#but it hits to close for me and not in a cathartic way

[acowardinmordor]

ooh boy. that post about Nancy? Tripped the switch in my head that puts a character into a situation time travel fix it. And. Yep. Barb lives. That's obvious. But as much as we talk about Steve doing dumb things to protect the others, Nancy has him beat. She's too smart, and too organized and too determined. 'save Will' yeah great that took her five minutes. She drops off info with Hopper to handle the feds and help El. She's not going to stop shy of standing over Henry Creel's decapitated corpse. I don't know how you write this. She's been carrying the guilt for too long, she's got planning-brain, she's known since 84 exactly what she would have done different. Each time something happens, she's expanded her plan. Given the chance to do it? Shit. 16yo Nancy Wheeler might not survive and come out the UD at the end of it, but she'd hit all her primary goals, and make sure the others had the info needed to handle anything she missed.

[nursewashing]

god i just love anya so much. i'm struggling to put into words just how much she means to me as a character already, and i haven't even written her for a month yet!

[byanyan]

mkay i wrote two more good chunks (bringing us up to exactly 4k fucking words...........) of byan's bio but i'm just starting to touch on the actual lowest, darkest point of their life and it's not really helping the already shit place i'm in mentally, so. think i'm done for the night lmao

[shikai-the-storyteller]

Agh.

Against my better judgement, yesterday I read a fic I've been eyeing despite knowing the topic might hit too close to home because I knew the story would be really good, and it's been over 48 hours but my ass is really sitting here still sobbing my eyes out at the slightest reminder of it, so now I'm currently watching the goofiest F.i.t / P.a.c clips I have saved to cope with this hell of my own making

[black-rose-writings]

Dear Saints, I forgot how much I hate trying to write Alina.

Shit's not good for my mental health.

[whamss]

Don't have a lot of thoughts on the HSBC update, but I am extremely stuck on this panel:

And the thought of how absolutely horrifying it must be for Rose if Roxy actually grew up to look like Mom Lalonde. And I guess the implication here that the other alphas might have also grown up to look like their guardian counterparts (although Dirk died in his early 20s in this timeline, and Jane and Jake are still way younger than Nanna and Grandpa, so the hypothetical doesn't hit as hard for the other three beta kids)

Just like, I guess this was already to some degree a thought that is implicit with the existence of the alpha kids, but spending your late teen years and early adulthood getting close to a girl who Rose probably gained a more sisterly bond with, only to slowly watch her become the spitting image of the dead mother who neglected her, who she also regrets never bonding with must be some flavor of horrifying, right? But also maybe cathartic in a way?

I don't know, this just threw me out of it a little. I like the depiction of the adults looking like guardians when the story shifts to the pov of the children, kind of neat if they keep that up. I just also think that seeing Roxy look exactly like Mom Lalonde is such an interesting play because like. It makes sense, but thinking about how that would fuck with Rose's head a little is doing great things for me (<- person who makes everything about Rose). Extremely interesting

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

you should watch alien stage 😁 it’s a really wholesome and heartwarming web series on YouTube by VIVINOS. Nothing bad happens! And I think that you would like it!

So before I checked out Alien Stage, I asked an irl about it to get a feel for the series. They jokingly described Alien Stage to me as "Hunger Games with doomed yuri and yaoi plus some toxic het on the side", and after catching up with the playlist of hits... yeah, that's pretty accurate. I'm so invested in this now 🤡

I have Ruler of My Heart stuck in my head, specifically this English cover of it! To probably no one's surprise, I'm really gravitating to Luka... WHAT CAN I SAY, I LOVE ANGELIC LOOKING CHARACTERS WITH PRINCELY AND CHARISMATIC PERSONAS THAT ARE ACTUALLY SO MANIPULATIVE AND SCUMMY. AFSLFAYOEFIYFAEEAF; AND HOW CAN I NOT ADORE A GUY THAT PULLS THSI KINDA FACE:

I think part of his charm is that contrast between how he's seen as a "prince" by his fans when he's anything but. The artists outdid themselves with the MV; it perfectly conveys how truly terrible Luka is. I was so uncomfortable watching the video play out. The way he progressively creeps closer and keeps invading Mizi's personal space, taunting her, imitating her dead bestie/crush, putting his hands all over her, AND THAT GROSS WHISTLE HE DOES IN THE BEGINNING???? That made my skin CRAWL. Luka is for real so awful and I love that for him-- MIZI WAS RIGHT TO SWING AT HIM, IT WAS CATHARTIC 💀

I wanna give big props to Mizi's facial expressions too... They're so despair-filled and delicious, even when it's just her widened eyes repeating on the screen. The animation specifically for the line "I don't believe you're a liar" is top tier 👌 It's nothing fancy, but it conveys just how distressed Mizi is and how that's impacting her ability to sing. The way she gulps is so punchy and visceral. THE HATE IN MIZI'S EYES AS SHE'S RESTRAINED FROM COMING AT HIM AGAIN???? Good stuff. The twist at the end where the stage gets smoke bombed (?) and Mizi is rescued by the rebellion was great too. It robs Luka of the satisfaction of seeing his rival gunned down and him being declared as the victor. (P.S. I thought Hyuna was Jamil when I first saw her design; this is proof that Jamil has cool onee-san energy/j) Super looking forward to seeing Luka square off against Till, who is another favorite of mine. The eyebags— Till the End is probably my second favorite song so far; it's so intense in the close-up shots of Till singing his heart out to the audience. (Poor Mob-kun though, bro's getting DESTROYED out here...) I admire Till's fighting spirit but at the same time I feel so bad every time he's subdued 💦 Whereas I want Luka to get knocked down a peg, I want Till to find happiness and safety...

qweliboqeuvqied Anyway, that's my current brain rot 😊

[joonipertree]

idea for the Boxer!Katsuki and Artist!Reader AU! What if, ON TOP OF a rly bad day w college and being overwhelmed w work, we lost our paints :( n we luv our paints so we cry, but katsuki’s there to make us feel better and get us a new set :3

Thank you so fucking much for this. Idk if you knew but I'm actually making a portfolio for art school and Ive been crying every other night because of how stressed I am and how much I feel like I'm a bad artist. So writing this was cathartic

Part 1, Part 2

Tags: Dom/sub undertones, reader acting out and Bakugo being stern, a peak of what kind of shit I want with older men hsjsjsj, fluff, hurt/comfort, soft katsuki

Katsuki was one of the last people you wanted to see when you're in a bad mood. And that might sound terrible but it's because you never wanted to show such a harsh, negative side of yourself to someone you cared about. You were very much a 'feel and then reappear more regulated' type of person. But Katsuki never let you go home on your own anymore, picking you and dropping you off even on days where he had something to do.

So you trotted towards him with a scowl and no energy to fake anything and he noticed instantly, his own concerned scowl mirroring yours.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." You said and opened the door, closing it a bit too loudly. You cringed at the sound but buckled yourself in and turned away before the man got in the driver's seat.

"You're shit at lying."

"Fuck off."

Instant regret, a deep inhale from your part as you tensed.

Fuck.

His large hand came on your thigh and you stiffened, all he did was give it a warning squeeze before pulling away. The message was clear. 'Watch it'.

"I'm not willing to discipline you until I know nothing horrible happened but you do know I don't like that shit from you right?"

You said nothing.

"Give me an answer, doll."

"I'm an adult."

"Yeah, you are. And you're a smart one that knows that we have rules. That I'd be taking you over my lap if you talked like that."

Tears pricked your eyes but you blinked them away, not willing to turn your head to show him.

He knew anyways and he dropped the subject, starting the car and driving off.

Katsuki pulled to a stop at a place that wasn't anywhere near your apartment. You were confused as he got out of the car. Your eyes followed him just as he entered a boba shop.

Oh.

A couple minutes later, he came out with a drink for each of you. You remembered when he said that there just wasn't any point of it, that it seemed stupid and too sweet. But pretty soon, he had his own usual order, which was just Brown Sugar boba tea with the sweetness to a minimum.

