#which is really ironic because I had the exact situation pop up earlier today with a friend

[katehuntington]

Title: In Bad Waters - part fifteen Word count: ±6250 words Episode summary: Still in possession of the Winchesters’ belongings, Zoë meets up with the hunters on her next case. When it turns out to be a little more complicated than anticipated, she accepts their help in order to make an important deadline. Part fifteen summary: The hunt is over, and Zoë and the brothers go separate ways. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Descriptions of domestic violence/child abuse. Drug use/addiction. Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures/resuscitation. Swearing, alcoholism. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Descriptions of torture and murder, drowning. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09​ and @deanwanddamons​. Also a deep bow to @fangirl-and-medstudent-help​​ who was very patient with me when I asked about a hundred medical questions. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E02 “In Bad Waters” Masterlist

     The lights of the suite switch on when Zoë slips the keycard in its holder by the door. After the assault she suffered earlier today, the Hampton Inn hotel management provided her with a bigger and better accommodation. Although she doesn’t plan to spend another night in Paragould, she took the generous offer.      Dean enters the spacious room as well, Sam following close behind, in case his brother needs assistance. It bugs the hell out of the older sibling, who has grumpily told him that he’s fine a couple of times already. Yet, he allows the hovering, because honestly; he doesn’t feel so fresh.

     On the way over, Zoë told him to lose the soaked shirt, which contradicted Dean’s instincts, because he has never felt this cold in his entire life, despite the heaters blowing air into the Chevy at level inferno. Even now, he can’t stop himself from shivering, his teeth clattering every now and then, despite his favorite leather coat that he’s wearing, the only clothing item that didn’t get drenched.

     Exhausted, he plops down on the kingsize bed, to out of it to comment on the luxurious suite. Closing his eyes for a second, he rubs his forehead, trying to rid himself from the throbbing inside his skull. He coughs again, the involuntary action burning his lungs. It’s a painful yet ironic sensation, because he didn’t expect to feel like his airway is on fire after drowning in a fucking lake.

     “Get out of those wet clothes, Dean,” Zoë tells him sternly, nodding at his jeans while slipping her Harley Davidson jacket on a coat hanger. “We need to warm you up.”

     Normally, he would have had at least three sly remarks ready, but not this time. Instead, he nods with a sniff, bending down to untie his shoelaces with shaky fingers. Sam drops one of their duffel bags on the other side of the bed, pulling out a clean pair of jeans, one of Dean’s henley’s, a hoodie, socks and underwear.      “I’m gonna take a shower first,” Dean says, pulling off his soaked boots.

     “Absolutely fucking not,” Zoë intervenes, setting up her extensive medical kit on the nightstand. “I made quite an effort to bring you back to life, so it would be an awful waste of my time if you go into shock and die on the bathroom floor.”      Sam raises his eyebrows at that, much like Dean, who lets his hand slip from his face.      “How else am I gonna get warm, ‘cause I’m fucking freezing,” he returns, his voice still hoarse.      “By raising your temperature slowly. Sam, can you grab a towel and fill that hot water bottle we got from the front desk? And get the extra comforters from the other bed.”

     While the younger Winchester goes to collect the required items, Zoë opens the lid and takes out an ear thermometer from the metal briefcase, placing a clean probe tip on the end while she sits down next to the battered hunter. Dean flinches away from her when she cups his face firmly to hold him in place, earning an annoyed glare from the former med student.      “Would you like me to use the regular one? Because I’ll give you one guess where I’d have to stick that. Now, sit still,” she orders, pulling his ear back to insert the device into his ear canal.      “Jesus, you’re not the one for bedside manners, are you?” Dean mutters, but cooperates either way.

     Zoë doesn’t respond, waiting for the thermometer to beep. She retreats it when it does exactly that and reads the display. “You’re at 95.2.”      “That low?” he says, unpleasantly surprised.      She nods, placing the small device on the side table. “That’s what happens when your main generator loses power. The central heating shuts down real quick when your heart stops beating.”

     Dean sniffles, very much aware of the fluid that is still creeping up his throat. He fights the urge to cough again and clears his throat uncomfortably, when Sam returns with the hot water bottle under his arm, white towels with the Hampton Inn logo on them in one hand and two thick duvets in the other.      “Dry yourself off and put on something warm, then wrap yourself in these.” She takes the comforter and lays it on the bed next to the older Winchester, before folding the water bottle in one of the towels. “Here, keep this close to you. Don’t lay down and don’t fall asleep,” she warns. “I’m gonna freshen up.”

     She gets up and muffles a grunt behind gritted teeth, her cracked ribs once again reminding the huntress of her current fragile state. Adrenaline pushed down the pain in the midst of action, but now that the dust has settled, it’s back at full force. Picking up her bag on the way, she heads to the spacious bathroom, locking the door behind her. Not really ready for the sight, she peels her wet top from her skin while she stands in front of the nine ft. wide mirror. Dark bruises greet her when she discards the tank top, her bra following suit. They match the colorful display on her right cheekbone and the black and blue fingerprints on her neck.

     “Wonderful,” she muddles, continuing to strip down, the soaked through fabric smacking against the nature stone tiles. She has no idea how she’s gonna ride all the way up to the Canadian border with an injury like this, but she doesn’t have a choice. Time isn’t exactly on her side.

     After a shower, Zoë runs a towel over her head and blow-dries her brown locks quickly. Usually, she allows her curls to dry naturally, but wearing a helmet on wet hair is anything but pleasant, not to mention that she will have to deal with a fogged up visor throughout most of the trip.

     She puts on clean underwear and hoists her leather biker pants up her legs, cursing under her breath at the ache that sears through her side with even the slightest movement. Something needs to be done, because she won’t last an hour on the Harley. Before she steps outside the bathroom, she secures her bra clasps. Not bothered to put on her top just yet, she pops her head from behind the door.      “Sam?”      The tall young guy looks up and for a second she wonders if he can actually see her through the fringe of brown damp locks.      “Can you grab me some KT tape from my med kit?” she asks, nodding at the briefcase next to Dean, who is huddled up in the exact spot where she left him, wrapped in the thick comforters.      “Sure,” Sam obliges, getting up. After rummaging for a few seconds, he finds what he’s looking for and turns to the bathroom to hand it over, but apparently she has different ideas.      “Get in,” she tells him.

     Perplexed, but not brave enough to hesitate and give her a reason to scold at him, he enters the large room, which could easily be considered a mini spa. A large jacuzzi is situated in the corner, a walk-in shower next to it. There’s even a sauna, the wooden benches shielded off by a glass wall. It’s nothing like the shabby motel rooms he and Dean usually coop up in. His admiration for the luxury comes to a sudden stop when his absent gaze lands on Zoë. Like a virgin teenager who walked in on his friend’s older sister, he stares at her for a short second, eyes wide and blown away. Shit, she’s not wearing a shirt.

     “Done gaping?” she responds, bored, placing her hand firmly in her unharmed side. “I need to tape my side and I can’t reach properly.”      Feeling caught, he shifts his attention to the KT tape in his hand. “Uh… y-yeah, sure,” he stammers, fiddling to open the package.      Rolling her eyes, she snatches the small box from his hands and opens it. “I swear to God, Sam, get yourself together. You’ve seen me in less.”

