#by the end of the series i think there’s respect there

[ceaseless-exhauster]

Two things to add:

One, I would rephrase “the elites” as “corporations and billionaires” or at least “people in power” because I think it’s more accurate and I tend to be skeptical of phrasing any groups as “the elites” due to the antisemitic history of the phrase itself

But far more importantly in this instance: referring to the dead internet theory as an “online conspiracy theory” is absolutely fucking WILDIN. Yes, it became recently popularized because of a (probably tongue-in-cheek) conspiracy that you, the reader, are currently right now the only actual human left on the Internet and the rest is bots.

However, the theory itself is rooted in actual philosophy, largely informed by Ray Kurzweil’s ideas about the Singularity, which was in its turn informed in many ways by the ideas of Isaac Asimov. I have my own problems with both of these dudes and their theories, but the general concept of a dead internet is inspired by and strongly compatible with both of their assertions, and they’re both well-respected and relevant contemporary philosophers when it comes to this field.

As of the time of writing this (January 2025/Shevat 5785) I think it’s safe to assume that saying we’re currently experiencing a dead internet is firmly in conspiracy theory territory. But dismissing the crux of the theory as a whole for the future is absolutely buckwild and ignores the truly disturbing rise in manufactured interaction on social media platforms, as well as the real-world problems it causes. Elon Musk used bots on X for election propaganda, for fucks sake, some of the programmers told us straight up.

The fact that Meta is just coming right out and admitting that they’re about to do it? Horrifying. It’s beyond correct that this will facilitate the rapid degradation of critical thinking skills, and I mean that in a literal way, not in a fearmongering “omg social media is rotting the youth’s brains” way. Not being able to distinguish technologically generated material from real-world material is one of the things that kind of hallmarks the idea of the Singularity to begin with. We’ve already been fighting a battle against propaganda and disinformation, and the people whom that benefits the most are about to fully automate the production of it.

Beyond that - what the fuck does this do to us as a species? What are our interactions going to become if we can’t distinguish them as being attached to another human somewhere on the planet? If the bulk of our accessible information starts coming from a series of distorted reflections of the same stolen property?

Perhaps MOST concerning to me in this moment is that I tried really goddamn hard to find some good accessible sources on dead internet theory to share, in large part because it’s been a hot minute since I’ve studied this stuff in undergrad. I fucking couldn’t. I’m four pages deep on Google, on my third variation of a search term, and everything still says it’s just an online conspiracy theory. What the fuck. What the FUCK?

I try not to leave most of my rants ending in despair, so I guess my call to action for people is this: support the ever loving shit out of your local libraries, even if the most you can afford right now is to check out books and use the computers every now and again; refresh yourself on valid and time-tested research techniques, and if you have the time and ability, compile and post or publish instructional guides for how to do it; collect (actual human-authored) print media when and where you can and guard it like a rabid dog - go to those yard sales and get the fifty cent grandma romance novels, make a habit to order something off ThriftBooks every month, ask your friends for old textbooks they can’t sell, put it all in a fireproof box or store it somewhere safe when you’re not reading it.

I don’t think it’s that much of a stretch to say we’re looking at what’s tantamount to a war on reality itself - fight it by preserving the things you know are real, that you can touch or verify or make for yourself. It’s all valuable.

Ohh we're fucked 🤩

All of this motivates me to keep reading, learning, researching - I don't want my basic human skills to decline. I already see a tendency of people becoming lazy when doing basic research tasks on a daily basis and it's scary

[firelxdykatara]

I think part of what frustrates me about age gap discourse with respect to BTVS specifically is that framing Buffy's relationship with Angel as 'grown man preys on teenage girl' requires that you ignore everything about the context of the show, the context that their relationship occurs within, and also what it means for both of them as characters and for the show as a whole.

It's also just like, really boring?

Like before you get to any of the story reasons why that's just a stupidly reductive analytical framework, you have to start with this: in a story aimed at teenagers, the fantasy is of being special and desired by a sexy immortal, and because the story is aimed at teenagers, the main characters are (or start as) teenagers, since the coming of age narrative that underpins everything else doesn't work without it. Hard to tackle that transition from adolescence to adulthood with a main character who begins the series as an adult!

(And it's not as if coming of age stories for adults don't exist. Phoebe Halliwell is a very good example--unlike her older sisters, she starts off unemployed and kind of adrift and desperate to find a purpose, which she ultimately does as a witch and a Charmed One, and all of this is done while she, as the youngest, is in her early twenties at the series start, because the show is primarily aimed at adults.)

And the thing is, Angel isn't just some adult man preying on a highschooler for kicks because he can't find women his own age. As Angelus, he spent well over a century enamored with Darla and committing wanton slaughter and destruction by her side. As Angel, with the exception of Buffy, all of his love interests are adults, and his love for Buffy is not tied to her youth, innocence, or naivete, considering that it links and binds them so completely that they keep crossing in and out of each other's lives through the end of Buffy's show, with the door explicitly open for a future relationship once Buffy's finished baking.

What draws Angel to Buffy--and what makes their relationship so dangerously compelling and also ultimately spells its downfall as, within the text of the show, it is explicitly a tragedy--is the fact that she's the Slayer.

That's the key point--her status as the Chosen One! He is drawn to her (as all vampires are, to a greater or lesser extent, but it's no accident that her only other truly earth shattering romantic relationship in the series is with another vampire) because she's the Slayer, and because of the soul he was cursed to bear and the guilt he feels for the evil he committed as a vampire, he wants to protect and save her as part of his atonement. He falls in love with her because she brings light back into the darkness he has been cast into since being forced to bear a soul even as a monster. And he would be 241 years old whether he was turned as a teenager and could pass as one of her peers or turned at 26 (the show is inconsistent on the age at which he was turned and it really doesn't matter, since the buffyverse never tries to pretend vampires are 'frozen' at the age they're turned anyway), and yes, part of what is darkly compelling about their relationship is that the age difference is obvious (Sarah Michelle Gellar was 20 and David Boreanaz was 28 during season 1), but the reason Angel being an 'older man' is never considered super relevant (aside from a few lampshades) is because... it really isn't.

The important thing, the critical thing, the thing that matters in the context of their relationship is that Angel is a vampire. That's why when Angel pulls out his 'I'm 241, you're 16' spiel it rings so hollow--because that doesn't really matter to either of them and he knows it. He's trying to push her away because it's the only way he can really protect her, and even then it doesn't work, and they all suffer for it horribly, Buffy most of all. (And even then she can't stop loving him, nor he her, and that makes it all the more tragic when he realizes the only thing he can do for her is leave.)

Also, it really throws into sharp relief the fact that people care so much about Buffy being a teenage girl when it comes to her romantic relationships but not at all when it comes to her being fated to die. Something the show itself is also quite critical of, because that's part of the point--being the Slayer is an awful burden that none of them have ever had a choice but to bear, and Buffy was supposed to die at sixteen years old. The only reason she survives is because she broke the rules by trying to have a normal life in addition to being the Slayer, which is the only reason she has friends to help her and save her, and I'm supposed to look at all of that and care that her broody vampire bf was a 'grown man' when he was turned? Really?

I don't think so. You can't just be willing to take what the show says for itself at face value when it comes to all the fighting and killing and dying but then balk when it comes to sex. That just doesn't work for me. (I mean, you can, and a lot of people do, but it's frustrating, hence this post.)

[harlivycentral]

Queer Identity in Poison Ivy (2022-)

I want to talk about the way the ongoing Poison Ivy series uses her queerness to deepen her character, exploring tensions between her tie to humanity versus the earth, her resistance to confining systems, and her problem with confrontation.

Under the cut cause I have a lot to say!

Ivy has been around since the 60s, and she was obviously not intended as a queer woman then. She was portrayed as a femme fatale, and her relationships with men were not usually ones of mutual respect. Instead, we saw Ivy weaponizing her sexuality against men in order to get what she really cared about (in early comics, that was wealth, which we later saw evolve into a concern for the planet). For example, in her earliest appearance (Batman #181 in 1966), we see her controlling Batman through a poisoned-lipstick kiss:

In her current iteration, this relationship to men/power/sexuality has evolved in interesting ways. I would consider her current iteration to have started with her storyline in Batman (2016) #41-43, Everyone Loves Ivy. I say Everybody Loves Ivy because I think that was when DC realized her character had been written in a lot of conflicting ways (in part because she had never had an ongoing solo series at that point, so got written as a side character in different series by many different writers) and started trying to give her a coherent characterization. You can read my master post summarizing that journey here, if you're interested.

In Everybody Loves Ivy, we see her at perhaps her most powerful. It's the culmination of her pheromone powers: she is able to use them to make everybody on the planet in love with her (except for Batman and Catwoman, who manage to get themselves an antidote before she takes full control of them).

As is typical with Ivy, this "love" she instills is a power grab: she intends to control everyone's actions so that they stop harming the planet. It's not a true, interpersonal connection. However, while she initially has Harley under her control, Batman (rightly) tells her that she isn't really controlling Harley that deeply, that she doesn't really want to be controlling Harley:

As we eventually see, Batman is able to break Harley out from under Ivy's control. Harley is the one who gets Ivy to let go of control of everyone else, too, by asking Ivy how she's doing and taking genuine care of her. Ivy's love for and interpersonal connection with Harley outweighs her need to weaponize her sexuality, her need for control. It brings her back to her humanity and makes her realize she doesn't want to save the planet at the cost of everyone else's free will.

In the fallout from this storyline, Ivy dies and is reborn, and we first see the new Ivy in the limited series Poison Ivy & Harley Quinn, in which Harley and Ivy are on the run from Woodrue. This sets up a theme that the current run of Poison Ivy is dealing with: Ivy running from her problems. But, again, Harley is the one to tether her to humanity.

In the Batman storyline where Harley & Ivy are finally made a canonical couple (Fear State), we see a sort of repeat of Everybody Loves Ivy. We're told Ivy has grown vines into the foundation of all of Gotham and could take the city down at any moment. She is convinced not to when Harley talks her down, though. Again, she loves Harley so much that she is able to extend that love to greater humanity and decides not to destroy them. We see the tension for Ivy between her want to use her unrestrained power to completely overturn corrupt systems with the reality of the harmful impacts the use of her powers will have on individual people.

The other love interest she has in the lead-up to her solo series is Bella. Bella is actually Ivy's ex-girlfriend, but we get the story of their past in James Tynion IV's awesome single-issue backstory for Bella, which also establishes the first coherent backstory for Poison Ivy that we have in this current iteration of her character. Her solo run ended up expanding on but not contradicting any of Tynion IV's version.Bella narrates the issue, and we see Ivy's relationship to both Bella and Harley to be quite lovely:

Above, we see her spend a "beautiful" summer with Bella. Later, when she is imprisoned, her relationship with Harley is presented as a lifeline for them both:

In contrast, we see Woodrue's exploitive relationship with Ivy. He's her professor who ends up doing experiments on her against her will, and we are explicitly told that she never loved him:

We also see her relationship to Batman portrayed as something very much outside of the flirty, femme fatale model it had in previous decades:

Given this backstory (and the fact that we have only ever seen her romantically/sexually involved with women since at least 2016), I personally interpret Ivy as a lesbian in her iteration. (They've never confirmed her sexuality as either lesbian or bi, so it's open to interpretation.) However you interpret her sexuality, her relationships with women are shown in clear contrast to her relationships to men in this comic. Her relationships with men are used to emphasize the harmful potential of power differentials and rigid systems.

