#child loss cw

[esmecarmona]

ben being the "only adult" hasn't actually mattered since the crash. it was subtle at first but then laura lee essentially tells him to shut the fuck up and the energy has a noticeable shift. there's a similar moment in 1.10 and all of that just solidifies it for ben: his "authority" means nothing out here. i do personally think some of it stems from the loss of his leg and his having to rely on the girls (i don't think any of them recognize that/outwardly think bad about him because of his disability, but it's a survival situation and it's impossible to not have that influence so much of their dynamics) but regardless, "adult" is a qualifier that's been meaningless for months now. we never really see ben have any interactions with the kids besides nat and travis (no, i will not be mentioning misty since she assaulted him, thanks!) like. he has spent his entire life being Othered. and he is still Other out here. because of his age. his gender. his disability. he is so completely and utterly alone. he is in the process of a mental breakdown. i truly don't understand how people are reading these scenes with paul as "flashbacks" or acting like they're willing at this point and not the product of his incredibly fragile mindset. paul's home was the cabin in 206. he could still hear the screaming. his mind is breaking down. no, his "gay fantasies" were not more important than shauna. it's a psychotic break. did no one see him almost pass out? (he's consistently had physical reactions to blood/injury. btw) does no one remember he didn't eat jackie, and probably hasn't eaten much since then?

does no one realize he can't exactly kneel in front of shauna and do anything meaningful because he's disabled?

but really, what can he even do? he isn't a "health teacher." i'm going to assume a lot of the people acting as if he has some kind of educational qualifications aren't american. i feel like it's pretty common in america for "health class" to be taught by a PE teacher/coach with no background in it who just plays video and reads out of a book. he doesn't have a medical history. he literally says, "i just press play on a video." no, misty and akilah aren't trained, but misty clearly paid attention in class and akilah's sister had given birth. they do know more than ben.

and no, ben didn't look at shauna and go, "that's gross." the blatant homo- (and transphobia) in acting like a gay man was just "disgusted" by childbirth is just disappointing to see.

if you really want to be upset by ben's actions, obviously, you can be. maybe he could have done more to be comforting but i just don't think he could have "saved" the baby. it was already dead. to blame him, to act like he willfully killed the baby/did not care about shauna, is just silly. to say that the disabled gay man needs to kill himself so the girls can eat him now is an insane take. to act like he needs to be punished for something out of his control is stupid. to single him out when he was far from the only one being "useless" is just weird. why is there a sudden lack of critical thought re: his character?

and can we wait to see everyone's reactions before deciding everyone hates him for it?

[roguemonsterfucker]

I get emails from reddit a lot lately (joining was a mistake apparently lol)

and one was a woman asking for advice on how to not become pregnant in a state where abortion is now illegal. Well, not *advice* exactly, but asking what other folks have done to avoid it.

And there was a horrific story from someone in the comments about how they had to get sterilized for their own safety after having to travel to a state to get a legal abortion due to medical reasons. They wanted the child, but things went wrong and they had to *leave their home state* to get it taken care of and they got screamed at by protesters outside of the clinic.

That is. Sickening.

Abortion is health care.

This poor woman WANTED her baby. Had to terminate it for her own health. Had to travel *out of state* to do it. And still got screamed at by "pro life" people.

Fucking hell.

Abortion is health care.

Edit to add: she also says she was RECORDED. The protesters RECORDED her on "the worst day of [her] life," as she puts it.

There is now a recording of this woman, the day she lost her CHILD, being judged by "pro life" people.

[shapeshyft]

Is the fact that you didn't know Graydon wasn't a mutant the only reason you didn't abort him?

Baby Blue Canon Questions Research Segment! feat. anonymous!

Her extremities are cold. Even as her dermis shifts and cracks, layers and layers of skin cells being generated to keep frostbite from clinging to her, to keep it from clinging to the babe swaddled in her arms. They're already naturally blue, this 'natural hue' would have no purchase with them. An explosion behind them. The castle is on fire. She promised she'd be safe- No!

