#Chet: what's it called?

[armandyke]

it's Stan's little nods of agreement every time Diego says the most insane shit imaginable that really do it for me

[moonamite]

It’s done YIPPEE

Close ups under the cut

[chris-mclean-has-me-by-the-neck]

Nice move there, Lorenzo 😏😏😏 (chet: “tch, I’ve could’ve done better!” Sadie: “Sure you would babe!!”)

[ivegennedmylastloss]

so. i was thinking. in generation loss, why was charlie given the moniker “The Villain”?

because ranboo and sneeg’s titles make sense: Ranboo “The Hero” was showfall’s hero, no problems there, and Sneeg “The Taken” was taken prisoner in the first episode, taken captive when he tried to escape the carousel in the episode two, and was taken for granted had his life taken permanently (maybe) in the finale.

however, Slimecicle “The Villain” feels like it only really applies to the first episode, with him playing the antagonist to the hero in the form of the slime demon. in the second and third episode, he didn’t really play a villain, just mega chet and then himself.

unless, of course, charlie slimecicle was labeled the villain because he was the one that got the hero killed in the end.

be it intentionally or not, at the start of the trail of dominoes that leads to ranboo being crucified, sits charlie. in a mockery of his streaming set up, oblivious to his surroundings, unaware of the horrors around him until our dear hero saved him. an act of kindness that gave the employees the time they needed to lock the doors and seal the exits. had ranboo not stopped for charlie, they would’ve made it out and been free, they would’ve lived.

instead, our hero wanted to save their friend and in turn they were strung up and slaughtered for their good deed.

and what kind of good person would lead their friend to getting killed? who would let such a cruel fate befall his own brother? no, that’s something only a villain would do

[probablygayattorneys]

I was sitting in my brother's room on my phone while my brother was playing video games and he said “Fuck Matthew Mercer.” While playing a game he voices a character in and I said “Are you mad at Cowboy Ryan or do you mean Matthew Mercer?” And he laughed and was like “Yeah, I just wake up and say “Fuck Matthew Mercer” and then I play some Overwatch and say “Fuck Matthew Mercer” then I play some Zelda and I say “Fuck Matthew Mercer” and then I sneak into your room and take Miracle Mask and I say “Fuck Matthew Mercer” and then I play the Ace Attorney game with the girly prosecutor and I say “Fuck Matthew Mercer.””

[gangles-toybox]

Onceler honors kid arc

Onceler, getting his first B on a grade report: Momma look! Isabella: Good...good... ... Onceler: What is it? Isabella: You need to do better. Onceler: ...but Bret and Chet get all Cs and Ds... Isabella: You're not them, are you? Onceler: No, but- Isabella: Then you need to do better. Do you understand? Onceler: Yes ma'am...

[lynxalon]

HOLY SHITTTTTTTTTTTTT THAT CRITROLE EP WAS AMAZING!!!!!!!!!! im SO glad we had the set up of the last one so we could have the big thrills of this!!!!!!!!! this had everything!! it had ira's bad (and good!) decisions! it had sam's out of pocket wacky can shenanigans!! it had deception and sneaking! it had badass plays and some.. eye-catching talents 👀 it had gross shit that's kinda actually sad if u think about it! it had walking (running) away from explosions (NOT a sunglasses moment this was a loserfail) it had .. terrifying parents. it had imodna momence !! :D it even had some unprecedented wins for our typically fighty/flighty adventurers!!! i will ABSOLUTELY be watching that again come monday!!!!!!!!!!

[transform4u]

I don’t know what’s happening to me, recently I’ve been burping non stop and no matter how much I wash I keep getting smellier. I’ve also been having urges to go to the gym and turn my twink body around plus I’m blacking out loads and the last time I can to I had some confederate flag underwear in my amazon basket

As the sharp snaaaaapppp of the sound ricochets through your room, it’s followed by an unsettling wave of smoke that billows around you. The acrid scent of burnt material invades your senses—a noxious blend of sweat-soaked gym clothes and the vile stench of rotten eggs. The smoke feels dense and suffocating, clinging to the air and coating your throat like a heavy, oppressive mist. Each breath you take feels labored, and your body convulses with a violent cough, the hacking sound mingling with the smoky haze that seems to grow thicker by the second.

Your mind, once sharp and clear, begins to dissolve into a foggy mush. The smoke isn't just suffocating your lungs; it's clouding your thoughts. Your once vivid memories of nerdy hobbies— coding, collecting comic books, or lameass role-playing games—begin to fade into a dull blur. The details that used to bring you joy are slipping away, leaving you in a state of confusion and mental numbness.

As this disorienting haze continues, you feel an uncomfortable shift in your body. You start to grow taller, your frame expanding in a grotesque, almost cartoonish manner. The weight on your body seems to melt away, replaced by an exaggerated muscular bulk. You look down and realize you're clad in a pair of ratty, unwashed boxers emblazoned with a Confederate flag. You let out a dumb, bewildered chuckle, noticing the deepening Southern twinge in your voice as your laughter grows more guttural and brash.

A deep, resonant burp escapes your throat, and a sharp ache courses through your body. Your muscles twitch involuntarily, each spasm sending waves of discomfort through your once weak and thin frame. As the transformation completes, you become a hulking figure of exaggerated Southern masculinity. Your physique is a grotesque parody of the redneck bro archetype: massive, rippling muscles straining against your skin, a tanned and greasy sheen covering every inch of your body.

Your chest is a dominant feature, each pectoral muscle resembling a slab of meat rather than mere flesh, rippling with every movement. Your abs are a rock-hard, jackhammer-sculpted six-pack that bulges unnaturally. Your arms are enormous, thick veins and sinew pulsing with raw, unrefined strength. Your legs are massive, with thighs like tree trunks and calves that bulge comically. Your glutes are a round, firm rear end, exaggerated for maximum impact.

Your skin, a tanned, ruddy shade, is slick with sweat, and your face is rugged—broad nose, square jawline, and squinting eyes. Your hair is short and unkempt, often covered by a worn-out trucker hat. A stubbly beard or unshaven chin completes your rough-hewn appearance.

As you let rip an awful, wet fart, the room fills with an even more unbearable stench, a potent mix of stale beer, unwashed clothes, and a sense of neglect. The room begins to morph into a grotesque parody of a trailer home, with beer cans scattered around, a Confederate flag hanging in the corner, and Fox News blaring in the background, amplifying the grotesque transformation and reinforcing the overwhelming sense of repugnance and exaggerated masculinity.

You let out another loud, smelly fart as you heave yourself out of bed, your fat, jiggling ass giggling with each movement. You grab a beer from the fridge, your huge hands crushing the can. You take a swig, but most of it ends up pouring down your thick, muscular chest. You slam the empty can against your head, letting out a loud, wet belch.

Suddenly, you hear a call from outside. "Chet! Now, come out here and show your wife some loving!" You step out of the trailer and see the hottest little redneck chick you've ever laid eyes on. She's wearing a tiny American flag bikini, and there's a Trump 2024 sign in the yard. You swing your MAGA hat back and lay a big, wet kiss on her.