     Uncomfortably, the younger Winchester runs his fingers through his hair. Why is he being so awkward? Or maybe the better question is; why can’t he keep his eyes off her? He tries his best not to stare, but when he does, he notices the dark bruises on her ribs.      “Damn it, Zo. She got you good,” he huffs, worry replacing the uneasiness.      “It’s not that bad. I just need to secure it before I hit the road,” the tough woman mutters, peeling the plastic away from the sticky coating. She turns her back to Sam, moving her brown wavy hair over her left shoulder and out of the way. “You need to place the first strip diagonally and downward, starting from just below the scapula. You might need to lift my bra a little.”

     Somewhat nervous, the thoughtful guy rubs his hands together first, not wanting his touch to be cold. After handing him the medical tape, she lifts her right arm, hissing at the stretch.      “Right here?” he asks, lifting the wing of her lace bra, before sticking one end of the strip right below her shoulder blade.      She nods, breathing out a shuddering breath. “Yeah.”

     Sam handles her gently, the pads of his fingers not as rough as she expected hunter’s hands to be. In silence he works, focussed on his task. Zoë watches him in the mirror, a small smile of amusement pulling at the corners of her mouth, despite the discomfort. His eyebrows are knitted together in concentration, hazel eyes tracing her bruised form. After a few more instructions, he secures the second strip with the same precision. Zoë can’t deny nor ignore the current that his touch sends through her body, and it has her intrigued.

     “One more. Vertical along my side,” she says, her voice softer than she has spoken to him all evening.      The younger Winchester tries not to gulp visibly, holding the enchanting woman still, while he smoothens the final strip down her bruised rib cage. He’s careful to prevent pressure on the sensitive area, not wanting to hurt her, but she shivers anyway. When he directs his gaze on her in their reflection, Sam notices it’s not pain that has her shuddering, because her challenging eyes tell a different story. They behold a hint of curiosity, interest... lust even.

     Not sure how to cope with the tension that hangs in the air, he clears his throat and lets his finger slip from her beautifully toned and proportioned body, averting his eyes from the mirror.      “I’m - uh - I’ll let you get dressed,” he stutters, awkwardly pointing his thumb over his shoulder before he heads to the door.      “I’ll be right out,” she promises, picking a clean shirt from her bag.

Zoë watches him leave, smirking at his behavior. He really doesn’t know how to act around her, and it’s highly entertaining. There is a definite pull she experiences towards him, an attraction that she can’t quite place, but it’s not something she can dwell on. This case will be the last one they worked together and tonight will be the last time she ever sees him. But before they go separate ways, she needs to give his brother a thorough check up, even though she doesn’t like his company half as much as Sam’s. Suck it up, Zo. You’ve got work to do.

     Refreshed and dressed, she enters the master suite again, Dean still on the side of the bed, wrapped up in comforters like a burrito. Zoë’s plump lips press together in a thin line, because now is not the moment to make fun of the hunter, who without a doubt feels miserable.

     “Alright, let’s give you your physical exam so I can hit the road, huh?” she suggests, sitting down next to the older Winchester brother, taking her stethoscope from her briefcase and hanging it around her neck, after which she picks up a blood pressure gauge as well. “Stretch out your right arm.”

     He shrugs the heavy comforter off his bare shoulders, silently obeying his physician’s orders. Again, Dean misses the perfect opportunity for a dirty comeback, and it doesn’t go unnoticed. Although Zoë hasn’t known him for long, she did pick up on his usual demeanor, lightening the mood with a witty comment and some dark humor. Now, the joker is awfully quiet.

     “Y’know, you guys can have the room for the night,” she offers. “It’s paid for anyway.”      “Nah, I feel fine. Besides, if we don’t leave tonight, we’re gonna be late for our wolf hunt,” Dean replies, watching her strap the cuff around his upper arm.      Sam leans against the wall, observing the skilled woman as well. He hates to admit it, but Dean has a point. “He’s right. Today was the first night of a full moon, we won’t have much time if we stay any longer.”      “I’m just saying it might not be a bad idea to rest up,” Zoë points out, squeezing the rubber pump that’s attached to the cuff, filling it with air until circulation is cut off. “But you two kamikaze morons do what you gotta do.”      Sam scoffs at that. “You’re one to talk.”

     Her head cocks in his direction, staring him down intimidatingly, but Sam doesn’t budge and arches one eyebrow at her knowingly. His attitude annoys Zoë, and yet she doesn’t bite his head off. If circumstances were any different, she would have gladly spent at least the night in this luxurious suite and added several more, but she simply can’t. Wanting to avoid the reasoning behind her departure by all costs, she drops the matter.

     Instead, she pulls the stethoscope from behind her neck, widens the headset and places the tips in her ears. She then continues to place the diaphragm just above the crease of the elbow, while allowing the cuff to deflate. Blood begins to flow through the brachial artery again, causing a beat to thud against Zoë’s eardrums, and she reads the systolic pressure on the meter. Once the blood vessels remain open and the pounding sound stops, the closest what the Winchesters have to a doctor reads the meter again.

     “Your BP is 125 over 80. For a guy who lives off gas station food, pizza and burgers, that’s pretty damn healthy,” she comments, hooking the stethoscope around her neck again.      “Great. So can I go now?” Dean is about to rise up from the bed, but Zoë  grips him on the junction between his neck and his shoulder, pushing him down to sit on the bed again.      “Did I say I was done?” she snaps back at him.

     Dean bites his tongue when he feels her nails dig into his shoulder. He wants to yelp and call her names, yet he doesn’t, because Sam shoots him a warning glare. He argues with his little brother in silence, the younger sibling’s wide eyes sending death threats when Dean’s upper lip twitches while hinting at the woman who currently has a tight hold on him. He then shakes his head and gives in, too tired to have this discussion.

     Zoë ignores the tension all together. “Well, if you aren’t gonna stay, do you mind starting to load up the car, Sam? I wanna check out as soon as I’m done here,” Zoë states, giving him something else to do other than lurking over her shoulder.      “Sure,” the tall hunter says, and begins to gather their things, including the wet clothes Dean discarded earlier.

     When Sam has left, the tough Winchester drops his head, blinking a couple of times, clearly not feeling his best. Zoë monitors him closely; she had a hunch he was keeping up appearance in order not to worry his sibling.      “So now that your brother is out of the room, how are you really feeling?” she asks, removing the cuff from Dean’s arm. “And cut the bullshit. No one expects you to feel fine after flatlining.”

     The hunter looks up at her from under heavy eyelids, trying to figure out what her intentions are. He assumes she’s asking to determine further medical action, and so he drops the act.      “I - uh… I feel off, man,” he admits, pinching the bridge of his nose again.      “Headache?” she wonders, storing the sphygmomanometer away.      He nods, swallowing hard.      “Let me guess; you’re experiencing dizziness, decreased muscle strength, and feel like you could sleep for a week?” Zoë fills in for him.      “Sounds about right,” Dean sighs.

     Zoë puts in the ear tips of her stethoscope again in order to examine his heart, holding the bell between her second and third digit. She places the diaphragm on the right of the sternum, tracing his ribs under her fingertips to determine the right spot in order to hear the aortic valve. A stillness falls over the two, as Zoë concentrates to dissect the sound of Dean’s steady heartbeat, her other hand still holding him by the shoulder, her touch much more gentle this time around.

