#tw: conceiving

[erathene]

Sowing Seeds

Summary: Wound up by your mother’s incessant nagging, you reminisce over the ranger of the north you fell in love with. Aragorn helps in more ways than one.

Word count: 2k

Pairing: Aragorn x Female!Reader 

Warnings: This fic is rated mature. LOTS of Spice, sexual themes (flirting, touching, kissing, teasing). Mentions of pregnancy and conceiving a child. Mentions of sexual intercourse, but it is not explicitly described. 

AO3 Link: Sowing Seeds

Author's note: Thank you to @emmanuellececchi for being a wonderful Beta reader and taking time to provide feedback even when sick! You're the best 😘 Thank you also to @dancerinthestorm and @inkedmoth who cheered me on when I was documenting my creative process, you guys are awesome 🙂 This fic is also dedicated to anyone who has had the unsolicited question of “when are you having kids // when are you trying for baby #2”. Fertility and conceiving is a journey which looks different from person to person, and there are many versions of happiness that come with it. Enjoy ❤️

..........................

"My love?"

At the distant sound of your husband's voice, you glance up, the letter from your mother still clutched in your hand. You rise quickly, tucking the parchment back into its envelope and stuffing it hastily into a drawer of the writing desk.

"In here," you call back to him. Even after all these months of living in the royal quarters, at times they still feel enormous to you.

He rounds the door to the study and your eyes take in the full sight of him. He's sporting a crisp linen shirt and lightweight moss-green tunic, both of which are generously covered in dirt. His sleeves have been rolled up to the elbows, the dirt even more pronounced around his exposed forearms, down to his hands and fingertips. His breeches and boots fare no better, and there are particularly large patches of mud clinging to his kneecaps where he must have been kneeling in the fresh earth. There's also a slight sheen on his forehead which speaks of his toil.

He looks far more ranger than king today, more than you've seen in a long time. He looks... delightful.

"Been in the gardens again?" you muse, taking in his form with one eyebrow raised and a twitch at your mouth.

"Aye," he says, brushing one elbow where a patch of drying mud seems to bother him. "Our head gardener believes we will have the most spectacular blooms in the palace gardens ere the start of summer," he gushes passionately.

"I don't doubt it," you smirk, still looking him up and down, "with all the work you're putting in."

He flashes a quick smile in your direction. There he is. Your ranger. The dirt-ridden Dúnedain who was always traipsing from one corner of Middle Earth to another, ragged and rough-looking from the wilds and the woodlands, the scent of which lingered on every part of his being. You suddenly wished you were close enough to smell him, just as a flash of a distant memory crosses your mind; one of the two of you buried in each other's arms, his calloused hands running gently through your hair, your lips pressing against his, fully consuming him yet wanting more. The temporary burst of imagery in your mind is intense.

You blame your mother for this, her and her persistent letters which usually centre around the royal heirs that need to come forth sooner rather than later. She was quick to approve your match with long-lost-heir-to-the-throne-of-Gondor Aragorn, but much less approving of Strider and his ranger ways. Indeed, if he had stepped over her threshold in his current state, she would likely throw him out and tell him to go bathe in a horse trough before showing his face at her doorstep again.

He somehow seems to partly read your mind. "I'll go change into something more--"

"Don't," you interrupt him quickly. The last thing you want him to do is change.

You slowly cross the room to where he is standing with a slightly bewildered look on his face, the light chiffon of your dress trailing behind you across the carpets. It's a loose-fitting gown, one of the more casual garments from your wardrobe, the colours well-suited to the warming spring weather. With no royal engagements today, you had deliberately chosen it over the tighter, more formal frocks that now seemed to be overflowing from every armoire in your chambers.

What happened to the simple leggings and cotton blouses you used to wear? What was ever wrong with them?

"What troubles you?" Aragorn's voice is calm and quiet as you approach, despite the crease in his brow. Ever the doting husband, he instinctively knows that something has irked you. 

"Nothing of great significance... My mother and her nagging," you shrug shyly with a roll of your eyes.

"And what has she to say, pray tell?" He traces the backs of his knuckles along your upper arm, up to your shoulder and the strap of your dress, so gentle it barely touches your skin.

You look up into his deep, grey eyes. "Please, I do not want to think about my mother right now." Your voice is hovering somewhere between a whisper and a moan. He doesn't stop caressing your arm. "She's on about… that subject again."

His eyebrows lift in surprise. "Has she rescinded her opinion of me? To be posing the question to you so openly and so often?"

You snicker at the thought. "I don't think she will ever move past the fact that her only daughter went chasing after a ranger of the north. She missed out on the opportunity to play matchmaker." Yes, your mother would have loved to have been the one to set you up with some petty lord with the promise of new trade links for your homeland and a sizable dowry for your family's coffers. 

Aragorn hummed to himself, his head tilting sideways as he considered this fact. "Is the King of Gondor not enough for her?" he says, stretching his arms wide in jest.

"Enough of that talk, Telcontar," you scoff, using his chosen house name against him. "You married a strong woman; unfortunately for you, she comes with an equally strong mother-in-law."

"Well," he breathes softly, wrapping his soiled hands around your own, "loathe as I am to do something to appease your mother, the idea of you, round and brimming with our child, does sound very appealing to me." He lifts your hands to his chest where your finely-crafted silver wedding band gleams in the bright sunlight. "A little Telcontari of our own," he murmurs, placing a kiss on your ring finger.

You cannot help your coy smile. "Only the one?"

His fingertips reach for a stray strand of your hair that dangles beside your cheek, and he carefully tucks it behind your ear. "However many you want, my love." His giant hand moves from your hair to your jawline, his thumb inching towards your mouth.

His words are deliberate and astute; many times you have mentioned your childhood spent amongst your large family, and there is little doubt he is not aware of your desire for a generous brood. Yet you cannot stop the flirtatious back talk that slips from your open mouth. "You may come to regret that," you say, before biting your lip and locking his gaze.

A smile quickens across his features. "I think I ought to be the judge of what I regret saying to my wife."

It almost sounds like a challenge.

Strong, muscular arms pull you in closer as he speaks, embracing you, his palms settling into the small of your back. He holds you regally, his touch firm yet gentle, as though you're the answer to every prayer he's ever spoken in tortured whispers to the divine. You are his queen, and he intends to treat you as such; he lays a tender, drawn-out kiss on your forehead where the Gondorian diadem would normally be resting on your brow. He is practically worshipping you.

Yes, it's good. But receiving the royal treatment is not on your agenda today. What you are looking for, what you need, is the ranger in him. You need Strider.

