#abortion documentary

[walterdecourceys]

moderate conservative christian forced to correctly gender a trans person at work and thinks "wow i'm JUST like martin luther"

[trzpiotka]

diversity hat gewonnen! katholischer gottesdienst fängt gleich nach der abtreibung-doku an

[malachitezmeyka]

If there’s one thing I hope for in UtOS, despite the fact I doubt I’ll be the one who ends up writing it, it’s that once Suiren and Midori start considering Zhi their grandmother, she will be as different from my actual maternal grandmother as possible

[freebooter4ever]

This is 1000% random but came to mind regarding the duck movie. I sometimies watch movies without sound if I think they might ~suck~ like that... so just a tip if you want to see it but not sort of experience it :D hahahha

heh, well. ive already seen it fully so the damage has been done. i bought it even, thinking i would want to rewatch it, but i really REALLY dont think i will. ever. i have watched a LOT of bad movies for my stupid infatuations over the years so honestly im used to it.

[thecurvycritic]

Zurawski V Texas Places Women's Healthcare with Courts

Whether you are pro-life or not, we can all agree that men making decisions of women's reproductive rights is not the answer we had hoped for #zurawskivtexas #documentary

Never in my wildest dreams did I think Margaret Atwood’s imagination spelled out in “The Handmaids Tale” would become a grim realty for millions of young girls and women in America when Roe v Wade was overturned.  I remember sobbing and collapsing into my mother’s arms burdened with the fear this was only the beginning of erasing healthcare options for women and that somehow we are taking history…

[byronamartin]

Thrilled that our feature documentary is now available for worldwide audiences.

www.unthinkabledoc.com

[nevermind-i-forgot-whats-that]

Sometimes, as much as I love internet communities and spaces, I really think a lot of people have spent so much time in sanitized, morally pure echo chambers that they lose sight of realism and life outside the internet.

I live in Alabama. My fiancée and I cannot hold hands down the street without fear of homophobic assholes. We have an abortion ban with no exceptions for rape or incest. We are one of the poorest states in the US with some of the lowest scores on metrics related to quality of life, including maternal mortality, healthcare, education, and violence. It’s not a coincidence that we are also one of the most red, one of the most Republican states in the Union. In 2017 the UN said the conditions in Alabama are similar to those in a third-world country.

Trump gave a voice to the most violently racist, sexist, xenophobic groups of people who, unfortunately for most of us in the Southern U.S., run our states and have only grown more powerful since his rise to power. The Deep South powers MAGA, and we all suffer for it.

We have no protections if they don’t come from the federal government.

I know people are suffering internationally and my heart is with them. However, this election is not just about foreign policy - we have millions of Americans right here at home living in danger, living in areas where they have been completely abandoned by their local leaders. We need this win.

No candidate is perfect, but for the first time in my voting lifetime I’m excited to vote. I’m excited for the Kamala Harris/Tim Walz ticket because they are addressing the issues close to home. They’re advocating for education as the ticket to a better life, but without the crippling student debt. They’re advocating for the right to love who you love without fear and with pride. Kamala has always been pro-LGBT+ and so has Tim. Again, if you’re queer in the South, we don’t have support unless it comes from the federal government, and we absolutely will not have support if the Republicans regain the White House.

Kamala speaks in length about re-entry programs to reduce recidivism and help people who have been arrested and imprisoned regain their lives. Tim Walz supported restoring voting rights to felons. In the South, you know who comprise the majority of felons? Members of minorities. It’s one of the major tools of systemic racism and mass disenfranchisement, and arguably the modern face of slavery (there are some fantastic documentaries and books that explain the connection between the post-Reconstruction South and the disproportionate rates of imprisonment for BIPOC). Having candidates who recognize this and want to restore the freedom and rights to people who have come into contact with the criminal justice system? And keep them from having to go to prison in the first place? That’s refreshing. That’s exciting.

I would *love* to live in a country where women’s rights are respected, where LGBT+ rights and protections are a given, where we treat former criminals and individuals experiencing mental health crises with respect and dignity. I would *love* to live in a country where education is free of religious interference and each and every citizen is entitled to a fair start and equal opportunities.

But I don’t live in that country. Millions and millions of Americans find their rights and freedoms up for debate and on the ballot.

Project 2025 poses the largest threat to the future of our democracy as we know it. We are being called to fight for the future of our country.

We have to put on our oxygen masks first before we can help others.

You don’t have moral purity when you wash your hands of the millions of us who are still fighting for own freedoms right here.

The reality is that a presidential candidate is a best fit, and not a perfect fit. But comparatively speaking? Kamala is pretty damn close.

[crookedfandomquill]

This is very situational, and sadly may not be realistic for everyone, but I need y’all to understand that a very important part of political activism is fucking talking to your conservative or moderate friends and family.

My dad voted for Trump in 2016. He’s a middle class white evangelical from Arkansas. He raised me with conservative Christian values, just like his parents raised him. When he voted Trump, he was holding his nose, but he didn’t feel too bad about it, and went on to vote red down the ticket in the 2018 midterms, as well.

But I started college in 2017. Higher education and independence changed everything for me, and I went home over holidays and summers with fire in my belly and a thousand arguments ready at the drop of a hat, to my father’s dismay.

I remember crying in my room after emotional, intense arguments with him. I told him over and over that I felt betrayed by his choice to vote for a man who admitted to sexually assaulting women, who built his platform on dehumanizing immigrants and the disabled, who spread overtly-racist rhetoric, who flouted the values of kindness and self-discipline that I’d been raised on. And my dad always had some justification about the “greater good”: fighting against abortion, bolstering the economy, getting other Christian politicians into office.

But over time, as we grew further apart and I lost my will to discuss anything with him at all, he softened. He started asking me why I thought the way I did about the things we disagreed about. He would listen to my answers without interruption, and mull them over afterward instead of expressing his own opinion. And all the while, he watched the Trump presidency become cruel and absurd and devastating.

The first time he openly expressed regret to me, I had come home for a weekend after Kavanaugh was confirmed to SCOTUS. My dad realized he had helped elect a man who preyed on women… and that man had opened the door to more predators. I can’t tell you what it felt like for him to admit that he’d made a mistake, not just in voting for Trump but in defending him for so long. We kept arguing, but it was more debating than fighting. I knew he was capable of seeing my side of things, even if it took a while, and he knew I wasn’t just a sensitive college student with shallow new ideas about the world.

And then 2020 hit. Specifically, George Floyd was murdered, and the events that followed played out on the national stage. My dad was incredibly shaken by it. He asked me if I had any books from college about racial issues. I loaned him The New Jim Crow, one of the required readings for my Race and the Law class. Then I gave him Just Mercy. Then he watched the documentary 13th. Then he joined a racial harmony group he learned about through one of the few Black families at our church and insisted our whole family come. He held up signs at a protest against Confederate monuments in our conservative southern town. In three years, he went from defending Trump’s comments about “Black-on-Black crime” to publicly advocating for racial justice and opposing the death penalty.

We went together to vote in the 2020 primaries. I couldn’t help asking who he’d voted for; I didn’t even know if he’d asked for the Republican or Democratic ticket. He admitted he’d voted for Bernie. fucking. Sanders, then made me promise not to tell my grandma he’d voted liberal. When the election rolled around in November, he voted Biden. I’m sure he held his nose to do it, just like he held his nose voting in 2016. But I know he doesn’t regret it.

I am, of course, unbelievably lucky to have a parent who loved me enough, and was empathetic enough, to choose his relationship with me over his strongly-held opinions. He kept searching for truth because, as much as he’ll deny it, he’s a very smart and curious person. No degree of intelligence or curiosity makes you immune to propaganda, especially if you were raised not to question the party line. It’s easy to dismiss our conservative, conspiracy-pilled loved ones as stupid, hypocritical, and cruel. Sometimes they are. But sometimes they aren’t. Sometimes they will bend to keep their relationships from breaking. Sometimes, if they can be made to understand that their beliefs and actions are harming someone they love, they will make concessions. And sometimes they just need one person in their life to put a foot down, to be vulnerable and assertive and argumentative, to bring the impact of their politics close to home.

As the most important election of our lifetimes approaches, do not put peace over progress. If you have someone like my dad, someone who is good-willed and smart and loves you more than their own opinions, tell them how you feel. Tell them what their choices will mean for you, for your friends, for your community. Tell them what they could lose: your trust, your affection, your respect. Don’t avoid conflict if it could be productive. Because my conflict with my dad didn’t just win him over–it won over my moderate mom and one of my conservative brothers. And it put us in community with other like-minded people and led my parents to a healthier and kinder faith.

All of this to say, there is hope in conflict. There is hope in our relationships with people who think differently from us. There is hope in exposing your fear and anger and pain to people you love. And hope is a form of activism.

[itneverendshere]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - SEVEN

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of pregnancy, abortion, alcohol, drug consumption.

MASTERLIST

You never spent much time on The Cut, unless you were being dragged by duty, mostly charity events for the local populations, fundraisers for their schools usually.

You always showed up in something tasteful but subtly expensive—pearls, understated Louboutin heels, and a blazer that whispered wealth without screaming it. 

Your mother taught you that.

Now, you sat in Poguelandia, doing god knows what.

The name alone sounded like some bad beach-themed party game. But you kept the snark to yourself—mostly. Sarah swore to you this was her new "thing," her big redemption arc, and who were you to judge? It wasn’t where you pictured spending any afternoon, yet there you were.

Pregnant. On The Cut. Drinking—well, holding—a very flat ginger ale out of a plastic cup.

You smoothed your dress for the hundredth time, light linen in a neutral tone that looked effortless but cost more than most people’s rent, while pretending not to notice Pope and Cleo staring like you were a rare bird that had wandered into the wrong habitat. 

Were they always this... intense? Did people on this side of the island not know how to look away when someone made eye contact? Your mother’s voice echoed in your head. They’re not staring at you, dear; they’re staring at themselves in relation to you. 

Whatever that meant. 

