#you're technically a high risk pregnancy then

[moj-chhe]

Why do people think the biological clock is a made up concept, damn

[lemonmaid]

"I'm not okay"

Warnings: car accidents, miscarriages, Omegaverse, Suguru is referred as a Mama, Suguru has trauma in every universe. Suguru is struggling. Male pregnancy, pregnancy

Suguru loved his family and his friends, hell he even hosted weekly get-togethers with his friends. He would cook, clean, make his pups look presentable, and put a smile on his face.

He was the perfect omega.

Well, almost. 

If he was to have a pup, it would be A. A miracle. B. It was very high risk for both him and the pup. 

Not that Suguru didn't already love his adopted pups.

He just wishes he could have a pup.

A newborn. 

Suguru pushed the negative thoughts that plagued his mind, pushing them deep down.

“Mama, look”. Mimiko pointed to the youngest pup Megumi who was struggling to put on his button-up. 

Suguru smiled softly, “I'll be there to help you in a minute megs”

The five-year-old huffed, “Why do we gotta dress up if this is our house”.

Suguru continued braiding Mimiko's hair, “Because it's polite Megs”.

“What's for dinner”.

“It's what you are going to eat”.

The pup whined, “Mammaaa-”.

Satoru walked into the bathroom, “Tsumiki is dressed and Nanako finished her bath”.

“Thank you, Satoru”.

Satoru looked down at Megumi who was struggling, “Do you need help buddy?”.

Megumi huffed, “I don't want your help”.

Satoru clicked his tongue, “Mama won't be here to help you with everything you know”.

“Mama is leaving?” Mimiko cried.

Suguru glared at his mate, giving him a look and saying ‘Fix this’.

“No no no no baby, Mama isn't leaving-”.

Soon Megumi's lip started to wobble.

Suguru sighed, “You two, what Papa meant as an expression. Remember what we said about expressions? Is like saying something you don't mean. Mama Isn't leaving anytime soon”.

Suguru glanced at the clock, while he stirred dinner.

‘if they are coming in 30 minutes, I should have time to get ready’ 

Satoru decided to inform Suguru last minute that this was a business meeting and not a friend get-together like usual.

<an hour ago>

“Suguru please don't kill me”

Suguru stared at the white hair alpha in disbelief, “Are you fucking kidding me Gojo”.

“Listen, I know we usually already have Nanami and his mate Haibara, and technically they are already my coworkers. So adding my boss can't change anything-”

“Saturo fucking Gojo, did you invite your boss to a get-together or a dinner”.

“um… what's the difference?”.

Suguru felt his eyebrow twitch, “Haven't you been trying to get a promotion?”

“Yeah but-”

“Fucking dumbass that's how you, ugh, let me get the kids ready”

<now>

Suguru sighed and pinched his nose. 

“Satoru, can you please watch the stove? I need to get myself ready”

“Yeah of course”.

Suguru looked at himself in the mirror, his hair was a mess, and his sweatshirt was covered in stains from god knows where. Haven't been able to take care of himself since he decided to be a stay-at-home parent.

Not a moment of being alone, it's never quiet, always doing something.

Why did he still feel empty?

Suguru shook his head, undressed himself, and got into the shower. Suguru looked down at his stomach, the scarring, the disfigurement of his skin, every time he looked at himself he wanted to puke, he didn't understand why Satoru still loved him, even if he was defective and-

“Jesus babe, you're stinking up the place”.

Suguru jumped at Satoru's voice, quick to cover himself with the shower curtain.

“Are you okay, babe?”.

Suguru nodded, “I'll just wear a suppressant patch”.

Satoru nodded, “Did you take your meds?”.

Suguru's eye twitched, “Jesus Christ, I am fine”

“I'm just worried-”. 

“Drop it Satoru”.

“Babe-”.

“Satoru.”.

Satoru was quiet, “I just wanted to tell you the kids are ready”.

“thanks”.

“I love you”.

“I know”.

“I hate it when you're like this��.

Suguru sighed and leaned his head against the tile, letting the cold water fall harshly, “I'll be out soon”.

Suguru made his way down the stairs. He was wearing a blue button- up with his shirt tucked in, his hair up in a bun. Exposing his mating mark, a respect thing really, since this would be his first time meeting Satoru's boss.

Megumi crashed into Suguru’s legs, “What's wrong megs?”

“Papa is being mean”.

“I am not! The little brat tried taking off his shirt”.

Suguru sighed, picking up the five-year-old and walking toward the dining room, seeing Tsumiki set up the table.

“Thank you Tsumiki”.

The oldest pup nodded happily, “I even did the kids table!”.

“Wonderful job, sweetie, why don't you get your sisters”.

Tsumiki nodded, finishing up the table and skipping towards the backyard door.

Megumi kept fidgeting in Suguru’s neck, “is everything okay megs?”.

“you smell weird”.

“Mama just took some medicine”.

Megumi kept rubbing Suguru’s scent glands, irritating them to get something out of them. “Megs that hurts Mama, please stop”.

The younger pup growled before being put down at the kids table.

“Satoru is the dinner fine? I'm sure they'll be here any minute-”.

The door buzzed, Nanami's voice echoing throughout the house. Suguru sighed, straighting up his shirt.

Suguru opened the door with a smile, “Nanami and Haibara, welcome”. Nanami gave Suguru a bouquet of flowers and an expensive wine.

The two smiled as they walked in, a little girl in Haibara's arms waved at Suguru,

“Welcome back, Nobara. Megumi is in the dining room”.

Nobara nodded before wiggling her body out of her father's arms and jumping onto the floor and rushing to the backyard instead to hang out with the other girls.

Satoru joined Suguru's side, “Nanami! Welcome back! Its been so long-”

Nanami sighed, “Gojo, it has only been four hours since we left the office”.

A tiny knock interrupted the four.

Suguru walked towards the door, opening gently.

A little boy, with pinkish hair grinned up towards the older omega, struggling to hold a comically overly large fruit basket.

“Big brother! I did it! They opened the door!” he huffed.

A tall intimidating alpha walked up the steps towards the door, almost an exact copy of the pup in front of Suguru.

“Did you give them the thank you gift”.

“Oops!”. The little boy raised the basket over his head, trying to reach Suguru’s hands before bowing his head, “Thank you for having us!!”.

Suguru laughed softly, “thank you so much young man, what's your name?”.

“Yuji Ryomen!!”.

“Well thank you for the lovely fruit basket Ryo-”.

Satoru spawned next to Suguru, staring down the alpha in front of him.

“Sukuna”.

“Gojo”.

Suguru pushed Satoru away, “Come inside Ryomen”.

Sukuna chuckled, “don't call me that, that was the old man's title, Sukuna is fine”.

Suguru smiled, “Welcome Sukuna”.

All the adults sat at the table awkwardly, meanwhile all the noise came from the kids table, shrieks and squeals and pleading glaces from Tsumiki begging to let her sit at the adult table just this once.

“So, Sukuna. Are you Satoru's boss?”.

Sukuna laughed, “I wish, then I would keep him away from me. No no, I'm just Gojo's and Kentos’s project director for this quarter”.

Haibara smiled, “Yeah, Nanami was telling me about the new project! The new product sounds like a great idea! I'm hoping my team in the graphic design department could be in charge of the logo! But Mei Mei from accounting said it's a small chance considering the cost of labor”.

Suguru smiled, reminiscing his days in the office, slowly climbing the corporate ladder before the-.

“So Satoru, I'm glad that there are more of you. I was worried that I was going to see kids with white hair everywhere in this house”.

Suguru felt a pang in his chest, making a small glance towards Satoru.

“Oh, yeah. Definitely not, I don't think Suguru would be able to handle another me, let alone another baby”. Satoru took a sip from his wine, “Wow this is great stuff Nanami, where did you get this again?”

“Well. Me and Haibara-”

Suguru felt his chest ache, his mind clouded. He tried to remember breathing exercises his therapist taught him.

All he could think about is the accident, the hospital, the miscarriages, the doctor offices-

“Mama!!! Megumi is being gross!”.

Suguru smiled, “excuse me-”.

Suguru picked up the boy and took him to the bathroom. “Megs how do you always stain your good shirts?”.

Megumi shrugged, “Mama you smell sad”.

Suguru did not make eye contact with the boy, instead focusing hard on the stain, “Mama is a little bit sad”.

“I'm sorry mama”.

“No you didn't do anything wrong baby”.

“I wanna sleep”.

Suguru raised an eyebrow, looking at the boy and looking at the clock. “are you sure? It's only 7 on a Friday baby”.

Megumi wrapped his small arms around Suguru’s neck. “I wanna sleep with you mama”.

Suguru felt tears in his eyes, “Okay baby”.

Suguru got Megumi tuck in the nursery shared nest, before he laid down shooting a text to Satoru letting him know that he was putting the pup to sleep.

“mama?”

“yes baby?”

“ I love you”

“I love you too sweetie”.

The two doze off in the comfort of the scents of their shared family nest.

