#we never got a clear point for who was the organizer

[gaogaigoatgrrl]

i hope that in the wake of predstrogen/predesterone's back-to-back deletion we don't forget about the ongoing building wave of seemingly organic transmisogyny from the userbase leading up to it, some of which may or may not have been the result of terf psyops but all of which certainly wouldn't have been possible without the eager participation of a significant proportion of users, including but probably not limited to:

the entire concept of transandrophobia (if this offends you, think long and hard about why you want so badly for it to be real)

the ongoing backlash against the terms tme and tma (if they offend you, think long and hard about why they might have practical value to trans women and people with similar social positionality)

the ongoing trend of trans women's blogs getting flagged on the flimsiest of pretenses and generally receiving far more scrutiny for "adult content" than anyone else's

the seeming unironic revival of "baeddel" as a slur for outspoken trans women, on the basis of a long-dead clique that, ironically enough, self-applied the long-dead (and tbf, etymologically questionable) slur from the middle ages to reclaim it

the entire "trans women should be fucking trans men instead of complaining about transmisogyny" genre of post

the backlash when tgirls finally started calling out the aforementioned bullshit

the copypasted anons sent to several trans women (many of whom were lesbians) sexually harassing them and threatening corrective rape for calling out the aforementioned bullshit

the backlash when tgirls called the aforementioned bullshit sexual harassment

the expansion of flexible queer label use (which to be clear, i am generally all for) to include "afab trans women", muddying the waters and making transmisogyny harder to articulate

the backlash when tgirls started calling out the aforementioned bullshit

the aita incident in which a trans woman described a cis woman claiming to be a trans woman in a group chat and giving other trans women terrible medical advice based on no actual qualifications or experience, and got a huge backlash for warning them about the aforementioned bullshit despite the stakes of, you know, following terrible medical advice

everything from the sixth point onward happened within the past... week? two weeks? my sense of time is a bit fuzzy. who knows what the rest of this week has in store?

people on this website are so incredibly hostile to trans women even being able to name our own oppression, let alone resist it in any concrete way. and i know it's not just this website. don't you get tired of the crab bucket bullshit? holy fucking shit.

like, i've been lucky, i've overwhelmingly managed to dodge it (probably on account of frankly being a pretty boring and inconsistent poster). this time last year, i was actually bored that i didn't have anons in my inbox to argue with. but i've seen it happen to so many other women now, it's absurd. even if it never hits you personally, you can never shake the awareness that it's happening to so many of the cool girls on here, people you like and whose posts you laugh at and who you look up to. they just kinda seem to drop like flies over time. don't you get tired?

[unicornpopcorn14]

Chuuya's reaction to Dazai getting hurt during the Lovecraft fight has always been so interesting to me...

Because it's the kind of worry you'd never expect from a character as gruff as Chuuya, who had displayed nothing but hostility towards Dazai so far. Usually, characters that are labelled as "angry" or "anger issues" (which Chuuya is much more complex than that but you get my point) act more as a tsundere type of way when the one they "don't care about" gets hurt. And show their care in very, very subtle ways (ex. their eyes widen, their mouth parts and closes again, etc) before putting up their front once more.

Chuuya, however, is open, and vocal about it. His worry is clear not only to us, but to Dazai himself, the one he shouldn't be displaying the concern to (as per the cliche). Shouldn't it be some sort of secret that Chuuya does care? Isn't that what skk's dynamic has been shaping up to be until now?

I'm telling you- the way my mind blanked when Chuuya just casually.... showed concern not once, but twice, was a sight to see.

Besides, the context makes it much more confusing, because Dazai isn't some rookie, and Chuuya knows that more than anybody. He was the youngest executive in Port Mafia's history, of course he can handle a hit or two. Of course he'd seen him handle a hit or two, sometimes without batting an eye.

Heck, Chuuya himself was hurling Dazai like a ragdoll in their reunion, which was their last meeting. And you could argue that he was going easy on him, but Dazai has mostly withstood the same damage (as far as I could see), and Chuuya was as bitter as ever.

So that kind of contradicts both what we knew of Chuuya so far, and how their dynamic was shaped to be. I mean, that just makes Chuuya a hypocrite, yeah? What makes him care now, all of a sudden? What makes him care at all?

Well, to me, this backasswards reaction implies one (or more) of the following:

- Dazai rarely got physically hurt during their partnership and thus this is an unexpected thing for him to see (during a mission).

- The four years of separation made Chuuya unsure of how much Dazai can withstand physically now. Also the fact that he isn't in the mafia anymore, aka fighting enemy organizations on the weekly, would naturally make Dazai lose his touch in a way, what prompts Chuuya's reaction.

- Dazai getting taken off guard took him off guard which led to panic. Especially since the situation was (momentarily) out of their depth. Seriously wtf even was Lovecraft?

- During the dungeon scene Dazai was an enemy, while in the Lovecraft fight he was as an ally. The difference might be significant to Chuuya.

- This has always been Chuuya's reaction to Dazai getting hurt regardless of the situation.

- "Only I can hurt him like that" ahh logic

- Asagiri was still experimenting with their dynamic and thus there are some inconsistencies.

This scenario didn't play out again (after their reunion) for me to exactly determine which one is more plausible, but it is 100% canon for Chuuya to shamelessly show his concern and run to Dazai to check on him before properly dealing with their opponent, which I find to be such an appealing layer to their dynamic, and a good spin on the type of character he gets stereotyped as.

Bonus: Dazai also becomes a softy when Chuuya's hurt, especially post corruption. Dead Apple alone displays that multiple times.

All in all, Skk are doing a terrible job at maintaining their 'hostile' and 'antagonistic' relationship post their reunion. Freaks.

[asajjventress]

I really feel like so many people who hate Vivienne for being power hungry do not fully grasp and appreciate the desperation that Vivienne feels because she conceals it so well… as little content as she got, she honestly is expertly written and presented and it’s why it disappoints me so much when people hate her for surface level reasons… her writer deserves so much more appreciation.

I think it is subtle because she hides it and you really have to care about the character to seek out these threads and understand her motivations… she is in danger of total irrelevance, being cast aside by society (and history), and she is forced to ride the coattails of some upstart organization because all of the institutions she is invested in have either totally failed her or cast her aside.

She is clearly a prideful person who does not readily admit this… but her true talent is how clearly she can evaluate this and understand her own position. She suffers no delusions. She knows the Circle’s standing in society is diminished to nothing if it doesn’t house and account for the majority of mages, and she is left with just meek Chantry loyalists and sycophants who are lost without her guiding hand, as even otherwise pro-Circle mages with any sense have abandoned ship and left both rebels and loyalists at this point to see where the chips fall (Ellandra) - and the Chantry itself has been all but decimated in terms of military and political power. The one lifeline she has is the Imperial Court, and the fickle nobility have moved on from her - the mages are now a threat that she cannot control or offer any meaningful opposition to, and Celene’s favor has turned to Morrigan, and Vivienne does not know if she will ever have it again. She knows Bastien is dying, and that all that she has left at court will be those who hold kind feelings towards her such as his family, and that is a position she can never accept - being at the mercy of others.

We meet Vivienne, this impressive, powerful mage, who has made a life for herself by maneuvering brilliantly, all to improve her own standing, at a point where she is in danger of losing everything she has. And she doesn’t let on, at least not explicitly, but she joins the Inquisition out of desperation - it’s obvious she sees it as an opportunity, but the gravity of the situation for her isn’t clear from the start. She refuses to lay down and fade away. Vivienne would never had joined this fledgling upstart organization if she was in a better position at Court or there wasn’t a vacuum of power. She is very close to having nothing left, and starting over - and so she does. Before the rug can be pulled from under her, she gets out and sets off for herself again.

Vivienne, often accused of pride, privilege, and self importance, comes to the Inquisitor out of pure humility. She knows she is reduced. And her gamble ultimately pays off, and the Inquisition becomes the political juggernaut that it does, and she becomes more powerful and important than ever just by association. And I like to think, especially with an Inquisitor who respects and befriends her, that she plays no small part in shaping the organization.

I think this is also why, potentially, she plays it so cool at the Winter Palace. She doesn’t get involved… she doesn’t need to. Simply being present is a statement to the court, and she truly doesn’t care about who wins; it’s not just the Game, it’s personal, despite what she claims. That they cast her aside, and now they are interested again… not necessarily in her, but still, she sees the paradigm shifting again. She is now a part of the organization who gets to change Orlais, and favor with the Inquisition is quickly becoming just as important as favor with Celene.

The whole arc is a subtle one as she really doesn’t get much attention, but if you pay close attention, it shows how expertly Vivienne plays politics. We already know she came from nothing and maneuvered into a powerful position. But I think not everyone realizes she is nearly back to nothing when we first meet her… and through the course of the game’s events, by allying with the right people, she plays the game well enough to become an advisor to the most influential person in southern Thedas… and potentially even Divine. But her initial plea to the Inquisitor, for all the great lengths she goes to keep up the appearance of strength and invulnerability, comes from a place of utter desperation.

[visionsofcarnality]

can we get headcanons for gilf!Joel maybe? his slicked back hair in tlou ep3 stirred something in me 🥵🥵🥵

i like the way you think…

Silver Fox ! Joel Miller Headcanons NSFW!!

Traditional old man in every sense of the word, he doesn’t make cheesy comments when you grab a door handle but he does give you a scolding little glare that totally doesn’t light a fire in your panties.

Self conscious about his somewhat saggy skin around his chest, middle, and extremities even after you’ve assured him until you’re blue in the face. You do help him though. Watching how attracted you are to his body even aged as it is definitely strokes his ego.

Has an online refillable prescription for Viagra that gets delivered to his apartment, and when he takes it he becomes an absolute fiend.

Usually without the Viagra he still is able to throughly satisfy you with ages of foreplay and a nice thorough fucking, leaving you both satisfied after one climactic round.

But when he takes Viagra-

You better clear your schedule and invest in a massage gun for your legs afterwards because you are going to be SORE.

I’m talking several positions, screaming until your throat hurts, your pussy feeling raw and used, daylong marathon sex.

Joel doesn’t seem to soften even a fraction until your body is wailing in protest and you can’t feel your thighs anymore.

You don’t think he could possibly have any more left in him until he’s once again emptying his heavy, full balls into your cunt; adding to the previous loads from the past six rounds he’s already shot into your body.

When he’s not fucking you stupid with the assistance of his little blue pills, he’s treating you like the princess you’d expect he would.

Don’t even think about carrying your own groceries, what are you, crazy?

Speaking of groceries…

If you aren’t living together yet best believe he’s on your doorstep every Sunday at 11AM with a truck full of groceries, dropping them off after church let’s out and he’s free to go to the store.

He makes you sit and continue sipping your coffee/tea while he puts them away, simultaneously checking the sell-by dates of everything in your fridge and pantry like a man obsessed.

Like a true old fashioned southern boy, he won’t tell you he’s in love with you. But he will point out the amount of things expired in your house.

“Come on, now. You’re gonna get sick, this is ridiculous-“ As if he hasn’t brought you your favorite brand of cereal and all your preferred snacks. Even all those “Shitty, organic, cardboard crap” things you love.

Never had a good plate of grits? He’s making them meticulously for you the morning after a hookup. “Eat, you need it. That stuff’ll keep you goin’ all day.”

Is all too supportive of your flimsy little sundresses. The gauzy fabric floating around your legs like a visualization of your perfume, nearly beckoning him closer. Even when you’re looking like a good little church girl in your soft, flowy dresses… all he can think about is how easy it would be to bend you over and have his way with you.

Which he does the second he brings you home from his cousin’s cookout in the suburbs.

Did I mention that he got a vasectomy after his divorce? Still, seeing you with his now adult daughter makes him daydream about getting you pregnant.

Which he finds insane… He doesn’t want any more kids, he physically can’t have any more kids… But the only thing he can think about right now is burying his cum in your pussy and keeping you pampered in his house with your belly full of his babies.

That vasectomy won’t stop him from trying his damndest, though. Especially after Sarah (who he had young) has her first baby and he watches you hold the six month old infant for the first time.

This man is a GENTLEMAN in the most old fashioned sense of the word.

Like, I cannot stress that enough.

If you’re an independent person, prepare to be thoroughly pampered.

His old fashioned chivalrous ways may be frustrating sometimes but it really does come from a place of just wanting to show his love.

Like when he insists on driving you everywhere whenever you go places together, or when he always finds a way to move you to the side of his body furthest away from the sidewalk when you walk, or when he automatically picks up your purse when you meet so that he can carry it for you.

But you forget all about those minor annoyances when he bends you over your kitchen table and pounds you into next week, muttering nonsense about how you’re too young for him or how you’re such a dirty girl for wanting him and his old man cock.

You moan his name when he grips both your hips in a tight but loving hold, all too willing to forgive him for his incessant door opening when you’re all dumbed down on his cock, the cock which is now way too hard and blood filled because he definitely popped one of your favorite blue pills a while ago.

But much like the gentleman he is, after he fucks you into a blissed-out stupor, he carries you to the bed and wipes your spent pussy clean, cuddling you into the mattress and running his hands through your hair while you both come down from your highs.

When he does get insecure about the age difference between you, all you can do is kiss his leathery, stubbled cheek and wrap your arms around him… Convincing him with your actions instead of words that his age is only a factor in your attraction to him… And that you love him for what makes him him.

this post got way too long but NONNIE I HOPE I DID YOU JUSTICE!!

[sardonic-the-writer]

𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥 [+ 𝐆𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥] 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐎𝐮𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐇𝐚𝐝 𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡 𝐎𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ includes: dean, sam, castiel, and gabriel

↳ warnings: none

↳ song: dance macabre—ghost

masterlist | commissions | carrd

𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧

• When Dean first meets you in the middle of bumfuck nowhere on a hunt, he's not surprised that you know his name

• Afterall, he has brought on the apocalypse more than once, and the hunter community isn't exactly known for its ability for people to keep their mouths shut

• What does surprise him, though, is your knowledge on him as a person

• It's nothing creepy— the thought of someone knowing all about him in that way brings him back to where he first met Becky through Chuck, and the thought makes him shudder —but just enough to where it's obvious you've done some digging and people reading of your own

• "Brought back some pie with dinner; didn't know what you wanted so I got apple."