To their credit, they weren’t mean about it. Just... curious, as if you’d wandered in from a wildlife documentary called Kooks in the Wild.

You moved your weight around in your seat, hyper-aware of every grain of sand sticking to your hérmes sandals. Every time you shifted, you felt the grains grinding between the straps and your skin.

Should’ve worn the espadrilles, you thought ruefully, but even then, this wasn’t the world’s most glamorous venue. Sarah had begged you to stop by, though, and you owed her. It was also good for you to leave the house instead of being cupped up inside all alone.

“Okay, seriously, what’s with the staring? Do I have something on my face? Is my makeup smudged? Be honest.”

Cleo snorted. “No, you’re fine, princess. We’re just surprised to see you.”

You were still holding your sad little plastic cup. “Just thought I’d participate in—whatever this is.” You gestured vaguely at the mismatched chairs and string lights that looked like they’d been stolen from someone’s backyard wedding. “Community service?”

It was supposed to come off as witty. You weren’t sure it did.

Pope choked on his drink—sweet tea? soda?—and Cleo chuckled outright. “You’re funny,” she said, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if she meant it.

“Thanks?” It came out like a question, and you wanted to die just a little bit inside.

Pope grinned, leaning forward with a chip in his hand. “You don’t seem like the kind of person who hangs out in The Cut, that’s all.”

You blinked, feigning shock. “You don’t think I spend my weekends in—what is this, a glorified surf shack? I’m crushed.”

Cleo laughed again, which—fine—made you feel a little better.

“Nah, it’s just... you’re different up close. Not like, scary kook different. Just human. Y’know?”

“Great. That’s exactly what I was going for today.”

Pope gestured to the bar. “You want a snack? Chips? Cookies? We have...three options.”

You straightened, eyes narrowing like a hawk zeroing in on prey.

Food. Your stomach growled loudly, as if it had been cued by a stage director. “What kind of cookies?”

He blinked, not expecting you to care. “Uh... chocolate chip? Maybe oatmeal raisin?”

“And the chips?” You pressed, leaning forward now.

“Salt and vinegar,” Cleo piped up, eyeing you curiously. “Barbecue too, I think. Why?”

“Okay, shit, great.” You clapped your hands together decisively. “I’ll have all of it. All the chips, both kinds of cookies. Do you have anything else? Pretzels? Popcorn? Random condiments? I’m not picky.”

Cleo stared at you, her mouth slightly open. “Everything?”

“Yes, everything. Is that a problem?”

She blinked, her eyes darting to Pope like he had an explanation. He shrugged helplessly.

“Woman” she muttered under her breath. “Did you not eat for a week, or...?”

The salt and vinegar chips were divine, borderline transcendent, as you shoved another handful into your mouth. The truth was, you weren’t just hungry—you were still terrified. Every bite, every easy conversation with other people that weren’t Sarah, was a game of jenga to you. One wrong move, one offhand comment, and your secret could be out in the open.

Six more days until this would all be... over. Until the secret growing inside you—the one you’d barely admitted to yourself most mornings—would be gone.

The past three days had been the best you’d felt in ages, cravings and all, thanks to Sarah. She’d slept over, stayed up late talking with you, making you laugh, distracting you from the endless pit what-ifs and why-mes.

It was the longest you’d gone without crying in three months. The longest you’d lived without feeling like you could suffocate at any given moment. With her help, it had been easier to forget—to pretend that things were still okay.

But Sarah wasn’t there, she’d left earlier with John B, something about helping him with a tour.

“You good, princess?” Cleo’s voice cut through your thoughts.

You blinked at her, realizing you’d been crushing the chip bag in your hands like a stress ball. “What? Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You look like you’re about to fight that bag of chips,” Pope said, grinning.

You forced a laugh, leaning back and tossing the bag onto the table. “No fighting. Just... intense snacking."

You reached for the chocolate chip cookies he had offered earlier, focusing on the sweetness, the comfort of food that tasted good for once. Sweet, crumbly, safe. If only the rest of you life felt like that.

Pope and Cleo knew something was up, they all did, probably.

Sarah had been glued to your side, and it wasn’t exactly subtle.

Her sudden move to “stay over” at your place had obviously raised eyebrows, especially since you two hadn’t had a proper conversation in months before all this. And there was the beach clean-up, Kie and JJ had been there when you felt ill, and while you’d been too disoriented to keep up with the cover story once Rafe drove you away, Sarah had stepped in later to handle it.

Heat exhaustion. Overworked. Totally fine.

Still, to your relief, neither Pope nor Cleo seemed inclined to pry, perhaps it was pity, or maybe they were just decent enough to let you keep the little shred of privacy you had left. Either way, you were grateful.

“So,” Pope said, leaning back on his elbows and flashing you an easy grin, “How are you finding our place? I mean, other than our fine selection of snacks.”

You swallowed a bite of cookie, forcing a smile. “It’s...charming. Rustic. A real je ne sais quoi vibe.” You waved your hand vaguely, trying to mimic the way your mother used to describe terrible restaurants we’d never go back to.

Cleo snorted. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”

“It’s cute,” You offered, looking around, “I can tell you guys put your heart into it.”

Pope smirked, lifting a brow. "That's nice of you to say."

You gave a small shrug, feigning nonchalance, but you meant it.

For all the mismatched chairs and questionable decoration, there was something undeniably warm about the place. You weren't used to that—spaces filled with love instead of decorators and florists, it wasn’t bad. Just different.

“I mean it,” you said, brushing crumbs from your lap. “It’s very authentic. ‘Pogue Chic’ or something.”

Cleo laughed, loud and genuine, her grin lighting up her face. “Pogue Chic?"

Pope chimed in, “Hey, don’t knock it. We’re trendsetters. Ahead of its time.”

You smiled, but your mind was already falling back to the sand clinging to your dress and the ginger ale that tasted like disappointment. You’d never say it out loud, but you admired them, that ability to make joy out of scraps. It was something you didn’t quite know how to do. Not yet, anyway.

Cleo leaned forward, her elbows resting on the makeshift table. “So, are we going to see you around more? Or is this just a one-time royal visit?”

You hesitated, twirling the rim of your cup between your fingers. “I don’t know. Maybe. If Sarah keeps dragging me here, I guess I don’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice.”

You didn't know if it was the way he said it, the tone he used, or just your hormones fucking you up, but suddenly there were tears in your eye sockets. You blinked rapidly, tilting your head back slightly and praying that the tears stayed put.

These kids, all of them, sitting here like they hadn’t spent their lives scraping by, like they hadn’t been hurt or abandoned or let down a hundred times over by people they loved and trusted. Yet somehow, they were still full of hope, full of life.

You envied that.

You wished you could bottle it, whatever it was that kept them laughing and fighting and welcoming someone like you—a result of privilege and mistakes and heartbreak—into their home. It was humbling in a way that made your chest hurt.

“Does that mean I can choose to order better snacks next time? Maybe some sparkling water? Flat ginger ale is a crime against humanity.”

Cleo snorted, still not fooled by your deflection, but she let it slide.

“Good luck with that, princess. Our snack budget’s about three bucks and whatever we can steal from Kie’s pantry.”

Pope chuckled, tossing a chip in his mouth. “And you’re welcome to contribute if you’re so concerned about the menu.”

It surprised you, how easy it was to talk to them.

On paper, you had nothing in common. They were younger, grew up in a completely different world, and you were used to the polished conversations of country club luncheons and charity galas. 

Here, things were different.

They didn’t seem to care if you stumbled over your words, if your jokes were awkward or if you occasionally sounded like a walking trust fund catalog. They didn’t care about your last name, your family’s money, or any other things that had weighed you down for years.

That was disarming.

You’d spent your entire life around people who mirrored your upbringing—kids who summered in the Hamptons or Barbados, adults who measured their worth in stock portfolios and vacation homes. Now, you were here, in this cobbled-together haven with salt-stained cushions, sitting with people who’d grown up struggling for things you took for granted.

You thought it would feel more awkward or forced, but it didn’t.

It was easy.

Pope sat on the counter, gesturing with a half-eaten chip. “Serious question. How do you even survive on Figure Eight? Do they hand you iced lattes and designer handbags when you’re born, or do you have to work your way up to that?”

You raised a brow, smirking. “Oh, absolutely. The moment you’re born, they issue you a monogrammed diaper bag and a gold-plated pacifier. It’s very exclusive.”

Cleo nearly choked on her drink. “See, this is why we can’t take you seriously.”

Your phone buzzed on the table, lighting up with your cousins name, interrupting the fun. You sighed, rolling your eyes before picking it up. “Yes, Top?”

Topper’s slightly whiny tone spilled into your ear. “Can you believe Mom’s threatening to rent out the beach house for the summer? Actual strangers, staying there. What’s next? Turning it into a hostel?”

“Tragic,” you deadpanned, resting your chin in your hand. “Truly, a devastating blow for humanity.”

Pope fake-coughed, mumbling “white rich privilege problems,” while Cleo mouthed, “Hostel!” and shook her head, laughing silently.

“I know. Anyway, I’m coming over later.”

“Where’s your invitation?”

You heard him scoffing, “I’m family, I don’t need one.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “Top, you can’t just announce you’re coming over. I might have plans.”

“Yeah, and I’m your family, so those plans now include me,” Topper said, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. “Besides, I’ll bring food.”

Across from you, Pope was already gagging dramatically, holding his stomach as if the mere sound of Topper’s voice made him physically ill. 

“I don’t know if—”

“See you at noon,” he interrupted. “Later!”

The call ended before you could even argue, and you set your phone down with a resigned sigh. 

“Looks like I’m hosting a one-man Topper pity party,” you said, crossing your arms and slumping back in your chair.

Pope clutched his chest. “Will you survive?”

You only left once the sun dipped lower into the horizon, you gathered your things promising Sarah you’d drive safely and talk to her tomorrow.

Cleo, Pope and John B were mid-argument about the best way to fix something in the shack. You felt lighter than you had in weeks.