Satoru just finished getting the other pups to bed, glancing at the clock seeing it was 10 pm, sighing as he collected the dishes and bringing them into the kitchen.

“Satoru?”.

Satoru jumped at Suguru’s voice, “Jesus mega, don't scare me like that”.

“How was the rest of dinner?”.

“it was good, there was an emergency at the office so Sukuna and Nanami had to leave early. Haibara took Nobara home and I offered to take Yuji for the night. He's in the guest room”.

Suguru nodded, “Satoru, did you really mean what you said at dinner? You didn't want to have a baby with me?”.

Satoru stopped what he was doing. Looking at Suguru wide eye , “Listen that's not what I meant".

Suguru crossed his arms, "Okay, so what did you mean by that?"

Satoru was quiet. It was a very awkward pause.

"No, because please explain, 'No I don't think I could ever have a baby with Suguru' because out of context it's very hurtful".

Satoru pushed his hair back, "I didn't mean it like that, I meant it in a way as if we already have four kids and that's not what I said fully, I said it as like-”.

Suguru fought back his tears, "You know I'm more willing to have a baby, you know how I feel about wanting a baby. I don't like it when you just decide things for me".

"..mega..".

Suguru let out a soft gasp and silent tears, emotions that came out in a huge wave giving Suguru the ability to finally release his emotions.

Satoru hugged Suguru waist, being careful to touch his stomach.

“I want a baby Satoru”.

“I know”.

“Why did it have to happen to me?”.

“I don't know”.

“It's not fair”.

“I know”.

<eight years ago>

Suguru just finished his 10 hour shift at the office, sighing, glancing at his watch.

11: 46 pm.

‘The trains just stopped a few hours ago, it would be a 20 minute walk… I could call Satoru to pick me up, but he's probably asleep’. Suguru didn't want to bother his mate, especially when they were on different sleep schedules at the moment.

Not to mention the wedding planning and their private mating ceremony afterward. So their stress levels are both high at the moment.

Suguru decided to bite the bullet and walk home.

Fifteen minutes in he got a call from Satoru.

“Mega, where are you?”.

“I'm almost home, just decided to go sight seeing”.

“Idiot, I could've come grabbed you”.

“It's fine Satoru”.

A loud honking broke Suguru away from his conversation, beaming headlights blinded Suguru.

“Suguru?” 

It was so fast.

Suguru couldn't breathe. He was trapped between a car and a wall. He couldn't hear due to the driver's head being stuck on the horn of the car.

He couldn't feel below his legs, his waist completely crushed.

He couldn't breathe or speak, only gasped.

Suguru woke up in the hospital, unable to move, feeling metal rods keeping his body still.

He remembers the doctor, how the doctor praised that it was miracle if he could walk. But his uterus was completely damaged, along with his pelvis.

He never felt more pathetic.

<six years ago>

Suguru thought it was a miracle.

Staring at the positive pregnancy test.

He felt hot tears stream down his face, he finally thought that maybe he wasn't so down on his luck. 

Maybe he was a worthy omega.

Maybe he wasn't a defect.

But God decided to play a cruel joke.

A miscarriage before he could be eight weeks.

That's when he dropped. That was a final straw that was the one that made him drop into an omega depression.

<now>

Now, Suguru felt pathetic because his own alpha didn't believe in him.

Or according to his own feelings.

Suguru collapsed onto the floor, letting out his emotions that had been bottling up for the past few weeks. Satoru was quick to join him onto the floor, cradling the omega.

“Sh sh sh sh, baby, it's okay let it out”.

“It's not okay-”

Satoru rubbed Suguru's hair, “yes it is”.

Satoru felt helpless, he felt like he has done everything he could to do help Suguru "Suguru... baby.... mega.... i need you to start focusing on the good. Like what your therapists said. Think about it. You have four wonderful pups, we adopted three years ago, who all adore you.... we don't need our own to make us happy".

Suguru cried, "I just feel... empty....".

Satoru, rocked Suguru, "shhh I know, i know".

"I want to stop feeling like this Satoru".

A/N

I hope yall enjoyed 2k words, I hope that makes up for my absence! Also, I almost ended with Suguru getting a lobotomy, but like, I didn't know how to healthy end this, so crying on the floor ending done

[greatbigbellies]

Since you’re into being heavily preggo, heavily preggo with quadruplets while trying to corral a massive family around day-to-day.

I'm not big on the "huge family" part of the kink because A) I don't want kids myself and B) I just by default don't like including even the loose concept of kids into what are genuinely sexual fantasies (yeah I've got a pregnancy kink which technically breaks that rule but like... you GET it, you're smart, you understand the nuance and distinction between the two). That said, I get what YOU'RE getting at so lemme reinterpret the ask a little.

Being busy and overwhelmed IN PREPERATION for the arriving quadruplets. I have to be home by a certain hour for the delivery drivers to drop off the cribs, but I ALSO need to go to the store today cause my pregnant appetite has emptied our fridge again, and I have ANOTHER doctors appointment this afternoon because I'm technically carrying a high risk pregnancy but goddamn I don't have time for that... Traffic is bad and I'm so uncomfortable jammed into the drivers seat of my car, even with the seat pushed all the way back for my belly. My clothes don't fit very well but I didn't have time to find an outfit that buttoned properly so... fuck me I guess. I'm hungry so of course I have to hit up a drive through which never moves fast enough. Nothing happens quickly as my size and weight force me to waddle everywhere slowly. People are calling and texting me asking how I'm doing and if the babies are here and get anxious if I don't answer them promptly... I just wanna lie down and snack on something sweet and have my feet and belly rubbed but I know full well that isn't happening for a while yet so... pregnant mama has to push through.

[yourtoradorasextendedwarranty]

See the only reason you're able to say that is because you don't view babies as humans. Which is a really f'd belief. Because yes if you consent to driving your own car on the road you are subsequently consenting to getting in a car wreck because actions have consequences. It's not my fault that you don't think that life starts at conception.

Except if you were to ask doctors scientists and literally anyone else up until recently when the desire for consequence less sex became the norm and a very leftist view at that, basically every single person would have said Life starts at conception that has been the unilateral belief for decades. If you as a person get into a car you accept the responsibility of what can happen while you're out driving. You might hit a deer you might have a tree crash down on your car you may get run over by a semi or alternatively some moron can pull out in front of you and you could rear-end them. Every single action has a consequence when you have sex you are consenting to the idea that you knowingly risk pregnancy. And contrary to your weirdly contrived view, children are not parasites. And the people who basically state that a child is not a human child until after birth are literal psychopaths making excuses so they can attempt to have consequence-less sex.

And the reason you see no point in talking to me about it is because you know you're wrong and you have no evidence to back your claims. Once a human starts growing in the womb that is a human being. And you can't use any arguments that make any valid sense as to what classifies Being human in the developmental stages. Because if you say sentience that I can say okay well what about people who are partially brain dead or people who are in a coma or people who stopped developing whenever they're young. There's literally no comeback to that. And then there's the argument of autonomy or personality or information and all of those things can be mitigated as factors if you technically look at people who are low functioning autistic or other things are they not human? There is no argument against the fact that fetuses are human beings. And it's not a hate of women that your biological body is programmed to have a function. By that logic women just existing is hatred of women which is a stupid viewpoint.

The issue is and will always remain that certain types of women often very promiscuous want the ability to party and have sex with as many people as possible but do not want the consequences to their actions. Which is deceasing another life entirely that you willingly participated in the ACT to produce. Actions always have consequences. And for you to outright deny that and pretend that it is just hating women is absurd. Because what you are suggesting is that you had literally zero say in the development of a child. While participating in the act that produces children. That's like driving drunk and then saying well it's not my fault I killed those pedestrians it was the alcohol's fault. Sorry, that's not how that works. When you make a decision you have to deal with the consequences of that decision. And killing a child in the womb isn't denying women autonomy.

It's denying your ability to kill a human life that you willingly participated in producing. If you don't want that as a consequence in your life don't have sex simple as that. And if that's too high of a bar for you then I'm sorry.

But, I will end with this people who are pro-choice are not pro-choice they are pro-abortion because they want no limits on abortion there are even people who have openly and willingly talked about post-birth abortions. IE: infanticide. And thought processes like yours is what leads to that extreme. Which is that babies aren't human beings and you're like "well they're not babies when they are a fetus~" Yes actually that's exactly what they are. They are a human being in these stages of development. And the reason you can't make an argument that is coherent that makes any sense as to why it's actually okay to abort, is because that's like saying that you should be able to kill children because they aren't worth anything to society therefore they're not humans or you should be able to kill you know preteens because they're not of any worth they don't have any identity. As soon as a life is started which is literally when an egg is fertilized, from the moment it is fertilized it is its own unique life scientific and medical understanding has always been such. But because you don't want consequences to your actions you deny that. It's not denying women bodily autonomy. Because like I stated before the only instance where it wouldn't be the case is under conditions of pregnancy via rape. And considering that I am a libertarian I could admit I'm a hypocrite in regards to having a gray area for that.

