fake clinics

anonymous asked:

I know its dumb and please ignore me if you feel uncomfortable, but would it be possible to put a tiny foot-note to the facts that that almost never happens in real life? It is just something that is SUPER huge in the fake clinics here that has been used to scare my friends into thinking abortion is Always Evil because it will make it so you never are able to have children again. I'm just kinda majorly sad/scared/hurt to see that narrative show up here? It hurts a lot of people in real life.


Originally posted by meanwhileongiphy

Fanfiction - The Flood (College AU)

As some of you already know I’ve decided to go on writing the Cassiopeia sequel, which by now most people know as College AU. I’m not sure how it’ll work, but Jamie and Claire are still talking to me in this universe - so I’ll go on writing it as long as they want. This story started with Cassiopeia and is preceded by The Captain and Anamnesis. I hope you enjoy it! See you on the other side! <3

The Flood

“So how did it go?” Jamie asked eagerly, as Claire joined him in the refectory for an early dinner. He had left her at the hospital with a soft kiss of good luck, as she headed to discuss his – mostly fake, mind – clinical history with Doctor Potter.

“He gave me a hard time with your differential diagnosis, but I stood my ground.” She bent to kiss him with fervour and sat with her tray next to him. “It’s an A for us, Captain.”

“Well done!” He cheered and kissed her again. “I was that bit worried, ye ken. When I left ye, ye look like ye had been struck by a sledgehammer.”

“I was a little disconcerted by our talk, I’ll admit to it.” She gave him a look under her lashes. “You are full of surprises, Jamie.”

“You never asked before.” He smiled and shrugged, munching his peas. She hawked.

“Why did you decide to…” She gave him an embarrassed look. “You know – wait. Clearly it wasn’t a problem of lack of possible suitors.”

“I dinna felt that strongly about them.” He gave her a shy smile. “Women can be very frightening, ye ken. Like you, when someone in line before ye orders the last piece of blueberry pie ye were coveting.”

“Oh, shut up!” Claire gave him a narrow look. “I really was asking a question, you know.”

“It wasn’t so much that I decided.” He said slowly. “More that I’ve never met a lass that made me want to give her that last piece of myself. To be so vulnerable…so exposed. I’ve never dated anyone that I trusted with my soul.”

“That’s very romantic.” She said with amusement, but honesty resounded in her voice too. “Most men think sex is just mechanics and chemical reactions happening in the body, mostly in the nether regions.”

“I flatter myself to think I’m not most men.” Jamie gave her a one-sided smile. “When a man lays with a woman…almost always he can overpower her. He has the physical strength to command her if he wants to. And so a woman relinquishing her body requires trust – that the man won’t abuse that power. When a man takes a woman he loves, he bares his soul as well as his body – and without any shields between them she can break him entirely, just there and then, if she isna worthy of such trust.”

“Did your father teach you that?” Claire asked.

“Aye.” Jamie nodded. “In a way. He also taught me that a moment of bodily pleasure can echo in eternity. My father encouraged me to envision myself with that particular woman in twenty years afore deciding if I really wanted to bed her – if I couldna see it or if the sight was too daunting, I had my answer and should keep my cock well hidden inside my pants.”

“And how do you see yourself with me in twenty years?” Claire asked playfully, but fear gripped her belly. Jamie’s big and warm right hand enfolded hers and his left touched her cheek with tenderness and – yes – want.

“Just like this.” He nuzzled her nose with his own, his lips brushing the tip at the end. “Maybe with a bairn or two sitting next to us. You – perhaps wearing a fancy suit - but the same face I have loved since the day I first saw it. And at night we’ll go home and I’ll whisper you silly things in the darkness of our bed, while I love your body. I see my entire life with ye, Claire – and I can’t wait for it.”

He ended his declaration by kissing her, making her purr with pleasure, her bones melting with the prospect of a lifetime together – and the implicit recognition that he wished to made love to her.

They ate peacefully for a little while, but Jamie kept throwing her charged looks. She knew he meant to ask something, probably a question that made him deeply uncomfortable.

“You…Did you…” He cleared his throat and drank thirstily from his glass of water. “When…I mean, if you wanted to tell me…” He looked at her, helplessly trying to formulate a coherent sentence.

