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itneverendshere · 1 month ago

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

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of severe anemia; pregnancy; abortion

💌MASTERLIST

Rafe sat in his truck outside the unassuming brick building for longer than he’d care to admit, over two hours. The sign out front read “Coastal Therapy Center” in simple, soothing letters, but nothing about this felt soothing.

Therapy.

If someone had told him just three months ago he’d be here, he would have laughed in their face. Therapy was for weak people, that was what Ward Cameron had drilled into him since he was a kid. It was the kind of shit he’d spent his whole life avoiding because, what was the point? Nothing ever changed. Not for him, not for his so-called family.

After his mom died, Ward’s solution was to bury it—all of it. Grief, pain, confusion. “Camerons don’t cry,” he’d said. “We keep moving forward.” But what if forward felt like walking through hell?

The door felt impossibly far away, but he knew he had to get out.

“Get your shit together man,” he muttered under his breath.

He could hear his dad’s voice in his head, unforgiving. Weak. Pathetic. That same voice had driven him for years, pushed him to be stronger, tougher, to bury every fucking thing he felt. But it wasn’t Ward’s voice that mattered now, it was yours, the Picture of your eyes shining with tears the last time you’d spoken to him.

He glanced at the building again, still not knowing if he believed in it, if it could fix whatever was broken inside him. But he did know one thing: if he didn’t at least try, he’d lose you for good.

Rafe exhaled sharply, shoving open the truck door, but before he walked it, he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. His fingers fumbled with the lighter, the flame sputtering before finally catching. He took a drag, the smoke burning his lungs in a way that almost felt good.

He exhaled slowly, watching the gray wisps disappear into the air. He flicked the cigarette to the ground and crushed it under his boot. He should just leave. Get back in the truck, drive somewhere, anywhere but here.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, pushing himself off the wall and shoving his hands in his pockets as he walked back to the door. One foot in front of the other, he told himself, although it felt like walking to his own execution.The waiting room was quiet, with soft music playing in the background.

He hated it already. He didn’t belong here, but he chose to stay, his hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt like a bitch. He couldn’t stop his legs from bouncing as he waited for the receptionist to notice him.

When she eventually looked up and smiled, he nodded stiffly, avoiding her. He didn’t want her kindness. Didn’t deserve it. Rafe wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say when he walked into that first session.

He didn’t know how to explain the mess, the voices in his head, the anger that raged over and the guilt that followed like a shadow. But he knew why he was here.

When the therapist finally called his name, Rafe hesitated for half a second before standing. She looked normal enough—glasses, sweater, clipboard—but it still made his skin crawl. He felt like she could see through him, as if she already knew all the shit he’d done and thought and didn’t want to admit to anyone, especially himself.

“Rafe?” she called again, her voice patient. He didn’t deserve that either, but he nodded and followed her to the room.

It was small, the kind of place that made him feel like a caged animal, he sat on the couch because what the hell else was he supposed to do, and stared at the floor, picking at a thread on his jeans.

“So,” she started, sitting across from him, crossing her legs like this was just a normal conversation. “What brings you here today?”

“Huh, what doesn’t?” he said before he could stop himself. He glanced up at her, half expecting her to kick him out right there.

But she didn’t, instead she simply nodded, like she got it, she’d heard worse.

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s start with whatever feels the hardest.”

He leaned back, running a hand over his face.

Where the fuck was he even supposed to start? His mom dying? His dad? The drugs, the fights, the hole he’d dug so deep he wasn’t sure he’d ever crawl out? Or maybe with you, with the way he’d pushed you away until you had no choice but to hate him?

“I don’t know,” he said finally. His eyes stayed glossed over on a spot on the carpet “I guess...uh, I should start with my mom, right? She died when I was fourteen. Leukemia.”

The therapist didn’t say anything, just nodded like she was giving him space to keep going. He hated the silence, how much it made him feel, but he kept going, because if he was going to do this shit right, he might as well not half-ass it.

““I’m sorry to hear that,” she said gently. “What do you remember most about her? What was she like?”

Rafe’s lips twitched, “She was… everything, y’know?” His throat felt sore, “I know everyone says that shit about their mom, but she really was. She was the one who kept everything together. When my dad was being—”

He stopped short, his jaw twitching at how hard he bite his tongue.

“When he was being what?” the therapist prompted.

“When he was being him, she was the one who’d step in. She’d tell him to back off, that I was just a kid, or that I didn’t deserve whatever shit he was throwing at me that day. She was the only one who ever really had my back.”

“How did losing her affect your relationship with your dad?”

“It changed everything. When she got sick, it was like… I don’t know, like everything just fell apart. She was the glue, y’know? Without her, my dad just—he went full-on Ward Cameron.”

His voice cracked on the last word, and he swallowed hard, “I remember the day she died,” he said after a long pause. “I thought I’d have more time. They kept saying it was bad, but I didn’t think it would happen that day. And then it did. Just like that.”

He rubbed his hands together, the motion frantic, restless. “I didn’t even cry. I just sat there, staring at the floor while my dad kept saying, ‘We’ll get through this. We’re Camerons. We don’t fall apart.’ And I was like, okay, I guess that’s what we’re doing then. Not falling apart. Just… moving forward.”

“What does that mean to you, ‘full-on Ward Cameron’?”

“It means he turned me into his fucking project.”

“Did he ever talk to you about what you were feeling? About how hard it was to lose her?” the therapist asked, her tone pointed.

“No,” Rafe said immediately,“My dad never wanted to talk about it. He acted like it was this... inconvenience. Yeah, he was sad, but he just buried it, wanted me to do the same.”

“What do you mean by that?” she prompted

Rafe let out a bitter laugh.

“I’m the oldest, out of three. Not just the oldest— the only son. Wen she died, my dad decided I had to step up, be the man of the house. Take care of my sisters, keep everything running smoothly. Be his goddamn mini-me, like that was even possible. I was fourteen, but that shit didn’t matter. My dad expected me to bury all the shit I was feeling, I had to be twice as strong because I was the only man left.”

“How did that make you feel?” she asked, her tone measured but firm.

“How do you think it made me feel?” he snapped, his voice rising before he caught himself. He sighed, leaning forward again and dropping his head into his hands. “Shit, sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s okay,” she nodded, not the least bit fazed, “But I think it’s important to answer that question. How did it make you feel?”

“Like shit,” he admitted after a long pause. “I couldn’t do anything right. I was pissed at him for putting all of that on me, pissed at my sister for needing me, pissed at her for dying and leaving me with all this. And most of all, pissed at myself because no matter what I did, it was never enough. Not for him, not for me.”

“Do you think you could have stopped it?” the therapist asked softly.

Rafe’s head snapped up at that, but then he shook his head. “No,” he admitted, “I know I couldn’t, it wasn’t my fault. But it felt like it was, if I’d been better—smarter, stronger—she would’ve stayed. Or at least… she would’ve been proud of me for trying.”

He hasn't said it out loud since that night, with you.

She pursed her lips, as she took notes, “You should give yourself more credit, for how much you’ve survived.”

“Credit? For what? Being a fuck-up?”

She barely looked up from her notebook, changing the direction of her questions, “What do you think your mom would say to you now, if she could?”

Rafe’s throat tightened, and he looked away, “I don’t know. Fuck, maybe... maybe she’d say she’s proud of me for being here. For trying to fix it, even if I should’ve done it years ago,” He paused, swallowing hard. “She probably would think I’m a fucking idiot, I pushed away the one person who actually fucking mattered.”

“Who’s that?” the therapist asked gently.

“My girlfriend,” He bit his tongue, the word stinging, “Ex-girlfriend now, I guess. After my dad died, I just—I started pushing her away. Picking fights over Ward, shutting her out when she tried to help me see the truth about him,” He swallowed hard, his throat burning.

He hadn’t expected to feel this vulnerable, but now that he’d started talking about you, about what he’d ruined, it was hard to stop.

“She’s the one, y’know?” he muttered, his voice distant as though he was speaking to himself more than anyone else. “I fucked it all up.”

“What happened?”

Rafe let out a shaky breath.

“I was an asshole. I told her I didn’t need her, that she should just leave, like it wasn’t me who was the fuckin’problem. She did—she left, thought if I cut her loose or pushed her away, maybe I wouldn’t feel so fucking broken. Maybe if I wasn’t constantly looking at her and seeing everything I couldn’t be, I could... I don’t know. Get my shit together or some bullshit.” He rubbed his temples, frustration mounting “But then, like a fucking idiot, I started seeing someone else. All I could think about was how much it would hurt her if she found out. And it did.” His voice cracked, “It fucking destroyed her, I knew it would. That’s the worst part—I fucking knew, and I still let it happen, like the selfish piece of shit I am.”

He pressed his palms to his eyes, hoping it could block out the memory of you—your tear-streaked face.

“What do you think that relationship was about?”

His fists clenched again, “A distraction? I thought if I just... started fresh, started with someone who didn’t know all my baggage, someone who wouldn’t make me feel like I was constantly failing, I could just... forget. Forget everything. Forget her, forget my dad, forget how fucked up I was.”

“And did it help you forget?” she asked, her voice steady, but full of understanding.

“No,” He gritted out, “I couldn’t stop thinking about her, even when I was with someone else. Every time I closed my eyes, it was her face I saw. Her voice I heard in my head, telling me I could do better, be better. Shit, all I could do was prove her wrong.”

The therapist leaned forward slightly, her expression compassionate. “It sounds like she means a great deal to you.”

“Talking about her,” He paused, wincing as if he was in physical pain, “She’s just—fuck, man—she’s always in my head. It’s worse than talking about my parents, worse than remembering my mom dying or my dad. Because with them, it’s just... loss, y’know? Her? I had her, she was there. She loved me, and I ruined it.”

“What do you think she would say to you now, if she could hear this?” the therapist suggested, “You don’t have to think about it, if you don’t want to.”

Rafe’s breath hitched, and he rubbed the back of his neck. He chuckled, but it came out jagged “Shit, that sounded real fuckin’ pathetic, huh? I can’t even talk about her without losing my shit.”

“It’s not pathetic. Give it a try.”

“I don’t know,” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his noise, “That it’s too late? She’s done with me, and I deserve it. I think she’d still tell me to get my shit together and she’s proud of me for trying, even if I’m still the same fucked-up mess I was when she left, even if she hates me. That’s the kind of person she is.” His throat tightened again, and he looked away. “But even if she did, it doesn’t change the fact that I broke her heart.”

The therapist let the silence stretch for a moment before speaking again. “It’s clear that you’re carrying a lot of pain, not just from losing her, but from how you see yourself in all of this. Have you ever thought about what it might look like to forgive yourself?”

“Forgive myself?” Rafe repeated, his voice incredulous. He shook his head, scoffing. “I don’t even... know what that would look like, y’know?” His leg started bouncing again, the restless energy coursing through him. “How do you even do that? Is there, uh, like, a fucking manual or something for that shit?” His voice cracked on the last word, and he shook his head, “I keep replaying it. All the shit I said to her.”

The therapist didn’t say anything, just watched him, her expression poised. He hated that, how calm she was when he felt like he was losing it.

He huffed, leaning back against the couch. “I mean, yeah, maybe that’s why I’m here. I don’t even know where to fucking start. It’s just—fuck, it’s just a lot. Too much.”

“It’s a lot of guilt for just one person, Rafe,” she pointed out, “Your mom, your dad, your relationship. And I think you’re right—talking about it won’t change the past, but it might help you figure out how to move forward.”

He scoffed “Yeah, okay. Move forward. Sounds easy enough.”

“It’s not easy,” she admitted. “But it’s possible. You don’t have to figure it all out today, or even next month.”

“I don’t even know where to start.”

“You’ve already started,” she pointed out. “You’re here.”

You’re here.

Those two words rattled around in his skull. He was here, but why? To make himself feel better? To prove to himself—or you—that he could do this, could change? Did he even believe that?

He thought about the nights he spent pacing his room, phone in hand, your number glowing on the screen. He’d wanted to call, to apologize, to beg, but he couldn’t. What would he even say?

Rafe let out a long breath, his shoulders slumping, his foot tapping out an uneven rhythm. He didn’t have it in him to argue, not anymore.

“Yeah,” he muttered, “I’m here.”

He was there, sure, but the room still felt small, the air dirty, his own body too restless to sit still for another second. His hands clenched into fists against his thighs, his nails biting into the fabric of his levi’s.

“You say you’re a mess, but you’re here,” the therapist said after a moment, her tone even. “You’re talking about it, trying to figure out what went wrong and what you can do to make it right. That doesn’t sound like someone who’s given up.”

He wanted her to push, to give him a reason to bolt out of there, to justify why this whole thing was a stupid mistake. But she didn’t, she was waiting like she had all the time in the world.

“Why’s it gotta be like this, huh? Why does everything have to hurt so f-fucking much? Why can’t I just... be normal? Like everyone else?”

“Normal is a lot more complicated than it looks. What does ‘normal’ mean to you?”

He scoffed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “I don’t know. Not waking up every day feeling like... like there’s this weight on my chest.”

She nodded slowly, her gaze firm but not invasive. “That sounds exhausting.”

“Yeah, well, welcome to my life,” he scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s like... I can’t turn it off, y’know?” He gestured vaguely at himself, at the space around him. “It’s just there. Always.”

“You mentioned earlier that you feel like you’re not enough,” she said, her tone thoughtful. “Not enough for who?”

“For anyone,” he said immediately, then paused, his throat tightening. “For my dad, for my sisters... for her. I mean, shit, if I can’t even be enough for me, how the fuck am I supposed to be enough for anyone else?”

The therapist smiled faintly, not unkindly. “That’s what we’re here to understand.”

Two hours later and 300$ short, his phone buzzed on the passenger seat, the screen lighting up with two missed calls and a flood of texts. All from Topper.

Rafe grabbed the phone, unlocking it with his thumb and scrolling through the messages.

Topper: “Bro. SOS.” “I think she hates me.” “Like, actually hates me.” “Call me back. This is a situation.”

He huffed out a breath, tossing the phone back onto the seat. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered. Topper’s idea of a crisis was probably that your coffee order had foam when you wanted oat milk or some shit.

Rafe rubbed his temples knowing he wasn’t exactly in a position to play mediator.

The last call came in five minutes ago, he muttered, “What the fuck did you do now?” and hit the call button.

Topper picked up on the first ring.

“Rafe!” Topper’s voice was a mess— frantic, breathless, like he’d just run a marathon. “Okay, okay, it’s official—she’s gonna kill me or us—”

“Top, what the fuck are you talking about?” He snapped, already annoyed.

