#and its not like my hormones are all fucked up. ive been known to have one occasionally in the 6 years ive been on hrt

[chronically-jinx]

okay so basically people who get periods regularly are actually champions because I got mine for the first time in a year (transmasc) and like. you would've thought the world was ending the last two weeks.

and then

today

it was just like "oops you got your period" as if I didn't nearly burn everything in my life to the ground because i was unexplainable sick and angry

[chappedlipjournal]

I've been feeling a lot of emotions the last few days, most of which are the result of pms.

We've had:

Rage

Fatigue

Anxiety

Despair

More anxiety

Small bouts of numbness

And today's primary feeling which isn't actually a feeling, vertigo!

And I am over it. Over it!!!! I am ready for my hormones to level the fuck back out and to get my bad nights of sleep behind me.

And i'm trying v v hard to honor my feelings and doubts without letting them completely sabotage me. Because a lot of it is perfectly normal and fine to be anxious and worried about (the rage was like 90% unwarrented).

I'm moving house and i like this house and im sad about it.

I'm moving out of the country (like hello???? Massive life shift massive massive change)

Ive spent copious amounts of money this week on a new (future proof) phone and new (future proof ish) laptop. Neither of which will have to be updated for 5-7 years. And my friend who did move out of the counry confirmed that it was a good decision and didnt regret updating their stuff at all.

I think a lot of the not insidious but a lot of the doubt and fear has really reared its head this week and i was not prepared for it. Like what am i doing??? Leaving everyone ive ever known and loved all the places im familiar with leaving the security of my own country.

For a place where i have no legal standing. No house. No job. No visa. Nothing. Like what the fuck. Who does that???

And yet. And yet. I canNOT picture myself staying here. Staying at this job another foir and half years. Staying in this house.

I realized that prior to my trip to England, I was having massive bouts of self harm urges. I was struggling mentally. I was struggling a lot trying to stay clean. It was taking up soooo much of my brain space and i didnt know what to do.

But after making this decision thats not really been an issue. I think like i needed some direction or a goal or something to work toward. Ive never done well with being aimless. And i hate hate feeling stuck or trapped.

I hate feeling trapped. I mean clawing at the walls, heavy weight on your chest cant breathe, fighting the urge to run trapped. I dont really know where this feeling comes from in me or why i have it. I dont know why its so visceral. But the job the house the thought of the future. It incited that feeling in me. And i need out. I need to breathe.

Prague every time ive been there its felt like coming home. This knot in my chest, it just loosens. I dont feel so on edge? I dont feel so i dont know to describe it. I just feel more content there. Less like a frightened horse i guess.

And im confident i can make it work. Im good at job interviews. Im good at cover letters. I miss working with kids.

I think if covid had not happened when i graduated i would have ended up abroad teaching english in 2020.

[philipkindreddickhead]

I often seen critiques of make up from an existential/philosophical perspective, but I rarely see criticism of cosmetics from a stand point of the very physical bodily harm it does. I think this is because the number of dangerous ingredients is so massive, and overlapping its an absolutely daunting task. So I've compiled the information I've found and bear with me its a lot. (This is from an American perspective. Sorry, thats what I know. However I would love it if people from other countries had things to add.)

First I want to get the "simple" stuff out of the way. I think almost everyone has heard about bacteria and fungi in makeup and that makeup causes acne from clogging pores. Makeup has a pretty strict shelf life, yet consumers are entirely supposed to self-police as Ive never seen a single expiration date on any cosmetic packaging. (I guess consumers are meant to pull this knowledge out of the ether or something. I only found out about it in a tumblr PSA. I did read that expirys are on products in Europe.) Beauty blenders are the worst offender because theyre almost always moist. When I was taught makeup I was told to wet my sponge so it would soak up less product. If you apply makeup daily your sponge is likely constantly damp. USA Today had an article which said that 96% of sponges had fungi and over 60% had E. Coli in them. But I think what people talk about less is the complication of problems from using other products in conjunction with dirty beauty blenders. USA Today warns its especially dangerous to use beauty blenders if you have damage to your skin like acne, cuts, or dry skin. However the most popular beauty products for washing your face contain walnut pieces for literally scrubbing your skin and creating microabrasions. If youre a frequent makeup user you probably know about the cyclical nature of applying foundation, breaking out, and then applying more foundation to cover the breakout. You may even be using scrubbing cleansers more frequently to combat the acne creating more tears. This can lead to "blood poisoning" and, though neither USA today or Forbes mentions this, blood poisoning (not a medical term btw. Its sepsis.) according to numerous medical sites has the potential to be extremely lethal. The symptoms are so similar to a regular flu its nearly impossible to self-diagnose.

The very first thing I was told when a friend handed me a jar of finishing powder- popular with many beauty gurus for the "baking" technique and considered a must have- was a joke about "clown lung." This was a reference to the main ingredient talc. Talc causes lung problems including cancer and respiratory illness. If anyone remembers the large Johnson and Johnson lawsuit from 2019 it was because theyd been putting talc into baby powder. Talc is dangerous because it's impossible to mine and seperate from ASBESTOS. Some high-end finishing powders will try to sell you on safe talc-free formulas but all the products I looked into contained mica instead which causes pneumoconiosis, colloquially known as "black lung disease." Like fucking coal miners get. Its not just present in finishing powder either. In my research it turned out that talc/asbestos are also present in many eyeshadows and other powder products. [Googleable, evidenced in J&J lawsuit]

Another industry to examine is nail salons. Toluene, Formaldehyde, Dibutyl Phthalate, and Methacrylate compounds are all dangerous ingredients and present in various salon products. These ingredients cause a range of problems from dizziness, drowsiness, birth defects, slow fetal growth, future intellectual disabilities in the fetus, eye skin and throat irritation, coughing, allergic reactions, asthma-like attacks, short-term memory loss, nausea, dermatitis, cancer, and misscarriage. Some nail products advertise that they are 3-free meaning that toluene, formaldehyde, and DP should be absent but often the labels are found to be completely inaccurate. It should be noted that the risk is mainly to salon workers and not patrons but ask yourself if it is right to place other people at serious risk for your aesthetic. OSHA does make an attempt to mitigate these risks however not once in my years of makeup queen did I see a salon following these directives which include constant air monitoring, half mask respirators with chemical cartridges, gloves, long sleeves, and safety glasses. (And Im not even going to touch issues of human trafficking/slave labour out of nail salons one case of which occured 5 days ago two hours away from me) It should also be noted that formaldehyde can also be found in hair relaxers and hair dyes. [Found articles in Scientific American and NYT]

I also found on the FDAs website that many cosmetics include heavy metals like arsenic, mercury, and lead. (Usually accompainied by a picture of lipstick so I assume that is the product most likely to contain it, however campaign for safe cosmetics lists foundation as containing heavy metals, and The Guardian has an article about skin lighteners from Asia and Africa containing mercury.) The website stated that the amount of these heavy metals in cosmetics is "safe" if used as intended. (and I'm going to come back to the concept of "intended use" later because thats a can of worms too) However, when searching for info on heavy metal safety I found this quote in regards to metals in food:

"Certain metals, such as arsenic, lead and mercury, have no established health benefit, and have been shown to lead to illness, impairment, and in high doses, death. Understanding the risk that harmful metals pose in our food supply is complicated by the fact that no single food source accounts for most people’s exposure to metals in foods. People’s exposure comes from many different foods containing these metals. Combining all of the foods we eat, even low levels of harmful metals from individual food sources, can sometimes add up to a level of concern"

So like, which is it? Is it a "safe amount" or is no amount of metal safe? I understand that in the case of certain foods like fish some amount of mercury poisoning is always expected but fish is also something you feed yourself and nourish your body with while cosmetics are completely unecessary to your survival. The mercury problem in fish is also mitigated by health warnings when mercury levels are particularly high but cosmetics have no such warning. Another warning on the site indicated that children should ingest NO amount of lead AT ALL because it is particularly harmful for kids yet theres no effort to stop children from using lead-containing cosmetics. I worked next to a Five Below where I was shocked to find they sold Jeffree Star and Anastasia eyeshadow dupes for five dollars which amounts to fucking pocket change for a lot of kids and kids do buy that stuff. I also think its ironic the FDA would have anything to say regarding cosmetics because in the very same article about heavy metals in cosmetics the FDA says that they DO NOT REGULATE cosmetics beyond the color additives.

Mascara, eyeliner, lipstick, and brow tint often contain carbon black. This is a color additive that is an incomplete combustion of carbon-based products. It can cause lung disease, cancer, and organ system toxicity, and eye, nose, throat irritation. The effects are mainly studied in rats and those at biggest risk are industrial workers but why do other workers have to endure lung problems for something so unecessary? [Easily googleable, NIH, CDC, WHO Europe]

This next bit I only want to mention briefly because I didnt find any particularly reputable sources about it, but its a claim that cropped up repeatedly and I think its an interesting one. Parabens, estrogen, phthalates (again), and pesticides in cosmetics are apparently linked to endocrine disorders and hormone dysregulation. Im not entirely sure what is meant by this accusation. Endocrine disorders include female diseases like PCOS and possibly endometriosis. None of these diseases is very well studied and the female endocrine system itself is not well studied either. Im not saying "cosmetics cause PCOS" because we dont know if PCOS or these other endocrine/hormonal disorders are genetic or environmental or both (it appears that PCOS is largely genetic and Endometriosis is likely autoimmune related) AND we dont appear to know for sure that cosmetic ingredients cause endocrine disorder. But I include anyway for a number of reasons:

If you happen to struggle with hormonal problems you may want to know cosmetics is a potential environment factor.

These conditions are incredibly painful. It will be a battle getting your doctor to even acknowledge that pain for diagnosis. PCOS is linked to diabetes, and heart disease. [Thanks @mother-of-pearl ] There is no cure and the treatments are often throwing hormonal birth control at it and hoping for the best.

I dont anticipate the link between cosmetics and endocrine disorders being studied any time soon or any endocrine disorders studied at all because the medical/scientific field is sexist. I dont want women to suffer in the mean time.

Now again, take this with a grain of salt because I couldnt find scientific or news sources for it. Dont fucking come for me. Im not gonna respond to you. [Most reputable source was a paper from the library of medicine at the national institutes of health but it was behind a paywall and I dont have 39 dollars to be right on tumblrdotcom]

Avoiding these ingredients is not as simple as scanning the label for them. As many beautubers and the community are no doubt aware considering multiple scandals over veganism. Products advertised as vegan or cruelty free but contain non-vegan carmine or are sold in China which legally requires the products to be animal tested. Cosmetic companies will hide ingredients claiming they are "trade secrets" or they will be placed under "fragrance." Many ingredients will be known by six or seven different names and asking consumers to be aware of seven different names for multiple ingredients requires consumers to be aware of innumerable different, often complicated ingredient names. I shouldnt have to point out that's a ridiculous burden to place on women. The EU banned 1,300 hazardous ingredients that the US did not. Cosmetic companies rely on women being unwilling/unable to bring in a list of 1,300 ingredients- with multiple names- every time they pop in to the drug store, sephora, or wherever. Buying "natural" products will not help you either. Theres no established criteria for natural/organic in costmetics, the FDA doesnt test these products, and "natural"=/= safe anyway. Plenty of plants and minerals are poisonous. One good example is traditional kohl products which advertise their natural status but also naturally contain lead and reiterating that natural powders contain mica. US courts are rarely on the side of consumers either. I found an interesting lawsuit against St. Ives for their apricot scrub taken to court for their "dermatologist tested" label despite it causing breakouts and cuts to the skin. The courts ruled that this label was fine because it only indicated that the product was TESTED not APPROVED by dermatologists. However I think any rational consumer would look at this label and assume the tests concluded it was safe for use or else why put the label on there?

[Googlable XMONDO drama, googlable laws wrt china and eu, already stated about FDA, FDA website about Kohl. Googled St. Ives lawsuit.]

I want to return to the idea of "intended use." This is sort of a fucky concept a lot of companies have ways of getting around. My "last straw" with makeup had to do with a run-in I had with Anastasia over their "Riviera" eyeshadow palette. In this pallette they had two colors that were the real feature of the palette, an electric neon purple and a radioactive pink I mean every photo, every promotion has these two colors swirled together around the eye. Because again, its an eyeshadow palette. When I buy the eyeshadow palette of course there's a little insert warning in the package that says these two shades are not intended on the eye area. In an eyeshadow palette. Contacting their customer service they told me that these two shades were meant to be used as a blush. neon purple blush. Not only that, but their website and instagram featured NO models wearing the shades as blush while EVERY model one or more of the shades as eyeshadow. When asked about this discrepancy ABH stopped responding. What I find egregious about this is the amount of people who dont know, and then more staggeringly; dont care. The sephora clerks didnt know, the in store abh representative didnt know, their customers didnt know, and when I told them they would respond with "oh, [brand] did the same thing with their [shade]." Sure enough, when I demanded that store clerks open the packaging to look for warnings nearly every product had an "eyeshadow" that was not intended for use on the eyes. Relegating dark, red-toned teal to "contour" and neon grean to "highlighter" US-based cosmetic junkies will say that these pigments have been approved for use by the EU however I found absolutely NO evidence of that. I googled it a thousand ways but all I ever found were blog posts, reddit comments, and one quote from an apparently nonEuropean layman in an Insider article. I even changed my location to France on ABH's website and the Norvina palette still contains the same warnings (not to harp on ABH in particular. I just know which shades in particular are the problem there). The Insider article noted that brands who were selling pressed pigments declined to comment. If the pressed pigments were EU friendly, I would think companies would be clamouring to say so. It also still makes their market as eyeshadow colors illegal in the US. (If any Europeans would like to chime in I'd love that.) Another problem I find with cosmetics companies and their reps is the claim that the worst thing that could happen is eye irritation for those with sensitive eyes and staining. How could they possibly know? The FDA doesnt test, or approve these cosmetics in the eye area, so ostensibly no one should be using it that way.

The next one is a bit of a "duh" but I'm going to talk about it anyway. Counterfeit cosmetics are a booming market full of untold dangers. Untold primarily because these products could contain literally anything. Ive read about glue, arsenic, lead, feces, staph, and horse urine to name a few. The labels and ingredient list on these products are fake. Legitimate brands often unintentionally play into the counterfeit market. They create artificial scarcity by making less of the product than is actually needed for consumer demand to create an even higher demand. If consumers miss out often their only chance at getting the product is to turn to counterfeits. I found examples of women who had their lips superglued, lips "turned to goo" and burned to blistering, throat closures, women with stys, contact dermatitis, eye infections. I think we as a society turn a blind eye to this problem because we think "hey, if youre buying counterfeits for a discount and you get hurt you deserve it." We imagine idiots buying products for 4 dollars from ebay or perusing Canal street for FEИTY beauty. But these counterfeits can be really convincing. I myself received a gift of a huda palette that I only recognized something was weird about it because I'd swatched it at sephora about five times earlier that month. The person who bought it for me actually paid MORE than the usual cost for the palette because it was advertised as a newer, better edition. The websites can be disturbingly similar. For instance Kylie Jenner's legitimate website is KylieCosmetics.com but you can find fakes at kyliecosmeticsshop.co.uk. These fakes can buy ad space and be one of the first sites that populate when you google the products instead of typing the legitimate site into the address bar. Counterfeits can also be bought and sold through third parties on websites like ebay, wish, and amazon. (My gift actually came from Amazon.)

[Netflix doc "Broken" ep "Makeup Mayhem" Corroborated by personal experience and google]

[shannendoherty-fans]

Shannen Doherty Is Not Signing Off Just Yet

Fighting Stage IV breast cancer has forced some self-reflection, but the ’90s icon and so-called diva refuses to slow down.

By Kate Pickert Sep 29, 2020. Photos by Kurt Iswarienko. Elle USA October 2020 issue

On a cool evening in February 2019, Shannen Doherty invited some friends to a Venice, California, rental house for a dinner party. Doherty’s actual home was in Malibu, 20 miles north, but she and her husband, photographer Kurt Iswarienko, had fled the property a few months earlier, when a wildfire that started inland burned nearly 100,000 acres on its way to the Pacific Ocean. The couple’s house survived the blaze, but Doherty says the property sustained significant damage that made it uninhabitable.

The guest list for the dinner included only people Doherty trusted: her husband and the friends who knew the real Shannen—not the 1990s tabloid caricature, the loudmouthed bad girl with a temper. Actress Sarah Michelle Gellar was there, along with model Anne Marie Kortright, Malibu real estate agent Chris Cortazzo, and a Los Angeles doctor named Lawrence Piro.

Doherty had compiled the guest list, but it was Piro, her oncologist, who drove the conversation. Less than two years earlier, the actress had finished treatment for breast cancer, and Piro was at the dinner to explain that Doherty’s disease was back. The cancer, Piro said, was now metastatic (also known as Stage IV), meaning it had spread beyond Doherty’s breast and lymph nodes. “The way he presented everything to everyone was matter-of-fact,” Doherty, 49, tells me when we speak in June. The news was devastating, of course, and Doherty had invited Piro so her friends could get answers to the questions she knew they would have. Would she die of this? Probably. Would she die soon? Probably not. Why did this happen? It was impossible to know. Could this be treated? Yes, to a point. “Everybody got to ask questions and know what we were looking at as a group, as a team,” Doherty says.

About 300,000 American women are diagnosed with breast cancer every year. In the majority of cases, initial treatment for the disease is effective, curing the patient. But in a significant share of cases, the breast cancer returns, either to the breast or nearby lymph nodes or to other parts of the body. In Doherty’s case, despite the surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation she had undergone after her first diagnosis, it seemed that some cancer cells had survived the assault and made their way to her spine. Eventually, the disease will most likely spread further, to Doherty’s brain, lungs, liver, or some combination thereof.

Still, there was reason for hope, Piro told the group. Treatment for metastatic breast cancer, which was once an automatic death sentence, has advanced in recent years, with patients living longer and having a better quality of life. Some survive for a decade or more. Doherty’s treatment would include hormone therapy to block the estrogen fueling her cancer, plus a second targeted drug that is often effective at stabilizing metastatic disease. If this didn’t work, there were other drug combinations to try, but the bottom line was that Doherty would be in treatment for the rest of her life. As Piro explained all this, his patient sat at the table, listening.

Nearly 30 years after she played Brenda Walsh on Beverly Hills, 90210, Doherty is still striking, with high cheekbones and shiny, jet-black hair. “I think people have a mental picture of Stage IV cancer as someone sitting in a gray hospital gown, looking out a window on their deathbed,” Iswarienko, tells me. “I don’t see a cancer patient when I look at Shannen. I see the same woman I fell in love with. She looks healthy and vital.”

As if a massive wildfire and a metastatic cancer diagnosis weren’t enough, there was more bad news to come. Weeks after the Venice dinner, Doherty’s 90210 costar Luke Perry died suddenly of a massive stroke. After the show, they had grown apart, but they’d reconnected in recent years. They were even talking about working together, developing a new television project.

At a memorial service for Perry in March 2019, Doherty saw Brian Austin Green, the only other 90210 castmate she could call a close friend. Green had known Doherty even before they were onscreen together, and she shared the news of her metastatic diagnosis with him, even though she was keeping it under wraps publicly. Doherty and Green chatted at the memorial, and the conversation eventually shifted to the latest reboot of the show, called BH90210, a scripted-reality version of the old nighttime drama set in the present day. Castmates Tori Spelling and Jennie Garth had helped come up with the idea for the series, which had been green-lighted at Fox, and all the principals of the original had signed on—except Doherty.

Even before her cancer diagnosis, Doherty was dead set against doing the show. “I had already done two 90210s by that point,” she says. “I didn’t really see it as something that was going to help, but I did feel that it could stir up stuff from when I was 19 years old.”

The 1990s made Doherty a household name, but the decade also left scars. She had helped build 90210 and the Fox network into juggernauts, but on and off set, she seemed to run into problems wherever she went. Celebrity tabloids regularly published stories about Doherty fighting with producers, writers, and actors. She was a diva, according to reports. She was a bitch, they said, impossible to deal with. A 1993 People magazine cover declared Doherty “Out of Control!” after the actress’s ex-fiancé accused her in court of threatening him with bodily harm. The story itself, one of many like it, reported that Doherty had “left a trail of bad debts, trashed homes, exhausted friendships, and wasted relationships.” There was even an I Hate Brenda newsletter devoted to bad-mouthing Doherty and her onscreen character. “The more stories that were written about me, the more defensive and closed off I became,” Doherty tells me. “And the bigger the walls I built around me. I had a lot of resentment.” 

Doherty had worked hard to move on from that time. When the newest reboot came around, she had long been out of the spotlight, but her relative obscurity had an upside—privacy, which she prized more than anything. She didn’t want to go back, to the tabloids or her castmates. But Green asked her to reconsider. “I was really pitching her: ‘I know it’s going to be fucking hard, but come do it. I think it’ll be really good for you,’ ” Green says. The actors had grown up and were all different people now, Green told her, and so was she. He would act as a buffer if she needed one. “ ‘This is a rare opportunity to experience each other again in a much different way,’ ” Green says he told her. 

Perry’s death shifted things for Doherty. Maybe the show could be a sort of tribute to him. Maybe it was a chance to prove to herself that metastatic breast cancer didn’t mean the end of working. Maybe it was both. “Things happen and you go, ‘All right, this is what I’m supposed to be doing at this moment,’ ” she says.

This moment would be different. Doherty had changed, yes, but so had her ability to fight back against negative stories in the celebrity press. “I knew that once I signed up for the show, the bullshit would start all over again. And, in fact, it did,” she says. The reboot’s showrunner and several writers quit before the new show began shooting, and rumors swirled that Doherty was once again acting out. “I addressed it immediately,” Doherty says. On Instagram, she wrote, “I refuse to be cast in the same villain role because ‘journalists’ lack imagination.… I am a woman with my own story.” She wrote that the rumors about her causing upheaval with the new show were untrue and that she was a more complicated person than the headlines made her seem: “I promise,” she wrote, “you don’t know me.”

Part 1 - Part 2

[theseviolentdelightss]

Counting Paths XVII

Series Summary: After a lifetime on the run from the Empire, Reader makes a move that could have drastic impacts for both friend and foe. A Reader insert/fanfic. Gifs belong to their respective owners.

Word Count: 4386

Author’s Note: Sorry again for the wait.

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX Part X Part XI Part XII Part XIII Part XIV Part XV Part XVI

It was cold when you awoke. Eyes fluttering slowly as the memories came flooding back. The cantina, the code black, running yourself ragged which would explain why it felt as if someone had taken every muscle in your body and rung them out like a soaked cloth.

“Called it!” The sound of Roland's voice, while a small comfort, did nothing to stifle the pounding in your head nor the ringing in your ears. It rather enhanced it, earning an agitated groan from you as your eyes struggled to adjust. “Two hours and fourteen minutes, everybody pay up!”