“Are you asking me how it was for me?” Claire asked with amusement, enhanced by the sudden appearance of a rosy colour on his cheeks. “How I lost my virginity?”

“Yes.” He answered between teeth, peeking above his shoulder to watch for anyone close enough to eavesdrop. They were sitting almost alone in the refectory – it was still early for most students to appear searching for their dinner.

“Well,” She started, her fingers brushing aside a stubborn lock of brown hair. “It was alright, I guess.”

“Alright?” He repeated, his finger fidgeting with the spoon.

“Do you really want me to tell you the practicalities of it?” Claire asked, raising a brow in his direction, slightly outraged.

“No.” Jamie answered hurriedly, almost spitting his soup. “I just thought that…maybe it was more than alright.”

Claire glared at him intently, slowly chewing her roasted chicken.

“I enjoyed it.” She finally said a clipped tone. “But not because of any particular skills he had or some other mind-blowing notions. I liked it because I felt connected – I had been lonely for so long. I thought I had find something that could last; where I could belong. That’s where pleasure was for me – the first time at least.” She gave him a little smile.

“Were you together for long?” Jamie asked slowly.

“About six months.” Claire sighed. “It was complicated.”

“Was he your classmate?” He pressed with a poor attempt at nonchalance. “Back in high school maybe?”

“No.” She started to bite on her red apple. “He was friends with my uncle, obsessed with history type of guy. An assistant professor – he actually teaches here. In History department.”

Jamie’s mouth stood ajar, the small and blue vein on his temple starting to throb violently.

“Is he, by any chance, that…” He croaked. “…perky little man always wearing a suit that sometimes comes and talks to ye in the library? Always staring at your cleavage like he lost a damned coin in there?”

“He doesn’t stare at my cleavage!” Claire highlighted, giving him an amber look of reproach. “But – yes, that’s him. His name is Frank Randall.”

“Are you serious?” Jamie almost screamed. A couple of students – colleagues from Jamie’s rugby team that were approaching their table to salute him and maybe sit with them - quickly detoured to a distant table, hearing the threat of his explosion. “Do you really expect me to sit here and listen how you…you…shagged” Jamie’s lips turned into an angry line and Claire’s face puckered hearing him. “A much older man and still give him a pass to drool all over you, even when ye’re with me?”

“Well,” She hissed. “If you don’t want to sit you can get up and leave, then. You seem to have finished your dinner already. God knows you’re making a fool of yourself in here, James Fraser.”

“Maybe it’s ye that’s making me look like a fool.” He spat the words, his fingers shredding the paper napkin.

“Oh, me?” Claire gave him a harsh laugh. “I’m the one that has to deal with your fans – I can’t even go to the bloody bathroom without receiving nasty looks and whispers -“Oh, there she goes. Oh, what scandalous things did she have to do to get him? Oh, King of Men could do so much better!”” She impersonated with an affected voice, which seemed weirdly like Annalise’s. “I have to stand by and watch every blonde thing talking about your ass and the size of your balls in those rugby shorts, but suddenly you’re the one being fooled!” She shook her head, rage and disappointment making her eyes glassy with tears. “And all of this because I dared to have a past!”

Claire suddenly got up, carrying her tray. She placed it in the proper container and stormed outside, almost stepping back with the force of the wind that was starting to blow outside.

Jamie appeared behind her and held her elbow, pushing her with him to a quiet corner in the shadow of the building. Students were beginning to converge in a crowd, like kites flowing propelled by the aroma of food.  

“Why are you being like this?” She accused, her golden eyes blazing.

“He has something of ye that I will never have!” Jamie’s hands closed around her arms, gripping her. “You shared something so intimate with him… He knows ye in a way that I don’t and that makes my wame curl and boil!” He roared. “I could kill him right now for daring to touch you!”

“If you think that because I went to bed with him, he knows me in any way better than you…” She fought against tears, carelessly brushing her eyes with her sweater’s sleeve. “You haven’t been paying much attention.”

“He saw you!” He grunted. “All of you! Frank was the first man to take you. He kissed your neck, touched your breast, he…” He avoided her gaze. “Tasted you. You moaned his name in passion. Please, promise me you won’t talk to him again!”

