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mattzerella-sticks · 6 years

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Electing to Care (a Dean/Cas fic centered around voting) (ao3)

Dean Winchester has lived in Texas his whole life, and has seen it go red time after time, election after election. He never gave it a thought that there was something he could do to make a difference.

But then Sam drags him to a rally, where he meets someone who shows that one person can do just that. And the best way is to lead through example.

There weren’t many things Dean Winchester would wake up early for. Work was a given, although ‘early’ is a fluid concept when you’re the owner of your own business. Some days a simple text saves him an hour or two from actually having to open his shop. Emergencies, as well, can rouse him from sleep much sooner than he’d like. His wants taking a backseat to the needs of his family and friends. However, on this morning – a morning of a rare day-off – it was neither of these two options that forced him to watch the wide, Texas sky bleed from marmalade to robin’s egg, jumping the chasm of the color wheel. The reason he’s conscious was because of a third, more sinister reason.

Sam’s puppy-dog eyes.

“Please, Dean,” his brother had begged him over dinner last night, “Eileen’s flight was cancelled, so she and Siobhan won’t be back until tomorrow night.” His wife and daughter were visiting with relatives over in Georgia, Sam exempt from travel because of a case. And while it wasn’t to be a long trip, their reunion has been forestalled by the reputed reliability of Delta airlines.

Dean was nonplussed. “I don’t see why you can’t do this by yourself?”

Sam sighed and started to explain, his fingers racing to keep up – a habit hard to break even while his wife’s eyes weren’t there. Dean couldn’t blame him, finding his own hands forming words seconds after he spoke. Although in contrast to Sam’s plea, Dean’s use of signs was centered on a key one: ‘no’.

It was only when his brother pulled out his secret weapon that Dean finally surrendered, weakly nodding both head and fist.

Which explains why he’s trapped in a crowd with strangers, his brother, and a half-empty tumbler of coffee barely doing its job.

Even rubbing at his eyes under his shades doesn’t help. “Christ, Sammy,” Dean grouses, “How can you stand things like these?”

His brother is too cheery for a man missing a wife. The night before he was like a dog waiting for its master to return home. And now, his tail is wagging as if Dean brought him to the park along with all the other pets. Sam turns to him, breaking from conversation with another group of young twenty-somethings. “It’s for a good cause,” he shrugs, “We’re all interested in the same thing.”

Dean chuckles. “Yeah, surprisingly.” He casts another glance around at the crowd, amazed by the amount of Democrats who happen to live in Texas. When they first arrived at the park, Dean had expected twenty people at the most and five minutes before Sam sighed and freed him. What he wasn’t counting on was for people to show up. Now it’s been a half-hour since the thing was supposed to start, and Dean’s been gnawing on his arm like a trapped coyote.

“What’s everyone waiting for anyway?”

“This usually happens,” Sam tells him, “the guy running the rally gets caught up in talking to people he loses track of time.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Of course. Some two-bit politician in a three-piece suit, making sure ‘he’s got our vote’!” Sam doesn’t appreciate the jab, shooting him a bitch-face reminiscent of the time Dean sewed the cuffs of all his pants three inches shorter than they were. “It wasn’t funny, dude,” Sam snapped at him after work, “I had a meeting with my boss and all she could stare at were my ankles!” Dean couldn’t hear him over his own laughter.

“He’s not like that,” Sam says, “Cas is pretty cool.”

“Cas – you know the guy well?”

“We’ve had a few conversations.” Sam smiles, gazing up towards the makeshift stage where a few people were milling about. “He actually started this organization himself, y’know, after the election.” Sam points to his white t-shirt, where the words ‘I Got the Blues’ stand out in fierce cobalt. There was another, similar shirt crumpled in the backseat of Baby, where Dean had tossed it, preferring his own black tee. “Wanted to be a part of the ‘rising Blue Wave in Texas’ as he called it.”

Dean scoffs. “More power to him, but he does know Austin’s an anomaly, right? There’s not enough of a differing majority to make Texas look like anything else but an ugly, red sunburn – unfortunately.” He notices a few people shoot him some ugly looks, and he ignores them.

Sam offers another reproachful look. “We came close. And with everything happening, especially in our own state, lots of people are looking to jump ship. You remember that protest against detention camps Eileen and I went to a month and a half ago?” How could Dean forget – it’s not everyday he gets a FaceTime from his sister-in-law telling him his baby brother was in jail. “We outnumbered the counter-protesters ten to one! You couldn’t even hear them. And – get this – Cas organized the whole thing.”

“He’s really working hard for his votes.”

“God, Dean, do you even follow the news?”

“No – why?”

“Cas isn’t running for any office.”

“Wait,” Dean says, “you’re telling me this guy has nothing to gain from… any of this? Then why’s he putting in all this work?”

Sam smiles again, a small one usually given to babies or toddlers when asking things like ‘why is the grass green’. “Because he just cares.”

The words struck Dean into a sort of silence. Sam leaves him for a bit, then, ambling over to a few other people he knows. Which is fine with him, as he needs the solitude to process his thoughts.

