sometimes I have a hard time with charlie because she is more of a collection of interests created to appease the misogynists in the fandom - by being a woman who can't be a romantic rival for sam or dean's affections to be clear. but OF COURSE transfem lesbian sam is <333333333 and I would always like to see it
I do prefer her with jess or rowena or ruby but charlie could be fun too! especially the two of them talking about their fandom interests hehe
have you seen the thomas kincaid's christmas cottage movie? jared wrapped in chunky knits for an hour and a half!!!
i am so thrilled that you’ve brought this up because i convinced my friends to add it to our list of holiday movies that we’re watching when they come home for winter break so i’m going to be watching it soon and i’m SO excited about it. i am of course aware that it’s generally considered not a very good movie but i am willing to do anything for jared in chunky knits and rosy cheeks <3
hi mattie! i have a question about etymology that keeps giving me boat answers. (you're my primary source about boats. sorry)
q: are they "steering" wheels bc steer pulled wagons?
all i'm getting for steering is boat navigation via rudder. i fully recognize boats came before cars, but did they come before carriages and wagons, too?
hi! thanks for thinking of me! looks like they're unrelated - steer (verb) is from proto-germanic and seems to basically mean "direct a vessel, especially a boat" the whole way back. probably even to a proto-indo-european root about a pole/poat (used for steering)
meanwhile steer (noun), although also from proto-germanic, seems to mean a bullock the whole way back as well.
my underatanding of the relative technologies is that wheels (& thus wagons, carts, chariots, etc) broadly speaking came after boats. if you think about the tech required this makes semse - any old buoyant thing can float downstream/downwind, but dngineering a wheel is much harder
so tumblr deleted the ask??? but i did read it before and remember enough of it to say that angel magic as tangible strings of light is super valid.
if i had magic i’d use it to make like bath bomb-esque patterns but like... in thin air. like a holographic projection. imagine just ,,, walking through a sparkly cloud but without the hell of getting all that glitter stuck on you for the rest of your life
Prompt: Jack has a bad dream. Like any young child, he instinctively wants to crawl in bed with his dads, Cas and Sam.
AN: This took a bit longer than I had anticipated, and required some rewriting after my computer glitched and I lost the first draft. Hope it’s what you were looking for!
Read on AO3
THE BUNKER WAS very different from the motel room. There was more space, but also more walls and doors that closed to keep people in or out. There was also a steady humming itch in the air that Jack couldn’t quite make himself ignore, though Sam and Dean seemed unaware of it. Castiel had caught him rubbing his arms earlier, and the look in his eyes was understanding and sympathetic, so maybe that itch was part of his angel side reacting to something supernatural about the Bunker. He tried not to let it put him on edge, but in the privacy of his room, with the hum and itch the only thing he could perceive, it felt incredibly isolating.
Sleep was another area where Jack differed from his chosen family. Like Sam, he needed to sleep in order to function, but the duration of his sleep was always much shorter than even Dean professed to need. Alone in the Bunker, with Sam having taken Dean elsewhere on a case by themselves, there was little to do but sleep or attempt to learn more about humanity or other supernatural forces through the books, or teach himself to use the computer that Sam had given him. The video of his mother was one he watched several times, the memory of the shifter woman embracing him wearing his mother’s image a balm to the ache that still pulsed inside Jack from her loss. Sam’s kindness and candor had patched over the rawness enough that he knew with that perceptiveness that belied his actual age that the unseen wound would heal. In time.
Time was something that seemed precious and rare to Jack, what with the pressure of Dean’s grief and anger pushing Jack on one side and Sam’s gentle but occasionally insistent encouragement on the other. Sam had backed off, but Dean had not, and that had probably been a factor in Sam choosing to remove Dean from the Bunker. He had done his best to ensure that Jack knew he could call him at any time, and had in fact called twice a day during their absence to check on Jack. It helped him feel a little less alone, even if it couldn’t quite erase the feeling of being left behind.
And then Sam and Dean were back, and Castiel was alive and with them, and Jack was finally meeting his (chosen) Father face to face. He could See the bond between Castiel and Dean, sharp as a shard of crystal and as solid as a length of chain tethering the two together like a ship to its anchor, though which one was the ship and which the anchor… He shied away from that thought, not wanting to contemplate the way that bond made him feel so uncomfortable, and focused instead on the bond between Castiel and Sam. That bond was just as strong, but it was almost completely different. It grew between the two like a tangle of vines, alive and vibrant and practically singing in soft contentment as it flexed and stretched from one to the other and back again. And when Castiel reached out to Jack, the Nephilim could feel the beginnings of a bond like the one connecting him with Sam.
