#pregnancy loss

[thepeacefulgarden]

[holyblanchett]

I just logged in.....

[anotherwellkeptsecret]

Grief is a hard thing to hold with all its weight and sharp edges. Don't hate yourself on top of that. Everything may not be okay today or tomorrow, but it can be later if you let it.

[untouchablestarling]

I just want to scream to the world that you were here.

That you existed too.

That you were ours, and ours alone.

And that we loved you.

[lightofraye]

The Greatest Loss

I need to put a warning here, right now, for anyone that wants to read this. This isn't me being "woke" or "politically correct"; it's me being respectful that not everyone wants to read this kind of story. It's highly personal, and highly emotional.

It details loss. It details a lost pregnancy. Explanation of medical procedures. Biological mentions. Not everyone wants to read that and I am highly aware of it.

So consider this your first and only warning. If you are able to handle this, if you are able and willing, then by all means, read ahead.

But if not, I will not be upset. I understand not everyone wants to read about people's grief, of their loss.

For me... it's been 14 years of dealing with this grief, this pain, this loss. I will never get over it. My life has grown around this grief, has made room for it.

In such stories, there are lessons. Points we should all learn.

Because of length, because of details, I am using a cut.

October 6th is always a hard, painful day for me.

And yet, the events that led up to it began on the 5th, when I saw my social worker/therapist for our weekly meeting. She became very concerned at my state of mind, when I admitted my suicidal ideations were becoming worse, not better, despite the Zoloft and counseling and everything I was doing to stabilize my mind.

She decided that I should be hospitalized, but hesitant as to where I should go. Psych hospitals weren't really set up for pregnant women, especially one so close to the due date (I was due around the 15th or so). Regular hospitals weren't really set up for patients who had suicidal ideations. In the end, my social worker called my midwife and discussed it with her. In the end, they decided I would go to a regular hospital and be seen by a psychologist there.

Transportation became a bitch. My ex was at work at the time (the few times he had a job, I believe) and I was using my medical insurance's transportation. However, last minute scheduling was not their forte. I waited hours... and transportation never showed. In the end, my mother-in-law came and got me.

We went to the hospital and waited in the ER. I spoke to her about what was troubling me. For the last several months, my marriage was hell. The ex dropped the bomb on me: he wanted a divorce... and I was like 5 months pregnant at the time. It came out of the blue.

Then I found out my ex was cheating on me with his ex-girlfriend who, when I snooped on his laptop, basically admitted she didn't care about "that thing in her belly". The ex also tried to throw me out of the house. It was one of the few times MIL came to my defense. Since she'd been paying rent, she made it clear that I wasn't leaving the apartment.

So yeah... my mental state wasn't great. My health during the pregnancy wasn't either. I had been in and out of the hospital since the baby had been conceived, really. Severe morning sickness--hyperemesis gravidarum--was extremely taxing. I had no energy, literally. I lost weight, that's how bad it was. The slightest thing made me throw up. I had the slightest hint of vaginal bleeding for months, but the midwife dismissed it, saying it was normal. (It wasn't, in the end.) My anemia got so bad, I had to have iron infusions.

The ex didn't believe me when I said it was this bad. (My MIL didn't believe me either, and so the ex believed her over what he saw in front of him. It was a disaster, I swear.) So... he took it personally, and decided to cheat on me. Yeah, I know.... ridiculous.

Anyway....

The pregnancy took its toll on me. Mentally, physically, emotionally. The suicidal ideations, in the end, weren't active. It was passive. The whole "Let a car hit me, let me end up being hospitalized for months with someone else taking care of me for a while." Not "I have a plan to slit my wrist." sort of thing. (Yes, there is a difference.)

However, the whole talking to my MIL that night of the 5th of October, 2010, helped. I cried, we talked, I got it out. I purged, My social worker was awful. I didn't connect with her. I felt.... judged. I couldn't get comfortable with her to purge what was in me. But that night I did. I got stable. When the psychologist in the ER finally came to see me... he asked if I could be trusted to go home. I said "Yes."

This is where I felt... I wished I didn't. I should've stayed. They would've connected me to a baby monitor and they could've seen the fetal distress. They could've seen something was wrong and saved the baby. They would've.... he would've been saved. But I said I was fine.

I felt fine.

But....

But I was fine. I said I was okay. So they discharged me. It was like... 10pm or so. I was starving. I hadn't eaten since lunch, if memory serves. My MIL offered a late dinner. Stopped to pick up the ex from home and went to this very nice little place nearby. I had a very hearty meal and for once there was no marital stress.

We ate well, then went home. I was exhausted. Normally, after eating so much, I'd have to wait a while so I don't throw up from laying down. Pregnancy and all. But I was so tired I just collapsed. The ex opted to stay up, the jerk, and watch TV. I was so tired though, I didn't care. Just crashed.

Now... for those who have been pregnant before, I'm sure you can empathize with this. Toward the end of pregnancy, there's frequent wake ups with a bladder feeling full and crushed. I, before this night, had woken up frequently and felt like I had to go often--even if it was just a teeny-tiny trinkle.

This night, however...

This night, I didn't wake up for several hours.

When I finally did wake up, I was startled. I felt like my bladder was going to burst. When I saw on a clock nearby how late it was, I was stunned. It had been at least four hours. When I shifted and moved, I felt a trinkle and thought "Oh gods, please don't pee in your underwear!" I waddled as quick as I could to the bathroom, my sleep-fogged brain not catching onto the "wrongness" that hadn't dawned.

When I sat down, I saw it. The sleep-fog banished instantly. There, on my clean white underwear, was the shock of bright red blood. I gasped, and knew. Just knew.

It wasn't my water breaking.

My baby was gone. I just knew he was.

