#Infant mortality tw

[homoqueerjewhobbit]

If you think about it, it's pretty gutsy/insane that The Decemberists decided to open their very first LP with a song narrated from the point of view of a dead baby rotting in a ditch.

[noctumsolis]

The notes on this post are a train wreck. We're talking three TGVs in a simultaneous collision at full speed. The sheer entitlement of (probably NT) people, who have never experienced this, to tell us that it's a moral failing in us. The utter inability or, I suspect, refusal to comprehend that people have radically different internal experiences.

I have encountered this in meatspace as well. I have been told, “ If a child gets hungry enough they will eat. Even if they hate it, no child will starve theirself.” Which, dear reader, is pure hogwash. I know first hand. I know second and third hand as well.

I believe that being neurodivergent has, for many of us*, many benefits. But there are also a slew of disabling aspects to many forms. Issues with food comprise a hefty chunk of those. I strongly suspect that the prevalence in old records of infants’ “failure to thrive” is due in part to the lack of food which could reliably pass an individual's sensory needs. I wish that I could make everyone understand the sincerity and seriousness of this issue and cultivate empathy.

But for a start, if any judgemental NT happens to read this, just trust that we neurodivergent people know ourselves better than you know us.

* especially marine biologists.

[thebat-musicman]

me: *obsessively explaining how infant morality rate affected naming conventions and how it was common that if a baby died you would get another one and name it the same thing. Common example of this is Philip Hamilton who died in 1800 (or 1801) and the other Philip Hamilton who was born a year later*

person im talking to: …please stop calling him Philip the Sequel

me: no.

[chicohungers24-7]

The locals say he crawled out a pothole one day

[mushroom-for-art]

Me @ Paradox au: you're as beautiful as the day I lost u

Person in charge of updating this fucking sucks ur schedules shit smh

King/Syn beloved belongs to @seasidemew

Sink or swim

"Our previous theories on the exact genders of the Genetic Terror has proved incorrect."

Leader is shown finding a quiet protected area the bushes shrubbery and tree branches making a perfect nest like area for her to squeeze and shuffle through past the leaves, she is shown leaving and returning with furs carefully crawling under the branches to not disturb or reveal her hidden area.

"In order to observe further we need more specialised equipment."

People talk inaudibly in the background as the cameraman shows off what looks like an ordinary leaf but is in fact a highly sophisticated type of camera powered by solar with little legs like a bug for movement. The view from the multiple leafcam is slightly green tinted, a little non invasive toy car like rover scoots revving softly near the nest and deposits the box with the leafbots in who disperse quickly subtly into place.

Leader is shown chasing the little toy car and knocking it over watching it spin in circles stuck on its side before it 'dies', she loses interest returning to her nest, inside viewed by multiple leafbot the leaves and foliage are spread and flattened intentionally as she builds up the other materials feathers from Great Tusk, Scream Tail fur, Slither wing fluff and wings any soft body part she wants and can fit into the nest.

The nest is completed during a time lapse of her nest building and half a day later she lays three small eggs, they are lumpy and slightly misshapen but she seems delighted her body resting protective over them like a brooding hen she incubates what is hers. During a time of her absence Dart enters the nest slowly looking around sniffing materials.

"We feared Dart would devour the eggs of the male he'd been trying to chase off," Dart lowers themselves and produces an egg of their own larger and more solid and smooth into the middle of the nest before leaving, "we were wrong."

Leader returns and pauses her head lowering as she nuzzles each egg faintly as though counting them pausing at the large healthy egg in the center of her misshapen ones she moves and returns to her brooding accepting the foreign egg as her own.

"If Leader knows this is Darts egg we aren't sure we can only assume she believes it her own egg or knows of its origins. The difference in egg shape size and overall visual health has led us to believe Leaders eggs may non be viable."

A timelapse shows Leader guarding her nest leaving occasionally to hunt but noticeably losing weight and leaving less and less frequently. There is also footage of Dart and Glider struggling to hunt as a duo without Leader to guide them and King searching around looking noticeably lost his snout to the ground sniffing deep inhales trying to get a scent before snorting in frustration and walking off heavily.

Finally, there is movement from one of the eggs, they wobble and flop to the side as Leader watches them intensely, the little leg that kicks out is dark red with dark grey striping, when they finally destroy their way out their egg it is clear they are not Leaders, a miniature adult genetic terror, proud horns and midhorn with a subtle bump implying a double point like King, their colors were deep and rich Darts red orange hues darkened further like dark jewels grey emphasising and contrasting.

Leader watches the little hatchling bounce around making infant screeches and chirps before scooping them close to her body nuzzling and grooming them.

"Her eggs haven't hatched," they've shrunken and even caved in on themselves, "Leader could carry a genetic defect, or it was an unlucky draw." She is witnessed removing the eggs one at a time from the nest throwing them to be scavenged elsewhere before bringing a small Roaring Moon limp in her jaw to give the hatchling their first meal.

She demonstrates biting the carcass and ripping away the flesh offering it to the chick dangling between her teeth, she feeds them tenderly and often but keeps them hidden in the nest.

"We don't know how long hatchling stay in the nest with their mothers, or if this is purely a behaviour displayed by Leader, and unfortunately this time we won't get answers."

Leader leaves the nest to go hunting, she's still underweight from everything as she goes to hunt, the hatchling is seen playing with and chasing a feather that's floating about the nest making little bark like noises vocalisations of play displaying what could be a play bow before diving after the feather.

Unfamiliar jaws lean into the nest, the hatchling pauses watching the unfamiliar mouth, cold and unfeeling they snap around the youngling. With a squeal the invader makes off with its prey from the unwatched nest. Leader is viewed botching her hunt before bolting back to her nest she vocalises squeaks and cries in her throat in sheer desperation sniffing around and whimpering at a trickle of blood. She looks lost without her hatchling.

