#reduce him to fetus

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - Twisting - Mal de Mer

Bombshells, new beginnings and sad farewells...

cw: pregnancy, tubal ligation, generational trauma, maternal trauma

Mal de Mer on AO3

Snippet:

Mel hadn't known, then, of the real reckoning, taking root in her belly.

A tiny shape: two arms, and two legs.

A girl.

When she'd first learned the truth, the shock was absolute. She'd been on the cusp of her thirty-sixth birthday. Mysteriously, her cycle had dried up. When the nausea, the fatigue, and the cravings for salt, had kicked in, she'd thought it was the aftermath of her ordeal. It was only when the sickness didn't abate, that she'd gone to the medick.

A quick test confirmed her worst fears: a fetus, over six weeks along.

Mel had expected a bolt of lightning to strike her down. Her first thought was: Silco. What he'd do to, once he'd learnt his arch-ally was carrying his child. 

Her next: Ambessa. What she'd do, once she'd learnt her daughter was carrying a Medarda heir, and a Trencher's bastard.

At the time, she'd felt body besieged: her womb an overthrown castle. For years, she'd done everything in her power to deny a pregnancy. As a girl, she'd quaffed potions of powdered rhizomes every morning: a precaution, lest, during an attack on the Medarda household, a rival warlord captured and bred her to force a succession. As a teenager, she'd begun her first course of the Demacian pill, and kept to it for the rest of her days. As a woman, she'd taken added precautions: sheaths, barriers and all the rest.

And, always, her monthly bleeds came. Never heavy, never light. Just enough to confirm the rhythm.

Just enough to fool her into thinking she was safe.

Finally, on her thirtieth year, bitter and burnt out, she'd made the choice. To deny the tides of time, and her family's bloodline, their due. She'd consulted a doctor to get herself fixed, and the procedure had been smooth and near-painless. A minor surgery, a quick recovery, and her cycle had resumed.

Except this time, her womb, for all intents and purposes, was a drawbridge, locked and barred.

Your last avenue, she'd written to Ambessa, is a dead-end.

Ambessa's reply, two weeks later, was succinct:

Fool.

Mel refused to dwell. She'd set her mind on more pressing matters. Her city, and her work with the Council, and Hextech. It wasn't until her night with Jayce, the ease of his company, and the gentleness of his hands, that she'd remembered that word again:

Fool.

She'd wondered, crazily, if her mother was right. If she, in her quest for sovereignty, had closed the door to something sweeter.

She'd fantasized, in shameful moments, what it might be like. To have a family with Jayce. To be a mother. Except her mind's eye would conjure the wrong shape. Not a boy with a glowing bronze complexion, and his father's soft hazel eyes.

A girl.

A girl with the smooth brown Medarda skin, and eyes of a shadow-dipped blue, and a smile so sharp it could cut through shadow.

She'd put the vision from her mind. Her time with Jayce had proven an interlude—blissful, but heartbreakingly brief.  Their split had mirrored the rupture of their city. In the aftermath, they'd gone their separate ways. But they'd both held the memory close: what could've been.

If not, Mel thinks, for her own folly.

Silco, for all his sins, was no folly. He was an unmitigated disaster.

Mel cannot pinpoint, exactly, what chemically combustive balance had impelled her, after years of calculation, to give her body to him: bare, without a scrap of protection. A man who'd loomed larger, in her mind, than a nightmare: the embodiment of her city's ills, and her failure, as a stateswoman, to heal them.

He'd taken her raw, and he'd taken her hard. She'd come apart in his arms, in that lightless tunnel, the world reduced to nothing but him. Afterward, he'd confessed that he seldom made love without a sheath. A scrupulous measure, for a man who was the progenitor of so much sin.

His voice, in the gloaming, had been soft. No hint of insinuating gravel. No glint of a razor-edged smirk. 

Dizzied, Mel had thought, This is not the man who rules Zaun.

She'd returned to Piltover: her mind in a fog, the scent of him still clinging to her skin. A fortnight passed. Then a month. She'd kept her head down, her eyes on her work. But there was a new strain to her concentration.

A new restlessness to her body.

As if the world had metamorphosed, in a single night. As if she'd left her old self behind.

Fast-forward to two months later, and the truth struck home:

A little girl, growing.

How? she'd asked the medick. How is this possible? I had a procedure. They swore it was permanent. They told me I was safe.

Sometimes, the medick said, the procedure doesn't take. The body finds a way. Even when it shouldn't.

Mel wanted to tear out her hair. Is it—viable? Can I—can I have this baby?

It's early yet. But the scans, by all indications, show the fetus is stable. There's a strong heartbeat. As a first-time mother, you have good chances of carrying full-term.

Mother.

Mel, in a numb haze, had barely crossed three steps before vomiting into the wastebasket.

Afterward, she'd made an appointment to have the pregnancy terminated. It'd seemed the best, and least messy, option. Her family line was a bloodbath. And Silco had a well-earned reputation for holding a grudge. Nothing—not even a child—would compel him to lay his animus aside.

Mel had already let her body be breached, and her psyche be compromised.

A child would be the coup de grace.

Yet, she'd seen again, in her mind's eye: the figment of a girl with her skin and his smile.

This time, though, the figment had stayed: a haunting refrain, night after night. And, in Mel's body, the figment took life: her curves filling out; her appetites fluctuating. The need for salt, and sleep, and sex: an unquenchable thirst. She'd wondered, for the first time since Jayce, if she could be a mother. If she could have a child with a man, who was her match. It'd seemed impossible.

And yet, impossibly, she'd told him.

Silco's reaction was not what she'd expected. Not even close.

He'd stared at her, as if his world had been toppled upside-down. Then he'd said, very softly: You're certain?

Mel nodded. Her voice came uncharacteristically small.  Nearly two months certain.

Are you certain... it's mine?

The question ought to have stung. Except his eyes were not doubting, but desperate.  Mel, reading the subtle tides of his face, was shaken by the revelation: this, too, was not the man who ruled Zaun.

This was someone else.

A man who'd long forsaken the idea of fathering a child. A man who'd never believed, in a million years, that he could kindle a life inside a woman in his arms. Could have the chance to know, intimately, a piece of himself: living, breathing, and blooming into being.

Now he was.

And she was.

Mel, in a rush, said: I've not been with anyone since... since the tunnel. Since you. It shouldn't have happened. Not after the procedure. But the medicks confirmed it. There are scans. There... there is a heartbeat. And I can feel her, Silco. Feel her growing, inside me. And I don't—I don't know what to...

Lights popped behind her eyes: the first burn of tears.

Reflexively, she turned her face away.

Silco's palm, cradling her jaw, stopped her short. His mouth hovered inches from hers. He was not a man given to softness. But his voice, in that moment, was the softest she'd ever heard it.

I'll tell you what to do, he said. You're going to take my hand. And we'll go, right now, to one of my own doctors. We'll have you looked over. We'll find out, for sure, whether the little one will last. And if she will, then—

Then?

Then we've arrangements to make. Because I'll be damned if my daughter is born not bearing my name. And I'll be damned twice, if I let Topside claim her for its own.

Heart in her throat, Mel stammered. Are—are you—?

He'd smiled. A strange smile, like a knife turned over. Shall I get down on bended knee, Mel?

I—I'm not asking for your hand. We've ended the arrangement between us. We both agreed—it was too risky, and—too much was at stake, and—

I know. His fingertips ghosted her chin. Now, it seems, the stakes have changed.

Silco, I'm not asking you to change the terms. I am not asking—or hoping for—anything at all. I only informed you as a matter of principle. You have a right to know. You are her father. But the choice to bring her into the world... is mine.

His fingers stilled. His eyes darkened. For a moment, she saw the monster resurfacing in their depths. 

You don't want this child? he asked.

I'm not saying that. Only—

Only what?

This—this was not in the plan. Mine or yours. To put the burden of expectation on our shoulders, when our cities are still fragile—

Mel.

What?

Cupping her chin, he tilted her gaze up. Do you want this child?

His stare was fierce, but not unkind. It was an invitation: to look the truth in the eye. To not complicate it with speech, about herself, and him, and whatever else was tangled between them.

The admission lodged in Mel's throat. I—I don't know. I've never wanted—never planned—

He said, again, Mel.

What?

Do. You. Want. This child?

The query in his eyes threatened to sear her. Mel wrenched her gaze away. There was no answer. Not an easy one. She'd had her entire life planned out. It did not include a baby. It did not even include him.

Now the lines were blurred: the future, a cipher.

What she did know, in her marrow, was this:

The choice is mine.

A choice between a life of conflict, and a life of certainty. A choice between a hollow peace, and the hardest battle.

The choice between the world as it was... and the world as it should be.

She'd taken a ragged breath. And, in the space between them, she'd felt Silco's heartbeat, racing in time with hers. Hoping, against all hope, that her answer would be the right one.

Mel, matching his stare, had given it:

Yes.

Yes?

I—I want her.

With me?