“I—uh—Did you tell her I told you?” Topper stammered. “Because she blocked me, everywhere. She told me, ‘Never speak to me again,’ and blocked me! I’m dead. She’s gonna cut me off for good, man.”

Rafe bit the inside of his cheek, “I didn’t, but Sarah knows you know.”

“Why would you tell her?” Topper grumbled out, “You know she hates me too. She’s the enemy.”

“She’s my sister you fuckin’ idiot.”

“Semantics.”

Rafe leaned back in his seat, staring at the ceiling of his truck. He wanted to hang up, but Topper’s desperation was almost pathetic enough to make him stick around

His friend fell silent for a moment. Then, quietly: “You think she’s gonna be okay? I mean, with everything?”

“I don’t know. But she’s strong. She’s gonna do what she needs to do—whether we’re in the picture or not.”

Topper swallowed audibly. “So… what do I do?”

Rafe sighed, “Give her space. Just… back off and let her come to you. If she even wants to.”

“It’s kinda crazy, right? Asking you for advice? For the longest time, you were public enemy number one. You, the big, bad ex who broke her heart.” Topper’s laugh was nervous, he knew he was pushing it but couldn’t stop himself. “Now she hates me more. Like, I dethroned you. That’s wild.”

“Yeah, hilarious,” he muttered.

Topper either didn’t catch the sarcasm or chose to ignore it. “A real plot twist. I knew I’d screw up eventually, but I didn’t think I’d ever top your record.”

“Topper,” Rafe growled, “this isn’t a fuckin’ joke. You don’t even know the half of it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? You mean, like… she really hates you, or…?”

Wow.

Rafe clicked his tongue in annoyance, “The fuck you think?”

"Wait, wait," Topper said quickly, his voice climbing. "You still haven’t asked her? Confirmed all this? What if I—what if I misunderstood or something?"

His eyes squeezed shut, as if the sheer force of Topper’s stupidity might give him an aneurysm. "Yeah, fuckin' genius. Because it’s so easy to ask someone who won’t even look at me, let alone talk to me."

"Okay, okay, fair," Topper admitted, “Your sister could’ help.”

“Again Top, be fucking serious.”

"Yeah, okay, nevermind. But what if it’s not true? What if I made things worse for no reason?"

"You did make things worse," Rafe snapped, his patience hanging by a thread. "You’re lucky she hasn’t shown up at your door to shoot you.”

"Not helping, dude," Topper muttered, then hesitated. "So… what’re you gonna do? I mean, if she won’t talk to you, if Sarah won’t fess up, how’re you gonna know for sure? What if she really is—y’know—and you’re just sitting here like a dumbass, waiting for a miracle?"

Rafe opened his eyes, staring blankly at the dashboard. Topper wasn’t wrong, but hearing it said out loud made his stomach burn, especially after he just spent a good fucking hour talking about you, pouring his feelings out to a stranger he paid for.

Was he wasting time—time you needed him to be stepping up?

"I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, okay? I want to know, but—she’s got every right to hate me, man. How am I supposed to just… show up and ask her something like that, huh?”

Topper exhaled loudly, his usual bravado replaced with uncharacteristic uncertainty. "Yeah, I guess you’re kinda in a lose-lose situation. Damn. That’s rough, bro."

"Thanks for the insight. Real helpful," Rafe grumbled, running a hand over his face.

“She’s blocking me, she’s not talking to you—you think she’s just gonna wake up one day and decide to make it easy for us? For you?"

Rafe sighed, "No. She’s not."

"So… what’s the move?"

Rafe stared out the windshield, his heart pounding in his chest. What was the move? He didn’t have an answer.

"Guess I’ll figure it out," he said finally, voice rough around the edges.

Topper hummed thoughtfully. "Well, uh, good luck with that. And, y’know, if you figure it out… let me know if I’m, like, still alive in her eyes or if I should start preparing for witness protection."

Rafe rubbed his forehead, trying to avoid the headache that was building behind his eyes. "You’re on your own there.”

"Fair," Topper said lightly, “Shit, this is depressing. We should go on a boat ride tomorrow.”

A boat day? He could almost hear the suggestion in Topper's voice: a desperate, half-hearted attempt to get away from it all.

"Yeah," Rafe hummed, "Maybe.”

"Seriously, though, it might help," Topper said, but he could tell the guy was genuinely losing it, "Get out on the water, clear our heads, get some space.”

Rafe pinched the bridge of his nose, staring at the dashboard “Space,” he repeated hollowly. Empty. "Yeah, I guess.”

Topper's voice came through again, sounding more serious "Just don't stay in your head too long, man. Don't get stuck there. You deserve a break too.”

Maybe the boat ride was the kind of distraction he needed to stop the spiral he’d been going down over the past few days. To stop thinking about all the things he couldn’t fix right now.

"Alrigh’, we’ll do the boat thing."

Topper, as if relieved that Rafe was playing along, responded with a chuckle. “Sweet. I’ll get the cooler ready. It’ll be good. I’ll try not to drive you completely insane.”

“Don’t make any promises,” He rolled his eyes, feeling the tension in his body soothe slightly, though it was still there—a bruise that hadn't healed.

The call ended shortly after, leaving him alone with his thoughts again.

He glanced at the phone, the notifications still lighting up with messages from Topper. He barely glanced at them, his mind turning instead to you, as always. To the things he should have said, the things he should have done. To the feeling of you slipping farther away, out of his reach, out of his life.

He didn’t know what the hell he was doing anymore, didn’t know how to fix any of this.

He just knew that at least for a little while, he wouldn’t have to be alone with his thoughts.

You were at ponguelandia again for the night, it wasn’t exactly where you wanted to be, but beggars can’t be choosers, right?

Sarah had insisted, practically dragged you here after hearing about your “severe anemia” situation. Add the fact that carrying the baby could fuck up your health to the point where you’d be bedridden for the rest of your life (or worse), and it was a recipe for a meltdown.

You couldn’t be alone right now, not after all that. Being around people was better than being alone.

Her and John B were being everything you needed, so you’d put on a happy face and pretend you weren’t dying inside. They were doing their whole supportive couple thing, and it was almost everything you needed—if it weren’t also so annoyingly them. Could they be more in love? Probably not. It was nauseating in the best and worst way, watching the life you could’ve had with someone else if things had turned out differently.

Then there was Kie and JJ. They were around, too, in their usual JJ-and-Kie way: watching you, but not prying, holding back out of respect—or pity. They knew you’d passed out on the beach two weeks ago and that you were “sick,” but Sarah had spared them the details.��Small blessings, you guessed.

You were trying your best to keep up the whole "everything’s fine" act, but it was getting exhausting. Sarah had been the one who knew the real story—about the anemia, the baby, the complications—and she was the only one who knew how much of a mess you were in.

You’d asked her not to tell any of them. That didn’t make the pretending any easier. All they knew was that you were feeling a little under the weather, run-down, nothing too serious. You didn’t want to tell them. They’d never understand, not in the way you needed him to. Not when the issue was...everything.

You were curled up on the couch in their messy living room, a blanket thrown over your legs, you were trying to hide under it. You were just tired of pretending you weren’t falling apart inside. But you could do it for Sarah, she deserved to have a normal night, one that wasn’t filled with you sobbing in her arms.

John B was sitting on the other side of the couch, there was an awkward space between you two. Not in a bad way, just... you didn’t really know him. He and Rafe had a history, to say things were tense between them was an understatement. But you liked him for Sarah, he treated her right.

That was more than you could say for a lot of people in her life, so... here you were.

Kie was sitting cross-legged on the armchair, holding a bottle of something that definitely wasn’t soda, while JJ sprawled across the floor by her feet. John B had his arm slung casually around Sarah, who was perched on the couch between you and him, her body half-turned toward you as if she were ready to intervene at a moment’s notice.

Always watching, always waiting.

JJ tossed a pretzel at Kiara, which she caught without looking up.

“So, tomorrow’s the big day,” he announced, grinning like a kid.

Kie rolled her eyes. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“To you,” he shot back, pointing dramatically. “To me? Monumental. Legendary. Historic.”

Sarah groaned. “He’s talking about the party,” she explained, bracing for your reaction.

“What party?” you asked, already regretting the question.

“Just a little thing at Poguelandia,” John B said casually, brushing popcorn crumbs off his jeans. “Bonfire, some drinks, a couple of people. Nothing crazy, it's promotional."

“A couple of people? Dude, half the island’s gonna show up.”

John B shrugged, the picture of nonchalance. “It’s not a party unless it’s packed.”

“Exactly,” JJ said, leaning back on his elbows. “You have to come. It’s gonna be sick.”

You made a face, “I’m not really in a party mood.”

Sarah turned to you immediately, her eyes wide and full of meaning. The look. The one that said, C’mon, you need this.

“It’d be fun,” she pouted, “You could use a little fun right now.”

“I’m fine,” you said, avoiding her eyes and focusing on the popcorn in your lap. “I don’t need a party to cheer me up.”

Kiara raised an eyebrow. “Oh, come on. Just a chill day. You won’t even have to talk to anyone if you don’t want to.”

“And there’ll be drinks,” JJ added with a wink. “Or, you know, drink-adjacent options for those who can’t hang.”

For a second, your stomach almost dropped. Did he know? The way he said it—so casually—it almost felt like he did. It felt like he was teasing you in that obnoxious JJ way, but with an awareness that made you want to crawl out of your skin. But then logic kicked in.

They didn’t know. Not about the baby, at least. As far as they were concerned, you were just sick. Which, to be fair, you were. “Drink-adjacent” made sense because no one expected you to down shots when you could barely keep yourself upright most days.

Still, the comment made you uneasy, and your fingers tightened around the edge of the blanket.

“Right,” you grimaced, your voice stiff. “Because nothing says ‘party’ like seltzer water.”

“That’s the spirit. We’ll even get the fancy kind, with lime or whatever. Really roll out the red carpet for you.”

Kie snorted. “You’re so generous, JJ.”

“Hey, I’m a man of the people baby,” he said, throwing his hands up like he was defending his honor.

Sarah nudged you again, harder this time, and you glanced at her out of the corner of your eye. She was giving you that look again, the one that screamed, Just say yes already.

“You’re not gonna let this go, are you?” you muttered, aiming for annoyed but landing somewhere closer to resigned.

“Nope,” she said brightly.

You sighed, sinking deeper into the couch. “Fine. I’ll think about it.”

JJ whooped, pumping a fist in the air like you’d just agreed to crown him king of the Pogues. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

“I didn’t say I was going. I said I’d think about it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, waving you off like the details didn’t matter. “Thinking about it is basically saying yes.” JJ grinned at you, “But y’know,” he started, pointing a lazy finger in your direction, “it’s still kind of insane that you’re here. The literal kook of the kooks.”

You rolled your eyes, “And yet, here I am. Stuck with the pogues. Truly the highlight of my life.”

“Admit it. You love it. The... gritty charm.”

“Right,” you casted a skeptical glance around the room. “Because who wouldn’t love the charm of beer-stained furniture, half-empty snack bags, and... whatever that smell is?” You wrinkled your nose for effect, though you weren’t entirely joking.

The place was a dump.

John B chuckled from his corner of the couch, tossing a piece of popcorn at JJ. “She’s not wrong, man. This place barely qualifies as livable.”

“Livable?” JJ looked mock-offended, clutching his chest like he’d been mortally wounded. “This is prime real estate! You kooks don’t appreciate the artistic chaos.”

Kiara looked up from her phone. “It’s chaos, all right.”

Sarah leaned toward you, her voice low and teasing. “Don’t let him get to you. He’s just salty you make this place look like a dump by comparison.”

“Please,” JJ cut in, leaning forward, “This place looks like a dump because it is a dump. But it’s our dump.” He grinned, flicking his eyes back to you. “And now, apparently, it’s yours too. Welcome to the family, kook princess.”

You snorted, unable to help yourself. “Don’t get used to it.”

JJ clutched his chest again. “Ouch. Cold. But fair.”

The truth was, you did think the place was terrible.

Objectively, it was, you already knew that since last week.

The furniture didn’t match, the walls had stains you didn’t want to think too hard about, and everything felt sticky, even if it wasn’t. You were used to perfect beachfront properties with matching decor and staff that catered to your every whim. This? It was a wreck.

But at the same time, there was something about it that felt... alive. The chaos wasn’t just chaos—it was theirs. The mismatched furniture, the random surfboards propped in corners, the lived-in feel of a space that wasn’t trying to impress anyone. It made you hate it and love it all at once.

Your eyes flicked to Kie, who rolled hers at JJ but couldn’t hide her smile. He said something under his breath, too quiet for anyone else to hear, and she shoved his shoulder in mock annoyance. He grinned at her, that lazy grin he probably didn’t even realize he saved just for her. And she was trying so hard to look unimpressed, but her expression softened anyway, she couldn’t help herself.

Sarah caught you looking and smirked, nudging you. “Cute, right?” she whispered.

You gave her a half-smile, more honest this time. “Annoyingly so.”

JJ, oblivious to the exchange, flopped onto his back. “I don’t know why you all keep insulting my hospitality. If this was a five-star resort, it wouldn’t have vibes.”

“Yeah, vibes of a condemned building,” you grumbled back, unable to help yourself.

And when everyone laughed—Kie’s chuckle, Sarah’s giggle, JJ’s full-blown cackle—you hated yourself a little for loving it here, even as you pretended you didn’t.

Would things have been different if you hadn’t been born a Kook?

The thought hit you out of nowhere, unwelcomely, like it always did when you let your guard down. Would your family still be alive if you weren’t wrapped up in the trappings of wealth and privilege? If your dad hadn’t been able to afford that stupid private jet, if your mom hadn’t insisted on using it for every family trip, if your sister hadn’t tagged along on that one last flight...

It was a cruel, useless spiral of what-ifs that never went anywhere but still had you choking on guilt every time. Because it wasn’t just the money. It was the whole stupid kook world—the private schools, the country clubs, the constant need to show off and be better than everyone else. That world had shaped your family, pushed them into the roles they played, and it had been the death of them, literally and figuratively.

You wondered, not for the first time, if they would’ve been safer if you’d all been normal. Just some middle-class family driving to vacations in an old station wagon, complaining about rest-stop food and fighting over the radio. Maybe your parents wouldn’t have been so busy, and maybe your sister wouldn’t have been on that flight at all.

Your throat burned, and you blinked hard, trying to push the thoughts back where they belonged. The pogues were still talking, still laughing, completely unaware of the war blazing in your head.

“You’re lucky to be here, kook princess. You’re getting the real-life experience.”

You forced a weak smile, still staring at the popcorn. “The real-life experience.”