"Leader hasn't left her nest since the incident, her pack members have been struggling and King seems unaware of the tragedy that has occurred."

The camera shows the start of a forest fire beginning to crackle and burn loudly.

"If Leader can't find the strength to flee the fire will surely kill her."

Multiple pokemon run and flee bellowing in natural fear of the fire ravaging their home, instincts drive them purely to survive, the leafbots are forced to flee with what battery they have left. It looks bleak, Dart and Glider stand at the forests edge crying and bellowing out throaty summoning calls echo into the darkening sky.

"But like a phoenix she is reborn from the ashes of despair!"

A camera catches glimpse of orange hues bolting through the forest, underweight and disorientated the Genetic Terror runs dodging and weaving around the flames and burning foliage around her course correcting as the flames race her dropping burning trees and setting shrubs alight. Her panic evident in her cries and roars. Leaping from the burning forest she crashes into the grassland outside quickly reached and greeted by her siblings, chirps and nuzzles reassure their bonds before they take one last glance at the flames disappearing into the thickening ash and smoke ridden land.

King bellows at the flames enraged by their insult as nature takes its course ravaging the land to regrow it, he storms off with heavy stomps to find a new area to sleep.

———

"It's been months since the fire, Leaders condition has not improved, while the fire forced her to move from her nest her appetite has not bounced back."

Dart and Glider gorge themselves on fat Slither Wing their wings ripped off to prevent mobility and escape as they excitedly chitter at the flesh they're enjoying. Leader lay nearby on her side, she's thin and looks exhausted breathing heavily for such an easy hunt the strain of hunger causing issue with her body and yet she won't eat feeling no hunger.

The other two have long since fallen asleep assuming their sibling will eat now they're asleep, she lay uninterested but awake head lifting slowly sensing the slowly approaching King. Her head lowers either in submission or being too exhausted. King stands and looks over her slowly he moves digging into the carcasses of the Slither Wing himself devouring large mouthfuls.

He pulls away flesh hanging in his teeth and comes to Leaders side leaning down and using his arms as support he holds the food out to her, he nudges his face to hers until she acknowledges him opening her mouth slowly to take the food he delicately hands it over. The process repeats, with King biting at her legs when she does not chew only holding the meat in her teeth, his own teeth never break flesh but encourages her enough to eat.

He continues until she seems genuinely unable to devour more slowly trudging off and returning with a wetter snout he opens his maw slowly to her and water he had collected falls onto her as he attempts to offer her water, she makes noises of discontent shaking her head at the water splashed on her with a warning hiss he doesn't respond to.

King holds his jaw more steady and after some working out carefully shares the water with her for her to drink, he seems content and licks the spare droplets from her muzzle and nuzzles her face in affection purring deeply to her before going to retrieve more water, though this time she stands to follow slowly. He stops every few paces waiting for her and rests besides her at the water as she tips her head low and drinks, his tail thumps the grass happily.

———

"King has been tailing the group for a few weeks now, he is recorded giving Leader special attention and even aiding in the hunts and refusing to let the others eat until himself and Leader have had their fill. Her health is improving, though it's clear she still thinks about the nest and lost hatchling, on some nights she is seen pacing around making calls for her baby as though she will get a response. King only seems to watch her when this happens, he does not seem aware of what she is calling for."

"She will recover and more behaviour can hopefully be recorded. The area which burned down has been regrowing at a rapid previously unseen rate and should be back to it's lush original state within a month or two. Area zero continues to fascinate us."

-Recording end-

[thebeesareback]

So I have, unfortunately, now completed reading all of the Sherlock Holmes books. They were absolutely bonkers, often problematic, and fairly funny. This has meant that I now need something to take over my insomniac mornings, so I tried a little Dickens, because I remember it being absolutely tedious when I read it at school.

It's hilarious. Here is the first chapter of Oliver Twist:

Among other public buildings in a certain town, which for many reasons it will be prudent to refrain from mentioning, and to which I will assign no fictitious name, there is one anciently common to most towns, great or small: to wit, a workhouse; and in this workhouse was born; on a day and date which I need not trouble myself to repeat, inasmuch as it can be of no possible consequence to the reader, in this stage of the business at all events; the item of mortality whose name is prefixed to the head of this chapter.

For a long time after it was ushered into this world of sorrow and trouble, by the parish surgeon, it remained a matter of considerable doubt whether the child would survive to bear any name at all; in which case it is somewhat more than probable that these memoirs would never have appeared; or, if they had, that being comprised within a couple of pages, they would have possessed the inestimable merit of being the most concise and faithful specimen of biography, extant in the literature of any age or country.

Although I am not disposed to maintain that the being born in a workhouse, is in itself the most fortunate and enviable circumstance that can possibly befall a human being, I do mean to say that in this particular instance, it was the best thing for Oliver Twist that could by possibility have occurred. The fact is, that there was considerable difficulty in inducing Oliver to take upon himself the office of respiration,—a troublesome practice, but one which custom has rendered necessary to our easy existence; and for some time he lay gasping on a little flock mattress, rather unequally poised between this world and the next: the balance being decidedly in favour of the latter. Now, if, during this brief period, Oliver had been surrounded by careful grandmothers, anxious aunts, experienced nurses, and doctors of profound wisdom, he would most inevitably and indubitably have been killed in no time. There being nobody by, however, but a pauper old woman, who was rendered rather misty by an unwonted allowance of beer; and a parish surgeon who did such matters by contract; Oliver and Nature fought out the point between them. The result was, that, after a few struggles, Oliver breathed, sneezed, and proceeded to advertise to the inmates of the workhouse the fact of a new burden having been imposed upon the parish, by setting up as loud a cry as could reasonably have been expected from a male infant who had not been possessed of that very useful appendage, a voice, for a much longer space of time than three minutes and a quarter.