Your next move catches him somewhat off guard. You press your palms to his chest and push him backwards, driving him into the wall with a gentle thud. His eyes betray his curiosity, but he shouldn't be surprised; after all, it was he who trained you in hand-to-hand combat when you joined the northern rangers. You begin your assault, placing kisses along his collarbone and up his neck to where, eventually, you come to the skin beneath his ear where you know he is most sensitive. He confirms you have found his weakness with a low, gravelly moan that rumbles his throat. It gives you the confidence needed to push on, to be bolder. Your hands trail from his chest to the nape of his neck, up into his hair, your fingertips massaging his scalp before pulling his lengths taught. You smirk into his skin when he lets out a second moan.

You should have known better than to think your touch would disable him and this time, it's you who is caught off guard. He sweeps your legs out from under you and wraps them around his waist, spinning you around, lifting you up against the same wall he had his back to moments ago. The breath is driven out of your lungs as he pins you there. He gives you a look, his eyes holding a hunger like he's absolutely starved of you, and you know you're about to learn exactly what regret means.

His lips take to your mouth and he's a man on a mission; to satiate every whim, every desire, every need that you awoke within him and he will not allow himself to rest until he has achieved it. His kiss is wild, passionate, and his broad hands explore your body freely, taking in every contour and curve you have to offer him. You finally figure out how to draw breath again and you inhale his scent, the blissful smell of gardens and disturbed earth washing over you.

It's not hard for you to picture him the way you fell in love with him; a worn travelling cloak hanging from his well-built shoulders which also bear his pack, bow and bedroll, prepared and ready for whatever the world throws his way.

He breaks away momentarily, muttering something incomprehensible about how sweet you taste, before his lips meet your own once more. He consumes you as though you're the first proper meal he's had after weeks on the road. Your breath catches in your throat as he nips at your bottom lip in his frenzy, yet your reaction only encourages his mouth; further kisses are placed along your jawline, one after another like trailing footprints, inching their way to your neck, where his teeth sink into yet more of your flesh and begin to gently suck. He knows just as well as you do that it will leave a bruise. A claim to mark his territory. 

His hands return to roaming about your thighs, tugging at the fabric of your dress, searching for his prize. You know exactly what he wants. However, your full-length gown is awkwardly caught around your knees, the chiffon unwilling to stretch, blocking his access. His fingers switch to tugging at the fastening at the back of the dress, impatient and restless. 

Frustrating as it is to tell your husband to stop, your conscience knows you must. Breaking away from his touch, you hiss a command. "Not here, Aragorn.” You have been working hard to build a trusting relationship with your household staff in recent months, and goodness knows what would happen if one of them were to catch their king and queen in the act of procreation right here on the study floor. The poor elderly head housekeeper would likely faint with shock.

He tries to protest, the disappointment evident in his longing eyes, but you press your index finger to his lips.  "And not with those filthy hands either. Wash them first, then meet me in the bed chamber." You pause, taking a moment to lean in to whisper in his ear, "and there, you can remove whatever you want." Your seductive tone makes the prospect sound even more inviting to him than it already is.

Aragorn sighs, allowing a curse to slip through his lips. He releases your thighs and they slowly drag against his soiled breeches until your feet return to the floor. You pull away and turn towards your chambers, but not before taking a moment to look back at your husband; he's gaping at you like a fool, completely caught in your trance, so you intentionally allow the strap of your dress to fall from your shoulder. You know it's all he can do to keep his feet planted where he stands and not curse you again for being such a tease. As a final provocation, you run your tongue across your bottom lip before sauntering away, your hips deliberately swinging from side to side as he watches you leave. The palace gardens are not the only place Aragorn will be sowing his seeds today, it would seem. 

[chrisbangs]

Bang Chan .:. TOPLINE (Feat. Tiger JK) M/V

[bonefall]

So, your Clear Sky post is absolutely horrifying, but it was very needed, so thank you. What are your general thoughts on tackling his abuse for the AU? Like you've said, pretending he's a good guy is not the way to go, but are you planning on toning down *some* of the situations, just to give some of the cats a break? Clear Sky is a very realistic depiction of abusers, but that seems to come across even without victim number 25, yknow? I'm very curious about how you'd like to go about this.

My most recent big change was bringing Slash back into the fold, because I realized that it was actually a disservice to not address where DOTC's themes dip into Colonialism. It's a hard topic, and I'm still trying to work out the details, but I realized it was important.

With how BB!DOTC is such a MASSIVE overhaul, to properly address abuse and the ways it impacts you, ableism and its violence, and xenophobia broadly, a huge reworking of Slash belonged here too. He's one of the greatest examples of how badly WC demonizes non-Clanborn cats. I shouldn't dance around it.

That's what I need to do with Skystar.

MANY of his victims have happier endings than canon, though. Bumble is one of the most famous, bumped up into a major character and directly responsible for the formation of ThunderClan. Bright Storm is taking most of Gray Wing's roles. Birch and Alder are getting examined, with either a father who wants his kids back or Milkweed as the mate of Misty.

A lot of people will die because of him, even more will be hurt, but I see BB!DOTC as a story about victims and survivors.

Others might grab POVs here and there, but as a response to canon which I feel is Clear Sky's story told in many parts, I center this rewrite around Thunder Storm. The path of kindness he marches down, with love and with anger, and the people he helps.

So BB!Star Flower...

Previously I was playing her as ENTIRELY just manipulating Clear Sky. She was loyal to One Eye and trying to get at Skystar to bleed him dry for 8 lives to sacrifice; but connected to Thunderstar over recognizing him as a victim who deserves her idea of justice. So, she offers Thunderstar the final kill, so her father will be grateful to him and he'll get power AND the death of his abuser.

(When Thunderstar looks upon Skystar, pathetic and neutralized down to one life, he thinks about the collateral damage that will descend upon the forest if he accepts the deal. He decides that he has found the line between Justice and Justification. Of course he wants the power to make his enemies cower, protect his people, and eliminate Clear Sky so he never threatens them again; that's not the problem.

He can still do these things. He wouldn't NEED the power of a war god to do so.

But if One Eye returns, he will be endlessly hungry, ruthlessly dedicated to revenge, and set out to devour the whole forest. Everything would get worse, and even more people he loves would die. It's where his desire to destroy a monster would lead to him BECOMING one.)

Even on its face, it was previously missing an element. There's a step between "Starf decides to bring One Eye back" and "Starf offers Thunderstar the final kill" that was bare. This is the piece that was missing-- That she, herself, is trying to reach out to the only person who's ever really understood her.

But more importantly... I do feel this topic belongs here, in BB!DOTC. Abuse is a MAJOR theme. SKYSTAR is a monster already. He's harmed two wives in BB (Bright Storm and Falling Cry) and played toxic games with all three kits (Thunder Storm, Pale Sky, Tiger Sky).

