language, OC, and explicit violence.
Warning: If you do not like homosexual themes, then this story is not for your eyes. I will not take responsibility if you are scarred for the rest of your natural lives, because you are too illiterate to read the warnings. The price for stupidity is eternal nightmares. You have been warned.
Prologue
Where I was, I had wings that couldn’t fly
Where I was, I had tears I couldn’t cry
My emotions frozen in an icy lake
I couldn’t feel them until the ice began to break
--Bruce Dickinson
He stood there in the falling rain, looking down at all the broken roses. Each crimson petal looked like a scattered ruby upon the glittering black asphalt. Tears were streaming down his golden cheeks with scarlet hot wrath from his shattering heart. It was like he could feel all the tiny cracks spreading out within the slowing organ, getting bigger and wider.
Lance had bought him all these beautiful flowers because he had passed all of his final-exams with A’s. He had been so happy. Now, his creamy amber hands were painted with his boyfriend’s blood.
It was over. It was all over. All the happiness he had ever truly known was being carted off to the city morgue. His life was zipped away into a black body-bag. He gazed down at the spot where his guiding light in this cruel world had been shot in the face right before his violet eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” the kind detective said from behind him. “But, I will need to ask you some questions.”
Jude slowly turned around, holding up his blood-soaked hands for Detective Smith to see. It was like the blood was crying out, burning him. He couldn’t even open his mouth, because he knew he would scream for the uncaring world to hear if he did.
He and Lance had been walking to the subway from the movie-complex when this guy in a mask had jumped out of the shadows, yelling for all their money. The guy had had a gun, and Lance had quickly shoved him behind his larger frame, telling the gunman that he could have their wallets. Lance was always protecting him, saving him from everything. It had been like this all throughout middle-school, and high-school. The jock was always coming to his rescue.
“You two fucking faggots?” The gunman had yelled, putting the gun right in Lance’s face. “Huh? You fucking each other, bitch?”
“Just take the money, man,” Lance had said, holding out his wallet. “We won’t even report you.”
Jude trembled as the single gunshot echoed in his ears. He could still feel Lance’s lifeless body falling over onto him, knocking him to the ground. The blond hadn’t even cried out. He hadn’t had the chance.
“LANCE!” He had cried.
“Disgusting abominations!” The gunman hissed down at him.
It brought back so many memories of his father, beating him when he found out that his only son was gay. He had yelled those same words at him, punching him over and over. Lance and a college scholarship had taken him away from all of that hatred and abuse.
Jude had looked up at the killer, seeing the gun aimed right at him. “God hates faggots!” The masked monster snarled. “Join your cocksucker in Hell, pillow-biter!”
Jude hadn’t even blinked when the man pulled the trigger. Nothing had happened. The guy kept pulling the trigger over and over, finally taking off running into the shadows.
He had just sat there, holding his fallen lover in his arms, trembling in the winter cold. “Help…” he whispered, shaking, covered in blood. “Help…us…”
“I know this is hard, Jude,” the detective said, bringing him out of his thoughts. “But anything you tell me will help me in catching the person who did this.”
Jude got down on his knees, and began to pick up the roses. He didn’t want to speak. There was nothing they could do. There wasn’t anything anybody could do. The guy had had a mask on. It had been dark. He didn’t know. He didn’t know anything. Lance…
“Jude!” The detective said in a sharp manner, causing him to flinch as if he were about to be struck. The older man got down beside him, putting his jacket around his slender shoulders.
He looked into the wrinkled face and the tears fell even harder. He couldn’t stop them. It hurt. It hurt so much. Why him? Why did bad things always have to happen to him?
Does God really hate me? Is what that man said true? Is God against people like me? Am I an abomination? Do I not deserve happiness? Am I to always suffer for what I am? Is it God’s will that those like me are never to be accepted? Apparently it is God’s will. Lance was dead.
“He was shorter than Lance,” he whispered in a broken voice, choked with sobs. “He had a mask on. I don’t...he just shot him.” He started to tear at the roses. Little thorns were biting into his hands like angry teeth. “THAT MONSTER JUST SHOT HIM! WHY? WHY?” His screams echoed. They were all looking at him, blaming him. It was like they were saying this wouldn’t have happened if they had only been straight. That guy would have taken their money and ran.
The detective gently put a hand on his shoulder as he tore at the roses with all his might. His blood was now mingling with Lance’s. He wanted to die. It hurt too much. His heart felt like it was going to explode in his chest.
“Jude?” The detective asked in concern. “Jude?”
He couldn’t breathe. Was he dying? Was this what it felt like to die? Choking on sorrow…drowning in despair? Is this how all queers die when everything has been snatched and taken away from them by hating hands?