Silco—

His thumb touched her bottom lip, stilling the words.

You understand, he said, this child will change everything. Our cities. Our places, in them.  She will inherit more than the Medarda name, or my machinations. She will inherit the bad blood between us. All the ghosts, and the grudges, and the wounds. She will not have an easy life. It'll be a struggle, every step of the way. She'll face prejudice. Scorn. Disdain. She'll have to fight, every day, to justify her existence. And if she fails, the world will chew her up, and spit her out. It'll grind her under its heel, until there's nothing left. Do you understand?

Mel, throat working, nodded. I do.

Will you take the risk, all the same?

For a moment, she stared at him. This man who, for four years, stood as her most ruthless nemesis—and yet her staunchest ally. The man who'd dared to drag the darkest parts of herself into the light. Who'd shown her, in the space of a night, what it might be like, to lay herself bare. To be seen, and known, and taken as she was: without pretense.

Without fear.

And, in the heart of herself, Mel felt the full force of her bloodline resurge: the legacy of a hundred warriors, who'd faced the worst the world had thrown, with their chins held high. Who'd never let anything come between them and their desires. Who'd allowed neither war, nor death, to dictate the course of their lives.

This child—half Zaunite grit, half Piltovan guile—would be no different.

Yes, she'd answered. I will.

He'd kissed her then. She'd felt the monster's lips yield like velvet to her own. Felt the monster's palm span her belly, to where their child was nestled safe. And she'd sensed, beneath the ferocity of the possession, his pledge:

So will I.

In the weeks that followed, Mel's life became a series of contradictions—and revelations. For a woman who'd built her career on knowing the rules, and playing them to the letter, it'd been a heady ride to flout every single one. From her decision to step down from the Council in favor of an ambassadorial title, to the announcement of her engagement among her close circle, to the bombshell that she'd conceived out of wedlock: all a series of landslides that, one after another, knocked the foundations of her pristine persona off-kilter.

She'd not expected Silco, for all his cutthroat ambition, to prove such a steady harbor throughout. He'd taken over, with an almost alarming zeal, the practicalities of her pregnancy: doctor's appointments, nutrition plans, and, when it'd been confirmed that the baby was progressing smoothly, a list of the most reputable midwives in Zaun, vetted for their discretion and competence. 

Between them, they had finagled a way to remain in contact: a secure channel of communication, so that Mel could keep him apprised of any changes to her condition. Silco, in turn, had pulled strings to rent out a private condominium near Mel's own, in the heart of Piltover's upper district. There, when their schedules aligned, they'd meet: once a week, to discuss matters related to the baby, or their strategy for disseminating the news, or simply to make love.

And each time, Mel felt something burning bright inside her: an incandescent hunger that she had no choice but to feed. Not because Silco had willed it, or she'd ceded, but because, for the first time in her life, she wanted.

Wanted to feel his lips on hers, and his hands on her, and his body inside hers. Wanted him, too, in the aftermath: breathless and sweat-sheened, his skin decorated with her love bites, and that strange, soft glow in his eyes, that made her feel like a conqueror.

Like a queen.

By the month's end, they'd agreed to publicize their engagement at the upcoming Gala for the Progressive Arts. They'd gathered their respective contacts in the media: the Baron's Bugle, the Sun & Tower, the Harbor Herald. A carefully spun narrative was concocted to soft-launch the scandal: a romance, kept under wraps, that'd blossomed into a love-match, and was now culminating in marriage.

During the gala, they'd appear as the couple: arm-in-arm, exquisitely turned out in black-tie finery, the ring on her finger a spark of green fire, his lips on her cheek a tender, lingering kiss. Afterward, there'd be the press conference. Photographs, interviews, a formal statement from both parties.  Then, they'd return: Mel to her city, Silco to his, and await the fallout.

It had come, not a week later, with a vengeance.

Once the story broke, the media devolved into a feeding frenzy. The progressives were riveted: the traditionalists, aghast; the youth, aflame. The rumor-mill had churned into overdrive. The Eye of Zaun, engaged to a Councilor: a Councilor! The last surviving scion of a war-mongering bloodline, no less. The tabloids were rife with speculation: Did Medarda, after a decade in power, finally buckle under pressure, and choose a political match? Was the Eye bewitched by her beauty, and no more than a pawn in her schemes? Or, worse, was this a sinister conspiracy on both sides, to destabilize their respective spouse's city, and being its people to heel?

In Zaun, the hardliners were a hotbed of dissent. Their future was in the hands of the Undercity's most controversial leader: a statesman, who'd ruled by a razor-sharp brand of ruthlessness. His marriage would mean a shift in the power balance. A new set of rules, not just for his people, but his neighbor: a city-state he'd notoriously kept at arm's length.

In the more moderate quarters, the news was greeted with cautious optimism. The middle classes were more concerned with the economic ramifications of the union. What, exactly, was being negotiated behind closed doors? Would Silco, forsaking the autonomy of his nation, sacrifice Zaun's future on the altar of peace? Or did the marriage bode a true partnership: with trade, and prosperity, and a lasting harmony between their cities?

The Firelights were the only party who'd spoken out directly: a pointed critique on the optics of an Undercity statesman marrying a woman from a privileged background. How could a couple, who'd each benefitted from playing two vastly different systems, hope to improve the lot of those born on the losing end? How could their union, and the profits it promised, serve as anything but a symbol of the status quo taken to its most degenerate extreme?

To those questions, Mel had no ready reply. Silco, too much a realist to deny their merit, made no reply at all.

What, he'd sneered, draped across the settee in Mel's office, did you expect? We are not their heroes. We are their villains. They will not see us as we are. They will use us only as a cautionary tale: a moral lesson on how things ought not be done.

She'd not answered. Only crossed the room, to sit on the arm of the chair, and stir her fingers though his hair. A caress to gentle the monster back into the man, and into her arms.

It will take time, she said, to earn their trust. We cannot undo the past. But we can write the future. In our time.

On our terms, you mean, he retorted, even as his lips found the inside of her wrist. And those terms must be set in stone.

Whose stone? she said archly. My finger has yet to see a ring.

Soon, petal.

Soon?

His lips, against the pulse of her wrist, stilled. As soon as I've ironed out the fine print.

It was a crumb, and yet a confession.

The Eye, for all his prowess in the political arena, had to tread cautiously in his private life.

Jinx has taken the news badly. So badly, she'd torched a building down, and nearly shot Silco through the skull when he'd tried to enter the Aerie. In the aftermath, there was the usual round of threats and ultimatums. The usual litany of names: liar, backstabber, traitor. The usual fallout: smoldering glares and radio silences, eased only by patient words, and the love borne of years.

Jinx, a girl whose trust had been violated so many times, needed to be reminded that she wasn't going to be replaced, or abandoned, or cheated out of a father. She'd be the big sister, and the best friend, to the child they'd soon bring into the world. And though Silco, in the past, had been less than aboveboard in his private affairs, she would be the one exception.

The truth, always.

 In the end, they'd reached an armistice: tenuous, but holding.

Sevika was a tougher nut to crack.

Silco's XO had gone to the mat, tooth and nail, to protect her leader's interests. She'd been a loyal second-in-command for the better part of a decade. Her allegiance to Zaun was the only constant in her life. Her loyalty, her trust, were Silco's to command.

And yet, by keeping his liaison with Mel a secret, he'd betrayed her.

Sevika's anger wasn't like Jinx's. It was an older, colder fury: the rupture of decades-old faith. After the dust had settled, she'd gone to ground, and stayed there. Her absence had lasted two weeks. Silco's network had spun it as a work-related sabbatical. Privately, Silco had called it a shitshow, and blamed himself for the fallout.

In the end, he'd brokered a stalemate. His business affairs, thereafter, were to be run solely through Sevika, and no one else. It would act as surety: that Mel would not compromise his position, and he would not compromise her own. As for the rest—the fractured trust, the promises fallen to the wayside—only time, and work, would heal the rift.

Even so, Mel sensed, deep in her gut, that Silco would always look at Sevika—and see a stillborn story. One, that, for the sake of his predicament, he'd cut short.

Mel empathized all too keenly.

In Piltover, her declaration was met with dumbstruck silence.  In a city whose politics, like a kaleidoscope, revolved around the status quo, the union had sent shockwaves. The Council, as a unit, had balked. Silco's suitability was lambasted from all quarters. His reputation was unsavory; his methods unconscionable. Mel's own frame of mind was called into question; her motives put under the microscope, her judgement savaged, and her political acumen questioned.

Yet, as the dust settled, and the furor faded, the prevailing sentiment was:

 How can Piltover profit from this union?

Mel, ever the pragmatist, had laid out the bottom line. She and Silco had spent evenings in his office: drafting deals, and ironing out terms, and laying out blueprints. Now she'd made a case for a joint-investment consortium between their cities. A skyway, linking Zaun's harbor, and Piltover's Hexgates. Zaun's mines, rich in ore and minerals, would be brokered wholesale to Piltover. In turn, Zaun's infrastructure, overdue for an upgrade, would be financed, courtesy of a generous influx of foreign capital.