• "Careful handling this case, it's got some nasty demons. We don't want you diving head first into hell. Again."

• "No no, don't use that. It didn't work on that shape-shifter you ganked last year in Massachusetts, so it won't work on this one. Throw it out." You eventually say one night while looking in Baby's trunk for some ammo, and Dean finally turns to face you

• "How did you know that? How do you know any of these things?" He clears his throat, squinting. You shrug with a barely there smile

• "Who do you think cleans up your messes when you're done, Dean? And what can I say. Word gets around."

• It's a simple case of Dean's reputation preceding him. Although, as you discover, there's a lot more to the Winchester than just his precious car, a strange love for greasy food, and his ability to fight off a demon with his bare hands

• "You sure you aren't obsessed with me? Because its totally fine if you're obsessed. I mean, look at me." Dean asks you at one point while gesturing down at himself. He's leaning on his car door in what he probably thought was a sexy manner, watching as you lugged some equipment out to the vehicle. You manage to press your lips together just in time to hide your amused grin

• "Keep dreaming, man." You shake your head. "There's a difference between reading up on people, and stalking them."

• "So you admit it?" He grins misheviously, pushing himself off Baby. "That you've spent your spare time thinking about me?"

• "Sure. And those witnesses never mentioned you'd be this insufferable." You scoff light heartedly, even though thats exactly what some of them said, and leave it at that. But for the rest of the hunt Dean can't stop elbowing you in the ribs to make a playful remark; something that, strangely, you don't find yourself minding

𝐒𝐚𝐦

• Unlike his brother, Sam takes the information that you practically already knew him with a bit of embarrassment

• Sure, he had been (or was supposed to be) Lucifer's vessel, and sure he also had a habit of being at the center of everything world ending, but he never really conciders him anyone other than a hunter that just happens to get the worst cases

• So when you just offhandedly started dropping these facts about him, he's a little off put

• "How'd you know that?"

• "You're literally one of the most infamous hunters to ever exist, Sam. You tangle with angels. Most of us only ever get to meet a werewolf or two before a friend is organizing our funeral the week after."

• "Oh. Right"

• Gets a little curious after a while as to what you exactly know. It's not like he keeps a journal about his feelings that the public can read, and that this point he's just praying you haven't discovered Chuck's Supernatural series, so he'd probably ask you all of what you know and why you know it

• "So you're telling me you've done research on our hunting styles—" Sam asks you while leaning forward. You nod, so he continues. "—and all the people we've ever pissed off?"

• "Call it too much free time, which I certainly don't have enough of these days, but I knew if I ever ran into you two knuckle heads, and I knew it would happen eventually whether I wanted it to or not, then I would need to be prepared." You dragged a hand down your face and exhaled for a moment. "That meant making a checklist of every vamp, demon, or god you've ever had out for your head. And trust me, it's a lot."

• He's silent for a moment after you finish, but it doesn't take long for him to pipe up again

• "Can I see it?"

• Safe to say, after seeing the list, Sam started to rethink some of his past decisions

• "Seriously, how are we not dead yet??"

• "Buddy, I have no idea."

𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐥

• He does not understand why you seem to know so much about him. Not only as a person, but as an angel

• Castiel is used to the Winchester's asking questions. The first year of knowing them was filled with 'How Did You Do That''s and 'Can You Do This''s. He'd answer all of them, even if he found their questions to be on a kindergarten level most of the time, until eventually they had no more to ask

• You hadn't been like that. Castiel doesn't think he could ever recall you asking him things unless they were about hunts or special circumstances, like the time Sam lost his soul. Hell, you seemed to know more about him than some angels knew about themselves

• Grace knowledge, wing anatomy, biblical lore—you name it and Castiel's probably heard it come out of your mouth at some point

• He gets around to asking you about it one day, albeit very bluntly

• "You don't ask questions." Castiels voice sounds from behind you. You don't even bother to turn around; you heard his wings flutter the moment before he dropped in

• "What do you mean Cas?" You sucked some air between your teeth as you scribbled away at the papers before you. It was something Sam had asked you to follow up on, and you'd been at it for a hot minute now. Hopefully you could make this conversation quick so you could get back to it

• "About angels." A beat of silence. "About me."

• This time you do turn around in your seat to look at him. He's already studying you with that silent squint, and you resist the urge to mirror it

• "Why would I ask questions I already know the answers to?" You parry. The case papers lay on the table, forgotten by now. Your response gets you a rare, but endearing, Cas head tilt

• Upon further questioning, he finds out you'd spent a lot of your early hunting years doing nothing but reading up on anything remotely supernatural. Even calling them 'hunting years' was a stretch. You were more like a crazed researcher that never left the library than a hunter, even resorting to keep mountains upon mountains of notes on ancient lore stored away in the margins of dusty books

• "That's certainly explains why you weren't surprised when we met for the first time and I healed you." Cas's low voice drawled slowly after you gave him a moment to interject. "Or how you knew the symbol for sending us back to heaven before Dean or Sam ever did."

• "Like I said." You smiled to yourself, and Castiel got the feeling he was missing a part of the joke. "Lots of reading."

𝐆𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥

• Do not bring up that you used to have an angel phase back in college. Under no circumstances should you reveal that. He will never let you live it down

• Especially if he finds out you used to study artwork and literature about him specifically

• It's all over the moment he finds your old school books. They're stuffed full of old crinkled pages with his name thrown in there. Of course, this was way back when the idea of angels being real was laughable to you and you still had dreams of graduating college, but that doesn't change to fact that the notes are there, and that Gabriel found them

• "Wait wait wait listen to this—" An old binder is clutched in the hands of a very amused and very heavenly being as he paces around your spot at a table. His eyes are skimming the pages as a speed quicker than light, and Gabriel's shit eating smile grows as he continues to read

• "The archangel Gabriel isn't depicted as much as his brothers Micheal or Lucifer in classic literature, but when he is, it is often as a symbol of great power and beauty—"

• "I'm going to kill you." You cut him off and groan with hot cheeks. Your hands had come up to cover your face a while ago in an attempt to keep what little dignity you had, but something told you it wasn't working

• "Glad to know you think I'm beautiful, sweet cheeks." Was all Gabriel said. You could hear the teasing lit in his voice. Sure enough, when you looked up to glare at him, he was already looking at you and wiggling his brows suggestively. It took you a total to three seconds to throw the closest thing at his head

• "Hey hey! Watch the beautiful goods!" He laughed while dodging a pencil. It his his chest anyway and bounced to the ground with a dull thud

• "Gabriel." Your tone was downright murderous

• "Okay, okay! I'll stop!"

• He does, in fact, not stop. Someone restrain him for the love of Chuck, for he is getting way too much enjoyment out of poking fun at you

• You're gonna have to avoid him for the next few weeks after that if you want to keep your embarassment levels to a minimum. No other way around it

• Let's just hope he never realizes you had to spend time in art class analyzing renaissance paintings of him in the nude. Now that would be the conversation to end all conversations

• "Heyyy, you never told me you had an art folder—"

• Oh shit.

[sublimeinal-messages]

How great would it have been to have Lila and Diego’s marital problems actually be that they’re both tired of normal marital life, when both of them are secretly getting back into the superhero / assassin gig behind eachother’s backs?

Like, ok Diego can still has his infidelity suspicion plot, thinking lila is cheating on him with five (which is fake. Didn’t happen at all. We all agree right?) but it turns out that Lila and Five are actually meeting up to plot, talking about old commission stuff on the downlow. Diego sneaks out to find them having dinner and he’s heartbroken, but it’s actually them eating takeout over assassination plans with files all over the table detailing how to kill someone without a trace, with pictures of alleyway vantage points and sniper rifles.

I didn’t expect this to end up being A Whole Thing but I had to write it out. Full thing under the cut:

Meanwhile, Diego’s been lying to Lila about losing his job. He hasn’t shown up for work in weeks, and recently got fired. Levaing the family financially unstable. Diego’s still showing up to be a dad during his usual scheduled times, but he hasn’t been paid in a while and both parents seem to be pulled away in different directions. And now the kids have begun to notice. This comes to a peak when one of their kids spot someone in their house at night dressed in black, and they tell Lila later that they saw Batman. Obviously Lila sees right through this and confronts Diego, who confronts her right back over her infidelity. Lila laughs in his face, because he’d have to be insane to think she’s ever do that, and with Five?? The barely-legal teenager who killed her parents? Are you stupid?? (Stares directly at the camera). But Diego’s hurt. He can’t get a clear answer on what they’re doing because she doesn’t want to admit she’s tired of being a housewife and wants to kick ass again. All they can agree on is that this isn’t working anymore, neither of them are happy, and they just hurt each others feelings.

So this fight ends in Diego storming out. They’re on a break. Lila is heartbroken, the kids don’t know what’s going on, and Diego throws himself wholeheartedly into being a vigilante again. It’s shown he’s fighting some shady organization that seems to have far reaching ties—related to Reginald, Abigail, and their new reset empire. Lila doesn’t know what to do, she gets some in-laws to stay over and look after the kids as she goes out to look for him (to no avail) and it ends up being the day she and five planned on their big assassination happening. Lila caves and says to five he’s gotta do this himself because her family is falling apart. Five is annoyed and makes a quip about how this is why he never lets romantic attachments get in in the way of him doing a job (stares directly into camera).

So five takes his sniper rifle and goes to the location early, where he’s positioned to take out their mark. Lila is out looking for Diego, and Diego is kitted up, on his way to take out these shady people he’s been making a case on, and intends to stop what they’re doing before they do it.

Anyone pick up where this is going yet?

Diego shows up at the location—a shady laboratory owned in secret by Reginald Hargreeves. The place is familiar. Diego slips into an alleyway. but what’s this? We’ve seen It’s the exact same alleyway but from a different point of view! Five is perched on the roof with a sniper, looking down at him. He gets his quarry in his sights and takes one final, steadying breath. This mission is going exactly as planned. The idiot showed up right as predicted. He didn’t even come with backup this time. It’s a textbook fish in a barrel. It’s almost disappointing how this couldn’t be an easier kill. But maybe Five’s glory days are just behind him. He puts his finger on the trigger.

Cut to diego and Lila’s house. It’s dark inside. Gracie and the twins have been put to bed and the in-laws are tired and in the living room. A phone rings, and it’s Lila, calling to say she hasn’t found Diego and is hoping he came back, but it’s not the case. Lila says she’ll be back soon and the in-laws begin packing up to go home. Gracie stands in the hallway, overhearing. To her, her whole world is falling apart, and she runs back to the twin’s bedroom in tears. She can’t believe this is happening. The lights are turned off in the hallway and the house grows quiet. The front door opens and closes and it’s implied that the in-laws have just gone home. Mum will be back soon, but the twins won’t stop crying, so Gracie gets up to get them some milk and cookies to make them happy again. She steps out into the dark hallway

To see a man dressed like Batman, in full fight gear. And she looks up at him with hope in her eyes, saying “daddy?”

Only surprise! It’s not, and they grab her as she lets out a scream. We cut to Diego as he reaches to open the door at the end of the alley only to find it locked, and realize he’s been set up. He spins around only for a gunshot to sound, and it cuts to black.

Lila comes back to the house. Finds it trashed. Finds her Inlaws murdered in horrific fashion in the driveway. Gracie and the twins are gone. And the little domestic life she and Diego made destroyed as we cut back to Diego, bleeding out in the street from what looks like a fatal gunshot.

Then five comes down from his perch to confirm his kill, only to realize what he’s just done.

So there. Here’s a dramatic, non-cheating subplot that has a similar amount of stakes that we could’ve had with season 4. Maybe Lila and Five end up going on a crusade for everyone to get their powers back so they can bring Diego back from the dead. Maybe this is what leads them to the subway, to mess with the timeline again, because as commission agents they can’t let go of the idea that time can be fixed and it isn’t theirs to mess with anymore. Maybe this sends Lila over the edge, and when trapped in the subway with five—she tries to murder him instead!! After all, he’s not only killed her parents, he’s now killed her husband! Why not have five scramble to figure out a way back for all those years while running for his life? (While a scooby-doo like soundtrack plays and they get all turned around and confused). Maybe Diego isn’t actually dead in the end, and it’s all a bait and switch to fool Reginald, who was watching and lines the whole thing up to fuck with them. Taking the kids as a deterrent so they won’t dig any deeper. But maybe in the last second before five pulls the trigger five hesitates. Maybe he doesn’t have what it takes to murder anymore. He swore it off earlier—what glory is he really chasing anyway? Maybe he recognizes the gait of the person in the alley and makes a non-killing shot to just take them out. Maybe he saw ahead that this was a setup by Reginald and made an agreement with Diego and filled his vest full of blood packets. And he fully knows Lila and Diego are both doing secret little vigilante gigs behind each others backs but tells neither because he really doesn’t want to get in the way of some stuffy marital dispute. Nooooo thanks. He had enough of that when he and Delores were together and bickering constantly. Five just wants his family alive and happy in whatever timeline they end up. (Chokes the spirit of Steve Blackman just a little bit harder)

Anyway, everyone else thinks Diego is dead; and all get together again. Weddings and funerals uniting them once more, and each of them reveal how life didn’t turn out how they wanted on their own, and they get to bond and unite to track down Gracie and the twins. “One last time” they agree, to be heroes and finally do something right. To save some little kids. Members of their family! Innocent ones, who don’t deserve to be caught up in their mess. And it culminates in confronting Reginald once and for all and destroying the ill-gotten gains he warped the universe in his favor for. And Reginald’s gone the rest of them can finally have peace of mind. Maybe the timeline genuinely gets better now that one monocoled megalomaniacal maniac isn’t in the centre of the universe anymore. The very thing that doomed the timeline before. And now the umbrellas are able to disband and go on in their lives as normal people in a timeline that exists with no favouritism at all. It’s all just what they make of it

(and hey! Maybe Diego comes back out of hiding and saves the day! And he and Lila both confess they want to take more active roles outside of being parents. And their kids are wowed by the fact that their parents are both superheroes. And it’s cool and awesome and I don’t sob at a very tragic defeatist ending of all I hold dear).