All around you came the sound of grumbles. Money being dug out of pockets and wallets as Roland chuckled proudly. His paw out and ready for the taking.

“Did you seriously take bets on how long I would be passed out?” You asked coolly once the crowd had cleared. Narrowing your eyes as you stared down the older rebel, hands over flowing with newly acquired credits.

“No...” Roland stuttered. If you hadn't known better you would have sworn you saw guilt in his eyes as he adverted his gaze. Catching a glimpse of your reflection it was easy to see why.

Fainting from exhaustion and dehydration had done you no favors. The color in your cheeks had yet to return and your hands trembled as you ran them over your face. Apparently the first medic on site had struggled to find a vein, leaving the inside of your elbow an abstract mess off deep purple and sickly yellow skin. The bruise bloomed around the needle in your arm like a dying violet. Growing more gruesome by the moment.

When word first made it to Roland that you had ran out of the bunker with less than three minutes to spare he had assumed it was just another rumor. They seemed to have been following you as of late. Sprouting like weeds about your feet. It was only when Penny began to panic, pushing through the rows of bunks and cots towards the small infirmary area that he began to believe it. Nearly 30 flights of stairs and you had ran it three times in under five minutes. It was no wonder the exhaustion had gotten the better of you, not to mention the liquor. “Well maybe-”

“Give it!” You held your hand out, turning your attention away as you waited.

Dragging his feet Roland placed the pile of money into your palm. Licking your thumb you flipped through it before handing over a small percentage.

“Finders fee.” You smirked softly, feeling your head beginning to clear.

Following the IV in your arm you recognized the mixture hanging above you. A combination of saline and nutrients. Glancing around it was obvious that you weren't the only casualty of today's surprising great escape. A handful of cots sat occupied in the dimness. Strangers with swollen ankles and knees, a man with a thick piece of gauze wrapped about his head. Even from this distance you could spot where the blood had began to seep through. On the cot nearest you Penny lay dozing with no sign of visual injuries. Gently pushing aside her red curls you couldn't help but chuckle as the drool ran down her cheek. For now she would be fine, the hangover wouldn't hit her till she woke up.

“Where's Zara?”

“Off sleeping I think. Took some skinny kid half an hour to convince her you'd be fine.” Roland replied. “Want me to go tell her you're up?”

“No let her rest.”

“They need you.” Roland's eyes again shifted to the ground as he spoke. “In the control room.”

“Why?” You asked, unsure as to why the Rebellion saw need to punish you so quickly. Sure, you had disobeyed a direct order which in itself wasn't a first, but no one had gotten seriously hurt. Minus the guard you had punched but he had it coming. You still had the scar beneath your hairline from where he had struck you long ago. That was well worth a week of messhall duty. Still, that wasn't an urgent matter, not enough to warrant a trip to the control room in the middle of a code black no less.

“The hell if I know.” Roland spit bitterly. He was an amazing soldier yet for all his military prowess he hated authority more than a hormonal teenager.  “Captain Andor ordered me to stay here and fetch ya as soon as you woke up so hop to it.”

“You do see the IV in my arm right?”

Licking his thumb and forefinger Roland reached forward, snatched the plastic butterfly wings on either side of the thin needle and slid it out from under your skin like a warrior drawing a sword.

“For fucks sake Roland!” You hissed, reaching up to smack the curly haired man across the back of the head. What had only moments before been a dull ache now stung white hot. “There's a reason people don't actually do that you jackass!”

A half roll of gauze and a handful of curses later Roland was escorting you through the dark tunnels that lead to the lowest level. To keep the temperature from spiking most everyone had been spread out among the various floors. The bunker itself had seven and at its heart sat the war council. The most highly concentrated area of people and still it did nothing to stave off the cold. By the time you made it through the beehive of workers busy at various consoles and tablets you could faintly see your breath in front of your face. Wrapping your arms around yourself you tried to find some degree of warmth. Dragging the sleeves of your jacket over the palms of your hands as Roland motioned you forward.  

“Baby...” Roland muttered, side eyeing you as you began to shiver.

“Not all of us have been blessed with blubber to keep us warm.” You replied, eyeing Roland's protruding gut. Typically you weren't one to shame a person for their body but considering this was the same man who had only minutes before ripped an IV from your arm, you found it in yourself to make an exception. Thankfully it shut him up, allowing you a few moments of silence before coming to a stop outside a large set of wooden double doors. Unlike most on base these had been built in the old style that swung inwardly rather than sliding open or closed.

“From here on out your on your own kid.” Roland leaned against the wall as he spoke, retrieving a small knife from his pocket he began to pic the dried grease out from under his fingernails.

Sighing you knocked on the old wood nervously. The door opened with a low groan, kicking up a whirl of dust around your feet as you slipped inside. The space was noticeably cooler, the mood even more so.

“Sargent L/N please come forward.” Mon Mothma spoke calmly as always. She was a decent and honorable woman but that didn't mean her composed demeanor wasn't hiding an ugly truth.

Perhaps they had finally decided you were too much of a liability.

Maybe this most recent act of defiance truly was the last straw.

Stepping forward into the dim light your eyes scanned the various faces for anyone who might speak on your behalf. Cassian's dark eyes found you instantly, as if your gaze had been magnetically drawn to him. He stood with his arms crossed, jaw tense as if he were grinding his teeth. Draven sat at the large wooden table that stood in the center of the room. A massive piece carved with the same script and symbols as the door behind you. It had likely been there as long as the temple itself. Standing strong for hundreds of years. You couldn't help but drag your fingers across the surface as you made you way to your seat. 

“We have serious matters to discuss.”

The edge to the ginger haired woman's tone might have upset you if it weren't for a sickening realization, one that washed over you like an icy wave.

“Where is Theodren?” You asked instantly, trying hard to hide the fear growing inside you. The silence that followed was no help, seconds ticking by like hours as you waited. “Where is-”

“We don't know.” Mon Mothma replied, her tone gentler than before yet straight to the point. No time for curtsies. “Commander Theodren had departed for Bakura shortly before we were alerted of an Imperial patrol entering our atmosphere. Until the code black has been lifted any attempts to contact him are impossible.”

It felt as if the floor had been ripped out from beneath you. That weightless feeling of falling that jolts you awake. Surely you must be dreaming. Your luck may have been notoriously bad but this was nightmarish. Grabbing a hold of the table for support you allowed your body to slump into the chair nearest you. Mon Mothma continued to speak, for how long you can't be sure, it wasn't until General Draven snapped his fingers in front of your face that your mind cleared. Glazed eyes blinking for the first time in minutes.

“Sergant L/N?” Mothma spoke calmly, holding out a hand to hush Draven as she stepped closer. The room was dim but it may as well have been pitch black. Even with eyes open you looked but did not see. It was only Theodren you thought of and the space where he should have stood. “You're bleeding.”

The words had no sooner left the woman's mouth when you felt the first drop collide with the back of your hand. Closing your eyes tightly you allowed a second and third to fall before reaching for the source. A stream of blood trailed from your right nostril. Stickily coating your fingertips and leaving the taste of metal on your lips. Out of the corner of your eye you watched as Cassian moved forward. His face calm and composed as ever. Before he could step any further you were already standing. Hand held firmly against your nose trying in vain to stem the flow. It made sense, your tears had long ago been used up, only blood remained to spare.

“I apologize...” You muttered, pushing yourself away from the table and towards the large doors you had came in through. They sprawled open rather easily at your touch. The chill of the room a distant memory as the heat bloomed at the base of your neck and began to spread. The mix of worry and fear enveloping you as you searched for an exit, not caring where it went. It was solitude you yearned for. A space of your own where you could internalize the wars currently raging between your head and your heart.

Sighing you spotted a door that led through yet another dark hallway. Pushing your way further down till the last door stood waiting. Without so much as a knock you let yourself in. The stale smell of dust and age rushing up to greet you as you stepped inside. Rows of empty shelves lined the walls. The pale light above flickering out as you settled to the floor.

You hadn't prayed in years. After everything you had done you doubted the anyone would pay you so much as a passing thought. Still, even as the cold seeped through your bones you found yourself murmuring the words. Blood stained hands held tightly together.

“I didn't know you prayed.”

“I don't-” You replied, red eyes adjusting to the small lantern the captain held in his hands. “not usually at least.”

“Neither do I.”

“Why not?”

“Because they were never answered.” Cassian's eyed you cautiously as he knelt in front of you. Noting that the bleeding that had provided you a perfect out had yet to stop. Sitting the lantern to the side Cassian dug his hands into his pocket, retrieving a clean rag he leaned forward to press it delicately around your nose.

“Mine were never answered either.” Your voice felt small as you reached forward, trying to take a hold of the rag yourself, expecting Cassian to let go yet he held on.

“What were you thinking?”

“Excuse me?”

There was no hiding the tone to your voice. It was one thing to question yourself. The last thing you needed right now was Cassian doing the same.

“I told you to stay where you were.” Cassian replied calmly, ignoring your weak attempt at an attitude.

“I never told you how my brother died, did I?” That caught him off guard. The frustration draining from his eyes as he gazed back at you. “Come to think of it, I'm not sure I ever mentioned him at all...”

Settling onto the floor with a thump Cassian let the rag slip from his grip. His expression gentler than before, clearly this new revelation was not what he had been expecting.

“His name was Willis I had just turned eight when he was born. I was so excited. I'd finally have a friend that I wouldn't have to say goodbye to after a few months...but mama died on the birthing bed so I had to step up. It wasn't easy, especially not at first. I was still just a kid myself, and a part of me hated him for taking my mother away, but that didn't last. He was too kind, too gentle to hate and he was so smart. He could be a real brat about it too, always correcting my spelling.” You chuckled lightly, losing yourself in a memory for one brief moment.

“He heard it first, woke me up. I thought he was just having another bad dream but then I heard it too. It all happened so fast, the chaos, the slaughter. It started in the outlying villages but it didn't take long to make its way into the city. All of the sudden they were in the streets, kicking down your door, coming through your front room window. That's when the exodus started. I had never seen anything like it. All around us the buildings were going up in flames. You could hear people screaming. I passed the body of the baker who had made my bread that morning lying in a gutter as we fled. His face was gone but I recognized his apron. It felt like we were at war.”

“Antar IV.” Cassian said quietly, turning his head to face you. “The massacre. You were there?”

Nodding you tried to steady your breathing. It had been years since you had spoken about that night and for good reason. Anytime it came up you felt your pulse quicken, the cold sweat forming on the back of your neck. As if some small part of you was forever trapped in the moment and just for a second it had pulled the rest of you under. Drowning you on dry land.

“I lost my father's hand in the crowd, my brother begged me to go back, but I had promised...so I didn't. I couldn't. I wanted to more than anything but I knew if I stopped, if I looked back we would both be lost. So I lied. I told him we would meet my father at the ship. The old man had been working on the same one for ages, kept it docked at this little hole in the wall station he worked at. I thought for sure by the time we got there all that would be left was ash and rubble but there it stood. No more than twenty yards away. I was moving so fast I didn't even see him until-”

You voice hitched in your throat with a weak shudder. The hairs on the back of your neck standing on end as you began to run your hands up and down your thighs.

“I begged him to let us go. We were just children. I swore to him we wouldn't tell anyone, not a soul, but he just put us in his sights.” Turning your eyes to the ceiling you were happy not to have to look at Cassian's face as he heard what came next. “I tried to move Willis out of the way, but he had twisted his ankle during the run and I was carrying him. All I could do was turn around, try to cover him with myself but it didn't make any difference. That fucker cut us down like we were nothing.”

“How did you survive?” Cassian asked softly.

“I drove a screw driver through his eye and out the back of his skull.” You replied coolly, the sadness in your voice replaced with an entirely different emotion. “The first life I ever took and it didn't even matter. Willis died anyways. He bleed out in my arms. One second he was crying and trying to say something and then he just...went still. I had never seen someone die before but I watched as the spark drained from my brothers eyes, and that pain...”

Again you had to stop, try to calm your thumping heart as it pounded away against your chest. There was a reason you avoided this subject. It was always painful to speak of, but now with Theodren's fate so uncertain it only served to frighten you more. To remind you of what it felt like to lose someone you love.

“I didn't think I'd ever get over it so I locked that part of me away. Stopped caring about everything and everyone.”

Across from you Cassian shifted, leaning his back against the wall as he took in all you had to say. Not entirely sure if he should be relieved that you were sharing so much with him or worried. Crossing his arms to stave off the chill he watched as you fidgeted with your hands, pulling at the edges of your sleeves, tucking those relentless loose curls behind your ears. His own hands itched to reach out, take a hold of your own and still them but he thought better of it. Now wasn't the time.  

“I didn't join the Rebellion because I wanted to be a hero Cassian. I didn't give a damn about glory. A quick death was all I wanted, but then I met Theodren, and he was alone too. He was the only one that ever...he was my one true friend. I lost him once already, I don't want to lose him again.”

“You won't.” Cassian said with a bit too much certainty, overcompensating in his hopes of comforting you. “Theodren is the smartest person I know. I'm sure once this code black has lifted you'll hear from him.”

“Why are you here Cassian?” You asked suddenly, the urge to be alone over powering your usual politeness.

“I was worried about you.” He replied, not defensive in the least. A welcome surprise given your own change in demeanor.  “Didn't want you to be alone.”

“I appreciate that Cassian, truly I do, but you don't have to worry about me.” You stated, maintaining your full attention on him. Noting the subtle change in the distance between the two of you. Typically the captain preferred to put added space between the both of you yet today seemed the expectation.

“Look, I worry.” He stated simply, laying his hand out flat in a gesture to simply accept that fact and let it go. “Just promise me you won't do anything stupid.”

“Cass I-” Chewing your bottom lip you considered lying, it would be easiest for everyone but Cassian deserved the truth. “It's Theodren, if there is even a small chance I have to try.”

“Are you in love with him?” Cassian asked, his eyes glued intensely to your own.

“Who?” You scoffed. “Theodren?”

The dark haired rebel nodded sheepishly and in that moment you could have kissed him because despite everything that had happened Cassian had managed to do the unthinkable. He made you laugh. No sweeter a gift could he have given you in that moment.

“What?” You half chuckled, the very idea of it still tickling your sides. Not that Theodren wasn't a catch, it was just so far removed from anything you could have imagined. The two of you had been best friends for years and not once had there been even an inkling of romance. “No! Of course I love him but Theodren is like family to me.”

“I understand.”

“Are you alright?” You asked, watching as Cassian began to draw in on himself. Scooting himself to sit with his back straight and flush against the wall. Hands swiftly shoved into the pockets of his jacket.

“I'm fine.” He replied but you simply shook your head. How the hell was this guy a spy?

“You're a shitty liar you know that.” You nudged Cassian's knee with your foot as you spoke. Thankful that the tension had for a moment been lessened enough to catch your breath.

“Only with you.” His answer was short but it was enough to return the tension tenfold.

Whelp, that didn't last long...

“And that bothers you?”

“I'd be a fool if it didn't.” Cassian's brows knitted as he spoke, looking any where but at you.

“Why?” Leaning forward you grabbed a hold of Cassian's hand and squeezed it tightly. “What's so wrong with being honest with me?”

“You're always saving people.” Cassian said simply, at last turning his gaze to meet your own.

“What-”

“Just-just listen.” He insisted calmly and you couldn't blame him. You were well aware of your bad habit of interrupting people. It wasn't that you were rude, some people just spoke so slowly by comparison.

“You're always saving people. You saved Zara, you saved Roland, hell you saved me the night we met. Its who you are.” Sighing Cassian let his eyes drift to where your fingers sat wrapped around his own. Your knees inching closer, unwilling to give in to his poor attempt at gaining distance.  

“When I came down here I wanted to yell at you, to tell you that you were being foolish, convince you to stop...but I can't because that's not you.” Shaking his head Cassian smiled gently, his eyes warmer than before. Filled with an emotion you couldn't quite peg down but you were all too aware of how it made you feel.

“What's so wrong with that?” You half whispered.

“Nothing.” Cassian answered, turning your hand over in his own. Fingertips softly tracing along the lines of your palm. “Nothing, it just frightens me.”

“Cass I'm fine, seriously you don't have to worry-” You tried to put on your best smile as you spoke. If Cassian truly worried about you the least you could do was assure him you would try your best to stay alive. It was a bit of a priority anyways but if it mattered to someone else why not try harder?

Even if you weren't sure how to feel about it.

“And what if you weren't?” He asked sharply, turning the tables and instead interrupting you. “I know why you went back for Zara. I know why you want to go after Theodren. Because what if something happens and you could have done something but didn't? Then that's on you right? But if you go back and something happens to you then that's on me.”

“I'm not your responsibility anymore.” 

“It's not like that.”

“Then what is it?” You pushed, trying to hide the faintest hint of desperation in your voice. As if months of second guessing had inevitability lead you here. “What are you so afraid of Cassian?”

“You want to know what I'm afraid of?” Cassian eyes burned as he leaned closer, bursting the tiny bubble of personal space that existed between the two of you. “Losing you.”

And there it was. The truth you had been running from. It wasn't often that you felt vulnerable. It wasn't the sort of thing you were allowed, not if you wanted to stay alive.

“Your turn, no bullshit this time.” Cassian said, his mouth twitching as he spoke.

Taking a sharp breath through your nose you allowed yourself a moment of rational thought. To think of how very wrong this may all go. How much you could stand to lose, but that moment ended.

Unblinking you watched as Cassian's eyes flickered with longing. Something you only now realized had been there all along. They continued to follow your every move, watching as you inched closer until your knee dug into his thigh. Trembled and shifted. A pale hand snaking its way along the back of his neck. For a moment Cassian felt as if his brain had stalled, unable to process what was happening like a teenager second guessing themselves, but then you kissed him, putting those fears to rest in an instant. It was everything he had remembered from that night many months ago when he had first stolen a taste. 

Only now there was no limit. No hesitance.

It surprised you as well, how easily you melted into his grasp. Calloused hands swept along your sides until your shirt began to bunch between his fingers. The touch of his skin burning as it grazed your own. Feather light fingers threading through your hair as he pressed you against him.

Sometime later after you finally gave in to the need for oxygen did you allow the reality of what had just happened sink in. The terrifyingly true severity of it washing over you all at once. Still, it was impossible not to smile and lean into the palm of Cassian's hand as he held you close. Foreheads pressed against one another. So close you could feel his every exhale on your skin.

“That.” You finally admitted, knowing for certain that you were now well and truly fucked.

[transfemininomenon]

Hey, i'm actually a "truscum" i found out recently, but im a little confused on the whole ordeal. Im not even sure if i actually am truscum or not- because some posts seem to tie up with me being one but others dont, but i saw you were really against them, so i wanted to ask if you're okay with a friendly calm conversation about it? I am very confused and i just want to learn a bit more or find out if i'm wrong about the whole ordeal. Are you open to it?

i'll be honest im not sure how friendly i can be with this kind of conversation because i really truly genuinely, and i don't use this word lightly, Hate truscum and its hard for me to really be civil about the discussion. but for the sake of this and me giving you a lot of benefit of the doubt that this ask is in good faith i'll explain why i do not like the entire truscum ideology

1. i guess i'll start off with the Big One - the claim that dysphoria is Required to be trans. i'll preface this by saying that i am someone who has experienced, and currently Experiences in wildly different degrees depending on what is happening in my life, dysphoria throughout my entire life. i had my entire teenage and young adult years stolen from me by it. i won't get into details about it because that is a Very Very Personal subject for me, but needless to say dysphoria is something that was a very prevalent part of my life.

anyway. the notion that dysphoria is a Trans Requirement™ is something that i hugely disagree with. i used to think that me figuring out i was a trans woman was because i experienced dysphoria, but frankly the opposite is true. dysphoria is what made me refuse to believe i was a woman or could ever be one. it made me believe i was a man and that was all i would ever be. it wasn't until i really started experimenting with my gender and unpacking a lot of stuff i felt about myself that i started to finally realize the woman i was. i first started trying our she/her pronouns nearing four years now, and started using the name Alice a few months after that. being referred to as a woman & experimenting with different feminine things gave me such incredible feelings of euphoria that i still experience to this day whenever i discover something new about my identity.

and that is something ive heard from SO many other trans people i know. or different things too - i know people who are completely fine with their bodies, just certain words and terms never felt Right to them. because the thing with dysphoria is that it, like all things gender related, is a product of society. dysphoria only exists because transphobia exists - people are told that there are these two rigid things that you are and HERE is what makes you one of those things, and those things are drilled into you literally since birth. everything from colors to jobs to hobbies to cars to entertainment to clothing to Literally Everything is gendered, and when that happens then of fucking course there are gonna be people who don't fall in line with that, and when it's so instilled into people and seen as such societal norms of COURSE people are going to have trouble with that.

and that's not even getting into the subject of gender on a biological level. the fact of the matter is that the two sex system Isn't True and that biological sex is very complicated. intersex people exist, people with all kinds of different chromosomes exist, people of certain body types that have higher levels of different hormones exist, SO much goes into that subject that frankly narrowing it down to two things just doesn't Work

and that's the real problem at the end of the day. dysphoria only exists because of a fucked up gender binary that clashes with both biology and sociology. people are complicated on both a biological and personal level and having set binaries for things is bound to cause confusion & doubt.

like, people's identities are SUCH personal things in so many different ways. there isn't any Right Way™ to be trans. i know trans women with beards, trans women who have no interest in starting hrt, trans men who wear dresses and makeup, non-binary people who make no effort to be androgynous, i know SO many different identities and different people. because the fact is that there's no right way to be trans because nothing is inherently gendered including people's very bodies. people are themselves and there is no Right way to be themselves.

that's on top of the lack of education when it comes to the subject of gender. such a huge part too of me figuring out i was trans was literally learning that it was even a fucking option. i genuinely didn't know just Being A Girl was an option. reading up on gender stuff and researching the different idea of transitioning was intrinsic in my figuring out who i was because oh shit turns out there are people like me and that is Okay.

like, dysphoria literally could've been a non-issue for me. i could've lived in a world where i could just Exist and enjoy whatever i wanted without it being weird. i could've decided so much sooner that i wasn't happy with the way my body was growing and not spent my entire teen years being so confused why i was so sad seeing my girl peers. i could have from the start just gotten to be a girl and never have had dysphoria be part of the equation.

im not trans being i experience dysphoria. im trans because being a woman is rad as hell and it's what i wanted. im trans because changing my name to Alice was the biggest moment of my entire life. im trans because rebelling against the societal restraints of gender is fucking metal. im trans because my friends can't even remember me ever not being me now. im trans because im a great older sister. im trans because god nerfed me and i said nah thanks man but im not feeling it.

my identity and my gender are very personal and complicated things, and narrowing it down to "i experience dysphoria" is frankly insulting to me.

anyway, that's the big point out of the way, so here's some shorter ones

2. this is kinda expanding on the last point, but truscum both insisting non-binary people aren't a thing and them insisting "transtrenders" exist is hmm Bad

the sheer fact of the matter is the concept of being non-binary has existed from the oldest known records of human history on TOP of that concept being prevalent in many different cultures so what do ya know there's a healthy dose of racism involved in the denial of non-binary people. the gender binary is such a western concept and there are SO many different cultures where different gender identities exist.

and, frankly, going back to the above point that gender is fucking Fake and is a societal concept - again, of fucking course there are going to be people who see a rigid set of rules on gender and are like "well wait that doesn't fit me" so of COURSE non-binary people exist

on the subject of "transtrenders" i feel like i shouldn't even HAVE to get into this subject because of how inherently transphobic it is. the concept doesn't exist. there are people who experiment with their gender and then decide their assigned one is fine. there are people who go through all kinds of different identities. there are people who come out as a different gender and then revert back due to backlash. there are people who get told the way they present their gender is the Wrong Way™ and get branded a trender. it's a dangerous thought process that literally does nothing but serve the cis status quo and make people afraid to experiment and think about their identities.

