#tw: spontaneous abortion

[clairewritesjjkxreader]

Sukuna’s Wife and Yuuji’s Onee-chan (Sukuna x Reincarnated!Y/N) Part 3

TW: pregnancies, miscarriages/spontaneous abortions, and other mature themes ahead

Sukuna can still remember your suppressed whimpers when you believed that he was asleep, how your weight would go up and down every few weeks, and how nothing would interest you, not your foreign books or drawings or koto. No matter how many times you two tried or how faithfully you listened to the advice of your doctors and shamans, children were a faraway dream. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…What’s wrong with me?” You used to cry.

“Nothing,” he always answered, rubbing circles on your back. “Nothing is wrong with you.”

You never seemed to hear him. Sukuna would tirelessly comfort you while reassuring you that spending eternity with only you was his idea of a happy life. However, his words fell on deaf ears. You would always hope, and every single time, your hope would get crushed.

Until you discovered yourself pregnant again for three months. The past pregnancies never lasted for more than a few weeks. Sukuna didn’t want you to hope too much, but how could he resist the brilliant smile of his beloved wife?

He accompanied you to every shop for toys and fabrics and clothes and furniture. He patiently gave his opinions on what the baby’s room should be like. 

You successfully carried to term, your belly round with a healthy child. Sukuna had to admit that it was not an unattractive sight, and despite the protests of the midwives, he stayed by your side, dabbing the sweat from your face and neck as you delivered your precious child. Uraume waited outside with a whole parade of maidservants prepared to help you get washed once everything was over. The cotton blanket which would envelope your baby was washed three times. You wove it yourself, pestering your husband to embroider enchantments for protection and a long, healthy life.

However, as you fell back after giving your final push, you instantly sensed that something was wrong. You had silently turned to your husband. “Ryo?” His head was hanging, unable to meet your gaze. He didn’t need to say anything.

You stopped being you that day.

The Sukuna household, which used to be so full of life and music and cheer, was enveloped in darkness. The one and only madam of the house was given a taste of motherhood like she always prayed, but she was never even able to hear her child’s cry let alone hold them. You stopped leaving the main house. You refused to go down the village to browse for any new foreign products. The maple trees you adored were ignored and the garden you personally tended would have wilted completely if not for Ryomen’s intervention.

You slept on the floor right next to an empty cradle. 

You would have died there too if your husband couldn’t take it and spent three straight days pleading for you to try and go out.

“A merchant passed by and Uraume bought several flowers from him,” he said, trying to make conversation as he eased you into the garden. “I think you’d like them. One species even eats flies.”

It was then, Sukuna recalled, when the two of you heard it.

An inhuman sound came from the bushes.

You hurried to investigate, with Sukuna warily following.

“Oh!” You gasped.

“What is it? Are you hurt?”

As if you hadn’t heard him, you dug into the shrubbery. “Here you are.”

“My love, be careful–”

“Naughty, naughty, you made us worried.” You rose to your feet and started cradling… something. 

Sukuna called your name. He didn’t sense any malicious intent right now but he couldn’t risk you getting hurt.

You turned around. “Ryo-chan, I found him.”

The maids knew better than to show their emotions, but their mouths tingled with the desire to gasp and talk amongst themselves.

Sukuna whispered your name and you walked towards him, arms protectively wrapped around a black-striped overgrown cat. You carried it like one would a newborn. 

You made a fake angry expression at the stupid cat as you scolded it:

“Yuji–” that was the name you and Sukuna agreed on while you were eight months pregnant “–you can’t just disappear without asking permission. You made your father and I worried!”

The cat made a sound that could only be described to be close to a purr, but not quite a purr. 

You giggled and nuzzled its nose. “How can I stay mad at you?”

Sukuna watched as you continued to baby the odd-looking cat. You were the happiest he’s seen you in weeks. He missed your smile.

He no longer cared that it was some stray from some traveling merchant. He didn’t care if the damn thing was eating way too much and growing a hella lot for a simple cat. All that mattered was that you were happy. No servant was allowed to treat your behavior as anything but normal. No one was allowed to even try to destroy the illusion. 

There were times when Sukuna swore he could see clarity in your eyes, when you would watch the sleeping “infant” or when you thought you were alone. A part of you must’ve known.

But because you never stopped treating “Yuji” as your beloved child, he never brought it up.

You were eating, you were smiling. You were happy. That was enough for him.

Though admittedly, he hated the little twerp. 

Not only did “Yuji” get spoonfed and burped personally by the madam of the Sukuna household, you also bathed him, dried and brushed his fur, and let the thing sleep between the two of you. 

It was so annoying.

He couldn’t even embrace his own wife anymore.

Now, over a thousand years later, he still had to share his darling wife with this damn brat.

Part 4: An immediate continuation of this chapter

@laurcad123 @aidanstan @deepinballs @satosuguswife

[darkpoisonouslove]

4. 5. 8.

For whichever fic has been heaviest in your mind.

That would be Fallen Love.

4. Is there anything in the fic you're unsure about including?

TW for miscarriage

There are several things, actually. Now I already worked in Icy and Stormy's deaths into this (they are both 4 at this point) so I feel like I have to mention Darcy's death as well (that Everyone Dies tag ain't there for shits and giggles). However, I don't want to make her not Griffin and Valtor's daughter... which means that Griffin had a spontaneous abortion after she ran away from the Coven. I mean, it works really well with the rest of the story but... ugh, I don't know. Don't get me wrong, I have put this into the story's DNA already so it's definitely going on the page but I am extremely anxious about it.

One of the other things is Griffin's motivation about leaving Valtor. I don't know if this is galaxy-brain plot-twist emotional devastation or absolute nonsense. I'm pretty sure it can work but it's so big that if it doesn't, it will be an epic fail. Also, I have no idea how to bring the story back to some semblance of sanity after this. I'm pretty sure I'll include it but I'll have to think about it more. Btw Valtor is lucky he's immortal because his head is going to explode once he learns about this.

5. Is there any scene you're excited about writing?

The argument in the end of chapter 2. They. Are. Both. So. Petty. It's fucking hilarious. Griffin decides that "Hey, he just killed all my friends as revenge for my betrayal. You know what would be the best course of action? To test his patience." I can't really say much without explaining the whole scene and I don't want to spoil the gut-punches outside the context that makes them so impactful. So let's hope I can get this written soon.

8. Which character is gonna have the biggest storyline?

Surprising no one, that's Griffin. There is so much happening here. She has to accept the deaths of the Company and the tragedy on Domino, has to deal with the irrational jealousy she feels over the people who actually helped Valtor accomplish all his goals, has to process the change in their partnership over his lingering feelings of betrayal, has to work through her anger towards both the Company and Valtor, has to find it in herself and step up to be the leader CT needs and all of that while failing to find the cancel button on the pop-up that flashes the words "KISS HIM" in neon red in the front of her mind. It's... a lot.

[evilgenderywizard]

okay so let me paint a picture (nothing here is real all just hypothetical)

tw: miscarriage, death, loss of pregnancy, ignorance

so say my friend who is lets say 23 and married name is susie lets say susie (23f) and her husband john (24m) find out they’re going to be parents and have prepared and like want and are ready for a child but 20 weeks into the pregnancy susie has lost the child and her body does what needs to be done doesnt have to get an abortion they are mourning and mourning but while she’s at the hospital a police officer comes in tells her she is under arrest for murder because she miscarried and now she is going to have to go through the process of trying to explain that she had nothing to do with this miscarriage or it’s medical term “spontaneous abortion” and that her body simply couldnt handle the pregnancy anymore and it causes more problems all because the fetus was not compatible with her body

now for a new hypothetical

lets say chris (48 m) finds out he is sick and he hasnt been wearing a mask because ya know they obviously arent working so he goes and gets tested for covid-19 and tests positive and the doctor tells him he needs to stay home for at least the next 5 days but covid isnt any worse than the flu right? so he goes to see his friend jarod (36 m) in the next town over but jarod has a lot of health problems that he’s currently attempting to manage with medications jarod doesnt know that chris has covid because chris knows that if he did know he wouldnt let him around him so chris and jarod hang out and a few days later jarod is in the emergency room sicker than ever they immediately test him for covid and wouldnt ya know he tests positive and over the course of a couple weeks chris sees his friend dying in the hospital and has to say his goodbye and within days of this jarod has passed away at the ripe old age of 36 years old

so tell me why susie was arrested and nearly charged with murder because she miscarried and didn’t really have much proof she didnt cause it on purpose for whatever reason so they had to just take her johns and the doctors words for it but chris is just living his life like he didnt just kill his friend all because of his own ignorant beliefs

[fourmarkdove]

Fawn - Part 4

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |  Part 4 |  Part 5 | Part 6 | Masterlist

Title: Fawn - Part 3

Words: 3.2k

Summary: Yennefer confirms Geralt’s suspicions and a rift is created between you and the White Wolf. Angst. Suggested smut. Fluff. Hurt/comfort.