Katsuki gave you the drink without even looking your way, sipping on his own. You stared at it for a total of ten seconds before timidly taking a sip. The sweetness broke you out of your sour mood, eyes blinking as you focused on the flavour of your favourite tea. The boba was chewy and soft and it grounded you a bit.

Only after you took a sip, did Katsuki start the car and drive.

When you reached home, the apartment the two of you had started sharing a month prior, Katsuki only gave you time to take off your shoes and put down your bag before he had you over his shoulder.

You struggled, hitting his back and asking him to let you go but he didn't listen...not even feeling it.

And when your ass plopped itself onto the couch, your attempt at running away failed when he easily manhandled you in place.

"I'm not patient enough to coax it out of you, so tell me why you're upset. I'll make it better."

You wanted to refuse but the tears were already dripping down your face.

"I'm so bad at art. I'm so f-fucking bad at it. I don't-" you sobbed and his arms were instantly around you, pulling you onto his lap as you cried into him.

"There's so many deadlines and so many things I have to do and nothing is working. And I don't even know if I'm cut out to be an artist. I'm not good enough, I was never good enough for it. I'm gonna fail-- Katsuki I'm so tired."

Your boyfriend rocked you back and forth, giving you kisses everywhere he could reach, on the side of your face and your head and your hair. And you let the tears fall, hiccuping violently and sobbing without restraint.

"I even lost my fucking paints and I can't live without them and I saved up for them and I'm just doing everything wrong."

You let Katsuki envelope you, squeeze you and warm your inside as you let it all out.

When your sobs died down, Katsuki didn't stop peppering kisses everywhere. It took him a second to speak.

"I didn't know shit about art. It all seemed like fancy, time consuming pictures to me. Hell, even now I don't know shit. But when I saw your art, I felt stuff I thought I didn't know how to feel. And that was the first time I realised that maybe life didn't have to be as shitty as it was. Maybe things didn't have to be ugly."

"When we went to those art galleries, yeah they were cool and pretty but not gonna lie, nothing ever left me speechless like your art did. And yeah...I'm biased as fuck, especially because I thought that the look in your eyes was the prettiest out of everything. That sounds cheesy as shit but you make me feel cheesy as shit."

You had stopped crying, left drained and nuzzled against Katsuki while you looked for an anchor to hold onto. And he held you.

"I like seeing you paint the most though, I like how you focus...I like how you curse under your breath, I like how you grin when something looks right, I like how you scan art supplies before you buy them. I like your paint stained hands and your paint water mugs even when I've accidently taken a sip from them. I like that how you laugh when I do that shit. I love that look of pride you have when you're done and staring at it.

It makes you happy so even if I don't understand the point of it, it means a lot to me because of that. So, whenever that thing stops being fun for you, and really stops being fun for you, I'll support you if you wanna stop. But I gotta keep seeing your work, baby, cuz it's like the inside of your head and it's really neat."

You let a few more tears drop, sniffling and looking into his eyes. There was no ingenuity, only pure emotion. And you let him kiss your tears away, you let him pat your head and you let him make you drink water and feed you.

Because it was never a burden for him to do those things, but a priveledge.

The very next day, the same set of paints were in your bag. Brand new and untouched. Along with three different watercolour paper books. 100% pure cotton, 350 gcm.

With a note that said 'you're still down for a spanking for that shitty mouth of yours. Don't make it a habit.'

[biasbuck]

BiAsBuck’s ficrec Fridays

We're so back baby! Happy weekend everyone, apologies for the delay whilst I've been away travelling. I HAVE been reading lots on my trains however, so here's another round of the fic I've been reading this fortnight whilst not actively flailing over the glorious new episodes. As always you can find previous rec lists here. Some light spoilers for new episodes.

6 October 2024

still the bone remembers, still it wants by @eddiebabygirldiaz in which 'Eddie goes to therapy and learns how to want. Buck helps.' Ohhh I absolutely adored following along on this ride as a wip and now it's complete in all its glory! From his childhood responsibilities looking after his sisters, through the events of season 4 and 5, Eddie struggles with identifying what he wants in life, and Frank gives him homework to make a list of simple desires for just himself. What follows is a beautiful journey of unpacking what's in his heart, with the most gorgeously in love and enamoured Buddie. The imagery in this fic melted me, from the orange tree to dancing and more. Indulgent in the best possible way. I'm still swooning from how much they love and laugh together!

tell you my sins (sharpen your knife) by @sonofatoasterwaffle from sweetness to....Hot Priest Smut! (And yet somehow, still sweet?!) This is gloriously fun and filthy and a little tongue in cheek crack treated seriously, in which Eddie deals with his recognition of his feelings for Buck by fucking a Priest about it....and makes Fleabag eat her heart out. It's 'for anyone who dreams about reclaiming pieces of the religion that hurt them in a fun and sexy way.' Featuring incredibly funny Bobby along the way. Poor guy.

oh what a terrible honor it's been (to learn that my blessings are things you call sins) by @capseycartwright on the other end of the Catholic Guilt explorations comes this 'Hey God, it's me, Eddie. I hope you don’t mind that I’m sitting in your house thinking gay thoughts.' In which Eddie seeks various methods of support in dealing with the fallout from season 7, from therapy to a veterans group to reexamining his childhood and his relationship with God. Really beautifully achey and cathartic and uplifting.

Take My Oxygen (This Plane is Going Down) by @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels ahhh I had so much fun reading this! Buck is a succubus, and the firefam a mix of fae and humans in the know about the magical world. Eddie is a new recruit, and he can't help but find Buck mesmerising as they become best friends. But Buck has been coping with his inadvertently fatal (to his partners) natural state through a series of unhealthy mechanisms and it's taking its toll. When we say Eddie would step over the body to help support Buck...this is this fic! And yet it's also so supportive and sexy and a weaves in canon in such surprisingly effective ways!

the moon don't hang quite as high by @glorious-spoon in which 'after Bobby and Chris leave, Buck breaks up with his boyfriend, tries not to punch his new boss, and worries about Eddie.' I am so incredibly obsessed with the dialogue in this fic, it captures Buck and Eddie's voices and idiosyncrasies so well and the patter of their banter and friendly bickering, particularly how weird they are about their own and each others relationships (affectionate.)

The Write Way To Love by @spotsandsocks this was such a cute AU, in which Buck is an anxious children's fantasy author and Chris (and Eddie) are some of his biggest fans. Running an art competition for children to submit their drawings to be printed in his next book, the elusive E. Buckley makes a rare public appearance and bumps into single Dad Eddie, where sparks fly. Can Buck get over the voice in his head self sabotaging his path to happiness? This fic hit very close to home and I had so much fun reading it, and loved Christopher's voice in it so much!

a sweetheart (to hold when i'm alone) by @clusterbuck at all times on my Give That Man A Cat agenda, directly following on from the zoom call in 8x01, Eddie finds a stray in his back yard, adopts her and falls in love. Things might not be healed with Chris but perhaps they can take tentative steps forward. Eddie holding on to the mask even as it fractures, and yet not giving up, finding inner strength and outlets for all the love he holds in his heart.

cool dry place by @gayeddieagenda 'After a long summer, Buck and Eddie try to figure out if this is the right time.' Another which just nailed the voices so well, I love the patience of this fic, a really lovely look at restraint and allowing grace time to heal and feel surety, without punishing characters for needing time, and with a beautiful sense of precipice for a new relationship.

And finally two tumblr fics from @hotshotsxyz, the taste of iron a powerful alternate ending following 8x01 (what if Buck hadn't tackled Gerrard) with a brilliantly effective mirroring of the shooting arc, and a hilarious Brad Torrence POV fic from 8x02 this method acting (might pay our bills) in which we hear his inner monologue whilst riding in the back of the stolen fire engine with Bobby and Buck. Perfection!