If this was real life, you thought bitterly, maybe you wouldn’t have so much to regret. Maybe you’d still have them. Maybe you’d even know who you were outside of the perfect, shiny bubble you’d grown up in—one that had popped so catastrophically you were still finding pieces of it in your skin.

Maybe if you hadn’t been born a kook, you wouldn’t have met Rafe when you were kids. You wouldn’t have been his best friend, wouldn’t have spent your whole childhood trailing after him, clinging to every crooked smile and reckless dare like they were proof that you mattered.

You wouldn’t have fallen in love with him at sixteen, back when you thought love meant him driving you to the beach in his dad’s truck, his hand on your thigh, telling you you were the only person who really got him. You wouldn’t have had your heart broken by him now, when he was with someone else. Your hand drifted to your stomach, a subconscious gesture that made your breath hitch. You wouldn’t be pregnant with his kid, either. Or sick.

You’d built this whole life around him without even realizing it.

Would it have been better? Not having Rafe at all?

You wanted to say yes. You wanted to imagine a version of your life where he’d never existed, where you didn’t have his name carved into your heart. Where you weren’t here now, still loving him. Where you weren’t pregnant and alone while he was somewhere else.

The truth—the awful, undeniable truth—was that you couldn’t imagine your life without him.

For all the ways he’d broken you, Rafe had been the one to hold you together when everything else fell apart, the one who pulled you out of bed when you couldn’t find the strength, who made you laugh when you thought you’d forgotten how.

If it weren’t for him, you didn’t know if you’d even be here now.

And you wouldn’t trade the sound of his laugh for anything in the world. Not the condescending biting one he used to throw around when he was being an ass, but the real one, the one that came out when he was caught off guard.

Even if you hated him, you couldn’t regret him. Not all the way. Not enough to wish he’d never been in your life. Despite all of it—he’d been there when no one else was, that was enough to keep him tethered to your heart, even now, when you wished it wasn’t.

“Earth to princess,” Kiara's voice cut through your thoughts, bringing you back to the dimly lit room and the blanket over your legs. She waved a hand in front of your face, “You still with us, or are you planning your escape route?”

You forced a smile, “Just trying to figure out how I got roped into your weird little cult, that’s all.”

They laughed, the sound was bright enough to pull you out of your head, just for a moment. It wasn’t the same as Rafe’s laugh, but it was something. Right now, you’d take it.

When you woke up, the house was already buzzing.

The pogues were up and at it, setting up for whatever party they had planned. You’d slept in, which wasn’t like you, but Sarah had all but forced you to stay in bed last night, insisting you needed the rest. She’d even made John B sleep on the couch so you could take his spot in their bed. You felt bad—guilty, really—you tried to tell her it wasn’t necessary, but Sarah was Sarah. Stubborn, loyal, annoyingly sweet Sarah.

The morning, however, had been nothing short of a disaster.

You barely made it out of bed before you were sprinting to the bathroom, dry-heaving over the toilet like you’d had one too many shots at a party the night before. Except, this wasn’t from partying—it was the fucking morning sickness. Thank God everyone else was outside setting up, or you’d have to deal with their questions.

You stayed in the bathroom longer than you wanted to, rinsing your mouth out and glaring at yourself in the mirror like your reflection was to blame for your misery. Your hair was a mess, your skin looked pale. You looked like shit.

To make matters worse, the house was painfully loud. Every noise from outside echoed through the shitty walls, stabbing into your head. The party. Where everyone would be drinking, laughing, and probably noticing that you were the only one sitting in a corner looking like you’d been hit by a train.

Groaning, you wiped your face with a cold washcloth. “Fuck,” you complained under your breath, glaring at yourself in the mirror.

You grabbed the bottle of pre-natal vitamins from your bag, the ones that looked like horse pills, and twisted off the cap. The nausea was already crawling up your throat again, and the last thing you wanted was to shove a giant vitamin down your stomach.

You didn't have much of a choice. You needed it, not just for the baby, but because of the anemia. If you didn't stay on top of it, you’d end up worse than you felt now—and that was already a nightmare you were trying to avoid.

You stared at the pill in your hand, mentally preparing yourself.

“Just swallow it,” you muttered, willing yourself into doing it. It took a moment, but you finally threw it back. You chased it down with a sip of water, grimacing as it settled in your stomach. It felt like you were choking on a rock, and you had to fight to keep your stomach from revolting all over again.

For a while, you sat back on the edge of the bed, elbows on your knees, head in your hands, hating the lingering taste of bile in your mouth even after your oral hygiene.

You let yourself fall back, staring at the ceiling fan as it spun lazily, pressing a hand to your stomach, not out of affection but frustration.

"I’m trying here, okay? Can you at least meet me halfway?" you muttered.

The distant noises and commotion from outside seeped in through the window, but it only made you feel more isolated. You reached for your phone, scrolling aimlessly through notifications you didn’t care about. A text from Sarah popped up: "Take your time. We’ve got it covered out here.”

You tossed the phone aside, rubbing your temples. You wished you could just stay here all day, curled up under the covers, but the thought of Sarah’s concerned face, of the inevitable questions and glances, made that impossible. You were tired of being a problem, tired of being the fragile one everyone tiptoed around.

You sighed, knowing there was no way you’d make it through this day without looking like total crap. You grabbed a hoodie from the back of the door, tossed your hair up into a bun, and made your way downstairs.

You found her in the kitchen, already pouring drinks and bossing JJ and Pope around. She spotted you lingering in the doorway and waved you off before you could say anything.

“Nope,” she shook her head, clicking her tongue at you like you were a misbehaving child. “Don’t even think about it. Go sit down. Rest. It’s gonna be a long day, and you need it, okay?”

You blinked at her, then at the mess around the house. Decorations were half-done outside, the tables and counter were an explosion of snacks, and JJ was currently trying to balance three folding chairs in one hand like a party trick. Kie was arguing with John B about where the cooler should go, and Sarah was somehow keeping it all from falling apart.

You leaned against the doorway, hand still on your stomach, glaring at her as she poured some sort of drink into a plastic cup. “You could’ve woken me up. I’m not completely useless.”

Sarah spun around, eyebrows raised and gave you a look that could kill. “Uh, no, you don’t get to complain. I let you sleep in because you need it, and I’m not about to let you overdo it, okay.”

You sighed, leaning against the counter. “I feel like a freeloader right now.”

“You’re not a freeloader,” Sarah said, rolling her eyes. “You’re my sister. And you’ve been through... a lot. So just chill. We’ve got this.”

“I’m not an invalid.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re pregnant, which means you’re officially on my do-not-let-her-do-anything list. Now go sit your ass down before I make one of them carry you.”

“Don’t drag them into this,” you muttered, but you were already giving up the fight. Sarah was like a pit bull when she made up her mind, and there was no arguing with her. You nodded reluctantly, letting her win this one. It wasn’t like you had the energy to argue anyway.

Outside, the rest of the group was scattered around the yard, setting up for what promised to be a classic pogues-style party. Pope and Cleo had arrived at some point; Pope was trying to figure out how to hang a string of lights between two trees, while Cleo stood nearby, holding a roll of tape and offering sarcastic commentary.

“Maybe if you’d let me do it, we wouldn’t be out here for an hour,” Cleo teased, tilting her head.

“And maybe if you didn’t talk so much, I could concentrate, baby.”

JJ was dragging a cooler across the sand, muttering something about how “beer doesn’t carry itself,” while Kie followed behind him, laughing and tossing bags of chips into a pile on the picnic table.

Sarah joined you on the porch, a can of sparkling water in her hand. “See? We’ve got it under control,” she said, gesturing to the scene in front of you. “Now, sit down, relax, and enjoy the show.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What about you? Aren’t you gonna take your own advice?”

Sarah grinned, “I’ll relax when the party starts. For now, my mission is to make sure you don’t lift a finger.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, but you love me,” she replied, linking her arm through yours.

And she wasn’t wrong. As much as you hated being doted on, it was hard not to appreciate everything she’d been doing for you.

Cleo spotted you from across the yard and waved, her smile wide and warm. “Yo! You gonna come hang out or just stand there looking pretty?”

“Both,” JJ called out, smirking as he cracked open a beer.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling.

“I said pretty, rude boy. It doesn’t include your ass.”

“Cleo, you wound me. I thought we had something special.”

“Yeah, it’s called my patience, and it’s runnin’ real thin,” Cleo yelled back, smirking as she handed Pope the tape. “Here. Fix your mess before the whole damn tree comes down.”

Pope muttered something under his breath but took the tape anyway, climbing back onto the ladder. “You could’ve just done this yourself if you were so sure about it.”

“And rob you of the chance to prove me wrong? Never,” Cleo quipped, crossing her arms as she stepped back to watch him work.

The two of you headed toward the table where Kie was busy arranging snacks, her brows furrowed in concentration.

“How are we still out of guac?” She muttered, her tone more annoyed than concerned. “I swear I made enough to feed an army.”

“Your boyfriend happened,” Sarah said without missing a beat. “I saw him sneak off with a bowl earlier.”

Kie groaned, hands on her hips as she glared at the blonde boy, who was now lounging in a chair with his feet propped up on the cooler.

“You are a menace to society.”

“And yet, here I am, invited to all your parties,” JJ replied, raising his beer in a mock toast.

Kie grabbed a chip and threw it at him, hitting him square in the forehead, "It's your party too, dick."

“Guys,” Pope called out from the ladder, sounding exasperated. “Can someone just hold the other end of the lights? I’m not trying to die out here.”

“I got it,” Cleo said, strolling over and grabbing the string of lights. “Don’t let go of that tape, or you’re on your own.”

Cleo had finally climbed up the ladder with Pope, muttering something sarcastic, only for him to pull her into a quick kiss that made her giggle.

It wasn’t long before everyone started getting ready for the party. It was only around 3:30, but you could tell everyone was in full-on prep mode, running around and grabbing last-minute things. You figured you should probably start getting ready, too, if you wanted to make it to the party without looking completely out of it.

You escaped, fully aware that Sarah would check on you soon if you didn’t start moving. Sitting on the bed, you scrolled aimlessly for outfit inspiration, but everything felt wrong—too tight, too flashy, or too… not you. You hadn’t exactly packed for a pogues-style party, and the thought of showing up in your worn-out jeans or one of John B’s oversized T-shirts made you shudder.

Sarah’s closet caught your eye, the door slightly ajar. A beacon of decent fashion that you knew was still hiding in there, despite her efforts to shed the kook label. She still had a few relics from her old life, buried beneath tie-dye and frayed denim.

You’d teased her about it last week, calling her out for keeping a little piece of her former self tucked away. She’d rolled her eyes and said, “A girl’s gotta have options.”

Today, you needed those options.

You bypassed the flashier options in favor of something understated. Nestled between a linen sundress and a denim jacket was exactly what you needed: a simple, fitted black dress. It was sleeveless, with a subtle scoop neckline and a hemline that hit just above the knee. The fabric was soft and unassuming but hugged your frame just right, giving it a quietly polished look.

“This one,” you murmured, pulling it off the hanger. It wasn’t loud or overly attention-grabbing—more like the kind of dress that someone who didn’t need to try would wear.

Elegant, minimal, perfect.

Sliding it on, you immediately felt the difference. It didn’t scream for attention, but it made you feel put together, which was exactly what you needed right now. You ran your hands over the fabric, smoothing out any wrinkles before stepping into a pair of nude sandals you’d found shoved in the back of the closet. Flat, simple, and mercifully easy to walk in.

Sarah popped her head in just as you were brushing your hair out into soft waves. “There she is,” she said, giving you a once-over. “God forbid you wear something ugly, huh?”

You tugged lightly at the hem of the dress. “I’m doing this closet justice.”

“You are. I forgot I even had that dress or I would've given it away."

“Thank God for that,” you replied, slipping on a simple gold bracelet you found on her dresser. “The pogues' style is great and all, but I have my limits.” You hadn’t even touched your makeup yet. With a sigh, you glanced at Sarah. “I’ll be ready in five.”

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t tease, already heading downstairs to check on the others. You glanced at the clock—it was almost party time, but you needed a few more minutes to look presentable.

You grabbed her makeup bag from her vanity and settled in front of the mirror. Starting with a light layer of foundation, you evened out your complexion. You weren’t trying to hide anything; you just needed to look less like you’d just rolled out of bed.

For the first time in what felt like years, you weren’t thinking about the baby. You weren’t worrying about keeping your secret from Rafe or everyone else around you. You weren’t wrapped up in the anxiety of it all. Instead, you were just doing something that felt simple, that belonged to your age—putting on makeup, getting ready for a party, like a normal twenty-year-old something woman.

This was the most normal you’d felt in months.

You’d been so consumed with everything pregnancy-related, trying to stay on top of your emotions while dealing with the fear of being found out. It was exhausting. You had forgotten what it felt like to be carefree, to be you—not just someone wrapped up in worry. There was something so familiar about it—the way the brush swept across your skin, the way you mixed your bronzer just right to highlight your cheekbones. It felt like the old you. Who knew this shit could be so therapeutic?

A soft sigh slipped from your lips. You needed more moments like this. Simple, easy moments where you didn’t have to think about the rest of the world. Just doing your makeup. Just getting dressed. Just being you—even for a little while.

When you made your way downstairs again, the mess had somehow multiplied. The house was alive with movement, and the sound of JJ yelling something unintelligible from the backyard. People had already started arriving—pogues, and a handful of kooks who never missed a good party. You spotted Sarah in the kitchen, pouring drinks into a massive punch bowl, looking entirely in her element.

You sidled up to Kie, who was setting out plates of food with military precision. “Hey, you need any help with this? Or anything, really?”

Kie glanced up, her brows shooting toward her hairline as she appraised you. “Is this the control freak in you?”

“Funny,” you deadpanned, leaning on the counter. “Seriously, though. Put me to work.”

She snorted, grabbing a handful of napkins and shoving them into your hands. “Fine. You can help set these out on the tables outside. But if Sarah catches you, this conversation didn’t happen.”

“Deal.”

The yard looked like something out of a fever dream. String lights were half-strung between trees, chairs and tables were scattered everywhere. A cooler sat precariously close to tipping over, its contents already being raided by JJ, who was popping open another beer while Cleo scolded him for being “absolutely useless.”

You moved through the yard, laying out napkins and straightening plates, feeling some of the earlier tension and sleep deprivation ease from your back. It felt good to do something normal, something productive. By the time you circled back to the porch, Sarah was waiting for you, hands on her hips and a knowing look in her eyes. “I thought I told you to sit down.”