     Not wanting to disturb her focus, the older Winchester brother allows his gaze to wander, spending this rare moment without them yelling at each other to admire her. Whenever the tough as nails huntress boils his blood, he tends to only see the ugly side of Zoë Sullivan, but right here in this peaceful serenity, her beauty stuns him. Her face is slightly turned away, the profile of her sharp jawline and slightly upward pointed nose brought out by the warm light on the nightstand. She’s close enough for him to smell the coconut shampoo lingering in her freshly washed hair. Only now does he realize that his shivering has stilled, but he’s not sure if it actually has to do with his body temperature steadily going up, or that her soft touch is what calms his tremors. He’s not used to kind contact, a hand on his shoulder, a sweet ruffle through his hair like his mother used to do, but deep down, he craves it.

     When she shifts the bell of her stethoscope to the left side of his chest, Dean glances to her hand still gently gripping his tattooed arm, which is decorated with a short sleeve that fans out over his shoulder blade. Shades of black display what he stands for, symbols and sigils mixed with personal references to his life and the people who mean the world to him. He only now realizes she has been studying the piece of art forever edged in his skin, while she was listening to his heart.

     When Zoë is sure the pulmonic valve of Dean’s heart sounds normal as well, she slides the bell of her stethoscope to listen for the heart sounds on the right, but when the hunter flinches under her touch, her eyes dart up at his. “That hurts?”      “A bit. It’s fine,” he claims, shifting somewhat on the edge of the bed.      “Sure I didn’t break a rib?” she ponders, feeling the tender area in the center of his chest, where the first stage of a bruise is surfacing. “I worked your chest pretty hard.”

     Dean looks up at her, perplexed, as if it only now dawns on him what lengths Zoë went to save his life. She performed CPR on him, used all her capabilities to bring him back from the infinite darkness that was about to swallow him whole. Capabilities Sam doesn’t have, simply because he’s not trained to give medical aid. It hits Dean like lightning; if she hadn’t been there, he would have died.

     “Zo?”      The huntress shifts her attention from the sound of the mitral valve opening and closing, to her patient’s genuine eyes. The twenty-six year old tough guy seems that much younger all of a sudden, not sure how to get across what he wants to say.      “You - uh... If it wasn’t for you, I… y’know--”      “Don’t mention it.”

     Dean carefully glances up at her, meeting a small smile. A silent huff leaves his lips when he realizes she just returned his own words to him. Words he spoke in response to the huntress, when she tried to express gratitude for his rescue, earlier this afternoon.     “Well then, guess we’re square,” he comments. “Too bad I wasn’t conscious for the mouth-to-mouth action.”      “Ah, there he is. I was wondering when you were gonna feel good enough to start behaving like a jackass,” Zoë sniggers. “Your heart sounds fine, I’m gonna check your lungs now. Take slow breaths, okay?”

     With an amused smile on his lips, Dean does as told. Concentrating, the woman who would have aced med school listens to his respiration, using the stethoscope as an amplifier. Like she was taught, she starts at the left upper zone, then the right, comparing the two sides, before she moves down.      “Can you inhale a little deeper for me?” she requests.

     The hunter pulls in a big breath through his mouth, the action igniting a fire in his chest, similar to the time when he was a teenager, when he had a neglected cold that turned into something worse. He tries to fight another hacking fit, but loses the battle, quickly turning his head away from Zoë and coughs violently. When he settles, she continues the examination.      “Pain?” she wonders, although she has an idea what the answer might be.      “Burns,” he manages to say, his voice hoarse.      “Try again, take it easy this time,” Zoë encourages.

     After moving the diaphragm across her patient’s bare chest, she removes the medical instrument and takes a seat on the side of the bed as well, placing the bell on his back now. Staring at nothing in particular, she lets the sense of hearing take over completely. Brown eyes slightly shift from left to right, narrowing at a certain point.      “What?” Dean wonders, noticing a hint of discontent in her expression.      “Your lung sounds are a little faint; you still got some fluid in there,” the huntress explains, putting her stethoscope away. “It should clear by itself, your blood will absorb it, but if that cough gets worse, you're gonna need to see a real doctor.”      “You seem like a real doc to me,” he shrugs, covering the compliment by clearing his throat. “Haven’t had a check up in years.”

     Zoë casts her gaze down, appreciating the words, but unable to thank him for it. “Let’s keep it that way. Take these.”      She takes a small plastic bottle from her briefcase, a prescription on the side. “With the swamp water you took in, you’re likely to develop pneumonia without antibiotics. Take two tonight. The coming days, one in the morning, one in the evening, never on an empty stomach, until the bottle is empty, alright? If it hurts, you can take Ibuprofen, but don’t go over the maximum dosage. You want me to pack you some?”

     Somewhat stunned, Dean nods and takes the bottle between his index finger and his thumb. The doctor role Zoë is fulfilling right now, brings out an attentive and empathetic side of her, which he hasn’t seen yet to this extent. His injuries aren’t downgraded, he’s not told to man up and keep going, like his father so oftenly does when he suffered an injury on a hunt. He’s not used to this kind of care, but he values it.

“Thanks.”

The simple word that falls from his lips in a whisper has Zoë shift her eyes to him in surprise. She clearly wasn’t expecting a ‘thank you’, but doesn’t call him out on the sentiment. Her smile grows a little wider and for the first time since their reunion, Dean sees the innocent Californian surf girl he remembered from back in the days.

     The huntress takes out the thermometer one last time, inserting it in his ear. He doesn’t move away this time, but slightly leans into her. The device beeps and she pulls it back.      “96.8; you’re getting there. If you want you can take a shower now, just not too hot.” She removes the tip and gets up, throwing it in the trash can. “You’re all set.”      “Alright,” he says, putting the water bottle aside and picking up a towel and his clothes.

     He retreats to the bathroom and appreciates the spacious rain shower, and returns to the main suite, dressed in a warm hoody and dry jeans.      His brother is back as well. “Ready to hit the road?”      Dean nods, putting on his leather coat and straightening the collar. “Let’s go.”

     The three hunters check out and walk out towards the parking lot five minutes later. The Impala is parked in front of the building across from Linwood Cemetery, the black paint job shimmering beautifully in the pale moonlight. Zoë approaches her bike, carrying a saddle bag over her shoulder and her helmet in the other hand, as the boys walk over to their car. Instinctively, Dean moves around to the left side of the car, but Zoë stops him.      “You’re not driving,” she decides, as if it’s her call to make. “Unless you wanna be a road hazard.”      “Oh, c’mon,” the owner of the car complains, redirecting a glare from the woman in their company to Sam, who is waiting for the keys with a smirk. After rolling his eyes, he tosses his brother the keys and drags his feet to the passenger side.      “Sleep upright for a night or two,” the med student suggests.      “Why the hell would I do that?” Dean returns, puzzled.      “Because I reckon you don’t want to suffocate during the night.” She raises an eyebrow at him. “It’s called secondary drowning, asshat.”      Dean scoffs. “That’s a thing?”      Zoë chuckles at his obliviousness. “That’s a thing.”      “Noted,” Dean says, shoving down his warm jacket coat.

