#miscarriage mention

[tiktoks-i-enjoyed]

[arach-tinilith]

day 1 of having an oc: i think shes gonna be an elf!

day 600: ive been pondering the elfs miscarriage

[the-sheep]

Just curious, what was skyfire’s reaction when Starscream told him that he was carrying?

Skyfire actually told STAR that he's carrying.

and then they simultaneously remembered every complication that prevented them from doing it on purpose years beforehand. and had two very different flavors of panic attack.

[twitsid]

the rainbow always comes after the storm

david corenswet!Clark Kent x fem!reader

word count: 3.2k

summary: Clark Kent and his partner are finally moving forward after the darkest season of their lives. Healing is messy, hope is terrifying, and parenthood doesn’t come with a guidebook (especially when the dad is literally Superman). But love—loud, chaotic, goofy love—has a way of stitching even the most broken hearts back together. This is the story of finding light again, laughing at the mess, and discovering that sometimes rainbows show up in the most unexpected places.

warnings: Grief and healing after pregnancy loss (but lots of comfort). Mention of pregnancy (rainbow baby vibes). Soft domestic Clark Kent (yes, he’s huge, yes, he trips over baby furniture). Fluff so sweet it might give you a cavity. Superman being a dorky dad-to-be. Rainbow baby representation. Occasional ugly crying but also snort-laughing. No kryptonite, just emotions.

a/n: if you cry while reading this, blame Clark. He’s too good at this whole “husband” thing 🫠. Btw, based on this request. first part here

Spring in Metropolis has zero chill. One day the sidewalks are covered in gray slush, everyone’s buried under puffy coats, and the next day? Boom. Flowers everywhere, kids sprinting around with ice cream dripping down their arms, and the Daily Planet newsroom sounding like a pollen-allergy support group.

And there you are, right in the middle of it all, spinning a pen in your hand, a folder full of articles in front of you… and a secret sitting in your chest so loud you’re shocked nobody else hears it.

You’re pregnant again.

A rainbow baby.

The phrase had found you during long, sleepless nights—the kind where grief sits heavy and the internet becomes both a comfort and a curse. Blog posts, late-night forums, stories from women who’d been there too. A rainbow baby: the little one who comes after the storm. Who doesn’t erase the pain, but brings new hope. Like sunlight breaking through rain.

And now here you are, at your swivel chair in the bullpen, chewing on your lip, wondering how the hell you’re supposed to tell Clark.

Clark.

That man has many talents—super-strength, x-ray vision, lifting cars like they’re grocery bags—but the one that gets you every single time? The way he loves you. Without hesitation. Without blame. He never made you feel broken. When you couldn’t even hold a glass of water without shaking, he was your steady hands. When you cried halfway through a dumb rom-com, he was your shoulder. When the world got cruel, he was your shield.

And yet… you’re still scared. Because what if this time, with another little heartbeat inside you, he breaks again? What if it’s too much?

“Spacing out again?”

Lois’s voice snaps you back to Earth. She drops a mountain of papers on your desk so hard you nearly spill your coffee.

“Jesus, Lois! You trying to give me a heart attack?”

“Please. You scare easier than anyone I know. Remember that time you screamed because you saw your own reflection in the window?”

“It was dark! And it looked like someone else!” you shoot back, knowing there’s no winning here.

Lois smirks, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Anyway, stop daydreaming and get to work. Perry wants that draft by five. Oh, and…” She leans down, lowering her voice. “You’ve got that glow again.”

You freeze.

“What glow?”

“That glow.” She points her pen at your face. “The same one you had when you first started sneaking around with Smallville.”

“It’s not a glow!” you blurt out way too fast.

“Uh-huh. And I’m the Queen of England.” Lois smirks. “Look, you don’t have to tell me. But if it’s what I think it is? You better tell Clark soon. You know him—he’ll figure it out before you can blink.”

The irony almost makes you laugh. Not smell it. But hear it. And that thought sends a rush of nervous warmth straight to your stomach.

Clark comes home late that night. There’d been some train accident outside the city, and he still has soot on his face, his tie is crooked, and his shirt collar looks like it gave up on life.

“How was your day?” he asks, setting his briefcase down before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Oh, you know. Lois yelling, Perry stressing, Jimmy spilling coffee all over his camera. Controlled chaos.”