That's it for this week, bee seeing you soon after Athena and Jem land this plane!

[sillygoblinantics]

“Fuckyoufuckyoufuckyou that’s not how trauma works, Lily Orchard”

This is the last Lily critical thing I am willing to share. For context: this happened during one of Lily orchards korra streams, it was before she would release her video that I would not watch for mental health reasons, but yes this is how her streams are, so much dead air only filled with obnoxiously loud keyboard clacking, snorts, and little to no commentary.

I had been watching, while watching I caught her talking about… trauma and ptsd. I caught her (if for a moment) fully displaying her lack of genuine empathy and knowledge of the aforementioned topics. And then when the show actually has a great point about how to healthily heal and how it isn’t going to be immediate she says:

Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. That’s not how trauma works!

As if she would actually know and have studied and actually fucking know what it’s like.

This moment had broke me… if you’ve read my essay about my healing you’d know. This is not a criticism of Lily orchard… this is me showing her true colors. I need you to see how her brain works I want you to understand how it works without getting too close and touching the metaphorical poop of this drama until you get the full vivid picture of her.

Ever since I’ve learned more and more about Lily and have truly seen and heard of the things she’s done I’ve been plagued by what I thought were the traumatic moments I felt I had eloquently unpacked and picked apart… actually reanimate and take new forms that have caused minimal spirals.

And if I’m going through this then imagine what Lily orchards victims and fans have gone and continue to go through. This isn’t about whatever card she’ll use to get away with her behavior this is addressing the actual danger of this woman.

If I ever post her again I’ll be dropping art I did as cathartic release (like the below image):

Lily clearly uses her “trauma” to hurt others. She’s transformed it into a weapon that only damages those she hits with it.

Catharsis is the key to the freeing metamorphosis of your trauma tho it may remain it weighs less as you transform more and more of it in a new way.

That transmutation can be anything, art, animation, music, sculpture and visual or physical media really! Even in writing. It’s why I like creative nonfiction as it’s really just explorative essays. Like this post you’re reading now!

So.

To wrap this up, let’s quote the gifted goose’s own mouth:

“Fuck you, fuck you, Fuck You. That’s not how trauma works, you can tell they never had it”

— Lily Orchard August 2024

[thewalrusespublicist]

Two of Us Play: Thoughts or 'This Could Mean Nothing: The Play'

I saw Two of Us and I have thoughts. and feelings. Frustrated feelings.

What I liked: the mental health angle, the details, the research, the bones of the story and the acting for the most part (good actors, poor direction basically).

What I didn't like: First off the script needs work. At the minute it plays more as a spot the reference rather than one coherent story. This doesen't feel like convo between friends but a recap of Beatles lore with no train of thought that gets satisfyingly resolved and whilst hitting off the movie beats rather than building to them. The pay off feels less like a cathartic journey and more 'cool it's Mclennon I guess..'. Next the chemistry is off, the two leads don't feel like platonic soulmates/best frenemies and they don't fly off of each other as John and Paul did. Instead the energy is super low, even in their heightened fight scenes it doesn't feel like two people duking it out. There's no screaming and shouting, it's like two old but never that close friends going from awkward to semi awkward and back again repeatedly without ever hitting any moments of sizzling connection. This I think is partially to do with the 'nice Paul' characterization, which please lord can it end! Let our beloved alpha bitch be beloved and alpha bitchy, it's good for his skin AND MORE REAL.

I think the chemistry/energy problem is linked though to the main problem and the elephant in the room: the 'latent' homosexuality. Latent is probably the best word for it, but that's only because of the play's fear of its own implications. To be clear, with a slightly more daring director unafraid of the material, the latent would be BLATANT. The dialogue is BLATANT. John's wordplay is loaded with suggestion: 'best fuck you've ever had', 'you should have married me' and there's a closeness when they are singing on the piano which was 👀👀. The 'I love Paul' badge is also there with a 'lucky Paul' comment that COULD have built to a potentially interesting character moment. But they just fly over these bits like they haven't been said. The candlelight dinner as well that John puts on for Paul is by its nature loaded, as is John offhandedly calling him 'my love' when fiddling with the stereo during that scene.It's so casual that it feels like an accidental slip on John's part. But nothing is made of this, no pause, shift in the air, comments, nothing. This was the worst with the KISS which was initiated by John and yes, way way way too long for it to mean nothing and the Epstein jokes are completely omitted. Its a wild moment, but the play can't seem to handle what they've just laid down so just ... skates past it. Its like HAHA WEIRD RIGHT THEY JUST KISSED ANYWAY ROOF SCENE.

But the implications also aren't consistent as the whole thing is too attached to the 'Paul is a jilted victim' angle. It's Paul who is jealous of Yoko, but save a line about being surprised about Linda, John seems neutral (weird considering its JOHN making the overtures and was IRL not Linda's biggest fan). The ending is the strangest for this. They have the SNL thing like in the movie but it's weirder as Paul is CRYING. OBVIOUSLY CRYING. CAN HEAR AUDIBLY FROM A DISTANCE CRYING. The whiplash of John throwing down these implications and suggestions to just ... nonchalantly giving a hand grip goodbye and ignoring Paul's tears after going on this whole journey together is WEIRD and makes him look like a user and a selfish, insensitive prick. Like bestie your bestie is crying you can call Yoko back??? Also the end is meant to be a love you to both each other and their wives but Paul's is clearly to mostly John and John's feels mostly to Yoko. It's not a good look on John and its not a good look on his relationship with Yoko (yh John could free himself from the prison he's made for himself and was about to but the darn Yoko pull is just too strong guys). Again this would be sort of sad but fine if it was Paul making the overtures or there were no overtures but it isn't and there are! John is both the mooning would be romancer and the unavailable ex. Once again nuance and coherency (as well as Paul and Linda!) are sacrificed for the traditional John and Yoko angle. Wholeheartedly, it feels like there has been a layer of implication added onto the script, a layer which means that the original elements of the script would need to change to work but they haven't done it so you have this Frankenstein's monster of a traditionalist narrative fused with loaded suggestion.

So yeah, I think the whole thing had a lot of potential as a play but the script needs an overhaul, the actors need better chemistry and if you are going to go there, for gods sake GO THERE.

[cringefailvox]

i hope that valentino doesn't die in s2, and not just because i like him and want to see more of him.

i actually think val is a really good opportunity for hazbin to dig into how it defines redemption. every character in the show has a different ethical outlook on hell and the idea of redemption, but the two main ones seem to be charlie (everyone is capable of changing for the better when offered support and safety, and everyone should be provided those things regardless of what they've done) and alastor/lucifer/adam (people are naturally inclined towards wrongdoing, there are no second chances, and hell is both a punishment and cosmic justice). val is the perfect character to exemplify the struggle between these two different outlooks. CAN someone as awful and abusive as val be redeemed? and if so, what would that look like? how would we ensure his victims are safe from him while also giving him space to grow and change? if he can't be redeemed, what's the threshold for irredeemability? can we agree on what makes someone so bad there's no hope? can we quantify which sins are worse than others, and how?

