#and then at the end we all reveal who we did it for

[birthanon]

Birth Ordinance

The following story contains: explicit birth, birth denial, twin birth, and enough information about Mormon temples they'd be upset with me. But hey, it was my experience too and I have every right to it. Some creative liberties were taken with the temple stuff. It's my first attempt at sharing something like this. So I'm happy to get feedback.

Story behind cut:

Mariah groaned, reaching down and wrapping around her large stomach as the car went over a bump and into the Mormon Temple’s parking lot. Her husband, Mathew, glanced over. 

“Almost there, honey,” he said. “Just keep breathing, and soon God will bless us with a pair of new children.”

The latest contraction eased, and Mariah eased back into her seat, breathing hard as her stomach visibly relaxed under her hand. The new prophet, President Oaks, had revealed that there was a new covenant and ritual that women had to participate in during the birth of their children. It was still new enough Mariah didn’t know anyone who had participated in it, but the prophet spoke for god so she and her family would obey. Surely a birth (or two) in God’s house surrounded by holy men would be far more blessed than a birth in a hospital surrounded by doctors who had been corrupted by fake-science like vaccines, gender ideology, dinosaurs, and other such satanic lies.

The car came to a stop, and Mathew got out, dressed in his nice suit. Then he came around and opened the door for Mariah. As she stood, another contraction seized her. She clutched the door handle and moaned through the pain, curling in on her stomach instinctively. 

“Come on, hon,” Mathew said, grabbing her hand. “We’re gonna be late.” Then he pulled, dragging her up out of the car with zero warning.

Mariah stumbled, still mid-contraction. Her back screamed as it took on the weight of her twins. Mathew managed to catch her, as her legs gave out, keeping her from face planting in the temple parking lot. 

“Woah careful there,” Mathew said, smiling, completely oblivious. He did however stay long enough for the contraction to end and for Mariah to get her footing back. The shoes she wore had a slight heel to them. She thought it wouldn’t matter too much, and she didn’t have anything completely flat that was nice enough for the temple, but the way her hips ached, she already fiercely regretted her choice. Even more so when she looked up and saw just how far away the temple was. Her husband had parked in the furthest parking stall from the main doors. 

“Go ahead and start walking,” Mathew said, “I’ll grab our temple bags.”

With a sigh, Mariah began the trek, pressing one hand to her back to counteract the growing pain there. Everything felt strange down below, both open and tight at once, her hips oddly shaky, which led to a distinct waddle in her walk. It took almost no time at all for Mathew to catch up to her, both temple bags slung over his shoulder. 

They made it to the temple doors without further issue, the massive white building standing out starkly against the blue sky, stain glass windows gleaming. A patron exiting opened the door for them, smiling and greeting them. Then their eyes strayed to Mariah’s belly. “Congratulations,” the man said. “Are you excited about the new revelation from our prophet?”

“We are so lucky to be some of the first to experience it,” Mathew replied, proudly resting his hand on Mariah’s belly. 

Mariah didn’t say anything, anxiety twisting in her chest. She just wished she knew what she was getting into. Neither man noticed her silence however, and exchange a few more quick pleasantries before they continued inside. 

Once inside, both Mathew and Mariah produced their temple recommends from their wallets, then Mariah produced her special recommend for a live ordinance, given to her after extensive interviews with both her bishop and her stake president to prove she was worthy. Another contraction came as they checked over her paperwork. She grabbed onto the desk, circling her hips and breathing hard, feeling the pressure increase.

“Has your water broken yet?” the man at the desk asked.

Mariah shook her head, unable to say much else in the midst of the contraction.

Mathew answered for her. “She’s been having regular contractions for the past two hours, one minute on, four minutes off. We’ve come as instructed. And we called ahead.”

“Yes, yes,” the desk worker said, then he handed her a little piece of paper and a pin. “We’ve got your guide waiting for you. Just put this on and head into the main room. She’ll meet you inside.”

Gratefully, Mariah took the paper and pinned it onto her dress with shaking hands, then she and Mathew headed past the white wall of the reception area and into the main temple area. Green plants and pastel green and gold couches lined the walls and filled the center space of the area. A woman and man saw her name tag and came over, shaking both Mathew and Mariah’s hand, and introducing themselves as Sister and Brother Wallace. 

Mathew handed Mariah her temple bag, and then was swept away to the men’s changing room by Brother Wallace, leaving Mariah with Sister Wallace, who led her to the other side of the foyer where the sister’s dressing room was. 

“We’ve already set aside one of the larger dressing rooms for you,” Sister Wallace said. “There will be a white jumpsuit in there. Put it on, just like if you were getting ready for a baptism for the dead. Then I’ll take you into an instructional room for a short video.”

Mariah nodded, and entered into her dressing room. Though it was definitely larger than the normal stalls, it was still small, barely enough room for her to move around with her massive stomach. She had just enough to to place her bag on a small wooden bench that protruded from the metal doors before another  contraction hit. She hissed and groaned, working through it. Once it was through, she awkwardly reached down grabbed the hem of her dress which was significantly closer to her fingers than it would have been pre pregnancy, and dragged it up over her massive belly. It was a bit of a struggle, but soon it was off. Next went her wired bra and her white pregnancy garments, which were soaked with sweat. 

Not caring much, she threw the clothes and her old shoes in a locker, then began the momentous task of putting on the silky zip-up garments which barely fit over her massive belly, the tiny sports bra that did very little to contain her leaking breasts, and a large zip up jumper than definitely was not made for a pregnant woman. She barely got the zipper up half her chest, leaving the white undergarments visible. As she sat down to put on the grippy socks, breathing heavily from the effort of changing clothes, another contraction took her she groaned, practically collapsing the rest of the way onto the little wooden bench. The unyielding solidness pressed against her privates which felt much more exposed in the tight white jumpsuit, zipper straining. 

Sister Wallace knocked midway through the contraction, asking if she needed any help. Once the contraction released her, Mariah leaned over awkwardly and undid the latch. No way she was getting on those stupid socks without help, not in her condition. Wallace helped her easily enough, getting the soaks on her swollen feet, then helped her up. 

The instruction room wasn’t far, and she was sat down in a cushy chair, Wallace at her side, and a video of the prophet showed up. “In order to ensure our families our celestial, God has revealed a plan for his children. As the child is being birthed, the mother will go through each of the ordinances on the path to the celestial kingdom, doing them in proxy for their child. That way, no matter what path the child takes in life, they will already have their work done for them. It is like baptisms for the dead, but for those who have not yet come into this world.”

Mariah stared as yet another contraction hit, the pressure building. The heavy ball of her first child’s head sitting in her hips. All the ordinances? But the baby was coming soon, and that would take hours!

“Best get a move on then, right?” the sister said.

The elevator was broken, so they had to take the stairs down to the font. Midway down another contraction hit, and Mariah was caught with legs on separate stairs, clinging to the bronze railing for dear life as the pressure mounted, and mounted and mounted. She needed to push, she realized suddenly. But no, that couldn’t be right. Her water hadn’t broken yet. And she had to get through these ordinances so her children would make it to heaven with her!

Mariah gasped in relief as the wave of pain eased away. Already her white suit was near-see through with sweat in some areas. But Wallace didn’t seem to mind, she just grabbed Mariah’s arm and helped her hobble awkwardly down the rest of the stairs, her legs forced just a bit further apart than they had been earlier.

Teens waiting to be baptized stared openly as Mariah hobbled down the hall, one hand on her back, the other trying to support her massive twin stomach. They walked into the main font, a white pool on top of twelve golden oxen, the air heavy with the scent of chlorine, then waited for the teen who was currently being dunked to finish their set of baptisms. Mathew was already waiting on the other side, dressed in a similar white jumpsuit. He smiled and waved, his escort at his side as well. Once the teen finished, him and his adult baptizer exited the font and were handed fluffy white towels, then Mariah and Mathew entered. 

The water was warm, a welcome relief to her straining body, and Mariah couldn’t help but groan in relief as Mathew walked her to the center of the pool. He took her wrist in his hand, holding her hand up by her face, then held his right hand to a square behind her. “Sister Johnson,” he prayed. “Having been commissioned by Jesus Christ, I baptize you for and behalf of, Nephi Johnson, who is not yet born, in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost, Amen.”

In the midst of his prayer, another contraction wrapped its way around her belly. As he put his hand to her back and pressed her down into the water, the pain and pressure mounted. She tried to scream with the pain, but water flooded into her mouth. Down, down, deeper into the water, as her husband tried to get her whole massive body completely submerged. Then she was up again, spitting up water, ears ringing, barely aware her husband was saying the prayer again, until she was plunged unsuspectingly back into the water. 

As her knees bent, something popped inside her, and the pressure was gone. She came back up spluttering, wiped away the stinging chlorine from her eyes and stared down at the red tendrils spread from her into the holy water. 

She blushed, but Mathew didn’t seem to notice. He pulled her to him instead, then helped her back out of the font. The stairs were slippery. A towel was wrapped around her as the cool air made her tremble in her wet clothes. 

Then she found herself in a shower, her legs spread, panting, struggling to get her white jumpsuit off while the shower spread the chlorine off of her. She managed to get the zipper undone with shaking hands, but she couldn’t get the fabric off her hips without closing her legs, and that just didn’t seem possible. Groaning with the effort, she put her legs together despite her body screaming at her, and pushed the suit down. Then came the too small bra, which clung to her chest, and then the zip up garments, which present similar problems. Once they were down around her feet, she eased down, groaning as her necked butt rested on the plastic shower seat, to try and kick her clothes off the rest of the way. 

As she curled forward to try and get them off, another contraction struck. She groaned panting, trying to spread her legs to give the baby’s massive head room, but couldn’t. Her feet were caught by the restrictive material bound around them. She panicked, reaching blindly downward, kicking frantically, trying to get a leg free, because she needed her legs free. 

Finally a leg slipped free, and she eagerly spread her legs, pushing hard as the contraction ebbed, thankful for the warmth of the shower water dripping over her. Perhaps I should just stay and birth in here, she thought as the water cleansed her sweat. But no, she had to follow through. Had to make sure her children were saved.

Heaving herself to her feet she grabbed her towel from her hook, did her best to dry herself off, then tried to wrap it around her. It was made for teenagers, so it wasn’t the best modesty shield for a full grown, very pregnant woman, but she got the important parts covered. Barely. 

Sister Wallace met her outside the shower, all smiles, and handed her a white poncho. “This is a shield,” she said. “We’ve brought it back for innititories, go ahead and put it on.”

On the plus side, it was just a giant rectangle with a hole in the head, incredibly easy to put on compared to the earlier clothes, on the other hand, Mariah was left nearly completely exposed, the fabric hanging down only to mid-thigh in the front because of her massive belly, and left completely open on the sides. 

Those attired, with shaking legs, she was led into a room and told to sit down in a chair. Mathew and Brother Wallace awaited her, they placed their hands on her head as another contraction began and began the confirmation prayer. Mariah tried not to moan as her legs spread apart, her massive belly sinking between them, covering her parts as her clothes seemed to do very little of that. She couldn’t help but push, and felt the massive baby within move further down. The contraction let up, then another came, and she pushed with it again, trying to stay quite so she wouldn’t disrupt the prayer. 

Gosh, the baby was right there, right between her legs. It needed to be born. But she’d been grabbed by the arm and yanked to her feet before she could fully process the change. “Hurry now,” Sister Wallace said.

Practically naked, she was led through the temple, and back to the stairs. “No,” she moaned, leaning forward as another contraction started and she felt her nethers begin to sting. Her hand shot to her pussy, although she wasn’t sure if her intention was to support the baby or hold it in. 

The contraction ended before she had to make up her mind, the stinging easing as the baby slipped back inside. 

“It’s coming,” Mariah moaned.

Sister Wallace frowned. “Hold it in, or it will never be able to be in the celestial kingdom with you.”

Nodding, Mariah steeled herself, staring up at the spiral staircase. She’d do this.

Up and up she went, one stair at a time. Each time her leg went up and separated to reach the next step, she could feel the sting of the baby settling against her holds, then she’d bring her feet together and the stinging would ease. One contraction stopped her midway up, and she breathed hard. Do not push, do not push, she chanted to herself, as she pressed her hand against the head, supporting it, keeping it inside.

The top of the stairs opened to the women’s locker room, and inside that the initiatory. Another sister met her inside a curtain and told her to sit in the small waiting chair. Wish shaking legs, she sat, purposely tilting her pelvis so the chair put counter pressure on her baby, keeping it inside. Her hand when she finally pulled it away, was wet.

“Sister, having authority, I wash you preparatory to receiving your anointings for and behalf of Nephi Johnson, who is yet to be born, that youmay become clean from the sins of this generation,” the sister in this room said. Then with wet hands she placed her hand on Mariah’s head, blessing it, then her ears, then her eyes, then her nose, then her lips. A strange game of reverse head, shoulders knees and toes, each body part its own blessing. 

