#IVF Spring

[ivf-spring]

Stress, Lifestyle, and Fertility: The Role of Psychological Factors

The journey to conception is influenced by various factors, including stress and lifestyle choices. Understanding the impact of psychological well-being on fertility is essential for couples seeking to start a family. This article delves into the role of stress and lifestyle in fertility, while also highlighting the expertise of IVF Spring, a reputable brand in Parel, Mumbai. We house a team of experienced infertility specialists, offering comprehensive fertility support.

Stress and Fertility:

Stress can affect the delicate balance of hormones that regulate the reproductive system. Chronic stress may lead to irregular menstrual cycles, ovulation issues, and even infertility. Learning stress management techniques, such as meditation, yoga, or counseling, can positively influence fertility outcomes.

Lifestyle Choices:

Lifestyle factors like diet, exercise, and smoking habits also impact fertility. A balanced diet rich in nutrients supports reproductive health, while regular exercise helps maintain a healthy weight and hormonal balance. Smoking and excessive alcohol consumption can lower fertility rates and harm the health of both partners.

IVF Spring: Your Fertility Partner:

For couples navigating the intricate connection between psychological factors and fertility, IVF Spring in Parel, Mumbai, provides expert guidance. With their team of infertility specialists in Parel, Mumbai, we offer comprehensive fertility assessments. They take into account stress levels, lifestyle choices, and individual circumstances to formulate tailored fertility plans.

The Importance of Holistic Care:

Addressing psychological well-being alongside physical health is vital for fertility success. IVF Spring's holistic approach ensures that patients receive support not only in medical procedures but also in managing stress and adopting healthier lifestyles. This approach can enhance the chances of conception and a healthy pregnancy.

Conclusion:

Psychological factors and lifestyle choices play a significant role in fertility. As stress and lifestyle impact reproductive health, seeking guidance from experts becomes crucial. IVF Spring, a renowned brand in Parel, Mumbai, offers the support of skilled infertility specialists and IVF specialists. By addressing psychological well-being and lifestyle factors alongside medical interventions, couples can take proactive steps toward achieving their dream of parenthood.

Read More: Age and Fertility: How Ovarian Reserve Testing Can Help

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Tom Winter, Jonathan Dienst, Andrew Blankstein, and Viola Flowers at NBC News:

The car bombing outside a California fertility clinic that killed one person and injured four others appears to have been driven by anti-natalist ideology, according to two senior law enforcement officials briefed on the incident. The suspect, identified by authorities as Guy Edward Bartkus, is believed to have detonated the explosive in Saturday’s attack, which claimed his own life. Investigators are focusing on social media posts made by the suspect, including a 30-minute audio recording, which they say support anti-natalist views. While the posts and the recording are still being verified, officials believe they reflect the ideology behind the bombing. Anti-natalism refers to the belief that no one should have children.

The same person may also be linked to an online forum post from earlier this month in which the individual contemplated suicide using an explosive device, the sources said. They are also investigating a YouTube account, under the same moniker, that features videos of experiments with homemade explosives. At a press conference on Sunday, authorities said they believe the suspect was attempting to livestream the attack and are looking into what they call a “manifesto.” The suspect was reportedly dealing with depression and had personal relationship issues, law enforcement officials close to the investigation said. Authorities said he was 25 years old and from Twentynine Palms, where they are executing a search warrant. On Saturday, multiple law enforcement tactical officers were seen outside a Twentynine Palms residence, about an hour away from the targeted fertility clinic. [...] The blast, which the FBI deemed an act of terrorism, took place at 1199 North Indian Canyon Dr. at around 11 a.m., according city officials. The street is home to a number of medical facilities, including the Desert Regional Medical Center. The apparent target of the attack, a fertility clinic called American Reproductive Centers (ARC), confirmed in a Facebook post that a vehicle exploded in the parking lot near its Palm Springs facility.

The bombing of the American Reproductive Centers in Palm Springs, California was motivated by anti-natalism and terrorism.

See Also:

The Guardian: One person dead and five injured after car explodes near IVF facility in Palm Springs

HuffPost: Car Bomb Attack Outside Fertility Clinic Kills One Person

[erebusvincent]

The bomber was right. It’s a shame he wasn’t more successful. IVF needs to banned. Maybe more people will take up the cause.

[woodenstringsandcrickets]

every time they blow up another fertility center or sexual health clinic i always wonder what kind of mental gymnastics the bomber does to convice themselves theyre pro-life

[newslink7com]

Palm Springs Car Bomb Kills 1 Outside American Reproductive Centers—FBI Confirms Terror Attack, IVF Lab and Embryos Safe

A car bomb exploded near a fertility clinic in Palm Springs, killing one and injuring four. The FBI says it was an intentional act of terrorism. The IVF lab and embryos were unharmed.

👉 Read the full story at https://newslink7.com

[scarletsverse]

i am so invested, and this is one of the series i look forward to finishing!

i just love the idea of sorta running away and leaving your past job behind to be with the one you love, too cute. 🥹 this is so soft but so angsty at the same time, i can't wait to read more! (me when i have three in pending)

Silver Springs Part 1

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word count: ~11k

Summary: Wanda tries to leave her mob life behind to start a family with you. 

A/N: This is a crack-ish fic that I wrote because I got bored. Reposting from Ao3 Enjoy.

Warnings: Eventual violence, blood, death, angst, and smut. Not in that order. 

The sound of your alarm blaring makes you roll over with an annoyed groan. You often felt you could never get enough sleep, but lately it’s been particularly bad. You’re typically a solid 8-hour a night person, but you have learned to settle on 6 when you had to, and operate on 5 if the situation called for it.

Last night you’d gotten closer to 5 than 6, but luckily it was a short work day for you since it was Saturday. You also weren’t going to complain when your reason for staying up later involved your beautiful wife. Speaking of your wife, you noticed she wasn’t in bed and you sigh in defeat as you realize she’s already up and working.

You lie in bed for a few minutes to stare out at the spectacular view from your bedroom window. You’re still getting used to living in what is quite possibly your favorite place in the world. You’ve always loved the mountains. You loved the fresh air, the ability to walk for miles without seeing a single road, and the snow. You loved the snow. You couldn’t wait to see it cover everything in sight.

You’re considering a hike later this afternoon when you hear the tell-tale sound of your wife coming up the stairs. Despite only living here for a couple of months, you’ve learned what Wanda sounds like when she walks around the house. Your new modern mountain home was huge with three-levels and way more space than you four needed. The windows practically went to the ceiling in every room, and the rustic touches as well as the outdoor areas made it perfect for you to appreciate the amazing view all around.

“Good morning, detka.”

Keep reading

[pinkpurplesunrises]

Mice in the Dark (Waiting for the Light)

+/-7500 words - the long story - Alexia Putellasx Reader - one of my more prouder works - Angst and Fluff - Happy ending - Pregnancy - Mentions of school shooting (no injured) - Please read with care.

Writer's note: I know I said I was on a break and I promise you... I am, but I finished this today after a full month of writing it and I just wanted to share it because I'm very proud of this one. Makes me excited to share it with you all. I can't promise you that it has no grammar mistakes x

There was something about the way sunlight slipped through the linen curtains in spring. Soft. Golden. Unapologetically honest. It kissed the edge of your cheek, just enough to pull you out of a dream. The first thing you felt was warmth. Not the sunlight. Not even the blanket tangled around your legs. No… it was her.

Alexia.

Her arm was wrapped around your waist with the same quiet protectiveness she carried on the pitch when someone fouled a teammate. Her breathing was slow, steady, a rhythm you’d memorized before marriage. Before IVF. Before last night changed everything.

You didn’t move. Not yet.

Your hand settled over your belly. A gesture so subtle. So new. It still felt like a secret whispered in a chapel.

You were pregnant.

You blinked against the tears stinging the corners of your eyes. One day ago, you and Alexia were standing barefoot in the kitchen. Your thumb trembling on the test. One line. Then two. Then disbelief. Then the sobs. Then that night. The joy. The nervous laughter. The way she kissed your stomach like it was already her favorite thing in the world.

Now here you were. In bed. Her legs tangled with yours. Her skin still flushed from sleep and love.

She stirred.

"Mm," came her voice, husky and low. She didn’t open her eyes yet but her fingers curled against your stomach, instinctively, protectively. "Still here?"

You smiled, a soft sound leaving your throat. "Where else would I go?"

Her eyes cracked open. Lashes still heavy with sleep. "Just checking," she whispered. Then her hand moved. Barely a few inches. And she cupped the side of your belly. She hadn't stopped doing that since last night. Like maybe touching you made it real.

"Still feels unreal," you admitted.

Alexia leaned in, brushing her lips over your shoulder. "It’s real. I keep waking up to make sure you're still beside me. You always are. Now there’s... someone else, too."

A small silence fell over the room. Not the kind that suffocates. One that breathes. That expands.

You turned to face her, brushing a strand of sunlit hair from her face. "You’re going to be such a good mamá."

A smile cracked across her lips, but it was wobbly. Eyes glistening. She didn’t speak for a moment. Just reached to press her forehead to yours.

"I'm terrified," she whispered.

"Me too."

"But I want this more than anything."

You nodded. "Me too."

The alarm buzzed faintly from her nightstand. A soft, vibrating hum. Alexia groaned and reached over to kill it. "Training. Shit."

You let your head fall back onto the pillow. "Do you have to be a football icon every day?"

She grinned, pulling herself up with a stretch. "Yes. Otherwise the world might collapse."

You reached out and slapped her thigh playfully. "Go save the world, Capitana."

Alexia stood in the doorway a minute later. Pulling her jacket on. Her hair was still damp from the quick shower. Her gym bag slung over one shoulder.

She looked back at you.

And it was the kind of look that meant something. Like maybe she’d already sensed the world was tilting. That time was about to split into before and after.

"I love you," she said. Not in a rushed way. In a way that planted its roots.

"I love you more," you replied, smiling.

She gave you that heart-splitting smirk before closing the door behind her.