With a few more quips exchanged and goodbyes said, you walked back to your car. That night, the ache in your chest wasn’t completly unbearable. You weren’t okay, but you weren’t drowning, either.

You’d been terrified of this afternoon all day, worried you’d stick out like a sore thumb or say the wrong thing.

But the Pogues hadn’t cared about your awkwardness, your polished self, or even the giant invisible cloud you carried everywhere these days. They let you just be.

The drive home was quiet, but this time you even hummed along to a song on the radio, which was strange because you couldn’t remember the last time you cared about music or even turning on that thing. When you pulled into the driveway and stepped into your house, it didn’t feel as cold and empty as it did last week.

You set your bag down on the entryway table and kick off your sandals, the floors cool beneath your feet. Heading to the kitchen, you decided to see if there was anything decent for tonight’s impromptu early dinner with Topper. The fridge greeted you with a sad bag of lettuce, half a bottle of sparkling water, and a single container of leftover pasta you weren’t sure was still edible.

“Great,” you muttered, closing the door and moving to the pantry.

The situation there wasn’t much better. Sarah’s latest health-kick contributions—a bag of chia seeds and some organic trail mix—laughed at you from the top shelf. You frowned, pushing them aside to reveal a dusty box of crackers and a jar of Nutella.

“Guess we’re going shopping tomorrow,” you murmured, grabbing the crackers and Nutella to snack on now.

You placed them on the counter and glanced around. The sink held a few dishes from earlier —a couple of coffee mugs, a bowl, a plate.

You sighed, rolling up your sleeves, might as well get this out of the way.

Normally, you’d have had someone else to take care of this—stocking the pantry, cleaning the dishes, even deciding on the menu for your lunches. But lately, you’d been scaling back. You hadn’t let anyone go, of course. You could never do that; the staff had been with your family for years, and many of them felt more like extended family than employees. Still, you’d quietly rearranged their schedules, giving them more time off.

They didn’t question it—probably thought it was some new phase, another eccentricity of a bored, privileged young woman.

Truth was, you liked doing these things.

Focusing on something small, tangible, gave your brain a break from drilling itself into a million dark corners. Folding laundry, washing dishes, even the routine of chopping vegetables—it kept your hands busy and your thoughts manageable enough. It wasn’t that you’d suddenly become a domestic goddess or anything. Most of the time, you’d forget to pick up groceries or burn whatever you tried to cook.

It wasn’t about being good at it. It was about doing something.

You looked around the kitchen, noting the little imperfections you wouldn’t have noticed before. A small water stain on the counter from where your glass had sat too long, the scuff marks on the cabinets where your chair scraped when you leaned back. They weren’t problems to be fixed—they were just signs of life.

And right now at that very moment, life felt…okay.

The house didn’t seem as cold or empty when you were doing things for yourself, even if it was mundane work. You finish up wiping down the counters, glance at the time—definitely cutting it close—and head toward the dining room to tidy up a bit.

Topper was not the type to notice if the place is spotless, but you always liked things to look... presentable, yourself included.

You heard the doorbell ring in the distance, he was early as usual, probably checking his watch just to make sure he wasn't a second late.

"Of course he’s early," you muttered to yourself, a little smirk pulling at your lips.

You walked towards the front door, ready to greet him, but when you opened it, your eyes immediately locked onto the large takeout bag in his hand. It smelled... amazing.

Topper grinned at you, an exaggerated flourish as he held up the bag.

“Guess what I brought?”

“You brought... Korean chicken wings? Really?”

“Hell yeah, I did!” He stepped inside, completely ignoring any formalities and heading straight toward the kitchen, “They just opened.”

He placed the bag on the counter with the confidence of a man who knew he’s just won “Best Dinner Host” without even trying. You peeked inside, the crispy wings drenched in a glossy, sweet-spicy sauce that looked downright delicious.

Topper laughed and took a seat, pulling out the wings, not even bothering with plates. “You’re welcome.”

You rolled your eyes but sat next to him, picking up a wing, the heat of it still making your fingers tingle. The crispy exterior cracked open with a satisfying crunch as you bit into it. It was everything you'd hoped for—tangy, spicy, perfectly cooked. You nearly moaned in pleasure, not even caring that your cousin was watching you with that cocky grin on his face.

“You look like you’ve seen the light,” He teased, leaning back in his chair as he grabbed a wing of his own.

“I mean,” you said, savoring another bite, “this might make up for you barging in uninvited.”

“Barging?” He clutched his chest dramatically, mock offense radiating from every inch of him. “I'm saving you from a night of sad dinners, and this is the thanks I get?”

You gave him a pointed look, but the corner of your mouth tugged upward despite yourself.

“Fine. Thank you, Topper. You’re the hero of the day. Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” he said, grinning as he reached for another wing. “What’s new? Still slumming it with my ex and the Pogues?”

“First of all,” you said, wiping your fingers on a napkin, “slumming it implies I’m suffering, which I’m not. And second, Sarah’s not a pogue. She’s pogue-adjacent.”

“Pogue-adjacent?” He snorted. “You’ve been spending too much time over there.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” you shot back. “You basically live at Kildare Brewing these days. That’s like, one pogue away from full assimilation.”

He opened his mouth to argue but then stopped, realizing you had a point. “Okay, fair. But only because they have good beer."

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you should even bring it up, but curiosity got the better of you. You hadn’t heard about her in a while, and you knew by experience, that was never a good thing.

“So... Ruthie,” you started, watching him over the rim of your glass as you took a sip.

Topper paused mid-chew, looking up at you like he wasn’t sure he wanted to have this conversation. “What about her?”

“I mean, you two are still together, aren’t you?”

He wiped his hands on a napkin. “We’re… not talking right now.”

You tried not to look pleased, but a rush of vindication bloomed in your chest. You'd grown to hate her, plain and simple. Her recent proximity to your cousin had always baffled you. He wasn’t perfect, but surely, he could do better. 

“I’m surprised.”

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, reaching for another wing. But then he stopped, like whatever he was thinking was messing with his head.

“What happened?” You asked, trying to sound more curious, concerned, than nosy.

You weren’t sure if he’d tell you, but the look on his face made it clear something big had gone down.

He hesitated, debating whether to answer. Finally, he sighed. “She... started a rumor about you.”

Your head jerked back in surprise. “About me?”

“Yeah,” he grimaced like he’d swallowed something sour. “She said you passed out at the beach cleanup and decided to spread some bullshit about you doing drugs.”

You just stared at him. “She what?”

You weren’t sure why you were so surprised.

You knew what she was capable better than anyone, especially when she was bored out of her mind.

“I didn’t believe it,” he added quickly, his tone defensive, as if that made it better. “I told her to shut the fuck up about it, but you know how she is. She thought it was funny.”

“Funny?” Your voice was sharp now, “She thought it was funny to spread lies about me? About drugs? What the fuck?”

“Yeah, it’s so messed up. That’s why I’m not talking to her. I told her if she couldn’t act like a fucking decent human being, we were done.”

You blinked, stunned.

You weren’t sure what shocked you more—the fact that Ruthie had stooped so low or that Topper had finally stood up to her. You shook your head, biting back another nasty comment about how awful she was. You’d been saying it for months, and he hadn’t listened.

No point in beating a dead horse now.

“It’s about time you saw what she’s really like. She’s really bad fuckin’ news, Top. Always has been.”

He gave a low grunt, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the counter. “Yeah. Took me long enough, huh?”

You didn’t answer, just raised an eyebrow and sipped your water.

“She’s always been weird about Sarah,” Topper muttered, almost to himself. “Even when we were together, she’d find these ways to dig at her. Like that one time at Midsummers—”

“—When she ‘accidentally’ spilled her drink on Sarah’s dress,” you finished, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, I remember. She’s always had this thing about trying to one-up her. Honestly, it’s so pathetic. But you never listen to me, so.”

“Okay, ouch.” He threw a crumpled napkin at you, which you easily dodged. “I listen to you sometimes.”

“Do you, though?” You gave him a pointed look.

“Yeah, I do!” Topper protested, though the whine in his voice made him sound more like the teenager he used to be, back when he’d follow you around during family holidays like a puppy. “Just… selectively.”

“Selective listening isn’t listening, dumbass. You’re just proving my point.”

He narrowed his eyes at you but didn’t answer, reaching for another wing instead. He took a bite, chewing dramatically, as if the exaggerated crunch would somehow end the conversation.

“Look, I’ve been saying for months that Ruthie’s bad news. Since she showed up at last year’s Christmas party wearing a dress identical to Sarah’s, just in a different color. You thought that was a coincidence?”

Topper groaned, dropping the wing. “Okay, fine, you’re right. Are you happy now? Can you stop rubbing it in?”

You grinned, propping your chin on your hand.

“Oh, I could. But what kind of older cousin would I be if I didn’t remind you how often you’re wrong?”

“You’re not that much older than me.”

You shrugged. “Old enough to know better than to date someone that awful.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a genius. I get it.” He looked over at you again, his gaze softer, this time, “But seriously, you’ve been off lately. If there’s something going on, you can tell me, y’know? We’re family, even if I don’t listen to you half the time,” he added with a small smile, though his eyes were searching, hoping you’d let him in.

It would be so easy to tell him the truth—that you were pregnant, scheduled for an abortion in six days, and drowning in uncertainty and dread.

But he was still Rafe’s best friend, and the risk of this ever reaching him was too high. Instead, you forced a lightness into your voice.

“Nothing I can’t handle. And right now, I desperately need the bathroom.”

He looked at you skeptically, not fooled for a second.

“You’re really okay?” he pressed, his voice dropping to a level that told you he wasn’t going to let this go easily, "I texted and called before, you didn't answer. Thought you were resting from the scare."

You’d been having such a calm, easy time with Sarah, you almost forgot about everything else. The thought of picking up the phone, letting all that anxiety and worry back in, just wasn’t appealing—so you’d ignored his calls, but not on purpose. You were doing him a favor.

