#Story TW: Miscarriage

[staticscreenwriting]

maybe the night would take me home II Frankie Morales

Part 1 : "Divorce And The American South"  & "The Thunderbird Inn"

a Frankie Morales Story inspired by the album  "We Don't Have Each Other" by  Aaron West and the Roaring Twenties.

A/N : This imagine series will deal with sensitive topics please see my tags for TW. Please proceed with caution. Also there’s mention of smoking and alcohol. English is not my native language, go easy on me please. Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated

There's a hole in the wall and a square where the wallpaper is a lighter shade of beige than the rest. There probably used to be a painting or a mirror. The ceiling fan is missing one of its blades and there's a huge rip in the ugly brown curtain that's blocking the street lights from flooding the room.

He can just about make out the glow coming from the street light in front of his window. There used to be more color permeating the thin curtains and throwing kaleidoscope patterns into his motel room but people have started to take down their Christmas lights leaving him with just the ugly yellow of the street lamp.

The motel room is dull and gray and hopeless and broken and ugly and Frankie thinks it's fitting because that's exactly how he feels and really, he doesn’t mind it all that much.

The clerk at the front desk, he wants to say his name is Steve, is nice, and always pours him a cup of coffee whenever he finds Frankie sitting in the tiny lobby area of the Motel where the vending machines are. The coffee isn’t good but it’s warm and that’s enough these days.

“Long night?” he asks and every time Frankie nods and says “Sure has been.” Steve then grants him one of those smiles that lets you know the person is looking straight through your lie but they’re way too nice to call you out on your bullshit. 

“Well, tomorrow’s a new day. Hope that one is better,” he replies, every time.

Frankie nods again knowing full well it won’t be.

He’s given Frankie a break on the rent this week. 

“Look don’t you worry about it. Just make sure you pay me back with next week’s rent. I know you’re good for it.” 

“I probably am.” 

Steve was laughing then. He probably won’t laugh when he hears that Frankie’s coming up short again this week.

Back in his tiny motel room, his clammy hands grab the room's phone tightly. It will probably cost him a fortune to use it — again — though after throwing it against a solid brick wall, his cell phone is but a piece of junk left somewhere by the side of the truck stop. 

He doesn't really need it anyway. Too many pictures and memories and shit he doesn't want to think about because he can’t get it back.  

He takes another sip from the bottle. He thinks it's whiskey but he might be wrong. It all tastes the same these days.

Calling her won’t do any good and he knows but he can't help himself. It's like an itch that he just has to scratch. It's like a desperate need that he has to satisfy. It's like an addiction he has to feed.

It's 2 in the morning and she's most likely asleep and Frankie hates himself for waking her up. She's lost enough sleep as it is. But his mind is so loud and he needs to get all of these things off his chest. All the things he didn't say when he should have, when it counted, when it meant something, when she needed him to.

It's not the first time he's called either. He wonders if she'll ever pick up.

There's a perfectly clear picture burned into his mind of the first time he'd called her after he left. He had been stranded at some run-down truck stop that could've been the perfect location for the first kill in a horror movie. There was a bottle of water in his hand and the phone receiver in the other.

He can't recall how long he'd spent inside the phone booth reading her number out loud and trying to work up the courage to call her but he knows it's been quite a while. And when he did he was met with the dial tone. With every beep his heart sunk a little further, felt a little heavier.

" Hello this is Y/N, I can't pick up the phone right now but feel free to leave a message after the tone and I'll ring you back. Ok, bye. "

Her voice sounded so cheery and he remembers the tears threatening to leave his eyes at the sound of it. She hadn't sounded this cheery in a long long time and his heart broke knowing that was partially his fault.

" Hey Y/N, It's me .... Frankie. If you’re listening can you please pick up the phone? I know you're home. "

He could still recall her daily schedule better than anything, after all, they had been living together for years.

" I know where I went wrong. I really do. I uh— I'm at a truck stop. Not sure where I'm going yet but I'll call you. Please talk to me, baby. I love you. "

He remembers his heart breaking and breaking more and shattering and it hasn't been fixed yet. There's that little cynical corner of his brain that tells him it never will be fixed. All good things come to an end sooner or later and this is THE good thing in his life. She is the best thing. She was the chance he never thought he’d get. A shot at redemption.

