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dean-winchester-is-a-warrior · 2 years

Text

Like Waves in the Ocean

Summary: Jensen surprises Y/N...more than once.

Warnings/Explicit 18+: Smut. Lots of smut. Fluff, mainly at the end. Unprotected sex, PinV, light fingering, slightly rough sex, semi-public sex.

Pairings: Jensen Ackles x Y/N

Word Count: 2,037

A/N: So, thanks to the video above that Jensen posted and the imaginings of @charred-angelwings, I absolutely HAD to write this Jensen fic.

This will also count towards my 30 Days Writing Challenge. This story will be for the prompt: Use the title, Like Waves on the Ocean. (It just seemed like too perfect a fit!)

For someone who hadn't written a RPF in my life, all this hot af Jensen content lately is sure smashing down that wall. Cause this is now the 3rd entry in this little Jensen x Reader saga. The first two are:

The Art of Creating Sex Hair Sexy Hair

2. Who's Blushing Now?

You don’t have to have read either of them, to read this one, but it might be more enjoyable. Plus who doesn’t love more Jensen smut! 🤤

As always, of course this story is about a Jensen from a different part of the multiverse, who is single. This is a complete and utter work of fiction. 😊

The beautiful divider at the bottom was created by @firefly-graphics

As you walked out to the beach you looked out at Jensen on the water in the distance. He sat comfortably on the paddle board you'd rented for the weekend. Easier than buying and then lugging a personal one from home.

Plus it would have been hard for Jensen to surprise you with this trip to St. Lucia if he was carting around paddle boards and oars.

After the Toronto shoot had ended two weeks ago, you'd lamented to him that you so badly wanted to get out of the city. Jensen had merely nodded and grunted his agreement.

So, it hadn't occurred to you for a second, that your complaint would prompt him to book the two of you into a five day stay at the Calabash Cove Resort and Spa!

Since Toronto, you hadn't had a chance to see each other. It had been almost a full two weeks and you missed him like crazy.

Phone sex and sex over shitty Skype calls was not the same as having his magical hands on your skin. Sure, the man was very skilled at dirty talk, and still managed to give you incredible orgasms by watching him stroke his big hand up and down his cock while he described, in excruciatingly hot detail, every little thing he was going to do to your body the next time you were together.

But it could never be as good as him actually doing those things to you.

So when you picked him up at the airport the day before yesterday, it wasn't that surprising to you that he just booked you into the hotel there for the night. The two of you had barely made it through the hotel room door before you were ripping each other's clothes off.

But it was incredibly surprising yesterday morning when he'd woken you up with kisses and then told you to get ready for a trip.

You'd laughed at him, confused. "Excuse me?" You'd asked, wiping sleep from your eyes.

"I know you have no jobs booked for the next week, so instead, I booked you a surprise. Don't bother packing because whatever you need, we'll just buy there."

"Where?" You were laughing as he pulled you out of bed.

"It's a surprise. Come on baby, just throw your toothbrush in a bag and let's go!"

Despite his assurances, you packed a carry-on bag with a couple t-shirts and shorts and basic toiletries.

It wasn't until you got to the airport that you discovered where you were headed. At least what city and country. Jensen refused to to tell you anything about what resort you were going to. So the grandeur and oppulence of the Calabash Resort had made you speechless.

You spent yesterday evening getting a couple's massage in your room and then straining your muscles all over again, making slow, gentle love, lulled into peace and sensuality by your oiled muscles and the rhythmic sound of the ocean approaching and retreating from the shoreline.

As you watched Jensen now, being rocked slowly by those same waves, it hit you that your relationship, newly defined as it was, was a lot like the ocean's waves.

It was constantly shifting; as you discovered new aspects of each other's character, you approached and retreated from each other, sometimes reaching forward, willing to risk your heart, sometimes pulling back, still unsure, still scared.

Everything was still and ebb and flow, changing and altering like the tides.

As those same waves pushed him closer to the shore, you found yourself breathing a little harder at the vision he made.

His skin was tanned and glistening in the sunshine. His muscular, solid body never failed to make your core clench. No matter how many times you saw his naked form, how many times you got to watch his biceps and triceps strain against something heavy, or how many times you watched his back muscles ripple beautifully under his skin, no matter what, your reaction was always the same.

He made you breathless, made your heart race, soaked your panties through, and left you in awe that you were allowed to touch him, allowed to beg him to touch you.

He was yours, and that still felt like a surreal miracle.

When he was close enough to the shore, he hopped off the board and waded his way towards you.

As he emerged from the water you swallowed hard at the way his swim trunks clung to him, sticking to his hard, thick thighs like a second skin. They also pulled tight against the bulge you could see at the front of the brightly colored shorts. His broad chest was gleaming with droplets of water, his hair damp.

He dropped the paddle board on the sand and walked straight to you. You opened your mouth to ask him a question and forgot it immediately as his mouth crashed down on yours, taking advantage of your open mouth to sweep his tongue inside.

You moaned into him as he sucked on your tongue. He gripped your ponytail in his fist, roughly pulling your head to the side so he could suck and bite at your skin as his sinful lips moved down your neck.

"Fuck, Y/N it should be illegal for someone to look that hot in a plain black, one piece bathing suit." He growled in your ear.

He pulled away suddenly, but kept hold of your hand. He tugged you along behind him as he entered one of the wide tents placed along this stretch of private beach for those staying at the resort.

They were meant to be used to change in and out of bathing suits. And although Jensen pulled the one piece you were wearing down to your waist the second you walked into the shaded spot, you were pretty sure he didn't plan on using the space for it's intended purposes.

He bent and fixed his lips around your nipple, sucking hard. The action shot currents of heat straight to your core and you gasped and pulled his hair.

He growled and sunk his teeth into your skin; you yanked harder on his hair, head thrown back, mouth open.

Cupping your ass, he lifted you so you could wrap your legs around his waist. Your arms encircled his neck and you licked the skin there, tasting salt - his sweat and the ocean waves. He was delicious and you couldn't help sliding your tongue across more of his bare skin.

He carried you over to the chaise lounger that had been provided inside the tent, and sat down. He leaned back against it, adjusting you so you were straddling him. He reached down, and pushed your bathing suit aside, swiping his blunt fingers through your slick.

He put his dripping fingers into his mouth, decadently licking your essence from the tips.

You moaned at the vision of his lush lips wrapped around his thick fingers, tongue swirling and sucking. You whined impatiently and ground yourself down against his cock; you could feel it through his shorts, pressing hard, warm and wet against your now bare pussy.

He popped his fingers out of his mouth and then folded his hands behind his head. He lifted his chin towards you.

"Well, pull it out, baby. It's all yours."

You moved your hands down to his trunks, reaching in and grasping his warm, throbbing cock.

Jensen's biceps flexed tight as he moved his hands behind his head to grip the back of the lounger, his fingers squeezing it hard as you stroked him.

"Fuck, Y/N! Yes, just like that. Take what you need baby!"

You needed no further encouragement to position yourself over him, ready to slide down and seat yourself fully on his lap. But you had to tease him a little, running the head of his cock slowly through your soaked folds.

His hips bucked up towards you and his expression promised that you would not get away with the teasing. Payback would be coming.

You panted at the thought and slid down his full length. Both of you moaned loudly as your cunt clenched around him.

You set a slow pace to start, knowing you'd tire out quickly in this position if you didn't pace yourself. Also it was an exquisite torture to feel every vein on his cock press into every single inch of your pussy. And the slower you went the more precisely you could feel them.

Jensen allowed you to be the driver for a while, throwing his head back and biting into his plush, pink bottom lip. You could see his stomach muscles straining as he fought the urge to drive into you.

But finally when he could take no more, he took over. With a guttural growl he sat up and wrapped his arm around your waist. He braced his other arm behind him. In this position he could slam into you, while simultaneously lifting you and then crashing you back onto his lap.

The sound of slick, hot, skin slapping together was obscene and loud in the small cotton tent.

You could feel you were both on the brink when Jensen brought his hand from behind him and circled his hard middle finger against your clit. You dug your fingernails into his shoulder blades, raking your nails down his sweaty back.

He growled harshly at the pleasure-pain you were causing him. He brought both hands to your hips, and then using his weight and momentum, he pushed you backwards on the chaise so that your head was hanging over the end. He continued to rail into you in this new position, all the blood rushing to your head and making you feel even more disoriented with pleasure.

He got to his knees and angled himself so that he was hitting your g-spot with every pass.

He held your hips in place above the chaise while he pistoned into you, shaking your whole body with the force of his thrusts.

Finally, with a deafening roar you felt him explode inside you, triggering your own climax to hit you, rolling over you and over you like waves in the ocean. Jensen fell heavily on top of you while your body continued to pulse from aftershocks.

As you both came back to reality, Jensen pulled out of you and climbed off of you.

"Shit, I'm sorry, darlin', I kinda crushed you there, didn't I? And you're gonna end up with a head rush." He said as he carefully helped you sit up.

"Mmm..nnooo." You mumbled as you waved away his concern. "That was incredible!"

You shifted so you were sitting his lap again and reached up for his mouth. Pulling him to you, you kissed him long and deep.

You pulled back to breathe and panted against his lips. "You are incredible."

You thought he might make a flippant or teasing remark about your praise of him, but instead he cupped your jaw and lowered his lips back to yours. But his kiss was all softness, gentle and languid, soft brushes of his mouth over yours, followed by the undemanding press of his lips.

He pulled back and pushed his hands through your hair.

"You're more than incredible, Y/N. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. And maybe this is too soon, and maybe I'm gonna freak you out, but...I love you."

You stared at him, unblinking.

He ducked his head and looked away. "You don't have to say it back, I mean...I don't expect you to - oof!"

The rest of his sentence was cut short as you launched yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and over-balancing the chaise, knocking it backwards.

He bore the brunt of the impact, with you landing completely on top of him. He was laughing though, as you smothered him with kisses.

He took hold of your cheeks and halted the onslaught. "I take it then, you didn't mind me saying it?"

"Um - no, Mr. Ackles, I definitely did not mind you saying it." You grinned at him. "Mind if I say it back?"

Jensen's smile was pure sunshine. "Well, if actions speak louder than words, I think the concussion you just gave me might be enough."