I don’t know guys. There’s so many different ways the final season could’ve gone, but not in a million years would I have chosen to make it go the way it did. That’s a whole other post—but in the end, I just know I’ll be entertaining my own little ideas for what happens to these characters I’ve grown and loved, and keep them alive in my own heart and AU story ideas. Thats the true canon for me, and the rest is just… fuss and marigold dust

[myhamartiaishubris]

Ben Hargreeves is the worst written best character and I can prove it

This is a poorly organized meta/essay about my baby boy who got massacred. Originally posted in the discord server so some of y'all have seen it already.

Let me be clear: this is a love letter to my favourite Hargreeves boy. I could write him better. I could fix him (narratively).

Here's why Ben is a great character who, paradoxically, was very badly written.

Umbrella Ben

Listen. Listen to me. Ben Hargreeves was, from the moment I saw him, my absolute favourite character. He's already dead? Doomed by the narrative before the narrative even begins? Also, an East Asian character in the year of our Lord 2018?? I was on board. And Brelly Ben gets a lot of good moments! You know that scene where Klaus is in the motel closet, tied up, and Ben says something like, "How does it feel being helpless? This is how I feel, watching my brother piss his life away." Um, hello?? That's such a delicious line.

Because up until this point Ben's been kind of quiet, in that dead broody way, or we saw his young self being soft and reluctant. But suddenly we realize, oh, Ben isn't nice. In fact, he's kind of nasty to his addict brother, and you get this kernel of a glimpse into his character. This is a character who might have been soft-spoken in life, but death and the years since have shredded him down to all his razor edges. He's still that bookish little Ben, except he's not little and he's frustrated, angry, traumatized, and in pain.

And season 2 builds on this! He's willing to violate Klaus's personal boundaries just for a taste of life again. Holy shit that's so delicious. My problem is that, especially in season 2, this isn't explored nearly as much as it could be. Ben's possession shenanigans are mostly played for comedy, when in fact we could be delving into the implications of Ben's character and his relationship with Klaus. You have this character who's kind, who (from what we know so far) represented the "good" of the academy, who loves his brother so so hard and it hurts him so bad to see Klaus hit rock bottom every time. The little "I missed you guys" in season 2? Devastating. And yet despite his goodness he is capable of being a bad person, and he repeatedly hurts those around him (namely Klaus).

So surely this is part of his arc, right? This is going to be explored and resolved. Right?

The Season 2 Ending

So the thing is, I didn't immediately hate the way they had Ben move on / die to save Viktor. I was sad to see my favourite character go, but also excited to see where the writers would take that storyline. Because, obviously, it wasn't over. Right? Obviously Ben's arc isn't finished, he hasn't resolved his frustrations, his complicated relationship with Klaus is never fully untangled, plus the rest of the family never get a moment of real closure with him (except maybe Diego). So clearly, it wasn't over. Right?

Well, in light of season 4, I can confidently come back and say that killing Brelly Ben off here was a stupidass decision.

And here's why: you've effectively splintered his arc in half. Starting from season 3, Ben is an entirely different character, with an entirely different arc that needs to be built from the ground up. While everyone else gets 4 seasons of development, Ben only gets 2, both times. And I'm so not over the fact that his arc isn't over. We saw Ben do some reprehensible shit to Klaus, especially in season 2 with all that possession shit! And we just. Never hear from him again? That's bullshit.

But anyway, since we're here, let's make peace with being here. Hey, Justin H Min is still playing a version of Ben, and he seems interesting, if way different! Surely this will have some interesting implications.

Sparrow Ben

Oh god, Sparrow Ben. In terms of Ben's character writing, season 3 is... fine. Like I said, it suffers from effectively fracturing his arc in half and having to start over, and this isn't the complicated, kind but frustrated and prickly ghost Ben I originally fell in love with. But ok, I do like Justin, and EA rep is still a win to me, so let's go with the flow.

For the most part, season 3 does a solid job. We get some solid beats relating to Ben's ambition and inferiority complex being Number 2. There's a bit of overacting on Justin's part, but hey, that's camp. (I think. I have no idea if I'm using that word right. Am I hip with the kids?)

I really, really loved Ben's moment with Sloane as she's getting married, because it highlights the core of this Ben's character: someone who desperately yearns for family but has forced himself to be all hard shell and soldier. In a way, he's the other end of Brelly Ben's spectrum. (Like forsterite and fayalite - all Mg on one end, Fe on the other.) How much of this Ben is family softness, how much of it is defense mechanism and lashing out?

And then of course - the thing I've been craving so badly - the in-universe comparison to Brelly Ben. This was done... underwhelmingly, if I'm honest. I liked that Ben had a moment of crisis where he couldn't live up to the Umbrellas' dead version of himself, and his moment with Klaus was nice, but in light of season 4 it becomes clear that we could have had more. I wanted him to have an entire arc about it - after all, it's a pretty significant aspect of your character to be "the worse version of yourself from another timeline." (Refer to @vyther16's Gongye Jiwu fic.) I feel like there's a lot of meta you could pull from that, about how your siblings who aren't your siblings look at you and see someone different. Someone you won't be. Someone you can't be, even if you tried, so why bother trying? And they really don't dig through that at all, which is disappointing.

The tentacle samurai fight is badass, though.

Season 4

Oh buddy oh boy. There's so much dumpster fire here, but I'll start with the season 3 loose ends and then move on to season 4's own problems.

1) Sloane. Luther picks Ben up from prison, so I thought they might have an interesting bonding moment over Sloane - after all, they're the two people who cared most about her. But actually no, apparently Ben doesn't give a shit about the one real sister he actually had left at the end of s3.

2) The subway thing. Wasn't he in Korea? My grasping-at-straws ass truly thought that might have been Brelly Ben in the reset timeline, and we'd get a Ben-Ben confrontation or a battle in the minds thing. But I guess that doesn't matter.

3) The Jennifer Incident. So we all know that everyone forgetting about an incident they explicitly reference is stupid, right? Especially because the name Jennifer only exists because they reference it in s3. Ben obsessively draws Jennifer, and then he doesn't recognize or know her? Kill me.

The continuation of his arc is also just sloppy, if it even exists. No more identity crisis about being the worse Ben, no more secret yearning for family or inferiority complex about being a good soldier. Suddenly his arc amounts to, uh, being an asshole and getting hit with sex pollen so powerful it ends the world.

And look, there is a world where Sparrow Ben spiking everyone with marigold could parallel with Brelly Ben's consent problems with Klaus. There is a world where Sparrow Ben dying because of Jennifer could echo Brelly Ben's death in a haunting, tragic, destined kind of way.

But, uh, none of that happens. Here we are, finally getting a Ben-centric season, and it's this. Being relegated to a plot device in your own season. Looking back and realizing that you were always the plot device, even in season 2. Carrying all that tragedy in your little ghost body and being treated like Chekov's waterlogged gun.

And I can't help but look back at season 1, Klaus trying so desperately to prove Ben's existence, and contrast it with the literal next season where a single throwaway line from Klaus sidelines Ben for a whole season. And then he dies. And he dies again.

Fucking hell.

It feels like I'm being made a fool of. Oh, you cared about this East Asian character? You wanted him to have narrative weight and character presence instead of being a plot device for the benefit of his White brothers? Idiot.

Because you'll still be here anyway, right? You'll grasp onto your crumbs for a cool EA character, you'll let us run a character through a trash compactor and keep pretending he's a good character because you latched onto this one East Asian protagonist and you don't want to admit that maybe you should have let go years before.

[romanoffsbish]

My Tummy Hurts

WandaNat x Reader

Warnings: Injured R / Hospital

It was an easy mission, so why were you here? | WC: 2,245

"Hey guys," you greeted your lovers with a smile, or so you thought, but all they got was an odd grimace.

"Detka?" You truly smiled then, but no communal joy followed as you slurred and pointed, "that's me."

"What the fuck happened to Y/N?" Natasha turned to accuse the men stood behind you, still on the quinjet.

——

The men immediately flew into a panic, all saying the same thing—you were fine, albeit worded differently. Natasha was seconds away from wringing their necks but her focus shifted back to you, who was now pouting and gripping at your burning stomach. "Wands?"

Wanda smiled at you, "What's the matter honey?"

"My tummy hurts," you uncharacteristically whined, laughter normally would've bellowed from behind you, Tony never one to miss a chance to tease someone, but then you swayed into Natasha's prepared arms and Wanda was quick to levitate you three to the medbay.

—

"Appendicitis?!" You exasperated for the third time, "are you fucking kidding me?!" Wanda shook her head, eyes empathetic as she reached for your hand, in the meanwhile Natasha chuckled over a spoonful of your lime jello—traitor that she apparently was. "Get out."

This caught the Russian's attention, her eyes widened at the malice in your tone and she was scared shitless to have to leave your side. You didn't mean it, as you wanted them close, but she didn't need to know that.

Natasha plopped the half finished jello down and moved her chair even closer, her hand reached for your free one and her heart settled when you let her grab it. "I—," she started but you just shook your head and smiled softly, "just don't laugh at me again, capeesh?"

"Now," you moved right on, the disdain back in your tone, "I just got back from space after karate chopping a pile of goop," you stole your hands back and gave your lovers a show of what took place before. Natasha trying her damndest to keep her laughter in, "Fucking sick as shit but now I'm taken out by a useless organ?"

"Mhm," Wanda hummed in amusement, "Bruce ran some tests and thinks that the creature you 'karate chopped' released a toxin into your body that caused the upset in your stomach and ruined your day home."

"Home," you repeated, voice soft as you reached for both of their hands again, squeezing to really get across to your lovers the sentiment of how great the drugs were. Not that you weren't a softie, because you were indeed the softest of the three, just never this publicly.

Natasha and Wanda shared a bit of eye contact before the witch was gone, you pouted at her absence but it was short lived when the assassin pecked your lips. "She's going to get the doctor malyshka, get the all clear so we can take you upstairs." You grinned.

"Yeah," she chuckled, "we knew you'd love that."

—

When you came to next, not even remembering falling asleep again, you immediately recognized the room. It was just as you left it all those years back, just with a few new boxes of clutter Wanda held onto and stored in here, and you were also lying in a more sterile bed.

Just as you tried to sit up you felt a hand on your chest keeping you down. "Wait, I'll sit you up Agent Y/L/N."

A frown naturally overtook your face at the unfamiliar sight of a blonde woman in a white coat, but before you  could even consider taking her up on an identity the door flew open and your girlfriends ushered her out.

"Wa—," before you could finish speaking a spoonful of bone broth was shoved into your mouth. Judging by the sunsetting in the sky you knew it was already the following day, which was admittedly slightly alarming. Yet your urge to inquire the time flew out the window as the bite of food kicked the hunger in your body up.

After scarfing down the bowl you begged for more, but not of the soup. “Y/N no, I am not feeding you ice—.”

“I am dying,” you dramatized, “I need a pint to live!”

Wanda was about to admonish you for all the begging and humoring of death, but then she caught sight of your pouting lip and wet eyes, so of course she melted. Natasha rolled her eyes at your antics before she knowingly slipped out of the room to collect the first outlandish request of many, she could only assume.

When she returned the atmosphere was calmer, you were telling Wanda, who was sat at your bedside with a full smile, about the moments leading up to the fight.

“Tony, resident idiot that he is, caused the power in the entire city to go out for the sake of his suit mods, which made our attempts until then to stay hidden wasted.”

“Sounds about par for the course,” Nat teased her way into the conversation and you looked to her with a brighter smile at the sight of the ben and jerry pint.

The women took turns replying to you and spooning the ice cream into your mouth. You talked with a full mouth but Wanda let it go each time, a bit too relieved to still have you here for her to deem it worth scolding.

It wasn’t until the witch could see, in your eyes, just how tired you were that she decided to stop letting it all slide. It was sweet the way you tried to stay awake just to talk to them, but once the woman set the empty container down and wiped your lips clean she was inconspicuously putting you to sleep. Her words of reply faded into hums as she mindlessly traced her fingers over the exposed skin of your arms until your words aimed at Natasha faded out and became a snore.

—

The pair had left you sleeping in your hospice bed about an hour ago, it was hard to convince the Dr on duty to let you leave the ward after surgery but Tony's check book came out and now the woman is settled in a room across the hall for the night. Unnervingly.

The woman watched you sleep for about ten minutes after having administered your medicine and feeding you a pint of ice cream, much to your delight, Wanda's dismay and Natasha's envy. They'd made sure Friday locked you in before they headed down to eat dinner.

The natural redhead huffed, again, as she pushed the mushy green beans around her plate, ignoring the red tinted look of agitation Wanda sent her way. "Bros'."

(knock it off / quit)

"Nyet," the redhead grumbled over a bite of potatoes.

"She needs her rest," Wanda decidedly empathized.

"I missed her," the redhead sighed, "we were going to finish the bannister garden and cuddle under stars."

The witch felt a similar ache, that mission you were on took an entire month, you were fine too, but no longer. Wanda moved her chair closer, leaning her head on the redheads shoulder, dainty fingers wrapped around a muscular bicep, both woman shivered. For a moment the silence was peaceful, but then the witch sighed, "She was going to help me plant in said garden."

Natasha took a big bite of her steak and got lost in thought about how you somehow perfectly fit into their dynamic. You build things and spar with her, then go garden while discussing your latest read with Wanda. Like Nat, you can't cook but like Wanda you can bake.

"Our multifaceted, badass girlfriend," Wanda coo'd seconds later and Natasha snorted, "taken out by an appendix." Wanda shoved her shoulder but chuckled alongside her as they both silently regarded you with a different fondness. Natasha loved your goofy side.

The first time she'd met you was the worst day of her free life, Wanda was off on a dangerous mission and communications had been lost in the worst of it. You were her only hope as you worked tirelessly to get her back online. Her hands were shaking against her will, so she had to guide you, shields top agent, instead.

They called you her shadow, it was rumored around the base that you studied her fighting and mirrored her in not only strength but intellect. Unfortunately for you that meant being woken up only hours after returning from your own tumultuous mission. To meet your idol and crush while drooling into your pillow wasn't exactly pleasant, nor ideal when you're doing it to reconnect her with her girlfriend, it hurt.

Yet you persevered on through the awkward moments of silence and smiled when the comms cracked to life.

