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trektraveler · 2 years

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Breathe Free Part One

Summary: You were perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, thank you very much! Dean knew that, he also knew better. He'd seen you sick plenty of times in the past five years, but this was different. This was much more than a cold, but you were so stubborn about doctors! Dean Winchester isn't about to let you slip away, even if it means going against your wishes. He only hopes he's not too late!

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader, Dean x Reader, Dean x You

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Reader

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Sick!Reader, Hospitals, Kissing, fluff

Word Count: 5447

One Shot - Two Parts

Author’s Notes: I have been sick with Covid for a month. Well... down sick for 2 1/2 weeks and recovering my stamina for 2 more. Its been a real bitch. Plus my disabled mother has it now. This is following a nervous breakdown I had in June. Writing has been my passion and my mental health balm, but I've not been able to produce anything in months. So this... this is a fucking triumph!! I'm still working on all my other WIP, so please stick around. I'll get there... eventually :) I'm hoping to finish part two shortly and post in a week... ish.

Thank you all for the continued support!

Masterlist (Part Two)

You were going to kill him. Honestly. If this fucking cold didn’t finish you off, you were going to make it your life’s mission to succeed where every bloody monster, demi-god, angel, demon, and creator of all had failed. Ridding the world of Dean Winchester would be a public service at this point. The church would canonize you for this! There would be bank holidays and parades in your honor. Maybe an annual postage stamp? A drink named after you at the local bar, at the least.

Of course, you’d have to live long enough to carry out your plan for fame and fortune. As it was, your odds were 50/50. Congestion, muscle aches, dizziness, sore throat, non-existent appetite and low-grade fever. How is it that each of these symptoms alone were minor? Almost unnoticeable. You could easily carry out any task battling them one on one. Yet together they took you down hard. It was unfair and utterly ridiculous! Not to mention hugely inconvenient.

It was probably that sneezing sheriff from that last case. You had to introduce him of the concept of personal space more than once. The douchebag said it was just allergies. Contagious creep!

Still, you were home now. Back at the bunker with three bags worth of pharmacy remedies to ease your pain until the virus ran it’s course. All you had to do was make it to your room and you could drown yourself in cough syrup and peppermint oil. Unfortunately, Dean was not making it easy.

“You sound like shit, Y/N.”

“Well, I feel like shit, so that tracks.”

You coughed harshly into the crook of your elbow as you trudged down the metal stairs behind Dean. Sam followed behind you, carrying your bags and his. Gentleman that he was. Levelheaded and sensible, God must have given Dean’s portion of those admirable qualities to his brother.

“That cough is getting worse,” Dean said, tossing his duffle down on the war room table.

“That’s because you won’t shut up.”

“What does that have to do with it?”

“Because you keep baiting me into conversation with all of your pushy opinions. If you didn’t make me talk so much, I wouldn’t be coughing so much!” You broke off into a hacking fit that proved your point in your mind. This was entirely his fault!

“That’s ridiculous. You’ve been talking non-stop since we met you five years ago and you never coughed up a lung because of it.” Dean shook his head and looked to his brother, “Sam, help me out here.”

Sam usually occupied neutral territory during these debates, but one look at you and he sided with Dean. “Why don’t we go get you checked out, Y/N?”

“I got checked out in Billings, they said it wasn’t Covid. It’s probably just a run of the mill virus.”

“That guy was like twelve,” Dean scoffed. “I’m surprised he knew what to do with swab.”

“He was a doctor, Dean!”

“Debatable.”

“There’s no harm in a second opinion,” Sam pointed out.

You were so tired you just wanted to cry. Why were they being so hard-headed about this? Typical! Men always think they know everything. It was all so simple for them, they never had to jump through the hoops that you did when getting care. It was always the same when you went to the doctor, which is why you never went. Doctors who dismiss your symptoms and bill you for the privilege. If you were up to your usual fiery disposition, you’d launch into a lengthy explanation, but you just didn’t have it in you.

“If I could get a decent one, I’d consider it. But the fucking truth is, I won’t. Not without a fight and I just don’t think it’s worth it. I’m not dying, I’m not bleeding. I’ve got a cold, a really shitty one that I hope to God neither of you get because dealing with sick Winchesters might actually finish me off.”

Dean frowned down at you, “What do you mean? What is it with you and doctors?”

“I do not have it in me to explain to you the numerous and colossal failings of the American healthcare system, so I am going to simply say this. It’s my health and I still get a choice. So, I’m going to my room where I can die in peace and hopefully tomorrow, I will be rise like the Phoenix with clear sinuses. If not, then my ghost will haunt this bunker and you two will have to fight over my George Carlin collection.”

Dean blinked at you for a moment, “You know, we killed a phoenix a few years back.”

You rolled your eyes and started down the hall towards the bedrooms. “If either of you wake me before noon, I’m licking every doorknob in this place.”

“It’s a great story, we had to time travel!” he shouted after you.

You voice echoed back, along with a few coughs, “I’m using your pillowcase to blow my nose!”

“I don’t like this, Sammy.”

Sam picked up his own duffle, “Of course you don’t. Your mother hen instincts go into overdrive whenever any of us gets sick. Remember Fort Worth?”

“Food poisoning, God that was awful. The pair of you were doubled over the toilet for three days from a damn salad.”

“And Nashville?”

“Shark week,” Dean muttered, remembering you curled up with a heating pad while he and Sam hunted vampires. You wouldn’t even talk to them, just whimpered occasionally and buried your head under the covers.

“Right. She doesn’t get sick often, but when she does all she wants to do is sleep. The more you try to help the more it irritates her. Just leave her be, she’ll let us know if she needs anything.”

That earned a frown from the older brother, as did the sound of another sneeze down the hall. You were a damn stubborn mule when you wanted to be, but that didn’t bother Dean. It was a useful quality that served you well in the field. But you tended to double down when you were hurt or scared, making a challenge for people who loved you to help.

And Dean did love you.

He came to that conclusion long ago when you burst in on him fighting off a werewolf in your barn. Barefoot, with a sawed-off shotgun in your hands. You were fearless, clocked the beast right between the eyes.

Then: “Are you alright?”

Dean rolled the dead body off him and got to his feet. He quickly took measure of the woman standing in the opened doorway. Silk short shorts and camisole peeked out from under a worn buffalo check flannel. Blood ran down bare legs and splattered in the cloud of wild curls that framed a pretty face. Angel with a shotgun.

Her expression was one of concern, but she kept a tight hold on her weapon. Smart girl.

“I should be asking you that question.”

You glanced down at the blood stains, “It’s not mine. My neighbor he, ah…I don’t know. He went… rabid. I put him down, didn’t want to hurt him, but he came at me…”

“If you hadn’t, he would have killed you. Or turned you. It was a mercy, believe me.”

You took solace in that. With a nod, you lowered your gun and glanced over at the werewolf, dead on the ground.

“I don’t suppose there’s a monster removal service we call in a situation like this?”

“It’s your lucky day Sweetheart, cause that’s me.” Dean stuck his hand out to you, “Dean Winchester, monster remover extraordinaire.”

You grinned, pulling your lower lip between your teeth and your eyes warmed up. It was a look he knew well; he’d seen it in women countless times. You thought he was cute. You put your hand in his for a handshake and he winked. You laughed softly, confirming his theory. You thought he was adorable, or at least charming. A good start!

“Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Y/N. Pretty name. If you’ve got a shovel around here, I’ll take care of this. Then we can decide what to do about your neighbor.”

You grabbed a pair of shovels along with your rubber gardening boots that you kept by the potting bench.

“I built the retaining wall in the west garden by myself last summer,” you said, pulling the boots on. “I’m handy with a shovel.”

There was a glint of respect in his gaze as he studied you. It wasn’t every day he met a beautiful woman who offered to help him dig a grave in middle of the night. In her pajamas.

He glanced at the dead body then back to you. “You sure?”

“I’ve been saving this bottle of Canadian whiskey for something special. I think digging my first grave is the occasion I’ve been waiting for.”

Dean was a grade-A smart ass and never at a loss for a clever comeback. But damn if you didn’t knock him speechless. Standing in the middle of a falling down barn with a dead werewolf only a few feet away and blood splattered all over… you were the sexiest woman he’d ever laid eyes on. He was a confident man who loved women. When he met a woman he liked, he turned on the charm, pursued her. Simple. But you… you held challenge in your eyes, pride in the tilt of your jaw and confidence in the carriage of your body.

You were a match to be met.

“Well Y/N, lets earn that whiskey.”

Now: The following morning, you didn’t come out of your room for breakfast. When he still hadn’t seen you by noon, he decided to hell with it. Even if you bit his head off, he was damn well going to check on you. He was Dean Winchester, damn it! He’d faced the Devil himself; he could handle a cranky woman with a head cold.