The Council had hemmed and hawed, and put the scheme to a vote. They'd done their due diligence. The numbers had checked out.

In the end, the accord was passed: unanimous, and binding.

Mel, in her office, began to receive a slow trickledown of congratulations for her upcoming nuptials. Most were happy for the promise of coin. Others were intrigued by enigmatic choice of spouse. Still more were wary of a coup. But her tactical approach, paired with a patient charm offensive, had paid dividends:

It should've been a triumph. And, in some ways, it was.

But one look at Jayce's face, and all she'd felt was the hollow ache of loss.

She'd thought, eventually, he'd reach out for a talk. But, even after the news broke, and the days stretched into a week, then two, he'd remained silent. Then, by the month's end, she'd received a request: a meeting at a private garden where she and Jayce had picnicked, long ago, and made love in a patch of sun-dappled grass.

The same patch of grass where, the first time, she'd realized she loved him.

Mel had gone, braced for the worst. What she'd found, instead, was a Jayce she'd not seen in years: a boy, stripped of all pretense, with his heart laid bare. 

Why are you doing this, Mel? he'd said without preamble. You know the score. You've known it from the start. He's a monster.

Carefully, Mel replied, I'm not denying that.

Then why? Why give him a chance?

Because the chance was offered. And I had the option, to either seize it, or walk away.

And you couldn't just walk away?!

No.

She'd said it simply, without artifice. Hurt darkened in Jayce's eyes.

He's the father of my child, Jayce. My child, who deserves to have both parents in her life.

Jaw flexing, Jayce said nothing.

I'm sorry. Truly. I never planned for this. But... it happened. And we've made our peace.

Peace? he scoffed. You mean the bastard's blackmailed you.

There is no blackmail, Mel said, with a touch of steel. We've both agreed to this. I know you find him disagreeable. I know he's the last person you'd want to ally with. But if you'd look beyond the past, and focus on the present, you'd see how much good can come of this partnership.

Jayce shook his head. You're talking like this is a business merger, Mel. It's not. It's your life. And you'll throw it away, for the sake of a lie?

A lie?

Yes! You think, by pretending it's for the good of the city, I'll believe it's worth the price? That I'll let you walk down the aisle, and be married, to a man who's done nothing but spread poison everywhere?

Against her will, Mel felt a flash of anger. I'll remind you, Jayce, that I belong to neither you, nor him. If I walk down that aisle, it's because I choose to.

Jayce flinched, but held her gaze. I don't expect you to belong to me. But I do expect the truth.

That, you already have, Mel said, and her voice held a quiet conviction. I chose this, Jayce. I chose him. I'm going to make it work.

At the cost of your happiness? Softer, more ragged. At the cost of love?

Mel didn't falter. But she was aware of the wedding ring, heavy on her finger. Silco had presented it last night: a band of twenty-four carat gold, inlaid with a square-cut emerald, and flanked by twin rows of baguette diamonds. On one side, the Medarda crest; on the other, Zaun's chem-shield. 

The symbolism was plain. Not a shackle, but a pledge of fealty, freely given.

A promise, in time, of something more.

Mel took a breath. Jayce. This isn't an affair of the heart. But that doesn't mean I'm giving up on love.

What's that mean?

It means... The truth, treacherously slippery, wouldn’t slide off her tongue. It means I must look at the bigger picture. Our cities need each other. And Zaun's citizens deserve a second chance. They've been left out, and left behind, for too long. At least, with this marriage, they'll know that Piltover sees them. That they're part of the same family as us.

A family built on politics.

A family built on progress.

For a long moment, Jayce stared at her, as if memorizing the shape of her face. Finally, he said, You deserve more, Mel. Not because you're the daughter of a House, or the Councilor of a city. You deserve more because you're kind, and beautiful, and brilliant. You deserve it because you push us all to be our best selves. You're the heart of us, Mel. You always have been.

Mel, eyes stinging, said, Jayce—

I won't stand here, and pretend to be happy for you. I won't try to understand why you'd choose him. And I won't deny, right now, that it doesn't hurt to think of the two of you together. To know there'll be a little girl, and that man will be her father, while I'll be a stranger. But if that's your choice, Mel, then...

Then?

Then I'll support you. His lips made a tight angry smile. Just—be careful, all right. For the love of god, be careful. Because if he ever hurts you, or your baby, or the future we've worked so hard for, I swear on all I've held holy, I'll burn him, and everything he's built, to the fucking ground.

And, just like that, the boy was a man. In his stare, she saw, refracted through the prism of experience, the same fierce idealism, and the same bright-burning ambition, and the same unflinching readiness to change the world.

It was that stare, above all else, that had first attracted her to him: an untarnished faith in the face of adversity, and the willingness to lay himself on the line, and fight till his last breath, for a better future.

That would not change, no matter how far they strayed apart.

Nor, she understood, would her feelings for him.

He was gone, before she could speak. But his words lingered.

Like the depth of his pain—and his promise

Mel, alone, twisted the ring on her finger. And vowed, that whatever else she might lose, she would not lose sight of her own.

A week later, the wedding date was set. The venue was chosen: a secluded enclave, set deep in the woodland hills, overlooking the sea. Invitations were sent: Piltover's elite, and Zaun's top brass, and a few vetted journalists.

And Mel's ring, on her finger, twisted, and twisted, and twisted.

In a fortnight, she'd be a bride. Then, a wife, wedded to a monster, and the mother to his child. There'd be no turning back. Only a lifetime of choices: made, remade, and unmade.

In the end, no matter the price, she'd have to pay it in full.

Melancholy, Silco breathed, as they lay folded in the darkness, and each other's arms, suits you ill.

Shivering, Mel couldn't meet his eyes. I was just thinking.

About?

About how fast things have moved. It's not what I'd planned. But then, nothing in my life has gone according to plan, since I met you.

Second thoughts?

She heard no challenge in his words. Only a question posed with a quiet gravity. As if her answer—her truth—was the only currency that mattered. 

She'd mistrusted that gravity, at first. Had wondered, often, if it was a ruse. Her lessons about men and power were hard-won. Playing both was a matter of illusion, and required the right balance of fact and fiction.

But, in the night, Silco was different. His gravity was no trick, but a force: raw, relentless, and compelling her closer. Inviting her to seek out, and surrender, to the dark. To allow his eyes to drink her in, and his body to fill hers, and her heart, at last, to be stripped bare.

Here, she could be his petal, his darling, his treasure. Here, she could do anything, be anyone. Or be nothing at all but a string of sweet syllables: Yes, Gods, please, more, harder, until she could think no more, and all her words became a gasping, drawn-out sob that was his name.

And when it was over, and the darkness settled again, she was someone else: a woman, who, without fear, could ask for anything, and be answered. Who, for all her beauty and guile, wielded the power to lay waste to a monster, and remake him into a man.

She'd not understood then, that the monster was all too real.

And so, too, was the man.

Now, she felt his hand on her cheek. He was studying her: watchful, wanting. As if, at any moment, she might turn herself away. Or vanish altogether, like a figment, and leave him alone.

A fate she'd once thought was hers.

No second thoughts, she promised. No regrets. Only... it's happening so fast. Too fast. It's like a dream, and I'm afraid that, when I wake, I'll find it wasn't real. Everything will be gone, and I'll have to pay for my folly. Just like before. Only this time, I'll have no one to blame but myself.

His thumb brushed her bottom lip, still swollen from his kisses.  You think... what? You'll say, ‘I do,’ and have to live with a monster, and his curse, for the rest of your days?

I think, she whispered, I've already been cursed by monsters. What matters is... a way to break the curse.

The barest smile cut the corner of his mouth. Break the curse—or the news?

Mel bit her lip. Both. I've been so preoccupied, I'd not considered... how I'm going to tell Mother. About the baby. I don't want her to be blindsided. When she is, she can be... volatile.

You think she'll cause trouble?

I think she'll see me as the trouble. A marriage she doesn't approve of. A baby with a Zaunite. And, in the same stroke, a deal that's put her interests in Hextech at risk. She'll try and use any leverage to dissuade me from going through with this. Any leverage at all.

Silco's smile faded. A hard gleam entered his good eye. Including the child.

Mother is capable of it. More, if it suits her agenda. She's a warlord. She doesn't care if she has to play dirty, or pull every nasty trick, to get her way.

Silco's bad eye flared with an ugly red light. In the gloaming, Mel saw his thoughts pivoting: one calculation, then another. The lines etched on his face told a story of his own battles: won by playing the dirtiest tricks and executing the narrowest gambits.

Yet, even an old hand like him knew: sometimes, the best strategy was to hold your cards, and let the game pan out.

It would be risky to alienate her, he conceded. Our networks are too closely twined. And there've been times when our interests have aligned for the best. But... he stroked her bottom lip again, as if the feel of it, of her, might ground him. Just—be careful.