3. the idea that Those Evil Trenders™ are stealing resources from the Real Trans People™ is, frankly, fucking bullshit. issues when it comes to trans people finding difficulty accessing healthcare comes from a transphobic society hellbent on denying us care on top of fucked up healthcare systems in general. hormones aren't some limited quality hard to acquire thing - when i started hrt transferring my prescription from my clinic to my local pharmacy was a non-issue because it's something basically any pharmacy will have for ALL kinds of different purposes. it's an issue because healthcare in general is a god damn Mess on TOP of inherent transphobia

and, frankly, truscum are directly involved in that transphobia in the medical field. unless you find an informed consent clinic you're going to have to jump through all kinds of hoops to prove you're Actually Trans™ by getting referrals from other (almost always cis) people and then get put on ridiculous waitlists to make sure you're not about to change your mind. that kind of attitude is only encouraged by truscum and it is one of the biggest source of trans people having such difficulty accessing healthcare.

4. truscum as far as im concerned are no different than any other transphobe. two years ago before i started hrt i was harassed by truscum multiple times, each time having them tell me i wasn't trans, that i was just a trender, and it genuinely boggles my mind that anyone thinks misgendering me because i disagreed with their ideology is Woke, actually. I've seen so many fellow trans women getting called men by truscum who disagreed with them. i was actively told i shouldn't start hrt because i "wasn't really trans and was gonna ruin my life"

i really hope all of people live in anger every day knowing ive been on hrt over a year and a half and am fucking Thriving

anyway that's all i got to say on the matter i realize my points became less thought out as it went on but frankly the first point is enough for me to not like truscum

(please refrain from reblogging this i don't want any clowns in my inbox)

[tribridkissed]

Everything Afflicting Lil’ Ol’ Me…

Sleep Paralysis:

Starting off with the basics here because this has been what sort of started it all. When I was little, I was super into the whole idea of spirits. I honestly still am for different reasons, but it started when I was young and having sleep problems. The doctors still don’t know why it started, but I’ve always thought I sensed ‘presences’ so I told ghost stories…because I saw ‘ghosts’ in my sleep, some of which were terrifying and would sit on my chest and I’d still feel that feeling when I woke up, so duh it was real.

When I was a teenager, I started getting these hallucinations far more vividly and the doctors started to take it a lot more seriously, especially when I was getting depressed and suicidal on top of it all. Turned out I had ‘Old Hag’s Syndrome’, or ‘Sleep Paralysis’, and there was now a logical explanation for it. Basically my brain wakes up sometimes before my body does, and I’m paralyzed but I can still see the hallucinations. Feeling pinned down and violated is honestly the worst, and it fucks me up for the rest of the day mentally when it happens. It is why I’m against lucid dreaming, and why I vehemently believe in demons and evil spirits even if doctor’s wanna just call it a hallucination induced by stress. Either way, I have insomnia sometimes too and my sleep is all over the place and that never helps one’s body.

Hormone Imbalances

My hormones have probably been all over the place my whole puberty experience? Like, my periods started out being heavy, irregular and painful. I know that’s mostly normal--we women handle cramps like a boss, okay?--but I would have to stay home from school once or twice in a row every time I got my period, because I was curled up in a ball hurling: much like I do now. Going on birth control helped for a while and then started to make it worse, so we took me off of the birth control and my period started to even out and I stopped getting so sick, unless I ovulated from both sides and not just one, which they found out was also happening. Yay for the possibility of twins naturally, but yikes to the extra hormone surges.

Paraxysmol AFib:

I went through a whole stint of my early 20′s having palpitations in my chest. I just attributed it to my anxiety, and to stress because I had just finished a whole High School career of only honor’s classes, and I had switched from Pre-Med to Early Childhood Development, and so even when the doctors from an arrhythmia, I just sort of dismissed it. I didn't have the time, I was working twelve hours days as a nanny, I was doing college, and I didn't have time...and then I had an AFib attack after exercising and ended up having chest pain.

That pain lasted a month and a half without going away or getting any better, I had a bunch of doctors tell me I was being a hypochondriac, and then I got put on a heart monitor. The heart monitor caught not one but two episodes in the span of three weeks, and it was only then that they took me seriously. So even though I was ‘too young’ and ‘healthy’, I ended up becoming a heart patient at the ripe old age of 25, and it has been part of my life ever since. I take medicine daily to keep my heart rate down, because it beats too fast on its own, and I had to cut down on coffee, which...I was a caffeine addict so that was rough, lol. I’ve had to change dosages, which stresses my body out for a week each time that happens, and it has just been who I am now. I have heart patient jewelry and everything, just in case of emergencies.

Cyclic Vomiting Syndrome

So this all brings me to the next big thing: cyclic vomiting syndrome. I have been sick for 6 months now, nauseous basically every day, vomiting stints every once in a while that land me in urgent care to get IV fluids and meds because nothing will stay in my stomach, it all comes up. This started back in August, now known actual cause, and it has been my main affliction these days. I am on antacid medications, my heart medicine still, and anti nausea I have to take every single day. My body is exhausted, and that’s not even the half of it.

The doctors aren’t even fully sure this is what is going on with me, this is just how they are treating me because they can’t find anything. I have had an MRI, CT scans, ultrasounds, blood tests of all sorts (food allergies, diabetes, etc.), and everything says I am healthy. I have had a tumor removed from my esophagus when they did the endoscopy in the beginning, and I had a history of cysts (I’ve had one in my head, in my arm pits, and now one in my right nasal cavity), and I have a second and third tumor growing in my right arm. They aren’t convinced any of this is related, they just know that my period problem from high school is happening again, so they’re convinced it is hormone induced cyclic vomiting syndrome...which has no for sure cause or cure, so, that has been nice, and has triggered my depression, but I’ve been dealing with my depression my entire life.

Depression/Abuse

Since I was a kid, I’ve had a messed up home life. My uncle did some truly horrible things before he ended up eventually in jail for four life sentences, and short story on that because I simply don’t talk about it, is he used to tape my sister and I shut in boxes, and threaten us with his pet snake. He even through a knife at my cousin once, and would put my sister and up on the top shelf of the closet and leave us there.

On top of that, my Dad was never around much, and he left for good when I was 7, the same year that my grandmother died from the chemo for her ovarian cancer. He is a whole other story in itself, but he only added to my abandonment issues when I was 21 and he showed back up ONLY to talk my sister and I out of making him pay off the back child support he owed (it was a whole thing), and having the audacity to say he stayed away because he loved us...but raised our half siblings, so...just. I don’t like talking about him either.

Then I had a mother who was constantly verbally abusing my sister and I--she still does--and calling us fat even when we were skinny. Telling us we wasted our potential, telling us we’re useless, etc., and only recently getting herself the help she needs for her own emotional issues because she too was abused. Our family is filled with abusers, and she’s much better now that we’ve all addressed we have some problems, but dealing with that on top of all the other things that I deal with now, has been rough.

I feel broken. My mother tells me not to say that, but all of my health issues, and my failed past relationships with boys that have thus kept me single the last three years, make me feel that way. I’m a demisexual person who had two boyfriends cheat because they couldn’t wait for me to be ready for sex, and one basically admit after a little while that he just wanted sex and was “putting up with my feelings until then”, and I dunno, I delved farther into writing and honestly, it has been my only constant.

I’ve been writing stories since I was 6, and this is a hobby, yes, but it is also an escape when I’m not working on my stuff to get published (I’ve actually been a published author since 2011). I’m editing my second book right now and it gets priority sometimes when I’m in a funk, but I have been so sick lately because of my stomach, and just so tired and stressed with work really only keeping me on because they can’t fire me when I have medical reasons and doctor’s notes, and I just thought you guys should know.

I try to be on because writing helps me not think about all of my issues, but sometimes I’m so tired, or so sick, that I just can’t do replies. Plus, my arm with the tumors has been hurting more and more lately, and I may have to get them removed, which will mean another two weeks of a sling and pain meds, and crying myself to sleep because recovery from arm surgery hurts.

So if I’m ever slow, something is up. I love being around to write--it’s my safe space--but I’ve been dealing with a lot lately. I really do love and appreciate all of you, and I’m so grateful that you guys are so patient with me. <3

[mc-dude]

some skincare tips ive learned recently

if your moisturizer doesn’t make you break out but just isn’t quite moisturizing enough, add 2-3 drops of squalane oil and it instantly becomes SUPER hydrating and makes your skin so soft

make sure it’s squalane and not squalene. squalene can contribute to fungal acne breakouts. squalane, however, is perfectly safe for all skin types.

if your acne is hormonal working out helps so much. honestly. it clears up my face so fast (like, after my 7th consecutive workout my face isn’t breaking out like usual. i do once every 3 days or sometimes once ever 2 if i’m not too sore). working out positively effects like, all hormones. cortisol, insulin, thyroid, sexy hormones. all of em. mainly cardiovascular exercises, but resistance training (what I’ve been doing) also is good.

working out is hard and not super rewarding right away so that’s why i usually stop quickly after starting. its hard not getting that instant gratification. the BEST way to work out harder / get more motivated is to take some caffeine 20-30 min before workout. not too much or you’ll feel like ur dying afterwards. just a bit makes me lift so much harder and get so much more hype. listen to some shitty metal music from your youth like me. 

diet affects acne as much as working out, if not more. excess of dairy has been known to lead to hormonal imbalances. refined sugars increase insulin levels which lead to increased sebum (that white gunk inside ur pores) production. try to reduce your refined sugar intake & refined carbs (aka non-whole grain carbs) and you will probably see improvement in this area, as well as increase ur energy throughout the day. taking out refined sugars from my diet took me from like, super sloth to just normal sloth. whack. everything that tastes delicious is evil, basically. in excess.

fungal acne is a thing and it’s not what you think it is from the name (see: me thinking about mushrooms growing on face). it usually occurs as small bumps that never come to a head and are super itchy in small clusters. simpleskincarescience dot com has a good article on how to deal with it if you got it (i don’t personally). oh, and hormonal imbalance can lead to increase production of the shit that causes fungal acne. hurrah. fuck skin

oil cleansing aka OCM really cleans the fuck out of your skin in a very gentle way. the basic premise is that oil binds to other oils and will get the gunk out of your pores better than water. a really nonirritating oil is mineral oil that most people start with. don’t use oils like coconut, lanolin, palm, etc. those will break you tf out. get some mineral oil on yo face (when its dry-- any water and it will not bind to the oils in ur face because water and oil dont mix), massage it gently until you feel the gunk coming out of your pores (if you dont feel it after a while its okay, means ur pores aren’t super gunky!), then wipe off gently with a warm, damp clean towel. then after use your normal cleanser to get the rest of it off. ta da! double cleansing goodness. this really helps prevent breakouts before they start.

if you have a lot of closed comedones aka the super small whiteish bumps on ur skin, use 2% BHA to get rid of them. I use paula’s choice 2% BHA but there are loads of other options. I slather is on my face every other day (it’s pretty drying if you use it too much- any active aka acids are in higher concentrations) and it gets rid of them and smoothes out my face texture so much. actives will thin your skin out slightly for like a day afterwards so make sure to use sunscreen. and don’t wax on the area at all for a few days or you will tear off your skin :^) 

sunscreen prevents your acne marks from becoming darker. sunlight will 100% cause blemishes to appear darker. i didnt care about sunscreen for so long and my acne scars just like, stayed there forever. started using sunscreen before i go outside (even for like, 15 min) and it’s like night and day. it’s whack. the sun is evil. use sunscreen. korean/japanese sunscreens are usually not as greasy and don’t leave a white cast. get a mattifying one and use it as a primer or w/e you gals do for even better results. 

thats it. love u all. take care of your skin. 

[dead-thorin]

everything im gonna write is gonna be concerning but it be like that and its really not concerning

for like months now i haven’t been ok. And like it’s gotten worse with the holidays and ive been so fucking angry and tired lol. like at first i was like its fine its ok, then i was like its the hormones it happens, then its the stress of finals and work but like its really not like i legit just dont want to be alive anymore im really tired of it. Like idk how to convey just how much i dont care anymore to be alive

1) I feel so fucking isolated here like i have friends but a majority of them are cis. And like the trans people i know? most of them on T are non binary which like valid, but they dont get the full extent. And like their families support them lmao and theres one person i could talk to but he doesnt seem to want to socialize much so i always feel awful thinking about hitting him up

and like i feel like my friends dont like me and i know thats not the case but also maybe it is!!! who fucking knows anymore!!!! i dont have time to talk to them bc im so busy at work and then i get home and immediately have to do more work and by the time im free this week theyll be home for break so like!!! fuck i guess!!! i saw one of my friends who i havent been able to see all semester and she said shed hit me up today and she hasnt and i know its cause she and another friend have to study and theyve been busy but in my mind its still “she fucking hates u!!! doesnt matter that she was so excited to see u and would definitely have no qualms in telling u to fuck off she hates u!!!”

2) no one listens to me lol like people listen to me when i rant, which is really helpful and i really appreciate and love that they do that bc emotional labor, but like in groups? i talk and people interrupt or dont hear what i say or disregard it and im like k. OR THEY THINK IM FUCKING JOKING LIKE THIS LEGIT IS SUCH A PROBLEM AND IVE HAD IT HAPPEN WITH SEVERAL PPL AND IDK WHAT TO DO. Like i physically say “im really not joking dont do that” AND THEY STILL THINK IM JOKING

and whenever i talk to people and they give me advice or just listen they do at least one thing. They either mention medicine, which again, valid, but i dont want to go back on medicine right now. But then they fucking push that shit and demand reasons why i dont want to like fuck u i dont have to explain shit to u i just dont want to. And/or it turns into me educating them and im just like great! i managed to do labor in this trying time! nice!

3) I cant talk to my therapist bc shell become concerned lol. i told her how i went to the labor looking for a book about the pros and cons of committing suicide and researched it and i had to talk for 10 minutes afterwards about the steps i was taking to help combat it but like i was legit scared to tell her in case she made me go into inpatient care lmao and this brings me to pt 4

4) theres like nothing here LMAOOOOOOO like no books at either library about stopping suicidal thoughts or helping depression or about family estrangement. I had to order books from different libraries to get something and theres a few that i got from the Libby app but like wtf lmao and theres no events during christmas and every volunteer thing? either i gotta fill out an application and do training which who knows how long thatll take or i need a car. Like there legit isnt anything here i did so much looking lmao like i have my hobbies but that wont make me leave the house

i talked to a professor about this shit too and he understands and stuff and told me to hit him up during break if i feel isolated but like I FEEL SO FUCKING GUILTY FOR EVEN BREATHING LMAO LIKE WHAT hes got shit to do too and i know he has research going on so like doubt it

5) im gonna die alone at this pt and i know thats mad dramatic and also probably false but im like so conflicted about everything i feel with my gender and dating

like every time i like a man im like wow if i was a girl, this wouldnt be a problem and like being cis has more privileges than being trans but i know last time i dated in the closet it wasnt a good time SO

and every time i like a girl, im like she prob wont see me as a man or will be disappointed in my body or transition

and like no matter who im interested in, the same thought is always “they prob dont see me as a man and will misgender me, even unintentionally” like i know people who dont even know my birth name and have known my pronouns as he/him AND THEY STILL GET IT WRONG LIKE WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO EVEN DO ANYMORE TATTOO IT ON MY FUCKING FOREHEAD 

theres a guy i currently like, whos so sweet like theres one incident that happened that i had me thinking damn.... hope hes into guys and single..... and like its kept me up thinking “oh man hes definitely str8 this fucking sucks if i was a girl i would probably have a shot” but like every time i toy with the idea of detransitioning (not in a serious way, but just like casually thinking of a scenario) my mind physically rejects it and is like “motherfucking do u wanna go back to THOSE shitty feelings??? really??? it was worse before!!” and i will definitely get over this crush, like im just lonely and its cuffing season, but it fucking sucks in the meantime like i feel like i cant date because im too nervous and scared to!!! im so scared they wont think im a man and i know thats not every person but like Jesus its enough that its a good possibility

6) this part is sad but i think i have to stop talking to my sister or at least give her limited info bc shes having her parents contact me through her and im not giving them shit so...

like she just texted asking when id be home and for the millionth time (BC NO ONE LISTENS TO ME) i said i wasnt going home, im never going home, stop asking and i know that its them asking her to ask me and they can honestly fuck themselves

like these are all problems that have solutions and i know the solutions but like im so tired of it lol im tired of having to deal with my family situation, im tired of being ignored and interrupted and not taken serious and having to explain my boundaries over and over and over again, im tired of not being able to talk to people for fear of getting hospitalized or interrupted or pushed onto meds, im tired of not having resources, im so tired of it all. Im so sick of being suicidal and not even being able to get out of bed and having to deal with being depressed and anxious and chronically ill fuck all of it

legitimately had to make a list of shit i could do over break so that i feel like i cant hurt myself until i finish it bc thats how my shit brain works. like i dont want to die but i also just dont want to deal with this anymore and i know itll get better in time but jesus fucking christ its been 8 damn years when does it actually get fully fucking good? its gotten better but more shit keeps coming up like yea i started hormones but now i dont have a fucking family anymore. 

Even if i didnt have this list i wouldnt do it bc 1) i dont want to do that to my closest friend and 2) im helping someone get out of an abusive situation. She has like no support, just one cousin whos there for her, but he doesnt have resources for her. Ive been listening to her and validating her and making sure she knows that a) this is the type of shit abusers do and b) shes not fucking crazy for thinking certain things!!! she really isnt and i get it so much so ive been gently giving her contacts from the beginning to help her and she finally left and is in a really delicate place. So like not exactly the best thing for me to suddenly be gone and id feel terrible if she had no one there for her

anyway this was a long post that can basically be summed up as i really want to fucking kill myself but i wont but also im suffering a lot

[rosetlntsmyworld]

rules:: answer these 85 questions and tag 20 people

Thanks to my good judy @veronicasanders for tagging me! <3

— what was your last…

1. drink:: water

2. phone call:: my boss bc i’m bad at mopping floors and she wanted to yell at me for it

3. text message:: ‘where tf are you xoxo’ to my mother (she forgot to pick me up from my train)

4. song you listened to:: “Papa Don’t Preach” by Madonna

5. time you cried:: like literally yesterday bc I was listening to cute music w my gf and im a bit hormonal and got all mushy about how much i love her

— have you ever…

6. dated someone twice:: nah

7. kissed someone and regretted it:: yes

8. been cheated on:: no

9. lost someone special:: yes

10. been depressed:: no

11. gotten drunk and thrown up:: first bit yes, second bit no. i was just drunk from 11pm to 4pm the next day and had to walk around a supermarket with my mum hung over to buggery and pretending everything was fine (supermarkets are the W O R S T places you could realise youre hung over bc screaming children and also very bright light)

— fave colours

12. black

13. grey

14. burgundy

— in the last year have you…

15. made new friends:: yes

16. fallen out of love:: no

17. laughed until you cried:: yes

18. found out someone was talking about you:: yes

19. met someone who changed you::  yes

20. found out who your friends are:: ya

21. kissed someone on your facebook friends list:: yes

— general

22. how many your facebook friends do you know irl:: legit all

23. do you have any pets:: yes, one dog

24. do you want to change your name:: yeah, i wanna get rid of my boy middle name (it was gonna be mary and my parents realised my initials would spell ‘emu’ and didn’t want me to get bullied. So they made my middle name duncan. D U N C A N. How is that an improvement??)

25. what did you do for your last birthday:: went to school during the day which sucked ass and then had the opening night of my first exhibit at a gallery which sucked a lot less ass. And then went and had dinner. And a hedgehog cake. Because im a mature grown up adult.

26. what time did you wake up today:: I went and delivered newspapers at like eight oclock and then went back to bed at like 10. Woke up again at midday, had a slice of toast and watched still game, and then had another nap. I am a garbage person.