And I'd avoid Star Flower being abused... why? Because it's uncomfortable to confront the pattern that Clear Sky displays? That in-canon, he tries to cut all his victims into the same ideal shape, from Storm to Thunder to Star Flower? ...it should be uncomfortable. Everything that I described in Clear Sky Is A Monster is rooted in the same desire for control, power, and punishment most abusive people share, he just happens to be a severe example.

Yes. That includes how he treats his child and romantic partners. The parallels that are drawn between Starf and Thunder are there because he wants power in the form of obedience. Starf replaces the son as a narrative award for his "growth" of not killing random people anymore for a while.

A cookie cutter is an effective tool because IT ONLY MAKES ONE SHAPE.

You know what's more uncomfortable? Reading canon!DOTC and seeing someone who hurt you reflected almost perfectly in the character the writers think did nothing wrong. Because of "good intentions" that were not there.

I will say though, just to be clear; I don't see a purpose in being more than PG-13 about serious topics for this project. I promise none of my intentions have changed. Nothing will be more graphic or gorey than canon WC-- just more intentional.

I'm keeping the sacrifice because it's dope. No one is taking this from me. Girl Moment: Killed her awful husband 8 times to count as 8 sacrifices and offered the last life to her buddy as a show of good will. How else do you make friends outside of high school

But I know now that Star Flower NEEDS to keep the canon fact she has very little agency, UNTIL that moment she snaps.

She's sacrificing one abuser to try and bring back a bigger, badder one, because in spite of everything, her father One Eye always made her feel safe. Even though he promised her off to Skystar, and expected her to be willing to die for him. She's followed every command, every order, past the death of his mortal vessel.

The first, and only, selfish choice she's ever made was in reaching out to Thunderstar to offer him the power of her father.

Thunderstar's Justice is a story about a Thunder Storm at the pinnacle of his arc, how the survivors of his Clan are settling into the new normal after the carnage of The First Battle, how Skystar's arrogance brings a violent god to the Forest... and the connection Thunderstar makes with the daughter of a monster.

[blaithnne]

i actually feel so bad for johanna because can you imagine if your parents could watch you whenever they wanted?? johanna is on a roll flirting with this cute librarian and is about to get her number when she looks over and sees two shadowy figures watching and her and is like "GUYS CAN I HAVE FIVE MINUTES OF PEACE-"

[uncanny-tranny]

You know, sometimes I see those cis people who are genuinely angry that they aren't "just" men or women, and part of me wants to go, "oh, I empathize with that impulse. I find that many people seem to remind me of my transness in order to both put me in my place, but also almost as a comforting way to pretend like a trans person could never have anything in common with 'normal' people. I find the distinction between trans and cis seems to primarily help cis people, so I can understand why you'd only want to be under the 'man' umbrella."

[keeps-ache]

blood of the covenant

[augustlaven]

Choose your type!

(Click on the image for better quality)

Thomas: "Hey, y/n, do you want to go fishing?" / "Hmm, so what if you're cute? I have absolutely no interest in spending time with you. Maybe sometimes…" / "You know you can't get rid of me, don't you?"

Edward: "In the moments when I see you, I rejoice even more that my left eye still sees!" / "…Stop it, I need to work, not talk." / "Believe me, I'm only doing this to protect you! Please, y/n, don't call the police… I'm begging you…"

Henry: "It's always so cozy next to you..." / "I'm g-giving the flower to you b-because I'm running out of space in the shop, okay? I'll make sure you take good care of it!" / "Ah, y/n!~ I had to dig up the ground to plant daisies for you. I'm just a little dirty, don't worry."

Gordon: "Oh, I was worried I wouldn't catch up with you!" / "You are an absolute weakling, y/n! I'll have to train you until jogging becomes a normal activity for you in the morning!" / "I can't let an inferior being like you be around me. I'll have to teach you how to behave appropriately for my status."

James: "Oh, you're so lucky that I agreed to accompany you! Believe me, you won't be bored with me!" / "What? Of course I didn't sew up the holes in your socks, y/n! I don't do such dirty work, you silly dumbass!" / "I made this especially for you, you know? What do you mean by how do I know your clothing sizes? I just have a good eye."

Percy: "Oh, y/n, can I walk with you? I have free time right now!" / "I was looking for Thomas, that's why I ran into you! This is a complete accident!" / "I'll follow you anywhere. You give me confidence in myself, I can't let us part."

[loveryss]

Because of the guilt she feels about the failed unwanted pregnancy, Erin brought up artificial insemination as an option to Sasha. Sasha, who also doesn't want children, is hesitant but seeing how bad Erin feels, she promises to give it a try. Later though, she wonders if it was a mistake after all...

[descendant-of-truth]

I noticed that Dark Sonic was getting some more attention lately (probably because of the redraw prompt) and couldn't help but think. Do people remember why Sonic was so worried about Chris in that scene

In the dub, Sonic remarks that Chris is unconscious, but it doesn't really look that way to me? His expression is too tense to not be at least partly awake. But if he wasn't knocked out, what happened--

Yeah he kinda got slashed across the back

Now since they weren't allowed to show (much) blood, they ended up making his injury seem really vague in the scene where Sonic actually finds him and Cosmo, but uh. Pretty sure that guy's bleeding out a little

Suddenly their reactions hit a little harder, huh?

(Note that it's specifically on the line "what did you do to Chris" that Sonic makes the switch into dark mode, which. Yeah that's fair)

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

If watching true crime has taught me anything; it’s that the criminal justice system very often does jack shit about obvious cases of child abuse, and only takes it seriously after the parents kill the child.

[dr3amofagame]

i 100% agree with what theminecraftbox had to add about c!quackity. i might be biased because he's my blorbo, but i think it's way more interesting to have sexual violence be the one line he REFUSES to cross in the prison. almost like it's a way to protect himself from his own corruption.

a;ljsfkdaslf i'm not too sure that's what kat was saying tbh

(more discussion of noncon under the cut)

i think in terms of c!dreamity, right, i think that the probability probably swings towards c!quackity not doing anything physically of a sexual nature--i think comments and threats are pretty damn likely, tbh, but i can see a separation made for him between the violent nature of what he's doing and, well, sex, for a variety of reasons. because he's a romantic at heart and wants aspects of his relationships/love life kept separate from the bloody depths of pandora, because of his own perceptions of propriety and social norms, what have you. that being said, i think it's fair to make an argument in the opposite direction--what's undeniable, as kat has mentioned, is that there is a degree of restraint regarding matters of a sexual nature w/ respect to the prison, in that if anything of that nature exists he is very obviously much less unapologetic about them compared to how he is around violence and torture in general in the context of pandora (like, there's just very little that's unsubtle about hitting someone with an axe), but the existence of restraint to some degree compared to the much more overt nature of the rest of the torture definitely doesn't in itself prevent torture with sexual elements from existing in totality. just bc he's not walking out of the prison covered in another type of bodily fluids doesnt mean that the frustration and desperation of trying to get the book for another bloody day, with noncon sitting between them as an elephant in the room from day one, combined with the obvious social connotations with power and sex and masculinity and what it means to make someone your bitch, couldn't have all boiled over. ykwim?