He stood quietly outside your bedroom, straining to hear any sign that you were awake. A moment later you broke into a series of coughs, and he took the opportunity to knock.

“Y/N?” He cracked the door open and stuck his head inside.

Your room was dark except for the glow from your laptop and the tiny light from the vaporizer billowing out peppermint scented air. Your bed was huge and took up most of the room. A king-sized masterpiece of cloud-like fluffiness and ruffles. Princess and the Pea inspired mattress topper and ivory striped pillows stuffed with goose down. Dean bragged about his memory-foam mattress so often that you took it as a challenge when they invited you pick a room and make it your own. The bed itself was so big it wouldn’t fit through any door in the bunker, begging the question… how did you manage it?

You’d teased Dean for weeks, refusing to tell him the simple cheat. Castiel did it for you.

Then: “You’ve gotta be kidding me! I pray to his feathery ass for weeks with no answer and you just up and ask him to move your princess bed and he does it? Poof?”

“Well, yeah. I said please.”

“It’s very… white.”

“I know. We go so many gross places, skeevy motels and hunts covered in monster goop. I wanted something clean. You know?”

Now: With the abundance of pillows and blankets piled on the bed, it was hard to make out your form in the middle of it all. Dean stepped over your discarded shoes and hunting clothes. There were piles of crumpled tissues all over the floor, cough drop wrappers and half drank bottles of water.

“What time is it?” you asked from the mountain of covers.

“Just past noon,” he replied, coming closer to the bed. “Thought maybe you’d want lunch.”

You shook your head and Dean could see you a bit clearer in the light of the computer. Your face was flushed more than it was the night before and your eyes were dull. You looked utterly miserable.

He sat on the side of the bed; his hand went to your forehead. You didn’t even pull away, “Fever. You take anything for it?”

Your finger pointed to the table littered with over-the-counter drugs and bottles. You’d taken everything for it, but nothing really helped.

“You get any sleep last night?”

“No,” you said on a sneeze, then groaned. “This blows. You should leave so I don’t give you the plague.”

“Hmm.” He stood there for a minute, then disappeared out into the hallway.

You burrowed back under your covers with a shiver, for the first time in his life, Dean Winchester actually did as you asked. You must be in worse shape than you thought.

A few minutes later, he reappeared with a large mug in his hands. “Wanna sit up, Sweetheart? I’ve got something special for you.”

With a grunt, you untangled yourself from the bedding and sat up against the padded headboard. He smiled fondly, you looked adorable, even as sick as you were. Your hair was held back in twin French braids that were starting to come loose and you were using one of his missing Henley’s for a night shirt. A few sizes too big, it hung off one of your shoulders.

“I was wondering where that went.”

You were confused for a second then tugged self-consciously at the collar buttons. “It made its way into my rotation after that Wendigo hunt.”

“Looks better on you anyway,” he held out the mug to you. “Drink this nice and slow, it’ll take care of that cough so you can sleep.”

“What is it?” you asked, stirring the steaming liquid with the cinnamon stick that propped against the rim.

“That is Bobby Singer’s patented, super-secret, cure all hot toddy. Sammy used to get sick all the time when we were kids, that stuff always put him right.”

You took a sip, it indeed soothed your throat and although you couldn’t really taste it, the burn of alcohol was distinct.

“Wow, how much whiskey is in Bobby’s hot toddy?”

“Enough to send you off to dreamland.” He stood and turned to leave. He knew you didn’t want to be bothered and now that you’d accepted his help, he felt a bit more confident in leaving you. For a while.

“I’ll be back in a couple of hours and see if you can stomach some soup and crackers. Your meds will work better if you eat.”

He was almost to the door when you stopped him, “Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“How’d you kill the phoenix?”

“It’s a… a long story.”

You gave a small shrug, feeling silly. You’d made such a fuss yesterday about being left alone and now you found you wanted him to stay.

“I’m not exactly going anywhere.”

That earned you a genuine smile from him. He toed off his shoes and launched himself into the middle of your bed with a bellyflop.

“Dean!” You laughed, covering the top of the mug so the contents wouldn’t spill.

He made a big show of climbing up over the mountain of blankets and pillows, “Jesus, Y/N! How do you sleep on this pile of marshmallow fluff?”

“Shut it. You’ve been dying to try my bed since the day I moved in.”

“Who says I haven’t? Remember that trip you took to Jody’s last month? Sammy and I had a great time painting our toes and talking about boys in here.”

“Shut up,” you said with a cough.

“He wanted to try on your underwear, but I drew the line,” he teased, pulling you in close so he could wrap his arm around your shoulders. “Comfortable?”

You tucked into his side and let your aching head rest on his chest. “Mmm.”

“Good. So, the year was 1861 and the place was Sunrise, Wyoming.”

Hours later, long after the hot toddy had done its job, you were deep asleep when Dean woke up. He was unbelievably hot, and you were the cause. Obviously, your fever had spiked. Sweat dotted your brow and soaked through your clothes to the point he was feeling damp where you were cuddled against him. He gently eased you off, feeling your forehead with a frown.

“Y/N? Wake up, sweetheart.”

You grumbled in your sleep and burrowed deeper under the covers when he pulled them back.

“Come on, Y/N,” he urged, pulling a thermometer from his shirt pocket.

You were only halfway awake when you realized there was a thin, glass tube under your tongue. “Wha thmm hemmm?”

“103.” He brushed the hair back that had stuck to your temples. “I think I should take you to the E.R. High fevers are nothing to mess around with.”

You shook your head, coughing deeply. “The meds just wore off.”

He handed you a box of tissues, “I think you need more than cough syrup and Tylenol. Let me take you to get looked at.”

“I’ll be okay Dean; I just need to give it time.”

Behind the exhaustion and illness, he could see flicker of fear in your eyes, and he was torn. The last thing he wanted was to push you or take away your choice, but he wasn’t going to let this get out of control.

He sighed heavily, “Okay, we’ll try it your way. On two conditions. One, you need to eat something, so you keep your strength up.”

“Okay,” you agreed, trying not to cough again. “And two?”

“If this gets worse, you’ll let me take you to the doctor.” He could feel you instantly withdraw, but he wasn’t going to let you. This was too important. He crooked a finger under your chin, gently coaxing you to look at him.

“I know it scares you, you don’t have to tell me why. Trust me, I’ll take care of you Y/N.”

Your reluctance met with his resolve and after a moment, you nodded. “Okay.”

“That’s my girl,” Dean praised, brushing a kiss across your forehead. “Now, if you’re very good, I’ll bring you a bowl of tomato rice soup.”

“With that bacon cheddar panini you made last time?”

�� “Woman after my own heart,” Dean said. He climbed out of the bed, then noticed you doing the same.

“Whoa, wait a minute. Where do you think you’re going?”

“A shower, I feel disgusting,” you muttered, pawing through the bottles on the nightstand.

“No way, that fever is way too high. And you use water hot enough to burn off fingerprints.”

You tossed back a couple of Tylenol with a generous swallow of water. “If I smell as awful as I feel, then you shouldn’t be discouraging me.”

“Y/N…”

“Super quick, more of a rinse than a shower.”

“Ten minutes. Any longer and I’m coming in after you.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” you replied, gathering a fresh set of pajamas.

“Keep that water tepid,” he called after you.

Once you were alone in the shower room, you turned on the water and allowed yourself the coughing fit you’d been holding in. Dean was worried enough about you. As sweet as he was, there was a claustrophobic feeling bubbling within you. It came from a childhood spent as a sick kid. Parents, teachers, doctors all seemed to hover. Stealing your air and breathing down your neck.

Hidden in the clean clothes were two small bottles of essential oils. An old remedy passed down from your grandpa. You striped down and stepped under the water. It wasn’t nearly as warm as you’d like it, but it was better than nothing. You uncapped the bottles and sprinkled the contents over the floor. They mixed with the heat and made a fragrant steam of peppermint and eucalyptus. You braced your hands against the tiled wall and let your head hang down. A few minutes breathing in the steam worked to open your nasal passages and more importantly, your lungs.

Tightness had been building in your chest since last night and out of all the symptoms, that was the most troubling. Not even that heavy duty decongestant cut it, and that stuff always helped. Thankfully, Granddad’s method never let you down. You breathed as deeply as you could, until the coughing it caused made the room spin and your knees go wobbly.

You sank down onto the wall bench and turned the water off. You shivered and tried to work up a bit of strength to dry off and get dressed. Utterly exhausted, even the thought of standing was enough to tire you. Of course, you knew if you sat there long enough, Dean would come searching for you. Potentially naked or not.