Caring is something Dean thought was antithetical to today’s society. What with everything going on in and around the world, numbing yourself was the only way to survive. Dean treated everything outside his personal sphere with a cool indifference. He has his opinions, but he can’t work up the energy to voice them anymore. No matter what, it always felt like he was being drowned out or being proven wrong. ‘Bisexuality is a real thing, dad’ is met with ‘you’ll find a nice girl someday’. ‘Stanford is so far away, Sammy’ seemed like a good argument at the time, but now that his brother is back with a good job and loving family, is now just a bad memory. ‘We can make it work, Lisa’ never had any foothold in reality. It’s why he hasn’t voted in a long time, since his vote won’t make a difference whether Texas finally breaks with tradition or stay entrenched in their past.

Thankfully, he’s saved from drowning in his musings by the projected tapping of a life preserver. Dean refocuses on the stage as Sam makes his way back towards him. “Is it starting?” he asks.

“Yep.” He points, “That right there is Cas.”

Cas is… not what he was expecting. Given that he knows enough about politics to fill a leaky barrel, his mind crafted a caricature of a man. He thought he’d see a balding, somewhat pudgy guy waddle his way up the steps in a suit or – worse – a button-down with the sleeves rolled up so he can ‘get to work’. Instead, Cas is an average guy. He has a full head of dark hair that looks as styled as his own. And his choice in clothes is a mix of stuff Dean is sure is in his own closet. Aside from the ‘I Got the Blues’ in reverse colors, Cas has on a brown-and-blue plaid shirt, some khaki shorts and…

“What kind of hippie sandals are those?”

Sam scoffs at him. “Those are Tevas.”

“Te-what now?”

“Tevas,” Sam says, “they’re more than just a sandal. You can do a lot in ‘em like hike, bike, rock climb –“

“So what you’re saying is you own a pair, too?”

His response to Dean’s jab is very suspicious blanching. “Just shut up and watch…”

He does. Not because Sam told him to but because Cas still had a surprise or two up his sleeves, like his voice. It was as gravelly as the road he and Sam would bike to reach the lake near their Uncle’s property every summer when they were still kids. And just as treacherous. One time Dean was tossed on his ass because he wasn’t paying attention, and the pebbles dug enough into his skin to scrape. He’s dealing with a similarly uncomfortable sensation. Except the only scraping caused by Cas’s coarse baritone is Dean’s dick at his zipper. ‘Probably the worst thing to do at a rally,’ he thinks, ‘is popping a boner.’

Dean wills for his dick to stop pounding at the gate, regretting his decision to forgo underwear. “It’s warm,” he remembers saying earlier, “and I’ll be back in my sweats soon enough. Why waste a pair?” ‘What a fool I was…’

“Hey, could you stop?” Sam whispers to him, eyes whipping back and forth between him and Cas, “I know this isn’t your thing but at least try to look like you’re having a good time – for me?”

‘You don’t even want to know the horrible good time I’m having here, Sammy.’ Still, for his brother, he musters up enough strength to grimace as Cas wraps up his speech. He motions for someone else, a woman, to come to the stand. They shake hands and hug, and he moves off to the side so she can have everyone’s attention.

Except his eyes stay on Cas. He should be relieved now that the man’s siren song was over, except Dean’s left still spellbound. The woman was an easy out – Dean could have focused completely on her and her platform and depressed himself thoroughly enough to wilt his crotch. But no matter how hard he tries, he finds himself looking back over towards the other man.

Watching him, Dean sees he’s completely enraptured with what she has to say. His body is turned toward her, profile blocking out the heavy sun, making it near blinding to gaze at him for too long. Dean was never one to shy from a challenge. If he stared long enough, he looked a lot like the saint Sam and others probably thinks he is.

Without realizing, the crowd starts clapping and Dean is dragged from his contemplation. Sam hollers and cheers with the rest of them, nudging him to do the same. He nestles his coffee between his elbow and chest and claps.

“Thank you,” Cas takes the microphone again, “That was as inspiring and empowering as always. Now, remember folks, if we want to get her elected to office, we need to –“ the crowd responds, “Vote!” “You need to tell your friends to –“ “Vote!” “Your family?” “Vote!”

“Because what do we got?”

“We got the blues!” There’s another uproar, and Dean startles at the ferocity of it.

Cas laughs at it. “Thank you. To get your strength up for the long battle to midterms, please go and grab some complimentary brunch – on us.”

“Brunch?”

Dean noticed the tables near the back of the event, where he was sure some volunteers would be staffed to get unknowing suckers into signing petitions. When he and Sam arrived, all he saw was a few clipboards stacked at the end of one of the tables before his brother was dragging him towards the front. But if Sam didn’t have to be early to everything in his life, he might have been able to see the food being brought in. Or get a good place in line.

Sam nods. “They always get somewhere good to cater. Since it’s brunch they might even have mimosas?”

“Good,” Dean claps him on the back, “Hope you can carry all of it when you get back here.”

“What?”

“You brought me here,” Dean tells him, dialing up his own puppy-dog eyes, “It’s the least you could do.” They’re not as well executed as Sam’s but they get the job done. He’s enjoying the sight of Sam trudging into the crowd, getting smaller and smaller, when he feels a slight presence behind him.