That other day he found a bar just outside the township line. He goes most every night now whenever he can feel a bad night coming. All nights are bad nights now. The floors are sticky and the bar is dusty but the drinks are cheap and the barkeeper doesn’t bother to get him tangled up in any kind of conversation. All Frankie gets is a look of pity as he pours him another drink. Fuck, he didn’t know that he looks that pathetic. 

The alcohol doesn’t numb his heart the way it used to. Back when he woke up in a cold sweat with visions of a life he tried so hard to leave behind he could always count on the inside of a bottle to make the demons disappear for a while. Then when that stopped working, the drugs managed to do it. 

And then when he hit rock bottom, for some inexplicable reason, life chose to send him her and she made every other coping mechanism pale in comparison. Her love did not make the demons go away, or the fear, or the guilt. Her love made him realize that he could live a good life regardless. That even the worst parts of him are worthy of love. 

He thinks she might’ve been wrong.

There's a half-empty pack of cigarettes laying on the nightstand. He hasn't touched them for a while. Got them at that same truck stop where he smashed his phone but only smoked half a pack before he remembered that promise he made her a long time ago, back when she had first told him, back when they were happy.

And he failed. Because for a while he’d felt like the reason he stopped smoking in the first place had vanished. If there was no one to promise something to, was there even a promise to begin with? 

The cigarettes bring back memories of the second time he'd called her. It was right after he arrived here, at this very same motel. With the very same peeling wallpaper and the chipped door and the ceiling fan that is missing one blade and the carpet with the burn marks. The same motel he is basically succumbing in right now.

He was less nervous the second time he'd called her, less nervous but more fucked up. Half drunk on cheap whiskey and half drunk on the infinite sadness he's felt ever since their life went to shit.

This time he didn't make himself believe she'd pick up. He knew she wouldn't and maybe that was a good thing. Frankie didn't want her to know he was shitfaced, that he tried to numb the pain with past vices he promised to leave behind.

" Hey Y/N "

As the words rolled off his lips there was no doubt in his mind that she'd still know. He sounded drunk. He hated it.

" Just wanted to tell you that uh — I uh I've been trying to quit. I went from a pack and a half a day to this e-cigarette bullshit. "

It had been a stupid idea, thinking this e-cigarette shit would do anything for him but it was worth a try. Everything was worth a try for her.

" It stops the coughing fits. I know that you always hated my smoking habit. I hope you can be a little proud of me. I know I don't deserve it. I love you, bye."

There was a time, Frankie thinks and scoffs, when he thought love was enough. What a fool he'd been. Now he knows that's all proper bullshit.

It isn't like he doesn't love her, he loves her entirely too much for his own good. 

It's that too much love can destroy you. It eats you up from the inside out.

He can't keep himself from loving her though, and from holding onto that little spark of hope that she might still love him back. After all they've been through, all they had to endure, the thought that she might one day forgive him and love him again was the only thing still keeping him afloat. Without her, he'd sink. And maybe, he thinks, maybe love is enough. It's enough to make him go on.

There's a fly buzzing around the room, sitting down on Frankie’s arm from time to time. He doesn't have the energy to swat her away.

A little voice in his mind wonders what would happen if he just kept laying here. Maybe if he only lays here long enough, maybe the bugs will eat him alive. Maybe the night will swallow him and take him home. Maybe she’ll come looking for him.

His mind wanders off to places he tried hard to forget. To the tears and the pain and the way she didn't yell at him. Not once.

She didn't scream or yell or throw stuff at him. She just stared and let it all wash over her as if she was invincible.

He knew she wasn't. Knows she isn’t now. She wasn't invincible but she was too deeply wounded to care anymore and that was the most terrifying part of it all.

He wanted her to yell so he knew she still cared.

He thinks of the dream and how he saw himself, lifeless, alone. How everyone was looking at him as they lowered his casket into the ground. How his friends were there, his brother, his family, and even the neighbors. Not her though. She wasn't there.