"Agent Romanoff, the comms are—."

"Natasha?" Wanda coughed and the redhead laughed emotionally, you were alarmed to see the Black Widow cry but it was endearing above all else. "Detka, I am so happy to hear your voice—fuck, I-I love you Wanda Maximoff, moya krasivaya detka."

Judging by the gasp on the other end you realized you were trapped in an intimate moment with them. It was beautiful and unfairly gut wrenching all at once. Soon enough it was Wanda's turn to cry out, "I love you too Natasha Romanoff; more than anything."

It was sweet, intimate, and then you sneezed. Glaring green eyes found yours and you could only shrug. "You kidnapped me from my bed, brought me to a room layered thickly in dust and didn't consider this."

"Natasha, what's going on?" The redhead smirked at you and whispered, "Wanda, meet Y/N, my stalker."

Your eyes widened at the lightweight true call out but kept your cool all the same. "You kidnapped me."

"You're free to go agent," she softly called out, it was a bit of a shock to see her this way when her reputation held a different tone. Just as you went to walk by she grabbed your arm, grip soft as she squeezed. Your attention shifted up and she smiled. "Thank you."

"Anytime," you shrugged it off nonchalantly but she knew you meant it sincerely. Just as you were almost out the door you turned and teased. "Thank me with an invitation to the wedding. I've experienced a Wanda party in full effect; I'll have the salmon."

Wanda appreciated your softer side the most.

One time, just before they asked you to be theirs, when you thought no one was watching, you had an entire conversation with their cat, Liho. Scratching his chin, feeling the purr of his gratitude on your fingertips as you animatedly discussed your day aloud with him.

"Natty and Wands are so considerate," you sighed dreamily, "and sweet—I woke up to breakfast and lunch made for me as if they weren't really busy."

You paused, hand reaching out to scoop the teetering feline up so he could sleep as you spoke a bit softer, "Then they both gave me a hug in greeting and I nearly couldn't breathe because of just how stunning they both are, no makeup and in their matching pjs."

The way you spoke made Wanda smile, her heart nearly leapt from her chest at your pure adoration.

An adorable groan fell from your lips before you shamelessly concluded, "you're the luckiest kitty on earth, with the unobtainable milfs of my dreams."

Wanda walked away with a pep in her step as she went to seek Natasha out with the good news. When the elevator dinged you released a breath shortly after, hoping now that they'd make a move as you pet their cat that would soon adopt you as his favorite.

Truth be told, everyone in the room favorited you.

—

A smile took over your face as you heard your lovers laughing through the vents of your old room back from when you were single but shared a floor with them. It was endearing, hearing the warmth and deepness of their well established connection still burning bright.

It took you awhile to feel welcome in their dynamic, even with the invitation; what really helped you along the way was the sneaky moments like these. Where they thought they were quietly simping over you but you caught the whispered words and sweetest giggles.

Hearing it then helped you to regard them as safe, because they were talking out their complex feelings. How they felt about the other having these feelings, neither was offended by the other and it shocked you. Their flattery was not lost on you with their willingness to even risk the beautiful thing they already had going.

Then to hear it now, and have it solidified that even in moments of upset they'd find a way back to that same peace within seconds—they're safe, and you are loved.

Something you knew well, and felt as they gave up on sleeping without you that night—against that doctors orders of course; when you swiftly looked up from your book the women were stood at the door with sheepish smiles. None of you spoke, all very much aware of the state of codependence that exists within your dynamic.

Natasha yawned dramatically and Wanda huffed before she snapped her fingers. Soon two cots were beside your bed once the red mist had cleared, all wires adjusted accordingly before they laid down, took your book and covered up, then slid a hand each into yours.

"Goodnight," you yawned, "I love and missed you too."

[minervas-hand]

Right to fear, wrong to believe

Just had a horrible realization and needed to meta it out.

How different they were before Edinburgh, when Crowley was sucked down into Hell.

Look at this flirty babygirl in the Bastille:

I mean could he climb that tree any faster?

(This is why I really like fics that place a more physical relationship here, pre-Bastille or just post-Bastille, because c'mon look at them. )

In S1 the next thing is 1862 and Crowley asking for insurance (with a cane ffs). And Aziraphale freaking out with his "fraternizing" BS. It's jarring, until we get 1827 filled in for us in S2.

@takeme-totheworld notes in this post:

Crowley sure went from "our respective head offices don't actually care how things get done" and "nobody ever has to know" to "walls have ears" FAST after Edinburgh. And Aziraphale went from looking at Crowley with hearts in his eyes to "I've been FrAtErNiZiNg" just as quickly. I'm more convinced than ever that Edinburgh was the first time Crowley ever actually got caught and punished for fucking around with Aziraphale/doing good deeds/whatever it was they yanked him back down to Hell for, and it scared the absolute shit out of both of them and changed the whole tone of their relationship after that.

Yes! - it's clear to me as well that the Edinburgh graveyard was a very bad turning point, where they both saw that Hell was listening and would intervene. And it did change their relationship drastically, for over a century and a half (really, until looming Armageddon loosened up the stakes for them).

But what about Heaven?

See the thing is, we know Azi's been worried about Heaven watching him for the past 6000 years.

But they haven't.

[GIFs posted by starrose17]

All this time, and Heaven had not seen them together. Hadn't noticed. Had not even LOOKED.

I want to mention what @starrose17 says about this here in this post:

What I love about this is her choice of words, “went back through the Earth Observation files.” This implies that these photos were already filed somewhere meaning somebody had to have been watching them which meant somewhere in the depths of the bureaucratic heaven there’s an underpaid angel clerk tasked with watching angels on Earth, and he’s been hording photos of his favourite Angel/Demon couple not reporting them to Michael because he wants to see what happens.

And that's exactly what this fic covers!: Spying Omens by @ednav

(Give this a read, it's fabulous.)

While I am here for this being exactly how that happens, the other scenario is colder and worse - there's no one watching, at all. It's just filing automatically and never seen until some Scrivener is called to pull a file.

From @fuckyeahisawthatat's comment here :

I found this scene to be quite chilling, actually. Not only is the idea of Heaven as a surveillance state brilliant (way to make “God is always watching” sound way more ominous) but this is exactly how modern surveillance states work. They don’t actively watch everybody all the time. That’s not physically possible for humans, and even if it is metaphysically possible for Heaven, it’s not a very efficient use of resources. Surveillance states watch people they deem “suspicious.” And once you’ve been put in the category of “suspicious,” they have massive amounts of data that they can comb through to collect a lot of information about you–to retroactively build a case justifying why you’re suspicious, to collect information about where you go and who you associate with, etc.

Yes.

So we either have secret collusion in the rank and file, or we have a surveillance state that is constantly reinforced to its subjects for fear's sake, for control.

(Well, it obviously could be both.)

BUT my point is… Up until Edinburgh, Hell has not been watching (or caring at least). And up until near the end of Armageddon't, neither has Heaven.

Oh, my poor Angel. Thousands of years, of denying yourself, of pushing Crowley away, of carrying around a tension that is it's own constellation.

After 1827 you might have reason, but for the 5000+ years before that?

Thousands of years and Heaven was not watching nor cared.

You were right to fear. And you were wrong to believe.

And that just breaks my heart.

[pronoun-fucker]

IN 1986, Sophie Ottaway was born with a very rare condition which required immediate surgery.

Cloacal exstrophy happens when the organs in the abdomen do not form correctly in the womb, resulting in babies born with organs such as the bladder or intestines outside the body.

Doctors had to operate to save her life.

Sophie was actually a boy, with a tiny, damaged penis but healthy testes.

But doctors advised Sophie’s parents that their baby’s male ­genitalia should be removed to avoid further complications.

The baby had to be registered by the following day, which meant they had to decide whether to tick male or female on the form.

Sophie’s parents Karen and John followed the surgeons’ advice.

“They were told not to tell me,” says Sophie, a warm and friendly 37-year-old who has since fully forgiven her parents for their decision.

“We are very close,” she tells me, “despite going through some rocky times in the past.”

Life changed for Sophie, who grew up in Beverley, East Yorks, when she was 22 years old and visiting her GP surgery for tonsilitis.

She says: “I saw on the computer screen that I had XY chromosomes, had been castrated hours after birth, and an incision was made where a vagina would be.”

Although Sophie exploded at her parents in the moment, she buried her feelings about it all until 13 years later when, hospitalised during a Covid lockdown, it was discovered she had developed sepsis that had ended up in her intestines.

‘I went into 13 years of absolute denial’

This was what led her to decide to speak out.

Sophie was already aware that many children and young people were being groomed in gender ideology, persuaded to take puberty blockers, then set on a medical pathway for life.

She says: “At age 11, as I approached puberty, they put me on oestrogen because there’s no ovaries, and no testes to produce testosterone.

“This is what doctors are doing now to kids who wish to change gender — putting them on blockers.”

It was a lie when Sophie was told she had to take oestrogen for life because her ovaries had been removed at birth as a result of damage.

Sophie was born biologically male. “So obviously there were never any ovaries,” she says wryly.

She adds: “The time to tell me and try to get informed consent was at the point we introduced the endocrinologist. This is the time puberty blockers are being offered to kids, so I make that connection with what’s happening today.”

When feminists and others critical of the medicalisation of children with gender dysphoria have said that these drugs and interventions are harmful, we are often labelled bigots. But Sophie is speaking from personal experience, in the hope that she will be listened to rather than dismissed and vilified.

About five years ago, Sophie chose to stop taking the hormones, because “I was adamant that many problems in my life were being caused by them.

“I was about 4st heavier than I am now, and I wasn’t eating badly. I was having bladder pain beyond belief.

“I had fatigue and was quite angry a lot of the time.”

By then, Sophie had been taking oestrogen for 20 years, and decided enough was enough. She was told she should keep taking it because it was for bone density, to which she replied that she would have regular bone scans.

Sophie had no choice but to go on oestrogen, because the doctors prescribed it to her as a child — but surely she should be listened to when she warns of the effects cross-sex hormones have on the body?

Now that she no longer takes it, all her symptoms have improved.

She says: “We’re selling this idea of perfection in the guise of changing gender. You’ve got all of these problems and might be struggling because you don’t fit in at school, or because you like boys’ toys and you’re a girl, or vice versa. As someone who knows all about decisions made under time pressure and who has paid the price, Sophie’s understanding of the sales pitch being made to children before puberty is crystal clear.

She says: “You’ve got a sale based on a time pressure.

“We’re going to push you through this for the puberty blockers, we’re going to make that sale.”

Keen to stress that there is a big difference between a girl behaving “like a boy”, wearing boys’ clothes and haircuts, Sophie adds: “Puberty blockers are a different level to how we dress and which toys we favour.”

The idea being sold is that gender reassignment is the answer to all your problems, but Sophie says: “What you get is genital mutilation, castration, and a lifetime of dangerous hormones, which was my experience.”

As she points out: “Children can’t vote, they can’t drink, can’t drive.

“But you can choose to do something life-changing.”

Sophie hopes that by speaking out and telling her unvarnished truth, some children — and parents — might make a different choice.

She says that when she found out that she’d been born male, “I obviously knew I had urological problems, and I knew that I had no vagina because of the surgeries.

“I didn’t address it at that point. I was 22, in second year at university.

“I had a plan of my life. And dealing with this monstrosity was not in the plan. I got up the next day and went to university.

“I still had the same connection with my friends. I was still the ­person I was 24 hours ago.

“But I went into 13 years of ­absolute denial.”

She never told anyone about it, not even close friends.

‘When I came out of hospital I was raging’

Then, during the pandemic, Sophie found herself in hospital a couple of times, and it all came crashing down.

She recalls: “They thought it was a kidney infection, but they couldn’t get to the bottom of it.

“When I was born they had fashioned some female genitalia. Brown putrid fluid starting leaking out of the hole and it would not stop.

“I presented at the hospital and I had to tell them for the first time about what had happened to me.”

When doctors examined her, they saw that there was something very wrong.

It turned out there was a mass in her abdomen, which was the neovagina — inserted when she was a baby — and left to rot.

Sophie says: “I found out from my mum that they had inserted it when I was two days old, and that one day it popped out and was found in my nappy.”

Surgeons replaced it during a later operation, sealed it up, and left it, which is why it led to sepsis many years later.

“No one had been told it had been put back in,” says Sophie.

Up until this point she had thought that the surgeon had simply operated to save her life — “which he did, but he also did a hell of a lot of other stuff that was unnecessary.”

What’s more, the doctors failed to do something that was necessary — namely, address the complex urological problems that have plagued Sophie all her life.

She says this “is one of the things that has the biggest effect on having any kind of intimate relationship. And yet the one thing that they could have fixed is my incontinence.”

She tells me: “When I came out of hospital, I was raging at that point.”

And she thought that by speaking out, she might be able to help those who think they are in the wrong body.

Sophie says: “A lot of them are being groomed to feel that way or question those thoughts in the first place by the school and the system and the media. Those kids need help.”

A much better solution, she argues, would be to divert funding currently being used for puberty blockers, cross sex hormones and surgery and ­allocate it to children’s mental health services and counselling.

Sophie says: “We can work with that person to find out why they are feeling like this.

“Then, maybe when they become an adult, they might be mature enough to be properly informed and consent to any changes to the outer body.

“It is often assumed I am transgender, but I really don’t like labels. I am just Sophie.

Poised for a backlash from the more extreme trans activists, Sophie makes it clear that she respects any adult’s decision to choose that path — so long as they are properly informed.

But she is clear that this is never appropriate for children.

“I don’t want this to happen to any other baby born with this condition,” she says.

“We have to find better ways to support kids to live in the body they are born with.”

Link | Archived Link

[justwinginglife]

What Lies After?

Y'all, spoilers- it's a depressing one and I'm so sorry in advance. I promise I'll post something more wholesome later.

You're dying.

You're dying and Soshiro can't do a damn thing about it.