Dean doesn’t know what’s worse: that Cas is standing right there or that he’s even hotter up close. Details he couldn’t make out are now in sharp detail. Like the scruff dusting his chiseled jaw, or how his shirt clings tight, teasing at strong, defined muscles that are on display with his calves. Even now he’s at a loss because of the other man’s eyes – as blue as the party his shirt is touting.

Cas holds a hand out to him. “I don’t believe we’ve met. My name is Castiel Novak, but you can call me Cas.”

“Dean,” he replies, “Dean Winchester.” Cas’s hands are calloused and warm, a nice feeling even in this torturous heat. “And yeah, this is my first time – here, at a… my brother brought me.”

“I take it your brother is Sam Winchester?”

Dean raises a brow. “He’s talked about you,” Cas continues, explaining, “And I saw you two standing together in the crowd. Wasn’t that hard to put the pieces together.”

“Yeah, he’s a hard one to miss.” He waits a beat, debating on what lie to use to exit the conversation before he ruins it. Only Cas isn’t as willing to let go as he is.

“So, what did you think?”

“Think of what?”

“Of… this?”

“Oh, um… it wasn’t that bad. Except it’s not really my thing…” Cas’s head tilts adorably, and Dean would appreciate it more if he wasn’t trying to forget the taste of his foot. Except it seems he’s not keen on taking it out of his mouth anytime soon. “Y’know, politics. I think you’re doing a nice thing but… I don’t know – I’ve never seen the point in Texas.”

“Politics is everybody’s thing, Dean.” He winces, recognizing the tone in the other man’s voice as the one his teachers would use when he was caught ditching class. “Voting is what decides how this country is going to be run and by who. I mean, look at what happened two years ago. November is important because we need to reverse all that’s happened before it’s too late.”

“But it’s like we’ve already been tossed in the crapper and flushed before we realized it,” Dean argues, “How can we climb out when we’re stuck in the sewers?” The analogy draws a smile to Cas’s lips.

“I wouldn’t know,” he starts, “I’m not a plumber by trade.”

“Really? Then what do you do besides… this?”

“I’m a carpenter.” He gestures to the stage, “I actually built this myself with some leftover material from a few orders, as well as some recycled wood from old furniture.”

“That’s… really cool,” Dean says, smiling, “I know a lot about tools, but not enough to do all that. But show me a car and I can strip and repair her in a day.”

“Mechanic?”

“Yeah, I own Singers’ Body Shop down on Enfield.”

“I’ve heard good things about it – from your brother, actually,” Cas tells him, “He was helping me connect with some lawyers, to do some pro bono work with detained immigrants, and my truck was having a fit. My brother ended up bringing it over to a Jiffy Lube the day after, so I never got around to going.”

“Damned chain stores,” Dean grouses, “If it’s the one I’m thinking of I’ll be seeing you soon enough.”

Cas’s eyes twinkle at the thought. “I’m lucky you’d want to see me again after such a delightful first impression.”

“Look, sorry if I’m a little grumpy.” Dean scrubs a hand down his face, choosing his words carefully. “It’s not because I don’t believe in what you’re doing, really. I think it’s cool. But… I don’t know if it’ll all work out, s’all. I saw how excited Sam and all our friends were when it looked like Hillary was going to win but then… he wouldn’t leave his house for a week. The world’s not gonna change enough in two years to ever fix everything so what’s the point and… I don’t know, it’s probably me being stupid or – whatever.”

“Dean.” He looks up, Cas’s voice sighing in such a fond way his heart skipping over itself at the sound. “What you’re experiencing isn’t rare. Voter apathy is a terrible affliction, one that persists thanks to the machinations of others. The people in power who don’t deserve their positions have coasted on it for years, disenfranchising constituents so there won’t be any opposition. That’s what I fight against by hosting these rallies, registering voters, and staging protests – making it so people care again.”

“Sounds like a hard job.”

Cas smiles with his gums. “That’s easy. The tough part is when it comes time to vote – hoping that I’ve done enough to turn out enough people at the polls.”

Dean looks over at the sprawling crowd, watching them mingle with each other. People of different races, young and old, smiling and laughing like there’s nothing waiting for them in the newspaper or on Twitter that’ll send them into a spiral. “From the looks of things, you might just do it.” He feels something flutter in his chest, and a warm feeling oozes its way down like butter on a warm slice of toast.

“And you?”

He turns back to Cas. “What about me?”

“Will you be voting?”

Dean wishes he wasn’t facing Cas. It’s hard to crush the dreams of the good-looking man with a kind heart when you’re swimming in his eyes. His face turns red, and he focuses more on Cas’s mouth when he says, “…I’m not sure.”

He gets a clear view of when Cas frowns. “What I mean is,” Dean continues, “I haven’t voted in awhile… not even sure I’m registered…”

“That’s an easy fix, Dean,” Cas says, “the deadline is months away and –“

“Why does it matter, anyway?” he asks, voice small, “My vote won’t make a difference…”

“All votes make a difference, Dean,” Cas tells him, Dean’s self-doubt like oil spilling into the sea of his eyes, his passionate response setting it all terrifyingly ablaze. “Yes, it is just one vote but it helps raise up all the others. Your vote is like your voice, and if enough people shout it can get people’s attention. Even if we end up losing, if we make the margin as thin as possible – people will notice. Although, I have good faith all the people who’ve been taking a back seat for so long are no longer willing to let others drive for them.”