As Oliver gave this first proof of the free and proper action of his lungs, the patchwork coverlet which was carelessly flung over the iron bedstead, rustled; the pale face of a young woman was raised feebly from the pillow; and a faint voice imperfectly articulated the words, “Let me see the child, and die.”

The surgeon had been sitting with his face turned towards the fire: giving the palms of his hands a warm and a rub alternately. As the young woman spoke, he rose, and advancing to the bed’s head, said, with more kindness than might have been expected of him:

“Oh, you must not talk about dying yet.”

“Lor bless her dear heart, no!” interposed the nurse, hastily depositing in her pocket a green glass bottle, the contents of which she had been tasting in a corner with evident satisfaction.

“Lor bless her dear heart, when she has lived as long as I have, sir, and had thirteen children of her own, and all on ’em dead except two, and them in the wurkus with me, she’ll know better than to take on in that way, bless her dear heart! Think what it is to be a mother, there’s a dear young lamb do.”

Apparently this consolatory perspective of a mother’s prospects failed in producing its due effect. The patient shook her head, and stretched out her hand towards the child.

The surgeon deposited it in her arms. She imprinted her cold white lips passionately on its forehead; passed her hands over her face; gazed wildly round; shuddered; fell back—and died. They chafed her breast, hands, and temples; but the blood had stopped forever. They talked of hope and comfort. They had been strangers too long.

“It’s all over, Mrs. Thingummy!” said the surgeon at last.

“Ah, poor dear, so it is!” said the nurse, picking up the cork of the green bottle, which had fallen out on the pillow, as she stooped to take up the child. “Poor dear!”

“You needn’t mind sending up to me, if the child cries, nurse,” said the surgeon, putting on his gloves with great deliberation. “It’s very likely it will be troublesome. Give it a little gruel if it is.” He put on his hat, and, pausing by the bed-side on his way to the door, added, “She was a good-looking girl, too; where did she come from?”

“She was brought here last night,” replied the old woman, “by the overseer’s order. She was found lying in the street. She had walked some distance, for her shoes were worn to pieces; but where she came from, or where she was going to, nobody knows.”

The surgeon leaned over the body, and raised the left hand. “The old story,” he said, shaking his head: “no wedding-ring, I see. Ah! Good-night!”

The medical gentleman walked away to dinner; and the nurse, having once more applied herself to the green bottle, sat down on a low chair before the fire, and proceeded to dress the infant.

What an excellent example of the power of dress, young Oliver Twist was! Wrapped in the blanket which had hitherto formed his only covering, he might have been the child of a nobleman or a beggar; it would have been hard for the haughtiest stranger to have assigned him his proper station in society. But now that he was enveloped in the old calico robes which had grown yellow in the same service, he was badged and ticketed, and fell into his place at once—a parish child—the orphan of a workhouse—the humble, half-starved drudge—to be cuffed and buffeted through the world—despised by all, and pitied by none.

Oliver cried lustily. If he could have known that he was an orphan, left to the tender mercies of church-wardens and overseers, perhaps he would have cried the louder.

Anyway, now I'm reading Emma by Jane Austen because I hate the narrator's voice for Oliver Twist

[chaosclimber]

Ok, so I was gonna just shout this at @scribetiloa but nope. Gotta share this with more people because aaah.

Like. Even coming at things from a modern perspective, Hob Gadling losing his family in the 1600′s was tragic. 

But I saw this post today, and it made my think of Hob Gadling losing his family in context of the high infant mortality rate of the time. 

Hob Gadling, who had to have known that there was a damn good chance he was always going to have to bury his children young.

Hob Gadling, who realized exactly how well off he was in the late 1500's  ("this is what I always imagined Heaven to be like") and thought maybe, maybe he could hold onto a little bit of hope. Not that he would never bury his family, but that they would at least live a full, natural span of years. 

 Hob Gadling, who's seen countless men and women lose themselves to grief in his earlier years, being so sure that when the time came, he'd be able to continue.

But he doesn't expect the first truly difficult birth to take the mother as well as the child. But he still has young Robyn to cling to, so he can go on. For now, at least. Oh, he maybe drank more of an evening (just to get to sleep, you understand? Just so the bed doesn't feel so damn empty ), but he functioned. He was still a father, still providing. He even wrote, a little, tawdry things addressed to his Stranger. Nothing was ever good enough to escape being tossed in the fire like so much kindling, but it helped.

And Robyn grows up. And Hob can let out a sigh of relief. His boy has grown into his own prime, he can stop worrying so much. They've got enough money, he'll never have to worry about Robyn getting snatched up to go to war against his will, and there's none that are truly worth the fight so as to tempt the boy to serve anyway. Barring a freak accident, his boy has become a man and should well give him a grandchild in a handful of years.

Can you imagine what a shock it would be, once he's managed to hang onto that hope once more, to get the message? Too late to do anything about it. "There was a brawl. Your son is dead.” No wonder he falls so deeply into his own grief. No wonder he stays too long, long enough to kick up suspicion. It is a Greek tragedy of his own making, and his fatal flaw was what all will tell him is his greatest strength: unceasing optimism, almost to the point of self-delusion. Would it not have hurt less if he had remembered how pervasive Death is, if he had braced himself from the moment he'd become attached? Or...so he asks himself after. So he will, in fact, ask Death herself--she did check in with him, briefly, just after Robyn.

 She had no answer for him, only a question in turn. "Would they have wanted any less than the full measure of your love?"

[thatstormygeek]

“There is no more important fight than to ensure Missouri is the safest state in the nation for children,” Bailey said.

Oh really. Huh.

According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, 116 children and teens die by guns every year in Missouri,

source

The Missouri report card from the March of Dimes in 2023 was abysmal. Our preterm birth grade was D-. The preterm birth rate in for the US as a whole is 10.4%; in Missouri, it's 11.3% and has generally been trending upward since 2013. Oh, and "[t]he preterm birth rate among babies born to Black birthing people is 1.5x higher than the rate among all other babies."