He kissed you hard and fast. "But you can say it anyway.

"I love you, Jensen."

The waves crashed loudly outside the humid tent, but as you leaned down to once again capture his plush lips with yours, you realized that you'd finally found your safe harbor.

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nightingaelic · 1 year

Note

Happy holidays, hope you're enjoying them to the fullest. Can I request (crushing/romanced, platonic or both, your choice) FNV companions get injected with truth serum and are locked in a room with the Courier for an hour?

It had seemed like a standard scavenging run, from the outset - a shuttered laboratory tucked back in the mountains, too far from civilization to be an easy target for curious wastelanders, yet not nearly as well-fortified as other pre-war research bases of its kind. The first three levels had been empty offices and work stations, a cakewalk, but on the fourth floor below ground the intruders had woken a security system of Mister Orderly and Major Gutsy robots that were hell-bent on apprehending them. The Major Gutsy models were trigger-happy as per usual, but the Mister Orderly models had been outfitted with lethal-looking syringes that they brandished with industrious glee. "Subject located," they said as they gave chase. "Please refrain from attacking the staff. If you resist your dosage, a demerit will be added to your patient file."

The courier, who was clutching a case of chemicals in one arm and their weapon in the other, pushed their companion into the closest room with a windowless door and slammed it shut. They locked it and began to barricade it with the room's furniture. "Chase R&D must have something down here worth hiding," they said breathlessly, shoving a desk over with gusto. "It'll be fine. We can wait it out until their power cycle ends, or just until they lose interest and wander off, then slip-"

They noticed for the first time that their companion was frantically examining a small wound in their arm, hardly more than a pinprick. "Oh no.... Did one of them stick you?!?"

Arcade Israel Gannon: Arcade tried to control his breathing, but his pulse was already pounding and his chest was growing tight. The feeling of being trapped four stories underground behind a single door with an angry array of machine guns and buzz saws on the other side wasn't particularly calming. "Didn't get the full plunger down, but it got something in me," he admitted. "Disinfectant."

The courier nearly tripped over a chair in their haste to grab his pack and retrieve their first aid supplies. Arcade cleaned the needle's entry point as best he could and tried not to think about what pre-war creation had just entered his veins. A weaponized virus? A trial phase military performance chem? Some awful combination of the two?

"Talk to me," the courier pleaded, clearly imagining the worst as well. "Is there anything we can do?"

"Not really, other than wait for the effects to surface." Arcade leaned against the wall and held his arm gingerly. "Though the options here are a little limited. This happened when one of the trainees was administering medication at Doctor Usanagi's clinic once, and she pulled out all the stops to manage their symptoms. Nearly her entire supply of Med-X, gone in an hour."

"But they made it?"

"They were fine." Arcade took a deep breath. "I was terrified. I thought she'd kick me out. I thought the Followers would kick me out."

The courier's eyes widened. "It was your mistake?"

Arcade's eyes had gone just as wide. "Why- I didn't- I've barely told anyone about that day, why did I-"

"What on earth was in-"

"Oh, no no no." The color drained from Arcade's face, and he seized the case of chemicals they had set aside. "Scopolamine, mescaline, amobarbital... they were testing psychoactives down here, Six. Chems to make people suggestible, probably for prisoner interrogation purposes."

The courier's mouth fell open. "The bot stuck you with a truth serum? Oh, fuck."

"Ohhh, this is what I get for walking into the same lab that produced Psycho." Arcade covered his face and pointed away from him. "Go- go stand over there. Even if the chem's effective, it'll still need input from an outside person to do its job."

The courier looked around them, dismayed. "What, do you want me to stand in the corner? Stay quiet until it wears off?"

"Yes. Preferably. Or I might say something I'll regret."

"Like what?"

"Like how I'm getting really sick of you dragging me into situations like this one. Or how I'm worried that the only reason I stick around you is because I think you have the capacity to change the world, but I might not like how you change it unless I'm around to nudge you in the right direction. Or how Daisy said I'm overthinking this and I should just tell you the truth, but that's not how my relationships usually go, and if it isn't how my relationships usually go, then maybe there's something wrong with me, but making a decision either way would be admitting that you're different from the others because it required me to think it through in the first place. And that scares me."

The courier's mouth was permanently stuck open now. "Different... Arcade, I didn't..."

"Don't." Arcade covered his ears. "Just go over there. Please."

They listened to him this time, and even went so far as to turn around. The sound of a Mister Orderly pounding on the door covered the awkward silence for the first few minutes, and after that Arcade had to bite his knuckles to keep from saying anything out loud. His head swam with complaints and insecurities, stories and secrets, and he almost moaned with relief when the courier switched on their Pip-Boy's radio at the lowest volume setting.

It felt like an entire day had gone by before the compulsive itch to speak began to abate. Arcade rose from his seat on the floor and cleared his throat. "I think... it's manageable, now."

The courier shut their Pip-Boy off and faced him again. They looked more terrified than they had when they first realized his injury. "Are you sure? If you need-"

"The bots are quiet now. We can at least peek outside." Arcade bit his lip before continuing. "And once we're back above ground, we can talk about... all that. Okay?"

Craig Boone: Boone pressed his palm over the spot of blood and clenched his teeth. "I'll be fine."

"You don't know that." The courier tossed their gear aside and tried to inspect the wound. Boone slapped their hand away, but they slapped his right back and felt the area over with their thumbs. "Clean entry," they pronounced. "You probably won't die of an infection, at least."

"Swell." Boone brushed them aside and stalked toward the partially-barricaded door. "Stay back."

"Boone, no." The courier blocked his path. "What is wrong with you? It's a narrow hallway, there are at least seven of those bots, and we can spare the time to wait until they get bored. Help me drag the other desk in front of the door and then try not to exert yourself until whatever they poked you with is out of your system."

"Nothing is wrong with me." Boone swept past them and began to push furniture away from the door. "I can handle seven robots. And if I can't, then my number's up, and there's nothing you or I can do."

"That is not how this works." The courier shoved him away from the furniture. "You might have a death wish, but I don't. I don't know how Manny got you to sit still in that dinosaur for watch, but I know you can do it, sniper - so do it."

"No." The courier still couldn't see Boone's eyes behind his sunglasses, but for once, the sniper voiced his mysterious thoughts out loud. "We keep going. We keep going until it's over."

"Until what's over?"

"The wait. I'm sick of waiting." Boone was gripping his rifle tighter than he ever had before. "I thought I'd feel better, after what you did for me in Novac. But I don't. Every day is the same, and every fight ends with me still standing. I can't go back, and going forward is next to meaningless."

The courier looked him over, and their anger gave way to sorrow. "It's not meaningless to me," they said quietly. "I know what Carla was to you, and I know that when you lose someone like that, the sun falls out of the sky. But right now, I need you. You can't check out on your spotter, Boone, whether it's me or Manny or one of those misfits at Camp Golf. We are a team, and we will keep being a team even when Caesar is dead and the Legion is a distant memory."

Boone looked for a minute like he was going to slug them in the face, but instead he seized them in a hug so tight it knocked the courier's breath out. His shoulders shook and his sunglasses fogged up in a release he had been holding in for longer than he could remember.

They talked for over an hour, the two soldiers: Carla, Bitter Springs, the First Recon, it all came out. By the time their conversation slowed, the bots outside had abandoned the door and gone back to patrolling empty testing rooms. It was from one of these rooms that the courier snagged a stack of confidential files about the laboratory's purpose, a stack of files that they realized a week later detailed the reason for Boone's sudden breakthrough. When they showed it to the sniper, though, his only response was a mournful smile.

Lily Bowen: Lily sat down atop the room's other desk and put her hand to her forehead. "Grandma just needs a minute, pumpkin."

"Lily, talk to me." The courier took her other hand in theirs and pressed it to their chest. "Stay with me. It was just a little poke, you'll be okay. Right, Grandma? You'll be just fine."

"Just fine," Lily repeated. She patted their knuckles reassuringly. "Grandma loves you."

They smiled up at her. "I love you too, Lily."

The nightkin's head rolled back against the wall, and beneath her goggles her eyes glazed over. Throughout the chem's hold, Lily kept repeating the words that consumed her, across her life after the Unity and the one that had come before, the one that was becoming harder and harder to remember. She could feel how afraid she had been, how bright the sun had shone, and the jumble of insufficient words in her mouth before she and her family were submerged in the great vats at Mariposa.

Grandma loves you.

"Grandma loves you."

"I know Lily." The courier held her hand throughout, stroking it periodically with their thumb. "I know. I'm here."

Raul Alfonso Tejada: "Hijo de puta," Raul swore, turning his arm this way and that. "They really got me good. This might be my last dance."

"Oh no, you aren't going anywhere." The courier thrust a chair in his direction and tossed another one on top of the desk they had moved. "Sit down, and try not to die. Por favor."

Raul sat with a chuckle. "What do you think it was? Military or recreational chem?"

"I counted four Major Gutsy bots," the courier replied breathlessly. "If it's recreational, it had better be worth that much security."

"Probably military," Raul agreed. "Chase R&D was all over the papers with scandals when the bombs fell, but leave it to the higher-ups to decide they were still worth paying."

"What were the scandals?"

"The usual. Testing Psycho on soldiers in Anchorage, incomplete clinical trials, corruption, black market stuff." Raul flexed his hand and studied his fingers. "Got a weird tingle in my stomach."

"Feliz día de tu muerte," the courier joked. "If that's the worst of it, you're lucky."

"The last time I felt like this, I'd eaten some banana yucca that had gone off." Raul poked his abdomen a bit. "That was a bad day. I was sick, I lost my favorite bottle opener, and Beatrix turned down my offer to take her out for a drink."

"Your what?"

Raul froze, with a look of horror on his face. "Mierda. I did not mean to say that."

"You never told me you were sweet on Beatrix, viejo. I could've put in a good word for you."

"I do just fine on my own, boss. I know she's busy with the Followers and moonlighting at the Atomic Wrangler nowadays, but I'll always remember the night we shared in Two Sun, when we were both young." Raul clapped a hand over his mouth. "I didn't mean to say that, either. Qué está pasando?"