I felt my breath catch in my throat. I began to sob. I cleaned myself, saw the blood, felt it trickle away, and sobbed some more. My ex, still awake, stopped by the open bathroom door and looked at me. "What's wrong?"

"I'm bleeding!"

He ran back to the bedroom, grabbed his cellphone and called the midwife for the on-call. She happened to have been the one to be the on-call emergency. I told her what happened. She was certain it was my water breaking. I insisted it wasn't. She advised us to call an ambulance and head to the hospital.

The ex did that and got me a fresh pair of underwear and a pair of sweat pants. (I really don't wear much for pajamas--often a loose cami tank and underwear.)

The ambulance was just down the road. They arrived immediately. I put in an hygiene pad in my underwear to catch further blood and was placed in a gurney. My MIL was called and told to meet us at the hospital. My blood pressure was checked and was normal. I had no pain.

Since I had woken, I felt no pain.

We arrived at the ER and was sent to the labor and delivery floor. There, they took me to a room. My midwife met us there and she had a nurse try to use a doppler to find a heartbeat. No go. She tried to find it with a stethoscope. No go. Lastly, an ultrasound. No go.

Very calmly, gently, the midwife took my hand in hers and met my eyes with hers. "Raye, I'm very sorry. We can't find the baby's heartbeat. He's gone."

I broke. In that instant, I broke.

Letting me weep, she went to tell my ex and MIL. I heard the MIL weep. The ex came over to me a moment later and together, we held one another and cried. They gave us a few minutes to cry before informing us of the next step.

Ideally, the next step would be to induce. So that was the plan. They would give me pitocin to begin, and a cervical balloon to force my cervix to open up. However, when they insert that, a gush of blood came out. That worried my midwife immensely.

(Before I continue, I should add that my midwife was a certified midwife, supervised by a licensed ob-gyn. She worked out of a hospital. He too was there that day.)

Worried, she called the ob-gyn and spoke to him in a low voice. I overheard the words "blood" and him asking "Are you sure?" That's when I saw her lift the sheet from the ground to catch all the blood. It was soaked.

That's when he took over. I was to be given an emergency c-section. I was bleeding too much and they weren't sure why. Since they didn't want me to die while doing the induction, they were going to do the c-section and find what's causing the bleeding and stop it. He was going to do everything he could to preserve my uterus and ability to have more babies.

Then I was rushed to the operating room, given an epidural, and the procedure began. This is where it blurs in my memory, the epidural and exhaustion and grief graying out my mind.

Later, I was wheeled into a private room on the floor. I was granted a chance to see my lost baby. I was granted the right to have him with me the whole weekend. I held him, wept over his body, slept with him beside me. Beside my room number, there was a leaf with a water drop, a symbol to all who visited that this was a parent who lost a baby and to be respectful.

The ob-gyn told me once I was allowed to stay as long as I needed until I was ready to leave and face the world again. I had photographs of the baby taken. His footprints on a certificate. He was cremated. A memorial was held.

On the first year of his passing, my ex and I adopted a pair of kittens to help us grieve. We needed something living, babies, to help us. One of them is still alive. (Unfortunately, one of them passed while I was pregnant with my son; we're still not sure what happened to her. But her brother is still alive.)

It's been fourteen years now and I'm still shattered. One in four pregnancies result in a loss. Be a miscarriage, a stillbirth, or SIDs. We have pro-lifers/anti-choicers/forced-birthers worried over abortion instead of the losses of wanted babies... when medical science can't understand why this happens. It's frustrating as hell.

As near as any ob-gyn can tell, mine was over an undetected placenta abruption. I say "undetected" because my blood pressure was normal. There was no pain. None of the signs of a "usual" placenta abruption. Something that would've triggered a rush to the hospital. All except one, one that the midwife ignored: the spotting.

My son is my Rainbow Baby. A term intended for a surviving birth after a loss. Having him helped ease the loss somewhat.... but I will forever mourn the loss of my first.

I should've had two sons driving me crazy, day in day out.

[scrunchie-face]

In your kindness please remember a friend of mine from church. She had a late miscarriage (17 weeks) and is being induced to deliver her little one this afternoon.

[crypt-tids]

A Gift Unto the King

CW: illness, nausea, fainting, pregnancy loss, abortion discussion, medical procedure

25

In Sickness

Carmilla awoke to the cold chill of the hard, wood floor against her dewy skin. Her heart pounded heavily in her chest, pulsing rapidly through her temple. She tried to collect herself, but her vision was blurred and doubled. With a series of hasty blinks, it slowly returned to its proper focus—a process that took a bit longer than she cared for. Cautiously, she shuffled her arm to prop herself up, peeling her sweat-stuck cheek away from the floorboards. Her skull rattled with painful throbs, the ringing in her ears nearly deafening. She felt lost and disoriented, panic threading through her as she tried to bring herself out of the fainting spell. Taking a few deep, calming breaths, the ringing grew dull and began to subside. With more force, she pushed herself up further, grunting from the strain on her groggy body. Carmilla’s arm shook beneath her slightly, a fierce aura piercing through her eyes as a sharp pain ricocheted through her skull. Instinctively, she pressed the heel of her palm against her forehead, letting out a harsh hiss.

Once the pain had lessened into a more tolerable ache, she glanced around through squinted eyes, finding herself alone in her chambers, uncertain of exactly how much time had elapsed in her involuntary absence. Drawing a deep breath, she pushed herself up from the floor, another sharp throb plunging into her forehead.

“Nn-” She squoze her eyes shut, keeping them clenched until she’d firmly righted herself. Lightheaded, she attempted to stand still, her body wobbling as her equilibrium stabilized. She had half a mind to grip the bed, lest the dizziness force her to the ground again, at least then she’d know where she’d land.