❝ F-five minutes. I'll be back before you know it. Sleep. Sleep. ❞

She's warm. Hot, even, judging by the way she shifted in her seat. Legs uncrossing, body sliding a touch into the depths of the chair, a bead of sweat pooling at the nape of her neck- and then being absorbed back into her flesh. No.

❝ If I'd known just what an annoyance that waste of nine months would've been, I'd have done away with him. Mutated or otherwise. That he lived to even see adolescence was a mistake on my part... a weakness I didn't know I was carrying at the time. ❞

Graydon wouldn't have been the first. He wouldn't have been the last. She was an old hand at emptying herself of life and love by that point... it- Fuck!

❝ It certainly wasn't any lingering sentimentality for time spent with Victor, if that's what this is meant to imply. I could've fed that animal the scraped remains of our child with a Negroni, and he'd have thanked me for the delicacy. ❞

[coronianfriends]

The Memorial for The Lost Princess became not only a place to honor the princess, but a place for all parents who had lost a child to mourn.

[percentstardust]

i don't acknowledge rhaenyra being involved with blood and cheese because while she is angry over the loss of her son, she would NOT WANT HELAENA put through that. she would not want someone to suffer through the loss of their child in an even worse way than she has. don't get me wrong. she's still mad as hell at aemond, but, she is also mad as hell at daemon and mysaria for orchestrating that.

[quality-street-rat]

Kin stuff

I remember a lot about my son. He learned to walk about a week after he was born. He could speak after a month, just little words. His eyes were bright like sunlight, rich like sweet chocolate, warm like liquid loam. There was just something about him. 

Where he walked the grass seemed greener and the trees stood straighter. When he babbled birds stopped to listen. Where he ran the wind seemed to follow him. The blue butterflies native to our forest came to rest on him in spring and summer. Once I saw a patch of flowers bloom when he sang. He loved freely, no creature or being was unworthy to him. He was curious, kind, graceful, perfect. He somehow had curls despite the fact that neither his father or I had curly hair. His golden hair bounced around his head as he ran around the palace, playing hide-and-seek with his father. I could not keep up. 

I remember how still he was when we laid him on his Leaving Boat, the life drained from his body and his eyes empty. He wasn’t even a year old.

He always demanded a kiss on each of his pointed ears from Mama at bedtime because Ada always smiled when Mama kissed the points of his ears. No, not Naneth, Mama. He always insisted on using the Westron term. 

I remember that his last name was Greenleaf, following my human tradition of taking the last name from the father, instead of the Elvish tradition that would have had him called Legolasion. I had no last name until I had married. 

But the one thing I cannot remember, the thing that rips my heart out the most, is that I can’t remember his name. I can’t remember my own son’s name. What kind of parent, what kind of mother, can’t remember their own son’s name? I know it’s been a hundred thousand years, give or take a few centuries, but I should be able to remember, I should! I know it’s a Sindarin word. That’s all. 

It’s been tearing me apart all week. 

[fireinmywoods]

I read your latest fic in the "Septenary" collection, and I was blown away. I also headcanon that Bones and the ex-wife had lost a child in AOS, and you handled it so well. And I love how Jim handled it. McKirk being soft with each other means the world to me, and I loved the hurt/comfort.

Oh, thank you so much! I'm really happy to hear that the fic resonated with you and that you felt the subject was well handled. I was super anxious about getting this fic right, dealing as it does in some key (though until now only obliquely referenced) aspects of pverse Leonard's character, motivations, and dynamic with Jim. I’m thrilled that it all came together for you!

Man, do I ever feel you on the Softness. I'd love to say I'll give them both a break now and indulge in cuddles and cuteness for a while, but next up on my docket is either the hateful ST:ID fic or Jim's prequel, so SOMEONE'S in for a bad time, I'm afraid. Including me. And probably you, once they're finished. WHY do I do this to us all. :((

Thank you again! 💙💛

[screechthewriter]

it must be so lonely knowing what you know | a god of war fanfic

part six of seven:

Freya had it under control.