His fingers are dialing the familiar numbers before he can even fully register what's happening.

There's the dial tone that he's grown to know so well lately. Three more and he gets to hear her voice.

Two.

One.

" Hello this is Y/N, I can't pick up the phone right now but feel free to leave a message after the tone and I'll ring you back. Ok, bye. "

Lies. She won’t call back. But that's okay, he understands why she doesn’t. Why she can’t.

" Y/N It's me again. Frankie. "

He combs his fingers through his hair nervously.

" Of course, it's me, who else would call you at this time? I'm sorry. "

He's been saying sorry an awful lot lately. Especially considering the fact that he hasn't been very generous with that word when it really mattered.

" I had a dream. About you. Well not exactly about you. Actually, you weren't in it and that's kind of the problem. "

Remembering the dream sends a cold shiver down his back.

" I uh — I was on a plane. I flew back north, no idea where I wanted to go. All I know is that I didn't make it there. Plane went down like it was made of paper. They were all at the funeral. My funeral. Everyone. Not you though. You — You weren't there Y/N. That scares me. I hope you'd come to the funeral. I'd want you there. "

He knows it's time. She's not gonna pick up anytime soon so this might be his only chance of ever getting to admit his faults of ever talking about the actual problem, the root of all the pain and heartbreak. It's not face-to-face but it's the next best thing. It's his only shot.

" Y/N, I know I fucked up. I do know. It's just after it happened. After — "

Saying it out loud will make it real. It will break his heart once again. He's an adult though and has been running from his issues long enough. This stupid urge to flee made this all so much worse.

Take a breath.

And face the reality.

" After it happened. When we lost the baby I just, I shut off. I shut you out and I am so sorry. I just, I needed to be strong for you but I wasn't. All I did was push you away. I never listened. I wasn't there. I should've been there for you to help you get through this but I was too busy keeping myself from bursting at the seams. Fuck, I was so selfish. If I could change the way I treated you, treated the situation, trust me I would. I would. I miss her so much Y/N and I never even got to meet her and I didn't want to put this all-consuming sadness on you so I pulled away. I didn't want to make you hurt even more than you already were but that's exactly what I did and I will never forgive myself for that. I hope you can though. I love you so much. "

There's a hole in his chest the size of a newborn.

It's the size of a little baby girl he never got to meet. A little baby girl he always imagined would have his eyes and her mother's breathtaking smile. A little baby girl he'd raise to be brave and generous and smart and wonderful. 

There is a hole in his chest the size of a little baby girl and he knows it will never fully heal.

He should've been there for her, his wife, the mother of his child. He had tried so hard, so hard to hide his sadness and pain from her instead of embracing it with her by his side. He should've been there with her so they could hold each other above the waters. But he let her drown by herself and he would never fully forgive himself for that.

" I love you Y/N and I'm coming home soon I promise. That's if you still want to see me. I won't let you go through the darkness alone anymore though. I love you. "

He hangs up the phone and without a warning, the tears roll down his cheeks. They're the silent kind, the painful kind. But for once, since it all happened they're not entirely from sadness, a small part of him is feeling a little lighter now that he's faced reality. A small part of him cries tears of relief. A small part of him still believes that maybe things with his wife can work out again if only he can show her how much he cares and loves her. That he can hold her hand even through the darkest of times.

A small part of him knows that it can't get worse than this.

A small part of him, a small part knows she loves him back. Even with that gray cloud hanging over him reminding him of the paperwork that might be waiting for him at home. 

There's a hole in the wall and a square where the wallpaper is a lighter shade of beige than the rest. There probably used to be a painting or a mirror. The ceiling fan is missing one of its blades and there's a huge rip in the ugly brown curtain that's blocking the street lights from flooding the room.

is dull and gray and hopeless and broken and ugly and Frankie thinks that things can only get better from here on out.

It’s 2am when he sneaks out of his room and past the lobby. Steve will forgive him, he’s sure of it. For the two weeks' rent and for not saying goodbye. 