Careful?

With her. With yourself. I know Ambessa, and she is no fool. She'll sniff out, in a heartbeat, the weakest point. And, once she finds it, she'll go for the jugular. If not yours, then mine.

And Mel, feeling the truth of his words, could only nod. Reflexively, her fingers went to her wedding ring, and twisted again. Already, it had become a fixture: a talisman to keep the ghosts of the past at bay.

But no talisman could stave off the inevitable.

Ambessa.

Rather than by missive, Mel chose to break the news in person. She'd invited her mother to her private apartments, and dismissed the staff. That way, if the walls rang with shouts of maternal strife, at least her paintings would be the sole witness.

Ambessa had listened, stonefaced, to the whole saga. When Mel was finished, she'd stared at her daughter with the full measure of her unyielding eyes.

Then, she’d shaken her head.

You absolute fool.

Mel stiffened. I fail to see how—

Ambessa forestalled her. Did I teach you nothing, child? Medardas are not slaves to their loins. We make our own fate. And we do not, under any circumstances, allow another soul to dictate our destiny.

I'm not letting Silco dictate anything. I'm doing what's best. For my city, and his, and the child between us.

A Trencher's bastard.

She'll be born in wedlock. She'll be a Medarda, by blood, and a Zaunite by birth.

So: little better than a savage.

Mel's spine straightened. So: your grandchild. The only legacy you have left.

Ambessa's eyes narrowed. Do not threaten me, Mel.

That is not a threat, Mother. That is a fact.

Ambessa loomed in; a monolith of muscle and bone. Mel held her ground, and her gaze. And something—some irrevocable shift, like the turn of the tide—came to pass. In that moment, Mel was no longer the girl haunted by her mother's lessons. No determined to eclipse the shadow of her past with a superficial surfeit of light.

She was, instead, a woman grown into her strength. A statesperson, a Councilor, a survivor. A woman whose mind, and heart, were her own.

And, soon, a mother.

The change in her bearing must've shown. Ambessa's eyes widened, then shuttered. Mel, with a hint of irony, smiled.

You cannot win this argument, Mother, she said. Nor can you intimidate me. I've chosen to go through with this. My marriage to Silco, and the child that comes of it. My legacy—if you call it that—will be a better future.

Better for whom? Ambessa snapped. For those damned Trenchers? For that man, who'll stop at nothing to spread his poison across the world?

If we were truly honest, Mother, is it a poison? Or merely the opposite side of a coin?

Ambessa's lip curled. Do not play the fool, Mel. He peddles freedom, and sells death. His hands are stained as red as the battlefields my armies have left behind. And your child will bear the taint of that legacy. Whatever your high hopes—for a blank slate or a better future—you've doomed her as surely as you've doomed yourself.

That is not for you to decide.

It is not a decision. It is a fact. And you'd do well, to remember: the line between our kind and theirs is as old as the sea. Your Hexgates and your golden spires and your lofty goals of progress are but a few years old. Our blood is centuries. And any weak link— Her eyes flicked, once, to Mel's belly, —should be excised.

Mel's fist closed, protectively, over her womb. In her voice echoed an edge of steel. If that were true, Mother, then why did you let me live?

Silence fell: the first in a lifetime.

Ambessa's expression didn't shift. But her eyes did: a crack, shining through the facade. A mother, too, staring at the daughter she'd lost. Would have lost, in full, had she not, against all her instincts, cast her out, and cut the cord. A jettisoning that was yet a mercy—because otherwise, Mel would've been dragged down by the weight of her bloodline.

You were no weak link, Mel, she said, and her voice was the closest thing to gentleness that Mel knew. You were meant to be the torchbearer. The living proof of our triumphs. You—and Kino—were to inherit our family's light, and raise it high, so the rest of the world could see.

Mel's throat ached. And now?

Now you are the last of our line. Your brother is gone. My own days are numbered. And you've chosen to throw in your lot, not with the living, but with the dead. Because that is where that parasite will leave you: six feet under, and forgotten. As for the child? Ambessa took a breath. Yes, she is a Medarda. But a poor one, if he is her sire. If the gods are just, she'll die in the womb, and your ties to him, unravel. If not—

Mel's jaw hardened. If not?

Then her best hope is to be raised in Noxus. In her rightful place. Yours, too.

This was a clubbing blow to Mel's equilibrium. You—you'd take her away?

I'd take her home. And you, too.

But my banishment—

Has expired. Ambessa's smile was mirthless. I'm growing old, child. All my wars, my victories, will come to nothing, if they're not remembered.  Our bloodline, and our legacy, must endure. And I will not see them fall, because my daughter is playing house with a deadman walking. I'd have you back home, with me. Both of you.

A piercing pain lanced Mel's ribcage. Her secret, most shamefully cherished wish, made flesh. A life, once torn from her, now offered on a golden platter.

But not because her mother had changed her stripes. Because the future she'd fought so hard to secure had turned against her. Because, after years of war, Mel's gift for honing peace had become the weapon of last resort.

A peace built, not on hope, but a hunger for everything.

Off Mel's silence, Ambessa came closer. Her hand settled, heavily, on Mel's shoulder. It's not an impossible choice, Mel. It's the only choice. The only place where you, and your child, will thrive.

And, in the pit of her soul, Mel wondered: What if it's true?

And her fingers, finding her wedding ring, twisted, and twisted, and twisted...

[mzuark]

A quick ChosoYuki rant

As much as I adore Yuki Tsukumo, she's saddled with one of the worst ships I've ever seen. It's that classic "Oh those two had a sweet moment, so they're clearly in love." Like, no? I honestly can't think of a character she has less in common with than Choso. Sure he's "her type" and she flirted a little bit but that's literally her personality, I don't think there's a single man aside from Kenny that she wasn't sweet on.

Reducing that moment they had in Tengen's headspace to being romantic feels like a disservice to both their characters. Especially Choso since he was having a pretty serious crisis of self what with coming to terms with the fact that prior to the last two months he's been a literal fetus in a jar for hundreds of years. Yuki being nice to him and telling him that he can choose to be a human is just the decent thing to do.

Finally, and this is just me being selfish, I greatly despise the fact that Yuki only got to interact with maybe 3 characters after she was properly introduced. So saddling her up with the only guy she spent some significant time with is just rubbing salt in the wound.

[queermuslimarchives]

Mary/Maryam's Gender

Very different from many Islamofascist discourses and even discourses of modern remnants of Muslim traditionalism, both the Quran and classical Islamic philosophy and theosophy hold that gender is something quite dynamic. Genders are not different by essence but are ontologically and teleologically related due to their common root in a unity of being.

“O mankind, be aware of your Caretaker who has created you from one single self and He created from it its mate and sent forth from it many men and women; and be aware of Allah whom you ask about, and the relatives. Allah is watcher over you.” (Quran 4:1)

“Your creation and your resurrection is as one single self, truly Allah is He Who hears and sees.” (Quran 31:28)

Gender is in the Quran seen as a manifestation of a primordial “duality in unity”, similar to the Chinese idea of Yin/Yang, but just like the Chinese idea of Yin and Yang we can not reduce this primordial duality to simple material entities.

“It exists within every fraction of creation, even within our own selves. And of everything we have created pairs, so that you may contemplate.” (Quran 51:49)

It by far transcends any biologisms and it is itself transcended by the final unity of being. In classical Quranic exegesis it is Maryam (Mary, the mother of Jesus) who is most often seen as the person whose life expresses this principle in the best way. I´d like to cite some quranic verses, a wellknown and wellrespected Sunni tafsîr (exegesis) and the quote of a wellknown Sufi writer with regards to this.

When the woman from the house of Imran said: “My Caretaker, I have vowed to You what is in my womb, dedicated, so accept from me, You are the Hearer, the Knower.”

So when she delivered she said: “My Caretaker, I have delivered a female,” but Allah knew well of what she delivered, for the male is not like the female. “and I have named her Maryam, and I seek refuge for her and her progeny with You from the outcast devil.”

So her Caretaker accepted her a good acceptance, and made her grow into a good growth, and charged Zachariah with her. Every time Zachariah entered upon her in the temple enclosure, he found provisions with her. He said: “O Maryam, from where did you get this?” She said: “It is from Allah, Allah provides for whom He wishes without reckoning.” (Quran 3:35-37)

And the angels said: “O Maryam, Allah has chosen you and cleansed you, and He has chosen you above the women of the worlds.”

“O Maryam, be dutiful to your Caretaker and prostrate and kneel with those who kneel.” (Quran 3:42-43)

Next, a longing for a male child arose in her heart. Thus her imagination, firm resolution and expectation exercised an influence upon the fetus. Consequently, Maryam was born blessed with a virile disposition.[…] Maryam was a woman with the qualities of a man, as there are also men with an effeminate nature. This because by nature she looked out for Allah and centred all hopes in Him.