And you were alone. For the last time, you’d realize later, in the before.

You moved through the morning in that strange, glowing fog that comes with good news and not enough sleep. Your hand kept brushing over your stomach. Absentmindedly. Protectively. Like your body already knew there was something precious inside.

Shower. Clothes. Hair pulled back. A slice of toast half-eaten on the way out of the kitchen.

You were halfway through pouring your travel mug of coffee when your phone buzzed, screen lighting up with Alexia 💜. Right on time. She always called when she pulled into the training ground. Like clockwork.

You could picture her perfectly. One hand on the wheel. A water bottle tucked between her thighs. That ridiculously big sunglasses collection rotating daily. Today, you guessed the tortoiseshell ones.

You slid your thumb across the screen. “Hey, superstar.”

“Hola, profesora,” came her voice, warm and playful with that familiar Catalan curl. “Did you eat?”

“Part of a toast,” you said, grabbing your bag and swinging it over your shoulder. “Half the peanut butter is on my shirt now, so... yes?”

She laughed. It was soft and breathy and made your chest hurt in that nice stupid way.

“You really need a personal chef. Or a wife who’s home in the mornings.”

You locked the front door behind you. “I’ve heard rumors I have one. But she’s too busy winning Ballon d’Ors to make me eggs.”

Alexia sighed dramatically through the phone. “Such a hard life for you.”

You grinned, walking down the street toward your car. “You’re not wrong. Anyway… how’s your knee?”

“Good. Sore in the right way. I think they’ll let me push a little harder today.”

“Pobrecita,” you said, mock sympathy in your tone. “All that running around for Spain and Barça... and still no gold star sticker from me.”

“You’re lucky you’re pregnant,” she warned, teasing. “Otherwise I’d come over there and…”

“Miss Putellas,” you cut in, unlocking your car with a beep, “there are children present.”

Alexia laughed again, and God, you’d bottle that sound if you could. You slid into the driver’s seat, adjusting your mirror like you hadn’t done it the same way a hundred times before.

“Okay,” she said, and you could hear her engine click off. “I’m parked.”

“Which means you’re about to be ten minutes late, like always.”

“I’m worth the fine,” she replied. “I just wanted to hear your voice. That’s all.”

You paused. Just for a second. Because it was such a her thing to say. Effortless. Sentimental. Quietly intense.

“Well,” you whispered, holding the phone a little closer to your ear. “You’ve got it. Every day.”

Neither of you spoke for a beat.

Then she cleared her throat. “Alright. Go teach small humans. Don’t let them bully you.”

“They’re five, Ale.”

“Even worse. They bite.”

You laughed. “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

The call ended with a soft click, and the silence after felt just a little too still. Like the calm before the swell of something coming.

You placed a hand over your belly and closed your eyes.

Just for a second.

Then you turned the key in the ignition and started your drive to school. Completely unaware that those would be the last moments you’d ever know as ordinary.

The locker room was already humming when Alexia walked in. Earbuds still in. Her hoodie sleeves pushd halfway up her forearms. She dropped her bag at her usual spot. Tucked between the rows where the sun hit the floor just right in the late mornings.

Mapi was stretched out on the bench like she owned the place, boot halfway on, phone in hand.

“You’re glowing,” she said without looking up.

Alexia paused, one eyebrow raised. “Excuse me?”

Mapi smirked. “You’ve got that look. Like you just committed a murder and got away with it. Or like you’re very in love.”

Alexia rolled her eyes and pulled her hoodie off. “Maybe I just slept for eight hours, por fin.”

“Nope,” Kika said from across the room, tying her hair up. “It’s a suspicious glow. Suspicious and maternal.”

Alexia froze for half a second. Just a flicker. She was careful. Always had been. She recovered quickly, tossing her hoodie into her locker. “What does that even mean?”

Mapi leaned in, eyes narrowing like she was trying to read her captain’s mind. “You tell us, mamá.”

Alexia blinked. “I swear to God…’’

“Okay, okay!” Mapi held her hands up, laughing. “I’m just saying, you’ve had this little... vibe lately. All soft and dreamy. It's giving... lullabies.”

“I will kick your shin,” Alexia warned, but her mouth twitched at the corners.

Kika, now grinning wide, joined the interrogation. “So what are you naming the baby?”

“What baby?!”

“See?” Mapi said, turning to Kika with mock awe. “That’s exactly what someone who’s hiding a baby would say.”

“I’m not hiding anything,” Alexia lied, which was technically true. She wasn’t hiding. Just… holding. Holding something delicate and new and way too sacred to throw into the locker room chaos just yet. It was still their secret. Hers and yours. Your tiny miracle.

“I think it should be something regal,” Kika said, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “Something like… Victoria. Or Reina.”

“You’re out of your minds,” Alexia muttered, tugging on her training shirt.

Mapi tilted her head. “You and the missus doing okay?”

That stopped her, just for a breath. She nodded, a soft smile tugging at her lips without permission. “Yeah. She’s good. Teaching today.”

“Bet she’s got those kids doing Shakespeare and yoga by now,” Mapi joked.

Alexia snorted. “She teaches pre-K, not a spiritual arts retreat.”

“Same thing,” Kika chimed in. “Tiny humans with big feelings.”

Alexia hesitated, her fingers brushing the edge of the locker door. “Yeah. She said one of them gave her a sticker yesterday for ‘being kind.’ Made her cry.”

“Wait… she cried?” Mapi said. “I thought you were the emotional one.”

Alexia laughed under her breath. “We take turns.”

There was a lull then… just for a moment… where someone cranked up the music and the energy shifted to cleats, water bottles, stretching routines.

But Alexia lingered in that space. That little pause in the noise. Thinking about the sticker. Your laugh through the phone. The way you whispered “we’re really doing this” last night like you were afraid someone would hear and take it back.

She exhaled slowly.

Training waited. Life was rolling on. But beneath her skin, just below the surface, something was shifting.

And she was starting to feel like the world was holding its breath.

The teachers' lounge always smelled faintly like burnt espresso and dry-erase markers. No matter how many air fresheners they plugged into the wall.

You sat at the small round table by the window. A half-full mug warming your hands. Surrounded by the soft murmur of your colleagues’ chatter.

“Another cookie?” Marta asked, holding the plate out with a smile.

You shook your head gently, fingers tightening around your cup. “Thanks, but I’m really not hungry this morning.”

Your voice was soft but firm.

There was a pause.

Then one of them, Lucia, looked at you a little too closely. A flicker of something unspoken passing in her eyes. Maybe she thought you were stressed. Or maybe she was just being a mom and sensing when something was off.

“Are you okay?” she asked quietly.

You smiled carefully. “Just a bit of off this morning, I think. Nothing serious.”

No one asked more. The room went back to light chatter about the school play, PTA meetings, and a funny story about a kid who accidentally glued his shoes to the floor.

You took a small sip of your coffee. Trying to ignore the flutter in your stomach.

After a few minutes, you stood, stretching out your legs. Time to set up for the day.

The classroom was a riot of color: tiny chairs, alphabet posters, and half-finished crayon drawings pinned to the walls. You arranged the cubbies, lined up the picture books and taped the day’s schedule on the board. Circle time. Story. Snack. Nap. And art.

Everything felt calm. Normal.

Almost too calm.

You glanced out the window near the door.

That’s when you saw him.

A small teenage boy, maybe sixteen or seventeen. Standing just outside the school gate. He wasn’t moving. Just watching. His hoodie was pulled low. Face shadowed. But his eyes caught the light for just a second. Watching.

You blinked.

He disappeared behind a parked car almost instantly, like he’d never been there.

Your heart ticked a little faster.

But you told yourself it was nothing. Just some kid waiting for a friend or maybe lost on his way home.

You shook your head and turned back to the classroom.

Focus.

Today was supposed to be normal.

The ball skipped off her boot awkwardly. Rolling too far left. Not a complete miss, but enough to break the rhythm of the drill.

She cursed under her breath.

Another pass. Too heavy.

A third… late.

A few glances were cast her way, but no one said anything. This was Alexia Putellas. Off days weren’t her brand.

But she felt it. The dissonance. The way her thoughts wouldn’t stay where they belonged. They kept drifting. To your voice on the phone. To your morning sickness. To the way your voice hesitated before you said you were okay.

She didn’t like that hesitation.

"Hola," Irene said, jogging up beside her after the last sequence. Her tone was light but her eyes were shar. Watching. Knowing. "You’re off today. Want to talk about it?"

Alexia wiped her forehead with her sleeve, exhaling hard. “Just tired.”

Irene tilted her head. “Tired… or thinking?”

Alexia gave a faint smile. “When am I not thinking?”

They started walking toward the sidelines. Irene didn’t push. She never did. That’s what made her good at reading between the lines.

"Mapi and Kika being Mapi and Kika again?" Irene asked casually, a grin playing on her lips.

Alexia huffed a laugh. “They were throwing baby names at me.”

Irene’s brow lifted slightly. “Oh?”

“Total coincidence,” Alexia said quickly, but her voice gave too much away. “They don’t know. I didn’t tell them.”

Irene nodded slowly. “Got it.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then… gently… “You’re thinking about the last time, aren’t you?”

Alexia’s breath caught.

The last time. The other times. The quiet, negative tests. The hopes that turned into whispered apologies and late-night tears in her hoodie. You saying, “Next time,” even when your voice trembled. Her nodding, even when it felt like a lie.

“A little,” she admitted.

“It’s okay to still feel it,” Irene said. “That was a lot. For both of you.”

Alexia nodded. “I just… I thought it would go away, you know? The fear. But now that it’s real… this time it’s real… and I still feel like if I breathe too loud, it’ll vanish.”

Irene reached out, gently bumping her arm. “It won’t vanish. You two have fought too hard for this one.”

Alexia looked down at the grass. Then back toward the field. Where the rest of the team was still running through drills.

She swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

Irene watched her for a second. “You want to go again or sit one out?”

Alexia clenched her jaw, nodded toward the field. “I’m good.”