Pairing: Geralt x reader

Warnings: Suicidal ideation, miscarriage, abortion. If you’re triggered PLEASE skip ahead. Please check out the trigger warnings (tw:) in the tags!

A/N: Don’t blame me. It was that fricking wish! I’m not happy about it, either, but it’s canon. Comments welcome. Thanks for reading as always!

Like an expectant father waiting outside the delivery room, Jaskier paced just outside the tent while Geralt sharpened his sword near the fire.

“No. Get out before I portal you away,” Yennefer demanded yet again when the bard poked his head in and asked for an update. 

“She’ll come out when she’s ready,” the burly Witcher grunted. Another plume of purple smoke rose from the tent door and static sizzled inside. Jaskier began thinking of a verse that needed to rhyme with “plume.”

Wiping her hands, she emerged and motioned at Jaskier: “Watch her. Geralt, you’re with me.”

Sauntering across the way to her own much larger, and much more richly furnished tent, Geralt followed behind like a puppy.

“Well?”

“Well? Well, I saved her life, darling,” the raven haired woman smirked, turning to face him once they reached the foot of her lavish bed. Tossing aside the cloth, she twirled a finger and a dozen candles lit around the space.

He was not impressed by simple tricks. “What happened? It wasn’t just poison, was it? It was a curse.”

“Yes, my love,” she sighed, bored with conversation, so she lifted his shirt and ran both hands up his muscular torso, making the tense fibers just under his skin twitch. “I lifted it though.”

Craning his neck low, he crushed his mouth to her plump lips. The relief and gratitude expressed in his kiss melted when feral heat took over. They were souls bound together by a wish he made years ago to save her life. As such they were drawn time and again to this exact moment.

She moaned, tugging at the ties on his breeches pressed against her stomach. Biting down on his bottom lip suddenly, she flattened her palms to his chest and pushed him back to the bed, intent on climbing him and claiming payment for a job well done.

*

“So she’ll be able to travel soon?” Geralt huffed lazily, one arm under his head on the pillow. 

“You’re really taking her back to her father?” Yennefer sighed, playing with the glistening sweat droplets along the center of his chest.

“That’s the plan.”

“Well, if you do travel with her just have her take it easy the next few days.”

“Why?” He arched an eyebrow down at the naked woman still tangled up with him under the sheets.

“Well, she’s with child, Geralt. But the child is much smaller than it should be. She probably needs to see a real healer to have it dealt with anyway - given the circumstances.”

His brow furrowed sharply and he gripped her upper arms, dragging her off of him as he sat up. “Dealt with...?”

She sighed, running the back of her fingers down the sinews of his forearm. “Mm. She told me who the father is. I just went to his wedding just last month. It's a bad idea to show your new bride your bastard child. So yes… dealt with.”

“Wedding?” he mirrored, breaking into a cold sweat. “Did you tell her this?”

Yennefer shrugged and rolled over. “I alluded to it. Hmm. You know she may not need a healer on second thought. Baby isn’t well. Body might try to reject it after this, so watch for - where are you going?”

Stepping into his breeches, he glanced over his shoulder at the raven haired woman lounging in bed still. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“Why? Did you want to attend with me? The food was decent but the wine was weak. I so would have loved to have dressed you, though.”

His frustrated growl was not lost on her but she didn’t budge by the threatening sound of it. “She told me where you met. Geralt, I said I’d try to save her life but she’s your whore. I’ve done more than enough here, my love. If you leave this tent tonight, I’ll be gone by daybreak.”

He didn’t even have his pants tied before he stalked out of the tent barefoot into the dewy grass. Jaskier heard him coming from his own cot opposite yours. Finding it quite impossible to sleep anyway, he met the Witcher at the tent flap opening.

“That witch gave her something to sleep but it’s not quite doing its job,” the bard forewarned, touching Geralt’s shoulder. He held his friend back just a moment longer to catch his golden-eyed attention. “It’s not you she’s been calling for.” 

Jaskier excused himself, ducking past his friend breathing hard with his jaw clenched. Every muscle up the back of his legs and across his spine snapped into tension; the coppery scent of bloody cloths left on the table sent his senses into a frenzy the moment he stepped inside.

“N… no… n...” you moaned in your fitful sleep, writhing and grasping at the pillow under your head.

Cat eyes dilated in the near dark, his attention drew to the shadow of your body tucked under a thin blanket. In two strides, he dropped by your side and dragged the tear-soaked hair from sticking to your cheeks. 

Your head rocked back and forth on the pillow, your expression wrought with grief, one hand grasping at nothing but air until his fingers closed over it. 

He lifted his brows in the center, anguish lining his forehead. Your breathing came in hiccups, clearly crying in your nightmare.

“Wake up, little fawn,” he rumbled, pulling deep from within to sound calm so as not to frighten you. “Come on, wake up.”

“Ah…” Your legs shifted under the blanket and you inhaled deeply.

Your wet eyelashes flashed open, revealing still slightly ink-stained black tears rolling down your cheeks. “Where is he? Where’s Acheros?”

Rolling his eyes at the sound of his name, Geralt backed up into the shadow of a tent peg. “That’s a good fucking question.”

“Why did he leave me in that horrible place?” You pressed, eyes bleary from tears, pain and exhaustion.

“Hmm,” he grunted, sitting back against the other cot.

“He said he’d always come find me. ‘Nothing in all of eternity could keep us apart,’ he said.”

Another frustrated grunt as Geralt sat back. As Jaskier stoked the flames of the fire outside, the walls of the canvas tent illuminated with flicks of orange light.

You stayed silent a long time, letting the length and breadth seep into your conscious thought. Curling up on yourself, you rolled over into the tent wall and away from the brutish man sitting in silence across from you. “Is it true? Did he - get married - without me?”

“Mmm,” Geralt hummed in the affirmative, dropping his head back as the reflected orange flames danced on the ceiling. He cursed under his breath. 

There is a screech a striga makes when you deliver that final death strike straight through its heart; the sound is horrendous up close. Because of their circulation system, it takes them a moment to go, all the while realizing they’ve met their end. And then there is the soft little squeak of a rabbit as its neck is being broken. It doesn’t understand what is happening to it and doesn’t expect the end.

Neither startled cry at their moment of death is as difficult to listen to as your trembling gasp and wailing sob at the exact moment your heart broke in two.

Snarling his upper lip in disgust, he planted a fist on the ground to stand up, but stilled hearing you speak into your own hands.

“But… this is his child. And... I’m his.”

“Fuck.” Geralt replanted himself and sighed harshly, rubbing his rough thumb of one hand into the palm of another.

“What?” you shuddered, glancing over your shoulder. “But I love him...”

“You’ve said,” he husked, glancing at the exit with an arched brow and a changed mind. Waking you from that nightmare, he actually considered taking you in his arms and comforting you with all of the strength he had in him. He was not particularly given to tender moments, but if you’d have asked, even whimpered, anything at all, he’d have moved heaven and earth to shelter you.

You turned away from his frustrated growling. “Where is he? He should be here.”

With a huff of rage, he lifted to his feet and took the one large step to the door. Rolling over, your torso twisted and you yelped at the sharp pain. “Ah - fuck! What -“

“You were very sick,” he oversimplified, glancing behind his shoulder. “Yennefer…”

“Yennefer? She says she’s the ‘Love of your life’? I thought I was dreaming but she’s really real?”

“You should know Yennefer saved YOUR life.”

You mewled, ripped the covers down your thighs and tugged at your torn shirt, trying to find the source of the overwhelming pain.

Setting his jaw, he breathed deep and clenched his fist to keep from absolutely roaring at you. “You wouldn’t have survived - to be reunited with whoever this arsehole is, since that’s clearly all you can think about.”