     “You made your deadline,” Sam reminds her, leaning his arms on the hardtop while looking over as she checks the time.      “Not yet, but at least I’ll make it in time for the big show,” she smiles faintly. “What about you two? Texas?”      “Yep, Waco,” Sam specifies.      Zoë nods. The Winchesters can tell from her reaction that she knows the place.      “When you’re in town, stop by at Honeybee Ham & Deli. I tell ya, their ham and turkey is awesome,” Zoë recommends.      Dean smiles happy as he pictures the plate full of juicy meat. “Will do.”      “What about you?” the younger sibling wonders.      Zoë climbs in the saddle of her Road King, which faces the two men. She doesn’t put her helmet on just yet, though. Her small smile disappears when she’s confronted with what’s coming. “I’m going up north,” she answers vaguely.

     A silence follows and Dean glances at Sam over the top of his car. They can both sense that something’s up.      “If you need a hand--” Sam starts carefully.      “No, I don’t. Really guys, you need to stay out of this one. It’s not your fight,” Zoë says, stern.      “Complicated case?” Dean comments.      “It’s just something I need to take care of. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the help you gave me here, but this is personal business,” she answers, looking from one to the other. “Whatever you do, don’t follow me.”      “We have our own personal business to take care of,” Sam assures.      “Your Dad?” the huntress assumes.      “We want to find him. He’s probably after that thing that killed Mom and Jess by himself,” Sam states, determined.

     For a moment Dean observes his brother, aware of the strong mindedness in his voice. He could fight him. Hell, he can start an argument with him right now, but what would it matter? Sam isn’t easily convinced otherwise, not when it comes to this. He wants to find Dad and kill whatever brought so much misery upon them so desperately, that it’s becoming an obsession. When he returns his gaze Zoë, he’s caught off guard by her, who stares directly at him. She has been reading him all this time.      “Seems like you do have your own personal business to take care off,” she states wisely, hanging her helmet on the handlebar.

     “Sure you can ride?” Dean checks with her.      Zoë glances at him, but he isn’t mocking her, the oldest Winchester son actually has a solid point. She doesn’t feel great at all. Her head is still throbbing from the blow she took during her physical fight with Laura; she probably suffered a mild concussion. A 520 mile bike ride isn’t going to improve the ache in her bones either. She would love to go back into the Hampton Inn and get some sleep, which she normally does after an exhausting hunt. This time things are different, there’s just too little time.      “I don’t have much of a choice,” she sighs. “I should get going.”      “Be careful,” Sam offers.      Zoë only responds with a smile and looks down at her biker boots. It’s funny, all this time she has been fighting the Winchester boys, but now that she’s about to leave, she’s lingering.

     “I hope you’ll find John,” she says out of the blue.      Surprised, the brothers take her in. Where did that come from? The huntress notices the surprise on their faces, because she continues to explain herself.      “He’s your father. I know he can be a pain, but he’s family. Treasure that as long as you can.”

     Sam watches Dean nod agreeing, and he too realizes that she’s right. The last time he saw his father, they had a huge argument. Ever since, he has been afraid that he might never see his dad again, that he will never get the chance to say he’s sorry. That’s what he is, because he regrets yelling at him, he regrets picking a fight. He knows he’s not the only one to blame, but he bailed on both his brother and his father and chose his own path. He stands by that decision still, but he does realize how much his actions hurt them. The youngest Winchester is done fighting his Dad, he just wants to make sure he’s alright. Zoë knows loss. She lost her father in an unforgivable and certainly unforgettable manner. It’s that fact that makes both Dean and Sam understand that these wise words are coming straight from the heart.

     The huntress looks at them with a calm expression on her face, a satisfied one, and yet a glint of sadness is noticeable in her eyes. She doesn’t expect to see them ever again. Not wanting to wait until the goodbye becomes sentimental, Zoë kicks the ignition, the characteristic Harley Davidson rumbling loud in the night.      Before she can put on her helmet, Dean calls out for her. “See you around.”

     As he watches her response, Zoë keeps quiet. Not likely, she realizes, not pronouncing the words out loud. She gives them a last nod, pulls the helmet over her head, turns the throttle, and with a loud roar her Harley hits the highway. The  brothers watch the single red taillight get smaller, then she disappears out of sight. Silently, they stare at the road ahead, both thinking about what she just said. Sam is the first one to reply to it.

     “Did she just… say goodbye?” he checks, making sure he didn’t just interpret her words wrong.      Dean doesn’t respond and forks his fingers together while leaning his forearms on top of the car. Pondering, he stares down the street.      “As in… for good?” Sam adds.

     He glances at his older sibling, who opens his car door. Sam takes his example and settles in the driver’s seat. Go Your Own Way by Fleetwood Mac sounds from the speakers as soon as the younger Winchester turns the key in the ignition.      “Are we going after her?” Sam wants to know, before he drives off.      “No,” Dean responds, annoyed by the fact that for a split second, he was thinking about it himself. “She’s a big girl, Sam. She can take care of herself.”      “That’s what you said last time,” his sibling bounces back.      “That was just bad luck. It’s not our job to protect fellow hunters, it’s our job to protect innocents,” Dean brings to mind.      “If Zoë's in trouble, she's innocent.”      “Believe me, Sam. I believe Zoë is everything but innocent,” the oldest of the two disagrees.

“I don't know, man. I think she’s after something big, or something big is after her,” Sam sighs, staring through the windshield in the direction where Zoë vanished just moments ago.      “So she’s onto a big fish,” Dean returns nonchalantly. “If she needs our help, she’ll call.”      The driver scoffs. “No, she won’t.”      Dean glances aside and observes his brother for a moment, confused by his brother’s motives. “I thought you were so determined to find Dad?”      “I am,” Same confirms.      “Then why the fuck do you care so much for some girl? We have better things to do. There’s a werewolf on the loose last time we checked and I don’t see why we should be bothering ourselves tracking down a hunter who’s fine on her own and is not keen on our company,” Dean rambles annoyed, after which he quotes her. ‘Whatever you do, do not follow me’. Her words, dude.”

     Sam gives in with a huff; maybe he’s right. Zoë made it pretty clear that she doesn’t want them on her tail. Maybe they should just let her be. But deep inside he feels it eating at him. His gut tells him that something bad is going to happen to her. Contemplating on the choice, he stares ahead.      “Seriously, if you want me to believe that you don’t have a major crush on her, you’ll have to do better than this.” Dean’s brows are raised as he looks aside.

     His younger brother glares at him, but decides not to respond. Dean is making fun of it, but he’s not sure himself how he feels about Zoë. She’s such a mysterious girl, with a dark sense of humor and a peculiar personality. She’s fierce, rapid on the counter, sarcastic, confident, smart. An amazing huntress with a big heart, even though she might act like she couldn’t care less. He can’t help but to be curious about her. Why? He can’t put his finger on it. There’s a connection between them, if they like it or not.

     Sam decides to change the subject, determining their new destination. “So? Waco then?”      “Waco it is,” Dean agrees.      Sam turns the Impala around, when they hear a strange clunk coming from the back of the car as he drives over a speed bump while exiting the parking lot of the Hampton Inn. Uh-oh, he realizes, assuming his brother heard it too.      “What is that?” Dean says out loud, looking over his shoulder. “Did you close the trunk? Stop the car.”