27. what were you doing at midnight last night:: sleeping

28. what is something you can’t wait for:: finding out whether I got accepted to university (stole this answer from v but it’s true)

29. what is your favourite animal:: thats a horrendous question omfg i love tapirs a lot and also pigeons and seals and sharks

30. what are you listening to right now:: i’m watching gordon ramsay’s hotel hell

31. have you ever talked to a person named tom:: yeah i went to primary school with a guy called tom and he was a fucking asshole

32. something that’s getting on your nerves:: the fact that fullyi can’t . breathe through my left nostril rn

33. most visited website:: google

34. hair colour:: dirty blonde

35. long or short hair:: short-ish. Mine is like bob length w a dramatic undercut. Basically i stole dela’s boy hair

36. do you have a crush on someone:: ya

37. what do you like about yourself:: i have a nice bum

38. want any piercings:: ya

39. blood type:: oh fuck knows

40. nicknames:: edna, edina, gay puddle, mitzi, shortshank redemption, eddie, edie mcredie

41. relationship status:: dating a v cool gal

42. sign:: scorpio

43. pronouns:: she/her

44. fave tv show:: rpdr, brooklyn 99, orange is the new black, derry girls, still game, chewin the fat, the great british bake off, bobs burgers, tracey ullman show

45. tattoos:: nada as of yet but i want a good few

46. right or left handed:: right

47. ever had surgery:: nope

48. piercings:: ears x2

49. sport:: i play rugby and i wish i could dance or skate or some shit but alas i am a graceless bulldyke

50. vacation:: im going to australia for like six weeks in june aaaaaaaaa

51. trainers:: never wear em lmao im too goth for that shit

— more general

52. eating:: i went out for dinner earlier and had pizza and sweet potato fries and now im halfway to a food coma yay

53. drinking:: water or cherry coke. I also discovered lemon and mint sanpellegrino the other day and frankly id happily drown in that stuff its amazing

54. i’m about watch:: new ep of drag race

55. waiting for:: news from school

56. want:: to move out bc my room is a shittip and im done with it

57. get married:: i dont believe in marriage so probs no

58. career:: i work in a baby shop but i wanna be a tattoo artist or set designer/stage manager

— which is better

59. hugs or kisses:: hugs

60. lips or eyes:: lips

61. taller or shorter:: everyone is taller than me

62. older or younger:: older. Im a bit autistic so im kinda drawn more to people older than me bc i find them easier to talk to

63. nice arms or stomach:: stomach

64. hookups or relationships:: relationship

65. troublemaker or hesitant:: troublemaker

— have you ever

66. kissed a stranger:: no

67. drank hard liquor:: yes

68. turned someone down:: yes

69. sex on first date:: no

70. broken someone’s heart:: i dont fuckin know

71. had your heart broken:: not really

72. been arrested:: no, lol

73. cried when someone died:: yes

74. fallen for a friend:: nah im fuckin heartless lmao

— do you believe in

75. yourself:: yes

76. miracles:: no

77. love at first sight:: no

78. santa claus:: i’m not fucking five (lol, keeping Wednesday’s answer here) (lol im also keeping V’s answer which she stole from v)

79. angels:: not really

— misc

80. eye colour:: grey

81. best friend’s name:: charlie aka charles aka charlize theron aka streak of piss aka pizzle aka piz (they have a v long series of affectionate nicknames lmao)

82. favourite movie:: priscilla queen of the desert, rocky horror, evita, muriels wedding, silence of the lambs, zootopia, misery

83. favourite actor:: Terence stamp

84. favourite cartoon:: bobs burgers, family guy, star wars: clone wars

85. favourite teacher’s name:: she’s known usually as ms gallagher but ive been on first name terms w her since i was like 14 so i call her sheila lmao

legit everyone I know has already been tagged lmao

[seriouslyblacklikemysoul]

“Brisé, pourtant vivant”- Part IV - S.B.

[A/N: Part IV, as promised. Writing this, oh God. It left me with a bittersweet aftertaste. All those feels... my precious little boy. I hope you like it! It’s kind of long but I really couldn’t resist.  Warnings: My English, swearing, some not-so-innocent thoughts... what else? I don’t own the gifs. Credits to their original owners. Also to J.K Rowling, as always.   Requests are open!]

Part I

Part II

Part III

 I woke up to the sound of muffled voices. My head was flooding with everything I said last night. Mentally, I slapped myself.   “Well, yes. It would be easier if she didn’t remember last night”. That was Sirius. My heart dropped to my stomach. What did I expect? Silly girl. You were not good enough.   “Because you can’t face her or because you don’t actually like her?” Remus asked him. No, dear God… Don’t answer that. Please, please, please… just don’t- “I don’t like her”. How is it that emptiness can feel so heavy? I stood up, made a beeline to the bathroom, locked myself in there, making extra noise just to- I guess it didn’t matter, right? I took one look at my reflection. Of course, you moron. How could he like you? Maybe I was just too fucking complicated for anyone to actually like me.   “Silly girl! Look at yourself. It’s pitiful actually. You don’t deserve to be a Trueblood. Just look at you” Astrid said to my mind. My dear old mother. The irony was that she was right. For once in her life, she was absolutely right. I never had him. But he had me. He had all of me. You’re not even mine, but you’re already breaking my heart.   “I am okay. I have to look just fine” I whispered to myself while doing my morning routine like it was any other day. In fact, I was pretty sure, it wasn’t a day at all. Nobody really cared anyways. If it was convincing enough, they’ll buy it. Come on, put on your doll-face.   When I walked back into the room, my assumptions were proven wrong. And right. It was noon.   “Ron is a Perfect! I can’t believe it! A perfect! That’s everyone in the family!” Molly was practically screaming. Who would have thought? “What are Fred and I, next-door neighbors?” said George indignantly. “Oh, could someone go and get Rose? Lunch is almost ready”, she continued without paying any attention to George’s sarcasm.  How on earth do I act normal? WHAT? Before I could even manage to think, the door slowly opened to reveal a gloomy looking Fred.   “Oh, you’re up. Lunch is ready. Oh… and Ron is a perfect but I’m sure that mom’s voice was clear enough” he said fuming. I tried-and failed-not to laugh. Thankfully, I kept it to the minimum. He looked at me puzzled. “If it’s any consolation, I was never a perfect” I said, sending him a smile. He loosened up and came to sit next to me. Great. “To be completely honest, I had failed potions about six times and divination-if it is even possible- nine” I stated in a matter-of-factly tone. Fred gave me a shocked look. “You are kidding me, right? You were a Ravenclaw!” he exclaimed like stating my house could automatically answer everything. “Um, no. Don’t stereotype people!” I said while I hit his arm playfully. He mocked me by pretending to be hurt. “You hurt me Rosie” he said and touched his chest. I burst out laughing. “Your heart is on the other side” I said in between the laughs. Suddenly, everything became quiet. “Rose, can I tell you something?”. His normally playful tone was nowhere to be found. “Of course Freddie”. What could have him so wrapped up? “Ikindahaveacrushonyouandlikeyoulikealot” he rambled. Wait. What? WHAT? What the hell was happening? I had no idea how I looked but he started looking paler and paler by the second. “Um-never… could you-um, forget I even said anything” he mumbled while standing up abruptly and making his way to the half open door.   “Wait”. What was I doing?  He paused but didn’t turn around.

“Fred, I-just turn around. Please”. My mind was screaming at me, cursing me with all its might. Fred, however, did turn. “Listen, Rose. I really like you. A lot. A whole bunch of a lot. And you know, I just thought, that maybe… just maybe, you would- Fuck, who am I even kidding…” he trailed off. What the actual fuck was wrong with the universe? Like, are you on some kind of a drug universe? He looked down at the floor, but not before I recognized the familiar blush making its way to his cheeks. It was adorable. I walked over and stood directly in front of him. With a gentle grip, I raised his head just to be shocked by his eyes. When did he become a man? “Don’t” he almost whispered. Oh my Merlin. Someone, please, murder me. Instantly. “Don’t what?” I asked even more confused. Why are men so stupid? “Fuck it”. Well, that didn’t asn-   He kissed me. Crap, crap, crap, crap. He had cupped my face and placed his warm lips on mine, not so gently. I was way too shocked to actually react. However, I did notice something. There was no spark. There was nothing, really. That’s how I noticed.   “Um, not to interrupt or anything, but lunch is ready” a stern voice washed my thoughts away. Fred backed off, thankfully with the same realization in his eyes. I took one look at the intruder and I wanted to yell at him that it wasn’t what it seemed to be. But then I remember. He didn’t care about me. “We’ll be there” Fred answered. I was in no condition to speak. Sirius left with a sour expression. Fuck you.     After a while, which seemed like forever, Fred started to talk. “Um, that wasn’t what I expected”. Excuse you, mister. “Beg your pardon?” I asked sarcastically. “No, no, no! It was amazing-no, I mean your lips are-you know… something wasn’t there” he rambled away. He wasn’t good with words. “So, maybe you don’t like me…maybe, you know, you liked the idea of me?” I suggested. Or he was just hormonal. Or both. “Well, yes. You are hot and beautiful inside out, that’s obvious. But, I mean, if it was, for lack of a better word, real, you know…it would be a spark, right? Like the one that started to burn in your eyes the moment Sirius walked in” he said knowingly. I could see in his eyes that he had noticed everything and he wasn’t going to sell me out. “Friends?” I ask hoping for the best. “You know it, Ro” he said flirtily. I just rolled my eyes. “You know what? You go and eat. I’ll just sleep through the day. Wake me up when Molly throughs a party for Ron, okay?”.

Sobs were echoing. Someone was crying. Harry and I exchange a quick glance. “Hello?” Harry said. There was no answer but the sobbing continued. We climbed the remaining stairs and opened the drawing-room door. Molly had her wand in her hand, her whole body shaking with sobs. A dead Ron was spread across the floor. Wait. Ron was downstairs — “Mrs. Weasley?” Harry croaked.

“R-r-riddikulus!” Molly sobbed, pointing her shaking wand at Ron’s body, which turned into Bill’s, Artur’s, Fred’s, George’s, Percy’s, Harry’s.   “Molly get away from it” I interrupted standing in front of her and facing the boggart. I heard Remus asking what was happening. But I was too caught up to mind the audience.   In front of me was standing… well, I was. I should have known. I was my biggest fear. “Silly girl! Look at yourself. It’s pitiful actually. You don’t deserve to be a Trueblood. Just look at you. How can you continue living, knowing you would be so much useful dead? But you’re weak. So weak you can’t put an end to that miserable existence you call life. Look at you. Not good enough. Not barely good enough” she told me, looking me dead in the eye. The first lines she said was Astrid. Then it was me. The boggart was using my mind to destroy me. Toy with me. But no.   “Don’t bother. A riddikulus cannot destroy me. I am you. Just better” she warned. I arched my left eyebrow.   “I wasn’t planning on using that” I said with a smile plastered on my lips. The kind of smile that Lucifer had right before he fell. “Incendio”. I didn’t have to yell nor to cry. I just pointed my wand towards her. She was on fire. Literally. And it was liberating seeing myself been burnt alive. Catharsis.   “Reducto” I said flatly and the boggart was no more. I closed my eyes, trying to kill her image in my mind. I wasn’t her.   I hadn’t realized that I had hit the floor until someone had wrapped an arm around my waist, trying to pull me up. If it wasn’t for the electrifying energy I thought it hit me, I might not have guessed who it was. My eyes shot open just to meet his. Stormed gray.   “Are you okay?” he asked worryingly. No. No. I was anything but okay. I was not okay. How could I be? “I-I think so” I shuttered. Good job Rose. He looked concerned. Like fighting a battle. “Do you want me to call Fred?”. Hold it. Hold. It.   “Why on earth would I want you to call Fred?” I asked bewilderedly, my eyebrows furrowed and my heart filled with the slightest of hope. “You kissed?” he asked-stated with an angry expression passing over his face. I smiled. Don’t get your hopes up, Rose. You are going to end up broken. “It’s nothing like that” I simply answered. Okay, let me explain some things. I, Rose Trueblood, want him, Sirius Black. Now. He looked puzzled but the anger wasn’t there anymore. However, something was… His eyes could never lie.   “Could please take me to my room? I can’t stand properly” I said while batting my eyelashes innocently. But, oh, help me, Merlin… my thoughts couldn’t be less innocent. All I could think about was him. His intoxicating scent. His perfectly shaped body. His god-like facial characteristics. People said that he looked gorgeous while he was attending Hogwarts. I couldn’t possibly agree with that statement. How could he ever look more ravishing? He was a little rough around the edges and that was what draw me in, after all. I just couldn’t shake the image that crept into my mind, making me weak at the knees. I would give anything to taste his lips, to leave a trail of kiss along his jawline…to mark his body with purple bruises and love bites, to take-     “Of course”. His voice brought my mind back to reality. And send a wave of heat to my body. His hands never left my waist, while he guided us towards my room. Well, technically it was his since he kind of owned the place. He was silent, which wasn’t exactly helping me… my mind was drifting into very dangerous places. How good would he look in my bed?     Oh, my… No, no, no. This was not happening. Pull yourself together. He didn’t like you. He said so. You were there. What’s wrong with you?!     His hands were traveling a little too south. Not that I was complaining.  I could never explain how much I wanted him. I wanted to tell him that he should be ripping off my clothes…turning me on, just to send me down on my knees. I bit my lip in order NOT to tell him what I wanted. Well, he saw it and arched his eyebrows. We had just walked into the bedroom. He took one look at me while sitting me down. He plopped right beside me.   “Do you remember last night?” he asked… was that hope in his voice? No. Probably not. “Why? Because it would be easier if I didn’t?” I fired back knowing that there was no turning back now. “Wha-what?” he shuttered. I looked him directly in the eyes.     “I heard you. Well, up until you stated very clearly that you don’t like me” I said flatly. I was about to let every single façade drop. I couldn’t lie anymore. I couldn’t walk around pretending I felt nothing towards him, while in all honesty, I was in love with the guy. There. I said it. He looked shocked. It was driving me mad. “Is it bothering you?”. Excuse me? How thick could you get? “No it’s not bothering me” I said. He withdrew his eyes and got up. “It’s killing me” I breathed out quickly so I wouldn’t be able to hold my tongue. He halted. I took a deep breath.   “I don’t know how else to say this, so I’m gonna go right ahead and say it. I thought that you were the very definition of perfection when I first met you. However, as you got closer, I started seeing all those cracks. I saw the way your heart was a collection of pieces that didn’t quite fit together- sort of like a broken vase haphazardly put together. It had empty spaces. It had jagged edges- cutting me open, leaving me bleeding with every touch. No, a touch wasn’t even necessary. Your eyes were all it took for me to be left breathless. But it was beating. Your heart was churning out love and honesty and kindness with its every beat. It was visible in your smile, in your eyes. So perfect, yet melancholic. That’s when I fell in love with you. Not with your perfection but with your imperfections. Not to fill your empty spaces or soften your jagged edges. That would be ironic, since those were the reasons I… I didn’t even realize it, at first. When I did, I was already caught in the middle of it. You are the drug I am addicted to. More than nicotine, more than pills-and trust me, I have tried everything in my power to give you up. I am slowly getting high off of you. The worst part, or rather the best, is that with one more look, you will send me off to an overdose. And I don’t even mind. Just answer me this. How many more faceless strangers do I have to kiss before it’s you? Will it ever be you?”. I took a deep breath. I had just poured my heart out. He hadn’t even turned around.   My very soul broke. I could feel the tears blurring my vision; the painful numbness that comes from that empty feeling… my hands were shaking. My mind was a mess. I clenched my teeth. I wouldn’t cry in front of him. I didn’t want to. But I couldn’t help it.   I was choking on my own breath. God, help me. I thought I could do this. But I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.    I shut my eyes close, letting every single tear fall, staining my cheeks. The pain was so much, I could physically feel it. I knew how it would end. He would walk away, leaving me alone with my mind and my broken soul. He would pretend whenever I’d be around-or worse, ignore me. But really, how could I ever control my emotions? I didn’t mean to love him. But, I do. God, I do. I jumped slightly at the touch. His fingers were caressing my cheeks wiping the tears away-something that only caused more tears to fall.   “You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t Roza” he whispered. Like I had a choice. Like I could ever stay away from you. Stop calling me Roza. I refused to open my eyes. “I am not a good person as you seem to think I am. I run from one extreme to another and I can be selfish and full of doubt. I will drain you of all that is pure, but you will not realize it until I have destroyed you. I cannot let you try to save me because you will end up drowning in the process. I am telling you this because I know you deserve better. It will not last. I will withdraw and you will do anything to make me smile and bring me back because that’s how pure you are. I have nothing special within me. I will use you to fight my way out of darkness over and over again and I will leave you bruised and scared from my desperate grasps. I am not worthy of the battles you will face with the most savage parts of me. I need you more than you need me, how can you not see that? I will drag you down with me and you will drown. And everything will be my fault. I am not strong enough to let go, but you have to be. Be stronger and walk away. Please, delibal”. Delibal. He-he had…   Suddenly, nothing seemed to matter. I opened my bloodshot eyes. I grabbed him by the collar of his shirt with a new kind a determination, I wouldn’t have guessed I had in me. He was taken aback.   “No. You are not doing this to me. Using that poor excuse of a reason to walk away. No. I am not backing away because you are too coward to act according to what you feel and push aside what you think. Because I don’t care. I don’t care if you destroy me. You can’t break what’s already broken. Because I wouldn’t have it any other way. Even if you are successful in drowning me… I’d take it. Anything. I would walk through Hell until forever, just for a moment with you. So, don’t. Don’t tell me to walk away. Because I am not going anywhere”.

I crashed my lips to his.

Part V (smut)

[Delibal= Honey produced from the nectar of pink-colored rhododendron flowers, a toxic plant. Rhododendron flowers contain grayanotoxin, a neurotoxin that is known to cause “hallucinogenic effects” by those who harvest and consume the honey. Low doses of this toxin can cause dizziness. High doses can even be fatal. When consumed, it causes a “burning sensation” in the throat. Also known as ‘mad honey’ or ‘toxic honey’. Highly addictive, yet poisonous.]

[archive-creamycomet]

Same gal who asked about the alpha/omega/beta dynamic aND HOLY SHIT SO MUCH WISDOM, and if you get the chance can you write a one shot (or full blown story) cause that would be amazing! Also I'm so fucked up cause the idea of Gaku exploiting Satoru in heat is just LORD HAVE MERCY HOT

(whispers quietly) i am a sinning man and these are my sinning hands. 

Also on AO3 here: [link]

People often asked Satoru what it waslike, waking up after fifteen long years. They wanted to know whether he sawlight at the end of a long, dark tunnel; whether he heard anything when he wasasleep; what thoughts went through his head while he lay there, eyes closed andunmoving. More often than not, Satoru was able to answer with a little shrug ofhis shoulders. It took days before his eyes had adjusted, so he didn’t seeanything. His ears were the same—he hadn’t even heard when his mother hadwished him that first good morning. And as for what he thought—

Nothing. One moment, Satoru had beenleaving his house in the morning, frantically looking for his recorder andracing off to school. The next, he was in a hospital bed. There was noin-between: just the nothingness of sleep, deep and dark and over in aninstant.

But what he does remember, from the moment he first became aware of himselfagain, was that he wasn’t alone.

Before any of his other senses, Satoruhad felt it: something that wasn’t himself, mingling with his mind. A gentlehand grazing against his soul, curious and holding its breath, not yet daringto hope. And though he couldn’t move his limbs, couldn’t even bat an eyelash,he weakly reached back out to it—and Satoru felt his own consciousness tanglingwith the other, offering a feeble little nudge in the void.

And then too much—devotion and awe and unrestrained euphoria—crashed intohim like a tidal wave. The presence pushed its way into his head, wrappingSatoru’s thoughts up in an embrace that was desperate and tight. It clutched athim in a crushing, suffocating grip—yet Satoru found himself sinking into itall the same, feeling these feelings that were not his own, too weak to fightthe pure joy he felt humming across the bond.

It’s you, itwhispered, disbelief etched in every word. You’reawake.

It was that familiar, comforting voicethat lulled him back under.

Everything smelled. The next timeSatoru felt himself stirring, that’s what hit him first: all the scents thatwere now assaulting his senses, stirring him awake. The muscles in his facetwitched, his nose curling in displeasure. For some reason, everything carriedan aroma, even the air itself, and it made his head spin. Made him want to turnand bury his face in his pillow until he fell back into a deep, scentlesssleep.

But he couldn’t even move his head,let alone do anything as ambitious and moving. So with every inhale, he workedat identifying what he could: antiseptic, laundry detergent, fresh plastic,cleaning supplies. And distantly, buried under it all, something else:something inherently softer, comforting and warm. Something that smelled likecooked rice and home.

Slowly, Satoru peeled his eyes back,only barely managing to stare at the blurry world beyond his eyelashes. A darkshape moved into his vision, and a voice came to him muddled and distorted, asif he were listening from underwater. He couldn’t make out the words, butSatoru knew that sound—and his aching voice left him in a sigh. “M…om…?”

Her hand slipped into his, giving areassuring squeeze. And in his skull, that not-him was also there, dutifullywrapping his anxiety in a warm blanket of emotion. It wasn’t perfect by anymeans, but it would do; Satoru let himself go, floating somewhere betweenasleep and awake, wrapping himself in his mother’s scent. Feeling her fingers,tracing soft little circles against the back of his hand.

Days must have passed, but Satorudidn’t remember them; there were just bits of awareness, bubbles occasionallyrising to the surface of his mind. One moment and his mother was there, thenext she wasn’t; sometimes he could see light, blinding and bright—andsometimes none. The only constant was that feeling of someone else: alwaysthere, always coaxing and comforting, soothing and smoothing out the franticthoughts in his head.

Well, that—and Kitamura-sensei.

Satoru watched the doctor bustlearound his hospital room, inspecting machines and replacing IV bags withsingle-minded purpose. He liked Kitamura. He was little straightforward andlacking in tact, but the honesty was refreshing. His mother, the nurses—Satorucould tell they were side-stepping his questions, placating him with a smilebefore changing the topic. At least Kitamura didn’t… coddle.

Satoru observed the doctor with acertain detached interest, his head leaned back against the pillows. His bodystill wasn’t strong enough to move on its own, so all he could really do wasgaze at the world from his bed. Powerless to do anything but watch therevolving door of specialists and orderlies, cycling in and out of his hospitalroom.

At least Kitamura smelled better thanthe others.

“That’s probably because I’m a beta,”the doctor replied, tapping at the IV drip.

Shit. He hadn’t meant to say that outloud.

Satoru stared pointedly down at hishands, his fingers twitching restlessly against the blankets. Kitamura wassilent for a moment as he stared down at his clipboard, flipping through thecharts and check-up notes. He eventually broke the silence with carefullymeasured words, never tearing his eyes from the page. “Can I ask you something,Satoru?”

He weakly nodded, his neck aching withthe effort. “Sure.”

“Do you remember when you presented?”

Satoru stared at him for a longsecond, his mouth parting. Of course, he’d assumed he must have presented atsome time—he wasn’t a child anymore, and his body had gone through puberty,even if his mind wasn’t along for the ride. But as for the moment itself, likeso many others, it was lost in the haze of his memories. Just one more piece ofhimself, pulverized by his jumbled mind. “No.”

Kitamura paused, before letting thepapers flip back into place. “I see. That’s fine.”

Satoru frowned, his shoulders shiftingagainst the mattress. Now that they were talking about it, he’d be lying if hesaid some part of him wasn’t curious. He’d wanted to ask this entire time justwhy the world seemed to smell so strong,and it was increasingly clear that Sachiko wasn’t going to tell him. So hesteeled his resolve and stared his doctor in the face, his stomach tight.

“What,” he started, swallowing thecroaking in his throat. “What am I?”

The physician tensed for a longmoment, not tearing his eyes away from his clipboard, as if it were suddenlythe most interesting thing in the world. Satoru could practically see thewheels in the man’s mind turning, before he tucked his notes back under his armwith an awkward shuffle. “An omega,” he answered.

Satoru’s brain stuttered, and heblinked up at his doctor. “A—what?”

“Omega,” Kitamura repeated, staringSatoru in the face. “You presented a week or two before the accident. I’m notsurprised you don’t remember.”

“Oh.”