But if you are using abortion as a contraceptive to your inability to keep your legs closed that is not a me problem. That is a you problem. If you don't want kids don't have sex. Because you are consenting to the creation of another life just the same way you are consenting to the responsibility of your actions. Because your definition of consent is inappropriate and wrong in every single way. That's like sticking your hand on a hot stove and saying "I don't consent to being burned". Clearly you did consent to being burned you willingly participated in an act of knowing the consequences. Full well knowing the consequences. And one of the problems pro-lifers have with people like you is that you do not view children in the womb as human. You view them as less than. But they are factually human lives. And the only reason pro-abortion people think like that is because they don't think that they should have to face the consequences of their actions.

The fact that our culture is divided on whether or not it's ok to kill a baby is wild. You'd think we'd all be able to at least agree murdering a baby is bad but no.

[metalheadsforblacklivesmatter]

Don't mind me. I'm just going through my medicine lists to see what the chances are of me getting removed from these medications on my next appointment due to the abortion ban.

Look. I've spent years trying to get a regimen that'll allow me to function like the normal abled person. And some of my medications aren't technically "good" for my body. That's a calculated risk me and my doctor take to keep me out of the emergency room and let me hold down a job.

People with a uterus should not be denied this lifesaving treatment JUST because you're worried about some goddamn fetus. I told you this law was going to be an absolute hellscape for the disabled communities, but "pro-life" bitches don't give a single shit how many disabled people die in the off chance that their rules will save a fetus in an abled person.

Disabled people are being DENIED their lifesaving medication because it "could cause a miscarriage". (A lot of these medications are taken regularly, so miscarriage is a very loose term to use here because what it'd really to is prevent a fertilized egg from attaching. That's not even a miscarriage at that point. It's not even a fetus. It's a damn egg.)

3 medications they don't have enough research

1 I don't even need to look up it's hella bad for my kidneys

So that's EXCITING. The 3 medications that they don't have enough research on are the 3 most important for me to able to hold down a job. At any point in time in the upcoming years, they could decide that it's too high risk for a potential fetus and take me off it.

And here's the kicker. I'm asexual and in a relationship with another AFAB. There's ZERO chance of me getting pregnant, but you can bet your sweet ass that the moment they decide my medications are too high risk for a fetus, they're gonna treat me like a pregnancy risk anyways!

-fae

[valentinoappreciator]

My Heart's Got teeth

So.... I wrote something Cursed(TM). Read at your own risk!!!!

Media: The Quarry (Video Game)

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Travis Hackett / Laura Kearney

Warnings: EXTREMELY non-con. Drugged sex. Aphrodisiac. Breeding. Forced pregnancy (implied). Dead Dove Do Not Eat.

A/N: I do NOT think that Travis would actually do this. He's not that kind of guy, in my books or in my canon. I simply saw someone point out dark / yandere Travis, and I had a Mighty Need. You know who you are <3

If you're not cool with these elements, now's your cue to back out.

Can also be found on my AO3, TheWeirdDane, under the title 'My Heart's Got Teeth'.

“You can’t keep me in here!” she shouted, spittle and fury flying at his face. 

“I can do damn well whatever I please,” he snarled back, not missing the sliver of shock in her blue eyes. Then it was gone, and Laura Kearney banged her closed fist on the bars of the jail cell, as if that would do anything besides giving her a sore hand. 

As he had expected, she cursed, but didn’t let him see how much it hurt. She rested her hand against the bars, glaring up at him. 

He smiled. Cold and dark, like his eyes - without end and without beginning, you could lose yourself in his gaze. 

“Behave, and do as I say, and maybe I’ll let you out early for your good behavior.”

“Fuck you!”

That idea was certainly new, but not... entirely unwelcome. Travis had simply just never thought about it before. This girl - this fucking disaster - had not only disobeyed his instructions to go to the Harbinger Motel with her loud, annoying boyfriend, resulting in more werewolf shit than necessary, she had also killed his entire family. More or less single handedly. 

He grabbed his baton and knocked it against the bars, purposefully missing her fingers with only an inch or two. She didn’t move. 

“Poor aim for a sheriff,” she growled. 

Perfect. 

Travis pretended to miss again, only to smack the baton hard against her fingers when she didn’t expect him to, making her curse again. 

“That’s one point for bad behavior. And who knows what that will get you.”

Again, a sliver of cold fear flashed in her eyes, but then she had covered it up with defiance and anger. 

“You can’t do anything to me. That would be illegal, and it would be abuse of power.”

“You know what else is illegal, miss Kearney?” 

A beat of silence that she didn’t dare try to break. 

“Murder. I don’t think the sheriff will take kindly to you killing his entire family. Anyway,” he said and banged the baton loudly against every single one of the bars as he stalked towards the exit, not taking his eyes off of her for even a second, “lights out in ten. Better get comfortable.”

There wasn’t much, if anything, for Laura to do in this hell hole of jail cell. There was an uncomfortable bed, so she didn’t get much sleep, and there was an old, sad excuse for a toilet in the corner. Not very inviting. The sink was in much the same state - worn by time and usage, it had minor cracks everywhere, and the water was always freezing cold. 

A single window far above her ‘bed’ allowed for the sun and moon to illuminate the poor holding cell. It was barred up, and besides, it was high enough above that she couldn’t reach it, even if she stood on her tiptoes on the firm mattress. 

This sucked. 

She didn’t even have Max for conversation. God knows where he was. He could be a bother, and he could be dull and boring, but at least he would be better than letting the thoughts and fears fester in her head, becoming big, puss-filled wounds, with scabs that hurt to pick at. 

It was just her in here. 

She had no sense of time, and only Travis’ punctuality when it came to breakfast, lunch, and dinner helped her make sense of what time of the day it was. An actual date, though? Forget it. 

So much had happened in such a short span of time that Laura had simply lost her sense of time. She could have been in here for a week, or for a month. Technically, it couldn’t have been an entire month yet, because she hadn’t had her period yet. She loathed the thought of having her period in this hell hole. 

The way she saw it, she had two options.

One, ask Travis for menstrual products. The mere thought was mortifying. 

Two, become a free bleeder and bleed on everything in the cell. That wasn’t a super pleasant prospect, either.

Thus, she was stuck between a rock and a hard place. 

***

Days passed by, and they were all painfully dull and similar, until one day, when Travis served her breakfast. 

He put the tray on the ground as per usual, but unlike usual, he stayed and watched her grab the tray, pulling it towards herself. 

“What are you looking at?” she huffed, poking at her food with a finger. He didn’t give her cutlery. Not even a plastic fork. It was ridiculous! 

“Stand up.”

“What for?” she asked, trying to sound bored. 

“Stand. Up. I won’t ask again.”

Not in the mood to have him use force, Laura stood up and stuck her hands through the bars so he could handcuff her, as he always did when she had to exit her cell. Why would she have to leave, though? Was it shower day already? 

His hands were strong and rough as they secured the handcuffs around her wrists. The silence was tense and charged with something, as if Travis wanted to say or do something. It made the hair on the back of Laura’s neck stand up. His eyes were intense, and she had to look away by the time the cold metal sat snug and tight on her wrists. 

“Open your mouth.”

“What for?” she repeated, this time taken by surprise. “So you can poison me?”

He smiled tightly. 

“Trust me, as much fun as it would be to feed you rat poison, I can’t. Abuse of power, remember?” 

“Fucking dirty cop,” she growled. 

“And if I was? What then? You’re all alone, no beloved boyfriend to call me names,” his eye twitched slightly, “no-one to collect evidence that you’re not making it all up. You have no-one left here, miss Kearney. It’s just you and me.”

“Don’t call me that,” she spat, anger flaring in her eyes despite a growing fear settling in her stomach. He was right, and he knew it. There really was no stopping him if he decided to murder her. He was bigger and stronger than her, and he had the upper hand. Not only was it his precinct, meaning that he knew the ins and outs of the station way better than she did, but he also had her in cuffs. 

She was, quite literally, at his mercy, and she hated it. There was nothing she hated more than not having another option, of being caged in. 

“Open,” he ordered again.

They stared into each other’s eyes, until the intensity became too much for her, and Laura reluctantly opened her mouth, fear making her heart beat a thousand times faster than usual. It made her queasy, made her breathing come faster. 

Leaning her head slightly back, she couldn’t see what he put in her mouth, under her tongue, but it was rounded and rather small. Didn’t taste of anything. Wasn’t rat poison supposed to taste like shit?

She frowned slightly.

“Close.”

With a frustrated roll of her eyes, she closed her mouth, and stared back at Travis who hadn’t taken his eyes off of her. 

His lips pursed in a smile, and he looked far too smug about the situation. 

They stood like that for entirely too long before Travis removed the object. 

“Good girl.”

Laura’s stomach churned, and she instinctively kicked out at him, but only hit the bars. Then she looked down at what he had stuck in her mouth - it was a thermometer. 

“What the fuck are you doing, taking my temperature?”

He sent her a look, undid her handcuffs, and left without another word. 