Ivy's relationship with Bella is shown in contrast to her relationship with Woodrue. Ivy's relationship with Bella is about being in tune with her embodied self and following her desires. She connects to her "animal self," seeing this queer relationship outside of societal lenses which might condemn it. In contrast, her relationship with Woodrue is very much informed by the academic system in which they are working, and misuses his power within that system to coerce Ivy into an abusive relationship.

When Woodrue's experiments on Ivy ironically enable her to break free from her relationship with him, she recognizes and begins to fight the larger systems that enabled his interpersonal harm of her. However, then Batman comes in, stopping Ivy from fighting those systems and instead putting her in prison. As Ivy was dehumanized on an interpersonal level during her relationship with Woodrue, she is dehumanized on a system level in the prison system. But, again, we see her relationship with Harley in contrast to how Batman and the carceral system treat Ivy. We're specifically told that their love is borne from Ivy recognizing the way Harley has been abused like she was, and we see how both women help each other develop a sense of self that people in power and the prison system would rip away from them.

When Ivy's solo comic started, it continued to explore how individuals can hold strong against destructive systems. Ivy is shown as being outside a lot of systems in her solo comic. In Poison Ivy #10, for example, she's opposed to the capitalist system which drives the destruction of the earth:

I think this is very tied to her backstory, which shows her (whether you interpret her as lesbian or bi) as very resistant to/outside of the system of heterosexist patriarchy. We know from her backstory that she was abused by Woodrue, and that she sees Batman as another man who would try to use his power to keep her within systems she'd rather not confine herself to.

With the current understanding of Ivy as a queer woman who values overturning unjust systems, I interpret her backstory of as a "femme fatale" in earlier comics a little differently. To me, I read it as: Ivy is abused by specific men and systems as a whole because of her vulnerabilities (as a queer person and a woman). Her means of fighting back against this abuse is to sharpen her perceived weaknesses into a weapon. She leans into almost a caricature of femininity and uses it to manipulate men that might otherwise hurt her, either interpersonally or through their participation in oppressive systems.

However, this means of fighting back against the system doesn't allow room for Ivy to be her authentic self. She performs an idealized femininity for the male gaze, and--as we saw above in Everybody Loves Ivy--she can get tunnel vision on her end goal (of saving the planet, of overturning oppressive systems) at the expense of leaving herself any breathing room. In Everybody Loves Ivy, she was almost willing to sacrifice the chance for both herself and everyone else on the planet to have any sort of authentic relationship.

In her solo comic, we see a new iteration of those same impulses in Ivy. She isn't a femme fatale in this series--in fact, I don't thinks we see her almost (if ever?) weaponize her sexuality against men. Usually, she just threatens them with violence. Still, we see her at the start of the series willing to give up her personhood--her very life--in order to save the planet. She's cut herself off from her relationship with Harley and tries to keep herself from forming any new attachments on the road. Instead of leaning into what society expects of her, she's operating outside of society completely, ready to kill everyone and bring it all to the ground. But the effect is the same: she is completely cut off from what she as an individual might need or want, from room for any kind of authentic, interpersonal love. She want to be all plant, connected to a revitalized nature, and free from her human needs.

However, we start to see cracks in this stone-cold facade pretty early into her comic. First, in Poison Ivy #4, she takes on a temporary shipping job, and we see her come to the aid of her coworker, Jesslyn, after learning Jessyln's boss is sexually harassing her:

She then sleeps with Jesslyn:

I think it's important that her connection with Jesslyn, like we saw her initial connection with Harley, is borne out of a recognition of the ways they have both been abused by men in power. I think Jesslyn reminds Ivy of her own origins, that part of what initially drove her to try to overturn human society is the ways it cut her off from meaningful relationships (Woodrue luring her away from her relationship with Bella). Ivy reconnects with the part of herself that wants--not just her grand, moral wants but her small, human wants. She starts to question if there isn't something worth saving.

Say what you will about Janet, but her introduction in the series is a pivotal point in Ivy reconnecting with her human side. In Poison Ivy #8, we see her first start to really care about Janet's fate:

She ends up sleeping with Janet in issue #10:

Which she immediately regrets:

I think Ivy has two modes: either confronting everything head on, with a singular, grand goal in mind, or running from her problems. Ivy isn't good with nuance: she doesn't seem to really know how to go after saving the earth in a way where she can still allow herself any of her own identity and needs. When she starts to feel the cracks in her determination to kill all of humanity with her spores--when she starts to realize that this will mean killing innocent people like Jesslyn and Janet, people she might learn to care about, if she gives herself any breathing room--her instinct is to run away.

She doesn't run away literally this time, but I think she runs away figuratively in sleeping with Janet. She doesn't giver herself time to think about what this will mean for her relationship with Harley, about what this will mean for her relationship with Janet--she just does it. She's been denying her own personhood for so long that she sort of swings the other way, indulging in whatever she wants in the moment with no plan at all in mind.

Keep in mind that she's also just reunited with Harley, and Harley has always been the one who most re-grounds Ivy. It's a very re-connective experience for Ivy. Harley shows Ivy proof that she can still bring green things to life, not just kill people with spores. She then urges Ivy not to punish herself:

I think this reconnection with Harley overwhelms Ivy, almost, and contributes to her decision to sleep with Janet. Harley has always been the one to pull her back from the brink, and I think part of Ivy doesn't want that. She doesn't want to care about anyone. She wants to be able to save the planet without caring about the costs along the way, whether to herself or others. So I think she gives in to a bit of a self-destructive impulse, maybe even trying to blow up her relationship with Harley a bit, although we obviously see later that they work through it.

We see her work through things with Harley and literally confront her demons, defeating Woodrue and the fungal zombies. Just as she's working to find some sort of balance--a way to be in relationship with Harley, to be friends with Janet, to care for plants and humans at the same time--we see an ecoterrorist organization hold her up as their patron saint.

Now, I am suspicious about where the writers might go with this plotline, as her ecoterrorism has been pretty central to her character for a while. But I'm willing to see how it plays out, since I think an interesting point is being made that these people are dehumanizing her--in a different way than Woodrue and Batman and the prison system, sure, but by making her into an idol, they're stripping her of the nuance she's worked so hard to gain over the course of her series. Ivy's backstory shows her realizing how those with power can so easily manipulate it for abusive ends. Ivy's had power in the sense of her actual superpowers (lol) for a long time, but the idolization of this ecoterrorist group gives her social power in a way I think she's not accustomed to. She's a loner, and I think she associates the kind of power these people are putting in her hands with abuse. I think she's terrified that she'll mess up and hurt someone. She does not want or know how to use the kind of power they're giving her.

I'm also willing to see where the re-introduction of Bella goes. I do hate that there's clearly a mandate from DC editorial to keep Harley and Ivy apart. However, seeing as it's probably not coming from the creative team of the Poison Ivy team itself, I'm hopeful they'll do interesting things during Harley's absence. I love Bella as a character, and I think Ivy's instinct to fix their initial conflict with a kiss is in character for her. It's a bit of falling back to her old ways--of leaning into that femme fatale mode of from her past, weaponizing her sexuality to get what she wants, which is for Bella to make the ecoterrorism idealization of her go away.

I think it's a bit of a lot of things. I think it's a bit of Ivy wanting to reconnect with Bella on a personal level, to remind both herself and Bella of how they first fell in love just as two people, when they now find themselves meeting more as two political players navigating unjust systems with different methodologies in mind. I think it's a bit of that "run away" instinct, of giving in to what she wants in the moment to avoid having to confront all the complicated realities of what Bella coming back into her life (and in this way) means. If the writers continue to tease out all these threads in an interesting way, I'm still hooked.

This isn't to say I unquestionably love all the writing for this series. I find Janet annoying. I'm worried DC editorial is trying to soft-launch a harlivy breakup without the backlash, and that we won't see Harley and Ivy on the page together in any meaningful way for a long time. I'm worried that this current plotline is going to devolve into a very centrist/liberal take on Ivy's want to overturn the system and save the earth instead of a nuanced exploration of agency and power.

But. I also like a lot of the writing. Ivy in this series is one of the most fleshed out and realistic queer women I've ever seen in the pages of a mainstream comic. Overall, I think there's something really powerful about the way Ivy's sexuality (both her queer identity and sexual behavior) is portrayed in the ongoing Poison Ivy series. Ivy's only had a solo series since 2022, so Ivy and Harley's queer relationship was first hinted at in other comics and portrayed very differently by those writers. It was hinted at in the pages of Batman and then more strongly in Harley Quinn. At times, it's been quite sexualized in a way obviously intended to appeal to male viewers. In Amanda Conner and Jimmy Palmiotti's run of Harley Quinn, for example, Harley and Ivy are portrayed as "girlfriends without the jealousy of monogamy" (x), which allowed the writers the "best of both worlds": Harley was implied to be dating Ivy and a character Mason at the same time, and she flirted with everyone from Batman to Power Girl. Harley was often drawn in quite sexualized ways; although I personally think this run added depth to Harley & Ivy's relationship, there were other times that their implied hookups were clearly meant to just be sexy and not to add any depth to their characters.

Even the statement alone that they were "girlfriends without the jealousy of monogamy" shows that the writers didn't have a vested interest in portrayed a nuanced and realistic portrait of a non-monogamous relationship, as people actually in these relationships will often talking about having to work through feelings of jealousy as a part of making those relationships work. Non-monogamous relationships take work and communication like any other, and earlier series didn't necessarily portray them that way.

Even before her relationship with Harley Quinn, Poison Ivy has long been a character that was highly sexualized. In her current solo comic, though, she's portrayed as sexual without being sexualized. When she sleeps with Jessyln in issue #4, we're shown their shadows on the wall instead of anything more salacious. When Ivy and Harley are shown in bed together in #9, they're not drawn in a particularly "sexy" way, and the emphasis is on their emotional connection to each other. When Ivy sleeps with women in this series, as I've talked about at length above, it always deepens her character. Her relationships with these women--whether they're one night stands, situationships-turned-friendships, an ongoing & longtime romance, or an ex-turned-leftists-squabble--allow her to messily explore who she really is and what she really wants. The Ivy we see is confused about her political goals, about what using her powers for "good" should look like--and that makes sense, on a meta-level, for a character who has never had the breathing room of a solo series to be anyone besides the villain, the anti-hero, or the girlfriend in someone else's story. Let's let her be messy for a while longer. Hopefully, something beautiful will grow out of it.

[lightdancingwords]

Second Chances - Part Fourteen of ?