again, to stress: if we're talking purely in canon, my opinions tend to skew towards the lack of anything physically happening of a sexual nature during the prison arc torture visits. but the fact of the matter, to me, is that it could have existed and that we wouldn't, like, know. the torture has a curtain drawn over it for a reason; we are kind of meant to wonder what "2 1/2 months of continuous daily torture" is really supposed to mean. i think that the prison arc absolutely has the space for it to include stuff like, violent sexual assault.

which is kinda where i have...different feelings about manberg c!schlackity, tbh. the contexts are so different that this comparison is kinda hard to make, but while the sexual harassment and the abuse in c!quackity's relationship with c!schlatt is obvious and undeniable, i think the manberg arc as presented does provide constraints, to a certain effect, on c!schlackity's relationship? it's important to note that c!schlatt was perceived as a bumbling fool before he was elected, and that's literally part of why c!quackity even made a coalition with him in the first place. it certainly wasn't for ideological reasons, considering his wanting to make a coalition with pog2020 literal minutes before--this guy thought schlatt was his best ticket at beating pog2020, and schlatt was also someone that came off as drunk all the time and completely idiotic. again, i've not rewatched in awhile, but i don't really think c!schlackity was marked by this feeling of c!quackity feeling Trapped By Fear in manberg as much as he grew increasingly disillusioned with the relationship--the greatest evidence of fear as a motivating factor imo would have to happen post-red festival, but that's also a point where c!quackity's frustrations towards schlatt and manberg as a whole were boiling over and i don't really remember much of him using the red festival as evidence that c!schlatt was someone he was afraid to fuck with. as kat mentioned earlier, the physical abuse in c!schlackity was obvious and undeniable, but when it happened it was also the motivating factor for c!quackity to murder c!schlatt and run.

obviously, the sexual elements in c!schlackity are Far more pronounced than anything for c!dreamity, and if we're talking the presence of dubcon in general i feel like c!schlackity definitely has plenty of room for it, even if all you take into account is how c!schlatt was drunk 90% of the time. and w/ the context of how part of the deal for the coalition was framed as c!quackity's use of sex to get himself the position of VP and the ... not nonexistent presence of his lying and manipulating c!schlatt for the sake of power, bc their relationship in manberg really was predicated on power and c!quackity's pursuit of it specifically, there's a lot of ways that i think a sexual relationship for c!schlackity can fall that's far more ambiguous and two-sided than what i've often seen in terms of c!schlackity portrayals. but along that same line, when c!quackity's reaction to physical violence was so pronounced and made a point of, in some manners i feel like portrayals of inescapable sexual abuse and violent sexual assault re: c!schlackity don't really feel in line with what i remember of their relationship in canon; i just don't really feel like manberg as a context provides the same room for it, especially in comparison to pandora's vault, which was kind of the point i was trying to make in answering that anon. that's just me tho .

[criminalmindsgonewrong]

nature vs nurture

a hotchner's future au fic. wordcount: 5.7k

emily is trying to be a good mother, but she never had a good example to learn from.

or

elizabeth comes to visit after ava is born

tw: mentions of pregnancy, mentions of trouble conceiving

Read on AO3, fanfiction.net or under the cut

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"There, there," Emily soothed, running her hand gently up and down her newborn daughter's back. Bouncing on the pregnancy ball, the only thing that had brought her any relief as she had neared fullterm, she had hoped that the familiar sensation would soothe Ava, as it used to when she was in-utero, but, so far, no dice. Emily persisted, though, switching up the position she held Ava in. She moved her daughter from her shoulder, unstrapping her maternity bra and holding Ava nestled against her chest, hoping the skin-to-skin contact, and the scent of her mother, might calm the crying child. Still, Ava went on screeching. Emily closed her eyes, breathing steadily out through her nose and tilting her face up towards the ceiling, determined not to cry. No, she had done enough of that in the past few days.

Getting pregnant had been a chore; she and Aaron, it felt like, were having sex at every opportunity and still, nothing happened for the longest time. Emily had been convinced she was infertile, and wouldn't even have been surprised, after all of the explosions, gun-shots, chairlegs and beatings she'd been through. After eleven long months of negative pregnancy tests, unwanted periods and disappointed tears, though, finally, those two little lines had shown up and a relief the likes of which she had never known flooded Emily's being.

She hadn't stopped crying since.

The littlest things could set her off, from Aaron accidentally ordering her the wrong takeout order to Jack winning one of his football matches. Towards the end of her pregnancy, he had actually banned her from attending games - by that point she was so big that she couldn't do much more than waddle, anyway, and standing for too long made her ache all over, so she didn't really mind all that much, but she still cried when Aaron told her.

That was a month ago, and, three weeks later, Ava made her squawking, mewling way into the world and it seemed that the phrase like mother, like daughter was all too true for them because she hadn't stopped crying since either, and everytime Ava cried, one of two things happened. Emily started leaking, either from her eyes or from her boobs.

As she bounced on the birthing ball and tried to breathe her way through the tears that threatened, she felt the hot trail of milk that slowly leaked out of her, and then she couldn't hold back tears anymore.

"Hey," Aaron said, rushing into the room armed with the diaper and wipes she'd sent him out for, "I was just checking on Jack, I'm sorry." He said, misinterpreting her tears, but Emily shook her head.

"Can you-you get me a t-towel?" She stutered her way through her sentence, the sympathy on her husband's face only making her cry harder, and, feeling useless, Aaron did the only thing he could, which was what she had asked for. He hurried into their en-suite, grabbing one of the microfibre towels, the good, soft ones, from the cupboard and came back to kneel in front of his wife and daughter. Lovingly, he mopped up the milk and then fastened her maternity bra back up for her, careful not to disturb Ava, who was still crying.

"Did you try her…?" Aaron asked, and then trailed off at the expression on Emily's face, the one that said she might rip his head off if he finished that sentence. "Of course you did. Sorry, sweetheart."