The idea hadn’t left his mind since he had formed it. There were a million ways to torment Laura Kearney - he could starve her until she was delirious and willing to accept any deal he proposed. He could taunt her with - made up - news about her idiot boyfriend - surely she would want to know how he was doing. He could look at her while she showered. Maybe even comment on her. He could talk sweetly to her. 

Really, the possibilities were positively endless. 

Yet, he had found an idea that would make him very happy, and would make her very miserable. It would bring them closer together, in the way that only sweaty intimacy could. 

It was perfect. 

When Travis looked at the thermometer, he nearly threw it across the room, before he reminded himself that it could take a few days more until she was ready. It was okay. Everything was going according to plan. A few more days, and he could bring the plan to fruition. 

He continued to take her temperature every morning - making her more and more confused - until one day, her temperature was higher than normal. 

She was ready, whether she knew it or not. 

With a new spring in his steps, he prepared her lunch and walked to her cell. 

She lied on the bed, back to him, curled in on herself. Was she in pain already? 

“Rise and shine, sunshine,” he said flatly, banging on the bars with his baton. Laura shuffled a bit, groaning loudly. 

“What’s wrong with you?”

“My stomach fucking hurts, asshole,” she groaned. “What the fuck did you put in my food?”

“Whatever it was, clearly not enough. Do you want lunch or not?”

“Not.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

He put the tray on the ground and unlocked the cell. With one hand on his gun - there was a good chance she was faking pain again - he walked over to her. Something stirred inside him, and suddenly, he was the one with the higher-than-average temperature. 

“Stay the fuck away from me, you creep,” she snarled, twisting her neck to send him a venomous glare. 

“Careful you don’t use your entire quota of curses in one day, young lady,” he chuckled, and when he touched her shoulder, she lashed out at him. Her nails swiped at his cheek, leaving red lines, but Travis couldn’t care less. 

She was weakened and in pain - he had the upper hand. He could do whatever he wanted to and with her. 

The thought made warmth slither through his veins, and he grabbed her shoulder, turning her on her back. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked again, trying to appeal to her and get her to say what caused her this great agony. 

“It’s my fucking period!” she then snapped and sat up, pushing him away with a foot to his shoulder. “I’m bleeding out my fucking pussy!”

He knew she was trying to fluster him, make him feel awkward or maybe even ashamed. 

“I know what periods are. I have a niece. Well. Had.” 

“Then you also should know to leave a woman alone when she’s on her period!” 

Travis swallowed hard to avoid drooling. He almost spoiled his plan by letting his mouth run away with him, but managed to silence himself. 

“I have some painkillers. Do you want them or not?” 

It was a lie, of course, but she didn’t have to know that. It was impossible to distinguish his aphrodisiacs from pain killers, anyway. She would never be the wiser. 

She groaned and attacked him again, but it didn’t require much effort to avoid. 

He sighed loudly, dug his hand into his breast pocket, and found two pills. 

“Here. I’m trying to help you, for Christ's sake!” 

“By poisoning me? Yeah right!”

Sudden anger flared in Travis’ chest, and he couldn’t help himself when it seemed like Laura wasn’t going to comply - he grabbed her chin, forcing her mouth open and placing the two pills on her tongue, then closed her mouth. 

She tried to say something - probably more curses and filthy words - but Travis only let go when she visibly swallowed. 

“Good girl. Now, open.” 

She glared at him, but opened her mouth nonetheless, sticking out her tongue. Travis lifted it to check for the pills. No sight of them under her tongue. He looked into her mouth, checking her cheeks. No sight of them there, either. 

“Good girl.”

“What did you give me?” she asked, and for the first time since he had imprisoned her, there was fear in her voice. It made his insides warm and fuzzy. 

“Something to relieve the pain.” 

It wasn’t lying, it was... twisting the truth a bit. Just a little. Her pain would be relieved, that much was true, but she didn’t know about the side effects of getting insatiably horny and needy. And she didn’t need to - it would become apparent soon enough. That would maybe be painful in and of itself, but her period pain would be forgotten.

It made a diabolical kind of glee settle in his stomach, and he sat down next to her. She immediately put some distance between them, after having eyed the gun in his holster. 

“Don’t fucking touch me,” she hissed.

“Don’t worry. In a minute or two, you’ll be begging me to.” 

“What? Did you hit your massive forehead against the door frame or something?” 

His eyes twitched. Just another insult. Just another piece of verbal abuse thrown his way. He was used to that. His family hadn’t exactly been kind to him, his ma least of all. 

He was secretly grateful that she had eliminated them. However... family was important. 

Instead of answering, he simply folded his hands in his lap and looked at her, lips pursed slightly. 

Waiting. 

He knew it was wishful thinking, but it seemed like she was getting more flustered the longer his gaze lingered on her. 

“Stop looking at me like that, you creep,” she mumbled, stealing glances at him every now and again. 

“Like what?” he asked politely. 

She didn’t answer. 

Minutes passed, and he could see her skin turn more and more pink. She tugged at the front of her shirt repeatedly, as if trying to bring fresh air to her skin. Her breathing came faster. Sweat started rolling down her face. Not a lot, but enough that her skin got clammy. 

“What... what did you give me?” she asked shakily, looking at him with fear in every line of her beautiful face. Her pupils had dilated, and her cheeks were slowly turning a gorgeous shade of crimson. 

“Nothing that will last.”

“No, Travis, what did you give me?” she sounded legitimately scared, and it did nothing but fuel the fire crackling in his belly. It was also the first time she had used his first name. Admittedly, it made him throb in his pants. 

“Lay down. That will help it pass faster,” he lied, the words heavy on his tongue, and he looked hungrily at her as she obeyed him, a faint whimper ripped from her throat. He swallowed heavily again, putting a hand on her naked knee. She was wearing the same shorts and t-shirt. They could probably use a wash. 

She whimpered again as he stroked her knee and thigh. Her skin burned, but it was so soft. He was halfway tempted to crack a joke and ask her about her skincare routine, but didn’t want to ruin the mood. 

“Stop that,” she growled, but the growl was weak, and the glare she sent him was mixed with fear. She was a clever girl - she knew what he had done, and what he would do. 

“This the only way you can get laid? Drugging your victim?” she tried to bite, but her voice had grown even weaker. 

When Travis felt safe in assuming that she wouldn’t attack him again, he effortlessly moved her so that her legs hung over the edge of the bed, and her upper body rested on the uncomfortable mattress. She didn’t protest, aside from a feeble groan. 

With trembling hands, Travis pulled down her shorts and underwear. The smell of iron hit his nostrils, and he checked - there was indeed a little bit of blood in her underwear. It made his cock throb, and he let out a long, quiet moan as he pressed his palm against his erection. 

He had to wait. Just a little longer...

Her skin was so soft... he was mesmerized by the feel of it under his calloused fingers, and he spent a - perhaps - unreasonable amount of time just touching her legs and hips, until the animal within him won over common sense, won over the urge to make her feel good. This was supposed to be punishment. It wasn’t meant for her to feel good. It would simply be... beneficial to the mission. 

He stood up to pull off and step out of his pants, then slid between her legs, spreading them so that he could see her in all her glory. 

“Please, don’t do this, Travis,” she begged shakily. There was no doubt in his mind that she would have stopped him if her limbs didn’t feel like lead. 

Shame. 

He didn’t reply, but instead stroked a finger between her folds - they were slick, but not enough. He didn’t want her to hurt too much. 

Travis put his face against her pussy and began licking. Above him, Laura gasped loudly, and she writhed on the bed, enough that he eventually had to pin her down by the hips.

“Please, don’t,” she whimpered, even as she got wetter and wetter, which, in turn, made Travis’ cock throb and jerk between his thighs. 

“I don’t want this!” she tried. 

“Sure,” he grinned, fondling her clit with his tongue and making her break out into a light sob. The sound went straight to his cock, and he groaned against her, sucking lightly on the slick bud until Laura looked like she was about to reach a - very much not wanted - orgasm. 

“Can’t have you coming just yet,” he panted and pulled back. 

“Travis, please, stop! Don’t do it!”

Travis didn’t listen - he simply pushed her legs to her chest, lined up his throbbing cock with her entrance, and pushed inside. 

Her pussy was tight and wonderfully wet, and sheathing himself in her made him moan loudly, leaning his head back in pleasure. 

Then he looked down at her - her wide, fearful, gorgeous blue eyes eyes that were starting to fog over with arousal, her lips that parted so that she could whine and plead and beg, her heated skin with the beads of sweat. 

She looked delicious. Delectable, even. 

Laura cried out, and pitifully tried to push him away, but the drugs had taken a firm hold of her, rendering her weak and helpless. Her only defense was to try and appeal to Travis’ good side. 

Shame that he didn’t have one. Not right now, at least. Not when it came to her. 

“Please, this is not like you,” she whimpered, lifting her hands to try and claw at his chest. She barely left a scratch. 

“You don’t know anything about me,” he rumbled, pulling out of her, only to plunge deep inside her once more, and then began fucking her in earnest. 

“I know you don’t want this,” she tried feebly. 

“Yeah? My cock begs to differ.” 