Pairings: Beau Arlen x Y/N Female reader Series Summary: A chance meeting in a grocery store brings a second chance for you and for Beau. The only thing standing in your way are your respective pasts... and a tiny little roadblock. Word Count: 3,199 Tags/Warnings: SO. MUCH. FLUFF. And a minor car accident, surgery, medical scare. A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

Note: I've several of you comment this, so here's official statement: I am likely to never end this story at this rate! I'm loving Beau and his relationship with Y/N! So until I'm burnt out on Beau or run out of ideas... consider this story ongoing! Divider: credit to @sweetmelodygraphics

Chapter Fourteen: A Little Miracle

The weeks following the Victor Hanlon case brought a welcome change to Beau’s life. For the first time in what felt like forever, there was no looming threat, no murderer taunting him in the shadows. The town had finally found peace—and so had he.

At home, things had shifted. Y/N had begun working part-time, cutting back her hours as her pregnancy progressed. Beau insisted it was time for her to slow down, and though she was hesitant at first, she soon found comfort in the extra time spent at home. She filled the afternoons with nesting—folding tiny baby clothes, arranging the nursery, and making sure every last detail was ready before their new arrival.

Beau, in turn, had committed himself to being present. He kept strict work hours, making sure that once he was home, he wasn’t just physically there—he was there. No more late nights, no more falling asleep at his desk. He made a point to leave the stress of the job at the door, because nothing in the world mattered more than his family.

Each evening was precious. He’d come home to the sound of Eliza’s laughter as she played in the living room, her curls bouncing as she ran into his arms the moment he stepped through the door. “Bo-Bo!” she would squeal, clinging to him like a koala as he scooped her up.

“Hey there, wolf-child,” he’d murmur, pressing a kiss to her head before setting her down to go greet Y/N.

And Y/N—God, Y/N. She was radiant. She always had been, but there was something about seeing her carry their child, watching the way she cradled her belly as she moved through the house, that sent a wave of warmth through his chest every time. She was softer now, more at ease, and it filled him with relief. He’d almost lost her once—to distance, to fear—but now? Now she looked at him the way she always had, with love that was unwavering and sure.

The nursery became their shared project, something they could do together after Eliza went to sleep. Beau had insisted on assembling the crib himself, despite Y/N’s amused skepticism.

“You sure about this, cowboy?” she teased, leaning against the doorframe as she watched him struggle with the instructions.

“I built a shed once, Y/N. I think I can handle a crib,” he grumbled, flipping the page of the manual.

She laughed, stepping forward to press a kiss to his cheek. “Just let me know when you need my help.”

And, of course, he did need her help—half an hour later when he realized he’d put one of the pieces on backward. But Y/N never teased him for it. Instead, they worked side by side, laughter filling the nursery as they pieced everything together.

By the time they were done, Beau stood back, hands on his hips as he admired their handiwork. “Not bad,” he said, wrapping an arm around Y/N’s shoulders.

She leaned into him, her head resting against his chest. “Not bad at all.”

Each night, once the house was quiet and Eliza was asleep, Beau and Y/N would retreat to their bedroom. It was in these quiet moments, under the soft glow of the bedside lamp, that they truly reconnected, no longer sheriff and expectant mother but simply Beau and Y/N—two people deeply in love, savoring the stillness that came with knowing they were exactly where they belonged.

Beau would pull Y/N close, his strong arms wrapped around her as she settled against him, her body warm and soft from exhaustion. His beard had grown back over the past two months, neatly trimmed now, the rough edge of it brushing against her temple as he nuzzled close. He had always been a touch-driven man, and with Y/N, that need was even stronger. His hand would instinctively find her belly, his fingers trailing gentle, absentminded patterns over the curve where their child grew.

“Is the little one movin’?” he murmured against her hair, his voice thick with sleep but filled with curiosity.

Y/N hummed softly, her hand sliding over his as they both rested against her belly. “Yeah,” she whispered. “You feel that?”

Beau went still, his breath catching slightly when he felt the tiny, fluttering kick beneath his palm. He grinned, the warmth of the moment settling deep in his chest. “They’re gettin’ stronger,” he mused, his voice full of wonder.

Y/N chuckled, her eyes still closed as she leaned into him. “Well, they take after you.”

“Nah,” Beau murmured, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. “They take after their mama.”

She smiled, though there was a teasing lilt to her voice. “That’s assuming they’re a ‘they’ and not a ‘he’ or a ‘she.’”

Beau huffed a soft laugh. “You still sure about not findin’ out?”

Y/N turned slightly in his arms, looking up at him with those warm, knowing eyes that always made his heart stutter. “I like the surprise,” she admitted. “The wonder of it. Don’t you?”

He studied her for a long moment, his fingers brushing up and down her spine as he considered. Finally, he sighed, nodding. “Yeah. I do.” His lips curved into a slow smile, one of pure contentment. “Either way, they’ve got a hell of a mama waitin’ for ‘em.”

Y/N reached up, cupping his face, her thumb tracing lightly over the trimmed edge of his beard. “And a damn good daddy.”

Beau exhaled, pressing into her touch. “I can’t wait to meet ‘em,” he murmured. “To hold ‘em. To see who they take after.”

Y/N smiled, pressing a lingering kiss to his jaw. “Me too.”

Beau tightened his arms around her, holding her as close as her growing belly would allow. He kissed her forehead, then her cheek, then the corner of her lips before finally capturing them in a slow, tender kiss—one that spoke of love, of devotion, of the life they were building together.

And as the night stretched on, wrapped in warmth and love, Beau finally allowed himself to believe it. The storm had passed, and what remained was stronger than ever.

They were home. They were whole.

And soon, they would be complete.

The late morning sun filtered through the blinds of the sheriff’s department, casting soft lines across Beau’s desk. It was an easy day for once—no major cases, no looming threats. Just paperwork and the kind of slow, methodical work that came with keeping a town in order. He didn’t mind it. It gave him time to breathe, to settle into this quieter phase of his life.

Y/N had left for her doctor’s appointment not long ago, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips before heading out the door. “I’ll be back before lunch,” she’d promised, rubbing her belly with an affectionate smile. “You behave yourself while I’m gone.”

He’d grinned at her, tipping his hat. “I make no promises, darlin’.”

Now, as he leaned back in his chair, skimming over a report, he let his mind drift to her. To their baby, growing stronger by the day. To the future he was finally able to picture so clearly—marriage, raising their kids, growing old together. He was exactly where he was meant to be.

Then Doris’s phone rang.

Beau barely registered it at first, too engrossed in his paperwork, but the moment she answered, he caught the sudden shift in her tone. The lighthearted lilt in her voice disappeared, replaced by something sharper, something that made his stomach twist before he even knew why.

“Wait—slow down,” Doris said, sitting up straighter in her chair. “Where is she now?”

Beau’s head snapped up, his heart already hammering. He was on his feet before he even realized he’d moved.

Doris met his gaze, her face pale. “Sheriff…” she hesitated, gripping the phone tightly. “It’s Y/N. She was in an accident.”

Everything in the room faded—the sounds of quiet chatter, the rustling of papers, the hum of the fluorescent lights. All of it blurred into nothing as Beau felt the air leave his lungs.

“What?” His voice was low, sharp, controlled—but barely.

“She was on her way back from the doctor’s office,” Doris said quickly, her expression tight with worry. “A truck ran a red light—hit the driver’s side. Paramedics are with her now.”

Beau didn’t wait for more. He was already moving, his boots pounding against the floor as he grabbed his hat and keys. Jenny stepped out of her office just in time to see him rush past.

“Beau—what’s going on?”

He didn’t stop, didn’t slow. “It’s Y/N.”

Jenny’s face paled, but she was right behind him, reaching for her radio. “I’m coming with you.”

The drive was a blur of sirens and speed. Beau barely heard Jenny’s voice as she relayed their arrival to dispatch. His hands were tight around the steering wheel, his knuckles white, his heart slamming against his ribs.

He’d never been this scared. Not when Victor Hanlon had been hunting him. Not when he’d stared down the barrel of a gun before. This was different. This was her. His Y/N. The mother of his child. The woman who had become his entire world.

The hospital came into view, and Beau slammed the truck into park, barely waiting for it to stop before jumping out. He was through the emergency entrance in seconds, his eyes wild as he scanned the waiting area.

A nurse at the front desk looked up as he approached, her expression shifting to sympathy the moment she saw him. “Sheriff Arlen?”

Jenny knew there was nothing she could say to calm him. Beau had been through gunfights, taken down killers, but nothing in his life had ever terrified him like this.

“Where is she?” His voice came out low and sharp, filled with barely contained panic.

The nurse hesitated for a split second, then gestured toward a set of double doors. “She’s in the operating room. The accident triggered premature labor. There were complications, so they’re performing an emergency C-section.”

Beau felt the air rush out of his lungs like he’d been punched. “Complications?” His voice was tight, barely controlled.

“She lost consciousness briefly on the way here,” the nurse explained quickly, “and her blood pressure was dangerously high. The doctors determined it was safest for both her and the baby to proceed with surgery.”

Beau swallowed hard. His entire body felt numb. He couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.

“I need to be with her,” he demanded, his voice rough with emotion.

The nurse hesitated. “Sheriff—”

“I need to be with her,” Beau repeated, his jaw clenching, his green eyes filled with a desperate kind of determination. “Please.”

The nurse held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded. “I’ll get you scrubbed in.”

The sterile scent of the OR filled Beau’s nose as he stepped inside, his body encased in scrubs, his heart hammering in his chest. The bright lights illuminated the surgical table where Y/N lay, her body draped in blue surgical sheets. Her face was pale, her eyes fluttering open as he approached.

“Beau,” she whispered weakly, her lips barely moving.

He was by her side in an instant, grabbing her hand, his fingers threading tightly through hers. “I’m here, darlin’,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’m right here.”

She tried to smile, but exhaustion weighed heavily on her. “The baby…”

“They’re gonna be okay,” Beau reassured her, even though fear clawed at his chest. “You’re gonna be okay.”

The doctor glanced at him briefly. “Sheriff, we’re about to begin. Just focus on her.”

Beau nodded, his grip on Y/N’s hand tightening as the procedure started. He heard the quiet murmurs of the surgical team, the soft clinking of instruments, but all of it faded into the background. The only thing that mattered was the woman beside him.

Y/N let out a shaky breath, her fingers squeezing his. “I’m scared.”

Beau leaned closer, his lips brushing against her temple. “I know, darlin’. But you’re strong. And I swear to you, everything’s gonna be just fine.”

Minutes stretched into eternity. Beau held his breath, waiting, praying. Then—

A cry.

A sharp, piercing wail filled the room, strong and insistent. Beau’s heart nearly stopped before it slammed back into rhythm, his breath catching in his throat.

“Congratulations,” the doctor said. “It’s a boy.”

A boy.

Beau let out a shaky laugh, his eyes glistening as he looked down at Y/N. “Did you hear that, darlin’?” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “We’ve got a son.”

Y/N let out a soft, relieved sob, her lips trembling. “A boy,” she repeated, her eyes shining.

Beau glanced up as the doctor carefully lifted their baby, wrapping him in a blanket before handing him to a nurse. The tiny newborn let out another cry, his little fists waving in the air.

“Would you like to hold him?” the nurse asked.

Beau swallowed hard, his entire world narrowing to the small bundle being placed into his arms. He cradled his son carefully, his breath catching as he looked down at the tiny, pink-cheeked face.

“Hey there, little man,” Beau whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m your daddy.”