You plastered on a smile and gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder as you passed. “I promise, I’m fine. Just felt a little light-headed and needed some peace."

His eyes narrowed slightly, unconvinced. “That’s all?”

You forced a giggle, hoping it would sound more genuine than it felt. “Yes, Dr. Thornton. Just needed to eat more or drink water or whatever the fuck it is you’re always telling me to do.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, crossing his arms, watching you closely. “Because you’ve never just fainted before.”

“I guess there’s a first time for everything. Besides, don’t you think I’d tell you if something serious was wrong?”

It took everything to maintain eye contact, your stomach twisting at the lie. He was family, and you wanted to trust him, to let him help you. But you couldn’t. He hadn’t even told you about Rafe and Sofia until you found out by yourself. 

Topper tilted his head, considering you, then sighed and gave a reluctant nod. “Alright, fine.”

“Okay, if you’re done being weird,” You pushed back from the counter, grabbing your glass. “I gotta pee,” you announced casually, as if this was the most normal interjection in the world. The wings were good, but running away was tempting. And also, the pregnancy had made your bladder a ticking time bomb, and you really didn’t want to risk any accidents. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

You offered him one last smile, hoping it was convincing enough. He whined some sarcastic comment about your water consumption as you hurried away, but you barely heard him.

All you thought about was the blessed relief that awaited on the other side of that door.

You didn’t usually spend this much time with Top nowadays—your own tendency to avoid “close” family drama—but tonight had been oddly… nice.

Even if you wanted to wrap your hands around his neck half the time. Even if you hated lying to him. If he’d just pushed a little harder, maybe you would’ve folded, let it all spill right there in the kitchen.

Every time you thought you’d come to a decision, another doubt would take over you, leaving you back at square one. You knew what you wanted, so why was this so hard? 

Topper had looked at you with such genuine concern back there. The “if you need me, I’m here” sentiment was the same one you’d grown up with, the kind of care only a cousin, practically a sibling, could have.

This was hard.

When you came back into the kitchen after taking your sweet time in the bathroom you immediately noticed something was off.

Topper was by the counter, staring at the half-eaten pile of wings by the table like they’d personally offended him. He looked paler, too—almost like he’d seen a ghost.

“Uh…” You stopped mid-step, furrowing your brow. “What’s with the stupid face? Did the wings betray you or something?”

He jolted slightly, as if he hadn’t even heard you come in. “What? No. No, the wings are fine. Great. Amazing, even.”

“Okay…” You gave him a skeptical look, setting your glass down and crossing your arms. 

Topper laughed, but it was this oddly nervous, stilted sound. He glanced at his phone, tapping the screen for no real reason, then shoved it into his pocket.

“You know what, though? I totally forgot—I have something planned. Like, super important. In about… ten minutes.”

You stared at him, unimpressed. “You forgot you had plans? Sounds fake, but okay.”

“So unlike me!” He got up from his chair with such sudden energy that it made you take a step back. “Anyway, I should really get going. Don’t want to be late. Uh, thanks for… hanging out. And for, uh, letting me use your wings as a form of therapy. Yeah. Later!”

And with that, he was sprinting for the door.

“Topper!” you called after him, confused and mildly annoyed. “What the hell is going on? You’re acting fuckin’ weird!”

“Nope, not weird! Just busy!” he shot back over his shoulder, not even looking at you as he opened the door.

You didn’t have time to yell at him before he disappeared out the door, the sound of his Jeep starting up echoing from the driveway a moment later. You stood there bewildered, staring at the now-empty doorway.

Something was definitely up. He was many things—dramatic, stubborn, occasionally insufferable—but shifty wasn’t usually one of them.

You went back to the kitchen, glancing at the counter, ready to brush off his weird exit as just another of his dramatics, when your eyes landed on a random envelope— the one you’d been using to scribble down everything lately. 

Extra small grocery lists, reminders, and, unfortunately, the number for the abortion clinic.

Rafe’s fingers curled loosely around the tumbler of bourbon, eyes set on nothing in particular. The lunch rush was winding down, country club regulars filing out.

He’d been there for over an hour—first, the meeting, listening to those finance guys ramble on about numbers, projections, all that bullshit he usually liked to hear. 

He’d faked his interest well enough, but his mind had been miles away. Mostly thinking about you. And the company, of course, because that was his priority right now. Or, it should be.

The whole thing with you, three days ago, it was a slow-mind-burning headache he couldn’t ignore, even if he wanted to. And he had wanted to, tried to, in fact.

He took another slow sip, hardly tasting the bourbon. Across the room, Sofia was working between tables, balancing trays and forcing her best country club smile.

All he saw when he looked at her was you, it only made him force down another swallow, running his thumb over the rim of the glass, mind somewhere between the company projections and the mess he’d made of things with you. 

It was ridiculous that you were still in his head. He should be thinking about that deal, about locking down his place in the Cameron empire. 

Rafe pushed the glass aside, signaling for the check when something caught his ear—a conversation from a nearby table.

“Yeah, she actually passed out the other day. Pathetic.” The voice was loud, sneering.

A dude’s voice followed, fake sympathy dripping from his tone. “I heard she was a fuckin’ mess after the whole breakup.”

“Oh, totally.” A different girl laughed, high-pitched and cruel. “She’s probably on something. Can you blame her? I’d be desperate too if he dumped me.”

It didn’t take a fucking genius to know who they were talking about. Small town and all, of course, things got around, mostly turning into half-truths and petty rumors.

He stopped all his movements, jaw clenching. His fingers tightened around the edge of the table, the only thing keeping him from breaking something, preferably bones.

They were talking about you. 

About some made-up version of you, the fact that these spoiled, airheaded brats thought they could shit talk about you like that, rip you apart for fun just because you weren’t there to defend yourself made him sick.

He pushed his chair back and stood, crossing the room with long strides. He didn’t care about the eyes following him as he walked up to their table, the laughter stopping the moment they looked up and saw the look on his face.

“What did you just say?”

The girl who’d been laughing, a petite brunette with too much makeup and a self-satisfied smirk, blinked up at him, her smile faltering.

“Oh, Rafe! We didn’t see you there. We were just…joking around,” she stammered, trying to backpedal.

“Joking?” He laughed, the sound making them flinch. “That what you call it? Spreading some bullshit rumor because it’s all your pathetic little lives have to offer?”

The brunette’s face went red. “I mean, we all heard about it. I’m just saying what everyone’s already thinking—”

His fists clenched and his patience, already thin, snapped the second he heard the guy—one of those trust fund preps with an overdone tan and a too-tight polo—chime in.

“Oh, come on, dude,” the guy smirked, leaning back in his chair, feigning nonchalance. “It’s not like she’s worth all that trouble, is she?”

His entire body went rigid, and before he registered it, he was leaning down, letting them feel the weight of his glare.

“Say that shit again,” Rafe taunted him, something almost amused twisting at the edge of his mouth, daring him to keep talking. “I’d love to hear you repeat yourself.”

“Relax, man—”

He didn’t even let him finish, eyes narrowed, his voice dropping to a near whisper, more dangerous than shouting ever could be.

“You think it’s funny? Talking about someone who’s not even here to defend herself?”

The guy’s face paled, and Rafe swore he was seconds away from landing a punch, from wiping that smug grin off his face. Just as he prepared his fist, ready to make good on his threat, he felt a hand on his arm, a small, insistent tug. 

“Rafe,” a soft voice hissed. Sofia. He barely glanced at her, shrugging off her grip.

“Don’t,” he snapped, his voice sharp, dismissive.

He kept his eyes on the guy, who looked more uncomfortable by the second, squirming in his seat.

Sofia’s hand still hovering near his arm, cautious now. “Rafe, come on, this isn’t worth it. You’re better than this.”

She looked scared. Scared of him, scared of the situation. He wasn’t better than this.

He’d never been, and he’d been good enough at lying and pretending for her even to think that.

You would’ve known better.

Fuck, you wouldn’t have wasted time talking.

You would’ve yanked him back by his collar, shoved yourself between him and the guy, shot him that warning glare, daring him to keep pushing you so you’d have to drag him out by force. You always knew when he’d get like this, that edge in his voice, that look in his eye that told you he was seconds away from snapping. You knew better than anyone how to pull him back when he hit that switch.

But you’d never bothered with gentle.

Sofia’s eyes darted around the room, clearly embarrassed, maybe even afraid of drawing attention. He knew this wasn’t fair to her, that she hadn’t signed up for this part of him—the anger, the unpredictability. It wasn’t in his nature to stay silent, to ignore things and walk away. 

He could almost see it—feel it, like a familiar bruise under his skin. You’d shove him hard enough that he’d stumble back, half-pissed and half-shocked. You’d get in his face, not even close to scared, cutting through his spiral. “What the hell is wrong with you, Rafe? You wanna end up in jail over some loser? Grow up.”

If you’d been here, you wouldn’t have given him a choice. You’d have grabbed his arm and dragged him away, kept a grip on him until he’d snapped out of whatever dark place he’d dropped into. You’d push him until he finally let go, forced him to come down from that blinding fury and face the mess he’d just caused. It was the only way he’d ever been able to listen—when you pushed him to wake up, forced him to look at himself and see just how reckless, just how stupid he was about to be.

But Sofia? She had no idea. 

She thought saying “you’re better than this” was going to do anything, that with a light touch and some empty words, he’d suddenly be calm, reasonable, soft. 

But he’d never been that way, never with you, never with anyone.

She hadn’t done anything wrong; she’d just seen the version of him he’d wanted her to see. The version he’d put together, patched up and polished, all so he could convince himself he was something he wasn’t.

With her, it was easy to pretend. He could smooth his sharp edges, show her just enough of himself to keep her interested without letting her close enough to see the mess underneath.

He’d let her believe he was the kind of guy who could just calm down, let things slide. The kind of guy who’d listen. He’d wanted her to believe he was controlled, calm. Sofia’s softness had appealed to him, but now, it only highlighted the differences between them.