It was neither his tone nor his words that shook you, rather the ache in your belly. “Something feels wrong.”

“As it should. Sleep.”

“Fuck you,” you spat holding your middle, getting up onto your feet much more slowly than he did. Bumping chests, you glared up at him. “You knew, didn’t you? You knew and you didn’t say a damn thing.”

Nostrils flared, patience dwindling, he looked over your head; he knew the second he glanced down and saw the pain in your eyes, it’d just add fuel to his  fire and one of the two of you needed to be levelheaded. 

“Not for certain until Yen told me a few minutes ago. Although I had suspected something like this when you told the story yesterday.”

Suddenly alert, you bolted toward the tent flap, but a heavy arm across the front of your shoulders blocked your way. Desperately, you reached both hands out. “Please! I need to go home. I just need to see him. He’ll explain and fix it.” 

Your pained gaze finally lifted to his, digging your fingernails into his forearm locked across your chest.

His sharp gaze narrowed. “There’s a reason he didn’t come back for you. Showing up on his doorstep, now, won’t produce the results you want, I guarantee you.”

“But - I did everything I was told to do,” you gasped, blinking back tears that spilled down your cheeks anyway. Dropping your head, the tears dripped freely onto the ground. Tilting your shoulders just slightly into him, you bumped your forehead against his chest and stayed like that a long while.

“I hate you...” you sniffled and hiccupped, speaking slowly, clearly drained.

“Mmph.” He grunted, holding the back of your bare neck.

The rage had worn around the edges like two fighters in the last round dragging their feet; both of you were slow to swing back.

“Come on,” he encouraged as gently as he could muster, thumbing behind your neck. “Lie down.”

He sighed, glancing down at your trembling, balled up fist thumping against his chest.

“I-I h-hate y-“ you sobbed, nosing into his chest. “I h-aate-“

“I know,” he grumbled, closing his hand around your fist. “You hate me.”

He rested his chin on your head and carded his fingers through your hair. Feverish tears eventually gave way to panting, then to soft breaths against his skin.

“What am I going to do?” you croaked, dragging your fingertips down his spine, releasing the muscles you’d been clawing into. “I don’t know what to do.”

“The first thing you’re going to do is get some rest,” he graveled overhead. Not giving you a second to protest, he collected your wrists from behind his hips and drew you back to your cot, throwing open the covers with his free hand.

“I don’t want to sleep,” you whined, giving him a side eyed glance.

“Lie down and count geese then,” he huffed, clearly not budging on it.

With a long sigh, you crawled in and curled up, pressing your face down into the pillow. Your eyes closed when the blanket rugged up over your shoulders.

Hearing your voice just barely mumbling into your pillow, he came down onto a knee and tilted his head. 

“Hmm?” he graveled just above a whisper. “You don’t mean that. … No, you don’t. … Hm? Fine, I will. Sleep.”

Settling down cross legged, he reached over the short expanse between you and the edge of the cot. As promised, he smoothed over your hair, and hummed a deeply soothing tune, the one he’d sometimes hum to Roach when she was being groomed. 

Tag Team: @ly--canthrope​ @marswritings​ @fire-in-her-veinz​ @thiclikeh0ney @uncoolcloudyhead​ @michelle-1185​ @boop-le-snoot​ @tearsontape13​ @confusinglump​ @mary-ann84​ @the-soot-sprite @wanderingsoulcelticheart @henry-cavill-obsessed​ @ruthoakenshield​ @nerra75​ @raspberrydreamclouds​

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |  Part 4 |  Part 5 | Part 6 | Masterlist

[volturisecretary]

What would happen if a pregnant woman were transformed? And would there be any difference if she is in the first trimester or the last trimester?

I tagged this post for abortion, tokophobia, and pregnancy, but if there are any other trigger-warning I should add, please let me know!

Canon-wise, SM had said that a woman who is transformed when she is pregnant would have the fetus “frozen” inside of her as well. I don’t think that makes much scientific sense, but there are plenty of things within canon that don’t so.

In my own personal headcanon, I think there would be a difference in the outcome for the fetus depending on the trimester the woman is in. Spontaneous abortions are very common within the first few weeks of pregnancy; it has been estimated that approximately 45 percent of pregnancies end with spontaneous abortion. It’s the body’s natural way of removing abnormal conceptuses that would not have developed normally. So, I think the venom may “trigger” a spontaneous abortion in someone that is within the first and second trimester of pregnancy. Although, depending on how far along the woman is with her pregnancy, her body will still show signs of pregnancy (since a person’s body is “frozen” when they are changed). 

If the women is in her third trimester of pregnancy, I think the fetus may survive depending on which week of development they are in. The vast majority of fetuses survive if born prematurely at 35 weeks. Although, I think the fetus would be transformed with their mother. My main reasoning for this is that the maternal and fetal blood supply are separated by the placenta membrane. But, many different drugs can cross the placenta membrane and affect fetal development. I would assume a vampire’s venom could cross the placenta membrane and would probably change the fetus as well. Stress can induce labor as well, so I would imagine that the fetus would be born too. Since vampires are “frozen,” the baby wouldn’t grow or develop any further and would be a immortal child.

[fantabulisticity]

On Minor Loss

I've always been adjacent to (human) loss but not directly impacted by it.

My roommate's brother died. My aunt had a miscarriage. Some of the siblings of people I knew in high school died or had died. My friend's dad died a couple years before I was friends with him. I've had pets die, I've helped my friends through their pets' deaths, my old manager's horse died giving birth (as did the foal), and my mom's cat died recently. I think the death of my great grandparents were the closest and most major deaths to me.

Since I graduated high school in 2014, several people in my class have been hurt. One guy fell and sustained a head injury that caused brain damage but lived and is okay. One guy died -- suicide, I think. And one guy was recently in a coma (I don't know the specifics, but I do know he had diabetes, so I would guess it had to do with diabetes), and I just now found out about his death. He died May 22, just 2 weeks ago.

It's weird. I haven't really dealt with much loss. I didn't cry when my great grandfather died, nor when my great grandmother died shortly after. I only cried at the funeral when my mom, who my great grandmother had asked to sing, sang "Amazing Grace" and "How Great Thou Art," two of my great grandmother's favorite hymns. I felt sad that my grandpa was hurting, and that my mom and grandma were hurting for him. But they were expected deaths. We knew it was coming, and it was a relief -- my great grandparents had been in pain for years and had very low quality of life. I felt glad when I heard they'd passed because it meant no more pain for them, and less pain in the long run for my family. And now, several years later, my family is healed for the most part and they're all glad my great grandparents are gone. Some of them believe they're in heaven, and some of them believe, like me, that they simply don't exist anymore save for their remains.

But when I found out about this guy I knew who died, I started tearing up. And looking through the posts on his Facebook and the pictures -- the pictures! -- I cried, then sobbed. Maybe it's because I knew him much better than I knew my great grandparents. Maybe it's because he never beat kids with a belt or was hella racist and homophobic. My great grandparents weren't the greatest people (but don't tell my mom that). But this guy was. He was a genuinely kind guy. We were never close, but he was friends with some of the people in my old friend group. We went to elementary school together. He cared about other people. He wanted to help the world. I watched him helping people, being supportive, being a good friend and community member. When I would post about human rights on my Facebook, he'd like a lot of the posts, and occasionally he'd share one or two. He was an excellent musician, a good person, and a downright weirdo, and I say that in the fondest of ways. He had a dorky smile and laugh, and he was great at making others laugh, even/especially when they were sad. I watched him pull his friends through hard times in middle school and high school.

He was my age, 22. It's so strange. I didn't know him super well, but I did know him, as you do growing up in a small town. I'm sad he never got out of here to a place that'd treat him better. I'm sad I'll never see him around town anymore and give him a nod or a wave, an acknowledgement that we know each other, even so small. I ache for his brother, who dated one of my old friends and is good friends with my best friend. I ache for the rest of his family, who I don't know but can see their hurt. I ache for his old friends whose memories I've seen splashed around Facebook. He had been friends with the first guy I mentioned who died, as well as with another guy who died who I don't know, but a lot of people were telling him to say hi to those people and that they looked forward to meeting up with him and them again.