The baby quieted slightly, blinking up at him with unfocused eyes. Beau let out a soft laugh, pure love crashing over him like a tidal wave. He turned to Y/N, gently lowering their son so she could see him.

“He’s perfect,” she whispered, her fingers trembling as she reached out to touch the baby’s tiny hand.

Beau pressed another kiss to her forehead. “Just like his mama.”

Y/N let out a tired, contented sigh, her fingers brushing over the baby’s soft skin. “We need a name.”

Beau nodded, gazing down at their son. “What do you think, darlin’?”

Y/N smiled weakly. “You pick.”

He looked at the baby, his heart swelling with something indescribable. He thought of the strength Y/N had shown, of the fight she’d endured to bring their son into the world. He thought of the love he felt for his family, of the home they’d built together.

“What about Caleb?” Beau murmured. “Caleb Arlen.”

Y/N’s smile widened. “Caleb,” she whispered, nodding. “I love it.”

Beau exhaled, holding their son a little closer. “Welcome to the world, Caleb,” he murmured.

As the medical team finished tending to Y/N, Beau sat beside her, their son cradled between them. Relief, love, and exhaustion blended together in the best way possible.

They had made it.

And now, their family was complete.

The steady beep of the monitors was the only sound in the quiet hospital room. The sterile scent of antiseptic lingered in the air, but to Beau, the space felt warm—because she was here, because their son was here.

Y/N lay propped up in the hospital bed, still pale but awake, her hand resting protectively on Caleb’s tiny body as he slept peacefully against her chest. His little fingers twitched in his sleep, his breaths slow and steady.

Beau sat in the chair beside them, one hand covering Y/N’s, his other resting lightly on Caleb’s back. He couldn’t take his eyes off them. The past twenty-four hours had been a nightmare, a blur of panic, fear, and desperation. But now, here they were. Alive. Safe.

“You really scared me, darlin’,” Beau murmured, his voice rough with emotion.

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes soft but tired. “I scared myself.” Her fingers curled over his. “I don’t even remember the crash. Just waking up in the ambulance and—” Her voice caught, and she took a shaky breath. “And realizing something was wrong.”

Beau exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening. He had faced killers, had stared death in the eye more times than he cared to count. But nothing—not a single moment in his life—had terrified him more than the thought of losing her.

“When Doris told me…” He shook his head, running a hand over his face. “I’ve never driven so fast in my damn life. And then they told me you were in surgery, that there were complications—” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, his grip on her hand tightening. “I thought I was gonna lose you, Y/N. I thought—”

“I know,” she whispered, her fingers brushing against his knuckles. “I know, Beau.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to steady himself. “I don’t ever wanna feel like that again.”

Y/N’s free hand lifted, cupping his cheek, her thumb brushing over the trimmed stubble along his jaw. “I’m here,” she murmured. “I’m okay. We’re okay.”

Beau leaned into her touch, pressing a kiss to her palm before looking down at Caleb, who was still sleeping peacefully against his mother. “And him?”

Y/N smiled weakly, her fingers ghosting over Caleb’s tiny back. “He’s early, but the doctors say he’s strong. He’s perfect.”

Beau exhaled slowly, his heart aching with love and gratitude. He traced a careful finger down Caleb’s tiny arm, marveling at how small he was. “He is,” Beau murmured. “Tough, just like his mama.”

Y/N let out a soft laugh, though it quickly turned into a wince. “Oof. Don’t make me laugh yet.”

Beau immediately frowned, his concern flaring. “Are you in pain? Should I get the nurse?”

She shook her head, squeezing his hand. “I’m okay, Beau. Just sore. I just need to rest.”

Beau nodded, his fingers tightening around hers. “Then you rest, darlin’. I’ve got you.”

Y/N closed her eyes briefly, her breathing steadying. Beau watched her for a long moment, then gently lifted Caleb from her chest, cradling him in his arms. The baby stirred slightly but remained asleep, his tiny lips parting as he nestled into Beau’s chest.

Beau swallowed past the lump in his throat as he held his son. The weight of him, the warmth—it grounded him. He pressed a soft kiss to Caleb’s forehead, his voice thick with emotion.

“You and your mama scared the hell outta me, little man,” he murmured. “But I swear to you, I’ll never let anything happen to either of you. You hear me? Never.”

Y/N watched him, her heart swelling as she saw the fierce love in Beau’s eyes. “You’re gonna be the best dad, Beau.”

He looked at her then, his green eyes soft and full of conviction. “I learned from the best,” he murmured. “From you.”

Y/N smiled sleepily, her body finally relaxing as she let herself drift into much-needed rest. Beau stayed where he was, rocking Caleb gently, his world finally settling into place.

The storm had passed. And now, all that was left was love, healing, and the life they were building together.

Beau pressed another kiss to his son’s forehead before whispering, “Welcome to the world, Caleb Arlen. You’ve got one hell of a family waitin’ for you.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, everything was exactly as it should be.

Tag List: @spxideyver, @deadlymistletoe, @bitchykittenconnoisseur, @aarpfashionvictim, @stoneyggirl2

@foxyjwls007, @katastrophicmind, @globetrotter28, @deansimpalababy, @daisychaingirl

@nancymcl, @deans-baby-momma, @kickingitwithkirk, @kmc1989, @ozwriterchick

Want to be a part of this tag list or others? Comment here and I'll add you! And check out my other stories that are currently being written!

[oshawottarchive]

I wasn’t originally going to make my own post on the Iskall situation, since I like to keep my blog page discourse and drama free for my own comfort, but I thought that I should at least say something about the ongoing fanfic I have that originally had him as a supporting character.

I’m not going to talk about the discourse itself (the statements from the victims, Iskall’s video, etc.), one of the reasons being that I don’t have anything to add that others haven’t already said. I also don’t think it’s really my place to publicly analyze anything Iskall’s said or done, so instead I’ll direct you to this post.

That being said, I do not support any of Iskall’s actions.

I’ve had Iskall as more than just an existing presence in only one of my fics, which is my series The Knight Archives. After the truth about Iskall and the reason he resigned was revealed I decided to remove him from the series and replace him with another character, since the role he played was an important one. I will not be editing the already published fics in the series, but I did add an author’s note to the one Iskall spoke in.

I was originally just going to leave it at that and continue on with Xisuma in his former role, but after Iskall’s video and the comment left by Stressmonster, I wanted to talk about it a bit more. I haven’t talked about this fic on tumblr before, which is also true for many of my ao3 fics, but in all honesty I also just wanted to get this off my chest.

I’ve made the decision to keep Stress in my fic series. Maybe this is more of an act of denial on my part, but as long as it’s still a fact that Stress wasn’t involved with Iskall’s actions, I’d like to keep writing and drawing her. I do truly hope that she’s in the denial stage of grieving, and that she will be able to accept that Iskall’s a bad person and move on from him in her own time.

I have personally never lost a friend this way before, but I feel like grieving the person you thought they were is valid. I truly want to give Stress the benefit of the doubt, and I do still wish her well.

If it comes to light that she did something truly wrong or sides completely with Iskall in the end, I most likely will be removing her from the fic.

If you disagree with me, that’s perfectly alright, I just ask that you stay respectful of my opinion and anyone else’s.

Maybe once I process all of this I’ll change my mind and remove her from the story sooner, but I think I want to wait for any other statements on the matter before I make that decision.

If Stress says nothing else, and nothing is said against her, I’d like to believe that she’s a good person, if only for my own sanity.

I hope everyone has a good rest of their day.

[moowithmidnight]

Okay! My ranting nonsense thoughts on the fight Peggy and Jarvis have in the desert after Ana is shot and Jarvis tries to kill Whitney Frost

(I couldn’t find an easily accessible scenepack for screenshots so rewatch the scene if you need to!)

1. Peggy is a very mixed bag in terms of her reactions when she’s upset- throughout agent Carter she slides fully across the “stiff upper lip” to “unrepentant volatile emotion” sides of the spectrum but it’s also quite simple. She restrains her emotions more (note: not fully bc that’s so important to me) in situations where she feels unsafe.

The perfect example of this is in S1 when Howard tricks her into stealing Steve’s blood- we see her realize that Howard lied to her and grow upset, but before she can leave she runs into Thompson. He has his whole “no man will ever respect you” speech, and she’s clearly upset by that too, and while it shows, she doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her upset. He isn’t “safe”.

Howard, ironically, in this situation actually is- despite the blatant misogynistic manipulation he tries 2.5 seconds later, Peggy knows that Howard knows how much Steve meant to her, and she recognizes how much Steve meant to him. There’s no need for pretense.

When Jarvis says “everyone around you dies”, we are shown Peggy clearly trying to compose herself before turning back toward him. Jarvis becomes “not safe” because she doesn’t want to reveal how much she agrees with him. Right now, she doesn’t think Ana has any lasting damage from her attack, so while she’s carrying guilt for the shooting, it’s easier to lash out and point out Jarvis’ hypocrisy.

The language she uses it very cutting and precise, but the calmness she’s trying to project actually speaks to how truly upset she is I think.

1.5. Agent Carter also does a good job of showing the way Peggy reacts faced with one vs multiple stressors, which I feel like way too many shows neglect- of course someone is generally going to have a bigger reaction faced with twenty issues compared to only one. And in this case, it’s definitely a multiple stressors type of situation, but that’s for another day-

2. She blatantly self soothes before she turns to face Jarvis!! This ties into the stuff British upper lip, but you can see her physically rub her hand against her clothes multiple times between the first and seconds shots.

Originally I thought she was clutching the wound she got from Whitney earlier in the season but that would be on the other side.

She also does it again after Jarvis reveals that Ana can’t have children- idk why that’s so special to me but it is.

3. When Peggy retaliates against the claim, the reason her reaction is so sharp and pointed and seemingly angry is because she knows (and believes) that what Jarvis says is true.

Throughout the series, as a general rule, Peggy doesn’t react strongly when people accuse her of something that isn’t true. She’s not immediately angry when they accuse her of treason or when Jack hands her the fake file of her “crimes” during WWII.

But she believes that she gets people killed, so having someone else say that, especially someone who knows how much she believes it, hurts more.

3.5. On that point, she very pointedly never denies what Jarvis says. She disputes this particular example (although only until the moment Jarvis reveals that Ana actually will have lasting complications from the wound) but she never says “you saying everyone around me dies is wrong”.

4. Also!! The words she chooses and her tone are all so telling. She says “lucky you” at the end, and it’s a dig, but the way she says it is loaded with genuine envy. She does think he’s lucky, she wants that. The whole speech is so reminiscent of Dottie’s speech to her at the end of S1, where she’s trying for anger but says how jealous she used to be of girls like Peggy.

5. I think the thing that really destroys Peggy here too is the fact that it’s Jarvis saying this. Replace him with any other character- even Daniel- and I truly think her reaction would’ve been different.

For one, Jarvis is the sole person who she confided in about how she believes being around her gets her loved ones killed, and this was the beginning of season 1. “Maybe lose is too nice a word- I get them killed”.

The other thing is that it’s Jarvis. Bumbling, well-meaning, kind of naive, very sweet and endearing, thinks so highly of her Jarvis. So to her, if he finally sees this as the truth, then she really is doomed.