With you, he’d never had the luxury of pretending.

You’d seen through him from the start, never let him get away with putting on some act.

You hadn’t let him pretend to be better than he was, hadn’t let him off easy when he’d tried to brush things off or shut down. You knew every side of him, even the ones he’d rather ignore. You’d always known exactly who he was, who he wasn’t, and you’d never been afraid to remind him.

He didn’t want to let it go, didn’t want to give the guy an inch of leeway to think he’d won this. Rafe sighed and released his grip, his hand falling from the table as he finally stepped back. Sofia relaxed, giving him a relieved smile, but it only made him feel emptier. 

“You talk about her again and I’ll fucking kill you, you hear me?” 

The guy sputtered, looking down, embarrassed and shaken. He muttered something under his breath that sounded like an apology, but Rafe didn’t care enough to hear it.

Sofia’s hand was still on his tail when he left, and as soon as he walked out of earshot of the table, she followed him, crossing her arms. Her eyes narrowed with an expression he’d never seen from her —disbelief. 

“What was that?”

Everything.

Rafe didn’t speak. He was staring past her, back at the group, mind far from the confrontation and miles away with thoughts of you. She seemed to notice, her lips pressing together.

“I can’t believe you did that. You threatened to kill him, Rafe. Over what, a stupid rumor?”

A stupid rumor? She was making him feel like he was out of control, irrational—even though he couldn’t explain why this mattered so much.

“You wouldn’t get it. It’s not your problem.”

She flinched a little, her face falling, but to her credit, she didn’t look away. “You’re right. I don’t get it. Tell me.”

He wanted to believe that it could work with Sofia.

Nice girl, pretty too. She laughed at his jokes, and she didn’t call him out on his bullshit, because she didn’t even know that side of him existed. On paper, she was perfect. But she wasn't you.

He looked back at her, her worried eyes scanning his face.

It was frustrating—seeing the fear, feeling her judgment when she didn’t even know what she was judging.

To her, this was just some meaningless outburst, something he could turn on and off at will. This wasn’t her fault. He knew that. He hated how this wasn’t something he couldn't put into words, not in any way that would make sense to her.

“Forget it, alright?” his tone was harsher than he meant.

Sofia shook her head, clearly not willing to let it drop this time.

“Why would you get so worked up over something like this?"

To her, that’s all this was—just noise, harmless, inconsequential. 

She looked up at him expectantly, her brows furrowed in confusion, waiting for some reasonable answer.

And it pissed him off, how she kept waiting, expecting him to offer some calm, measured response when he didn’t even understand it himself.

Sofia’s eyes softened, but it only irritated him further.

“She’s nice,” Her words drifted out casually like she didn’t know she’d just cracked him open. “She defended me, last week, when I was serving brunch.”

He couldn’t stop the self-loathing.

You had always been that way—ready to defend anyone, even when you were the one hurting. Rafe winced, hating himself for it, hating that you could still be so good even after everything. He swallowed hard, keeping his expression blank.

“Did she?” he muttered, trying to sound indifferent.

“Yeah,” Sofia replied, watching his reaction with mild curiosity. “Guess I wouldn’t have expected that.”

Rafe’s jaw clenched, that familiar hurt in his chest.

His mind was already conjuring all the times you’d jumped in, backed people up, and called out anyone who crossed a line. Even when it came to people you barely knew.

It made him feel like the worst person in the world, knowing that you’d been there for Sofia of all people, that you’d shown her that same loyalty. It made him hate himself even more.

His phone buzzed, saving him from the inevitable conversation, his hand brushed the side of his face as he glanced down at the unknown number flashing across the screen. He didn’t hesitate, before swiping the answer button.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Cameron, this is Dr. Harris from the hospital,” the voice on the other end said. “We’ve been trying to reach Miss Thornton about the blood work results from her visit three days ago. Unfortunately, there’s been an issue with our system and a few patient’s data has been deleted, except for the emergency contact information.”

Rafe’s stomach dropped.

He was still your emergency contact, not by choice probably. The hospital was calling about your blood work.

Was something wrong?

His blood ran cold. “Is she okay? Did something happen?” The urgency in his tone made Sofia’s eyes widen again, her confusion growing.

“We’re concerned about a possible infection. We need to run more tests to rule it out, but the symptoms suggest it could be more complicated. We must check thoroughly to be sure.”

“An infection?”

“Yes, but it could be nothing serious. We just need her to come in as soon as possible for a follow-up,” Dr. Harris explained.

There was a pause as if he expected Rafe to say something reassuring or offer to pass on the message. 

Sofia’s brows knitted together as she watched him. “Rafe?” 

“I’ll tell her,” he said, the words cracked in his throat. The doctor thanked him and hung up.

He stared at the phone waiting for it to ring again with more news, a reassurance that this wasn’t as serious as it sounded. 

You probably hadn’t changed your emergency contact because it slipped your mind.

He couldn’t stand the idea that something could be wrong, and he was not the one you called when you needed someone. All he’d ever done was mess things up between you.

“What’s going on?”

How the fuck was he going to tell you when you'd blocked him everywhere?

He couldn’t call, couldn’t text, couldn’t even show up unannounced without risking the usual argument that would end with you screaming at him to get out, or worse, you looking at him with that unforgiving stare.

He knew you’d locked every door, bolted every window to keep him out, and he deserved it. 

“It’s nothing,” he said, the lie slipping out automatically. He could feel her studying him, waiting for another explanation he also didn’t have the patience to give.

Maybe Topper could help.

The irony wasn’t lost on him—he’d given your cousin the mission of checking in on you, playing the careful messenger while Rafe kept his distance. That was supposed to be him.

But the reality was you hated him now, hated him enough that Topper was a safer option and yet, the private information still landed on his lap. As if he still had the right to be in your orbit, let alone the person trusted with this kind of news.

It felt wrong.

He knew you were going to hate him even more for still having access to your private details. It wasn’t really his fault—the hospital called him. He should have hung up the moment the hospital mentioned your name, told them they had the wrong guy. But he didn’t. He listened. 

“If you need to go—” she started, trailing off when he didn’t answer. Her voice softened, tentative. “It’s about her, isn’t it?”

Rafe’s jaw ticked, and he looked away, out at the horizon where the sun was setting.  “Yeah,” he muttered, not bothering to lie this time.

His thumbs hovered over the keyboard. He typed something out, then deleted it, then typed again.

Finally, he just went with the simplest thing he could think of and hit send.

Can we meet up? Tannyhill in 30. I think I know what’s wrong.

He half-expected some lame excuse or joke from Topper. Instead, the text he got made the deep lines across his forehead make an appearance.

Shit, you do???

Did the fucker already know?

Did he suspect? Or was this just the kind of baited question someone asked when they thought they were the last to know something big?

He frowned, gripping the phone tighter.

If Topper did know, why hadn’t he said anything?

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige

@rafebb @rafesbby @whytheylosttheirminds

@zyafics @astarlights @bruher @nosebeers @carrerascameron

@serrendiipty @sunny1616 @yootvi @ditzyzombiesblog

@psychocitylights @maibelitaaura @kiiyomei

@stoned-writer @justafangirls-blog-deactivated2

@starkeygirlposts @enjoymyloves @ijustwanttoreadlols @icaqttt

[unicorncarnage]

El Salvador’s extreme anti-abortion laws

[starr-angelofnarnia]

I'm starting to wean off my hyperfixation on this topic, but I wanted to write one last [essay?] on my final thoughts.

So after finishing the 5 part series on HBO, I started watching all the other documentaries HBO had on the topic as well as documentaries I found on YouTube and reaction videos. While many praise how the content was presented, there were two main criticisms: the reactions were exaggerated to an realistic level and the series tried to place all the blame on one individual.

I understand the critique (well, only the first), but I disagree. Was the disaster exaggerated? Um... maybe? But that's the thing. It doesn't really matter for a couple of reasons. A) the average viewer has the knowledge of nuclear energy equivalent to Homer Simpson. Okay, maybe not. It's complex science to most of us. Like the metaphor, it's not rocket science? Replace rocket science with nuclear science and you have the same thing. Exaggerations of the numbers are going to go over most people's heads. The important part of the messages where these over exaggerations are found is, "we have a problem, it's too big hide, this is going to get exponentially dangerous if we don't do something now." And that message came across loud and clear. B) The reactions portrayed in the film may seem exaggerated by our standards TODAY, but in the late 80s, it wasn't. The USRR took extreme measures after the incident, out of precaution or to control, I can't say. But they did do a lot of things shown in the series. Some scenes in the series mimic actual footage almost perfectly.

The second criticism, that the series pins all the blame on one person, just doesn't make sense to me at all. Did we watch the same show? From my perspective that was the ENTIRE point of the final episode. The conflict of the final episode was that Legovsy had to make a choice between protecting his best interest and blaming the three on trial or revealing the truth. And he did explain what happened during the accident from morning before and up to the time immediately after. He DID conclude that the three on the stand made a dumb mistake for stupid reasons. BUT, he also pointed out that there was no way for those three to know the danger of their actions because the government had concealed a known flaw. He said this in the trial scene. When he does, it causes a ruckus. He gets thrown into a jail cell. The head of the KGB tells him that rather than killing him over this, they're stripping him of all his accolades, to make him suffer. Because he outed the supposedly infallible government. Yes, the three employees F'd up but they did so because the government hid crucial information from them.

Anyway, those are my thoughts on the criticisms.

The only other thing I wanted to point out that shook me was the response to pregnancy. While the US is increasingly pushing to ban abortion, I'm watching these documentaries where abortion was mandated for pregnant women. Pregnant women were being held prisoner in hospitals, arrested out in the streets, because the fetus might be contaminated with radioactivity. It's control.

I watched the HBO Chernobyl docudrama with my husband. And I don't think I'm ever going to emotionally recover.

I did have to watch with an episode summary because violence and gore is a trigger for me, so I needed to have an idea of what would happen before it happened. But just. It's horrifying. Especially knowing how little of the series was fictionalized. The consequences of it.