Clark chuckles, that low, warm laugh that never fails to settle your nerves. He drops onto the couch beside you, arm slipping around your shoulders.

For a second, you almost tell him. You almost let it spill right there, raw and shaky, just to get it out before your chest explodes. But the words choke in your throat.

Instead, you curl into him. Hide in his warmth.

He rests his chin on your hair, like he always does. And then it happens.

His body goes still. Just for a beat. But enough. His breathing changes—slower, focused.

No.

Yes.

He pulls back, eyes wide, filled with something so pure it makes him look like a kid on Christmas morning.

“…Is it real?” he whispers, afraid to break it if he says it too loud.

Your eyes sting instantly.

“I— I wanted to wait. I wasn’t ready. I was scared of how you’d—”

Clark doesn’t let you finish. He wraps you up, crushing you against his chest like you’re the most precious thing in the universe.

“Babe, how could you think I wouldn’t be happy?” he murmurs into your hair. “This baby… it’s a miracle. You’re a miracle.”

The dam breaks. “But what if… what if it happens again?”

He cups your cheeks, steady and warm.

“Then we go through it together. Like we always do. But this time? I believe. I believe in hope.” His smile is soft, almost trembling. “And I think you do too.”

Your sobs mix with nervous giggles, a mess of tears and laughter.

Clark wipes his face with his sleeve in dramatic fashion.

“Great, look at me. You’re ruining my shirt.”

“You already ruined it.” You point at the soot stain on his collar.

He laughs, and it fills the whole room like sunlight.

The months that follow are pure chaos—and pure comedy. Clark becomes the World’s Greatest Babysitter. For you.

One step on a staircase? He’s behind you like a hawk.

“Babe, it’s one step.”

“It’s a hazard.”

Grocery bags? You don’t even get a chance to pick them up before he’s carrying all of them like they’re weightless. Bend down to grab a paper off the floor? He swoops in at super-speed like it’s a rescue mission. He even gives a TED Talk about how heels are a “structural risk.”

It’s adorable. And maddening.

One morning, you’re trying to put on socks when he shows up with that overprotective-dad face.

“Let me do it.”

“Clark, I can put on my own socks!”

“But your balance—”

“They’re socks, not a rollercoaster!”

He throws up his hands in surrender, then bursts out laughing when you shove your foot triumphantly into the sock like you’ve just won Olympic gold.

Lois shows up one summer afternoon with an entire bag of baby clothes.

“Before you say anything, yes, I went nuts. But seriously, look at this tiny jacket!” She pulls out the world’s smallest yellow cardigan.

Clark takes it with trembling hands, staring at it like it’s holy.

“It’s so… little.”

“Yes, Smallville. Because it’s for a baby.” Lois rolls her eyes, but her voice softens.

You snicker. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you intimidated by something so tiny.”

“This isn’t intimidation,” Clark mutters, clearing his throat. “It’s… respect.”

Lois scoffs. “Oh, please. You’re gonna be an amazing dad. Just don’t wrap the kid in bubble wrap, okay?”

He looks like he’s about to argue, but you’re already laughing so hard he just caves.

Later, as you’re folding the clothes into drawers, Clark slides behind you, hands gently resting on your growing belly.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

“For what?”

“For giving me hope again. For being so damn brave.”

You turn, pressing your forehead to his.

“Clark… I didn’t do this alone. You’re my bravery.”

His eyes close, his smile small but radiant. Like those words are the greatest gift he’s ever been given.

And in that moment, you know: the fear’s still there. But so is love. And hope. And most importantly—so is your future.

A future where your rainbow baby will be born into a world of laughter, arms that never let go, and a family strong enough to survive any storm.

[perfectimprecision]

yolanda garcia lost her mom at age ten. she watched the person she loved more than anything die an agonizing, drawn-out death.

consequently, yolanda can’t handle pain she can’t cure.

yolanda finds surgery so she can save those in pain without having to confront that pain. she orders more morphine and yells at the odds when the patient she is called to consult on is awake, alert, and hurting.

in july of her R2, yolanda loses a woman who looks nothing like her mom but is like her in every other regard. she is kind and warm, with this infectious laugh that is present until the anesthesia pulls her under. she is the same age yolanda’s mom was; her kids are the same age yolanda and her brother were.

yolanda runs out of that OR the moment she can and into the nearest bathroom, collapsing onto the floor, sobbing.

yolanda lets go and feels the grief—personal and professional—for the first time in years. she doesn’t notice when the door opens, when eileen shamsi of all people slides down against the wall and sits beside her.

eileen shamsi, the notorious hard-ass attending, known for reprimanding residents for just a moment’s hesitation in answering a question, taking them off procedures for days until they prove their worth again.

shamsi doesn’t say anything. doesn’t do anything. she just sits there with yolanda while she shakes and sobs it all out. sits and sits and sits.