     Sam does as told and in the middle of the exit, Dean gets out. Sam stares in his back mirror, waiting for the inevitable. He already noticed the damage when loading up the car, but didn’t have the courage to tell the person who loves the Impala so dearly. That, and he wanted to give Zoë a head start. When he rolls down the window and pokes his head out, he sees Dean, boiling in rage.            “What’s going on?” Sam asks, pretending to be unaware.      He gets out and joins his brother, beholding the back of the Impala. The paint of the trunk is scratched, leaving the Chevrolet damaged by the shovel that Zoë used as leverage to break open the trunk. For a moment, Sam just stares at the car without saying a word. Dean, on the other hand, grits his teeth so hard that his brother can hear them grinding. His face looks like a volcano that is about to erupt as he clenches his fists, trying to contain his anger.

     “Insulting Baby is one thing, but this -” Dean hisses furiously, “this is unforgivable. I’m gonna kill her, I am so gonna fucking kill her!”      “Calm down,” Sam tries to ease him.      “Calm down?!  She fucked up MY CAR!!!” he shouts as he turns red.

     He slams the trunk and pushes it down hard, but it doesn’t lock as it should. Then he strides back to the front and gets in on the passenger side again. Quickly, Sam sits down behind the wheel, not wanting to piss him off even more. Dean is about to detonate; one wrong move, comment or facial expression and he will explode.            “Get the fuck going,” the owner of the classic car growls, squeezing the blood out of his hands around his cellphone, tempted to call perpertrator.      Sam gulps, surprised that the device doesn’t break in half, and uncomfortably leans back before he hits the gas. The day that Dean got this car from Dad, he learned a very important lesson; if you mess with the Impala, you mess with Dean.

     “For the record,” the older Winchester starts off. “This isn’t the last time we will see Sullivan.”      “It isn’t?” Sam carefully questions.      “Oh, we’ll see her again,” he snaps. “And I’m gonna kick her fine little ass when that time comes.”

      Poor Zoë, Sam can’t help but to think. She’s probably laughing that same fine little ass off right at this very moment, as Dean so poetically described it. A part of him hopes they will indeed never run into her again, because she is going to feel his brother’s wrath. What are the odds anyway? America is a big country; she is only one of over 320 million people in this nation. Sam glances ahead into the dark night and grins, because something tells him that their paths will collide again. Maybe even sooner than expected.

Well, that’s it! Episode 2 is wrapped up, now on to the next one. 

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

[snarkwrites]

wild winter | choke me; steve rogers ; suggestive

PROMPTS USED:

Types of Sexual Contact:

– breath play ( ie, choking)

– restraint ( if you squint, for like a whopping 3 seconds)

– power struggle ( Roxy, normally a submissive takes over )

– lapdance

– heavy makeout implied

Location:

– Undercover, on a mission, at a strip club Roxy formerly worked at.

WARNINGS: So no smut here, but.. Lapdances and lots of groping, + Steve realizing that his girlfriend miiight be more kinky than sweet and innocent. Choking and restraint briefly, if you squint. It’s implied that there was an argument prior to this, so… Makeup sex implied. Maybe one day I’ll write it out but today is not that day, clearly. Enjoy!

PAIRING: Captain America & OFC, Roxy

Steve was sitting on the literal edge of his seat, his eyes glued to Roxy in the flimsy little costume she was wearing to appear as if she were one of the ‘girls’ who worked the club. Bucky gave him a nudge and leaned in, whispered quietly, “Doesn’t feel so great, huh?” with a bit of a smirk. Steve grumbled and shook his head firmly.

He hated watching the men put their hands on her. He hated the thought of her having to go up on stage. He hated the dress she’d chosen. All he wanted to do was shove through the crowd and grab her, drag her off to the first dark corner of the club he could find and remind her who her man was because the flirt mode was out in full force tonight and it was… Driving him insane.

The fact that she just sort of went against him and offered herself up as bait for this because she already had an in at the place as a former dancer, well… That had them arguing the entire way to their destination. And she’d gone into the back without even a word.

He wasn’t used to this whole silent treatment thing, but having had time to calm down… Steve Rogers realized two things.

One, he’d been stubborn and wrong in some of the things he’d said, some of the reasons he’d given as not wanting her to offer herself as bait. He realized where she might have thought he was implying she was weaker or something somehow, when that clearly wasn’t the case. Two, a jealous side that he never even previously knew existed was displaying itself full force right now.

If he got any more tense, he’d probably manage to separate the battered wooden edging that ran the length of the bar away from it. He bit his lip as he watched her moving through the crowd, conversing as if she were old friends with every damn guy in the room. He was watching her so intently that he saw the exact moment she managed to pinch both keycard and flash drive off of the target.

But when she didn’t make her way back over right away, Steve stood. Bucky reached out and groaned inwardly when he saw that look in his friend’s eyes. “Goddamn it, Steve.”

“What the hell is she doing?” Steve muttered as he managed to start shoving through the crowd. He caught up to Roxy in a darkened hallway, the bass heavy music seeming to make the walls pulse beneath his hand as it rested against. His other hand went to her lower back and he hissed against her ear, “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to the back. To change.” Roxy’s eyes fluttered open and shut as she felt his chest press firmer into her back and he muttered calmly “That wasn’t part of the plan”.

She swallowed hard and was preparing to turn herself around to explain herself better, but then all hell broke loose around them. Sheer quick thinking had Steve grabbing hold of her arm and putting it behind her back and putting the other hand at her throat because he felt like if anything, given his current disguise, he could make it seem as if he were one of the higher ups within the organization taking Roxy out somewhere more private. Roxy gasped out quietly, “I suppose this is a bad time to mention that being choked and restrained in any way? A serious turn on.” which had Steve swallowing hard and biting back a growl as he felt himself getting even harder than he had been watching her flit about barely dressed and up on stage dancing, grinding against a pole. He felt her ass brazenly rub right against the bulge strained against his jeans and he nipped at the side of her neck in warning. “We need to get out of here.”

When it turned out to be an overly drunk club goer trying to solicit a dancer, they both let out a relieved deep breath. Roxy pouted as he let go of her arm and lowered his hand from her throat and she turned to stare up at him, her fingers toying with the upturned collar of his leather jacket as she tried to give her heart a few seconds to climb down out of her throat. She forgot how scary this club was, how volatile everyone seemed to be.

“I was trying to slip out discreetly.. After I changed. Because god forbid you go all pouty all over again.” Roxy tilted her head slightly, gazing up at him a few seconds. “I was going to show you I could handle things on my own.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Steve swore to himself and sighed, antsy. “Can we maybe just go now? Get back to the compound?”

“Not yet.”

“Why not, woman?”

Roxy grabbed his hand and pulled him towards a black door at the end of the hall, locking it behind her. Steve swallowed hard, staring down at her intently as she walked a circle around him, openly fucking him with her eyes while doing so. “Doll?”

“Sit down, Captain Rogers.”

