“I remember I used to half believe and wholly play with fairies when I was a child. What heaven can be more real than to retain the spirit-world of childhood, tempered and balanced by knowledge and common-sense.”
You know how sometimes with queerness you look back on your childhood and certain things suddenly make sense? We need to talk about how I rewatched this movie today and it was the GAYEST MOVIE OF MY CHILDHOOD OH MY HEAVENS. Like soft butch baby dyke Anna Chlumsky and her femme citygirl gf Christina Ricci go on an adventure centered around a woman who disguised herself as a boy and worked in a mine during the Gold Rush. No wonder I watched this movie nearly every day for a solid two years. Jody Salerno was the girlfriend of my 4th grade dreams.
“Can’t you see that you’re smothering me Holding too tightly afraid to lose control Cause everything that you thought I would be Has fallen apart right in front of you
Every step that I take is another mistake to you And every second I waste is more than I can take”
Well, @museaway asked the internet for silly fiction.
Ash discovered it first. It was one of those little backdoor quirks of the OS running heaven. He first used it to give his nephew (born after his death but family’s family) four straight hours of My Little Pony programming after his mother had told him that he could watch TV until it switched to daytime talk shows. It was surprisingly easy to program TV from Heaven. “It’s all wavelengths,” he lectured the half dozen people gathered around him.
Charlie, leaning across the bar in the Heavenly Roadhouse, took a thoughtful sip of her s’mores-atini - a concoction that tasted like marshmallow and chocolate and smelled like the memory of a crisp, fall night from her more innocent childhood. (Drinks in Heaven were the best.) “So what’s stopping us from making, like, webpages so we can communicate with people back on Earth?”
Ash leaned back on his bar stool and gestured to the matrix-green code that scrawled across his makeshift Heaven-interfacing laptop. “Can’t create nothin’,” he said. “But if a show is playing however many times around the world we can grab a copy of it and direct it to a TV set. We use my soul locator app, pair it with the TV scanner, and bam. Program your own network! Kinda cool, but not that useful.”
“I dunno,” mused Charlie. You could totally subliminally program somebody if you gave them certain stuff to watch. Certain messages, or moods, or whatever.
Ash shrugged. “Ain’t that useful because people don’t really watch broadcast TV anymore. Broadcast is passive. People can turn it off but as long as the set is on, we can use it.”
“Could we use a TV to talk to someone?” Charlie asked, thinking of a particular Winchester gospel she’d read online where Castiel had used TV and radio to communicate in Heaven.
“Naw, that’s angel level shit. Now let’s talk about radio waves…”
Ash continued his lecture on the manipulation of celestial wavelengths while Charlie’s mind wandered. Eventually, she smiled and settled in a quiet corner of the bar, conjuring up her favorite Hermione action figure to accompany her at the table. “Ready for a test, H?” She cracked her knuckles, and began to type.
* * *
Dean dropped the motel curtain with a grimace. “Does it ever not rain here?” He groused.
Castiel shook his head. “This is entirely out of season,” he said. “But fortunate for us. Shrigas hate getting wet. It should stay holed up in its cave until it dries out. This will give you a chance to get some rest before we try drawing it out again.”
“I’d just like to finish the job and get back to Mom and Sam, you know?”
“I know.” Castiel said, leaning against the thin motel pillow, long legs comfortably stretched out along the mattress. He held a book of lore on his lap and slowly flipped through the pages. A few minutes later he closed it, one finger between the pages to hold his place. He scowled at Dean who paced like a caged tiger up and down the length of the motel room. “Dean, please sit down. You’re making me dizzy.”
“Cas, you’re an angel. You don’t get dizzy.” But Dean did as he asked and settled himself on the other side of the bed next to Castiel. He reached across him to grab the remote from the nightstand and said quickly, “Your bed’s in front the TV, man.” He pressed the on button but nothing happened. Dean mashed the button two more times before slamming the remote with his palm. “Friggin’ batteries are dead,” he sighed.
Castiel opened his book again and flicked his finger once. The TV flickered on.
“Show off,” Dean laughed and scooted further back along the mattress until he was settled shoulder to shoulder with Castiel. On the TV the end credits of the crime drama Streets of Justice scrolled. He tilted his head over the lore book in Castiel’s lap as commercial breaks swept in. “Anything good in there?”
Castiel shrugged. “Nothing we didn’t know about shrigas before. Though there is a fascinating chapter on the dietary habits of the octangular spider dog.”
“Spider dog, huh?”
“Bet its bite is worse than its bark.”
“Dean.” Castiel shook his head, dipping his chin to hide his smile. “That’s a terrible joke.”
Dean settled back against the wall again. “My jokes are amazing,” he said. And then, “Oh shit. Dr. Sexy is on?” The opening credits for the medical drama unfolded on the TV.
Dean pointed at the screen. “Dr. Sexy is the dude wearing cowboy boots. And this is only the best show on TV, Cas. It’s not usually on tonight!” Dean enthusiastically explained the finer points of the show during the next hour, and then two hours, and then three as the apparent Dr. Sexy marathon continued. After a while, Dean drifted off to sleep, chin falling to his chest and head lolling to the side until his cheek rested on Castiel’s shoulder and his arm fell down to rest between their bodies.