6. The fucking tear, dear lord. After Peggy starts to walk away again, we get very clear shots of her face as Jarvis fades into the background. But it’s only after she whips around to face him that the lighting shifts and we see the tear sliding down her cheek- sick and twisted truly.

7. Peggy’s last sentence before Jarvis reveals Ana can’t have kids is “the moment we escape this desert, we can escape each other forever” which is obvious harsh. And while Peggy’s tone is very sharp and jagged, it doesn’t really reach angry when combined with her facial expressions- she’s clearly upset. It speaks to her attempt at restraint, especially the way “forever” is clearly choked compared to the rest of the sentence.

She wants to hurt him and lash out, yes, but I also think it’s partly her tendency to push everyone away from her peeking through again for a very important reason- Jarvis was the original person who encouraged her to form connections. He was the one who told her she couldn’t (and didn’t need to) take on the weight of the world alone. His encouragement led to her forming relationships outside of the SSR and eventually to letting him tag along with her, the thing he now resents her for.

8. In the gif set my original reblog tag was on, the first gif is right after Jarvis says that Ana “is married to a coward, who can’t bring himself to tell her [she can’t have kids].”

Hayley Atwell’s acting is this is incredible- the way Peggy clearly wants to reassure him at first, her face screaming “you aren’t a coward” but physically can’t bring herself to speak because you can tell as soon as she does her voice is going to break (which she does).

But even after that, you can see the exact moment where she fully processes and internalizes the blame. Before this, like I said, she’s so clearly jealous, because as far as she knows, while Ana did get hurt, she’s 100% fine. All of a sudden the rug is pulled out from under her and she has to reconcile with the fact that, oh shit, she did get someone else hurt. You can see her eyebrows kind of furrow and her face scrunch up slightly more as she goes through that process, leaning toward “I’m going to start sobbing” as her chin literally wobbles.

9. Jarvis’s apology. Jesus. “It’s not an excuse for what I did because it is inexcusable. But I am truly sorry.” Not only was it so incredibly genuine, but it’s so telling- the way his words are left purposefully vague so the audience can’t tell what he’s apologizing for— trying to kill Whitney and/or lashing out at Peggy— is delicious writing.

10. This is technically after the scene ends, but Peggy denying Jarvis’ obvious attempt to plan out their next move by saying “no, Mr. Jarvis, you need to be with your wife” is also very telling. It isn’t her holding a grudge and being petty, it’s the result of their argument but only because, again, she fully believes that what Jarvis said is true.

The obvious guilt she was carrying from Ana being shot is now multiplied into oblivion, especially because- simile to Colleen, who’s death sparked her confiding in Jarvis about this in the first place- Ana is entirely non-involved in this. She isn’t part of the SSR, a veteran, or anyone who has a stake in their job the way many of the other dead characters were. She was never supposed to get hurt, she was never supposed to even be at risk.

—

Anyways. Peggy Carter I love you and your terrible tragic life and I wish you could have had a long hard cry after this because you deserve it!!

Also I wrote these out of order- because rants- so the ones in the middle are probably a lot stronger than the beginning rip

(This might be my longest post ever I am so sorry @malewifegradyruewen LMAO)

[alijuan]

I resent the glorification of BG3 over Veilguard not only because Larian copied BioWare (and not very well imo) but also because that game was a disappointment to me. I expected a sequel to BG2 but got DOS3 at best, if not a copy of DOS2. Although Durge as the culmination of the series hits the spot for me, it’s one of the few things that got me stuck with BG3 for so long.

Not like Veilguard, because DA was special to me, but still disappointing. Especially problems with lore and sometimes its superficial presentation, with a few good exceptions. And Tav as an alternative main character who doesn't fit into the series or even the plot of BG3 (typical Larian). Sorry for all Tavs, mine too, but their plot is boring and sometimes alogical; they’re not much different from Rook to me outside of roleplaying.

Larian tried to copy Bioware but it turned out to be more a parody to me. BG3 is still a typical Larian game. Hollow world that can’t be compared to DAO, the oddities and changes in lore for the sake of narrative, not a very interesting group dynamic (inspiration from BioWare is so obvious here but so superficial; it’s progress for Larian because relationships between companions weren't in their games before but overall it's average).

I think they were trying to evoke a sense of nostalgia. Astarion is a good example of this. They changed tiefling to white-haired elf who reminds Zevran, Fenris and Dorian at the same time. At least they changed that he wanted vampirism and paid for it, otherwise it would not only be weird for a young high elf to be so greedy for vampiric immortality but he'd just be Fenris 2.0.

Even compared to other similar games, BG3 is not brilliant. I usually use Pathfinder WOTR as a modern example because it has similarities with BG3 but better in many aspects, including choices, respect to lore, mc’s connection to the plot (if we speak about Tav) and many more, with much smaller budget. In my opinion, Owlcat is a better successor of classic CRPGs. Not to mention that Owlcat doesn't rewrite character stories or change scenes after release for the sake of fanservice. They stand up for their ideas when it comes to adding or changing something in their game for fans (Larian would never).

I disagree that Larian released a finished game. The third act looks rushed and unfinished, the epilogue came six months later, the evil endings only a year later. It wasn’t a final product on release because they're still changing cutscenes and dialogues like it's early access. But finally someone said that Larian didn't do something revolutionary. This is how RPGs work, and a lot of the standards came from BioWare.

I am just a little bit annoyed how everyone is comparing Bioware to Larian....

Not because I think we should be too lenient towards Bioware. God and everyone who follows me on this site knows how massively disappointed I am with Veilguard and that I am not expecting them to deliver on the next Mass Effect.

And Larian has done an outstanding job with BG3.

However: the praise Larian has gained also served to show how low expectations in the gaming industry were. I read and hear time and time again how Larian supposedly has set a new standard in gaming but they actually didn't?

What have they done? They released a finished well written and well rounded RPG. An RPG with diverging story branches and player choices with consequences.

Do you notice something? THIS IS NOT REVOLUTIONARY, PEOPLE!

A revolution by defintion entails a course of action that is entirely new and a complete break from what was done before. Larian did not do that. They simply fulfilled the PRE-EXISTING criteria for an RPG. Nothing more, nothing less.

Yet, since standards have appearantly fallen so low in the respective genre, everyone acts like adhering to the working definition of an RPG and selling a complete product is somehow revolutionary. Literally nothing about that is new. It should be standard.

And it breaks my heart everytime someone compares Bioware to Larian in this regard.

No, before you come at me, not because I want to defend and protect them. They 10000% deserve all the backlash (minus the death threats) they are recieving. But because Baldur's Gate was originally a Bioware IP to begin with.

Larian did not do anything revolutionary. They built on what Bioware has already established. And you feel the old Bioware DNA even in BG3.

You feel it in the characters, their stories and personalities, the dialogue. They brought back old characters like Minsc and Jaheira. My heart breaks a little more everytime I feel these pieces of OG Bioware. Like echoes of an era long gone, only to realize it is not Bioware.

I feel its spiritual proximity to DAO. Sometimes the combat music even reminds me of DAO combat music. I briefly think I am playing my Warden before I snap out of it and see my sorceress Tav between Astarion and Karlach. And my heart breaks.

Boo, Minsc's hamster, was originally referenced by Shepard having a hamster when the player decided to purchase one. Shepard's hamster made the same noises as Boo in BG2 and Shepard even used Minsc's signature line in regards to him "Go for the eyes." in the Citadel DLC.

Now Minsc says Boo is a miniature giant SPACE hamster and I tear up because I instantly think of Shepard and my heart breaks. Breaks but also warms because Larian thought it was important to still honor the original inventor of Baldur's Gate with a Shepard reference in return.

To sum it up: it is so frustrating to see people comparing Bioware to a developer studio that was conforming to standards implemented by Bioware to begin with.

[incorrectsibunaquotes]

Victor hates Eddie so much, and it’s because he represents the part of Mr. Sweet he didn’t have control over.

[youngpettyqueen]

I know the decision to have Julian's parents have him augmented was made on the fly but imo its pretty obvious from early on that Julian has Family Issues because he avoids talking about his family like the plague and I think they should've incorporated this into the Julian and Sisko dynamic right from early on because I think it would've made for some really compelling stories and moments and could've set up a REALLY interesting Julian and Jake dynamic which they kinda started to do but never fully went for

[dollypopup]

If Debling isn't good enough for Fran, as the Queen herself says, because he's boring and has nothing to really offer save a title

If what Debling can offer isn't good enough for Edwina, IE: a life of security without love like what Anthony was willing to provide for her

If what Debling represents, an absent figure in a household who does not invite his wife into his plans and interests isn't a good outcome for Portia, who preaches about marrying for security and then ends up scrounging for it, regardless

Why does fandom insist that Penelope has to settle for him? That he'd be a 'better option'? Why is it that she's the one who should have hopped on the first guy with a vague interest in her and tepid emotions when Colin is right there and actually desires her? Why are other women in the series allowed to prioritize love and dream of happy endings regardless of the consequences and outcomes but Penelope should be content with being the warden of a big house as her husband fucks off without her? Why is it that all these characters deserve romances and caring but Penelope should have accepted a title and an estate and being alone?

As if Colin can't provide her security. As if Colin doesn't show interest in her and listen to her. As if he's not from a good family and will also elevate her standing in society through their marriage. As if Penelope has ever been the kind of woman to go title hunting. As if Penelope finds any kind of solace in being alone. As if Penelope isn't actively looking for connection.

Peeps who think Debling is in any way a good fit for her hate Colin, but y'all clearly hate Penelope more, because what are you even talking about? Debling opened the door after getting permission to ask to marry her and didn't even smile. Colin throws open the carriage door and does the stride of pride to show her off to his family with a grin on his face. Debling dumps her with the first SNIFF he gets of her having interest in someone else. Colin runs off after her to beg her to give him a chance and not to marry the other dude. Debling wants to leave her alone in a big house as he goes on adventures. Colin cannot go traveling without writing to her and sharing the world with her.

Penelope deserves the best just as the other women of this series do. Penelope deserves to be loved in every way- with acts of service (the balloon scene, setting up a ballroom in Bridgerton House so they can flirt), with quality time (all their lessons), with touch (carriage, dances, kisses aplenty), with words of affirmation (you are Penelope Featherington, never forget that, you are clever and warm, you do not need lessons), with gifts (a ring on her finger, a house she can make a home with him together). With big gestures like running off after her and small moments like looking for her in every room.

I'm sick of Debling. I'm sick of people who don't recognize that he had 0 emotion toward Penelope save for 'she'll do'. That he liked that she was honest and alone and didn't share his interests. That she would be content with the scraps he was willing to offer her. Not passion. Not sharing. Not cultivating a life together. Not love. Not anything except money and solitude. In what world would that ever have been enough? In what world is that best for her? I'm sick of people refusing to see that Penelope wants to be and should be and will be loved all because there's bitterness in their hearts. If you throw a dreamer into a pragmatic box, they wither. As Colin would have with Marina. As Penelope would have with Debling.

Penelope deserves the best. Penelope deserves Colin. Because Colin is the best for her, to her, with her.