"Beats me, but you're blushing without any skin." The courier chuckled. "Maybe tell me something other than your romantic inclinations? Not that I'm complaining, but you look like you want to sink into the ground."

"Sure, boss. Where do you want me to start?"

The courier tapped their chin. "Is Raul your real name?"

"Sí. Why, were you worried about that? Because you shouldn't be."

"Nah, just checking. Why shouldn't I be?"

"Because of all the fresh-faced wanderers I've shared the road with, you know me better than any of them." Raul shrugged. "I don't really know why, but you never struck me as someone who would use my own life against me. You'll change, because you must, but not so much that I think I'll regret being myself for you."

"Aw, Raul." It was the courier's turn to blush. "That's... that's awfully nice of you to say."

"Good, because the rest of what I have to say is complaining."

"Oh, come on."

Rose of Sharon Cassidy: "Fucking hell." Cass spat on the floor, then began reloading her shotgun. "Pull that desk back, Six, I need to exact some revenge."

"You stay right there." The courier blocked her view of the door with their body. "You don't know what was in that syringe, and the last thing we need is you collapsing in the middle of a murderous rampage. If I have to carry both you and the chemicals we nabbed up three flights of stairs, I will not be a happy camper."

"I'm not a happy camper now." Cass closed the gun up again with a satisfying snap. "I let you stand in the way of me blasting holes in the Van Graffs: Do not stand between a woman with a bad ticker and the handful of bots that decided to mess with her."

"Are you still sore about that?"

"Yeah, I am!" Cass rounded on them. "They burned up my livelihood, my brahmin, my people, and they're still selling guns in Freeside, making caps hand over fist! All because you convinced me not to make that bitch Gloria eat her hair, to just pass her letters along to Ranger Jackson and hope for the best!"

"And you couldn't have said this earlier?" the courier replied, an edge of sarcasm in their voice. "Or am I just that intimidating, that the mouthiest caravan driver in the Mojave can't speak her mind around me?"

"Oh, I'll give you 'mouthy.'" Cass spat on the floor. "You don't intimidate me one bit, you toothless gecko. I know damn well what people say about me around New Vegas, but at least I'm easy to read and easy to please. You, on the other hand, popped out of the ground like the world's angriest prickly pear and decided you were going to make your problems the Mojave's problems! Most people have no clue who you are, what you want, and why you're sitting on top in the first place! It's no wonder the Chairmen, the Omertas, and the White fucking Glove Society were all itching to take you down a peg - why shouldn't they? You're just another House, ruling from your pretty cocktail lounge and telling everyone that your plans are the best ones, just because you dreamed them up!"

"So you would rather have undermined the NCR's entire supply chain just to put a bullet in Gloria Van Graff and Alice McLafferty?" the courier threw back at her. "Do you ever think beyond the nose of your own gun? You're just as bad as Boone, charging in to shoot whoever slighted you like it's gonna solve everything."

"I don't care!" Cass shouted at them. "I'm not looking for solutions, I want justice! They killed my people, and they deserve-"

She gasped, then clutched at her chest. "Jesus, that was-"

"Cass." The courier dropped their defensiveness immediately and grabbed her shoulders. "Cass, breathe. Let it... let it out."

"Already did." Cass coughed and thumped her rib cage a few times. "Got... got more, but nothing that explosive. Don't know what came over me."

"You're wired up, you're frustrated, you've got a chem in you that's probably a more potent form of Psycho," the courier listed off. "It's fine. I can take it."

Cass eyed them suspiciously for a moment before continuing in a lower voice. "I know you're stuck, on what to do about the NCR and the Legion and all their little toy soldiers. You snore when you're stressed out. We can all hear you, those of us that stay in the casino. And you've been snoring a lot lately."

The courier shrugged. "I've been stressed lately. Like you said, the Three Families decided I was an easy target, and my casino's just across the street from all of theirs. And yeah, the war has been... challenging."

Cass snorted. "Challenging? It's been hell. I'm surprised you haven't packed your things and gone back to package delivery full-time. Handed things over to Yes Man completely."

"He's no good by himself, yet," the courier admitted. "I didn't want to do this..."

"Liar. If you didn't want to, you wouldn't have offed House."

"... but if I don't, someone else will." The courier sighed. "And you might like them less."

"Pessimist." Cass smirked. "But with my luck, you're probably right."

"Was this all just bottled up for you?"

"Yeah, but I think the chem helped." Cass inspected her wound again. "Just put me in the mood to share. Strange."

"Yeah." The courier leaned against the desk that was bracing the door. "Strange. You don't by any chance know who broke into my Sugar Bombs stash at the Lucky 38, do you?"

"That was me. I needed something to cover up the taste of a drink Veronica made for me." Cass clapped her hand over her mouth in surprise. "What-?"

"Ohhhhhh." The courier smiled. "I see what's happening."

Veronica Santangelo: "Ohhh, that works fast, I'm already woozy." Veronica put a hand to her forehead and sank into the room's last upright chair. "Five caps says it's a strain of FEV."

"It'd better not be, or I'll have to explain to Elder McNamara why his best Scribe is now a super mutant." The courier rifled through their first aid supplies and came away with a stimpak. "Should we-?"

"Save it." Veronica waved them off. "It probably won't counteract whatever was in that syringe. Besides, better one of us turns into a mutant than one of us dies on the way out of here."

"Your brothers and sisters won't see it that way."

Veronica winked. "That's why I'm not popular. I've got all sorts of blasphemous ideas. Reinterpreting and defying the Codex, entertaining the thought that mutation isn't always a death sentence, kissing girls... I should put together an album of my greatest hits, like that guy the King is always going on about."

The courier smiled, despite their concern for her well-being. "What's your favorite track on that album?"

"Probably 'Jailhouse Rock,' although I've got a soft spot for 'All Shook Up.'"

"No, on your album."

"Oh, shoot." Veronica eased her power fist off and rubbed her hand. "Does hitching my wagon to yours count?"

"Sure, I'll count it." The courier sat down next to her chair and leaned up against one of its legs. "That's my favorite, too."

"You make life interesting, Six. Well, more interesting. Plus you're a good excuse for the rest of the Scribes to let me do my own thing. I can always just say you're single-handedly reshaping the Mojave, so I'm busy and I can't help with their latest projects."

The courier made a face. "Do you really?"

Veronica giggled. "Yeah, but I probably shouldn't say that out loud. Even to you. It makes it sound like you're a specimen I'm studying."

"So, completely accurate, then." The courier twisted around to look up at her. "You're all red in the face, like when you get tipsy. Maybe that bot only stuck you with a shot of tequila?"

"If that was the case, I'd be dead for sure. I do feel a little warm, though." Veronica ran her hands over her face. "And more forthcoming than usual. Ask me something personal."

"Did you raid my secret stash of Sugar Bombs at the Lucky 38 last week?"

"No, but I think Cass did, I saw her eating some the day after you accused everyone. You can do better than that, Six."

The courier smirked. "That stripper you were staring at the last time we had to go to Gomorrah. Did anything happen between you two?"

Veronica squirmed. "Maybe a little. I bumped into her in the hallway while you were talking to your informant, and we might have hid behind a potted plant for a bit to make out."

"Oh, I knew it!" The courier chuckled. "Whatever this is, its better than when you're tipsy."

They went back and forth happily until the flush in Veronica's cheeks faded and the courier began to run out of questions. By then the robots had departed, but before they peeked out of their hiding place, Veronica rifled through the case of chemicals they had managed to recover. "I say we run these past Arcade and figure out which one got me going," she suggested. "And then we track down Benny and feed him a big, fat cocktail of the stuff."

#fallout #fallout new vegas #fnv #companions react #courier six #12 days of ficmas #truth serum

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lunar-years · 6 months

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do u think keeley has daddy issues? considering jamie’s dad is an abusive prick and roy’s dad is implied to be neglectful & “traditional”/toxic

I actually think Keeley has far more Mommy Issues than daddy issues, lol. But I don't think she's particularly close to either one of her parents and yeah she probably doesn't get on super great with her dad, either. Everyone on this show (minus Sam ily Ola <3) has to have a least a lick of daddy issues, it's like an entry level requirement, isn't it!

I assume neither of her parents were particularly thrilled at her going straight from school to topless-jumping-from-a-plane modeling. But I also imagine her dad as more of "sit back and let my wife do the talking" checked-out kind of parent, whereas Keeley and her mum were having full-on screaming matches when she was a teenager.

Just from that one line we get re: her mum in canon, I imagine Keeley finds her mother very frustrating, in how she refused to stick up for herself at her job where her hard work was constantly being claimed by the men around her. Keeley can't understand her mum and her mum can't understand her.

And this is venturing fully into headcanon territory apropos of nothing, but... I envision her parents as divorced, and so that kind of frustration extends to Keeley's views about their relationship as well. Maybe Keeley felt her mum should've left her dad ages before they actually divorced, because here her mum was working a full day and coming home and doing his laundry and cooking their meals, and Keeley for the life of her cannot and could never understand why her mum would let herself be treated like that. Like, I think she views her mum as a little spineless. And ultimately I think it was her dad who did the leaving, because her mum would never, and that frustrates Keeley even more.

I also have this idea that her dad divorces her mum and very shortly after goes off and finds a new family, wife and stepkids and that, and Keeley is fuming at how he could do that to her and her mother but her mum is just...apathetic. It's like, Keeley keeps wanting and searching and hoping for a commaraderie with her mother that simply isn't there. And the same goes for when she goes on to her modeling career, and she's facing all the sexism that comes with that and struggling and working her ass off just to get a single ring up the ladder, which SHOULD be something her mum can relate to. Keeley is a little desperate for that support, but her mum just won't give it. All she has for Keeley is constant criticism about her life choices. “You know you’re not going to be able to rely on your good looks forever, Keeley, you need to find a real job” type of shit, you know.

So like, basically I think Keeley as an adult can be polite and have more pleasant interactions with her dad than with her mother, because her dad sucks but it's in such a straightforward way, whereas she has a much more complicated relationship to her mum, whom she doesn't like, but loves, and who she pities but also admires in a way. And she actually wants a relationship with her mum (that simply doesn't exist no matter what she does or accomplishes or tries), or did at some point at least. So Keeley takes a lot more out on her. Which, yeah maybe isn't very fair of her, but such are mothers and daughters. She cares more so it hurts more, etc.