And for some reason, Satoru—wasn’t assurprised as he should have been, either. Just like when he had seen his new,adult face, the shock just… didn’t come. The truth settled into his brain andbones easily, like an answer he had known all along—like a puzzle piece finallyslotting into place. Satoru stared down at his lap, trying to ignore thatpresence that was still brushing affectionately against his own, practicallypurring in his head.

“I, uh,” he started, struggling forsomething to say. “I thought only girls could be omegas.”

Kitamura stared at him for a longsecond, before pulling up one of the fold out chairs and lowering himself intoit. “99.9 per cent of the time, you’d be right,” he explained. “It’sexceptionally rare, but male omegas do exist. And you’re one of them.”

Satoru’s nose crinkled. “Is that whyeverything smells so much?”

Kitamura tried to hold onto hisimpassive stare, but the corners of his mouth were twitching up. “Basically.Your hormones are playing a bit of catch-up, so your body is kicking itselfinto overdrive. It’ll settle down eventually.”

Thank god. But that wasn’t the worstof his concerns, and Satoru’s fingers twisted and tangled nervously in thesheets. “So, does that mean I can get—” He stopped, the word clogging in histhroat, but he forced it out anyway. “P-pregnant?”

“No,” Kitamura promised. “You’re anomega, but your body is still male. Your hormones and biology just—aren’t reallytalking to each other.” He paused and adjusted his glasses. “Think of it likethis: your body is tricking itself into thinking it can carry a child, even ifyou can’t. So you’ll still be having heats, unfortunately.”

He leaned his head back against thepillows, feeling a shiver crawl over his skin. An omega heat: Satoru couldn’tremember ever experiencing it for himself, but he could just barely feelsnippets of it, the muscle memory buried deep in his nerves. The feeling ofthat never-ending hot, boiling under his skin—the primal need for something totake the fever away. The desperate scramble to get rid of the ache coiled inhis core, by any means necessary.

By anyone.

Something possessive and dark growledlow through the bond, and that was all the warning he got before the lustpoured in. It hit him like a wall, knocking the air out of his lungs. It was—Satoru, my omega, my mate—making his body burn, and he panted desperately againstthe feeling. But it was so hard to breathe when he could sense that gaze on hisnaked skin, when he could feel teeth bearing down on his throat. A cold leatherglove, brushing against his cheek—

Satoru squeezed his eyes shut andgasped, his heart monitor jumping wildly. He needed to calm down, he needed—need, yes, please—needed to get this under control. His head was trying toreign it in, but it was like riding a mechanical bull; all he could do was holdon to whatever logic he had, trying not to get bucked by the foreign lustflowing in his veins.

A glass was pressed against his lips,and Satoru found himself gratefully swallowing down water. It was a cold splashto his system, shocking it back to reality. As he drank, he could feel theintruding thoughts retreating—pulling back with little half-apologies scatteredin their wake.

When Satoru opened his eyes again,there was still only Kitamura, frowning as he pulled the empty cup back.“Fujinuma—?”

“Sorry,” he murmured, gratefully inhalingoxygen as he sank into the pillows. He could feel a thin sweat covering hisskin; he at least wished he had the strength to wipe it all off for himself. Heforced his eyes open again, half-staring at the ceiling as his heart steadiedout of its staccato rhythm. “That—wasn’t me.”

The doctor’s scowl deepened. “Wasn’t…you?”

Satoru weakly nodded. His body feltcold, colder than before—all of him soaked and damp, craving someone’s touchand shivering without it. “It’s like,” he started, brows furrowing, “likethere’s… someone in my head sometimes.”

All the time, really—but Kitamuradidn’t need to know that.

“I… see,” the doctor murmured, hiseyes narrowing as he gripped at his chin. For a long second, he just stared atSatoru, something calculating passing through his gaze—but then it was gone,and Kitamura was pushing himself to his feet with a small sigh. “I’d like youto meet a colleague of mine this afternoon, if you feel up to it.”

Which was code for you are absolutely seeing anotherspecialist, whether you like it or not—so Satoru just nodded along, eyesclosing. “Okay,” he murmured, sinking under the blanket. Right now, all hewanted to do was rest. Wanted to curl up on himself in his bed and wrap hisarms around himself, as if he could trick himself into thinking he wasn’t alonein the sheets.

He’d deal with the afternoon when hegot there.

But later and eventually alwaysended up turning into now—and Satoruwished he’d bothered to ask Kitamura even a single question about this wholething. As it was, he was already caught unaware: after forcing down some foodand sleeping most of the afternoon away, he’d been woken up by a knock on hishospital door. Satoru had barely managed to wake up when the door slid open,and the smell of sugar cookies jumped into his nose.

Satoru stared at the new face, a bitof hair still stuck in the drool drying on his cheek. She wasn’t like any ofthe other doctors that had visited him so far: there was no lab coat, nostethoscope, not even a clipboard—just a little notepad and a warm smile, acozy sweater draped around her frame. She looked… pleasant. And disarming. Evenher scent screamed comfort: sweet and slightly maternal, inherently omega. Shewas charming, in every sense of the word.

A little too charming, actually. Every alarm bell in Satoru’s skull wasringing, flashing neon warning lights, and he felt his weak body tensing underthe blankets.

“It’s nice to meet you, Fujinuma-kun,”she started, clicking her kitten-themed pen as she took a seat by his bed.“Your attending physician, Kitamura-sensei, asked me to have a quick chat withyou. Is it okay if I asked you a few questions?”

Satoru continued to stare at herwarily, his hands curling into fists. “I… guess.”

“Great!” She started brightly, tuckinga bit of hair behind her ear. “We’ll get this over with quickly, okay?” Shepressed the nib to her notebook, never taking her eyes off her patient.“Kitamura said sometimes you feel like you’re not alone, is that right?”

Satoru blinked at her, his mouthparting a little. Is that what this was about? As if sensing his surprise, thatother presence gave him a small and curious tug, as if confirming that Satoruwas still there. For the moment, he ignored it; the specialist was stillstaring at him, waiting with a patient but expecting glance. Satoru couldn’tescape the feeling that he was being assessedsomehow, and it made his mouth go dry.

“I, uh,” he started, rubbing at theback of his neck. “Yeah, sort of.”

She immediately began to scribbleblindly on the page, nodding knowingly. “What would you say it feels like?”

He furrowed his brow. It was a goodquestion; he’d never taken the time to really try to dissect the feeling, buthe gave himself the luxury now. Steadily, he began poking at the foreignexistence that hung in his head like a fog. He’d often felt it making itselfknown, but this time, it was Satoru who pulled at the sensation—and wasimmediately rewarded with an eager and overflowing affection, warmth spillinginto his chest.

Satoru stopped and stared down at hishands. When he was a little kid, he and Atko had made a telephone made out ofcans and a piece of string. To a four-year-old, it had been the coolest thing:that he could feel Atko’s voice, thrumming up the thread and into his ear. Fordays he would insist on only speaking to his mother through the make-shift toy,feeling the vibrations humming against his little palms.

It was something like that—but that seemedtoo difficult to explain, so he flexed and unflexed his stiff fingers, feelingthe phantom thrum. “Like… a thread, I guess.” It felt like a terriblecomparison, a huge oversimplification of whatever this was—but it was theclosest thing he could think of.

The doctor tilted her head to theside, continuing to frantically take notes. “What’s at the other end?”

“Someone that’s not me,” he mutteredwith a small shrug, “with feelings that aren’t mine.”

“But you feel them?”

He nodded again, feeling the affectionat the other end of the telephone steadily twisting into concern. As much as hecould, he tried to ignore it—tried to force back down his own guilt welling upin response, threatening to spill over. “They’re not my emotions,” he said,“but I can’t help but have them anyway.”

She gave a small hum at that, stoppingsuddenly and staring at his face. For a long second, she just scrutinized hisexpression, her tone measured and careful. “Fujinuma-kun,” she asked, raisingan eyebrow. “Is it there right now?”

Satoru paused for a second, toyingwith the end of his blanket. “Yeah.”

“I see,” she muttered, pressing theend of her pen against her lips. “How long have you had this, again?”

“Since I woke up.” And probablybefore. He didn’t remember ever experiencing this feeling, but that didn’t meanmuch; there were still plenty of blank spaces in his brain. The memories were in there somewhere—he knew that, at least—but they were marred andburnt-out, like damaged film reel. No matter how much he tried to get it toplay, all he saw was the black. Who knew what his mind was or wasn’t hidingfrom him.

The specialist gave a low hum, her pentapping against her chin. For some reason, the sound put him on edge, a twitchingand anxious restlessness crawling under his skin. That formless other personwas immediately there, all guilt and worry and protective, and Satoru tried topush them back—tried to create distance between him and the “other” in hishead.

“Okay,” she said suddenly, droppingher hand back into her lap. “If you’re willing, Fujinuma-kun, I would like youto try something.”

He eyed her carefully. “Something…?”

“You said it was like a thread,” sheconfirmed. Carefully, she set her pen and notebook down against her thighs,balancing them in her lap. With two fingers, she formed a crude imitation ofscissors, snipping at the air. “If you’re comfortable with the idea, I wouldlike you to try to cut it.”

For some reason, the words stabbed himthrough like a knife, his breath snagging painfully in his lungs. Something inhim was snarling at the very idea, something he couldn’t blame on that otherpresence. Though he didn’t know why, Satoru knew that this feeling—this defensive, protective, aggressive something—was entirely his own. Hisshoulders rose like hackles as his breathing quickened, adrenaline beginning tobeat through his veins. “Why?”

She didn’t seem surprised by hisreaction, but he could pick up her scent, cranked up to eleven—sickeningly,pacifyingly sweet and soothing. It only made him more on edge, his eyesnarrowing as she spoke. “I’m just curious if you think you’re able to,” shesaid easily. “If it’s not something you feel up to, then you can forget I saidanything.”

Satoru’s lips twisted into a frown. Hisgut reaction was no, absolutely not, whoare you to even say that—but even he didn’t understand why he was feeling that way. And it wasn’t like there weren’t timeshe wished he was actually alone in his own head, free to think and feel withoutinvisible eyes following his every move. A part of him undeniably craved thatprivacy, that autonomy.

Was it really such a bad idea, then?

His head was still roaring at theidea, but he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to breathe past the growling in hisskull. “Okay,” he muttered. “I’ll try.”

“Alright,” she said, her smile brightand easy-going. “Take your time. There’s no need to rush it.”

Right. Satoru let his eyes fallhalf-lidded as he began to blindly feel for the intangible string that tied himto the stranger at the other end. As if on cue, the presence gave a curioushum—and Satoru could feel the thread, reverberating between them. Felt ittangling around the fingers that only existed in his mind, the cord slidingover his palms.

His eyebrows scrunched together as heconfirmed its shape for himself, testing its strength, tugging and pulling andexploring. The outsider was there, watching attentively, half-curious andhalf-amused—but standing respectfully back, giving Satoru the space toinvestigate to his heart’s content. Which he did: it was the first time hethought of this thing as a thing, somethinghe could grasp for himself. Something he could control and manipulate.

Slowly, he took a long, deep breath,holding that thread in one hand—and imagining a pair of scissors in the other.Imagined the feel of the metal, heavy and cold; imagined sliding the stringbetween the blades, his fingers ready to snap down. For the briefest ofseconds, Satoru hesitated; he paused to take a long, deep breath, steadying hisnerves.

There was a jolt, as if the string wassuddenly pulled taut, before—

Satoru’s eyes shot open, and he screamed.

His hands snapped to his head as pain, real pain speared into his skull. Someone had stabbed a red-hotiron between his eyes, carving and slicing up his brain; had taken asledgehammer to his head, smashing the bone to bits. The pain even strangledhis lungs, twisting and wringing the air out of his chest—but his mouth wasstill open, choking for air, he couldn’t breathe—

There were hands on him, pushing himagainst the mattress, but he couldn’t feel any of it; voices that were callinghis name, but he couldn’t really hear them. All there was was that screechingin the very core of himself, full of betrayal and rage and heartbreak and no, not ever, I won’t let you go, don’t you dare try to leave me! The wordswere like claws, reaching across the bond—and they buried themselves intoSatoru’s soul, the talons digging in deep.

A tight and strangled noise toreitself out of his throat. Satoru shook his head frantically, trying to push boththe pain and the voice away. His feet kicked wildly against the empty airbecause he needed it gone, needed itto stop, begging through the bond to please, make it stop, I can’t—

Something pierced the base of hisneck, and everything went blissfully black.

For the hundredth time, he woke up tothe sound of beeping.

Satoru stared blankly at the dark ceiling,his vision unfocused and eyes only half-open. There was a hissing in his ears,and it took him longer than he should have to identify it: the sound of oxygen,rushing into the mask on his face. He was too tired to even turn his head, hiswhole body heavy like molasses and lead—but he could hear the whirling of atleast half a dozen machines, scattered and stationed around his hospital bed.

And, more distantly: voices, muffledby the closed door separating his room from the hallway. Everything—his limbs,his mind, even the thread—it was all numbed, but he still strained his ears,trying to catch snippets of conversation. His mother’s voice cut through thehaze easily, strained with a barely-contained fury. “What the hell happened?”

“I asked Satoru to try to sever thebond.” Was that… the specialist? Her voice sounded—different. Professional andclipped. It had been an act, then.“If it was an accidental bonding, then the bond might not have beenpurposefully maintained. In which case, he should have been able to sever iteasily.”

“Obviously, that’s not the case.” Ah, Kitamurawas there too.

“So,” his mother started, her tonetight, “you’re telling me this bastard wantsto be bonded with my son?”

“It would appear that way,” thespecialist said. “For one reason or another, the culprit has maintained hisbond with Satoru and kept it strong, despite him being comatose for fifteenyears. And he seems unwilling to let that drop now.”

“I’ve spoken with the police investigatorsin charge of Satoru’s case,” Kitamura added. “We’ve come to the mutualagreement that it would be best to have an officer stationed outside ofSatoru’s room from now on.”

There was a long, tense moment ofsilence, before Sachiko spoke again. “You think he’s going to come for him.”

“If he feels so strongly about beingbonded to Satoru,” Kitamura said, speaking slowly, “then we shouldn’t take anychances.”

Bonded…? And who… was coming for who?Satoru blinked up at the ceiling, trying to detangle the words, but it was nogood. It was all jumbled together like a knot of string, his muddled brainunable to work it through. On the other side of the door, his mother gave aharsh sigh, before her voice dipping low to a whisper. “How is he?”

“Sedated,” Kitamura said. “It was apretty intense shock to his system, but there isn’t any permanent damage, asfar as we can tell. But he’ll need plenty of rest, I’m sure.”

“Fujinuma-san,” the specialistinterrupted. “There are ways to… silencea bond without severing it. Once he is feeling strong enough, I think it wouldbe best if Satoru familiarizes himself with them.” Her voice dipped lower, abit of concern seeping into her tone. “Bonds are powerful things. If your son is bonded to the one behind his incident…it would be best to minimize his influence before it gets worse.”

Before… what got worse? Satoru could feel his eyelids starting to droop. Hetried to force himself to stay awake—this was important, he needed to… neededto… needed to what, again? He couldn’t remember, couldn’t keep his eyes open.The pull of sleep was too strong, and he slipped off the edge of consciousness,the voices fading back into nothing.

The next time he opened his eyes, thehospital room was bright.

Too bright.Satoru immediately winced and squeezed his eyes shut, but it didn’t help asmuch as he’d hoped. Light was filtering through his eyelids, and he resignedhimself to waking up, cracking one eye hesitantly open. Someone had opened thewindow, and sunshine was pouring in, carrying with it a cool breeze. Satorutried to breathe it in, but only got dry and filtered air, pumped through hismask. He frowned and weakly reached up to take it off, IV tubes following hisarm.

In the end, someone else did it forhim. Satoru looked sleepily up as his mother unhooked the machine from hismouth and nose, a coy and exhausted smile on her face. “Finally decided to wakeup, huh?”

Satoru stared at her for a moment,before his nose twitched. Something floral was tickling at his senses, and heslowly turned his head towards his nightstand. The vase on his bedside tablewas stuffed with fresh flowers, pale petals and soft hues bursting andoverflowing out of the rim. Sitting next to it was a smaller glass jar, clearand brightly-coloured candy waiting inside.

“Yashiro-sensei brought them for you,”Sachiko explained, setting the mask down beside the gifts.

“Ya… shiro?” he whispered, his voicedry.

“That’s right.” Sachiko was alreadyreaching for the water jug, pouring him a glass. “We told him you weren’t seeinganyone today, but he insisted on having them brought to you.”

Satoru nodded as he accepted the drink,precariously holding it in both hands. He sipped at it slowly, still staring atthe presents out of the corner of his eye. Yashiro-sensei… some memories werejumbled up in his brain, but he remembered Yashiro very well. The teacher who alwaysoffered an understanding smile and a listening ear, ruffling his students’ hairat the end of each day.

His hands fell back to his lap,loosely balancing the empty glass between his palms. For some reason, thinkingof Yashiro-sensei felt—warm.Comforting and calming, like a hot spring welling in his chest. Satoru couldn’tresist the small smile that melted onto his face as he thought back to thosedays, to the man laughing easily as he leaned against his desk. Yashiro-senseihad always been kind, hadn’t he?

(A prickling, tingling sensationitched at the side of his neck. Satoru ignored it.)

The easy feeling didn’t last long. Itwas only seconds before Satoru felt itagain: the presence at the other end of the thread, humming and crooning at him.He inhaled sharply as it made itself known, memories of pain making his wholebody tense. His grip tightened on the glass until his pale knuckles were a purewhite, his eyes shutting and bracing for another round.

But it didn’t come. The strangerremained distant, tentative and unsure—though Satoru could feel its distressall the same. It carefully reached out like a wounded animal, approaching withits head bowed low. Satoru grit his teeth as it brushed against hisconsciousness, gentle and apologetic, like fingers tucking away a stray hair.It was in that brief moment that he felt it: remorse, self-loathing and guilt, intense enough to make Satoru’sintestines twist up into his throat.

And beneath it all, the littlest speckof hope, a weak little plea for forgiveness.

Satoru jerked away from it all as ifit burned, scrambling as far away as his mind would allow. The outsiderimmediately retreated as well, bitter disappointment and fresh regret trailingin its wake. Satoru waited for a few seconds to make sure it wasn’t going toapproach again before giving a harsh sigh, his grip on the glass finallyfalling loose.

He should have cut the thread when hehad the chance.

“And—Satoru?”

He looked up, and his mother gave himan unimpressed look. “You didn’t hear a word I just said, did you?”

“Sorry,” he murmured, shakily settinghis empty glass down on the nightstand.

“I was saying,” Sachiko began again,sitting at the edge of her son’s bed with forced levity, “an inspector will bestopping by with Kitamura later. They want to talk about your case.”

He frowned. “I still don’t rememberanything.”

“I know,” she said, offering her sonan oddly sad smile. “But I think you’re going to be the one asking thequestions this time, Satoru.”

They told him everything.

Satoru had already pieced togetherbits and pieces of what must have happened that night, but not much. Only thatthere had been an “accident,” that they had pulled him out of the frozen river,and that he’d slept for nearly fifteenyears. But beyond that, nothing. Most of the month leading up to his comawas a blank page he couldn’t fill in on his own, no matter how much he wrackedhis tired brain.

And now the inspector was there,sitting at the foot of his bed with a grim expression, walking him through itall with an almost clinical detachment.

It hadn’t been an accident at all. Abasketball was found wedged against the gas pedal, purposefully pushing the carinto the water. The seatbelt lock had been tampered with, keeping him trappedto his seat. There were abrasions all over his chest when they brought him in:deep red lines where he’d struggled against the strap, trying to force his wayfree.

There were so many problems with hisbody—the lack of oxygen to his brain, the hypothermia, the fact that he wasn’teven breathing on his own—that theydidn’t address the last one until the police had already arrived to photographthe evidence on his skin. “You had a bite mark,” the inspector told him,pointing at the base of his own neck. “Here.”

Satoru pressed his hand against theskin of his throat, the crook between his shoulder and jugular veins burningand itching beneath his palm. A thousand questions were already racing throughhis head—a frantic clamoring of what andwhere and why—but nothing could getpast the stupefied silence that had killed his voice. “And,” the inspectorcontinued, watching Satoru intently with hands entwined in front of him, “someof your clothes were torn.”

“What?” Satoru muttered, his braintrying to play catch-up with his ears. The implications were already forming inhis brain, but some part of him just couldn’t accept them; something continued to whisper wrong wrong wrong, prickling under his skin. He pursed his lips together,keeping his hand defensively against the side of his throat. “Why didn’t youtell me sooner?”

“You didn’t remember,” Sachiko said, ashred of guilt making its way onto her face. “We thought it would be easier foryou this way.”

Satoru’s frown deepened, his own nails digging into the sideof his neck like teeth. The inspector cleared his throat, looking seriously inthe patient’s direction. “It’s likely you were targeted because you’re anomega,” he explained regretfully. “Probably by an alpha with a… tendencytowards children.”

But that’s wrong, Satoru’sbrain screamed, but he swallowed down the thought—and tried to ignore the factthat the officer was an alpha himself, his strong and heavy smell spiced withcigarette smoke. “So why are you telling me this now?”

Kitamura finally spoke up from his seat, carefully adjustinghis glasses. “That feeling you said you have,” he explained, “it’s called amating bond. It can occur when one person bites another, usually on the neck.It’s most common in alpha-omega pairs, for some reason or another.”

Satoru could see where this wasgoing, and his stomach was already stirring, furiously nauseous and churning.He bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from being sick. A the shivercrawled across his body, seeping into his bones; distantly, he could feel theother presence in his head—worried and fretting—making itself known. Satoru breatheddeeply, a bead of sweat crawling down his neck.

“Then,” he started quietly, “thatperson tried to kill me.”

No one said a thing, but they didn’t need to. Hisfirst instinct was to deny it all: the voice in his head had been kind, always trying to comfort him withwordless assurances. Satoru could feel what it felt, devotion and affectioncoming as naturally as breathing. And when he’d first stirred awake, it hadbeen overjoyed, relief flooding over them both and grabbing onto Satoru like itnever wanted to let go. It just—didn’t feellike that person wanted him dead.

But. His body still remembered that pain. How it had seared into his skull, tearinghis limbs and muscles apart; he could feel it even now, raw and achingsomewhere beneath his skin, like a wound that hadn’t healed. Could stillremember how it had roared and raged like a hurricane inside his head, violentand unrelenting; yet cold and calculating, like claws and thorns made of ice,digging into his flesh.

A deep certainty settled into Satoru’s bones. Thatpresence, that person—they had killed before. Definitely.

He dropped his hand away from the bite’s phantom pain,still pulsing on his neck. “How do I get rid of it?”