If you can't see that, sucks to suck.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Counterspell

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[loquaciousquark]

when will eppie hawke and fenris meet tavish and astarion? (:

"And anyway, it won't be that bad. One last little Fade rift. We'll barricade it up as best we can, send a message to Skyhold, go home, and—"

One of the craggy footholds crumbles away beneath Hawke's foot, and it's only Fenris's quick hand that saves her from a plummet back down the side of the barren mountain. "Hawke, please."

"Please yourself. I said you didn't have to come."

Fenris throws her a longsuffering look, the flickering green lightning of the rift casting weird shadows over his eyes, but he doesn't let go of her arm until she's got both feet on solid ground again. "Just seal it and let this be done."

"My heart's only desire, lover," Hawke says, smiling, just as another pair of voices rises from the other side of the rift.

"Careful—careful! It shocks like the entire Hells are in there. Where's Gale?"

"Wherever Karlach dropped him, I suppose, with that little sprained ankle of his. No, I see them, they're almost here. Come away, darling. No need to get so dramatically close."

"This, from you?" says the woman, just as she and her fellow voice round the far edge of the rift. "Oh!"

"Well!" Hawke says almost at the same moment. Two of them after all: a short, slim woman with auburn hair pulled back in a low tail, and a tall, lithe man with hair as white as Fenris's and eyes that gleam like rubies. The man has a dagger drawn already, a thin smile playing over his face; the woman's fingers rest on her sheathed rapier, but her gaze is open, friendly. Hawke plants her staff on the rocky ground in as welcoming a gesture as she can manage. "Fancy running into someone like you up here of all places."

"I could say the same," the woman says. The green rift, still hanging between them and stretching a good twenty feet into the sky, gives an ominous rumble. "Our wizard's been fretting about magical disturbances along the city's borders for weeks. He finally traces the source to this location, and here you are at the heart of it. I'd like to believe it's coincidence."

"Alas," Hawke says, "one of my greatest faults is a terrible habit of being around when things begin. Fenris can attest to that better than most." She lays a hand on Fenris's shoulder, but he's stiff as iron, eyes glued to the man's dagger, and he's reached back for the hilt of his greatsword. "I'm Hawke, by the way."

"Call me Tav."

"And I'm Astarion," the man says grandly, accompanied by a wholly unnecessary flourish of his dagger. "We're here to steal the world."

"Save it," Tav says sharply.

"Of course, my dear. Save the world. What did I say?"

Fenris makes a short, disgusted noise, but Hawke's pleased to see he's let go of his own sword. She doesn't think this Astarion is going to kill them—not easily, anyway—and she likes the look of Tav despite herself. Both of them quick on their feet, she thinks, both moving gracefully with an innate, self-assured balance. As Tav steps around the rift Astarion moves with her like water, without even needing to see where she's gone. It reminds her a great deal of Fenris and herself, actually, though Hawke would give an arm to trust her own feet that much.

Fenris, it seems, has come to similar conclusions, and he rolls his shoulders as he releases their tension. Even his voice has lost its nascent fury, which for Fenris is practically friendly in situations like this. "The rift is dangerous. We will guard it until the Inquisitor can seal it permanently. Be on your way."

"Inquisitor?" drawls Astarion with that same, thin-lipped smile. "Sounds like someone from dear Shadowheart's former enclave, don't you think?"

"I don't think they're Sharran," Tav says. "Are you?"

"What a speculative look you've put on," Hawke says, delighted. "I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about. Unless you'd like me to be Sharran, in which case, I most certainly am and in fact have always been."

Both Fenris and Astarion roll their eyes—hilarious in its own right, but heightened by the clear antipathy still remaining between them. Fenris sighs. "Hawke—"

The rift explodes.

Green lightning shatters over the rocky cliff. The rumble bursts into a deafening roar; the faint breeze that had been dancing around them sweeps up into a hurricane. The air cracks and snaps with a sudden smell of ozone.

Hawke throws her hand over her eyes. She can't see—the wind tears her hair from its bindings and she can't see past the brilliant flashes of blazing green and she can't hear— "Fenris!"

Someone's fingers wrap around hers. She wrenches up her staff, calls for fire—for ice—for anything—but the rift has become a maelstrom and every scrap of magic sucks into the raging whirl before she can shape it. Her boots skid on the stone as she tries to brace against the inexorable pull, pebbles and rocks rattling along every step. She can't—the hand wrapped around hers has seized tight as a vise, but she's slipping anyway, and Maker, she can't—

A man's echoing voice, stripped bare of all artifice, wild with fear: "Tav!"

The wind dies. Not slowly, not gradually; it falls off like someone's upturned a glass over the rocky cliff, and Hawke's ears roar in the sudden silence. The wind is gone, and the rift is gone with it as if it had never been, the thunderous clouds that had been swirling above it already dissipating to glimpses of blue morning sky.

"Andraste preserve me," Hawke says, loud in the quiet, and she looks over to see Tav still crouched against the face of the mountain. One of Tav's hands clutches a dagger she'd wedged deep into a stony crevice; the other is still wrapped tight around Hawke's wrist where she'd pulled her away from the tempest.

No sign of Fenris. No sign of the other one—Astarion. A long white scrape in the stone marks where Fenris's sword had sought and failed to find purchase, disappearing at the precise place where the rift had torn itself open.

Gone. Gone, gone. Her heart hammers in her throat, and she indulges in thirty seconds of agonizing grief before she sets it aside, turns, and pulls Tav to her feet.

"Well," Hawke says at last. "Looks like it's just you and me, then. Ready for an adventure?"

"Yes," Tav says, her grip on Hawke's hand like steel, and her eyes blaze. "You and me. Let's get them back."

—

Everything hurts. Everything godsdamned hurts, and Astarion lets out a pained groan as he rolls to his back and drops his arm over his face. His ears ring like bells, and something twinges painfully in his left hip, and the inconvenient sun has decided to blaze right in his face and gods damn it, he'd known they ought to wait for Gale. Wretched wizard and his weak ankles. Wretched Tav and her complete inability—

"Tav," Astarion says, and sits bolt upright.

No Tav. Not even the dark-haired sorcerer with the wide smile. Just that taciturn warrior in leather and half-plate seated on a rock a few feet away, watching Astarion get his bearings, his greatsword slung across his knees and a deeply sour look on his tattooed face. The skies above them are clear and blue as a song.

No Tav. No Hawke. No rift. No plan, and no company besides an irascible stranger with the same sudden look of dawning horror.

"Venhedis."

"Shit."

[welcometogrouchland]

Noticing that TV and film will often have a character either have had an abortion in the past that isn't showcased on screen (and just used as part of the character's ~fucked up and twisted backstory~) OR contemplate getting an abortion in the present day but not to through with it. Just once I want to see someone delete that fetus within the events of the plot and not be like. Extremely majorly punished for it and/or be in the wrong

[fullmetal-scar-simping]

Seeing mangahood enjoyers who swear up and down that the fma manga/Brotherhood is "anti-military"/"anti-imperialist" is like seeing someone repeatedly argue that your bog standard copaganda procedural is "anti-cop"/"acab".

[lightdancingwords]

Second Chances - Part Fifteen of ?

Pairings: Beau Arlen x Y/N Female reader Series Summary: A chance meeting in a grocery store brings a second chance for you and for Beau. The only thing standing in your way are your respective pasts... and a tiny little roadblock. Word Count: 5,172 Tags/Warnings: I actually don’t think there is any beyond SO. MUCH. FLUFF. And I guess babies and kids. Implied smut. A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

Note: I've several of you comment this, so here's official statement: I am likely to never end this story at this rate! I'm loving Beau and his relationship with Y/N! So until I'm burnt out on Beau or run out of ideas... consider this story ongoing! Additional Note: I feel bad. Emily somehow slipped my mind—probably because she’s in a whole other state, full grown, in her own life. But that made Beau look bad because she’s his firstborn, his daughter. So any errors in not mentioning her is on me and I apologize for that. I was called out on it and it’s a fair thing to do. I’ll try to incorporate her more often in his thoughts and story. Too late to edit this chapter but in the future I will be sure to include her.

Divider: credit to @sweetmelodygraphics

Chapter Fifteen: How To Love

The days following Caleb’s birth were a blur of healing, adjusting, and overwhelming gratitude. Y/N remained in the hospital under the careful watch of the doctors, recovering from both the accident and the emergency C-section. Beau barely left her side.

He took paternity leave without hesitation, knowing there was nowhere else he needed to be. The department could manage without him for a while—his family couldn’t. Jenny, though initially skeptical that he’d actually take time off, had practically forced him out the door with a smirk. “Don’t even think about checking your email, Sheriff.”

Meanwhile, Y/N’s mother had been taking care of Eliza, keeping the little girl busy and making sure she didn’t feel left out with all the excitement surrounding the new baby. But Beau knew Eliza missed them. Every time they video called, she would grab at the screen, squealing “Mama! Bo-Bo!” in delight before her little brows furrowed in confusion, clearly wondering why they weren’t coming home yet.

Finally, after five days in the hospital, Y/N was cleared to go home.

Beau wheeled her down the hospital hallway, his hand on her shoulder, the other carrying Caleb’s car seat. The tiny baby was bundled up snugly, sleeping peacefully, blissfully unaware of the life waiting for him outside those hospital walls.

Y/N sighed, tilting her head back slightly to look at Beau. “I’ve never been more ready to be home.”

Beau chuckled, squeezing her shoulder. “Darlin’, I don’t think I’ve ever been more ready to take you home.”

Outside, the truck was already waiting—Jenny had dropped it off for him earlier in the morning, making sure the car seat was properly installed. Beau helped Y/N into the passenger seat, buckling her in gently before carefully securing Caleb in the back. He checked the straps twice, his jaw tightening with focus.

Y/N smiled softly, watching him. “Beau, he’s not going anywhere.”

He exhaled, glancing at her. “I know. I just…” He hesitated before shaking his head with a faint smile. “Can’t help it.”

She reached out, squeezing his hand. “I know.”

With one last check, he climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine, pulling out of the hospital lot and heading home.

Y/N’s mother was waiting on the porch when they arrived, Eliza in her arms. The moment the truck pulled up, Eliza’s little hands clapped excitedly, and she wiggled to get down.

Beau barely had time to unbuckle his seatbelt before Eliza was racing toward him, her tiny feet pattering against the wooden porch. “Bo-Bo!” she shrieked.

Beau laughed, scooping her up in one fluid motion. “Hey there, wolf-child,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her curls. “Did you miss us?”

Eliza nodded enthusiastically, her little hands patting his face before she turned her big, curious eyes toward Y/N. “Mama?”

Y/N smiled, carefully stepping out of the truck. Beau was already there, offering his arm to steady her. She sighed happily as she stretched, then crouched down to Eliza’s level.

“Hi, my love,” Y/N said softly, reaching out for her.

Eliza practically leaped from Beau’s arms into Y/N’s, wrapping herself around her mother with surprising strength. Y/N winced slightly, but her laugh was full of joy as she held her daughter close. “Oh, I missed you so much, sweetheart.”

“Baby?” Eliza asked, looking around, her little nose scrunching in confusion.

Beau chuckled, moving to the truck to carefully unclip Caleb’s car seat. “Right here, kiddo.”