"Damn, baby, you're looking fine as hell today," you say, flexing your massive muscles for her. "The Lord sure did bless me with a fine piece of ass like you."

She giggles and grabs you another beer. "You better believe it, sugar. Now, why don't you take me inside and fuck my brains out?"

You grin, your eyes roaming over her curves. "Oh, I'll fuck you alright. I'll fuck you so hard, you'll be seeing stars and stripes for days." You grab her ass, feeling the soft flesh fill your huge hands. "But first, I gotta show you what these muscles can do. I'll make you scream so loud, the whole damn trailer park will know who you belong to."

She shivers in anticipation, pressing her body against yours. "Then what are you waiting for, big boy? Take me now, before I explode."

[1hot-mess-express1]

Thinking about nanami coming home after a long day at work, kicking his shoes off at the door and letting out a long breath before he hears the distinct sound of jazz emanating from the kitchen. He smiles to himself a little realizing that you pulled out his record player; he hasn’t touched that thing since he was a teenager obsessed with being retro, he groans internally at the thought. His long strides quickly lead him to the kitchen where you’re dancing slightly to the music playing and lightly singing along while making dinner, clearly unaware of his presence. However, what really catches his attention is that you’re wearing nothing but his shirt. It could hardly be called a shirt on your much smaller frame, the bottom of it grazing the back of your knees. When you reach into the cabinet above your head however he gets a teasing view of the very bottom of your ass and the moment has turned from something sweet to something rather crude as he reaches around your waist, effectively pinning you to the counter before slowly tracing open mouthed kisses from your jaw to your collarbone.

(He’s gonna marry you for sure)

[sombrashe]

hii!

can you pretty please write something for Norm MacLean x reader?

ty, and i love your blog!

content fluff, just so much fluff and a little angst if you squint, childhood friends to lovers, reader is a breeder and its their wedding day, gn!reader, chubby!reader

note(s) hiiiiii :3 im so happy you like my blog!! i hope you enjoy this little but of fluff | i didnt know how to end it so it might seem a little abrupt

"Norm?"

Your voice bounces off the concrete walls and back into your ears. Your heels click with every step, your shoes are nice and shiny for the occasion. He wasn't home, at Chet's, or in the fusion room. A long shared hiding spot. You frown as you turn down yet another hallway. A sea of copy-pasted doors muddle together in your eyes as you huff. Maintaining your peppy smile you grip the bouquet tighter. When you noticed Lucy, but no Norm to accompany her you had to pause everything. A much disagreed decision which led to Overseer MacLain chastising you for your decision. It wasn't a good idea to make Vault 31 wait but you couldn't care less.

"Norman."

Your voice grows in pitch as you backtrack out of the hallway and into an identical one. One furthest from your wedding and who do you find sitting with his back to you? Cleaning the connection line of the vault floor.

"Oh! Norm, there you are."

He doesn't turn back and simply gives you a quick hand raise and a simple, "Busy. Be done soon."

You give a soft giggle and crouch down behind him.

"Norman MacLean. It's rude to ignore the person being married. Especially on their wedding day."

He finally turns at that. Almost as if he just realized who was talking to him. Your smile is unrelenting a stark contrast to the stony expression he gives you in return.

"Well, are you coming?"

You stand and extend your hand only to frown when he simply glances at your palm.

"What's wrong?"

You start to worry as he takes his time replying. You never felt this before, the feeling of your stomach becoming a giant knot. Like all your intestines became worms and got themselves tangled in each other. You did not like this feeling.

"You're making my stomach hurt, Norm. What's going on? You said you would be there when I met my partner."

"I got assigned cleaning duty."

You scoff and roll your eyes, a smile gracing your lips again as if you solved one of the riddles in the vault newspaper.

"It's my wedding day. I'm sure Hank would understand. You're my best friend after all, he would want you to be there with me."

Hands on your hips you can't help but notice as your cheeks start to sting with all this frowning and smiling.

"Best friend. Yeah, okay."

He repeated you again.

"Norman, what's going on? Are you sick?"

Bending over at the waist you place the cool back of your hand to his warm forehead and chew on your bottom lip. He feels fine. So why is he acting like this?

"I'm fine. It's nothing."

He swats your hand away. Using his hands he pushes himself to stand.

"Let's just go."

"No. Not until you tell me what's going on. Why you're acting like this. You've never repeated me twice. You only do that when you're upset. Three times and I would have to call security."

You try to give him a smile and laugh, but he just pushes past you. Hurrying you catch up to him as he goes to turn the corner out of the hallway. Reaching out you're able to grab ahold of his suit before he makes it.

"I don't want you to get married."

His words are rushed and he refuses to look at you. You give a small laugh hoping he was joking. You didn't go through all this... all this moving on just for him to confuse you.

"Norm, you said you were excited when I told you I was chosen."

"I lied."

I lied echoes throughout the corridor. Your grip tightens on his suit as you soak in his words.

"You told me-."

"I lied. About everything. It wasn't just practicing for me. None of it was practice. You need this, I know. Now you know so you can move on. What are you hoping they look like?"

He gives you a false smile and it looks out of place especially with you mimicking his stony expression from before. Dropping your hand you furrow your eyebrows and slam the palm of your hand into his chest.

"You... jerk! All this time I thought you wanted to be just friends. Thought you regretted everything. Fudge, Norm. Why didn't you tell me? I would have never gone to the council and convinced them to let me get married."

He gives you a genuine smile and you want to hit him again. Maybe yell at him some more until he's cupping your cheeks. His eyes are intense as they stare into yours.

"I know how important fulfilling your job is, I would never ruin that for you. I thought it would be easier if I didn't show up."

"That's stupid. You're more important to me than any job. I would be just as fulfilled and happy scrubbing floors."

His eyes search yours. His fingertips press into the soft flesh of your cheeks. You can tell he wants to lean in closer. Do as you always did ever since you were children. You don't give him the chance to back away. Not again. Leaning forward you rest your forehead against his, nose smushes against each other making it difficult to breathe. As if you could breathe clearly given the circumstances.

He takes the initiative this time and closes the minuscule gap between your lips. Years as the Overseers son gave him access to anything he ever wanted and you can tell he uses it to take care of himself.

"Strawberry?"

"They figured out how to make this stick that makes your lips soft and they gave me one to try."

You giggle and kiss his soft sweet lips again and again. Breaking away to smack your lips covered in the foreign flavor. After a good thirty minutes, you hear your name being called from a dot down the hallway.

"Lucy." You whisper as your heart starts to rise and you fear you might throw it up.

Taking your hand he squeezes it tightly before letting it fall beside the fabric of your wedding gear.

"I don't want to get married anymore, Norm. What do I do?"

"We explain to Lucy and see what she has to say. She's the older sister for a reason."