Emily, though, shook her head, "I'm sorry. I don't mean to take it out on you," She said, and supported Ava with one arm, making sure she was secure before reaching for Aaron. He understood and took her hand, helping her stand off of the ball and leading her to the bed, where Emily painfully lowered herself onto it, still tender from the birth, "Oh, please, close the door before she wakes Jack up."

Aaron had the same thought at the same moment, and was already turning as she made the request. "This won't last forever," he reassured her, making his way back to the bed and rubbing Emily's back in much the same way as Emily had done to Ava, trying to soothe her.

"Do you remember Jack crying this much?" Emily dug around in Ava's blankets, finding her pacifier and once again gently tapping it against her infant's lips, but Ava wiggled her head back and forth as best as she could, and only mewled louder, rejecting the pacifier, "Okay, okay, I'm sorry, sweetheart, I'm sorry." Emily said, feeling tears threaten once more, and swallowing down the lump that had risen in her throat. She felt, not for the first time, at a complete loss, unable to determine what her daughter needed at any given moment. This learning curve was the steepest she had ever encountered, and Emily felt like she was faltering with every step she took..

She looked at Aaron with eyes that sparkled like glass, "She hates me," she said, with a sadness so profound that it made him gape at her.

"No, sweetheart, no," He wrapped his arms around them both, pulling his wife and daughter into his chest, "Don't ever think that."

"What's wrong with me," Emily sobbed, her words muffled by Aaron's chest, "that I can't even comfort my own baby?"

Between them, Ava was still crying, and Emily pulled out of Aaron's arms, making to stand up, meaning to pace back and forth in the hopes that a different motion might soothe her, but Aaron stopped her.

"Let me?" He asked, searching his wife's eyes.

Emily had been reluctant to let go of Ava, even to him, since she was born and she appreciated that he asked, even if he was her father. Of course she trusted him, but Ava was the most precious thing she'd ever seen, ever held, and to let her go for even a moment, even to her father, was like physical torment. Right now, though, after Ava had been screaming for almost two hours, the relief of being slightly further away from her noise overcame that pain easily, and she let Aaron gently lift the baby from her arms.

She watched as he nestled Ava into the crook of his elbow, holding her tight to his chest. She was a tiny baby, but she looked even smaller in Aaron's muscular arms, truly like a little doll. It made something inside of Emily ache.

"That's nature's trick," she commented, narrowing her eyes as she wiped her nose on back of her hand, frowning at him.

Aaron looked at her, halted his attempts at soothing their daughter to raise his eyebrows at her, the ghost of a smile playing around his lips, "What?"

"How good men look with babies." Even though Emily couldn't even think about having sex with him without wincing right now, something inside of her tugged at the sight of him holding the tiny bundle, comforting their child with soft words and looking down at her with such adoration, "Tricks you into having more."

Aaron smiled at her, showing his perfect teeth, then turned that smile down onto their daughter. Emily marvelled, not for the first time, at his patience. She loved Ava with everything she had, but she was ready to jam a screwdriver into her eardrum right about now, just for the bliss of the silence.

"She's brand new," Aaron was saying, "Being born is traumatic. Everything is new and big and scary," he rocked, side to side, creating a rhythm, "I know you don't like it right now," he wasn't talking to her anymore, but to Ava, "but you will. I promise you will."

Ava paused for a moment to look at her father, blinking bleary eyes at him, still unable, Emily knew, to see clearly. That, she thought, must be scary enough in itself.

"You know what used to work for Jack?" Hotch said, looking up at her. Tiredly, Emily raised her eyebrows at him. "A bath."

"See? Works everytime."

His fingertips stroked over their daughter's tiny, dark head, her hair wet from the water and plastered flat. She rested on Emily's chest, her tiny fist furling and unfurling against her mother's skin. The water was just the right temperature, a little cold for Emily, perhaps, but perfect for the baby, and her mother's heart beat steadily and surely beneath her ear, as comforting as it had been when she lived inside Emily's body.

"You're a genius," Emily whispered, smiling at her husband, the silence making her ears buzz. Ava's eyes had fluttered closed, along with her fist, and she didn't open them or unfurl them, but instead began a slow and steady breathing that told her parents she had, finally, fallen asleep.

There was a long beat of silence. Then Emily looked at him and said, "What now?"

Kneeling beside the bath, Aaron's shoulders started to shake as he tried to laugh silently, and Emily held Ava's head gently as she did the same, trying to keep as still as she could while giggling, so as not to disturb her daughter.

The next morning, Ava woke them with a cry, as had become the custom, as was normal for a baby her age. It was 5:30am. All in all, her parents had four hours of sleep between them. They tried to nap alternately, but realistically when one was awake, so was the other, and the morning was the same story, so when Ava's cries woke Emily, Aaron was up a few seconds later.

By lunch time, they were both yawning.

"Kids are hard," Emily whined, resting her chin on Aaron's shoulder as she curled her fingers around the mug of coffee she had been reheating and trying to drink since 7am. Ava, blissfully, was taking a nap in her swing, a song that Emily already knew would be haunting her dreams playing for the seventh time in a row. Unfortunately, it seemed to be the only one that Ava found appealing and so, like all new parents, they were putting up with it until further notice. Or until the batteries ran out.

"Yeah," Aaron agreed, just as sleepily, as Jack came bounding into the room with an energy his parents couldn't possibly hope to match.

"Grandma's here," he announced, and they both stared at him in confusion. Impatient, he repeated, "Grandma's here! In the car!"

"My mom?" Emily said, frowning in confusion.

"Has to be. Highly doubt it's mine, or he'd be screaming in terror since she's been dead for twenty years." Aaron replied, standing up from the barstool. There were milkstains on his t-shirt, Emily noticed, and, looking down at her own, she saw that she, too, was covered in them. She also noticed a stain that looked suspiciously like milk-sick, but didn't inspect it too much. Instead, she grabbed a hoodie from the pile of laundry she had been meaning to get to for four days, and tugged it over her head, trying to make herself look at least half presentable.

"Can't we send her away?" Aaron suggested, half-heartedly, already aware of how much of a losing battle that would be.

"It's better if we just let her in, let her see the baby, and then, once she's had her fill, we won't have to see her for about five years. Hopefully." Emily asserted, attempting to fluff her hair in the microwave's reflection before giving up and tugging it up into a bumpy ponytail, fastening it with the hairtie that had been around her wrist.

The doorbell went and they both turned as though it were the cock of a gun.

"I'll get it," Aaron groaned, and Emily shot him a grateful smile, heading straight into the living room to where Ava was in her swing and Jack was sitting at the dining room table, drawing.

"Jack," she said, walking over to him and putting a gentle hand on his hair, stroking it, lovingly, "Don't take too much notice of anything Grandma says, okay?"