Darkness took him. It was warm, tender. The light never felt like this. It was always revealing everything that was wrong with him, mocking him, showing him what he should be.
000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000
Four Months Later
The room was spacious and violet eyes glittered in the light. Hundreds of candles had each been lit with a vile curse all throughout the large room. The pain in his heart hadn’t dulled at all. The cut was still just as fresh, deep, and bleeding as always. There was nothing else he could do. Therapy wasn’t working, his friends gave him little comfort, and his family wanted nothing to do with him. He was dead to them. It made him laugh. He threw his head back and laughed as his tears streamed down his moth-white cheeks. His tan was gone. He looked like a ghost. He felt like a ghost. He would soon be a ghost. His father told him he should have died right along with that faggot, too.
He walked across the marble floor, emerald-green silk robe glistening in the fiery light, stone dagger gripped in his power-hand. The black altar had been slowly erected in the center of the circular room. It had taken him all this time to just procure everything he would need. His creamy white hands were already stained with goat’s blood, and the black horns were securely protruding from his nest of snaky black hair. If someone had been watching him, they would have thought they were seeing a beautiful horned demon, dancing amidst flames.
The darkness within him was powerful. He could feel it swimming like serpents through his frozen veins. That was what he felt like. Frozen, like an icy wasteland of death. It would soon be time. The hour in which mocked the holy trinity would soon be upon him. It would just a few more seconds now.
“Lance,” he whispered to the image of his boyfriend upon the black altar. That handsome face and kind spirit he had fallen so deeply in love with was shining in the golden candlelight. He gazed into those deep green eyes that had held so much love for him, and all that love had been blown away with one little bullet echoing in his mind.
Kindness was weak in the face of Cruelty. Love was powerless in the realm of Hatred. Happy endings were not real for people like him. They were taken, shattered, and spat upon.
He closed his weeping eyes, feeling those muscular arms gently wrapping themselves around him, pulling him back against a firm chest. Oh, how he longed to turn around and Lance be there smiling at him. He could smell his fragrant scent. Lance had always smelled of Armani. It was the kind of smell you just wanted to be smothered in.
“I love you, Jude,” Lance had told him, smiling with such white teeth. “And that’s all that really matters.”
His violet eyes snapped open and he snarled. That love had been stolen from him. All of his happiness had been stolen from him because an impotent, prejudice, homophobic, prick of a god had deemed it so. Well, fuck him and that stupid cross he had died on for evil people’s fucking sins! They can all take their lily-white Jesus, nail him to a crucifix, ram him up their asses, and twirl away for Armageddon.
“Lord of Darkness!” He cried out, lifting the great stone blade up high over his head. “Master of the Underworld and Souls of the Lost, hear me! I swear my immortal soul to YOU and YOUR dark powers. Take my body in YOUR blood-stained talons! Fill me with all YOUR wicked powers! Make me YOUR vessel of vengeance in this fucking world I despise with every breath I take! Fill me with POWER! Freeze my HEART so that I may never have to feel again! Give me the POWER to destroy in YOUR name!”
He plunged that great stone dagger into his breast with tremendous force. He threw his head back, screaming the one true name of his dark master, falling to his knees, knocking over candles. A great voice filled his mind and snake-like amber eyes burned into his soul. He fell over onto his side, lighting up like a golden torch. He cried out, laughing in agony as his beautiful flesh burned, reaching for the picture of the only person he had ever loved with a clawed hand.
“YOU ARE NOW MINE!” That deep voice boomed in his ears, reminding him of those erotic dreams he had had for so many nights. “COME INTO MY ARMS, CHILD OF SORROW. I WILL MAKE YOU NEW, AND THIS PLACE SHALL FOREVER KNOW YOUR NEVER-DYING RAGE.”
He screamed with howling laughter as his body was consumed in hellfire.
0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000
One Years Later
“Dean?” Sam Winchester asked.
His older, but shorter brother turned to look at him. “What?”
“I don’t want to scare you or anything,” he said, feeling cold chill after cold chill race like a herd of horses down his straight as an arrow spine. “But, I think I just saw a guy flying through the air.”
That was when something suddenly crashed into the hood of their car, causing Dean to slam on the brakes and Sammy to grab the dashboard with both hands. Cars honked and brakes squealed from behind. He looked up to see that it was a person’s body.
“Son of a bitch!” Dean snarled, kicking his door open. People were yelling and cars were honking. “What the hell is this?”
Sammy got out, putting his hand over his mouth. There was a guy’s naked body on their hood. The head was missing. Both of them were.
TBC…
Please review and tell me what you think.
Flora.