It's a strange feeling, minor loss. I feel sad, but I wasn't very close. I'm posting this here because a lot of my Facebook friends are hurting from this much more than I am, so I don't want to muse about my slight pain in a place where people are in much more pain from the same event. Here, almost nobody knows this guy, so I can write about my feelings without hurting anyone. I'll likely be a little sad in the next week but generally business as usual. And though my pain is relatively milder, it still hurts, and it's still valid.

[psychedellic-phase]

Fifteen (Part 12)

A/N: I altered the timeline & updated the last chapter w the correct weeks!! sorry for any confusion that causes. I need to be accurate or it’d bother me lol 

ALSO: end the stigma surrounding miscarriage/infertility. your feelings and experiences are valid. 

Tw: miscarriage, cursing, slight spoilers for the episode “200”

word count: 4.4 k

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“It was a Thursday, no I guess technically it was a Friday since it was 3 am. You woke me up, poking my shoulder gently until I stirred. 

“This is going to sound weird but did you...?”

I was groggy and sore and cranky. It was 3 am, and you woke me up. Of course I was annoyed. My back was killing me, “Spence, what?”

“Did you pee yourself?” You whispered, and I laughed. 

“What? No?” 

That’s when I shifted to roll over and face you. That’s when I felt it. It was like a freight train hitting me. I was dizzy and nauseous and could suddenly feel every part of my body aching. 

“Then, t-then what’s this?” 

You threw the covers off of us. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you so scared. 

I just stared at it. Our gray sheets darkened. I had no emotions. No instincts. No movement. You’d think I’d have an intuition of what I needed to do. My maternal instinct would’ve kicked in, or I guess it wouldn’t have because I was no longer a mother. 

I don’t know how I didn’t wake up earlier. I keep wracking my brain for a reason why I didn’t wake up. Why did you have to wake me up? Why didn’t I just know? I should’ve just known. I should’ve had a feeling, but I didn’t have any feelings. Because that’s what shock is. It’s nothing. It’s staring at everything and feeling absolute nothingness. 

It’s weird to think that that night we went to bed, laughing and chatting and snuggling close to each other. It’s weird to think that we had no idea what was coming. We were living in ignorant bliss. It’s sad that that was our last night we spent together as a whole family unit. I wish I knew about lasts before they happened, that way I could savor the moment. Soak it all up. Bask in the warmth of you. 

We fell asleep as we usually do did, you spooning me from behind, one hand on my belly the other on my back. You whispering that you loved me, you hoped I slept well; me telling you that the papaya sized thing in my uterus would make sure that I did not sleep well. You’d laugh, your breath would tickle my neck, then I’d laugh, and we’d finally calm down and fall asleep in each other’s arms. 

That’s the last time we fell asleep like that. I wish I knew. I would have appreciated the little things. I would’ve appreciated the way you rubbed little shapes on my skin, the way you dealt with me needing no comforter because I was always hot and sweaty, even though you run cold. I wish I could go back and appreciate every one of our lasts, just so I could hold onto those memories a little while longer. But I guess I’ve held onto them long enough if I’m giving them all back to you. 

Speaking of, what is your item for this letter? Go ahead. Go look. It isn’t going to be what you expect.”

He was much calmer than he was before. The numbness had returned. He felt kind of okay actually. He felt like that was the last bit of emotion he had left. But then again, he felt that way in letter four. He felt that way in letter seven. He knew it wouldn’t last, but he was determined to savor it, grind through the last few letters while he was still numb, then hopefully decide what to do while his head was clear. 

He reached in, surprised at what you had chosen. 

“Yes, this is definitely not what you expected. I’m sure you expected another baby memento, or maybe an ultrasound picture. But like I said, all the baby stuff is gone. And I’m keeping the ultrasounds. I’ll mail you copies, I promise. And unlike you, I don’t make a habit of breaking my promises. 

Now to anyone who doesn’t know PG, this little stuffed unicorn looks like it was for the baby. But when you know her as well as we do, you know it was for me. Penelope decorates her desk with trinkets and light-up frogs and flower pens because they help her see the bad. They make it easier. By giving me this, she was giving me something to protect me from the horror I would have to face. And for a little while, it actually worked. I hope it’ll do the same for you.”

He laughed, an honest, genuine, laugh. He held the stuffed thing in his hands, leaning back onto the bed. It was white with rainbow hair and a glittery purple horn. He remembered when Penelope brought it in the room, delicately placing it on your bedside table.

“She’ll need this, and so will you,” She said. Spencer just nodded and watched her disappear. 

“I will spare you the grisly details, Spence; you were there. I will just mention the main ideas. 

As I sat there, staring at the mess that had formed in front of me, you got up. You were visibly shaking as you turned on the lights and called an ambulance. Your face was gray. I’ve never seen it that color. I couldn’t focus on anything except you and the pain. God, the pain. It radiated from my abdomen, up into my heart and festered there. It was a different kind of pain, unlike any I’d ever experienced before. Then came the adrenaline, pumping through my body at an insane rate. Then I felt foggy, like I was watching what was happening to me on a tv screen. It was the closest thing to an out-of-body experience I’ve ever had.  

You knelt down next to me, holding my torso. We didn’t speak. We didn’t cry. We were both in shock.

I don’t even know what you said to the people on the phone. I assume you told them what you had already diagnosed. You told them the truth: I was miscarrying. 

It still hurts to say. I still have a hard time saying the word out loud. “Pregnancy loss,” “Spontaneous abortion,” “Miscarriage,” none of the words feel right. None of them feel like they accurately describe what happened to us that night. 

They put me on a stretcher, and that’s when it became real. I was crying, holding your hand so tight I thought I’d cut off blood supply. My other hand was on my torso, and I was begging whatever Gods are above to feel a kick. Just one little kick, or shift, or movement.

I didn’t. 

You stayed strong for me. You always were so good under pressure. You told the EMT every detail of my health history, while I was a blubbering mess. You called Hotch. You called Emily. You called my dad. You kept it together. You did everything right. God, Spencer, even from that very first day when I paid you to do my paperwork, you always did everything right. You’re the good one. You put nothing but good karma out into the world, so why do you keep getting bad karma back?

It’s ridiculous really, because we did do everything right. I took my prenatals and only drank water and green smoothies and I ate sweet potatoes and legumes and kale chips. I resisted the urge to eat nothing but Baja Blasts and Big Macs. I’m honestly angry. I’m angry because you and I, two good people, don’t get to have a baby, but some of these unsubs we encountered do? What kind of logic is that? What kind of world allows that to happen? What kind of God? A really shitty one, that’s who. 

Eventually they literally peeled you off of me in the ER. They had to make sure I wasn’t getting an infection, and that I had—God I can’t say it. They had to see if they needed to help me through it, if you know what I mean. They did. I had to get a d&c. 

I spent most of the time sobbing at the nurses. They all just held my hands and smoothed my hair. I begged for you, but they said no. I argued with them. I said I needed you there next to me. I didn’t want them to hold my hands and smooth my hair, I wanted you. But they insisted that the room had to stay clean. Eventually I was all cried out and they put me under. 

When I woke up this unicorn was next to me, staring me in the face and letting me know our friends were there. They knew. They had my back. This stuffed thing would help me face the bad that was coming. It would protect me. 

It was about eight. You pulled your chair up next to me, your hand in mine, head on my bed. I felt like shit. That’s the only way to put it. Anesthesia makes me nauseous as is, couple that with the night I had? I felt awful, and I felt it everywhere. 

When I woke up, you stirred too. Your eye bags were deep and dark, you still had on pajamas with some unknown fluids on them, and your hair was a wreck. 

I ran my hands through it, a force of habit, “Hi.”

“Hey,” you croaked. 

Our eyes met, and we both just fell apart. Tears spilled over so easily. We were two broken hearts in one hospital room. 

You crawled into the bed with me, making sure to be gentle and not hurt me, “Is this real life?” 

“Yeah, Love. I’m afraid it is,” you whispered into my hair. 

“I-It doesn’t feel like real life.”

You sighed, and shifted so we were both sitting upright, your arm around my shoulder, “I know. I wish it wasn’t.”

“W-What happened? What did I do? I th-thought I did everything right?”

You kissed my tears on my cheeks, “You did. You couldn’t have done anything to stop this. It was a chromosomal abnormality, trisomy sixteen.”