Jack looked up at her with curious blue eyes, but she just smiled at him, a smile that fell from her face as soon as she heard the tell tale click-clack on her hardwood floors, the soundtrack of her childhood, the noise that ominously announced the approach of her mother.

"Emily, my darling," Elizabeth swanned into the room, arms open wide, like the loving and affectionate mother she never had been, and enveloped Emily in a hug that felt all wrong and unfamiliar. Over her shoulder, she caught Aaron's eye, and he just shrugged as she furrowed her brows at him, "How are you?"

Shoving her away, Elizabeth held her at arms length, "You look tired."

"I just had a baby, mom," Emily said, deadpan, not at all shocked that the first words out of Elizabeth's mouth could be classified as an insult.

"Oh, yes, my first grandchild," Elizabeth clapped her hands together and Emily ground her teeth together.

"Second," she corrected, wrapping her arm securely around Jack's shoulders.

"Oh, of course, of course," Elizabeth waved a hand, as though to waft away her earlier words, "Jack, how are you?"

Her tone was as it had always been with children; formal and awkward. Jack looked from Elizabeth up to Emily, who gave him a small smile, a reassuring nod and a gentle squeeze into her side.

"I'm okay, grandma," he said, politely, "How are you?"

"Dying to meet my granddaughter," as tone deaf as ever, Elizabeth beamed at Emily, who felt something like possession curl in her chest as she saw the hungry look on Elizabeth's face, and she knew, she had known, the strange ownership Elizabeth already felt for Ava, a child she hadn't even met yet. She wanted, then, to send Eliazabeth away, to keep Ava for herself. She opened her mouth to speak, unsure of what was about to come out of it, but Aaron beat her to it.

"She's over here," he said, from behind her mother, and Elizabeth turned on her heels. Emily followed, right behind her.

The granddaughter in question was stirring, her lullaby having finished, and Emily, supporting herself on the arm of the sofa, knelt slowly down beside the swing and fiddled with the buttons until the song began again.

"Oh," Elizabeth looked down at the tiny bundle, as Emily put gentle fingers on Ava's tiny hand, lowering the arm that had been raised to cover her little face. "She's beautiful," Elizabeth whispered, "Emily, she looks just like you."

And Emily thought that might be the nicest thing her mother had ever said to her. She beamed with pride, staring at the tiny girl in the swing.

Before Ava, Emily was the type of person to say that all newborns looked the same. If somebody had shown her a photograph of Jack at one week old, and Henry at one week old, she was certain she wouldn't be able to tell them apart, regardless of how much she loved them both. Ava, however, was a different story entirely. Ava was the most beautiful newborn she had ever seen, with a shock of dark hair and eyes that were already the same deep brown as both of her parents and therefore, Emily assumed, likely to stay that way. Her pale little eyebrows arched angelically over her eyes, and, already, her eyelashes were shockingly long - the abundance of hair her daughter already had accounted for the heartburn Emily had suffered with throughout the second and third trimester.

She gently pulled back her finger and Ava once again lifted her arm to cover her face, fussing a little in the chair, unhappy about being disturbed.

"She won't stay settled for much longer," Aaron said, knowingly, "Elizabeth, can I get you a drink?"

"Yes, tea." There was no please, and Aaron raised an eyebrow at Emily, who just tilted her head, apologetically, and widened her eyes. He understood her even without words.

Let's just get through this.

"Mom, I wish you'd told us you were going to drop by," Emily said, as Aaron lef the room. The scolding was barely disguised, but Elizabeth either didn't hear it or chose to ignore it. She sat herself down on the sofa, but Emily stayed on the carpet beside Ava, wanting to be the closest one to her when she inevitably started crying, wanting, if she was honest with herself, to pick her up before Elizabeth tried to reach for her.

"I'm your mother, Emily, I don't need an announcement," Elizabeth waved away her words, and then added, "Or an invite." She pursed her lips with disapproval, clearly telling her daughter off in not as many words. Emily immediately felt the need to make excuses, a reminder that even as a grown woman, she hadn't escaped the effect her mother always seemed to have on her, of making her feel like a misbehaving child.

"We're just, we weren't having guests during these first two weeks," Emily said, tiredly, folding her own hands in her lap, "The house is a mess, we're all so exhausted. We've just been settling in with the baby-"

"Nonesense," Elizabeth let out a sharp laugh as Aaron entered the room with her tea, and Ava jumped, her grandmother's laugh effectively ending her nap. Startled, she began to cry as Elizabeth continued, seemingly oblivious, "I was on a plane to Munich two days after giving birth to you."

"Yes, mother, I know," Emily said, tersely, as she reached her hands into the swing, unbuckling the baby and fastening them securely around Ava. She lifted her out of the chair, immediately pulling Ava to her chest. Emily made soothing noises, picking up the pacifier Ava had spat out and putting it into her own mouth as she adjusted her daughter in her arms.

"You shouldn't do that, you know," And here it was, Emily thought, as she met Aaron's eyes over Elizabeth's head, the real reason they hadn't invited her; the unsolicited advice she was about to give that would make Emily's blood boil, because, really, who was Elizabeth to give anybody parenting advice, let alone the daughter she hadn't raised?

Neither Emily nor Aaron prompted her to continue, as he passed Elizabeth her tea and Emily stared, intently, at the babe in her arms, pretending she hadn't heard her mother at all, but Elizabeth went on, anyway.

"Pick her up as soon as she cries, I mean-thank you, Aaron, dear," She took the tea from him and immediately set it down onto the coffee table. Aaron frowned, picked it up again, set a coaster beneath it, and set the mug on top of the coaster. He wiped at the ringmark with his hand, aware of how crazy it would drive his wife, "You're teaching her bad habits."

"Bad habits?" Emily frowned, casting Elizabeth a glance, swaying her hips on the spot, a state that had become second nature to her already, "Mom, she's a week old."

"Nonetheless, if you let her manipulate you like that, you'll regret it," Elizabeth raised her eyebrows, with an air of superiority, as she brought her tea to her lips and Emily found herself wishing she would scald herself, but instead she just blew on her tea, "Give into her now and you'll be doing it for the rest of her life."

Emily bit her tongue, exhaling, hard, through her nose. She found Aaron's eyes, and, seeing the upset there, he turned to Jack.

"Hey, buddy, why don't you take your colours upstairs for a bit and let the grownups talk, huh?" Jack, who liked to spend most of his time in his room anyway, shrugged and gathered up his crayons and paper, obeying his father almost immediately. As soon as he was out of earshot, Emily raised her eyebrows at Elizabeth, feeling triumphant.

"See that?" She said, "Does it look like we let Jack walk all over us?"