– From the Tawîl al Ahadîth of Shah Waliullah Dehlavi (1703-1762 CE)

“When tomorrow on the Day of Resurrection the call goes up, ‘O men!’, the first person to step into the ranks of men will be the virgin Maryam.”

– From the Tadhkirat al Awliyâ of Fariduddin Attar (ca. 1145-1221 CE)

🛑 This article was written by Leyla Jagiella on her website website in 2009.

[penumbramewtwos]

Hello, I just found your blog and first of all I like your story but I have a question. I literally looked through your entire blog and fanfic but I realized something, you said that Okita was turned into Mewtwo when she was 6 but according to Unova she was the one who conceived Okita so that the transformation would be completed BUT here I have my problem... HOW? HELL WAS THAT POSSIBLE!? BECAUSE A 6 YEAR OLD HUMAN CHILD IS AT LEAST APPROXIMATELY 106.68 CENTIMETERS OR FOR AMERICANS, 42 INCHES! I mean, yes, Unova is 2 meters or 6 feet BUT IT DOES NOT JUSTIFY HOW THEY COULD REDUCE A HUMAN, INSERT HIM INTO UNOVA'S UTTERUS AND HIS BODY DIDN'T REJECT THE FETUS! Because if you know physics then you should be familiar with the Square-cube law which basically states that if we enlarge a mouse to the size of an elephant it will explode and if we reduce an elephant to the size of a mouse it will die cold, you don't have to be a scientist to know. If we reduce a six-year-old child to the size of a fetus, he will die and if you don't believe me about the size, look at this image:

On the left is six-year-old Okita and on the right is Unvoa

Hi, thanks for the strong interest! I'm glad you like it, and I appreciate the effort you've put into this ask! I have three ways I want to answer this, as this ask is very intense:

A "haha pokemon go brrrrrrrrr" fashion [1], a serious fashion (to clear up any confusion) [2], and a 'lol whut' fashion [3]: [1]

[2] To clear up any confusion (and it is mostly my own fault, as I haven't cleared this up on any pinned post link) [Spoiler warning for some]…

Okita the human girl, and Okita the babytwo were two separate entities (this is the main plot twist in the fanfic which is yet to come. Apologies, I've keep that detail very vague, not to spoil things). They we're both fused together by Team Helix Rocket (T.H.R), in the hope that she would bend to Giovanni's will easier with a human element. Unlike the other experiments that were fused with Unova's DNA and a psychic vessel. The unborn babytwo from Unova, and frozen embryo stored by Ai and Amare, were both stolen by T.H.R for the experiment that became modern day Okita).

During the fanfic's timeline, Okita likes to keep up the naritive in her mind that her earliest memory was from when she was 6, and that she was taken. This's why she says what she says in the first chapter; that's also the narrative that her parents told her. But truly, her earliest functional memories are from within the tank, being 'created'… Treating her like a human for a moment, our earliest memories are often fabricated by what our parents tell us.

Both Unova, and Okita's creator will tell Okita what really happened at separate points during the fanfic (the main plot twist). Okita firmly denies both of their stories, and becomes very cold with both of them.

Final points: Unova was pregnant with Okita, as a fetus babytwo, probably no bigger than a human baby at a late second trimester. Ai and Amare (Okita's human parents), had conceived naturally, but decided to freeze the embryo of Okita (Human) probably a month or so in to Ai's pregnancy. In the up-coming Chilli arc, the story dives into Okita's mind as she finally accepts what really happened to her.

[3]

Hope this covers it all! Apologies for the late reply and undisclosed-confusing lore

Thanks for the ask!

[xenosagaepisodeone]

you're initially set up to think that the husband is something of a loose creator-insert in The Brood (1979) due to Cronenberg explicitly basing it off of his own divorce, but the psychological damage of child abuse is such a large, over-arching theme that his daughter ends being the one it unintentionally(?) feels Cronenberg is moreso projecting onto. the husband's interioritiy doesn't really extend beyond wanting to protect his child, which becomes indistinguishable from a sublimated form of self preservation as the film moves on. the daughter's narrative passivity allowes the husband to parse familial trauma through her. he investiagtes and attempts to understand the phenomena destroying his family through how it specifically occurs to her. his perspective is used as a vehicle to explore the different ways in which his wife's abuse (both enacted and sustained) is reflected in different characters, with the exception of a single scene that very noncommittaly nods to how the plot may impact him as a husband. he comes across less as her spouse and more like someone under her. it would be inaccurate to say that the film is strictly about motherhood as this uniquely antagonizing force considering that fatherhood is examined with a similar framework as well. "parenthood" is an all-encompassing organ that the characters are trapped within, dissolving and reducing them to helpless children. when the protagonist interacts with his wife for the first time at the very end if the film, it resembles a mother and child (punctuated further by the fact that her actress is visibly older than him) closer than any kind of marital intimacy. and then when she drank that fetus blood I went "this explains everything"

[genderlesssinner]

"everyone who doesn't wanna sleep with the Nightmare King can weigh in" -TRAVIS

Okayokay recruiting Ira good good

And Nana Morri that is gonna be so much fun oohhhh I love all the Fey stuff

69 gold

Nice

"I made out with him" *Waylon leans in*

Oh my gods ASHLEY (/FEARNE)

She's gonna try to steal it

Wow okay yeah before I could type it

TRAPPED

"I'm being so honest with you" I fucking love her

Ooohhh she made him like *mad* mad

Travis' face oh my god

Chet's gonna bite it I just know it it won't be battle because they can rez he's just gonna croak one night ESPECIALLY if Travis makes it between 100 and his level holy shit

C-poppers are gonna start a cult and turn into like a pyramid scheme somehow

Not bringing in the fandom oh no "if a fandom ever turns on you-"

Kiki being able and willing to burn Restorations to get rid of exhaustion points for Fearne and Ash is so clutch

I wanna know what Scalan has been up to dammit WHERE IS HE

Ooh Orym with that potion of Invulnerablity maaann hell yeah

I also wanna know what that Truthbearer armor does man that was a big peice of paper

Fearne has a point though, in a world where you *know* there are multiple gods, it's so interesting that everyone (that we know of) is worships one god

Aah see okay. Thank you Matt. Casual worship of multiples is normal but for like clergy it's not

Okay guys damn the poly convo damn okay

I think kiki would have fun at Nana's place for sure

Back into the Fey we go!

Six seconds guys, six seconds

Oh poor Dorian he's gonna be traumatized by this

Even the flowers are creepy here man

Ooooo Braius what are you hiding

Nana is gonna scare the bejeezus outta Dorian

You know that thing that went around that was the reduce / reuse / reanimate. I get those vibes from Nana and Launda (especially Launda) except for Nana it's just crafting not reanimation

Oh no Nana and Braius

I am unsettled thank you Matt and Sam

(I love it but also pls stop)

"You smell like shadow and bad choices." hot damn

How's the legend doing, indeed

The marsupial pouch is enough Ashley please don't give Fearne extra freaky faces too jeezus (I love her)

Liam and Laura are children and I love them it's been great having the twinsies sitting together

Ooh Nana is excited to see Ira,, interesting

Liam motherfucking O'Brien. "It's the cheerful smile" I'm gonna cry. Bountiful luck is cool as hell tho

I am.. Concerned and curious about what kind of experiments Nana could / would do with the alien fetus.

Is it just me or is Ash / Tal paying closer attention when Fearne talks and stuff? Like he was never ignoring her but it seems like he's more invested and I love it

Let's goooo creepy Fey reunion

I always forget how.. Spidery Ira is

Oh she's totally going to play Braius and Ira against each other I'm here for it

This is the weirdest romantic drama I've ever seen and i love it

THIRTEEN FEET. hate

BOYS

Oh my god

Ooohhhhhhjshdjhcjf Orym's little face talking to Nana my heaarrtttt

Ooo spooky Fey horses? Nice

Time is a weird soup

Never thought I'd be this glad they brought Ira

He's a minotaur not a centaur Fearne 🤣

Break time!

Go get your snacks and drinks and go to the bathroom folks

I'll be back with more rambly bullshit in a bit

[fierypen37]

Junior

@snowlealee This prompt nearly killed me. I've never seen the film, so let me tell you, that was ride for research. So here it is: a flash fic inspired by the 1994 Arnold Schwarzenegger film Junior where the male protagonist becomes pregnant through lab fuckery. Tw mpreg.

Junior

“Are you sure about this, Doctor Snow?” his partner Samwell asked. Jon stared at the test tube holding the embryo: made from his sperm and Dr. Daenerys Targaryen’s ovum. With Expectane in limbo with the Food and Drug Administration, what other choice did he have?

“What else can we do, Sam? What pregnant woman is going to volunteer to use an untested drug? I have to,” Jon said, feeling decidedly queasy at the prospect.

This experiment was risky. Not only for his professional career, but his body. Surgery to implant the experimental uterus and birth canal. Weeks of IV fertility drugs before at last implanting the embryo. The busy statistician in his brain calculated the increased risk of bleeding, organ damage, trauma, insomnia, hormone replacement therapy. The mind boggled. And then how would the . . . the pregnancy progress? How would he keep it secret?