“What does that m-mean?”

“It means she had three copies of chromosome sixteen, which makes proteins in the body. She never would’ve—“

“Stop,” I said, not harshly or mean, just a sad moan, “I don’t want to know.” I took three shaky, deep breaths, trying to calm myself down, “I-I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be, there’s nothing we could’ve done. We’ll get through this, together, I promise.”

“I promise,” I said, and you kissed my temple, arms wrapped around me tightly, as if you could physically hold me together as I fell apart. You held me like that for a while, before we both fell asleep again in that teeny tiny hospital bed.

The unicorn wasn’t the one who protected me that night, it was you. You protected me more than I ever gave you credit for. I wish I could’ve stayed strong for you, the way you stayed strong for me. Thank you for that, Spencer. I mean it.”

Spencer got up from bed and felt lightheaded. Realizing he hadn’t eaten yet, he grabbed a mess of junk from the fridge and sat on the kitchen floor up against the dishwasher. The metal of the appliance was cold against his back, the ground below him was hard. It just felt right. 

He did keep his calm the whole time. He never cracked, not until the end when he cried with you. He spoke calmly and quietly when the team showed up. Garcia cried more than he did. Emily said she was on the next flight, ready and willing. Your dad didn’t say more than a few awkward and sad words. Morgan looked terrified. Hotch had his eyebrows knit together, as if with enough thinking, he could make the situation away. JJ stood silently, knowing the feeling, but not mentioning it. The only time he wavered was when Alex held him; the tears reached the surface but never spilled over. Everyone just circled around him, trying to protect him from the scariness that he’d face outside of their bubble. 

The nurse came up to him, telling him you were out and okay. It was a chromosomal abnormality, nothing could’ve prevented it. With some rest, you’d be okay physically, but mentally it would be a long road, for both of you. He nodded. The world felt like it was spinning. He couldn’t think straight. The walls seemed to move in around him, even as he stood still. 

“Reid, it’s mandatory. Four weeks. Minimum,” Hotch said, Spencer not hearing a word of it. 

“O-Okay. Fine, whatever. I just, I need to see her.” 

Derek reached out to stop him, “You know she isn’t going to be the same, kid.”

Spencer shook him off, “I know.”

But he didn’t know to what extent. He didn’t know that you’d still look pregnant, because your belly doesn’t automatically deflate. He didn’t know that your grieving process would be different from the way it was after Emily’s fake death. How naive of him to not realize that he’d grieve differently this time too. He thought he’d want to cry and talk and eat blueberry pancakes, just like last time. He didn’t realize that when a piece of you just suddenly stops being a piece of you, it’s jarring. It's the five stages of grief all at once and in the wrong order. It’s crying at a Pampers commercial and being angry when you see new moms. It’s people giving you soft looks of pity everyday. It’s lonely. It’s sad. It’s the worst heartbreak one can imagine. In short—it really fucking sucks. 

Spencer had no idea just how much it really fucking sucked. 

He saw you there, your skin drained of its warm color and tired, and stopped in his tracks. What would he say? What would he do? How would he approach you? How would he tell you that half of his heart just left his body? 

Rossi was the one who saw him stop at the threshold of your door. He saw Spencer pace back and forth, still in bloody pajamas. He saw Spencer stare at you, hands balled into fists like he was ready to fight the powers that be. 

He came up behind him, placing a kind hand on his shoulder, “Spencer, listen to me.”

Spencer didn’t react, he just kept staring at you, “I had a son, with Caroline. He died the same day he was born. I know what this feels like, Kid. I do. Trust me, it’ll get easier. I promise, but only if the two of you lean on each other.”

Spencer nodded dumbly, still not really processing anything around him, but with a nudge from Rossi he entered your room. He found his way to the bedside chair. 

“Hey, Y/N, I know you can’t hear me. The anesthesia hasn’t worn off yet. I just want to—no need to tell you that I love you. I’m not mad at you. I’m heartbroken, but here for you. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Remember how fast that narrative changed, Spence? 

We got home from the hospital that night and I grabbed a tub of ice cream. I figured losing the baby counted as ‘one of those days’. I thought we would eat in silence and it would make it all okay, like every other day. 

When I pulled it out, you scratched your head, “Not tonight. I’m tired.”

I nodded, feeling heavy and sore and weak, “Okay, see you upstairs?” 

You nodded again, and I put the tub away. I figured you were going to talk to the moon for a while, and I was going to let you. 

I fell asleep almost immediately, you never joining me. 

I got up and you were on the couch, making some lame excuse of how you were reading and must have fallen asleep there by accident.

“You okay today?” I asked you. 

You shrugged, “We won’t be okay for a lot of days.”

I knew you were right. It was a stupid question to even ask. I nodded. 

“How do you feel?”

“Sore, weak, empty. Like I need to sleep more.”

You tucked my hair behind my ear, and kissed my cheek. 

“I love you,” I said, and you responded with, “Love you too, I need to shower.”

Now there is a distinct difference between ‘love you’ and ‘I love you.’ Losing the ‘I’ loses the intimacy. It removes yourself from the statement. You removed yourself from that statement, and from me. 

That first day we talked a little. We mostly cried and you watched me sleep. But then suddenly it was like you didn’t want to talk about it. You didn’t want to share a bed. You didn’t even want to look at me. You didn’t want to be in that place. I don’t blame you, Spencer, I don’t. I didn’t want to be there either.

I understand why you blamed me. We needed to blame someone, because no way could life be that cruel to a person. I blamed myself for the loss for a while too. No matter how many times people said “it’s not your fault” it still felt like my fault. I still feel like it’s my fault, like maybe I could’ve done something to prevent this. It doesn’t matter how many support groups or therapists tell me I can’t blame anyone. How can I believe that when the person who means the most to me in this world feels like it I’m the only person to blame?”

He sighed. He never wanted to blame you, but some part of him did anyway. It was easier that way. If he blamed you, he wouldn’t have to blame himself like he always did. But, sometimes there is no one to blame but life itself. 

“Emily showed up that next day. She came in, in all her black bangs glory and held me. She had ice cream with me. She let me cry on her shoulders until I couldn’t anymore. She watched cheesy tv with me and distracted me with stories of her varied lovers in London. She supported me the way only a best friend could, the way I wish you did. Then she had to leave; London calls. And Derek took her place. He would come by when he could, usually with takeout that I couldn’t stomach. If he couldn’t come by, he’d always text or call. He always checked in, which I appreciated, but every moment with them was a moment spent wishing I was with you. 

You. For the first week or so, I saw you everyday. We even went to the beach, but when we came home? I tried to talk but we usually didn’t. More accurately, I spoke, and you stared at me. Then you started coming less and less and returning fewer and fewer of my calls. At the end, I think I saw you maybe once every other day, just for you to come and grab clean clothes or paperwork. God, everyone did your job except for you because you were too busy doing your real job. The job Hotch told you to take a few weeks off from. The job that I actually did take a few weeks off from, because my body was in disrepair. 

It’s not fair to sit here and tell you that you didn’t cater to my every grieving need correctly. It’s not fair for me to tell you how to grieve either. I respect what you did, Spence. I respect that you poured yourself into work. I know it isn’t fair that I wish you spent half that energy on us. But you know what actually isn’t fair? The way I’d tell people “we lost her,” but you’d say “Y/N lost her.” You know what wasn’t fair? The fact that you ran away from me and hid away in your apartment, doing God knows what with God knows who, after we promised to lean on each other, to heal together. You refused to do it. I wanted to. I tried to. I reached out. I called. I texted. 

But, I’m getting ahead of myself now. You still have three letters to go.”

Spencer glanced over at the box. It was nearly empty, just three stray items and three stray envelopes staring at him. He remembered the minute he set foot in that place, he felt the same way he did before he entered your hospital room. Frozen. Fear. Trepidation. 

Everything looked foreign. The walls that were once a saturated blue color looked grayer. The mug on the counter didn’t look like it was his. The pictures on the walls were of foreign people from a foreign land. The bed didn’t look like his bed. He felt like he was living on a movie set, where everything was a prop and everyone was a fake. 