The world is fast asleep as his car takes him down the empty streets towards the bar he found some resemblance of comfort in for the last few weeks.

One last drink, he tells himself. But this one won’t be for the bad days ahead. This one will mark a page turned, a step taken.

“Whiskey?” the barkeeper inquires, already pulling the bottle from the shelf. 

“Gimme a beer instead. Whatever bottles you have in the fridge is fine.” 

No more words are exchanged as the barkeeper hands Frankie the cold bottle.

This one’s for the daughter he’ll never meet, he thinks, and the wife who shouldn’t love him no more but god does he hope and pray she still does. Even when he doesn’t deserve it.

He’s got half a tank of gas left and as soon as the bottle is empty he’ll make his way home.

Not the motel. 

Home. Their apartment.

And he’ll face whatever is waiting there for him. 

That’s the thing about losing everything — things can only get better from here on out.

[royaltysimblr]

Ophelia of Lausanne, Queen of Windenburg (1620-1673) - Part 4 - Relationship with James & Family Life

Ophelia and her husband James had a loving relationship with one another. Although they went through many rough patches during their first few years of marriage, the couple remained devoted to one another throughout their lives. Ophelia and James bonded over their shared love of music and art. Although James was frugal, he supported his wife’s artistic patronage. Despite Ophelia largely staying out of politics, James often sought her advice during his reign. James took no mistresses and often slept in Ophelia's bedchamber, which was very uncommon for the time.

In 1636, Ophelia became pregnant and would later give birth to her first child, Prince James Henry, Duke of Witham. The labor was long and difficult, prompting Ophelia to hire midwives to assist with the birth of her following children. Ophelia would have five more children; Prince Charles (1638), Princess Louise (1641), Princess Henrietta (1642), Prince George (1647), and Princess Sophie (1650). She experienced miscarriages in 1643, 1645, and 1654 and gave birth to a stillborn son in 1655. Ophelia’s children were raised in the Peteran faith, with their educations supervised by Elise Shay, Countess of Brookhaven.

Ophelia had a close relationship with her children, visiting them in their nursery two to four times a day. James made sure that their children received a strict Peteran upbringing to ensure they would not grow up to be Jacoban like their mother. Ophelia had no power when it came to her children’s education, which her husband and his advisors entirely managed. Ophelia tried many times to influence her children’s religion, causing backlash from her husband and his family. In 1645 she attempted to take her son, Prince James, to a Jacoban Mass, however, they were stopped by the King.

[havenroyals]

Sonia by @citylighten Full Post: Wordpress! or Blogspot!

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[occultradio]

tw miscarriage

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[bradshawsbaby]

You were bigger than the whole sky 🌙⭐️

(No Words // Bob Floyd)

[habibialkaysani]

welp. I read 'when he was wicked' aka the franchael book in the bridgerton series... and I have Thoughts. mostly julia quinn writes men truly horribly. literally the saving grace of anthony bridgerton is the actor who plays him. in all the books I've read of quinn's, the guy protagonist shakes the woman he loves by her shoulders or disrespects her massively and is literally described as 'predatory' in the run up to the sex scene!!!! like. I really liked michael up until a point. I never really liked anthony in 'the viscount who loved me' and colin was only marginally more tolerable in 'romancing mr bridgerton'. but michael seemed genuinely charming and a good guy who had a solid reason why he didn't tell frannie about his feelings for her. so it's a real shame that he turns into a bit of a monster when he seduces frannie and basically tries to entrap her into marriage - idk what it is about julia quinn that she just seems allergic to writing decent male characters???

it does make me glad that they genderbent michael for frannie's season in the show. and I can see how they could work the whole infertility plot in too with michaela and frannie - say if frannie gets pregnant and doesn't know it immediately, finds out soon after john dies, and it turns out michaela is also pregnant but by accident (she's still a rake which I think would be interesting as a concept to explore in a female character). frannie miscarries as per the book and michaela has a lot of fears about being a mother - and at the same time there's all this talk about who the earldom will go to next now john is gone. so they somehow pass michaela's child off as frannie's, the earldom doesn't go to the awful debenham side of the family and this whole ordeal brings frannie and michaela closer and they learn to take care of each other while both still mourning, and they both feel like it would be a betrayal of john and likely frannie is in denial about her queerness... all I'm saying, bridgerton writers room, I'm available...