As if to punctuate his point, he thrust hard into her, making her whimper loudly and throw her head back. 

“I know you’re better than this, Travis, please!”

“Shut up, girl. You’re starting to get on my nerves,” he growled, his hands tightening on the back of her knees as he pressed her legs further towards her chest, practically bending her in half. Laura cried out and shook her head violently. She was crying. 

“Let me go, Travis, please, let me go, I won’t even tell anyone! It’ll be our little secret!”

“Damn right it will,” he growled and put a hand on her mouth to silence her.

She screamed behind his hand, but it was a weak and muffled sound that couldn’t attract the attention of anyone, not even if they were in the next room. 

He thrust ruthlessly into her, delighting himself on her sobs and whimpers. 

He had never considered himself an evil person. He had never thought he would ever do... this. But this girl - Laura Kearney - had taken his family from him just like that, without blinking an eye. She was going to pay. She was going to give him a new family. 

“You killed my family,” he snarled, inches away from her face, “so now, you’re going to make me a new one.” 

[ladycynthiana]

You're 35 and having a child? Wow! That gives me so much hope. As someone on a career trajectory where "stability" is impossible before 30, I feel so reassured when I see people being pregnant after 30. While having a child is not exactly a goal for me, at least I know I'll have time to decide . I hope you have a safe pregnancy! Best wishes! Love, a Mythical Beast. (Hope this is not inappropriate in any way)

Yeah, a lot of pressure is put on people to have their whole lives figured out in their 20s, which is not realistic for most people. I'll turn 35 about a month before the baby is born which just technically puts me into the category of older women when it comes to how high-risk the pregnancy is. Truth is, my body just hasn't been ready until now. I've dealt with undiagnosed fertility issues (probably PCOS, but I've been told several times that I don't "look" like the typical PCOS patient so it's a lot harder to get diagnosed with just 3 or 4 symptoms.) Personally, if I hadn't gotten pregnant within a year or two, I probably would have started looking seriously into adoption. I think now is just the right time for me! Maybe your 30s will be when it's right for you, too. It's also perfectly okay to opt not to have children. You do you!

[schrodingerkilledmycat]

okay I just need to rant real quick about the things I'm realising since roe v wade and how bad sex ed is

also I beg of you if anyone knows a blog or user or post or resource that answers questions about pregnancy and stuff like that, PLEASE share them because it looks like so many people (including myself) were never taught any of the important stuff

apparently when they say "4 weeks pregnant" that means it is 4 weeks since the first day of your last menstrual cycle (which I think is the first day of your period?), NOT 4 weeks since implantation. so that means if you have a perfectly regular average cycle (28 days), and realise you're pregnant because you missed a period (say you waited a week since the expected start date), you are automatically 5 weeks pregnant. this was a major point of a post I just saw (will reblog next) and everyone in the tags seems to be completely unaware of this until the post cleared it up. that means that there are all these people (and this is only counting the people who put comment tags in their reblogs) who could only find out they're pregnant at 5 weeks or later, which means to get an abortion even in places where it's allowed, they need to do it immediately in order to have it done before the (arbitrary) week limit passes.

so it's clearly pretty bad for people with regular 28 day periods (which is a small minority to begin with). and this isn't even considering the people who have cycles with literally any degree of irregularity.

for those with irregular cycles or longer but regular cycles, I have literally no idea what this means for you, and part of my reason for making this post is because I want to learn this and get resources in case someone ever ends up in this situation and asks for my help.

for example, what if you take a contraceptive pill (not 100% effective) continuously so that you skip all bleeding but you happen to get pregnant anyway. there are people who do this and go for months without having any bleeding, so if you somehow get pregnant, what, are you like 11 months pregnant? maybe even multiple years pregnant if you take it continuously for that long or if you don't count bleeding on sugar pills as a proper period (technically it's not a period, just withdrawal bleeding). it goes without saying that this is absurd, but if that's how it's defined legally, people need to know that.

or what if you have a health reason that makes your cycle irregular, like pcos or being underweight or anaemia? these people are at especially high risk of health issues if they get pregnant, so maybe they could get an abortion under the category of "it would be harmful to the person's health to carry to term" but if they can't, and it's been too long since the start of their most recent period, then what?

[wendynerdwrites]

I don't know if you're looking for writing prompts atm ...but for next time .... a fluffy fic of jon attempting to make lemon cakes for sansa!

Okay, why the Hell not? Warning: the first major chunk of this is from the perspective of a sassy OC.

Mistress Githa, or ‘Missy Githa’ as she grew to be called once she reached a certain age, is one of the only surviving servants in Winterfell to have served since Lord Rickard’s days.

After many early years in the woods, with her Mum and Nanny, she’d known starvation. Things got better when winter ended and her Nanny and Mum were able to teach her their secrets, then send her off at fifteen, bonny, lusty, and clever, to White Harbour and serve the Manderlys.

She remained in their service long enough to learn her letters— Lord Manderly insisted all his servants learn to read and write so they might effectively spy on his guests. Then she made the mistake of letting Lord Manderly bend her over a barrel of onions. The Lead Housekeeper was the lord’s chief mistress, and made life Hell for any lass she saw as a threat, and Githa decided after her bend-over that the man wasn’t worth the risk, and got out before the trouble truly started.

When she started serving the Starks, it didn’t take her long to catch the young Lord Brandon’s eye, of course. And Githa had an advantage as far as bedmates went in that unlike her former mistress, she was never the jealous type. As opposed to sabotaging other young wenches who caught a lordling’s fancy, she encouraged them. And she was good at it. She came to Winterfell with family-old recipes that she came to… enhance over the years. As she got older, she did her best to look after the lasses of the court, eventually earning herself the unofficial position of court matchmaker. She curried enough favors and fed the court well enough to be made Head Cook to Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn.

But she never forgot what it was to starve. The sort of hungry that made you feel as if you’d swallowed a demon desperately trying to claw its way out of your insides. So she’s never had the slightest bit of patience for wasting or nicking even a speck of food. She was similarly opposed to withholding food (outside of circumstances she deemed appropriate).

This is something she reinforced to every Stark (with varying degrees of success) as she watched them grow.

She had only three great shames over the course of her service to Winterfell: the first is arranging and engineering the turncloak shit Theon Greyjoy’s introduction into manhood. The second is failing to get all the women of the household out when the stupid shit turned his cloak and sacked the castle. Of course, some girls — ones like Myranda, the kennelmaster’s daughter, were obstinate and refused to go. But considering the lass’s fate, Githa feels she should have hog-tied and dragged the poor, stupid thing out.

The third is not being about when poor little Lady Sansa was brought to be Ramsay Bolton’s bride. Githa had left a few of the older servingwomen back in Winterfell as scouts when she fled, including Lora, who had been the second eldest person in Winterfell after Old Nan. Lora, brave thing that she was, tried to get Lady Sansa out, and ended up flayed alive for her trouble. Thankfully, one thing Lora left behind was a certain recipe of Githa’s that the Boltons found that purported to be fertility enhancing. That’s because Lora mislabeled it. The pie was made to prevent pregnancy, rather than ensure it. Given that Lady Sansa was at the very least spared an unwelcome visitor to her womb, it seems the ruse worked.

Missy Githa returned to Winterfell upon the Boltons’ fall, and Lady Sansa, now Lady Stark, wasted no time in embracing her and re-appointing her to her old position. Lady Stark, much like her mother, was the best sort of lady to have. She stayed out of the way except to go over the books, inform the staff of pertinent developments, and make special requests and she always made sure that she gifted the kitchen with extra helpings once a week and after any large banquets. She’d also had special apartments right by the kitchen built for Githa.

Mostly, she stayed out of the way.

Githa wishes she could say the same of their new king.

Missy Githa loved Jon Snow as she’d loved all the Stark children, but she did find him sullen and snobbish in his own way. When he was not allowed at the family table, he made no secret of how degraded he felt to eat with lower members of the household, including servants, all while decrying how unfair it was to be seen as lesser. He was too much a child to realize the irony of this.

But he was always a good boy, otherwise kind to servants and highborn alike. But even before he was crowned, he spent his first few days home again barging into the kitchen to “check up on” things, despite acknowledging Lady Sansa as the true ruler of the castle. During the brief period in between his crowning and his departure for Dragonstone, he insisted on Lady Stark performing “check ups”, along with a food taster. —A practice that ceased the moment he left the North. But before then, despite having no training in the actual affairs of household upkeep, he butted into everything, effectively slowing down work since he required every manager and overseer to halt things to explain and demonstrate their process to him.

There’ve been mad grumblings since he left, as Lady Stark was left with the actual business of ruling the kingdom during the king’s absence— the best thing King Jon has done. Life and work improved exponentially. Lady Stark was trained in Household and Court affairs, and she knew best how to judge good craftsmanship. With the king looking over her shoulder constantly, major decisions regarding what was technically her own household slowed to a snail’s pace, something intensified when the king insisted all able-bodied persons between ten and sixty drill with weapons for half a day, and Winterfell ended up woefully understaffed.