Then: The shrill scream cut through the bunker, reaching Dean even through his headphones. He was on his feet and down the hall as another shout echoed from the shower room. A twist of the handle didn’t yield entry. Sam was out on a supply run, which meant you were the one trapped inside.

Dean took a step back and splintered the door off its hinges with a single kick.

Gun drawn, he burst into the steam filled room, “Y/N?!”

You were standing on top of one of the teak benches that lined the shower wall. Soaking wet with shampoo suds cascading down your very naked body. Your already wide eyes got even bigger, and you screamed again. You crossed your arms over your breasts and crouched down into a ball, it was the quickest option for modesty.

“Dean!”

He peered through the steam and the still running water, gun still drawn, “YN, what the hell?! What’s going on?!”

“Spider.”

He blinked, twice. “What?”

You pointed a watery finger towards the middle of the tiled floor, “By the drain. Huge, HUGE spider.”

Dean tucked his gun into the back waistband of his jeans, “Damn it, Y/N. I thought you were being attacked!”

“Why would I be attacked? You guys said this bunker is the safest place on Earth!”

Dean angrily threw a towel at you. “You were screaming bloody murder! What the hell else was I going to think?!”

You wrapped the towel around your body, tucking It securely under your arms. “I don’t like spiders, okay?”

“We just got back from a freaking ghoul hunt, with dead bodies and gore and guts… the whole nine. You didn’t flinch once, but a bug’s got you clutching your pearls?”

“It’s an irrational fear, professor,” you replied, switching the water off. “But since you’re here to rescue me… would you please?”

Dean rolled his eyes but inspected the drain all the same. “I don’t see a spider.”

“What?!” You looked around frantically, then grabbed Dean’s arm and pointed, “There! In the corner.”

He pulled his red handkerchief from his pocket, “Alright, I got him.”

“Wait! Don’t kill him! Just… catch and release.”

“You’re awfully picky for a damsel in distress,” Dean muttered. “Is this one of your superstitions, like that cricket in Rhode Island? Is it bad luck to kill a north-facing spider on a Tuesday?”

“Nearly every culture believes that killing a cricket brings bad luck.”

“You know what brings really bad luck? Going into a vamp nest on no sleep because a fucking cricket was cruising for a date in our bathtub!”

“That spider doesn’t deserve to die because of my fear. I just… I don’t want to kill anything else. Not now, not if I don’t have to. Do you?”

You raised your beautiful, luminous eyes and searched out his. His heart beat in double time and he was suddenly acutely aware of the tiniest details. Tendrils of your hair dripped water like diamonds on your shoulders and collarbones. Your skin glowed a healthy pink, you probably used that fluffy loofa thing you always left hanging on faucet. The scent of your favorite soap hung heavy in the air… what was it? Ginger peach? God, he loved it! You had lotion that went with it and a tiny hand sanitizer that you kept in your purse. It made his whole car smell like you when you used it, even after you were gone.

Dean gave himself a mental shake. In under five minutes you had taken him on an emotional rollercoaster from panic to irritation to confusion to completely mesmerized. How did you do that?! It was happening more and more. Every time he was around you, he discovered another piece of the puzzle. He could never predict what you were going to say, but somehow it was always just what he needed to hear. You voiced the emotions that he had never been able to put into words.

“No,” he said at last. “I don’t want to kill anything else either.”

Now: Dean was at the stove when you shuffled into the kitchen. He smiled at you over his shoulder while you sat at the table. You were in your Christmas leggings and yet another of his missing shirts. Your face wasn’t as flushed as it had been when you first woke up, a positive sign.

“Hope you’ve got your appetite back, because this batch of tomato rice soup is on point.”

“Your cooking is always on point,” you smiled wanly as he set down a bowl in front of you.

“You’re not wrong,” he replied, running his hand over your forehead. “Fever’s down. You feel better?”

“The shower helped.”

“You smell like a candy cane,” he chuckled, taking a massive bite of his sandwich.

“Peppermint oil. For congestion,” you explained.

You considered the man across the table from you as you silently ate your soup. You couldn’t properly taste it, but it was warm and soothed your raw throat. You’d known Dean Winchester for five years and there were still moments like this, moments where you felt like you were seeing him clearly for the first time. The delightful domestic behind the swagger and the grit. He took such pure joy in the mundane that it was hard not to get swept up in it. The greatest hunter in the world was also the kindest. Surely there was some sort of cosmic balance working itself out there, but you were too tired to reflect on it.

“So,” Dean said, pulling you from your thoughts. “You up for a little movie marathon in the Dean cave?”

“That would depend on what’s showing.”

“Lady’s choice. So long as it doesn’t have subtitles.”

“La Dolce Vita is a classic!”

“Die Hard is a classic,” Dean countered. “Plus, it’s a Christmas movie so it counts double.”

“Ugh, fine. You big baby.” You thought for a moment, covering a cough with the back of your hand. “How about Ghostbusters?”

Dean grinned at that, “Yeah?”

“Or Stripes or um… Caddyshack. Mom was a Bill Murray fan; we always watched him when I was sick.”

“Sounds like Mom had good taste,” Dean picked up the dishes and headed to the sink. “Why don’t you go find a comfortable spot on the couch? I’ll be right behind you.”

Laughter always was the best medicine. And Dean always was the best cuddler. He brought his gigantic triple thick comforter from his bed and tucked the two of you under it as the 80’s classic played on the flatscreen. It didn’t take long for the full stomach and the warm hunter to lull you back into a deep sleep. You were out before the credits rolled.

Your hacking cough that woke Dean hours later. It was different this time, you were coughing so much that you couldn’t seem to catch your breath. He was right behind you as you hunched over the arm of the couch. As he rubbed your back, he could feel how deeply your lungs rattled. It was a distinct, wet sounding cough that shook your whole frame. Heat from your spiked fever radiated through your shirt to his palm.

He was saying something to you, but you couldn’t make out the words, only the soothing tone of his voice. You were truly miserable. Your head ached with every cough and when you finally managed to stop hacking, you struggled to catch your breath. A glass of water floated in front of you, and you drank it greedily.

One word broke through your haze: Doctor. You didn’t really hear him say it, but the implication was there.

To his surprise, and as a testament to how awful you felt, you nodded your agreement. The relief was evident in his voice, “There’s my girl. Stay put; I’m going to warm up the car.”

As Dean left, you took stock. The fever ravaging your system left you feeling disgusting, but you were too tired do anything about it. Your head was pounding from the coughing fit and your chest was so tight it was painful to draw breath. You looked down at your pajamas; the snowflake leggings and borrowed shirt were hardly a fashion choice, but they would have to do.

There was an awful taste in your mouth had to go. You could manage a swish of mouthwash, even if you had to sit on the toilet to do it.

The minute your stocking feet touched the ground, everything changed. Your chest got painfully tight. The feeling of a crushing weight on your chest, as if Dean had driven his car over you and parked it. The room started to spin and not even holding on to the table made the world steady. You went down with a thump, landing hard on your ass. Breathing became like sucking air through a tiny straw, you simply couldn’t. Your mouth gaped open as you tried and failed to draw air. Panic swiftly set in as your fingers and toes went numb from lack of oxygen. Your vision blurred and went dark around the edges. You dropped to your side and prayed Dean would be quick.

He was gone five minutes, tops. The sight of you curled on the floor had him shouting for Sam as he quickly knelt beside you.

“Y/N! Baby, look at me, I’m right here... Sam!!”

You tired to talk but, no sound came out. Your hand was on your chest and there was a wheezing sound. Tears formed at the corners of your eyes.

Shit! He wasn’t sure what had caused this attack, but it didn’t matter. He had you in his arms as Sam burst through the doorway

Sam’s eyes went wide as he took in your pale features and distress, “What the hell?!”

“Hospital now, you’re driving!”

By the time the Impala was squealing out of the bunker’s garage, you were fully unconscious. Your limp body sagged against Dean’s chest while he tried to get you to respond. Sam was alternating between watching the road and checking the rearview on your deteriorating condition. His foot pressed the accelerator down, pushing the Impala to the limit.

“What the fuck happened? I thought she just had a cold.”

“Its this cough, she couldn’t shake it.” Dean kept you upright in his lap, knowing it was the easiest position for you to breathe in. He could feel you losing the battle, even your lips were turning from red and chapped to slightly blue and it scared the hell out of him.

How the hell did you get this bad so quickly? He had kept a close eye on you, kept your fever under control, kept you hydrated. It just didn’t make any sense! If he didn’t know any better, he’d have thought you had… asthma.