#Long story short: Keeley loathes the idea of becoming her mother and sees her mother's life as like. a prison of her own making.#whilst Keeley's mum can't comprehend why her daughter is so deviant. why can't she be content with a 'normal' simple life.#why won't she settle down into a regular steady job a husband and kids wouldn't this make her happier?#so there's this giant chasm between them neither one can cross #sorry this is so long i have SO MANY THOUGHTS on her family's dynamic they fascinate me #ted lasso #ted lasso meta #keeley jones #ted lasso headcanon #asks

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burdened-android · 6 months

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A VERY DESCRIPTIVE PROFILE OF YOUR MUSE. Repost with the information of your muse, including headcanons, etc. if you fail to achieve some of the facts, add some other of your own!

NAME: Arma Marie Isdera (chosen) / Vantage (original name) PLSR8020L7QV828472082 (serial number) / Esperanza (temporary alias)

NICKNAME: n/a

TITLE(S): n/a

AGE: 26

SPECIES: human, android

SEX: Female

NATIONALITY: born in the united states, made to resemble someone from southern Europe (i.e. southern regions of Italy)

INTERESTS: Arma writes to an obsessive degree, chronicling many of her thoughts with a fountain pen. Depending on verse, her writing is either eloquent journal entries, or unhinged scribbling that only makes sense to her. "Black Trees" is her noise music project; the mild-mannered Arma loves shrieking into a microphone.

PROFESSION: What Arma enjoys the most is her work at Serapis, an organization that hosts people to take trips to other dimensions. She is a Leif, a sort of tour guide, that helps people navigate through these experiences. In other words, Arma is a professional trip sitter. In reality, Serapis is a front for the government, who is using the visitors as test subjects for a Project MKUltra-esque experiment. Arma is, of course, oblivious to this; she likes that her position hires more androids than other places.

There have been other scenes in which Arma is a barista at the Khamsin Inn, a small coffee shop near the walls of Neo-LA. I kinda thought it would be a fun joke to have Arma appear doing the most random jobs imaginable, like working at the DMV or operating construction equipment.

BODY TYPE: Very svelte, like someone who does a lot of cardio and aerobics. Arma's beauty lies not in the size of her features, but in her proportions.

EYES: entirely black (this makes her sensitive to bright light)

HAIR: Jet black, almost looking blue or purple in some lights. Arma doesn't really put her hair up unless she's going for a specific style; the people who made her were able to patch "long hair can be annoying" out of her DNA. She has thick eyebrows.

SKIN: Pale, stone gray, owing to genetic reasons, and her having black blood. Arma has permanent black lip gloss that doesn't come off.

POSTURE: Arma's sense of balance is extremely good, owing to the slightly mechanical nature of her. She usually wears stilettos, and can run in them at almost full speed. All of her movements are very measured and precise, almost to a robotic degree. She can also spend a much longer time upside down than normal people, without becoming uncomfortable. Arma can't swim.

HEIGHT: 5’9”

VOICE: It's deep, raspy, and androgynous. It's like she's whispering, but instead of getting louder, she gets closer to your ear. This can be disconcerting, because she can be talking to you from across the room, but it will sound like she's whispering in your ear. Everything Arma says is slow, and deliberate.

SIGNATURE OUTFIT: She has a fake fur coat she always wears, it's gray, very soft, and is meant to resemble chinchilla. Under that she usually wears some kind of turtleneck, crop top, or a more plain blouse, and black leggings. Alternates would be a cocktail dress, or a short skirt with fishnets. Arma has very sensitive eyes, so basically any time outside is spent with very dark sunglasses on. These have gold frames, to match a thin bracelet on her wrist. Charlemagne made her a necklace consisting of a black metal star, which she wears every day to honor him. Her aesthetic is basically "vampire that loves Trader Joe's."

Her appearance is one of the few exceptions to her otherwise austere lifestyle. In short, Arma is always slaying, even if the occasion doesn't call for it. Tabby is your girl if you want messy buns and oversized hoodies.

SIGNIFICANT OTHER: Arma is in a difficult spot emotionally. Her only relationship, both platonic and romantic, was with Charlemagne, her boyfriend who she escaped from New York with. In this timeline, she is just beginning to open up to new people after losing him on the journey to Neo Los Angeles.

COMPANIONS: Noelle, Pari, Spoons, and recently Kira. She drags Tabby out of the house, and relies on Limbo to help her with her car, and house repairs. Arma does not know that Limbo is a criminal.

ANTAGONISTS: Other than the police, and associated android hunters, Arma does not have any opps in the RPC. She is like a capybara, she survives by getting along with everyone. Arma likes, but is scared of Aura.

STRENGTHS: Resilience - Arma's body is unusually resilient, as she can shrug of things that would hospitalize a typical person. She is not completely impervious to everything, but, like, getting hit by a car would probably just stun her for a few seconds. She's very adaptive, and cunning - Arma is always open to learn knew things in order to both expand her frame of reference and to achieve what she desires. She can be a very out-of-the-box thinker. I've mentioned this before, but Arma is basically just a nice lady who wants to have a good time.

WEAKNESSES: As stated above, Arma's emotional state is not the greatest. She can be very emotionally dependent on her friends, and isn't the best with boundaries. Arma is a people pleaser, and puts the opinions of people she looks up to on a pedestal. Honestly, she's also kind of gullible, and too trusting of others.

FRUITS: Fruit? Fruit is a canvas, waiting to be painted (with chocolate.)

DRINKS: Arma is a true water enjoyer, preferring to chug it at room temperature. If not that, she loves hot drinks, especially hot chocolate and mocha lattes.

ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES: espresso martinis, and the reddest of red wine. Arma will swirl it menacingly as she lounges on her couch.

SMOKES: Has indulged in a cigarette once or twice.

DRUGS: No.

DRIVER'S LICENSE: Yes. Arma's income isn't always the most steady, and she drives a very tired Geo Metro that's filled with Squishmallows.

tagged by @chronicparagon

tagging @songofsilentechoes @smokes-and-bullets @cosmic-gemstone honestly my brain is mac n cheese rn so if u wanna do this go ahead ;)

#ooc #dash meme #tw drugs #thank you

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casitafallz · 1 year

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LTRL AU | What Lies Under Denial

The exam, Isabela didn’t like but she didn’t try to question the techniques used given Bella was a medical professional and was trying hard. Even to her own, unmedical trained eye, the woman was finding it hard to locate anything potential so she moved on to other exams than just relying on feeling her belly, and a few medical instruments were put to use which seemed far more useful but Isa just lay back and let her work.

Suffice it to say, having her own clothes back on a little later and legs closed was a relief though she was left waiting with a glass of water before Fran herself came in.

“You feeling okay?”

“I’ve had better days,” Isabela admitted, the nerves in her system in her uncertainty were setting up camp and she hated to wait. “I think your Ma struggled to even find my uterus which is funny given she had two gloved fingers wedged up its one entry-way street.”

“Oh, yeah.” Fran agreed, snorting at her colorful expression. “She’s talking to my grandfather about it given he knows a little more about odd pregnancies—if you are pregnant.” She added swiftly at her sharp look. “It’s not actually too uncommon for women to have an odd uterus placement. One in five, if the math of the recent exams is correct.”

“Why do you have access to that information?” Isabela questioned lightly; she wasn’t surprised but she wasn’t fond of the idea that anyone could have access.

“Oh, well I’m sorta been made to sort out medical notes. Since our family’s gotten more attention and demand, more people are coming to us for things like pregnancy and…things. So… we’re considering expanding the clinic to hold an inventory of medical files to keep track of personal and family’s medical history.”

Isabela’s eyebrows shot up. “That sounds…interesting.”

“I’ve been sworn to not use real names and identifiable remarks for the sake of privacy.” Fran waved off casually, “But means we’re getting a bigger work building, my Abuelo and Tios will be finally starting the new medical training for anyone wanting to help.” Fran carried on, somewhat rolling her eyes but there was a low edge of pride to her voice. Of course, despite Fran’s personal issues in regard to her family, Isa could imagine that the medical side and family job development were something to be proud of.

But, she could certainly see the appeal. Especially In her own personal case; if this was hereditary then it’d be easier to know which side of the family it was from. It sounded like a very clever system. Perhaps when Encanto expanded, it would be useful as well.

“A brighter future for the medical industry for sure.” Isabela sighed out, her posture stiffening as she felt a particular…flutter under her ribs though it didn’t last long and was gone.

“What’s wrong?” Fran noted her change in demeanor.

Isabela just swallowed thickly, trying to take a few careful breaths. “Just….a flurry sensation.”

Fran’s head cocked to the side but thankfully, the conversation ended when Bella returned, this time with Dr Lopez who had a thick notepad and pen and looking over the notes his daughter-in-law made.

“Fran, you can go.” He remarked, noting his granddaughter’s presence.

“She can stay….if she wants,” Isabela requested nervously. At least then she wasn’t doing this alone. A part of her did consider wishing Dolores was here but…then she’d get an ‘I told you so’. Isa didn’t particularly want that right now either. She’d settle with Fran.

Fran promptly sat next to her as her answer, a hand resting on her back as support though clearly, very happy with being here and from the looks of it, the doctor didn’t look like he had the energy to argue or insist otherwise.

“How are you feeling now?”

“Nervous, but I’d really like your assessment here, Doctor,” Isabela said dryly.

Dr Lopez's aged face crinkled a little into a soft smile but he remained professional. “Bella here has come to a conclusion you are showing signs of pregnancy despite no obvious bump but that can be common for women with a tilted uterus. It won’t affect a woman’s ability to get pregnant but it does make the bump harder to see in the first few weeks into the second trimester. It may take a few more months until you’re showing—“

“I’m probably seven months pregnant, Doctor.” Isabela pointed out faintly as the words echoed because if the math was correct, she’d give birth in two months. “I don’t have many months left” her mouth felt dry now. She was pregnant.

Two months!