But wait, there's more!

Though our infant mortality rate has decreased from 6.6% in 2012, it's currently 5.9% to the nation's 5.4%. And again: "The infant mortality rate among babies born to Black birthing people is 1.9x the state rate."

Birthing people in Missouri have a high vulnerability to poor outcomes and are most vulnerable due to reproductive healthcare access

25.7% maternal mortality (nationwide is 23.5%)

15.6% received inadequate prenatal care (US average is 15.5%)

If those stats aren't bleak enough for you, check this out:

From 2017 to 2021, congenital syphilis cases rose 219% across the country; in Missouri, they rose 593%, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.  Between 2012 and 2015, one stillbirth from a congenital syphilis case was reported in Missouri. Since then, there’s been at least one infant death every year, with 18 deaths reported between 2016 and 2022, according to the Missouri Department of Health and Senior Services. If detected early enough, the disease is reversible in the womb.

If it's reversible, why are so many babies being born with it?

In the majority of Missouri’s rising cases of congenital syphilis, mothers had little to no prenatal care, highlighting a larger issue of maternal health care access.

Mmhmm.

But Andrew Bailey thinks harassing Planned Parenthood is how he's going to make Missouri safe for kids.

And that is after MoLeg killed Medicaid funding for Planned Parenthood (emphasis mine):

“Experts have been clear there are not enough providers in the system to absorb the thousands of patients that Planned Parenthood health centers serve,” Planned Parenthood Great Plains and Planned Parenthood St. Louis Region and Southwest Missouri said in a joint statement Thursday. ... “We’ve ended all elective abortions in this state, approved new support for mothers, expecting mothers and children and, with this bill, ensured that we are not sending taxpayer dollars to abortion providers for any purpose,” Parson said in a statement. Nearly one in five Planned Parenthood patients in Missouri are insured through MO HealthNet, the state’s Medicaid program that serves low-income and disabled citizens and has long banned funding for abortion.  Planned Parenthood also sees more than half of Missouri’s low-income patients seeking family planning services, according to the Missouri Family Health Council Inc.

[the-brainrot-central]

I hate how i can never fucking finish anything. I had another Kira mpreg partially written based off of 1998 by AceTheWolf where he has to give birth in an abandoned church (to avoid attention, also he intends on killing the baby) and it was gonna be so silly and cool and then I went “damn, I have no fucking clue how to finish this” so I didn’t 💀💀💀 just WHY 😭 WHY AM I LIKE THIS!!!!! I HATE IT!!!!

[wiisagi-maiingan]

Something very distinctly evil about how the US government, after forcing Natives on reservations with inadequate food and actively destroying many birth and childcare traditions, used high infant and maternal mortality as a way to corner Native people into assimilation.

You're suffering, your children are suffering, how many babies have you buried, it's your fault, because you're ignorant and primitive, but we can help you, we can save your babies, all you have to do is forget all the lessons that your mothers and aunts and grandmothers taught you and do everything we say. Don't look behind the curtain, don't think about what's actually killing your women and children.

Even when people were aware that their circumstances were the cause of the mortality rates, what could they do? If they refused to play by the rules, then they didn't get food rations. They were arrested or fined. The children that DID survive got taken away. What a horrific and miserable situation to be in, forced to choose between your children and your culture and knowing that there's only one possible option.

Anyway! I just started reading Reproduction on the Reservation by Brianna Theobold. It's nice to find a book about reproductive rights in Native communities that isn't strictly centered around forced sterilization.

[mikurulucky]

So, Johan's parents...

So we never see his parents, we don't know what they look like or what they're like as people to the point where he may as well not HAVE parents. But I have some headcanons about them.

Johan got a lot of his looks from his mother, her eyes were turquoise like his, but her hair was a lighter brown. Johan got his black hair from his dad. His slender physique was also mainly passed down from his mother's side of the family.

His mom died during childbirth while his dad was pretty cold and distant towards him. Most of that coldness was there from the start, expressing that towards the mother before Johan was born, but some of it was exacerbated from the loss of the mother and how much Johan looks like her.

This affected him quite a lot as a child and he wanted a much better life, and once he saw knights and what they did, he wanted to do that. Once he turned 7, his father allowed him to pursue that interest and Johan started living with the king and Count Tremaine for knight training.

Oddly, he did much better mentally after being away from his father, he gained more confidence improving his battle skills and he actually had someone to look up to for a change, a reason to improve. His dad didn't have that, he was very neglectful at worst and just a flat out bully at best. He made Johan cry quite a few times as a wee tot.

The only other person he had to look up to before his time as a page/squire was his maternal aunt who raised him alongside his father after his mom died. She was the one person who comforted him in his worst times. She even met him again not long after he was knighted, telling him how proud she was of him.

[hor3nee]

• Life •

Sukuna grappling becoming a father while you give birth.

CW/TW: GN! reader, Labour/Childbirth, Sukuna typical violence mentions, BRIEF suggestive stuff, Nothing graphic, Religious metaphors & LOTS of life/death talk, (LMK if I should add anything else!)

Characters: Sukuna x Reader

AN: Nobody dies in this fic! It's fluff-ish. (It's Sukuna and reader giving birth, as fluffy as that can be man), prequel to this Descendant fic

   Life was such a fickle thing, not that it mattered to Sukuna. He was above life, death sickness and health, beyond it, above the proper empathy to care for it. It wasn't that he didn't understand, because he did, once mortal himself, and existing on this earth surrounded by the humanity that populated on it for years as a curse, he understood. But there was no legitimate reason for it to matter to him unless he could gain from a life, there was no reason to mind it.

And by the loose, greedy and otherwise just gluttonous standards of what it meant to be a creature of 'gain' to Sukuna, you fit it to the T, your life mattered to him. Your life, it was something he wanted, no needed to maintain to be kept satisfied, if you weren't there to be by his side, he'd be left starved.