All Steve could do was groan quietly and sink down into the black velvet sitting chair he stood in front of. And as soon as he’d done that, Roxy was on her hands and knees, moving towards the chair slowly, licking her lips as she stared up at him.

She parted his legs, her hands roaming slowly up the insides of his thighs and Steve coughed, shifting in his seat, his eyes glued to her. He went to lean down and reach for her but she lowered his hands, giving a soft giggle as she shook her head no firmly. She made her way up, leaning against him heavily to whisper against his ear, “Oh no.. Did I tell you to touch?”

“But..”

“That’s not how it works in here… Captain.” Roxy was grinding against his lap and Steve gulped, biting his lip as he stared up at her. When he tried again, she reached out, grabbing hold of the collars of his jacket.

“For someone who’s all about the proper procedure, you’re not a good listener at all.”

“Maybe if you’d explain what the proper procedure is…” Steve’s head fell back as she started to lightly grind right against the bulge in his jeans. When she sank out of his lap and started to writhe around on the floor in front of him before raising slightly, popping the button on his waistband. Steve bucked upwards and groaned, his fingertips digging into the arms on the chair, his eyes fluttering open and shut. “Roxy?”

“Shh. Just relax, Captain. Relax and let me call the shots.”

She was raising up a little more, turning away from him and rubbing her ass right against him and by now, Steve was literally throbbing. He caught himself just shy of trying to grab her hips and control the speed just to get more friction going, digging his fingertips into the arm of the chair even deeper instead. His body was teetering a precarious balance between completely tensed up and almost giving up that in favor of total relaxation.

He’d literally never have guessed she had this side to her. Until now, the dirtiest thing they’d ever done was their frequent sexting whenever one or the other was away on a mission. He bucked himself against her and she turned to face him, shaking her head, biting her lip. Roxy’s breathing hitched as she felt the friction each time she rubbed her barely covered cunt right against the front of his jeans, but that friction wasn’t enough.

Natasha had been right earlier… If she wanted to invoke any hidden dirty side Steve Rogers had, she was going to have to take matters in her own hand. And after the way he’d tried to take over earlier, trying to go over her head and stop her from doing what she had tonight, she definitely wanted to show him she could handle herself in literally any situation… And yeah, maybe a small part of her just wanted to really push and see if she could make his own iron clad self control shatter.

Steve barely restrained the growl that came when she worked her way up his body all over again from the floor, her tits right at eye level. He tensed up even more, trying to remind himself that she was in control here.

He wasn’t crazy about giving up the reigns, but.. This was hot.

She lowered herself onto his lap again, rocking her hips back and forth and she whispered against his ear, “What do you wanna do more than anything right now, Captain?”

“Get you outta here.” Steve answered quietly, a sharp hiss accentuating his words as he bucked himself against her while trying to shift the way he sat. His cock was throbbing. When he finally got her out of here and back to their hotel room, all bets were off.

“And?” Roxy continued, baring her cunt down on his lap just a little harder and a lot slower. He could feel her starting to soak through the thin fabric of the hot pink hot pants she was wearing and he swallowed hard, his head falling back against the headrest again as he managed to choke out, “And rip that outfit off you.”

“Oh…” Roxy pressed herself against him completely, starting her mouth at his throat, carefully leaving little bites and suck marks and nips against his exposed skin. Steve’s breath caught in his throat and he cleared it. “Yeah.. and then I wanna bend you over the bed. See, Roxy, you’re bein a real bad girl right now, doll. And bad girls deserve one thing.”

Roxy gave a teasing giggle against his mouth. “You gonna spank me, Captain? Maybe I like that too.. Definitely like it when you put that big hand against my throat and squeeze a little like you just did out there….” and that final time of her, calling him captain.. That snapped whatever shred of self control that Steve Rogers had left. He stood, Roxy’s legs circling his waist. Stepping into the hall revealed that they were a few short steps to a doorway. If he had to bet, that doorway led to the alley.. Where his motorcycle was parked.

He hurried out the doors, muttering the code word to exit to the rest of their team. And after stopping to hold Roxy against a wall and bite down on her neck, sure to leave a very visible mark behind when he finished sucking at the area and biting it, he was putting her onto the back of his motorcycle and heading towards the hotel as fast as he could manage to drive….

[xiggy-stardust]

I can’t please anyone.

None of my friends follow this tumblr so I’m gonna dump my tea in this harbor

“hahaha nobody follows ur dumblr, xig-” SHUT the FUCK UP, ME. I KNOW thats YOU.

okok so over winter break I went shopping for myself because I didn’t get anything for christmas. I was in hot topic (Fuck you, they have some cool shit) and they had a thing where it was “Buy one hoodie and get another for just 10 bucks” so NATURALLY I made the cashier hold my $70 Twenty One Pilots hoodie while I looked for something cheaper to pay in full so I wouldn’t have to pay 70 bucks for a hoodie. I found this really cool Kingdom Hearts jacket for just 40 bucks.

One of my friends, let’s call them Wendy, LOVES KH to DEATH. I was becoming really good friends with her since I’ve only met her this school year (so I’ve known her since about august) and we became best friends really fast. We have more inside jokes than I can count, which I think is what really makes you best friends. Wendy and I have lunch together like every day after school and we sit and talk for hours about everything or sometimes nothing at all. The point is, we’re close.

I also have another friend, let’s call them Nina. Nina and I have been friends for longer than Wendy and I have been friends, since about sophomore year (and it’s senior year now). And Nina and Wendy have been friends since elementary school. So really, I’m the one late to the party. It was very clear very early on this year that Nina was getting jealous about how close Wendy and I have been getting despite us not knowing each other for very long. This reeked of petty high school drama, and me, being the only person in school not caught up in shit, refused to be dragged into something I had no intention of being a part of.

The thing about Nina though, is that she has hella insecurity issues and I’ve already sent her novels over text trying to convince her that she’s not a piece of shit. She thinks everybody hates her and she (very clearly) baits me and Wendy into pitying her. Every time I talk to her, it’s another thing she thinks everybody’s gonna hate her for. Every time. She never takes responsibility and uses those big puppy eyes to make me say that nothing is ever her fault just so she won’t go home and blow her brains out like I have nightmares of her doing. I’ve talked to her so much about the exact same topic matter that some days when she says “whatever I’m probably just annoying you” I kinda wanna say “yeah you are.” But I know for a fact she’ll go home and probably c*t her wr*sts or something. She never makes any efforts to improve herself. She wallows in her sadness and wants everyone to feel bad for her or wallow with her.

This is where Wendy is a breath of fresh air.

me, Nina, and Wendy are all relentlessly sad for mostly the same reasons, but they both have shitty parents whereas mine are. idek. Divorced but living together like they aren’t, it’s weird. I digress. We all deal with our sadness in different ways. I deal with mine by myself in my own time and only let it out in the form of ironic memes and self deprecating humor. You gotta really dig deep to get to me and I have to trust you a lot to let u know what’s really going on. But for me, you don’t get to know unless you ask. That’s how I avoid bringing down the people around me to awkward situations. Wendy acknowledges whats wrong with her and actively talks to me or other trusted friends to fix what’s wrong. She doesn’t want people to feel bad for her, she wants to be better and she doesn’t stew in her sadness because that’s bad for literally everyone.