She jogged back out, but her steps felt slower, heavier.

In the back of her mind, something was tugging at her. A vague, gnawing unease she couldn’t place.

The drill restarted. Cones. Short passes. One-two touch.

She forced herself into focus. Eyes up, body moving. Trust the muscle memory.

Then… buzz.

Her wrist buzzed faintly beneath the band of her GPS tracker.

Phone in her locker.

A message had come in.

She didn’t think much of it, but when they rotated stations, she cut across the pitch and jogged toward the sideline. Coach was shouting something. Correcting a pass. Waving an arm. But her eyes were already on the edge of her locker.

She unlocked it fast, thumb swiping, screen lighting up.

It was from you.

A photo.

Bathroom mirror. Fluorescent lighting. That soft, faded sweater she always told you looked like a blanket. Your hair was pulled back, face clean, tired in a beautiful way that knocked the air out of her lungs.

Your hand was resting gently over your stomach.

Nothing to show. No change. Just skin and cotton and a look in your eyes that made her whole body ache.

The caption read:

"Still invisible, but ours. First day being her mami at school.❤️"

Alexia didn’t even realize she was smiling until her cheeks hurt.

Her thumb hovered for a second, then tapped back.

She didn’t say anything.

Just sent a heart. Then another. Then the third one turned gold. The only emoji she ever saved for you. One for each of you now.

She stared at the photo a little longer, zoning out. Around her, the locker room sounds filtered in: a dropped cleat, laughter from someone near the showers, the rattle of a water bottle hitting the ground.

The unease was still there, faint. But quieter now.

For a second, she let herself believe that maybe that was all it was.

Maybe her heart was just stretching to make room.

By the time the first little sneakers came padding down the hallway, your classroom was ready. Soft music playing from the corner speaker. Crayons laid out. Books stacked neatly. Sunlight warming the animal rug near the board.

You had exactly four minutes of peace before the chaos began.

“Señorita!” Mateo barreled in first. Backpack half open. Coat trailing behind him like a cape.

“Buenos días, Mateo,” you said, catching the runaway coat mid-air.

More voices echoed behind him. Luna with her braids bouncing, Diego still half-asleep and clutching a juice box. Sofia dragging a stuffed dolphin and a shoebox labeled ‘volcano project’.

It always started like this. Small. Loud bodies. Shoelaces untied. Mismatched socks. Someone already tattling.

But it grounded you. Gave you something solid to hold onto.

You clapped gently. “Circle time, everyone. Come sit. Show me your best criss-cross applesauce!”

There was a bit of squirming. Shuffling. A shoe being removed for no reason at all. But eventually, your class formed its uneven, rainbow-colored circle of small humans. All looking at you with sticky hands and wide eyes.

You smiled, folding your legs beneath you.

“So,” you began, “Who wants to share something from their weekend?”

Sofia’s hand shot up. “I got to feed a goat and it licked my elbow!”

“Ew,” muttered Diego, clearly impressed.

Luna raised her hand politely. “We went to visit my abuela and I made soup. Real soup. With vegetables.”

You nodded. “That sounds amazing. You’re a chef now.”

Then Amelia, your tiniest, most serious child, lifted her hand and waited until you called her name with mock formality.

“Yes, Miss Amelia?”

Her face lit up. “I got surprised! I’m going to have a baby brother! He’s in my mommy’s tummy right now. I don’t know how he got there.”

A few giggles broke out, and you laughed with them. Right before your throat closed up.

Just like that.

You blinked, hard.

It wasn’t even the sentence. It was the way she said it. So proud. So sure. Like the world was good and magic was real and babies just arrived because you hoped hard enough.

And suddenly your chest was aching. Your vision blurred.

You tried to swallow it down, but a single, hot tear slipped out anyway. Then another.

“Oh no!” Mateo gasped. “She’s broken!”

“I think she’s sad about the soup,” Diego whispered to Luna.

“I’m okay,” you said quickly, pressing the heel of your palm to your cheek and forcing a smile. “I’m okay, chicos. Just a little sleepy.”

“Do you miss your mommy?” Amelia asked with wide eyes.

You nodded seriously. “All the time.”

The children leaned in, worried but still entranced. Small hands hovering like they wanted to fix it.

“Don’t cry,” said Sofia, crawling over and gently patting your knee. “We can share our snack with you.”

That almost broke you again.

You sniffed, laughed through it. “Thank you. I think I’ll be alright now.”

And just like that, they moved on. Distracted by a loose crayon or someone’s sparkly shoelaces.

You stood slowly, brushing your hands on your skirt, letting the moment pass.

They couldn’t know yet. It was too soon. Too fragile.

But a part of you wished they could.

Because somehow, their little hearts knew exactly how to hold yours.

The training session ended with sweat on her skin and that familiar burn in her legs.

She showered quickly. Towel slung around her shoulders. Hair damp and curling at the edges. There was a team meeting scheduled in the video room. Something light today. Old match footage. Some laughs. Maybe some lessons buried in the rewind.

The room was already half full when she walked in. The lights dimmed low. Screen paused mid-action on a frame from last season. Mapi and Kika were curled into one chair like teenagers at a sleepover. Whispering something and snorting laughter before looking up and right at her.

Alexia narrowed her eyes instantly. “What.”

Mapi grinned too wide. “Nadaaa.”

Kika held up her phone like it was proof. “Did you see? Sam and Kristie posted… baby incoming.”

Alexia’s heart did a tiny skip.

“Oh,” she said, carefully neutral.

“They look so happy,” Mapi chimed in. “Honestly, goals.”

“They’ve been quiet for a while,” Kika added. “Probably waiting for the first trimester to pass.”

Mapi gave Alexia a not-so-subtle side eye. “Sound familiar?”

Alexia gave her a look, one brow raised. “You two are bored, aren’t you?”

“Painfully,” Kika said, flopping back in her chair. “And you give off such mystery energy. We just want to crack the code.”

Irene slid into the seat beside Alexia with her water bottle and muttered under her breath, “They're relentless today. Should’ve brought holy water.”

Alexia huffed a laugh. “You’re not helping.”

“Wasn’t trying to.”

The coaches entered, and the screen resumed with match footage. Barcelona vs Atlético. Midfield control clips, ball recoveries, positioning, angles. Alexia leaned forward, chin in her hand, trying to settle her focus.

She was watching herself, months ago. Moving like she always moved. Fluid. Calculating. Dominant. But now, in this moment, something inside her felt distant from that version. Off-center.

“Alexia,” said one of the assistants, pausing the frame. “See this hold you made here? Can you talk through what you were reading?”

She nodded slowly. “The winger was too wide, their pivot was delayed. I waited for her to commit so I could cut both lanes at once. But I knew if I stepped too early, I’d leave Claudia exposed.”

The coach nodded, pleased. “Exactly.”

Another voice: “God, it’s like your brain is GPS,” someone muttered in admiration.

Kika leaned over and whispered, “Imagine that baby gets your vision. And her eyes.”

Alexia stared at the screen a moment too long before blinking out of it. “You’re worse than the media,” she said, not unkindly.

But inside, something shifted.

That strange tug again.

A thread of unease, like the day was just slightly tilted.

Not wrong.

Not yet.

Just… waiting.

Her phone buzzed quietly in her pocket.

She pulled it out quickly, careful not to interrupt the meeting.

A message from you.

“The small humans arrived safe and sound. Putting my phone away now… no bites yet. ❤️”

She smiled softly, the warmth spreading in her chest like a quiet sunbeam.

Her thumb hovered, then tapped a quick reply: “Good. Hold it down, mami.”

She slipped the phone back into her pocket.

Around her, the discussion continued, but that little message was a momentary anchor.

That strange tug inside her faded… just a little… replaced by the thought of you, in your classroom, steady and brave.

The classroom was buzzing with tiny voices and laughter. Crayons scraping paper. Shoes tapping the floor. When the first sound broke through the hum.

Pop.

At first, you froze.

Pop.

Then…

Pop. Pop.

Shots.

Your heart stopped.

For a second, the world was just a loud, cracking echo, too close, too real.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to breathe.

You looked at the kids. Their faces, innocent and wide, didn’t understand.

“Okay, everyone,” you said, voice calm but low. “We’re going to play a game. It’s called ‘The Quietest Animals.’ Who can be the quietest animal?”

Diego’s eyebrows furrowed. “Like a mouse?”

“Yes,” you whispered. “Mice don’t make any noise at all. We’re mice.”

Little hands pressed to their mouths.

You moved quickly, herding them behind the tables, dimming the lights with a flick of the switch.

You crouched low, pulling Sofia close. “We’re going to hide under the tables now, okay?”

The kids obeyed, some giggling nervously, others wide-eyed but silent.

Your fingers trembled as you pulled out your phone.

Hands shaking, you dialed.

No answer.

You tried again.

Your breath caught when you heard the faint crackle of a voice, static, but real.

You whispered, “There’s an emergency at the school. Shots have been fired. We need help immediately.”

You clicked the phone off, heart pounding so hard you feared they’d hear it.

You looked around.

Mateo was clutching his jacket, eyes squeezed shut.

Amelia was frozen, the smallest body shaking.

You swallowed the scream in your throat and smiled at them.

“We’re brave mice,” you said, voice steady. “The bravest.”

But inside, every part of you was terrified.

The room was quiet again after the match footage paused. A pause neither tactical nor deliberate. Just the sort of lull that settled in when the team was waiting for something to shift.

Alexia’s thoughts were miles away, swimming between the soft warmth of your message and the nagging, persistent tug of unease that wouldn’t quite fade.

Suddenly, a sharp tap on her shoulder broke through the fog.

“Alexia? Coach wants to see you outside.”

She blinked, then nodded, following the assistant out of the dim room and into the bright, sterile hallway.

Her phone buzzed again as she walked, but she ignored it.

By the time she reached the exit, her heart was a drum in her chest.

And then…

She froze.

There, standing just beyond the doorway, was her mother.

Her face was pale, eyes wide and glassy.