The second he lifted the car seat out, Eliza’s eyes widened. “Baby!” she gasped, her tiny hands clapping again.

Beau set the car seat down gently on the porch, kneeling beside it as Y/N shifted so Eliza could see.

“Meet your baby brother, Caleb,” Y/N murmured, her voice thick with emotion.

Eliza peered into the car seat, her face filled with fascination as she took in the tiny bundle inside. Caleb stirred slightly, his little mouth forming an ‘o’ as he stretched his fingers.

“Baby,” Eliza whispered reverently before glancing up at Beau and Y/N with a huge grin. “Mine?”

Beau let out a deep laugh, ruffling her curls. “Not just yours, wolf-child. Ours.”

Eliza nodded solemnly, as if accepting her important new role in the family.

Y/N’s mother chuckled softly. “Looks like you’ve got a little protector already.”

“Good,” Beau said, wrapping an arm around Y/N’s waist. “Caleb’s gonna need all the love he can get. And this family? We got plenty to give.”

Y/N sighed, leaning into him, her head resting against his chest. “Yeah. We do.”

Beau pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his grip tightening around her. For the first time in what felt like forever, everything was finally as it should be.

Home. Whole. Together.

And as he watched Eliza gently pat Caleb’s tiny hand, introducing herself in her own little way, Beau knew with absolute certainty—this was the life he had always wanted.

And he wasn’t letting go of it for anything.

Life with a newborn was both beautifully fulfilling and utterly exhausting.

Days blurred together in a mix of diaper changes, sleepless nights, and the soothing lull of Beau’s deep voice murmuring to Caleb in the early hours of the morning. The baby had a strong set of lungs, that was for sure. Every few hours, he let the entire house know he was awake, demanding food, warmth, and comfort with the kind of relentless determination that made Beau both admire and fear how much like his mother he already was.

Eliza was adjusting, too—curious, excited, and sometimes a little frustrated when her baby brother took up too much of her mama and Bo-Bo’s attention. But Beau made sure to keep their special time, setting aside moments where it was just the two of them, whether it was playing in the backyard or letting her “help” him cook breakfast in the mornings.

Y/N, meanwhile, was running on fumes, and Beau saw it.

She handled Caleb like a natural—her love infinite, her patience unwavering—but there was a heaviness in her, too. The exhaustion weighed on her shoulders, the sleepless nights dimming the light in her eyes. She barely had time for herself, always putting their children first. And Beau? He refused to let her forget that she wasn’t just a mother—she was his, too.

It was a particularly long night when they both found themselves collapsing into bed, barely able to keep their eyes open. Caleb had finally settled after what felt like hours of rocking, feeding, and humming softly to him. Eliza had gone to sleep without a fuss, blissfully unaware of the symphony of cries that had kept her parents up.

Beau groaned as he flopped onto the mattress, running a hand over his face. “I think my back’s gonna give out.”

Y/N chuckled, though it was weak, her body sinking into the bed beside him. “You and me both.”

He turned his head to look at her, taking in the sight of her—her hair a tangled mess, her body wrapped in one of his old T-shirts, her skin glowing despite her exhaustion. She was so damn beautiful, and she didn’t even realize it.

He reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “You okay, darlin’?”

She let out a slow breath, rolling onto her side to face him. “Yeah,” she whispered. “Just tired.”

He nodded, understanding more than he could put into words. He scooted closer, wrapping an arm around her waist, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “You’re incredible, Y/N,” he murmured. “You know that, right?”

She let out a tired laugh. “I don’t feel incredible.”

“You are,” he insisted, his voice steady. “The way you love our kids, the way you take care of everyone—hell, the way you still manage to laugh even after the longest days. I don’t know how you do it.”

Her gaze softened, her fingers tracing small patterns on his chest. “Because I love you. Because I love them. That’s how.”

Beau swallowed past the lump in his throat, his grip on her tightening. “I love you, too, darlin’. More than I got words for.”

She sighed into him, their bodies molding together as exhaustion pulled at them both. It wasn’t just about sleep—it was about feeling safe, wrapped in the warmth of each other, knowing that no matter how chaotic life got, this was home.

It was a couple of weeks later, in the quiet of the night, when things shifted between them again.

Y/N had just finished putting Caleb back down after a late feeding, her body moving on instinct now, even though she was half-asleep. She climbed back into bed with a soft sigh, stretching out beside Beau.

He turned, watching her in the dim glow of the nightlight from the hallway. “C’mere,” he murmured.

She hesitated, but he reached for her, pulling her into his arms.

“You don’t have to,” she whispered, her voice laced with uncertainty.

Beau frowned, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her temple. “Don’t have to what?”

She swallowed, shifting slightly in his embrace. “I know I don’t look the same,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I know I’m different now.”

Beau’s heart clenched. He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at her, really look at her. The soft curves of her body, the faint traces of exhaustion in her face, the quiet vulnerability in her eyes.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice gentle but firm, “you think I don’t want you?”

She looked away, her fingers gripping the edge of the blanket. “I just… I don’t feel like myself yet. And I don’t know when I will.”

Beau reached out, tipping her chin up so she had to meet his gaze. “You gave me a family,” he murmured. “You gave me Eliza. You gave me Caleb. You gave me a reason to come home every damn day. And I swear to you, there ain’t a single thing in this world that could make me love you less.”

Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “Beau…”

He kissed her then, slow and reverent, his lips moving against hers like he was rediscovering her, like he was reminding her of everything they had. His hands roamed gently, no rush, no urgency—just love, just worship.

“You’re still my Y/N,” he whispered against her lips. “You’re still the woman I fell in love with, the woman I’m gonna marry, the woman who drives me crazy in the best damn way.”

She let out a shaky breath, her fingers tangling in his hair. “I love you, Beau.”

“I love you more,” he murmured, kissing her again.

And as they melted into each other, the world outside faded. It didn’t matter that they were parents now, that their lives had changed, that exhaustion still clung to them.

All that mattered was this—Beau and Y/N, their love as fierce and unshakable as ever.

And as they lay together, wrapped in each other’s arms, Beau knew with absolute certainty that nothing—nothing—could ever come between them again.

The last few weeks had been the best of Beau’s life. Days spent holding his son, laughing with Eliza, stealing quiet moments with Y/N—they had settled into a rhythm, one built on love, exhaustion, and the small joys that came with having a newborn.

But now, his paternity leave was coming to an end, and Beau hated it.

He sat on the edge of the bed one evening, rubbing a hand down his face, his jaw set in a deep frown. Y/N was in bed beside him, their bedroom cast in soft, golden light from the bedside lamp. Caleb was already asleep in the bassinet beside their bed, Eliza down the hall in her own room, and the house was wrapped in a rare, peaceful quiet.

Y/N glanced up from where she had been running lotion over her arms, her eyes catching the tightness in his expression. “What’s wrong, cowboy?”

Beau sighed, running his hands through his hair. “Tomorrow,” he muttered, like the word itself left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Y/N tilted her head. “Tomorrow?”

Beau looked at her then, his green eyes filled with something vulnerable, something rare. “I gotta go back to work.”

Y/N softened, setting the bottle of lotion aside as she shifted closer to him. “Oh, Beau.”

He exhaled sharply, looking down at his hands. “I know I have to. I know the department needs me. But damn, Y/N… I don’t wanna go.”

She reached for his hand, intertwining their fingers. “I know.”

Beau swallowed hard, his jaw tensing. “Feels like I just got you back. Just got time with my boy. With Eliza. And now, I gotta leave for most of the day, every day, and—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “What if I miss somethin’? What if I miss his first word? His first step? What if—”

Y/N squeezed his hand, stopping him mid-spiral. “Beau.”

He met her gaze, his breath unsteady.

She smiled, soft and knowing. “You are not missing anything. We are right here. Waiting for you every single day. We’re not going anywhere.”

Beau let out a slow breath, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I just love you so damn much,” he murmured. “All of you. And I hate the thought of leavin’ this.”

Y/N reached up, cupping his cheek, her thumb brushing lightly over the beard he had let grow in during his leave. “Beau Arlen,” she whispered, her voice thick with love, “do you know how much we love you?”

His breath caught, and she leaned closer, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“You have taken care of us so well,” she murmured against his skin. “You are the best father, the best partner. And just because you have to go back to work doesn’t mean that changes. Doesn’t mean you stop being ours.”

Beau closed his eyes briefly, exhaling as she kissed his cheek next, then his jaw, then finally his lips—soft, lingering, full of reassurance.

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispered against her mouth.

“I love you more,” she breathed, pulling him down with her as they sank into the bed, their bodies molding together.

The house was quiet, the only sound the occasional soft coo from Caleb’s bassinet. Beau lay on his side, Y/N tucked close against him, his hand tracing slow, lazy circles over her hip. The earlier tension had melted away, replaced with something tender, something deeper.

Y/N rested her head against his chest, her fingers absently playing with the hem of his T-shirt. “You are so loved, Beau,” she whispered.

His fingers stilled for a moment before tightening around her waist. “Yeah?”

She lifted her head slightly, enough to meet his gaze in the dim light. “Yeah.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “You sure?”

Y/N smiled, shifting so she was straddling his lap, her hands pressing against his chest. “I have never been more sure of anything in my life.”

Beau’s hands slid up her thighs, gripping her like she might disappear. “You always know exactly what I need to hear, don’t you?”

She leaned down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his lips. “Because I know you,” she whispered. “I know your heart. And I know that you are everything to us.”

Beau exhaled sharply, pulling her down into a deeper kiss, pouring every ounce of love, of gratitude, of devotion into it. His hands moved up her back, fingers mapping the shape of her, rediscovering every inch of her in the dim light.

Y/N pulled back just slightly, her breath warm against his lips. “We’ll be waiting for you every day, Beau. I promise.”

He cupped her face, his green eyes filled with nothing but love. “And I promise I’ll always come home to you.”

She smiled, resting her forehead against his. “Then I guess we have nothing to worry about.”

Beau chuckled, rolling them over so he hovered above her, pressing kisses along her jaw, down her neck, whispering between each one, “Damn right, we don’t.”

And as the night stretched on, wrapped in warmth and love, Beau knew—no matter where life took him, no matter how many hours he had to spend away, his heart would always belong here, in this home, with this woman.

And that was all he would ever need.

Life had finally settled into something steady, something warm. Caleb was growing fast, filling out with chubby cheeks and strong little legs that kicked with excitement whenever he saw his parents. Eliza had adjusted beautifully to being a big sister—sometimes a little bossy, sometimes a little jealous, but always full of love.

Beau had never been happier. His days at work were structured, his evenings filled with laughter and bedtime stories, and his nights spent wrapped around the love of his life.

Y/N, meanwhile, had thrown herself into planning their wedding. She had lists, swatches of fabric, guest counts—things that overwhelmed Beau but made her light up with joy. He let her take the lead, offering his opinions when needed, but mostly just soaking in the happiness she radiated whenever she talked about the future.

But even in all the joy, Beau noticed the way Y/N would sometimes grow quiet when she thought no one was watching. He noticed the way she avoided certain dresses when trying things on, the way she hesitated before letting him see her fully unclothed, as if she was waiting for him to notice something wrong.

And tonight, he caught her.