Nina is the total opposite. We were just in the middle of UIL rehearsals today and WHILE I was highlighting and trying to memorize my lines, Nina grills me about the jacket I got Wendy for christmas when I didn’t get her anything. Wendy actually warned me she would ask so I gave her one of my printed photos earlier this morning. She said she felt left out, so naturally I lied and said I had it from the start, which I totally didn’t, and the only reason I didn’t give it to her before is because she was literally in another state stuck in a blizzard and when she came back, she was cut from the play we were in and we had to travel to perform the day she got back. So today was the only day I’ve actually seen her. So even if I DID get her something, she wouldn’t get it till today anyway. And I STILL got her something. She still tried to guilt trip me about how she felt “left out” and how she’s “forgotten” like I haven’t talked to her about it more times than I care to think about.

The thing is, Wendy is really easy to shop for. She likes KH, Overwatch, and cute anime things, and every store I shop at has a surplus of one of those things. I had a slight suspicion Nina would get jealous so I tried to find something for her,, but she has zero interests I can shop for. She likes Vinyl records, but no store in the nearest 100 miles sells vinyl. It’s not like she likes comic books or video games or stuffed animals or.. anything. I cannot shop for her. The original Idea was to go thrift shopping just the three of us, and I buy Nina anything she wants because I know she likes thrifted items and we’ve been wanting to go thrifting together for months. BUT Nina was out of the state and her parents wouldn’t tell her how long she’d be there so I couldn’t schedule anything when she got back. The blizzard she was stuck in would have fucked it up anyway but still. The idea is, it would have been impossible to get Nina what she wants. But I don’t think she sees that. She only saw that Wendy got a gift from me and she didn’t. Now might be a good time to point out that Wendy didn’t get anything for christmas because her family considers it a big waste of money (which it is, but Wendy has never experienced a single christmas in her life). So yeah naturally I’d want to get her something. Besides the jacket I got her, the only other thing Wendy got for christmas is a KH Funko pop from another friend. Thats it. So excuse me if I wanted to make this christmas a little bit more happy for her.

Besides the point, but just a side note, I didn’t get anything for christmas either. It’s not like I’m hard to shop for either, I like the same things Wendy likes (minus KH maybe) and I like flannels and beanies A LOT. And they’re stupid easy to find, especially in winter. But all I got was a heartfelt letter from another friend who is too sweet to be in this story. I got a letter and none of my other friends got me anything. Not Nina or Wendy. But I never not once complained about it while I saw all my friends give and give and give to other people. That’s why I went shopping for myself, so I couldn’t possibly want anything that anybody was giving except for love (cliche, barf, ik, whatever).

So yea it just kinda rubbed me the wrong way when Nina complained about not getting anything. EXcuse you. I should really be the one complaining, cuz I’m 40 bucks in the hole on a jacket I’ll never wear and Wendy’s only worn like once since I gave it to her. I didn’t get anything either, I actually lost here. Wendy’s got another jacket she’ll never wear, so that only seems like a plus to me and she didn’t get anybody anything, but only cuz she doesn’t have money and her parents won’t let her get a real job. And you haven’t gained or lost anything. If we really wanna be equal, let’s all get gifts for each other. Unless we all come out down and up 2 gifts, somebody’s got a right to complain, and if we look at who’s lost the most, it looks like it’s me. But I’m not going to because I don’t need a gift to validify my friendships. I gave to a friend who it looked like needed it the most out of pure goodwill. I don’t expect anything in return, and I think there’s a thing on the internet about how if you talk about how charitable you are, your charity is null and void, at least the intent of it is. But I don’t think that counts if the only people I’m talking about can’t read this. Maybe it does, but I gain and lose nothing anyway.

If I gave Nina something or Nina gave me something, Wendy wouldn’t care. If Nina gave Wendy something or Wendy gave Nina something, I wouldn’t care. So I really don’t see the big deal that I gave Wendy something. The only difference I see is that Nina is out of the loop, and she’s the only one who cares if she is.

Idk I could go on forever but I’d just regurgitate the point that Nina, you suck for trying to make me feel bad for doing a nice thing. Please. Fix yourself, because nobody else can.

[kat-and-her-cat-blog]

It Takes Two

Monday, March 6th, 2017 2:00AM

I was on FaceBook today, when this video popped up.

(If embedding the video doesn’t work, you can also watch it here). I read the comments, partially out of boredom, and partially because I hadn’t blogged in a while, and videos like this usually have some rant-worthy comments left on them. While I can’t find any of the comments I saw earlier (might have been deleted, might have scrolled past them), ironically, it’s not internet strangers I want to rant about anymore. I made the mistake of mentioning the video, and the comments, to my father, and he has prompted the majority of this rant. I commented to my father, that there had been numerous comments about how it needs to be talked about that men are equally responsible for preventing pregnancy, and how some men had commented saying that because women are the ones who get pregnant, they should be the only ones responsible for preventing pregnancy. I was naive to think that we could have a civil, laugh at the dumb-asses, moment. In the interest of keeping this easy to read, I’m going to simply list my father’s opinions, then express my own.

The woman is the one who can get pregnant, so she is the one who should prevent it.

“Women are used to dealing with side effects like mood swings, men aren’t, it’s not fair that men be expected to learn to adjust to them, when the contraceptives women have work just fine”.

“Not wanting to go through labour is a pretty vain reason to not want a biological child”.

When the topic of the toll it can take on your body to go through a pregnancy came up, he immediately thought I meant stretch marks, called it stupid, and couldn’t think of a single other effect pregnancy can have on the body, resulting in my having to spell it out for him, and him scoffing at each example.

Okay, now that I’ve got that all out, and have taken a moment to calm my anger at the sheer stupidity of every single one of those opinions, I’m going to express my thoughts.

Thought number one: I feel bad for any woman who interacts with my father, and I think I know why most of his relationships don’t work out. Thought number two: thank fucking everything that my father had a vasectomy and can’t get anyone pregnant.

Alright, seriously though, I’m going to start with responsibility. It takes two to conceive a child, it should take two to prevent pregnancy. I don’t care if you’re strangers, or if you’ve been together for fifteen years, it is up to both of you to make sure that the sex is safe. When I was talking to Joe about this earlier, I made the point that the man will still be on the hook for taking responsibility of that child, even if he didn’t want to conceive one, so the fact that it was the woman who went through with the pregnancy is irrelevant; so why is a uterus suddenly the only reason one should concern themselves with preventing pregnancy? Joe made the follow-up point that even if the man says he wants to give up his parental rights, depending on the situation, he can still be held liable for child support payments, because he is half the reason that child exists.

When the topic of responsibility came up with my father, the conversation went something like this; Me: Both parties should be held equally responsible for preventing pregnancy. Dad: Well, the woman is the one who has to carry the child through the pregnancy, so it should fall primarily on her. Me: But the man is the one who put it there. Dad: No, because it takes two to tango. Me: And that is exactly my point! And no, he still didn’t quite get it.