Once the king was gone, however, Lady Stark was free to go through with her own decisions without barriers and evaluate and appoint a proper household staff.

Lady Stark proved to everyone that she would have likely been the better choice overall as ruler of the North, handling the affairs of the whole kingdom in addition to her lands. Githa didn’t have to know much about statesmanship to tell, she merely had to observe the reactions from the lords and ladies around who did. King Jon might be a fine commander and they may be facing war, but that’s why you appointed such a man as a commander, not a king. How was he to keep the actual kingdom running if he was on a battlefield the entire time?

And the King was gone for much too long. His absence was extended in part thanks to him chasing an alliance with, of all people, the Lannister woman, going as far as to venture Beyond the Wall to capture a wight and bring it to the Red Keep to prove its existence to the Mad Queen. A mission which ended up resulting in one of the Targaryen woman’s dragons dying and being resurrected by the enemy as an Ice Dragon. All so Cersei Lannister could ultimately (and predictably) betray them.

There were grumbles, alright. Grumbles about the king being too close to the Targaryen woman, of leaving the North for a foreigner, possibly surrendering their independence to her. Of him staying away even after he got what he set out for— the dragonglass, and bringing in an Ice Dragon.

The war might be won now, but there are still grumbles. King Jon isn’t even Lord Stark’s son, as it turns out. And while he served well in the war, and the North is still independent, he’s still a Targaryen and everyone knows it was Lady Stark who brokered that deal, anyways. Lady Stark’s kept ruling, keeping those armies intact along with the rest of the North, for the past three and a half years. And she is a true Stark, and more responsible, they say, for the fall of the Boltons than King Jon was.

Githa doesn’t love the king any less for being a Targaryen. But she doesn’t think he has much business being king.

So even with war over and the king back, it’s no secret who is truly, properly ruling the North now.

Of course, not that Githa listens to such things. She’s not the sort to concern herself with politics. It’s not her expertise or place.

Githa’s place is the kitchen. It’s from the kitchen that she more or less keeps her eye on and maintains the whole whole court, really. After all, everyone eats, and war or peace, winter or summer, it’s food that will always be demanded. She leads all the cooks, all the maids, all the servers, and hears every word said over every table —- not that she would ever try to listen in, of course, but one cannot help what one’s staff report to you. The only one more important than Githa in Winterfell is Lady Stark, and that’s only because Lady Stark knows her place as well.

Githa thinks the King could do to follow their examples.

Especially now, when he’s in the middle of her kitchen, getting flour everywhere and yelping when the juice from the lemon he’s cutting squirts into the cut he’s acquired cutting said lemon.

Perhaps it’s growing up as a bastard —- half high-born, half common, or perhaps it’s learning that he isn’t really who he was that has gotten him all mixed up, but the man does not know his place. Or, more sadly, perhaps he’s like all too many other lads who return from years of battle, struggling to adjust to life where one isn’t constantly dodging arrows and cracking skulls. And perhaps that’s why Githa Ogg hasn’t taken her spoon to him yet.

It’s not that she’s afraid to hit a highborn. She’s taken her spoon to all the Stark children in her lifetime save for the current Lady Stark, as Lady Stark, even as a girl, was always too much a perfectionist to nick food from the kitchens. The rest, however… While Jon was never the worst —- Lord Robb and Lady Arya were in constant competition for that titles— she’d caught him at it as a lad. And the rules were the same for anyone caught nicking from her kitchen— they got a strike from her spoon. She’d even taken her spoon to Lord Eddard, after becoming Lord of the castle, once.

King Jon isn’t stealing, technically, she supposes. But he is most certainly wasting, which is just as bad (but not as easy to punish a highborn for).

He, like all the Starks, grew up with Githa’s recipes. Including some of the more… enhanced ones, even if they weren’t the same enhanced ones she served to wives who experienced a lull in the passion of their marriage or a maiden who sought not to become a mother in seeking her pleasures. But she’d given them ones for when they’d taken a sniffle or were refusing to sleep.

Githa was taught to read by the White Harbour Castle Maester — one of the good things one could say about Lord Manderly was that he was good about giving his folk the opportunity to advance, and that included arranging lessons for servant children. And not too long after Lord Eddard became Lord Stark, Lady Stark proposed she record her recipes in a book. And so Githa did.

And it’s this book, two decades old and not exactly in mint condition, that the king has open on the great wooden table in the middle of the kitchen, covering the pages in flour.

Stains are hardly alien to Githa’s book after twenty years in this kitchen, but the king’s technique in handling foodstuffs is doing the damage of a moon’s turn of banquet preparation.

There are, in fact, two copies of Githa’s book in existence: the Right One and the Wrong One. The Wrong One contained all the right recipes, but lied about what they were for. The source of the “Fertility Pie” that had kept Lady Stark free of Bolton seed finding purchase within her. Githa left the Wrong One behind deliberately, with instructions to Lora on exactly how to use it. She took The Right One with her.

Now the Wrong One is locked away in her cupboard — after all, a weapon such as that is far too dangerous to leave out for just anyone to find. And the Right One is on the center table, being pelted with ingredients.

There are more problems with this situation, of course. The king isn’t merely wasting ingredients or dirtying her book, he’s also wasting space and, most importantly, her time.

The King’s place, as far as Githa is concerned, is to sit in the Lord’s Chair and do as Lady Stark tells him until a new conflict carries him off to command their armies. Instead, he’s in her kitchen, attempting to bake.

As King, though, he of course must have the best table, best tools, best ingredients. And he cannot be attended to by just any worker. His royal presence requires the Head Cook herself, by right of deference.

Hence why she’s stuck nearby, only capable of devoting half her attention to her true job. Worse, his royal presence is disruptive beyond the issue of space. It sets the kitchen staff on edge and makes them act… inefficiently. Twice she’s had workers spill pounds of potatoes and onions onto the floor because they saw the king and instantly bowed while carrying an open sack or crate.

Another problem with the king came from the man himself. He was the sort who absolutely hated to feel dependent on others. To the point where his efforts at resourcefulness ended up becoming outright arrogance. He has never taken advice easily —- Lady Stark ended up being the one to assemble a proper council after he left since the new king refused to appoint proper advisors beyond her and his Hand, Ser Davos. He seemed to have even greater difficulty, as most men did, in taking advice from women. The only woman he seemed to listen to was Lady Stark herself, and only after years of her running his kingdom for him, and even so, the Lady has to employ her own special charms to get him to cooperate.

He can’t help being a man, Githa supposes. It’s their nature. It’s why she has only a few male workers in the kitchens.

But it’s even worse now. Because the king is a man on a very particular mission, and he is determined to do it on his own and not have Githa “do it for him.”

The problem with men, rulers, and most of all, men who are rulers, is that they often can’t tell the difference between being helped and being carried. Being served, well, that they understood all too well. But anything that involved another person displaying a greater understanding of anything… well… They had to be tricked into that most of the time.

Githa isn’t sure whether to blame herself for things coming to this or not. On one hand, the king has come here because he’s reached a point in a journey that Githa has surreptitiously helped him along. On the other, how could she possibly have predicted this?

The King truly does not know his place.

Lady Stark does. She wouldn’t dream of invading like this, of taking food into her own hands. She knows that until the food was literally prepared and put on a platter before her, it doesn’t belong to her. It is the domain and property of the cooks. She knows not to get in the way.

She knows that the last thing the kitchen staff need is to be responsible for allowing flour or sauce or crumbs to get on fine, high-born clothing. If that happened, it only ended up provoking conflict and tension between the kitchenfolk and the laundresses. For a common person, angering the launderers was every bit as risky as angering those responsible for your food. Their version of spitting in your ale was letting your shift out in the damp. When you’re a kitchen, you need your aprons and cleaning rags  in good condition. That cannot be jeopardized. The inner politics of a household are delicate. And a meringue stain on a doublet of lamb’s wool could ignite a hidden war between the domestic departments, wielded with scrub-brushes, mildew, stale bread, washboards, shovels, spoons, and, most dangerous of all, time.

Lissa, the Head Laundress, well, Githa had set her up with her husband, so she’d never order reactionary strike, but the lass who’d be tasked with cleaning the meringue stains might not be above causing mischief. Mischief that would escalate until both section heads had to be drawn in if only to keep their own people from rioting.

It’s not a thing a King would understand. It’s not a thing that highborn men are taught to consider. Running a household was never their destiny.

It’s why Githa always had less patience for little Lady Arya Underfoot than the others. Having a high-born might running this way and that under your nose did no favors when you’re carrying laden platters. And Githa has no time or patience for anyone in her kitchens who isn’t there to work a full day. Anyone else just takes up space.

But Githa knows what led to this, and the part she’s played as well.

What could she do? It’s not like her to meddle— never! No one could accuse Githa of meddling! Especially in the affairs of the highborn. And if there was ever a sort who needed meddling less, it would be Lady Stark, who was very nearly as clever as Githa, with a head on perfectly straight, a good heart, a body and face made of dreams, and proper schooling.