“I’ll make no such promise!” Claire exclaimed, her cheeks flaming. “I won’t pretend I don’t know him just to soothe your damaged ego, James Fraser.” And then with her voice breaking. “You haven’t touch me like that because you wanted to wait – to be sure. I have been waiting for you, Jamie. You can erase every memory of him.”

“I need ye to promise me, Claire.” He repeated, almost pleaded. His eyes were dark blue, like bottomless oceans, too deep to allow any light.

“You are my boyfriend.” She said. “You are not my owner, damn you!”

And she yanked her arms from his grasp and headed to her dorm, all the happiness she had felt one hour ago suddenly eclipsed.


Claire was lying on her stomach in bed, listening to the rain tapping outside, water rivulets drifting down the window. She needed to study - the next day she had another quiz and she still needed to catch up on the characteristics of different heart murmurs. It was useless to try while she was on such stormy mood; her concentration failed her, leaving her even more troubled - and guilty to boot.

Her white phone vibrated – again - announcing an incoming call. She turned it and watched the flicker of light, reading “Jamie”. It was accompanied by a photo of him, which she had taken with her phone a couple of weeks before – he had been laying in the grass, with golden shadows playing in his eyes and his wide smile. It was almost achingly beautiful and she frequently fell asleep holding her phone, gazing longingly at it.

He had called five times in the last half hour. She hadn’t answer it – she was still very mad and wanted to show him his primitive behaviour wouldn’t be tolerated – or forgiven – with such easiness.

The phone eventually stopped buzzing, only to appear a message “Please, answer me”. She had just put it down when it started vibrating again. She tried to cover her head with her pillow, but eventually she grabbed it and slid the finger to answer it.

“Would you please stop calling me, I really don’t want to talk…” She hissed to the phone.

Claire.” Jamie’s voice returned from the other side of the line. His tone was contained, but she immediately identified the devastation buried underneath it. It made her entire body shook with irrational fear. “Please, Claire. I need you.”

“Where are you?” She asked, her lips feeling numb.

“Outside.” He answered in a hoarse voice and hang up the phone.

Claire opened her room’s door and rushed down the stairs, barely noticing the steps flying under her bared feet. Her entire mind and body were focused on reaching Jamie, finding him and holding him. She knew that something had happened – something terrible, capable of crushing the most solid and lively man she had ever known.

She opened the front door and for a moment only registered the storm outside – rain falling like a reenaction of the Great Flood, finally there to erase everything and make the world start all anew, sinners dying in the arms of saints so the world could be cured. Thunder rolled not far away – the air was filled with the faint smell of ozone, clinging to her nose and filling her mouth with the taste of destruction.

He was standing in the middle of the street, in the space that separated their buildings, no more than a shadow amongst shadows. When he saw her, he walked to her with uncertain steps, as if he could barely summon enough strength to cover the small distance. Claire noticed he was on his shirtsleeves and wasn’t wearing a coat – he must have rushed out of his room too.

When she finally could distinguish his features, she saw the endless drops that slid across his high cheekbones – not only rain, but tears that stream from his haunted blue eyes; salted water mixing with heavenly outpour. Her chest felt tight, a band of sorrow already lodging itself around her heart.

He stopped when only a step separated them. Claire noticed he was shaking badly, cold and strong emotion firing every nerve’s terminal.

“My father is dead.” He whispered to her in a cracked voice, as he drowned in the flood.


Sometimes I find crisis pregnancy center posters at my school, and when I’m feeling particularly feisty, sometimes I write back signs of my own.

I can’t think of something more disgusting than a fake clinic that preys on vulnerable individuals like crisis pregnancy centers do. And what better way to fight back then to provide actual resources to help those in that vulnerable position?

Everyone should have all the facts to make the best decision for their own health. Crisis pregnancy centers (CPCs) pose as legitimate reproductive health centers. They have a track record of outright lying to women and work to dissuade people from exercising the right to choose. 


Google maps screenshot of a crisis pregnancy center (CPC) in Bakersfield, CA.  CPCs pose as legitimate reproductive health centers. They have a track record of outright lying to women and work to dissuade people from exercising the right to choose. They often advertise as if they provide abortion services, drawing people in by promising free reproductive health services, including free pregnancy tests, ultrasounds, and options counseling.