[captain039]

Wasteland Heat (Redone)

Cooper Howard (The Ghoul) x Vault!Fem!reader 

Warnings: Violence, blood, gore, AOB dynamics, heat, oral F receiving, smut, swearing, fallout stuff, implied cousin incest, virgin reader, drug usage, needles, plus size reader, sexual assault

Our man ghoul will show up in part 2 xD 

Going off the show each episode sort of thing with more

Part 1

A ring on your pip boy disturbs your rest, you frown, glance at it and see the words 'Congratulations, you have been accepted for the marriage trade!' it makes you shoot up out of the white hospital bed and glance to the doctor looking at something on the terminal. 

"Sir?" You call and he lifts his head with an overly fake smile. 

"How can I help?" He asks. 

"Ah, my pip boy says I've been accepted for the marriage trade?" You say through the glass window and he frowns just before the overseer walks through. 

"Ah, you're awake my dear!" He says happily and you spot Lucy behind him with a smile on her face also. She holds up her pip boy showing the same message as yours and you frown showing yours also. 

"Overseer?" You question and he looks to your pip boy with a smile. 

"Both my lovely girls are getting married," He says happily and you freeze. 

"Married?" You stutter out glancing at Lucy worried. 

Your mother is the one who helps you get ready on the day of the trade. The overseer your stepfather hasn't answered any of your questions regarding why you're suddenly allowed out of the hospital area and getting married the same day. It's overwhelming going to other parts of the vault, following behind your mum as she shows you where she stays. She has a dress hung up, just below the knee, made with old curtains it looks like. You gulp a bit at it and follow her beckoning to the vanity desk. You stay quiet as she does your makeup, and hair and helps you get into the dress before giving you a big hug. You didn't hug back it had been too long since she deserved any of your affection. She would always fuss over you during the experiments, or 'doctor appointments' as she called them before leaving you in that hospital room to rest. She never hugged you after those, never comforted your crying during your teen years. You meet up with Lucy who frowns at you instantly knowing that something is wrong. She's been your sister growing up, she was the one who comforted you after those appointments or would spend time with you playing games and watching TV. She holds your hand as you walk down to the vault door that connects the two vaults, everyone from vault 33 behind you both. Norm is teasing Lucy about her future husband's looks while she huffs at him. You're too busy wondering what everything looks like and where you are in the vault, you think you took two rights and one left to get here, just in case you needed to run. Everyone smells so dull and mutated down here, nothing like what you half imagined. You were taught about the natural biology of Alpha, Beta and omegas, and the genetically made ones, but you didn't think it'd be a big difference, not that you've ever met another natural born. You reach the door and stop glancing at Chet who says there has been a malfunction, you frown seeing Lucy go over and whisper softly to him before squeezing his shoulder. The door opens with loud alarms that make you wince and look to the ground so the flashing lights affect you less. The door clunks open and a group walks through, your whole group tenses at their scents, they're all natural borns, you were warned about this.

"Welcome," Your stepfather says forcing his smile.

"I'm Overseer Hank Maclan" He greets. 

"Overseer Maldaver" the woman at the front nods her greet. 

"We're sorry about the recent passing of the old overseer and your crops, but as agreed we bring you seed for your new crops" your stepfather says behind you. 

"Thank you, it was a tragic passing, but with these terms, we bring you two breeders" She says as two men step out of the darkened hallway and into your vault. You stand frigid as the blond stands in front of you smirk on his face scent too overpowering and wrong.

"What are your names?" Lucy puts on a smile. 

"Monty" The man standing in front of her says the same weird smirk and gross smell. 

"Ethan," The blond says and you nod words unable to form. 

"I'm Lucy this is Y/n" Lucy introduces you instead and you thank her silently trying to avoid those overly dull blue eyes staring at you like you're a drug he is addicted to.

The ceremony went smoothly minus your kiss on the cheek instead of the lips act. The 32 vaulters acted a little strange but understandable from their lack of food for this long. You sit and enjoy your meal sitting next to Lucy as she tries to make conversation with her husband. You avoid all eye contact and dread when your stepfather says it is time to dance. You had never been in this part of the vault before, this was all new to you as you danced with your stepfather, then your husband. As the projectors set the sun low and night arrived you dreaded it. The touch he gave made you cringe and you tried your hardest to be a happy new wife. 

"Show me our new home?" Ethan whispers and you nod and swallow silently before guiding him to your designated vault home. 

"This is it" You say trying to act as if this wasn't all new and how different your life had truly been. You look around as the door hisses shut and arms snake around your waist making you tense. 

"So jumpy" He whispers into your neck and you cringe. You want to break free from his hold but have to hold up the act. 

"Can I freshen up?" You whisper trying to sound interested. 

"Course you can" He chuckles darkly and lets go as you all but run to the bathroom. You close the door and lock it with a loud breath, you struggle to breathe as you switch the shower on and grip the sink. You pull out the pins in your hair, the feeling of it up too tight around your skull. You want to rip this stupid homemade curtain dress off but don't want to be left with no clothes on. You leave the shower on to act like you're in while you slide down onto the cold bathroom floor rest your head in your hands and try to take some breaths. 

"Don't be too long omega i can't wait to have a taste" Ethan chuckles on the other side of the door and it makes you want to throw up. You turn the shower off curse the dress and slip it off too before wrapping yourself in a towel and dabbing on some perfume. You hesitate by the door before opening it with a smile as he turns around, suit already half off, arms tied around the waist. You stop in your tracks at the show of muscle and panic a little as he smirks and comes closer. He holds your arms leaning into your neck and inhaling before he pulls back with a frown. 

"Why did you put perfume on?" He narrows his eyes at you angrily and you tense and gulp. 

"I'm sorry, I can wash it off," You say pointing back to the bathroom but he just growls annoyed.

"Forget it, I will enjoy this while I can" He snaps and roughly drags you to the bed. 

"We have our whole lives ahead of us!" You say panicked as he forces his mouth onto your jaw and neck, and kisses roughly. You freeze then, mind blank as he forces the towel to fall to the floor and sees you in your underwear. He gropes your covered breasts before your instinct kicks in and you clench a fist and punch his jaw. He's unprepared for it and you scramble back grabbing a kitchen knife and holding it towards him. He holds his jaw and smirks at you before speaking. 

"I like it when they fight" He mutters going to storm forward as alarms blare. You frown distracted and the knife is knocked from your hands, you cry a little before dodging his grab and dart for the bathroom. You lock yourself in quickly and jolt when he bashes loudly on the door, yelling for you to unlock it. You go into the nearest corner and curl in on yourself, hugging your knees as you try to block out the banging, alarms and gunshots. 

A loud gunshot goes off as does a thump before a knock comes. 

"Sweetheart?" You hear your stepfather and quickly stand ignoring your current attire. You open the door, tears down your face as you hug him tightly. 

"You're alright" He sighs in relief arms going around you tightly. 