It was those bonds he followed when nightmares of Asmodeus pulled him from sleep, shivering and shaking with the fear that Castiel was gone, held prisoner and being hurt the way the demon Prince had so casually attempted to hurt Sam and Dean and the Prophet. His feet carried him silently along the cold floors of the Bunker from his room and down the halls until he reached the room Sam had told him was his. The door was open, and light flickered within although no sound immediately perceivable escaped to the hallway beyond. Hesitantly, Jack stepped closer to the doorway, feeling the pulse of an extra layer of that itch touch him briefly before retreating, and looked inside.
The television was on, showing scenes of Earth, landscapes that Jack had never seen and creatures he had never imagined existed. It was captivating, and so he almost missed the rustle from the bed across the room. When he turned to look, Castiel was there, sitting against the headboard in flannel pants and a plain white T-shirt. Sam lay curled up beside him, his head resting on the pillow, one arm draped over Castiel’s nearest leg, his back to the door in what struck Jack as a strangely vulnerable position until he realized that Castiel being there, protecting Sam, was what allowed him to be vulnerable in a way that he never seemed to be otherwise.
“What is it?” Castiel asked softly, his voice pitched to barely a murmur, though notably not a whisper.
“Nightmare,” Jack answered, attempting to match his pitch to Castiel’s. “I’m sorry… I just needed to see… to be sure…”
“You needed reassurance that we were still here and unharmed,” Castiel said, nodding in understanding. “Sam occasionally has the same reaction to his nightmares, as did I when I was human.”
“You were human?” Jack couldn’t help but ask. He had thought Castiel had always been an angel, or at least that was the impression he received from Sam.
“Briefly, for a time,” Castiel said with an expression Jack thought might be chagrin. “When I was cut off from Heaven for going against the Archangels’ plan to bring about the Apocalypse, and again when Metatron stole my Grace as part of the spell which ejected the angels from Heaven. I’m afraid I… did not handle the change well.”
“You did better than you think,” a sleepy murmur drifted up from where Sam was still curled at Castiel’s side. The human blinked his eyes open before scrubbing one hand down his face and half-turning towards the door. “Hey, Jack. Nightmare?”
“Yeah,” Jack said, amazed at how quickly Sam could guess why he was there. Then again, if Castiel spoke the truth, nightmares were a familiar thing to his (Dad) human guardian. “Asmodeus,” he clarified.
“Vision, or just fears?” Sam asked, coming more awake.
“Fears,” Jack blurted out, and hoped that he was telling the truth, that what he had dreamed would not come to pass.
“Ah,” Sam nodded. He glanced up at Castiel, and the two shared a speaking look uncannily like those Jack had seen pass between Sam and Dean. Then Sam was shifting away from Castiel, making space between them on the bed, and waving Jack over. “Come on, then, get in. The proximity will help your mind chase away the fear.”
He sounded so sure of that statement that Jack found himself shuffling further into the room. The itch pulled briefly at his skin before seeming to snap back and away towards the door again, and the sudden loss nearly made him flinch. It was followed swiftly by a soft, radiating warmth that he recognized immediately, and the last bit of distance to the bed was covered with more speed than grace. Neither Sam nor Castiel said anything about it, just gently drew him into the middle of the bed. Sam shifted again so that his back was to the door and pulled Jack close, warm arms wrapping around him and holding him against a solid chest with a steady heartbeat.
“Just relax,” Sam murmured from somewhere above his head. “Hear my heartbeat, feel my presence… feel that warmth and spark of Castiel’s Grace behind you. We’re here. We’re safe… and so are you. We’ve got you, Jack. Right here, right now… everything is okay.”
Jack closed his eyes, letting the low words wash over him and through him, He felt the pulse of Castiel’s Grace behind him, skittering and sliding like rain. He heard the steady thu-thump of Sam’s heart beside his ear, the soft swish and hush of his breathing. He felt the warmth that was more than physical envelop him, cradling him more deeply than even those strong arms could.