He tried to stay. He went into that first night with the intentions of laying next to you in bed, watching tv, rubbing your back, and giving you water to make up for the amount of tears you shed. He really, honestly, tried, but the first thing he saw when he opened the front door was that picture of the two of you from Rossi’s house, holding up the onesie. Then he made his way into the kitchen, where the ultrasounds were pinned to the fridge with smiley face magnets. Then he went upstairs and passed the nursery. 

It had barely been started; all you’d done was paint it a soft, sage green. 

“This color is called ‘Soothing Sage’,” You said, handing Spencer a roller, “I sure hope this soothes her, because if she’s as active outside as she is inside, we have a problem.” 

“It will soothe her. That’s why I love green,” He said, grabbing the roller and starting to paint, as you sat on the floor trying to untangle Garcia’s homemade jungle animal mobile. 

“I thought you liked purple.”

He smiled, “ I do, but green brings balance and harmony. From a color psychology perspective, it is the great balancer of the heart and the emotions, creating equilibrium in the body. And from a color symbolism perspective, green is the color of growth, spring, renewal and rebirth.”

You laughed, “My favorite color is teal. What’s the color psychology for that?”

“Teal is a blend of blue and green, so naturally it combines both blue's tranquility and stability with green's balance and harmony.”

“I like it, I like it, how about orange? What does that mean?”

“Orange? Well, it’s bright and brings feelings of excitement, enthusiasm, and warmth—“ He cut himself off, turning from his almost done wall to find you eating more chips, “Stop distracting me!”

You put your hands up in surrender, “You’re too easy to distract Reid.”

He smiled, paint already all over him, as you spent the rest of the afternoon talking about what rocker you should buy and where the other painting Garcia made should hang. 

When he passed the room, the walls a pretty green, mobile in the corner over a few stray Ikea boxes, he couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t act like everything in that place didn’t make him want to scream into an abyss. He couldn’t play the dutiful boyfriend. He couldn’t walk around and not feel haunted. He was being haunted, not by the past, but by a future that should’ve been. 

He tried to explain it to you, but you two were on different pages. Hell, you were reading two different books that were in completely different languages. Communicating became impossible, and if he’s being honest with himself, he was kind of happy that it did. It made it easier in the moment, but worse in the long run. 

“I miss us. I miss you. I miss her. I know we never met her but I could feel her. She was strong, definitely a soccer player. Maybe she would’ve had our recessive athletic genes. She was part of me, and I loved her from the first time I threw up. I could tell she loved you. She moved whenever you spoke to me. She loved to rustle and shift when you laid on my lap and whispered to her. She was a daddy’s girl. That’s what you deserved. I’m sorry my body couldn’t handle it. I’m sorry that I couldn’t even do that right. I’m sorry couldn’t be what you wanted or what you needed, especially when you were all I ever wanted or needed. I don’t know how many more ways to show you that I’m sorry.

You left me the day we lost her Spence, I know you did. I lost you and her in one fell swoop. How do I cope with that?”

Spencer put the letter down, cradling the unicorn in his hands. He didn’t need you to apologize anymore. You’d done enough of that, so did he. He stopped being angry and bitter and spiteful the second you told him to go. You yelled at him to finish packing his bags and get out, since that’s clearly what he wanted.

That wasn’t what he wanted. He was just lost. He was confused. He felt like nothing had a purpose anymore. He understood what Gideon said in the letter he left him all those years ago. He questioned everything he thought he ever knew. He wanted to view it as a lesson, something he could learn from, but the hole in his heart wouldn’t let him.

He had every intention of coming back to you when he was ready, but when he finally was, you shut the door. He lost himself the moment he lost her, and that made him lose you too. How’s he supposed to cope with that?

Part 13!

---------

Taglist: @l0ve-0f-my-life @aperrywilliams @helloniallslovelies @random-ravings @ajwantsapancake @andiebeaword @boiled-onionrings @frnks-stuff @icantevenanymore1 @mellifluouswildbluebells @rottenearly @sammypotato67 @blushingwueen @peaxhyjaes @justanotherfangurlz @juniorgman187 @mbowles23-blog @blameitonthenight21​ @goldentournesol​ @rainsong01​ @thelifeofadumbbitch​ @swimmingfishwobblersludge @youre-a-wallflower-charlie​

[im-da-bronx]

Under the Cabbage Leaf

Aka, the Force baby snatches the about-to-be-decommissioned baby clones and magics them into the gardens of a small village on the other side of the galaxy.

TW for clinical discussion of abortion. No one dies!! They’re just assumed dead.

Inspired by Where Echos Come From by Lemonsunset on Ao3

__

It starts with a tubie.

The kaminoan overseeing his growth assumes the empty pod means a spontaneous abortion, disposed of by the cleaning droids before the expired tissue began to decay. The kaminoan marks down the termination and moves on.

The possibility of an early decanting never crosses the kaminoan’s mind. The clone is too little to have more than the first half of his number, the number of the tower upon which his growth pod resides. The second half of his number, the number indicative of delivery sequence, isn’t scheduled to be assigned for another three weeks, and kaminoans are well known for following production schedules.

The Force does not care for schedules.

__

There is a baby in their garden.

He is a beautiful little thing, with pale bronze skin, dark wispy curls, and eyes that are the foggy blue of a newborn. He has a tiny upturned nose, and ten perfect toes, and his right arm ends just above the elbow.

But he is the first child their village has welcomed in eleven years, and a child is a child, and a child will be cherished, whether they are found growing among the vegetables of the back garden or not.

__

The next is a toddler. 

He is too small for flash training, too small for simulations. His world does not yet extend beyond the doors of his nursery, his troubles do not consist of anything but his current game, and his knowledge does not include anything more than the laughter of his brothers, the smile of their caretaker, and the love in his heart.

The keypad is defective. It refuses to lock the door.

After one too many sleepwalking incidents, he disappears.

__

Two months after the arrival of their son, another child is found in a garden bed.

It is their neighbor, the one with the troublesome goat, who finds the child. She announces his arrival with a shout that wakes the whole village, and tearfully introduces him to everyone, never once releasing him from her embrace.

And when she discovers his tendency to sleepwalk, well. A two year old child is easier to contain than a stubborn old goat, and her husband sighs good naturedly and goes to fetch his tools, declaring that with their son, their goat, and the number of locks he’s installed, they’d have the most secure property in the whole galaxy, not even the most gifted thief could get in.

He and his wife both agree that a child is far more precious than any riches a thief would want, anyway.

__

One of the mandalorian trainers goes off-world for a job. 

When they return, they begin training the newest batch of cadets, a group of bright eyed preschoolers. No one thinks twice about the fact that these children were raised in a near-sterile environment. They assume their superior immune systems will keep them healthy.

They are wrong. 

The trainer brings back a mutated virus, and the twenty pint-sized clones spread it to each other easily. Within a week, they are quarantined in their nursery. Luckily, the symptoms are not severe, merely very unpleasant, and they recover within another week. All except one.

His fever spikes. He grows delirious, and he fluctuates between distressed, restless sleep, and too still, feverish consciousness. 

Finally, his fever breaks, and his batchmates rejoice. He recovers, and eventually rejoins his brothers in their training.

It is obvious something isn’t right. He is slow to respond, ignores his trainers, and is not aware of his surroundings. His caretaker brings him to the medics, and they realize that the fever affected him more than they believed.

He doesn’t return to his brothers that night.

__

The blacksmith is the next to receive a child. 

He is carefully tending to his wife’s herb garden, big, calloused fingers clumsily wielding the small-handled trowel and shears never meant for his hands. 

He is quietly overjoyed to find the babe, all soft curls and big eyes staring out from baby fat cheeks. The boy has questions, and the blacksmith does his best to answer, tripping over explanations and quietly rumbling out educated guesses, with the same diligent, and slightly graceless, dedication he shows his late wife’s flowerbeds. The boy is much like him, quiet and awkward, though that could be more due to the child’s lack of hearing than lack of social aptitude.

Whatever the case, the blacksmith raises the boy to the best of his ability, teaching him to swing a hammer, keep a temper, and quench steel. He teaches him the sign language of the deafening forges of the larger cities, he shows him how to stoke a fire, and he tells him how to plant a garden.

And if the little boy is just as adept at plucking weeds and trimming twigs as he is at speaking with gestures and coaxing shapes out of metal, then who is the blacksmith to stop him?

Every living thing needs a loving touch, after all. Even plants.

__

The kaminoans do not notice the missing clones.