(and by the way, what even gets someone into heaven, and who decides? hazbin seems like this is the main question it's beginning to focus on, so i have a lot of hope for how this one will get resolved. because at the moment, it seems like self-sacrifice is what gets you there, and that is deeply unsatisfying to me—you shouldn't have to give up everything, up to and including your life, to be considered "good enough". it's a vehemently christian idea that martyrdom is righteous and i fucking hate it.)

and if charlie's ethics are universal, she'll have to commit to redeeming people like val, otherwise she undermines her entire mission by picking and choosing who gets to have support and who doesn't. if charlie's ethics aren't universal, we could start really digging more into how her personal attachments to angel dust could present a conflict of interest in her values, like we did with vaggie; are people only worthy of her unconditional encouragement if she loves them? what are the implications of THAT?

my personal value system believes that there's no such thing as someone being irredeemable. there's only people who actively choose not to try, even after they've been provided love, support and well-intended challenges from people who want to see them grow. there needs to be space for people to be safe from their abusers and space for abusers to reform themselves and participate in society, otherwise our options become banishment or execution and i doubt that's the ethical message hazbin wants us to walk away with. val's positioning in the narrative and his close connection to angel makes him the perfect candidate to really challenge charlie's commitment to her ideals, since she doesn't already love him (like vaggie) and he isn't actively trying to be better (like angel or pentious). killing him would be unsatisfying, as well as letting everybody off the hook too easy. i want these bitches neck-deep in painful ethical dilemmas.

ultimately, i hope that hazbin goes the teshuvah route regarding sin. in judaism, teshuvah is the process of repentance for sin, but it also means "return" because the hebrew word for sin, chet, means missing the mark. sin is when we don't quite hit the target how we should have. it's not something you're born with, it's something you do, and it's something you can choose not to do. teshuvah is slow and difficult and a lifelong process, not a one-time golden ticket to heaven. i hope hazbin ends up in the same vein as this, where reforming sinners becomes more about repairing broken relationships, crafting a better society, and harm reduction instead of the ultimate goal being entry to heaven. i think that would be far more interesting and cathartic to me than anything else

[blasphemousclaw]

Idk if you plan on doing the "questions-about-character-x" list yet, but I'd love to hear your thoughts on Marika (maybe with a side of Radagon but mostly the golden strumpet).

• favorite thing about them

nothing hits me harder than characters who lash out because of the injustice or suffering they’ve endured… there’s something so cathartic about characters who make their pain and anger felt in the world in a tangible and consequential way. Marika is this character to me!! I think it’s so powerful to introduce her as an all-powerful goddess, keeping her at a distance as this enigmatic figure who shaped the world as it is today and then shattered it, and then to humanize her by showing us where she comes from and what she went through… she was never just a cold, distant, uncaring deity, but a person, with very human motivations and flaws. learning her backstory gives us so much context for why she did the things that she did and gives us the opportunity to feel close to her and empathize with her… I think she was always sympathetic in the base game, but she still felt so distant, so I really love how the dlc fleshed her out and made her character so accessible

• least favorite thing about them

this isn’t even about her, but about how the fanbase has responded to her writing in the dlc because like dear god

it almost makes me want to avoid content of her which sucks because I really like her LOL

• favorite line

“Hear me, Demigods. My children beloved. Make of thyselves that which ye desire. Be it a Lord. Be it a God. But should ye fail to become aught at all, ye will be forsaken. Amounting only to sacrifices...”

absolutely fascinating quote… we don’t really know the context, so there’s many different ways to interpret it… Marika urging her children to become a lord or a god is interesting, because when she deposed the Gloam-Eyed Queen and removed Destined Death from the Elden Ring, it seemed like she was fighting hard to stay in power and to become “Eternal,” but her children succeeding her would necessarily end her reign? This also almost seems like she’s encouraging conflict between her children… there can only be one god and one lord, after all. we don’t know when the quote was spoken, but it almost seems to reference Ranni’s sacrifice of Godwyn on her path to godhood on her own terms? is this a warning? is it a challenge? is it just the words of an extremely jaded and cynical goddess?

• brOTP, ОТР

ok I’m gonna do away with this format here because I just want to list some of her relationships that I really like without having to categorize them:

Marika and Messmer: the dynamic of Marika being a god-queen whose grace is blinding, and her son being born cursed with a serpent of the lightless abyss is so good… him taking up the crusade on her behalf, of his own volition, because he hates how he was born so deeply and will do anything to try to atone for something that isn’t even his fault, committing horrors in her name, is SOOOO

Marika and Radagon: I love pondering where one of them starts and the other begins, how they have opposite goals and worldviews but exist in the same being. really good

Marika and Rennala: I wouldn’t call it an otp but I like it as a ship. Marika being the one to steal away Rennala’s husband, but she actually IS her husband. unparalleled dynamic

• nОТР

there arent any Marika ships I’ve seen that I dislike

• random headcanon

I think she was horrified and disgusted by Morgott and Mohg AND she loved them still. omen babies would have their horns cut off, usually causing them to die, but omen babies born of royalty did not have their horns cut off, so they were allowed to live… I love the idea that Marika couldn’t bear to sentence her children to death, but she also couldn’t bear to look at them because of her past, so they were confined to the Shunning Grounds

• unpopular opinion

*cracks knuckles*

SO MANY people have the wrong idea about her. you’ve got people saying everything she did was justified, she didn’t go far enough, “total hornsent death” etc etc. and on the other hand you’ve got people saying the dlc writing is terrible because it’s excusing Marika for her crimes, it’s baiting you to feel bad for the hornsent and then pulling a plot twist that actually, they were evil and Marika was good the whole time!

both of these interpretations are flawed because the story is not arguing that the hornsent are fundamentally evil people, and it is not arguing that Marika is now blameless because of what she suffered. the story is rife with moments of sympathy for the hornsent’s suffering and examples of the crusade’s inexcusable cruelty, and so much of what’s in the base game showcases the cruelty that Marika’s Order has inflicted. just because the story is giving Marika a sympathetic reason for why she is the way she is does not mean that these facts cease to exist! sympathy for Marika, sympathy for the hornsent, and condemnation for the Golden Order’s and the crusade’s crimes can all exist in the story at the same time!!!!!

• song i associate with them

…how about this: if anyone has a song in mind, leave it in the replies or tags!

• favorite picture of them

Ranni holding her head u_u

[floral-ashes]

🚨📚 Today is release day for my new book Gender/Fucking: The Pleasures and Politics of Living in a Gendered Body!

Asking what we can learn from sexual arousal, the book takes an incredibly raw and thought-provoking look at community, queerness, fetishization, trauma, and hope.

I decided to go with an indie press that believed in the book and its transformative potential. But it means we don’t have the marketing budget of Penguin et al. I really need your collective help with spreading the word about it. Because it could benefit so many.

Early readers told me it’s a book that unmakes you and puts you back together piece by piece. It hurts, it troubles, and it nourishes. It gives voice to truths that were hidden deep in your bones. That’s how I felt writing it, and what I hope I get to share with all readers.

I’ve joked a few times with friends that this is a book best read one orgasm per chapter. But it has more than a grain of truth to it. I do believe that we can learn from arousal, instead of seeing it as the antithesis of knowledge. Don’t disavow the truths of the body.

The book is an ode to the messiness of human experience. I wrote it as a way of healing and of connecting with others. While I foremost wrote it with other queer and trans people in mind, everyone can see themselves in this book and gain from it. We all share in humanity.

This year has been rough, between the intense harassment, death threats, and hate hitting really close to home. Knowing that this book was coming out has sustained me. Knowing that I would have this moment of community, of shared passion, has been a balm on those psychic wounds.

Once you get your copy, post pictures and share your impressions as you read under the hashtag #GenderFucking. You can also tag me! This book is a journey. You will feel deeply. You will have many thoughts. Some challenging, some cathartic, some freeing. All worthwhile.

You can also help me out by posting reviews on Goodreads and Amazon. If you want to write a longer review for a blog or a magazine, or suggest it for review at your favourite newspaper or magazine, that would be tremendous! All help spreading the word is truly appreciated.

Ignite the flames of passion and curiosity. Join me in embracing the raw, vibrant truth of our gendered existence.

Find it at your local bookstore or order it online here (USA).

For those outside the USA, I created a list of places you can buy it online. It also lets you suggest more websites that carry it.

[imagineteamfreewill]

From the Dead - Five

Pairing: Soldier!Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 7.1k

Warnings: Hearing loss, pregnancy, nervousness, nausea, mentions of PTSD, and fluff

Summary: Dean Winchester died as a war hero during his third tour overseas. He left Y/N behind, and she decides that she needs a change. She leaves Lawrence to work at Camp New Moon, where a mysterious visitor shows up almost five years after Dean first left for his tour.