That was not a lot of time to prepare the family for an expansion and…god forbid how’d they even take that. Not well, obviously. Her father was going to be so disappointed… and Abuela… she was going to be furious. Isa knew they wouldn’t kick her out; that wasn’t what she was so scared about but… more shit was about to be delivered and she had no choice but to take it and face the music. It was terrifying but… she should probably break this to Abuelita first; she’d help her if no one else did… Isa hoped.

She had no idea how Mateo would react either and she dreaded how to tell him. His personal life outside their friendship, group and fun was vastly different. Isa wouldn’t allow this…child to be anywhere near Mateo’s sister.

The doctor paused. “Excuse me?” His eyebrows shot up.

“The only unprotected time I had was… Antonio’s birthday. Seven months ago.” She clarified tightly, trying to ignore how her cheeks flushed. “Dolores…said she’s been hearing a heartbeat for months and that was about…four months ago.”

Dr Lopez sighed out softly, running a hand down his face. “Why did you not include this information earlier?”

“I didn’t want it to be true.”

Fran sighed softly next to her, prodding her side “No amount of denial isn’t gonna stop that baby from existing.”

Isa glowered but didn’t remark. What could she say? Denial had worked out well so far and it was the only thing she had. Thankfully, Dr Lopez began to write down more on the page.

“Why’d you want a test if you didn’t want to acknowledge it?” Bella asked, her voice lacking any judgment or criticism but… was carefully soft. “Do you not want the baby?”

Isabela snorted, “You know my family, and the recent history of the last nine months, you should understand why and a baby out of wedlock is another thing my family’s going to be judged upon in this town.”

“Who cares what they think, Isa.” Fran nudged her softly.

“I do! Half the people in town hate me because I hurt my sister, half of my family are genuinely scared of me...including my own mother who couldn’t even tolerate me hugging her.” Isa snapped lightly. “How do you think they’re going to react when they find out that I broke one of my rules and brought more shame upon the family with a baby?!”

Fran rolled her eyes though very passive. “How they react, you can’t control, Isa. But what you can control is you and the baby. Find people in your family who you can trust to help and go from there. You have new skills to put to use in work and a way to earn a living.”

“I know…” Isa groaned, “I just… why couldn’t this be like a normal pregnancy?” She hated the idea of the symptoms but at least then it was easy to spot and didn’t involve so much guesswork and doubt.

“Which part?”

“All of it! I’ve had no symptoms and no bump and the only thing telling me before today was Dolores and her super hearing.”

“No symptoms?” Dr Lopez raised his head, sparing a look to Bella who shook his head to clarify her statement given the woman’s earlier quiz “at all?”

“I’ve…started to feel tender in the chest and my waistband a little tight but… no.”

Dr Lopez nodded tightly, “I see…”

“Look, I only came for a test because… this happened to my Abuelita. She lost a baby because she didn’t know and didn’t feel anything…”

Fran’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, this has happened before in your family?”

“Apparently… my Abuelita’s mother probably had the same thing given she kept coming home with unexpected babies.” Isa relayed briefly, “I can’t…just ignore and wind up losing a baby and put her all through that pain again.”

Abuelita deserved better than to just have that suddenly thrown into her face. The joy of a great-grandchild and the loss at the same time…. It wasn’t worth her denial. How would they see her if she couldn’t tend to a defenseless…vulnerable being that relied on her to survive? She’d certainly suffer more for it and… well her Abuelita seemed to be more open-minded as unexpected as this was.

She hoped.

“Let’s go over the timeline and…see what timeline we have. I’ve heard of this type of pregnancy before but…it’s rare. The fact it appears often in your family is…reassuring at the least.” Dr Lopez leaned forwards, though there was a relief to hear that… this wasn’t unknown.

Vera had been aware of Isabela’s change of demeanor as she helped her set up dinner before her husband would come back from last-minute closing up. Her silence was one thing but she also had a faraway look in her eye which was enough to know she was clearly worried about something and… looked like she had no idea what to do about it. It reminded her a lot of the girl’s first few days here; trying to settle and trying not to feel like an outsider. Yet, it took a proper sit down for the girl to have a cry and then to have a talk about what the problems were before things improved and she actually fully relaxed. Vera didn’t want that to happen again.

Ruben came home happily in good timing as she placed the pot onto the table, hung up his suit coat, and kissed her on the cheek as he came in. “Food smells wonderful, how’s everything today?”

“Work side, all good. The orders for children’s suits are finalized and I’ve got a good number of people to help to get them done. Mirabel will also be joining us in the shop next week as well.” Vera announced, seating down. “One quinceañera dress has also been finished but we have another two in waiting. It’s main bodice and skirts been pinned and ready for sewing.”

“Will we need to keep the shop open for longer?” Ruben asked, helping himself to the dish, and spooning it onto his plate before offering the spoon to Isa who took it wordlessly.

“No, I’ve closed regular times but stayed later the last few nights. I don’t need people interrupting me over a missing button.” Vera replied.

“Fair enough.” Ruben snorted, though turned his attention to Isa. “How’s your day been?”

Isabela looked up from her plate, looking a little startled at being addressed before she smiled. “It’s…been okay.”

“She’s brought back our instruments from the Castillo’s shop. It’ll be good to…play a few tunes.” Vera smiled. “We should, after dinner.” Isabela was still very rough on the piano. She knew her son had taught his daughter younger but clearly, she hadn’t practiced the last couple of years but at least the fundamentals were still there. But Vera hoped maybe the girl would try the violin. It’s be great to pass on new lessons, much like she had with Mirabel and her sewing techniques.

“It’ll be lovely, my Vida.” Ruben complimented. “Did you do anything enjoyable? I know you had the afternoon empty given you’ve completed your spinning classes. Did you do something fun? I heard that your threads have been praised by those who had bought them.”

Isabela’s hands gripped the cutlery a little tighter. “I...went to see Fran.” Her voice shifted, slightly higher but seemed to smile fondly. “D-Did you know they might expand their work? Making it a bigger workforce than just a family’s job.”

“No,” Ruben’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I’m surprised they’re expanding, The Lopez family aren’t… the most subtle to their…dislikes.”

“I know they don’t like magic.” Isa shrugged, ��but… I do like their philosophy of it. It’s not without reason. Mama’s work did make them lose business.”

“That’s hardly a philosophy.”

“If my ma died and the Lopez Family died, who’s healing the people of Encanto?” Isa pointed out. “Abuela said that Mira used that as a point for Mama to have fewer people coming to her for nonsense cuts.”

Vera smiled as the look on her husband’s face lingered at the point made. “She’s got you there.”

Though she began to talk with Ruben, Isa seemed to stop engaging and went back to picking at her meal, eating slowly.

The concern didn’t leave, even as they cleaned up but what pulled Vera’s attention most, was Isabela disappearing to her room before they could touch their instruments for their evening of fun before bed

Something was clearly wrong. She knew better than to just let it by because then it had the potential to get worse. Isa had a habit of not sharing and Vera knew it was a hard habit to break when it seemed everyone in Casita had the same problematic habit. They seemed to hope it’d all go away by ignoring it. Even Agustín was starting to pick that habit up and Vera wasn’t about to let it continue in her home.

With a candle in one hand, Vera knocked lightly on Isabela’s door. “Isa, can I come in?” She asked through the door. “I’m just… worried about you.”

“I’m fine, Abuelita.” She could hear a shuffling of sounds of things being moved before the bed springs echoed.

“Isa, can we please talk?”

The seconds past were far too long before she heard a soft sigh. “Okay.”

Gently, Vera pushed the door in to see Isabela curled up on her bed, covers tucked in and a rogue potato swimming in her bedside glass next to the large candle that helped light up the room.

Isa had decorated her room well, no too much amount of plants, though the ceiling was decorated with hanging vines that also seemed to drop down the walls, even holding berries that even seemed to emit light. Moss covered the hardwood floor like a carpet and there was a distinct smell of honeysuckle that tickled her nose.

Isa looked more to her lap with her hair down and almost like a curtain to block her view as she pulled the chair from the desk and sat down next to the bed, placing down her candle next to Isa’s to add to the room's dim brightness.

“Did something happen today?” Abuelita asked, “You’re withdrawn and… I don’t want you to go to bed upset. Any problem is fixable here. Nietia.” She reached forwards, pulling back the dark curtain of hair to behind Isa’s ear.

“You’ll be mad.”

“It takes a lot to get me angry,” Vera assured but she could feel this was… probably important if Isa knew she was in the wrong. She had done something and clearly worried on her reaction. Very close to her first few days; fear of breaking something would send her back to Casita permanently. That wasn’t what she wanted Isa to be afraid of. “I’m sure there’s…reason for whatever you did but I won’t get mad at you if you tell me.”

Isabela’s jaw flexed a little, weighing her options. “So… about…Antonio’s birthday…” She started, her fingers gripping the bedcovers tighter, “I...I wasn’t part of the family photos and…no one noticed that and I couldn’t be part of the party because it was in Antonio’s room…”

Vera’s frowned tightly though she could see this was clearly a set-up for what was more recent. But… hearing that was not pleasant, she could imagine how…upset Isa must have been to be left out. Her own birthday had been a barely-stable event. “Go on,” She encouraged.

“I…was really upset so...i invited a male friend of mine up to my room.” Her cheeks were stained with color but Vera felt her eyes widen at that. The implication was clear as day on what they did and she could see which rule had been broken. One that didn’t make much sense, and one they had been trying to get rid of.

“Were you okay?” Vera asked. “You weren’t…pressured?”

“No, I instigated.” She looked down into her lap, still red. “Dolores knows. Me and him… since then we...haven’t stopped but we kept things more casual. You know my reasons, he had his.” She whispered. “I’m sorry.”

Vera stroked her arm, “What happened today? Did he end this with you?”

Isa shook her head. “No.” her voice was quiet but leaned back, her hand coming to her belly before it suddenly clicked.

Oh.

“Oh, Isa…” She moved off her chair, seating herself quickly onto the edge of the bed, and pulled Isa into her arms, the girl broke down into tears, her arms wrapping around her. Pollen and plants both grew and withered around them, random color popping into her hair mostly “You’re okay,” She assured, stroking her back. “I’m not mad… you must have been so scared to tell me.”

There was no answer to that, it was a statement but could see why it would build up like this. This was far from ideal, but she could see…how Isa would come to act on such behaviors and impulses if the girls of the latter part of the year had been miserable as she had seen her to be. It was to make her happy.

