One of my biggest nitpicks in fiction concerns the feeding of babies. Mothers dying during/shortly after childbirth or the baby being separated form the mother shortly after birth is pretty common in fiction. It is/was also common enough in real life, which is why I think a lot of writers/readers don't think too hard about this. however. Historically, the only reason the vast majority of babies survived being separated from their mother was because there was at least one other woman around to breastfeed them. Before modern formula, yes, people did use other substitutes, but they were rarely, if ever, nutritionally sufficient.
Newborns can't eat adult food. They can't really survive on animal milk. If your story takes place in a world before/without formula, a baby separated from its mother is going to either be nursed by someone else, or starve.
It doesn't have to be a huge plot point, but idk at least don't explicitly describe the situation as excluding the possibility of a wetnurse. "The father or the great grandmother or the neighbor man or the older sibling took and raised the baby completely alone in a cave for a year." Nope. That baby is dead I'm sorry. "The baby was kidnapped shortly after birth by a wizard and hidden away in a secret tower" um quick question was the wizard lactating? "The mother refused to see or touch her child after birth so the baby was left to the care of the ailing grandfather" the grandfather who made the necessary arrangements with women in the neighborhood, right? right? OR THAT GREAT OFFENDER "A newborn baby was left on the doorstep and they brought it in and took care of it no issues" What Are You Going to Feed That Baby. Hello?
Like. It's not impossible, but arrangements are going to have to be made. There are some logistics.
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tyty
continuing w the theme of songs about interpersonal relationships, here's one for grant and carver
allies or enemies - the crane wives
The words I speak
Are wildfires and weeds
They spread like some awful damn disease
And I swear, I didn't mean what I said
I swear, I didn't mean it
i like the first verse especially bc it is very indicative of how i picture Grant's internal monologue over his foot-in-mouthism. He is bad at communicating, at bridging the gap between emotion and words and it really does not help in his efforts to repair his and Carver's relationship. Alongside just... I think misunderstanding Carver a lot, honestly I don't think he understands how much it means to him to be on the expedition until Carver is begging him to change his mind about leaving him behind (and he does change his mind! and still has a lot of what ifs about how carver would still be in kirkwall and not blighted if he hadn't)
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question: do ppl ACTUALLY say things they don’t mean when they’re angry? or is that just an excuse after letting something true slip? i wouldn’t ever say something i don’t mean in anger, so the concept confuses me.
but something was said to me that is bothering me, though apparently was said in an argument and wasn’t meant. but i don’t rlly believe it wasn’t like, deep down true thoughts/feelings??? anyone have any insight? anyone say things they don’t mean in anger?
EDIT: this was a hastily worded post that i didn’t expect to get notes. this is a genuine question asked in good faith that i got a lot of amazing answers to!
also re: the many ppl saying “OP is lying about not saying things they don’t mean in anger because everyone does it”— i genuinely have never done that. if i say something mean while angry, i meant it. that’s literally why i asked this question and why the concept confuses me, because i wouldn’t do something like that so i wanted perspective from people who do it. idk why y’all can’t believe that lmao not everyone is as prone to anger and outbursts
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It’s the way Steve places a pin in that damn map of Hawkins. Two fingers, muddy knuckles. Fuck if Eddie knows the actual destination because all he can navigate is the curve of Steve’s index finger as he smooths out the edges of the map.
And it’s stupid, right? Because the world is folding in on itself and he’s looking at a guy in the kind of way Victorian novelists would only describe as ‘longingly.’ It’s objectively stupid. Probably some adrenaline bullshit that a doctor could explain with a brain scan.
The rest of the group has scattered, plotting amongst themselves. Pulling plans out of their asses. Finding layers of courage behind clues and cassette tapes.
Eddie should do that too. Plan. Make decisions. Do anything other than stare at the dirt underneath Steve’s goddamn fingernails.
“Please blink, Munson.” Steve says while clearing his throat. He’s been doing that a lot. Which is, like, understandable after coughing up lake water all night long.
He clears his throat again. “Show sign of life before I ransack the supply bag for that shit you call music.”
“That… shit?” Eddie spits out the words. Briefly forgets his swirly Steve feelings because of the fucking audacity on this guy. “Rightrightright, because Bob Seger is so fucking dignified, huh?”
“Uh-oh.” Dustin murmurs behind him.
“Because Old Time Rock and Roll is the highest ranking of ear candy?” Eddie searches through their duffel bag until he finds Steve’s Vecna Saftey Tape. Waves it around wildly as he speaks. “Forgive me. I didn’t know entry-level chord progressions were considered Carnegie Hall worthy these days. But by all means, call my music shit.”
He throws the tape at Steve’s lap before dropping back down to his seat on the couch.
“Well,” Steve smirks. “At least we know if the music won’t wake you up, mocking it sure as hell will.”
“Guys. Focus.” Nancy steps into the center of the room. Everyone nods, even Eddie. They listen intently to her directions. Henderson doesn’t interrupt her, not even once.
Nancy’s entire demeanor is charged with currents of determination. It’s honestly impressive. Truly. She could convince congress to change the fucking constitution if she wanted. Have the supreme court eating out of her palm with how persuasive she can be.
And the only thing that distracts her, is the same thing distracting Eddie.
Two fingers. Muddy knuckles.
Eddie follows her gaze back over to Steve. Her expression softening when she sees him.
It’s cruel and expected. Cruel that Eddie has to witness such softness, knowing exactly how it feels. Expected because wedding bells can practically be heard every time those two interact with each other. No one can deny that.
But knowing all this doesn’t stop the cruelty from squeezing Eddie’s stomach till his insides feel raw.
He swallows down his flimsy fantasies. Keeps repeating those words from back in the woods:
It’s jealousy, it’s jealousy, it’s jealousy, it’s-
“Hey, man.” Steve says.
Man? Not ‘Nancy, my betrothed?’ Not “Nancy, my muse?”
… Man?
Eddie blinks. Glances up to see Steve looking at him. “Your taste in music isn’t complete shit.”
Which isn’t exactly an apology. But the teasing scratches an itch in Eddie’s brain that he hasn’t be able to reach for a very long time.
“Yeah.” Eddie says. “I guess Bob Seger’s stuff is… intermediate. Assistant managerial-level chord progressions.”
He pauses. Then leans in and adds a quick, “At best.”
They both laugh a little. It’s cut short by Steve clearing his throat again. One of the many reminders that they’re not well.
That nothing they’re going through is fair. Not even in the same universe as Fair. Eddie’s eyes fall to the red markings around Steve’s neck. Wonders if that makes his cough hurt worse.
“Look.” Steve nudges Eddie’s arm. Pulls his attention back into this moment. “We’ve got this, okay?”
Eddie can’t exactly tell if there’s softness in Steve’s eyes - the same kind Nancy gives to him so freely. Or if it’s just regularly scheduled Concern. But it doesn’t even matter because Steve said that.
We.
‘We’ve got this.’
Him and Steve.
And, okay, was Steve referring to a collective ‘we?’ Sure, yeah. Obviously. But Eddie is allowing himself to wallow in delusion while the world’s expiration date remains questionable.
So he aims a lovesick smile at Steve and sighs. “Whatever you say, Harrington.”
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