To lose such a thing, would only ignite a certain wrath inside of him.

The screams of agony that parted from your pretty little lips had his chest twisting into a feeling of irritation. He much preferred your screams of ecstasy, making you scream his name in sweet pretty moans when he bedded you. Not this, screams of something he was also the culprit of in fairness, sobbed screams of pain as your body tore to birth his child.

Sukuna enjoyed such screeches of terror, weak defeated sobs he could rip and tear from the pathetic lot of mortals he terrorized, all of whose lives served no purpose to him. The issue is, yours does serve purpose, a great purpose to Sukuna. You're always there, by his side, and when you're not, it bothers him, he's greedy, hungry for you.

Your pain only infuriates him, he doesn't like it at all, no, he loathes listening to it.

Finally, finally, it stops after what felt like torturously long, it comes to a stop. Like that, the tightness inside his chest unwrapped, Sukuna didn't think he'd ever feel relief, he wouldn't need to, he had never fought an opponent he couldn't defeat, pillaged an army that would come close to his strength there was no concerns or worry for him to have to be relieved from. Yet here he was basking in such relief. Your screams stop, now instead replaced by the bothersome cries of something much more smaller. Squeaky small wails, that of an infant. his infant.

"Lord Sukuna." A muttered voice of one of the midwives comes through the door separating Sukuna from the delivery room. The door opens to the midwives attending finishing up and then all bowing in submission, their heads hanging low as Sukuna stands by the door-frame.

"Done?" He asks, more so a statement, a demand as everything he speaks is.

"Yes-" The meek voice of a midwife responds, she not daring to look up from the floor of the delivery room.

"Then what the hell are you dimwitted fools doing? OUT." There's the slightest growl in his voice at the command, one that though slight works wonders on any who dare stand in his presence, and to which without a moment of hesitation has all the midwives scatter out of the room, rushing out with their heads low. Only one pauses to shut the door behind herself, not wanting to risk the stupidity of leaving the door open.

Now, only the sounds of a baby's cries echo in the room, the small thing wrapped, protected in a small blanket. The moment is deafening as it is loud, there are as many thoughts as there is nothing in his eyes as he stares at the small baby you held. Yes, you made his child, 9 tedious months of him practically carrying you around everywhere and it was out now.

Sukuna was, well Sukuna, he didn't bother thinking much of the specifics, but rather the obvious reality of the situation during those passing months, and didn't see a reason to. He could still sleep with you, could still have you around, could still listen to your voice speak with him in converse. Was it different? Sure, but in no way that bothered him. Cravings? The King of the Curses can provide feasts. Tired? You needn't walk, he has four arms for a reason. The bodily change? Sukuna guts humans like pigs, the size of your stomach was far from grotesque to such a demon like Sukuna.

But now, he is met with the reality, the sight, the sound the smell of the newborn babe, absolutely reeking of familiarity, a literal complete being of two halves, Sukuna and you. It's overwhelming, and not in the way Sukuna likes, not in the hedonistic pleasures he enjoys but rather overwhelming in thoughts. Thoughts as rampant as blank in his mind, fogged like he was considering all of this.

"Sukuna." A clear call of his name comes from your throat despite its audible hoarseness of exhaustion, still as captivating as always, catching his entire attention. No one can command the Sukuna, but he doesn't need to be commanded when you call for him, because it's in his full will and gratification to come to your side, which he of course does. Stepping softly to where you are laid, surrounded by stained sheets, tools and incense presumably used in aid of the birth.

"What?" His throat rumbles, a question with no particular answer aside from the obvious literal whole baby you had birthed in your arms.

"Look at them... Beautiful, aren't they?" And perhaps by the grace of a god he'd doubted existed, there was a moment of serenity now, the fog cleared from the depths of his sick mind as he gazed upon the small bundle in your arms. That was your grace perhaps, no definitely, definitely your grace, you had bore his child.

That damned sinister grin came over his face as he reached down to the infant, the large monstrously large hand of his ever so delicately traced the cheek of the little one, a comical contrast between himself and the child. For the entirety of you and Sukuna's time spent together, he had considered you the only life that truly mattered to him, and now you had created a life from the mere womb, you've given him another life he'd find true importance in.

His child's life, blessed by the sanctified arms that cradled it.

"Divine, rather." He rumbled, a short snicker leaving his twisted tongue, but laced with genuine adoration. Utter devotion to this small life, to both two lives he had found himself so graciously gifted. Of you, of his child.

[chocobochaserstories]

Omega Heat Cycle Physiology

So, funny story, I'm a Pre-Veterinary Major in university, which means I know way, way too much about reproductive A & P and I thought about Omegaverse too hard and here we are. Totally didn't write this in livestock nutrition today, Not like we had a lecture, Dr. A was momming us because half of the class (me included) had our biology professor call us failures. I love Dr. A she's the best :) Anyhow, here's my take on Omega Heat Cycle Physiology. TW: I don't think there are any, maybe just warning for mildly in depth repro talk?

Omega Anatomy and Physiology

Presentation

Occurs around 12-14 years of age, typically genetically predictable, meaning that for the most part omegas of a family will present around the same age. For example, if multiple generations present at 12 years old, this trend will continue for several more generations. In addition, heat cycle lengths and frequencies are also genetically linked. A mother’s heat cycle, assuming she is omegan, can be used to predict a first heat length. Typical symptoms of presentation include heightened body temperature, cramping in the abdominopelvic and lumbar regions, soreness of the breast tissue, bloating, headaches, nausea, and typical symptoms of arousal. An omega who as not presented by fifteen years of age is considered to be late blooming. This is generally not harmful, but may shift the other stages of development by however many years beyond the normal period of development the presentation heat occurred. 

