Fuck them damn kids, Mer.

Zola in the performance that brought me to tears and Mer to life.


And for but a few sweet, dreamy blue-eyed moments, Mer did just that. There we were staring blissfully in the eyes of McDreamy, beachside in postmarital bliss, which I’ve not yet personally experienced, but I hear it is a thing. That’s right, for a few sacred moments, Shonda or whoever on her team is responsible for this fuckfest of emotional exploration gave us what we all had missed and didn’t know how desperately we needed.

Mer and Der.

Moments with our favorite couple just being themselves, complete with tender glances and all of the emotional support and romantic wordplay that (sorry Andrew, god rest your heart) that Mer so desperately needed from the man who was shooting with her in the gym. At the same time, she became all that we know and love. The man whose mistakes toughened her, whose kisses comforted and melted her, whose genius dusted off the very shadows that held the power of all she is.

SICK, I know.

Yes, I am glad she woke up.

Every mom everywhere deserves to say fuck them, damn kids, if but only for a second in our dreams, even Mer.



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When God speaks, She talks through me.