But… Well…

Githa doesn’t gossip, but she hardly can begrudge the lasses and lads under her from doing so. She knows as well as any how dull and depressing the work can get and how sometimes, any spare bit of observance can end up benefitting someone in the end. And she can’t help what they tell her, or say in front of her, or say close enough to her even when they think they’re not. Can she?

She serves the Lady of Winterfell, and it is her duty to do the very best and very most for her lady. Her place is in the kitchens. But she’s earned her place in the realm of hearts as well.

And it’s not meddling so much as… helping things along.

A duty, is what it is. Lady Stark still has years and years of youth ahead of her, as does the king. But there are few greater tragedies in the world than even a moment of youth wasted. Sure, the Lady would probably get around to it eventually… but months, perhaps years would be wasted by then.

With all the work and struggle the poor lass has been through, she can hardly allow that to happen.

People underestimated the power of commonfolk. They choose to believe that all power resides in the lords and ladies, gleefully slipping poison into an enemy’s cup. But a cook can poison even more easily. A servant is expected everywhere, never noticed, and therefore, hears whatever they like. And it’s the people who serve and assemble who make sure that the right people are accommodated in the right way.

Githa is as powerful as a person can be, in her humble opinion. If she wished to, she could have easily arranged for those dragons the Targaryen woman had to be fed spoiled meat.

But she’s not the sort to use her power that way. No, she’s a good woman. She makes love (lots of it) not war (except when circumstances force her hand).

The King fumbles about the table. Both he and said table are covered in flour. It reminds her of a prank he and young Lord Robb had played on the other children years ago. It involved Lord Robb bringing the children down to the crypts and Jon jumping out at them, covered in flour, pretending to be a ghost.

The only thing Githa hates more than a young moment wasted is food wasted, down to the slightest flake. Oh, how she’d given Jon Snow a beating for that! He’d coated himself in half a cake!

He has again, only this time, it’s not intentional. Githa has already arranged for one of her maids to grab his discarded clothes later on and give them a rinse before the launderers get their hands on them. It’s a mercy he’s not wearing gloves, given the amount of yolk on his fingers.

The king mutters to himself and he squints at the page. If she has to guess, she’d say he’s mixed up the batter and meringue again.

If the king were to take a break from squinting at the current page and perhaps turn a page or two, he might possibly discover Githa’s part in all this.

Just a few pages down from the lemon cake recipe were other things. Such as the Boar Tusk Surprise, or the Yams in Passion(ate) Fruit Sauce, or the Asparagus, Fig, and Spring Grass Salad, or the Honey Cinnamon Pumpkin tarts.

Or any other number of invigorating dishes Githa has made sure to serve the king and lady during their private meetings and suppers together.

Githa’s book was used by workers who didn’t know their letters, so of course every recipe came with appropriate picture diagrams. Including renderings of the finished products. She also made sure that The Right One was truly accessible, so many of the, well, enhanced dishes came with descriptions of their intended effects, in both symbols and text.

The recipe the king was currently failing at, thankfully enough, was the non-enhanced lemoncake recipe. But it was in the back of the regular section of the book, with the desserts, mere pages from the enhanced snacks, appetizers, and entrees. Not that the non-enhanced version is any less than superb, certainly superior than the lazy, lackluster, half-formed bars of pastry that other courts served. These are the ones that Lady Stark yearned for all those years as she had to settle for the Southernors’ confectionary abortions. The ones with the cream centers and meringue toppings.

Some of the rivals Githa had back in White Harbour accused her of witchcraft. Some newcomers to Winterfell have done the same, only to be quickly silenced by the glares of more seasoned staff who had benefitted from the Head Cook’s artistry more than once. As such, those suspicions have always avoided the lords and ladies of the castle, and Githa prefers it that way. Lady Stark might be understanding, but she’s not sure the others will. Even poor Lord Bran, with his visions and such, was otherwise uneasy with anything that seemed supernatural.

Not that this was. No, this was science and art. Cooking. Just the right ingredients for the right job. No different than anything a maester might prescribe, aside from the fact that her products worked better.

She truly hopes that the king doesn’t turn too many pages.

It might be her own fault, though. She may have gone too far. Added a bit too much nutmeg here, introduced bananas a little too soon. It’s just that both the lady and the king were so restrained! Lady Stark was brutally purged of all the romantic ideas she’d fancied as a child years ago, and Jon Snow never had any whatsoever. He’d volunteered for the watch at four-and-ten, for pity’s sake!

She never expected them to take to things so passionately, is all.

Meeting them again as adults, she barely recognizes them as the children she knew. The only thing she does recognize is how perfect they are for one another. How that happened, she’ll never know. But it did.

She never expected that somehow, the king would turn out more starry-eyed, soppy, romantic, and fanciful than Lady Stark ever was a girl. She of course knew how he loved the Lady. Anyone with a decent pair of eyes and a lick of sense — that is, the staff and maybe Ser Davos, who was raised in Flea Bottom— could see it plain as day.

But she always read King Jon as the sort of man who shored up his passion and let it erupt only once the doors were closed, who kept his love like a secret, who didn’t care for grand gestures.

Those sort could and often did make for the best of lovers — generous in all the ways that ultimately count the most. But they didn’t.

They didn’t do things like grow sick of having their lady loves make them things and have nothing to make her in return. They didn’t do things like try to rectify this perceived inadequacy by tearing the kitchen apart to make their lady a platter of her favorite foods.

They didn’t do things like insist they make them themselves, because that’s the whole point.

Problem is, even if the king manages to achieve his goal and make them himself, they’ll probably be subpar, and he’ll likely have interrupted too much work and the preparation of the important, daily foodcrafting by then. So he’ll be presenting his lady with a subpar desert while explaining to her whole court why supper is late.

Or, rather, present his lady with a subpar desert and make Githa lie about why supper is late.

The Cook decides that she can’t take it anymore as she watches the king look back and forth between the two bowls of yellowish fluid. “The meringue is the darker, more orange stuff!”

The king spins around to face her. “I know that! That’s not what’s confusing me!”

“What, then?”

He scowls. “It’s nothing to do with your recipe, Missy Githa, it’s a private matter.”

Missy Githa looks around at the staff and barks at them to get back to work, which was code for ‘Leave’. They do. She waits until the final clatter of a door before facing her king. “I prepare your meals, Your Grace. I prepared the first meal you ever had that didn’t come from your wet nurse. Nothing’s too private for me.”

He groans and turns back to the table, gesturing for Githa to come close. She inches up to his side, spoon still in hand.

“The baking is easy enough, but for one matter,” he says, reaching into the pocket of his breeches. He shows her the contents of his palm. It’s a packet of herbs she immediately recognizes as a mix of tansy, mint, and wormwood.

“The… The lady I… Well, she hates the tea, you see,” he murmurs, “The taste is—”

“—Bloody distinct.” Githa knows all about it. Tansy tea is something always downed with a wrinkled nose.

“I want her to take what she needs in a more palatable form. Something that might kill the taste. Not to mention, something that looks less obvious. But I’m not sure how to work the ingredients in properly so it tastes right and does its job.”

Githa’s face splits into a grin. Her anger towards the royal sot melts away. If anything, she’s touched. It’s not many men who will exert the time and effort to help their lady with family matters.

The Cook takes the packet from him and tosses it in a nearby fire. The king yelps.

“Forget that,” Githa says, “I’ve got an alternative that taste as nothing and works much, much better.”

“But the tea is what the Maesters—”

“—Maesters are a bunch of stupid men in baggy dresses who spend more time with their heads in books written by other stupid men in baggy dresses than actually near a woman’s body proper. They don’t know a thing. Moon tea wears at the walls of the womb, causes cramps, longer and more painful bleedings, and can fail. No…” Githa leans over and begins flipping through pages. “I’ll help you, but only on the condition that you not bother me. Do that, and I won’t say a word about this.”

The king nods. “Very well.”

She finds the proper page. “There we are. My Fennynel Syrup. Got a vial of it in the back of the larder. You add two drops to every cake. Tasteless, gentler, but more effective. I left the recipe behind for your more loyal household when the Boltons took over. They used it to keep that Bastard from breeding the lady. Have her eat one at least an hour before you… engage.”

“Thank you, Missy Gytha,” he says, sounding so much like he did as a boy, when she handed him a treat.

Githa glances at the table and is surprised to see properly whipped cream prepared. Interested, she sticks a finger in the meringue bowl and brings it to her lips. It’s perfect. She tries the batter. Heavenly. She looks at her king in wonder. “Everything’s perfect so far.”

The king blushes. “I’m glad to hear it.”

She takes this opportunity to grab him by the ear as she did when he was a lad. “Just so we’re clear, Your Grace, you’re going to do right by our Lady Stark, correct?”

“Who said anything abo—OW!” He yelps when she twists his ear.

“I’m not stupid, Lad, and I’ve been watching you lie since you could first speak. You were never good at it. You think I don’t know what’s happening? Now answer me!”

He whimpers, but doesn’t fight her off. “I swear, Missy Githa! I have the best of intentions! But I promised that we’d wait until she was ready to marry again! And she’s not said a word!”

