Oh dear, those new pictures of Caitriona. She is looking her age, tired and less fresh. Don't get me wrong. She is a gorgeous woman but she is aging. One cannot blame Sam for moving on.
Oh, dear, you must be full from ingesting excessive amounts of crumbs from the patriarchal table.
I see an accomplished woman taking the responsibility of promoting a show that she is proud of and doing a wonderful job at it. I see a woman who is confident in herself and who does not need her clothes to define her.
Why the need to tie a woman’s worth to a man? Cait is Cait. She is not worth more or less because she is with Sam. The normalization of men’s desire for anything younger, and the equation of younger with “fresher” and better is one of the ways that women disempower girls and themselves. Self-esteem should not come from male acceptance.
I sincerely hope you are not measuring your worth according to the men who would date you. Put yourself front and center and they will come. I think that a man of quality and substance prefers a partner who takes pride in herself.
Thank you guys so much for all the love last week! As always, if you’d like to be added to or removed from the taglist, please send me a message <3
“Dean! Oh my - ”
Dean storms right past Sam and dumps Jack’s bloody knife in the sink. He doesn’t look at him as he turns on the water, but it doesn’t matter. Sam’s already up out of his seat and crowding against him along the counter.
“I knew you were in bad way after Cas but, Dean, I thought you were dealing - ”
Dean rolls his eyes. “It’s not mine,” he snaps, turning over his shoulder. Bright red blood pools in the sink as the faucet rushes over it.
Sam, still gaping, manages to narrow his eyes as his alarm fades away. “What did you do?”
Dean frowns. “Nothing. Why do you think that I - ”
Sam sags then, his body collapsing into itself all at once before he pulls himself to his full height. His eyes melt into that deplorable sad puppy dog look, the kind of look that’s going to turn into guilt some day. “Oh no. Oh, Jack…”
Dean shakes his head. “He’s fine, Sam. Obviously. You know damn well something like this couldn’t do any serious damage.”
Just like that, the puppy look slips away. Sam glares. His lip curls and his eyes narrow and he leans forward in the meanest way that Dean has ever seen from him. For a second he actually wonders if Sam’s going to hit him.
“You think I only care if he’s hurt? You think - Dean, that kid is suicidal now. He’s not even a week old and he - ”
Sam suddenly cuts off and wipes his face with his hand.
“You know what?” he says. “You’re seriously messed up, man. You have a problem, and - don’t look at me like that - and you need to stay the hell away from Jack from now on.”
Dean lets the water run. Low and dark, he murmurs, “I have a problem?”
“Yeah, Dean, you do,” Sam snaps. “You didn’t see him out there, terrified and alone. He thinks you hate him. I’m starting to think that maybe you’re the one with no soul around here.”
He leaves the room, stomping away in a huff, and Dean knows that he’s headed off to Jack’s room. He’s going to clean up the mess, he’s going to try and soothe all the wounds that aren’t visible. Sam’s good like that, and he just doesn’t know when to quit.
Dean stares down into the drain, pink-dyed water circling the abyss.
“I don’t have a fucking problem,” he insists, but it’s only to an empty room.
He shuts off the water and leaves the knife in the sink.