“Your highness?” A small, muffled, voice spoke through the closed chamber door, following a soft knock.

“Y-yes,” Carmilla grunted, opening her eyes, and pushing her body upright from the mattress, “come in.”

The door clicked against the squeaking hinges as it swung open. A small framed woman quickly slipped into the room, shutting the door firmly behind her. The ginger-haired maid glanced towards the queen, her eyes finding Carmilla in a dreadful state—something she had grown accustomed to in the passing weeks, though this time seemed to be the worst of it.

“Your highness, are you alright?” Aoife asked, her voice calm, but laden with concern.

“Mm.” Carmilla forced through a brief wave of nausea, “I’m fine, thank you.”

The queen felt a gentle hand squeeze her arm, and she glanced over to meet the hazel gaze of her maid, who’s brows had now upturned, forming a strong crease over the bridge of her nose.

“You look quite unwell, your highness.”

“More than usual?” Carmilla joked lightly, however, Aoife didn’t find the humor in it.

She did look more unwell than usual. Far more unwell. Her ashy skin glistened with sweat, her coils matting down against her damp forehead. The pale colored chemise no longer loosely draped over her body, but rather clung to it heavily, sticking to her chest and thighs. Aoife detected a slight tremble in the queen’s limbs, and she couldn’t be certain, but she felt a touch feverish.

“Please, sit down, I will get you some water.” The ginger guided the elf towards the chair, gripping her firmly as she lowered her into it.

Carmilla’s forehead felt dewy and her heart raced uncomfortably. The waves of nausea would ebb and flow, though thankfully not growing any further than a severe annoyance. Her head still furiously ached, and she wondered if perhaps she had hit it on the floor when she’d fainted, a theory confirmed by the tender soreness of her temple when her fingers lightly brushed across it.

Aoife held out a glass of fresh water to the queen, which she graciously accepted, before taking a cautious sip. The cool water settled in her stomach, a shiver running up her spine. Carmilla’s body jolted with tight trembles as her unease whittled away at her.

As her coils bounced aside, Aoife noticed an irritated, red mark near her temple, appearing a bit like a small scuff. Leaning down, she impulsively brushed the curls aside to get a better look. It wasn’t until Carmilla jerked away that she had realized she’d acted improperly.

“My apologies, your highness.” Aoife spoke timidly, pulling herself back.

Carmilla shrunk, letting out a long sigh.

“It’s fine.” The elf replied breathily.

“You hit your head.” Aoife persisted, her voice cautious.

“I’m fine.” Carmilla returned flatly.

“Your majesty, I-”

“I’m fine.” The queen shot sharply, taking the young maid by surprise.

Aoife stood silently, her worried eyes still fixed on the queen, but daring not to speak any further. Carmilla took another sip of water, shuddering as it settled into her nauseous stomach.

Glancing up, Carmilla’s eyes met Aoife’s—glossy green, shadowed by furrowed, ginger brows. Her cheeks were flushed light pink against her pale, freckled skin. Anxiously, she gnawed at her lower lip, now red and chapped.

The elf extended her hand towards Aoife. With a moment’s hesitation, the maid placed her hand in Carmilla’s, the warmth of her touch radiating up her arm, into her fluttering chest.

“I appreciate your concern, but please,” Carmilla gave Aoife’s hand a gentle squeeze, “do not worry too much. I promise, I’m fine.” She gave a soft smile that she hoped would look more convincing than it felt.

“It’s my job to worry about you, your highness.” Aoife stated calmly.

“I know.” Carmilla sighed. “But I assure you, there is nothing to worry about.”

Aoife frowned, and Carmilla shifted subjects.

“Help me get ready, yes? I think I would like to stroll through the garden today.” Though she most certainly did not feel in any right state to be strolling anywhere, she had hoped that Aoife’s anxiety would be eased by the idea of it.

Nodding, the ginger woman guided the queen to her feet, gathered her clothes, and helped her slip them on. The bodice of her dress fit snugly over her middle, despite her thin frame, and Aoife made an effort to loosen the laces down her back to compensate. Her fingers brushed over the wrinkles and folds of the fabric, smoothing them out. Grabbing a pair of gem adorned, leather shoes, she carefully slid them onto Carmilla’s feet, securing the laces around her slender ankle. Aoife couldn’t help but notice how sharp and angular her body had become. The softened roundness of her form had all but disappeared in the wake of her violent morning sickness, and the sight of this drastic change only made the young maid grow more concerned.

Once properly fitted, Aoife returned to her feet, draping a long cloak over her shoulders, and securely tying it in place. She reached up to tame a few wild coils, then stood back, hands tightly clasped in front of her.

“You look lovely, your highness.” The ginger woman spoke softly.

Carmilla smiled warmly.

“Would you care to escort me to the garden?” Asked the queen, extending a hand towards Aoife.

With an agreeing nod, the maid took her outstretched hand, and led her to the garden.

The air carried a crisp chill, but not overly unpleasant. Most of the leaves had turned by now, the distant mountains covered in brilliant yellows and fiery reds. Despite the changing of the seasons, the enchanted garden remained unphased, blooming even still as though it were freshly spring. The sweet scent of peonies wafted strongly on the breeze.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” Carmilla broke the silence, her voice light.

“It is.” Aoife agreed, her eyes fixed on Carmilla.

The corners of her cherry lips upturned into a soft smile, and her eyes dazzled brilliantly in the midday sun. Everything about her glowed so warmly here in the garden, as though it was where she belonged—as if she were a part of it. The radiance of Carmilla’s aura extended well beyond her, and Aoife found it difficult to look away.

