I Am By No Means An Expert But It Seems To Me Your Body Does Not Belong To You Is A Major Theme Of Right

I am by no means an expert but it seems to me “your body does not belong to you” is a major theme of right wing authoritarianism and, interestingly, modern USAmerican thinking. This underpins so much from abortion to forcing kids to hug their relatives. Your body belongs to the state, or God, or your husband, or your boss, or your doctor. Everything from trans and gay liberation to forcing autistic people to look in your eyes to making cashiers stand for no reason. Your body does not belong to you, but taking care of your body is your responsibility and your responsibility alone, and if you fail in some way, you deserve the consequences.

“Dean? You’ve been in the kitchen all day,” Cas said, slumping back against the other side of the kitchen wall. “Can I please come in now?”

“Not yet. Almost… done…” Dean muttered, voice drifting away as he moved further into the kitchen.

“But I miss you.” Cas could feel himself pouting, even though he knew Dean couldn’t see him. It wasn’t like Dean was far away. He’d been one room away all day; telling Cas to keep himself occupied while he worked on something special in the kitchen. But Cas missed his husband; missed the little touches and soft kisses and the way Dean smiled.

Stepping out into the hallway, Dean caught sight of Cas with his back against the wall and a pout on his lips. “C’mere, handsome,” Dean said, pulling Cas closer by the tie until they were finally chasing each other in a lingering kiss.

Cas let out a sigh of pleasure, draping his arms around Dean’s shoulders and pressing even more firmly into the kiss. “Been waiting for you to do that all day,” Cas murmured when they broke apart.

Dean beamed, leaning forward to steal another one, two, three kisses that had Cas feeling dizzy.

“It’s ready now, if you want to see?” Dean asked.

Nodding, Cas closed his eyes for a second to inhale the rich blissful smells that were floating out of the kitchen. It was absolutely perfect. “Yes please.”

Sliding his palm into Cas’, Dean guided them both into the kitchen.

The lights were dimmed, soft candles lighting up their kitchen table in a warm glow. An entire meal was spread out across a red tablecloth. Freshly baked bread, a pot roast in large bowls, and glasses of wine were perfectly placed on the table, along with a stunning strawberry shortcake.

“You- you cooked a romantic dinner?” Cas asked, flickering his gaze from the homemade food up to his husband’s eyes.

“What did you think I was doing in here all day, dumbass?” Dean teased lightly, tone filled with affection. “I remembered how much you loved that pot roast I made last year. And how you and Jack talked for weeks about that strawberry shortcake you found in that cafe last October. So, I thought I’d try my hand at making you a romantic meal.”

Cas felt the distinct sting of tears burning across his eyes, and he fumbled to pull Dean closer into a desperate kiss. “You remembered those things?”

When Dean kissed him again, it was deep and slow and so tender Cas thought he was going to drown in the fondness. “I remember everything when it comes to you.” Gently, Dean tugged Cas down until they were sitting next to each other at the table with their thighs pressed together.

If Cas thought he was in love before, it paled in comparison to how he felt now. Romantic home-cooked dinner by candlelight. His husband remembering small details that made Cas happy. This was love, and Cas couldn’t get enough.

the fact that any athlete can be subjected to "gender testing" on a whim because osmeone thinks she is too strong, too fast, just simply Too Good to be a woman is so fucking antifeminist, how can these people not see it?

Months have passed since Cas came back from the Empty and saved Dean. Since one close call too many brought forward questions of the future for the Winchesters and their found family. Someone whispered, retirement, and the thought took hold.

Sam and Eileen settled enough to talk of marriage and family. They picked out a farmhouse at the edge of a small town. Sam showed Dean pictures of a matching one, across the street.

“For you and Cas,” Sam said.

“Yeah, sure.” Dean laughed, as Sam frowned and Cas turned his gaze down to the floor.

Sam moved out first. Dean bought the house across the street, but wasn’t in as big a hurry to leave the bunker. It had been their home for longer than anywhere; it was a good enough place.

Cas stayed too. Dean saw him at breakfast and dinner, and sometimes at lunch, if Cas came to the garage where Dean tuned and retuned the car. Keeping busy was important. Too many thoughts were the enemy.

Cas would sit beside him at the table, or on the couch, or on the cool concrete floor, back pressed up against the side of the Impala. They talked some, at first, about the weather, about Sam and Eileen, about breakfast and lunch and dinner. Soon Dean stopped trying. Cas tried a little longer.

Then there was silence and missed meals and excuses. Shuffling footsteps down a dimly lit hallway. A shadow under a bedroom door, but never any knock.

Until tonight.

“You haven’t even packed.”

Weiterlesen

Shanah tovah! please look at my rosh hashanah apple tart it took. so long

On the 18th day of the 9th month of the 2,008th year they put a gay angel in a trench coat. and he would change the World