“Your neck, that it may bear up your head properly,” the woman said, then she reached down inside the shield, resting her cold wet hands on Mariah’s shoulders. “Your shoulders that they may bear up the burdens that shall be placed thereon.” Then the hands moved further down, onto her back, then they slipped and rested on Mariah’s ample, aching breast, blessed to be a receptacle of pure and virtuous principles. 

A contraction came as the hands rested on her stomach, and she zoned out, focusing on putting her weight against the head of the baby, keeping it inside as she tried and failed to not push. The hands were back on her contracting stomach, blessing her loins that “they may be fruitful and multiply and replenish the earth, that you might have joy in your posterity.” It was all so much. She needed to give birth, she needed them to stop touching her.

She tilted her hips, lifting them up from the chair, and pushed. The crown grew. Her lips stung. Then another set of hands rested on her head and shoved her down. The growing crown hit the chair and was shoved back into her. She screamed as the second officiant sealed the blessings of the washing upon her.

Her ears rang through the next prayer, her body lost in the need to push. But then the touching started up again, though this time instead of cold water, it was slick oil. The anointing, preparatory to becoming a king and a high priest unto God. 

Slick oil open her head, nose, her eyes, her neck, her breast, her back, her stomach, her loins, her feet. The hands lingered on her massive belly, caressing it, slathering it in slick oil. 

Her body, frustrated with the denial, initiated another contraction. It seemed stronger than the others, desperate. And Mariah didn’t even try to stop it this time. As the hands rested on her head to seal the anointing upon her, she pushed. But she couldn’t get off the chair, couldn’t get it to move, the hands held her steady, pushing her down into the chair. A whine escaped her as the contraction ended and the baby remained just there. 

Instructions were given, about the garments to wear, and then a new name was placed upon Nephi, though he hadn’t even officially received his first name. 

It was over, finally. She could move on to the next step. Except—

It started over again, with the blessing. With the wet touching. Twins. She was having twins. She had to do everything twice. She gave in to the touching, groaning as the hands caressed her breasts and belly with both water and oil a second time. The touch turning from foreign to comforting as she searched for anything grounding, anything positive to help her through this.

Three contractions later, the babies still safely within, the initiatory was over. Mariah stood from the chair, legs spread wide to accommodate the head which lurched forward as soon as she stood. She barely wobbled out of the room, catching Sister Wallace’s shoulders to stead herself and instantly crouching and barring down.

The head eased forward, the stinging increased. The head was massive. Twins were supposed to be small. How was she supposed to get this out?

Then the contraction eased and the head went back inside, leaving her panting and sweaty, but with no progress to show for her efforts.

“Oh dear,” Sister Wallace said. “You seem quite far along. Don’t worry. I’ll help you get dressed for the next step. I’ll be with you each step of the way.”

Then Mariah was forced to walk the short way to the dressing room, gasping for breath, feeling the weight of the head between her thighs, her hips protesting the constant movement while being spread so far apart.

“We have special garments to help in situations like this,” Sister Wallace said. “Step in.”

Blind with pain, Mariah managed to get a foot up, then the next one as Sister Wallace pulled on some sort of white undergarment. It was a bit of a wrestle, but finally it was on, tight as can be and pure white, nestled just under her belly. Mariah paid very little attention as Sister Wallace put on her white temple dress, her long white socks, and white shoes, focusing on not passing out or throwing up from the pain. 

“You’ve just got the endowment left,” Sister Wallace said, patting her on the shoulder. 

If the endowment ceremony wasn’t two hours long, if she didn’t have to do it twice, that would have been more reassuring.

At least she didn’t have to climb another stairs, as she was led into the endowment room, women on one side, men on the other, the seats full except the one at the front nearest the white alter that sat in the front of the room, a man standing behind it, ready to officiate.

Mathew sat in the seat closest to the alter on the men’s side of the aisle.

They were to be the representative couple. No. That meant standing up and kneeling and. . . gosh, how was this possible? Why would god ask this of her? No. Obedience. It was a test of obedience. To prove she and her family deserved the blessings. She would do it. She would prove she was strong enough.

With Sister Wallace's help, she waddled down the aisle, legs spread, crotch stinging, and settled into the front seat. Instructions sounded on the speaker, then the movie began. It was a movie she’d seen hundreds of times, about the creation of the world and Adam and Eve, so she quickly lost herself in the pain of the contractions. As each one came, she tried not to push, breathing through it as the head pushed through her tender folds, then eased back in as the contraction ended, too big to get all the way through or stay out without her help.

She was jerked from her pained breathing and the rhythm of the heading coming in and out, by a tap on her shoulder. Sister Wallace sat beside her, pointing toward the altar where Mathew waited, the rest of the audience waiting impatiently, staring at her.

With a groan she eased herself to her feet, stumbled the few steps to the altar, and kneeled beside her husband. There she promised the officiant, who was standing in for God, that she would obey Adam (Mathew)’s law so long as he obeyed the Father’s.

Kneeling hurt her knees, and her huge stomach pressed into the altar. She had a skirt of fig leaves on under her belly, but she didn’t remember putting it on. Sister Wallace must have done it earlier. A contraction came as she kneeled, and with legs forced apart and with gravity helping, the baby came down. She couldn’t help but push, and gasped as the head shot out further than it had yet. Agony tore through her pussy and she couldn’t help but let out a gasp, barely muffling the full scream of pain that surged from her throat. 

As soon as the contraction ended, however, the massive head began going back inside. The baby kicked, the feeling was wrong. Revulsion and agony surged through her body, and she tried to catch it, engaging her core muscles, stopping the baby in its tracks. There was pressure, something pushing back against the baby. As she slowly stood from the alter and headed back to her seat, the baby’s head brushing the inside of her thighs, she lost the push. The baby eased back inside her all the way. Tears filled her eyes. 

She would have sunk to the floor right there in pain and despair, but Sister Wallace caught her and brought her back to her seat. “Don’t worry,” she whispered in Mariah’s ears. “Those special garments will keep that baby in, no matter how hard you push. It will be saved.”

The next contraction brought the baby to a full crown, then the garments immediately began pushing it back in once the pressure released. Desperately, Mariah kept pushing, trying to keep the head there so she wouldn’t have to experience the agony of it returning. But eventually, she had to breathe, giving up the fight. Nausea filling her chest and throat.

She had to stand again, to put on a hat and robe and other holy emblems. Then again to kneel at the altar. Then the altar again. The third time, as she knelt the baby’s head completely popped out, slipping off to one leg of the garment. As she stood, her cheeks red with embarrassment and exhaustion, the head pressed against her leg. She felt it as she walked, bowlegged back to her seat, but before she could sit down, Sister Wallace caught her arm.

Right. It was time to go up the stairs to the terrestrial room. Each step was agony, the shoulders shifting in her hip, her legs spread awkwardly around the head, which touched her thighs. A line of people waited behind her awkward shuffling, impatient. When a contraction hit, Sister Wallace kept pulling her up the stairs, not giving her time to push. 

Her legs shook, each step torture, then they were at the top, and she was being pushed into a seat again. Sister Wallace frowned at her, and reached subtly under her dress as the rest of the people found their seats. Her hand slipped to the baby’s head that had somehow escaped the restrictive garment. 

In a horrible flash, Mariah knew what was coming. “Please, don’t” she whispered. “Please.”

“We have to save your baby,” Sister Wallace responded, then her hand pressed on the babies head, forcing it inside.

Mariah opened her mouth to scream, but Sister Wallace’s other hand grabbed her jaw and forced her mouth closed. “This is a holy place,” she reminded Mariah. “You must be quiet.”

More standing and kneeling and contractions. Endless pain. Torture of another kind. She needed to push. Needed to give birth. How could she play Mother Even for this long, making covenants for her, and yet not be allowed to give birth? 

The prayer circle finally came, the last bit until the end. Mathew grabbed her arm, and hauled her to her feet. Her legs trembled, the world swirled. “I can’t,” she whispered.

“This is for our babies,” Mathew said. “Please?”

Before she could say no, but how could she when she’d just promised God she’d obey him?, she was dragged to the front of the circle. The officiant said a prayer, she repeated what she said with the others in the circle, her legs spread awkwardly, the baby’s full crown bulging against the worn garments. Agony.

Then she was standing against the veil, making the tokens, with Sister Wallace whispering the right answers in her ears. She normally had these memorized, but she had no more brain power, no awareness except for the bulge in her pants and the desperate need to birth. Finally, it was over, she was through the veil.

“Very good,” Sister Wallace said, “just one more time through the endowment.”

“No,” Mariah begged, falling to her knees. “Please, I need to give birth. Please. To one of them. At least.”

Sister Wallace hesitated, then nodded. She reached out and pulled Mariah to her feet, in through the celestial room with its giant mirrors and massive crystal chandelier, then off to a small room to the side. It was all white, a single altar in the center. 

Sister Wallace knelt down, under Mariah’s skirt, fumbling with the tight garment bottom. “You must push your legs together to get this off,” she said.

But the baby’s head was there, fully crowned. Her legs weren’t going anywhere. “I can’t,” Mariah whined.

“I’ll help.” Then once again, the worst feeling of her life, the baby’s head being shoved back in. Mariah did vomit then, falling to her knees, vision blanking. She woke up sprawled over the altar, her baby’s head in her pussy, the garment bottom’s finally, blissfully off.

“Push,” Sister Wallace ordered. “Quickly, the next endowment session is starting soon. Your husband is waiting.”

Exhausted, but relieved, she pushed. The head shot out, and she screamed at the sudden shift despite herself. Gasping for breath, she clung to the side of the altar, her fingers digging into the cushions to keep herself upright on her trembling legs. An agonizing few minutes of breathing as the shoulders turned, then more pushing, the first shoulder popped out, stretching her even more.

Big, so big. Mariah shifted, awkwardly on her knees forcing them further apart to make room for the second shoulder, then with a final massive push and gush of fluids, the baby fell from her, into the waiting hands of Sister Wallace.

Or no, another Sister in white had entered at some point. She came in, cut the cord, washed up the baby, while Sister Wallace was doing something down there. Mariah didn’t quite care what. She watched her baby, Nephi, as he cried, wrapped in a blanket, still smeared with unmentionables, but beautiful anyway. Perfect. And promised to her forever, no matter what he did.

Another contraction distracted Mariah from that holy moment. She groaned, feeling the next baby pressing down on her worn insides, already pushing through her dilated cervix.

Then something snapped shut around her waist and her eyes shot open. Mariah stared in betrayal at Sister Wallace as she stood back up and held a dainty hand to Mariah. The restrictive, birthing-proof garments were back on. “Come on then, you must save the other one still.”

“No, please. I can’t.” Mariah didn’t even think she could stand. Even kneeling was too much. 

“You must, for your child. Come, you won’t be the witness couple this time. You can just sit through it.”

She had to drag Mariah to her feet. Mariah leaned on Sister Wallace heavily as they walked back down the halls, back to the first endowment room, the telestial room, painted with mountains and animals a plenty. Mathew waved at Mariah from where he sat, giving her a thumbs up.

The story of creation and Adam and Even droned on as the second baby dropped. It was moving much slower than before, the cramps having shifted to Mariah’s back more than her front. She leaned against the seat back, desperately seeking counter pressure as she pushed with each contraction. But it was getting harder and harder to do so.

Her body ached. Her head spun. She was so tired.  Robotically, she obeyed the instructions from Sister Wallace to get through the session. By the time they needed to switch rooms, the second baby, the daughter presumably, was low again. This birth felt different somehow. Worse, slower. Maybe everything was harder because she was exhausted? Mariah wondered.

But as she stood and pressed her hand subtly to her bulging nethers, she felt something that was definitely not a head. Still it spread her apart plenty.

She was only two steps up to the next room when the next contraction hit. It was too much. Despite Sister Wallace’s support arm, Mariah’s legs gave out and she went down. She was too tired to scream, so she could only moan as something stretched her lips apart, only to be slowly shoved back in by the restrictive garments.

“Help,” she moaned. “Let me birth it, please.”

It took both Mathew and Sister Wallace to drag her limp, stumbling, exhausted body up the stairs and plop her in the seat for the next section. The contractions came and went, her body’s frantic, last push to get the baby out. The pressure and pain was awful, but the baby was stuck fast, spreading her lips wide apart, far wider than the son’s head. The garments were too worn by this time to push the baby back, it only held it, at the butt equivalent of a full crown, as the contractions continued on and on.

She zoned out in the pain, lost, distant. Until, at last she was pulled to her feet once more. The baby’s body brushed against her inner thighs as she was dragged to the front of the veil, muttered through the secrets, and was finally let inside. She didn’t have the energy to kneel, so she was laid across the altar.

Mathew was there this time, as Sister Wallace took off the garment bottoms, throwing Mariah’s skirts up, over her belly and out of the way.

Completely exposed, Mariah tried to look down to see what was happening, her legs propped up on either side of the altar on stools to keep them separate. She couldn’t have held them up, someone was doing it for her. Despite her efforts she couldn’t see over her misshapen belly.

“You are doing so good, I can see it,” Mathew assured her, from where he held one leg. “Push!”