With Dean asleep, Castiel could turn off the TV and read quietly until morning but he didn’t. He watched another Dr. Sexy episode, Dean pressed warm and close against his side. When the final credits rolled the next show advertised itself as the Home Shop and Ship. Castiel returned his gaze to the book in his lap, only to have his attention drawn by the announcer who said, “And tonight, we’re just selling boots. That’s right, folks. Sexy cowboy boots. Get ‘em while they’re hot.” Castiel watched the show for several minutes then looked down at Dean, sleeping soundly on the bed. Carefully, he slipped his phone and a slim wallet from his pocket and pulled out the credit card Sam had made for him. He looked at his shoes. He could do with a change. Castiel smiled and dialed the phone.
Zen has been called the “religion before religion,” which is to say that anyone can practice, including those committed to another faith. And that phrase evokes that natural religion of our early childhood, when heaven and a splendorous earth were one. But soon the child’s clear eye is clouded over by ideas and opinions, preconceptions and abstractions. Not until years later does an instinct come that a vital sense of mystery has been withdrawn. The sun glints through the pines, and the heart is pierced in a moment of beauty and strange pain, like a memory of paradise. After that day, at the bottom of each breath, there is a hollow place filled with longing. We become seekers without knowing that we seek, and at first, we long for something “greater” than ourselves, something apart and far away. It is not a return to childhood, for childhood is not a truly enlightened state. Yet to seek one’s own true nature is “a way to lead you to your long lost home.” To practice Zen means to realize one’s existence moment after moment, rather than letting life unravel in regret of the past and daydreaming of the future. To “rest in the present” is a state of magical simplicity…out of the emptiness can come a true insight into our natural harmony all creation. To travel this path, one need not be a ‘Zen Buddhist’, which is only another idea to be discarded like 'enlightenment,’ and like 'the Buddha’ and like 'God.
Peter Matthiessen, Nine-Headed Dragon River: Zen Journals, 1969-1982
Wasn’t exactly sure what you meant by this, nonnie, so I just decided to give you my top ten Sassy headcanons :)
Sam and Cas go to the movies together at least once every two weeks (they always share popcorn and end up kissing during the last ten minutes of the film).
Cas wants kids, but Sam doesn’t, because he’s worried that any kid he tried to raise would be cursed. It’s the one issue they’ve never settled.
Cas heard a prophecy when he was young that one day an angel who possessed a man with a daughter named Claire would fall in love with a human. He didn’t remember the prophecy until he saw Sam smile.
The first time they kissed was when Sam and Dean had just gotten home from a hunt - Sam was so glad to see Cas again that he started kissing the angel before he knew what he was doing (Dean was shocked, Cas less so).
Whenever there’s a clear night, Sam will lie on the grass next to Cas and listen as the angel speaks of his childhood, Heaven, and the birth of every star in the sky.
The only time they ever came close to breaking up was when Cas became human. Convinced that Sam wouldn’t love him anymore, he had tried to break up then and there. But Sam had talked (and kissed) him out of it.
Sam adores Cas’ wings - loves to see them, to run his fingers through the feathers, and to be wrapped up in them on cold nights. Cas doesn’t mind letting Sam admire his wings in the least.
Cas teaches Sam different languages (Enochian, but also Icelandic, Portuguese, Arabic, German, etc.), and is amazed by how quickly Sam can learn. Sam, for his part, loves learning each new language. He also thinks that Cas is the best teacher he’s ever had (wrote something for this here).
Sam and Cas will leave handwritten notes for each other when they know they’ll be gone by the time the other one wakes up. They each save the notes from the other and look at them often.
Sometimes, Sam and Cas will spend a whole day without saying a word to each other. They’ll just hold hands and walk together through peaceful streets, letting their love for each other speak for them.
All parents damage their children. It cannot be helped. Youth, like pristine glass, absorbs the prints of its handlers. Some parents smudge, others crack, a few shatter childhoods completely into jagged little pieces, beyond repair.
Hey, hey Hux! Where did the General put his armie?
Ren, I swear to GOD! If this is another joke about my stupid name, or my childhood, or heaven forbid, about my dick and where YOU'D like me to put it, I will kill you, I swear I will KILL YOU!! SO WHERE, HUH!? WHERE DID THE GENERAL PUT HIS ARMIE!?!!?
okay but honestly at this point it’s like YES, YES PEOPLE, I UNDERSTAND THAT THAT ACTOR IS OVER SIXTY YEARS OLD, NO I AM NOT WATCHING THE MOVIE THEY ARE IN BECAUSE I THINK THEY’RE ATTRACTIVE EVEN IF THEY MAY HAVE BEEN ONCE MANY YEARS AGO, I’M WATCHING THIS FOR SENTIMENTAL VALUE AND EMOTIONAL ATTACHMENT TO CHILDHOOD MEMORIES AND BECAUSE I THINK THEY’RE GREAT OVERALL, THANK YOU