“Mamá?” Alexia’s voice caught on the question.

Her mother swallowed hard, taking a small step forward.

“Something’s happened at the school.”

Alexia’s breath hitched.

“Is it…?”

Her mother nodded, voice trembling, “There’s been a shooting. They’re saying lockdown. Police are there. We don’t know much, but I thought you should know. I’m so sorry, Alexia.”

Her knees threatened to buckle.

“Where’s… where’s y/n?” Her voice cracked, the fear raw and wild.

“She’s inside. They say the kids are hiding. The teachers too.”

Alexia’s hands curled into fists.

“Can I go? I have to…”

“Wait,” her mother said firmly. “I’ll come with you.”

The urgency in her mother’s voice was a lifeline and a weight.

Alexia grabbed her jacket, heart pounding louder than her footsteps.

Together, they raced through the corridors, her mind spinning faster than her feet.

Every second stretched impossibly long.

Her phone buzzed again… she dared a glance.

Messages, unanswered calls.

She tried calling you.

Her breath hitched.

“Please be okay,” she whispered to herself. Panic squeezing her throat.

Outside, the sky was the soft blue of a peaceful day. Mocking her turmoil.

But the streets were alive with flashing lights, sirens wailing like cries tearing through the calm.

They crossed the last block, and there it was. The school.

The chaos was immediate. Police cars. Paramedics. Frantic parents huddled in small groups. Teachers consoling children. The distant murmur of officials giving instructions.

Alexia’s mother squeezed her arm.

“Stay close,” she said.

Alexia forced herself to steady her breathing.

She pulled her phone out again and sent a quick message.

“I’m coming. Hold on.”

Then she looked up, eyes searching the crowd, searching for you.

Her world was crashing down, but she had to be strong.

For you.

For the children.

For the life you were just beginning to build.

The crowd outside the school was thick with anxiety and murmurs, but Alexia’s sharp eyes caught something that made her heart lurch.

A small group of parents were gathered near the entrance, clustered close around a handful of children. The names on their lips were painfully familiar.

“Mateo?” she heard one parent ask gently.

The boy, cheeks flushed from nerves, nodded eagerly.

“We played mice,” Mateo said, voice small but proud. “We were so quiet. Like real mice.”

Alexia’s breath caught.

She pushed through the crowd. her heart pounding harder with each step.

“Where’s the teacher? Where’s the señorita?”

Mateo looked up, blinking at her like she was a sudden sunbeam.

“Miss y/n?” he answered, voice trembling. “She’s still inside. We were hiding. Luna didn’t want to stop playing the mice game even when they said we could go with help.”

Alexia’s throat tightened.

A sharp sob broke free before she could stop it.

She wrapped her arms tightly around her mother, who held her just as fiercely.

“I have to tell you something,” Alexia whispered through the tears. “… she’s pregnant. We found out yesterday.”

Her mother’s eyes widened, a mixture of awe and heartbreak flooding her expression.

“This can’t be happening.”

Alexia shook her head, burying her face in her mother’s shoulder.

“It’s so fragile, mamá. So new. We were just… starting.”

Her sobs shook her body.

The world was breaking apart around her. And all she could do was hold on.

The room was still dim, shadows stretching long across the floor as the small bodies huddled beneath tables.

Luna’s hand found yours, trembling slightly.

Her eyes were wide and glassy, lost in a sea of fear you couldn’t reach with words. Only with the softest touch.

You leaned down, voice barely more than a whisper.

“Luna, remember our game?”

She nodded slowly, squeezing your hand back.

“Mice don’t just stay in one place forever,” you said carefully. “Sometimes, when the place isn’t safe anymore… they move. They find new homes where they can be quiet and safe.”

Luna’s breath hitched.

“Do you think we can be like the mice?”

You smiled gently, brushing a stray strand of hair from her forehead.

“Yes. And right now, the mice need to be brave and move somewhere safe.”

Her small hand squeezed yours again, steadier this time.

"It's time to move, little mouse."

Alexia’s eyes were fixed on the scene unfolding just a few feet away.

A teenage boy, hands cuffed behind his back, was being led past the barricade by a calm but firm emergency responder.

The boy’s face was pale. Eyes downcast. The weight of everything pressing down on him.

Alexia’s breath hitched.

The responder caught her gaze and offered a tired but steady nod.

“No one was hurt,” he said quietly, as if the words needed repeating. “Just holes in the ceiling and scared kids. They’re waiting on two more to come out.”

Alexia swallowed hard, feeling like the air had been knocked from her lungs.

She squeezed her mother’s hand, eyes scanning the doorway, desperate for any sign.

Minutes stretched. Agonizing and endless.

Then, the school doors opened.

You appeared first.

Your face was pale, makeup smudged from tears you didn’t want to show, shoulders tense but trying to hold steady.

Behind you... the last child. Breathless and clutching a small backpack. Ran full tilt toward waiting parents, who swept her up into a trembling embrace.

Alexia’s heart broke at the sight.

You started to move forward but when your eyes met hers across the crowd. Verything crumbled.

The brave facade shattered.

You broke down, sobbing openly now, the weight of the day crashing through every line of your body.

Alexia was there instantly. Closing the distance between you.

Her arms wrapped around you. Fierce and protective.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, voice rough with emotion. “You’re safe now. You’re here.”

You clung to her, letting yourself fall apart in the only place that felt like home.

Around you, the noise of sirens, murmurs, and relief swirled. But all that mattered was the warmth of her hold, the steady beat of her heart against yours.

Together, you let the tears fall.

Because sometimes, even the strongest need to be broken. To be held. And to heal.

Weeks had passed since that day. The day that shattered the fragile bubble you and Alexia had been building together.

Some mornings, the world felt calm, the light spilling through the curtains like a promise.

Other mornings, you woke gasping. Heart pounding like it was still trapped in that classroom. The echo of gunshots ringing sharp behind your closed eyelids.

Tonight was one of those nights.

You woke in a cold sweat. Breath shallow and rapid.

Before panic could fully claim you, you felt it. Warm arms sliding around your waist, pulling you close.

Alexia’s voice was low and steady. A soft anchor in the storm.

“Hey, hey… it’s okay. I’m here.”

You curled into her. The steady beat of her heart a balm to your racing mind.

She shifted, settling beside you on the bed. Careful and sure. Fingers tracing slow circles on your back.

“I’m not gone,” she murmured.

You squeezed your eyes shut. Trying to let the fear slip away.

“I’m right here.”

Her hands moved to your belly. Gentle but certain.

You lifted your shirt a little. Showing her the soft small curve that was just beginning to show. The secret growing life inside you.

“Look,” you whispered, voice still shaky. “Our baby’s okay.”

Alexia’s smile was radiant. Her fingers tracing the line of your bump like it was the most precious thing in the world.

“All good so far,” she said softly. “You’ve been amazing.”

You let out a shaky breath.

“We’re going to tell the team tomorrow,” you said.

Alexia’s eyes lit up. “Finally.”

You nodded, a small smile breaking through the lingering shadows.

“They deserve to know.”

Alexia chuckled softly. Brushing a stray hair from your forehead.

“We’ll make it a proper celebration. Maybe Mapi and Kika will start the baby-name guessing games again… only this time, we can join in.”

You smiled, feeling a flicker of lightness.

The fear wasn’t gone. Some nights it still whispered in the dark corners of your mind.

But here, wrapped in Alexia’s arms, you felt something else too.

Hope.

Love.

The quiet certainty that you weren’t alone.

Alexia leaned in. Pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

“We’ll get through this. Together.”

And in that moment… it was enough.

The morning sun spilled gently through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room.

Alexia was already awake, her hands busy but gentl. Brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, tracing lazy circles on your arm.

You smiled, eyes half-closed. Feeling the warmth of her touch like the safest place on earth.

“Trying to spoil me, huh?” you teased, voice still thick with sleep.

She grinned, a playful sparkle lighting her eyes.

“Maybe,” she said, leaning in to press a soft kiss just below your jaw. “You deserve it.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugged at your lips.

“Just don’t expect me to return the favor,” you warned.

Alexia laughed. A deep, warm sound that filled the room.

“Oh, I’m counting on it.”

She helped you sit up slowly, fingers steady as you stretched, the little bump already beginning to show.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, concern threading through her usual lightness.

“Better,” you said. “Thanks to you.”

Alexia’s hand found yours, squeezing it gently.

“We’ve got this. Today’s just another step.”

You squeezed back, teasing now more confident.

“Yeah, but don’t get too cocky... remember who’s carrying the tiny human in there.”

She mock-gasps, placing a hand dramatically over her heart.

“I’m just the supportive one.”

You laughed, feeling the tension of the past weeks loosen just a little.

Breakfast was slow, filled with quiet chatter and soft touches.

Alexia made you your favorite tea, while you caught her stealing bites of your toast when she thought you weren’t looking.

The morning felt like a return to something familiar... a gentle reminder of who you were together, before everything changed.

When it was time to get ready, Alexia kissed your forehead.

“Ready to tell them?”

You nodded, heart fluttering with nerves and hope.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

And as she helped you slip into a comfortable sweater that hugged your belly just right. You knew you wouldn’t face the day alone.

Not ever.

The car hummed softly as Alexia drove toward the training ground, the morning light streaming through the windows in gentle streaks.

You settled into the passenger seat, fingers tracing lazy circles on your belly.

“So,” you began, a teasing edge to your voice, “how long do you think it’ll take before Mapi and Kika start pestering us about baby names?”

Alexia chuckled, glancing over with a grin. “Five minutes, tops. Maybe even less.”

You laughed softly. “They’re going to turn the whole locker room into a baby shower planning committee."

“Probably. And you know Kika will have a whole spreadsheet ready.”

You shook your head, amused. “I swear, these footballers plan everything.”

Alexia’s smile softened. “Well, it’s nice to have something fun to look forward to, right?”

You nodded, warmth spreading through your chest. “Yeah. It feels… hopeful.”

She reached over, squeezing your hand gently. “That’s what we need.”