You shrugged, trying to play it off. “Kie needed help. I’m fine.”

Sarah didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t push it. Instead, she handed you a cup of water and gestured toward one of the chairs on the porch. “At least pretend you’re taking it easy, okay? You’re gonna need your energy when this party really gets going.”

You rolled your eyes but took the seat, sipping the drink as you watched the guests buzz around the yard.

Cleo and Kiara were already in tears laughing as JJ dramatically narrated Pope’s “world record attempt,” complete with fake announcer voice. By the time Pope finally flipped upside down with his help, everyone was cheering loud enough to drown out the music blasting from the backyard speakers.

JJ was yelling something about “legendary keg stand form” as Pope balanced upside down on the keg, supported by Cleo and a very unenthused Kie.

It was hilarious watching his usually composed demeanor dissolve into giggles as beer dripped down his face, but even funnier was JJ hyping him up like this was the Olympics. “That’s my boy! New record! Somebody time this shit!”

You laughed, for once letting yourself enjoy the day. It felt good to be surrounded by fun, to not be caught up in your head for a change. Maybe Sarah had been right—you needed this.

For once, you were wiping tears of laughter from your eyes. It felt so good to do it too, to feel like you were part of something instead of just watching from the sidelines. You could breathe again.

Pope wobbled, barely lasting ten seconds before collapsing onto the grass. JJ threw his arms up like they’d just won the championship, shouting, “A legend was born tonight!”

You felt all the stress and heaviness you’d been dragging and moping around had finally been put on pause.

Then, subtle at first, a tickle at the back of your neck, a whisper of unease. You moved around on the railing, trying to shake it off. You glanced around, casually at first, scanning the crowd. Everyone seemed caught up in something—JJ was on his third keg stand attempt, Kie and Cleo were busy arguing over the playlist, and the rest of the partygoers were either dancing or clustered around the fire pit.

Nothing out of the ordinary. You tried to ignore it at first, brushing it off as your brain’s way of being a buzzkill. It had a way of doing that—ruining a perfectly good night with its tendency to overanalyze everything. You were having a good time, and you weren’t about to let paranoia ruin it.

But then you spotted her, Sofia.

She was standing near the back door, lit by the string lights strung across the porch, holding a beer cup. And she was staring at you.

Not just a quick glance, not the way someone looks when they’re zoning out. No. This was…staring. Your stomach twisted. This couldn’t be about you, she was just drunk and in her feelings or whatever. But there was something about the way she looked—sad, almost heartbroken—that made you want to bolt home.

You turned away, feeling like you couldn’t breathe, the night wasn’t as fun anymore. Maybe she wasn’t even looking at you. Except, you couldn’t shake it. You drained the rest of your water and headed inside to refill it, telling yourself you needed a second to breathe.

But of course, the second you stepped into the kitchen, Sofia was there.

She was crying—full-on crying—her mascara smudged and her cheeks streaked with tears. She was drunk, that much was obvious, so drunk she had to grab the counter.

Jesus.

“Uh…? Are you okay?”

You weren’t Sofia’s biggest fan.

She had the love of your life—the guy you’d once thought was it for you—and that alone made it impossible to feel anything but complicated about her. Add to that the fact that she was a pogue, and… you’d never been friends.

The last thing you wanted to do tonight was play therapist, especially not for her. But she was still a girl, drunk and crying in the middle of a party, and no matter how much history—or lack thereof—existed between you, there was no way you were going to leave her like that.

You sighed, setting your cup down on the counter, “Do you need to sit down? Water?”

She only sobbed harder. Okay, not helping, noted.

“Hey, sit down,” you murmured, guiding her to the bench by the window. She didn’t resist, collapsing onto it.

Her eyes glassy and red. She looked up at you like you were the last person she wanted to see, but also, somehow, the only one she needed.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out, her voice cracked. “I shouldn’t—this wasn’t supposed to happen.”

You crouched down in front of her, arms resting on your knees as you tried to figure out what the hell she meant. “What wasn’t supposed to happen? Did someone do something to you?”

“No,” she said quickly, shaking her head hard enough to make her curls bounce. “No, it’s not like that. It’s just… it’s Rafe. He—” Her voice broke, and she covered her face with her hands.

The second she said his name—Rafe—you already knew.

You didn’t know the details, didn’t need them, but you knew it was going to hurt like a bitch. That name always did.

Sofia’s voice cracked again, her words coming out between hiccuping breaths and slurred apologies, but you’d already braced yourself for whatever you were about to hear.

And yet, when she finally said it—he dumped me—it still felt like someone had thrown a bucket of water in your face.

What the fuck were you supposed to say to that?

"I’m not sure what you want me to do with this."

She flinched, her glassy eyes darting up to meet yours, but she didn’t say anything, just sniffled and stared at you like you had all the answers. You didn’t. Not for her.

"You’re upset, I get that," you continued, "But coming to me about Rafe? Really? What did you think was going to happen here?"

Her lip trembled, you thought she might start wailing again. "I—I didn’t plan this, okay? I just… I didn’t know who else to—"

On one hand, you felt bad for her.

How could you not? She was drunk, sobbing, in a way that felt painfully familiar. But on the other hand… what the fuck did she expect? She’d dated Rafe—your Rafe—knowing you were a six-year-long shadow she could never step out of.

She was with him knowing now she wanted you to what? Comfort her? Be her shoulder to cry on?

This wasn’t the time to be petty or mean, not when she was looking at you like you were the only person who could possibly understand.

“H-he dumped me,” she repeated, her voice cracking. “said… he said he’s not over you. That he c-can’t give me what I d-deserve because… because his heart’s still with you.”

You pursed your lips, a tangled knot of guilt, and something dangerously close to vindication swimming in your head.

Of course, it felt good to hear it—of course it did. But that didn’t make it easier to watch another girl fall apart in front of you because of him. As pathetic as it was, you knew what it felt like to be that girl.

You bit the inside of your cheek, holding back the snarky comment sitting on your tongue. As much as this whole thing screamed bad decision after bad decision, she was still here, crying her eyes out, and you weren’t heartless. Not entirely, anyway.

“I knew,” she whispered, “I knew he wasn’t over you. From the beginning. I thought I c-could… I don’t know. Change his mind?” She let out a choked sob. “I’m sittin' h-here, drunk and crying to you, of all people, because I d-didn’t li-isten to my gut when it told me to walk away. I’m sorry,” she blubbered, wiping at her face with the sleeve of her shirt. “I shouldn’t be bothering you with this. You probably hate me.”

You didn’t answer right away because, yeah, she wasn’t entirely wrong. You didn’t like her, that was for damn sure. But hate? Hate took too much energy.

You didn’t know what to say to that. Couldn’t say what you really thought—that she should’ve walked away, that no one could ever fill a space someone else left behind. So instead, you sat down beside her.

“I know it doesn’t help,” you said finally, “but it’s not your fault. Rafe… he’s complicated. He doesn’t know what he wants half the time, and even when he does, he’s too scared to hold on to it.”

She looked at you through teary eyes. “He held on to you for years.”

“Yeah. And look how that turned out.”

"If this is how I feel now, I can’t even imagine what you went through."

You bit your lip. She honestly thought this was the time for some heartfelt apology? God, bless her heart—no, scratch that, bless her delusions. She was standing there, looking like a wet mess, telling you she couldn’t imagine how you felt? If only she knew.

You sighed, grabbing a towel from the counter and tossing it at her. "Here. Fix your face. You look like you’ve been crying in a frat basement."

She caught the towel, her cheeks burning as she dabbed at her ruined makeup. "I—thanks," Her voice shook as she continued her drunk ramble, "I didn’t know... I didn’t realize how bad it hurt you."

You took a breath, part of you wanting to snap at her, tell her it was too little, too late. You could’ve easily unleashed all the venom you’d kept inside for so long. But then, there was that little voice in your head—one that, surprisingly, wasn’t making fun of her. You couldn’t be that cruel, you weren’t heartless, no matter how complicated things had gotten.

Sofia, in this state—drunk, emotional—didn’t deserve that.

"You need to get your shit together, stop letting your entire world revolve around him.” You could see her flinch at that last part, but you weren’t done yet.

How ironic.

"You’re better than this. You don’t need a guy—especially Rafe—to make you feel whole. I learned something, and you’re going to learn it too. Life doesn’t revolve around some guy’s bullshit feelings. The sooner you realize that, the better off you’ll be, put yourself first, always. I’ve been there. You’ve got to live with the fact that he chose someone else. It doesn’t matter if you did everything right—sometimes, it’s just not enough."

There was a part of you that really felt sorry for her, the part that was human, not just jaded from all the pain. But there was also a voice in your head saying, You don’t owe her understanding.

Loving Rafe Cameron could feel like the best and worst thing at the same time.

You watch her carefully, making sure she’s soaking it in. "You deserve better than a guy who doesn't know how to value you. And don’t get me wrong, I get it. We’ve all been there. You can’t fix him."

Sofia was still sniffling and wiping her eyes, catching her breath, maybe even trying to piece things together. You felt like you had done something... good? Maybe not good, but at least you’d been the bigger person, showing her a bit of mercy.

Before she could answer, the door creaked, and you both turned to see your cousin standing there. Instantly, all alarm bells went off in your head, your eyes narrowing instantly, hands searching for something to throw at his face.

"Topper," you spit out, the name coming out like acid, "What the fuck are you doing here?"

ooop- y'all not ready for chapter 12 heheheh

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

@rafebb @rafesbby @whytheylosttheirminds

@zyafics @astarlights @bruher @nosebeers @carrerascameron

@serrendiipty @sunny1616 @yootvi @ditzyzombiesblog

@psychocitylights @maibelitaaura @kiiyomei

@stoned-writer @justafangirls-blog-deactivated2

@starkeygirlposts @enjoymyloves @ijustwanttoreadlols @icaqttt

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autobahnmp3 · 2 years ago

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yo why am i sooooo sleepy today

#it didn't occur to me until right now that it might be the anemia......#coffee won't help w that but that's my solution rn alhkdlj #also im just. craving it after dinner #my sad sad dinner if instant noodles and fried eggs #and one apple #i was gonna make a halloumi salad but i wasn't feeling it rn #anyways. i need to get batteries for my milk frother it's dying

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softfem-dom · 4 months ago

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low iron days soft!loganxlowiron!reader

a/n : my low iron has come back to bite me in the ass so im making this post 😭

wc : 1K

LOW IRON COMFORT , FLUFF , SOFT! LOGAN , FATHERLY! LOGAN. origins! / dofp! logan oriented .

It was supposed to be a normal day. You know, the normal stuff, getting up, getting dressed, having breakfast, attending your day classes and then spending the evening doing whatever —probably going out of your way to annoy Logan a little aswell.

But, no. Of course the universe had to turn against you, and you woke up feeling as shitty as ever.

You groaned, rolling over in your bed and throwing an arm over your unexplicably tired eyes. Your head felt heavy, stuffy, and your body didn't feel right. You didn't really know why, but it felt as if you had ran two marathons and got ran over by a truck at the same time. Except you did know why, your fucking low iron.

You glanced to the side, trying to focus your blurry vission on the alarm clock. Narrowing your eyes, feeling a migraine starting to nag at the back of your head, while you strained your vission in a try of making out the numbers on it. 8:45. You were late.

In a sudden burst of self-consciousness about how embarassingly late you were for class, you sat up on the bed and quickly reached to grab the covers to pull them off you. Bad move. As soon as your body processed the movement your blurry eyes clouded with a variety of colorful spots dancing around the corners of your vission, head spinning.

After the I-just-woke-up fog cleared up, the headache was fully present by now. Drumming inside your head, making you whine softly at the uncomfortable pressure on your temples —your fingers flying to rub against them, trying to ease it up.

Your fucking anemia seemed to want to come and bite you in the ass.

Mainly, it was your fault, because you had 'forgotten' to take your pills for a while —but they tasted like fucking dogfood. Your took a deep breath, trying to fill your lungs with oxygen to try and cool down the headache, Logan was going to scold you for this you were sure.

After mentally preparing yourself you managed to get out of bed, one foot after the other, and lean onto the wall for additional support. It felt as if your body wasn't working, feeling heavy and slow and rusty. Was this how Logan felt when he said he was an old man?

You didn't have time to even walk, or try to at least, to your closet to get out of your pyjamas when you heard firm knocking on your door. You winced slightly, feeling as if the sound was echoing inside your head.

"bub" you heard a familiar gruff voice muffled from the wood of the door. "Scott sent me to find ya, said ya didn't come to his class"

His voice was grumbly, clearly annoyed that he had to walk all the way to the third floor of the huge building just to tell you to go to class.

You wanted to cry. Was it an immature response? Yes. Was it better to think about a solution to the problem instead of choosing the emotional option? Yes again. Did you want to chose the rational option instead of crying? Hell no.

So that was when a small sound ripled through your lips, choked and wet, your tired eyes getting moist and your body feeling like a heavy bag of rocks. And Logan's enchanced hearing catched it.

His hand was on the doorknob in a flash, fingers twisting around it and pulling the door open in less than a second. "hey, hey bub what's goin' on?" he grumbled as he strode over to you.

He was next to your side in a second, his instincts flaring up like crazy at the prospect of you crying which would be a reason for being in pain or discomfort. His big, warm, hands went to your shoulders, hazel eyes staring at you as he analyzed everything —how you were paler than usual and how sickly and unwell you looked. He rubbed his thumbs on your shoulders once or twice before his rough hands were going up to cup your cheeks.

They were wet, when had you started actually crying? You didn't really know.

"Logan.." you croaked out, voice breathy and almost sob-y. Your eyes with the strenght to barely look up at him from under your lashes.

"m'here bub, m'here" he quickly sushed you, his hands gently squishing your cheeks slightly —trying to ground you— before he caught onto something. He frowned, his nostrils flaring slightly as he sniffed the air, looking down at you. Your scent that was usually weak, now was almost non-existent.

He groaned softly, rolling his eyes softly because of course this was going to be about your iron problems. He saw the way your body felt heavy, your arms lifeless to your sides, before he was clicking his tongue at you when you tried to look down. "nothin' of that, c'mon, look'a me, yeah, there we go" he grumbled, his thumbs gently wiping away the feverish tears rolling down your cheeks. It was a split second of hesitance before he was leaning down and smacking a kiss against your forehead, his beard gently tickling your skin.

"this about the low iron, bub?" he asked softly, his voice a gentle whisper, his lips still against your forehead. Mouth that was known for saying the driest things now gently caressing your skin. It was his own way of checking your temperature, he noted you were a bit warmer than usual.