Flashes came to Dean’s mind; puzzle pieces fell into place. The vaporizer in your room billowing out peppermint was not a new addition; you took it with you everywhere. It made even the grossest motel rooms halfway pleasant. You always kept a scarf wrapped around your neck if the weather was even a little cold, and you pulled it up over your nose when the wind got bitter. Even that time you helped them burn a body. You turned away from the pyre and pulled that scarf up… Dean thought it was the smell that got to you.

“Shit,” he muttered, digging through your purse as Sam got closer to the city limits. He pulled out a metal tube with a plastic dispenser.

“Son of a bitch!”

Sam’s eyes caught the reflection, “Is that an inhaler?”

Turning it over, Dean read the prescription. “She’s fucking asthmatic!”

He steadied your lolling head with his hand and brought the inhaler to your mouth, “Okay, baby… this medicine is gonna help you. Breathe it in for me.”

He dispensed two puffs into your mouth and prayed the meds got down into your lungs. Was it the right thing to do? Use an inhaler on an unconscious person? Dean had no idea, but he was going to do whatever he needed to do to save you. He cradled you on his lap and prayed as Sam pulled into the Lebanon Hospital parking lot.

Part Two TAGLIST @deans-baby-momma @muchamusedaboutnothing @peterpangirl21 @ficbreaks @teresa-67 @sacriceria @verytoadpapersoul @heartbreak-of-a-marauder @savspersonalproperty @deanwanddamons @jenwinchester40 @perpetualabsurdity @starryeyeseunbyul @sexyvixen7 @katsbratsupernaturalwhore @agirlwithdemonblood @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @imthedoctorlove @roonyxx @smellingofpoetry @deanwinchesterswitch @thinkinghardhardlythinking @pink-sparkly-witch @barewithme02 @deadlynightshadeindustries @jc-winchester @mrswhozeewhatsis @kinderousmaster @lyarr24 @aphorism-001 @onlinecemetery @allonsy-yesiwill @myeagletoadmaker

#dean x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #spn fic #supernatural #dean x you #sickfic #dean x sick!reader #Breathe Free #jensen ackles fanfiction #jensen x reader #jensen ackles x y/n #jensen x you #dean x y/n

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coochiequeens · 4 months

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Sounds like the fertility agency misled the couple into thinking that twins were guaranteed so worth the price which led to a feeling of not getting what they paid for. If she aborted they might not have had to pay her so they could save that money for another try at twins.

"It's a baby. It's a healthy baby. I'm not understanding," the surrogate recalls

By Hannah Sacks Published on January 23, 2024

Signing up to be a surrogate can be a way to give a gift to another couple — but what happens if they change their mind?

A TikTok user named Heathyr signed up to be a surrogate in the middle of 2019 after she spent nearly five years wanting to get involved with the process.

"For me to be a parent, that is literally my favorite thing in the world," Heathyr says in a series of videos posted to her TikTok account. "And to be a surrogate, to give somebody else that feeling, like being a parent. That is why I wanted to be a surrogate."

Though it took a while for Heathyr to match with a couple, she eventually found one that she felt was "on the same page" as her. She says that from the beginning, she made it clear that the one thing that was very important to her was her stance on termination.

"I personally, this is my own opinion, you don't have to agree with me. I personally do not believe in termination unless there is something that will hurt the quality of life of the child," she shares. Heathyr says that while she is largely against abortions, she thinks it isn't fair to bring a child into the world if there is a life-threatening disease or injury.

The couple she matched with said they were Catholic and didn't believe in termination, so Heathyr says she figured they would get along well. The parents were hoping to have twins, a boy and a girl, which Heathyr says they told her repeatedly.

She proceeded with the surrogacy process, however, the first transfer didn't take. In February of 2020, they did another transfer and Heathyr successfully got pregnant — but things weren't exactly as the couple had hoped.

"When I went to get my ultrasound done, my first ultrasound, it only showed one sac, which just means that only one of the embryos attached," Heathyr explains. "So we didn't know if it was the boy or the girl but we knew that I was pregnant and the beta numbers were rising accordingly, which is the start of showing it's a healthy, successful pregnancy."

Soon after, Heathyr called the mom to tell her the exciting news, but the mom voiced some concerns, saying that she wasn't sure why both the sacs didn't stick. "This really confused me," Heathyr says in the video. "What do you mean? It's a baby. It's a healthy baby. I'm not understanding."

The couple wanted her to have another ultrasound to double-check that there was no twin hiding. After having another ultrasound, Heathyr confirmed that there was just one sac and that this time, there was a heartbeat.

By the time the next ultrasound came around, the COVID-19 pandemic had started to shut down parts of the world. At around seven or eight weeks pregnant, Heathyr got an email from her match manager at the surrogate agency who asked her to call her.

"She's like, 'I want to read you a letter from [the parents] because they are just very heartbroken and they don't know how to tell you this. So they wrote this letter and they want me to read it to you,' " Heathyr recalls.

"So she reads me this letter and the gist of it was, 'Heathyr we are so sorry, but you know, this virus is getting pretty bad and we just think it would be best for you to have a termination at this time. And we will try again when the virus is over with and we would be happy to work with you again.' "

The note came as a shock to Heathyr, who says she started to cry and thought the couple was messing with her. She decided to call her lawyer and ask if she had to go through with the termination, even though the baby was completely healthy.

She was told to set up a Zoom call with her lawyer and the parents, where the dad proceeded to yell at her for not respecting their wishes. "I'm just bawling and I ended up getting off the phone," she remembers.

"I talked to my lawyer and she pretty much just made it clear, 'Heathyr, I went over and over this contract and you do not have to have a termination. Obviously, that is your decision. They cannot sue you. In the contract, it states that you would only have a termination for a medical reason that would end in quality of life issues for the child.' "

She got a few other opinions from different lawyers, who all told her that the couple would not be able to sue her if she decided not to terminate the baby. While Heathyr notes that things could've changed if she'd contracted COVID-19, she never got the virus and the baby was perfectly healthy.

In May, Heathyr got a call from her OB, who told her that the intended dad was sending her doctor emails every day about different COVID-19 cases. "He was sending her certified mail to the office about the emails. They were pretty much just printed out. And he was calling the office every day," she says.

When the time came to give birth, Heathyr says the couple flew out to her home state of Ohio to pick up their baby. Although the intended mom had expressed wanting to be in the delivery room, she ended up changing her mind and decided to stay in the waiting room.

After Heathyr delivered the baby boy, she says that the parents completely changed their tune. "The parents kept bringing him into my room. I would be wheeled over to him in their room. I got to hold him and get pictures with him. They each wrote me cards thanking me for all I did and how I kept their baby safe."

"And how they'd never forget me and they just appreciate what I've done for them, I've completed their family. You wouldn't have thought those last 9½, 10 months happened because it was just surreal."

At the end of the day, Heathyr was happy that the parents seemed to be excited when they met their son.

"I just know I saw the way they looked at him and the mom was just so happy and crying," she shares. "And that's what I wanted. You can't force somebody to want a baby, but the whole journey I was so scared. And I just knew when I saw them that they are happy."

#Anti surrogacy #Babies are not commodities #If the couple was really catholic they wouldn't have tried surrogacy in the first place #Reproductive purchasers changing their mind during the pregnancy #The purchasers ended up wanting the baby anyway #They subjected their surrogate to all that stress just to take the kid anyway #Reproductive purchasers trying to force a woman into abortion #Was she paid? Or did they try to weasel out of that?

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frogmanfae · 9 months

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Newsies as things I've heard this week

The saga continues

(This one is late don't mind that)

Physics class: *doing an egg drop*

Romeo: Man this egg better be appreciative I'm putting a lot of work into this

Finch: Preach it

Specs: this hallway smells like bacon bits and man musk

Race: I love this year's seniors but like- Shut the fuck up

Albert: What?

Race: Look at their Instagram posts! "Meet the seniors" "I can't believe I'm graduating" "last year in high school" like shut the fuck up "can't believe I'm old enough for senior class play" shut the fuck up "so many memories coming to a close" shut the fuck up. Shut the fuck up!

Albert: I think he wants them to shut the fuck up

Jack: Ahh...maybe? It's hard to tell

Race: *chewing*

Albert: Damn you're smacking on those nuts

Race: I'll smack on your nuts if you want me t-

Race: Do you wanna send my streaks?

Davey: Oh my god don't send them to the guy!

Race: Help! I wont

Crutchie: What guy?

Davey: He sent streaks to some guy yesterday and he sent back that he wanted to choke him with his cock!!

Crutchie: With no warning??

Race: No!!!

Davey, a physics teacher: *First period physics* so if the projector remote isn't working that's your observation. Your hypothesis might be that it needs new batteries but there could be another, more simple answer. Your trial might be to... What? *smacks the remote* just hit it, right? Maybe that'll work

Jack, a music teacher: *Ninth period music theory* *trying to turn on the projector* why is this not working? *smacks the remote*

Elmer, a student: Oh my god didn't your husband talk about that literally today-

Race, another student: HE FUCKING DID OH MY GOD

Race: WHY DO MY PANTS HAVE FIVE BUTTONS WHAT IS THIS??