They calculated for a certain percentage of product failure, anyway, and it is well below the margin, not yet concerning enough to warrant investigation.

And if none of them realize that they have not authorized the decommissionings, well, leave it to arrogant scientists to ignore the fact that their data is skewed.

__

After the first three children, something changed.

It was much like the bursting of a dam. First, a drop, then a trickle, then a veritable flood of children begin appearing, in garden beds and flower pots and window boxes. 

The village bursts with new life, with laughter and love and hope. Couples who were barren, parents who lost their children to sickness, those who were not yet of age the last time a babe was born and thus never had the chance to try, they all find children in their gardens, and they all love them more than anything in the galaxy.

And so what if their children all share the same face? They are each different in their own way, whether they are blind, or their eyes are two different colors, or their skin and hair are as pale as snow. Their differences aren’t an issue, and neither are their similarities. They will still be loved and cared for, for they are children, and children are precious.

[mrsmadiscn]

that’s the BULLDOG of fairview, but you can call them MATILDA MADISON. the THIRTY-THREE year old has been a resident in fairview  for FOUR YEARS and currently works as a COLUMINIST. they were rose’s FRENEMY. since the news broke their usual SOCIABLE manner has seemed to been replaced by a ARROGANT demeanor cracking under the surface. maybe it’s the fact that a dark cloud in the form of SHE HAD AN ABORTION AS A TEENAGER is hanging over their head. crashing waves against the cliffside. perfectly manicured nails. dark eyes narrowed into a glare. the sound of an instagram notification.

HISTORY (TW Abortion, Death)

Matilda’s childhood was the definition of privilege. Growing up in small town Wisconsin, the same small town her family had practically ruled over for five generations, she was the most popular girl in school since Kindergarden. She was on the cheer squad, dated the hottest boy in school and threw the best parties - her big house was almost always empty as her parents travelled across the country.

But she didn’t need them, she had her friends. Her real family, just the four of them bonded together and nothing could tear them apart.

A series of events, starting the summer after her Junior year rocked the foundation of her world. 

The first being her breakup with Chase. The school’s power couple, she hadn’t even seen it coming - her boyfriend, who she wasn’t even sure she’d realised that she truly loved until the moment he broke it off with her, had decided that he was no longer emboldened by the shallow popularity. She of course was the human embodiment of such frivolous things.

A few weeks later she found herself on her best friend’s bathroom floor, positive pregnancy test in hand and no idea who the father as - it might have been Chase, she hoped it was, but she couldn’t be sure. She felt as though she had no other choice, she couldn’t be trusted to look after herself most of the time. With only her best friends by her side, she had an abortion.

Senior year was different for many reasons, but the most prominent was probably the bomb that was dropped on her head that January. She wasn’t going to graduate, not unless she took all the extra credit she could get and worked her ass off for the rest of the year. And maybe that was what truly changed her life.

She did eventually graduate, on time and as she would proudly boast all her own doing. That accomplishment, it caused a fundamental shift in her. Sure she was still Queen Bee and she wasn’t getting on the Honour Roll anytime soon, but for the first time in her life she’d worked for something instead of just being handed it. No longer was she satisfied with her father buying her place at college like he’d intended to, and she wasn’t even sure she wanted to go. She wasn’t sure about anything anymore....so when Chase offered her the chance to travel the world with him she jumped on board.

Those years were perhaps the happiest of Matilda’s life; she was seeing gorgeous cities, she had the man she loved at her side, her travel instagram went viral. They got married semi-spontaneously, arriving in Marrakech and simply deciding that they had to fly their nearest and dearest out for the surprise wedding.

She has never regretted one second of her life with Chase.

However, sometimes Fairview feels boring after their adventures. She loves her husband and maybe the mean girl that she will always slightly be loves the high-school-like nature of suburbia, but from time to time she wishes they’d never had to grow up.

Since moving to Illinois four years ago, she’s become quite the staple of the community. She attends every town meeting, she hosts block parties and attends her neighbours’ dinner parties, she writes a column in the town paper (Tilly Talks). She’s somebody that just about everybody in Fairview knows, just the same way she’d grown up, but that isn’t necessarily a good thing.

Matilda and Rose had a complicated friendship, filled with coffee dates and competition, but she was still shocked and disturbed when she heard about her death. She’s never really considered herself a reporter, the only reason she even started writing was a by-product of her popularity on instagram, but since the other woman’s death she can’t deny that she’s gotten a sudden urge to investigate.

PERSONALITY

After a lifetime of being a mean girl, being raised to believe that popularity was the only way to succeed and that other people’s feelings didn’t matter, it’s never been easy for Matilda to completely disregard those beliefs. Sometimes she’s still the same teenage girl she was fifteen years ago.

You get on her bad side and she’s positively vicious. Mean to unreasonable degrees and not afraid to do whatever it takes to make your life hell. She’s the pettiest person you’ll ever meet, there’s no forgive and forget where Matilda is involved.

She’s nosey, likes to be in her neighbours business, but that’s made her pretty guarded about her own life.

However, she’s resourceful. If you need a job done, even if hands need to get a little dirty, you can bet Matilda will find a way. And she’ll do it passionately.

If you need a party hosting, Matilda is your girl. Her sociable nature and a youth spent watching her mother host Junior League parties - not to mention the ragers she threw as a teenager - make for parties her neighbours will be talking about for weeks afterwards.

[spurgie-cousin]

Tw: abortion. Where I live (USA) an abortion by choice is an elective abortion. An abortion where the baby just died in utero is called a spontaneous abortion. It sounds cruel but all abortion means is the pregnancy ended before viable life. Our culture has added the stigma to it. ☹️

Oooh that makes way more sense. I’m guessing that’s probably what the other ask was referring to also.

[kaizendid]

TW: Mentions of suicide & negativity. 

This is probably the most “hopeful” post I’ve ever written

December 18th 2018. The day I planned to end my life. It wasn’t the last time I planned to end my life, I’ve attempted a few times since then. But my attempts are usually in the spur of the moment, unplanned, spontaneous. I had planned my attempt for a long time - it was a bittersweet date, because on that day the year before someone I really looked up to took his life. I had everything planned out perfectly and I still believe that I would have succeeded.

December 18th 2018. That day changed everything. It was the day my gf texted me saying “My period is late.” We freaked out, she came over and bought a pregnancy test on the way. It was positive. We freaked out some more. For days and weeks we discussed what to do. We talked about abortion and adoption. Me, becoming a parent? Impossible. I’m a trauma survivor, struggling with CPTSD, DID, Depression and more. I’m as mentally unstable as it gets. Unwanted pregnancy, an unwanted child.. is basically the core of my early childhood trauma. My father was mentally ill and very unstable. He didn’t want a child, much less a son. But I was born - which resulted in years of neglect and abuse. I can’t be a parent. I’m going to ruin this child.. is what I thought.

Fast foward - july 2020. 

My daughter is 11 months old now and took her first steps this week. She’s a happy and healthy baby. And no matter how bad I feel she always warms my heart. Being a trauma survivor and a parent isn’t easy, and it’s probably only going to get harder from now on. But I’m glad I didn’t die that day. I’m probably the most stable I’ve ever been right now. The last time I was actively suicidal was in march this year. I still think about dying a lot, and I still feel like I can’t go on. I still feel hopeless on most days.

But everytime I hold my daughter I take another step away from the path my father took. He never held me. 

To the me from 2018: Don’t cry. Your daughter is going to be beautiful. You will love her a lot, and being a parent as a DID system isn’t as impossible as you think. 

[enchantedpineseed]

A year ago this past Saturday I was irritable. I’d had six cups of coffee that day before standing in front of a mirror and accepting that my body was going to change. I looked at my bandaged ballet feet and accepted that I could no longer dance since my center of gravity would change. My belly and feet would swell in rhythm with a heartbeat I couldn’t yet hear.

A year ago today, I was empty. My body had called it quits (likely due to the major overload of caffeine). The pain had become bearable and I could walk and drink water without it coming up. I didn’t think I would ever feel good again. I didn’t think I would ever let anyone touch me or hold me again. Today, l felt cautiously optimistic. And that sent tears rolling down my cheeks because it was the first time in a long time where I had looked ahead and seen a desirable future. There wasn’t a light at the end of the tunnel for me; there was just an end to the tunnel. But I feel good. And I’m glad.