It took a while before she felt her nieta calm in her arms, staying settled though she felt the girl was a little more relaxed. Vera gently stroked through her hair softly.

“I do wish you could have come to me sooner, I could have helped much more.”

“I…I didn’t want it to be true. Dr-Dr Lopez’s daughter ran a check.”

Vera sighed softly, unsurprised to hear that but she felt relief Isa was being more responsible despite that desire. “Can I ask what prompted you to check?”

Isa shifted a little, her hand moving up to move her hair, spreading more colored pollen through her hair. “You.”

“Me?”

Isa sniffled softly, “You…we were telling me ab-about Tio Dante. You-you didn’t know and he died and… I couldn’t let that happen again if-if it was true.” She croaked, “this… this one is like yours.” She looked resistant to touching her belly again, but Vera understood what Isa was referring to.

While familiar pang returned at the mention, her lost son was a healed wound given it was so long ago. She had no time to really bond with him but he had still left an impact on her after his death.. She had only told Agustín and Sofia when they were old enough and they had never ask for anything else on it. She had doubts the two even remembered her stories. Sofia had been fortunate to never be cursed with such a risky unknown pregnancy when she had her daughter. She hadn’t considered it would be further passed down; let alone through her son to his daughters.

It probably added to Isabela’s denial.

No wonder she was so anxious.

This had to be handled well, and delicately. Which did mean the other would have to know for the sake of preparation. If the pregnancy was further along then they may not had the time they’d need. She knew if Isa was anxious about telling her, she must be dreading the rest of the family’s reactions. That was not wise to put her through. The stress would not be good for the child.

“I’ll handle your family. Abuelita’s got this.” She promised softly. “Tomorrow, you should talk to the father and see how involved he wants to be.” Vera didn’t want to have a bastard grandchild but… if the father was not present then it couldn’t be helped. Ruben was against arranged marriages as it was so it’d be unwise to force the two into a union, even for the sake of the baby’s soul. They had to see. It was a lot to process but they had time.

They had time.

#lest the rot lingers au #encanto #encanto au #drabble #isabela madrigal #agustín madrigal #agustin madrigal #julieta madrigal #mirabel madrigal #luisa madrigal #dolores madrigal #camilo madrigal #alma madrigal

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bookinit02 · 1 year

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23 :)

23: if i could send a message back to myself on the first day of the year, what would it be?

i held off on answering this one bc i knew it would be a little long & personal! sorry in advance😅

but to put it lightly, i was not in a good place for most of this year. i had a really traumatic incident in february that left me with debilitating mental health problems, worse than i’ve ever had before. i was deeply closeted, extremely anxious and embarrassed of what i was going through, and severely isolated. even before what happened in february, i wasn’t doing well — crying almost every day, barely making it through classes, and trying to ignore my problems with alcohol & meaningless hookups. i wasn’t happy with my writing, my relationships, or my life in general. i remember turning 20 and writing a letter to myself ten years in the future. for most of the letter, i was uncertain if i’d even still be here.

i don’t want to be too cheesy, but i genuinely could not have imagined how dramatically my life would turn around this fall. writing for this fandom was already lifting my mood quite a bit, especially since i felt passionate about my stories for the first time in a while, but becoming engaged in the fandom and making real friends genuinely saved my life. i was actually shocked earlier this month when i flipped through my journal for this year, because in the span of five weeks (september - october), my entries went from saying things like “i can’t shake the feeling that i don’t belong,” “i’m not out enough, not confident enough, not talkative enough,” and “i can’t get excited about anything anymore,” to: “for the first time in years, i have real friends” and “i feel alive again” and “i’ve never been happier.”

there were a lot of reasons for the change in my mood, and some have passed, and some have stayed, but the lessons i learned and the things i experienced are still the same. for the first time in my life, i made friends just by being myself (which sounds ridiculous, i know, but it’s genuinely never happened before). i came out to every single important person in my life—even my sister, who i thought i would never come out to. i grew in my confidence, in my happiness, and in my writing. honestly, i just grew into myself. i feel like this year, more than any other, has shaped me as a person. if i had given up, none of this would have happened. and honestly, if i hadn’t gone through such a rough time at the beginning of this year, nothing would have happened the same way. “baby, we’re perfect” was born out of that struggle. i couldn’t have written it otherwise.

so, in essence, i would tell myself to hold on. and this goes to anyone who’s also struggling right now, because i’ve seen it through the other side and i know now that it does get better. honestly! you may feel like your life is over, or that things will never look up, but your circumstances can change in such a short time: your friends, your relationships, your job, your family, your surroundings, etc. some things will get better, and some will get worse. but real happiness, for the time that it lasts, is such a joy to experience! and it makes everything worth it. just keep going, and never miss an opportunity when it comes along. you never know where it’ll take you :)

#personal #i am extremely sorry for how long this is holy shit #apparently i was just feeling extra extra sappy today

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gale-heart · 2 years

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((A smattering of journal entries penned over the last couple of months. Only a couple consist of more than fragmented notes and reminders.))

——

September 14

I used to think riding a gryphon was such a thrill; the closest I could get to tasting freedom in my rooted mortal life. Now I look back and marvel at how dull the limits of my imagination truly were.

Words fail to aptly capture the experience of my first real flight. If I’d still had my usual mouth and vocal chords, I might have shrieked and whooped for sheer delight on leaving the ground. I probably did that anyways, coming up out of that first dive. I’ve been ignorant of what’s practically another world all this time, one of light and space and weightlessness and winds that would just as soon cruelly dash you back to earth as soften against your feathers to coax you up and onward. Once I tired of chasing fast currents and doing flips for the sake of it, I found a nice thermal and let it carry me whilst I simply basked in the sun and observed the world crawling by leagues below.

I really love being a bird. Perhaps later I’ll experiment with changing my shape or try to channel some of my spells whilst transformed (imagine if I could become a giant storm crow! The havoc I could wreak on an enemy ship!) But for now, I am more than happy to remain a simple, dignified raven. I cannot WAIT to heckle the shit out of Cyri like this!

——

September 30

Has Silverpine always been this noisy? I know I’ve only visited the Respite a handful of times, but I think I’d recall if all that creaking and rustling and buzzing was loud enough before to keep me awake. Then again, I’ve hardly spent much time on land these last months. Maybe I just forgot what sleeping under trees was like when I got used to waves and rain, and this is normal for forests.

The root of our problem at the Funnybone Acreage turned out to be more benign than I’d initially prepared myself for. Note to future self: if I ever start taking on apprentices, I am CLOSELY monitoring their magic usage if I deny them a request for a pet. Or, at the very least, I’ll make sure they do a proper job of using magic to create their own pet. Casualties of the evening: one biting pumpkin head severed from its vines to wiggle ineffectively on the ground, one gigantic squashling which exploded all over the children’s bedroom, and several fighters left slightly more orange in the aftermath. Shadow-animated pumpkin, it turns out, tastes exactly like a normal pumpkin—abjectly disappointing in its raw state and nothing like the delicious autumnal pastries I’ve become so enamored with. All in all, we saved the majority of the crop, and talked the farmers into allowing their kids a much more manageable piglet. Why can’t all our missions go this well? (Be honest with yourself, Shrub. You know damn well you’d get bored if things didn’t go to shit now and then.)

Naturally I seized the excuse to make practical use of showing off my new wings, and ended up having a good and long chat with Samara (who has found her own druid-y mentor!) about nature magic and the disaster wedding and traumas and deserving better and our respective journeys to finding healing and love and accepting that we deserve good things. Later, in the quiet lull that followed, I realized that I’ve come to adore this strange little ramshackle community and the people of whom it consists. I feel…strong, at last. A few small cracks and painful slivers remain from the past, but I’ve healed enough around them that I barely notice them most days. I have my people, I’m finding out what I want to do and who I’m happy to be, I have the power to throw my weight around if I need to, and now I can become a fucking bird. My heart is full. Now I just have to wait for the name change to be legally finalized, and then I can lay the old name of Starspire to rest and make room for the new.

I’ve decided on Galeheart. It’s a bit on the nose, yes, but tastefully so. Properly ambitious, too, for the impact I plan on leaving in my life.

FUCK I forgot to tell her about the bachelorette brawl! Ah, well, there are always other drinking nights. Goodness knows I’ve no shortage of outlandish stories to share by now.

#character logs #journal #ic

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emmetrain · 2 years

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📔!!

send “📔” to read an entry from my muse’s diary about your muse

"Dear Ingo, or Diary --since I have written too many personal events in here and I would rather throw you out of window than let you read this, dear brother.

Still!! I am too lonely not to address this to you. See?? This is why you should never ever read this! I am the cool, happy twin! I cannot be saying shit like this!!

I have been talking with someone verrrrry normal. Do you know the Sinnoh legends you tried to rope me in and I refused--because I get jealous of all those kids with legendary pokemon on their side? Well!!! This verrry normal person is the legendary Giratina themselves!! Oh, you should have been here. You love ghost pokemon, and you would understand them better than I could!

So!! Giratina is human. In a way? But you can see that they are... verrry new at it? I feel like they are using a remote controller to conduct their body, and that controller is in need of maintenance. They look a bit scary or goofy at times. If I did not like them or if we were closer, I would roast them about this, but I do not want them to get self-conscious. (You should have seen them though! It is a verrry cool! I feel like I am watching a science-fiction movie with an adequate budget!)

You know, it is usually your thing to get emotional and go all philosophical on people. But I think that rubbed off on me. I think I see them like us. They are sibling and they are alone and... Look, I would never imagine someone could die without dying, but the day you went away, I have died. For sure. The pain is immeasurable. It makes me laugh to see myself alive and running when I know, deep down, I am no more. So... Seeing them makes me feel like I can relate to their pain, in a way. They are alone. They are powerful, of course, but they are also suffering. They are not... quite alive, like me!

Oh, Ingo, you definitely won't get to read this. I am going to eat this.