You nodded your head, a little "uh-huh" slipping past your lips in almost a hiccupy tone before his hands were leaving your face in favour of wrapping around you and lifting you up into his arms.

He was holding you with the ease of a mother holding a baby, one arm hooked under your legs and his big hand resting on the small of your back to keep you uptight against him. At the little sound you made, he huffed in affection before he was affectionately bumping his nose against your cheek —almost nosing it.

"you stayin' with me for the rest of the day, bub" he whispered, his voice low and rumbly as his breath hit the skin behind your ear. His arms safely wrapped around you before his lips moved to place another kiss on the skin behind your ear. Who would've guessed the Wolverine was so protective of his cub?

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violentdelights-violentendss · 10 months ago

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you couldn't keep me off for long 🤺🤺

how about the same three (dazai aku and fedya) but with a reader that runs super cold ?? i love this idea for no reason because dazai would tease, akutagawa would just be funny because haha sickly victorian children, and fedya has fuckign anemia so ofc he's cold 24/7 as well. ur writing style is also delectable i would like to eat it tysm

(me when i read ur things)

OMG I LOVE THIS! (Bro thank you sm i seriously feel like my writing style is shit but I love you…and please never fend off)

to the anon requested the bsd men and cold fic it is underway, I currently have written half of it…the ones with all BSD men take longer to write 😞😞

off I go to writing this ✨✨

BSD Men With a Reader That Runs Cold

In this post: 💃 Osamu Dazai, Ryonosuke Akutagawa, Fyodor Dostoyevsky💃

Pairing: Fem!reader/BSDMen

Synopsis: BSDMen and a gf that runs cold.

Osamu Dazai

Dazai is a man that burns with joy and passion in his everyday life. Consequently, his body temperature almost always runs high. And as the saying goes, opposites attract: you’re almost always cold, and Dazai, the man of your life, seems to have fire licking his skin constantly. He eagerly appoints himself to be your personal furnace, wrapping you in his arms when you shiver, and lending you his coat without you even having to utter a word. But his gestures come with a small price. Your boyfriend always teases you, his cat-like eyes smiling fondly as you glare at him, bundled in a mountain of covers and still needing his body heat. Dazai’s favorite joke is to propose sex as a way to warm you up. No matter how much he teases, however, he will always be ready to rescue you from the freezing cold that claws at your skin, enjoying the time he gets to spend holding you close to his heart.

You walked through the streets of Yokohama, shivering like you were experiencing your own magnitude level 5 earthquake. You were bundled up in a large coat, a scarf and gloves, even a small hat adoring your adorable face, and yet, you were still shivering so hard your teeth chattered.

Your boyfriend, Dazai, was walking leisurely in front of you, wearing only his usual trench coat, seemingly unaffected by the cold that held you tightly in its claws.

“D-Dazai!” You called, feeling as if you couldn’t take another step without shattering into a myriad of tiny ice shards.

“Yes, my belladonna?”

“M’ cold…”

Dazai sauntered over to you, leaning down to peck your nose. “Such a rare occasion, isn’t it, Bella?” He cooed mockingly, caressing your lips with his thumb.

You swatted his hand away, whining. “Stop teasing. I need solutions, not problems.”

“Okay, I have a great solution.” Dazai declared, looking in your eyes very seriously. You nodded, listening, blowing some warm air on your freezing hands, which still felt on the verge or falling off, even with your gloves on. Dazai’s hands took yours in his, warming them up with his own personal heat. “We go back there, and I fuck you so good — ”

“DAZAI!” You shouted, afraid someone could hear you. You rapidly checked around the both of you, terrified that a little kid might have been lurking in a corner. Returning to look at your boyfriend, you found him doubled over, laughing.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry.” He said, a hint of laugh still dancing in his tone. “Come here,” he said, opening his trench coat. You slid inside, instantly feeling warmer. Dazai closed the coat around you, holding you tightly against him, feeling a little proud when you stopped shivering. “When we get home, l’ll make you some warm tea.” He promised, already seeing your apartment complex in the near distance.

“And then we cuddle on the couch.” You said, starting feel your ears again.

“And then we make out on the couch, yes.”

“DAZAI!”

Your joyful boyfriend started laughing, and you soon joined, your laughter intertwining into a beautiful melody, as you two walked home. Throughout the walk home, Dazai made sure you were completely covered by his coat, a perfect bundle of warmth. He promised himself he would always be there to hug you till you weren’t shivering anymore.

Ryonosuke Akutagawa

Akutagawa was a normal person, who never felt too hot or too cold. When you burst into his life, all joy and laughter, he had to get used to you, and all your wonderfully eccentric behavior. But the one thing he struggled most with, was your abnormally low body temperature. Whenever you told him you were cold, he would stare at the various layers of clothes you were wearing, as well as the winter coat you had thrown over your shoulders. Akutagawa just…couldn’t understand you. He didn’t try to be mean or anything, his mind just couldn’t make sense of it. Akutagawa soon realized that his body heat helped the perennial cold that seemingly nestled, like a frozen rose, in your heart. Whenever you would be shivering at night, Akutagawa would tentatively wrap you in his arms, and warm you with his body heat. He would crank the heat up in your apartment, despite your protests about the price (he had enough money to spend). Soon, you feeling cold became another quirky aspect of your relationship, and also gave Akutagawa the opportunity to always keep you in his arms without explicitly voicing his desire to do so, which suited your touch-starved boyfriend perfectly fine.

You were at the Port Mafia’s annual Christmas Party: an event that lasted all night long, in one of the many ballrooms owned by the criminal organization. The floors were made of polished wood, and the ceilings were decorated with wonderful paintings, and delicate flowers engraved in the dark wooden beams that supported the high ceilings. The moonlight filtered in through the mosaic windows, coloring the partygoers in different shades.

You were sitting at a table, a glass of glittering champagne in your hand. You were wearing a black slip dress Akutagawa had gifted you. It adorned your body perfectly, a slit exposing your right leg. You looked gorgeous, and Akutagawa stared at you for a good 5 minutes without being able to say anything when you had come out of the bathroom, finding you the epitome of beauty.

The night had been fun: you had successfully dragged Akutagawa to waltz with you, holding you close. You could feel Akutagawa’s heart beat against your chest, a small smile twinkling on his lips. The moment had abruptly ended when Mori had called Akutagawa to raise a toast to the Port Mafia with the rest of the high executives.

You, being a low-level Port Mafia member, had given him a kiss to send him off, and had gone back to sit at your designated table. All the dancing had made you sweat, and now the droplets were cooling on your skin, making you already colder than you always were. You had decided to sip on your champagne to warm yourself up, but your exposed arms were not helping. You had started shivering, setting the flute back down on the table, and wrapping your arms around yourself to try and create a little heat.

“Are you feeling cold, (Y/N)?” Akutagawa asked, dragging a chair to join you. You nodded, sheepishly. Akutagawa glanced at you for a few seconds, his eyes zeroing on your shivering shoulders. He exhaled, not believing he was about to do this.

Slowly, Akutagawa removed his coat, an item of clothing that was seemingly fused to his body: he rarely took it off, and only in the comfort of your home, where he knew the both of you were safe from any danger.

You watched him in utter disbelief as he draped it around your shoulders: it was the greatest act of trust Akutagawa could ever commit towards you.

Seemingly not having moved you to tears enough, he scooted closer with his chair, wrapping you in his arms and holding you tightly against him, trying to transfer some body heat.

Akutagawa was known for not liking any form of PDA. You knew. He knew. The whole Port Mafia knew, which explained the shocked glance Chuuya threw your way.

But honestly, you didn’t care, and nuzzled your face in Akutagawa’s chest, glimmering tears sliding down your cheeks and ruining your makeup: Akutagawa always found proclaiming his love to you to be extremely difficult, but clumsily, through his actions, he always found a way to tell you how much you meant to him.

Your boyfriend felt your shoulders shake, and mistook you to be still freezing. He held you even closer, until he noticed the wetness on his chest, harshly pulling you away from him to check on you. “(Y/N)? What’s wrong?” His panicked tone made you laugh through the tears.

“You’re just perfect, you know.” You whispered, bringing his hands to your mouth, leaving a red lipstick mark on his knuckles. “I couldn’t have gotten luckier.”

Now it was Akutagawa’s turn to feel his heart melt, his eyes suddenly watering. He coughed, looking away, trying to maintain his cold persona.

“Akutagawa, it’s our song!” You squealed, suddenly hearing the melody play. “Let’s go dance!” You excitedly grabbed his hand, almost dragging him to the middle of the dance floor, his coat still around your shoulders.

Akutagawa almost protested, but the smile that was engraved in your eyes the minute you started swaying in his arms was a force too strong for him to resist. You two ended the night in each others arms, singing the song’s romantic lyrics to one another, the mosaic windows coloring each part of your faces with a different color.

Fyodor Dostoevsky

Listen, Fyodor is anemic, he’s always cold. Russia’s harsh winters must have infected his body, because this evil mastermind is always shivering. And when the two of you got together, and you told him you were a person that generally ran cold, Fyodor smiled, saying he was the same. The two of you share the same struggles on a daily basis, and try to rely on one another for warmth, but with little to no results. The heat in your apartment is always cranked so high that Nikolai directly comes in shorts whenever has to come over. Whenever you two sleep, you have at least 5 covers and huddle in each other’s arms. Whenever you whine that you’re cold, Fyodor does hug you, but you both know it won’t be enough, so he throws a cover on both of you, and only then can you two start to warm up. A warm tea, or a warm milk, are mandatory every night, and you have a multitude of hot water bottles stashed in the kitchen. You use one almost every night. Still, even if Fyodor knows that hugging you won’t change much, he secretly adores sleeping with you in his arms, because the love that you so clearly feel for him is enough to warms his heart.

“Fyodor, I’m still cold,” you whimpered, trying to huddle in his arms. The two of you had been cuddling in bed for thirty minutes, bundled underneath an avalanche of covers and duvets, each of you holding a warm water bottle. Fyodor was feeling…okay. Not warm, exactly but not as freezing as you were. You must have been tired: you usually felt colder when you were tired. Fyodor tried his best to rub his arms against yours, but to no avail.

“I can tell, myshka…you’re shivering,” he cooed, trying to tuck the covers around you. But nothing seemed to be working that night. Fyodor leaned back, trying to figure something out, his already fast mind moving at inhumane speed. “What if I draw us a warm bath?” He asked, caressing your cheek with the back of his hand.

Your eyes shot open, a glimmer of hope in your smile. “Yes…please,” you scooted out of his embrace, watching as your boyfriend braved the cold, sliding out of the sheets. You instantly felt colder, now that he was gone. You hugged his hot water battle as well, watching as his tall form slid inside the bathroom. You heard the water running. The harsh sound of water on marble soon changing to water sloshing on water.

You waited impatiently, jumping out of the bed when you heard his sweet voice calling you. You ran to the bathroom, trying to avoid the cold’s claws that reached for you. You almost threw yourself in the bathroom, closing the door behind you to not let the heat from the heater make its escape.

Fyodor looked at you lovingly, helping you slide your clothes off. You didn’t wait for Fyodor, almost throwing yourself inside the large bathtub. You instantly felt the cold hidden in your limbs wither and die, finally feeling at peace. The water sloshed around you as Fyodor joined you in the tub, his pale skin almost taking a pearl-like shade in the dim lights.

You happily swam towards him, falling into his arms. Fyodor welcomed you with a small smile, glad to see your cheeks flushed with heat for once. “We should do this more often,” you thought out loud, playing with your boyfriend’s hands.

“Noted, milaya.” He purred, feeling a drowsy sense of relaxation spreading throughout his body. “This sure is peaceful,” he murmured, sinking further in the bathtub, eyeing your naked body underneath the trembling surface of the water.

“Stop,” you laughed, noticing his gaze, swimming away from him and flicking some water in his face with your foot. Fyodor moved uncharacteristically face, grabbing your ankle and tugging you toward him, and pressing a kiss to your soft skin. You giggled shyly, hiding underneath the water.

Fyodor dunked his head underneath the water, meeting your eyes. You smiled at him, and he wrapped his arms around your waist, dragging you against him. He pulled both of you out of the water, watching as it cascade down both of your bodies. You laughed merrily; Fyodor laid his head on your chest, closing his eyes and humming quietly. You caressed his head, diving back in the water when you felt a sudden chill caress your spine.

You kissed Fyodor lazily, watching with half-lidded eyes as he opened the tap to let more scalding water fill the tub around you.

You two cuddled in the warm water for hours, sometimes kissing, sometimes just laying in each others arms.

You were falling in and out of consciousness, and barely noticed Fyodor lifting you out of the now lukewarm water, drying you and slipping your pjs on you. He then carried you to bed, tucking the both of you in, carefully. You snuggled against his chest, and peacefully fell asleep, finally warm, Fyodor’s hand held tightly in yours.

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loudclan-clangen · 9 months ago

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Alright, now I'm curious, what are the rules of StarClan's Oneway Dunktank? Are there cats who can't touch it (mediators for sure but anyone else?) Do healers meet there every half moon? They can sacrifice a life to speak directly to StarClan but what about other times?

(Also you're not gonna believe this, I looked up effects of crude oil exposure and studies indicate it may cause Anemia and low white blood cell count, so maybe she got a bleeding disorder because she can't stay out of the Forbidden Jacuzzi).

VERY LONG, LOTS OF TEXT, SORRY I GOT EXCITED TO LORE DUMP

The rules/powers of the Black Water Pool and Starclan are intentionally very nebulous. 1. Because I think starclan is more effective as a mysterious force than a clearly designated entity, and 2. Because I would like to have some flexibility going forward in the comic regarding the powers/rules of starclan. Here's what's clearly defined:

Any cat can touch the oil, like physically speaking. They will not just drop dead unless something else is going on that is worsened by the experience. But something may be worsened by the oil, especially if they are deeply exposed to it, like swimming in it or ingesting it the way one might if they weren't specifically trained in how to interact with it safely (like a healer or a leader). This leads to rumors of cats being cursed with terrible visions (hallucinations), disease (coughs caused by respitory damage), or wounds (chemical burns from prolonged exposure) because they touch the Black Water without permission. These could be actual curses from starclan, or they could be biological reactions to the oil, but that doesn't really matter because the cats believe that they are curses. (If that makes sense). For this combination of reasons, (religious belief and biological evidence), cats with open wounds, bad coughs, or who are actively pregnant are absolutely not allowed to touch the oil and are encouraged not to be near it. (Excluding dried oil worn by healers, we've covered in an earlier post that that is a stable form that isn't going to pollute others). This is justified by the healers as being times when one does not want to tempt death, and that being near the pool brings one's spirit closer to the dead, which is good for communing with them or asking them for favors, but bad when you are fighting for/actively creating life.