Amidst the chaos of people pulling each other from the rubble, medics running to and fro, and other soldiers groaning in pain as they writhe in the dirt waiting to see if death or the medics will claim them first, he can still hear the situation you're facing a couple feet away from him (in fact, it's the only thing he can hear at this point). You're never far away from him, he would never allow it. He doesn't know what it's like to not be by your side. But he can't reach you. He's badly injured himself and though he gave crawling a good, hard attempt, his bruised, bleeding organs won't allow him to get any closer to you though he's already pleaded and begged them to. He'd plead to anyone who'd hear him, who'd save you. The doctors, the gods, the devil himself.

The sound of the defibrillator thumping at your lifeless body is deafening to him. He can hear his own heartbeat vying for attention as it thunders in his ears and he wishes it would shut up and let him join you.

He wipes blood from his eyes, as it's started to drip down his forehead, he's desperate to see you better. Even if the color has drained from your face he still thinks you're the most beautiful thing ever placed on this Earth. His weak eyes widen slightly, as much as they have the energy to, as he sees the doctors starting to pull away from you. He sees the resigned looks on their faces, though muddled by his own tears, and he thinks he might just choke on his own lungs when he finally brings himself to look at the unforgiving, unbudging line of what was your heartbeat flattened against the cold screen of the monitor.

He stops looking at you. You're not there anymore. He's got nothing left to look at, nothing left to look forward to.

He lays down flat again, pressing his back up against the dirt, and peering at the sky while he still can, his eyelids getting heavier with each aching breath. I'll be there soon, love, wait for me.

He thinks about your laugh. How you'd probably say something about how we shouldn't waste the chance to enjoy such a bright blue sky. How we have to seize the day. And then you'd seize his hand and take off running, laughing and laughing, the way you always do. The way you always did.

Why was the sky so damn blue today?? How dare it be a perfect, clear day when nothing about this day was perfect or clear?

You would've loved today. If you weren't... gone.

He'd always make fun of people who used euphemisms. Just be honest, and say they're dead if they're dead. None of this "kicked the bucket" or "gone to a better place" bullshit. They're dead. But he can't bring himself to think that about you. He settles on "gone to a better place." Darling, save me a spot up there, won't you?

He lifts his fingers weakly and waves at the sky and what is presumably heaven.

He's never thought about religion before, but now every torn, exhausted fiber of his being hopes to every god out there that there is a heaven and that you're waiting impatiently at the door for him, tapping your foot and rolling your eyes but still grinning nonetheless. "Welcome home, Soshiro." You'd say with open arms.

"He's crashing."

He wonders if God will let the two of you have that house that you'd always dreamed of. He's sure God could spare a house or two for the love of his life especially when you're such an angel. He's made up his mind that God definitely wouldn't be able to resist a cutie like you if you asked nicely.

"Get him under control now, I'm not losing another one, damnit!!"

He wonders if you're an angel now. You always did believe in angels. You always believed in everything good and pure and wonderful like the saint you were. He smiles at the thought of you with a little glowing halo above your head and a white flowing gown. He'd kill to see you again. He'd die to see you again.

"Vice Captain, don't you quit on us!"

He wants to quit. He will. He'll do it. He doesn't know who said that but it wasn't you so he doesn't much care. He misses you so much. He misses you. What he'd give to hold you again, to smell your hair- you thought he wouldn't noticed that you'd changed your shampoo recently but he did. He never got to tell you he liked the new shampoo. He never got to tell you a lot of things. His trembling fingers move towards his pocket where he knows the ring is sitting snug against his leg but he stops himself. He doesn't want to touch it. He can't take it, it might kill him if he thinks about whatever future you might've had together. It might kill him. He touches it.

Everything goes white. Your face is coming into view now. He can almost see you fully, your hair bouncing in the wind, your sparkling eyes gleaming at him, your full lips waiting to be reunited with his. Just a little longer baby, I'm coming.

"We've got a pulse! He's stabilizing. He's going to make it!"

No.

Fuck.

[not-the-coffee-machine4]

this will probably be long but I don’t care

It never ceases to amaze me how decent the people in Queen all are. Like yeah they are a major rock band and there was no shortage of Sex, Drugs, and Rock and Roll™️ going on. We know this. I’m not trying to portray them as perfect people.

But like, if you look at literally anything anyone who’s spent time with them has said or just their actions in general it’s almost hard to believe how like…generous and kind they all are. I mean especially comparing to stuff you hear about the other people/groups at the time.

Freddie bought Christmas dinners for all AIDS patients in hospitals every year. He was a great tipper. He invited anyone who had nowhere else to go to Garden Lodge for holiday dinners. He bought his friends Christmas presents for a Christmas he knew he wouldn’t see. He bought Jim a car. He took in a stranded musician in Japan and sent his driver up to McDonalds when he discovered the person (I’m sorry I don’t remember who it was) didn’t like sushi and then paid the owner to let the guy just sit there. He was the peacemaker of Queen. Everyone around him has always said how funny, kind, generous, and respectful he was.

Roger got a taste of a solo career and immediately went “I’m going to raise awareness for a whole bunch of issues because I am in the position to do so.” He wrote songs about war, racism, socioeconomic inequality, AIDS, neo-Nazism/holocaust denial, domestic violence. He called out religious extremism, politicians, and the extremely wealthy sometimes by name. He’s a patron of Cornwall Pride. He had a signed congratulations note delivered to a couple who got engaged during Somebody To Love. And of course, he co-founded the Mercury Phoenix Trust and then nearly single-handedly organized what remains the largest tribute concert ever the proceeds of which went to the MPT

Brian is Brian. I mean anyone who follows him on Instagram will know he just has a philosophy of treating people with kindness. He’s a queer ally, he calls out crazy right-wing people on a variety of issues, he calls for a ceasefire in Gaza and he champions animal rights. And he practices what he preaches as you will know if you kept up with their last Japan tour and his quest to find vegan food. Not to mention as well as also being a co-founder of the MPT, he and Roger went on national television ONE WEEK after Freddie died to dispel homophobia, AIDS fearmongering, and to raise awareness (not to mention trying to clear up everything the press had been saying about Freddie).

As John is the quiet, private person not much is known about him regarding this but he obviously had deep love and respect for Freddie and I mean there is something to say about the company you keep.

I don’t really have a point I just marvel at it

[themaclean]

We Don't Have To Be Friends (1/2) Characters: Cooper Howard/Lucy MacLean. Summary: 3,507 words, Post Season One -- character study that was meant to be PWP, but then ended up being entirely plot. Part two will be smut or I will krill myself. Warnings: Nothing you wouldn't see in the show. ( Ao3 ) > Part One | Part Two | Part Three <

Cooper never thought much about Hollywood anymore.

He had no reason to and no time either— but the thoughts bubbled up when he saw how the gold thread of his shirt dulled and familiar street signs melted into slack arches. Sometimes, he’d catch sight of a tattered newspaper with names he recognized or faces of people long since dead.

But nothing made him think of Hollywood the way Lucy did.

It hit him one afternoon with a nasty churn, that flash of the old world that locked his knees mid-stride. It was pathetic, really, when he thought about it now.

It was the flash of Lucy's Vault-Tec-sponsored smile over her shoulder, her thin hand with a necrotized finger pointing ahead of them at some landmark she’d heard of. With her head turned at just the right angle, and the sun was low as it caught the edges of her cheeks and lashes…

She had the sort of face girls in the movies had: clear skin, big eyes, and neat hair. Pretty — beautiful, actually, but not as a matter of compliment. Beautiful in the way she’d make a good price at any given market if he was inclined to sell her. Beautiful in the way people loved to exploit.

That’s the lifeblood of Hollywood—that churning mass of young talent desperate to prove they had what it takes. They’d sweet talk whoever they needed to, go to the parties, and chat his ear off about how amazing he’d been in whatever movie had come out lately, about the sponsorships they’d been offered, and about the dresses they got sent. They’d slip him their number and hold his bicep too long like they’d been taught to by managers and mothers alike.

Dozens of pretty women rushed to audition for the role of arm candy. They’d audition to play the mayor's daughter, the farmer's daughter, or so-and-so’s daughter. They’d always been the damsel. Then, whatever cowboy he’d been hired to play would toss the pretty woman onto the back of Sugarfoot and ride off into the sunset. The sort of girl who'd be gone by the next movie or end up married to a director, so she'd quit acting.

And, much like all the girls in Hollywood Cooper had spent time with, Lucy had changed. She had the same optimism, but it’d dulled; her marketable face now held tired, empty eyes. It was like she finally caught onto the world’s current: no sunset and no next movie.

Cooper couldn’t fault her. It's a strange journey to discover what to do to survive.

“Hey Cooper — is that it?” Lucy asked, repeating herself. The sprawl of buildings ahead was dotted with torches and candles.

Cooper nodded, his hand firm on Dogmeat’s collar.

A short strip of buildings stood out against the expanse of desert and dry shrubs. Each building leaned towards another, with sheet metal fastened with unskilled welding. Several turrets puttered away, seeking whatever wasn’t humanoid enough. Strips of fabric and tin cans garlands peppered the buildings' front. The smaller buildings on either side were your standard fare: a repair shop, a medic, a trader with a little diner area.

But the one Cooper was after stood out for its neon sign—Hell’s Oasis.

Hell’s Oasis served its purpose—it was a decent place to get information, and the people minded their business. They weren’t too bothered with ghouls or mutants as long as you had caps. The place often served as a meeting ground for bounty hunters and their contractors. It was also one of the more upscale places, as they wouldn’t harvest organs unless you died of natural causes.

And, if you couldn’t fight or forage for survival, you could fuck for it.

(Not that Cooper ever wasted caps on the whores who took residence within Hell’s Oasis. He’d sooner pay people to fuck off than spend the night with him.)

Cooper grabbed Lucy by the nape of her neck to yank her close and keep her firmly by his side. Most people he brought here, he left here — call it a force of habit to handle her so roughly.

“I can walk, y’know,” Lucy hissed.

“Stick close,” Cooper clicked his tongue at her, and a slight hiss followed. His grip flexed to further the message that she’d do well to follow his guidance.

They made their way through the hotel lobby, the moldy carpet slick against the floor with dirt and grease from the world outside. A few people chattered away in the attached bar, laughing at jokes Cooper couldn’t make out. Casino chips clattered on the table as they played made-up card games.

Long dead plants clung to arid dirt, the sticks of old ferns wilting against one another. Metal crates were lashed together in each corner of the alcove where the front desk sat, providing a makeshift cage between the staff and the patrons. Several girls rushed past Cooper and Lucy, jeering and cackling as they approached the bar. They were clad in lacy nightgowns. He couldn’t tell if they knew they were lingerie rather than clothes or if they’d even care.

“It’s so lively here,” Lucy said, a pang of something in her face.

“It happens in pockets,” Cooper said with a shrug of his shoulder. Little uh… spots of life.”

“Must be why they call it an oasis.”

Cooper rolled his eyes as they reached the front desk. Magazines sat in thick stacks with information about local tours in the area and a guide to the national parks. An abandoned handbag was tucked against the desk, which Lucy eyed with curiosity.

Cooper slapped the front desk bell a few times, a gargling growl low in his throat.

They needed this break after a couple of weeks on the road together. Water was getting sparse, and he wanted to be ready to meet with whoever the fuck Hank had run off to. And in such an open desert, there’s no sense traveling at night, and all manner of dumb shit came up along the way.

It was always something. People needed help or some dumb cunt trying to pick a fight, resupplies, rest… He didn’t like helping people much, but Lucy argued with him whenever they tried to go on without at least trying. And whether the people lived or died, at least they tried. That was her argument.

But Lucy listened to him a little more now, and he was as patient as he could be with her.

Cooper rang the bell again. He wanted a room, and the chattering laughter in the bar was only making his aches worse.

Priscilla appeared from behind a moth-eaten velvet curtain. Her hairline was hidden beneath a thick headscarf with puffy blond curls bouncing beneath it. The last time he’d been here, her hair had begun to rot out of her skull. He guessed it’d only gotten worse. She’s still pretty, mirroring that old-world red lip with pin curls.

“Oh my God, is that you, Coop? I haven’t seen you in a long time,” Priscilla said in a slow, low voice. She had a rasp to it, always had, though he wasn’t sure if it was from the radiation or a smoking habit.

“Was underground,” Cooper said with a lazy smile. He wouldn’t mention that he’d been underground in a literal sense, trapped in a coffin.

“Well, it’s nice for you to come to see us and…” Priscilla’s gaze slid to Lucy, that usual surprise swelling up at the sight of a genuine Vault Dweller. They weren’t hard to spot. “Ah, you turning her in for a bounty?”

Lucy’s head snapped towards him, a mixture of shock and disgust.

“No,” Cooper shook his head, his grip firm on Lucy’s neck to turn her head away from him. His fingers tensed before they dropped away altogether, brushing across Lucy’s shoulder. “Tag-along. Helpin’ her uh…” He picked through the words that came to mind, cautious not to share too much. “Adjust to the surface.”

Priscilla’s jaw squared as she stared Lucy down.

“We’re just lookin’ for a room, some food,” Cooper said before she could pry further. “Usual fare.”

“Please,” Lucy said, like Cooper had forgotten, and it was important to say. “The usual fare, please.”

“She speaks,” Priscilla said in a purr.

Cooper had to give Lucy credit. She’d stayed quiet much longer than he’d expected.

“Oh, we’ll also need water,” Lucy said, looking up at Cooper. “For cleaning and drinking. I’m not sure if you separate it that way or if you reuse it unless you have showers.”

Priscilla narrowed her eyes. “Running water? We can get you a bucket of water, sweetness. That alright with you?”

“It works great for me. Big fan of buckets. They’re the backbone of agriculture and cleaning, really, if you think about it…” Lucy agreed, her smile as bright as the neon sign by the front window.

Priscilla looked at Cooper and then at Lucy, repeating the loop before she sauntered behind a moth-eaten velvet curtain strung up with zip ties. The distant hum of a generator underscored the silence as Cooper picked over the board of caricatures. Plenty of people were banned from the premises or with a bounty on their heads — no one stood out on the board, at least.

“She was giving us a weird look,” Lucy leaned closer to Cooper, feigning a swipe of her hand through her hair. The floor creaked as she shifted her weight closer to him. “Is it the bucket thing? I panicked.”

Cooper scoffed from the back of his throat.

“It is safe here, right? You trust her?”

“It’s safe,” Cooper bared his teeth at Lucy, begging her to return to the docile silence she’d thrived in.