Finch: Protection

Race: What if I was about to get some and I had to be like "hold on gimme a few minutes"

Spot: A few minutes?? Give a few hours! Those buttons are really in there

Finch: how do you know how hard it is to undo Race's buttons?

Spot: ... It was an assumption-

Albert: AN ASSUMPTION YEAH SURE

Sarah, an english teacher: We're going to play a game, I'm going to read the blurb on a couple books and you're going to write an opening line. Then I'm going to put the opening lines up on the board with the actual opening line and you're going to guess which one is real. If you guess the real one, you get a point and if people guess yours you get a point per each guess

Elmer, a student: This is just like Is It Cake

Spot, about Race: He looks like a bug (/affectionate)

Sarah: Jesus Christ I'm going to get dresscoded-

Crutchie: My chocolate chip muffin doesn't have any chocolate chips in it I am going to kill myself-

Denton: and I started to feel sick- mind you this was 2021 so I thought it was COVID. I hadn't been infected with COVID before so I like- I thought my time has come, I have been chosen! It was like the little green guys from toy story

Race: the clawwww

Albert: the coviddd

Davey: that's actually a pretty common symptom or side effect for other stuff it's just inflammation of the lungs even though it sounds bad like- What is this, 1855?? I have never heard of pleurisy before

Denton: I was patient zero in my house for Hand Foot and Mouth disease? The toddler disease! I started it! I gave it to my children under five! The only person who didn't get it in my house was my husband and he was like "pfshh yeah of course I didn't get hand foot and- what am I? Three?" That hurt

Katherine: Bee Tee Doubleyoos (btw) as the kids are saying

Davey: Calculus, that's a disease in of it self

Jack: it's not that bad, I'm fine

Davey: Jack, you-

Jack: A little touch of salmonella, that's all

Davey: Jack-

Davey, teaching epidemiology (study of disease): and your immune system sees the E. coli bacteria and is like "you are supposed to be in the colen, why are you in my mouth? :("

Denton: I don't want you to leave this class with a new psychological disorder or anything but-

Albert, after talking about diharreal diseases: I'm all about food (/gen)

Davey: Stick my arm out the window and *slaps his arm* hit me up (about vaccines, not drugs)

Davey: I don't know anyone who Gatorades there way through severe dehydration

Race: I bet you I could

Race: all the football players have asses!

Hotshot: you think I have an ass?

Race: I dunno, spin

Hotshot: *turns around*

Race: damnnn okay! Alright you got a little bakery back there!

Hotshot: yeahhh thanks my man *daps him up*

#newsies #newsies as #things i've heard this week #they are studenta unless it specifies theyre a teacher #this is 3 days worth #welcome to public school

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jomiddlemarch · 6 months

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Thank you, @tortoisesshells for the kind tag! Sorry for the delay in responding-- work conference, Covid recovery, band geek mom triple threat.

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

845. You read that correctly. Several proper drabbles and at least two co-authored fics, including the Mansion House Murder Hotel round robin.

2. What's your total A03 words count?

1,453,769. Again, that includes some co-written fic I am not inclined to parse for my exact count.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Mercy Street, Foyle's War, Shadow and Bone, Poldark, A Discovery of Witches, Anne of Green Gables, Little Women, The Last of Us, GLOW, Downton Abbey, Frozen, James Bond, Star Wars, The Hour, Ted Lasso, Sanditon, Dune, Leap/Ballerina, Brooklyn 99, The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, Gilmore Girls, Far From The Madding Crowd, Emma, Betsy-Tacy, and a few others.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

"what it is to be a thin crescent moon" (SAB), "A Wife--at daybreak I shall be" (AOGG), "Point and Click" (SAB, modern AU), "Bear with the truths I would tell you now," (Emma), "The subtlest fold of the heart" (AOGG)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do. At a bare minimum, I try to thank the commenter for taking the time to read. In the halcyon days of Mercy Street, I wrote long, discursive essay-comments because that was our vibe. I am not always prompt, but I do try to get back to people, though sometimes if the comment is very thoughtful, it takes me a while because I want to give an equivalent response.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Probably "Because I could not stop for Death," a Mercy Street fic where I wrote vignettes where I killed someone in each of the 18 installments, though I did end the whole thing killing the agreed-upon most loathsome character. I don't tend to write fics with angsty endings, though I don't mind writing it midway.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

This is tough, because I mostly write HEA. I'm going to pick a relatively deep cut and say "Always a Bridesmaid," the Mercy Street modern au rom-com, since the whole thing is a fairly giddy romp.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

A little. I've received 1-2 negative comments on AO3 and once wrote a gift-fic for someone in the Reylo fandom and got attacked on what was then Twitter and Tumblr by fans of the writer I was gifting, even though I had offered to the writer to take the story down. I now only write gift-fic for people I have some relationship with.

9. Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Yes. It's full of consent, sometimes awkward (who else has written crappy postpartum sex on Tumblr? I may be the cheese standing alone on that one) and almost never results in an unplanned pregnancy as a plot device. I most write cis-het and strenuously avoid using any term for a penis that isn't dick or cock. No straining members (sounds like a bunch of constipated middle management.)

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

OMG, yes! I love crossovers, so this is tough to answer. I'll go with a more recent one, "the better part of valor," Mercy Street/The Last of Us, though I have also used Sesame Street as an AU frame for Mercy Street characters.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of! (Ditto to @tortoisesshells)

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Maybe 1? I don't get a lot of offers and feel a bit proprietary, since I can't read it to see how well it's translated.

13. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

You betcha! Shout-out to the Mansion House Murder Party and "We run a very tight ship" the Cruise Ship crack-fest that @fericita-s and @sagiow and I boarded during a phase of the lockdown.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

I guess I'd have to say Mary Phinney/Jed Foster based on the number of fanfics I've written for them, but I don't really play favorites. I have a real fondness for every pairing I write, including the ones with the OC characters I write for @tessa-quayle.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Maybe this will change the course of history, but "what it means to be a thin crescent moon" is sort of hanging out there. I have some ideas for how to wrap it up but need the time and the mojo, which is harder to come by. I'd also like to get back to my zombie road-trip GLOW AU "Music shall untune the sky" but it's tough because that would be purely for me at this point.

16. What are your writing strengths?

(I hope) Witty banter. Strong female characters who have flaws. Description with plenty of sensory details. Use of quotations, math, and chess gambits :) A pithy drabble.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I find plot the least interesting component of writing fanfic and I think it shows. I love to read long-fic, but I struggle to sustain it. The words "so" and "just."

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I mostly stick to endearments or short phrases. I'm not fluent in any other language and no one needs to discover the various ways Google Translate has let me down.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Mercy Street. I started writing late at night after a work conference, literally drifting in and out of consciousness to lower my inhibitions enough to get started. It was a fic related to a WIP I loved and had written to the author about, so it was very relational.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

What is this, Sophie's Choice? I can't pick a favorite. I'll say I look back with great fondness on my Little Women/Mercy Street crossover "What thou and I did, till we loved," which features Marmee and the Star Trek Kobiyashi Maru Mercy Street crossover "It had the virtue of never having been tried," because like I said, I do love a crossover! Honestly, when there are over 800 fic, I'll admit to have forgotten I'd written some of these :)

Tagging: @asteraceae-blue @orlissa @vesperass-anuna @oldshrewsburyian, @ladamedusoif @trulybettyand anyone else who wants to take this out for a spin!

#my fic #I should also point out #in the world of crack-fic crossover AU #I have crossed over Shadow and Bone #with the Great British Bake-Off #Noel Fielding and Aleksander Morozova have a chat

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greatwyrmgold · 10 months

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New manga dropped, called Wild Strawberry. It's set in a world where murderous plants have engulfed Tokyo, but life mostly moves on.

That setting gets my mind buzzing in a couple directions. First, the annoying nitpicky teen direction. It doesn't sound like the flower stuff is a global apocalyptic phenomenon or anything; Tokyo is overgrown, but there are places where a bloom hits the news. It's been decades, why don't people move to a place where you definitely won't get eaten by plants on your way back from the convenience store?

But aside from the implication that non-Tokyo places are fine, I find the way life moves on despite the catastrophe pretty compelling. I don't know if Ire Yanamoto is deliberately invoking the global community's inaction on COVID over the past couple years or if I just have it on the brain (or maybe Yanamoto has COVID on the brain?), but that's the vibe I'm getting. The plants aren't going away, they're killing people, the problem is obvious, yet barely any action is taken.