"Let's get you some clothes" He says and heads over to grab a jumpsuit for you before handing it to you. You slip it on and zip it up, wiping your eyes even though more tears just come out. 

"Stick close ok?" He says and you nod holding his free hand and following him out of the vault room. It's a massacre, you head to the crops and see Lucy there, you call to her and she runs over and hugs you tightly before your pip boy alerts you of a gate opening and an intruder. You follow your stepfather through the vault before you see who is left from Vault 33 on their knees, beaten with the so called Vault 32 around them. 

"I think I know who you are" Your stepfather mutters to the woman Maldaver. 

"Everyone knows who I am," She says.

"I'm gonna give you a choice Hank, them or them" She points her gun to you and Lucy and the the rest of vault 33 on their knees. A gun cocks behind you, aimed at Lucy and another cocks and one is aimed at you. 

"Life's full of little choices" She says and your stepfather grabs you and Lucy by the arms and drags you into a nearby closet. 

"No, no Dad!" Lucy says as he locks the door on you both. Lucy bangs against the door but it's no use as the woman shoots your father in the back with tranqs and two men drag him away. 

"Best do what you always do, Run," Maldaver says to the remaining Vault people and disappears down the vault gate. A beeping gets louder and the rest of your vault runs and disappears from view before an explosion goes off. You and Lucy jolt back as the flames hit the door but don't come in. You stare replaying what just happened in your head, the rush of it all as you grip Lucy's hand.

It feels like a long wait before you're finally let out by Steph. She hugs Lucy who hugs her back before she looks at you uncertainly but hugs you anyway. It's nice, the hug she gives before she leads you too back to everyone in the vault who has gathered in the crop field. You see Norm and sigh in relief as Lucy hugs him, you give him a small smile before sitting down by him. 

"What has happened is a tragedy" Betty speaks up and you glance at everyone. You only know these people by name though, except Norm and Lucy and Doctor Anderson sitting on the left, the rest are practically strangers despite you all living together. 

"But we are strong" Betty continues. 

"And we will get through this" She finishes. 

It's strange being out of the hospital room and around the Vault, you mainly stick with Lucy on cleaning duties, trying not to gag at the amount of blood that can come from one human. The Vault cleans up quickly and people are returning to regular life, except you. You stay in Lucy's room, well her past husband and her's room. There is a large double bed big enough for the both of you and you've made it your small sanctuary. 

"I need to find him" She says one night in the darkness and you roll over to face her. 

"If not someone else than me," She says rolling to face you. 

"Lucy" you mutter unsure of what to say.

"What can I do?" You ask quietly. 

"You can come with me" She says her voice determined but quiet like someone may hear.

"I just got out of the hospital area," You say. 

"We can explore the world, find Dad and bring him home! I'll bring it up at the assembly tomorrow" She tries to talk it up but you shake your head with a sigh. 

"I'm not built for up there" You mutter. You don't want her to go on her own though and who knows what they will do to you if she's gone. You weren't going back into that hospital area, never again.

"I'll go," You say after some silence and sense her smile. 

The assembly suggestion goes down instantly so it's to you, Lucy, Chet, Steph and Norm to get out of this place. With the fight for Overseer place you and Lucy can make preparations in quiet and undisturbed. It takes two days to get ready, two days of pure anxiety just to see the Vault door entrance. 

"I'm going with you," Chet says suddenly as he holds the Vault key in a shakey hand as alarms begin to ring.

"You can't" Lucy says and his lower lip trembles. 

"Who else will protect you!" He whispers yells and she sighs. You see her grab a tranq from her pocket and press it to Chet's hand. 

"Sorry Chet" She mutters as the door slowly opens with creaks and loud groans. 

"Don't do it!" You hear behind you making you glance at the two members of the council. You and Lucy are already across the bridge though and the sun blaring on your faces.

"Come back here right now young ladies!" The older one says. You feel Lucy grab your hand and look at her, she gives a small nod which you return and you both step out into the blaring sun and sandy terrain. The alarms stop as the door seals shut again and it's just your harsh pounding heart and breaths. It's a little difficult to breathe but you get used to the warmth and the sound of sand under your boot as you follow Lucy silently. You go past rubble and some skeletons before you see what Lucy was going to, the ocean. The rasps of waves on sand filling your ears, the sun shining down on your face. 

"Okey Doky" Lucy says.

Next part ->

[raayllum]

I know you were ready to lay CHET to rest after this season but… Callum still has the cube, we still don’t know *exactly* what it does but Aaravos will presumedly need it, and all that foreshadowing about Callum choosing Rayla over the greater good? I still believe

i'll have a more coherent post about this when i'm not running on under 7 hours of sleep for 24+ hours (close to 30+ now honestly) but no i feel so Fucking Crazy right now precisely because i went into s6, our penultimate season, expecting to finally get to lay CHET and its variants (5x08 my beloved) to rest after 4+ years, every season for 3 seasons in a row i've been ready to lay it down, and yet it's still on the Goddamn Table arguably more than ever before

Obviously certain things have changed — Callum's thematic associations with freedom would switch probably to having a role to play in 'unlocking' Aaravos' full power and/or giving him access to the other Startouch elves somehow — but both of those things are stuff I've considered being related to the cube before (as well as dark magic) so not much is actually changing there fundamentally.

What continues to change is the sheer assortment of evidence that Callum is going to play into Aaravos' hands for her (the initial basis of CHET), and Rayla is likewise going to refuse to sacrifice him (thereby shortly followed by mutual salvation theory), and 6x03 is a Giant Sign blinking Pay Attention in bright neon.

Rayla: Listen to me. If you ever have to choose between me and the greater good, do the right thing. Make the sacrifice.

Nevermind that 'right thing' is subjective and that sacrificing loved ones is routinely seen as Bad ("We must be willing to sacrifice, even the things we love" / "My daughter [...] and I tried to kill you") and that Aaravos (one of Rayla's primary foils) likewise demanded for Viren to 'make a sacrifice' regarding Sir Sparklepuff in 5x09. It'd be one thing, mind you, for Rayla to just bring up this Hypothetical and it could conceivably be dropped, but then Callum makes the basis of CHET's adjacent Mutual Salvation Theory explicit in tethering Rayla's request to his own:

Rayla: What? Callum: If Aaravos ever controls me again, if he ever uses me, promise me you'll kill me. Rayla: Yes. I promise.

(There's a few different things we can read both into Callum's renewed approach and Rayla's changed response, but meta for another day).

What this conversation does, though, is link these things in the audience's mind. If half is called upon their deal in a scenario, it's only logical that the other will be too. And, of course, Aaravos has to inevitably possess Callum, and Callum (as a main protagonist and usher of a new age of magic) cannot die, so Rayla has to break her promise (a la TTM) to keep him alive, freeing up room in the narrative to Callum likewise break his (more thinly made tbh) promise as well. The easiest order of events, therefore, is for Callum to break his promise first in order to save/protect her, be possessed, and then Rayla breaks her promise in saving him. Mutual salvation and all that

The fact we have other characters and plot threads routinely referring back to and building up Rayllum's thematic basis for each plot turn in S7 is just the cherry on top.