“Then why — ”

Cooper hissed for her to shh through clenched teeth.

Priscilla pushed past the curtain. She gripped a little blue card with faded gold edges. A key with a golden ball chain was attached to the edge. It felt strangely archaic to be so formal about lodgings, but it was why he liked this place.

“I guess it makes sense,” Priscilla said as she slid the key to Cooper. She nodded to Lucy. “You wanting a girl who’s more… Old—world flavor. It reminds you of the golden years, hm?”

“Six, right?” Cooper ignored her question, his gaze fixed to the card.

“Six,” Priscilla repeated, her gaze on Lucy.

Cooper tossed a few caps onto the front desk, the clatter of metal their own punctuation. He notched his head towards the stairs, and Dogmeat and Lucy followed in stride. He was eager for the simple things — water, food, and a moment to let his bags rest.

“Wanting a girl…” Lucy smiled, mumbling more of Priscilla’s words under her breath.

After several flights of stairs and a few hours, Cooper felt all the better. He’d eaten his fill and enjoyed the peace of an enclosed room. He didn’t often allow himself such a luxury, as being in a settlement put a target on your back for any larger groups. But it’d been two weeks since they’d had proper rest out of the elements.

Tracking Hank wasn’t easy, either. That suit meant he could skip over all the pocked landscape and roaming threats. What would take him an hour to travel by air was a day for them sometimes, a fact that spurred Cooper on. But they couldn’t rush, as rushing would only get them killed.

One wrong step and you were deathclaw chow.

“God, more, please!”

And there went the silence. Cooper’s eye twitched; his lipless mouth sneered at the screeches.

Whoever had taken up residence in room five was making the most of their money — an hour straight of screams and moans, an hour straight of Lucy pretending to read. She’d picked up a holotape at the last outpost they’d stopped at; something about a sequel she’d always wanted to continue reading.

By the second hour, it wasn’t so much that room five stopped fucking. But they at least got a lot quieter about it. The occasional shriek or moan rattled through the air vents, but it was far and few between.

Lucy lay across the double bed, her boots discarded beside the door. Her vault suit hung from the defunct radiator. Her washing was all done, and she’d freshened up, the usual Lucy shit. She’d helped herself to the water and changed into some pajama set she’d pilfered from a house a few days back.

“I think it’s nice,” Lucy said into the open air of the hotel room.

Cooper looked up from his shotgun, teeth bared like he was trying to smile. “The quiet?”

“No,” Lucy smiled at the wall between them and room five. “That people can find love, even now.”

Cooper couldn’t stop himself from laughing at that. The cackles shook from low in his lungs and caught him so off-guard he hacked up some foul muck into his palm. He hissed through a wheezed breath as he fumbled with his RadAway puffer.

“I mean it! It’s not funny!”

“That ain’t love, Vaultie,” Cooper coughed out, his eyes narrowed as drool and tears mingled on his cheeks. He wiped his face, fine skin catching against the scarred, leathery mess. “That…” He pointed to the wall. “S’probably a whore and her John making the most of the caps.”

Lucy’s eyes darted as she picked apart what he’d said. “John..?”

“John’s a term for uh…” Cooper’s jaw strained against a smile, though it was far too cruel to be kind. “A guy who pays for sex.”

“Ah, wasteland slang,” she said with a solemn nod, as if it made sense she hadn’t caught on immediately.

“Old world slang,” Cooper corrected.

Lucy looked around the hotel room anew, like she’d finally caught on to what this place really was. She scooted to the edge of the bed, to sit with her legs angled towards him. “That woman at the front desk said you’d want a girl who’s old world — she thought I was a prostitute. ”

“Maybe.”

Lucy crossed her arms as if she had more to say on the matter. But then she remained quiet, uncharacteristically so.

“S’waste of caps.”

“Hiring me to have sex with you? Actually, I know all about sexual gratification, so I think it’d be a great use of money — caps.”

Cooper stared Lucy down as if he couldn’t parse what she’d just said. “Paying anyone money to fuck you is a waste.” Cooper tongued his lips apart. “Bullets. Meds. There’s shit worth paying for. Sex is — ”

“Important.”

“Sex ain’t worth much.”

“To you, maybe,” Lucy frowned. “It’s an act of love and intimacy, and… It’s how humanity continues, and it’s — fun if done well.”

“You wanna waste your caps on some cock?” Cooper snapped, his hand flapping at the door. “Be my guest.”

“No,” Lucy shook her head. “I don’t want to, but I’m saying that I… I think killing people is probably worse than sleeping with people for caps. If it’s to survive, I think it makes sense. Morally speaking.”

“Don’t,” Cooper snarled.

Cooper didn’t like how Lucy spoke to him most days, but this was a new, worse permutation. Her Vault-addled morality was sickening enough on its own, as she embodied whatever bullshit had been drip-fed to her by the company who’d bought her vault. Not that he was without sin, given the shit he’d done to survive this long.

But sex and love and all that shit was not front of mind. He needed to find his family and to know what happened to them. He didn’t need a two-cap blowjob from a stranger in the dim light of some bar. Though, in all honesty, his drug habit mixed with the amount of alcohol he’d drowned himself in, some nights got hazy.

There’s that animalistic, self-destructive part of him that won on his worst nights. The same part of him that kept him alive, the same part that let him do all the miserable shit he needed to do to survive.

But it’s certainly never been love. Not since Barb.

Never again, he’d wager.

"I had sex once," Lucy said this like it was a point of pride, now on her feet. She idled beside the bed, her gaze settled onto the empty space she’d been lying. "With my husband, but…" Her face twisted with this delayed amusement. She turned towards him, closing the gap between them.

Lucy’s eyes remained unfocused as she stared at the marked table between them, where his shotgun lay across a dirty cloth. "Does that make us both widows..? You said you have a family, right? So, you were probably married and had at least one kid. Not trying to presume, so tell me if I’m wrong, but… You said that in the observatory. That’s what you’re after."

Cooper parted his lips, a nasty tilt to his hairless brow.

Lucy gave a tight smile. "I was married. Only for a few hours, but… It was an arranged marriage, I didn’t meet him until the wedding. It turned out he was a raider from the surface posing as my match from Vault 32 and…" At this point, Lucy caught herself. “I feel for you, if you lost someone. That’s all.”

“You ain’t a widow.”

“Technically — ”

Cooper stood up, unable to stay seated. “You say you’re a widow like it’s a fact outta some book. The shit you went through — you’re an experiment gone wrong, not a damn widow,” Cooper said, his voice flat.

Lucy’s face twitched at his words as if she struggled to keep her smile. “Well, guess what? We’re all an experiment gone wrong, whether you’re in a vault or not.”

Cooper’s eyes twitched, narrowing in the dark of their hotel room. Room five was quiet, which made this moment all the worse. He didn’t like how she spoke about him, as if she knew what was happening in his mind. He wasn’t some wounded man looking for sympathy.

He wasn’t anything.

“Go back to your holotapes,” Cooper said with a jut of his chin. “You’ve been up here a few weeks, acting like you know how it is.”

“Well, I know we’ve all been screwed over by people hundreds of years ago, and I’m sorry if I’m not as beaten down by it as you, but — I’m just trying to share things with you, to…” Lucy struggled through her words, her arms crossed protectively over her chest. “We don’t have to be friends, but we have to be — something.”

The couple in room five screeched. Cooper tensed out of habit but relaxed again when he reasoned what the noise was. It didn’t solve the fierce look on Lucy’s face as she stared him down, her fists clenched by her pajama-clad thighs.

“I don’t want to fight with you,” Lucy said, shaking her damp hair out of her face. She stood idle by the table as if she had just realized she had stepped towards him in their argument. There was a bird-like shake to her chest, her heart and lungs quick beneath bone.

It was moments like this that made his nature crystalline to him — that thin line she couldn’t perceive of how easy it’d be to string her up by the ankles and bleed her dry. Of how easy it’d be to slide into that ache for warm flesh between his teeth and blood down his throat.

Ghouls aren’t welcome in most settlements for a reason, and Lucy is too damn optimistic to learn that lesson.

Cooper tongued the inside of his cheek, and his teeth gnashed at the frayed edge of his lip. “We have to be something, huh?”

Lucy’s brow twitched, and her jaw strained as she tried to stand taller. She nodded as something like hope softened her stern expression.

It wasn’t hard to close the gap. It was even easier to grab that ponytail she always wore and yank her head close, fist tight in her hair as he brought her close. Her hand scrabbled against the table, and nails dug into the wood as their eyes met.

“Don’t you ever talk about my family again,” Cooper said, his voice level. “We clear?”

Lucy’s breathing redoubled, but she nodded. Her nostrils flared as he let her go with a firm shove. There was a real sense of satisfaction as he felt her perception of him shift as if she’d forgotten she was dealing with a monster rather than a man. As if the rotted skin and exposed tensions, or the gaping hole where his nose had once been, weren’t enough warning.

Pretty girls in Hollywood were overlooked as much in his time — all in the name of survival in a race that no one really won. You took your part and played it until the work dried up. Then, you prayed for sponsorships, deals, and other things to spare you from the real world.

He watched it with co-stars, time and again. It wasn’t much different now, just less rhinestones and more rads.

[pilot-boi]

Pilot, I know you primarily bully Jaune. But would you mind having a go at Papa Arc talking to the Vacuo mural?

Orion Arc is not a hero, even though his son always thought he was. He’s just a man who loves his family and tries his best to do right by them.

So it’s more than a little strange standing there, in front of a mural of his own son’s face. His boy immortalized and honored in ways Orion could never dream of.

His son looks like a stranger.

“Mr. Branwen thought it might help to talk to ya.” Orion’s hand brushes over the palm prints of countless children, all paying their respect to his boy. “Don’t see much point, ain’t gonna bring you back.”

His son watches him, all quiet confidence and bravery. A true warrior, a hero. Where is his brash anxious son who begged to join the Huntsman Academies? How much of his son did he lose when Jaune finally left home? Somewhere along the way his boy grew into a man and he wasn’t there to help him.

“Your uh…” He clears his throat. “Your mother misses you.” And it sounds pathetic even as he says it. Even in front of a facsimile of his son he can’t say what he needs to.

“She was beside herself when you didn’t come back from Haven.” So was he, even more so than his wife. Orion paced the house for days, worry driving him to throw himself into work, into anything that would take his mind off the attack and the fate of his boy. “We were so relieved to hear from Saph about you and your friends.”

His friends. A group of seven that from all accounts Jaune grew closer to than even his sisters. Orion glances up at the others in the mural. Four of which fell alongside his boy, and the other three were left grieving.

Ren, Nora, and Oscar, he remembers them being called. He never thought he’d see his grief echoed in faces so young.

“As soon as we saw the broadcast, your mother was packin’ our bags.” Orion chuckles. “You shoulda seen her, she was fixin’ to march up to the General herself and teach him a lesson. If I ever wondered where you got your fire, I got my answer.”

His face falls, crumpling like paper. “And I triedta douse that fire.” How many times did he tell Jaune it was okay if he failed? How many times did he refuse to train him? How many times did he let his fear guide him to crush his son’s dreams?

“When you walked into the livin’ room with your transcripts in hand sayin’ you were gonna be a Huntsman whether I wanted it or not, why…” His eyes are stinging. If there’s anything his son inherited from him, it’s his tendency for emotions to live near the surface. “Why that was the proudest day of my life.”

He’d never been more proud. Never. His boy standing there with those papers clutched in his fist, and a defiant look on his face. “I won’t let you down.” Jaune had said.

You could never let me down. It’s what he should’ve said. Why didn’t he just say it?

Orion scrubs the heel of his hand into his eyes. It does nothing to stop the flow of tears. “Did I ever once tell ya how proud I am of you?” His voice is cracking and hitching, but if he stops talking now Orion knows he’ll never start again.

“You’re so brave and you don’t quit when things get tough. I saw how hurt you were after the Fall of Beacon, but you just got right back on that horse.” His baby boy, the most caring and most stubborn of all his children. Strapping the family sword back onto his hip because “Somebody has to, dad.”

Letters where it’s clear his boy isn’t saying half the trouble, but he’s saying enough that they know what trouble is. Hearing about the attack on Haven, a week and a half of terror. Saphron sending word that Jaune made it to Argus.

And then nothing. Nothing until the broadcast from Miss Rose.

Packing in a whirlwind, sending the girls to stay with Saphron. Renting the first available airship to Vacuo and contending with his wife’s motion sickness. By the time they got there, they were met halfway by a near armada.

But no Jaune.

Orion’s hand rests on Jaune’s painted cheek. A child’s hand against the larger-than-life hero his boy grew into when he wasn’t there.

Did he ever tell his son how much he loves him?

“Come back to us,” Orion begs, no longer trying to stem the flow of tears. Why bother? His son isn’t here to see them.

[argisthebulwark]

Did I Find You, Or You Find Me?

summary: Due to forces outside of your control, you've found yourself stuck in an arranged marriage. f!reader, no y/n used. feat: Brynjolf, Miraak, Vilkas, Farkas, Arnbjorn warnings: they're long lol. alcohol consumption, not super healthy relationship dynamics, a bit suggestive a/n: i meant to put some more fellas in here but tumblr was struggling to load this draft so i'll have to do a part two masterlist

Brynjolf

Born as the middle daughter of the Black Briar family you are fully aware of their interactions with the Thieves Guild. You've watched your mother meet with Brynjolf, catching glimpses when you're instructed to carry in stacks of paperwork or clearing away empty wine bottles after a long negotiation. His flirtatious remarks remarks leave you breathless, never going further than a shared smile or brushing shoulders in the hall.

As a middle child, you've often found yourself in an odd position - you're an adult and are expected to handle many responsibilities, yet still infantilized by your siblings. Often forgotten between Sibbi and Ingun's rebellions and Hemming's single minded dedication to the family, you're expected to pick up the pieces without making a fuss.

"We need to solidify our ties with the Thieves Guild." Mother's sharp voice interrupts your dinner. You nod along, picking at your potatoes and planning out the rest of your week. "How old are you now?"

"Twenty four."