[squirrelstone]

why do you tag things with "abortion mention" or "abortion tw" if you're prochoice

For people who don’t want to see anything about abortion, for people who were forced to have an abortion who didn’t want one, for people who wanted an abortion but couldn’t or were forced/manipulated into not, for people who have miscarried (also known in the medical world as spontaneous abortion), and a million other reasons.

A lot of people tend to think pro-choice=pro-abortion, but it’s not. Being pro-choice means I want the pregnant person to be able to decide what to do with their own body, abort the fetus or not, adopt out or not, how and when and where they have the abortion or give birth, and for so many, that choice has been taken from them.

[bitesizemetaphors]

to my baby sibling

tw: abortion, alcoholism

I was three years old when mom sat me down

and told me I was going to be a big sister

I was hoping to get a sister

but this news was premature

because your departure came quick

and your memory stayed forever

like a white noise behind every family gathering

humming so quietly you almost forget it’s there

like a shadow behind mom

following her every move

learning how to live just seconds after life has already unfolded

like the floral wall paper we just can’t seem to remove from the walls

because we are afraid we will forget what it looks like

I was nineteen years old when mom sat me down

and told me that she had an abortion

I was hoping to get a sister

and this news took the breath right out of my lungs

lucy

jackie

jim

michael

katherine

dominic

claudia

do any of these names fit you?

dear baby sibling

I’m sorry you didn’t get a chance to receive your name

I hope you’ve chosen one yourself

I bet it fits you well

I bet you’re a perfect mix of intuitive and spontaneous

I bet you are reserved but confident

I bet you are equal parts jake and madeline

I bet jake would love you just like he loves me

I was twenty one years old when mom sat me down

and told me that she got her abortion because she was afraid

dad’s alcoholism was inside you

because she shouldn’t carry the burden of bringing a child into this world

set up for self destruction

because she couldn’t watch her baby burn up just like her husband has

because temptation is in our blood and she didn’t want to see you fall deep into the hole

dad created for you

she said

you would come into a world

designed to destroy you

she said

you were already

craving bourbon on the rocks

she said

genetics were not on your side

she said

she does not regret it

it’s a mother’s job to protect

her children

from themselves

she said

your heart lives in her

she said

I’m sorry

she said

I’m sorry

she said

I’m sorry

she said

please forgive me

she said

please forgive him

I’m sorry baby sibling

I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry

[life-with-my-three]

TW - miscarriage/still birth/infant loss - some of it is graphic.

There’s just over two weeks left until what should have been our due date with Lorna. A couple of weeks ago I was a complete mess over it. Throughout the last couple of days, I’ve somewhat made peace with what happened.

At our initial 12 week scan we found out Lorna was measuring small. They weren’t overly concerned but asked us to come back in two weeks just to make sure she had caught up. As far as we knew there were no actual outright concerns.

It was the scan the following fortnight that we learned there were very real concerns. She was measuring at least two weeks behind (we’d already had a number of scans, and she fell more behind each time) and the proportion of growth, body wise, was disproportionate. Her long bones were shorter, her chest circumference was smaller, whereas her head was larger.

Hindsight is weird. At the time things that didn’t seem out of place, on reflection make me see that there was a certain amount of avoidance in saying what the concern was, and complete relief when the sonographer learned I had an antenatal appointment already booked for an hour or so later with a consultant obstetrician (high risk pregnancy, so I see the consultants most appointments).

Again hindsight in seeing why they were so willing to have a midwife sit with me before and after that appointment, just subtle little things that at the time I missed, but with the knowledge I now have, can see everyone was worried. I remember the midwife now wording certain things in ways that she was trying to scope out HOW much I knew, so as to not say more than I had been told. I remember knowing things weren’t good, but not realising just how not good they actually were. Being told we were having an urgent referral sent into the state’s top maternity hospital for genetic testing.

I cried so much that night. I remember begging. I remember saying, I don’t care if she’s sick or has a disability, I just want her to be able to live.

The referral never came to be, as it was just 24 hours later I birthed her on my bathroom floor. Even then I had known for an hour or so things weren’t good. I had, had a cough. Just an everyday cold really. I was driving back from Melbourne (about 1.5 hours) and every time I coughed I could feel a gush of liquid. I went straight to my bathroom when I got home and it was only seconds later she was born. I remember just screaming/sobbing, but being frozen to the spot. One of my biggest regrets is not holding her, but I couldn’t move.

Anyway back to the original point of the post. If we had of gotten to the point of genetic testing in Melbourne, we would have been offered an amnio. When the results would have inevitably come back with complete XXX triploidy, we would of definitely been offered a medical termination. Even if born at term, babies with complete triploidy, are either still born or live a few hours. A day or two if extremely lucky. They don’t survive past then (mosaic triploidy is a little different).

These past few days I’ve thought lots about this alternative path, and as harsh as it may sound to say, I am grateful we were spared of having to make the choice of termination or not by her spontaneously aborting. It is most likely a choice I never would have gotten over.

I’ve looked into it, and as much as I want to say I wouldn’t have terminated no matter what, what I always would have thought would be true, and this absolutely kills me to say, the reality of this particular situation is it would have had to have been a very real choice.

Because of the poor formation of the placenta due to her triploidy, the risk of severe preeclampsia in pregnancies where a baby has triploidy is raised significantly. This is even when there is no history. I have been told numerous times, I am extremely lucky I didn’t die from preeclampsia with Fletcher as it was. Add in the much higher risk of preeclampsia from the triploidy, and the truth is, it would have been life threatening to me to continue the pregnancy. There was no way she would have survived, I was already having spikes in blood pressure, and I wouldn’t have even been able to reason that I would give my life for her’s. We both could have ended up dead. If it had of just been me and her, it may be different, but it would have been an enormous gamble to take with the very real possibility of leaving Riley and Fletcher without a mum.

So I’ve found some small comfort in her death, as selfish as it may be. I am grateful she spared me of having to make the decision, because I’m not sure I would have ever been able to live with myself if I had been the one to pull the trigger.

You hear the very conscientious debate of later abortions, and you try to picture what you would do. But the truth of the matter is, they’re not just routinely offered. There is almost always a medical purpose. The parent/s don’t want to be in the position of having to make the decision, but you can never know what you would decide unless you’re actually faced with it.

On a triploidy group I’m in on Facebook, a regular post subject is mum/dad feeling so guilty at having decided to terminate. How much it hurts for pro life people to push their agendas on what was the most gut wrenching decision of their lives. As frequently it’s said that most people get comments of, “I would never terminate even if something was wrong with the baby”, and most of the times in these cases people think of things like Down’s syndrome, where it is survivable, but don’t have the knowledge that these are not always the outcomes leading to termination and sometimes incomptibility to life happens.

16 days left. I’ll be glad when the day’s over if I’m honest.

[science-fiction-is-real]

Fun facts about human fetuses

1) The first part of your body to develop in-utero is your ass hole.   X

2)  Actually that is a lie.  The first part of your body that forms in-utero is the placenta and your amniotic sac.  Yes.  Those are part of your body.  You lost about a pretty sizable chunk of your body mass when you were born.  X X (tw body horror and blood)

3) The little ridge between your nose and your mouth is a seam where your face mushed together when it formed. X  ( TW body horror)

4) the reason humans have periods while most other mammals do not is because human fetuses grow really deep and aggressive placentas, which means human uteri have to have thick and aggressive uterine walls that have to shed at regular intervals.  Also it makes it easier to spontaneously abort embryos before they drill right into your blood stream.  X

5)  Not really a fact but... Please just watch an animation of an embryo forming.  like.  God. Damn. Just.  like.  things folding over and twisting and morphing and just please go onto youtube and watch it.

6) You spent the first nine months of your life swimming around in your own urine.  Also breathing your urine.  Also drinking it and peeing it out again.   X X

7)  Having a big brain is an evolutionary nightmare for humans.  Want your  baby to enter the world with the biggest brain it can?  Give it an enormous head that puts you at serious risk of dying in childbirth!  Don’t want to die in childbirth?  Deliver the baby when its severely under-developed so that its brain isn’t too big to give birth to.  Congratulations.  It’s large-brained completely helpless, immobile nightmare infant that cannot walk or see straight and has to be carried everywhere.  But that’s all theory.   X