There aren't, like, paramilitary gardeners trying to exterminate green death or anything, just a few weeders paid shit wages to keep the weeds from getting too close. That, and the amusingly-named Flower Funeral Force, who feel more like cops. Their specific job is to kill jinka, people infected with the parasitic flower at the heart of this mess. The jinka flowers are a mess of monster tropes; they're parasitic and puppet your body, but both jinkas and fully-rooted jinka flowers eat people. Oh, and it spreads through airborne spores, which just enhances the COVID vibes.

And for all that I find the jinka life cycle incomprehensible, I love their vibes. You get ordinary infected people, people who could spread the jinka flowers without realizing they're infected. You get giant flowers with distorted human faces in the middle. You get overgrowth looming over the protagonist.

Speaking of whom, I don't find (checks notes) Kingo to be a particularly compelling protagonist. His major defining characteristic is desperation. His introduction is stealing medicine from a convenience store, he's three months behind on rent, he works a shit job and gets "poverty wages," and he has to protect his sister Kayano from the FFF. (She's infected with jinka spores; that's what the medicine is for.)

That desperation is a solid driving force for the story, but it also means that he doesn't have much substance for an audience to get invested in. His sister at least has the symbiotic flower thing going on, that's distinctive. It's also a problem, both because she needs medicine to keep it from turning malignant, and because the FFF...well, you remember how I said they feel like cops?

Anyways, Kayano blooms, the FFF try to incinerate her, Kingo tries to stop them, they respond like any cop whose authority is challenged, and it's not entirely clear what happens next. It's a bit of a cliffhanger; all we're certain of is that Kingo is alive and he has a vine up his nose. But I don't really care.

Wild Strawberry isn't a manga I like for its story or characters. So far, they look okay. But the setting, its aesthetic construction and tone and the themes it seems to be evoking? I love that. I hope that they keep going strong in future chapters, I hope the characters and plot grow to support them, I hope I'm not completely mistaken about what Yanamoto is trying to do with the jinka. It's all so neat.

#wild strawberry #manga #aesthetic #themes #apocalypse #covid 19 #plants

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zo1nkss · 1 year

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This is just kinda On My Mind lately and I thought I'd share a little. This isn't fandom related!

I tend to get a lot of questions around the WWW about how to support and show allyship to Indigenous folks and often I give the short and simple answer of "Reparations!" or "Go to your local rez and ask them" etc but I've had some more direct options mulling over in my mind for a few days and decided to lay them out for folks to share around.

1. Obviously reparations is one of the major ways you can help. Making sure even one Indigenous person can survive another day is going to do so SO much good.

2. Another great way you can help is just by being an emotional and mental sounding board every now and then. If things are rough for Indigenous ppl in the moment and u can see it, reach out to your friends who are suffering and just be kind to them. Let them know that you value them as people and not just a home-made poster about climate change.

3. And of course, there's also just going to the nearest rez and asking them what they need. Often they'll say something like donations(in the form of food, clothes, supplies, etc.) which is one of the MOST direct ways to impact change as an individual. You're helping to offset the number of ppl working against us by directly joining the ranks with action.

4. The thing I think I encourage the most, though, is going to the rez with the offer of physically showing up on a regular basis to be a support for people like land and water protectors, front-line activists, disabled community members who need more support than their rez can provide.

It should be noted that Covid is going to make a lot of that more complicated, u may not be able to help with community support on or around the rez for the safety of their vulnerable people, but one thing we will NEVER have enough of is people actively showing up to continuously support land and water protectors.

They face some of the hardest setbacks and take on some of the scariest battles in trying to take back our sovereignty. If you want to do the absolute MOST you can do to support LandBack, then you should go out to locations and actively support land and water protectors. Bring them food, water, shelter, seating, weather protective clothing and products. They're out there fighting for the safety and survival of our people, and they need literally all the help they can get.

#landback #indigenous sovereignty

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breakingcatbad · 3 months

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Why the Long Face (a personal fan narrative)

Introduction

“When you find yourself lost and disoriented and underwater and you don't know which way is up, it's important to breathe” (Waksberg, R. B., & Santamaria, V. 2016).

Television has a remarkable ability to transcend mere entertainment and resonate with viewers on a deeply personal level. For me, "Bojack Horseman" exemplifies this, as its poignant exploration of themes like personal responsibility, forgiveness, and self-improvement truly struck a chord with me. In this essay I will talk about how Bojack Horseman allowed me to begin to break bad habits and helped me fight my social anxiety.

Drowning

Since I'm lazy I will let IMDb explain the plot of Bojack horseman for me. Bojack Horseman is about the titular BoJack Horseman (a horse) who was “the star of the hit television show "Horsin' Around" in the '80s and '90s, but [is now] washed up, living in Hollywood, complaining about everything, and wearing colorful sweaters” (IMDb Writers 2014)

But what does this alcoholic horse have to do with me? Well, let me take you back to when I was younger, not that much younger than I am now.

I was someone who struggled to take responsibility for who I was. I'd blame others for my problems, never really looking inward to become a better person. In class, I'd stick to my four close friends, failing to connect with anyone else due to my lacking social skills. It felt like I was sinking in a pit of tar, with no way out. Even with my close friends, I felt extremely lonely, lacking any meaningful connections with those around me. It left me grappling with a profound sense of existential unease.

This cycle persisted into my sophomore year and deep into the COVID pandemic without any real change. But deep down, I knew there was potential within me to strive for something better, something more, rather than remaining stuck in who I was.

So, during the depths of COVID, almost by chance and perhaps as a means of escapism, I found myself indulging in the show about a horse with daddy issues.

Attempting to swim

From the very first episode, I felt an undeniable connection to Bojack—a washed-up actor grappling with the ghosts of his past. Like him, I had spent years wrestling with my own feelings of inadequacy and self-doubt, unable to confront the root causes of my dissatisfaction. This internal dissatisfaction spurred on a wave of social anxiety that prevented me from truly or meaningfully opening up to anyone, which only made me more miserable. Despite the outward appearances of a somewhat well adjusted person, I knew deep down that a sense of purpose, of authenticity, of connection was missing from my life. It was this existential hole that "Bojack Horseman" so poignantly reflected back onto myself that forced me to confront the uncomfortable truths lurking beneath the surface of my own life.

Throughout the series, BoJack's attempts at change are met with failure, highlighting the difficulty and gradual nature of personal transformation. It's a reminder that change isn't easy—it requires hard work and the humility to acknowledge one's own shortcomings. One of my favorite quotes from season two that helps exemplify this idea comes from a jogging baboon (not exactly a central character, he just jogs). He tells BoJack, "It gets easier. Every day it gets a little easier. But you gotta do it every day —that's the hard part. But it does get easier" (Waksberg, R. B., Aron Elijah, & Young Jordan)

With this wisdom in mind, I began to embrace the journey of self-improvement and began to climb what seemed like an insurmountable mountain in front of me. One of the first habits I tackled was my hygiene,which sounds boring, I know. Looking back, I realize I was probably dealing with some level of depression. I hardly left my room except for essentials like food or haircuts. Anyways, the first step I took was improving my consistency with hygiene. I started brushing my teeth twice a day and made an effort with skincare, rather than spending all day in bed doing nothing. It may sound small, but at the time, I felt genuinely proud of this progress and thus began the journey out of the abyss and into the unknown.

Swimming As I kept watching the show and its seasons unfolded, I found myself pushing beyond my comfort zone. I picked up new skills like learning how to take care of suits, car care, and even eyebrow care (yes I am insane why do you ask). While they may seem trivial, these small victories meant a lot to me. It was also around this time that I began to prioritize my fitness.

What kept me going throughout all of this was the realization that if anything was going to change, I had to be the one to make it happen. I didn't want to follow in BoJack's footsteps, constantly blaming his upbringing for who he became. Sure, my own upbringing had its challenges (though I know others have had it worse), but I refused to let it define me. I wanted to become someone I could truly be proud of.

Once I understood the role I played in shaping my own life and realized I could distance myself from my past, I started making genuine efforts to change. This was a journey BoJack struggled with throughout the series, getting close to meaningful change in season 6 but often slipping back into old habits due to his past actions. Yet, what I admire about the show is how BoJack's actions always catch up to him, teaching me to confront my own habits head-on.

One of my biggest challenges in this journey was working out. Just to be clear, I don't believe that not working out makes you inferior to people that do. For me, working out became a way to build confidence and shed insecurities about my body.

In the past, I struggled with insecurity and faced hurtful comments about my physique. So, I decided to take charge and hit the gym LIKE THE TRUE MAN I AM. But let me tell you, pushing yourself to the limit six days a week isn't easy. However, I kept reminding myself that my actions would shape my future, drawing inspiration from BoJack's journey through rehab.