She watched as the elf lowered herself to the ground, kneeling in the dirt, before a large rose bush. Then, she noticed, Carmilla’s smile begin to fade.

“What is it, your majesty?” Aoife asked, lowering herself down beside the queen.

“Elvenwood had such beautiful roses.” She quietly replied, her fingers lightly brushing over the petals of a freshly unfurled flower.

“I’ve heard that Elvenwood is quite lovely.”

“It is.” Carmilla confirmed with a sigh. “On the outside, at least.”

“Do you miss it?” Aoife spoke sincerely.

“That depends.” Carmilla replied, her face scrunching for a brief moment as she thought, before finally continuing with a melancholic tone. “I miss its beauty.”

“Only its beauty?” The young maid inquired.

“It’s complicated, I suppose.” Carmilla huffed through her nose. “You know that feeling of missing something because it was all you knew, but growing to realize how utterly wrong so much of it was?” The queen’s eyes shifted towards the ginger, a dewy shimmer at their corners.

Aoife’s brows upturned, a small frown tugging at the edges of her mouth, but she didn’t speak.

Carmilla’s eyes fell to the flowers before her, gently bobbing in the breeze. Shoulders drooped, she curled her fingers around the fabric of her dress, pressing her palms firmly against her thighs.

“I had to put up with so much, without ever being granted a place to speak my mind.” The elf shook her head lightly, her ringlets bobbing against her jaw. “Not a single decision in my life was one that I, myself, had made. I was ordered to do as I was told, and never go against my family’s wishes—that their will was for the best, even if I couldn’t see it.”

Aoife watched the queen shrink into herself. She felt herself leaning towards her, as if the diminishing energy around Carmilla was somehow pulling her closer.

“I held my tongue, even when I desperately wished not to. I agreed to every plan and order they placed upon me.” Carmilla’s voice began to tremble as her tone elevated. “I allowed myself to be shipped off to a foreign land because it was in the best interest of my country, and I promised an elven heir to the house of Valke because my father willed it!” She spat sharply, ripping a rose from the bush and crushing it in her fist, Aoife flinching in surprise. With a huff, Carmilla settled the aggravated twitching of her lip, letting the tension slowly leave her body, as she released the crumpled petals from her palm. “Not marrying the king was the only decision I have ever made for myself, and it’s one that doesn’t even matter.”

“I think…” Aoife added cautiously, “that you’re wrong, your highness.”

Carmilla glanced up at the fiery haired woman, the breeze gently tussling her loose curls. Sunlight shimmered against her freckled skin, casting a pale glow around her, soft and warm.

“I think that decision mattered more than anything.” Aoife finished with a modest smile.

“How?” Carmilla asked, straightening her posture, wincing from a small pain in her side. “Marriage matters little when we are still bound by a forged bloodline.” Her voice shook slightly, distress still heavily lining her face.

“Perhaps… and, forgive me if I overstep, but… by refusing to wed, you established yourself as, well, you. A person, and not a pawn. It may not seem like much, your highness, but truly, it is everything.”

Carmilla’s chin quivered for a quick moment, before giving a small smile.

“Do you really think that my decision…” She forced down a wave of nausea, “mattered that much?”

Aoife leaned closer, despite every fiber of her being telling her to clam up, and act properly. Her hand shuffled over the dirt, brushing against small blades of grass and weeds. She could hardly stop herself. The radiant, glowing aura of the queen tugged at her, drawing her in, even in such a dreadful state.

Stop yourself, for the love of all things, stop yourself! But her heart, already pounding loud enough to hear, wouldn’t listen.

“I do.” Aoife replied, her voice hardly more than a shaken whisper.

“I hope you’re right.” Carmilla returned, her words brushing against Aoife’s lips.

Her heart pounded furiously in her chest, a mixture of excited nerves and exhaustion competing desperately within her. Aoife’s hand slipped closer, their fingertips nearly touching. So dreadfully she wished to close the gap, but her body fought against it. Carmilla felt cold sweat dampen her body, nausea catching in her throat. Aches plunged through her back and sides, her vision beginning to tunnel.

Suddenly, a sharp pain ripped through Carmilla’s abdomen, buckling her over. She hissed, drawing a staggered breath, clutching her stomach. Hazy, black clouds crept over her eyes, pulsing with her heartbeat.

“Carmilla?!” Aoife lunged forward, catching the queen in her arms. “What’s wrong?!”

“Hah- nngh!” Carmilla grunted, sweat rolling down her temples.

“Carmilla!” The maid pulled the elf close, her tone becoming increasingly more panicked as her heart pounded furiously in her chest. “HELP! SOMEONE, PLEASE! HELP!”

Carmilla’s body trembled, hot acid burning in her throat. Cold chills ran over her limbs, her palms clammy and tingling. She could hear Aoife’s frantic calls growing faint in her mind as the blackness consumed her and she slowly lost consciousness.

Vin paced the length of the solar, his fingers mindlessly stroking his chin as he thought. Lucas sat in the chair by the window, his hand resting delicately over his middle. The werewolf’s eyes followed the king closely.

“Is it possible we’re overthinking it?” Lucas asked with a sigh.

“Or we aren’t thinking enough.” Vin returned.

“I doubt that highly.”

“If you have any ideas, I’m all ears.” Vin leaned against the wall, his arms folded and ankles crossed.

Lucas clicked his tongue, before nibbling his lower lip. The baby fluttered softly, and he lightly drummed his fingers over his belly in response, catching Vin’s eye.

“They are just humans-”

“Which many of our citizens are.” Vin added.

“Right,” Lucas continued, “but, I mean, by comparison, curse-borns have the advantage of strength, and elves… well, they’re just assholes all around.”

“Not completely unfounded.” The vampire jokingly confirmed with a nod.