But what's horrifying is that the behaviors that caused the disaster still happen. Disregarding safety protocol. Putting people in charge who have no knowledge of what they are in charge of. Cutting costs at the expense of safety. Treating everything as a need to know basis.

Secrecy, lies, profits over people, government corruption are all dangerous.

The only thing that was weird to me was Ulana Khomyuk. She was a fictional character, meant to represent all the scientists who helped get the disaster under control. Which is fine, I get the point. But making the composite character a woman to add sexual tension to the film (between her and a real life person with a tragic end), was a little tasteless. But I don't think the entertainment industry knows how to tell a story, real or fiction, without having some sort of romantic twist.

But I also keep thinking if Trump is reelected, this is the type of government we could be headed for. Sorry for making it political, but like. If Russia is still the way it was in 86 as USRR, who's to say the US couldn't become that.

[omgthatdress]

In the immense social upheaval following World War I, Berlin emerged as the global hub for gay life and gay art. In 1921, Berlin was home to 40 documented meeting places for gay people. By 1925, that number had jumped to 80.

Cheif among these hotspots was the cabaret Eldorado, whose drag pageants and performances were immortalized by the likes of artists such as Otto Dix. In 2023, Netflix released a documentary about the club, Eldorado: Everything the Nazis Hate.

At the center of the movement for gay rights was Dr. Magnus Hirschfeld and his Institut für Sexualwissenschaft.

Ins 1896 Hirschfeld was operating as a regular physician, when he received a note from a soldier who was engaged to be married. The soldier was suicidally depressed because he could not get over his attraction to men, and was desperate to be cured of it. Being gay himself, Hirschfeld related tremendously to the soldier, and was spurred begin studying homosexuality in a scientific manner.

He was led to the conclusion that homosexuality was a natural occurrence that happened the world over. More importantly, he argued that homosexuality was not immoral and that homosexuals should be free to live and love as they pleased.

Hirschfeld was also the first scientist to recognize and study what we'd call transgenderism today, and was the person who coined the term "transvestite."

(Dr. Magnus Hirschfeld, 2nd from right)

Das Institut acted as both a medical clinic and a center of education. Members of the public could come and be informed on the mechanics of how sex worked as well as receiving non-judgemental medical care for STIs and other sexual conditions. Women could receive information about safe abortion. It was also one of the first places where trans people could come and receive hormone treatment and information about gender-reassignment surgery.

Then, in 1933, with the appointment of Adolf Hitler as chancellor, everything changed.

Queer lives were officially deemed not worth living, and public queer places became the chief target of Nazi persecution. The voluminous libraries of Das Institut were raided and then burned, destroying so much early queer history and science that was irreplaceable.

Dr. Hirschfeld managed to escape Germany and died in France in 1935. Queer people who were not lucky enough to leave to the country were arrested and sent to die in concentration camps.

The lessons of Weimar Berlin are painfully pertinent today. Progress can be destroyed faster than it gets made. Rights are not guaranteed and must always be fought for. The past cannot be allowed to happen again.

By which I mean, for the love of all that is holy, if you want to continue to have any rights at all, pleasepleaseplease vote for Joe Biden on November 5th. Don't not vote in protest. Don't vote 3rd party. If Donald Trump is re-elected this WILL happen again. Just imagine your favorite local queer hang-out being shut down with "Make America Great Again" signs in the window, and vote to stop it.

[rogersandclarke]

mutual 1: see the thing about obi wan is that even if he could get pregnant he would do a force-abortion on himself because he believes that strongly in adoption

mutual 2: do you think matt damon was seething and coping when j-lo dropped "dear ben" or do you think matt and ben were still hooking up at this time? essentially if the album dropped in 2002, the bennifer engagement is nov 2002-january 2004, and matt gets married in 2005,

mutual 3: my ebay bidding war for paul reubens's spit in a jar is going really well due to the psychic attacks i've been sending to the other bidder

mutual 4: local authorities wont let me into this abandoned hoarder house in rural wyoming. dies horribly. #i love drunk driving

mutual 5: listen ive studied rpf for years you dont understand. the homoerotic undercurrent of britpop is a different breed than what george and bob had going on. theres a playful aura facilitated by the early 90s

mutual 6: i am going to pound philip seymour hoffman into the ground so lovingly

mutual 7: im doing crazy things to davy jones pussy over here

mutual 8: thinking of writing my thesis on the evolution of rpf #no don't look at my lb diary yes i watched 10 martin & lewis movies this week

mutual 9: you see robbie and bob were having on and off trysts ever since robbie stopped him from killing himself in 1966 but it took martin scorseses tender devotion to show robbie how unhealthy that was

mutual 10: thankfully neil young started estrogen in early 1970. otherwise she never couldve made harvest

mutual 11: how minutes of semi-truck sound effects do you guys think i can play on my radio show before people start tuning away

mutual 12: put this post underwater sorry. but i just feel so angry when people post about their mutuals like they're people they never talk to. i've moved to different countries three times for my mutuals.

mutual 13: [picture of orson welles and anthony perkins laughing on the set of the trial] do you think they ever fucked #hot! #who said that

mutual 14: i think i could fix norman bates if we got married and adopted the eraserhead baby together.

mutual 15: [picture of a computer fucking itself]

mutual 16: m sooooo girl drink drunk daveeeeee

mutual 17: eroticism of the machine? uhhh yeah only if the machine is a sexy car #STOP PUTTING THOSE COMPUTER PICTURES ON MY DASH

mutual 18: my warriors in maine are one step closer to slipping cocaine back into stephen kings food so he can be a good writer again

mutual 19: you don't understand. walton goggins isn't just gay in the show. he also walks gay in real life. you have to understand this.

mutual 20: im going to kidnap mike stoklasa and only release him when he makes a post coming out as bisexual

EDIT: ETHAN LET ME POST THIS: mutual 21: do you think lana del rey and joan baez are hooking up. why is lana with her everywhere and introducing her documentary and doing all these things. we KNOW joan is bisexual. do you think

[thecurvycritic]

Who Rules the World? Teenage Girls Set is Ablaze in Girls State

Did you know America is one of the few countries that has never had or entertained a woman POTUS? Maybe its time for that to change! https://wp.me/p2v8yf-6mx #girlsstate #appletvplus #documentaries

  In 2020, I screened Boys State, which centered around The American Legion Boys State and American Legion Auxiliary  sponsored summer leadership and citizenship programs for high school juniors focusing on exploring the mechanics of American government and politics.  It was fascinating until I witnessing the release of Girls State and what American democracy could actually look like in the…

[allthecanadianpolitics]

A former Conservative MP who says he left the party because of his "convictions" claims that the number of anti-abortion Conservative members of Parliament is growing, and that anti-abortion activists have influence within the party apparatus. Richmond-Arthabaska MP Alain Rayes made the comments in a new documentary, "La peur au ventre," directed by Quebec filmmaker Léa Clermont-Dion, which explores the anti-abortion movement in Canada following the reversal of Roe v. Wade in the United States. "I left the Conservative Party for reasons of values and convictions," he said in French. "What I noticed was an increase in the number of pro-life MPs inside the organization." Rayes sits as an Independent. He left the Conservative caucus shortly after Pierre Poilievre was elected party leader.

Continue Reading.

Tagging: @newsfromstolenland

[roosterforme]

The Curveball Part 8 | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: After weeks of asking Molly to confide in him, Bob does something impulsive. And when Molly finally opens up about what's on her mind, Bob doesn't respond exactly how she expected him to.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, swears, pregnancy, mention of abortion, 18+

Length: 5000 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC (this story accompanies Batting Practice!)

Check my masterlist for more! The Curveball masterlist

Thank you to @mak-32 and @teacupsandtopgun for the beautiful banners!

Bob took a little detour on his way home from work on Monday. He was so in love with Molly, and she just didn't seem happy. She hadn't even texted him all day. He was afraid to initiate a message to her in case she was getting caught up on sleep, so she was either so exhausted that there was clearly a problem, or she was mad at him.

He wasn't happy that one of those things was probably true. But he stopped and picked up five dozen bouquets of gas station flowers and a bag of gummy bears. He watched her eat them on top of an ice cream sundae once, and it made him cringe. But he knew she'd like them.

When he finally got home, he paused just outside their front door. Bob knew she was home; he'd seen her car in the parking lot. He needed to calm himself down before he went inside, because at the moment, he felt ready to beg her not to leave him. And he couldn't do that yet.

As he unlocked the door and eased it open, he called out, "Mo?"

A few seconds later, her soft voice replied, "In the living room." He found her on the couch, all wrapped up in one of his oversized sweatshirts even though it was summertime. The sadness in her eyes momentarily faded away as she looked at all of the flowers in his hands. Molly's lips parted, and she gasped softly, making Bob's heart pound. 

"Hey, Honey," he whispered, and then she was swiping tears from her eyes as she stood and threw herself at him. The five bouquets and the gummy bears ended up on the floor at their feet, but it didn't matter. She was in his arms. She was kissing him. He was in love.

"Bobby," she whispered, swallowing hard as she cried in his arms.

"Tell me what's wrong, Mo," he pleaded. "Just tell me."

She took a shaky breath and said, "Nothing's wrong right now. I just need you to hold me."

"I'll hold you. I love you." He never fully released her from his arms as he peeled his uniform shirt off and let it fall next to the flowers. Then he kicked off his shoes and led her to the couch, grabbing the gummy bears on the way. As he stretched out and pulled her down gently on top of him, she let her cheek rest against his chest. It was very obvious she'd been crying, but instead of asking about that, he asked if she wanted to watch a murder documentary with him. 

"Yes, please," she whispered, and he pulled the blanket down over them as he turned the TV on. He fed her gummy bears one at a time and stroked the soft skin of her neck, his full attention on her instead of the show. Soon she was sound asleep, and Bob moved incrementally until he was able to stand with her in his arms, and he carried her to bed. 