Pseudoheats

Typically occur between 14 and 18 years of age. During this period, an omega will experience heat cycles, however they are not mature heat cycles. During this period, omegas are capable of conception, however the reproductive organs are still in development, which can result in the pregnancy causing damages that can be permanent. Pregnancy during this period can lead to higher rates of miscarriage, chemical pregnancy, ectopic pregnancy, and stillbirth, as well as higher instances of gestational diabetes, pre-eclampsia, and excessive strain on other non-reproductive organs. Pregnancies carried to viability have higher risks of preterm labor, low birth weight, childbirth complications for both the mother and baby, increased infant mortality within the first week, and increased rates of birth defects. The damages risked during this period also have significant potential to irreparably damage an omega’s future fertility, as well as cause temporary or permanent sterility due to reproductive damages and traumas. 

At this stage, the pseudoheats share many of the same symptoms of presentation heats (heightened body temperature, cramping in the abdominopelvic and lumbar regions, soreness of the breast tissue, bloating, headaches, nausea, symptoms of arousal), but at this point in development, hormonal-related arousal is more common due to hormone values during this period. During pseudoheats, omegas generally mature further towards their secondary gender’s characteristics. Areas of development include widening of the hips, deposition of fatty tissue in the lower abdominal cavity, and overall development of a more feminine silhouette, all under ideal conditions. In cases of inadequate nutrition, the development isn’t as obvious, but the body will still attempt to redirect resources to the development of areas of importance. As opposed to the presentational heat, pseudoheats are characterized by a steady climb in an omega’s hormones. In particular, estrogen, which is essential to the proper development of the reproductive tract and accessory structures. Heat Cycles will still be fairly irregular.

Transitional Heats

Typically begin around 18 years of age and continue until about 20 years of age. At this point in development, the hormones from the pseudo heats peak and stabilize. By this point, physical development is wrapping up and heats that occur during this period of development are very similar to mature heat cycles. Fertility during this period improves steadily, but it is still in development. Heat cycles begin to occur more regularly and stabilize in terms of frequency, length, and intensity. Symptomatically, transitional heats are typically more intense than pseudoheats, but not as intense as mature heat cycles. At this point, the symptoms are the same as the prior two stages, although arousal is greater in intensity in strength. In addition, an unmated, unbred omega may experience cramping or an increase in body temperature (up to a temperature of 101.5°F). During heats, the cervix is also softer and more malleable, aiding in the breeding process. For mated omegas, the breeding instinct is stronger and tends to be one of the few things on an omega’s mind during the peak of the cycle (active heat= ~7 days, so day 3-4). An omega being intimate with an alpha during this stage can expedite this stage and cause mature heat cycles, which is not necessarily good as this can lead to reproductive issues due to hastened development.

Mature Cycles

Occurs from age 21-22 and until the menopausal stages around age 50. At this point, it becomes legal to take heat suppressants, scent blockers, and other hormone medications, which can otherwise mess with development. The only major difference between mature heat cycles and transitional heat cycles is the intensity of cycles increases and the cycle frequency, which stabilizes. 

[mushroom-for-art]

Ghost Ice type first stage bunny pokemon thingy I designed, not a free to use design nor concept ect, still workshopping the name hence the different name options around, ft regular and shiny, probably won't design an evo tho so forever baby

They're a baby bunny who froze to death that's basically their whole deal didn't develop all their fur a naked little grey sausage that died when it got too cold because they weren't in the nest or mom wasn't there idk Hisuian Zoroark inspired of course with the ghostly fluff except that gained ice type because they are frigid to the touch. Dark paws based off of a Ultraviolet redesign with his extremities darkened because yea ur fingers probably blacken off first same to the ear tips and a pale underbelly because it's cute. A dark morbid concept yea but I kinda needed to make it. Could also just be a hisuian inspired Eevee if I get lazy since a friend suggested they did look that way and honestly banger not wrong

Morbunny from morbid and bunny cause they're dead that's pretty morbid also probably mortician work with the dead

Bunnearly as a sort of parallel to Buneary a nearly bunny because they died weird idk convergent evolution/similar naming must have been a cruel scientist

Bunise from bunny and demise

Lagumise lagu from the scientific term for rabbit and demise

Lagution rabbit execution I'm pretty sure it was

Lagusis rabbit rigamortis

[googleitlol]

This oneshot is more the length I thought the other one would be, a little under 2500 words. Hope it packs just as much emotion in it, enjoy!

TW: Dead Dove, severe burns

Dove Masterlist:

Samadhi

How on earth did things end up like this?

“Hey.” Sun Wukong, the Great Sage Equal to Heaven, looks down to his left to see his engaged. His beloved Dove gives him a worried look as she puts a hand on his shoulder. She looks stunning, she always does. “Something is on your mind, Peaches.”

The two of them stand on his somersault cloud, Wukong’s arm is wrapped around Dove’s waist to keep her close so they can both fit on the soft platform. It moves slowly to their destination where others wait for their arrival. He could make the cloud go faster, but he doesn’t want to. He can’t help how fear grips his heart in anticipation for what they are about to attempt. “It’s nothing.”

“Over a decade we’ve been on this journey together, and you think you can still lie to me?” She frowns, her expression more annoyed than anything else. It shifts back to worry as her hand shifts up to hold the side of his face. “We’re supposed to confide in each other, My Love.”

Sun Wukong hums with a small smile, though he can’t hold the facade when she gives him that concerned look. Amidst these last twelve years, she’s become one of the few people that can read him like a book. “I just want this to work. I can’t stand seeing you like this.” His free hand reaches out to her outstretched arm that holds his face. He’s gentle as he encloses his fingers over the wraps that envelop her arms, his thumb brushing back and forth over the material. Wukong has seen the bandaging over her abdomen, the burns that scar her hands. Despite it all, the mortal he’s promised his life to smiles.

“How could it not? I know you three can do this.” Dove reassures him, the fire in her eyes bright as he leans into her touch.

He just has to tell himself this is it. It’ll be over after this. “How is it healing?”