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Kitamura said, tucking hishands into the pockets of his lab coat. “Not right now, at least. It’s amiracle your body managed to withstand what happened yesterday. Maybe whenyou’re stronger, we can try again.” He gave Sachiko a quick glance, beforeturning back to Satoru. “In the meantime, there are ways for you to shut themout.”

“That being said,” the officer interjected, “if youhappen to feel anything across the bond that could help the investigation,don’t hesitate to tell us, Fujinuma. There will be an officer outside your doorfrom now on—just let them know if you think of anything relevant. Evensomething small can be a huge help.”

“Right,” Satoru murmured, staring down at his lap. Hecould see where the inspector was coming from, but frankly, the last thing hewanted to do was engage with the killer atthe other end of the thread. The sooner he could tune him out completely, thebetter.

There was barely a beat of silence before his motherwas there, stepping away from the window and fixing both men with a hard look.“Kitamura-sensei,” she said, staring directly at the doctor. “I think that’senough for today.”

The doctor easily gave a nod as he stood to his feet.“I agree,” he said, stretching his arms over his head. He’d probably longlearnt not to even try against Fujinuma Sachiko—but the officer wavered for amoment longer, standing but not moving, watching Satoru out of the corner ofhis eye.

“Here,” he said, slipping a business card onto the nightstandnext to Yashiro’s gifts. “In case there’s anything.”

Satoru nodded without a word, and watched as hismother ushered both of them out of his hospital room. Only when the doorslipped shut again did both Fujinumas release a slow breath, their shoulderssinking together in slow motion. Together, they listened to the sound of thetwo of them walking away, their voices hushes and footsteps fading. Only whenit was all silent did Sachiko turn back to her son, her brows furrowed. “How doyou feel, Satoru?”

Confused. Conflicted. A bit irritated, though hedidn’t know at what or at who or why. But most of all, he felt powerless—unableto do anything one way or another, trapped in this goddamn bed. His handscurled into fists in his blankets. “It’s,” he started, turning to look at thejar of candy by his bedside, “a lot… to take in.”

She sat down on the edge of the bed again. “It is,”she confirmed, the corners of her mouth tight. “More than you should have to.”She tipped her head to the side to stare at the flowers for a long moment, hervoice coming out achingly soft. “What do you want to do, Satoru?”

“I…” He stopped, staring at the presents on the table.He could barely figure out where—or who—he even was right now, let alone wherehe wanted to be. It seemed like every day he was learning something that threwhis reality for a loop. He didn’t even know if he could trust the voicesringing in his own head, didn’t know what emotions were even his anymore. But what he did know was—

“I want to stand,” he said firmly, turning in hismother’s direction. “Alone, on my own two feet. And then, I can move forward.”

Sachiko stared at him for a second, before a smilebroke out her face, small but fiercely fond. An almost-laugh left her lips in arush of air, even as her eyes turned wet. “I watched you change for all theseyears,” she said, a tear managing to slip out of her eye, “but you really are agrown-up now, aren’t you?”

“I already was one before,” he countered sulkily, andhis mother laughed again.

“I think you might be right,” she said, patting hisknee. She took a moment to wipe at her eyes, before fixing him with a genuinesmile, strong and determined. “Alright. Let’s start getting you on your feet,then.”

As promised, the bond specialist taught Satoru how tokeep the killer out. Apparently, it wasn’t too different than cutting thethread—which is probably why they had two nurses standing by with anestheticand sedatives, just in case. Satoru tried his best to ignore them, turning hissenses inward, to that dark and formless place; breathing steadily until hecould follow the string again, floating and swaying between their minds.

The person on the other ended was immediately atattention, observing hopefully, with longing thrums echoing along the bond.Satoru shuddered, because he didn’t want any of it; didn’t want something so affectionate coming from someone who killed people. Who had tried to kill him, for some reason he still didn’tunderstand.

“It’s easiest for most people to imagine a wall, or adoor,” the specialists offered, whispering in his ear.

Satoru nodded, pursing his lips tight. A door: eversince waking up, he’d felt like his memories were behind a locked door, so itwas easy to imagine it. In his mind, he could see a pair of big, impenetrablewooden things, thick and branded with metal plates; the string ran through thetwo, swirling and disappearing into the invisible beyond.  

With a shuddering breath, he began to push the gatewayclosed. There was that shock of realization and panic from the other end of theline—just like last time—and Satorugrit his teeth and tried to move faster, scrambling to close off theconnection. This time, there was no pain: just sorrow and pleading, a bitterresignation, and then—

The doors slipped shut, and everything went silent.Satoru let out a soft sigh and opened his eyes, blinking as the bright lightsof the hospital room came back into view. The specialist was there, her kittenpen clutched tightly in her hand. “How does it feel, Fujinuma-kun?”

He waited for a moment just to be sure, before a smallsmile made its way onto his face. “Quiet.”

A week ticked by, and then two of them.

Mostly, things stayed the same. Bit by bit, Satoru wasallowed out of his hospital bed—only ever in his wheelchair, of course, but atleast it was something. More oftenthan not, he found himself out in the gardens, inhaling the fresh air andfeeling the unfiltered sun on his face. With his sense of smell still out ofcontrol, the freshness of the outside world was a welcome change. Inside the hospital,there was the constant stench of medication, antiseptic and sickness. In thecourtyard, there was only the grass, the leaves, the wetness that came afterrain—

And the police officer, following a couple of stepsbehind him.

It was an uncomfortable feeling, being constantlywatched and observed. They never came into his hospital room, but Satoru couldstill see them through the frosted glass, a constant reminder of the killerthat was still in his head. For better or worse, the bond hadn’t been broken—andSatoru was forced to learn the hard way that a silenced bond wasn’t completely silent.

The locked door kept him from feeling the other’s emotions,but the outsider was still there, hovering on the other side. Every so often, Satorucould feel a knocking—a set of three gentletaps against the door, politely asking for re-entry, to be permitted back intohis mind. As much as he could, Satoru ignored it; tried to drown it out withthe Wonder Guy theme song, playing through a pair of headphones.

Sometimes, it worked. Other times—

Satoru stumbled, just barely managing to catchhimself, his grip on the wooden beams tightening. His body was hot, every limb aching as they wereforced to move again—and through the sweat on his face he could see thephysical therapist, arms out and ready to catch him if he fell. “You’re doinggreat, Fujinuma,” he promised. “Just a few more steps, okay? Almost there.”

Satoru winced, but nodded. The polite knocking hadgiven way to a frantic pounding, asif the killer was trying to tear down the door between them by force. Asalways, he tried to ignore it—tried to focus on the fire burning in hismuscles, the heat under his skin, the way his breath was coming out indesperate pants for air. Tried to focus on the next step, his legs screaming asthey were forced to move.

His foot shuffled across the mat, not really able tolift, barely managing to move forward. Just one step, then another. But thistime, Satoru’s entire body spasmed as the killer threw themselves against thedoor with a bang—and this time hisgrip on the bars wasn’t strong enough to keep him from hitting the floor.

His limbs landed with a soft thump against the cushioned ground, his muscles shuddering. Bothhis hands reached up to clutch at his head, a low growl of pain and frustrationmanaging to slip past his grit teeth. The therapist was there in an instant,crouching down next to his patient. “That was great,” he assured him, his voicebright. “You’re making real progress, Fujinuma.”

The pounding was already starting to ebb, and Satorulet his hands drop, flopping against the mattress as his body heaved. Usually,the mats were refreshingly cold—but right now, all he could feel was the heatstill pouring off his body. “Not,” he panted, “not enough.”

“You have to be patient.” The man beamed down at him.“Your efforts won’t be in vain, I’m sure of it.”

Ijust couldn’t let your noble efforts end in vain, Satoru.

Satoru’s eyes widened. Who had… said that before?

A ragged gasp ripped itself from his mouth, his headthrown back. Satoru could feel his body suddenly convulsing, every muscle screamingunder his skin. For some reason, he couldn’t catch his breath, couldn’t manageto cool down. There was a deep ache coiling not in his limbs, but somewhere deepin his stomach; and he wrapped his arms around his middle with a high-pitchednoise of wanting. His body was hot,too hot, but he couldn’t worry about that now—not when there was that voice,ringing in his ears but far away, whereare you—

His legs weakly squirmed against the mat, a desperatewhine coming out of his throat. He could hear his therapist’s voice, but that’snot right, that’s not who should be here.His hand clapped down on his nose and mouth as his body twitched, trying toblock out the scent of not him, it’s nothim! Satoru’s vision was blurring in front of his eyes, his mouth openlypanting, his skin burning, the smellof—

  —leatherand candy, assaulting his nose. It had brought him comfort once, but now itonly strangled him, panic tighteningaround his throat like a noose. He couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything exceptwatch through the car windows as Ishikari faded into the distance behind them.Satoru could smell his own scent, frantic and distressed, pumping out of hispores: the sweet smell of vanilla, stained with adrenaline.

Besidehim, Yashiro paid it no mind. The man didn’t even look in his direction as herolled down his car window, staring up at the sky. “It’s snowing, huh?”

Thecar—the car had stopped. Desperately, Satoru threw himself against theseatbelt. He repeatedly plunged his fingers into the buckle, trying to press itloose, his shoulders twisting. No good, no good, no good: it didn’t so much asbudge, and he gave a short, frightened whine, his legs frantically kicking atthe air.

Tohis right, Yashiro just continued to stare out at the river, his voice even.“It’s game over. For you and for me.”

Asob tried to rip itself from his throat, but Satoru bit it down, his lipsshaking with the effort. This wasn’t happening, it wasn’t happening, this was alla lie, it just had to be. He squeezed his eyes shut as he thrashed, hot tears cutting down hisface. He needed to escape, he needed to get away, or—or he was—Yashiro was going to—!

“Tobe honest, I’m stunned you cornered me like this.” Beside him, his teachereasily unbuckled his own seatbelt, and Satoru could do nothing but watch as theolder man leaned over him. His body froze as the alpha’s scent stormed hissenses, thick and predatory, coveting. Atwisted smirk curled slowly over his features, wild and deranged, so unlikeYashiro-sensei that it sent a shiver down Satoru’s spine. “It’s almost likeyou’ve seen the future.”

Fingers,cold as ice, reached up and brushed against his cheek. Satoru inhaled sharplybefore hitting the hand away, a small snarl rumbling out of his throat, even ashis legs and knees curled defensively close. “D-don’t—don’t touch me!”

Thosefingers drummed against the headrest of Satoru’s seat, and Yashiro tilted hishead, bangs falling across a pair of sharp eyes. “I did a little research,Satoru,” he started, still leaning over his prey. “Did you know? Since theystarted counting, only 127 male omegas were ever reported in Japan, notincluding you. Tell me—how many of them do you think made it to their thirties?”

Satorupressed his lips together, eyes red-rimmed and wet.

“Sixteen,”Yashiro continued, “out of 127. A little over 12.5 per cent, mathematicallyspeaking. Do you know why?”

Hecontinued to glare, his hands still wrangling with the buckle, the seatbeltdigging painfully deep into his chest. “Because of people like you?”

Yashirothrew back his head and laughed—a joyless sound, dry and cold. “Yes, I supposeyou could say that,” he responded. “Sexual assault, discrimination, abuse.Extremely high rates of suicide. Many died from health complications related tosuppressant overdose.” Yashiro’s eyes were practically red in the low light,his fingers still tap-tap-tapping just over his student’s shoulders. “And somejust disappeared. You’re a smart boy, Satoru—I’m sure you can figure out why.”

Asmall growl, pitiful and high-pitched, tore itself from his choked-up throat.“Wh-what’s your point?”

“Well,I obviously have to kill you,” Yashiro said. Satoru’s stomach flipped, collidinginto his lungs and kicking his breath out of him. There was no emotion to thewords, no feeling; if anything, his teacher looked bored,staring down at Satoru with a detachedcuriosity. “But someone will always wonder. Why you? Why Satoru Fujinuma? Whatdid he know?”

Itwas then that a killer’s smile stretched slowly across his face. “So I thoughtto myself,” he whispered lowly, “why risk turning you into a martyr… when I canturn you into a statistic instead?”

Thewords hadn’t even sunk in when a hand clamped down onto Satoru’s throat.

Hegave a strangled gasp as Yashiro’s fingers wrapped around his windpipe, hishead thrown back against the seat. His immediate reaction was to scream—but thegrip was tight, too tight, his cryfor help coming out as more of a stifled gurgle. Desperately, Satoru’s fingersreached up to claw at the offending arm, his legs trying to kick away at thealpha looming over him. “L-let—me go—!”

Athumb grazed against his jugular vein, and Satoru felt it press down at thebase of his neck. A shock shuddered through his system like lightning, his entirebody tensing. Already, he could feel the pheromones and endorphins rushingthrough his veins, melting the tension in his muscles—and Satoru could donothing but whimper, his limbs struggling to keep up the fight. “B-bastard…”

“Language,”Yashiro chastised, his thumb continuing to rub circles into Satoru’s scentgland. That hand remained tightly wound around Satoru’s throat, coaxing hisbody into an unwilling submission—but the other moved farther down. Satorucould feel the cold leather glove slipping under the neck of his shirt,brushing against his collarbone.

Yashiro’shand curled into a fist and pulled. Satoru winced as his shirt tore with along, slow rip, the thin fabric falling apart easily. He shivered as cold airmet exposed skin, his hands weakly trying to dislodge the grip still wrapped tightlyaround his throat. No use: it might as well have been made of steel, for allthe good it did him.

Methodically,Yashiro’s hand moved lower, fingers slipping into the miniature belt loops onhis jeans. Satoru shut his eyes tight as the killer tore his pants apart, hischeap clothes splitting at the seams. He knew that the killer didn’t sexuallyassault his victims—not the Ishikari ones, at least—but that didn’t stop hischest from rising and falling rapidly, panic flushing into his lungs.

Eventually,Yashiro leaned back with one hand still firmly keeping Satoru pinned by thethroat. He gave a small hum, his eyes roaming across the omega’s form,assessing his work. “It feels like something is missing,” he hummed. “Wouldn��tyou agree, Satoru?”

Hecouldn’t even shake his head, let only speak—so Satoru continued to glarethrough wet eyes, swallowing thickly. Slowly, steadily, the grip on his throatcrawled upwards, the thumb trailing up and tracing the arteries beating underhis hold. Satoru could feel Yashiro’s other hand clutching at his shoulder, trappinghim firmly against the seat. There were fingers digging into his chin,wrenching his head to the side. For a brief moment, Satoru didn’t understand,didn’t know what was happening—

Butthen hot breath brushed against his skin of his neck.

“No!”he gasped, his fingers digging into Yashiro’s sleeve. The heel of his footcollided with Yashiro’s stomach, but nothing happened: the older man didn’t somuch as flinch, wet exhales landing against his scent gland. Satoru staredfrantically beyond the windshield, his heart leaping into his mouth as theman’s teeth grazed against his throat. “Yashiro—!”

Theman’s teeth sank into his veins, and this time, Satoru really did scream. Thecanines split the thin flesh apart like knives, sending fire shooting throughhis blood. It set his entire body on fire, like everything under his skin was boiling,sweat and tears rushing down his face. Even his breaths felt like they weregetting swallowed by the murderer’s maw, his lungs and chest hitching, unableto even inhale as Yashiro’s jaw worked at his throat.

Afterwhat felt like hours, Yashiro’s teeth slowly slipped out of his neck, a longtrail of saliva following his lips. His tight grip on the omega was suddenlygone, and Satoru gasped as the air flooded his lungs, his legs curling in tightas his hands flew to his throat. The wound underneath his palms was slick andhot, pulsing under his touch. When he pulled his fingers back, even in thedarkness, Satoru could see the red that was smeared all over his skin.

Thesame red that was staining Yashiro’s lips. The man wiped at his mouth with agloved hand, the leather smearing a streak of blood across his cheek. Satoruglared up at him, futilely trying to stem the bleeding as tears ran down hisface. “W-why?”

“Didn’tI tell you, Satoru?” he explained, reaching behind him into the backseat.“You’re going to be a statistic. Just another male omega who didn’t get to growup, killed by an alpha who couldn’t resist your scent.”

“Y-you’rean alpha!” Satoru yelled. His head felt heavy, like molasses was pouring in tohis brain; he tried to keep his head clear, focusing on the sharp sting still throbbingfrom the bite. “You’ll be at the top of the suspect list!”

Asmile twitched at the corners of Yashiro’s mouth, and he pulled a duffel baginto his lap. “There are rules about working with children, you know,” heexplained, slowly unzipping. Satoru watched every movement, his body heaving.“I’ve been on suppressants ever since I started teaching. A single blood test,and my name will be cleared.”

Hishands lifted the basketball out from inside the bag, a grin stretching acrosshis face, revealed his blood-stained teeth. “Besides,” he added, a fake andmocking sadness seeping into his tone, “I didn’t even know you were an omega.Your friends did such a good job of hiding it, after all.”

Satoruwatched as Yashiro unlocked the door on his side with a flick of his wrist, thebasketball balanced on one hand. “Just to be clear,” he continued, “I’m notdoing this out of revenge. Honestly, I bear no hatred towards you, Satoru. Ihope you understand that.”

“Ithought you said it was game over for you too!” he snapped, his skin tingling.His clothes were ripped, it was the middle of winter—yet Satoru felt oddly hot,his breath coming out in little bursts of white fog.

Yashiropushed his door open and stepped out, one hand resting on the roof of the caras he peered inside. “It is,” he said simply. “I’ll be leaving Ishikari. You’veearned this town’s peace. Isn’t that what you wanted?” he asked, smirking. “AndI earn a death for my sake, at my hands. We all deserve a return for ourefforts, don’t you think?”

Thefire underneath his skin exploded into a rage, and Satoru threw himself againstthe seatbelt holding him down, his lips curled back into a snarl. “Yashiro—Iwon’t die until I see you destroyed!”

Thekiller stared at him for a moment, before jamming the basketball against thegas pedal. “That,” he said, stepping back, “is what they call aiming too high.”

Afrustrated cry shot out of Satoru’s throat as the car began to roll steadilyforward. His hands—slick and soaked with blood—frantically reached for the beltbuckle again, his hips trying to twist out of the hold. As always, it held: themechanism didn’t so much as shudder, and Satoru felt the car pitch wildly aroundhim. His head whipped up just in time to watch the water surge over thewindshield, the glass cracking under the weight of the river.

Liquidice poured in from the open windows, and he gasped, the cold shocking hisoverheated body. The surge buffeted against his face, the taste of wintercrashing against his cheeks. He shook his head, as if it could somehow stop thetorrent flooding into the car, his legs kicking wildly. He needed to get out,he needed to get out now—but the water was rising, the river rapidly crawling up his stomach.

Satorusqueezed his eyes shut and cursed again. He didn’t want to die here: he wantedto eat his mother’s cooking again, and go camping with Kayo like he promised.He wanted to thank Airi for believing in him and talk with Kenya on the stairsagain. He wanted—

Hewanted to survive.

Satoru’seyes shot open, and deep in the core of his being, two puzzle pieces snapped loudlytogether. For a second, all he could feel was the vertigo—the feeling offalling, before being yanked back, his entire soul wrenched and pulled along.But then he felt a tether, holding it together; a bond, tying his mind down,wrapping his consciousness in spider’s thread.

Andfrom the other end—through his own fear and panic and screams of I want to live!—he felt it: adeep-seated satisfaction, a thrum of happiness and pride, twisted and pervertedpleasure beating from the wound in his neck. Instinctively, Satoru knew whoseit was—and he clamped both his hands down against the bite, throwing his headback.

“Yashiro!”he shouted, his fingers digging into the blood with a piercing cry. “I knowyour future!”

There:a tug of curiosity, confusion lacing that homicidal delight. Satoru let out ashuddering breath, before the river licked at his chin; with a panicked yelp,he took a deep and desperate inhale. The water slipped over his nose, lickingat his temples—and then it overtook him completely, silently swallowing him whole.

Shit!His feet stamped against the bottom of the car, his torn clothes floatingaround his body. His fingers were turning stiff and unruly, his grip slippingoff of the buckle; his body was losing the ability to even feel anything exceptthe cold all around. Already, he could feel his limbs slowing to a stop, hislungs burning and threatening to burst inside his chest.

Hewasn’t going to make it. The truth had settled into his brain, but he didn’twant to believe it; his body continued to weakly jerk against the seatbelt, alast-ditch effort to survive. Eventually, even that stopped—and Satoru wasforced to finally open his mouth, the last of the precious oxygen slipping awayfrom his lips.

Atendril of blood floated in front of his face, staining the river red. He couldvaguely taste it on his tongue as he inhaled the water, the world alreadystarting to dim. His body wouldn’t—couldn’t—move anymore. Even his brain wasshutting down, he knew; even the panic was gone, replaced by an empty resolvethat he couldn’t fulfill.

Fromsomewhere far away, it felt that moment of realization, the clarity cutting thekiller’s mind in two. Desperately, the other presence reached for him; anddespite himself, Satoru weakly reached back, their two minds reaching for eachother in the void. How weird: now, it was the other one who wasafraid—desperately pleading for Satoru to wait, to hold on, to just keep hiseyes open until—

  —his body lurched, gasping and heaving, raw airscraping its way down his throat. Burning burning burning: the cold was biting at his body, only it wasn’t cold atall. No—no, this was heat: all-encompassingand inescapable, as if burning embershad been buried under his skin. Desperately, his fingers clawed at his chest,his head throwing itself back against the mattress. It needed to stop, how didhe make it stop—

A cool cloth was gently placed on his forehead, andSatoru immediately sighed, his chest still heaving despite the respite. Still,he reveled in the small comfort, trying to focus on it—and not the painshooting through his stomach, the ache between his legs, or the wet feelingthat was smeared all over his thighs. Not the growing, hungry need for someone who smelled like candyand leather, his toes curling with a desperate whine.

Someone was calling his name. Satoru forced his eyesto crack open, his mouth open and panting, legs twisting against thesweat-soaked sheets. “Ki…tamura?”

“Hey there,” the doctor said, wringing out anotherwashcloth. This time, he pressed it to the omega’s neck—and Satoru had toresist the urge to force that hand to go elsewhere,his arms wrapping around himself and gripping at his shirt. But he stillarched his neck back, revelling in that amazing chill, giving a happy exhale.

“You gave us quite a shock,” Kitamura continued.“Usually, omegas show signs before going into heat.”

Satoru opened his mouth, but another jolt of pain shotthrough his stomach, swallowing his words with a desperate groan. “Youshouldn’t talk,” Kitamura continued, frowning slightly. “This is your firstheat in fifteen years. You’re going to need all your strength.”