[the-badger-mole]

How Things Fall Apart

Zuko liked to believe that Mai had loved him once. At least, she had once loved a version of him. When he failed to live up to that image she'd built up in his head, all pretext of affection faded in short order.

It wasn't all Mai's fault, Zuko conceded. He had learned to ask her what exactly she wanted as gifts, but he still managed to disappoint. One year, he hadn't been able to afford to replace the diamond bracelet she'd lost during a vacation to Ember Island, so he'd gotten her what he thought was a lovely bracelet with a cheaper alternative stone (the Fire Nation was weathering an inflation crisis, and Zuko thought it would be gauche to spend so much money on the high quality gems imported from the Earth Kingdom instead of increasing the palace staff's salary). Another year, when the country was in a better place financially, Zuko splurged on a new set of throwing knives crafted by the finest blacksmiths under Master Piando's direction. Mai hadn't wanted more steel blades. She wanted the black blades crafted from the meteorite the Southern Tribe's prince had gifted Piando (Zuko's correction about Sokka not being a prince went unheard). It didn't matter that Piando had already made plans on how to use that stone, Zuko was the Fire Lord, and that should mean something. Zuko could do nothing right by Mai. She had still not forgiven him for getting rid of the stately palanquins.

After the birth of their first, and as it would turn out, only child, Mai became more distant. It was an improvement, Zuko told himself philosophically, over shouting matches and heavy objects being thrown at him (Mai never threw a blade at him, and she always made sure whatever she threw hit the wall and not Zuko. He was, after all, the Fire Lord). As long as Mai had access to the royal coffers, relative peace was kept. Zuko was certain that she had at least one lover, but he was content to ignore it, as long as Mai kept up a reasonable amount of discretion. Instability in the Fire Nation's royal family could have far reaching consequences, after all.

Iroh, ever the optimistic presence in Zuko's life, told his nephew about an art practiced in certain parts of the Fire Nation called kintsugi. Instead of throwing away broken things, the artists would carefully gather the broken parts and using a mixture of gold dust and lacquer, piece the broken things back together. The finished products often looked more beautiful than the original. Zuko thought he understood. Finally, fifteen years after he ascended the throne, eleven years after becoming a husband, and seven years after becoming a father, Zuko and the Fire Nation found a sense of equilibrium. The Fire Nation's economy had begun to right itself; a new curriculum designed to fight the decades of propaganda had been approved and implemented; feasible reparation agreements had been reached with the countries most damaged by the war and colonialism. Zuko and Mai only spoke when necessary for public appearances and state functions, and Izumi was growing into a precocious, inquisitive and imaginative child, to say nothing of her firebending prowess. If Zuko's daughter felt the absence of her mother, she hid it very well. Then one day, the peaceful existence Zuko had carved for himself and his child was shattered.

Mai's death was sudden and jarring. Zuko hadn't known anything was wrong until late that night, when a servant, disheveled and out of breath from sprinting to Zuko's chambers from hers, told him that a physician had been called for the Fire Lady, but the outlook was grim.

Officially, Mai had died after suffering from a hemorrhage caused by the miscarriage of her second child. While a few errant rumors floated around for a few months afterwards, the truth (that the child Mai was carrying wasn't Zuko's, and the miscarriage was intentional) was known to only a handful of Zuko's most trusted friends and family. Zuko grieved, though perhaps not as might be expected of a widower suddenly left alone to raise a child. He mourned what might have been if they hadn't married; mourned the family life he would never be able to give his daughter; mourned the lack of a partner who would stand at his side and help him move the country towards a more progressive, inclusive future. Most of all, he mourned the death of his hope of having anything better for himself.