The contraction came, and Mariah tried. The baby’s butt scooted forward a bit, then resumed its place, comfortable where it had been stuck for the last hour.

“Can’t,” she gasped out, head falling limply, once the contraction ended.

Then Mathew’s hand pressed down on her stomach, pushing hard. The increase in pain, the suddenly movement of the baby startled Mariah, she let out a squeak, and stopped pushing.

Mathew’s hand rested on her stomach. He leaned down, grabbed her chin, and forced her to look up at him. Then he forced his mouth on her, kissing her. She gasped at the contact, kissing back instinctively, unsure if it was too much or just the reassurance she needed. Then he pulled back. The next contraction came, contorting her stomach. She whimpered and tried to push, but she was too weak, too exhausted. The baby wasn’t moving!

“Keep pushing!” he commanded as he pushed.

Slowly, the baby’s butt slipped out of her straining, purpled lips. After three contractions, where she tapped out early, exhausted, heading spinning and he kept pushing on her stomach, the legs finally flopped out. She was too exhausted to even scream at that point. 

Her world narrowed to pushing, to the sensation of her lips dragging across the stomach and arms of her baby. Until finally, it popped out, accompanied by another flash of fluids. 

Done. No. The head. She still had the head. 

Someone had grabbed the baby and was tugging at it from the other end, sending fire shooting all through her worn body. Her lips spread again, more and more. The lips, the nose, oozing slowly out of her. And then with a pop, and a final gush of fluids she was done. The baby was crying. Mathew was holding it, cooing. “Oh she’s perfect,” he whispered, holding the baby out to Mariah.

Mariah smiled. She’d done it. They were a family of four. Together. Forever.

[ethereacals]

so american <3

summary: Remus grows attached to an American transfer student from Ilvermorny.

trope: idiots in love, grumpy x sunshine, slight fast burn

pairings: remus lupin x gryffindor!american!reader

pt; 1-?

contents; people make fun of readers accent, reader was a thunderbird but is now a gryffindor

wc; 1.9k

THE LONG AWAITED DAY HAD FINALLY ARRIVED

Ever since your mom and dad had let you know that they had gotten job offers with the british Ministry of Magic, you couldn’t wait to finally become a student at Hogwarts.

Sure— Ilvermorny had it’s specialties, but Hogwarts? Hogwarts was easily the best wizarding school in all of the world.

And that’s why you simply couldn’t wait to attend.

You had heard so many incredible things about the teachers, the castle, and even the students.

Though— the excitement wasn’t necessarily fending off the nerves.

You were coming in as a 5th year, a 5th year who had no friends, no house, and no grasp of any sort of british wizarding culture.

People had started their friendships as first years, and closed their inner circles off to outsiders looking in.

So that left you to try and find some sort of place in the world, and everything was new and scary.

Admittedly— it did feel a bit embarrassing as you sat on the boat took 1st years across the Black Lake.

You towered over them, but in this technicalities (except for age and height) you were the same as them.

As the boats neared the boathouse; your anxiety seemed to grow.

Again, you felt a bit silly standing amongst the young 1st years as Professor McGonagall explained the houses and their attributes to everyone before entering the infamous Great Hall.

“Welcome to Hogwarts. Now, in a few moments, you will pass through these doors and join your classmates. But before you can take your seats, you must be sorted into your houses. They are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Now while you're here, your house will be like your family. Your triumphs will earn you points. Any rule breaking, and you will lose points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup.” McGonagall smiled warmly, as she answered a few questions from the 1st years with ease.

Allegedly, the ceiling was enchanted to look like a clear night sky.

You couldn’t wait to see it, Ilvermorny had nothing like that.

Back to the houses, you had always wondered what house you would be placed in— even before you attending Hogwarts was a blip on anyone’s radar.

You were a proud representative of Thunderbird back home, hopefully you would make them proud.

Snapping you out of your thoughts, with a swish of her wand— the doors to the Great Hall opened.

Revealing the four large tables, each seemingly representing a different house.

The stares and whispers that followed your arrival were nerve-wracking, you stuck out like a sore thumb.

“All right, will you wait along here, please? Now, before we begin, Professor Dumbledore would like to say a few words.” Professor McGonagall explained, stepping aside so the 1st years could see.

Dumbledore rose from the main table in the center.

“I have a few start-of-term notices I wish to announce. The first years, please note that the Dark Forest is strictly forbidden to all students. Moreover, swimming in the Black Lake is strictly prohibited unless you would like to become lunch for the giant squid who resides inside. Thank you.” Dumbledore seemed to smile softly at you— probably because he could sense your nerves.

Even people at Ilvermorny would boast about Dumbledore.

“When I call your name, you will come forth. I shall place the sorting hat on your head, and you will be sorted into your houses.” She began to call up 1st year after 1st year, as chatter rose over the students— seemingly chatting about who was getting placed where.

“Y/N L/N.”

When your name was called, the hall went silent.

You could nearly feel the prying eyes burning into your skin as you stepped up to the stool.

As she placed the hat down on your head, the battered old thing sprung to life.

“Ah… different from the rest, are we?” He inquired, shifting around on your head uncomfortably.

“Y-yes.. I suppose.” You stuttered quietly.

“A Thunderbird, were you? I believe I know where you go.” He began, the anticipation was thick in the air.

“GRYFFINDOR!”

He shouted, and cheers erupted throughout the room. Even McGonagall seemed pleased.

You stepped down from the stool, and towards the Gryffindor table when—

“Psst, Psst!” A ginger-haired girl called you over, a warm smile on her face as her two friends looked in your direction.

You walked towards them, and slid yourself down into the empty seat on the bench.

“You, you’re the new fifth year?” She questioned nicely.

“Yes, I am” You smiled, as her smile dropped— her eyes lighting up in surprise.

“Y—You’re american?!” Her blonde-haired friend exclaimed in bafflement, her hands slamming down on the table as food appeared on the table for the great feast.

“Umm, yes..?” You looked around at the three girls, and one of them gave you a smile.

“I’m Mary, Mary Macdonald. Since these two don’t seem to be giving you a proper introduction— This is Lily Evans, and That’s Marlene Mckinnon.” She stated simply.

“Oh, come on, Mars. I was just about to introduce myself.” Marlene rolled her eyes playfully, and gave Mary a small nudge.

“I’m sorry if we made you feel uncomfortable, I mean— I’ve never met an American before.” Lily apologized, her smile returning to her freckle-stricken face.

“It’s alright, I understand.” You laughed, beaming at Lily.

“Well— This is my one of my boyfriends, Jame— James!”

Lily looked over at James disappointedly, as he was seemingly trying to steal from her plate.

“Sorry, my love.” James smiled guiltily, before turning his attention to you.

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N” He shook your hand strongly.

“It’s nice to meet you, too, James.”

His eyes widened comically in response to your response.

“Y—You’re american?” He whispered from across the table, as if he was asking something highly inappropriate.

You giggled, “Yes, I am.”

“Pads, Pads!” Sirius grabbed the shoulders of the boy next to him and jostled him around to get his attention.

“Merlin’s tits— What, Prongs?” Sirius sighed exasperatedly.

“Here— Y/N, say hello again.” James asked of you.

“…Hello.”

Sirius gasped rather dramatically, his eyes nearly widening the same as James’

“She’s… You’re.. not… british?” You bursted into a fit of laughter with Lily, and Sirius looked baffled.

“Wait— Wait— In America… What do you call it when two people snog?” He asked, as Lily shot him a glare.

“What does “snog” mean?” You asked innocently.

“It basically means when two people kiss feverishly.” Marlene explained, as Sirius playfully eyed you up and down.

“I could always… show you?” He joked flirtatiously, and earned a painful jab into the ribs by James.

“So, you mean making out?” You answered, still a bit confused.

“Making out? How uneducated.” Sirius huffed, turning back to this plate full of food.

Suddenly— You met the auburn eyes of a quiet, scarred, gentle giant whose skin was a lovely shade of olive, and littered with freckles.

“Hi, Y/n. I’m sorry about them.” He spoke, leaning over Mary to speak with you.

“It’s alright, I promise.” He didn’t seem very phased by your accent, but on the inside— it drove him crazy.

“My name is Remus, Remus Lupin.” He smiled gently, that smile must have been hand-picked by angels.

“It’s great to meet you, Remus.” You beamed at him.

“You aswell, Y/N”

And that was the day that Remus Lupin fell head over heels for the sweet American girl.

FOR THE NEXT FEW DAYS, Remus throughly enjoyed watching you discover the abundance of magic in Hogwarts.

To you— it seemed like everything was new and exciting.

It felt like everything was new and exciting for him, too.

And for once, Remus actually cared about the place he had honestly been taking for granted for five long years.

Perhaps it was the way that your eyes lit up every time you happened upon an enchanted painting, or all of the questions you asked regarding the logistics behind the giant squid.

For whatever reason, Remus found you extremely intriguing.

Though, Remus vowed he would never tell you.

It would be his last wish in life to force anything upon someone as lovely as you.

So, he stayed quiet.

"Remus, I don't understand!” You sighed exasperatedly.

“What do you mean there’s a room that shifts itself into anything you require? How?” You pointed your finger at the door that had just appeared out of nowhere on a blank wall on the way to the Astronomy Tower.

“No one really knows, Dove. Sorry.” Remus cooed, patting your shoulder consolingly as he led you to Astronomy.

Remus was the only one of your newfound friends that had decided to take Astronomy this year, seeing as Sirius and James took it last year just to get it over with.

You quite enjoyed looking at Remus, admiring how his unexplainable scars were illuminated by the moonlight shining in from the large open walls.

Even in your few first days at Hogwarts, you could tell that you would grow to adore it.

You might have adored spending time with Remus even more, and you were especially in luck since Professor Sinistra assigned three hours of star-charting and you were to do the assignment in partners.

So, that's why you and Remus were up at the Astronomy Tower at 2am on a Friday (with a teachers excuse to be up past curfew).

"Do you ever miss your parents when your away at school?" You asked Remus.

He was certainly the quiet type, and that intrigued you.

"Sometimes, but I usually see them over Christmas break. I mainly write them letters after every full moon." He stated simply, before realizing what he accidentally slipped out.

"After every full moon?" You questioned, furrowing your brow as he seemed to quickly explain himself.

"It's a thing... my mum insists upon." He evaded any other questions regarding the matter, much to your chagrin.

He wished he could open up to you, but he still basically didn't know you.

He had no knowledge what-so-ever on your views on Werewolves.

He couldn't risk destroying a friendship that could eventually be the purest and most authentic he'd ever had.

Sure, James and Sirius were incredible mates, and so was Peter.

But for some unexplainable reason; Remus could speak to you.

He never felt uncomfortable with talking about his thoughts or feelings around you, and he only could hope that you felt the same.

You were both different, well- different but in two very significantly different ways. But you were still two individuals who didn't really fit in with the crowd.

"Have you missed Ilvermorny, yet?" Remus gazed towards you as you switched places. You on the telescope and him charting what you find.

"Same as you, really. Not much, even though I haven't been here for long yet. It feels a bit more... homely, than Ilvermorny ever did." You admitted, concentrating deeply on the assignment.

"I understand, It was probably an interesting change." Remus related deeply.

"An interesting one? Absolutely, but a welcomed change, for sure." You smiled, turning back to face him and explain to him what you had seen in the stars.

Oh, yes. This was the beginning of something truly beautiful.

[ultramaga]

"I feel physical nausea when I see other Jews cheering" Leftists have the emotional development of toddlers.

"dangerously racist" Against which race?

Because the Democrats adored him right up until he ran against Hillary.

"sexist" Against which sex? No, one of the two human sexes, not one of the ten billion that Leftists made up since last tuesday. It's funny that such a DANGEROUSLY RACIST AND SEXIST man doesn't seem to have a problem with women or people of other races. Maybe Leftists no longer know what those words mean. I mean, can they even define what a woman IS?

"most US Jews fear Trump be the end of the American experiment" According to you. You appointed YOURSELF as the speaker for all american jews. Holy fvck! What narcissicism!

"he continues his assault on democratic norms" By ... having transparent government? Allowing free speech? Releasing hidden files on the assassinations of key historical figures that were suppressed for half a century?

What sort of 'democracy' do Leftists desire?

"he's not a friend to the Jewish people" Huh.

I am looking for the people Leftists regard as "friends".

I do a little search on ... antisemitism uk council member

It's almost as if Leftism was an antisemitic and racist hate movement. Gosh, that is shocking news.

So let me get this straight. Leftists, as can easily be seen from tumblr for the last two years, are the friends of Hamas, an organisation that exists to commit a Jewish genocide.

Meanwhile, Trump, at the request of Jews, acts against Hamas. And that is why he is your enemy. Hmmmm!

I mean, I would say that you are a kapo, but at least they had some sort of excuse.

Did you know that there were anti-zionist Jews who were happy to sell out others?

What is the word for someone worse than a kapo, I wonder? A Żagiew agent, perhaps? Is that what we should call you?

I understand why many Israeli Jews welcome the re-election of Donald Trump. I do. I get it.

Perhaps if I was Israeli, I'd feel the same.