Heat? His eyes shot open, his lungs leaping in hischest. He’d—gone into heat? When? How? Frantically,he looked around, and realized that this wasn’t even his hospital room; therewere no flowers or gifts, no comforting yellow walls, not a hint ofsentimentality. Instead, this place seemed almost sterile: the walls and floorsa pure white, the room empty of furniture except for the large bed he was in.

He turned his eyes to his doctor, pleading andconfused. “You’re in one of the hospital’s heat rooms,” he explained. “It’sscent-proof and soundproof. Your hospital room would have been too… open.”

Satoru weakly nodded. That made sense, but—but beinghere, in this place devoid of scents and sound and people sent something in him on edge. It made him want to thrashand scream and cry out, because this place wasn’t familiar, wasn’t safe. All the pillows piled up aroundhim didn’t change the fact that he was isolated and alone, when all he wantedwas his mate.

Wanted Yashiro.His eyes widened suddenly, a ragged gasp scraping out of his mouth. YashiroYashiro Yashiro: his mate, his alpha. His fingers flew up to his neck,but the bite was gone—and that alone made Satoru want to scream, his nailsdigging into the skin of his throat desperately. He needed him here, he neededthose teeth to sink into his neck, he wanted Yashiro to tear off his clothesand mean it. He needed—

He needed to tell someone.

Satoru grit his teeth, his breath quick and rabid. Someoneneeded to know that Yashiro was the killer: Satoru wouldn’t be able to stop himlike this, but someone had to—or morepeople were going to get hurt. Somehow, that logic managed to cut through theheat-haze; weakly, he reached out to his doctor, his fingers curlingdesperately into Kitamura’s sleeve.

“P-please,” he panted, sweat trickling down his face,“K—Kenya.”

Kitamura stared at him for a second, before droppinghis hand onto his patient’s wrist. “Satoru,” he started slowly, “I know you andKobayashi are close, and that he’s an alpha you trust. But you need to getthrough this alone.”

What? No! Satoru gave a frustrated whine, his armtwitching. “I just—I need,” he grunted, eyes squeezing shut, before shaking hishead against the pillows. “Then—p-police.”

“There’s one outside,” Kitamura said, placing Satoru’shand back across his stomach. For the first time, Satoru noticed the long, thintube attached to his arm: an IV, the needle nestled in his veins. “A beta, ofcourse. He’s going to make sure no one goes in or out but me, but he’s notcoming in.”

For fuck’s sake, how can someone so smart be so stupid? Satoru gave a strangled curse asanother round of pain and lust punched him in the gut, his entire face twistingin discomfort. His hips squirmed against the bed, desperate for relief—but thiswas more important. He needed to make Kitamura understand, he needed to makesure someone knew.

“The killer,” he whispered, swallowing thickly. Heopened his mouth, but the syllables died on his tongue. All he had to do wassay the man’s name—Yashiro Gaku, Nishizono Manabu, whichever—but for some reason, his voice failed him. His lips couldn’tform the words, reined in by something desperate and wanting, hot and coiled in his core.

“He isn’t going to get anywhere near you,” Kitamuraassured him. “There’s the officer outside the door, and security at everyentrance to the wing. You’ll be safe here.”

Justsay it. Satoru parted his lips, but the heat had strangled hisvocal chords. Deep down, something was growling that it would be a betrayal, atreason, protect your mate. Satoru’sfingers curled into the sheets, and he gave a short and irritated cry, rage andfrustration burning in his bones. He wanted Yashiro brought to justice, he did,he did—but something kept it allcorked inside, and he felt like he was going to explode.

Kitamura readjusted the wet cloth on Satoru’sforehead. “I know it’s hard, but try not to pull out your IV. It’s going tohelp keep you hydrated,” he explained, pulling the stand closer to the bed. “Ihave to go now, but I’ll be back in a few hours to get some food and water inyou.”

It’sYashiro! He tried to kill me! He’s going to kill someone else! Butno matter how loudly his mind was screaming, it never made it out of histhroat. After all this time, Satoru had finally found the answer he was lookingfor—and he couldn’t even tell anyone. As it was, his body couldn’t even move;the limbs too weak to do anything but thrash and squirm, powerless against thehormones rushing through his veins.

Satoru could feel the failure pooling in his eyes, saltyand wet. It was just like the car all over again. He couldn’t do anything.

Kitamura pushed himself to his feet, giving hispatient a slightly sympathetic glance. “I’ll see if I can get something youhelp you with the symptoms,” he said, walking towards the door. “Until then,try to hang in there, Fujinuma.”

The door clicked shut behind him, and Satoru wasalone.

For a long moment, Satoru just stared at whereKitamura had disappeared, his body heaving and panting. With a loud grunt, he somehowmanaged to roll himself onto his side, his face desperately burying itself intothe pillows. The scent he was looking for—familiar, warm, mate—wasn’t there, and he hated himself for looking for it in thefirst place.

Goddamn it. With Kitamura gone, without anything totake his mind off of it, his body was even harder to ignore. A single washclothdid next to nothing to stave off the heat-wave crawling along his skin, impossiblysweltering and hot. It felt like someone had dropped him in the middle of adesert, and Satoru tangled both of his hands in his sweat-soaked hair, growlinguselessly at the world.

But the worst of it was concentrated below hisstomach. Between his legs he was aching, andhis hips weakly tried to rut against the mattress. It was so desperate that it hurt, and all he wanted was relief,wanted someone to come along and take it away.But even he knew that that fingers and touches alone wouldn’t be enough;the slick pouring down his thighs made that very clear, his pants alreadysoaked through.

Bleary-eyed, he stared forward into space, his handsslipping down—one resting on his neck, and the other travelling lower. Slowly,Satoru slid that hand beneath the band of his pants, his fingers weakly takinghis length in hand. He tried to get a grip, tried to move at a speed that wouldat least take the edge off—but his muscles were too weak, and a needy groanrumbled out of his throat.

He couldn’t do this alone. He needed someone to come,to help take all of this away. With nothing else to do, Satoru took a deepbreath and tried to pretend that he wasn’t here. Immediately, his mind took himback to that dark car, watching the world become small in the rear-view mirror.

In his mind, the car would stop somewhere far away,private and unseen—and this time, he wouldn’t flinch when Yashiro came closer.The very idea of the locked seatbelt—keeping him held down, unable to escape,practically on display—made the ecstasy spike under his skin, and Satoru pantedopenly, lust building in his belly.

He knew this was fucked up, disgusting and wrong in so many ways—but Satorucouldn’t stop it, his head rushing away from him faster than he could hold on.Yashiro would be slow, but firm; every touch just a little too rough, a littletoo tight. Too easily, Satoru could imagine himself coming undone under thosehands, the feel of cold gloves moving against his exposed skin. The pricking ofthe older man’s teeth against his neck, breath hot and heavy against the wintercold. The feeling of his knees being pushed apart as Yashiro—

Satoru’s eyes shot open, the fantasy broken.

For a long second, he just waited there: panting asquietly as he could, his eyes suddenly jumping to the door. He hadn’t imaginedit, had he? All of his senses were more sensitive, his hearing included—and hecould have sworn he had heard something, but now there was only silence. Satorustrained his ears as much as he could, trying to hear the world over the soundof his own frantic heartbeat.

Then it came again: that three-tone knocking, echoingfrom inside his own head.

“Yashiro,” he whispered, his skin crawling. That washim: his Yashiro, his alpha—reachingout, calling from behind the locked door. So close and yet so far, but yet nothere. Satoru could feel his entirebody itching and prickling with ecstasy, every fibre of his being craving theperson behind the barrier.

Ifyou open the door, his traitorous mind offered, he’ll come.

Satoru slapped his hand over his mouth, his teethsinking into the flesh of his palm. No: he couldn’t. After everything Yashirohad put him through—killing his mother, killing Kayo, not to mention drowninghim—he couldn’t just, just let the killer back in. No matter how much hewanted it, no matter how much his body shook and shuddered with need—

Yashiro knocked again, and the breath left Satoru’slips in an uneven moan.

He knew the older man had regretted everything: Satorufelt it every time they brushed together, the man’s deep-seated guilt buried inevery emotion. Yashiro had been kind, affectionate and warm since the moment hewoke up; comforting him, making him feel safe.Despite himself, Satoru could feel his mind already crawling closer to thedoor; could feel his heat-hazed brain trying to claw at the locks, fumblingwith fever.

“Don’t,” he whispered out loud, shaking his head. Hetried to hold on to the memories of pain:the ripping, tearing, all-encompassing ragewhen he’d tried to sever the bond. More than once, that person had hurt himmore than anyone ever had. Satoru tried to tell his head that, tried to get itthrough his own thick skull. Yashiro Gaku was dangerous, he was a killer, he—

He’syour mate, his mind reminded him, before it threw the doors open.

The reaction was immediate: Satoru could feel theother presence, relieved and elated—and he couldn’t hold himself back anymore.His mind was a hurricane of lustdesperation anxiety lonely where are you please help me—and he could feel the moment the force of it hit Yashiro,the other man practically staggering in surprise. Still, desperately, Satoruclutched at him, wrapping himself up in his mate’s head, his distressshuddering across the bond.

Satoru could feel as the realization dawned onYashiro, his own thoughts echoing Satoru’s own. First came lust, then thefrustration and fury of being apart, simmering angrily and low. Still, hemanaged to send comforting thoughts thrumming up the thread—and Satoru let outa pleased sigh, the shivering of his body slowing to minor shudders. Steadily,Yashiro’s thoughts seemed to settle into something firm and resolute, a promiseentrenching itself in both their minds.

Don’tworry. I’m coming.

That was bad. That was very, very bad. People couldget hurt, and Satoru knew that, knew he had to tell him to stay away—but despite himself, he found himself nodding, reliefflooding through his system.

Yashiro was coming. And then everything would be okay.

Time went by agonizingly slowly when you’re alone inheat. Satoru remembered that from his past life: the few times he hadn’tmanaged to suppress his heat, the days seemed to crawl by, every minute feelinglike an hour. This time was no different, except that it was possibly worse: this body had only ever had itspresentation heat, and nothing since. Almost an entire lifetime worth ofhormones was hitting him at once, and there was little Satoru could do but liethere—squirming, sweltering, suffering.

And waiting. He breathed openly against the pillows, droolingand swallowing down precious air. Yashiro was still there in his head, resoluteand single-minded, a man on a mission. When Satoru reached out to him, theother man was quick to offer assurances and comforts—but he was clearly focusedon something else, overtaken by a single-minded determination.

But still not here.Satoru didn’t know if he was relieved or betrayed—maybe both. Just havingYashiro there in spirit did wonders for the emotional side of his heat, but hisbody was still being ravaged by the hormones, spasming wildly when another wavehit. There wasn’t much he could do but whine and ride it out, watching the sundip lower and lower in the sky outside his window.

He suspected he might be slipping in and out ofconsciousness, but he couldn’t really be sure—or, hadn’t really been sure until he jerked suddenly awake. Satoru cameback to his senses with a jolt, frantically looking around his empty room. Inthe evening light, the sterile white room looked orange and warm. But thatwasn’t what woke him up.

It took Satoru longer than he should have to identifyit, staring blankly at the ceiling, his lungs heaving.

There was a ringing. For a second, he thought it waslike the knocking—something coming from inside his own head, bouncing aroundhis skull—but no. His nose twitched, and immediately, Satoru could smell…ashes, and smoke. His brows furrowed together slowly, his hazed brain slowlychurning, before the conclusion snapped together in his brain.

The fire alarm. The hospital’s fire alarm was goingoff. Satoru’s eyes widened, inhaling the scent of burning as he turned overonto his side. His heart was hammering inside his chest, fear and hope beating togetherin time. Coincidence? No, there was no way: the timing was too perfect, tooconvenient. It had to be—

“Yashiro,” he whispered.

Yashiro was here. For him. For a second, joy surged through his body and soul, a softsmile breaking out on his face. He would make all of this better; he would makethe heat and the pain go away. Satoru swallowed thickly, his wet thighs squirmingin anticipation. Yashiro was coming, any minute, any second—

The killer wascoming.

Satoru’s eyes widened, his body freezing. That’s right:Yashiro was the killer. The person who had tried to drown him, all those yearsago; the person whose deadly resolve he could feel in his head, even now. Thesirens continued to wail in his ears, and he breathed frantically, his eyesdarting to the door.

He needed to get out of here.

Satoru grit his teeth and forced his arms underneathhim, his limbs shaking as he pushed himself away from the mattress. The dampsheets stuck to his skin, and he weakly kicked at them, detangling his legs.Just propping himself up sent his head reeling, nausea and vertigo making theworld spin in front of his eyes. Satoru panted, and slowly began to crawltowards the edge of the bed, grunting with every inch.

His fingers reached out blindly, and Satoru felt hisfingers hit the IV stand. With one hand, he grabbed hold, the tube tying hisarm and the bag together—with the other, he reached for the needle end, stillburied under his skin. Satoru took a deep breath, and pulled. Fuck, it hurt—the needle scraped againsthis vein the entire way out, leaving a bleeding patch of skin where theconnector had been.

With both arms now free to move, Satoru gripped holdof the IV stand, and began heaving himself to his feet. Immediately hiswobbling legs tried to give out from under him—they hadn’t been able to supporthis own weight in rehabilitation, and that was with supporting bars and braceson his thighs, not to mention his heat. Still, he refused to fall—so he leanedalmost the entirety of his weight on the metal pole, his knees buckling. Hislegs quivered with the effort but remained, ultimately, standing.

It would have to do.

Sweat and slick were still coating his every pore, andjust breathing seemed to invite more of the hotinto his lungs—but Satoru forced himself to take one shuffling stepforward. Every fibre of his body was screaming against it, heat-weary andexhausted; Satoru couldn’t even stand up straight, hunched over and panting,clutching at his make-shift support. But—

He needed to get out of this room before Yashiro gothere.

The door slid open, and Satoru froze, his headwhipping up to stare at the figure in the doorway.

The two of them met eyes, and then police officer’sshoulders sagged in relief under his uniform. “Fujinuma-san,” he started,“thank goodness you’re awake.” The man took two tentative steps into the room,making every movement slow and deliberate, his hands help up in a placatinggesture. “It looks like we’re going to need to evacuate you to another wing,alright? I’ll get you—”

Satoru barely saw the shadow crawling up from behindthe officer, before he felt the hot blood splatter across his shirt.

His eyes widened, his overheating pulse turning cold.Slowly, Satoru’s eyes dropped down to the floor. Red, bright red was splashedall over the pristine white room; he could already feel some of it was poolingat his toes, seeping under his feet. Somehow, the police officer was on theground—his body writing in pain, his mouth opened wide in a silent scream. Bothof his hands clutched at the fountain of blood gushing out of his neck, crimsonpooling out from between his fingers.

Satoru stared, his mouth parting but unable to make asound. The officer ripped one hand away from the wound, reaching blindly forthe two-way radio strapped to his hip—only for a pair of feet to step forward,crushing the man’s fingers with a crunch.Satoru shuddered, and followed the arch of that leg, his gaze crawling up untilhe was staring the killer in the face.

He was dressed in doctor’s scrubs, latex gloves on hishands and a medical mask covering his features—but Satoru would have recognizedhim anywhere. Under the thick metallic taste in the air, he could smell it: theheavy scent of leather and candy, possessive and overpowering, filling theroom. Nonchalantly, Yashiro tossed a bloody surgical scalpel to the floor,dropping it into the growing puddle spreading under the officer’s body.

Then he turned his attention elsewhere, and stared theomega in the eye.

Satoru gripped the IV stand in both hands, holding itdefensively in front of him like a weapon. Through his sweat-soaked bangs, heglared at the intruder, his arms and legs shaking with the effort. Everythingin his being was buzzing—it’s him, yourmate, he’s here, he came, just like he said he would!—but Satoru tried toswallow it down, even as the slick slid down his leg.

“Get,” he started, one foot sliding backwards, “getaway from me!”

The alpha stared at him for a long moment, unmoving, untilthe police officer’s movements slowed to a stop. Then, Yashiro lifted his footfrom the man’s hand, purposefully stepping closer to his mate. Satoru’s entirebody tensed, bracing itself as Yashiro closed the distance. The older manstopped in front of him, a pleased and fond sigh escaping his lips from behindthe mask.

“After all these years,” Yashiro whispered, reachingup and brushing his fingers across Satoru’s cheek, “you truly haven’t changed.”

Satoru stared up at his face, and felt somethinginside of him snap like a thread.

His knees were the first to go. There was a moment offreefall as Satoru’s legs gave out underneath him, his body lurching forward. Twoarms wound themselves around him, catching him and cradling him against someone’schest. Yashiro clutched him close, whispering comforts into his ear as helowered Satoru towards the ground. Distantly, he could hear the IV standclatter to the floor, bouncing in the blood before lying still.

A desperate whine escaped Satoru’s throat, and hesquirmed in Yashiro’s grip, the heat engulfing his body like wildfire. Thelogical part of him knew he needed to fight back, needed to get away—but none of his limbs werecooperating, all of them stiff and twitching. Even his head had rolled back,his neck wide-open and exposed; gently, he felt someone’s thumb brushingagainst his throat, hovering above his scent gland.

Satoru’s eyes fell half-closed, his breath hitching inhis chest. “D-don’t—”

“Shh,” Yashiro whispered, pressing down. Satoru’smouth fell open, the last of the fight ebbing out of his bones. He wanted toprotest, to fight back—but everything was already getting muddled in his brain,the finger swirling firm circles against his skin. Every muscle had turnedlimp, his arms and legs hanging uselessly and unmoving. Even his vision wasblurring, the world fading together into colours and shapes.

He opened his mouth to call for help, but all thatleft his throat was a shuddering moan.

“That’s it,” Yashiro continued encouragingly.Eventually, the finger left his throat—and Satoru could feel an arm looping itselfunder his knees, the other adjusting itself to cradle him his shoulders. With asmall grunt from the older man, Satoru felt himself being lifted, his head landingagainst the crook of Yashiro’s neck. Eagerly, he inhaled that familiar scent:leather and lollipops, just as strong as it was that day. It filled somethingin Satoru that he didn’t realize had been empty; a void in his own heart, screamingout for his mate.

“Don’t worry, Satoru,” Yashiro said, carefully steppingover the corpse. “No one will separate us again.”

Weakly, he gave a little hum, his eyes finallyslipping closed. How strange: like this, in Yashiro’s arms, with the scent ofblood still still clinging to them both—for the first time since wakingup, all those weeks ago—

Satoru felt completely at peace.

[fairyiatlotl]

The Vampire That Longs For Mirror

There are three things you should know about me.

Im a vampire (hot scary fanged immortals that live on blood as in blood).

My name is Zhae (Its pronounced as Zshay, so please dont try pronouncing any other way).

And I have a huge butt (well the story is all about this).

Have you ever looked at the sky at night? Bet you would have been awed by the sight of it – bet you would have tried tracing out the zodiac signs – bet you would have tried spotting your zodiac and had felt happy about it – bet you would have had told the special characterstics of it and how it miraculously fit your description –bet you would have done all that and happily felt categorised into something that you feel proud to be born in.

Have you ever looked into the mirror? – Naked? Bet you would have hesitated a moment – bet you would have hated that one extra flab coming out – bet you would have hated how your bones are all that was visible – bet you would have hated the way your boobs dont grow the size they should – bet you would have hated the large butt that swings every damn time you walk – bet you would have hated those eyebrows out of proportion – bet you would have hated the way your underarm hair left a dark patch – bet you would have compared yourself to a thousand other people – bet you would have felt ashamed of yourself and what you have made yourself into – bet you would have asked yourself when is your body going to be happy – bet you would have done all that and still ignored the clitoris that you are supposed to be proud to be born with.

Thats how stupid we are; letting our zodiac signs make us feel happy about us while letting the mirror NOT feel happy about us. And I know this because once upon a time I used to think in this exact same way until one day I woke up seventeen and a vampire. And boy was I happy! Nope this aint Twilight, who am I kidding? – I mean I was kind of hysterically happy but for just a second. The belief that vampires are godly beautiful made me expect miraculous changes until I realised Ive not turned into a Beyonce-bod vampire but am forever trapped into a Beyonce-bod that weighs 80 kgs. So Congratulations to me! Am no more a mortal endomorph! Hurray! The vampire beauty curse epically punctured my gorgeous body dream! – I became a fat-ass immortal. Period.

Coming from a society where fit figure is an aspect of befitting element, do you realise how much stress would you go through once you realised that you are gonna be trapped for the rest of your immortal life in the body that you fed for seventeen heavenly years of your life – its like having permanent thyroid problem – its like being trapped in those epic novels that you love. Yea so I got trapped in my True Blood. I got trapped in my jeans. I got trapped in my body. And it sucked.

The next few days after my transition the thought of being forever fat did not even cross my mind. The funny thing was, I was reminded by the ignorants of this society that I could never ever wear a twenty six waist jeans. It was Aunt Shinzah; shes a dreamy doll aunt – everyone loves her; shes too pretty and too sweet, unfortunately she is too determined to make each and everyone happy. We were in the living room and she and her husband; Uncle Drad came for tea. I sat with the family to entertain them and while we were in a full swing of laughter and fun she said; Oh Baby! You look like you lost some pretty weight. Oh darling! You wait – youll lose weight as soon as you enter college; youll be as pretty as a sunshine; she passed me a smile. I felt so happy that she thought I lost some weight (should have known it was because I had starved for a week). My glass of delusion was cracked by Rob (the guy who apparently turned me into a vampire because he was too high to remember) who I met the very next day. He got scared at how pathetic I looked; I happily smiled and said that I was losing. He smirked at my foolish conclusions; No – youre hungry. Youre not losing weight. Gawd youre a vampire – you are never losing weight. Your body is frozen; I remember that day well and clear, I remember how the taste of my throat changed from sweet to vomit-like. I remember the guilt face of Rob as how he noticed my hurt. That day I killed my first human: He was a forty five year old drunkard that had abandoned his wife and children while he ogled every piece of an ass that walked by the 56th Bay street (and yes I am trying to justify my kill with this one sentence). He was eating Lays with booze; my hunger hormones couldnt resist. That day I felt pathetic at my existence. I actually wished for death – just walking and sitting made me feel ashamed of myself. But I couldnt ignore the fact that my body felt strong and healthy and ALIVE! That day I got the taste of human blood. It was irresistibly Lays-like!

The feeling of being the object of fun is one dark feeling induced by shallow mindedness. That day nothing was wrong; all was normal, I was infact happy and feeling healthy until my math period. The teacher had some grudge against me; reason to which was anonymous to me. He asked for our assignments, he started scolding each and every student in line; my heart was already in my throat I knew that he was going to scold me for no reason. He was a bully, what do you expect of him! He atlast came across me. He looked at me from under his bushy eyebrows, he radiated disgusted criticism and mean looks and then he came on at me (and am the vampire here!) he started yelling at me – he told me how pathetic my work is, that he would better thrash me on the floor ten times than better ever check my assignment ever again (by the way that assignment was an obsolete method of wasting mind, time and energy). This was not it. The next day when I entered class, he was filling some health forms. He came across my name and started laughing; Zhea huh! Even shes gonna write her weight here atlast; he laughed in his evilish snort and some of the front benchers joined him. What are you Zhea? An eighty or a hundred? soon the whole class joined in his act of evilness.