My final point on responsibility, was that if women are held solely responsible for preventing pregnancy, where is the line drawn? Should women also be held responsible for caring for the child, while men get to do whatever they want, because the woman carried said child throughout the pregnancy? Obviously most people don’t agree with that, because it has been made fairly easy for mothers to go after fathers for child support, even if the father refuses to be involved personally with the child. (Court ordered child support payments, and custody awarding, is an issue in itself in that it usually favours the mother, and I do see that system as problematic. However, despite the problems, it does show that clearly men have accountability for the result of a pregnancy).

If we can hold men accountable for taking responsibility of a child -the direct result of pregnancy- we should be holding them equally accountable for the actual pregnancy as well.

Next up, we’re going to talk about the male contraceptive study, which is basically going to be me saying more of the same things from the two articles I linked to in the list of my father’s opinions. (This one, and this one, if you didn’t click on them before). The study was dropped, and the pills were deemed too risky, because of the side effects... side effects which most women deal with already, at higher rates, for their contraceptives. Women also deal with additional side effects, including blood clots, sepsis, perforation of the uterus, and sometimes even death. Granted, those are pretty rare, but none of those were side effects of the male contraceptive. According to one article I read about it (not linked, as it was pretty whiny, and had no sources attached), one man never regained a proper sperm count (from what I understand, he still has a slim chance of having a child, but his sperm count is low enough to label him infertile), and it took five men a year to regain the sperm count they had prior to the study. Including the additional two men that stopped going for sperm count testing early, there was a total of eight men (out of 274). Now, this article didn’t have proper sources listed, and was very biased (in that it ignored the issues associated with female hormonal contraceptives), so I’m not entirely sure how accurate that information is, but one man being rendered infertile, out of 274, means that a total of 0.364% of the test subjects experienced confirmed irreversible fertility problems. That’s a pretty low percentage. Even if the two men that dropped out never regained a proper sperm count, the percentage would only be 1.094%, however they can’t really be counted, as they opted out of the sperm count testing early. I can’t find any exact numbers (it’s late, and I’m too tired to do proper research, I did a quick search on my phone while I went pee, and couldn’t find numbers, so I’m choosing not to include those), but there are risks of infertility associated with some forms of female birth control as well. Some of the infertility risks are associated with other side effects, and aren’t directly caused by the contraceptive, but they are caused by a side effect of the contraceptive, so in my opinion, they still count.

The rates for mood related side effects were lower in the male birth control shot, than they are in female hormonal contraceptives.

Overall, the male contraceptive seemed to have less side effects, and a lower rate of the side effects they did have, which are also experienced by females who use hormonal contraceptives.

The issue that I have with the study being stopped, and the male contraceptive being labelled unsafe, is the clear differences in standards for men and women’s health. Why is one side effect considered okay for women, but not for men? This isn’t to say that the male contraceptive would have made it to the market if it had been tested further, however, I do think it should have been tested more to give it a fair chance.

Because I could go on about this all night, and I’m already up late enough, I’m going to move on to the next, and final, point; why some people (primarily women) would choose adoption over giving birth.

First of all, I’m going to start this point by saying that it is an incredible, and wonderful thing to be able to grow a human inside of you. It makes me feel like a total badass to know that my body is capable of that... despite how awesome that ability is though, I wouldn’t want to do it more than once. I didn’t get into this with my father, instead opting for the much easier “I would rather adopt a child than give birth,” because honestly, with how that conversation went, I wasn’t going into details. I will get into it here though. I would love to have the experience of being pregnant, and giving birth, once (if I ever decide to have kids that is). I doubt I would want to do it twice though.

There are several reasons a woman might not want to go through a pregnancy, the two main ones that I can think of, for myself, are the effects of sharing your body with another human, and the actual birth of the child. Contrary to what my father assumed, stretch marks were never part of the equation. I have plenty of stretch marks already (how one makes it to 46 years old and thinks stretch marks are exclusive to women who have been pregnant is beyond me, but apparently he has), and quite frankly, none of my stretch marks bother me.

The effects on my body that would bother me, would be more associated with having to change my routine, and diet. I like caffeine. I don’t like that I smoke, but I’m not ready to quit. I like alcohol. I like smoking weed. I wouldn’t mind changing when I go out for a smoke (or even cutting back), when I choose to have a few drinks, or when I choose to smoke a joint, but I wouldn’t want to completely stop all of that for nearly two years*. (*Nine months of pregnancy, plus a year of breast feeding, which I believe is the standard most people use. This isn’t necessarily how long it would be for me, I just picked a length of time I’ve heard a lot, and used it for my example. Also, if I quit smoking for the duration of the pregnancy, it would be my goal to not start again later, so this example was mostly for caffeine, alcohol, and marijuana). Aside from having to avoid things that quite frankly, aren’t good for me anyway, I also wouldn’t enjoy having to change my diet to meet the nutritional requirements of a fetus. While I generally try to eat fairly healthy, I’m 21, I’m not a health nut. I had all dressed chips for breakfast yesterday morning, and I enjoyed the freedom of being able to do that without having to worry that another human might miss out on nutrients because of it.

Aside from changing dietary habits though, there are a lot of other pregnancy symptoms that don’t seem fun. Morning sickness, changes in bladder control/urination frequency, having to change sleeping positions (I sleep on my stomach), changes in sleeping patterns, etc.

Then we get into actually giving birth to the child. Joe weighed 9lbs, 11oz when he was born, and I weighed 9lbs, 3oz. I dare anyone to tell me a baby conceived by us would be easy to give birth to, *looks at my hips* I dare you. Contrary to what my father believes, I don’t think it’s vain, or selfish, to not want to go through labour/child birth, just because “several generations before me did it just fine,” because ultimately, it’s my genitals that the baby would be coming out of. Even a C-Section has downsides. The options for childbirth are quite literally genitals, or surgical removal, and there are risks to both. Vaginal births can result in tearing the skin between the vagina and anus, which would require stitches, aside from just being incredibly painful (which let’s face it, childbirth already hurts enough). C-Sections can result in infections in the incision site, which means extended recovery time, and can render you unable to properly care for your own child.

Basically, there are plenty of reasons one might want to avoid pregnancy and child birth, while still wanting to have a child. While I personally, wouldn’t mind experiencing it all once, if I were to have two children, it would either have to be a set of twins, or one of the children would have to be adopted (as far as I know right now anyway). Honestly, I don’t see how it’s a bad thing anyway, there are so many kids in the system waiting to be adopted.

I’m losing my train of thought, and I’ve walked away from my computer about twelve times, so I’m going to wrap this up. It really pissed me off though how my father was talking earlier. I don’t understand the mindset he has, or how he can’t see his double standards. No matter how I spelled things out for him, he still couldn’t see it. This isn’t the first time he’s done this with an issue primarily related to women, nor is it the first time he’s acted like I’m stupid and overly sensitive for saying that he really doesn’t have a leg to stand on with his option, because it’s something he’ll never have to go through. It honestly concerns me sometimes how misogynistic he can be, because how would he react if one of the issues he and I have talked about, affected my life? If I got pregnant because Joe forgot to pull out, and my pill failed, would he ream me out for not being careful enough, even though both my contraception and Joe’s didn’t work? If Joe and I adopted a child, rather than having a baby through pregnancy, would he refuse to acknowledge that child as his grandchild, because he thinks adoption is stupid unless you have no other option? Though honestly, him not being around my children wouldn’t be the worst thing... I’d actually prefer it.