You let your fingers intertwine with hers. Comforted by the familiar touch.

The radio played softly, a song you both loved. Something light. Something simple.

You hummed along quietly.

Alexia smiled, her eyes on the road but her heart clearly with you.

After a pause, you asked, “Are you nervous? About telling them?”

She shrugged, her grin mischievous. “I’m more nervous about whether they’ll start calling me ‘baby mama’ right away.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Knowing them? That’ll be immediate.”

Alexia’s eyes sparkled. “Great. Just what I need.”

You smiled. Leaning back. Feeling the steady rhythm of the car and the promise of the day ahead.

Whatever came next, you’d face it together.

As the car came to a gentle stop outside the training ground, you turned toward Alexia, heart pounding a little faster.

The world outside felt heavy with expectation, but in the quiet space between you two, everything slowed.

You reached up. Pressing your forehead gently against hers. Eyes fluttering closed.

Her breath mingled with yours.

Softly. Tenderly, you kissed her.

No words needed. Just the warmth of lips meeting, a promise, a comfort, a shared strength.

When you pulled back, Alexia’s smile was soft and full of love.

“We’ve got this,” she whispered.

You nodded, feeling braver already.

Hand in hand, you stepped out of the car. Together.

The hallway leading into the training center buzzed with soft chatter, the shuffle of cleats, laughter echoing off the walls.

As soon as you and Alexia stepped in, you felt it. That shift in energy, subtle but unmistakable.

A few heads turned.

“Eh! Finally decided to show up!” Mapi called from down the corridor. Leaning lazily against the locker room door. Arms crossed. Grinning like she knew something already.

You smiled, half-hidden behind Alexia.

“She made me toast,” Alexia called back, completely deadpan. “I had no choice.”

Kika popped her head out next, face bright. “You always have a choice. Toast is not an excuse... unless it’s avocado toast with extra drama.”

“I am the drama,” you said dryly.

They laughed, pulling you both into the orbit of their usual teasing whirlwind.

Inside the locker room, Irene greeted you with a soft hug. She had been more quiet lately. Still a little haunted by the day she saw Alexia’s world crack. And now maybe she saw the small pieces being placed gently back together.

You sat carefully on the small bench against the far wall. Letting Alexia take off her jacket for you. The gesture was simple but enough to make Mapi’s eyebrows shoot up.

“What is this?” she said slowly, theatrically. “She undresses her now? Are we in royal court?”

Alexia smirked. “Always have, actually. She just usually yells at me to do it faster.”

The room burst into laughter, but your cheeks flushed with heat. Alexia shot you a wink and leaned down, whispering, “I got you.”

You exhaled softly, heart still a little nervous despite the warmth.

It was Alexia who stood tall, clearing her throat.

“Okay. So... we wanted to tell you something.”

Everyone went still in that split second. Wide-eyed, half-expecting a joke, or maybe not quite believing the shift in tone.

You stood up slowly beside her. Placing one hand instinctively on your growing belly. Now noticeable in the fitted stretch of your sweater.

Kika gasped. “No.”

Mapi’s eyes widened. “NO.”

Alexia beamed. “Yes.”

There was a moment of stunned silence.

Then chaos.

Squeals. Screams. Foot stomps. Someone threw a training bib in the air.

Kika was already crying.

Mapi looked between the two of you like she’d been personally betrayed by not knowing sooner. “Are you kidding me?! I knew something was weird the last few weeks. And when you snapped at me for stealing your fries? I knew it.”

You were laughing and crying now. Wrapped in a blur of hugs and soft hands touching your stomach like it was already sacred.

Irene stepped forward last. Quieter than the rest. She touched Alexia’s shoulder. Then yours.

“I’m really happy for you,” she said sincerely, eyes lingering a moment longer on the way your hand rested over your belly.

The laughter died down into warm chatter. Plans already forming. Baby clothes, names, future birthdays on the pitch.

You sat back down, overwhelmed but glowing, as Alexia slid onto the bench beside you.

She reached for your hand under the fold of your sweater, her thumb brushing gently over your skin.

“You did good,” she whispered.

You smiled, eyes still a little glassy. “We did.”

And for the first time in a long time, the future didn’t feel so far away. It felt right here... growing... steady and surrounded by love.

The room was quiet in that special kind of way hospitals hold.

Not silent, not still... just hushed. Reverent. Alive with the smallest sounds. The slow rhythm of the monitors. The soft rustle of blankets. The quiet breath of a newborn cradled against your chest.

You didn’t even realize you were crying until you felt Alexia’s fingers brush a tear from your cheek.

“You’re doing it again,” she whispered with a small, tired smile. Her voice was raw from joy and worry and no sleep, but softer than anything you’d ever known.

You looked down at the little girl sleeping in your arms. Skin like velvet. A head full of dark wisps. The smallest sigh slipping from her lips.

“I just… can’t believe she’s real,” you murmured, voice trembling. “After everything.”

Alexia leaned in and kissed the top of your head, one hand resting gently on your shoulder. “She’s here. And you were so strong.”

“She has your eyes,” you said.

Alexia looked down and grinned. “She already judges like me too.”

You laughed, exhausted and glowing.

Then came a soft knock at the door.

You sat up a little straighter. Brushing your thumb over your daughter’s cheek as Alexia moved to open it.

The moment the door cracked open, a cluster of tiny voices and footsteps spilled into the room like sunshine.

“Ms.!” one of them squealed.

Your heart swelled.

It was your class. Yur sweet, brave 4- and 5-year-olds—now being carefully herded in by two of your colleagues. Their little faces were a mix of awe and excitement, like they were stepping into a fairy tale.

“Only quiet voices,” one teacher reminded gently, finger to her lips.

Luna was the first to break ranks. Holding something behind her back with a shy smile.

“We brought you something,” she said, inching closer to the bed.

You adjusted the baby slightly and smiled down at her. Heart aching in the best way.

Luna pulled her gift out and held it up proudly.

A small, grey plush mouse.

“Well,” she said with a shrug, “just in case she wants to play mice too.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Alexia turned away for a second. Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

You took the mouse and cradled it next to your daughter, who made a tiny sound and blinked once, slowly.

“She’s going to love it,” you whispered.

The kids gathered around the bed, staying back just enough but brimming with curiosity. A few waved shyly. One asked if the baby had a name yet.

“She does,” you said, glancing at Alexia, whose hand found yours again.

“Her name is Elena.”

They all said it like it was magic. Elena.

The room felt so full.

Not just of people, but of something larger. Something that spanned months of fear and pain and healing. Something soft and whole.

Love.

Alexia kissed your temple again and leaned in close.

“See?” she whispered. “Little mice and all.”

You smiled, tears in your eyes. Your daughter pressed against your heartbeat. The tiny mouse plush tucked gently beside her.

It wasn’t the world you imagined before everything changed.

It was better.

Because it was yours.

Together.

Always.

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

Writer's note: I really hope that you liked this one 🥺 please let me know what you think! put a lot of work in it. Right now I won't be able to write for a week because I really need to break and I should hold on to it. But after that I will of course upload again.

[gemmafuckingscout]

severance yuri/femslash fanfic recs

i've been seeing other severance fic rec posts so i'm posting my own! omitting tags to save space so please make sure to check them before reading! fics with an asterisk are ao3 locked <3

The Stone by @whoreiorcats, Gemma/Helena, 19.9k words (in progress), Explicit

Gemma has escaped, but Mark is left behind. She finds herself inexplicably drawn to the very woman who has kept them both prisoner. Lots of food is eaten.

Knife At My Throat by @gemmafuckingscout (me!), Gemma/Helena, 29k words (complete), Explicit

A year after the season 2 finale, Helena and Gemma are still picking up the pieces of their life. But when Gemma unknowingly matches with Helena on a dating app, things couldn’t possibly end well.

buzzcut season* by @ohwhatagloomyshow, Gemma/Helena, 4.9k words (complete), Explicit

The first thing she does exclusively for herself is buy a pair of clippers with Ricken’s credit card and give herself a buzz cut. Helly R. pushed Mark S. out of the hallway, into the waiting arms of his wife. What does that mean for Gemma? Post S2E10, Gemma tries to come to terms with her new freedom and the family that fell apart without her. That also means coming to terms with Helena Eagan.

i never sought to love you* by @ohwhatagloomyshow, Gemma/Helena, 4.6k words (in progress), Mature

Pre-canon, the fall before Gemma's disappearance - a year after their last IVF treatment, Gemma decides to pop into a local perinatal loss support group on a whim. There she meets Helly Riggs, a beautiful and equally awkward outsider who listens to her and sees her in a way Mark hasn't in a long time. Helena's motive for meeting Gemma becomes complicated as she wrestles with her duty to Lumon and her father vs. her first sincerely intimate relationship.

I have considered the lilies by @spareham, Gemma/Devon, 67.8k words (complete), Explicit

Gemma pushed her hands down over her own hips where the fabric hugged them, thanks to the clips at her back, hidden from her view. She'd be lying if she said she'd never dreamed of becoming a bride… just never this kind. So white. Red-less. Her fingers trailed over her stomach, picking at the border, the hem. She couldn’t ride a horse in this. She chuckled to herself, instead. [uh oh! pre-lumon gemdev o clock!]

no grave can hold my body down (i’ll crawl home to her) by fivemillioneyes, Gemma/Devon, 2.2k words (complete), Explicit

This is the only control Devon can give her.

and when you think about me by @sapphichaze, Gemma/Devon, 3.6k words (complete), Teen

“What would you teach?” Gemma asked as she sat down on a chair, gesturing for Devon to sit next to her. She seemed genuinely interested. “Probably, like, how to survive a zombie apocalypse.” Devon sat down. “You know, useful stuff.” “Now who’s the nerd?” Gemma said with a small grin on her lips. Devon shoved their shoulders together, feeling the heat even through the fabric.