Sam was wrong, back then, when he said Cas ‘just cares’. Because from what he’s seen, Cas doesn’t do anything in ‘justs’. His actions are absolutes. His words are truths. And God help everyone if his dreams aren’t reality. He pours his heart into his work and into people, and makes everything shine like they’ve gotten a fresh coat of varnish. Even now, Dean feels his own storm clouds lightening, as if Cas’s bright disposition is forcing them out.

“You sure?” Dean asks, teasingly, “Getting me to vote could be a point for the other side…”

Cas huffs. “Really, Dean, I find that hard to believe.”

Dean isn’t done playing with him. “Well, y’know, I haven’t really been paying attention to the news lately, I might just pick the names I like the most. I like cruising in my car, so maybe I’ll vote for –“

“If you’d like,” Cas cuts him off, his own impish grin plastered to his face, “I could make a helpful suggestion?”

“Oh?”

Cas takes a step closer. The extra foot of distance was a barrier keeping all of Dean’s senses and wits about him. Now Cas has the higher ground. “I’m not doing anything later tonight. We could meet up for dinner, somewhere casual, and I could explain the current political climate,” his voice takes on a breathy quality, “just… like… this.”

Dean nearly falls apart at the seams. The only thing keeping him together is that he has to respond. But his tongue has a stranglehold on his brain, and not much gets through. “You – you would?”

“Of course,” Cas says, “I find it’s best to… act, rather then letting opportunities slip away. I wouldn’t be wrong in thinking that you’re interested in… voting.” Dean whines low in his throat. “And maybe after we can take it back to my place and discuss,” his hand brushes across Dean’s crotch, “polls.”

It’s too much for Dean – and too good to be true. “You don’t,” he huffs, trying to get control of himself, “You don’t just say that to any pretty face at a rally, do you?”

Cas doesn’t get offended, instead chuckling at Dean’s question. “I couldn’t say, I’ve never actually seen anyone with as pretty a face as yours come to one of my events.”

“Really?”

“It wasn’t Sam that I noticed first in the crowd.” That hits all of Dean’s spots, and nearly has him seeing stars. But as quickly as Cas’s advances started, he takes a step back, allowing Dean the lungful of air he so desperately needed. However, his smile doesn’t dim. “Here, take this.” Cas hands him a business card. “You can text me so I’ll have your number, and we can go from there. It was a real… pleasure, meeting you, Dean.”

Dean responds with a meek, “You, too.”

Cas moves back towards the stage, towards a group of people, as if nothing happened. He does get a noogie from a smaller, blond man, and Dean’s only sure it’s because of what happened when he winks at Dean while suggestively licking his lollipop. Dean doesn’t watch them for much longer.

At least Sam chooses then to walk back. “So they were out of drinks,” he said, handing Dean a plate, “but I managed to get eggs and some pancakes for us. Although that’s all the bacon I could get and – Dean, are you listening?”

“Huh?”

“Are you all right?” Sam asks, fork held steady in the air, waiting to see if it would continue in its quest for food or be held off by something else.

Dean shakes himself out of his daze. “What? Yeah, yeah I’m fine – thanks…”

Sam lets it go. But halfway through his meal, Dean, who can’t leave well-enough alone, bothers him again.

“Hey Sam, can you tell me more about this whole…” he waves with his fork, “I Got the Blues thing?”

Epilogue – November 6, 2018

Dean steps out from the building, a sticker tacked onto his shirt, smiling. It brightens when he spies a familiar figure leaning up against Baby. “Hey,” he calls out, “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be harassing people to do their ‘civic duty’?”

Cas chuckles and wraps his arms around Dean’s waist. “I was, and will be. Wanted to check up on you is all.” He places a firm kiss to Dean’s lips, nipping at them, begging for entrance. He lets him in. After a good few minutes of making out, they pull away. “So,” he asks, nose pressed to nose, “what did you think?”

“About the kiss or voting?”

“I already know you love my kisses.” He gives Dean another one, tacked onto the end of his sentence like a period, to prove a point. “How do you feel now that you’ve voted?”

“It feels – well… it feels like…”

“Like…?”

“Like nothing’s changed.”

Cas leans back, disbelief etched into his face. “Excuse me?” he asks, “What do you mean nothing’s –“ He cuts himself off, noticing the Cheshire grin Dean has failed to reign in. “You little shit.”

“What?”

“Why is it you like to get a rise out of me?”

“I don’t like getting a rise out of you.” Even he knows it’s a lie, and doesn’t need to see the shrewd look in Cas’s eyes. But playing dumb has its rewards, and Dean loves to reap them. “And anyway, I’m not totally wrong. We won’t find out who won until later tonight so really, nothing haschanged.”

“You’re so obstinate.”

“Am not.”

“This is just like the Tevas all over again.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Cas huffs out a laugh. “You said they were ugly, stupid, and even more hippie than Birkenstocks.”

“And?”