A/N: This is the final part of the “From the Dead” series. As always, thank you for supporting me whether I’m writing Supernatural or Marvel, both here and on other websites. I hope you enjoy!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

From the Dead Series Masterlist

The months practically fly by after Dean receives his hearing aid. As part of his therapy, he creates a list of things he wants to do now that he’s back in the States, some of which you’ve never done together. One by one, you check things off the list. You spend sunsets—and a few sunrises—snuggled up on the beach by the lake, and when the fall hits, you and Dean are able to get away for a few weekends for hikes in a nearby state park. It’s on those nights at the lake and in the cabins you rent at the parks that Dean talks to you more about his tour. He can’t tell you all the details, especially since Sam is still advising you on whether or not to sue for everything you’d been put through, but he talks to you about his life in the village. Sometimes you lay together in bed as he talks, and other times you sit facing him so you can read his expressions. Sometimes he cries. You do too. It’s cathartic for both of you.

When winter descends on the South, you take him to Atlanta for some of the Christmas festivities. You go to a concert, go on a fancy date at an even fancier restaurant, and walk hand in hand while you look at Christmas lights. His family drives down for the holidays, and you put them up in a few of the empty staff cabins. Mary tells you one morning while you’re watching the sun rise over the lake that she understands why you’d want to stay at New Moon. It’s one of the best Christmas gifts you get.

Dean surprises you with trips to the zoo, aquarium, and museums. He takes you shopping, compliments you with every new thing you tried on, and he carries your bags. He cooks you elaborate meals and brings you picnic lunches. You’re pretty sure that he and Meg text because he always seems to show up for lunch on the days where you need his company the most.

Life is sublime, even on the rough nights when you sleep very little. Dean’s nightmares wake you up on occasion, but you don’t mind. He shows you his love in a thousand little ways, and lying with him and comforting him is one of the few ways that you do the same. You both lay on your sides, facing each other, and you murmur reassurances in the dim light from the bedside lamp. You’ve gotten used to sleeping with it on, especially now since you found out that the darkness is something that worsens his PTSD.

Some nights, you stay up late worrying about the girls. Others you spend sitting up with them or talking with them when they need support, or intervention. Oftentimes, on those nights, you walk back to your cottage in the dark, following the path with just an old plastic flashlight to guide you. Your phone is usually dead and you’re always bone-tired, but without fail, you open the door to find Dean waiting up for you on the couch. He has the TV playing low in the background, and if you haven’t eaten dinner, he has a plate of food ready to be reheated for you. He listens when he can, too. You tell him whatever isn’t confidential, and he listens in silence with a hand on your leg as you curl up to him on the couch, or he holds you close as you lay together in bed, just like when you listen to him talk about his time overseas.

It’s on one of these nights in early March when you’re curled up together, sometime just past midnight, that you realize you’ve been home late almost every day this week and that Dean had been alone almost all day, every day. Your thoughts roam back to the first dinner you’d had with his family since his return. He’d thrived in the living room bustling with people he loved, and he’d lit up any time he’d interacted with his niece and nephew. You haven’t seen that exact look on his face since.

“Dean?” you murmur. He doesn’t answer right away, but he keeps stroking your hair, so you carefully turn your head on his thigh to look up at him. He took his hearing aid out an hour ago, which meant he probably just hasn’t heard you.

“You need something, sweetheart?” he asks, looking down at you.

“Do you… Do you still want kids? We haven’t talked about it since you got back, but before your deployment…”

He hums thoughtfully and sits up a little more on the sofa. You sit up when he moves, pulling your legs in and propping yourself up with one arm on the top of the back cushions. He keeps looking at the TV, but you can tell that he really isn’t watching it. The show is something pedantic—a black-and-white sitcom from the 60s that only comes on during late-night television. It’s one of a few that are on rotation during your late night talks, and you know enough from the subtitles that you’ve seen this episode at least three times.

“Did you hear me?” you ask, reaching out to gently touch his arm with your fingertips.

Dean nods. His eyes still stay focused forward. “I heard you. I’m just… thinking.” He turns to look at you after a second. The furrow between his eyebrows is pronounced, and his lips purse ever so slightly as he searches your face. “Why? Are you—?” He glances down at your stomach, just for a split second.

Quickly, you shake your head and scoot closer on the couch so that your calf is pressed up against the side of his thigh. You reach out and grab both of his hands in yours. He turns slightly more towards you, and his thumb drifts over your knuckles as you answer,

“No. No, I’m not pregnant. I just…” You trail off and look down at your joined hands, trying to put thoughts to your words. Finally, you sigh and look back up at him, squeezing his hands. “When we were at your parents’ house, with Sam and Jess and their kids, you seemed really happy.”

“Those little guys are awesome,” Dean replies, chuckling lightly. The worried crinkle between his eyebrows relaxes at the memory. “I had no idea how much I’d really missed them until we got there. The videos you’d shown me on your phone weren’t nearly as good as the real thing.”

“It wasn’t just that. It was the way you cuddled and played with Jacob, and the way you held Ella and talked to her. You love them.”

“Of course I love them, Y/N, they’re my niece and nephew.”

His voice is patient as he gives you the reminder, and though you know that he isn’t trying to make you feel bad, you still find yourself searching for the right words to get your point across. You’re exhausted, and your thoughts are already scattered.

Maybe I shouldn’t have even brought it up, you think.

Nonetheless, you nod and squeeze his hands again. “I know. I just… It reminded me of all those conversations we had before you left, you know? And I see the way you look at babies and little kids whenever we’re in town. Anyone could tell that you want a kid of your own.” You pause and shake your head a little. “I don’t know, it’s late. Maybe I’m just thinking too much. If it’s gonna happen, it’ll happen, right? I mean, if that’s what you want.”

Releasing him, you rub your face with one hand and stand from the couch. He looks up at you, watching in silence as you gather your dinner dishes, along with the mug he’d been drinking from when you got home. Your stomach twists as you move, and though you hope he’ll speak up and put you out of your misery by giving you some kind of response, Dean says nothing.

“I should shower,” you tell him. The lights in most of the cottage living area are off already, and the light from the TV casts strange shadows over him and the couch. It’s enough light for you to see Dean already looking away from you, staring at the long wooden coffee table you’d bought from a thrift store shortly after starting at the camp.

As you pass by, however, he scoots forward on the couch and reaches out. His arm blocks your path and his hands rest on your opposite hip, holding you in place. Your heart skips a beat.

“I do want kids,” Dean admits, quieter than before. He holds your gaze. Though the room is dark, the hesitance in his expression is clear.

Has he been thinking about this too?

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, dishes still in hand as you wait for him to continue. He doesn’t, so you set the dishes on the side table to his right and take matters into your own hands.

“Yeah?”

Dean’s shoulders slump and he nods. “Yeah. I didn’t want to bring it up. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? What for? Why didn’t you want to bring it up?”

Carefully, you lower yourself to sit on his thigh with your back resting against the arm of the couch. You drape your legs over his lap. Dean reaches his arm behind you and holds your hip to help you keep your balance on his legs, and almost immediately his thumb is rubbing small arcs on your side, back and forth at a steady tempo. His other hand rests on your thighs. It’s warm over your legs, and you can feel his body heat even more where your shirt has come untucked, revealing the bare skin on your side where his thumb has found purchase. He’s almost too warm to be this close to him, but you can’t bear to complain, not after so many painful years apart. You rest one arm over his shoulders, and with the other you cup his cheek, turning his face so you can look at him properly.

“I was nervous that you’d changed your mind,” he admits. The low sound of the TV almost drowns him out, so much so that if you were any farther away, you’d be straining to hear him. “It’s been so long since we talked about it, and I wasn’t sure if that was still what you wanted.”