“who?”

“what?”

“you lost someone. who?”

“my mom. but it was a long time ago, i shouldn’t have—”

and shamsi shakes her head.

“how’d you know?”

“i had a miscarriage, before victoria. the first kid i lost after… i had a very similar reaction. at least you made it out of the OR.”

“you didn’t?”

“i did not.”

they return to silence after that.

shamsi does not remind yolanda that there is no room for sorrow or softness—for weakness—in surgery. especially not as a woman of color. she doesn’t tell her to be better.

she just lets her be.

they leave, an indeterminable amount of time later, without another word. they never mention any of it again, but they don’t forget about it.

yolanda is already miller’s protégé, but shamsi takes her under her wing too, toeing the line between professional and personal mentorship. yolanda becomes a semi-regular visitor to the javadi-shamsi home, a fixture at friday dinners when the stars and shifts align.

it isn’t maternal. not to shamsi, not to garcia.

it is to victoria. it seems that yolanda gets this gentle, understanding side of her mother—her mother—that victoria does not.

victoria hates yolanda for it. she resents her mother. the anger builds over the years, as yolanda continues her residency and victoria works through med school.

when victoria finally starts at PTMC, down in the pitt, and realizes that garcia is fucking reporting to her mother what she is doing, how she is doing, it clicks. finally and completely.

she will never be enough for her mother.

yolanda has long thought the same way.

she was not enough for her mother, could not do enough for her mother; she will never be enough for her mother, because her mother is gone.

[kyoukorpse]

was talking about it earlier with Bo but its very odd I've seen ppl on instagram confused as to why I put a content warning for pregnancy at the beginning of the description for my second most recent post.

"why is there a content warning for pregnancy being shown positively?" idk, bc some people can't have kids? some people really want kids of their own or to carry a child and can't for a number of reasons? some people experience miscarriages... besides that, some people get triggered by the portrayal of pregnancy at all.

I'm actually someone who gets triggered being around pregnant people and parents of young children because I've been treated as a default secondary caregiver since I was a child. I help teach my youngest brother how to walk. I got in trouble in high school if my brothers missed school and they called in about it. I took a babysitting course and have had first aid training since I was 12. I was a stay at home nanny for a young cousin for 2 years. after I started working full time in my early twenties I still had relatives ask me to babysit for themselves or friends. I dont like being around new parents.

Some people have it worse and have other pregnancy related trauma. I get that. I really do. So I wanna be cautious and put warnings on my art accordingly. I'd really hate to upset someone like that if it was avoidable.

Not every "positive" life experience is associated like that for everyone, especially one like pregnancy that can be used to abuse someone, be the result of abuse, or can end up giving someone medical trauma or even killing them. Let alone the lack of autonomy that comes with it.

[somelonelywordmonger]

Listening to Florence + the Machine's "You Can Have It All" on her new album, Everybody Scream, is already an emotional and cathartic experience even as a woman who hasn't experienced an ectopic pregnancy and miscarriage. But then my brain had to listen to the lyrics, the music, and the screams in the background and associate them with something more personal for me. My chronic pain and illnesses. My broken body. And having come into that song after the other songs like "Sympathy Magic", "The Old Religion", and "Drink Deep" just made it kick me in the chest harder. So that as she sang and the music built, I also felt the urge to scream. To just scream because my body is not my own. It has betrayed me. It has left me less of a woman as I feel confined to my body and my home. Struggling with the grief and the pain while knowing and wanting to live. I found myself wanting to fill a hole in the backyard with a scream. I cannot have it all. I am limited because I feel so sick and in so much pain all the time. And so, I, too, want to scream. I rearrange the furniture for something to control. Memory fails me; I no longer recognize myself when I look into the mirror. I need freedom from the body, freedom from the pain, to no longer be careful and still.

[heathercollinsmd]

Noah Wyle as Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch & Tracy Ifeachor as Heather Collins | THE PITT 1x11