Control by @spareham, Gemma/Devon, 1k words (complete), Explicit

Gemma's regaining control, Devon's helping.

it’s april (yes,april;my darling) by @ichabodcranemills, Gemma/Devon, 1.2kwords (complete), General

Gemma and Devon and the perfect spring day

Not on Your Own by @sapphichaze, Ms. Casey/Helly, 1.3k words (complete), General

“You look like you need some help, so, maybe, uh,” Helly squeezes her eyes together, regretting the words almost as soon as they leave her mouth, “I could do a wellness session on you, instead?”

try to remember, try to forget (but you'll never be the same) by Shadowcrawler, Ms. Casey/Helly, 1.6k words (complete), Explicit

Ms. Casey offers to help Helly R. out with something. prompt: Helly R./Ms. Casey, first time, cunnilingus

The Fifth Temper by virtuousweisz, Cobel/Hellyna, Ms. Casey/Helly, 68k words (in progress), Explicit

Harmony Cobel takes an interest in Helly R., whose outie is more than willing to abuse her power in every conceivable way to tame these erratic and debauched behaviours.

Asal by @spareham, Devon/Reghabi, 12.7k words (complete), Explicit

the second s2e6 ends, this lil fic begins. fluffy canon divergence

Cobel/Natalie by @machrealgirl, Cobel/Natalie, 2.8k words (complete), Explicit

Cobel x Natalie hate sex with a side of character study.

[jcreauprcntissfam]

first night and promises.

emily prentiss had faced down serial killers, international criminals, and the deepest recesses of her own mind, but nothing in her life had ever prepared her for this.

this tiny, fragile little person in her arms—her daughter—was looking up at her like she held the answers to everything in the universe.

aria had come into the world just a few hours earlier, and the raw intensity of it still hadn’t worn off. jj was fast asleep in the hospital bed, utterly spent after a grueling labor, her body finally surrendering to exhaustion. emily had stayed by her side the entire time, her hand gripping jj’s through the pain, the tears, and the eventual joy.

jj and emily had thought long and hard about the decision. they weren’t in their late twenties or early thirties anymore. having a child at this age, with their careers, was a choice. the right choice. henry, now graduating high school, and michael, just starting his sophomore year, had kept them busy for years. after will and jj divorced, emily naturally became their mom too. their family was happy—full of love and laughter. but the thought lingered in emily’s mind, and jj’s too, after they finally admitted it to each other last christmas morning.

“i want a baby. with you.”

maybe it was the desire to create someone who was a mixture of them both. maybe emily wanted to rewrite the what-ifs she’d carried since she was fifteen. maybe jj wanted to fill the space maggie might have held if things had been different.

either way, the decision became clear. after months of ivf preparations, genetic testing, and everything else, jj fell pregnant in early spring.

and now, here they were. quiet. peaceful. whole. 

the dim lights of the hospital room casting a warm glow as emily sat in the chair beside jj’s bed, cradling aria in her arms.

aria elizabeth jareau-prentiss. they toyed around with the middle name for a while. they tried ‘rose’, in honor of jj’s late sister - but they kept landing back on emily’s middle name. 

‘she can give it a better meaning to me’ emily recalled months before the birth. no longer associated with her estranged mother, but associated with the miracle she now held. 

the baby was wrapped snugly in a soft pink blanket, her impossibly tiny fingers curling and uncurling against emily’s chest. she didn’t cry, didn’t fuss—she just stared up at emily with those big, brown eyes that seemed to see everything.

emily swallowed hard, her throat tight with emotion as she met her daughter’s gaze. 

“hi there..”

she whispered, her voice soft and reverent, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile magic of the moment.

aria blinked at her, her little mouth forming a perfect “o,” and emily couldn’t help but smile.

“you’re so quiet,” emily murmured, brushing her thumb gently over aria’s cheek. “your mama’s going to love that. let’s see how long it lasts.”

she adjusted aria slightly in her arms, careful not to disturb her too much. the baby wiggled a little but didn’t make a sound. instead, she kept staring, her expression almost curious, as if trying to figure out who this strange woman holding her was. she knew her voice, but not her face, not until now.  

“you have no idea how long we waited for you,” emily said, her voice trembling slightly. “how much we wanted you.”

her gaze flicked briefly to jj, who was still sleeping soundly. her blonde hair was messy, her face still flushed from the effort of bringing their daughter into the world, but to emily, she looked more beautiful than ever.

“your mommy,” emily said softly, her eyes returning to aria, “is the strongest person i’ve ever met. she loves you more than anything. she’s going to show you every single day how amazing you are.”

aria yawned, her tiny mouth opening impossibly wide, and emily let out a quiet laugh - mixed with the emotion and mist in her eyes.

“but you know what?” emily continued, her voice dropping even lower. “i think i might love you just as much. maybe even more.”

she paused, staring down at aria’s tiny face, her heart aching in the best way. “you look like her,” emily murmured. “same nose, same lips… but those eyes? those are mine.”

for a moment, emily just held her, letting the weight of it all settle over her. this was her daughter. her little girl. and as much as emily wanted to bask in the joy of the moment, a familiar shadow crept into her thoughts.

her own mother.

elizabeth prentiss had been a lot of things: powerful, successful, intimidating. but she had never been what emily needed her to be. she had never been kind. never been warm.

emily could still feel the weight of her mother’s expectations pressing down on her, the coldness in her voice, the way she always made emily feel like she wasn’t enough.

her chest tightened at the memory, and she looked down at aria again, at her innocent little face, her trusting eyes.

how could anyone treat a child with anything but love?

“i promise,” emily whispered, her voice trembling, “you will never feel the way i did.”

aria blinked up at her, her tiny fingers wrapping around emily’s thumb as if she was already communicating with her.

“i will never let you feel like you’re not enough,” emily said, tears welling up in her eyes. “i will never make you doubt that you’re loved. i will protect you from everything, even me, if i have to.”

the tears spilled over, but emily didn’t bother wiping them away. she pressed a soft kiss to aria’s forehead, breathing in the sweet, baby-soft scent of her skin.

“i’ve got you, baby girl,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “always.”

and in that moment, as aria blinked up at her with those big, brown eyes—her eyes—emily made a vow.

she would be the mother she never had. the mother aria deserved.

no matter what it took.

[mariacallous]

The man who died after authorities say he bombed a Palm Springs fertility clinic on Saturday was linked to antinatalism—the belief that all life is a form of suffering imposed on people without their consent—according to terrorism experts who have been analyzing his online presence.

Authorities say Guy Bartkus, who was 25, set off an explosion in a car outside American Reproductive Centers, injuring five people and killing himself as well as causing extensive damage to the building in an act of terrorism.

“The subject had nihilistic ideations and this was a targeted attack,” Akil Davis, assistant director in charge of the FBI’s Los Angeles field office, said in a press conference. Bartkus was attempting to live stream the attack, Davis added. All embryos in the facility were saved.

Since the attack, Bartkus’ digital footprint has surfaced, including writings and recordings of his views. According to the LAist, Bartkus appeared to describe himself as being promortalist and misandrist on a website that surfaced after the bombing and could be heard in an audio recording saying, “Basically I’m anti-life.  And IVF is like kind of the epitome of pro-life ideology.” He did not use his name on the site, but analysts from the Institute for Strategic Dialogue (ISD) believe the website was operated by him. WIRED has viewed an archived version of the website.

Reddit has also banned the antinatalist subreddit r/Efilism, telling NBC News it was removing “any instances of the suspect’s manifesto or recordings and hashing to prevent reupload.” Efilism, a form of antinatalism also linked to promortalism, gets its name by spelling “life” backwards.

Nihilists believe that life is meaningless. While promortalists and antinatalists also don’t value human life, Katherine Keneally, US director of threat analysis and prevention for the ISD, says Bartkus’ views were somewhat distinct from nihilism because of his belief he was on a mission.

“Promortalists recognize and seek to minimize suffering rather than embrace misanthropy and amorality,” Keneally says, noting that the writings attributed to Bartkus indicate he rejected the “sociopath[ic]” tendencies of nihilists” in a May 2025 forum post. Keneally says part of minimizing suffering, in the eyes of an antinatalist, is reducing the human population.

In a recording of the aforementioned website, Bartkus reportedly said, “ I am angry that I exist, um, and that, uh, you know, nobody got my consent to bring me here.”

Keneally says the suspect’s statements and social media posts indicate the bombing was motivated by promortalism, as he may have thought targeting a fertility clinic was preventing new life. ISD analysts don’t believe promortalism has been a primary motivator of violence in previous cases it’s been linked to, she adds.

The bombing comes over a week after ISD released a report about how nihilistic worldviews are fueling violence in the US and Europe. The report found that two prominent nihilistic subcultures, True Crime Community and No Lives Matter, were linked by authorities to nine school shooting plots and two Swedish stabbing attacks in 2024.

True Crime Community adherents fawn over school shooters, but rather than focus on their motivations, the fixation is on their personal characteristics, the report says.

“We'll see young girls and young women in these communities online that will create memes and images of shooters with hearts around them, adding their last name to theirs,” Keneally says.

Meanwhile, the No Lives Matter camp seeks to replicate violent attacks, often stabbings, to “supercharge the spread of these ideas through memes, images, clips of music or even color schemes,” the report adds. The No Lives Matter movement also intersects with Satanism, and has ties to the 764 network, which is known for luring children into sextortion.

According to the ISD report, the disorganized and ever-changing nature of nihilist ideologies makes it harder to understand and counter.

“Those who carry out nihilistic violence are not seeking to change society or promote a specific ideological outcome,” the report says. “Instead, perpetrators of these attacks are deeply enmeshed in subcultures that share misanthropic and nihilistic worldviews, promote anti-social behavior and encourage violence as an outlet for their emotions and personal struggles.”

The report points to a manifesto left behind by the Madison, Wisconsin school shooter in December, which was called “War Against Humanity,” as an example of nihilistic-fueled violence.

Keneally says people who get wrapped up in these beliefs skew younger; mental illness can also be a predictor. On the website believed to be linked to Bartkus, he said he had borderline personality disorder, a mental health disorder characterized by impulsive behavior and difficulty regulating one's emotions.