“You’re wearing them right now!” Dean bites down on his lower lip, stuffing his smile down like an overflowing envelope as he peeks down at his feet. Like Cas said, Dean has his own tan pair on. The other man bought them for Dean when he tried Cas’s on. He was very vocal about not liking them, but Cas could see past the front Dean put up.

“Well I didn’t have any other shoes to wear because somebody hid them on me,” he lies, letting his smile bloom like a spring flower at how Cas rolls his eyes. “At least I don’t have to work in these, otherwise you’d really be getting an earful.” Another good thing about being your own boss – if he wanted to make sure his employees went out and voted, close the shop and make your day’s pay be dependent on whether or not they get a sticker.

“At least one of us has the rest of their day free,” Cas sighs, “I still need to check in with everyone and do a few more sweeps to make sure people engaged in the democratic process.”

“You love it though.”

“Yeah.”

“And hey, when you’re done, come to my place,” Dean tells him, “we can get in a good mood and examine some polls.” Cas’s laughter still sends a shiver down his spine.

“I’ll do just that.” They stare at each other, saying everything they ever need to with their silence. Cas pecks Dean on the lips one last time. “I should get going.”

“You should.”

It’s another five minutes before he does.

#Supernatural #Spn #Supernatural fanfic #Spn fanfic #Dean Winchester #Sam Winchester #Castiel #Destiel #Destiel fanfic

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coshayphinelove · 7 years

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now that the finale afterglow has faded, i’ve been kind of looking back on the series with a more critical eye than a “PLS DONT LEAVE ME” eye.

this is by no means the last time i’ll write some kind of long-winded essay, i’m sure i’ll find other things to overthink about on rewatches and as i write more fic, but it is a direct reaction to the finale and the five years i have spent with this show.

in short, the finale was amazing. it was probably the best finale of any show i have ever seen. it was satisfying and true to the characters that we had grown to love. it was realistic insofar that the problems didn’t end with the evil being defeated. it was bittersweet and made me emotional where i didn’t think the show could anymore.

(although i still haven’t watched the last two episodes of frin/ge so it’s rank may change).

if the rest of the season and the previous two seasons had set it up, it would have been even better. it is, to this day, my firm opinion that season 1 was the tightest, most well thought out season of television i have ever seen. like, if you had asked me in season 3 where i thought the finale would be, i would have had such a different answer. (please do ask me, i have so many thoughts.)

most of my criticisms are on the co-phine/delphine front bc that’s where i’ve curated the most facts, having a few transcripts saved to my computer for ease of access. and the first thing i have to talk about is the plot holes this season, bc wow, so many. like, delphine was only there when it was convenient. that much was clear.

like she only helped siobhan bc there needed to be a good guy survivor to tell the rest about what happened. she was only invited to the big house so cosima could invite herself along. she was only put in the dress so that cosima could be in the suit so that the pr team could tease a wedding.

and she was only in the final clone scene to reinforce that ‘’we can trust her now guys’’. like she and cosima never talked about anything. not the shay snafu in season 3, not the lying, not the spying, not the secrets. which are really big things. and i’m not saying it had to be 45 minutes of therapy jargon but i am saying that they should’ve said... ‘sorry’ or explained what happened and where they were coming from. bc to this day i don’t actually know why delphine did what she did in season 3. what happened in frankfurt? why did she threaten shay like that instead of just asking? why was she suddenly working for topside? none of that ever gets mentioned after it happens.

and as much as the sarah hug helps me with my sarcoshayphine struggles, they hadn’t spoken since ‘piss off delphine.’ how did they get from there to hugging? ‘we’re doing all of this on account of bloody delphine?’ to soft hugs and kind words? like yeah, it fit and it worked and it was touching. but when you think about it, it kind of dissolves. which is kinda fitting for a lot of the plot this season.

and to me, that left this season of c0p/hine feeling kind of empty. we reused the ‘can we trust delphine’ plot. we reused the ‘delphine’s off in a foreign country and therefore unreachable’ plot (eighty times this season, right?). i still stand by my point that in season 4 she could have been in hiding, having driven off into the sunset to do mrs. s’s bidding. like they could’ve had delphine funneling info for all of season 4 through mk/siobhan completely off screen. but she just.. did nothing for all of season 4. right. boss ass bitch corporate delphine just... sat around getting told what to do... sure..

or in 5x09 she could have just been around the corner at the grocery store rather than france. and why even bring that up if you’re never going to do anything with it? she went home right when cosima would’ve needed her and she was free to be there for her? what the hell? and there was no setup for it either. one second they’re ‘on the precipice of doing anything they want’ and the next delphine went home? without cosima before the fight is over? like, season 2 delphine would’ve been doing The Most: cooking, cleaning, grocery shopping, chores, snuggles, etc etc. but instead she hears the news and hops on the first plane out of the country?

like you guys do realize they didn’t say ‘i love you’ this season at all, right? delphine is ‘motivated by love’ but she doesn’t say it at every possible opportunity? cosima thought she was dead, but doesn’t blurt it out the first time she sees her after waking up? like fuck a sex scene, normalize wlw couples saying ‘i love you’ to each other first.

idk... i know there were scheduling conflicts and i know they had to keep rewriting as the schedule got rearranged, but come on. i can, right now, change a few key scenes that do something for both cosima and delphine’s character, that keeps them both active and doesn’t just ignore 3 seasons of characterization.