All of the leaders and their leadership teams have meetings staggered throughout the moon. Leaders and deputies meet on a full-moon, healers meet on a half-moon, and mediators meet on a new moon. (Gatherings also happen on full moons, just later in the day/night. The clans meet the leaders at the gathering place.) Healers might meet at the Black Water Pool but they do not always. Specifically, the Freezingclan healers refuse to meet at the Black Water, so if they want all of the clans' healers to meet they have to pick another place, usually the gathering place for simplicity. Since the healers can only commune with Starclan by sacrificing a life, they don't do it on a monthly basis and not meeting at the Black Water isn't inconvenient for them.

The healers (and leaders) can only speak directly to Starclan by sacrificing a life period. One of my biggest issues with the actual books is that speaking to Starclan is so casual that they constantly have to justify the cats not being able to in order to maintain any form of mystery or miscommunication, or risk making beloved characters look like jerks for not telling the living cats something important/make the entirety of Starclan look less powerful by claiming that they just "didn't know". My very simple solution to this is to put a layer of separation between them. In order to talk to the dead you have to die. This means that characters will only do so if they feel it is VERY important and they are certain that Starclan will give them a helpful answer, which they will not always do. (Why doesn't Wildfirecry ask Starclan how to cure Rosehippaw? Because he knows that there is a very high likely hood that the answer is "you can't" and then he'll lose both his daughter and a life that he could have used to help his clan in a more effective way).

Circling back to how normal cats are meant to contact starclan if they aren't allowed to touch the Black Water Pool by themselves, we finally get to talk about Loudclan burials! (This idea has been rattling around in my brain since the bonus art for Moon 18!) Okay, so: When a cat dies, the ground on the mountain is too hard and shallow for them to really be effectively buried. Due to this, the body is placed into a shallow dip dug into the ground and then covered by a pile of heavy stones in a make-shift cairn. The cairn discourages larger scavengers, like foxes or ravens, who might carry pieces of the deceased away, but allows smaller scavengers like mice and insects to eat away the fleshy bits. After a few moons, (during which family and friends are encouraged to keep their distance and learn to live without the deceased) when the scavengers are finished and all that is left are clean bones, the body is exhumed and repositioned so that the skull is left exposed outside of the cairn that covers the rest of the body. This is meant to allow cats to speak directly to the spirit of specific dead clan mates, though there is, of course, no expectation that the spirit speak back. (This is what we see Fiercestripe do in the Moon 18 Bonus Art). All burials happen in a field of forget-me-nots (small, blue. five petal flowers) as they cover the scent of decay, and therefore the cairns/graves are often decorated with them, along with other flowers or plants that may have been special to the deceased. Less commonly, a family member may ask to take a piece of the deceased from the cairn, such as a small tail bone or claw that they will wear to "carry the deceased with them". This is only allowed if the cats are known to have a close relationship, and is very frowned upon if the requestor is not a close family member or lifelong mate.

The major exception to all of this "Starclan is nebulous and distant" stuff is when I draw ghosts (like Bluepaw talking to Owlstar, which, admittedly, I drew before I had a good grasp of what I wanted to do with spirits and starclan). I know that it sort of negates that distance but... I just think it's fun. I think it's more fun to see what the spirits have to say (on occassion) than strictly sticking to never seeing Starclan outside of the Black Water Pool. So for those instances just remember that you, as the audience are getting sort of a third person omniscient view. You can see the ghosts but the characters in the story cannot (unless it is stated that they can due to like ghost sight or something).

Of course, as I said at the beginning, I'm trying to remain flexible, and I'm sure I'm going to break all of these rules at some point, but if I do my job correctly, then moments when these rules break should be important, and not just because I'm disregarding or forgetting them.

On a completely different note: You're not gonna believe this but I actually did know that! I did a decent amount of research into the effects of oil exposure when i was thinking up the Black Water Pool and yeah! It absolutely has played a part in Eklutna's condition. She's had hemophilia since birth, (which very simply means that her blood doesn't clot very well (for all of you biology nerds out there yes i know that it is rare for a cis female to have full hemophilia but it is possible if both of her parents had it)), but that has 100% been worsened by her love of swimming in "the forbidden jacuzzi". As long as we are sharing fun facts: exposure to crude oil while pregnant, while not always, can occasionally cause birth defects like weak lungs!

#loudclanasks #loudclanlore #loudclan #thank you anon for sending the ask that allowed me to empty my skull onto this post #its greatly appreciated #technically anyone can speak to starclan by just yelling at the sky #its just not very effective #did any of this make sense? I just went into a fugue state for a bit and woke up and this was written #cw death #cw death mention #cw burial #cw decay #cw religious themes

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kikyoupdates · 2 months ago

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Love Bite ⭑˚🩸⭑ 𝑟𝑒𝑗𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑑

yandere!vampires x f!reader

yandere, reverse harem, original characters, vampire!ocs x fem!reader

Desperate for money to pay off your debts, you sign up for a program that allows you to sell your blood to vampires. At first, everything is fine, and you’re finally able to make ends meet. But they soon begin craving more than just your blood.

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Your eyes opened to an unfamiliar ceiling.

It takes you a while to make sense of the situation. Your body feels like absolute shit, and your head is throbbing relentlessly, as if your brain's been rattled around inside your skull.

"You're awake," someone says. It isn't a voice you've ever heard before, and as you slowly crane your neck to the side, you see a middle-aged man, a doctor, leaning in closer to you.

Then you remember. You fainted while in the middle of work, and the reason your head hurts so bad is because you whacked it against the floor.

"Hello, [Name]. You passed out," the doctor says. stating the obvious. "And you're severely anemic. Have you been losing a noticeable amount of blood recently? Blood in your stool, or when you vomit, or perhaps related to your menstrual cycle?"

"I donated blood," you decide upon. You're not entirely sure why you don't tell him the full truth. That you've in fact been regularly selling your blood to vampires. Perhaps you're worried about how he may react, and you're afraid he'll try to write a medical note prohibiting you from visiting Plasma Inc. for a long time.

He frowns. "Hm. Well, depending on the person, donating even small amounts of blood can sometimes result in anemia. Still, I'd be careful if I were you. Your condition seems fairly serious, so please wait a while to recover before donating any more."

You nod absently. Just your luck. This is all shitty Felix's fault. Because he lost control of himself and ended up drinking too much of your blood. Well, you've learned your lesson. From now on, you'd stick to giving blood away in a safe, medical environment, even if it's not going to result in double the amount of money.

"I'd like to give you an iron transfusion," the doctor says. "Just to get you kick-started towards recovery."

You furiously shake your head. "I don't have insurance. Actually, how much is this visit going to be? Is it going to be expensive? Because you really could have just left me there. I think my coworker was just overly worried."

"You collapsed and banged your head on the ground," he frowns. "Head trauma is a serious matter. Thankfully, you don't seem to have any noticeable damage, but while we're at it, I'd still like to ask you a few questions just to make sure you don't have a concussion."

He goes through the motions, and even though your head hurts, it's likely just a bump that will fade in a couple of days.

"Drink this, at least," he says. "It's an iron-rich solution. If you can't pay for the transfusion, then have this, and I can at least recommend you some supplements to start taking. But even so, it might still take a while for your body to recover, which is why I suggest being careful and making necessary adjustments to your diet."

You drin the solution down, and you shudder as the metallic taste collects upon your tongue. Even though you're not a vampire, you've tastd blood before either when you splt your lip open or thoughtlessly licked a papercut. The iron n your blood gives it that distinct unpleasant metallic taste, and you briefly wonder how vampires find it so appetizing. There must be something about their bodies that changes how it tastes to them.

The doctor examines you one last time, hands you a paper with all the various supplements he recommends you start taking, then you settle the bill at reception.

Ugh. I can't believe just a short visit costs so much. And I finally saved a bit of money for once...

You feel discouraged. You've lived without insurance mainly because you couldn't afford it, and because if nothing else, your body was sturdy enough that you could get by without it: But life always finds a way to fuck you over. Just as you felt a bit of relief from knowing that you had some cash on hand, it practically all disappeared, in the blink of an eye.

They say money makes the world go round, but for someone like you, it does the exact opposite.

Money makes your world come crashing down.

"Feel better soon," the receptionist smiles. It's a practiced smile, devoid of any real sympathy. Although you suppose she must see hundreds of patients every day. There's really nothing that distingushes you from them. Other than the fact you're broke.

You let out a sigh and turn away, but as you walk past the waiting area, someone shoots up from their seat.

[Name]!" Caleb exclaims. "Are you... are you alright? Is your head going to be fine?"

Ah. Right. He was there when you passed out. For a moment, you'd almost forgotten. He must have been the one to dial emergency services, and you suppose he also came along with you to the hospital.

It's a nice gesture. He was worried, so of course he wanted to make sure you were got properly examined.

Caleb only ever has good intentions, and by now, you know this all too well. Still.

Part of you can't help but secretly feel annoyed.

If he hadn't brought you here, you wouldn't have lost so much money.

"I'm fine," you reply bitterly. You know it isn't fair to be upset with him for just trying to look out for you, but you can't help but feel frustrated. You go to such lengths to manage your debt and live, just like everyone else. Nothing would have changed if he'd just waited for you to regain consciousness. It's not like you were dying.

Caleb smiles, and unlike the receptionist, you can tell that his is genuine.

"Thank god," he exhales. "You scared the crap out of me back there. What happened? You were looking really faint for a while. Have you not been eating properly?"

"I'm fine," you say again.

"If you were fine, you wouldn't have ended up in the hospital," he counters.

"I didn't need to go to the hospital. You made that decision for me."

He reels back, surprised by the harshness of your tone. Shit. You didn't actually mean to snap at him. It's just been a really shitty couple of days, and on top of how weak you feel, you're stressed about losing so much money.

"I-I'm sorry," Caleb mumbles, face flushed from shame. "I know money's tight for you, [Name]. But... I was just so scared. I didn't know what else to do, and I was worried you wouldn't wake up. I couldn't take the risk and wait it out."

Your shoulders slump. It obviously wasn't your intention to try and make him feel bad, especially since his reaction was completely justified. You honestly hate that you're like this. Money brings out the worst in you. It makes you lash out at the few good people you have in your life.

"Don't apologize," you say, shaking your head. "I'm just not feeling well, and I took it out on you. I appreciate how much you care. I should be the one to say sorry. Thanks for cutting your shift short and coming along with me instead."

Caleb's face flushes again, but this time, you get the feeling that it's for a different reason.

"Of course," he replies shyly. "It's the least I can do. And I know it probably isn't much, but how about I lend you a bit of money? Because I understand all this medical stuff can be really expensive, and you probably need some time to make up for your losses."

He's offering to lend you money. Borrowing money... that's exactly what your parents did. And then they ended up with a shitload of debt to a group of loan sharks.

Naturally, Caleb isn't a loan shark, and you doubt he'd ever exploit you either, but having more money to pay back just gives you a horrible, nauseating feeling. You'd rather not resort to such a thing. Not unless it's an emergency.

"Thank you for the offer," you say. "But I'll try to stick it out for a while longer. Still, if I ever find myself backed into a corner, would it be alright if I came to you for help then?"

"Of course!" Caleb beams. "I'm definetly not rich, but I'm sure I can spare enough money to look out for a friend."

He just referred to the two of you as friends, even though up until now, you've really only thought of him as a coworker. The guy you wash dishes next to.

But you have to admit, it's a nice feeling. Knowing that you have a friend.

"Thank you, Caleb." You smile appreciatively, and even though you don't notice it, Caleb's breath briefly catches in his throat.

He's convinced you must be the prettiest girl in the whole world.

Slowly but surely, you've been recovering your strength. The iron supplements have been helping, but the doctor said you would have to stay on them for a while, otherwise you might just find yourself in the hospital again, and you sure as hell don't want that to happen.

You haven't received any messages from Plasma Inc. yet, and yoou blocked Felix's number right after that unfortunate encounter. You suppose you'll just have to wait until Xavier feels like seeing you again, or until they match you up with a new client.

For the time being, you're doing the same thing as always - working.

Working is tedious, especially when the job is as mind-numbing as yours. Perhaps other people with actual careers are able to get some fulfillment out of it, but it's hard to feel like you're improving the world by being a barista.

As so it happens, though, work isn't quite so tedious today, because a familiar face decides to visit.

"H-Hello," Elliot stammers shyly. "I stopped by again, just like you said. I hope it's okay. And I'm glad I was lucky enough to come in while you were working."

"Hey, Elliot." You offer him a pleasant grin. "What can I get you today?"

"Uh, just the same thing as before. I prefer my coffee simple. And maybe a scone too."

"Vampires eat food?" you can't help but ask, blinking repeatedly.

He chuckles. "Well, sort of. It doesn't provide any real nourishment to our bodies. But I just sometimes like to try different things for the taste of it. Still, nothing I ever try even compares to the taste of..."

He stops himself, hurriedly clamping a palm over his mouth. It's your turn to chuckle now. You suppose he was about to say blood, which is a no-brainer, but it's cute how he tried to backtrack.

"Here's your scone," you say, handing him the pastry in a little paper bag. "Should I spread some strawberry jam on top? Maybe the imagery would help it taste better."

"D-Don't say things like that," he huffs, but since he's got such a cute, youthful face, he does a terrible job of looking angry.

"Just teasing," you muse. "I'll have your coffee ready in a second."

With Elliot here, you can feel that your spirits have lifted somewhat. Money is tight, like always, but you should be able to make Johnny's payment on time. As for the following payment, that still remains to be seen, but you're choosing to believe you'll be able to scrounge up the rest of the money, especially if Xavier calls for you again.

You hand Elliot the cup of coffee, but instead of taking everything to go, he grabs a seat at one of the tables and slowly sips his drink. Every so often, you notice his warm amber eyes flickering in your direction, and when he realizes you caught him, he flinches and hastily looks away.

Cute.

He's rather endearing, with how skittish he always is. Elliot is the perfect example of just how much humans have misunderstood vampires all these years. He's the furthest thing from intimidating possible, and you just wish more people gave him a chance.

You briefly step away from the counter, letting someone else man the front, and walk over to Elliot's table.

"So?" you hum. "What's the verdict on the scone?"

"It wasn't bad."

"But not amazing, either?"

"I guess not," he admits. He smiles as he lifts up his cup of coffee. "The coffee is really good, though. I like the way they make the coffee here. Or maybe it's just you do a really good job of it."