She said in Bartkus’ case, the fact that he posted videos of himself making bombs on YouTube and posted on a pro-suicide forum, suggest that there were warning signs that could have been flagged prior to the bombing.

“There were signals that could have potentially served as a way to disrupt this attack,” she claims.

[ivf-spring]

Comparing IUI and IVF: Which Fertility Treatment is Right for You?

Embarking on a fertility journey often involves exploring different treatment options. If you're considering fertility treatments and seeking guidance from specialists, such as IVF specialists in Parel, Mumbai, it's essential to understand the differences between two common procedures: Intrauterine Insemination (IUI) and In Vitro Fertilization (IVF).

IUI (Intrauterine Insemination):

IUI is a procedure where prepared sperm is directly placed into the uterus, increasing the chances of fertilization. It's generally recommended for couples with mild fertility issues or unexplained infertility.

Pros:

Non-invasive procedure.

Suitable for couples with mild fertility issues.

Less expensive than IVF.

Shorter treatment duration.

Cons:

Lower success rates compared to IVF.

Limited control over fertilization process.

Not ideal for severe fertility issues.

IVF (In Vitro Fertilization):

IVF involves the retrieval of eggs from the ovaries, fertilizing them with sperm in a laboratory, and transferring the resulting embryos back into the uterus.

Pros:

High success rates, especially for severe fertility issues.

Comprehensive control over fertilization and embryo selection.

Suitable for various fertility issues, including male factor infertility and advanced maternal age.

Option to freeze extra embryos for future use.

Cons:

More invasive and costly than IUI.

Requires hormonal medications and multiple appointments.

Longer treatment timeline.

Choosing the Right Treatment:

The choice between IUI and IVF depends on your individual circumstances, fertility diagnosis, and medical recommendations from qualified specialists in Parel, Mumbai. If you're younger, have relatively mild fertility issues, and prefer a less invasive approach, IUI might be suitable. However, if you're dealing with severe infertility challenges, advanced age, or specific medical conditions, IVF could offer higher success rates.

Consulting with experienced IVF specialists in Parel, Mumbai, is crucial for making an informed decision. They can assess your medical history, conduct necessary tests, and guide you toward the most suitable treatment option for your unique situation.

In conclusion, the choice between IUI and IVF depends on factors like the nature of infertility, age, and personal preferences. By seeking guidance from specialists in Parel, Mumbai, you can make a well-informed decision that aligns with your fertility goals and increases your chances of starting or expanding your family.

Read More: Factors Affecting IUI Success Rates: What You Need to Know

[juicetrump2]

real terrorism

[redwolf17]

Sansa IV Update (or lack thereof)

I know it's been a minute, I appreciate how patient y'all have been 💕 The Sansa IV outline is basically done and I'm planning to work on the prose later this week 🤞🏻

Thus far, my spring break has been super busy with wedding prep DIY. I've decorated favor boxes using sharpies and a homemade stencil, made homemade truffles to fill them, and made 2,100 leaves and 270 flowers out of card stock. I'm tired and my hands hurt, but it's worth it to save money for fertility treatments 😮‍💨

Speaking of which, my fiancé and I had our first fertility clinic appointment today and it went well— mostly. The doctor recommends that we harvest my eggs ASAP. Why? Apparently, being 35 means that my eggs' quality is lowering with every month of delay. Lower quality eggs mean a lower chance of healthy embryos and lower chances of a successful live birth 😕

Ideally, we'd love to do an IVF cycle in June right after the wedding. The only issue is that full payment must be made at the start of treatment.

Unfortunately, stressing about affording IVF has been another factor in my writing slow down. While the support for our GoFundMe thus far has been absolutely incredible, it isn't nearly enough to cover the expense of moving forward with fertility treatments. My fiancé has a small amount of savings and I'm applying for summer and part-time jobs, plus working on finding grants that help couples suffering from infertility, but... it's a lot.

We were able to have that fertility appointment this morning thanks to the generosity of donors to our GoFundMe. If reading The Weirwood Queen has meant anything to you, even the smallest donation would mean everything to me 💕

[kmatrixx1130]

𝐓𝐘𝐏𝐄 € FⵊC

Part One: The Weight of Absence

꧁☆彡✫彡⁂✯꥟✫彡☆彡𖣘꡴♕❂✫彡꧂


Summary: Five months after your separation from Abby, you’re still reeling from the pain of her absence and the broken dreams of expanding your family. A crisis involving your daughter Araya forces Abby back into your life, stirring up old wounds and unspoken love. Abby was always a devoted mother to Araya, but her shortcomings as a wife drove a wedge between you, leaving your heart fractured.

Warnings: Angst, separation/divorce themes, emotional neglect, mentions of fertility struggles, child injury (minor, non-graphic), grief, hospital setting, emotionally charged arguments, slight age gap (Reader 35, Abby 39). 18+ for mature themes, MDNI.

꧁☆彡✫彡⁂✯꥟✫彡☆彡𖣘꡴♕❂✫彡꧂

The house is a tomb tonight, its silence pressing against your chest like a physical weight. You move through the living room, gathering Araya’s toys—a glittery plastic horse, a crumpled drawing of a rocket ship, a well-loved stuffed owl she calls “Hootie.” Each item feels heavier than it should, a tangible reminder of the life you’re piecing together alone. Five months ago, this house rang with Araya’s giggles, Abby’s low chuckles, and your shared whispers of a future with another child. Now, it’s a hollowed-out shell, the absence of Abby’s warmth leaving every corner cold.

You sink onto the couch, clutching a stray crayon, its waxy scent mingling with the ache in your throat. Your eyes drift to the mantel, where a photo sits, slightly tilted: you, Abby, and Araya at a Seattle park last spring, cherry blossoms framing your smiles. Abby’s arm is slung around you, her grin broad and unguarded, Araya perched on her shoulders with a gap-toothed smile. The memory stings—Abby was always so good with Araya, her strong hands gentle as she’d spin her in the air, her voice soft when she read bedtime stories. She was a good mom, the best. But as a wife, she’d let you down, her absence a slow bleed that drained your marriage dry.

You turn away from the photo, only to spot one of Abby’s flannels draped over the armrest, forgotten in the chaos of her departure. You pick it up, the fabric worn soft from years of wear, and press it to your face. It smells like her—pine, sweat, and the faint musk of her skin. Tears well up, and you don’t fight them. You’ve cried too many nights to count, but the pain feels fresh every time.

Five months ago. The memory hits like a tidal wave, pulling you under. You’d been pacing the kitchen, the clock glaring 9:17 p.m., the fertility clinic appointment long over. You’d sat alone in the sterile waiting room, clutching pamphlets about IVF, your hope for a second child dwindling with each tick of the clock. Abby had promised to be there, to hold your hand as you planned the next step in your family’s future. But a WLF mission had called her away—another crisis, another life-or-death operation she couldn’t refuse. When she finally stumbled through the door, her tactical vest still on, her face etched with exhaustion, you’d unraveled.

“You chose them over us,” you’d said, voice trembling with rage and hurt. “Over me, over Araya, over the baby we wanted.” Abby had tried to explain, her voice low and pleading—the pressure of her job, the lives depending on her—but it wasn’t enough. You’d sobbed, recounting every late night, every missed dinner, every moment she’d left you to carry the weight of your family alone. “You’re an amazing mom, Abby,” you’d choked out, “but you’re a terrible wife.” The words had cut her, you could see it in the way her shoulders slumped, but they were true. You’d demanded space, time apart, and she’d left, her duffel bag packed in silence, her eyes glistening as she closed the door.

Now, you’re a single parent, juggling your therapy practice with Araya’s boundless energy. You’re skilled at guiding clients through their pain, but your own is a jagged wound, raw and unhealing. You’re angry—at Abby for choosing her job, at yourself for still loving her despite everything. You fold the flannel carefully, tucking it into a drawer, and wipe your tears. Araya needs you to be strong. You head upstairs to check on her, her soft snores a fragile anchor in the storm of your grief. You kiss her forehead, whispering, “I’ve got you, sweet girl,” and pray it’s enough.

The call comes mid-morning, slicing through the quiet of your therapy office like a blade. You’re between clients, scribbling notes, when your phone buzzes. The school’s number flashes, and your heart lurches. “It’s Araya,” the principal says, voice tight with urgency. “She fell during recess, hit her head on the slide. She’s okay, but she needs stitches. An ambulance is taking her to Seattle General.”

You’re out the door before the call ends, your pulse hammering in your ears. The drive is a haze—red lights blur, horns fade, your mind chanting she’s okay, she’s okay. You park crookedly at the hospital, sprinting to the ER, your sneakers squeaking on the linoleum. A nurse points you to a curtained bay, but Araya’s not there yet. You pace, alone, your thoughts a whirlwind of fear and guilt. You should’ve been there, should’ve picked her up early, should’ve—

The ER doors swing open, and Abby storms in. She’s in her WLF gear—black tactical vest, boots caked with mud, braid fraying at the edges. Her blue eyes, usually so steady, are wide with panic, her jaw tight with something raw and unguarded. She spots you, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you. She’s still broad-shouldered, commanding, but the lines on her face are deeper, her posture heavy with worry. The sight of her—here, now—ignites a maelstrom in your chest: relief that she came for Araya, fury that she’s been absent from your life, longing you can’t bury.

“What are you doing here?” you snap, sharper than you mean.

“She’s my daughter,” Abby says, voice low but firm. “They called me. Emergency contact.”

You want to scream that she doesn’t get to claim that role now, not after months of distance, but the nurse interrupts, saying Araya’s in triage. You follow, the air between you crackling with unspoken words. Abby’s hands tremble as she hands you a hospital form, her fingers brushing yours. The touch is electric, a spark that makes you both freeze, your breath catching before you yank your hand back, clutching the paper like a lifeline.