(We also see Rayla talk not just one but two 'monsters' down corrupted by desperation and grief, so while it may retread more territory if she does the same to Callum, there's certainly more than a precedent. For Callum, 2/3 dark magic times were for Rayla, and you don't introduce Big Extra Scary 'permanently ruined by dark magic' Stakes if you're not gonna use them as a way to escalate things, either, even if of course given that it's S7, there will be ways out and a happy ending).

Insert Callum putting the star rune sign directly down against her palm.

I think it's likely the cube is still involved somehow (all the ominous foreshadowing including and most prevalently featured in the pawn intro doesn't suddenly go away, and was only added to in S6) and really, this is about the only parallel I personally need anymore to keep chugging along theory wise:

Like it's Over and at this point we just gotta wait for S7, tbh, especially when a big juicy angsty mutual Rayllum plotline is more than in order after their relatively fluffy (loved) plotline in S6

[deirdreskye]

Commercial I would produce as an advertising executive:

We see a husband approach his wife in the kitchen and he smacks her on the rear as she's unplugging a crockpot full of buffalo chicken dip. Their friends have turned the dining room table into beer pong tournament and the kids are laughing in the play room. It's Super Bowl Sunday.

This scene of domestic bliss plays out before us. Warm laughter, excited shouting as their team scores a touchdown, the wife steals a kiss from her husband between sips of wine. This must be what heaven looks like.

The doorbell rings and the husband grudgingly puts his beer down to go answer the door. Who could it be?

He opens the door and we see the latecomer: a giant slug the size of a man, wet and pink and undulating.

"You son of a bitch!" The husband exclaims. "We didn't think you'd make it! How the hell are ya?"

The slug gives no reply but the husband brings the creature into a warm embrace, its viscous discharge soaking his shirt. "Aw, hell, man," he laughs. "Say it, don't spray it!"

The slug makes its grand arrival in the living room, leaving a trail of slime on the hardwood floors. It receives a warm welcome. "Here comes trouble!" "They'll let anyone in this place!" "You missed the first quarter!"

We are subjected to a montage of scenes from the Superbowl party.

-

The kids excitedly dash in to crowd around the creature. "Mr. Wormy! We missed you!" they exclaim, hugging the thing and getting covered in its ooze. Several orifices around the creature's body begin to secrete a dark, chunky substance and the children begin to greedily eat it, their hands and mouths covered in its oily residue

"Whoa whoa whoa, I didn't raise you kids in a barn!" The mother says. "Go get some cups from the kitchen!"

-

"Yo, Mr. Wormy, you gotta try the buffalo chicken dip. It's to die for!" The husband says. He grabs a dripping handful of the warm orange cream cheese from the crockpot and pushes it into the folds of the creature's flesh.

"Quit bogarting the buff dip, hombre!" "Save some for the rest of us why don't ya?"

-

"Yo, Mr. W, I gotta use the can but I am NOT missing the game. Help me out?"

A sphincter at the top of the slug's "head" gapes itself open, and the guest drops his slacks and boxers to his ankles and climbs on top in front of everyone.

"Hoochie mama, that dip's even spicier coming out!"

"Just don't leave the seat up. Trust me, you'll thank me for that one when you and Stacy get married!"

"IF they get married, you mean!"

A loud belch is heard from the creature and the room explodes with laughter.

-

"Alright fellas, the game is over and the kids are in bed. I think we all know what this means!"

"Oh brother," the wife says, rolling her eyes at the other women. "Boys will be boys!"

The men are seen chanting "Wormy! Wormy! Wormy!" at each other as they take turns fucking the folds and sphincters and orifices that line the creature's body.

"Ah geez, Mr. W! Warn me before I fuck a hole with a gizzard stone!"

"Now THAT'S tight! I think my wife could learn a thing or two from you, Mr. Wormy!"

"And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why we used to call Chet the Two Pump Chump!"

-

As the party is winding down, the men are putting their clothes back on, saying their farewells and getting ready to part ways when the creature starts to heave and convulse.

"You okay, Mr. Wormy?"

Everyone looks on as the creature heaves one last time and a copious amount of murky amniotic fluid begins to pour from one of the creature's holes. The sphincter begins to crown and a human baby is deposited onto the carpet. It has an adult-sized head and the face looks exactly like the husband, goatee and all. It's not moving.

The husband nervously tugs his collar. One of his friends calls out, "Check please!"

The wife comes back from the kitchen holding a roll of Brawny paper towels, a playfully annoyed expression on her face.

It's not a good party if things don't get a little messy. Brawny's got you covered.

[quietblueriver]

Could not stop thinking about Marisha discussing self-worth as Laudna’s fatal flaw and this emerged in a flurry last night and during lunch. It’s all Laudna, immediately after the conversation with the Hells after sword-gate, and it builds a bit from this. Don’t usually write from Laudna’s perspective but giving it a go. She deserves so much, y’all, ugh.

Okay, anyway, angst ahead.

-

There wasn’t going to be any easy drifting off, not after the events of the last hour, but it’s even more difficult without Imogen. Laudna has grown spoiled, there’s no denying it, and she misses the heat of Imogen’s body and the pleasant burn of her touch.

It’s her own fault, of course, there’s no denying that either, and the cold and lonesomeness are a fit punishment. And in any case, even if she didn’t deserve it, her eyes are still intermittently leaking ichor. There’d be no point in dirtying Imogen’s bedding as well.

The rest of the Hells also seem to be having trouble sleeping, aside from Chet, anyway, whose familiar, constant racket is broken by a chorus of shifting bodies and too-loud sighs. She can hardly blame them; after all, she’s the monster and she can’t even sleep with herself in the room.

Delilah has gone quiet, something Laudna appreciates usually, still appreciates now, but it’s a much closer call than usual. Because Laudna, left with herself and the thoughts that are really, truly her own, feels somehow both restless enough that her skin itches and so heavy that it’s almost as if the ground has remembered she shouldn’t be walking and is trying to suck her back into itself, into the stillness where she belongs.

It’s not the ground, not really, because there’s her bedroll and the floor and the floor below that, and likely a cellar, at least, and Imogen would roll her eyes at the joke and Laudna wants to peel back her skin and help her tendons escape. Instead, she forms strings of ichor between her fingers, twisting them absently as she thinks.

It’s not productive, she’s well aware, to keep running through the night’s events, the fight for the sword, the conversation with Imogen on the rooftop, the conversation with everyone else afterward. Still, she can’t stop, and maybe that’s fit punishment, too. If she’s going to try to use Delilah’s power, she’s going to have to make decisions like she did earlier and to deal with their fallout.

The niggling, snide voice in her head clears its proverbial throat. A remnant of Matilda, it has become bloated and ever more confident from three decades with Delilah, even if it now appears less frequently, smart enough to wait until Laudna is alone so that it can’t be challenged by Imogen, who may always come knocking even with her circlet.