A little while later, after he put all the flowers in water and got himself something to eat, he made his way to bed as well. When slid underneath the covers behind Molly, she turned to snuggle against him and whispered, "I love you."

--------------------------

Molly was surprised she'd been able to hold it together at home, but work was a different story. The antiseptic smells of the emergency room kept setting off her stomach, and she was running out of ideas for places to vomit discreetly. 

The one positive thing she had going for her was that the asshole doctor that she hated was being promoted. She would soon be seeing far less of him. But there was still the glaring fact that she was pregnant. And she couldn't decide what to do about it. 

She should have told Bob by now. She knew that. But she just couldn't bring herself to destroy her relationship with the most perfect man on the planet. He loved her. He loved everything about her. Including the fact that he thought she was on birth control that worked. She had in fact assured him that she was on birth control and that he had nothing to worry about. 

The mere idea of her as a mom was laughable. She'd seen her sister do it, and while Everett was the sweetest child in the universe, she knew she probably wasn't cut out for parenting. It looked way too hard. Especially for a single mom. She didn't know if she'd have any sort of maternal instinct. Watching Ev was different, because she wasn't really the one making decisions on his behalf. 

It was probably better just to go through with an abortion and never mention this to anyone. But every time she thought about it, the guilt crept in. Did Bob have the right to know? She couldn't decide. It was her body, not his. But what if he actually wanted to have a child with her? What if he would stay and help her? Actually want to be involved?

All she seemed to be able to do every night now was curl up on Bob's chest and try not to cry too much as she fell asleep. Last night they had sex, and she turned the lights off just because she just knew she was going to cry. But he'd been gentle with her, made love to her. As if he knew something was still wrong even though he couldn't figure out exactly what. 

Molly threw up in a plastic bag three times on her way home from work as she double checked her math. She had to be between six and seven weeks along. When she called her gynecologist, they gave her an appointment for two weeks from today. And she had stopped taking her birth control pills. But she was very tempted to just visit a clinic and call it a day. 

Tomorrow she was supposed to meet her sister to help her pick out a wedding dress. She could get through the weekend. She could go to the clinic on Monday. That would give her a few days to work up the nerve. 

When she walked inside, Bob was already home and wearing jeans and a nice shirt. Molly's eyes went wide as she looked at him, but he was already shaking his head. 

"We don't have to go to the Hard Deck, Honey. We can stay in."

"I forgot," she whispered. Truly, she'd been unable to think about anything except the fact that she was pregnant. She looked up at Bob as he approached her. She was pregnant with his child. Somehow this information washed through her as if for the first time. She and Bob did this together. "I'm really tired."

"Let's stay in then," he whispered, kissing her forehead as she melted against him. His big hands and his sweet voice were all over her as he pulled her toward the living room. "You want one of the murder shows? Or a shower? Or just bed?"

Molly knew he'd do whatever she wanted, and she nearly told him right then what exactly was wrong with her. But she just whispered, "Bed."

He took her by the hand, and she let him take care of everything.

---------------------------

Bob went out to breakfast with Bradley and Ev the next morning while Molly met her sister to look at wedding dresses. He was trying to stay in the moment, trying to enjoy spending time with them. He'd indulged in the idea that Everett might be his nephew someday. He'd let his mind wander to the very amusing idea that Bradley and he could be brothers-in-law. But at the moment, it hurt a bit to think about it. He told Bradley that Molly still seemed upset. 

"What makes you say that?" Bradley asked cautiously, glancing at Everett playing a game on his phone.

"She's been acting strange for the past few weeks. I can't get her to talk to me." Bob felt helpless as he said, "I just want to make her happy, but I don't think I actually know how. She's gotta be planning to move out."

Bradley shook his head. "No. It has to be something else? Work?"

Bob just shrugged. "I wish I knew." He reached for his wallet to pay, but Bradley beat him to it. 

"It's my turn," he insisted. "I think you should head home and talk to Molly now. I bet they're done shopping and getting margaritas or whatever they're doing."

"Mimosas," Bob whispered. "Molly likes mimosas."

"Right," Bradley agreed. "Let's just skip the batting cages, and you can get home and talk to her since I'm sure they must be done with mimosas."

Bob just nodded and barely managed to say goodbye as he walked back to his truck. He paused in front of a vintage clothing shop window, looking inside without really seeing anything at first. Then a jewelry case caught his eye, so he ducked inside. 

"What can I help you find?" asked the young woman who worked there. 

"That's pretty," he said as casually as he could, pointing out a gold ring with a cluster of diamonds arranged to look like a flower. It reminded him so much of Molly's tattoos that his heart ached for her. 

He thought about leaving and going home to wait for her, but then the woman asked, "Oh, that one's beautiful. Fifteen diamonds. It's been appraised. Do you want to know the price?"

But Bob shook his head and just said, "I'll take it."

He sat in his truck with the pretty ring in his palm, watching the sunlight catching on the diamonds. It was too perfect to leave it inside the shop when it looked like it had been made for Molly. But he couldn't give it to her now, not when she still seemed unhappy. 

He tucked it away in the glovebox for some point in the future. Because first, he needed to get her to talk to him. No matter what it took, he'd find a way to get her to open up. He'd find a way to make her happy again. Because now he knew that he could. 

------------------------------

Molly was so tired, she felt like she'd been hit by Bob's truck. Every time she tried to walk into the dress shop where she could see her sister looking at the ugliest dresses, she had to double back to her car to throw up again. She was almost twenty minutes late as she wiped her tears with the back of her hand and walked inside. 

She knew she looked bad. The only thing she wanted to wear was one of Bob's extremely soft undershirts and some old yoga pants. But the response from her sister was even worse than she thought it would be. "There you are. "What's wrong? You look terrible."

"Nothing," she insisted. "Did you pick one out yet?" Her voice sounded lifeless to her own ears.

"No, I was waiting for you. I can't do this kind of thing without you."

Molly's heart ached a little more as she sighed. She walked around and snatched up the prettiest dresses that she could see her sister wearing when she married Bradley. "Try those on. I'll be in one of the chairs."

Molly watched her sister eye her suspiciously before turning toward the fitting rooms. She tried to be as encouraging as possible about the dresses, tried to say all the right things, but apparently she was transparent. 

"Molly, please. Talk to me," her sister begged, and then she was wiping a tear from Molly's cheek. She wasn't even aware she was crying again, but she jumped up out of the chair, and then the tears came faster. 

As Molly took off toward the back corner of the store, she started sobbing. When she couldn't go any further, she spun around. "I fucked up," she gasped. "I fucked up so bad."

"Molly," her sister gasped, reaching for her. Molly was in her arms immediately, trying not to cry on the wedding dress she was still wearing. "It's okay to talk to me about it."

But Molly was crying too hard to talk. Fat, hot tears rolled down her cheeks, and she started shaking. She could feel her sister rubbing soft, soothing circles against her back before she took Molly's face in her hands and waited. 

"I'm pregnant."

She gaped at Molly before asking, "What did Bob say when you told him? He's upset?" She looked so concerned and seemed unsure about what she should do to help Molly feel better.

"I haven't told him," Molly whispered as she was pulled into another hug.

"Molly. How long have you known?"

"About a week," she gasped, tucking her face against the softness of the only person who really cared about her since their parents died. The only person until she had Bob.  "I suspected it before that at least. I didn't think it was actually possible at first." She was hiccupping between words. "I just thought my cycle was off. But then I took a test the other day. And then I took a lot more tests."

"Molly, were you using birth control?"

"Of course!" she wailed. "I'm not stupid! I work in healthcare!"

"I know, I know," she soothed, rubbing Molly's back. "I was just checking."

"But I switched from one pill to a different one," Molly whispered. "I did everything I was supposed to fucking do! How could I have let this happen?"

"Shh," her sister whispered. She was sobbing again. "Does Bob not want to have kids with you?"

Molly pulled away from her and threw her hands up in the air. "How the hell am I supposed to even know that?!" she asked, loud and sarcastic. "I've only known him for like four and a half months! We have never, not even once, never talked about having kids together! I know he likes them. He loves Ev and Piper, but that's different."

"Molly, you have to tell him."

"No," she said vehemently. "No way. I'm so mad at myself. I don't want him to look at me differently now. I told him I was on birth control. I promised him there was nothing to worry about." Silent tears were streaming down her cheeks. "I can't tell him. But he knows something's wrong. He thinks I'm going to leave him, and honestly, maybe I should."

"Don't say that," she whispered, scowling at Molly. "Don't say that about Bob."

"Exactly!" Molly raged, because now she was getting to the root of things. "That's exactly it! You don't even worry about me anymore, because I'm with Bob! I finally got my shit together. I'm finally dating a good guy. A stable one who actually loves me! He loves me! Or he did. I can't believe I fucked this up. It was perfect!"

She knew she shouldn't have said it, but it was too late. Instead of feeling like a real adult now, she felt like a child. Molly sank to the floor at her sister's feet and cried, burying her face in Bob's undershirt. And then a sales clerk came over just as her sister tried to sit down with her. 

"Excuse me, but you can't just crawl around the floor in one of our dresses. And you shouldn't be crying near them either."

Molly glared up at her, silently daring her to say one more sentence. "Fuck off, lady. Your goddamn dress will be just fine, okay?" 

The woman bustled away as Molly turned to her sister. Her voice was calmer as she said, "I'm not going to tell him. I'm going to pretend to go away for a couple days, get an abortion, and then never mention any of this again."

"Molly. You can't. That's not fair to Bob. You need to tell him about this." And now Molly was afraid she was about to make her sister cry as well, but she couldn't help it.

"So I can end up like you?" Molly asked, making her favorite person in the world freeze in place. "No, I know, and I'm sorry, but there's not always going to be a Bradley waiting at the end of the tunnel, okay? You got lucky. Everett is the perfect kid. And somehow you upgraded from Danny to something much better. But I'll never get this lucky again. I'll never, ever find something better than Bob. And I don't even know if I can be a mom. Because I've seen you do it, and it's actually fucking impossible, okay?" She was now crying and laying on the floor, inhaling the scent of Bob's undershirt. "It's either leave Bob or get an abortion and never tell him. And I know I can't bring myself to leave him."