Lucas sighed, awkwardly pushing himself up from the chair, earning a small giggle from his husband to be. Once fully upright, he pressed a hand to his lower back, hoping to ease some of the soreness residing there to little avail.

“Vin, there hasn’t been an attack in over a month. You’ve secured our border, and Elvenwood has secured their’s. Your plan is working.”

“What if it stops working?” Vin interjected.

“Then we’ll deal with it.” Lucas stepped towards the king, his fingers reaching towards Vin’s tightly folded arms. “Recruitment has been going well and so has training. We’ll be ready for anything that comes our way, I know it.”

Vin shook his head, resting his hand over the werewolf’s, lightly stroking his knuckles with his thumb.

“I’m just a little on edge. I don’t trust the silence.”

“I know.” Lucas agreed on a long exhale. “But what else are we supposed to do? If we rush in, we risk losing every advantage we are working so diligently to build.”

Vin huffed through his nose, sharply.

“I’m not suggesting we be reckless.”

“Of course not.” Lucas replied.

Vin let his arms unfold, leaning his body towards Lucas, resting his head against the muscular man’s shoulder.

“I just want to put this war behind us.” Vin mumbled, wrapping his arms around the large man.

“I do, too.” Lucas spoke softly, “But, all things in their own time.”

Vin slid his head off of Lucas’s shoulder, his eyes wandering up to meet the lycan’s golden gaze. A reassuring smile graced his stubbled face, warm sunlight casting a radiant halo around him.

“I wish this war hadn’t had to happen in our time.” Vin spoke defeatedly.

“As do I.” The lycan agreed. “As does everyone faced with such hardships.” He gently pushed a strand of hair behind Vin’s ear. “But it did, and all we can do is get through it. Ideally, in one piece.” Lucas joked to lighten the mood.

“Yeah…” The vampire replied mindlessly, his hands sliding over the sides of Lucas’s rounded belly, and resting there.

His mind drifted, and Lucas quickly noticed the growing distance. The king’s brows creased as his crimson eyes remained fixed on the swell in his grasp. A tiny flutter bumped against his palm, but Vin didn’t smile like Lucas had expected him to, and he suddenly understood the real reason his lover was so on edge.

“We’ll be okay, you know.” Lucas broke the silence, snapping Vin from his daze. “I promise.”

“I want to meet him.” Vin whispered with a crack. “I want to watch him grow up. I need to be able to do that.”

“You will, Vin. I’ll make sure of it.”

“How?” Vin huffed incredulously. “I don’t think will and prayer will be enough to keep me alive out there.”

“No,” Lucas returned, confidently, “but I will be.”

Vin snapped his gaze to Lucas’s face, his brows furrowed tensely. Crimson eyes flashed as the vampire pieced together his lover’s implication.

“No.” The king snapped. “Lucas, no.”

“If you think I’m letting you run into battle without me, you’re sorely mistaken-”

“You’re pregnant!”

“And in a few months, I won’t be!”

The pair fell silent, the only sound, their huffy breaths. Vin clenched his jaw, and Lucas studied him warily, waiting for his lover to speak. Finally, the vampire let out a sigh, his features softening, despite his aura still maintaining a disapproving intensity.

“Even if this war doesn’t progress until after our child’s arrival, you’ll still need time to heal and rest.” Vin’s voice was flat and matter-of-fact.

“And I will.” Lucas pressed. “But I’m not going to sit around being useless-”

“You will do as you’re told!” Vin spat with a harshness that he hadn’t entirely intended.

Lucas jolted, his body retreating slightly. Vin hadn’t spoken to him that way in a long time, and it made him feel small and inconsequential—like he was nothing. Vin, regretting his outburst immediately, reached out to grab his lover’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Please, Lucas,” the vampire begged, “please don’t follow me into battle so blindly.”

“It’s my job-”

“Your job is to raise our son—to ensure that he still has at least one father at the end of this.”

“If I go with you, he will have both-”

“Or he will lose both.” Vin interjected sternly.

Lucas did not reply at first, instead, stewing in the hypothetical torment of his mind’s making. After a few moments, he pushed those dreadful thoughts aside, and opened his mouth to speak.

“Why do you sound so committed to dying in this war?”

“I’m not!” Vin retorted. “But there is an entire nation that wants to serve my head up on a silver platter to its king! Forgive me for being realistic.”

“Your highness-” A voice rang out from the doorway.

“What?!” Vin snapped unconsciously, turning his gaze to the intruder.

“P-pardon the intrusion, but, it’s the queen. Queen Carmilla has taken ill, she’s in the infirmary.” An older maid, with frizzy gray hair, rushed out, her voice shaken and uneasy.

Lucas and Vin exchanged worried glances, the tension of their previous disagreement rapidly disappearing. With hardly a thought, the pair took off after the maid, tailing her down the hall. Vin’s heart pounded in his ears as his mind raced, each foot falling faster than the last. He hadn’t even noticed that Lucas and the maid had fallen behind as he soared into the lead by a considerable distance.

Please, be okay! For the love of the gods, PLEASE BE OKAY!

Footsteps pounded loudly against the wood floor, thumping down the stairs, and clacking against the tile towards the infirmary. A small congregation of people had collected outside of the door, daring not to press through. As the king approached, they quickly cleared a path for him to enter.

Gasping for breath, Vin was met with the sight of a panicked Aoife, clasping Carmilla’s hand firmly, while the sibling healers raced around collecting supplies. Bowls, linen towels, fresh water, all set purposefully on the table to the side of the bed. Angelique hastily placed a jar of herbs and a pair of forceps down on the tabletop beside them, turning just in time to relieve the maid behind her of a freshly heated tea kettle.