"Pfft," you laugh. "You have literally the simplest order ever. I hardly have to do anything. Challenge me by asking for a fancy drink next time, and then you can properly assess my barista skills."

"Sure," Elliot smiles. "I'll do that." He pauses for a moment, setting his cup down. "Are you... almost done with your shift?"

"Hm? Oh, not yet. I'm closing again today, so it'll be a while." You arch a brow at him. "Why do you ask?"

"I-I was just thinking we could maybe get to know each other a bit better once you were off," he says shyly. "Only if you're comfortable, of course!"

"Well, I definetly wouldn't mind, but you would be waiting a long time. And then I'll be heading straight home. I kind of need to catch up on some sleep," you admit.

"Oh..."

His shoulders slump, and you can tell he is disappointed. You wouldn't mind hanging out with him for a bit, but your schedule is too crazy right now. And your body isn't exactly feeling its best, either.

"Another time," you promise. "If you come by another day and I happen to be working a closing shift, we can sit down someplace and have a proper conversation once I am off. Sounds good?"

Elliot perks up a bit, then nods twice. "Yes. That sounds good. Sorry. I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable. It's just that you're the nicest human I've ever met, and I feel really at ease around you."

Aw. You appreciate the compliment, but even though you are flattered, it sucks that he's had such a shitty experience with other people. You suppose it's an issue that only time can solve. It'll take a while for others to become comfortable with vampires leaving among them.

Hopefully one day, humans and vampires will be able to set their prejudices aside and finally see eye-to-eye.

"I guess I'll be going now," Elliot says. He smiles once more. "I look forward to seeing you again, [Name]. I hope I am not a troublesome customer."

"It's just the opposite. I love it when you stop by."

He blushes, averting his gaze out of embarassment. "N-Next time I'll be back with a more challenging order, just like you said. I'll look up complicated kinds of coffee, so be ready, okay?"

"Sure," you chuckle. "I'll do my best not to let you down."

He leaves, but not before flashing you one last smile and waving shyly. What an adorable little vampire he is. You kind of get the urge to wrap him in your arms and protect him, even though he's definetly a million times stronger than you are.

You head back to the counter, swapping with your coworker so that they can run to the back and grab some ingredients.

And then, you come face to face with your nemesis.

"I want a large caramel macchiato, with light ice, soy milk, extra whipped cream, a big straw, and this time," the woman scowls, "don't make it so disgustingly sweet. My teeth almost fell out before. Seriously, is it that difficult to make a decent cup of coffee?"

Great. This bitch again.

"I'll get that started for you right away," you say. The only thing that's too sweet around here is the fabricted smile you flash her, and it's so that you resist the urge to punch her in the face.

"And don't take forever this time," she snaps. "I've got a hectic schedule, you know."

Ugh.

You already miss Elliot.

Well, that's another shift done and dusted, and a big yawn falls out of your lips as you step outside the coffee shop.

The night air is rather chilly, and you shiver a bit, clutching your sides in an attempt to stay warm. Do vampires like Elliot get cold easily? Xavier's hands were practically frozen, and from what you've heard, their body temperatures are naturally lower than humans'. Normally, cold-blooded organisms actively seek out warmth, like amphibians and reptiles, but vampires perfer to avoid the sun, so perhaps staying cool is simply more pleasant for them.

You hum as you walk. Nowadays, your head is practically filled with thoughts of vampires. Although you suppose it makes sense. You went from never interacting them a day in your life, to meeting several of them in a very short span of time.

Man. You really, really hope Xavier calls on you soon. You need the extra money. And so long as you stay on the supplements and incorporate the foods the doctor recommended into your diet, you shouldn't end up in the hospital again. Unlike Felix, Xavier actually knows how to hold back and not take too much of your blood.

It turns out that it's rather ironic or your thoughts to briefly drift towards that god-forsaken, yellow-eyed vampire because within less than two minutes of stepping outside, your phone starts to buzz.

It's a number you don't recognize, so naturally you decline the call.

But then you get a second call. And a third.

Right as it starts ringing for a fourth time, and you're trying to block the number, you fumble with your phone and accidentally answer the call.

"...[Name]?"

It's Felix. You recognize the voice right away. God. Didn't you block his number? Is he calling you from a different phone or something?

"Piss off," you grimace. "I'm not speaking to you anymore, and I'm going to block this number too."

"Wait!" he cries out. You can hear the desperation in his voice, but you're way past the point of caring. He's the one who made a mess of things. This is on him.

"What part of I'm not speaking to you don't you understand?" you grimace.

"I...I heard you dropped me as a client," Felix continues, clearly ignoring you. "I understand if you don't feel comfortable meeting me privately anymore, but why not through the company? It's safe. And I thought you needed the money. I promise I'll do anything it takes to-"

"No. I don't care. There's no telling what you'll do to me. You lost my trust, and at this point, it's impossible to win it back."

He's the reason you ended up in the hospital and had to pay a massive fee. So what if he gives you money here and there? He's the kind of guy that doesn't know how to hold back, and you don't feel safe meeting with him, even if it's at Plasma Inc.'s headquarters. If he loses control, he can drink your blood by force, and even the doctors on-site won't be able to stop him. Humans don't stand a chance aganst a vampire. He could kill you, intentional or not.

The reason you're doing this whole is to survive, not meet an early grave. Keeping Felix around is simply not worth the risk.

"You don't understand," Felix whines, all childish and pathetic. "I need your blood, [Name]. It doesn't compare to anyone else's, and now that I've already tasted it, I... I just can't go back. You'll never understand how much this means to me, so please. I'm begging you."

What an absolute piece of shit. You honestly can't believe the nerve of him. Here you are, doing everything you can just to make it to the next day, and this is his greatest inconvenience in life? The fact that he no longer has access to his favorite snack?

Even without your blood, Felix can survive. He can stay perfectly healthy, and he clearly has all the money he'll ever need, so how dare he act as if he's suffering. How dare he bitch and whine to someone like you, who's been dealt nothing but shitty hands all their life.

Drinking your blood is something he wants, and it's time he learns that in life, wanting something doesn't mean you'll actually get it.

"That has nothing to do with me," you snap. "I've got my own shit to worry about. All you had to do was be a bit more considerate, and I would still be meeting up with you. But I don't do business with assholes who act selfishly without any regard for the other person's wellbeing."

"[Name], wait-"

You hang up the call and proceed to block the number. It sucks that he still has your contact information. If you'd known it would have turned out this way, you never would have taken him up on his stupid offer, no matter how tempting it was. He'll probably keep spamming you with calls from new numbers, but that's fine. You'll block every single one of them. And it's not like he knows anything else apart from your name. He'll never be able to track you down.

Felix is out of your life for good.

Or at least, that's what you're choosing to tell yourself.

More chapters are available on Quotev and Wattpad!

⊱.⋅follow + post notifications on for story update announcements or join the author's discord!⋅.⊰

🩸 main masterlist! ♡ character appearances

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neverinsignificant · 8 months ago

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How I Am Getting Myself Out of A Funk

This past month, I’ve been in a very terrible funk that has left me with overwhelming stress, an unregulated nervous system, feelings of discomfort (hopelessness, worthlessness, etc…), bloating and a bad case of imposter syndrome. I realize I’ve been wallowing in my own self pity and not taking care of myself the way I should, so I am being honest and admitting that I am scared as to what road my life may take if I do not improve where I know I can by taking the necessary steps. Here’s how I’m getting myself out of this funk:

• Taking my iron medication

I was prescribed medication for my iron deficiency anemia years ago and I haven’t been taking them due to my fear of swallowing pills. I use to let them dissolve in orange juice, but I grew to hate the taste and realized I wasn’t getting the full benefits by doing it this way. I have a complicated history with pills and I would like to get over it by learning & possibly speaking with a specialist who can help me get over my fear as iron has many benefits that would be beneficial to my body.

• Growing comfortable with my therapist

I recently started therapy and as much as I like my therapist, it has been hard to open up to them as much as I’d like. I know it’s because this is a new experience, but once I grow the courage to discuss some of the things I really want, I know my stress levels will decrease and mental health improve because I won’t have to worry about them anymore.

• Cultivating gratitude

I complain…. A lot because if it ain’t one thing, it’s another but by cultivating gratitude, I can practice to be more thankful of what I have and lessen my desire for more and negative thoughts. It will also lead me back to the path of my spiritual journey, which I seem to have slightly abandoned.

• Consume more water

I made a Habits I’m Not Waiting Until January to Implement post back in December where I said this same thing and I wasn’t consistent, but it’s never too late to do so now.

• Working out with positive intentions

Usually when I workout it has been with the intention to develop a certain body type, which lead to me closely examining and prodding at my body in the mirror, but as someone that comes from a family with people who develop physical health issues as they age, it’s important for me to workout simply to remain healthy, especially as I am still young with an able body. Develop stronger knees; hip mobility; straight posture, strength building.

• Breathwork + thought-stopping

This will go hand in hand with meditation. Simply saying “stop” to negative thinking doesn’t usually work for me, but what does is reframing the thoughts I’m having by making a positive light out of it or actively listing solutions. I don’t tend to be consistent with this, but I’ll try.

• Focus on my gut health

Lymphatic drainage by dry brushing, drinking peppermint tea, eating cleaner based foods, consume more fiber-rich foods, cut out gluten, eating more with smaller portions.

• Say “Girl, fuck you”

To people, emotions, circumstances. Simply dismissing the issue has sometimes helped, especially if they’re minor. Living in delusion isn’t always bad.

I’m not a “clean,” health and wellness guru, goop using (whatever tf that is), green juice drinking everyday girl and that’s okay. This is fairly new to me and I didn’t notice the severity of my health until I felt a sharp pain in my chest from stressing. I won’t fully immerge myself in this “aesthetic” as it isn’t in my interest to do so, but I will incorporate some of the habits to my benefits.

“Everyday the sun won’t shine, but that’s why I love tomorrow!” 🌟 -Glorilla

#my post

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archivedblog16 · 2 months ago

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Hello I have a question and need your advice to be better person,so I hear a lot from people that drawing sin of gluttony as a fat person is fatphobic because "not all fat people eat a lot and this is stigma,there's people who are skinny and eat a lot of food" while I agree this is transphobic I think people who makes Same argument area little cruel to people who struggle to gain weight ,I am so skinny( I hate it cause i am at risk of Anemia) and my mom force me to eat a lot of food especially meat everyday just so i gain weight a little yet for more reason I don't gain any so I came to solution of how beelzebub should be so people stop fight :she is a giant bee/fly and eats a lot of food until she becomes fat and every month she lay millions of eggs and when she does she becomes skinny asf and then she starts eating again until she becomes fat again and it takes her a month to do it and then after another month she lay eggs again and becomes skinny again and repeat,what do you think? Is my idea still fatphobic? Cause I feel targeted when people say she should be skinny and some skinny people eat without becoming fat and it feels like I am getting mocked due to my health condition but maybe I am being dramatic but still I don't want anyone to feel bad about their body

In my opinion, your idea is a good compromise, literally the best of both worlds. I do wonder what she will do with the millions of eggs. I am a skinny person who eats a lot. But despite me eating a lot (and my mom giving me lots of food), I still am skinny. It got so bad that some people (including my doctor) thought my mom was starving me. I’m sure sooner or later when I get really really old, I will gain weight or fat.

When it comes to Bee, I personally never had a problem with her being skinny. My beef with her right now is bee’s hypocrisy in the “Mastermind.” Where she judges and is disgusted by Mammon (a fat character) by the way he eats, despite forcibly shoving food into Hellhounds mouth. Even worse Bee is skinny person (2 skinny people judging a fat person).

Anon, if you want to make Bee skinny, fat or even both, go for it! At the end of the day these are redesigns. They aren’t the end all be all. People do this for fun, they either do it because to fix Vivziepop’s mediocre writing, or both! Please Anon remember to have fun and don’t burn yourself over this.

#vivziepop critical #vivziepop criticism #helluva boss criticism #helluva boss critical #anonymous

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bullshit-tqia · 5 months ago

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Your psychiatrist and surgeon do not care for you.

They want to make money off of you.

They are willing to get you exogenous hormones that can give you higher rates of depression, cancer, cysts on your clitoris, PCOS, liver, kidney, and heart disease, blood clots in the lungs, strokes, polycythemia and hyperlipidemia, thrombosis, brain tumors, acute coronary syndrome, malignant hypertension, anemia, a worsening of psychosis, hepatitis, and to briefly mention dizziness, nausea, and chronic headaches. This is from hormones alone. They do not tell you this because your doctors make money off of you and don’t want to dissuade you from giving them hundreds of dollars.

Long term studies admit that they lose a large portion of their participants, but they assume that those participants are happy.

What is becoming more likely to me is that these participants died. And their deaths will never be considered or remembered. How can we be sure that transitioning is good long term if we have no record to even begin to consider that being true?

Gender Affirming Care is not regulated or approved for being a good solution to gender dysphoria.

When was the last time we thought that removing parts of the body was a good solution to helping mental problems? Oh yeah, with lobotomies.

There is no proof of “gendered brains.” The amount of white matter between women and men is so slight that it’s as defunct as race science. They overlap so heavily with little evidence of proper structural distinctions that it is dishonest to pretend there is any major pattern. There is no proof that even these “differences” observed in trans women vs. cis men are because of gender dysphoria, or are the effects of hormones. We have no understanding of how gender dysphoria manifests or how it works.

You are being experimented on.

If hormones can worsen your mental health because they are exogenous, how are you being treated? Even if gender affirming care lessened gender dysphoria, it is being exchanged with depression and possible psychosis. You are exchanging one bad thing for another. This will not help you long term.

Gender Dysphoria will still manifest through your memories, your knowledge of chromosomes, and the fact that you have a secret

It cannot go away as long as you are aware of your own transition. It is not helping you. You have to continue to delude yourself that it is working for it to work. That is the definition of a placebo.

Why was the first drafted solution to gender dysphoria hormones and surgery and not therapy?

Why? Nobody has given me an answer to this. We have never even tried to see if any antidepressants or therapies work to help gender dysphoria in a way that won’t make you targeted, bullied, and fearful for our lives. That is fucking cruel.

Listen to detransitioners, listen to the trans people who suffered as a result of surgery.

It may not be rare. Recent studies have shown that every trans person that was put on hormones had a negative effect to their health. EVERY. Why is the assumption that we must suffer to be happy? Why can’t we be nonconforming without giving up the rest of our lives to be on hormones and having surgery after surgery? Why? Genuinely, why?