His next words go unspoken: with me. Dean has never expressed it outright, but you know that he still sometimes feels insecure about wearing his hearing aid and his struggle with PTSD from everything that happened overseas. You’ve joined him for several video sessions with his therapist, and you know that they’re working on strategies to deal with both of those things. You try not to interfere or give your opinions on his recovery—he needs a wife and a partner, not a second therapist—but you support him in every way you can without overstepping. You never want him to feel alone because of what he’s been through.

You lean in to kiss him on the cheek opposite your hand, and you smile gently as you say, “I love you, Dean. It’s still what I want, but even if it wasn’t, it wouldn’t change things between us, at least not on my end. You’re still my main man, no matter what. Kids have never been the endgame. It’s always just been you.”

The lines on Dean’s face relax, smoothing out to reveal the faintest smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. They’re just starting to reappear now that the winter is fading and he can comfortably spend more time outside. Your stomach untwists as he smiles back at you. He shifts the hand on your hip and squeezes it just a little.

“I love you too, Y/N. No matter what.”

Dean kisses you on the lips, and it’s long, slow, and sweet. He’s warm against you. You’re bone-tired, but you close your eyes and kiss back, soaking up his warmth and the feel of being in his arms after a long day at work. It’s heavenly. You never would have predicted this moment a year ago. If someone had told you that Dean wasn’t dead and that he’d find you at New Moon, and that you’d be having a conversation at one in the morning about having kids, you would’ve thought they were crazy. Now, however, you’re just grateful.

After a few moments, Dean eases his arm under your legs instead of resting it over them, then stands. He carries you to the bedroom and you relax in his arms, keeping your eyes closed for the short walk. When he sets you down on the edge of the bed, you open your eyes to look up at him. You brace your hands on the mattress behind you to keep from toppling backwards as the memory foam dips under your weight.

“I don’t want to stress about this,” you tell him. “I’m pretty sure that wouldn’t help anything. If it happens, it happens.”

He nods in agreement, then yawns. You chuckle and sit up a little more so you can stand without fighting against the mattress. Dean always complains that it’s too soft, but you like the way you can sink into it after a long day. 

“Get to bed, soldier,” you order, patting his arm. “You’ve got work in the morning.”

A month ago, Dean had decided he was ready to get back to work. You’d offered to put him on the payroll at camp as a maintenance worker or groundsperson, but he’d opted for an online position, at least for the time being. It’s a dull job compared to his work with the military. Secretly, you’re thankful that he’s chosen a safe route and that he’s feeling well enough to get back to work, but you also worry a little. For as long as you’ve known him, Dean’s been a hands-on type of person. He likes to build and fix and create. His therapy appointments are virtual too, which means that he spends most of the day cooped up in the cottage, sitting at the kitchen table or on the couch in front of a laptop. Not only is it not the healthiest thing for him physically, you know that he pushes himself to work harder than anybody should, simply because the job seems so much easier than what he used to do. Plus, being that he’s home most of the day, he’s taken on most of the cottage upkeep, cooking, and shopping so that you can spend as much time together as possible whenever you are home. You don’t mind that as much, but it does make you feel a little guilty.

“I’ll wait for you to be out of the shower,” he replies, but you shake your head.

“It’s okay. You’ve waited up long enough for me, De. You need to sleep—you’ve been burning the candle at both ends just so you can see me in the morning and at night, and I’m starting to get worried. You were falling asleep during your meeting the other day when I came home for lunch, remember?”

“I’m fine,” he insists.

Sighing, you wrap your arms around his waist, reaching up until your hands press against the middle of his back, between his shoulder blades. Your cheek presses up against his chest and you close your eyes again. He returns your embrace, and after several long moments, you feel his body relax against yours. 

I could go to sleep right here, you think with a tiny smile.

“Come on,” you say as you finally pull away, then pat him on the chest with one hand. “Go lay down. I’ll be there in a minute, okay? Get the bed warm for me.”

He nods in agreement, and you step away. You hurry to get your pajamas from the dresser before heading into the bathroom. Dean had changed long before you’d gotten home, as he always did on late nights like these. You need to shower, but you know Dean would force himself to stay up until you’re ready to go to bed too, no matter how much you push him and try to coerce him to take care of himself first. You’re exhausted, too, and the thought of having to shower before you can crash isn’t appealing.

So, you forgo your normal shower and stick with simply washing your face and brushing your teeth after changing into the pajamas. You can shower in the morning, even though it means you’ll need to change the bedding sooner than usual. Though it isn’t quite as hot as it normally is this time of year, the humidity makes everything sticky, and you’ve spent most of the day outside. A thin layer of sweat coats your skin, making even your pajamas feel gross.

When you turn off the light and step out of the bathroom, Dean looks up from the book he’s grabbed from his nightstand. It’s a novel, if you remember correctly, but you’re not sure what about. The cover picture has a cactus on it. It’s probably another western—he’s been catching up on some of his favorite authors since Sam convinced him to get a library card in December.

“You didn’t shower,” he notes, clearing his throat and sitting himself up further against the headboard. He doesn’t fool you, however. You know that he’s been nodding off instead of actually reading the library book. He’s been on the same page the past three nights.

“I’ll shower in the morning,” you reply. You throw your clothes in the hamper against the wall. “I need to change the sheets anyway, so it’s not a big deal.”

Dean hums and sets his book back in its place, then reaches over to pull the covers open for you. You climb into bed and wait until he’s dimmed the lamp beside his nightstand to cuddle up against him. The room grows darker once he does, and your eyes take a second to adjust, but you can still hear Dean’s dog tags clink as he shifts to get into a comfortable position with you at his side. You slip one arm over him, resting your hand on his chest as you close your eyes. To no surprise, it doesn’t take you long to fall asleep. 

The next morning, Dean’s asleep when you wake up, which is a rarity. Despite the fact that you’re somehow still exhausted, you know that you need to get up before he does. If you doze until he’s awake too, he’ll want to get up and make you breakfast while you shower, meaning that he won’t get the rest he needs. His PTSD symptoms start rearing their ugly heads whenever he’s overtired, and you don’t want that for him.

Showering without waking Dean would be tricky, but after a few moments of lying in the dark, you find a solution. There’s a small bathroom attached to your personal office in the main camp building, and though you haven’t used it in a while, you know that it’s clean and that it still has your normal soap and shampoo. Before Dean, you spent most of your late nights sleeping on the futon in the office, then showering and dressing in the bathroom, rather than trekking all the way back to your cottage. You hadn’t had a reason to go all the way home back then, but now you do. The shower hasn’t been used in almost a year. This morning, however, it will come in handy.

As silently as possible, you roll out of bed and gather up the few toiletries you’ll need that aren’t already in the office bathroom. You pull on a pair of sweatpants over your pajamas, plus the faded Stanford hoodie you’d gotten in support of Sam shortly after marrying Dean. You grab a bag for the toiletries and a set of work clothes to change into after you shower, then shove your feet into a pair of sandals and slip out of the cottage to head towards the main cluster of buildings.

The sun is barely up. It casts an ethereal glow over the grassy field that separates your cottage from the rest of the camp. Dew dampens the path, and it makes wildflowers and the tips of grass blades glitter in the lingering sunrise. In the trees, birds sing and coo. The soft tap of your feet on the stones is the only other sound.

You pause to breathe in deeply, then exhale. Mornings at New Moon are special to you, especially after a long, stressful night. They remind you of why you stayed—every girl needs the peace and calm that the morning brings. They deserve it. You’ve certainly needed it many times yourself.

“You’re up early.”

You turn, already speaking as you meet Meg’s steady gaze. “I needed to shower, but I didn’t want to wake Dean. He’s been staying up late for me every night.”

She mutters something in acknowledgement, then tucks her phone in her jacket pocket as you close the distance to join her outside the only empty cabin, which she’s been checking for trespassers. It’s on the outskirts of the camp, and the four girls that had occupied it for most of last year transitioned to a more traditional foster home only last month. From what you’ve heard from their social worker, they’re on the path to reunification with their family.