“What’s going on? Is she alright?” Vin asked frantically, his eyes darting between the unconscious Carmilla, and Angelique, who now appeared to be brewing some kind of tea with the herbs from the jar.

Alistair skirted around the infirmary bed, rushing towards Vin. Quickly, he pulled the king’s attention, his face firmly set and unemotional, putting Vin further on edge.

“We need to make a decision quickly, your highness.” Alistair’s voice was low.

“What’s going on, what’s wrong with her?” Vin peeked at the queen over Alistair’s shoulder, his brows threatening to merge with the bridge of his nose.

“Her body… it’s failing.” Alistair stated with a hushed softness that he hoped wouldn’t carry into the hall.

“Failing? Y-you mean, what, she’s dying?” Vin’s heart thumped in his throat, his voice cracking.

“Yes.” Alistair confirmed quickly. “Our options are limited, as is our time. If we’re going to save the child, we need to act swiftly and precisely.” He explained.

“What about Carmilla? Will she be alright?”

“If we’re successful.”

“And if you aren’t?”

“They both die.” Alistair somberly answered on a breathy exhale.

Vin glanced back and forth between Carmilla and Alistair. His mouth felt dry and gravity tugged on his limbs. Every sound around him felt both dull and deafening as they sawed into his eardrums. It took everything in him to stay present and focused.

“How do I ensure she survives?” Vin asked, watching Aoife dab the dewy sweat from the elf’s brow with a damp cloth.

Alistair sighed heavily, giving the queen a quick glance before returning his gaze to the king.

“We terminate the pregnancy.”

Vin’s eyes remained fixed on the queen. So limp and fragile, she hardly seemed alive as it was. Alistair was right, there wasn’t much time, and he knew, deep in his soul, that she would never come out of this alive if he took the risk. No matter how fiercely it burned in his chest to lose the child, he would never be able to live with the guilt of losing her.

“Your majesty, it’s your decision. Please, make it quickly.” Alistair’s tone was firm, yet pleading.

Vin swallowed hard.

“End it.” He answered quietly, his voice shaken and wispy.

Alistair nodded, rushing over to Angelique’s side, instructing her to proceed. They worked together quickly, spinning around each other with the grace and speed of a choreographed dance. As their motions blurred, Vin’s mind went blank, his jaw unconsciously clenched, brows twitching. He watched Alistair shuffle Aoife aside, her fingers reluctantly slipping away from the queen’s. Everyone, with the exception of Vin and Aoife, were ushered from the room. Briefly, the king and the young maid locked eyes, the dread in each other’s gaze evenly matched, and Vin suddenly understood the depth of her heart, and his own began to break with it.

“Miss Aoife!” Angelique called, beckoning her over to aid in the procedure.

With a quick jolt, she rushed over, nearly tripping over her own feet as she moved into position.

The ginger held Carmilla’s leg, standing opposite Angelique, Alistair quickly preparing between them. Giving Vin a glance, Aoife nodded to him, silently relieving him of his presence in the room.

Vin stood still for a moment, blankly staring at the crowded bed, before shuffling out of the infirmary, and into the hall, the heavy, wooden door thumping shut behind him. The corridor had nearly emptied, with the exception of Lucas and Marion, who stood tensely apart, but anxiously awaiting Vin’s emergence.

“What is it, darling? Is Carmilla alright?” Marion asked, quickly approaching her son, reaching out to grab his hand.

His palms were sweaty, and his hands trembled furiously with nerves and adrenaline. He couldn’t find it in himself to meet his mother’s gaze as the gravity of the current events began thoroughly sinking in.

“No.” Vin finally answered, his voice hollow and broken. “They’re… trying to save her.”

“Save her? A-and the baby?” Marion pressed, her grip tightening.

Vin shook his head, and Lucas swallowed hard, his fingers tightly curling around the loose, shirt fabric draped over his belly.

Marion’s eyes flickered, but she refrained from inquiring further, sensing her son’s distress, instead extending an offer to get a drink and some food to take his mind off of it. Vin declined, insisting that he should stay behind until the procedure was finished. She pressed her lips thin, giving her son a quick hug, and a soft, but heavy, smile, before turning away from him. For a brief moment, she locked eyes with Lucas, glancing down to his middle, barely hidden beneath his blouse, her brows creasing slightly, before shuffling off towards her chambers.

Lucas’s heart pounded harshly, butterflies swirling in his stomach. He had a feeling that things were going to become much more complicated, much sooner than he had anticipated. But now was hardly the time to worry about himself. Shaking off his own nerves, he stretched a comforting hand to his lover, withdrawing when Vin recoiled.

“I’m sorry.” The lycan whispered, his tone broken.

“I put her life at risk.” Vin murmured, more to himself than to Lucas.

“You didn’t know this would happen-”

“She could’ve died!” Vin’s eyes snapped up to Lucas’s, tears gathering at his waterline. “She still might…” With exhaustion and defeat, Vin leaned over, pressing his head against Lucas’s chest.

Instinctively, Lucas wrapped his arms around the shrunken vampire, his hands comfortingly stroking his back.

“I made her suffer so much, and it was all for nothing.” Vin’s muffled voice rumbled against Lucas’s body.

“Everything is gonna be okay.” Lucas whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Vin’s head. It was the only thing he could think to say. He wasn’t even sure if he believed it, but it was all he had to offer to hold their world together.

Slowly, Vin pulled back, his hair shrouding his face.

“You should head home.”

“I don’t mind waiting with you-” Lucas started.

“No, I…” Vin sighed, his eyes glued to the tile floor, “you should get some rest. I’m going to be here for a while.”

“I can stay-”

“Lucas,” Vin’s voice was weak and pleading, and Lucas’s heart fell.