But I'm not Israeli, I'm an American and I feel physical nausea when I see other Jews cheering for a deeply, dangerously racist, sexist, demagogue who believes in nothing aside from narcissism and who is going to be a disaster for human/civil rights in the US.

While many Israeli Jews cheer, most US Jews fear Trump be the end of the American experiment as he continues his assault on democratic norms, liberal values, and the constitution.

I've believed most of my life that Jews are good at remembering the lessons of history, but Jewish cheers for Trump seem to reveal that belief as naive.

He may seem an ally to Israel at the moment, but he's not a friend to the Jewish people. He's not a friend to anyone, he's only a transaction partner for people he can use to enrich or glorify himself.

If it will increase his power or wealth, he'll sell out Israel at the drop of a hat.

[antinousletmehit]

HII!! (Same anon who sent the malewife Antinous and Calypso! Reader btw)

I had another idea and thought I should drop it here. So imagine reader is Odysseus' child right? When he get home, he slaughters all the suitors, but found Antinous missing. But then he heard his daughter call out to Antinous. Thinking the worst, Ody immediately went to her room.

However, when he arrived, he saw reader and Antinous casually making out despite the obvious bloodshed that was happening outside

Atp I should have a name, but I don't want to reveal my account btw I'm sorry if I send too much asks its just that there's no safe space for liking Antinous until I found this account 😞😭

Sighhhh we antinous fans are suffering

—-

The name cut through the noise like a blade, and Odysseus froze mid-step. His blood ran cold. His daughter’s voice—panicked and clear—called out the name of the very man who had disrespected his home, plotted to steal his wife, and helped lead the suitors. He dropped the lifeless suitor he had just skewered, his heart pounding with dread. Was Antinous harming her? Had that snake of a man dared lay a hand on his child?

Fury boiled in Odysseus’s veins as he followed the sound, his sword raised and ready to end another suitor if need be. He moved quickly, stepping out of the chaos and into a quieter corridor. Meanwhile, you and Antinous were locked in a world of your own. In the shadowed hallway, far from the carnage, Antinous had pulled you close. His lips pressed against yours, hands steady on your waist as if the war raging just feet away didn’t exist.

“This might be the last chance we get,” Antinous murmured against your lips, his voice uncharacteristically soft. You didn’t respond with words, just tightened your grip on his tunic and leaned in again. But you hadn’t meant to say his name aloud. Not like that. It slipped from your lips, heavy with emotion—and loud enough to echo down the corridor.

“Antinous,” you sighed as his lips brushed yours again.

Odysseus turned the corner at that exact moment, his eyes wild and sword drawn. “Where is he?” he growled, his gaze darting through the shadows for the fight he expected.

Instead, he froze.

You and Antinous broke apart in an instant, your faces flushed with guilt and panic. Antinous took a cautious step back, but his hands lingered at your waist, a defiant glint in his eye despite the bloodshed staining his clothes.

Odysseus’s expression shifted from confusion to disbelief to sheer rage. His grip on his sword tightened as his gaze flickered between you and Antinous.

“You—my daughter—and him?” His voice was low, dangerously calm, which was somehow worse than yelling.

“Father, I—” you stammered, stepping in front of Antinous as if to shield him from the wrath you knew was coming.

Antinous, to his credit, didn’t cower. He straightened up, his usual arrogance peeking through despite the sweat and blood on his face. “I think we’re past the introductions, King Odysseus.”

That did it. Odysseus lunged forward, and you had to throw yourself between them, pressing your hands to your father’s chest to hold him back. “Don’t kill him!” you pleaded, panic lacing your voice.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t gut him right here,” Odysseus growled, his sword aimed at Antinous’s throat.

Antinous, ever the bold one, smirked. “Well, if you kill me, she’d be pretty upset.”

Odysseus’s glare could have melted stone. You, however, were too busy internally cursing Antinous for his inability to shut up when it mattered.

Odysseus stared at you for a long moment, his jaw tight and eyes blazing. Then, with a grunt of frustration, he lowered his sword.

“This isn’t over,” he growled, pointing a finger at Antinous before stalking back toward the main hall.

Antinous let out a breath he’d been holding, then glanced at you, his smirk returning. “I think that went well.”

You smacked his arm. “You’re lucky I love you, you idiot.”

“Clearly,” he teased, leaning in for another kiss.

“Don’t push it,” you warned, glancing nervously down the hallway where your father had disappeared.

[silverfeatheredserpent]

Bartimaeus & Nathaniel

I wanted to draw this picture on a tablet, but then I wanted to transfer it to canvas with paints. Now, from the outside, it seems to me a little religious, but in fact it's not at all.

I really like the image of Bartimaeus in the days when he lived under King Solomon and Ptolemy - despite all the evil that the magicians did to him, he still remained himself.

He also saved Nathaniel's soul.

After all, we all understand that if it hadn't been for Bartimaeus, Nathaniel would have died long ago and the callous and cold John Mandrake existed instead. I won't say that I'm 100% satisfied with the result, but I got creative pleasure painting these feathers, shadows on clothes, splashes of rain and emotions on their faces. Aloof, incredibly strong mentally, but at heart a very lonely Nathaniel, whose only friends were silent books - the last time he cried was when Mrs. Underwood died, the only person he loved.

And he was left alone.

Among the greedy, corrupt, vile wizards, there is only a boy who has been attacked by everything at once. This song symbolizes the British government in my head - "a flock of crazed birds." Vultures who pretend to be colleagues, but in fact are just waiting for you to make a mistake.

Bartimaeus, on the other hand, is calm. He understands all this. He's seen too much over thousands of years, so I think his help for Nathaniel wasn't entirely imposed by his endless Imprisonment. After all, despite everything that followed, he never revealed John Mandrake's true name to anyone and did no harm.

I'm sure such an inventive genie could have found a loophole.

But he didn't.

He stayed with him until the end. This peace with a hint of truth is what I wanted to show. The way the genie covers the real Nathaniel with his wings from the dank downpour on his soul, from the real demons longing for his death, and calms him down.

Bartimaeus was the last person Nathaniel showed his tears to. Nathaniel was still himself only because of Bartimaeus.

And while darkness, bad weather and demons are raging outside, there is silence, tranquility and a starry sky under the powerful wings.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Andrew Doyle

Published: Jan 21, 2025

Day one. It’s already started. ‘Elon Musk appears to make back-to-back fascist salutes at inauguration rally’ claims the Guardian. ‘Elon Musk accused of giving “Nazi salute” at Trump inauguration celebration’ says the Independent. The activist media are positively priapic with glee that Donald Trump’s most powerful ally just publicly endorsed Hitler live at his inauguration. Except of course that didn’t happen. And we know it didn’t happen because we do not have cabbages for heads. Let’s just hypothetically suppose for one moment that Musk is a clandestine fascist, one so ingenious and Machiavellian that he has managed to inveigle his way into the White House and is now poised to initiate the Fourth Reich. Does any sentient human being suppose for one moment that such an evil genius would now accidentally reveal his scheme to millions of people live on television?

Nobody believes this, of course. Or if they do, they should be supervised at all times, especially around cutlery. That goes for Rex Huppke at USA Today, who has published a piece entitled ‘Elon Musk’s “odd-looking” salute sure looked like a “Sieg heil” to me’. Perhaps it does. But I could have sworn that I saw the face of David Hasselhoff in my spinach frittata yesterday, and yet I’m pretty sure that’ll be the old pareidolia playing tricks on me again. If I were as literal-minded as Huppke, I’d probably assume that The Hoff had actually found a way to invade my breakfast and call an exorcist or something.

Within an hour of Huppke’s article being posted online, the following note was appended: ‘This column was updated to add new information’. God knows what defamatory nonsense that hit-piece contained before I got around to reading it. The media class still hasn’t quite grasped that falsely smearing someone as a Nazi is libellous, and that perhaps someone like Musk has the financial means to do something about it. (Also at the end of the article we have this little nugget: ‘Follow USA Today columnist Rex Huppke on Bluesky’. That explains quite a lot.)

I’m starting to think that avoiding libel should be included on the first day of any basic journalism course, given how often we see media outlets posting lies and then having to frantically apologise for it. And while they’re at it, the course should probably also include a session on why male rapists, paedophiles and murderers shouldn’t be referred to as ‘she’ and ‘her’. Just a thought.

While I would usually be prepared to concede that Huppke might just be as simple-minded as he seems, there’s something about his article that suggests otherwise. If he genuinely believed that Musk was giving a Nazi salute, why did he have to misrepresent the story? Not once in his piece does Huppke mention the context for the admittedly ill-advised gesture. Musk said to the audience, ‘my heart goes out to you’, which is why he struck his heart and mimed throwing it out to the crowd. He then turned and did it again, and the meaning is perfectly clear when the clip is seen in its entirety:

Now look at the clip that was being shared online by Musk’s detractors.

We have seen this kind of dishonesty so often, and it simply never works. The internet has certainly enabled the media to spread this misleadingly edited clip, but it also enables us to check its authenticity. And when people release that they have been lied to, the inevitable outcome is resentment. This is why throwing the word ‘Nazi’ around as though it has no meaning other than ‘someone I vaguely dislike’ is not an endearing or astute way to behave.

Naturally, Democratic politicians have been quick to exploit the situation as much as the press. Jerry Nadler, Representative for the 12th District of New York, jumped on to X to post his verdict:

‘I never imagined we would see the day when what appears to be a Heil Hitler salute would be made behind the Presidential seal. This abhorrent gesture has no place in our society and belongs in the darkest chapters of human history. I urge all of my colleagues to unite in condemning this hateful gesture for what it is: antisemitism.’

Thankfully, there have been some voices of reason. The Anti-Defamation League put out a sensible statement in an effort to subdue all the frenzied mutual masturbation of the Bluesky clan:

‘It seems that Elon Musk made an awkward gesture in a moment of enthusiasm, not a Nazi salute, but again, we appreciate that people are on edge. In this moment, all sides should give one another a bit of grace, perhaps even the benefit of the doubt, and take a breath.’

Musk and Trump have their political opponents; that much is obvious and all for the good. But given all the histrionic hogwash about ‘Nazis’ and ‘fascists’ during the run-up to the last election, I was hoping they might have all grown up a little. As I say, it’s absolutely clear that this strategy is wholly ineffective. The public are capable of reading history books. They understand that Nazis generally don’t pay visits to Auschwitz to learn about the horrors of the Holocaust and lay wreaths at memorial services there, as Musk did last year. They also are unlikely to be seen dancing to ‘YMCA’ with the Village People.

So once more for the hard of thinking in the media: calling people Nazis doesn’t work anymore. It’s not only unethical, it virtually guarantees that the very people you don’t want to be in power will win their elections. By all means, criticise Musk and Trump as much as you like. Those in power must be criticised; it’s essential for any functioning democracy. But lying about them and smearing them as fascists only lets the public know that you’re not to be trusted.

--

==

It's all so fucking tedious.

You don't hate legacy media enough. You think you do, but you don't.

[menlove]

random beatles lore i need an answer on. what’s the deal with paul proposing to multiple people before getting married to linda ? i thought he was just with jane up until linda like was he just desperate to have a spouse in that era or what

oh goooood question. we don't know exactly why he did all that bc he's never talked about it but i'll give u some details & my own two Potential Reasons

he proposed to three people Seriously: jane, maggie mcgivern, & linda. he also "jokingly" proposed to cyn and a female reporter? (or something along those lines i can't find the exact thing rn, if anyone has that one. i know i reblogged it at some point). cyn, he jokingly proposed to after john left her- brought her a single rose and said "how about it, cyn?"

but maggie and linda.... he wasn't with jane the entire way up to getting with linda. officially, anyway, bc if there's one thing paul loves to do it's cheat. one of the women he was having an affair with was maggie mcgivern. they had a 3 year long affair starting in '66. paul & jane broke up in july of '68 and in september, paul took maggie on a surprise trip to sardinia, where...