Zuko didn't wallow, though. As little hope as he had left for his own prospects, he wanted Izumi to retain her own bright outlook for the future. He would have some help there with the expected arrival of Katara and her two children. It would be good, Zuko thought, for his daughter to have friends her age. As it would turn out, it was good for Zuko to have a friend around, too. When she stepped off the boat, clothed in a gauzy gold fabric gifted to her by the queen of Omashu, Zuko felt the weight in his heart lighten for the first time in years.

Follow up to Severing the Tie

Next, How Do You Mend?

[queeniecook]

December 19

I dread this date every year. No matter how much time passes…it's a bit easier now that Este is born.

I love my daughter with all of me but she will never replace my first baby.

I will always be grateful to my husband for creating a place for me to go to so I can remember my baby. Not having a grave or somewhere to go...this place has made it just a little bit easier. I don't feel like I did years ago but I know the place in my heart for my first child will never stop aching completely.

But I'm not stuck like I was once felt I was. I'm happy with Caleb and our little family.

"One day...I will tell Este about you." I promised.

She deserves to know but only when she's older and able to understand.

[nyrarachelle-plays]

When They Return…

Roger takes the nearest seat he can. Krystle, still in her socks and sweatshirt, collapses to her knees, shouting forbidden words with tears in her eyes. (These days, I noticed no one ever talks about those times they just exit the game without saving their progress anymore…THIS was my most recent one. I couldn’t belieeeeevvveeee this!!! And I couldn't get myself to let it happen for the plot. I had to just exit the game.)

Previously. ("Something's Not Right...") | Next. (On a Re-Do...)

[kitty-is-writing]

writemas day 15!

as always, massive appreciation for @agirlandherquill coming up with these fantastic prompts!

***content warning for mentions of miscarriage, infertility***

I picked these ones today:

She shattered her hopes and her dreams into pieces, and she took the jagged edges between her fingers and held them close to her heart, they would serve as a scarring reminder of what would never be done, of what she would never become.

"Save yourself. Not me. Not anyone else. You. You are all that matter."

~~~~~

The wards shimmered overhead, a constant reminder that they were finally protected, finally safe from the temple's persecution. It had come at a cost, though, one that had been almost too steep to bear.

Luke stood at her side, a spot he had not left in weeks. Not since the ritual. Not since their shared loss.

“Resa.” He spoke her name as a benediction, a prayer and a plea.

“I don't want to talk about it, Luke. Let's just be here together, okay?”

He was silent a few more moments, before shaking his head. “We can't ignore it forever. They took our magic, everything that defined us.”

“And they gave us new magic. Stronger, more controllable magic. We gained more than we lost, at least where that is concerned.”

“It was worth all the other losses, was it?”

She was quiet for a second too long. “Luke, I…”

“Everyone here had a unique, remarkable ability. We were capable and strong, all we needed was time and practice. Now, we're little more than servants to them. Is that what you wanted? To exchange one master for another?”

“The dragons don't want mastery over us. They want to help us, to teach us to become stronger than we could have been before.”

He looked away from her in disbelief. “Sure. Go on believing that. You know, somewhere in your heart, none of this is as it seems. They have some hidden agenda that will only bring us ruin.” A moment of silence hung between them. “Promise me one thing, Resa. When this partnership with those creatures falls apart, you save yourself. Not me. Not anyone else. You. You are all that matters. I want you to survive more than anything.”

She turned to face him, shocked he would say it so plainly. “Why shouldn't I save you, if I can? We have a future ahead of us! The cottage and the children and… all of it! I won't abandon that!”

“You'll have to. Part of it, at least. You know that damned ritual took more than your original magic.”

Without thinking, her hand dropped to her now flat abdomen. “We can try again, Luke. Not now, but someday, once the grief fades…”

“No. The damage is permanent, our baby was conceived with our kind of magic, and they wouldn't tolerate that. They won't risk you having another that might be outside their control.”

“Why are you saying all this?” Her face was soaked with tears, but she made no effort to wipe them away.

He was still, staring off into the distance. “I was practising my shadowform. I ended up further away from here than I meant to, and heard that white one talking to one of the others. She said they had to ensure all ties were forever cut, that no trace of the human magic should remain in us. One of them mentioned you, said you carried a child. She laughed, and said you wouldn't afterwards. Your magic was strong enough to resist their bindings, and would likely emerge in any child you bore. She said she would work in another spell, to leave you forever barren.”

She froze, unable to comprehend it for several minutes. “You could have warned me. Why the hell didn't you tell me before!”

“I tried! What do you think I was trying to say the day before the ritual? You refused to listen, caught up in your ridiculous revenge plot with Mark! Who cares what the damn temple does now? We could have dealt with them later, when we were older and stronger!” He stopped, breathing heavily. “I can't do this. I need some time to think.”

He turned to leave, and she reached out, catching his sleeve. “Wait, where are you going? Don't leave, please don't leave!”

“I'm not leaving. I just… I need to be alone for a bit.” He gently disentangled his sleeve from her fingers. “I still love you, Resa, I always will. But right now, I don't love what you're becoming. I think we both need to work some things out, and we can't do that while stuck to each other.”

As he walked away, she let herself break. She shattered her hopes and her dreams into pieces, and she took the jagged edges between her fingers and held them close to her heart, they would serve as a scarring reminder of what would never be done, of what she would never become.

A mother.