“Have you been asking her every day?”

“Well, no, I—”

“Get on it, then! You ask her every day, tell her you love her every hour, and if she holds out another month, get her something shiny, you hear?”

“Yes, Missy Githa!”

“Good!” She releases him. “I’ll put these in the oven for you and place the syrup. You get out of my kitchen and get to your king-ing, you hear?”

“Yes, Missy Gytha!”

“AND GIVE YOUR CLOTHES A RINSE BEFORE THROWING THEM TO THE LAUNDRY!”

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Jon:

The cake nearly falls from her fingers and mouth as her eyes widen in horror.

“You made these?”

“Well, I made the batter, meringue, and cream,” Jon says, “It was Missy Githa who baked them and put them in the heart shapes.”

“You… You actually put these together, though? Meaning you… You went into the kitchens?!” She lowers the cake, swallows what made it to her mouth, washes it down with Arbor gold, then gapes at him. “You made all this… in the middle of Missy Githa’s kitchen.”

Jon smiles. “Technically, it’s our kitchen, and I am king.”

Sansa purses her lips and gives him a look. It clearly says, We both know the reality of things, why bother claiming any different? There are no kings in any kitchen where Missy Githa presides. They’ve known that since they were in nappies.

He relaxes his shoulders. “She did eventually order me out. But she helped me first. These are your new alternatives to Moon Tea.”

Sansa looks down in the plate in surprise. “I always heard rumors, but… really?”

He nods. “Truly. Oh, and she did in fact twist my ear.”

“Of course.”

“And gave me orders. From now on, I’m to ask you every day if you are ready to marry me.”

Sansa stares at him from across the table. “So she knows—?”

He shakes his head, chuckling. “Of course she does.”

Sansa cups her brow. “Oh, Gods. And you’re saying these cakes…”

“…Are laced with a syrup designed to prevent any unexpected visitors, yes.” He thinks for a second, then grins at her. “Oh, I was also instructed to tell you every hour that I love you.”

Her face melts and she rises. Sansa walks over and falls into his lap, wrapping her arms about his neck. “My Love, you invaded Missy Githa’s kitchen for me. I don’t need to be told.”

“Well,” he says, leaning into brush his lips against her neck, “I want to anyways.”

[11-eyed-rook]

As a type 1 diabetic, who has lost consciousness and had seizures DUE to low blood sugar before, I'm thankful that you mentioned that low blood sugar CAN be a cause of seizures. A lot of people don't know this, and, in my past, many have assumed I have epilepsy, even though I was already diagnosed with diabetes by the time I first had a seizure.

I just wanna add something else worth noting, as an extra piece of knowledge regarding diabetes in particular, to highlight a few things worth understanding. This may be long, but I hope it provides some deeper insight!

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Type 1 and type 2 diabetes have things in common (such as needing to count your carbs, controlling your blood sugar levels etc.), however, the nature of the two types is very different.

Type 1 is an autoimmune type (often genetic, but nobody in my family has been a diabetic afaik), and it can occur in anybody (often in their youth, but not exclusively), and has no particularly known cause, as is the case with a lot of autoimmune conditions. Type 1 is there forever. It's insulin-dependent, because your body's immune system has attacked your insulin-producing cells in the pancreas, destroying them completely. Because your body no longer produces its own insulin, you need to use insulin injections or a pump to make sure your body gets the insulin it needs.

Type 2, however, is often attributed to lifestyle changes and dietary issues (particularly - high carb intake), as well as increased weight. These changes cause insulin RESISTANCE, meaning, your body CAN technically still produce insulin, it's just that it can't use it effectively enough to keep your blood sugar levels normal for extended periods of time, and if left unchecked for long enough, your body may have a weakened response to insulin over time. If you have family members with type 2 diabetes, you MAY have an increased risk of developing diabetes, but if you take care of yourself well enough, you won't need to worry about it.

There's also another main type of diabetes (one that can occur during pregnancy, known as Gestational diabetes). I'm not too extensively knowledgeable about this particular type, but if you're somebody who wants to have a child, and may be at risk of diabetes in general, it may be worth talking to a doctor about it.

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To get into blood sugar control: Another way to treat very low blood sugar levels (aside from eating something sugary, or drinking a juice box, for example) is by using the glucagon emergency kit. It usually looks something like this:

[Pictured: A Glucagon Emergency Kit: an elongated, thin, orange box with a syringe of sterile water inside, as well as a vial of glucagon next to it. The inside of the lid contains a visual 4-step guide on how to administer the injection quickly and properly].

It's usually stored in an orange (sometimes - red) box like this, and used when a person has either passed out, or is unable to take any sugar orally. There are usually instructions printed on the inside of the lid, because the general idea is - it's probably gonna be somebody else giving you this injection, so they'll need to know how to do it, and they won't have time to get into much detail about it. Of course, you should still, just in case, call an ambulance, but it helps if you have something like this available.

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Another thing about blood sugar control, is that, if you have high blood sugar levels (and, often, low carb intake) for long enough, your body begins building up ketones. Having a low amount of them is, generally, fine (especially if you don't even have diabetes), but if they begin building up for long enough, you'll run into a "little" problem called Diabetic Ketoacidosis (DKA). Symptoms of "there's too many ketones in my diabetic body" can include:

Your breath smelling fruity (an early obvious sign of ketone presence)

Needing to urinate very frequently

Feeling extremely thirsty

Feeling a lot more tired than usual

Stomach pain

Difficulty breathing (feeling somewhat out of breath and needing to take deeper breaths etc.)

Feeling nauseous/possibly even vomiting.

If left untreated for long enough, DKA can lead to a diabetic coma (I was close to that, when I was diagnosed at age 12!).

You may asking "how do I know for sure that it's ketones?", and the answer is - there's multiple ways to find out, but the quickest ones are the following:

For blood testing: You can get a blood ketone monitor/ketone meter kit, which should include: the ketone monitor itself, a lancing device to prick your finger with, as well as disposable needles for the lancing device, the test strips to use with the monitor, and an instruction manual. The ketone monitors often look like regular glucometers, but they'll only check for ketone levels in your blood.

For urine testing: You can get ketone test strips, which, when used, will react and change the strip's color; most often they'll look something like this:

[Pictured: A box with a bottle next to it, both labeled "KETONE TEST STRIPS", meant for diabetics or those on keto diets, to monitor ketone levels in urine. The box shows a color guide on what colors the strips may turn, when the strips are used. Each brand's strip amounts per bottle may vary, but this particular bottle contains 100 test strips]

[Pictured: The same "KETONE TEST STRIPS" bottle from earlier, but now showing the back part of the label, with a more detailed color guide to read the test results: A light beige-yellow color indicates a negative test, whereas any color closer to a dark purple shade indicates increased ketone presence. The darker the purple color is, the more ketones there are].

Each brand's ketone test strips may be a bit different, but this type is the one I see most often, under various brand names.

-

As a general thing to remember - if high blood sugar levels are often untreated, and high blood sugar levels are very frequent (or even constant), with time, you may start developing a variety of complications, which can include ANY of the following (and many more):

Wounds may start healing much slower than normally, meaning, you'll have to pay extra attention to any injuries you get. This becomes even MORE important, if you begin developing diabetic neuropathy!

Vision problems (retinopathy).

You may develop diabetic neuropathy; a type of nerve damage (most often, for diabetics, this happens in the legs/feet, but can happen anywhere throughout the body). There are several types of diabetic neuropathy, and each type can cause a different set of issues - some of the ones you may have heard about, cause a person to have reduced sensation of pain and/or temperature changes, which is why injuries are very dangerous, and, if ulcers form on a diabetic person's feet, they might not immediately know about it, which is why amputations aren't uncommon. There are, however, many other ways diabetic neuropathy can show itself, and it differs from person to person.

Diabetic Kidney Disease (DKD), or diabetic nephropathy, not an uncommon complication.

Various heart problems.

Complications may occur one at a time, or you can run into multiple different kinds of complications all at once; again, this this is something that differs from person to person.

I hope this provided a deeper understanding of some Diabetic Struggles (TM), and, whilst I do have plenty of experience due to being a type 1 diabetic for over half of my life, I can never truly 100% speak for everybody with any type of diabetes, even if we both have the same type.

It's an invisible disability, and many people don't take diabetes seriously, or make assumptions about ALL diabetics, based on things they've heard about type 2 diabetes. Diabetes has been the reason why I've lost consciousness twice at my old job, and was lucky enough to be working with my father both days.

There are plenty of easily available surface-level resources online, to get you started on understanding some differences between the different types of diabetes, as well as understanding some of the symptoms associated with each type, but if you'd like to know about diabetes in more detail, I'd suggest talking to an endocrinologist!

So I’ve noticed a bunch of medical errors in fics I read, so I decided to post this handy guide to some of the most common errors and some background on basic medical things.

ps- they are not medical treatment or first aid advice. I’m not actually a doctor. yet. but I am certified in first aid. this is just so your writing can be more realistic.