There are trans women who had colon vaginoplasty, where they use part of the colon to create a vagina. These women start to shit through their vaginas. And these surgeries often follow a previously failed SRS procedure. It is a last ditch effort and it is horrific to your body.

While having complications, many detransitioners and trans people were ghosted by their doctors.

They don’t give a fuck about you. They want to make money off of you. As trans people and detransitioners were suffering after their surgeries, their doctors abandoned them because well…they didn’t have to do anything to help them. Because gender affirming care is not approved or regulated. There is no proof that it even helps beyond a few surveys that may not have honest answers and exclude detransitioners and those who killed themselves as a result of their failed surgeries.

I transitioned, and now I may be suffering dire consequences of it, because I bought into this idea that experimenting on my own body would be worth it. But now I feel the same as I did before I detransitioned and after. Nothing has fundamentally changed. I was still dysphoric but I was making myself deeply unwell to satisfy society’s perception of what a woman should be.

You can grow your hair out, you can wear makeup, you can be feminine. You can cut your hair short, you can ditch makeup, and you can be masculine. You don’t have to hurt yourself to fit into this standard when it is logically possible for you to accept how you were born.

It cannot be impossible for you to be happy.

These greedy doctors are preying on vulnerable people to make money.

#transandrophobia #anti transmasculinity #transmisandry #liberal feminism #radical feminism #trans discourse #transition #detrans #detransition #transgender #transmisogyny #transmedicalism

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malamira · 11 months ago

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QUIET LOVE, OH HOW IT SCREAMS

synopsis: "i'd never let anything happen to you, if i could help it."

a/n: GOD, i love doctor!au inukag. i did a lot of editing and revising for this, so it's a different beast from what it was when smutmas version came out. i'm not 100% happy with the ending, but i mean. if i did any more i had a feeling i would just ruin it instead of help it.

— 💓 —

“You’re going to love me,” Sango sing-songed, sliding into the seat next to Kagome’s.

Kagome grunted, massaging her temple. The bar wasn't too crowded, thankfully, but the noise level was high enough that she had to speak up to be heard. “Why? Did you kill the hospital director yet?”

“No,” Sango said primly; Onigumo Industries owned the hospital Kagome was a surgeon at, and Sango's father was vice president of one of the subsidiaries. “But,” she said, grasping her friend’s arm, “I kind of have a solution to your extended shift problem.”

“You mean the hospital is hiring another surgeon?” Kagome mumbled grumpily, knocking back her watered down whisky. The moisture that collected outside the glass splattered unto the bar when she slammed it down.

“No! A guy!”

Kagome stared at her best friend, first blankly, then sourly. “Sango, I love you and I know you only have my best interests at heart, but seriously? I barely have time to bathe Buyo. I don’t have time for a guy.”

“No, I mean like to fuck!” her friend said encouragingly. “It’s been rough the past few weeks. Maybe a good orgasm will fix you right up!"

Kagome's cheeks colored. "I don't—"

Sango wasn't having any of it. "Aw, come on! It's just some harmless fun. He’s right over there, by the booth—”

“Now?” Kagome said incredulously. “I’m in my scrubs. I have a stain on my shirt!”

“So? Is it a shit stain?”

“I’m not even going to correct you on how many hospital protocols I would’ve broken if it were a shit stain.”

“Lighten up, Kagome!” Sango insisted, jumping up from her chair and tugging at her friend's arm. “It’s Friday and you deserve to get laid. Come on.”

“It is a testament to our ten-year friendship that I am choosing to trust you,” Kagome said flatly, throwing a few bills on the counter to cover her drink. She called over the bartender before letting Sango pull her away.

“Hello, gentlemen,” Sango said brightly, then brandished her friend from behind her. “As promised, my lady doctor friend.”

“Hi,” the guy at the edge of the booth said, dark hair and bright, blue eyes. He was cute, Kagome could admit, if a little too... pedestrian, for her tastes. He extended a hand to shake. “I’m Kōga.”

“Kagome,” she introduced herself, taking his hand for a brief shake. He scooted over and motioned for her to sit next to him.

Sango had already settled into the side of a guy who had a short ponytail and earrings. “I’m Miroku,” that guy said.

She only just managed to land her butt on the leather seat of the booth, she felt a familiar vibration pattern in her pocket. Her emergency pattern.

Before Kōga—or Sango, for that matter—could utter a word, she’d straightened and fished out her phone. “Hospital. Gotta go.”

Without so much as a look back, she bolted.

—

“I’m here,” Kagome panted, running into the ER. "I'm here!"

“Doc!” Jinenji, one of the nurses on shift, called out, timidly holding a clipboard to his chest as he approached from the nurses' station. “I know you just got out—”

“It’s fine.” She waved away his concern. “What do you need?”

“We did a test for Nazuna, the one who had the appendectomy earlier today, and the results required a change in dosage,” he informed her, then turned sheepish when he continued, “I’m really sorry; her mother was getting… irate, and I couldn't get another physician—”

Kagome shook her head and let out a breath. “It’s okay, Jinenji; it's not your fault. Good thing I was nearby.” A bar two blocks away wasn't necessarily nearby, but Jinenji didn’t have to know that. She took the clipboard. "Nazuna... the one with anemia, right? Can we check if she needs a transfusion? Her RBC's looking pretty low..."

“Dr. Higurashi!” another nurse cried as soon as Jinenji took off with her advice. “Thank God you're here; I need you!”

Kagome sighed and got to work.

—

A few hours later, she yawned as she pushed back against the desk in the middle of the doctor's lounge, her chair screeching against the floor. "Oh my God," she groaned, exhausted.

“I hear Higurashi,” a gruff voice called a few hours later, and a light-haired head popped into the admin room doorway. Gold eyes peered at her with interest. “Hey. Isn’t your shift over? Why are you still here?”

Kagome stretched in her chair and rubbed her eye with the back of her hand. She smiled tiredly at Inuyasha, who regarded her with curious eyes. “Had to do something. You haven’t left yet?”

He strode into the room, hands in his pockets. He’d forgone his lab coat and scrubs, changing into jeans and a button-up shirt. “About to, yeah. Where'd you come from? Your house?”

She shook her head. “No, I was at the bar two blocks down. You know Shikon?”

Inuyasha smirked and jerked his head. “Come on. I’ll drive you back. Unless you wanna walk…?”

“Nah, you’re good,” she said, collecting her things and leaving the room. She fell into step next to him. “And excuse you, I had one drink.”

He opened the door to the stairwell and let her pass; the elevator to the parking was under repair. “Shikon’s for kids anyway. Why not head to, I don’t know, Totosai’s, or something?”

“I didn’t pick the place,” Kagome mumbled. Her phone vibrated in her pocket and she fumbled for it, shoes echoing as they made their way down the cement steps.

“Oh? Were you out with friends, then?”

"Yeah." Kagome groaned, pausing in the middle of the stairwell, "And she’s fucking pissed at me.”

Inuyasha raised an eyebrow, curious. He hopped back up a few steps to get back to her level and peered at her phone, eyes widening at the slew of texts she'd apparently ignored.

Sango 23:44 Is everything ok?

Sango 00:22 Kagome we’re still at the bar in case u wanna come back, I’m telling Koga ur coming back

Sango 00:28 Can u reply so i can give an update

Sango 01:18 Kagome PLS!! Trying to call u, pls answer

Sango 01:31 Koga left. He’s kinda pissed and I’m super embarrassed

Sango 01:56 Leaving too, it’s been 2 hours

Sango 02:03 Call me in the morning when I’m more important than your job

He whistled lowly. “She’s really mad, huh?”

“No, really? What gave that away?” Kagome said blankly, furiously typing back. Sorry, stuff at the hospital got hectic. Will make it up to you tomorrow. She sent the message and pocketed her phone, pressing a hand to her forehead. She took a deep breath before turning to climb back up the stairs.

“What’s up?”

“You go on ahead,” she said.

“What?" She could hear Inuyasha climb up after her. "Why?”

“I’m heading home,” she said, looking back at him. She lived on the other side of town, opposite the direction of Shikon.

Inuyasha put his hands in his pockets and looked at her like she was crazy. “Are you crazy? It’s two in the morning, Higurashi. I’ll drive you home."

She gaped. “Are you crazy? I live an hour away!”

“Traffic won’t be too bad,” he said with a shrug, not looking at her. “I don’t mind. Seriously.”

“But—”

He sighed and climbed further up the stairs until they were a step apart, his eyes meeting hers with barely a tilt of his head. “Kagome, seriously. You work too hard and give too much."

She rolled her eyes, "I'm fine—"

"Oh, come on," Inuyasha said, clearly exasperated. "Don’t think I hadn’t heard of you being wheeled out of the operating room after that cystectomy last week.”

She flushed at that. “I—How’d you know about that?”

“Jinenji’s very easy to manipulate.”

She gaped and lightly smacked his arm. “That’s mean! You know he’s scared of you.”

“He’s scared of a lot of things,” Inuyasha shot back. “And I would’ve known anyway.”

“How?”

“Kagome,” he said, one of his hands slipping out of his pocket to gently grasp her wrist. He raised it so it hovered in between their faces. “You’re shaking.”

Her hand twitched before her eyes, and she bit her lip. “I'm fine, I'm just tired—"

"Tired? But you're consistently taking 24-hour shifts?" He lowered her hand, but didn't let go of her wrist. "Come on, Kagome. Admit it; you're overworking yourself."

She sniffed. "I didn’t know you watched me so closely.” It was meant to corner him, but it came out feeble and shy.

He sighed and lowered their clasped hands. “Seriously, Kagome,” he mumbled as he, to her surprise, rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. “You need to take care of yourself more.”

She looked down at his hand, watching as his thumb dragged tenderly over her skin.

Her relationship with Inuyasha was both surprisingly simple and terrifyingly complicated. They had met in medical school, when she was a sophomore and he was in his last year. They'd gone to different schools—rival schools—but they had a mutual friend who introduced them, thinking they’d be perfect for each other.

It couldn’t have gone more wrong.

She looked too much like his ex, he said, while she claimed that he was too big of an asshole. While they were both planning to eventually become surgeons, it seemed like the similarities stopped there. Whenever they managed to come across each other it was like they wanted to bite each other’s head off for the smallest of things—like breathing too loud, or walking too slow—until they discovered that they’d work together in the same hospital, in the same operating team.

They'd learned to deal with each other. At least until the day Kagome’s brother had been wheeled in into the ER.

Sōta had been shot.

Kagome had nearly lost her mind with worry, snapping at anyone who denied her access to her brother, until Inuyasha had to practically manhandle her to sit down on the couch in the physician’s lounge. He had talked her down, told her that he was handling the operation, he'd be the one to take care of her brother, but she needed to calm the fuck down, okay?

She'd grabbed his hand and made him promise to do everything—everything—he could.

He'd kissed her forehead, unbidden, and left the room. The shock of it was like the icing on the proverbial cake, rendering her speechless. It was too much all at once, and she ended up sleeping on the lounge couch. A few hours later, Inuyasha woke Kagome up and she bolted to see her brother.

Sōta had made it, albeit looking a little worse for wear. Her mother had screamed at the police on the phone, the angriest Kagome had ever seen her. Turned out Sōta had been shot by an unknown assailant after being mugged, and the man was still on the loose.

The police had found him eventually, Kagome had told Inuyasha when he asked, and she hadn't known anything beyond that. The other surgeon nodded, looking pensive. Kagome had realized she hadn’t thanked him yet, for all he’d done. She had suggested that she pick up his shifts in return.

He'd declined (surprisingly politely). Instead, he'd offered to pick up her shifts while she took a break. When she'd asked what for, all he said was, "To take care of your brother," and left it at that.

She'd thought he'd take one or two shifts, but he'd crossed her name out of the shift sheet for a total of three weeks, declaring that hanyōs didn't really need sleep, and therefore could take on more work. ("I'm the ideal ER doctor, if you think about it," he'd said.)

"Inuyasha," she said.

His thumb resumed its motions. "Hm?"

"Why are you being so nice to me?" she asked him.

That seemed to snap him out of whatever stupor he'd landed himself in, and he let go. She kind of missed it.

With a blush on his face, he scoffed and looked away. "I—You know, I pick up your shifts when you're out, you know? I—You shouldn't take—If you get sick, I'll have to take more shifts."

Awkward silence settled over them, and Kagome stepped down to stand closer to him. They were practically nose to nose, and Inuyasha's gold gaze met hers with an intensity that made her want to shiver.

"You're lying," she challenged boldly, and that made him scoff again, sounding completely offended this time around.

"Why would I lie?" he said with a roll of his eyes, turning away and stepping down.

Kagome was growing frustrated. She couldn't put into words what she wanted to tell him.

"You're always—" She shook her head. She was ready to yell, but she wasn't angry. Once upon a time, she would have snapped, called him a coward, and stomped past him. But gone was the pure loathing that defined the early stages of their relationship. So where did that leave them?

Where did that leave her?

He turned and looked back up at her. "Look. I can drive you home, and I—" He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "Just get some rest, okay? You've had a long day. I can take your shift tomorrow, just... just get some rest."

The next thing she knew, she was watching his back as he climbed down the stairs, and that's when it dawned on her.

Her brother, her job, her wellbeing—why hadn't she realized sooner that—

"Inuyasha."

He paused and sighed, turning back to face her. "Kagome, just—"

Maybe it was the exhaustion, but the way he looked at her made her eyes prick with heat. She bounded towards him and wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shirt collar. "Thank you."

He was clearly taken aback, but managed to keep both of them upright. "Wh—For what—"

"For taking care of me," she mumbled. "That's what you're doing, right?"

She felt his body go rigid before relaxing. His arms slowly came around her middle. "Stupid girl," he murmured with so much affection it made her heart skip, "Only because you're doing a terrible job at it."

She sobbed. "I'm sorry for worrying you."

"It's okay."

"And I'm sorry for not noticing sooner," she sniffled. "I'm sorry for being a workaholic, and for being exhausted, and for crying."

His arms tightened just a bit. "It's okay."

"I'm sorry for being annoying about it."

His low laughter rumbled in his chest. "It's okay."

She hugged him tighter. "And I'm sorry I never thanked you for Sōta."

He lets out a breath and turn his head. "You don't have to apologize or thank me for that, Kagome," he told her gently. Pressing a soft kiss to the shell of her ear, he continued, "Your family is important to you. I'd never let anything happen to them." Then, softer yet louder at the same time, "I'd never let anything happen to you, if I could help it."

That made her gut wrench and heart swell and it made her cry harder.

He held her close as she did.

#inukag #inukag fluff #inukag fanfic #inuyasha fic #inuyasha fanfiction #inuyasha x kagome #💞.writing

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