The house was still and quiet, the soft hum of the baby monitor the only sound filling the air. Caleb was sound asleep in his crib, Eliza curled up in her bed with her stuffed rabbit. Beau had just finished locking up for the night when he paused outside their bedroom door, catching sight of Y/N standing in front of the full-length mirror.

She was wearing only her slip, the dim glow of the bedside lamp casting gentle shadows over her skin. She poked lightly at her belly, smoothing her hands over the soft curves that hadn’t been there before pregnancy. Her expression was unreadable, her lips pressed into a faint frown as she traced the faint lines on her stomach.

Beau leaned against the doorframe, his heart tightening at the sight. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, watching her, memorizing her—the way she bit her lip, the way her shoulders slumped slightly as she exhaled.

Then she caught him in the mirror’s reflection.

Her gaze lifted, meeting his, her body tensing slightly. “What are you looking at?” she asked, her voice hesitant.

Beau pushed off the doorframe, stepping closer, his green eyes never leaving hers. “Just thinkin’,” he said softly.

Y/N turned slightly, her brow furrowed. “About what?”

He stopped behind her, his hands sliding over her arms, wrapping her in his warmth as he rested his chin on her shoulder. “How damned lucky I am,” he murmured against her skin.

She let out a breathy laugh, but it lacked conviction. “Beau—”

“No,” he interrupted, tightening his grip around her, his voice gentle but firm. “Let me say this, Y/N.”

She swallowed hard, but she didn’t pull away.

Beau leaned down, pressing a slow, reverent kiss to the side of her neck before meeting her eyes in the mirror again. “You carried our babies here,” he whispered, sliding a hand over her stomach, his fingers splayed wide. “You gave me our family. And you think for one damn second that I’d ever see anything less than perfection?”

Her lower lip trembled slightly. “I just don’t feel like myself anymore,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I love them, I love what my body did, but… I look at myself, and I don’t know who I am.”

Beau turned her in his arms, his hands cradling her waist as he met her gaze, his green eyes filled with nothing but love. “Then let me remind you,” he murmured.

His lips found hers, slow and deliberate, his touch gentle but firm as his hands slid up her sides, memorizing every curve, every change. He kissed her like she was something sacred, something precious, something irreplaceable.

When they broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers, his breath warm against her lips. “I love you, Y/N,” he whispered. “Every single inch of you. Then, now, always.”

Her eyes shimmered with emotion, and she exhaled shakily. “Beau…”

He pressed another kiss to her forehead, then trailed soft kisses along her jaw, his hands never leaving her. “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he murmured against her skin. “And I will spend every day of my life makin’ sure you know it.”

Y/N let out a soft laugh, though this time, it was real. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

He grinned, his fingers brushing over the curve of her hip. “Nah, darlin’. I just tell the truth.”

She sighed, melting into him, her arms wrapping around his neck. “I love you, Beau.”

He kissed her slow and deep, pouring every ounce of his love into her. “And I love you,” he whispered against her lips. “Always.”

And as they sank into the quiet of the night, wrapped in each other, Beau made good on his promise—to love her, to remind her, to make sure she never doubted just how perfect she was in his eyes.

Now and always.

Beau had spent the past few weeks planning the perfect evening for Y/N. He wanted to give her a night that wasn’t about the kids, wasn’t about exhaustion, wasn’t about adjusting to life as parents of two. No, tonight was about them—just the two of them, the love they had built, and the future he was ready to cement.

He had it all arranged—Y/N’s mother would be watching Eliza and Caleb overnight, giving them an evening free of responsibilities. The reservation was set at the finest restaurant in town, a place neither of them had taken the time to visit before. And in his pocket, tucked securely in a velvet box, was a ring—a ring that had once belonged to his mother, resized and polished, now meant for Y/N.

He planned to propose to her again—not because he thought she needed a third proposal, but because he did. Because the first time had been in a hospital room, after she’d told him she was pregnant. It had been emotional, sincere, perfect in its own way, but this time? This time, he wanted it to be something just for them.

He wanted her to feel cherished.

Y/N stepped out of their bedroom in a fitted emerald dress that took Beau’s breath away. The fabric hugged her curves in a way that had his fingers twitching to touch, and the way she smiled at him—nervous, flattered—made his heart thud in his chest.

“Damn, darlin’,” he murmured, his green eyes raking over her. “You tryin’ to kill me?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “I should be asking you that. A fancy dinner? A date? What’s gotten into you, Beau Arlen?”

He grinned, stepping forward to press a slow kiss to her lips before whispering, “Just want to spoil my girl.”

And spoil her, he did.

The restaurant was elegant, dimly lit with candles flickering on each table, the soft hum of a jazz band playing in the background. Beau pulled out her chair for her, ordered a bottle of wine, and made sure she didn’t lift a finger all night.

He watched her as they ate, admiring the way her face lit up when she tried the dishes, how she laughed easily when he cracked jokes, how she kept stealing glances at him like she was trying to figure out what exactly he was up to.

Halfway through the meal, she set her fork down, tilting her head at him. “Okay, cowboy. Out with it.”

He smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Out with what?”

“This,” she gestured vaguely around them. “The fancy dinner. The wine. The lingering stares. You’ve been romancing me all night, Beau. And not that I’m complaining, but…” Her voice softened, her eyes searching his. “Why all the effort?”

Beau’s heart swelled at the way she looked at him—like he was her whole world.

He reached across the table, taking her hand in his. “Because you deserve it,” he said simply. “Because I love you. Because I want to remind you just how damn lucky I am.”

Her lips parted slightly, emotion flickering in her gaze. “Beau…”

He stood then, reaching into his pocket. Y/N blinked, watching him in confusion as he moved around the table. Then, realization dawned as he slowly lowered himself onto one knee.

Her hand flew to her mouth, her breath catching. “Oh my God.”

Beau flipped open the velvet box, revealing the most stunning vintage ring—a delicate band with a diamond nestled in intricate filigree. It was timeless, classic, perfect.

“This ring belonged to my mama,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I had it resized, polished, made new again—because that’s what I want for us, darlin’. A fresh start, a lifetime together.”

Y/N let out a soft, choked laugh, her other hand clutching her chest as tears welled in her eyes.

“I asked you twice before,” Beau continued, his green eyes never leaving hers, “but I didn’t do it the way you deserved. And after everything we’ve been through, I wanted to do it right. So, Y/N…” He took a deep breath, his grip steady on the ring box. “Will you marry me?”

Y/N let out a half-laugh, half-sob, nodding frantically before she even found her words. “Yes,” she whispered, then louder, “Yes, Beau. Yes.”

A grin split across Beau’s face as he slid the ring onto her finger, his hands shaking slightly with relief. The moment the band was secure, Y/N launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck, kissing him fiercely as the restaurant erupted in soft applause.

He laughed against her lips, his hands firm around her waist as he held her close. “I love you, Y/N,” he murmured.

“I love you too,” she whispered, her voice full of joy, of love, of absolute certainty.

Beau kissed her again, deeply, fully, sealing the promise between them.

This was it.

Their forever was just beginning.

Beau wasn’t done spoiling Y/N. Not even close.

After their unforgettable dinner, he drove her to a luxury hotel in the heart of Big Sky, one of the finest in Montana. The moment Y/N saw where they were, she let out a surprised laugh, glancing over at him as he parked the truck.

“Beau Arlen,” she teased, raising an eyebrow. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

Beau smirked, turning off the engine. “That depends. Is it workin’?”

She bit her lip, pretending to think. “Hmm… jury’s still out.”

Beau leaned closer, his lips grazing her ear. “Well, darlin’, let’s see if I can win you over.”

With that, he stepped out of the truck, coming around to open her door like a true gentleman. He held her hand as they walked inside, checking them in under a reservation he had made weeks ago. When Y/N saw the suite he had booked—complete with a fireplace, a massive bed draped in silk sheets, and a grand marble bathroom—she turned to him with wide eyes.

“You really did go all out,” she whispered.

Beau shrugged, grinning. “You deserve it.”

She reached up, running her fingers along the edge of his jaw, her voice soft with love. “You are something else, Sheriff.”

He kissed her knuckles, his green eyes filled with adoration. “Come on, darlin’. Time to unwind.”

Beau had already thought of everything. A warm, luxurious bath was drawn in the grand soaking tub, bubbles and fragrant oils turning the water into something truly decadent. Y/N let out a slow, happy sigh as she sank into it, closing her eyes as the warmth enveloped her body.

Beau knelt beside the tub, rolling up his sleeves, his hands skimming lazily along the water’s surface as he watched her.

“You’re starin’,” Y/N murmured, her eyes still closed.

“Can’t help it,” he said, his voice thick with admiration. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she let out a soft laugh. “Smooth.”

Beau chuckled, dipping a washcloth into the water and slowly dragging it over her shoulder, down her arm. His touch was gentle, reverent. He washed her with slow, deliberate care, massaging her shoulders, kneading the knots from her back. Y/N melted under his hands, her body sinking deeper into relaxation with every stroke of his fingers.

“Beau,” she sighed, tilting her head against the edge of the tub. “If you keep this up, I might fall asleep on you.”

He smirked, pressing a kiss to her damp shoulder. “Not yet, darlin’. I’m not done spoilin’ you.”

After the bath, he wrapped her in the softest robe he could find, guiding her to the bed. He sat behind her, his strong hands working their way down her spine, massaging every inch of tension from her body.

Y/N let out a breathy moan, her head lolling forward. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

Beau chuckled, his lips ghosting over the shell of her ear. “That’s the plan.”

His hands roamed lower, kneading the small of her back, then down to her hips, tracing the curves he loved so much. As he turned her to face him, his eyes darkened, filled with something deeper than desire.

“Let me love you, Y/N,” he murmured.

She smiled lazily, stretching like a cat beneath him. “That’s how we ended up with Caleb, you know.”

Beau grinned, leaning down to kiss her neck. “No regrets.”

She laughed softly but quickly lost her breath as his lips traveled lower, his hands following, mapping every inch of her body. He took his time, exploring her with slow, reverent touches, as if memorizing her all over again.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured against her skin.

Y/N shivered, running her fingers through his thick hair. “Beau…”

He worshipped her, loving her through the night with a tenderness that spoke volumes. He made sure she felt adored, cherished, his. Every touch, every kiss was a promise—a reminder that she was his whole world.

And as they lay tangled in the sheets, her body still humming from the love they had shared, Beau pulled her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice hoarse but full of warmth.

She smiled sleepily, snuggling against him. “I love you too, Beau. So much.”

He held her close, breathing in the scent of her, feeling the steady rhythm of her heart against his. He had everything he had ever wanted—his woman, his family, his forever.

And he wasn’t letting go. Not ever.

Tag List: @spxideyver, @deadlymistletoe, @bitchykittenconnoisseur, @aarpfashionvictim, @stoneyggirl2

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[dontheckinswear]

in my ideal mdzs modern au, meng yao dated qin su for maybe 6-8 months before taking a genetics test and finding out they have the same sperm donor. they immediately break it off and meng yao, terrified of how much his dad got around, decides that from here on out he is going to exclusively date men.

at least if he somehow ends up dating a male relative without his knowledge, there’s no chance of an incest pregnancy scare