Freya had it under control.

Freya definitely had it under control.

It spoke to how terrified he’d been–how terrified he still was–that Freya’s enchantment was so thoroughly tested in those days.

Mimir would wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, body shaking from a half-remembered nightmare, the knowledge of his part in the whole affair just within his grasp but flitting away as wakefulness fully settled in. The memory would spring to mind at meals if his meat was undercooked. All that blood. All that…

Of course. It had been upsetting, seeing Baldur acting out like that. But…Baldur was immune to all threats, physical or magical. He hadn’t really been hurt . And whatever was wrong, Freya must have handled it.

The magic jammed that explanation into his skull, forcing it like two parts of a chair that didn’t quite fit together. Sometimes his mind seemed to fight back, his desperate desire to ease that pain he’d seen in Baldur’s eyes scrambling for an explanation. Other times, he accepted it quickly. It was an easy explanation, a respite from the pain and terror that seized him whenever he remembered.

A respite from the guilt, too, though he hated to admit it.

Mimir heard secondhand from Thor that Baldur and Freya weren’t talking. Mimir had tried to ask them about it directly–he was the court advisor, after all, the mediator, he could be more than trusted to intervene–but Baldur wasn’t anywhere that he could find. Freya, meanwhile, flat out refused to speak to him. The distance stung at first, but…why should it? They had never gotten along. He’d gotten her into this mess. And she’d always been so protective of Baldur.

Mimir tried to keep busy. Odin certainly gave him plenty to do. He was still scouring the realms for ways to access Jotunheim and influence Ragnarok. Mimir, of course, tried to dissuade him. That careful game of push and pull took up so much mental energy, he may as well have been traversing the whole of Midgard on foot.

(Honestly, he would rather have been doing that.)

Mimir tried to stay out of sight whenever he did have time to himself, sticking to the parts of Asgard where your average Aesir didn’t go. Fortunately, these were usually the parts where it was easy for Mimir to hide anyway. The plants and the trees were as close to a domain as he could have in this realm. He hadn’t quite lost his touch when it came to hiding.

One day, though, he came out to the gardens to find the one person he didn’t want to hide from.

I thought you’d forgotten about me , Mimir thought. The words were nearly spoken aloud, but Baldur looked so… tired. Everything from the dark circles under his eyes to the curled-up way he sat under the tree spoke to a bone-deep exhaustion rarely felt by gods. Mimir instead approached carefully, making just enough noise to alert the god to his presence without startling him, before sitting down an arm’s length away.

For once, he didn’t know what to say.

“Remember those stories you used to tell me?” Baldur asked suddenly. “About your home.”

The thought of home struck Mimir hard. The memories were always a bit painful, but never this much. “Aye, I do.” He’d told Baldur quite a bit, as much as was appropriate for his age. “Been a while since we talked about it. I’m surprised you remember.”

“Of course I do. I loved those. I always thought I’d go there with you when I was older.” Baldur leaned back against the tree, his head hitting the bark with a soft thunk . “I was just curious back then…wanted to see everything, I guess. Tyr would sometimes tell me about the places he’d go, and I thought…” Baldur trailed off for a moment. “Do you ever think about going back?” 

Mimir hadn’t in some time, but the thought was suddenly very tempting. His lucid, uncursed mind tried to claw its way out again. He could leave. They could leave, the both of them. Get Baldur away from this place, away from Asgard and its schemes. Maybe there was someone back home who could help him. Oberon may not have been familiar with Vanir spells, but he was immensely powerful in his own right. If anyone could…

But the enchantment re-asserted itself. Baldur didn’t need help. Baldur was fine. There was no curse that needed breaking, no help they required from Oberon. They would only be going to satisfy Baldur’s curiosity and Mimir’s homesickness. That thought was tantalizing on its own, but pure, uncaring logic asserted itself next.

“Don’t think I could go back,” Mimir said. “I left a lot of mess behind. And besides that…”

Your father wouldn’t let me.