~~~~~

tagging fellow writers below

@leahnardo-da-veggie @satohqbanana @theeccentricraven @charlesjosephwrites @17panicattacksinatrenchcoat

@eli-t-spoon @rhiannonhgarrard @ryns-ramblings @calliecwrites @bloodmoonloveletter

@revenantlore @burntblanc @oh-no-another-idea @mysticstarlightduck @aquixoticwrites

@aether-wasteland-s @desastreus @kaylinalexanderbooks

[shinyhappysims]

Sunday, 2:14 PM, Saelim household, Tomarang

Aaliyah: Thank you for the milk tea, Jamilah. It’s delicious.

Jamilah: Of course, sis. Oh, and congratulations on losing weight! You were starting to look a little stout. Glad you got that under control.

Aaliyah: I’ve lost weight? Er… thanks… I guess?

Jamilah: You’re welcome! You know, you’re the first in the family to come see the church down here, other than Mom, Dad and Aunt Nnadi.

Aaliyah: Oh really? I’ll be sure to bring Imani with me next time. I’m not sure if Cousin Ebenezer’s style of preaching is Rahim or Malik’s speed.

Jamilah: *scoffs* Not everyone can handle the true word of God.

Aaliyah: Um, yeah! Anyways, Cousin Ebenezer sure did preach a good word today. Trusting in God’s timing. I really needed to hear that. I haven’t really told many people but I’ve been struggling with secondary infertility and had a miscarriage recently. I’d love for God to bless Colby and I with more children but I guess God will let us know when we’re ready.

Jamilah: Wow Aaliyah, that… sucks. Like, really sucks. I guess I’m lucky that I haven’t gone through anything like that.

Aaliyah: It’s been hard, but it’ll be okay. I trust God. Just keep me in your prayers.

Jamilah: You always are, sister. Out of respect for your situation, I won’t tell you that I’m pregnant with number 3 right now.

Aaliyah: You… you just did.

Jamilah: Huh? *gasps* Oops! I totally didn’t realize. But yeah, I’ll be praying for you sister.

[ladygsimss]

⚠️TW: Miscarriage ⚠️

Aniyah recently found out that her and King were expecting another baby but unfortunately, not even a week later, she miscarried while at work. This makes the second child that they’ve lost 💔 She’s starting to blame herself for working so much and becoming stressed.

[sammyshuno]

[greenplumbboblover]

Life is Sunniest in Sunset Valley - Chapter 5 - #9

Or read it here: Simblr.cc

[theprofessionalpromptmaker]

Christmas 2024 Gift (2)

Person A learned they were pregnant last winter and ended up losing their child and when the next winter comes around, they’re struggling with horrible depression, but when they find an abandoned changeling, they decide to consider it a Christmas miracle and take the child in to raise as their own. Person B is a fey hunter and surprised at how well-behaved Person A’s changeling child is, and how protective Person A is of them and decides to help Person A protect them from other hunters.

[citylighten]

All dialogue here was co-written with @crimewriter 😘

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