Continuing to work out and eat better, I started to see results. It wasn't anything dramatic, but it made a significant difference in how I viewed myself. This brings me to what I consider the final frontier of personal development for myself: dealing with my own anxiety

Taking a Breath

BoJack Horseman delves into depression, but it also shines a light on how anxiety often goes hand in hand with it. Throughout the show, BoJack turns to drugs and alcohol to cope with his anxiety, while his tendency to avoid difficult situations is often rooted in fear.

For me, anxiety has been a lifelong companion, especially during the chaos of COVID-19. It felt like my anxiety was this relentless force, tugging at me constantly. Simple tasks became monumental challenges. I'd shake just trying to swipe my credit card at the store. It was like my mind was on overdrive, overthinking everything and leaving little room for anything else.

I became trapped in this cycle of self-doubt, just like BoJack. But watching his journey made me realize something profound: my insecurity came from being too focused on myself. I was so worried about how I appeared to others that I couldn't truly connect with them.

In BoJack's journey toward redemption, he learns to think beyond himself and faces his fears head-on. That inspired me to tackle my anxiety. Now, I'm not saying it's easy to just "get over" anxiety—it's different for everyone. But I knew I had to try.

So, I started pushing myself into uncomfortable situations, knowing it would shape me for the better. And you know what? It worked. Slowly but surely, I began to see positive changes in myself. It's been a journey, but I'm proud of how far I've come.

Conclusion

Bojack Horseman has had a profound impact on my life, not to imply that it has necessarily cured any of my vices, but I am proud to say I am in a much better position now than I was then. I have genuine people I can rely on, and I've made strides in improving myself physically, mentally, and emotionally. Overall, I feel like a better version of myself, and that's something I'm proud of. I am happy that I was able to come across this show when I did, and I am forever grateful for the opportunity it helped allow for me.

#bojack horseman #bojack netflix #bojack quotes #diane nguyen #todd chavez #herb kazzaz #princess carolyn #sarah lynn

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mettywiththenotes · 2 years

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Hope you don’t mind me asking, but how are you feeling about this whole Boris Johnson resigning? I’m a confused American and have very little idea what’s really going on

Oh wow um. I've never been asked to explain what's happening in the UK and what it means. I don't know if I'd be good at explaining it, but I'll try my best

Well, for the most part, I'm happy because Boris is a shit head and he's finally decided to step down (more on that in a sec). The memes and general hilarity and ridiculousness of the situation is very funny imo and it's nice to be able to laugh at the news without having the overwhelming feeling of anger (more like a numb irritation) seething through my veins

But I'm also becoming a little more worried about the future and what this means for UK government. With more than half of the government resigned, it means that future meetings to discuss important issues have been cancelled because there simply aren't enough people to decide anything with

And there's the question of who will be the next prime minister

But EVEN THEN, we won't know THAT until autumn because Boris isn't quick to leave. He's still going to be somewhat in the background, still prime minister I think, and will still have control until then. So there's that

That's not even to mention the issues that won't be properly addressed because of all this shit. I can't imagine how much this is going to set us back

But besides all that worry, I feel pretty happy about Boris going

Looking at the history of what he's done since 2019 (when he became prime minister), it's just been an absolute mess

Because of him, lockdown and covid was handled so fucking badly. Man couldn't decide on what he wanted us to do (I shit you not when I say his speeches during that time were basically saying "go to work, but also don't go to work, and you can also go to the park, but don't go to the park. you can hang out with friends, but also don't. you can go to the pub for a drink but please remember that you can't")

And THEN he enforced rules during lockdown and was clear that anybody gathering for a funeral or wedding or such would be fined, while he was having a party with other MP's. While people couldn't attend funerals or go to weddings or even go to see their sick family members in hospital, he was having parties in Number 10 Downing Street (that's the place prime ministers stay when they've been given the position - it's the equivalent of the White House)

And when the fucker got caught out, he lied about being at the party again and again until finally he confessed that he HAD gone, and there were leaked photos and statements from MP's who attended the party as well

I know he's done other awful shit, but I'd say if you want any reason to hate him, this is probably at the top of the list. Plus I can't remember it all right now. Just know he's done bad shit and gotten away with it

And yesterday, it came out that an MP Boris had hired, Chris Pincher, sexually harassed men within the Tory party. Boris KNEW he was a predator and yet still hired him, and then it was revealed what Chris had done

After this news came out, a total of 60 MP's resigned from the Tory party IN ONE DAY. And one MP, Michael Gove, who has history with Boris, was fired as well before he could even resign with the rest

Boris was urged to resign as the day went on, but he's a stubborn idiot, and kept insisting that he stay in his position as it is. Finally though, this morning, he announced he was resigning as prime minister. During his "last" speech, he didn't even sound like he was. No sorry's, didn't actually say "I am resigning", and seemed to take the whole thing as not a big deal

I am hoping he does actually go. I've really had enough of him. But yesterday, as the majority of the party members were resigning, had to be the most humiliating 24 hours any MP has been through. I'd be humiliated anyway

It was very funny to see such an asshole in power be subjected to 24 hours of humiliation, so I'm glad I got such a laugh during this time. But yeah. I'm still kind of worried, but I'm trying to revel in the ridiculousness of it all

I hope this answers your question!

I suggest looking through the "uk" or "boris johnson" tag on my blog, I think there's some posts there that might be able to explain some more of this. I'll include some links here as well, just in case

Chris Pincher and the allegations

Brief explanation of what is going on

What is a Tory? What does "sacking" mean? Boris good or bad? What's up with the election process? (this is also a brief explanation)

I really hope this answers your question. I'm not the best at explaining this stuff, and I think I've missed a few things out about how everyone is relieved Boris has resigned and the other things he has done, plus the future and how this is all going to go down now, but this is basically the gist of it I think

Any british followers - if you could add anything onto this post about other stuff Boris has done, or include some other links/explanations about what is going on, that'd be great. I'm really not sure if I've explained well, so your input would be nice too

#sorry brainrot i feel as though i'm probably not the best person to be asking about uk politics #i don't know a whole lot about it (not as much as other brits i'm sure) so yeah #regardless i hope this did answer your question at least a little #thank you for the ask!😊#asks with metty #uk

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xocasper · 2 years

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omg since requests are open, I’m literally begging for some Ray content, like maybe teasing a reader that has a praise kink

Patience Is a Virtue

Pairing: Ray Toro x Reader Summary: After a long day of waiting, you finally have alone time with Ray. Patience isn't your strong suit, but he believes you can last a little bit longer. Warnings: NSFW content Tags: praise kink, oral sex, teasing Word Count: 2226 A/N: I got covid, collapsed at work, and writer's block in the span of two weeks. Not sure what I did to deserve this, but I think it's over. People are always telling me to stop threatening to kill the Queen because it's bad karma--I think they were right. Sorry Elizabeth. Anyway, this is my first request so I hope it's alright!

Bright lights illuminated the stage of a dingy bar, currently inhabited by your boyfriend’s band. You watched intently as he played, tuning out the rest of the room as he held your attention. Typically you wouldn’t be as hyper-focused, but Ray had made your day incredibly difficult, and the sly grins he was sending you weren’t helping.

It started out simple; you woke up earlier than usual this morning and decided to make breakfast. Ray quickly noticed your absence, eyes fluttering open as the smell of pancakes wafted into the bedroom. Sure enough, you were standing at the stove, humming quietly while you listened to his heavy footfalls, leaning into his touch as he wrapped his arms around you.

“Morning,” he mumbled, resting his head on yours while he watched you. You stayed like that for a few minutes, his hands stroking your sides before fiddling with the hem of your shirt. A comfortable silence filled the air, sleep still hanging heavy over the two of you.

You handed him a plate and he looked at you, surprised although he’d been hoping you were making extras. “You’re too good to me,” he grinned, pressing his lips to yours. It was a sweet kiss despite the way his hands drifted up your nightshirt, pulling away as you tried to deepen it. You leaned up again only for him to turn away, pretending to ignore you.

“C’mon,” you huffed, but he just looked at you, eyebrows raised as he tried to hide his smile. The rest of breakfast was mundane, and you talked about your plans for the day while he gazed at you, eyes trailing up your figure as if he was trying to fluster you—which he was.

This didn’t stop while you were getting ready for work, either. He had a ball telling you how pretty you looked, planting soft kisses on your lips that were far too short for your liking. You had to leave soon, and you were getting a bit impatient with Ray. He knew this, of course, walking to the front door with you, now gripping your waist and tugging you flush against his chest. He shot you a smile rather than kissing you, finding his ideas much more fun than yours. “I’ll see you tonight,” he said, close enough that you could just…

But he pulled away again. An involuntary whine escaped you as he laughed to himself, ushering you out the door and ignoring your desperation for something real. You knew very well that the night would end in your favor, but ‘patience is a virtue’ always sounded like bullshit to you.