“We were lying on the beach just being young and in love. Paul turned to me, smiling, and out of the blue he just said: ‘Have you ever thought about getting married?’. I said, ‘yes, I suppose, one day…’ and I thought nothing more of it. Looking back, it was obviously the wrong answer. When I said one day I I meant in six months, maybe, but not never. But Paul was always slightly insecure and probably saw me as such a free spirit that he thought I was never going to settle down… I suppose I assumed that we would end up together but at the time I was just enjoying it all. In the ‘Sixties there was just so much going on that I didn’t have time to sit and think about the future. I suppose that, with the pressures of fame, Paul was craving security.”

maggie mcgivern, 1997 (x)

now, with linda... they started their affair a bit Before him and jane broke up. like i said, they broke up in july. but paul & linda had a "dirty weekend" in late june when he flew to nyc & then la. here's a longer post about all of that. so by the time he was proposing to maggie, he'd already had an affair with linda.

iiiinterestingly, he called linda & asked her to fly out to london in september (from paul mccartney: a life by peter carlin) and that's when their relationship became serious. so he got rejected by maggie (or he thought he did) and immediately went "ah right, who else could i possibly see myself settling down and having kids with? linda!" he still saw maggie for a while but eventually they stopped going out as he went all in with linda & wound up proposing to and marrying her.

as to Why The Hell Did He Do All That? well i have 2 thoughts on that

for both of them, though, i think it was really kicked into gear by john and yoko's relationship. like whether or not he had romantic feelings for john, i think he saw just how serious john was about yoko in comparison to cyn. and ringo & george were also married. when he talks about john & yoko, he frequently talks about it as the end of their bachelor days even though john wasn't a bachelor lmfao. but i think it kicked his ass into going oh shit i need to settle down and marry a woman too.

my Two Thoughts: a) the one i personally believe bc i think that man is queer as the day is long. but i think he realized that he needed to settle down and have that heterosexual lifestyle. he was the last unmarried beatle. there's this fun lil homophobic comment that reveals SO much about where paul's head was at imo:

-from "apple scruffs come to dinner" by andrew bailey (x)

interestingly, that's also the night they had a huge argument and he went to maggie's house crying (more about that in that source for maggie's quote up there). not sure if this was before or after the 26 year old queer comment, but i'm guessing after.

it's like a pretty Common refrain in history for queerness to be viewed as a sort of childish thing. like it's okay when you're young, not so much when you're older. i think with jane leaving & john getting swallowed up by another all-consuming, co-dependent partnership that Wasn't with paul, he realized he had to "grow up" so to speak. john had Grown Up and away from whatever fucky thing him and paul had going on and bc he always had to mirror john, he had to Grow Up too. which brings me to....

b) the other (boring) option is what follows if he's just your normal cishet dude and his 26 year old queer never to get married comment was Purely just him being a dick (totally possible lmfao, i just Personally think it still says a lot about him even if he didn't mean for it to). but it's still the same sort of motivation- the rest of his bandmates were married, john was moving on, the band was in chaos. he would've wanted to settle down and have children as is the heterosexual Norm and even straight people face pressure to do that in a certain amount of time. i really think the Franticness of it and the quick turn around with linda speaks more to a deeper underlying motivation, like being queer and the guy you're in love with has Grown Up, but it could just be a paul neuroses thing too.

tl;dr: man was juggling a bunch of affairs & decided he had to settle down and have a wife and kids Right That Second. jane dumped him and maggie said no, so he called linda and the rest is history. whether it's bc he was queer and panicking as he realized he was too old to be queer (my personal thought) or bc he was a straight man still under the societal pressure to have a wife and kid, we'll Never Know.

[michiruxbna]

I'm wondering something and it's something that was left unanswered in a Scarlet Witch story.

so let's continue with my crazy theories (mainly why they forgot the story)

Magda and Natalya are the same person

Magda's design has always changed and the main detail that Wanda has always had is Magda's life image, even today they continue to resemble each other.

Likewise, Pietro is the spitting image of Magnus (literally his younger version)

then in a scarlet witch story, where she discovers who her mother could be, being natalya (the original scarlet witch)

First of all, I saw people who confuse the relationship between Natalya and Django and they are brothers, in the same comic they say so

both were witches of the Maximoff family

and here are the details, when wanda finds the spirit or whatever of her mother, she says: "and I am known by many names, the most used... scarlet witch"

and that's where it's hinted that she had another name than "Natalya" and she did try to get her children back from the high evolver.

dying in the attempt, although it was revealed later that her partner (Pietro and Wanda's father who knows nothing about him) killed her.

Although Agatha knows about Wanda's mother and she knows things and she asked Wanda not to look any further.

and here the high evolver takes a role, we know how very son of a bitch he can be and we know that it was because of him that the whole mess between Pietro and Wanda started

so it makes me think about several things and this is my own chronological order of things

Magda and Django are born (I don't even know how old they are) both witches from the Maximoff family, Natalya being the most prominent being "Scarlet Witch"

She at one point moves away from her family, becoming better known as "Scarlet Witch." She decided to change her name several times and eventually met the father of her children Erik Eisenhardt Magneto in the future.

They had their first daughter Anya and then the fire would happen but... what if it wasn't for Erik that caused the fire? What if it was by Magda (Natalya) in an attempt to teach Anya magic so that she could also be a witch like her?

Feeling guilty and in an attempt to protect her love, she called him a monster and walked away from him even though she knew she was pregnant with the twins.

And here it would be confusing to arrange things and it makes me think, Boba did help Magda give birth but she thought she was a magical creature and as a result the High Evolutionary ended up snatching her children and doing experiments with them

Magda tried to get them back and the High Evolutionary took the opportunity to emotionally manipulate Magda (Natalya) and make her think that Magneto killed her when he was the one.

and let's see it's still a crazy theory and in my opinion it fits

Yes, Wanda's spell only affected Prieto, but think about how many experiments the High Evolutionary did on them? There could have been too many to even change their DNA in such a way that their magic could only detect Pietro as familiar.

Also, how many versions the High Evolutionary gave of the twins' past, they even still look like Magda and Magneto

Even another theory I have for this theory is that Anya could have been a Witch because of her mother.

Anyway, thank you for reading my Theory, all crazy but with some sense (at least for me)

[crowsofdarkness]

Moment Of Weakness: Chapter Nineteen

-gif not mine. credit to owner-

Pairings: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Content Warnings: language, 18 + smut, angst, fluff, affair, cheating, violence, kidnapping, faking a pregnancy.

Summary: Reader is the assistant to New York's most feared mob boss, James Buchanan Barnes. He had the picture-perfect life: status in the mob, friends, and beautiful wife. So why can't he keep his mind and eyes off of reader?

Authors Note: I just wanted to remind everyone who reads this, there are heavy moments of cheating/having an affair in this story. You might not agree with the actions of "reader" or Bucky but it does pertain to the storyline. If anyone is interested, tags are open for this! Just send me a message or comment!

Tags: @cjand10 @generalmoonpolice @sapphirebarnes @baw1066 @nameless-ken @minami97

I walked into the building, smiling bright as the morning sun, ready to finish this work day already. After he left last night, Bucky promised that when he would come by tonight, he would stay the night. He had planned on telling Natasha that he had to go out of town for something mob related. 

There was already a list of things I had planned; dinner at home, a movie cuddled together on my couch, and a warm bath to end the night. It was something that we had yet to do, a proper at home date. 

My body jumped with excitement every time I thought about it. 

A frown pulled at my lips when I noticed that Bucky’s door had been closed. He didn’t have any meetings planned so there was no need for it to be shut. Bucky also always took his phone calls with the door opened. 

I placed my things on my desk and softly knocked on the door, only to be met with silence. The thought of if he was coming in today or not crossed my mind so I sent him a quick text. 

Are you not coming in today? 

Some time would pass before I would even get a response. Three hours to be exact. 

By the time Bucky had decided to text back, it was nearing lunch hour and I was busying myself to run to the deli across the road to pick us all up something. Steve and Sam were playing a card game on the couch that sat across from my desk and Steve noticed the worried look on my face. 

“Everything alright?” 

By the mere tone in his voice, I could tell that the relationship we shared was not the same anymore. 

“Yeah,” I mumbled, not bothering to take my eyes away from the text on my phone. 

I’m held up in my office all day, sorry.

It was short, to the point. No sweet names or cringey emojis that Bucky had just found out of. This wasn’t like him, something being different; off. 

Steve stood to walk over to me. “Bucky?” 

I peered over his shoulder to make sure Sam wasn't paying attention and nodded. 

“Have you talked to him at all? I feel as if he’s avoiding me,” I said. 

He hesitated, unsure if he should even say anything. I could see it in the way he avoided my gaze, rubbing at the back of his neck. 

Steve was hiding something from me. 

“What do you know?” I asked. 

“I can’t be the one to tell you, Y/N. Bucky has too.” 

With a gentle squeeze on my shoulder, he went back to his previous spot on the couch. 

I gnawed on my bottom lip while gazing at the still shut door to Bucky’s office and decided to give it one more try, seeing if he would talk to me. 

“Bucky, can I come in?” I asked after my knuckles tapped against the door. 

There was quite a bit of shuffling behind it and my heart hammered when the door opened, revealing a very stressed Bucky. 

My voice lowered. “Are you okay?” 

He nodded. “I’m going to skip lunch today.”

The door shut just as fast as it opened and I was left staring at it, tears brimming in my eyes. 

“Y/N,” Steve’s soft voice called from behind me. 

I blinked a few times, tears splattering over my cheeks, and quickly grabbed my things to head to lunch.

I don’t know what I did to make you so upset with me but I don’t appreciate the cold shoulder all day. I’m about to leave for the day and you’ve barely come out of your office.

I hit send on the text while walking back to my desk from the bathroom. The day went on at a slow pace, my eyes darting from my computer to Bucky’s still shut door, not once seeing him come out of his office. That was the third text I sent him all day and with yet no response, I decided that tonight was officially off the table. He would not be rewarded with spending the night with me after ghosting me all day. 

As I returned back to my desk, I noticed that the door was wide open, and my feet practically dragged me across the threshold. Until I stopped myself when I saw that he made no effort to look away from his phone when he heard me walk up. Not even a quick glance my way. 

“Asshole,” I grumbled, plopping into my chair. 

Six minutes. That’s all I had left of my work day and I could go home to wallow in self pity in private. 

I used that time to scroll through Instagram, not having the chance to be on it all day. My thumb froze over one post, almost unsure to like it or not, because everything around me faded to black. Ears rang loudly with white noise and my heart dropped to the depths of my stomach as it shattered. The pain caused a sob to leave my lips. 

Cannot wait to meet you baby Barnes. Coming in six months. 

My vision blurred from the tears that spilled everywhere but I still could see the picture Natasha had posted announcing her pregnancy. It was a picture of a positive pregnancy test with her and Bucky’s vibranium hand holding it. 

With a broken gaze, I looked over to him and was shocked that Bucky was already watching me. His own eyes were broken, tears pooling in the corners of them. 

“I’m so sorry, doll,” he mouthed. 

No words were able to form, my mouth had run dry. I didn’t know what to say, to be honest. All I could do was gather my things and storm out of the office, the door slamming behind me shaking the walls. 

The persistent knocking on my front door was becoming too hard to ignore, it going on for the last five minutes. In tangent with my phone ringing, not stopping for a second. I did my best to tune it all out, staring off into the void of my living room wall, wishing it would stop; wishing everything would stop. 

“Doll, please open up.” 

“Go away,” I yelled, the anger suddenly bubbling to life. 

“Please let me explain!” 

I scoffed while shaking my head, even if Bucky couldn’t see. “Explain?!” 

Everything I had been avoiding came rushing to the forefront when I heard him begging me to let him in, to explain his actions. 

My feet dragged me to the door and I opened it with such force, it created a small wind tunnel. Bucky didn’t bother waiting for me to let him in, he pushed himself past me. 

“I’m so sorr-.” 

His apology was cut off by a hard slap to his face, my palm already stung with redness. 

Bucky rubbed at the raw spot where I had hit him and his jaw tensed. “You hit me.” 

“Trust me, I want to do a lot more!” I seethed. 

“Can you calm down so I can explain?” He begged. 

“Calm down?!” My voice bellowed. “You get your wife pregnant, hide it from me, then come here to explain yourself? How the fuck can I calm down?!” 

My shoulder rammed into his as I walked past him and down the hall towards my bedroom. His footsteps that echoed down the hall told me that he was following me close behind. 

“I wanted to tell you, Y/N. All day I tried to come up with the best way,” Bucky said. 

I spun on my heels and pushed him hard in his chest, my actions doing nothing to deter him. 

“Fuck you, Barnes! You’re such a liar!” 

I began beating his chest with my fist, pure hatred fueling my momentum. And he stood there, taking every hit. 

Out of breath, I let my fists fall to my side, and felt my chest rise and fall each time I swallowed a large amount of air. 

“Feel better?” Bucky asked. 

My eyes narrowed. “Go fuck yourself. I never want to see you again.” 

His shoulders dropped. “You don’t mean that.” 

I nodded, even if I didn’t believe it myself. “Get out.” 

Bucky didn’t move so I pushed him harder in his chest. “Leave. Now!” 

“Doll-.” 

I smacked him yet again, this time with so much force he stumbled back onto my bed. 

“You lost the right to call me that, Bucky! I can’t believe I fell for your lies again.” 

I ran a shaking hand through my hair. “I allowed myself to ignore the red flags because I cared that much for you. I believed that you wanted me, wanted a future with me. I bet the divorce was a lie too.” 

Bucky vigorously shook his head. “I promise you. That was all true. Matt finished the papers this afternoon.” 

“When did it happen?” I abruptly asked. 

He hesitated, unsure how to answer. “A few months ago. It was the night I drove you home from work and we had sex in the back seat.” 

If my heart wasn’t in a million pieces before, it for sure was now. 

“You’re such a dick!” I screamed while pushing him down on my bed. “I knew you were still screwing her.” 

Bucky leaned his elbows onto his knees and held his head in his hands. “You don’t understand how terrible I feel, Y/N. I wish I could take it back.” 