The cadence and tone are of Matilda’s life as well, a bit of Master Elron, who used to make her stand in the front of the class when she got distracted, back rigid against the snickers of her classmates, and a bit of her grandmother, who used to pinch her until she bruised for any perceived infraction or imperfection. Sure of itself, always, and smug in its confidence.

Laudna forms fists, ichor squeezing between the gaps in her fingers and nails digging lightly into her palm as it speaks.

And what, exactly, makes you think that you’re strong enough to use Delilah? If you recall, you forced poor Imogen and all the others to come rescue you from the tree where she’d trapped you in your own mind. Have you changed so much in a few months? Grown so much more powerful?

It’s a fair point. She’d told Imogen, told the others, that she wants to use Delilah, that Delilah owes her. It’s rather easy to stand by the latter, murder and all that, but the former, while not a lie, feels, when she’s outside the passion of the moment, to be…a stretch.

Not a stretch. An impossibility. What you should have said is that you’re going to let Delilah use you. Isn’t that right?

The voice has never been kind or shy, but it has, undeniably, often been right. It was right when it reminded Matilda that she likely wouldn’t have had dirt thrown all over her face and dress if she’d just pretended, acted a bit more like the other children instead of saying all the things that popped into her mind.

It was right when it reminded her that she wouldn’t have been murdered if she’d just been a little smarter, a little less gullible. After all, what possibly could have prompted a lady to invite Matilda as company for dinner? Not that she should have anticipated murder, of course–the voice wasn’t paranoid; it merely knew enough about Matilda, about who she was and what she could offer, to be pragmatically suspicious–but there was no world in which that invitation came without strings.

Now, it’s right that Laudna using Delilah is, at best, a tenuous proposition.

She turns her foot and ankle, twists and presses against the sturdy floor until each joint aches in protest, threatens to dislodge. Unwilling to risk waking the others with the noise of her bones, which are as likely to escape their bounds with a shocking loud crack as with a muted pop, she rides the edge and uses the hurt to silence the voice for a moment, assesses herself.

She is not a liar. It’s understandable, that they’re suspicious, that Imogen is suspicious, even if it hurts her, but Laudna cannot help that the truth right now seems much less like a looking glass and much more like a mud puddle.

She believed fiercely what she said about Delilah in their conversations tonight. She believed that she had a real chance, that she could do something good with all of her bad. It was truth to her.

She does not dismiss the Laudna of that moment now in the tempering darkness. That optimism and fervency have allowed her to survive this long. The beliefs and confidence they inspire are genuine. When the flame burns lower, though, she can acknowledge that her most ardent optimism is a force against the ruthlessness of reality and that it cannot see the full truth and maintain itself.

Even without the fire of the zealot, though, she still hopes. She is uninterested in doom as an outlook, finds it unproductive and just as divorced from reality as its opposite. So a part of her, small as it may be in the face of cruel facts, hopes very much to use Delilah, hopes that she can harness whatever power is available to her in service to Imogen and their friends. She hopes and she’s going to try to give that hope its best chance.

A toe frees itself from its joint, the click quiet enough that Laudna is confident only she could hear it, but she reaches down to force it back and then stops her motion anyway. The voice returns.

Trying is all well and good, but outmatching her would require someone much more capable, dear. You know that. You’ve always been a little easily led, and we’ve been down that road before, hmm? Ask Orym.

She brings her thumb to her mouth and bites at the nail, tugging until a large portion comes loose. The pain is more than she anticipated, deeper into her quick than she meant, and she sucks the raw skin dripping black into her mouth to stifle the noise that threatens to escape.

As it throbs satisfyingly, she thinks about Orym and the sword. It killed them. It killed her. It was evil and it didn’t belong, and she wanted it gone. It was her choice. Her choice.

Except that Laudna hadn’t been lying to Imogen on the roof, either, when she said she wasn’t sure whether it was worth distinguishing herself from Delilah. She confused even herself as she wavered between her hope and her fears, a messy, sticky thing and probably the most complete view of the truth.

It doesn’t surprise her that her love for Imogen, her desire to protect her, left her grasping for coherence, her own mind unwilling to withhold what might help her but unable to reconcile the parts of itself, muddling confident reassurances and righteousness with doubts and fears and warnings. All true but so obviously incompatible when presented together.

Still, it’s easier to prioritize when it’s Imogen’s future that’s at stake. Some things are constant. Laudna is a dead end and always has been. And as for the rest, well, with Imogen on the line, hope loses to the present moment, and she must admit that she isn’t sure how to distinguish herself from Delilah.

The natural consequence of that particular admission is that she can no longer honestly be sure whether her hope, her plan to use Delilah, isn’t itself the product of Delilah’s meddling, a ploy to get Laudna to give what’s left of herself willingly.

There it is, the voice whispers as the painful pulsing of her thumb eases. If there’s no point in distinguishing, what, exactly, is choice? If there’s no point in distinguishing, how much more of you is there really left to give?

She digs an incisor into the exposed quick and rolls to her side so that she can torture herself with a view of Imogen, the familiar bow of her spine as she sleeps. Laudna wants to count her vertebrae with her fingers, sates herself by counting the toes of the foot that has been flung out from her blanket and then counting them again and again. There are five each time. The voice is quiet.

Laudna loves her, stops the implication of Delilah’s infiltration at the door of that love. This, still, is hers. She lets herself believe the silence inside her is motivated by agreement rather than pity.

She removes her thumb from her mouth so that she might gnaw at her lip, dig her incisor into the fragile skin with more pressure than is required. She draws the wound into her mouth and holds it against the back of her front teeth, ichor sticky on her tongue.

Laudna doesn’t want pity, even from herself. Pity is what you give to someone who has lost all control of their circumstances. Pity is what you give to a lost cause.

The Hells don’t pity her. The opposite, really. They seem to believe Laudna is someone. That Laudna is special.

There’s a reason she chose you. You know that, right? Imogen’s plaintive voice echoes, edged with frustration, and Laudna hears herself, hears the truth. I don’t think I do.

Because she’s almost certain that if there is a truth of her lives, of the most remarkable pieces of her lives, it is this: If she has ever been special, it has been because others have made her so. Vex’ahlia made Matilda worth killing. Delilah makes Laudna powerful. Imogen makes Laudna palatable.

Without them, she’s simply Laudna, who was simply Matilda, who was strange but entirely forgettable once one left her presence. No one, when it came down to it. Unfortunately for her, she was no one who, if the observer were quite drunk or had terrible vision, vaguely resembled someone quite her opposite. Someone who was beautiful and powerful and far too smart to allow herself to be tortured and hung from a tree in living effigy. And being that kind of no one in a town with Delilah Briarwood turned out to be a death sentence.

It’s an incredible kindness for the others to try to build her up, to tell her that Delilah chose her, that it wasn’t merely chance or awful luck. They’re her friends, and quite good ones at that, as far as Laudna can tell. They believe what they’re saying, and she hardly knows what to do with so much good intention.