But if he succeeded . . . if he succeeded, Expectane would reduce the risk of miscarriage by as much as fifty-three percent! Thousands of mothers and babies saved from pain and heartache. Wasn’t that worth the risk? What about Dany? This invisible embryo in its cozy test tube was as much hers as it was his. An embryo that would grow into a fetus and then a child. Their romantic relationship had been rocky for months—their marriage was official ticked as ‘Separated.’ This hairbrained scheme would hardly endear her to him.

But maybe . . .

“Let’s do it, Sam. Tell Mel to prep for surgery,” Jon said.         

[ashleyrainsims]

Marty: Сhinga tu madre! Why the fuck did you go in there without a respirator?! Ash: So should we have left Danny there to die?

Ricky: Guys, look! The equipment is the same as in the room where the scientist was. And it's all new!

Marty: Mi corazón, you breathed in that much of that shit? These devices are everywhere. Ash: Fuck, I'm gonna puke.

Ricky: I don't think we can go any further without the hazmat suits. This fucking gas is blocking the next level.

I carried Danny to the couch in the recreation room. I didn't think I'd say this, but I'd rather see him smile maniacally and listen to his bullshit than hold his unconscious body and check his pulse every few minutes.

Danny: You are my light. If you leave me, I'll die. Ash: Shh. It's okay. I'll never leave you.

We went through all the files in Larsen's office. Subject #17 responds positively to third injection of compound… All subjects are highly active… Fuck, they're not even people, they're subjects! After the second injection, the fingers atrophy… Immunity is high, the cells of the microorganism destroy all known viruses… The subjects show signs of mental communication with each other…

Ash: Marty, did you realize what they were trying to do here? Marty: In simple terms… So, they thought they could improve fertility in women to reduce the risk of disease in the fetus… What came from outer space is some kind of chingado parasite!

Marty: I don't understand exactly what it does, but THIS controls all the infected like a fucking puppeteer! Ricky: What are the chances that if we destroy the parasite, all infected people will survive and get better? Marty: I think we need to find a way to at least temporarily block his influence on people. We're only going to get one chance to kick his ass.

Previous // Next

[septembersghost]

i like ana as a cuban myself and im glad she's making it, but she's been doing the most with the promotion of that film. oates was obsessed with sexual abuse and would romanticize it to hell and back and this is all so disrespectful. marilyn will never be left alone and she's dead. it's disgusting how she was never a person but a product and continues to be

ana's comments have been annoyingly tone deaf, but my issues are far more with the director, whose comments i find abhorrent, and the producers (amongst them br*d p*tt), and, netflix itself at this point (there was a report that netflix was "absolutely horrified" by the final cut - okay? you're the distributors, you can make the decision here), and the fact that for every woman online discussing this with deep concerns, or talking about being horribly triggered by it, or trying to defend and uphold marilyn's true memory, there are men replying, at best, "it's ~art~, you just don't get it," or at WORST (and i have seen this over and over again, i deleted my post about it the other night, but it's disgusting and deeply telling), openly excited at seeing the graphic r*pe scenes and the degradation threaded throughout the film, down to comments where they're replying with their whole chests that they can't wait to get off to it, down to the dude i saw who, when in response to a woman asking what is wrong with him that he wants to see marilyn fictionally assaulted, he said, "it's not about seeing marilyn being r*ped, it's about seeing ana de armas as marilyn being r*ped." they have no shame and no compunction about saying this aloud. and no doubt a lot of it is about titillation over marilyn herself, but marilyn has now been gone for so long and is so mythologized and commodified that she's no longer a real person, she's only a poster of a white skirt blowing in the subway breeze, she's only a body. it's been sixty years, and you'd think somehow she'd be treated more carefully and respectfully at some point.

it negates her humanity, her talent, and the reality of her abuse (why are we adding heinous fictional abuse onto the life of a woman who WAS subjected to abuse and hurt and objectification across her short life?). i have no idea if the film even touches on the medical trauma she endured, for example, both physical (particularly in regards to her endometriosis) and mental (and what she was subjected to during her forced hospital stay), but i know there's a depiction of a talking fetus, so that tells me enough. oates is someone i have countless issues with anyway, and blonde is neither the first nor the last time she fictionalized real life events in the most traumatic way possible with no respect for the victims. you're right, she seems to have a fixation on this topic.

what breaks my heart is i know this story reduces marilyn to a shell, a broken doll, the helpless dumb blonde beauty who was exploited and used by men for their pleasure, devoid of self-respect, desperate to be loved, dragging herself towards her tragic end, and that's not who she was. that's the boilerplate version that was sold of her. she was a sensitive, thoughtful, savvy woman; she was well-read, she was ambitious (do they even bother to mention her production company? her progressive politics? her wry humor? her extensive library? do they touch on, as the post i reblogged mentioned, her conversion to judaism and her studies?), she longed to be appreciated for her talent and not her physical form, she tried to improve and grow, and yes, she did yearn for love and belonging and a family and motherhood after an upbringing of neglect and abuse, but degrading and exploiting her further isn't the way to examine that or get it across. and idc how often they say this is a highly fictionalized account, plenty of people will watch it not knowing that, and take it as some semblance of fact (this happens with biopics all the time), and it's a disgrace to her legacy. i try not to be a proponent of saying certain art/stories within reason shouldn't exist, but there was no defensible argument for this to be made. marilyn is never allowed to be seen as a whole person. marilyn is never allowed to rest. exactly as you said, she's used as nothing but a product. this was her worst fear. she said, "i hope they don't do that to me after i'm gone." she deserves to be remembered as a person. she deserved better then, she unquestionably deserves better now.

not to give credit to arthur miller, but he said, "to have survived, she would have had to be either more cynical or even further from reality than she was. instead, she was a poet on a street corner trying to recite to a crowd pulling at her clothes." they're still pulling at her clothes, at this point they're digging at her grave.

but let's ultimately look at marilyn's words, the real things she left us to consider, which matter most. she left us her films, her luminous image, but she also left us her poetry and written accounts of her life and interviews that are far more fascinating and relevant than any gratiuitous fiction could ever be.

marilyn said, in an interview given just before her death: "I never wanted to be Marilyn—it just happened. Marilyn’s like a veil I wear over Norma Jeane...I can always find Marilyn in the mirror."

"it's still about nudity. is that all I'm good for?"

"But when you're famous you kind of run into human nature in a raw kind of way. It stirs up envy, fame does. People you run into feel that, well, who is she, who does she think she is, Marilyn Monroe? They feel fame gives them some kind of privilege to walk up to you and say anything to you, you know, of any kind of nature and it won't hurt your feelings. Like it's happening to your clothing. One time here I am looking for a home to buy and I stopped at this place. A man came out and was very pleasant and cheerful, and said, "Oh, just a moment, I want my wife to meet you." Well, she came out and said, "Will you please get off the premises?" You're always running into people's unconscious...Usually they don't say it to me, they say it to the newspapers because that's a bigger play. You know, if they're only insulting me to my face that doesn't make a big enough play because all I have to say is, "See you around, like never." But if it's in the newspapers, it's coast-to-coast and all around the world. I don't understand why people aren't a little more generous with each other."

"It's nice to be included in people's fantasies, but you also like to be accepted for your own sake. I don't look at myself as a commodity, but I'm sure a lot of people have."

"It was the creative part that kept me going, trying to be an actress. I enjoy acting when you really hit it right. And I guess I've always had too much fantasy to be only a housewife. Well, also, I had to eat. I was never kept, to be blunt about it; I always kept myself. I have always had a pride in the fact that I was my own."

"I'm one of the world's most self-conscious people. I really have to struggle. An actor is not a machine, no matter how much they want to say you are. Creativity has got to start with humanity and when you're a human being, you feel, you suffer."

"There is a need for aloneness, which I don't think most people realize for an actor. It's almost having certain kinds of secrets for yourself that you'll let the whole world in on only for a moment, when you're acting. But everybody is always tugging at you. They'd all like sort of a chunk of you."

"I think that when you are famous every weakness is exaggerated. This industry should behave like a mother whose child has just run out in front of a car. But instead of clasping the child to them, they start punishing the child."

"Fame has a special burden, which I might as well state here and now. I don't mind being burdened with being glamorous and sexual. But what goes with it can be a burden."

"I never quite understood it, this sex symbol. I always thought symbols were those things you clash together! That's the trouble, a sex symbol becomes a thing. I just hate to be a thing."

"I don't think people will turn against me, at least not by themselves. I like people. The "public" scares me, but people I trust. Maybe they can be impressed by the press or when a studio starts sending out all kinds of stories. But I think when people go to see a movie, they judge for themselves. We human beings are strange creatures and still reserve the right to think for ourselves."