which is another point. there was so much they could have done with delphine’s character. not just this season, but for a while. instead of like.. idk following up on the threads they presented (affair with l**kie, changing sides, the girl who slit her wrists which was implied to be delphine herself, seeming to be worth shooting and kidnapping and nursing to back to health to neolution, what she was doing before cosima got there, what she did in geneva, etc etc) they only brought her back to kiss cosima. like bottom line. like, she didn’t really do anything active that someone else wasn’t doing elsewhere except warn siobhan about kira. which they didn’t even listen to her about.

and several times they referred to her as a lesbian when in 1x08 she clearly and fully called herself bisexual. and they shot her. for being in love with cosima. regardless of what they have recently said about ‘knowing about byg and always intending to bring her back’ they... still did it. and right afterwards said some really gross stuff about fans who were upset about it. i don’t really remember all of it, but i do distinctly remember the word ‘reductive’ used to say that fans were reducing her to her sexuality and that was the real problem. which... see the above several paragraphs. pot, kettle. kettle, pot. (i have separate thoughts on the season 3 debacle..)

which brings me to my main thought. i think they were too hyperaware of the fandom. they tried to roll with the scheduling conflicts and make a nice new shiny ship for us. but when there were complaints (*cough* hate *cough*) thrown at creators/cast over it they waffled and changed their minds. which then led to a shay shaped plot hole. also a shay shaped hole in my heart.

and i think someone around season 1 told them they were being progressive and they just... didn’t try to learn new things? idk how to phrase this. like season 1 was genuinely feminist. and the fact that they saw this story unfolding from a female perspective was incredible. and sarah’s storyline throughout the seasons was incredibly feminist. and the fact that they thought to include characters of genders other than cis and sexualities other than straight was fantastic. but after they got a pat on the back for being progressive, they stopped actively trying to call themselves out. they were like, ‘yes i am progressive and feminist therefore everything i produce is good without a second check.’

but this past season was all about petey and the clones were only used to further reinforce his evilness. and felix was more active than sarah, the protagonist. and tony actually got mentioned but he never actually showed up. and their ‘stand-in for the patriarchy’ got to violently murder two women (of two different underrepresented minorities, ASD and middle aged) while going back and abusing another woman (and praising him and saying he actually loved her!!!!). and their lesbian character centric episode was primarily focused on her romantic entanglements rather than, say, her and her character. (which i’ve been learning is actually kind of a problem in the wlw community, is losing yourself to new relationship energy and they could’ve actually taken a stance on this and said something important, but... anyway..)

and the creators were touting this as the most feminist season ever.

...

like okay. by walking0 de..ad and game- of9 thro///nes standards it is. but what they said in interviews and what they put on the screen did not match up. and i think that’s my main problem. like when i turn on my tv i generally turn off my feminism eyes and my lgbt rep wants. bc i generally know that not every show is going to be perfect and as long as it’s not like last man standing then i can tolerate it. but season 1 and their interview presence just got my hopes up. and they just didn’t deliver on their promises, imo.

and that wouldn’t be so bad, but they were so close, like this close!! you can’t see my fingers rn, but they’re almost touching... like they had the perfect setup, a meatball straight down the plate, just begging to be a home run, but they shanked it to right field and got stopped at second base.

like implying in interviews that some characters are nonbinary or confirming characters sexualities is really cool!!! i used to be a r//izzl//es fan, i know how awful it is when cast/creators genuinely don’t want you in their fandom. getting a confirmation is super cool.... but technically it’s not canon, it’s not In The Show. like it’s not untrue either, it’s not not canon. but being Progressive and Feminist and Positive LGBT Rep would’ve been.. idk saying it on the show, in the character’s own words? bc i can go anywhere and get coded representation, i can go back to the fifties and watch stuff with thinly veiled metaphors and small little nudges in the confirmation direction. it’s not something you get to pat yourself on the back for.

like, imo 1x08 was probably the best handled lgbt scene. like delphine stated her identity. and cosima just went along with it. and they got to talk candidly about it. they said ‘gay’ and ‘bisexual’ in the same scene. like??!!?!??!?! that was amazing. but for some reason they couldn’t do that for sarah, or felix. or let tony talk about being trans rather than having it be a hushed whispered conversation between two (then believed to be) cis people without him.

and it was just so frustrating to me, as a viewer, knowing what they meant and seeing what they put out there.

bc they are two different things. i can say whatever i want about this post, but at the end of the day it is just a grammatically incorrect, rambling, walk-about way of saying i have insomnia and was thinking about this enough to try and organize my thoughts. the creators can say whatever they want about the show, but eventually those interviews and those panels will get buried in the internet and all that will stand is their product. which doesn’t have confirmations of those themes within it.

like i’m forever going to love the show and i’m always going to go back and rewatch. it’s always going to be an influence on my writing. it’s just not... me trying to replicate and be like this show it’s trying not to make the same mistakes. which is kinda sad, bc it used to be the other way.

and at the end of the day it is feminist. like it’s about women told from a women’s perspective about allegories for womens’ issues. it’s just not by women so it missed the mark. same goes for the lgbt stuff. it is progressive that they thought to include it, but the stories they ended up telling were closer to the older stuff than what they thought.

i just wish they had brought in a third showrunner that was a woman and had lgbt writers come in to tell the lgbt stories. that doesn’t mean that it would’ve automatically been 100% Unproblematic™ but i think it would have been a lot closer to what they had promised.

anyway, i miss it already.