But Laudna knows better. After all, they never knew Matilda, and they only came to know Laudna through Imogen’s brave and inexplicable affection, which is so steadfast that it shames strangers who once would have thrown rocks at her into feeling their repulsion without acting on it. What’s a grimace to a stone? Although Imogen’s indignation at that relatively small unkindness is still a force. Between Imogen and Delilah, Laudna was allowed to become something more than herself to their little group.

As for Imogen herself, her perception of Laudna is a mystery Laudna is quite certain she’ll never understand. For some reason, Imogen sees her in the gracious light of love, where Laudna’s shadows become possibilities, her sharpest and most feral features softened and blurred. Transformative.

Barely conscious, eyes clamped closed against the searing pain at her ear, a woman’s voice close enough that she can feel the contrast of her breath against the cold damp of the air. It’s confusing, the conversational tone against the background of repeated, erratic clangs of something heavy against metal and what she’s beginning to suspect are her own screams. “Not quite the resemblance I’d hoped, in the end, but don’t worry, dear. From the right angle with the right light, you’ll look just like her. Now be a good girl and hold still for the other side, hmm?”

Transformative.

It’s such a beautiful way to see someone, so very like Imogen, but in the end, it’s an impairment like any other, really. Although what a gift it has been, that Imogen cannot see her for what she is.

She licks at the last of the ichor on her lip and curls her own body in a mirror to Imogen’s. It is Delilah’s voice that whispers, That’s quite enough, I think. Sleep, child.

And she does.

[mynameismckenziemae]

Unbroken

Part 11

(previous part here, next part here)

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x You

Summary: More time goes by and Bradley moves in. You get some news that shocks you to your core.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Adult language and themes, pregnancy talk.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

“Sick again, sweetheart?” Bradley asks with a yawn as he stumbles into the bathroom. He rubs your back as you empty your stomach into the toilet.

“Yeah,” you moan as your stomach turns again. “Sorry I woke you up again.”

This is the fourth morning in a row you’ve woken up on your way to the bathroom covering your mouth. You both had the stomach flu a few weeks ago and Bradley’s back to normal but you haven’t felt right since.

“It’s okay, I had to get up anyway,” he murmurs, wetting a washcloth with cool water and wiping it over your forehead. “Maybe you should go to the doctor?”

You nod. “I think so too. I’ll call when they open.”

“Mmkay,” he replies, placing a kiss on the top of your head. “Let me know what they say.”

“I will,” you say, wiping your mouth and flushing the toilet once you close the lid. “Thanks.”

“For what?” He asks, crouching down to brush your hair off your neck to place the cool cloth there.

“Taking care of me when I’m sick,” you reply, closing your eyes as you remember the way Chet laughed and left you heaving on the ground the first time he got you drunk. “Not being grossed out by me emptying my guts the past few mornings.”

“I want to because I love you, Em,” he says, rubbing soothing circles on your back.

“I love you too,” you whisper.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

Once the nausea is at bay, he helps you to your feet and gets in the shower as you brush your teeth.

“We should be done by 4 today, and then I’m going to stop by the apartment to pick up the last of the boxes, but you can call me if you need anything. We’re just in the classroom today,” he says over the running water.

You had been meaning to ask him to move in for a while but didn’t know how to bring it up; but that was remedied when you blurt it out after a particularly good round of morning sex a few weeks ago.

“I will,” you say, heading back to the bedroom to lie down as another round of nausea hits.

Emma: Hey guys, I’m not feeling well again and I’m gonna make an appointment with my doctor when they open. Do you think one of you could see Akin’s new calf? That’s all I had on the schedule for today.

Gav: Of course, feel better.

Noah: No problem. Let us know how it goes.

Emma: Will do. Thanks guys. I appreciate it.

•.•.��.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

You snooze until Bradley leaves you with a kiss and a reminder to call the doctor.

You set an alarm and make an appointment for 10:00 AM and plan to have labs drawn beforehand.

Emma: Made an appointment for 10:00.

Bradley: Good, let me know how it goes. Love you.

Emma: I will. Love you too.

You drop a coffee off for Charlie on the way to the lab since the therapy department is connected to the hospital.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Charlie yawns before she takes a drink. “Jake kept me up way too late last night.”

“Gross,” you scrunch your nose. “Be careful what you say, I actually might throw up this time.”

“Stomach still bothering you?” She asks after she giggles.

“Yeah, it woke me up again this morning,” you reply, checking your watch. “I better go though, they want me to have labs drawn before the visit.”

“Let me know what they say,” she murmurs, hugging you.

“I will,” you reply, giving her a squeeze before letting her get back to work.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

By the time the doctor comes in, you’re feeling back to normal and feeling a little silly for making an appointment.

“Good morning, Emma,” your doctor smiles as she shakes your hand. “We’re still waiting on a few labs to come back but I figured I’d come in and take a look at you and ask you a few questions.”

You nod, lying back as she guides you down and begins her exams, starting with your stomach.

“Any breast tenderness?” She asks as she palpates said area.

“A little,” you answer. “It’s not uncommon for me though; I take my birth control pills continuously, taking a break every 3 months to get a period.”

“Okay. When was your last period?” She asks as she helps you up.

“About a week before we got sick,” you reply, swinging your legs at the end of the exam table.

“Alright, let’s see if those results are in,” she says, clicking around. “Well, I know what’s going on.”

“What?” You reply, heart pounding.

“You’re pregnant.”

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

“…help me put her feet up and get an ice pack,” you hear the doctor say. She sounds far away.

“What…what happened?” You say, sounding funny to your own ears; your tongue feels heavy.

“You fainted, honey. It’s okay, happens all the time,” the sweet old nurse reassures you, wiping a cool washcloth on your forehead. Just like Bradley did this morning.

Oh God, Bradley.

Your stomach rolls as you think of him leaving you.

“I can’t be pregnant,” you say, trying to shake your head. Your lips go numb as you begin to hyperventilate. “I take my pill every day, I’ve never missed one or taken one late. I’m not- I can’t-“

“Shhh,” the nurse shushes you. “Everything’s okay. Breathe with me, okay? Inhale for 3. 1…2…3, good.”

“Is there anyone I can call? Someone close by?” The doctor asks from your other side once your breathing is back under control.

“My sister, Charlie Seresin. She works down in PT,” you say, closing your eyes as the nausea starts to creep in.

“Oh, I know Charlie. I’ll go get her,” the nurse nods and pats your hand before heading toward the door.

“Is this a welcomed surprise?” The doctor asks as she rubs your hand. “I know last time it wasn’t.”

“I-I don’t know,” you say, closing your eyes as you try not to panic. “It’s not like last time, no. My boyfr-my Bradley-we just started to go without condoms a few months ago, I thought it would be okay since I’m so diligent with taking it.”