We have Dialga, Palkia and their banished sibling Giratina, right? I have no idea what kind of beings the others are. But I know it is unfair. That the two are separated from Giratina. For the fault of their birth. Giratina did not come into existence broadcasting their wish to carry the burden of overseeing destruction and anti-matter? I think all parental figures inherently suck since the very first one is awful as well. If you are almighty~, then you should be the god of destruction yourself, shithead.

Anyway... Ingo, I do want to help them. I know I cannot even help you or me at the moment. People help people, but the question lingers, am I the right person for this job? I mean, we would not let annoying Cilan conduct our precious trains just because he wants to help. But also... I still want to help them? I am stubborn, you know that. I do not want give up on them, even if I am nothing but a speck of dust in their grand, eternal existence. I want them to know I care. You know, ever since you went away, my baby Joltiks are tugging at my sleeve or biting me when I come home injured? (On second thought, do not know that. I am going to eat this paper.) Well, I want to be that Joltik? I want them to know someone gives a shit. Even if that does not help, I still smile when I see my baby spiders caring about me. I want them to smile, Ingo. I think I will continue up in these tracks.

I never want to drop the pen when I start to write like this. It is so easy to assume you are there when I am writing. I do not want my eyes to focus back on the dark, empty room. I do not want to live like this, Ingo. Not knowing what happened to you. I am going insane.

I WILL EAT THIS PAPER.

Bye."

#wormdritch #ic #verse;; searching for the truth #ask;; suggestions and complaints #//he has a lot to say :D #//also I am sure he considered and took a bite of the paper #//but left it mostly intact since it is the proof that... he suffered?

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bldcatlog · 27 days

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oh god is this cafe always packed or what! I forgot Eid last more than just one day, It's so busy oh lord. It's hard to focus I thiink I'll be going home soon.

Work was also very busy aswell, although it was actually really enjoyable! I think I am just having a really good day. The weather is nice and the music is wonderful. Working with this specific crew at work is actually so fucking fun like god we are so fucking stupid! Although one of the new guys, he kind sucks balls at his job. It takes him way too long to balance a tire but that's okay he's new. But I literally had to step in because what the fuck I want to go on my lunch for at least 30 minutes. Like how are you spending 10-15 minutes per tire balance? Keep in mind it usually takes me and most people around a min/tire for balancing. So I was like dude what the fuck bro let me come in here and get this done so we can enjoy our lunch man. I had the aux at work and gosh we were all listening to white girl pop HAHAA but let me tell you for some reason men just love their white girl music (I am men). Its like 9am and we are dancing to California girls by Katy Perry and grooving even though we got absolutely shitfucked by the scheduling--- 3 cars every 30/mins, only 1 machine the other is broken. LOLOLOL fucking Makoto had to do a 12 tire changeover and it was so funny. The face he had when I told him I wasn't joking fucking killed me. Whenever I'd walk up to him I still fuck with him ab out the "Boy did I catch you slacking off? GET YOUR ASS UP AND WORK BOY!!!" but really I've had such a lovely day and I feel more and more better. One of my coworkers left early because of one of his Eid functions he need to be at -- that where I found out Eid last around 4 days or so? no wonder this cafe is busy! Talking to him actually kills me too LOL, we were joking about me asking him to marry my daughter and joked about how he's the perfect muslim. "I am a hafiz, I did umrah 3 times I donate, I lead prayer and matter fact I actually know the prophet himself." LOLOLOL I think saying you met the prophet sounds like major sin, I'm the one who said that. These dudes at work the amount of sexual gay jokes being said to eachogher makes me feel that they actually want me bad! LOL I am afraid they'll catch me lacking in the change room. Why did one of them ask if I'd fuck a minion. Imagine stroking that thang and it says "baboy?" HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

This cafe I noticed is very muslim populated and I think that's absolutely lovely. I occasionally eaves drop in their gossip and it's so funny it's really lively in here! everyone looks like they're having fun and I'm happy for them. I'm sipping this iced mocha at the moment after finishing a Ferrero rocker cake slice and I just feel hopeful and alive. I missed this feeling a lot.

I'll probably head home now and finish my work at my desk but I think I'll linger a bit in this environment as it makes me feel good.

I think I'm trying to plan a Banff trip with all the boys I know -- Aaron, Kishan, Josh, Andril, Kyle, Michael I hope I can bring Cole along aswell -- I think he'll need it. I feel like they'll be absolutely durnk one night while I'll have to manage everyone so they don't lose a kidney (oh my lord) but rafting, hiking, food, the scenery -- if they don't go I'll go by myself.

I wonder how I'll feel looking back at all of these entries ? would I feel nostalgic, sad? happy or fond? Who knows really but I'll never find out.

I really like my outfit I have on at the moment. I'm currently wearing a white knitted sweater, cursory pants, Uggs and a bandana and I feel super indie. I think I need to become an indie slut (I AM LYING! NEVER!) I need some summer clothing so maybe I'll go thrifting and pullout my sewing machine soon. speaking of that I need to get some materials so I can make my clothing pieces -- I want to show them in a visual for bold catalogue.

I asked Liam if he's down to make a soundtrack for bold with me and he's down!

Lachlan asked if I've been learning arabic because I said Wallahi im finished and LOL I definitely will learn a little bit in the future. Such beautiful calligraphy. And I'd like to flex that I am asian who knows arabic.

Tomorrow I think I'll go to school early and stay late and get a lot of studying done. I NEED TO STUDY! I CANNOT AFFORD TO FAIL PLEASE!!!

I've come to realize the amount of compliments I get on my tooth gem! It's funny how the moment I talk to someone and smile they immediately compliment and notice it! I feel like it adds a sparkle razzle dazzle to my wide grin. I don't mind compliments that are kindhearted like this. Like today, my coworker called me a cutie pie abg with a cute tooth gem LOL you have a girlfriend! does she know you're saying this to MEN! And at the cafe I got complimented on it when I smiled. I think I've always been a smiling grinny dude. I probably get it again once it falls off/more of them. maybe a crescent moon and a star? a heart would be kind of cunt as fuck.

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onlygoodthingsmatter · 9 months

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SlingShot Options3.0 Options Trading System

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Each system result below is based on the exact entry and exit points of the system, the system you are looking to buy today. Buffering has been added to simulate common slippage based on our experience. This means that the system is more accurately represented to what you would be purchasing. - Points below are stock profit or loss points - Options profit points will differ personally depending on how far out in time you play options expiration and how ITM vs OTM your position is - Results give you a fair representation RUT TSLA 33 Jan-16 9 2016 -26 6 65 29 56 9 14 13 8 24 8 15 16 13 12 21 T 10 -15 5 L 8 45 16 W -7 -10 76% W% -6 5 39 -8 -4 18 41 7 36 18 9 138 -9 36 -7 38 7 51 -22 dec 31 2016 5 15 +436 Stock Totals Profit Points -2 36 + 191.84 Approx Options Profit Points -3 70.59% Winning $ 191,840.00 10 Contracts 12 $ 383,680.00 20 Contracts 21 $ 959,200.00 50 Contracts -7 $ 1,918,400.00 100 Contracts -4 7 18 21 22 -6 -5 1 3 -5 -4 6 -5 26 24 15 7 8 24 21 20 4 -5 27 8 end of Jan 2017 489 Total Stock Profit Points 215.16 Approx Options Points Totals $56,980.00 10 Contracts $113,960.00 20 Contracts $284,900.00 50 Contracts $569,800.00 100 Contracts GS AAPL Jan-16 6 1 -5 5 2 4 -11 3 5 3.8 -2 -1 -2 -2 3 11 -2 31 T 10 40 T 9 10 L 9 11 L 8 21 W 3.5 29 W -4 68% W% 0.3 73% W% 10 4.5 2 3 2 1 0.5 1 -2 0.2 2 -2.2 1 1.5 -2 2.2 7 3.5 2 2 -2 -1.7 -2 3.2 26 -1.8 4 -1.6 26 -1.7 27 0.2 12 3 7 2.8 dec 31 2016 2 2.6 129.5 Totals Stock Profit Poitns -2 +56.98 Approx Options points. -1.5 $ 56,980.00 10 Contracts 2.2 $ 113,960.00 20 Contracts 2 $ 284,900.00 50 Contracts 0.3 $ 569,800.00 100 Contracts 2.1 1.6 -1.8 -1 +71.2 Total stock points. +31.33 Approx Options Poitns $ 31,328.00 10 Contracts 2016 $ 62,656.00 20 Contracts $ 156,640.00 50 Contracts $ 313,280.00 100 Contracts GS 14.07 January 19.32 17.43 16.08 15.87 1.07 -2.63 5.88 3.22 -4.78 -3.54 8.29 7.51 6.44 6.32 6.05 8.91 8.91 8.18 9.07 9.01 7.76 8.11 8 L -0.56 38 T -0.56 30 W -2.88 78.95% Winning 1.66 3.54 2.24 2.24 5.08 4.87 -2.87 -3.34 0.87 1.45 3.44 1.2 192.93 THAT’S FREAKY! Those are stock points! AAPL GOOG 4.23 35.36 23.22 -11.32 15.08 31.85 9.64 2.36 9.32 -13.23 9.36 7.21 9.08 -6.32 7.32 -6.89 6.93 26.23 5.91 9.87 4.06 7.33 3.92 29.68 18.33 16.87 7.8 12.23 -9.36 11.76 -7.32 4 L 11.9 4 L -5 33 T 13.78 34 T 16.21 29 W 21.32 30 W 1.38 87.88% Winning 51.7 88.24% Winning -18.24 29.68 -4.93 8.32 8.17 9.71 12.32 11.34 6.48 81.77 10.39 82.54 11.46 21.36 4.32 6.71 7.48 3.23 4.88 2.9 5.46 18.56 3.87 11.71 4.21 12.65 3.55 4.6 +189.53 Total Stock points +14.32 +83.59 Approx Options Points 571.09 Total Stock points +251.27 Approx Options Points Get started today with your new SlingShot3.0 Options Trading System for an Exact, Clear Cut Method for Trading the Markets for a Potential Very Good Living... $2997 Add to Cart

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#optionssystem #OptionsTradingSystem #slingshotoptions #slingshot3 #slingshotoptions3.0 #slingshot3.0 #TradeOptionsforaLiving

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upfrog · 9 months

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An AI-generated art hot-take

Time to get some people mad at me.