Elizabeth, though, shrugged, "Perhaps his mother knew, as I do, the best way to raise a child. Sometimes you have to let them cry it out, Emily, look I'll show you. Here, here," Elizabeth advanced and before Emily could protest, she was lifting Ava's tiny body out of her arms. Something inside of Emily wanted to snap, as Ava wriggled in midair, and a maternal instinct so primal and violent rose to the surface with a velocity so shocking that it scared her. Emily only just managed to restrain herself, clenching her fists and her jaw, in time to hold herself back from physically attacking her mother, reminding herself over and over that Ava wasn't in any danger.

She caught Aaron's eyes over her mother's shoulder, and knew her own were panicked, even as she tried to maintain her calm.

"Let's just put you down here. Your mother is going to spoil you, isn't she?" Elizabeth spoke to her granddaughter in the same tone she used with Jack; a matter-of-fact, business-like tone that one might use with employees or colleagues, but certainly not grandchildren. As always, it grated on Emily. It was the tone of her childhood, and she didn't like it any better now than she had back then. "I mean, really, Emily, who knows more about raising children, you or I?"

"Emily has been raising Jack since-"

"Oh, pish, children are different to babies, Aaron, you know that," Elizabeth cut across him, curtly. Emily squeezed her fists at her side, eyes on Ava, who was wriggling in the swing, crying openly now. Elizabeth, though, folded her arms pertly across her chest and fixed Emily with a stare. "See? It's not hurting her to have a little cry, is it, Em? And it's not hurting you, either."

Emily, though, begged to differ as she felt the familiar ache in her breasts that always accompanied her daughter's cries. She sighed, heavily, and stepped forwards, unable to listen to Ava cry without at least trying to comfort her.

"Mother," Emily said, trying her hardest, and surprisingly succeeding, to keep her voice level as she reached back into the swing and lifted her crying daughter out of it, "My daughter is a week old-"

"Well, regardless-" Elizabeth began, but Emily spoke over her, still keeping her voice level. All too aware of how her own moods could affect the child in her arms, she tried to maintain what little sense of calm that she had right now, but felt on the edge of an eruption.

"No, mother," she said, levelly, "Ava is one. Week. Old. She is a baby." She emphasised the word, as though to remind her "She does not understand what it meant to 'manipulate'," Emily added a little extra venom to the word, even as she stroked a gentle hand down her infant's back, "She didn't ask to be born. We made that choice, Aaron and I, we brought her here. She didn't know hunger or pain or anything uncomfortable until I decided to have her, because I selfishly desired a baby. And we are her only source of comfort in a world she doesn't understand yet. Why the fuck would we deny her that?"

Elizabeth flinched at the curse, but Emily didn't back down, her eyes blazing, a stark contrast to the care with which she held her child. From where he stood, a few paces behind Elizabeth, Hotch looked on, approvingly. He had been about to step in when Emily proved that he didn't need to; she had been dealing with Elizabeth her whole life. Even now, emotional and full of post-partum hormones, she didn't need him to fight her battles.

"She cannot, does not know how to, 'manipulate' me." She said, with a finality. Elizabeth looked on with disapproval, her lips pursed, "And if she wants me to hold her every goddamn minute of the twenty-four hours in a day, then I'll bloody well do so, mother. Even if that does mean 'spoiling' her."

Ava was squawling now, truly screeching, and Emily sighed, heavily, her eyes blazing when she looked at her mother, "And thank you, for this."

She stalked from the room, Ava's cries growing more faint as she stomped up the stairs. Aaron watched his wife go, and then turned his gaze on Elizabeth, who looked at him, her finely stencilled eyebrows raised.

"Did I say something wrong?"

Shortly after that, Elizabeth made her leave. She looked pretty put out as she stalked down the garden path, Aaron waving to her from the door. He really wanted to slam it on her, but knew that Emily would appreciate him trying to keep the peace. She had been arguing with her mother her whole life, it was an integral part of their dynamic. It would be a whole different story if he started to argue with Elizabeth, too, and he knew Emily wouldn't appreciate it, so he bit his tongue and made nice on her behalf.

But he did breathe a sigh of relief when he closed the door and she was gone. It was like a dark cloud was lifted from the house.

He looked up the stairs, and softly called out, "Emily?" As he began to climb them.

Ducking his head into Jack's room, his son looked up at him from the carpet with a smile. He lay on his stomach, kicking his legs back and forth as he drew pictures.

"Hey, buddy," Aaron said, "You okay?"

"I'm okay," Jack nodded, "Did grandma leave?"

"She did," Aaron nodded, stepping into the room, "Yeah, I don't think we'll see her for a while."

"Good," Jack said, then looked thoughtfully down at the paper in front of him. When he met Aaron's eyes again, it was with the sort of startling clarity that a seven year old shouldn't have, "She makes Emmy sad."

Sad, nod mad. Not even after he'd heard Emily's raised voice towards her mother did Jack think badly of her. Perhaps, Aaron thought, not for the first time, profiling skills could be inherited, afterall.

"Emmy is okay," Aaron said, reassuring him, "She's just tired."

As if on cue, Jack yawned, and then Aaron did, too.

"Ava doesn't sleep good." Jack pointed out, matter-of-factly, and Aaron smiled.

"Not yet, but she will," as he said it, he hoped it was true, and then turned, "I'm going to check on Emmy, okay?"

"Okay." Jack said, turning back to the drawing. Aaron looked at it, and saw that it was a bassinet, holding a tiny little person with a pink bow. He smiled, love for his son sharp in his chest, and pulled the door as he stepped out into the hallway and made his way to the master bedroom.

"Em?" He said, softly, as he pushed the door open, half expecting to find both of his girls asleep, since he couldn't hear Ava's cries. The bedroom, though, was empty. He frowned, and called to her again, "Em?"

"In here." The soft call came from the bathroom, was barely audible, and Hotch followed her voice, stopping in the doorway at what he saw.

Emily, fully clothed, laying in the bath with Ava on her chest.

"I didn't think it would work without the water," she whispered, eyes downcast on her daughter's head as she stroked a gentle finger over Ava's crown, "But I got in anyway, just to try it. I was going to turn on the water, but she stopped crying almost instantly."

With a smile, Aaron settled himself down onto the toilet lid, clasping his hands in front of himself as he looked at his two girls. Emily didn't look particularly comfortable, but he knew better than to ask to take Ava right now, knew that she was bringing Emily as much comfort as Emily was bringing her.

Instead, he asked, "Are you okay?"

Emily waited a moment before answering, and Hotch saw the tension in her brow as she tried to find the right words. Eventually, she inhaled, slowly, and let all of the air go before answering him, "She just infuriates me."