I wiped the tears away with the back of my hand. “Are you still leaving her?” 

He gazed up at me, lips parting and eyes welling with tears. “I can’t. She’s having my child.” 

My eyes shut, his words giving me exactly what I needed to end this. 

I pointed towards the door. “We’re finished, Bucky. You need to leave.” 

He was fast on his feet to reach for me. “No, this doesn’t have to end.” 

“Yes it does!” I wailed. “It’s one thing to break up a marriage but I refuse to break up a family.” 

Both of us were crying, not bothering to stop or hide the tears, and Bucky wanted to reach for me, fight for me, but knew that there was no changing my mind. 

“What about work?” He asked with a glimmer of hope. 

I gnawed on the inside of my cheek. “I can’t afford to quit. So I’ll see you next week. I need to take some time off.” 

Bucky nodded. “I didn’t want to hurt you, doll.” 

I grabbed my elbows, bringing my arms closer to my chest and avoiding his gaze, keeping my eyes trained to my feet. The only thing I could hear over his footsteps walking away from me was my broken cries, my body collapsing to the ground. 

[knaveumineko]

Umineko Episode 1 Blog: Tea Party

For the first time since this blog began, I'm covering new content and I'm happy to report that Ryukishi wrote this scene to make fun of me specifically.

This Tea Party was initially framed as some kind of non-canon bonus scene, and of course we can't interpret its events entirely literally, but by the end it seems that this scene is cryptically revealing the fates of the grandchildren, who disappeared at the end of Episode 1. Of course, even when the game is keeping up it's cheerful facade, it should not escape our notice that the 6 people depicted here are Shannon, Kanon, Maria, George, Jessica and Battler: precisely the 6 people who are still alive at the end of Episode 1 (that we know of).

The game's pointed comments about how there's clearly a 19th person because of how Kanon died, and "wow I guess it was magic the whole time there's really no way around it," feel playful. I'm also very amused by the narrator dropping the facade of reliability and constantly mocking Battler's skepticism. We're all in on the joke now, so there's no reason to keep up the pretense that this scene is anything approaching an accurate depiction of events.

Also, we are going full tilt on the meta stuff here, aren't we? I'm sure you're all loving how Battler's constant half-baked speculations sound more or less exactly like me.

We get some new character profiles, an rather interestingly they only confirm the deaths of Jessica and George. Rather gruesomely at that. Maria is merely missing, and we never see her actually die. Presumably this is because she still needs to live long enough to write the message in a bottle. I wonder if this scene shaking her faith in the witch is what inspired her to write the story and beg someone to try and solve it. Battler also doesn't die, so who knows what's going on with him?

I was intruiged by Battler's "if you believe in a lie, it becomes the truth?" line. To me, it sounds like the grandchildren were approached by the "witch," with the resurrections serving as proof that magic is real. When Battler questioned it, the conversation morphed into a veiled threat: if the grandchildren know what's good for them, they will accept that it was magic and never dig into the true story of what happened on Rokkenjima. Battler doubles down and so the culprits decide they have no choice but to remove all of the witnesses, at which point Battler defends himself with the gun.

Something like that could work as an explanation for the grandchildren's fates, although I don't see how this narrative could explain Jessica and George being brutalised so horribly. We were told in the endscroll that their gory deaths really did happen.

The Tea Party is really beating us over the head with Beatrice's symbolic significance. Just like how the servants used to invoke her name, Beatrice is the God of the Gaps (with one 'a'). It's not that anything you can't explain gets blamed on her, but that Beatrice is the inexplicable. Any time you throw your hands up in the air and say it can't be solved, you bring Beatrice to life, and to defeat her you have to solve the case. She's the antagonist of mystery stories themselves.

I'm not sure how this ties in to her supposed power to "kill an individual endlessly". Perhaps Bernkastel's line sheds some light. She describes Beatrice as one who plays a dice game by never letting go of the dice, so whatever the roll could have been, she is not disappointed. Beatrice is a being that thrives off of ambiguity. The moment anything has a clear explanation she's helpless. In this sense, is her "endless" killing of an individual in reference to the seemingly limitless possibilities for how one of the bodies could have died?

Speaking of Bernkastel, the witch who looks a lot like that girl from Higaurashi (which I've never seen, so don't tell me if this resemblance matters), the description of her power reminds me a lot of that famous Sherlock Holmes quote "once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth." Bernkastel can make any potentiality into a certainty, so long as it is not impossible. In other words, she symbolises the process of elimination, so it makes sense that she's aligning herself more with those of us trying to solve the mystery. This symbolism also ties into her comment about her matchup with Beatrice: once you accept magic, you can no longer rule out the impossible, so the process of elmination doesn't work.

I'm not sure what Lambdadelta's deal is, but then we haven't seen her personally. If we want to interpret her through the mystery genre lens, one guess would be that she represents the point at which we can say for certain that a character is actually dead, rather than just faking somehow? She could also be a play on the anthropic principle: to solve a mystery we must tell a story about what happened, and this story must end with the person dead and the body in the state that it was found in. In other words, we proceed by "making that person's death into a certainty," taking it for granted that they're dead and rearranging all the other facts to fit that truth.

Bernkastel leaves us with some advice which basically amounts to telling us that Beatrice is a metaphor, but she also leaves us with something else interesting:

Umineko doesn't use all caps like this very often. The only other time I can remember is the scene where the narrator wants to make sure that the siblings really needed A LOT OF MONEY RIGHT NOW. I don't know if there's anything to that, but maybe there is.

Bernkastel also has an interesting line about preceiving us like a character on TV, so maybe there's going to be some kind of metaphor with witches standing in for viewers or authors at some point.

That's all for now. I didn't expect to have so much to write about 2 scenes, but they were important scenes indeed. Don't expect me to keep up this pace going forward!

I almost forgot to mention that Purgatorio reference right at the start. What's that about? Is Beatrice's name a reference to the Divine Comedy? I hope that doesn't end up being important, beyond Kinzo's pining after her being a reference to Dante's. If I didn't bother reading And Then There Were None for context after noticing the parallels, then I'm certainly not reading that.

The Main Menu is an aquarium now? What on Earth is Episode 2 even about?

[southeastasianists]

When Thailand's long-awaited equal marriage law came into effect on Thursday, police officer Pisit "Kew" Sirihirunchai hoped to be among the first in line to marry his long-term partner Chanatip "Jane" Sirihirunchai.

And he was - they were the sixth couple to register their union at one of Bangkok's grandest shopping malls, in an event city officials helped organise to celebrate this legal milestone.

Hundreds of couples across Thailand received marriage certificates on Thursday, breaking into smiles or tearing up over the moment they had dreamed of for so long.

It was a pageant of colours and costumes as district officials hosted parties with photo booths and free cup cakes - one Bangkok district was giving air tickets to the first couple who registered their marriage there.

"The rainbow flag is flying high over Thailand," Prime Minister Paetongtarn Shinawatra wrote on Facebook from Davos where she is attending the World Economic Forum.

Activists said they were hoping to cross the 1,448-mark for registrations by the end of Thursday - 1448 is the clause in the Thai Civil Code covering the definition of marriage.

"We have been ready for such a long time," Pisit said. "We have just been waiting for the law to catch up and support us."

The two men have been together for seven years. Eager to formalise their relationship, they had previously been to a Buddhist monk to give them an auspicious new last name they can share – Sirihirunchai. They had also asked local officials to issue a letter of intent, which they both signed, pledging to get married.

But they said having their partnership recognised under Thai law is what they had been waiting for: "This is perfect for us. The law that protects our rights."

Until now, official documents listed Pisit and Chanatip as brothers. That way they could be a family in the eyes of the law. A marriage certificate meansLGBTQ+ couples now have the same rights as any other couple to get engaged and married, to manage their assets, to inherit and to adopt children.

They can also make decisions about medical treatment if their partner becomes ill and incapacitated, or extend financial benefits – such as Pisit's government pension – to their spouse.

"We want to build a future together – build a house, start a small business together, maybe a café," he adds, making a list of all that the law has enabled. "We want to build our future together and to take care of each other."

The law, which passed in both houses of parliament in June last year before being endorsed by the Thai king in September, is a big step for LGBTQ+ rights.

Thailand remains an outlier in Asia in recognising marriage equality - only Nepal and Taiwan have legalised same-sex unions.

It's one reason why Aki Uryu, who is Japanese, moved to Bangkok to be with her partner. She said life is difficult for the LGBTQ+ community back home: "In Thailand, I can hold hands with my partner, walk together. No one says anything. It's just different. It feels right."

After the two women married on Thursday, Aki said: "It is like I have started my new life."

Watching them celebrate, along with so many other couples in a Bangkok mall, was Mr Zhang, a gay Chinese man who did not want to reveal his first name.

"We're excited, we're also very jealous," he said. "Thailand is so close to China, but in another sense it's so far away."

And yet, even in Thailand, with its famed tolerance towards LGBTQ+ people, activists say it took a sustained campaign to win legal recognition.

A long wait

"We've been waiting for this day for 18 years - the day everyone can recognise us openly, when we no longer need to be evasive or hide," 59-year-old Rungtiwa Thangkanopast, who will marry her partner of 18 years in May, told the BBC earlier this week.

She had been in a marriage, arranged by her family, to a gay man, who later died. She had a daughter, through IVF, but after her husband's death began spending time, and later helping run, one of the first lesbian pubs in Bangkok. Then she met Phanlavee, who's now 45 and goes by her first name only.

On Valentine's Day 2013 the two women went to the Bang Rak district office in central Bangkok to ask to be officially married - a popular place for marriage registration because the name in Thai means "Love Town".

This was the time when LGBTQ+ couples began challenging the official view of marriage as an exclusively heterosexual partnership by attempting to get marriage certificates at district offices.

There were around 400 heterosexual couples waiting with them on that day. Rungtiwa and Phanlavee were refused, and the Thai media mocked their effort, using derogatory slang for lesbians.

Still, activists managed to persuade the government to consider changing the marriage laws. A proposed civil partnership bill was put before parliament, offering some official recognition to same-sex couples, but not the same legal rights as heterosexual couples.

A military coup in 2014 which deposed the elected government interrupted the movement. It would be another decade before full marriage equality was approved by parliament, in part because of the rise of young, progressive political parties that championed the cause.

Their message resonated with Thais – and attitudes too had changed. By this time, same-sex marriage was legalised in many Western countries and same-sex love had become normalised in Thai culture too.

Such was the shift in favour of the law that it was passed last year by a thumping majority of 400 votes to just 10 against. Even in the notoriously conservative senate only four opposed the law.

And couples like Rungtiwa and Phanleeva now have their chance to have their love for each other recognised, without the risk of public derision.

"With this law comes the legitimacy of our family," Rungtiwa says, "We're no longer viewed as weirdos just because our daughter isn't being raised by heterosexual parents."

The new law takes out gender-specific terms like man, woman, husband and wife from 70 sections of the Thai Civil Code covering marriage, and replaces them with neutral terms like individual and spouse.

However, there are still dozens of laws in the Thai legal code which have not yet been made gender-neutral, and there are still obstacles in the way of same-sex couples using surrogacy to have a family.

Parents are still defined under Thai law as a mother and a father. The law also does not yet allow people to use their preferred gender on official documents; they are still stuck with their birth gender. These are areas where activists say they will still need to keep pushing for change.

And it is especially significant for older couples, who have had to ride out the shifts in attitude.

"I really hope people will put away the old, stereotypical ideas that gay men cannot have true love," said Chakkrit "Ink" Vadhanavira.

He and his partner Prinn, both in their 40s, have been together for 24 years.

"The two of us have proved that we genuinely love each other through thick and thin for more than 20 years," Chakkrit said. "We have been ready to take care of each other since our first day together. We are no different from heterosexual couples."

While Chakkrit's parents quickly accepted their partnership, it took Prinn's parents seven years before they could do so.

The couple also wanted to share the production business they ran together, and other assets, as a couple, so they asked Prinn's parents to adopt Chakkrit officially, giving him the same family name. Prinn says the new law has brought welcome legal clarity to them.

"For example, right now when a same sex couple buy something together – a large item - they cannot share ownership of it," said Prinn. "And one of us passes away, what both of us have earned together cannot be passed on to the other. That's why marriage equality is very significant."

Today, said Prinn, both sets of parents treat them as they would just like any other married children.

And when they had relationship problems like any other couple, their parents helped them.

"My dad even started reading gay magazines to understand me better. It was quite cute to see that."

Additional reporting by Lulu Luo, Paweena Ninbut and Ryn Jirenuwat in Bangkok

[insomnya777]

hiiiii guys !!!!!!!! so me and @toximblee were cooking up some ideas ..... basically to all my author moots would u perhaps be down to do a little secret santa fic exchange 😄 super casual kinda thing we can make a little discord server have some fun with it ...... maybe ????? reply if ur interested ???????