The sentiment remained unspoken, but from the bitter smile on Baldur’s face, he knew. Mimir was too dangerous to be allowed to leave, and Baldur too valuable. They were entangled in Odin’s net now. No getting out for either of them.

“Right,” Baldur said, a bitter laugh seeping into his voice. “Just another stupid dream.”

Mimir glanced Baldur’s way. The pain in the god’s eyes was so raw that he had to look away again. “Maybe one day,” he said, “when all this unpleasantness with Jotunheim is over and your father’s calmed down. I’d love to show you.”

Throwing the possibility out there almost felt cruel, only a step below outright making a promise he knew he couldn’t keep. But he couldn’t help himself. Baldur was drowning, and Mimir was drowning too. Even if the thought only prolonged the inevitable, even if it just kept them afloat long enough to sink another day…that was something, wasn’t it? A small mercy?

He wasn’t sure anymore. But he held onto it anyway.

“Maybe,” Baldur said finally. “That’d be nice.”

Seemed that Baldur wanted to stay afloat a while longer, too.

They sat under the tree in silence for some time. It felt like the one safe haven in a wide sea of chaos. Mimir knew, even with the enchantment gnawing away at his mind, that this would be the only peace they’d get for some time. Possibly the last peace they’d ever get. He wasn’t sure he wanted to leave, or to let Baldur leave it, either. Keeping him there, staying with him, it was the only way of protecting him that Mimir had left.

But he also knew he couldn’t stop Baldur from leaving. The best he could do as the god stood up and started to walk away was throw out one last rope.

“I’m here, Baldur. You know that, right?”

Even if Odin didn’t like it, even if Freya didn’t like it, even if his own mind cannibalized itself with every attempt Mimir made at reaching out…he was there. He wanted to be there. He’d try and try for as long as he could. It was all he had left, but he’d give it until he couldn’t anymore.

Baldur sighed. When he turned around, one last time, his arms wrapped around himself, it almost looked like there were tears in his eyes. He smiled, but it was bitter. Sad. As if Mimir were just the ghost of his old childhood friend.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, frændi .”

He walked away, leaving Mimir in that circle of safety.

It felt a lot less safe now that he was alone.

.

The weight of Asgard pulled him under eventually.

Freya tried to break it off with Odin, and was banished as a result. Baldur vanished from Mimir’s life again, over time becoming Odin’s eyes and fist in ways that even Thor couldn’t accomplish. Mimir didn’t even have time to mourn the loss of the boy he’d once known, because now Odin’s eyes had turned to him. The Allfather was not pleased.

He made that anger very, very clear.

The air at the mountain’s peak was cold, biting at Mimir’s exposed skin. The bark of the tree dug into his body, rubbing it raw in places when he struggled. Both of these things he could get used to–the cold numbed and his skin developed calluses over time. But there were two things he couldn’t get used to. The first, and most obvious, was the torture. Every blow, ever spat word, ever threat wore away at him ways that not even years in Asgard could.

The second was the guilt.

It crept in when he was alone, on the long nights when the pain kept him from sleeping. It chewed at him with what-ifs and self-blame. If he’d only done this or that, if he’d only stepped in sooner, if he’d only run and taken…

If he’d only protected…

But that was the worst part. Some things he could clearly remember–how he’d failed Freya, how he’d failed Tyr, how he’d failed the giants and the people of Midgard. But when he reached the bottom of that spiral, the deepest depths that left him trembling and sobbing as if Odin were back and actively torturing him, there was that uncertain monster. The guilt for the thing he could not remember. The certainty that he’d done something horrible, something unforgivable. That he’d helped to destroy something good, and would never be able to make it right.

It never lasted long. The enchantment made sure of that. The gaps in his mind dragged him back out and back to feeling guilt for all the things he could remember. Again, Freya had spared him, in a strange and cruel way.

But perhaps she hadn’t spared him entirely. 

And even if she had–even if those stabs of guilt had never existed–it didn’t last forever.

A little bundle of mistletoe saw to that eventually.