“You… want to be alone.” The lycan spoke in a whisper.

Vin nodded slowly.

Lucas drew a deep breath, a melancholic frown tugging at the corner of his mouth. He leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his lover’s head.

“I’ll be home if you need me.” The knight assured, giving Vin’s arm a comforting squeeze, before turning away, and heading down the hall.

Once the sound of Lucas’s footsteps had faded away, Vin lifted his gaze, finding himself alone. He could hear light shuffling and voices coming from the infirmary, muffled by the thick, wooden door. He couldn’t quite make any of it out, and part of him was thankful for that. But even still, his mind remained weighted and troubled. With a sigh, he pressed his back into the cold, stone wall, sliding down to the floor.

All he could do now was wait.

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

Look, if you've followed me a while, you know I only write fan fiction of Benedict's characters (and farther in the past, of various AU Benedicts). However, I'm watching the Mummy marathon right now, and my mind is creating head canons for this guy -

Ardeth Bay

Tall, dark, divinely handsome (especially with that glorious hair),oh so mysterious (owing to a tragic loss in his past), a fearless & skilled warrior, a natural, confident leader...and putting all those things together, too damn sexy for words. Beneath the black robes of an ascetic, there beats a heart capable of great passion, though he hides it from to world, to focus solely on his duties.

The Medjai began as Pharaoh's sacred bodyguards and later became the guardians against the evil lying beneath the sands of Hamunaptra. They are referred to as the descendants of those bodyguards, so I'm thinking they come from specific bloodlines or clans. Which would mean they aren't necessarily pledged to a celibate life.😁

His father and grandfather had high standing because of their deeds and bravery. Ardeth showed the same potential, not only throughout his training but also as a youth of true honor and intuitive brilliance. Thus, although his people usually followed the tradition of arranged marriages, he was fortunate to be able to wed for love and not dowery or status. He was 17, and his lovely Sakina was 16, when they took their vows.

Though his responsibilities kept them apart for days or even weeks at a time, the time they had together was true bliss. It was acknowledged in their tribe that they were a blessed match, for Ardeth's love and devotion to Sakina was ever writ clear upon his face - even at the mere mention of her name.

Now here comes the ANGST ('cuz if I were to write him, there would have to be angst!)...

Sakina became pregnant shortly before the one year anniversary of their marriage - but did not live to see what should've been their second. The midwife had predicted she would bear a strong, healthy son from the way Sakina was carrying, but she went into labor two months too soon (modern medicine would use the term placental abruption). The baby was indeed a boy, but Sakina bled out shortly after they placed him in her arms. He followed a scant 36 hours later.

Devastated, feeling he had lost all purpose with the death of his little family, Ardeth threw himself hard into his mission, eventually becoming the fiercest Medjai his people had seen in generations. No one knew the tears he shed in the dark of night for many, many months, and he vowed to himself to never love anyone or anything as much as he had loved Sakina, for the pain of losing her and their child had been nearly unendurable.

So, of course, if I were to write him, I'd create an OFC quite the opposite of his Sakina. A hot-tempered, snarky but astonishingly brave-for-a-woman (the typical social mores of the 1930's at play here) adventuress. Not quite enemies-to-lovers, they'd continually clash, but through shared danger, they'd eventually begin to see past the stereotypes each holds about the other.

[clone-anon]

Together

Tech x Fem Reader who miscarries twins

Warning: miscarriage / pregnancy loss, proceed with caution

Tech held your hand while you got the news that the new life you were expecting was no longer there. Both heartbeats were gone and your own heart sank to the floor. The next several days were filled with pain and hurt and he held your hand through it. You grieved in more ways than one and it felt like your body was being torn apart. Tech held your hand many times, when you were trying to work through the immense discomfort, and when you had a bit of a physical reprieve even if it was short lived.

You looked around your home and saw scattered pieces of what you had hoped for. Tech had worked on trying to make changes to the house for the safety of the children and now those projects were abandoned. He followed your line of sight as you stared wordlessly at his work bench.

"Do not worry about that now," he said, kissing your temple and wrapping his arms around you, rocking you in place to offer comfort. "What matters most now is you. How is your pain?"

You grimaced and he insisted you sit down for now. He brought you something to drink, hoping the warmth of the beverage would help a little.

"Sit with me," you said hopefully.

"Of course," he replied softly. He sat next to you and allowed you to indicate where you'd like him, knowing you enjoyed cuddling. He laid back a bit and you rested against him. He rubbed your back, tears forming in his eyes. He reached for your hand and held it so gently, kissing the back of it with a firm kiss that said I love you. Tech had always been able to accept change and move on, but this hit different. He was with you here and now, helping you in any way he could, but he was also immensely heartbroken. You looked up at him with tears in your own eyes. He whispered "My darling," while kissing the top of your head and holding you a little closer. He wasn't sure what to say. He held you while you cried. He would hold your hand through it, each step day-by-day, never faltering and taking care of you in every way that he could.

[mama-mystery]

When I talk about pregnancy as a kink to others, I always make sure to talk about this. Pregnancy is sexy and beautiful, sure, but infertility and miscarriages are very real sources of grief for many, including myself. Remember that for some, pregnancy is hard to talk about or confront. Listen carefully to the stories of those who are struggling, and honor those stories.

And remember mama, no matter what you've chosen or experienced, you're beautiful and you're always a mama in our hearts. <3

[onepinkline]

I don’t know when pregnancy loss stops hurting.

It didn’t at their due date, or the one year mark of having their presence in my life. It didn’t at the first “birth” day, or second, or fifth.

It didn’t when I got pregnant with their sibling. It didn’t when I lost them, too.