The next day he died in a sudden accident he met on the mid-way road that leaves the city (I wish this guy drowns in the pits of hell – I wish the Satan takes his personal interest in him and gut him with his pitch fork until he drowns in the lavas of the hell!). Dont judge me, he was the one at fault. I thought his death would stop my body shaming and public bullying. I was wrong. Everyone had started looking at me/my ass as an object of laughter by that time. Why wouldnt they? Well when the elders of the society take pleasure in this why shouldnt they? After all its the elders and teachers we look up to. It all came to an end. Even my distant hearing capability became a nuisance to me. I could hear boys talk about butts, I could hear girls talk about the methods to avoid a butt like mine. I could hear girls search over net the category to which my butt belonged to. I apparently fit into the peach figure among several other types: hour glass, straight line, inverse peach blah blah blah! It was there all over internet; the figure categorization of a womens body that is indirectly set for pleasing the patriarchs of our society. So much for gender equality!

The most pathetic part was, I was letting myself being treated that way; I being the vampire did not retaliate or infact confront anyone coming over to me and making fun of my so called healthiness (bullies gave me nicknames like fatty or dinosaur while friends gave me the consolatory adjectives like healthy; ironic right?). But believe me this was nothing to the final act that actually made me hate myself – the funny thing was it was an inanimate object that told me that I absolutely wasnt meant to fit in this society. It was just one chair – a students chair which had a side swing table hinged to it; I sat on it – I didnt fit. So I tried and when I fit I realised I was stuck; by the end of the class I struggled but then when the bell rung I awkwardly tried getting off the chair and then I heard; Look look Hahaha Hehehe God Am so happy to be me today; all the snickering, sniggering, simpering and whispering of all forty five fellow mates got me. It got me and thats when it happened – I lost it.

Seventeen years of my life I had been hearing people wait for me to get slim and pretty, seventeen years of my life Ive heard my father call me with funny names, seventeen years of my life Ive heard my sister flaunt me her figure and give me goals to reach, seventeen years of my life Ive been hit with comments and been joked about, seventeen years Ive been asked to dress myself in a way that nobody could see the fat-flesh of mine, seventeen years Ive cried about the fact I bloat even when my diet is exactly the same amount like any other persons, seventeen years Ive actually never looked into the mirror with pride and glory or in a way that I feel happy about myself or my body, seventeen years Ive felt ashamed of my ass and me, seventeen years were given to me to change myself. SEVENTEEN FUCKING YEARS IVE BEEN GIVEN THE CHANCE TO BE SOMEONE THAT THIS SOCIETY WANTED ME TO BE! Still it took the curse of eternity to make me realise to love me. How foolish we humans are, right?

The following days were followed by insidious depression. Vampire depressions are worse than human depressions they are like black holes that temporarily feel likely to be filled by the lust of human blood, but as soon as you hunt one down another appears for more – its actually a black hole in me that build: consuming every inch of me per person I killed. The depression was a slow perpetual intricate build up. It first started with the reckless killing of animals, then isolated hobos and then it lashed out as the most horrifying thing you could ever imagine. I started cutting myself. How? Well it started when I slit off my extra flesh in the shower. It hurt me like hell but it was the best way to release my anger and anxiety – the best way to punish myself for having flabs. Once I had cut myself, I would heal but I always ended up being hungrier and so I had to go hunting again. Soon it became my daily cycle. Nobody knew it, nobody noticed it. And why would they? Everyone was too busy feigning happiness and I was too busy killing mine.

Breaking away from my beloved cycle wasnt a choice. Rob found me one day all bloody and weak. This time it went far; I could have actually have actually died (could you believe that!) but luckily Rob smelled leakage of blood and he came running to my bedroom. He was horrified by the sight. He found me in my tub; I wasnt dead, just numb; all my blood was in the tub. Soon I lost conscience; when I opened my eyes again I found myself on the bed. I wasnt feeling hungry like the other times I felt. I was feeling physically normal. The sun was shining and it all came back – the frustration, depression, anger, hurt, hate. I again felt pathetic about myself. While my mind wandered in the dark miasma that I had created inside my head, my eyes wandered around the room; I saw a flower pot by the open window. That was different since I didnt keep a flowerpot by my window. It must have been mom, I thought.

Hey dumbhead; a voice came from the door; Mazie was standing there. Mazie is my Nana – we dont call her Nana for some specific reason that even we are oblivious to. Mazie? What are you doing here? I looked at her; I felt the warmth that she radiated.

Dont ask me silly questions! You were out for a whole godamn week and you ask me why am here? You gotta be kiddin me! Now get up and get ready we are going for shopping Mazie is one stubborn Nana – she has got my genes of holding onto things and being stubborn about them. What shopping? I asked with absolute confusion.

Well bikini shopping – we are going to the beach tomorrow; she gave me her Cheshire cat smile as she crossed the room and checked the flowers. It was she who got them.

Bikini shopping? I must confess she is the only living person that is scarier than a vampire after a hunger strike; I dont do bikini shopping; I answered with a wavering voice. Mazie looked at me with sceptic eyes and sighed heavily; Well! Its about time that you start doing it; she raised her eyebrow. I felt my cheeks flush. Bikini shopping? How could I do that? I hated my body. I hated myself. I felt pathetic and embarrassed about it. My eyes widened and I could feel tears brimming my eyes; I cant do that; I heard my voice mumble.

Yes you can! You in fact will; Mazie raised her head and I could see her poker face; Zhae – its just a bikini; she took the flower pot and moved towards me; Dont let a piece of cloth weigh you down; she kept the flowerpot next to me and patted my cheeks. They knew.

That day we went for bikini shopping and spa. I had no idea what was happening or what was going to happen tomorrow. The bikini was good but I again felt embarrassed about my weight. The spa on the other hand made me feel heaven like; I could feel my body relax. The next day I wore a long baggy shirt over my bikini. Mazie didnt say anything just gave me a look. I looked around and saw people playing and having fun in their shorts and bikinis; they looked gorgeous. But then I noticed something; I noticed a man with a big belly playing with his seven year old daughter, I noticed an old women rub sunscreen on herself, I noticed a women of twenties with a bulging belly run down the beach with her sister who apparently had the biggest breasts Ive ever seen, I noticed a boy with absolutely no flesh on him sit on the life guard post, I noticed chubby boys eat popsicles, I noticed a child rolling down the sand mount, I saw people getting wet as the waves hit the shore, I saw life happening around me and I felt so aloof and sad. I again felt angry but this time I wasnt angry at the society for not treating me well – I felt angry at myself for waiting for the society to treat me well. I immediately got up and walked away to the shops nearby. I entered a shady lane and cried my eyes out. I felt so agitated and irritated and so annoyed that I wanted to just end everything. I hated being a vampire, I hated being cursed with this body; I wanted to stop my misery. I wanted to know how was everyone on the beach confident enough to stand straight and play and enjoy; I wanted to know the secret because I also wanted to wear bikini freely; I also wanted to be a part of this happiness that everyone seem to radiate. I had to see how bad I looked – I needed to analyse and accept how I looked and moreover I wanted to see why it mattered to me to look Barbie perfect for wearing a bikini on a beach. I needed to know.

After a while I got up and roamed around the lanes, and there I saw something that induced a spectacular idea in my head. I entered a sketch shop. I took off my top and paid for a bikini portrait of mine. I still remember that one hour of portrait making – that one hour of exposing myself to me. It gave me the acceptance I needed. That one hour was totally worth it. When I came out with my sketch I smiled. I saw a piece of a bikini body that was made by an artist. I saw a piece of an art, I saw myself reflected in that small piece of paper and it made me feel so true and so important for some reason. The very sketch made each and every cell in my body release endorphins. I fell in love with my portrait. It was a fine feeling, tears brimmed my eyes and I hugged it. It felt good to make yourself feel mattered. Thats what I had to learn to finally accept myself. I analysed as I went down to the beach that I did not look bad at all, I looked okay, absolutely fabulous! In fact I looked really beautiful and confident. I seemed normal. I seemed human.

That day was my first day to ever walk on beach with only bikini on. Mazie was proud. And I prouder. I atlast had found my mirror.

[magical-agatha]

vent, probably pretty like, mature in nature, be warned

idk how to do a read more on mobile so whatever

apparently if i type like [[MO RE]] without the spaces that will become a read more thing after i post this? idk.

edit: it didnt work which is fine i guess. if u know how to add a read more on mobile dm me..

[[MORE]]

anyway so!!!!!! i just got followed by some stranger on twitter. a nsfw blog. basically a couple of gay girls posting clips and photos of themselves fucking. it was cute. but one of the girls looked a lot like my gf. and the other girl kind of looked like me. except she had a pussy. and like. a nice butt. and her boobs were like. a normal shape. and honestly it made me really want to kill myself right then and there.

id been talking with my gf a lot tonight about how like. ive known i was a girl since i was 16. suspected it for years before that. and i desperately wanted to transition when i was 16. i knew who i was. and i was right. but my psych was transphobic. and my mother was too. my psych had me get a blood test that was supposed to determine somehow if i was trans?? and like. she was an actual doctor so idk what the fuck that blood test was. and she said i was too young to know i was trans. made me wait til i was 18. and when i was 18 i was made to wait til i was 21. my mom took this all as evidence that she was correct in her transphobia and deciding i had to be a man. and over the 5 years from being 16 to 21 she convinced me for a while that i was a m*n. she fucking brainwashed me. and at 21 i got a prescription for estradiol. but my mum had fucked me up and made me so unsure that i waited another year before starting hrt. bc i was scared it was a phase. scared id regret it. and i didnt regret anything except being forced and manipulated into waiting.

and when i think about the past i try hard not to regret anything. but i cant help but think about how much happier i might be if id started hrt when i was 16 like i wanted to. and i think about my body. my hips have fused. if id started earlier they would have been able to change shape. i wouldnt be dysphoric about my hips and butt. maybe even my voice would be different. and i wouldnt have as much facial hair. it really fucking hurts to think about bc theres nothing i can do. it makes me want to maim myself and scream blood at my mother. bc she broke me. she broke me over and over again and she did so many things that made my life so much harder. permanent things i have to live with and suffer for the rest of my life.

and seeing those two girls on twitter. reminded me that on top of everything, adding insult to injury, i have to pay for hormones for the rest of my life. its makes me feel like giving up.

i have to fight for the rest of my life to be happy.

i wish i had ovaries and a vagina. i like my dick and my balls. but if i could trade them for a completely functional pussy i honestly might. i mean ideally id want both sets. all the genitalia. pussy, dick, balls, ovaries. all of it. womb maybe too i guess. idk.

and i want hips that are wider. like they would be if id been on E my whole life.

i want to love my body but its hard. it hurts when i see my hips in the mirror. and i want a pussy. why does it have to hurt so much. where the fuck is a cyberpunk bodymod shop that can grow me a pussy and replace my hips. we're living in a dystopia can i please at least get some body shops. is that too much to ask. please..

dont fucking reblog this. ppl keep reblogging my vent posts and it rly sucks so just. if ur gonna interact either like or reply. dont reblog please.

[ingloriousbi]

tbh im just so frustrated. logically I understand that mental health isnt a linear thing, it’s not a graph that goes exponentially up. It’s normal to take a couple of steps forward and then end up having to take a couple back. ive been thru this rodeo a million times.

But its been a month and I’m just back in a really not fun headspace, and you just dont notice yourself slipping into bad habits until theyre there. My sleep schedule is fucked up. My laundry schedule is fucked up. I isolated myself for like 3 weeks. I was in the ‘no’ mentality a lot. And feeling fucked up makes these things happen, and then these things create an unending cycle. Not sleeping well fucks with your hormones and your head and your body. a messy house and badly organised cleaning schedule make your head feel full. lack of comfortable and decent clothing puts you in slouch mode even outside the house and makes me feel incompetent and ugly. Isolation rewards bad thoughts and rewards not dealing with them. the no mentality continues all of these cycles. and like... i know that. ive worked so hard on healthy sleeping habits even when everything else is a mess. i’ve worked so hard on regularly cleaning my house bc i know not doing so fucks me up. i say yes a lot and hang out when i dont want to bc i know that puts me in a better place mentally.

and im clawing my way back out, im hanging out w people a lot and had a busy week, just cleared all my laundry for the first time in a month and just need to keep it that way (and it is easier to do one laundry every week then 3 weeks worth of laundry in a short amount of time, esp w my washing machine and schedule), ive cleaned bits of my house and while i didnt manage everything its still better than nothing. ive started eating a bit again for dinner and should start on breakfast again instead of on my chocolate milk diet or whatever.

but im just so fucking frustrated. i still cant get myself to work on my research proposal, i didnt clean everything i shouldve and its too late to vacuum, my sleep schedule needs serious work, I DIDNT WORK ON MY RESEARCH PROPOSAL AT ALL IM GONNA FUCKING lose my mind tbh. like at least im not isolated anymore which is a huge good step but... idk.

i was doing so well. i was doing so fucking well. ive taken so many steps forward and so little steps back since I began therapy, and esp since my parents’ divorce and my internship ive just changed so much and like every week i was focussed on so many aspects of my life. i was tired, drained and dying, but i was moving forward. and ive always known its going to my reality to work fucking hard to be functional, let alone happy, bc of how my brain has been wired and bc of my parents but. but jesus christ. i got so far. i got so much better. i dont fucking want to take a step or two back when ive taken so many forward, especially not at the exact same time as last year, during my fucking thesis period. i worked so fucking hard and its just not fair that i take these steps backwards, its not fair that i keep falling back into the same patterns when i finally got out of so many of them for such an extended amount of time. its not fair this happens right during a thing i NEED, a thing i already failed, a thing i just want to pass so i can get my bachelors, a thing that i cant drop out of. its not a class its not an internship its not a path for the future, its THE path.

like i knew i wasnt fixed but like... another 2 months woulve been appreciated. i projected some stuff onto my therapist last session and... i just hate it. i never did that before. and i know it was probably projection and he wasnt angry at me bc it would make NO SENSE for him to be angry at me, it makes no fucking sense and thered be no reason, i didnt say or do anything, i wasnt as focused as i usually am when im there bc i want to get better and last time i just wasnt in that headspace but idk. idk. 

im just so frustrated. im excited for tomorrow and shit and hopefully thats gonna be the awesome boost i need to get my shit together next week so that that week can be the stepping stone into moving forward again but im just so fucking frustrated with myself

[inadeepanddarkdecember]

[[ this is kinda rambly and piecemeal and out of order since its an edited convo off of discord from before cy’s heart got replaced, but i decided i wanted this Extra Large thalassemia infodump on my blog. go read this primer first for basic info on thal; cyrus’s form is beta thalassemia major. ]]

even with a perfectly healthy and functional heart, cy'd still have a too fast pulse and likely have arrhythmias; that comes with the territory of his anemia, and he could still develop heart failure again later in life. the problem with cy's current heart is that its been scarred to shit by the extra iron in his body from his blood transfusions and hes developed cardiomyopathy as a result, which at this point is virtually guaranteed to kill him before he turns 30, even if he takes perfect care of himself and never develops any other complications from his thalassemia ever (which aint fuckin likely). this failing heart just deals worse with arrhythmias he already has, especially under stress, and already struggles to keep up enough blood pressure.

bone marrow transplants are currently the closest thing to a cure for thalassemia we have and hellll no he has not had that done i doubt hes even on a waiting list. with his shit in the state hes in, its questionable if he'd even survive the process its pretty intense, nevermind the finances and healing and finding a match and even so much as qualifying to have it done.

cyrus goes in for a blood transfusion every three weeks. when transfusion dates get close, within a few days, hes more tired; he doesnt go out; he can be moodier; he can get headaches and dizzy spells. he feels best after a transfusion, then its just a slow decline till the date rolls around again. i tend to rp him within a week or two of being transfused most of the time simply bc its easier to get him out there interacting with people.

sometimes they coincide with transfusion dates, sometimes they don't, but he has longer appointments to check up on his other bodily functions every so often. theres general stuff, looking at his counts, then more specialized appointments to keep an eye specifically on his heart or check up on his liver and other organs as needed.

thalassemia by itself kills a person through not having enough blood to get oxygen around the body; this is solved through blood transfusions. chronic anemia means chronic transfusions. which would be fine! except chronic transfusions cause a build-up of iron in the body, and that shit is toxic and where the more fatal complications tend to stem from for thalassemia patients. also, being anemic means your body thinks it needs iron, so it's prone to absorb more from food than the average person, an added bonus. consequently, there are certain foods cyrus avoids. legumes, dark leafy greens, etc. look up any list of iron-rich foods, and thats a list of shit cyrus ought to be avoiding or indulging rarely. (funnily enough, these lists also are often advertised towards anemic people because those who arent transfused have the opposite problem.) part of his tea drinking habit is because tea inhibits iron absorption, along with he just likes it. coffee works too and he doesnt object to it, but he prefers tea.

another consequence of chronic transfusions is that you end up with a lot of old shitty dead blood cells in your system, and your spleen is left to clean it up. unfortunately, when faced with that much to clean, it can enlarge (splenomegaly) and become overactive (hypersplenism). so it starts removing healthy blood cells too quickly and too early, which can cause the anemic patient to need more blood when being transfused, which risks more iron, and not to mention its generally uncomfortable for the patient with the enlarged spleen. in short, this happened to cyrus, so his spleen has been removed. spleens, however, also play an important role in the immune system, so he was already kinda vulnerable as an anemic, but having no spleen makes him doubly at risk of infections. he takes antibiotics as part of his daily pharmaceutical regime.

during cold and flu season, docs tend to strongly suggest he wear surgical masks during school and whenever hes around a lot of people in public places, but he almost never does. he doesnt like the attention it gets him esp in school, but sometimes he'll do it when hes on public transit or anything. he does carry hand sanitizer with him a lot of the time tho

bc his immune system is fragile, he often goes in-patient for what would be minor sicknesses for us, esp if theres a fever. he tends to be hit hard by them, and being sick can make his counts plummet as his body tries to fight off the disease.

coming back around to iron related bullshit, iron overload is treated by iron chelation, for which there are mainly two medicines, deferoxamine and deferasirox, and cyrus uses the latter because i have never been able to find out enough goddamn information about deferoxamine. deferoxamine is the more common and cheaper of the two medicines; its injected subcutaneously over the course of 8-12 hours and has its own list of side effects and the process itself tends to be kinda painful from the accounts ive read. its done at home, often while the patient sleeps bc... well, when else are you gonna get a child to sit still for 8-12 hours. its definitely the one cyrus was on for a while, when he was younger. bc ive had a hellish time finding info on the pump used for deferoxamine and more about that medicine generally, cy’s currently on deferasirox. slightly different side effects, but otherwise does the same job in pill form.

thalassemia patients who've been cared for properly should be healthier than cyrus is. most patients his age havent had a heart attack already and arent dealing with heart failure, not yet. his parents have always struggled financially to keep up with his medical bills, but there was a time when he was still young that they still thought they could manage if they just worked hard enough. they were too proud to accept help, and he suffered for it. they eventually gave in but even then still struggled to keep up. sometimes a sudden unexpected change in insurance policy would fuck em for a while finanacially. so sometimes they'd not fill a perscription for a while or wait longer than they should to take him in-patient, hoping he might just tough out a cold or smth. sometimes he'd manage to do that and have abysmal blood counts next time he went in, and a couple of times he got so sick he was legit on death's doorstep by the time he got to the hospital and needed way longer to recover. sometimes cyrus would be too fussy about the deferoxamine and they didnt have the energy that night to force him to accept it or he'd turn off the machine himself after they left. not too often, he was pretty good about just accepting it and did most of the time, but it def happened more than a few times. and if it had already been activated, they couldnt reuse it and had to throw the dose out, in which case that was it he skips it no replacement they cant afford it not in the budget.

and because the effects of iron overload are long-term ones for the most part, it was easy to be like "ehh he seems fine for now". like, they knew the risks, but it was hard to see them as anything but so far in the distance as to be irrelevant. cyrus himself isnt great about the whole self-care thing either; his depression has helped nothing. he's been known to just flush or toss pills in a small spiteful act of rebellion, all his parents care about is that hes still alive and their money, and medicine's expensive, so wouldnt it just piss em off to throw it all away. he'll eat foods he shouldnt for similar reasons, along with just the pleasure of it. and sometimes he hits the sort of suicidal low where he just.... doesnt see the point. each dose he takes is a choice to keep living, and sometimes that choice isnt one he wants to make.

no one quite realized how bad he was tho till his first heart attack. he was so young; the docs dont rly know when hes skipping, so they werent watching too closely for the effects of it. and the damage his body took over time was amplified by his frequent stress. the heart and liver are the ones most affected by iron overload; his liver is somewhat damaged too, but thats not too bad yet, not as bad as his heart.

other little thal things: hormone levels can get super fucked. cy's puberty was a bit delayed, and his testosterone levels remain kinda low compared to average, so hes not as hairy as his genetics might otherwise dictate. he will never be able to grow a proper beard; it'll always be way too patchy and uneven. and despite what his touch aversion and other factors like stress and said low testosterone might lead you to believe, hes got a pretty strong sex drive, though he suppresses the hell out of it.

he was homeschooled for his first few years of elementary bc health concerns, but that couldnt be sustained bc of cost. so he rejoined public school since then. i wouldnt be surprised if his peers used his puberty delays against him, but i'd expect they were making fun of him less bc he was a late bloomer and more at his general girlishness, esp since this would also be around the time he was growing out his hair.

he has had people do the "lookit me ive befriended the sad disabled kid arent i good <3" schtick (which esp pisses him off bc its similar to shit melinda pulls) and hes met the people who try to be nice to him for three days then turn a 180 on him when he doesnt immediately cheer up and get all buddy buddy with them. and hence he now treats kindness from strangers with extreme skepticism, suspicion, and aggression. (thomas also feeds into this but ye) it scares off plenty of legitimately nice people who he could have befriended, buuut.

Oh, a couple Fun Facts I forgot to mention. bc anemia, he bruises easy and injuries generally take longer than normal to heal. And in part bc depression and in part bc meds are prone to fucking with his appetite, either killing it entirely or just making him nauseated, he tends to not eat enough and is kind of underweight. Melinda put him in charge of dinner most nights as part of a genuine good faith effort to ensure he's getting at least one good meal and get him home when he's supposed to be.