"Oh, good!" The excited tone of her voice rouses suspicion. You peek up at your mother, heart ramming against your ribs - she's never taken an interest in your life before. This can lead nowhere good.

You can only hope that silence will make her forget you. Her schedule is usually so full that you're allowed to exist out of her eyeline - taking a few extra moments in the market to flip through some books or visiting Ingun in the alchemy shop to chat. There is joy to be found in those small moments when you escape from her calculated gaze.

Of course this doesn't happen. Before the week is out you find yourself standing in the Temple of Mara, heart in your throat and siblings snickering from the pews. The handsome thief is gentle when he holds your hands, voice a bit shaky as he reiterates every vow back to the priest.

Returning to the Ratways feels odd. You part from your family, ink drying on the many contracts as Brynjolf - your husband - leads you through the Cistern. You feel a bit like you're floating as the events of the day settle on your mind. Panic chokes out all rational thought - who will ensure that the animals are fed and organize the contracts in your absence?

"I'm sorry - this all happened so fast, you may need to show me around once more when my mind stops spinning." You can't recall half of what he's pointed out and your feet are aching. You gulp, staring up at Brynjolf's kind eyes.

"Don't worry, lass." That soft grin makes your heart race when he shows you the private quarters, a small room branching off from the tavern. "We're in the same boat, you've got me."

With each day that passes, that knot in your chest lessens. The anxiety shrinks as you settle into your new life, finding the lack of routine comfortable - no list of chores awaits you, no one calls for you to sit in on meetings. After twenty four years of responsibility it is terrifying to realize that no one expects anyone from you.

Despite all the initial fears you find yourself flourishing. Far from your mother's prying eyes you discover that you enjoy hearing stories from the other thieves, Vex and Delvin teaching you a few tricks and Tonilia offering to scrounge up a set of armor. No longer are you Maven's daughter or Hemming's sister - you are yourself.

Brynjolf maintains a respectable distance, never straying too far but making no moves toward romance. He acknowledges that your partnership is just that - an agreement set forth by others, it is not a true marriage. He joins you for dinner each night, finding himself eager to hear about what you've done that day.

"What did you mean back then?" You finally ask, surprised at how steady your voice has become. Brynjolf's gaze still makes your heart flutter but you no longer feel the need to shrink away from it.

"By what, lass?"

"When you said we're in the same boat."

"Ah." He leans closer, voice conspiratorially low. Your cheeks flush when his fingers dance over yours, barely a touch. "Well, I'm guessin' you weren't exactly excited by the prospect of marrying a stranger, yeah?"

"It wasn't my first choice."

"Wasn't part of my plan, either." You hate how your stomach drops at the admission. Of course you're aware that he hadn't truly wanted you, but that knowledge does little to soothe the sting.

"Delvin's too old and Vex hates dealin' with your mother." His eyes drop to where your fingers have twisted together, the toes of his boots brushing yours. "I didn't plan on it bein' me but I couldn't stomach the thought of anyone else marryin' you."

The weeks blend into months, changes in your life slow but steady. Brynjolf sets aside time each week to teach you how to wield a dagger. Your beds scoot closer and you stay up later talking, candles burning down to nubs while you share every little shred of yourselves. He tells you of this the people he's lost and you share the desperation you've always felt for more, blushing when he jokes about the fulfilling life of a thief.

Your confidence continues to blossom the longer you're away from your family, brave enough to disregard a direct summons from your mother. Somewhere she is steaming, Hemming probably cursing your name at her side. It's freeing to realize how little you care.

"Proud of you, lass." Brynjolf grins when you bounce up to him, excitedly recounting how cool it felt throwing her letter in the fire. His hand is warm when it cups your cheek. "How should we celebrate?"

A bit drunk on your newly found courage, you kiss him. You've thought about it for months, stomach fluttering when you first noticed the way his eyes linger on you. It's quick and your lips tingle a bit when your husband chuckles, already leaning in for another.

Miraak

"All of our efforts to reign in Miraak have failed." Arngeir's eyes pin you in place. Your ass is going numb from those stone seats but there's no escaping this conversation. "Dragonborn, the Jarls continue to call for action."

"I have tried everything to defeat Miraak."

"Yet we remain unsuccessful." Biting your tongue barely contains the multitude of protests. Your body bears scars from the many times you've faced Miraak and his cultists, brain addled by the ages you'd spent combing through Apocrypha's twisting hallways.

"Miraak has a clear interest in you." Borri chimes in, voice hoarse from lack of use.

"He speaks the truth, Dragonborn." Arngeir concurs. "We have formulated a new plan. The Jarls have approved, as have many leaders from Solstheim."

"Wonderful." You grumble, hauling yourself to your feet. Might as well start preparing. "What is this new plan of attack?"

"You will offer yourself to Miraak."

"Your plan is to sacrifice me?" The shrill tone of your voice echoes off the stone walls. "How will my death resolve anything?"

"Not as a sacrifice. As a bride."

Despite your many protests, it seems that Miraak could not pass up an opportunity to get under your skin. He agrees to the proposition - you become his partner and he scales back the attacks on civilians. The rage becomes almost mind numbing. You cannot believe that this plan is being enacted, that your elders are offering you up for the mere promise of peace.

When Arngeir bustles you out the door he instructs you to slay the First Dragonborn. His voice is stern when he informs you that you will not be welcomed back to Skyrim's shores until Miraak is dead. The old men don't listen to a single protest that passes your lips, somberly shaking their heads and claiming that this is the last resort. Their trust is placed in you.

There is no ceremony, no hint of romance - just your stack of books and a bout of seasickness as you're ferried to Solstheim. Cultists meet you at the dock, Raven Rock entirely silent as too many pairs of eyes watch them escort you to Miraak's palace. You walk with your chin held high and pray that no one notices the fear simmering just under your skin.

Miraak's glare tracks each move you make as you prowl through his manor. You keep your distance, intent on finding some hidden weakness that will break him without rousing too much suspicion. You circle one another, neither willing to break the peace and strike first. Even when you are alone he maintains some sort of mask - always obscuring at least half of his face, never giving you a full view.

Meals are silent except for thinly veiled threats. Doors to both bed chambers are locked and barred each night. You find comfort in his library, sprawling shelves holding volumes thought long lost and safe from the mind bending power of Apocrypha. On days when you grow too exhausted to search you tuck yourself away into a secluded corner of the library and read until your eyes can't focus.

"You do not have to hide." Miraak's deep voice shocks you out of your reading. He eyes the stack of books at your side and you feel terribly vulnerable. "This is now your home as much as it is mine."

Clearly displeased with your lack of response, he huffs and walks away. Your brain struggles to catch up - the usual nasty tone of his voice was gone, something almost kind about the way he'd spoken to you. It's disconcerting.

Thankfully, you are too preoccupied with your assignment to notice how deeply he burns for you. You do not see the heat behind his glare or the tension in his body when you drift too near, barely keeping a leash on the gut wrenching desire.

Miraak finds it quite easy to convince himself that he detests you - the flipping of his gut is mere disgust and your permanent place in his dreams is blamed on that damned prophecy. You are too distracted sniffing around for clues to notice how deeply and shamefully he wants you.

"What is it you seek?" His voice nearly stops your heart. Blade aimed for his chest you whirl around, scolding yourself for lowering your guard enough for him to get so close. You pause, gaping at the face he's hidden behind masks for months and fight back the horrible wave of attraction.

The crooked nose, stubble trailing up his jaw, dark eyes glaring down at you. Grey streaks are visible where his hair's pushed away from his forehead. A scar drags through his lower lip, drawing far too much of your attention. Grinding your teeth against the way your cheeks blush, you summon every ounce of vitriol you can.

"None of your business."

"Incorrect. You are in my study."

"What I am searching for does not regard you."

"Doubtful, little dragon." You curse your heart for flipping at that pet name. Miraak's grin is nearly a snarl when he leans closer, unable to keep himself away from you any longer.

For one night, he will release his self control. He will make himself vulnerable if it means he can get a bit closer to you.

Vilkas

As the eldest daughter of a Jarl, your duties never cease. Keeping an eye on your siblings, watching the advisors in preparation for your role, learning from wizards and teachers and warriors alike - it is endless. From a young age you'd intended on caring for your beloved city of Whiterun whether you acted as Jarl or advisor, content with putting in the work for your future.

"We need a foot in the door with the Companions." Proventus' words had roused no suspicion at the time - he'd said similar things about the guild before. "They are unregulated, acting entirely separate from us."

"This is true." Your father had turned to you, heart in your throat at the prospect of proving yourself. You'd fine tuned your political knowledge over the past few years and finally, an opportunity to prove yourself to his court. "Can you be trusted with this task?"

You had no clue what you were agreeing to. You'd anticipated a cordial relationship, that you would be acting as a emissary. You expected to form a diplomatic relationship with the Companions. You'd met a few warriors for training but the prospect of working with them was intriguing, their reputation was equally vicious and respectable.

You try to keep it together for the first meeting. Kodlak Whitemane is intimidating but you stand tall beside your father, chin held high and sword strapped to your side. It has never tasted blood but the advisors had insisted upon you looking your best, presenting yourself as a capable fighter.

Kodlak's warriors appear cleaned up, though you notice the scars - tattoos swirl between the gaps in their armor and wary eyes watching every shadow. The one at his side looks ready to implode; hand wrapped menacingly around the hilt of his sword and dark eyes sweeping over you with barely contained disdain. He sneers, clearly seeing through your carefully placed facade. Your stomach drops when he stands only a few paces from you, arms crossed over his broad chest.

The meeting moves too fast to follow. Kodlak and your father speak in hushed tones, all the other advisors cloistered around them. Notably, you are left out - they must be bartering on your behalf, right? Why else would you be left out of the conversation? Three Companions stand at your side, each appearing equally annoyed.

"May I ask why your folks seem displeased?" You whisper to the man at your side, the one who appears less standoffish than the others. Soft brown eyes blink back at you, a short laugh badly disguised as a cough.

"Surprised you're takin' this so well. We had bets on you running out."

"What?"

"Aela thought you'd last through the discussions. I thought you'd bolt as soon as you saw him. And Vilkas, well he refused to make a bet." The man laughs again, a hand extended toward you. Your head is spinning when the dark haired man walks off in a huff, his anger radiating through the hall.

"Vilkas?"

"Yeah." You follow where he points out the man now shouldering his way into the circle of advisors. "Your new husband."

Despite his initial vitriol, Vilkas is annoyingly formal. He speaks to you as a member of the court - stiff and respectful. He spends little time in your company, taking every assignment offered by his elders to get him out of the city.

You can't say it isn't hurtful. Your union was one of mutual convenience for your families but to see your husband so clearly uninterested wounds you. Your conversations are brief, each focused entirely on whatever business Kodlak has with your father.

You hold your chin high, remaining in your father's home and listening to the advisors fret. Your visits to Jorrvaskr are not unpleasant but there is a notable lack of progress - Aela and Farkas are friendly, Athis slowly warms to you, but it is abundantly clear that they all view you as an outsider. Vilkas can barely remain in the hall, his brother kindly making excuses on his behalf.

Sleeping in your childhood bedroom as a married adult feels strange, though you console yourself with the knowledge that it is not a real marriage. No rings or tender words had been exchanged. It was merely a contract signed by Kodlak and your father on your behalf. You drift off to sleep with the image of Vilkas in your head, wracking your brain for what can be done to smooth things out.

"Hey."

Scrambling for the knife under your pillow, you barely manage to swallow the scream building in your throat. With the blade quivering in your hand you aim it toward your attacker's chest. Vilkas' dark eyes glare down at you, hair mussed and usual armor missing. You blink a few times when turns toward the door.

"Can't sleep. You coming?"

"Coming where?"

"Anywhere but here."

He hardly says a word when you stride out of Dragonsreach. He scoffs at the way you sneak past the guards, dagger still gripped in your hand. You follow him down the chilly steps until you're seated on a bench, backs to the Gildergreen.

"Sorry." He grumbles, dropping his cloak around your shoulders. "Bet you're freezing."

You're too stunned to question it. The cloak smells of him and you find yourself burrowing deeper into it, the first kind move he's made. Vilkas sits at your side, glaring out at the starry sky for what feels like hours.

"What is happening?" You finally ask, glancing over at him. You catch his striking profile, outlined by the silvery moonlight of late night; the sharp bridge of his nose and harsh brows, the lips that look surprisingly soft when they aren't grimacing. Your stomach flips when his eyes slide to you, though they appear uncharacteristically kind.

"Needed to get out for a bit." He shrugs, heaving a sigh. "Figured you could use a break from that place."

It's hard to predict when he will seek you out. Vilkas only appears in the dead of night, often the night before he departs for an assignment. You wander through Whiterun, enjoying the emptiness of the town while he tells you of his recent missions. You are giddy each time he refuses your attempts to return his cloak, wrapping it around your shoulders to walk aimlessly at his side.

Not wanting the conversations to be one sided, you soon find yourself sharing more. Stories of court and your siblings feel boring in comparison but Vilkas seems interested. He remembers names remarkably well, asking after your brother's injured arm weeks after you'd brought it up.

It takes months for you to broach the topic of your future. You've grown comfortable in his company, no longer unsettled by the intensity of his gaze. He is still far from a husband but there is something like friendship blooming between you, an attraction that squeezes at your heart each time he smiles at you.

"I just want to be free." You admit, gazing out over the horizon. As you've spoken the sunrise has begun, rays of pink and orange reaching out to steal the night. You have to return to Dragonsreach soon before everyone else wakes. Despite that reasoning you find yourself leaning into Vilkas' shoulder, heart fluttering when he accepts your touch.

"Free?" He snorts, chin resting on the top of your head. "You're the Jarl's kid, you can do whatever you want."

"I've never made a choice for myself - I didn't even get to choose my husband." Clearly the lack of sleep has loosened your tongue. Vilkas chuckles, a sound that never fails to warm your heart.

"That's fair." He sighs, staring over your shoulder at Jorrvaskr. He's sure that the others have already awoken, chest tight with the unending duties threatening to drown him. "Someday, when we're done solving everyone else's problems, we'll get out of here."