Molly excused herself and got to her feet, swaying a bit as she headed for the exit. Once she was outside, she threw up on the sidewalk. 

----------------------------

Bob was waiting at home, sitting on the couch and looking at all the things Molly had added to his bookshelves since she moved in. There were so many photos of her with Everett, and a handful where her sister was in the photo, too. He reached over and grabbed one of Molly from seven years ago holding newborn Everett in the hospital. That was the brightest smile he'd ever seen on her face, and he was so happy someone had captured it. 

When the front door opened, Bob jumped to his feet. As happy as Molly looked in the photo he was holding, right now she looked downright miserable. He set the frame aside and went to her, knowing this conversation needed to happen. 

Bob gently wrapped his hands around her biceps and pulled her close. "Molly," he said as firmly as he could when she was looking up at him with watery eyes. "Something is wrong. You've been miserable for weeks, Honey. You need to talk to me. I need you to talk to me!"

She started shaking, and Bob's eyes went wide, an apology already forming on his lips. But then she whispered, "I don't want to tell you."

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. She let him take his time as he gathered his thoughts into the words that would hurt him the least to say out loud. His voice was a little ragged as he met her eyes and managed to say, "If you're unhappy here with me, I won't blame you for leaving. If there's someone else, just tell me. I'll never blame you, Molly." He nodded against the thick lump in his throat, his vision a little blurry now.

But she burst into loud sobs in front of him and shook her head as she cried. "That's not it, Bobby. That's not it at all."

He held his hands out helplessly at his sides, and she slipped her arms around his waist. When she buried her face against his chest, he let his hands come to rest on her back. On his undershirt that she was wearing. "Just tell me, Mo. I'm begging you to tell me."

"I love you," she said, looking up at him as tears trickled down her pretty cheeks. "I love you too much to tie you down. I swear, Bob...I didn't do it on purpose."

He was so confused, he felt like crying, too. "Molly," he whispered, taking her face gently in his hands and wiping at her tears. "I don't know what you're talking about. What didn't you do on purpose?"

She sucked in a sharp breath and said, "I'm pregnant."

"Oh." That tiny word escaped him before he could really sort it all out. Pregnant. She was pregnant. Surely she hadn't been beating herself up for weeks over this? She was pregnant. If Molly was pregnant, then that meant he was responsible for making it happen. He got Molly pregnant. His hands fell away from her face just as he realized he'd taken too long to respond. 

"I know I promised you I was on birth control," she said, taking short ragged breaths. "I switched pills, and...something happened. And maybe we should have used condoms for a few weeks, but this really shouldn't have happened! I'm so sorry!"

When she closed her eyes again, body wracking sobs took over, and she looked like she was going to pass out.

Bob wrapped his arms around her, and she tried to push him away, but he wouldn't let her. "Shh," he whispered next to her ear. "Molly, take deep breaths, okay? Deep, slow breaths, Honey."

As she started to get control of her breathing, Bob wondered how far along she was. Would she start showing soon? How was she going to be able to work in the emergency room with a pregnant belly? Would they let her take time off? Would he need to sell this condo and get them a bigger place? 

The ring. The pretty ring was in his truck. If Molly was pregnant, maybe Bob wasn't the reason she'd been so unhappy. Maybe she was just anxious about how he'd respond. He kissed the top of her head as she wiped her eyes on him, and he told her, "I love you, Molly." He'd give her the ring today, pull a full Bradshaw on the situation. 

She whispered, "I know we've only been together for a few months. If you can't trust me after this, I completely understand. And if you don't want me anymore... I guess I can understand that, too."

Now Bob felt like he might pass out. How could he not want her? Not want them? He was holding onto her, trying to speak. But once again he was taking too much time!

"Listen, if you don't want to be involved, that's fine," she whispered, not quite meeting his eyes now. "I'm... thinking about having an abortion on Monday. There's a walk-in clinic near work. And if you want me to leave...I can move out."

He needed to speak instead of thinking things through. "I want you," he swore. "I'm never not going to want you."

"Bob," she said, face crumbling again.

"Molly, please don't leave. Don't leave me." He could feel his heart breaking. She was talking about moving out. About having an abortion. "Please." The last thing he wanted was to live without her.

"You'll still want me? Even if I terminate the pregnancy?" she asked, laying it all out for him.

"Yes. But Molly...I would love to have a baby with you."

"Really?" she asked, seemingly surprised. "Because I don't know if I'm ready for that," she added so softly as more tears dripped down her cheeks.

He kissed the tracks of her tears and whispered that he loved her until she stopped crying. "I want you. And I want a baby," he told her, tipping her face up so she was looking him in the eye. "I would love that. But I don't need it. What I do need is for you to stay with me, Mo."

She searched his face, and Bob had never felt so vulnerable before. He'd never felt so much love before. Just as he went to gently rest his hands on Molly's belly, she shoved him violently away from her. 

"Fuck," she gasped, nearly tripping over he own feet as she tried to get away from him and run down the hallway. And then he heard her vomiting into the toilet.

-------------------------

Molly let her cheek rest against the cool tile of the bathroom floor. Her eyes were closed, but she knew Bob was there as well now. She wasn't exactly sure how she was still throwing up. She'd barely been eating. Even though she was starving, nothing would stay down. And she started to wonder why she hadn't gone to the clinic already. Why was she suffering through morning sickness if she was going to terminate the pregnancy?

When she rolled onto her stomach and tried to stand, Bob's strong hands were there, guiding her steadily upward. She felt pathetic as she looked up at him. He was perfect, and she was wrung out on the bathroom floor. He was everything, and she was just his careless girlfriend who couldn't do anything right. 

"Let's go get in bed," he whispered, and she nodded as he led her out of the bathroom. He looked so sad. She wanted to ask him why he was sad. She was the one who was sad. She was the one who had to make a decision and live with it. But right now, the only thing she could do was let Bob guide her into bed. 

"I'm so fucking tired," she said, letting her head come to rest on the pillow. "I feel awful all the time."

Bob reached out and ran his knuckles along her neck, making her eyes flutter closed. "Get some rest, Mo."

She cracked her eyes open and reached for him. "I want you to stay here," she whispered, and then he was in bed with her, and she was falling asleep on his shoulder. 

When Molly jolted awake, the room was getting dark. She was laying on Bob's chest, and he had one arm around her as he held his phone in the other. "Are you okay?" he asked, those greenish blue eyes focused right on her. When she nodded, he kissed her forehead. 

"How long did I sleep?"

"Four hours," he replied softly. 

"Four hours? Why didn't you wake me up?"

"You needed sleep, Honey. You still need a good night of it, so I'm going to feed you and help you shower, and then I'll bring you right back here."

She swallowed back a sob, mouth dry and stomach growling. "I can't eat," she said with a little laugh. "I keep asking myself why I'm still suffering through all of this if I don't even want to be pregnant."

Bob was quiet for a beat. "Are you absolutely certain you don't want to.... keep it?"

As she studied his handsome features, she slowly shook her head. "The only thing I'm certain about is that I couldn't force myself to leave you."

He sighed and wrapped her up in a tight hug. "Stay. Stay forever. We can make it forever. You know that, right?"

Forever. What a concept. Impossible. But a lifetime? That was real. "Bob... how do I know you won't leave?" But as soon as she said the words, she realized how foolish she sounded, because she knew, she just knew he wouldn't. 

"Molly, I can't show you my heart. I can only describe it," he said softly as she buried her face against him. "I feel so much love for you. I've been running ragged in my mind, trying to figure out why you were so unhappy. I just want you to be happy. And it's from my heart that I can promise I'm not going anywhere. And it's from my heart that I am telling you that if you think you might want to keep our baby, then I am one hundred percent onboard. I'm ready. I don't need to think about it. I decided about thirty seconds after you said you were pregnant that I want to do everything with you, including raise a child. If you let me."

And now she was crying again. Because this was the reason she'd put off making a decision. She wanted so badly to hear him say these words. She thought she could do it if she didn't have to do it alone. She knew she wasn't as strong as her sister, but she also knew that Bob was her ideal. He was nothing like Danny. 

Molly eased herself up and guided one leg over Bob's waist. He was looking up at her with a soft, sincere gaze, but he looked so nervous, like he was waiting for her verdict. When his hands came to rest hesitantly on her thighs, she bit her lip to try to stop her tears. She was so tired of crying. All she wanted was for Bob to make her something to eat so she could go back to sleep. 

She smiled softly, because she knew what to say now. "Bob, I'm really fucking scared. But if you still want to be in a relationship with me...if you want to do this together...then I'll keep the baby."

To her surprise, Bob pulled his hands away from her thighs as he started crying. He pushed his glasses up to his forehead and pressed his fingertips to his eyes. "I just need a minute," he whispered, his voice unsteady. Molly watched him cry as he gently shook beneath her. But a moment later, he was sitting up and she was straddling his thighs as he pulled her close and kissed her. "I love you. I'm not going anywhere. We're having a baby."

She laughed as he kissed her lips softly. "I love you, too, Coach Cute Glasses." She giggled as she imagined a tiny, cute Baby who looked like Bob with a pair of wire frame glasses. And Bob was smiling now too as she said, "Just don't do anything rash like tell me we can get married, okay? I feel like that's something you'd say."

"Oh," he said softly, pulling her a little closer as his smile faded a bit. "Okay. I won't."

She kissed his neck and inhaled his scent. "If I ever decide I want to get married, I'll let you know," she told him as her stomach growled. 

"Let me feed you," he said, helping her out of bed. "Let me take care of everything right now."

Molly decided to let him.

---------------------------------

Bobby about to get everything? Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls and everyone who bugged me to make Molly and Bob a thing!

PART 9

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