"It might be a kind of relief to be finished. You have to start all over again. But I believe you're always as good as your potential. I now live in my work and in a few relationships with the few people I can really count on. Fame will go by, and, so long, I've had you fame. If it goes by, I've always known it was fickle. So at least it's something I experienced, but that's not where I live."

[keikakudori]

Would Aizen's partner be affected if he fathered children while the Hogyoku is embedded in him, given that it enhances his already immense reiryoku? Can the partner carry a fetus that's growing with immense power?

Hello anon, I've touched on that very concept here and here in previous meta of mine, but I suppose it's time for a more extensive answer.

To answer the first question? Yes, his partner would find themselves affected if he ever found himself in the position of fathering children. His own awareness of his power, combined with the understanding that it was his own power that slowly killed his mother gives him excellent reason to never want children and he's never considered that something he's interested in pursuing. However, putting that aside --

Yes, he knows that his power would very much affect his partner. The only way that he'd even consider fathering a child would be if there were extreme precautions taken to monitor the health of the person carrying the fetus to term and ways their power could be bolstered to deal with the impact that the fetus would have on them and their body. He might even find a way to tie his own power to this person's so they could be supported in that fashion and not find themselves so drained as a result.

If this worked and it was viable that the procedure worked, then that might change things. It might not.

Given that his mother was capable of carrying him, it is possible but his partner would need to be immensely powerful themselves before anything close to the idea of children can come into play. I've spoken about it before and I'll say it again; the list of people who could conceivably be a surrogate for Aizen is very short. On that list is Rangiku, Orihime, Hallibel, Yoruichi, and Unohana, just going by canon. Keep in mind, he wouldn't even consider the idea of having children until well after the ending of the series and Unohana, if we go by canon, is dead. The other three would probably also just say no, outright.

But suppose that one of them agreed, just for the sake of consideration on how this would go.

For the second question? If the person who would become the surrogate had their reiryoku trained for several months beforehand, that would aid them quite a bit when the time came for the insertion of a fertilized ovum. What, you thought that Aizen would do the deed himself? No.

But either way, if there was a way to help tie his power to his partner that they ( and more importantly, the unborn fetus ) could absorb his strength to feed both mother and impending child, then that might persuade him otherwise on having children. Might. It's a strong might.

Naoko was capable of carrying Aizen to term because she had the potential to have been a strong Shinigami; if she had received proper training and lived long enough to get to the Seireitei and become a member of the Goteijusantai, then she could have been a seated officer at least, possibly even a lieutenant. Unfortunately, she didn't live that long. And, undoubtedly, Aizen is likely stronger than the man who fathered him; of course, Naoko was also carrying a child who was a direct descendent of the Soul King so it's hard to say whether or not carrying Aizen's child would be more dangerous or less dangerous.

If there was any chance of Aizen fathering a child on someone, there would have to be extensive work put into making sure that the mother in question will be able to not only survive the pregnancy, but equally that the fetus will not ruin their health either the way Aizen's did with Naoko's. Of course, that would mean that Mayuri and Kisuke would also have to be involved in this entire process, along with Isane, to ensure that everything would be running smoothly and that is a case, it could be argued, of too many cooks in the kitchen. Aizen wouldn't want their help but he's not so proud that he won't say that they wouldn't be useful.

So would his partner be affected? Yes, probably. Another possibility for reducing his reiryoku would be for Aizen to wear sekki-seki stone for an extended period of time so it could eat away at his power ( though that would not be an entirely viable solution, possibly, unless it was enhanced; I'm fully convinced that Aizen would burn through those kinds of devices from how hard it'd have to work on counteracting his strength and thus they would need to be continually renewed or replaced ) to some degree that would make it more viable for the surrogate to survive.

Aizen's own power wrecked his mother's body and he continued to wither her away over time due to it being uncontrolled, especially when he was asleep. Unlike Toshiro, however, he had no one there to tell him that he needed to learn how to control it. And given that we've seen that it doesn't take a lot of power for those with Shinigami potential to begin having an effect on those around them, you can imagine how much faster it went for him and Naoko since they were located in what was essentially the hinterlands of the Seireitei. If I remember right, it's rare to see Shinigami out in the Eightieth districts. Not unheard of, but extremely rare. Maybe if someone had stepped in sooner, things would be different.

Of course, Aizen isn't interested in having children, generally speaking. The only way in which you'll find him even entertaining the idea is in the failure!verse; most of my other verses just won't see it happening and it will never happen in a canon-compliant setting. If he did decide he wanted a child, then he and Gin would have to talk things out extensively, agree on a surrogate, and ask that surrogate if they'd be willing to help them out. He doesn't want to ruin someone else's health like that. Aizen may not remember much of his mother or their time together, but he remembers how frail she was before she died.

He would not be able to handle seeing someone he knows much more extensively going through that. Not easily, not with grace, not with skill; it would probably unlock a lot of repressed childhood memories, honestly.

[amoralcrackpot]

Where Stars Collide II

Previously on Where Stars Collide....

As Mike sat amongst the dull electronic buzz of an otherwise pleasant escape pod, he couldn't help but reflect on the series of poor life choices that brought him here.

To begin with: Mike once made the unwise decision to be born. Therapists over the years insisted such a thing was completely out of the control of a fetus (to say nothing of the egg and spermatozoa that proceeded it), but he couldn't shake this feeling that he could have wrapped his umbilical cord around his neck and be done with it.

Then there was the matter of Mike making notable and lasting relationships with others. Not that he necessarily regretted his many friends and rather impressive string of romantic partners and sexual conquests. But it was his friends - in particular, Mrs. Bennigan, a sweet, yet insatiable older woman with amazing hair and alluring access to the answers of every exam - who convinced Mike to stay in school and finish his degree in quantum waste management. Had Mike instead followed his heart and joined that cult with the funny hats and slide whistles, perhaps he wouldn't have found himself in charge of cleaning vomitoriums and gorging on the leftover troughs of once frozen, now room temperature shrimp.

And of course, there was that weekend at the euthanatorium.

In fact, it was as Mike hunched over a hole in The Weaver's vomitorium, expunging suspect shrimp and taking in the lovelyish view of the void, that his mind had last wandered to the deranged laughter and echoing screams of the euthanatorium. Three months had passed since that weekend and the joy of watching the life fade from the eyes of the elderly, terminally ill, and assorted unwanted children remained fresh as ever. He could still feel what used to be Mr. Glockenspiel grow limp and cold in his hands, smell the man’s final meal of broken glass and spoiled milk empty out across the tile floor, and hear it all gurgle down the drain. According to the staff, Mike had the fatal grip of a seasoned professional. And Mr. Glockenspiel's family praised Mike for allowing the man the dignity of dying in battle. But when his natural skill and showmanship earned Mike a full-time job offer, he turned it down.

"I've already accepted a job cleaning up vomit on a space-cruise," he said.

Mrs. Killemall, the euthanatorium's manager, looked at the man in front of her and shook her head. "You stupid, stupid man."

When what sounded like a bit of debris cutting through the hull snapped him out of his daze and back to the vomitorium, Mike couldn't help but think Mrs. Killemall was right. While a series of explosions consumed The Weaver from the inside out, he was almost sure of it. As the blaring siren of an emergency alert screamed through what remained of The Weaver, he wondered if it was perhaps too late to give Mrs. Killemall a call and ask if the job was still available. Among the mass panic of crew and passengers alike mingling with explosions and demands to get to the nearest escape pod, Mike firmly decided that he may have possibly screwed up yet again. And just as his escape pod jettisoned off to the relative safety of the void and a final, massive explosion reduced The Weaver to even more debris, Mike realized he evacuated with neither a change of clothes nor a breath mint.

to be continued...

[riszellira]

Memorial of Saint Athanasius, Bishop and Doctor of the Church

Reflection: When Words Mean the World

I feel so musical these days. From Joan Osborne’s “One of Us” yesterday, we move back farther to 1990 with Extreme’s “More than Words.” It opens with “Saying ‘I love you’ is not the words I want to hear from you. [. . .] What would you do if my heart was torn in two? More than words to show you feel that your love for me is real, what would you say if I took those words away? Then you couldn’t make things new just by saying ‘I love you . . .’”

Here we are reminded of the amazing power of God’s words that created everything in the beginning. How amazing that God shared the power of His words—the power to communicate—only with us. And when His Word became flesh in Jesus Christ, He told us in simple words the great power we share with Him in love: “As the Father loves me, so I also love you. Remain in my love. If you keep my commandments, you will remain in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and remain in his love. I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and your joy may be complete” (John 15:9-11).

How sad that we often take this for granted as we desecrate our very words of their sanctity and true meaning, like when persons are reduced to stages of life, like embryo and fetus to allow abortions which others also claim as a right and a choice. How sad that we say something without really meaning it, multiplying our words so others would believe and trust us, like in most advertisements, movies, and social media.

Jesus invites us today to regain the sanctity of words, of palabra de honor, that has long been gone in a world of lies and deceptions. See how, “after much debates” in the Council of Jerusalem (Acts 15:7), Saint Peter was guided by the Holy Spirit in resolving their issue of not subjecting the pagan converts to Jewish laws and customs, which paved the way for the spread of Christianity.