Now that you’re closer, Meg’s giving you a strange, almost curious look, and you frown when she lifts her chin. Her eyes glitter with a secret. 

“I’m a little afraid to ask,” you say, “but do you know something I don’t?”

She chuckles and crosses her arms in front of her. Her lips press together in a smug smile. “How are you feeling?” she asks.

Unsure of what she means, you start walking towards the office. Meg falls into step beside you, just as you knew she would. 

“Fine, I suppose,” you slowly reply. You’re careful to give vague answers, just in case she’s looking to start a tiff just for her own amusement. “Why?”

She shrugs. “Just wondering.”

A minute of silence passes as you walk together, and the path changes from stone to gravel. It crunches beneath your feet, and all around you, life begins to stir in the cabins as the girls wake and get ready for the day. They’ll be coming outside with their counselors and gathering outside the dining hall within an hour, which means time is running out if you want to shower and have time to mentally prepare for the day.

Meg holds the office door for you and you mutter your thanks, then head down the hall to your personal office. You’re just reaching the door when she calls your name from the lobby.

Turning, you raise your eyebrows expectantly. She stands near the receptionist desk, her hands at her sides, and for a second, a genuine smile flashes across her face. It’s quickly replaced with her usual nonchalant look, however, so quickly that you aren’t entirely sure that you’d seen it. You must be more tired than you’d thought.

“You should take a test,” Meg says.

You frown at her, confused, and set your bag of clothes and toiletries at your feet, against the wall. “A test?”

She nods, widening her eyes as she repeats, “A test, Y/N. You know, the tests you keep in the first aid closet? For those rare, special emergencies?”

For a moment, you just stare at her. There are very few emergencies that you handle at the camp. True, due to the nature of your job, you’re trained in a litany of thing, ranging from first aid and de-escalation to basic animal control and building maintenance, all of which is in addition to your psychology degrees and training, but the rest of the camp staff is so well-trained that rarely do situations ever become actual emergencies that you need to handle.

If you’re handling a first aid emergency, however, you do basic triage before an ambulance can arrive. You keep most of the supplies in your office, both in a cabinet and in a bag, but there are also small first aid kits in all the cabins, as well as in every building and down by the lake.

You shake your head, a little baffled by Meg’s strange behavior and comments. Neither one of you needs any kind of first aid right now, at least not that you’re aware of. Turning, you reach for the doorknob on your office door, but you stop as soon as your fingers graze the metal. It’s as if lightning has struck you, and you immediately straighten, dropping your hand back down to your side as you whirl to face her again.

“What?” you exclaim, shocked at her brazen assumption. “Are you serious?”

She shrugs and leans against the wall opposite the desk, her arms once again crossed. Her stare, as always, is unrelenting, but suddenly it makes your skin itch with anticipation. Does she know something about you that you don’t? You pride yourself on being self-aware, but is it possible that you’ve missed something?

“You’ve been nauseous on and off for almost two weeks now, and you’ve been moody. More than some of the girls, actually,” she huffs.

You narrow your eyes and cross your arms, almost a mirror image of her. “Really? Moody? That’s your argument for this, Meg?”

“Don’t hurry to prove me right,” she teases, and you quickly drop your arms again, heat rising in your cheeks. “You’ve been constantly complaining of being too hot and then too cold all week, too. Didn’t you say that was one of the things your mother-in-law complained about when she was pregnant with Dean?”

It was, and a strange feeling rises inside of you now that you remember the conversation you’d had with Meg about it. How she remembered such a detail from a random discussion you’d had almost months ago is beyond you, but it doesn’t matter. She’s put the thought in your head, and with it comes another reminder—your period hadn’t come last month, and you’ve been due for almost a week now. If it was coming, it would have been here already.

You inhale shakily and give her a terse nod.

“Right,” you say. You smooth your hands over your thighs, trying not to seem so blown away by her hypothesis. “Okay. Okay. I’m—” Shaking your head, you close your eyes and try to focus on the mental to-do list you’ve made for yourself. Then, after a second, you grab your bag from the floor. “I have to shower.”

Meg nods. “Shower,” she repeats. 

“I’ll see you later.”

She nods again, then turns on her heel and walks out of the building, leaving you standing in the hallway. You stay still for a second, listening to the front door open and close. Outside, Meg shouts at someone for standing on a bench, but the sound of her voice fades as she gets farther away from the building. Finally, you turn and open the door to your office, then quickly close it behind you.

You close your eyes and press one hand to your stomach, over the sweatshirt. It’s bulky over your pajamas. Logically, you know that if you are pregnant, the baby would still be too small to show, but it feels wrong not to feel for a baby bump now that it’s been suggested.

Not daring to get your hopes up just yet, you let your hand fall as you march to the locked metal cabinet in the corner of your office. It’s mounted to the wall and reaches almost to the ceiling, and the pregnancy tests are at the back of the top shelf. You don’t use them often, considering that New Moon is only for girls, but you keep them on hand just in case you need them for a new arrival. You’ll be lucky if the test is still good, considering you haven’t had to use one in so long.

You dump the bag from your cottage on the desk, then fumble with your keys until you find the right one. The bag falls over and knocks a pen off the desk, but you ignore it as you unlock the cabinet, pull over your rolling desk chair, and carefully climb up on it to grab one of the tests. After checking the expiration date, you tuck the flimsy cardboard box under your arm and head to the bathroom, not even bothering to close the cabinet or right the bag that’s tipped over and dumped onto your workspace. All thoughts of showering and getting ready for the day are gone. They’ve been replaced with a nervous energy that buzzes beneath your skin, making your fingers feel weak as you open the box.

The lock on the bathroom door is sturdy enough to help you feel a little bit more secure as you take the test, all the while trying to take deep breaths. Your heart feels like it’s beating too fast, and you aren’t sure if it’s because you’re nervous or excited. Maybe you’re both.

Calm down, Y/N! Freaking out isn’t going to help anybody!

You wash your hands and read the back of the box again, checking the wait time printed in tiny black letters. The test sits precariously on the countertop, in between the sink and the edge of the counter closest to the toilet, and you give it a wary glance before unlocking the bathroom door and going to sit in your office while you wait. After setting the timer on your phone, you end up pacing in front of your desk instead, from the wall to the futon and back again. 

Finally, the timer goes off. You flinch at the loud ringing, then hurry to silence it. Your hands fumble with your phone and you stay tense when the office falls quiet again. Silently, you slip it back into your pocket and go back into the bathroom. When you reach the sink, you brace your hands against the front of the bowl, on the thinnest part of the counter. You stare at yourself in the mirror for a long few seconds, pointedly not looking down at the test that’s resting only a few inches from your hands. Inside your chest, your heart pounds even harder than before and your hands shake. Everything feels so unsteady, from your head to your feet, and for a second, you worry that you might pass out. Closing your eyes, you try to take a few deep breaths to calm yourself and to slow your racing pulse.

You’re reaching for the test on the counter when there’s a knock at your office door.

“Y/N? You in there?”

“Yes!” you yelp, almost too loudly. Your hand, outstretched and only an inch from the test, knocks it sideways, sending it clattering to the floor, along with a tube of toothpaste.

Dean calls for you again and you frantically scramble to right the bathroom. You practically throw the test onto the counter. It slides into the sink, and you’re pulling the bathroom door shut behind you just as Dean pushes the office door open from the hallway. He meets your eyes and you force a smile that you hope seems normal. 

“You left before I was up,” he says. He’s dressed already, in jeans and the green jacket you’d got him for his birthday, and his hair looks damp from the shower. 

Accepting a kiss on the lips, you hum a little and let go of the door handle to wrap your arms around his waist. Can he feel your heart beating too hard inside of your chest? What about your hands trembling against his back?

“I needed to shower and I didn’t want to wake you up. I have a shower here that I used to use when I was by myself.” You tilt your head back slightly, towards the door behind you.

Dean frowns. “You could’ve showered at home.” He looks down at you, and not only does his frown deepen, but the furrow between his eyebrows appears again. His worry lines are out in full force. “What’s wrong?”