#thinky thoughts #this has been stewing for the better part of 5 years

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doodlefox-mcgee · 5 years

Text

A slight diversion

I can’t say that this is a completely fresh advancement in my life, however it isn’t entirely anticipated, possibly.

I appear to have acquired a submissive. A young lady named Ashley. How we fell in with every other is a very long story, and yet one which looks most improbable and quite surprising me. However she and I seem to be hitting it off.

Ash is quite a bit younger than I, but is older for her age (I’m mid-30s and she is early 20s). She’s slender, supple, small breasts, adorable, strong, and very feminine. Well, with me . We dropped in together due to a common interest in bdsm and the culture/community. As things progressed, she proposed a spectacle for us. I had been hesitant for this since I am… well, a submissive myself.

But I have been a domme, particularly when younger. Consistently with guys though. I really don’t get off tying someone else or tormenting them, not the way I enjoy it for myself. However, with her it seemed to be a necessity to be in a relationship, one that entailed her submitting and becoming sexually humiliated and mastered, but nevertheless a caring relationship.

Let me tell you, that’s not simple. It’s possible, but finding the proper girl to do this isn’t easy. Heck, it is tough to locate the ideal woman in any way, you understand? Relationships do not come easy, especially lesbian ones.

We gave it a go. And it worked out. She was very happy, along with the fact she was pleased made me happy, which was sufficient. We have continued to organize sessions and have played quite enjoyably.

While I’ve talked about my bisexuality a few on this, it was some time ago and was concentrated primarily on my early years exploring bondage and how some of my early attempts to involve others happened with girls. I am bisexual. I really find relationships with women more fulfilling emotionally than people with men; it is only that the sort of strict and intense bdsm I crave normally requires guys. Hardly any girls are good tops in how I need it.

My connection with Ash is based more on… well… let’s call it mutual lust, than a strict D/s or BDSM structure. The D/s connection gives us a very kinky frame for what is turning out for a passionate affair.

Once I submit into a man, I have a tendency to get tied up in extremely uncomfortable places, and abused in ways that make pain, emotional torment and long term distress, and of course humiliation and frustration. It can become very intense. The pain and discomfort are a way to highlight my helplessness in bed, as well as get adrenaline and endorphins flowing within me. It can be a mind blowing excursion.

With Ashley, it’s more a relationship thing, in which she voluntarily submits to actions, mild distress or humiliation, all to please . The mental dynamics are extremely different, though a lot of these outer mechanisms might appear similar.

A good example of our relationship and the way things have emerged.

We went on to Denny’s recently. We both wore jeans. I had been wearing a black group t-shirt, she was on a knit polo shirt (very preppy). We requested a stall and I stumbled on exactly the exact same side as she; a little unusual and incredibly romantic. And when we were ready to order.

“We shall order in just a minute. We will need to pick, first.

The waitress left and also the time came. Ashley didn’t know I was planning to do any of this.

In my bag I pulled out two nipple clamps. Smaller clover clamps which had great springs plus a tiny bite to them. I’m educated about clamps (needing worn virtually every kind hundreds of times), so I knew these would hurt but be bearable, especially after first program.

“I’d like one to put them” I said , handing over the clamps.

She looked at me with large eyes, but obeyed. This is what I absolutely adore about her. She might not like what I ask , but she amuses without questioning. If she was to say”I would rather not,” or”no, please, Siobhan,” I would withdraw the request. But she doesn’t. She obeys.

She slipped her right hand on her top from your waist, reaching up until it could cup her left breast. An awkward maneuver and one that was fairly visible to anyone that was searching at the time. Her right hand went in from the top using the clamp.

Her fingers stretched and pulled her nipple out to prep it. Once the nipple was somewhat extended, she slid to the clamp and then let it close.

A sharp intake of breath announced the pain hitting; it was not bad but first pinch consistently takes one by surprise. Her left hand moved in from below today, heading into her right breast, lifting and stretching her nipple, right hand moving in by the top using the clamp which she slid onto the sensitive little nub of flesh, and once again releasing the clamp on her nipple.

The very small whimper she let out was a joy. It symbolized her obedience to me personally.

“I am proud to be observed with you, Ash. I really like it when you suffer for me personally. It turns me on a lot .” The pain in her nipples was subsiding but I knew it would nag her for the rest of the brunch.

The waitress came straight up. Her eyes flicked us over resting briefly onto Ashley’s torso. The knit shirt she was wearing wasn’t tight, but the outline of these clamps may be viewed. Ashley altered in her seat and leaned forward a little to try and conceal them, though it helped just a little. It was apparent something odd was going on around her brow, and people who had the knowledge would identify it as clamps.