You could hardly focus for the rest of the day, your mind clouded with silent promises which only made time move slower. Ray had a gig tonight too, which meant sitting in a grimy bar while he performed with the band, shining under cheap lights while he shamelessly eye-fucked you from the stage. Typically you loved watching him perform, but at the moment you were too needy to even think about sitting through the show.

When your shift was over, he was no longer home, off with the rest of the guys preparing for their gig. You had just enough time to eat and shower before you had to leave, the reality of how busy your schedule was setting in. Usually you’d be exhausted by now, but adrenaline and anticipation coursed through your veins as you drove off to the bar, always excited to watch him play; you were his biggest supporter, and he made sure to show his appreciation at the end of the night.

The gig started out fine; Ray was concentrating on playing, but as he relaxed, his attention went to you, trying not to laugh at how focused you were. It made him feel special, knowing that you, of all people, were watching him so closely, looking up at him like he’d hung the moon. He wanted to make you feel special too, staring back at you like a lovesick puppy while he thought of all the wonderful things he’d do to you after the show.

It was a good thing he knew the songs so well, otherwise he would’ve been fucked sideways. By the end of the show he was visibly flushed, mind having wandered off ages ago, the only coherent thought being you. He had spent at least half the show with his eyes locked on you, intoxicated by your presence.

“Dude, are you good?” Frank asked as their set ended, standing on his toes and pressing a hand to Ray’s forehead. “What?” he responded, snapping out of his trance to smack his friend’s hand away. “I’m fine, thanks.”

Frank scoffed and followed his line of sight, eventually spotting you in the dark room, ogling at his friend. His concern turned into a fit of laughter, slapping Ray on the back as he walked off, shouting something indecipherable; not that it mattered to either of you right now, you could be embarrassed about it another time.

The air was chilly as you met Ray out back, a stark contrast to the warmth flowing through you. He was coated in a thin layer of sweat, curls tousled and practically glowing in the moonlight. Frank had probably already told the band where he’d be–in vivid detail, no doubt–so there was no reason to wait any longer. He had the same thought, picking up where he left off earlier by kissing you passionately, hands pulling you tight against him.

“Hi,” he said finally, smiling at the dazed look on your face. Maybe it was lack of oxygen or the sheer force he used, but your head was spinning. It didn’t matter much to him though, taking your hand and pulling you over to the car. He had hitched a ride from one of the guys earlier, finding no reason for both of you to drive. It didn’t take too long; fifteen minutes tops, but your patience was wearing thin.

Every move he made, whether it was placing his hand on yours or simply driving stick shift, seemed ten times hotter than usual; you could single-handedly give this man an ego problem. He wasn’t immune to you either, barely able to focus with you next to him, similar to how he felt when you met.

You tripped inside, hardly making it up to the apartment with Ray hot on your trail. Much to your dismay, he did not let you tear his clothes off the second the door shut. Instead, he pulled you into the bedroom, kissing you slow and deep, the polar opposite of what you were expecting. Obviously he knew this, taking his time to mess with you, the image of you crying, begging for him as his only motivation.

Everything felt so slow, from the way his tongue moved against yours, to how he gently laid you down. His hands remained on your hips, still focused on his lips against yours, making no move to touch you further. He broke away when you bucked your hips up, striving for friction.

“Touch me,” you breathed, and he just smiled at you. “Why should I?” he asked, pecking your lips while you wiggled beneath him. “Because I’ve waited all day.” He pondered your answer for a moment but ultimately deemed it invalid. “I think you can wait a little longer.”

Your shoulders slumped in disappointment as he kissed your jaw, traveling lower at an agonizingly slow pace, savoring every inch of you. His hands slid down your thighs, centimeters away from discovering how wet you were–not that you minded, if anything you were praying that he’d take pity and touch you. He didn’t, as expected, and kept his grip firm to prevent you from moving.

After what felt like forever, he took off your shirt and hovered over you, admiring the bare skin. “You’re so beautiful,” he told you, smiling softly as he slid across the mattress. His mouth trailed down your torso, leaving soft kisses above the waistband of your jeans.

Ray watched you as he slowly slid them down, wasting time to see just how desperate you could get. You shifted around and reached out to pull him closer, but he retracted his hands. “Be patient,” he said, voice laced with amusement. He stifled a laugh as you groaned, and returned to his former position.

He kissed up your thighs, his hands warm against your skin as he held them apart. He hummed in question as you let out a shaky breath, followed by a “please.” Luckily, he was also getting sick of waiting, fulfilling your wishes and exposing you to the cool air.

His breath fanned over your skin, mere inches from your core, holding your gaze as he kissed you. You shivered at his touch, helplessly shifting under his hands. He quickly made up for lost time, everything becoming lips and tongue, warm and wet as his fingers sunk into your thighs. He tugged you closer, only to pull away as your hips jumped. You frowned down at him as he shot you a warning glance; if you couldn’t wait, you couldn’t finish.

Ray’s original quick pace dissolved into slow and teasing, wide strokes of his tongue turning into kitten licks while you gripped the sheets in hopes of grounding yourself. Thankfully his teasing didn’t last long, his self-control crumbling quicker than yours. You reveled in the way his mouth felt, vocalizing your pleasure as he dragged his tongue across your clit, sucking lightly before dipping his tongue in your slit.

Your breathing grew unsteady with each passing moment, your back arched and muscles clenched as he lapped at your cunt. He could tell you were close by the way your legs shook, sandwiched between them with no concern for oxygen. You were buzzing as his movements bordered on overwhelming, doing half the work yourself as you ground down against him.

You stammered out Ray’s name, followed by a string of jumbled curses, but he pulled away at the last minute. A desperate cry echoed throughout the room as he stared up at you, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “You sound so pretty,” he said, not even trying to hide his grin anymore. He was on a power high, admiring how fragile you looked, as if a feather-light touch could break you.

He didn’t wait too long before diving back in, not letting his hard work go to waste. Sure enough, it took the smallest of touches for you to come apart beneath him, choked sobs and broken moans encircling you as he cleaned up the mess. He gave you a minute to breathe, leaving more gentle kisses on your skin as he pulled away.

You watched in admiration as he stripped, still feeling fuzzy as he approached you, being met with his slick lips against yours. “Beautiful,” he reminded you when you broke apart, eyes trailing over your body. He could’ve sworn you were hand-crafted by God themself, you were so perfect.

Carefully, he hovered over you, listening to how your breath hitched as he lined himself up between your legs, the tip of his dick sliding against your folds rather than in. He studied your expression, your eyes fluttering open when he still hadn’t pushed in. “Ray, please,” you pouted at him. He rolled his eyes in jest and thrust in, moaning at the sudden warmth.

His rhythm was quick and deep, rewarding your patience. You gripped his arms and pulled him closer, shrinking the gap between the two of you. His breathing hitched, moaning your name as you hooked your legs around his waist, allowing him to drive deeper inside of you.

“You take me so well,” he mumbled against your skin, swelling with pride as clenched around him, sinful sounds spilling from your lips. “Fuck, I’m–” you started, groaning in mild frustration as he slowed his thrusts. He knew you were close again, but you could wait a little longer, right?

“You can hold it,” he smiled, kissing you gently after the pitiful whine you let out. “C’mon, be good for me.” His pace picked up again and you held him tightly, resisting your orgasm with the little strength you had left. Ray must’ve noticed your (incredibly obvious) struggle, snapping his hips against yours a few more times before blessing you with a soft ‘come for me’. That’s all it took, shaking as your muscles contracted, and falling limp as he pulled out.

He painted you pretty, moaning softly as the very sight of you, sprawled out and dazed, stained with sweat and come, looking effortlessly beautiful–even if you’d disagree. He wiped you down as best as possible with his t-shirt, neither of you having the energy nor caring to move anymore; he had a million black t-shirts anyway.

Ray held you close, arms strong and safe around your waist. “You performed really well tonight,” you told him, planting soft kisses on his chest while you listened to his breathing. “Oh? During or after the gig?” You couldn’t help but laugh a little, cuddling closer to him as he pulled up the covers. “Both,” you confirmed, giving him one more kiss and letting your eyes flutter shut. He just looked down at you dreamily, whispering a soft ‘I love you’ before drifting off to sleep.

taglist: @lubbockshusband @yachiiko @newgirlinhell @tomoora @canyousttakemyheart @blackberryblossom

#ray toro x reader #ray toro #ray toro smut #mcr x reader #mcr smut #my chemical romance

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