Her hand retracts, and Wukong lets go of her arm so she can inspect it herself. “I’ve taken care of enough burns to know what I’m doing.” She laughs a little, maybe to make light of the injuries. When she looks up to see his furrowed brows, she sighs. “Maybe in a few days, after Iron Fan and your brother have a few days with their boy, we can visit them for dinner. It’ll be nice to hold Red Son without the fear of him bursting into flame, hah.”

“Red-Brat is more like it.” The sage mumbles under his breath, earning him a light slap on his armoured chest.

“Wukong!” Dove scolds with a sharp glare, and he lets out a chuckle.

That baby could burn her a thousand times, and she’d still defend him with her life. “I know, I know, he’s just a kid.” He can’t help the smile that finds its way onto his face, he loves seeing her jump to his nephew’s defence like that. Gods, never would he think someone could hold compassion for another that does them harm. Wukong will always love her for that compassion.

Despite her wounds, his engaged has held a soft spot for the boy since the moment he was born. With how destructive Red Son’s fire is, Dove’s ability to soothe the infant quickly became a crutch that pained him to see used. Wukong still doesn’t understand her patience, not when the baby nearly kills her as an everyday occurance. Still, she showers Red Son with love. He only wishes she had been that forgiving when they first met. It would have spared him a massive headache.

“Look at me.” Dove’s voice draws him back to the present, the determined look in her eyes captivating his attention. “It’s going to work.”

Even with the soothing presence of her gift, he doesn’t need it to ease his worries. Not when the confidence in her voice puts his troubles to rest. “I know it will.” As he speaks, she leans up to place a kiss over his forehead. “I can’t worry when I have you with me.”

Her smile is warm when she looks up at him. “I love you, Peaches.”

“I love you, Dove.” Wukong pulls her closer to his side, and his beloved rests her head on his shoulders.

Dove breathes a content sigh, her eyes focused on the sky ahead. “Maybe after this, we can ask Sanzang for a little break? We could visit Flower Fruit, spend some alone time together.”

Wukong hums with a small laugh. “Alone time sounds nice… y’know, with all the other monkeys crowding around us to get a look at their soon-to-be Monkey Queen.”

“Hah! I can’t wait to meet them properly.” She smiles, and Wukong looks down to take in what he can of her features. He can’t wait for when they retrieve those scriptures and they can go home, to stay. When this journey started, all he wanted was to be free from the burden of helping the monk and his cranky companion, but she changed that. Now, all he wants is to wake up each morning with Dove by his side, so he can take in those features in dawn’s light in their home.

“It’s settled, then.” He sighs before turning his attention back to the route ahead. “We’ll visit the little guys tonight. Master should be fine for one night without us.”