The waitress didn’t miss a beat but only asked what we would like. “And an orange juice” Mostly because my right hand was burred between her legs and had been massaging her panties, right over her clit. This was distracting. She eventually got out it. . And. . Orange juice…”

The waitress nodded, eyes a bit wider than ordinary, and abandoned.

Ashley’s legs have spread for me personally along with my palms.

“Good woman,” I said to her in a very low voice. “Now, you hit within and keep it going.”

“What?” She said, looking at me with surprise. She was not disobeying, but had been amazed and wanted to be sure that I was actually telling her to do that.

“Yes, even unbutton the top , get your fingers inside there, and then do it.” She pushed her hand in, but after some attempt it wouldn’t go far enough, so she unzipped just a bit. Her hands went in, palms glancing down, since I watched. I want you to cum.”

I understood she was also ongoing to undergo pain due to the nipple clamps. Not a great deal, but enough to make it more challenging to get an orgasm.

Then again I am interested in my situation, the extra stimulation, the annoyance of having my nipples squeezed and clamped really helps me orgasm. Possibly the nipple pain would help her. She moaned.

“That stinks” She stated, restraining her voice. She was hurting and has been working on getting an orgasm going at exactly the exact identical time.

“YesI understand.” I answered.

She slid her buttocks down a bit further in her seat. “Someone is going to see!” She said. She was not looking around, though. She was looking in the booth in front of her, eyes unfocused. Her hands were working faster. 1 foot went and pushed against the stall chair across from her again.

“They have,” I noted. Two vacationers down and across the aisle were having lunch, and one of them had been staring. “That is part of what I need. I want you to put on a display for them. Let them know you are having an orgasm”

“Nooooo…” she stated, however, it had been in a whisper and sounded more like a moan. Her hand was moving harder, quicker.

I flicked her left nipple clamp, so it had no effect on her. She was getting near.

“OK… and here we have an avocado…”

“Right here,” I said, pointing before Ashley. She’d stopped rubbing, at least obviously. Her hand was under the table, however, and she was slumped in the chair.

I got my meals and as soon as the waitress left I took Ashley’s hand out of her pants, and slipped mine in.

“You consume. Let me” I mentioned.

“Oh…” she sighed, kind of half from it. She picked up a spoon and attempted to consume.

She was very wet. It was simple to slide 1 finger inside her and apply the other to rub her clit. I played with it for some time then started rubbing for real.

After I began for real her spoon no longer transported food to her mouth. She just sat there, staring in her oatmeal, trying her best to not make noise. My hands didn’t move , trapped with the lace of her jeans, but my palms were rapidly rubbing, one finger slipping in and out of her around a inch.

Her thighs squeezed my hand a few times, out and in; this was a signal she was getting close. The businessman at the booth across the way was staring now, making no pretense that he wasn’t observing. I glanced over and nuzzled Ashley, which seemingly pushed her on the border.

Ashley’s head leaned back, eyes closed, face toward the sky, mouth in an”O” and she gripped the edge of the table. A small squeak came from her open mouth, then a silent gasp of air. Then another. Her legs appeared to be confused, unsure if to squeeze tight from my hands, or distribute open as far as they can.

Her body relaxed a little and that I slowed my movements, bringing the intense stimulation to a conclusion.

Pulling my hand from her trousers I licked them while staring at the businessman farther down the aisle. He gaped, completely taken aback. I thought that I may have seen his erection forming, but he turned off.

“May I remove the clamps, Siobhan?” She said.

“No. Leave them on for today. Let us finish. You have been an superb girl, I am proud of you.”

I kissed her on the lips and then we moved back into eating.

Afterwards, getting into the car, she requested to eliminate the clamps . “Please, Siobhan, they are really hurting. Could we take off them?”

“Attempt to keep them for a little more, dear. You’re always more amazing when suffering.”

She was quiet on the road home, probably handling the deep ache which has been her nipples, dispersing into her buttocks.

Once in the home I gave her instructions. Once you are naked, present yourself to me”

She nodded and did exactly what she had been told. Damn, I really like an amazing submissive.

If she was completely nude she came out and knelt in front of me where I sat, her head downher hands on her knees.

She raised her head and thrust out her chest slightly. The clamps hung from the poor, smashed nipples.

She cried out, grimacing and wincing, lifting her arm and shoulder as if to protect herself, though the pain was really in the clamp elimination. I waited for her to get over the pain.

I gradually removed the right clamp. Once more, Ashley cried , whimpered and winced. It hurt as hell to take those clamps off afterwards so long, I understood.

“Allow me to rub them” I provided and achieved, rubbing against the sensitive nipples carefully., The procedure did help her feel a bit better, getting the blood going. I’m proud of you, you chose that so well.

“I’m your little slut,” she said happily.

There is real joy within her obedience. Love inside her dedication and entry. Pleasure in her pain.

So now I have a problem. The title of this site. If I continue because the dominant, I can not call it Slave Bride, can I? Until I marry the girl and make her Slave Bride.

Really, I don’t believe I am likely to have that issue. I am going to visit Jason tomorrow night, and it is looking to be fun, in a rather awkward manner.

The post A slight diversion appeared first on Wedding Dress Box For Air Travel Hand Luggage Storage.

Source: https://bonbod.com/a-slight-diversion/

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shnoonoo · 5 years