[sergeantcooper]

Do you ever wish it had been you that died?

Teeth press together as his jaw tightens seconds before he swallows hard, it’s something he’d never stop wishing. Surely life would have been hard for them but they wouldn’t have bore the guilt he did, they wouldn’t have been taken from lives they deserved to live and thought he’d be gone his little girl would have had a chance to grow up, would have had a chance to change the world. His gaze moves to the side as he nods once, singular and silent for a brief moment, “Everyday.” 

[agentmasonmiller]

Shatter Meme- Eva's been injured, it's not clear she's going to make it.

You have all of one ask to completely shatter my character. Make it count.

There’s a helplessness you feel when someone is trying to tell you that essentially you just lost your daughter, a pit that feels almost endless as not only your heart falls into it but your very being. It’s as if the world had stopped spinning on its axis, as if the air around them stopped providing oxygen. His chest held a familiar tightness that moved up his body to his throat as he swallowed, there’s no Agent Miller right now, there’s Mason, the father. The sounds around him seem to mute, the things around him blur as tears build in his eyes, a singular tear rolling down his cheeks mere seconds later. His eyes close and more cascade down, “N..”He shook his head as he looked at them as if silently begging for them to tell him it’s not true, to tell him his little girl is going to be okay, to tell him this was all some twisted and sick nightmare. “N..no.” His voice cracked, raw emotion bleeding into it, “No she.. she’s going.. no.” 

[keii4ii]

"Someone's last words" - minicomic, post-RoP

[gabessquishytum]

Thinking about Hob and children and whether he would have them again after Robyn and the baby and I can't help but think that he would. Even though it hurt so bad. But even if he wants kids, the idea of getting somebody pregnant is still too terrifying. Of putting someone through that kind of danger, no matter the advances in modern medicine. If Hob could carry a child himself he'd do it in a heartbeat but as long as someone else's life is at risk? He simply can't go there.

[addictedtostorytelling]

death doesn't discriminate between the sinners and the saints it takes and it takes and it takes and i keep living anyway

[percentstardust]

I HAVE NEVER BEEN NOTHING. I AM THE BLOOD OF THE DRAGON.

[quality-street-rat]

Kin Stuff

Our pack adopted Meg McCaffrey. After the business with the emperors, Meg came to live at Camp Half-Blood, and then later at our Pack House. She just entirely stole Piper’s heart, and since none of us were old enough to handle infants, Meg became our pup. Well, she was Piper’s pup first. And if one of us had a pup, we all had a pup. We weren’t poly or anything, it’s just that we were family. We were pack. And a pack looks out for its own. 

Speaking of pups, I never told anyone what had happened when I was twelve. I’m not going to write it here because it was unbelievably brutal and triggering, but I had pups, once. I never got pregnant again after that though, even though I knew Nico wanted pups. But he knew enough about what happened to me in the Omega Trade to be perfectly content with helping out with the pack’s pups. 

[cairnmaidens]

You know the best god I ever met - they called him Henge. He haunted a village up north. He didn’t ask much of you. He liked keepsakes. Things that were no longer useful.

Maybe you had a ring you didn’t want to wear any more because it hurt too much. Or you had a key that you weren’t going to use for a very long time, but you wanted to be able to find it again when you did. Or maybe your kid would be born with their eyes and throat shut tight and you didn’t know how to move on.

You’d wrap your keepsake in green cotton, and you’d bury it under a pile of pebbles in a place only you knew. And you’d make the prayer-marks so that Henge would know just what was being offered.

And then one day, years later, when you were ready to pick up whatever you’d left behind but perhaps you didn’t even know it yet yourself, you’d turn and look outside your window, and the ring would be hanging from a tree-branch outside. The key would be resting on your sill. There’d be a newborn child, wrapped in green cotton, resting upon your doorstep.

I never understood what Henge wanted with that stuff, but I understood the appeal of going through it. How nice it was to feel that someone had stopped to pick up the things you needed to drop.

The Silt Verses, Chapter Nine