"I know," he nodded, completely understanding, "I know. She always manages to say the wrong thing."

"It's not even that," Emily began, "I mean, yes, you're right, she does that, too, but it's more than that." She shook her head, started to say, "It's stupid-" but Aaron cut her off.

"It's not stupid," he said, earnestly, "It's not stupid, Em. Talk to me."

She fixed him with a stare, then, and he knew he was the person she trusted most in the world, knew she would lay down her life for him, that she would trust him to do the same for her, but there were still aspects of her life she hadn't completely shared with him yet, and her childhood was one of them. He knew the basics, knew the bones of the sore relationship she had with her mother, but the rest of it, the intricate details that patterned together to illustrate her tapestry of hurt, she kept closer to her heart than she should, close enough that it still huirt.

"She rushed to see Ava," she started, slowly, "She tried to tell me how to parent, tried to tell me what's best for my baby, because she has Ava's best interests at heart," Aaron scoffed and Emily rolled her eyes, "Or, she thinks she does." Again, she shrugged, "I don't know. I suppose I'm… jealous."

"Of Ava?" Aaron kept his face impassive, working hard to understand where she was coming from.

"Yeah," Emily touched her nose to her daughter's head, breathing in the evolutionarily enticing scent of baby that made her head rush and her heart swell, "Seems my mom cares more about her than she ever did about me." She looked up at Aaron, desperation in her eyes as she realised what she'd admitted out loud, "And, of course, I want people to-I want you to love her more than you love me, but-my own mother?" Her brows sloped down, confusion mingling with all of her other emotions, and he saw a twinge of guilt there, too, "Why couldn't she have loved me as much as she loves Ava?"

Aaron knew how much it took for her to say that; everything. Even before Ava, Emily couldn't admit how much she had craved her mother's love, as a child and into her adult years. She never spoke of how it hurt, Elizabeth's indifference, but he knew. He'd seen it in the way she still searched for her mother's approval, even as she simultaneously pushed away from her. He'd seen it in the way she always sent Elizabeth birthday and Christmas cards, even though she never got those in return. He'd seen it when Emily was in labour, when she cried out for her mother, and then made no mention of it afterwards.

He nodded. Even if nobody else would have understood, he did. He understood everything about her, everything she let him in on. He made it his mission to understand her, to help her.

"It's not crazy," Aaron said, shaking his head, "And it's not selfish. And it doesn't make you a bad mother, or mean you love her any less," At this, he exhaled, a short laugh of air, "God, no one could accuse you of not loving her, Em. I saw you when your mom took her from you. I thought we were going to be cleaning up a murder scene."

Emily raised one eyebrow, thinking back on the primal instinct that had grasped hold of her, "We almost were," she muttered, darkly, and Aaron laughed, again.

"See," he said, "You love her. You love her like a mother should. You're not the one who's wrong here, Em." His tone turned serious, as did his eyes, as he implored her to understand, "Your mom is. Every child deserves a mother who loves them as much as you love Ava, as much as you love Jack."

At this, she looked up at him, craning her neck, which was growing sore against the porcelain of the bath. There was an innocence, a sadness, in her eyes that he knew was much more to do with her exhaustion than it was to do with her interaction with Elizabeth. Her lack of sleep and her influx of hormones were catching up with her, and her bottom lip wobbled, adorably, when she spoke.

"I love them so much," she said, her voice cracking, "I just…I don't want to be like her."

"You're not," Aaron replied, instantly, shaking his head and, standing up off of the toilet seat, he reached down to take Ava from her chest. Emily didn't protest, and Ava didn't stir. Aaron leaned back, balancing her, instead, on his own chest. Supporting her with one hand, he offered Emily the other and she hauled herself out of the tub.

"Come on," he told her, "You should sleep while she sleeps."

"I won't be able to sleep," Emily said, sadly, even as she yawned, as widely as Jack had.

"Sure you will," Aaron pressed a kiss to her temple as they walked towards the bed, "Sleep now. We'll continue the fight against generational trauma tomorrow."

Emily punched him, lightly in the ribs, "Shut up," she said, but she was smiling, and she lay down as he pulled back the comforter for her. "I love you."

"We love you, too, mommy."

taglist: @hopefulfangirl24 @thebewingedjewelcat @platypus-whit-boots @luhwithah @cvtsbutcut3 @acetheticlytired @ccmattis-22 @duchessas @scorpiofangirl1109 @natasha-barton @lil-koala @themetaphorgirl @sequinsmile-x @emobabeyy @my-mummy-dust @section-chief-prentiss @canyouhearmyfear @psychicmuffinpandasludge @loriprentiss @bingetvcarls @thenerdthatwrites @daffodil-heart

[grassbreads]

Fei Du, trembling and coughing uncontrollably as he struggles to recall a repressed childhood memory of his father forcing him to participate in his mother's abuse on threat of suffocation:

"What are you talking about, shixiong? I don't have any trauma."

[gravityflops]

my dad just hit me with the “i’m the parent and you’re the kid”

in the context that i should be the mature one

i’m so fucking tired

[augustlaven]

Well, it's going to be summer soon, so what about Henry and Gordon in swimsuits?

Thank you for coming up with a reason why I can draw the railway trio in swimsuits.

[thepro-lifemovement]

Do you think that abortion should be allowed if the women is r*ped and can’t support a child?

By the way, I’m pro-choice and interested to see your stance on this.

Hello, friend! So rape only accounts for 1% of abortions. I think rape is a horrendous crime and the rapist deserves to rot in jail for the rest of his life. I think we should always punish the rapist, not the child. I would hope the rape victim gets all of the love, support, counseling and care she rightfully deserves as she works through that trauma. In the event she does become pregnant, she needs support and not additional violence. Abortions can cause major depression and PTSD in some women — not something that would be good for a woman already dealing with the trauma of rape. I would never recommend abortion to a rape victim because of the possible negative effects it can have on her as opposed to childbirth: "Fetal loss seems to expose women to a higher risk for mental disorders than childbirth; some studies show that abortion can be considered a more relevant risk factor than miscarriage." Abortion also triples your maternal mortality rate: "Births have a positive effect on longevity while pregnancy losses have a negative effect, with negative effect of TOP (Termination of Pregnancy) being greater than that of natural losses."

So if the rape victim finds herself pregnant and can't support her child, she should receive the utmost medical care during her pregnancy, and, if she so chooses, she can give her child away for adoption. There's no reason her child should receive the death penalty when they are a victim, too. They are still her child. The rape victim's life has value, her child's life has value. No matter how you were conceived, you should always have that chance at life.

(Also, Planned Parenthood has a history of failing to report rape).

Let me know if you have additional questions. I am always open for discussion.