It hasn’t on those random Tuesdays, when I’m hit with the sudden grief that I never heard them cry.

It hasn’t every Mother’s Day, every Christmas wondering how different it would’ve been than the last, when the school year starts and I realize they’d be off to Kindergarten.

When I pass the children’s activity center in the museum, and I wonder if they’d be eager to go in or shy because of the other kids.

I know it shouldn’t stop hurting. I tell my friends, your baby matters, I support other loss parents by reminding them your baby existed. I convince myself that mine do not. I close my eyes to see the images of the positive pregnancy tests and pretend that they never existed.

Coping, avoidance is (negatively) coping.

Someone, who was barely a something, can’t hurt this much. Maybe they never got to be my baby, but they were my dream. My future, love personified. Never anything tangible to attach it to, a vision of someday.

Someday left too soon, too soon to be tangible. Too soon to grieve. Too soon to understand. I was still processing that they existed, when they did not anymore.

I don’t know when pregnancy loss quits hurting.

I hope it never does, because it is the only reminder that I ever had them at all.

[yennie-fer]

Hello, I’m Yennie Fer, and I’m here to share my story that has forever hit me the hardest. Some Can Only Imagine is a memoir about my journey through recurrent miscarriages. This book isn’t just my story; it’s for anyone who has experienced the heartbreak of losing a child, those who have struggled in silence, and for educating those who cannot comprehend the pain.

The link to my project is in the bio, but I appreciate anything to get my story out there 🥺 Let’s break the stigma and bring understanding and compassion 🫶🏻

Follow the project! Following is completely free!

[enbycrip]

CW: discussion of pregnancy loss

Honestly this is one of the most powerful pieces of art I’ve ever seen.

(This is a personal interpretation; I don’t know if this was the artist’s intent)

There’s so little art out there about pregnancy loss. It’s a type of grief that makes people intensely uncomfortable. It gets equated with lack of support for abortion - which is upsetting, tbh, given it’s *incredibly* possible to support the essential right for bodily autonomy and yet still be utterly personally devastated by the loss, often repeated loss, of a potential life you desperately wanted.

In my work as an early modern historian, I’m bizarrely comforted as well as gut-punched by the statistics and personal experiences of child and pregnancy loss I encounter, which were so horrifically common before modern medicine, particularly vaccines and antibiotics. Because one of the effects of pregnancy loss is how isolating it is. We are so conditioned to silence about it. It is actually *helpful* to me when the grief strikes me to realise how huge a part of the human experience child and pregnancy loss is and has been.

Our biology, despite all our technology, is not simple and foolproof. Pregnancy and having children is surrounded in a commodified and cutesified bubble of celebration. The wolf is the fact that biology, like chance in general, is harsh and fallible. We cannot wish our way into the outcomes that we desperately want.

"In Bocca al Lupo" by sculptor Beth Cavener. Stoneware, Mixed Media. Installation: H 90 x L 276 x W 48 in. 2012.

[elli-cherished]

[PREVIEW] A Heartbreaking Ultrasound Poses, Pt. 1

Content Warning (Miscarriage and Grief)

October marks Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness month. Over the next couple of days I will be sharing the beginning of Ashly and Collin's story... This story involves miscarriage and grief and struggles with infertility. It may be triggering to some.

There were tears when I created these poses. Many, many tears... when I first decided to create them... as I was planning the story in my head... while searching for references... while I was making them... as I rendered them... and even now as I am posting them.

This story and these poses are very, very close to my heart, because in a way these are a combination of my own story, as well as the stories of many other women who I have known. I hesitated. I even now hesitate. But I also believe more than anything that these stories need to be told. And this is the best way I know how to tell them and share them and to spread awareness.

*To anyone who may use these poses. I ask that you use them respectfully. Miscarriage is not just a dramatic twist for a story. If you use miscarriage or infant loss in your story, please do it sincerely.*

Part 1 - Ashly and Collin's Journey

[kids-ate-my-paperwork]

So, maybe it’s not the right mindset, but I can’t get over how unfair it all is. All my life I’ve wanted to be a mom. I had my first kiddo at 34 with a donor and everything was perfect. Got with my husband a year later and had a miscarriage 9 months later. Found out the day before my birthday this year that I was pregnant again. Total surprise this time. Problem after problem from day one, but we finally started to feel like we were going to make it. Did an announcement and even a gender reveal. Then my water broke at 19 weeks and we lost our precious girl. And I just can’t get over how unfair it is. I see kids nobody wanted. I see kids horribly abused. I see moms having 10 successful pregnancies with reasonably healthy babies when they’ve used meth and heroin through the whole pregnancy. I tried so hard to do everything right.

[leaveherwildliketheflowers]

I told T that my suicidal thoughts have gotten more intense and have turned into plans. I think that was a mistake. She made me take her cell phone number and promise to call her if I felt like I was going to take action. Realistically I know I won't do that though. Having her number feels weird, like crossing a boundary. If I called her what would I even say?

I had my post-surgery follow-up with my MFM today and got triggered all to hell. She could tell I was struggling as soon as she walked in and immediately said, "You look incredibly anxious hunny, what's going on talk to me." I just teared up and told her I wanted all of this to be over. I was shaking when she started the physical exam and she softly said, "It's ok, you're safe and I promise I'll be gentle." She then reminded me that where I'm at emotionally is normal and to be expected and to be easy with myself.

It feels like my chest is made of cement. I can't breathe. I don't know how to keep living with this pain. But I don't want to leave my daughter either. I don't know what to do.

In an attempt to keep myself safe I spent 2.5 hours ripping down rusted out shelving in a 95° garage. My watch thinks I did 2 hours of cardio and my muscles ache. That should take care of some of the self harm thoughts for a little while at least. I hope.