[flying-cat]

thinks about bakudeku and falls to the floor

[lbhslefttiddie]

ruminating once again on the concept of murdering shen yuan for fun suspense and ghosty reasons and like. i like the concept of trying to write a murder mystery but fanfiction doesnt really Work for murder mysteries because you know what everyone is about before you read the first paragraph. there's very little mystery to be had in guessing between a set of likely candidates, and a lot of it has less to do with logic and puzzling things out and more to do with judging how the author interprets 7 and also 9 so ive been stuck ruminating on it for ages.

and then earlier i had a stroke of what im not going to call genius because i thought "the best way to add a twist to a scum villain murder mystery!!! would be if the person who murdered shen yuan!! was also shen yuan!!!"

[clowningaroundmars]

morales twins vigilantes: getting found out pt 2

okayyyy this part's a slight bit longer but hopefully, uh, worth it lol

kinda made myself tear up a lil at the end ahahaha

also pls don't ask when this takes place, like either in between istv and atsv or atsv and btsv.... idk bro LMFAO this is technically a whole other au in and of itself soooo yuh

disclaimer: i'm a whole ass anarchist, however miles and milo are two teenage boys who've grown up with a cop dad and they play a lil lip service to the police force during their big speech so... yeah i don't support the existence of the police force, but it is what it is. characters don't reflect author's beliefs and all that

>1st part here<

Jeff happened to be lucky enough to be pardoned for the rest of the night, and he also opted to use some PTO on this very very important occasion, so he sped off in the squad car with his sons in the back immediately after visiting the police department and signing off on some papers. He did not utter a word until they all got back home safely.

In the car, it was eerily silent as Jeff fumed in the front. Miles practiced what he was going to say over and over in his head, picking at his suit and avoiding his twin brother’s eyes. Milo held what remained of his mask in his hands, gauntlets off and tucked between his feet on the floor of the car. They both hung their heads low, counting down the minutes until they got back home and had to face their inevitable death sentence.

They were in so much trouble. Yikes. This was exactly what Miles dreaded for so damn long now, and it almost felt like a dream the way it happened so quickly.

Back home, both boys were sat down in the dining room area behind the couch, waiting for their mother to come back from her night shift. Milo was given an ice pack for his head and some painkillers, and then they were both sternly ordered to take off their respective suits.

Miles turned inquisitive eyes towards his dad.

“If your mom comes in and sees you two wearing those outfits right after work, that woman will have a heart attack and faint. Take ‘em off,” was Jeff’s sharp explanation.

They were not gonna argue with that. To the bedroom they both went.

“And then you both come right back out the second you change, got it?”

“Yeah dad, got it,” was Miles’ unenthused mumble before closing the door.

Miles turned back around with his mask in his hands, and immediately threw it at Milo.

“What were you thinking?!?!” he hissed, arms flying up into the air, making grabbing motions at his twin brother’s neck. “You absolute idiot, my god, we are so. Freaking. Dead!!”

Milo ducked back, scowling. “Me?!” he hissed back, keeping his voice at a harsh whisper as well. “What did you want me to do, pendejo, just let our dad fry, just like that? I didn’t see you moving to stop the guy!”

They were both snapping at each other, hands flying everywhere as they argued in harsh tones and whispers. They only stopped when they heard a loud knock on the door.

“Don’t take all night, either,” came their father’s booming voice from behind the wood.

Miles hung his head. Milo rolled his eyes and moved towards the closet, ripping his jacket off and kicking off his shoes. “Yes dad,” they both intoned at the same time.

A few glares were exchanged as clothes were tossed onto the floor, and Miles sighed loudly as he pulled on a pair of pajama pants, throwing himself onto his bed to get them up his legs all at once. He glanced at his bedside alarm clock, knowing his mom would be home any minute now. He felt his heart beat in his chest much louder and faster than usual.

Milo pulled on a hoodie over his head, gingerly easing the fabric over his bruised chest.

“Did the blast hit your chest too, man?” Miles asked quietly, eyes playing over the mess of a bruise over slightly-scarred skin, wincing a bit.

Milo exhaled sharply. “Shuddup.”

Miles frowned. “You have to let mom know about that soon. Don’t ‘shuddup’ me.”

“Whatever. Let’s just get this over with.”

Miles knew his brother was sulking, but that really looked… bad. If he was responsible for not only dragging his brother into vigilantism, but also putting him in the hospital as well, he had no idea how he was getting out of this one alive. He was probably never going to see the light of day until college. Maybe not even then.

Once ready, both boys stood side-by-side in front of the door, hesitating. They both glanced at each other, then back at the door.

This was it, they both thought. The moment of truth. This was the night where it was all gonna go down, and their painstakingly-kept secret would finally be revealed to their parents. D-day. My god. He didn’t even know if the speech he prepared in the car on the way home was even gonna suffice against their mother’s explosive anger. She was gonna have a cow the second Jeff told her. Damnit.

Guess I can kiss the whole Spider-man thing goodbye, Miles thought, the very idea leaving a very heavy weight in his chest that he just couldn’t ignore. He leaned forward to turn the knob and swing open the door. With one last glance back at his brother, he stepped out. Then his brother followed him slowly, ice pack pressed to the side of his head again.

It was like a funeral procession the way they marched solemnly back to their chairs placed side-by-side by the table. Jeff leaned on the doorway to the hallway with his arms crossed sternly over his chest, still in his police uniform, hat already hung up.

As if on cue, Rio’s keys jangled against the door, and she stepped inside once the lock clicked open. Her slightly tired expression changed in an instant once she hung up her bag and walked into the apartment.

“Hello boys, I’m home!” She announced, a bit surprised. Not only were her husband and two sons all home at the same time, but they were all hanging around to watch her come home after work at such a late hour. Granted, it was summertime and the weekend, but still. Weird.

Jeff had texted her that something important came up and that she needed to be home ASAP, but didn’t elaborate further. She didn’t know what to expect when she got back. She crossed her fingers and hoped that it wasn’t that bad, if her husband texted her instead of calling. If it was an emergency, surely he would’ve called.

Right?

Her eyes widened once she saw the ice pack Milo held against his head, and quickly made her way over to him.

“Qué pasó?” She kneeled next to her boy, checking him over quickly.

Milo winced and tried to dodge his mother’s hands, holding a protective arm over his chest that no one missed. “Ma, stop. I’m fine, seriously. It’s… it’s fine.”

“Is it? What is going on, why is everyone so… so sad right now, and what are you two doing sitting here like this? Jeff…?” She turned to face her husband but he was already making his way back to the boys’ bedroom, scooping up their respective vigilante costumes and heading back out with the incriminating evidence in both hands.

Once he got back to the table, he tossed them onto the surface and crossed his arms again.

For a second, no one moved. The whole world held its breath for one precious moment.

Then, with deadly calm in her tone, Rio slowly stood up and placed her hands on her hips. “...What are those things?”

Both boys braced for impact.

“Well?”

Miles swallowed hard, hands gripped together tightly. “Uhm. They’re. They’re… our outfits. Y’know… for fighting crime.”

Rio gaped at her sons.

“He’s Spider-man, mom. Miles is Spider-man,” Milo clarified solemnly. His chin was at his chest now, avoiding eye contact with his mother.

“...And you’re the Prowler.” Rio finished.

She took a step back and exhaled, running her hands through her hair and rubbing her face. “Oh… oh my god. Dios mió, me voy a morir. I knew it, but still... me voy a morir!” ¹

Finally, Jeff spoke up behind her. “They’re not Halloween costumes, either. Guess where I found ‘em tonight?”

With tears in her eyes, Rio looked back at her husband, a pleading look on her face. “Don’t tell me,” she begged. But Jeff continued anyways.

“I took tonight’s shift on as a bit of extra, and when I was called to take care of an electric freak close to downtown, I found these two at the scene already.”

Finally, Rio exploded. “What?!?”

The twins flinched.

Jeff exhaled and pressed on, licking his lips. “Yeah, and not only that, but Milo here took on a direct blast of electricity to the face. He jumped in front of me and put himself in harm’s way!”

Scandalized, Milo leaped up from his seat, wincing only a little bit. “Wait a minute, I did it to protect you! That’s my job!”

The anger fizzled out immediately once both parents swung their withering glares around back to him, rage hot enough to almost burn two holes into his skull. Miles pulled Milo’s hoodie sleeve and quietly hissed, “stop making it worse!”

Milo clammed up and quickly sat back down, pouting.

“Your job?” Rio shot back incredulously, laughing angrily.

“That is not your job, Milo! That is mine! My job! I wear this badge every single day so that I can protect the people of Brooklyn. You are a kid with homework and chores to do, not fighting dangerous bad guys on the streets like some kinda—” Jeff worked himself up but then stopped, as if he suddenly ran out of steam. He placed his hands over his head, clearly stressed, and exhaled loudly.

“How long?” Rio’s tone was sharp.

They were definitely not getting out of this alive. Damn. Rest in power, Morales twins.

Miles shuffled his feet, hesitating. “Uhm—”

“Speak up, Miles. How long have you two been running around behind our backs and lying to us like this? Huh?”

Miles sighed. “I, uhm. We’ve been doing this… for a while now.”

“A while?”

“…A -a year.”

“A YEAR?!”

“I mean I’unno about Miles, but I’ve only been doin’ this for like a couple months, so…” Milo mumbled half-heartedly beside his brother. That comment earned him another set of glares, including one from Miles.

“A year. A year! A year, that’s how long you’ve been lying to us?” Jeff was pacing now, clearly stressed out. He was mumbling things under his breath that both boys would rather not know anything about.

Miles jumped up from his seat, seizing the opportunity when he could. “Wait-wait-wait-wait-wait, guys. Mom, dad. Listen to me, please,” he begged, hands splayed out in front of him.

He took a breath. He opened his mouth.

“Until college.” Rio interrupted, holding a finger up. “Both of you. Grounded! Until college! You will both be adults before you ever go out without my permission ever again!”

Miles deflated. “O-kay but mom, please! Hear me out first!”

Rio held a hand up. “I don’t wanna hear it! I cannot believe that both of my sons would lie to me like this! For an entire year, no less! Dios, dame paciencia, coño!” ² She shook her head as she held her face in her hands. “Do you two know what you’re doing to me? Look at me, I’m getting grey hairs as we speak!”

Jeff immediately took her side. “Do you realize what you’re doing to your mother? You’re killing her! And you--” he rounded on Milo all of a sudden, jolting the poor boy into sitting up straight. “You are killing me! You’re going around wearing those godforsaken gloves around, punching bad guys just cuz you wanna feel like a big man, huh? Do you know what that does to me?!”

Milo visibly prickled up, hunching in on himself. “I’m not doing it for me,” he bit out angrily.

“Then for who, huh?”

“I wanted to save the little guys on the street... when the cops couldn’t. I wanted to help Miles.” Milo sounded tired, and for a split second he looked much older beyond his years. Both of his parents softened for only a fraction of a second before Jeff rubbed his eyes and turned back to Miles.

"And who made you Spider-man all of a sudden? What happened a year ago? Tell me the truth. I don't want any detail left out!"

Ah, interrogation mode already, Miles thought humorlessly.

He sighed and dutifully got started on the whole backstory, careful to leave out the fact that he was with Aaron the moment he got shot, skipping to the part where he "found" his uncle's nearly lifeless body in that alleyway that fateful day. It was a harmless enough lie… Miles presumed. Right?

"Did you… then... h-how did you see who shot Aaron, Miles? Were you there?" Jeff asked quietly, also looking as tired as Milo did. Miles paused, not expecting the question.

Rio shot him a look. "Jeff, mi amor, please. Now is really not the time." She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Right now, we have to talk about this... this... situation we have going on here. What's next?"

Miles shrugged, palms facing forward as if to say and the rest is history. "I'm... pretty sure you guys know the rest. Dad... you were uh, there. At the collider. I stopped Kingpin and then I just. Well, yeah. Y'all have already watched all of the news stories and the videos. So," he finished lamely.

Then, a surge of confidence as he looked at the concerned expressions dawning on his parents' faces. It's now or never.

"...B-but I love being Spider-man! Dad, you've seen me out there, the way I fight, the fact that you guys have less to deal with cuz I'm out there kicking ass!"

Oops. Wrong words.

Miles' confidence deflated as soon as those concerned and sympathetic looks turned into ones of anger.

"Kicking ass?! More like getting your ass kicked, little boy! How many NewTube videos are out there of you getting crushed by cars," Jeff started to count off of his fingers, "hit by buses, tossed in the air, punched and flung halfway across the block--"

"Jeff, please!" Rio cried, wobbling a bit. She pulled out the chair closest to her from the table and slumped down into it, rubbing at her temples.

"S-sorry, hon..." Jeff placed an apologetic hand on his wife's shoulder.

Rio sighed deeply.

"I get it. I know. But dad..." Miles steeled himself this time. "When you put on that badge every single day and you go out into those streets to protect the city, you think you're never gonna get shot at? Jumped? It is literally your responsibility to put yourself in the way of danger so no one else has to." He turns to the table and grabs his mask.

"For me," Miles continues, "this is my badge. Okay? I put this on every single day and swing out into the streets so people can shoot at me, or ask me for directions, or wait for me to get weird guys in stupid costumes away from the train tracks. I do this every single day, because if I don't, who will? Peter is dead--" ...wow, that feels weird to say.