Farkas

Since an early age, you've been warned to stay away from the Companions - their shimmering armor and heroic deeds are inviting but they do not live like you do. Their beast blood is a secret held only by those in the highest ranks, hidden away from the rest of their guild. You've never understood the secrecy but abide by your parents' warnings, heeding the wisdom of your pack.

Numbers have dwindled over the years. Tales told around the long table recount times when your pack commanded Whiterun's rolling plains, hunting and celebrating to their hearts' content. Each generation shrunk - the beast blood not passing on to younger generations and civilization encroaching upon the wilds. Handfuls of families have splintered off, some moving to new Holds while others joined larger packs.

You're fairly certain your hearing must be failing - after ages of warning every wolf off from dealing with the local guilds, your grandmother grimaces around those unbelievable words.

"What?"

"We can no longer survive on our own." She reiterates, your ears ringing. "These lands have been overhunted and new farms claim acres of land every day. Now with the Silver Hand moving into Whiterun," she sighs, gathering herself. Tears prick at your eyes when she rests a wrinkled hand on your shoulder. "Our family has entered an agreement with the Companions."

"Okay." You're struggling to wrap your head around this change but you'll manage - the pit in your stomach for months could finally cease. You know that food sources are growing scarce and numbers are falling but you're still a bit lightheaded at the finality of her statement.

"We've assured their continued support. They cannot back out of this deal."

"How? What do we have to give them?"

"You and some of the others will be married to the younger members of their inner circle."

It's like a punch to the gut. Your marriage is still a handful of years off but you will never forget about it - wondering each day if this is your last before being shackled to the Companions for the rest of your life. Your first meeting happens during a celebratory dinner, your heart in your throat as Kodlak presents the members of his pack.

One boy glowers across the hall and sneers at anyone who dares to speak to him. His brother stands nearby, a friendly smile on his face when Kodlak's hand lands on his shoulder. You can only pray that you aren't partnered with the unpleasant one.

"I'm Farkas." The kind boy introduces himself, calloused hand warm against yours. It takes a moment to remember your name - thankfully, your grandmother pats your shoulder and speaks for you.

"Nice to meet you." You choke out, terrified to be staring into the face of your future husband. His smile comes easily, dimples in his cheeks eyes radiating kindness. Light brown hair is braided out of his face and a broadsword is strapped across his well muscled back.

You spend the night awaiting the horrible stories your elders passed down to come true - that the Companions will shame your way of life or scoff at the state of your hall, but they are amiable. A bit reserved but they do nothing to earn your distrust. They share food and drink hauled down from their hall, listening intently to the stories told by your parents.

Farkas fits in too well. Even after Kodlak and the others stop visiting, contracts signed and goods exchanging hands, Farkas keeps coming. He shows up on your mother's doorstep with an armful of food and brings your siblings presents on their birthdays. Each time he appears you're shocked - this was sold to you as a marriage of convenience, one to fully unite your families. The grin on his face when he teaches your brother how to properly swing a sword or his willingness to help clear the dishes after dinner make you wonder if he was told something different.

Even as the season of your intended wedding approaches you cannot scrape up any distaste for him. You find your heart fluttering when Farkas rolls up his sleeves to help your father chop firewood or falls onto your bed at your side, curiously eyeing whatever book you're reading. You've both grown into a comfortable friendship, choosing to not speak of what awaits you only a few months away.

"Wanna go for a walk?" Farkas offers, eyes sliding your way. Even after all these years he still makes speech difficult, the friendly smile causing your brain to stop functioning. He's asked the question dozens of times but there's something loaded behind his words that makes this feel different. He's so careful when he holds your hand, clearly giving you space to shake him off.

Farkas follows the same path as always around local farms, a pleasant expression on his face but you feel the nerves radiating from him. Perhaps you've just got enough anxiety for you both.

"What's wrong?" You blurt, unable to contain the nerves any longer. Eyes sparkling in the moonlight Farkas turns to you and you're certain the whole valley can hear your heart ramming against your ribs.

"I want to marry you." His voice is uncharacteristically serious.

"That's been arranged since we were kids."

"No, I mean for real." Farkas insists, chilly fingers tracing the shape of your cheek. You've been close to others but nothing has felt like this, no one else has set your skin ablaze with a simple touch.

"I need you to know that I'm not just doing this because Kodlak said to. I want to be here with you, with your family - I want you."

It takes a few minutes to digest that - he wants you. Farkas is patient when you work through that, fingers tightening around yours as he awaits an answer. Butterflies erupt in your stomach when you finally voice the feelings you've ignored for years.

"I want you, too."

Kissing him is so easy, it feels natural. He smells like home; the hands cupping your face are stained from helping your parents cook and the scent of your fireplace clings to hair you'd tied back. Farkas kisses you like it's the first time he's taken a breath, needy and desperate. His nose brushes yours before he's pulling back, that comforting smile rousing butterflies in your gut.

The wedding you'd spent years dreading surpasses all your expectations. Farkas cries the moment he sees you, tears streaming down his cheeks when he pledges each day of his life to yours. You pointedly ignore all the vows regarding duty and tradition - you love this man. You've fallen in love with him slowly and without realizing it, loving him a bit more each day you've spent with him. He speaks of his love for you and respect for your family, summoning fat tears in your eyes when he kisses you.

"Thanks for lovin' me." He murmurs into your hair, crushing you to his chest.

Arnbjorn

"You should do it."

"Absolutely not."

"It's the best way to ensure the survival of both our Guilds!" Delvin insists, that smug look on his face. He thinks he's already won. "If we don't come to an agreement, our groups are bound to cannibalize each other. Our customer base and services are too similar."

"All good points."

"Every Jarl is out for our blood and both of our Guilds have recently lost leaders." It's annoying how correct he is. Delvin nudges the ale toward you, clearly urging you to consider. "A partnership would solve nearly all our problems."

"And why can it not be a business partnership?" You ask, accepting the drink. "Your relationship with the Brotherhood has stood since before I even joined the Guild, has something caused you to doubt it?"

"Unfortunately." Delvin's expression sours at that. "Their new leader."

You agree to a meeting with their new leader, expecting the Listener - they've visited a few times when the Brotherhood needed Delvin's aid, most recently during their move to Dawnstar. Your friendship is easy but holds no attraction, certainly nothing that would tempt you into a marriage.

"The Listener isn't their official leader." Delvin corrects you at the last minute, the group of shadows entering the Flagon. "It's the old leader's widower."

He stands before you, intimidatingly tall and muscled. Unimpressed eyes shamelessly comb through the crowd of thieves, white hair braided away from a handsome face. Delvin's elbow nudges yours and your face burns when you stumble over your introduction, clearing your throat before the conversation begins.

It's rough. Their leader, Arnbjorn, clearly lacks his former partner's knack for negotiation. You'd only encountered Astrid a couple times before her death but remembered her way of speaking, calculated with a constant threat in each word. Arnbjorn is much more straightforward, the Listener and Nazir looking a bit uneasy at his side.

"I have no need of a wife." He speaks plainly, earning a glare from his companions. "My hands are full running the Brotherhood and looking after the recruits."

"My thoughts exactly." you concur, though the conversation spirals away from that point once again.

Gods, you feel like this is never going to end. Hours pass and Delvin's sheet of notes has become illegible. The Listener is predictably quiet, taking in everyone's words while Delvin and Nazir hash out the details - where barriers for contracts should be, how to notify the other, who can recruit in what regions. After far too many drinks their words devolve into an obnoxious drone.

You aren't entirely sure anyone notices when you excuse yourself. Maybe a breath of fresh air will clear your head. You're certain that the sun has risen and quite possibly fallen once more since the negotiations had begun, shuffling your way through the Cistern in search of the outdoors.

"Hey."

Two strong fingers grab your elbow just as you're about to climb to freedom. You turn, sucking in a deep breath when you realize that you're cramped into the secret passageway with Arnbjorn. His cheeks are flushed - he's had even more drinks than you, leaning on the wall for support.

"What?" You try to sound sure of yourself despite the distracting closeness of his body. It's troubling how handsome he is. Arnbjorn blinks at you, sucking in a deep breath before speaking.

"I didn't want you to think my protests have anything to do with you." He clears his throat, obviously struggling to speak so plainly. "It's just - my wife passed away. You're very pretty but I have to think about the Brotherhood."

"I understand." You breathe, unable to ignore the way his eyes seem glued to your mouth. He leans a bit closer and you can smell him, smoke and pine and you fight back the wave of attraction.

Kissing him is foolish. You know this. It is a dumb mistake that you cannot stop yourself from making, closing the tiny distance between you. His lips are warm and god, the large hand curling around your waist and drawing you closer feels divine. His body presses to yours, crowding you against the stone wall until you can feel every delicious inch of him.

"Oh gods -" Delvin's voice shatters the moment. You're shrinking back, Arnbjorn stumbling a few steps away but it's too late. Your face burns when Delvin and the Listener's stares pin you in place. "Well, looks like our problem solved itself."

Marrying him is strange. Arnbjorn is stiff and standoffish, barely grumbling when the arrangements are drawn up. It's hard to forget that kiss, heat creeping into your cheeks every time the memory emerges. He's not unkind, just unwaveringly professional.

"If you're not interested in your wife," the client's words are slurred when he nudges Arnbjorn. "Mind if I take a swing?" A few too many celebratory drinks have been shared after your first successful joint contract. He stares intently at you, arousal pounding through his veins at the sight of you wearing Brotherhood armor.

"What?" The wave of sheer rage catches him off guard. Arnbjorn glares down at the drunken lord, anger building when the man leers toward your group of thieves. He's restrained himself for so long, ignored the way your eyes linger and seek him out because of his damned principles - but he will not allow this.

"You clearly don't want her. No harm in someone else gettin' a chance, right?" The man grumbles into his goblet. "After all the coin I handed out for this job -"

All conversation ceases when Arnbjorn bolts out of his seat. Before you can ask what's wrong he's stalking toward you, fingers gentle but insistent when they grip your chin and tilt your lips toward his. His kiss is full of heat, brain flooding with unabashed arousal as your husband's hips press firmly into yours.

"What's this all about?" You pant, cheeks burning bright red when his nose brushes yours.

"Don't worry about it." Arnbjorn grumbles against your lips. He'll let his reservations slip for this evening of celebration. He tells himself that he will rebuild all those walls in the morning, allowing himself this one night as your husband.

[cailins-posts]

Sunshine and Laughter on the Beach

Lando Norris x reader

The sun was high in the sky, casting a golden glow over a secluded, private beach somewhere along the Mediterranean coast. The gentle sound of waves lapping against the shore created a serene backdrop for a day of relaxation and fun. Among the group of friends enjoying the idyllic setting were Lando Norris, his girlfriend Y/N, and their adorable little girl, Lilly.

Lando had organized the beach day as a break from the intense world of Formula 1. He wanted to spend some quality time with his family and friends, away from the hustle and bustle of the racing circuit. Alongside them were Charles Leclerc, Carlos Sainz, Daniel Ricciardo, and several other F1 drivers, all eager to unwind and enjoy the beautiful weather.

Y/N spread out a large beach blanket under the shade of a palm tree while Lando played with Lilly near the water's edge. The little girl, just two years old, was a bundle of energy and curiosity, her laughter ringing out as she toddled after the waves.

"Lando, be careful with her near the water!" Y/N called out, her voice filled with both love and a hint of worry.

Lando turned and flashed her a reassuring smile. "I've got her, love. Don't worry!"

He scooped Lilly up in his arms and spun her around, her giggles blending with the sound of the sea. Charles, Carlos, and the others watched from their spot on the sand, amusement and affection evident in their expressions.

"Look at those two," Charles said with a chuckle. "Lando's a natural with kids."

Carlos nodded, grinning. "Who would've thought our fierce competitor would be such a softie?"

As Lando and Lilly made their way back to the group, he gently set her down on the blanket next to Y/N. "How about a snack, little one?" he asked, reaching into the cooler for some fruit.

Lilly clapped her hands excitedly. "Yes, Daddy! Apples, please!"

Y/N handed Lilly a slice of apple, and she munched on it happily. Lando lay down beside them, his head propped up on one arm as he watched his daughter with adoration.

"She's growing up so fast," Y/N said softly, brushing a strand of hair from Lilly's face.

Lando nodded, his gaze never leaving Lilly. "I know. I want to cherish every moment."

The other drivers joined them on the blanket, forming a relaxed circle. Daniel, ever the joker, started building a sandcastle with Lilly, making exaggerated gestures and funny faces to keep her entertained.

"Uncle Daniel is so silly!" Lilly exclaimed, her eyes wide with delight.

"That's right," Daniel said, grinning. "And this sandcastle is going to be the best one on the beach!"

Lando watched the scene with a smile, feeling a profound sense of happiness. These moments, away from the pressures of racing, were what he treasured most. He leaned over and kissed Y/N on the cheek. "Thank you for always being here, for making these moments possible."

Y/N smiled, squeezing his hand. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be."

As the day wore on, the group enjoyed swimming in the crystal-clear water, playing beach volleyball, and simply basking in the sun. At one point, Lilly, tired from all the excitement, curled up in Lando's lap and fell asleep.

"Looks like someone's had enough fun for one day," Charles remarked, his eyes softening at the sight.

Lando gently stroked Lilly's hair, his expression tender. "She'll wake up soon, ready for round two."

Carlos snapped a picture on his phone, capturing the sweet moment. "This is going in the album. It's not every day we see Lando being such a doting dad."

The group laughed, the camaraderie and warmth of their friendship palpable. As the sun began to set, casting a golden hue over the beach, Lando carefully stood up, still holding the sleeping Lilly, and walked to the water's edge with Y/N.

They stood there in silence, watching the sun dip below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. Lando looked at Y/N, his eyes reflecting the colors of the sunset. "I love you," he whispered, his voice filled with emotion.

Y/N leaned in and kissed him softly. "I love you too, Lando. More than anything."

They turned back to the group, where the laughter and chatter continued, the bond of friendship stronger than ever. With Lilly still nestled in Lando's arms, they joined their friends, ready to savor the remaining moments of a perfect day.

In that fleeting time, surrounded by love, laughter, and the beauty of the beach, they knew they were creating memories that would last a lifetime. And for Lando, the happiness he felt being with Y/N and Lilly was worth more than any trophy or victory on the track. It was the true victory of his heart.