In the exam room, Araya’s on a gurney, a small cut above her eyebrow, blood matting her dark curls. She’s pale but alert, her eyes brightening when she sees you. You rush to her side, stroking her hand. “I’m here, sweet girl,” you whisper, your voice shaking. Abby stands opposite, her face a mask of control, but her knuckles whiten as she grips the bedrail. You can’t help it—you lash out, keeping your voice low so Araya doesn’t hear. “Where were you when she needed you? You’re never around.”

Abby flinches, her eyes flickering with guilt. “I’m here now,” she says, voice strained. “I dropped everything.”

“It’s too late for that,” you hiss, the words cutting deeper than you intend. Araya’s watching, though, so you swallow the rest, focusing on her. The doctor explains she’ll need a few stitches, nothing serious, but she’ll stay for observation. You nod, your hand never leaving Araya’s, while Abby stands like a sentinel, her presence both a comfort and a wound. You hate how much you still need her, even now.

Araya’s moved to a private room to rest, her stitches done, a bandage stark against her forehead. You sit by her bed, watching her chest rise and fall, her small hand curled in yours. Abby lingers in the doorway, her silhouette filling the space. The nurse suggests you step out while Araya sleeps, so you follow Abby to the waiting room, a sterile expanse of flickering fluorescents and antiseptic air. The silence between you is a live wire, sparking with every glance.

You break it first, unable to hold back. “You can’t keep doing this,” you say, voice low but sharp. “Showing up when it’s a crisis, acting like you’re still part of this family.”

Abby’s jaw tightens, but she doesn’t look away. “I’m trying to be here,” she says, her voice steady but laced with pain. “I didn’t know about the accident until they called.”

“That’s the problem, Abby!” Your voice rises, drawing a glance from a passing orderly. You lower it, but the anger pours out, five months of hurt unraveling. “You’re never here. Not for me, not for the life we built. Not for the appointment that meant everything.” The memory floods back—sitting alone in the fertility clinic, the doctor’s pitying eyes, the empty chair where Abby should’ve been. “You were supposed to be there, Abby. We were supposed to plan our future, our second child. But you chose your job over us.”

Abby steps closer, her eyes flashing with a mix of guilt and defiance. “You think I wanted to miss it? I was on a mission—people were counting on me. Lives were at stake. I didn’t have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice!” you snap, tears burning your eyes. “You could’ve said no, could’ve put us first for once. But you didn’t. You left me to dream alone, to cry alone.” Your voice breaks, raw and exposed. “You were the best mom to Araya—always there for her bedtime stories, her scraped knees. But as a wife? You let me down, Abby. Over and over.”

Her composure shatters. She runs a hand over her braid, her shoulders slumping as if the weight of your words is too much. “I know I fucked up,” she says, voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been a mess without you. I sleep at the base because I can’t face our apartment alone. It’s too quiet, too empty without you and Araya.” Her eyes glisten, and she steps closer, her voice breaking. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought I was doing the right thing, providing for us, keeping us safe. But I see it now—I wasn’t enough for you.”

Her confession hits like a physical blow, cracking the armor you’ve built around your heart. You want to scream that it’s too late, that the pain is too deep, but the vulnerability in her voice—the Abby you fell in love with, the one who’d sing Araya to sleep—makes you falter. You’re still hurt, too raw to forgive, but her words stir a flicker of empathy, a reminder of the love you once shared. The nurse interrupts, saying Araya’s awake, and you both jolt, the argument left dangling like a frayed thread.

Back in Araya’s room, she’s sitting up, sipping apple juice through a straw, her bandage a stark contrast to her pale skin. You and Abby put on brave faces, sitting on either side of her bed. “You okay, sweet girl?” you ask, brushing her curls back. She nods, but her eyes dart between you and Abby, her small face creased with worry.

“Why doesn’t Mama live with us anymore?” she asks, her voice soft but piercing, like a needle through your heart.

Your breath catches. Abby freezes, her hand hovering over Araya’s. You scramble for an answer, but nothing feels right. “Sometimes grown-ups need time to work things out,” you say, the words hollow even to you. Abby adds, “But we both love you, Araya. Always.” Her voice is gentle, the way it always is with Araya, and it twists the knife in your chest. She’s always been so good with her, so present, so why couldn’t she be that for you?

Araya frowns, her brow furrowing, but she’s too tired to press further. The doctor clears her for discharge, but your car’s in the shop, leaving you stranded. Abby offers to drive, and you hesitate, exhaustion warring with your pride. “Fine,” you mutter, too drained to argue. The ride home is quiet, Araya’s chatter about her favorite teacher and a new art project filling the silence. You sit in the passenger seat, staring out the window, but you feel Abby’s eyes on you, catching her glances in the rearview mirror. Her gaze is soft, heavy with longing, and it makes your chest ache with a mix of anger and need.

At home, Abby carries Araya inside, her strength a painful echo of the nights she’d carry her to bed when you were still a family. She lingers, helping tuck Araya in, smoothing the blanket with a tenderness that makes your throat tighten. You watch from the doorway as she kisses Araya’s forehead, whispering, “Sleep tight, sweet girl.” When she turns, her eyes meet yours, a storm of guilt and love swirling in them. You want to talk, to let the words spill out, but you’re too raw, too afraid of what they might mean. “You should go,” you say, voice flat, though it trembles at the edges. She nods, but as she passes, her shoulder brushes yours, a fleeting touch that sends a shiver down your spine. She pauses, as if waiting for you to speak, but you turn away, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

Alone that night, you collapse onto the couch, the day’s weight crashing over you like a wave. Seeing Abby, hearing her confession, has torn open every wound you’ve tried to stitch closed. You cry, deep, wrenching sobs that leave you hollow, your fingers digging into the cushions as if they could anchor you. You stumble to the mantel, picking up the park photo again. You trace Abby’s face, her smile, remembering the way she’d wrap you in her arms, promising forever. Araya’s grin in the photo is so bright, so trusting, and it breaks you all over again. Abby was always there for her—braiding her hair, cheering at her school plays—but for you, she was a ghost, consumed by her job, leaving you to carry the weight of your shared dreams alone.

Your phone buzzes, pulling you from the spiral. A text from Abby: I’m sorry. For today, for everything. I know I wasn’t the wife you deserved, but I want to be there for Araya. Can I see her soon? Please. You stare at the words, your thumb hovering over the reply button. The anger, the hurt, the love—it’s a tangled knot you can’t unravel. You set the phone down, tears streaming down your face, and curl into yourself, the house’s silence pressing in like a living thing.

As you wipe your eyes, you notice a voicemail notification, timestamped from earlier today. It’s from the fertility clinic, a polite reminder to reschedule the appointment you missed five months ago. The message is clinical, detached, but it’s a dagger to your heart. You’d dreamed of another child, of Araya having a sibling, of building a bigger family with Abby. That dream feels like a phantom now, haunting you with what might’ve been. You delete the voicemail, but the pain lingers, sharp and unrelenting, a reminder of the future you both let slip away.

You crawl into bed, clutching the flannel you’d hidden earlier. It’s a lifeline, a piece of Abby you can’t let go. A flicker of hope stirs beneath the fear—her words in the hospital, her tenderness with Araya, the way her eyes lingered on you. But it’s fragile, a thread that could snap with one wrong move. You close your eyes, the missed call from the clinic echoing in your mind, stirring the ache of your unfulfilled dream. You don’t know if you can trust Abby again, but for Araya—and maybe for yourself—you’re not ready to let go completely.

[genderisareligion]

In the wake of the IVF clinic bombing in Palm Springs, CA yesterday, I understand the justified anger at the industry from personal experience, trust me, these clinics are predatory and price gouging and vetting on both parent and donor/surrogate side is a fucking joke, but I'm absolutely heartbroken for the woman involved.

Please, please take care of yourself, ladies and other friends, the doomscroll on radblr can be very, very depressing. The objective facts of sexism and thousands of years of women's oppression worldwide are.

Your reaction to it does not have to be.

I don't say that like it's easy at all, I've been at points in the last five years where it just seems like there's no point anymore. But still I wake up every morning and check my girl power dashboard and check for messages from my favorite mutual and wonder what my mutual in India or Poland or Russia is doing with her day today.

It can be hard to remember that we're all real people back here. This makes me really wish radical feminists could meet in person. I think some of the arguments had here might break apart if we had to literally see just how much the topic at hand is impacting all of us.

DM @genderisareligion666 if you feel like dying and want that to change and just need to talk to someone, I'm so serious, even if you don't want me to say shit back and just need to vent (I have anon on here as well)

[witchygagirlwrites]

What’s the most extravagant thing Connor has bought for each of the Fireverse gang? 🤭

(Fireverse) (Partial collab with @elvenpirate51 who I've made fall in love with this verse)

Connor is a loving sweetheart of a menace. Ok? He knows his family (as in the fireverse crew) loves him for him so he likes to spoil them. They on the other hand do not want him spending his money on them!!

They had to go into negotiations with this man! Things have happened like:

“Connor, you can’t buy me a new car! I’ll get a second hand one on finance, I’m good!” “But you don’t need to…” “I know, and I love how generous you are, but no.” “Can I buy you a second hand one then?” “Connor!” “Okay, okay! How about I give you an interest free loan for a second hand car?” *sigh* “As long as there are strict payment terms set, fine.” “Thank you.”

That being said they've compromised with him. He's allowed to buy things like coffee, dinner and small stuff but if wants to surprise someone he has to get the ok from their partners and at least one other person out the nine of them.

Fireball has had situations of looking at a site with April saying "Oh that's cute" seeing Connor then being like "NO! I do not want it! I just said it is cute!"

The most extravagant? When Fireball,Mouse and Jay decided the route they wanted to take for kids he went ahead and paid in advance the best IVF clinic in the state so when they were ready it was. He fully paid for Spitfire, Matt and Kelly's honeymoon. As for his two spouses? They are on thin ice saying they like anything. They know he's gonna spring for it.

This man loves hard and the other eight in the fireverse fam show him the love back and he knows its genuine money or no money so he doesn't mind using it for them (Even if it makes them have mini heart attacks at times because ALL of them but him grew up poor and/or working class at most)