"Miles..." Rio's big brown eyes gaze sadly at her boy, standing tall with this awful mask in his hand. A mask that she desperately wished wasn't his.

"Mom. Peter is dead. He is. Okay? If I don't step up and take his place, knowing what I can do? Then I might as well not even be alive at all." He tosses his mask dramatically back onto the table to punctuate his point. "I can shoot webs from my wrists and I have strength like y'all wouldn't believe. I can stick to walls and do everything that Peter Parker was able to do before he passed away. If I just sit here doing nothing with these abilities while everyone struggles to live their lives every single day, letting bad guys with superpowers do whatever they want, then what's the point of anything? The exact same reason why I put on this suit to go fight crime is the exact same reason why you do, dad." Miles turns to his father now. "You have your suit, I have mine."

Milo jumps in, enthused. "And the reason why I put on my mask is because of him. And the civilians, too... of course. But it's not because I 'wanna feel like a big man', dad. It's because it drives me crazy seeing my own brother taking on all of this responsibility on his shoulders all by himself. Miles is gonna do crazy things now that he got bit by a super-spider, right? We literally cannot stop him, even if we tried. Trust me. Might as well go along with him and support him so he doesn't get himself killed out there. That's why I do this. Every single day."

Jeff opens his mouth to say something, but is then cut off by Rio's own small, sad voice. "... Why does it have to be you two?" She asks quietly.

She looks so small sitting there on their wooden dining room chair, and a million times more tired than when she came in through the door. She wasn't even out of her own nurse's uniform yet, either. Miles felt a pang of sympathy for her.

Miles... did not know the answer to her question either. He really didn't. Why was it him-- out of all of the people in Brooklyn-- that got bit by that spider? Clearly, the universe had a grand, elaborate joke planned for him. That was really probably the only explanation for it all. But, no. No, there had to be something else in the cards for Miles. After all, he was bitten by the spider while out with his uncle who was secretly the Prowler, and he was present for not only Peter Parker's death, but that same uncle as well.

He squared his shoulders. And then told the truth.

"I... don't know," he admitted. "But... I do know this. Growing up, I always knew Spider-man was there to answer the call no matter what. He didn't pick this life of battling bad guys that wanna tear the city up all the time, a spider bit him, too. But he made me promise something before he died, and I have to live up to that promise. What else am I gonna do when I'm able to pick up cars with my bare hands?"

Granted, it was only a promise to stop the collider from opening a black hole inside of the city they lived in, but. Details. Anyways...

Rio hid her face in her hands again.

Miles softened his tone, sitting down. "This is something I worked really, really hard for and it's important to me. Milo... is kinda right. You can ground me. Until college. Or whenever. But as long as I've got these powers," he held his hands open, propping his elbows on his knees and meeting his mom's eyes, "and there's people out there that need saving? I gotta do what I gotta do, mami."

Milo leaned forward, too. "Yeah. Same here. He's not alone. The same reason we do this stuff is cuz... ever since we were little, we also watched you guys answer the call, no matter what. I never met Spider-man, before... y'know, but it doesn't matter. We do this for New York City."

Neither of their parents spoke for a bit, digesting all of this information in solemn silence. The anger from earlier all but melted away as they ruminated over all of this. All this time, their little boy was running around in a spandex costume, swinging around, punching bad guys and lifting fallen buildings off of people. There was... a hint of pride underneath all of the fear and anger and betrayal and anxiety, even Rio couldn't lie.

But god, how would things ever be the same again after knowing that the very hero who swung from building to building and knocked villains down before webbing them up was the very same boy with the brightest brown eyes they've ever seen; the boy who brought home A's on his test like he won a medal, the same boy who sang horribly off-key while doodling all over his sketchbook, who refused to tie his shoelaces and drove Jeff up the wall when he found graffiti and stickers all around the city in Miles' name? It was impossible... Rio's heart broke into two pieces.

And Milo... a tougher counterpart to her little ray of sunshine, but just as sweet. The same boy who would feed stray cats on the block, beam like a ray of light after winning a boxing match against a tough opponent, who would hide behind Rio at parties and join her happily to watch the latest episode of the new telenovela they both got hooked on... that same boy was wearing those gloves, swinging around the city looking like a bad guy himself. Rio's shattered heart gained another huge crack before finally breaking into three pieces.

Finally, she sighed again.

"You have superpowers?" She asked, hesitantly.

"... I... yeah, I do." Miles answered, fearing that this was a trick question.

Rio nodded sadly. "Of course. Of course..."

Jeff spoke up, now kneeling beside his wife, caressing her hand clasped in between both of his. "Just because you have superpowers, doesn't mean you're invincible. Miles, we do this because we care about you. Maybe we won't be able to stop either of you from putting yourself in harm's way... I mean, hell, nobody can stop me. But... god, isn't there any other way?"

Miles raised a brow. "Any other way to...?"

Jeff blew out a breath. "I-I dunno, can't you use your super strength to... well, maybe help the transportation department move some tracks around, build some new stations... that'd help the city. Swing around and deliver medicine to people for free? God, I don't know. I just don't want either of you to jump in front of bullets for other people... man..." he shook his head.

Miles and Milo exchanged glances. "I... I know it's tough to accept this," Miles started, unsure of what to say. "Maybe I can scale back the dangerous stuff some but... I... can't just stand around directing traffic when someone's getting mugged. Or a bank is getting robbed. Dad, I just can't. Maybe you guys will hate it every time I put the suit on and swing outside but... I can't give this up now. I'm sorry." He dipped his head apologetically.

Another long stretch of silence.

A clock ticks on the wall in the kitchen, and the ice maker in the fridge starts humming again. It's all so painfully domestic, painfully ordinary, it's almost an insult to the people living in this apartment facing these serious revelations all at the same time. It sure is a sharp contrast to the solemn mood settling all over everyone right now.

Rio looks deeply into Miles' eyes, then Milo's. After a while, she turns to face Jeff. "Jeff. You will not like what I'm about to say."

Jeff returns her look with one of confusion. "Honey..."

Rio shrugs, a small gesture but one that makes Miles and Milo's hearts skip a beat. "Mi vida, these are our boys. They have... this big responsibility now, to the people here in this city. Just like you. Just like me," she swallows and continues. "You and me? We've seen what Miles is capable of. Well, the both of them. And as much as it hurts, it would probably hurt even more if we kept them both back from being the heroes they need to be. What we need to do now is... we need to support them. We love them. They need us. We need them! Qué más puedo decir?" ³

Jeff looked deeply into his wife's eyes and then inhaled deeply. Not quite a sigh. That was maybe a good sign?

He stands up.

"...Boys."

The twins took their cue. They both stood up, too. Milo quickly discards his ice pack on his chair. Rio joins them, leaning on Jeff for support.

"When police officers get sworn in, they usually just have to do paperwork nowadays. Not too much of the whole bells and whistles due to high turnover rates, but tonight... if either of you want to continue to fight crime in this city, you both have to put your right hand up. Right now."

Miles could cry. Milo bit his lip to try and hide his grin, and they both dutifully raised their right hands at the same time. Jeff does the same, and reaches his left hand out to take Miles'. Rio takes Milo's.

"Pretend we are the Bible. Not paperwork. The Bible."

Both boys nod with all the seriousness they could manage, looking their father in the eyes.

"Do you solemnly swear on your mother and father's life that you will uphold the law and do right by the citizens of Brooklyn, New York, so help you God?"

"I mean... the law law? Cuz sometimes we--" Milo started, immediately earning an elbow to the side. He shut up.

"Yes, the law. I will not be having the DA of New York City up in my home lookin' for you two in case anyone gets badly hurt. I don't want him in my office, either." Jeff gives them both a look.

Miles pipes up. "Yes, we swear, so help us God."

"Milo?"

Milo nods emphatically. "Yes, I swear, so help me God."

Jeff nods once.

"Mijos. You will both be allowed to go and fight crime outside, con mi bendiciones. But. But... you will both also do it under two conditions. If either of you break my rules, you will have wished that spider never bit you," Rio glared at Miles. Then to Milo, "and you will have wished you never stole your uncle's gloves from his apartment. Got it?"

Both boys nodded, still holding onto their parents' hands.

"So, my two rules are this. Only two. Easy to remember, okay? Number one. Milo, you will take care of your brother as best as you can. Miles, you will take care of Milo as best as you can. Both of you will always be seen together when going out and doing hero things, do you understand?"

"Yes, mamí" the boys say simultaneously.

"Never, ever go out alone, ever. Neither of you will be alone for even a second, especially during the nighttime. Promise me this."

Miles puts his right hand down to take his mother's other hand in his. "Yes, mom. I promise. We both promise."

Rio bows her head. "...And as for my second rule."

"Do we have to have a curfew?" Milo asks quietly. Everyone shoots him a look again.

"No, no curfew." Before the boys could get excited, she quickly adds, "except for on school nights." They both calm back down.

"Your education is always, always more important. Don't forget this," she lets go of their hands to hold up a finger. "But as for my second rule? No more secrets between us. All of us. Okay? You tell me exactly when it is you leave to go and do what you need to do, and exactly when you come back. Promise me this, too."

This time, it was Miles' turn to start saying something dumb. "I meaann, like every single time? Cuz sometimes it's not really a one-and-done kinda thing, like a shift or--"

Everyone glares at Miles. Miles promptly shuts up.

"...Sí, mamí. Te prometemos todo eso." ⁴ Milo answers seriously.

Rio sucks in a breath. "Okay. Okay..."

She looks as if she's about to burst into tears, so everyone draws in tightly for a group hug. Rio sniffles against Milo's shoulder and Jeff leans his chin on Mile's head. Miles laughs wetly.

"Geez, y'all are crying? Man, for what? Ain't nobody dying or anything..." Milo interjects suddenly, causing the whole mood to dissipate all at once. Everyone laughs incredulously.

"Boy, if you don't know how to read a room..." Jeff starts, a warning tone laced into his playful grin.

"Man, I was just trying to lighten the mood! Damn, I mean shouldn't we be celebrating? Miles literally has super strength, you guys. Like c'mon, right? That is literally the coolest thing in the whole world!"

Rio groans, tossing her head back. "Mira esté, 'coolest thing in the whole world'... déjame agarrarte, maldito cabron..." ⁵ she mutters sarcastically, moving to grab at Milo's neck in the exact same way Miles did not even an hour earlier. He playfully dodged out of the way, putting his arms up to block, out of habit.

"Cabron?! Mom, you're so mean!" Milo complained.

"C'mere!"

Jeff leans in and interrupts their banter. "Milo. Son. You have to sit with me on the couch now, cuz we have to have a little chat about how you got your hands on those gloves, actually..." He grabs at one of Milo's arms, his smile just a tad bit too wide. Milo gulps.

Jeff continues, steering them both away from Miles and Rio. "And we also have to talk a bit about the history behind those things, too..."

Rio turns to Miles and cups his cheeks in her hands, looking into his eyes. "Do you actually, actually swear to me that you will try your hardest to stay safe?"

"Yes, mom, I do! We said it like a hundred times."

"Your father was right. Just because you have super strength now--"

"And super-healing."

Rio stares at him for a beat.

Miles squirms nervously. "...What? I do!"

"Super-healing, sure. Uh huh. If I catch you with bullet holes inside of you, I am not taking you to the ER then, Mr. Invincible."

"Ouch. Harsh."

"I warned you! I'm smiling like I'm joking but I'm really not!"

"Okay, okay, geez. C'mon, ma. It's really not that big of a deal. I don't get shot at as much as you'd think! Seriously! I'm fast. And... and I've been doing this for a while now. You have to trust me, okay?"

Rio sobered up. "I know. I know. I just... mi amor, I am your mother. I worry about you. You know... I've been taking care of my two little boys for so many years now. I just... I care about the both of you even when you two drive me completamente loca! I trust that you can both handle yourselves, I really do. It's just hard. It is. I-it'll... take some time to get used to."

Miles nodded. "Growing up is tough. I get it."

Rio smacked him on the shoulder.

"Ow! What, it's true! We're all growing up right now, I'm not a little kid anymore and... and you're not the mom of two little kids now. It's just... it's a transitional period! Life's tough!" Miles shrugs, smiling warmly.

Rio smirked, crossing her arms. "Uh huh. It sure is."

Then, she opened her arms for another hug from Miles, which he happily returned.

"I mean it, Miles. Whatever happens, I want you to keep yourselves safe. And ask for help. Papí, your father is a police officer. And whatever you need, whatever you need... I'm here, too."

Miles beamed at his mother with tears in his eyes.

"I know, mom. Thank you."

☆ translations:

¹ "my god, i'm going to die."

² "god, grant me patience, fuck!"

³ "what more can i say?"

⁴ "yes, mom. we promise you all of that."

⁵ "Lookit this guy, 'coolest thing in the whole world'... lemme get my hands on you, fucking bastard..."

[taraxacum-vulpes]

why is everyone pretending like cyberpunk edgerunners is good. the writing is so bad i hate it