~Fr. Nick F. Lalog

When did you last pray with God’s words found in the Bible?

Lord Jesus Christ, help us rediscover You and Your life-giving words in the Bible so that we may express—with more than words—our great love for You through our loving service to one another. Amen.

Prayer

… for a deep and profound respect for life, especially for the unborn.

… for the strength and healing of the sick.

… for the healing and peace of all families.

Finally, we pray for one another, for those who have asked our prayers and for those who need our prayers the most.

GOD BLESS!

[clownsuu]

mini au doodles (cause I can)

(very minor spoilers)

Little doodles with the little man

[80hdean]

it’s midnight and im back on my mpreg bullshit

akfjdkfj the non-cringey mpreg corner of this fandom (which seems to be like, um, four or five people lmfao it’s hard to know) is really rad and I appreciate the different angles everyone approaches it from, whether it’s baby-trapping someone (@autisticandroids’ mpregpocalypse), or it’s the body horror atrocity that happens when one is pregnant (postpartum prometheus by @dragqueendean & @nifedick), or it’s the angst angle of giving destiel the Most babies in the most tragic way possible (@astermacguffin’s au), these are all great!! I genuinely enjoy all of them for various reasons.

what I’m still not getting, though, is why it’s always cas being impregnated. I mean, the obvious answer is that it’s easy to invent some sort of handwavey angel magic that allows him to do pretty much anything with a fetus. but angel magic aside, are there character reasons for not inflicting this curse upon dean?

bc from where I’m sitting, it seems like a very entertaining way to cause dean Physical Suffering and Psychic Agony, as well as the gold mine of conflict between his fear of fucking up any life he’s responsible for and his deeply buried desires for that picket fence life he thinks he doesn’t deserve/isn’t cut out for.

I suppose that last part is arguable. It’s just one potential interpretation of the dean the show presents. resonates with me, so I ran with it but I don’t assume that’s ubiquitous.

perhaps the other issue is the characterization of cas, bc gender fuckery aside (i.e. I will not argue that carrying a human fetus is feminizing or whatever), gestating a human or human adjacent being inside a human vessel is difficult and strenuous and does make someone more vulnerable for a decent chunk of time (the degree of this varies widely, obviously). I kinda felt like towards the end of the show at least, cas had been beaten down so far physically/metaphysically (given his dwindling grace and decreasing mobility (though this is a rare hc of mine that I’ve never seen discussed on tumblr so it’s not a huge part of this argument)) that it is less interesting to me to make him more vulnerable? dean, in contrast, seems as strong and powerful as ever.

the other aspect is that to make dean pregnant you would either need to do more handwavey angel magic (which, sure why not what makes one magic more plausible than another?), or you’d have to make dean a trans man and deal with the fallout of that. I don’t think making dean trans is the issue, though, at least not in the tiny corner of spn fandom I find myself in, at least not for transphobia reasons. perhaps it’s just that the consequences of inflicting pregnancy on a trans man are arguably worse than on an angel, and therefore would be more difficult to parse and write in a non shitty and non cringe way.

or maybe it’s just me, succumbing to the brain worms? but I kinda think the extra consequence flavor is what makes the idea so spicy~

[simpforfictionalmen4ever]

Could you do an Aaron x daughter reader one shot where she is pregnant at a really young age and like a lot of angsty stuff idk

Yessss but also I'm not really familiar with angst 😅 but here you go

Warnings: angst , teen pregnancy, fluff

I'm going to fuck this kid up.

That's the only thought in my mind for past 7 months. My dad is already disappointed in me and I'm tired seeing it in his eyes everyday yet he will not go to work without kissing my very visible belly bump.

"bubs you're spilling the coffee" my thoughts were interrupted by Penelope

"oh shit " i started cleaning up the mess i made but i felt strong hand sneaking up on my waist

"let me take care of it sweetheart" i heard my dad's husky voice

"no need da-"

"go rest movie night has been tough on you " it has because everyone has been walking on eggshells

"yes mama come here " said Derek and tapped seat next to him

"okay" i rolled my eyes and grabbed my coffee

"you know caffeine is believed to cause the blood vessels in uterus and placenta to constrict , which could reduce the blood supply to the fetus and inhibit growth " announced Reid

"okay! I get it I'm bad mom. I suck ! I got knocked up at 16 , i drink coffee ,i eat junk-" I don't even know where this came from, i was pretty good at bottling up

"darling calm-"

"save it dad ! Everyone knows im a huge failure to you, i'm not your super girl anymore . I'm just girl who was stupid enough to threw her career away" i shouted and tears smeared my face. "I'm sorry"

"I'm going to sleep" i mumbled and started walking towards my room

"i didn't mean it, I'm sorry" said Reid

"it's okay its not like i have lack of reminders " i chuckled and closed the door. I dropped my heavy body on my bed and sighed

After 5 minutes there was a knock on my door and i murmured 'come in', of course it was dad.he sat down on the edge of the bed

"hi"

"hi"

"i just want you to know that you will never be able to do such thing that can change my mind about you. I'm so proud of you little one and i get it why you feel anxious" he took my hand to stop me from picking my nails " you are very young and everything around you is so intimidating, but I'm here , you will never be alone even if things go out of the hand-"

"dad i screwed up everything and right now im screwing up this little guy . No one wants failure as their mom "

"shush. You aren't the failure you hear me ? And you are going to be amazing mom . I know you aren't a coward and i think you are going to nail everything. You have no idea how special you are, you have very long and successful life ahead of you, so it's okay to feel stressed right now you don't always have to be strong. "

"dad-"

"little Hotchner is so lucky to have you as their mom. I'm proud of you" he whispered as he wiped the tear that was streaming down on my cheek

"so what about i make you a bath? Hm? And some hot chocolate"

"you really are proud of me?" I asked with cracky voice and he chuckled

"is it possible to not be proud of my little superstar?" He said kissing my forehead

[thepro-lifemovement]

Okay, so life starts at conception. That means I have to donate my body and resources to keep it alive? If my mother got into a car crash and I was the only person able to donate an organ to keep her alive, there is no law that can force me to do so. I do not have to donate anything of mine to anyone for any reason. Why is that different for a fetus that never asked to be brought into existence? If I'm donating my body to something that didn’t consent to existence and I don't want to to exist, I do not have to carry it to term. Especially if I am 11, raped, or a victim of incest.

The difference here is when a woman is pregnant, she (in a vast majority of cases) has consented to the act of sex, which brought about the pregnancy. Pregnancy is a possible consequence, or outcome, of sex and women have to accept that. No contraception is 100%. Just because you did not want a pregnancy, doesn't mean you won't ovulate and an egg in your fallopian tube won't get fertilized. The only way to avoid that from happening 100% is to not have sex. That is the only natural act that creates life. The unborn child is not responsible for your actions. You are the one who consented to sex, your body created a new life from the sperm of your partner, a new human being is then created from that act. If you're playing ball in the street with someone, and they hit the ball through your neighbor's window, you can't tell your neighbor "well, I consented to playing baseball, but I did not consent to the ball going through your window, therefor I am not paying for your window to be fixed." There's a risk associated with everything we do, including sex.

If we expect men to take responsibility for their children and pay child support (whether he wanted his kid or not), shouldn't we expect that of the women? A woman is free to do what she wants with her own body, but her unborn child is not her body. They have their own body. You can't just kill someone for existing. The act of donating an organ to someone who needs it is not the same as grabbing a gun and shooting them dead. But the act of abortion is actively killing an unborn child. Other people can donate their organs to someone else. But only the pregnant woman can carry a child who is implanted to her uterine wall. Once she becomes pregnant, her unborn child is now her responsibility.

A woman who chooses to have sex does so with the full knowledge that there's a real possibility that it may create a new living human being inside her. It's reasonable, then, for society to expect that woman (who knowingly consented to that risk) to live temporarily with that inconvenience if the only alternative is killing the child. It may not sound fair to you, but killing an unborn, living human being is also incredibly unfair. You and your partner created this human being. You cannot kill him/her just because they are unwanted. It is you and your partner's responsibility to give them the basic right to life. It is not their fault they exist. It's yours. And no one has the right to take someone else's life.

Also, in cases of rape and incest, abortion is not the solution. It does not erase the pain that women (child or not) go through. We need to stop telling women that a pregnancy will ruin their life. A study of 164 such women found that the majority of those who had abortions regretted having done so and said the abortion caused them additional problems. We need to offer love and support for rape victims. They need counseling. Giving them more trauma of an abortion is not the way to help them. Abortion also increases a woman's risk of premature death by 50%.

"Within a year of their pregnancy outcomes, women experiencing a pregnancy loss are over twice as likely to die compared to women giving birth.... Both miscarriage and termination of pregnancy are markers for reduced life expectancy."

Give women better options than abortion.