Your stomach drops. Are you supposed to tell him? What if the test turns out negative? What if—?

“Sweetheart,” Dean soothes, pulling away so there’s space between the two of you. He takes your shaking hands in his and searches your face for an answer to his concerns. “What’s on your mind? I can see all the gears turning in there.”

The tips of his fingers touch your temple. You swallow thickly and look away. A line of dust lays gray on the hardwood where your old rug used to be. You moved it just last week to clean, but apparently, you’d missed it.

“Did I do something?”

Frantic, you shake your head and find his eyes. “What? No! No, of course not.”

“Then what is it?” Dean steps closer, crowding close in a tentative way that allows you enough time to move away, if you want. You don’t, and you let your eyes fall closed as you breathe in his scent and soak in his warmth. Your hands move to clutch the sides of his shirt, pulling him infinitely closer until your front is pressed against his again. Then, for the first time all morning, you relax. Your shoulders slump and you rest your forehead against him.

“I think…” you finally say after a minute. You take a breath, willing the words out on your next exhale. “I think I might be pregnant.”

There’s silence in the moments that follow, and though you know he’s probably just processing the news, it kills you. You stay frozen in place, unable to move as you wait for Dean to speak. 

Finally, you release his shirt and step back, just enough that you can see his face without tilting your head at too uncomfortable of an angle. He’s staring at the closed bathroom door behind you, with both eyebrows raised and with long creases along his forehead. His whole body is tense and the longer he stares at the door, the deeper the furrow between his brows becomes.

“Dean?” you prompt. “Say something, please.”

“You think? Or you know?” His voice is hoarse and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, then looks back down at you. 

“I don’t know. I took a test. I was just about to look at it when you knocked.”

“Oh.” His eyes flick up again, over your shoulder at the door, then down to your face. The second hand on the wall clock ticks as you stand near each other, Dean processing the news and you holding your breath as you wait for a more concrete response from him. The ticking feels louder than it did before. Has it always been that loud?

His fingers against your cheek make you look away from where you’ve been watching the black plastic line clunk around the circumference of the clock face.

“What do you want it to say?” Dean asks.

You inhale shakily and search his eyes, hoping for an answer to the question. “What do you want?” you ask in return.

Dean shakes his head, then runs his hand over your shoulder and down your arm until he can lace his fingers with yours. You glance down at your joined hands, unsure of why he’s not answering. He’d told you only just last night that he wanted kids. His hesitation makes you wonder if something’s changed in only just a few hours.

“It’s not up to me. It’s your body, Y/N.”

The words tumble out before you can even formulate the thought. “I just wasn’t expecting this so soon. I thought we’d have more time with just the two of us. What if this changes everything? What if it’s not everything we thought it would be?”

“We’ll still have time together,” he tells you, gently squeezing your hand. “It just might be less than we’d anticipated.”

“Would it even be a good thing if I was pregnant now? I know you said last night that it’s what you wanted, but we also said—”

“We said that if it happens, it happens,” Dean interrupts. “And if it’s happening now, then that’s a good thing. If it happens later, that’s also a good thing.”

You nod and take another deep breath. The butterflies in your stomach are out in full force. You have to close your eyes as you take breaths, trying to stave off the sudden wave of nausea that accompanies your worries. Dean’s hands in yours keeps you grounded as you breathe through your nose.

When you’re finally feeling more settled, you open your eyes and silently glance behind you at the bathroom door.

“You want me to wait out here?” Dean asks.

Swallowing thickly, you shake your head. Tears burn in your eyes, and you wipe them away with one hand, embarrassed by your reaction. “Why am I so scared? We just said that this is supposed to be a good thing.”

Dean squeezes your hand again. “This is a big thing, Y/N. It’s okay to be scared. I can be brave for both of us, okay?” He smiles a little, his lips pressed together, and you nod in response, inhaling deeply through your nose.

You feel stuck in place. Part of you wants to go look at the test, but another part of you is rooted to the floor, keeping you in this moment. The results of the test could turn your life upside down for the second time in a year, and you aren’t sure if you’re ready for that. What if you aren’t a good parent? What if you aren’t able to do your job while you’re pregnant? What would you do instead?

“Hey.”

You blink, then meet Dean’s eyes again. Another tear rolls down your cheek and you sniffle, wiping it away with the back of your free hand. His smile has disappeared, and now he watches you with a concerned frown that makes his lips turn downward at the corners and makes the wrinkle between his eyebrows reappear.

“There’s nothing to be scared of, sweetheart. We’re in this together, and I’m with you no matter what. Do you want me to look first?” he asks.

After a few seconds, you nod. You don’t know what to say, but you know it won’t matter to Dean whether you speak or not. He’ll do and be whatever you need in this moment, just like he always does.

He releases your hand and carefully steps around you, opening the bathroom door to retrieve the test from the sink. You’d left the light on in the bathroom when you’d shut the door, and now it floods your office from behind you. Dean’s footsteps are soft and his jacket rustles as he picks up the test, and you hold your breath as you listen for some kind of sign or clue as to the results. When there isn’t any, you turn in a circle to look at him.

“What’s it say?”

His profile gives you very little information about the results, and you take a tentative step forward when he doesn’t move or say anything. Maybe he just didn’t hear you? His bad ear is on the other side, but it’s still possible.

“Dean?” you prompt, stepping closer a second time. You wonder if he’s disappointed and that’s why he hasn’t said anything. The thought makes you nauseous again.

“You’re pregnant,” he answers. His voice shakes as he stands staring down at the plastic stick. It’s so small in his hand, and an image of him cradling a tiny newborn flashes in your mind.

You freeze a few feet from the bathroom threshold. “It’s positive?”

He nods and looks up, meeting your eyes. Tears glisten on his lower lash line, and you press your hands over your mouth, inhaling deeply as your heart leaps inside your chest. The wrinkle between his brows is gone once again, replaced with the kind of shock you’ve only seen a few times, the first being when you’d told him you’d loved him all those years ago.

“We’re having a baby,” Dean tells you, letting out a laugh. A smile grows on his face as tosses the test onto the counter and closes the distance between you in two long steps. He crushes you against him in a tight hug.

Too shocked to hug him back, you let Dean wrap his arms around you and lift you off the ground. Your feet dangle for a second before your instincts catch up with you. Hurriedly, you move your hands from your mouth to his back as your legs come up to wrap around his waist. You bury your face in the crook of Dean’s neck as you smile. Your cheeks already ache and you’re blinking away tears, but it doesn’t matter.

“We’re having a baby!” you exclaim. He spins around with you in his arms, and you push away from his neck and pull one hand from his shoulders so you can cradle his cheek in your palm. 

Dean’s eyes are alight with joy, making the green of his irises seem even more vibrant in the morning sunshine coming in from the office window. Your smile matches his as the scruff on his jawline scratches at the soft skin of your palm.

“You’re gonna be a dad,” you tell him, gently rubbing your thumb over his cheekbone. “You’re gonna be a great dad.”

He takes a few steps, then sets you down on the only clear space on your desk, beside the bag you’d brought with you this morning. You let your legs fall from around his waist so they bracket his hips, but you don’t drop your hand from his face.

“I love you,” Dean says. He brushes the backs of his knuckles over your abdomen, and you laugh when it tickles. There’s no bump yet, but the effect is all the same. Dean smiles wider, his eyes flicking to your stomach, then back up to your face. “I love both of you.”

You laugh and pull him down for a kiss. “We love you too, Dean Winchester. Forever and ever.”

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[sheppardsmckay]

Somebody sedate me please this episode hit too hard and too close to home and it’s giving me too many emotions that my Mer self cannot handle lol

And then we started crying.

Stargate-Atlantis S3: E14: the Tao of Rodney

This was a great episode! Laughing, crying, watching Rodney face his own mortality, and expressing his love for his people was perfect. Loved this one.