“You were doing everything right,” she assures you. “According to your HCG levels, you’re about 6 weeks along, which coincides with you being sick.”

“And it’s probably not very effective if you throw up shortly after taking it,” you say, lip trembling as you begin to cry as you realize. “I’m so stupid.”

“You’re not-“

There’s a knock on the door and Charlie rushes in.

“What’s wrong?” Charlie asks, rushing to your side.

“I’m…pregnant,” you choke out on a sob.

“Hey, hey, look at me,” she says, wiping a tear and holding your face between her hands. “Bradley’s not Chet. Bradley’s not going to leave you. Okay?”

You nod through your tears.

“He loves you and he’s going to be so happy,” she whispers, kissing your forehead. “He’s going to be the best dad and you’re going to be the best mom. This isn’t a bad thing. It’s maybe a little sooner than you’d like, but it’s going to be okay, okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper, trying to believe her.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

Charlie holds your hand as the doctor goes over what to expect in early pregnancy and helps you set up an ultrasound for the following morning.

All while you ignore the constant buzzing of your phone.

“Are you sure you’re okay to drive?” Charlie asks as she walks you out to your truck.

“Yeah,” you say, giving her the best smile you can muster.

“Okay, text me when you get home,” she says, obviously not convinced.

“I will,” you agree.

“Everything’s going to be okay, Em. This isn’t a bad thing. Bradley’s not going anywhere,” She murmurs after wrapping you in her arms. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

“Okay,” you nod, tears filling your eyes again.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

You drive home on autopilot and suddenly you’re in your driveway without remembering a thing about the ride.

You pull out your phone and wince at the 11 missed calls and 7 new texts from Bradley as you open Charlie’s thread.

Emma: I’m home. Gonna lay down for a bit, I’m exhausted.

Charlie: Okay, please call Bradley, he’s freaking out.

Emma: 👍

Instead, you turn your phone off before changing into one of Bradley’s threadbare US Navy tees and climbing under your covers as tears steadily fall from your eyes. A sob leaves you when you smell his sweet shampoo on your pillow.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

“Emma?! Where are you?!” Bradley’s panicked voice pulls you from your slumber.

“In here,” you croak; your voice hoarse from your sobs. Your head pounds as you sit up.

He rushes into the bedroom and wraps you in his arms. “Thank God. That was the longest 27-minute drive of my life” he breathes, pulling back to look you in the eye, face falling as he takes in your tear-swollen eyes. “Oh sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

You just shake your head and bury your face into his shoulder as you begin to cry again.

“Whatever it is, we’ll get through it, okay?” He says, stroking your back which just makes you cry harder. “It’ll be okay.”

Your tears eventually begin to slow and you take a deep breath before pulling away from his shoulder but unable to meet his eye.

“What’d the doctor say?” he asks, wiping away your tears with his thumbs.

“That I’m not sick,” you whisper.

“Okay, that’s good,” he replies, pressing a kiss to your lips and tilting your chin up. “What’s going on then? Talk to me, baby.”

You take a shaky breath and finally meet his eye.

“I’m pregnant.”

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

A/N: sorry for being MIA lately. Been a little discouraged and a lot busy.

Did anyone see this twist coming? 🙂

As always, any interaction is appreciated but I love hearing what you think in comments/reblogs!

Tagging (please let me know if you want to be added/removed!):

@mamamaystbr

@its-the-pilot

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[cjonesjr]

・﹒・ from vault 32 [2]

Summary: You got approved for a marriage partner from Vault 31 after not finding a suitable boyfriend in your own. After meeting your future husband, and standing ready to saw your vows, you both agree to call it off. But they couldn't not have a wedding- so you chose his cousin.

Warnings: 18+, arranged marriage

Pairing: Norman MacLean x GN!reader

Parts: Part 1

"No" Everyone gasped as they heard you deny your marriage, however it was a pathetic denial. So you spoke again, properly speaking to everyone.

"No- this won't work out. He doesn't want to marry me, I don't want to marry him. I-I thought this was going to be the happiest day of my life but...it isn't exactly how I imagined it...ha" Everyone went into a frenzy, talking to each other on what to do since this never happened. Your heart was beating out of your chest as you looked back at Chet, he was sweating bullets from how nervous he was.

"Y-yeah. We should just call it off, ya know?" He smiled awkwardly as he turned to finally speak, but they still all spoke with each other. A minute passed before the overseer- Lucy and Norm's dad- told everyone to hush as he stood up.

"As this has not happened before, we had to discuss what to do. And we have come to a conclusion. We can call this off for you Chet, but for you ____, we can find a more suitable husband for you and reschedule" A few people sighed and groaned, claiming they didn't want to leave without going through a wedding today. Well- you would give them a wedding today. Looking at Norm, you knew this was going to work out.

"We don't have to reschedule- I'll just marry him" You nodded your chin forward to further clear up that you meant Norm. Everyone gasped again as they couldn't believe it was him, he also looked slightly alarmed as he pointed to himself to further confirm. But everyone started to push him up out of his chair and to the stage and didn't stop until he was in front of you, consequently pushing Chet off and onto the grass.

"If you don't want to do this, you don't have to, I didn't mean to put you on the spot like that" You cringed as you realized that you didn't give him much of a choice and laughed weakly.

"No, no, it's ok...I actually think you're really cute" God he was so adorable your heart was going to explode as pink dusted his cheeks.

"I think you're really cute too" Biting your lip, the officiate restated the vows. Your heart was beating fast again, but this time it was from excitement. Well- it was equal excitement and anxiousness.

"Norman MacLean, do you take ___ to be your lawfully wedded spouse?" Norm just looked at you for a few seconds before saying his final confirmation about this.

"I do" Why did that make your heart flutter so much? Sure- you had hoped your wedding day with your future husband would make you happy, but even if you didn't know him much yet, you chose him, and he chose you back.

"And do you, ___, take Norman MacLean to be your lawfully wedded husband?" This time, you didn't say no.

"I do"

"You may now kiss" You wasted no time pulling him in, kissing him passionately as he kissed back. He wasn't fully prepared for how aggressive you were, but his hands made their way to your waist as you heard everyone whop and cheer. After a bit, you pulled away panting but not all the way as you leaned up to his ear and made sure he heard something only you wanted him to hear.

"I can't wait to take every piece of clothing off you tonight" At that- his already red face grew redder as he stared at you with wide eyes. You saw his father throw his arm around his son who was still processing everything and what you told him as the man congratulated him and Chet thanked him for saving him from a marriage he didn't want. Your parents then came up and hugged you, mother crying and father failing not to cry. However, you couldn't stop staring at your now-husband. You then saw Lucy as she came up to you and she had on a soft smile.

"I know you'll take care of him, but if you hurt him-"

"I know, I know, I won't. Don't worry Lucy, I'll take really good care of him" You reassured her, finding her protectiveness so sweet, and looked at Norm as he looked back at you. Your new life had just started and it was with a man you had a feeling was the right choice.