“With our luck, don’t jinx it.” That gets him to laugh. He supposes Dove is right, he shouldn’t say anything to risk their chances of a battle-free night. When she lets out a soft exhale, Wukong can feel himself relax just a bit more. “I can’t wait to get a proper tour of my new home with you.”

~~~~

It was supposed to be simple. Split the fire and find someplace to hide his own ring. Easy as that.

DBK won't have to deal with his home burning down every other day and call Dove to calm down his hot-tempered son. Sun Wukong admits, the kid is cute when he isn’t burning everything to the ground. Dove is so fond of him, how can he not like the little guy? Still, he hates every time she’s asked to help him. Dove has been burnt in her efforts to tame his flame, and relying solely on her to ensure a little kid doesn’t destroy the world isn’t a viable option anymore. Nor is it one he’s comfortable with.

The air is heavy among all who stand with the sage. Sun Wukong stands in a circle with his master, the Demon Bull King, and the Third Lotus Prince, Nezha, with the baby Red Son engulfed in flames in the centre of them all. The Monkey King’s brothers, Wujing, Ao Lie and Bajie all stand behind their master, and Dove stands a few paces behind to her Peaches’ right. She has to be on standby in case the separation fails, but it won’t. Like Dove said, this is going to work.

His master steps forward and taps his staff against the drawn out circle on the ground. “For the Samadhi Fire to be split into three, you must harmonise your energies.” He instructs, and the three chosen all look to one another with a nod.

The circle lights up, illuminating with life as it begins. The glow from the markings on the ground encapsulates Wukong’s vision, blinding his peripherals so that all he can focus on is the ring that begins taking form in front of his hands.

It’s a little surprising, how it feels at first. Wukong isn’t sure what he was expecting, but he thought there’d be more… pain involved? Maybe it’s because he can only feel a third of the fire feeding into the ring that takes shape in front of him, but it’s a little underwhelming. He’s taken the brunt of the Samadhi Fire before, he knows it can hurt, but this? Sure, he can feel the heat of the flames pretty strongly, but it's nothing he can't handle. It’s no wonder he was chosen as one of three that could withstand it. Maybe Nezha is having more trouble than him, the lotus prince has always been a bit of a baby compared to the other immortals he knows.

There’s a few flames that lash out more than the others, but it’s easy enough to keep them under control. “You know, this is kind of easier than I thought it would be.” He laughs a little, and that’s when his focus slips. That’s when it all goes wrong.

A flame lashes out as the baby in the centre shouts, and fire shoots out towards the three rings. The sheer force knocks Wukong onto his knees. The other two ring-bearers in the circle shout out at the sage, too late to stop a wave of fire that spews out in every direction. His dragon brother, Ao Lie, is quick to respond to flames that hurtle towards their master and takes a hit head-on. The Monkey King is quick enough to jump back to his feet and take this next hit easily.

But then he hears her scream.

Wukong freezes, Dove’s voice shooting ice through his veins. His eyes shoot wide at the sound of his worst fears coming to life. “Dove!” He hears Wujing call out to his love before heavy steps rush to her location just out of his view.

He moves to turn his head before she shouts. “NO! Don’t– haa… Don’t look, don’t let him…” She shouts out, her voice twisting in anguish, “Don’t stop, Peaches! The ring is almos–” She can’t even finish the sentence before letting out another shrill scream.

Every bone in his body is pleading for him to turn around, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to. His heart is thundering in his chest, fear claws at his skin as he begs himself to focus on the rings. She won’t stop screaming, she won’t stop screaming–

“Dove?! Dove!!” She can’t answer him, can she even hear him?! Gods, he can’t see her! His eyes shut tight, and he fights every fibre of his being not to abandon the ritual and run to her side as Bajie and Wujing shout from behind.

“It won’t go out!”

“It can’t go out!”

Wukong shakes his head, their voices pushing him to the brink of madness. “Dove, please– hang on!” Help her, he needs to help her, shit, he has to move, she needs help! Help her, help her!!! She’s screaming, she isn’t stopping she won’t stop– she’s screaming! Even when she stops, he can still hear her screaming. Her voice rings in his ears.

When the rings fully form, Sun Wukong’s drops to the ground. He turns to run to his love, only to choke back a gasp when he sees her. The fire that had been burning its way up her body whisps away with the rings now complete. Left in their wake and in the arms of Wujing is a limp body.

The sight of her alone is nearly enough to send him falling back. Her entire lower half and right side of her body is covered in fourth degree burns. Her clothes are singed and melted into her skin, into her arms and torso. There’s muscle tissue visible in the meat of her hands and along her legs from where the fire had its fill. All over her body are contrasting amalgamations between charcoaled skin and raw pinks of every shade, even the white of bone pokes out from her right shoulder and knuckles.

“Dove!” He doesn’t waste another moment rushing to her side. Despite her injuries, the woman still breathes. Each inhale is laboured, every exhale pain from her burning lungs. Her voice barely carries to shout when he moves her from Wujing’s arms to his own. “No, no… no, no no no! Somebody help!”

His head whips around to those that now surround them, Demon Bull King hiding away his son’s face from them while Tripitaka rushes to their side. He gasps at the sight of his friend, his staff dropping with an echoing clang. “Master, please!” Wukong begs, his voice never before sounding so desperate.

His master crouches down slowly, his eyes never leaving her, his first companion on his journey. “They’re… they’re too severe.”

“The hell do you mean, too severe?!” Wukong snaps, but the monk can’t even move to flinch. “She’s dying! We have to do something!”

He looks back to Nezha, his brothers, anyone! “Please! There has to be something– we can’t–”

“Peaches…” He barely hears Dove, her voice holds only a shell of the life it did a mere hour ago. He looks down at his love, only now can he realise how blurred his vision is when he can barely make out her features. There’s tears streaming down her face, her eyes are open but unfocused.

Her breathing is ragged as Wukong holds her hand in his. “Shh, shh… it’s okay, Dove.” His voice cracks, he needs to comfort her. “Don’t try to say anything, we’re gonna help you. We–”

His head whips back up to the friends that have gathered around them. “We have to do something, now! Master, there has to be a way! Nezha, there must be something, I won’t let her die! Please!”

“Brother…” Bajie rests a hand on the sage’s shoulder, and Wukong snaps his head up to him. But his brother isn’t looking at him. His gaze is focused on Dove and–

He can’t feel her. That calming presence he’s so used to walking with every day. It’s gone. She isn’t breathing.

“…Dove?” Wukong checks for a pulse, but he finds nothing. His heart sinks. “Dove? Dove, please– Dove?! We said everything would be okay after this.” His voice feels strained, it’s throbbing, there's somethings choking him.

“Dove, don’t do this to me– please! Please!”

“Dove! Dove!”

The king throws his head back in outcry, his queen limp in his arms. His voice is bloodcurdling, his scream so visceral it shreds into every soul present. Wukong pulls the shell of his love into his chest and sobs, burying his head into her shoulder. Her body is warm, but it isn’t her warmth.

He can’t feel her. Why can’t he feel her in his arms anymore?! This isn’t what was supposed to happen, how could this happen? How on earth could things end up like this?! He was supposed to stop her from getting hurt! “Please, Dove… we’re visiting home tonight, remember?”

“…We’re going home tonight.”

[rawrsatthetree]

Oh omg I just had such a fucked up idea for Ascended Astarion

Tw: infanticide and pregnancy. Gn but Tav is able to become pregnant.

Ok so since Ascended Astarion doesn’t make Tav break things off with Halsin imagine Consort Tav finds out soon after the events of the game that they’re pregnant.

However Astarion can immediately tell it’s not his child but Halsin’s much to his anger and disgust.

But instead of forcing Tav to terminate the pregnancy he allows them to carry the baby to term while also gently warning them that a spawn and a mortal’s child isn’t very likely to live.

He even allows them to tell Halsin at the reunion party.

However when Halsin tries to come and be involved Astarion makes sure he’s kept far away from the Crimson Palace. Simply telling Tav, “you know how fickle Halsin can be, I’m sure he’s simply too busy with his hoard of orphans. But don’t worry little love, I’ll always take care of you.”

He tolerates his consort reeking of Halsin’s stench for 9 months, pretending to be loving and supportive while they carry another man’s child.

As soon as the infant is born, Astarion’s mood changes as his mask slips off. Tav panics and cries to be given their baby, suddenly realizing Astarion intentions.

He has the infant killed right there in the room as Tav is held down screaming and fighting.

He uses his power over them to alter the memory of their perfectly health baby being killed in front of them so they believe that it was still born.

With Tav’s memory successfully changed they simply cry and ask to hold their baby just one time.

“I’m so sorry my love” Astarion holds them and comforts them as the now dead infant is given to them to hold.

He allows them to grieve the little bastard, once again playing the loving master they adore so much.

“It’s not your fault my love, the infant was simply too weak. But not to worry, I’ll give you a new child. A strong child, with the blood of the ascendant. As many children as my dear consort desires.”