I just saw a post where someone was expressing their frustration at generative AI, specifically the risk it poses to artists, and how it continues/worsens/partakes of a tradition of reducing art to a finished product. There was a particular piece of it that made me very annoyed, and I've seen this piece in a lot of posts about generated art. Well, it's past midnight where I am, I'm tired, and I'm tired of shutting up about my view on this.

"It's [AI art's] entire central premise is built on the grim truth that many people don't see artists as skilled laborers using years of practiced skill to create something unique, but as data to be exploited"

Some other posts also emphasize a perceived sense of entitlement to art; that AI art advocates feel it is unfair for artistic creation to be limited to the elect few.

I would like to give a very strong rule. Like all rules, no doubt you could come up with exceptions to it. But this rule is foundational to the world around us, it's development, and it's future.

Making it easier to create things is good. Period. Making it take less time, effort, people, and training to create things is good. Period.

Technology making jobs redundant is a good thing. It is the foundation of almost all human progress. We are all descendants of farmers who were cruelly put out of work by new technological developments. The day when one person and a computer can do the work of an entire department of artists will be a good day - we are not there, maybe we'll never get there. But technology making people redundant is good. Expanding the ability of the average human to do things is good. And the fact that we have gotten to the point where people are unironically saying "it's *good*, actually, that it takes years of practice and effort to be able to produce good art, and you shouldn't want it any other way" is... Perverse? Horrifying? Taking self-interest into the realm of actively tearing your fellow humans down?

To be clear (because this is the internet, and if I don't specify then someone will fill in the gap with the worst things imaginable) I'm not saying that a future where generative AI is extremely good, widespread, and accessible will not have downsides. The threats of bespoke scams, deepfaked videos, floods of bots with a superb ability to guide the narrative, and so on are real, dangerous, and may already be coming to pass.

I know that one aspect of the anti-AI-generated art kickback has to do with the nature of professional art, and the type of people who do it. "Art", broadly defined, is substantially a passion field. You don't do it to get rich, or to have a stable life. You do it because you love the work, and are willing to put up with a thousand downsides, annoyances, and more in order to do what you love. And having this taken away feels cruel in a way that, say, keeping grad students and accountants from having to manually calculate thousands of sums doesn't.

A few words of encouragement. Widespread literacy may have killed the scribal profession as it was understood at the time. But it opened up vastly more work than it destroyed, even if you just count the directly writing-related work. Mass-produced off-the-shelf clothing shrunk the tailor (as once understood) into practical insignificance. Does that mean that no one who is passionate about making clothes can work in the field now? No. We have far, far more clothing (insert anti fast fashion rant here, I'm all on board with that kickback), and more variety, and lots of people working with clothing. The development of software code compilers unemployed a large number of human compilers. In many ways, programming has gotten easier over the years, with a lower barrier to entry, more comprehensible languages, more resources, and so on. But that hasn't meant that software developers are stuck in an unemployment hell of too many job seekers and not enough openings. We, as a society, keep on finding more and more things we want them to program, and demand for the skillset keeps rising. I can't see the future. Maybe AI-generated art will be the end of employment for artists. Maybe the generative AI revolution is fundamentally different from every past productivity revolution. But I doubt it.

#ai art #ai #art #hot take #technology #The part I'm really sad about in all of this is how “tech bro” has become associated with basically everything tech #and how the tech bro stereotype is now often thought of as right-wing.#This makes sensible discussions of technology more difficult because people are using the tech topic as a tool to argue a more general #and unrelated political idea #Like #to change fields a bit #lots of left-ish people are all aboard on space travel. But as Musk has gone more and more right #and presented himself as more and more right #people who might otherwise have cheered any advance in space travel are now glad when a SpaceX thing doesn't work #Because they don't like musk #and musk/space is subsumed into the greater political debate #I don't like it #but in all fairness #I do think the Communists are on to something when they say that “everything is political”.#So a bit of an internal conflict there.

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shadycollectivetragedy · 1 year

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yeah I'm sorry fellas,

I know you put in a lot of effort and work and I want to imagine that there is value that I just can't see

but that is the case

why do you keep on dropping false references in regards to the friend I had a falling out with?

or refuse to acknowledge or take accountability for the sexting you engaged in pretending to be her aggressively encouraging my participation in and now imagine I would waste a moment entertaining criticism for the things offered in the belief I was speaking to someone else

number one it's really really sad pathetic confusing and ridiculous that a man might spend his time online pretending to be a woman and encouraging another man to masturbate to the shit he's saying I mean

let's set aside the whole bisexual or homosexual angle to that

it is still no less offensive, rather than as a costume party or some other occasion in which not disclosing your identity is to be expected

what you have done is so much further down the scale of

bizarre freak show nonsense ridiculous bullshit I don't even know what to say about it

why would you imagine I would even for a moment question the validity support or integrity of my friends and when I say my friends I mean my actual friends not people that happen to overlap my orbit.

maybe my hesitation confused you to the point where you thought you had gained some traction but it was not uncertainty but

concern for your mental health

let me explain something to you once and for all there is no one in my family there is no one in my son's family and there is no friend I have ever had

who would ever consider stealing from me for any reason

attacking me for any reason

or accusing me of anything.

in fact in the entirety of my life only Fred Martin Trretter,

the lifelong alcoholic and drug addicts and pedophile,

would

ever do anything remotely similar to what has been going on

I really don't care whatever point anybody else wanted to offer the moral support it's very thoughtful loving and kind of anybody who took the time to want to sign the card

but the fact of the matter is either through a direct mutual acquaintance or adding my name to some kind of vendetta list online

I was defrauded of almost $100,000 over the last 5 years

and more disturbing and bizarre than that, someone has been hacking into my phone with the singular intent of preventing me from viewing any adult content, and frankly I don't have the faculties to indulge the commentary regarding the justification it's all so stupid it physically hurts my head to allow the words entry .

because ultimately it's subterfuge

an indirect recrimination on

a different behavior often associated with "self love" that people just can't ever interpret any other way other than complete self destruction and surrender to hopelessness .

Which is ironic since it was your lies and the construction of a social media quarantine for lack of a better term with the included thoughtfulness of endless lies about the well-being of the people who had been part of my life

and the suggestion that people I know very well who would give me the shirt off their backs where I to ask

just woke up one day and decided they would go online and see if there was anybody who had any plans to Rob and defraud me of over $100,000 over the course of 5 years in an effort to defend me forcing me into a circumstance where I was within the reach of what is holy and entirely a criminal conspiracy no matter what you think or why you think it

I guess my issue is this

if you want to distance yourself from what had been going on

you're going to have to explain why you would actively try and defend people who did not have my best interest in mind at all.

this whole getting a job and living" right"

nonsense suddenly replacing

everyone hates you

you suck

she hates you,

you said you wanted to do dirty things with her you pig, everyone hates you

it's beyond played out and annoying

I was a store manager for a major Auto parts chain for several years before, deciding if I didn't get out of retail I never would as I had been in that field since high school.

and after some time I was able to gain a wg-10 Federal technician position working on Black hawks and then later on c-17s

which due to the nature of the positions required enlistment in the national guard or reserves which at that particular time created instability

as we were fighting two wars at the time

ultimately without many options left I turn to one of my closest friends , who was able to get me an interview within the company he worked for which wound up being an incredibly great position and opportunity

one which I was placed in a position to either protect or to maintain the standard of involvement that I felt is not negotiable for a parent.

the point is after 15 years of taking whatever I can find simply because whatever I could find afforded me more of an opportunity to be home every night instead of working overtime or salaried or deployed or training out of state,

having my responsibilities interfere with a really terrific position, in a Fortune 50 company,

I decided I wouldn't put too much time into looking for work again until my son was old enough that he didn't need me at his side.

and wouldn't you know it,

3 months before he moved full time to his mother's house for the remainder of his high school years

my loving family decides that nothing I believe to be doing

is anything more than an excuse to be lazy

and asked me to leave the home without any money saved or place to go,

so that's the first place you probably should begin the fact that I had begun preparing for moving to a new location and finding work in light of my son's own change of location

only to have those plans laid to waste by people who I should have been able to count on ,

and not only that in an effort to ensure their own liabilities were addressed,

some of them felt a need to lie to other people each other my family and the police as well as the courts

to justify what ultimately was just an act of spite and resentment

as a consequence of and that dishonesty I spent half a year in jail

and pretty much watched another 5 years of my life go up in smoke being bounced around from one transitional housing veterans subsidized program to the next

like I had 5 years to surrender to other people's opinions judgments criticisms and accusations

something that you were involved in intimately the whole time

with your hacking and curated social media footprint that never fails to produce a consensus of disagreement or criticism. as if I would be so upset it would escape my notice that it's odd that the whole world agrees to disagree with me, lol.

that just doesn't happen

for your benefit let's clarify a few things here

stop wasting my time pointing the finger that anybody else I know it was Fred tretter , Robert Russell. Corey Foster,

and their friend Ryan who began attacking and, violating my privacy my trust, my home,

my electronics,

all with a pre-contrive justification to end up somewhere regarding sexual impropriety at such a Time when they could not avoid taking responsibility for at least some of what had happened.

and you had no other intention motive or plan

the whole asshat cracker Jack's box ADHD therapy angle along with we want you to get right with God and we want you to stop looking at those dirty dirty pictures, and we want you to be sober, and get a job

how thoughtful

but it does suggest the question

where was all that for the first 5 years when you were just stealing from me and having people harass me?

see the idea that it was anybody that I consider a friend or a part of my life is completely laid to waste under the weight of that fact because there's nobody at all in my entire life who would ever do anything in anger or animosity towards me because I never gave them any reason to

leaving only Fred Cory Robert and Ryan

in the entire world really who would even think it

which creates a bit of a cognitive dissonance for me in that,

on one hand you have repeatedly encouraged me to take matters into my own hands regarding Mr tretter and on the other hand you have prevented me from engaging in anymore research using his online handle.

you're all over the place

and you need to get your shit straight because based on the evidence collected so far from your actions you have no interest in doing anything of a positive nature

just a hustle a con a thief and desperately trying to delineate the actions and statements of one 30 yo dancer and entrepreneur who indicated she was hired to victimize me

and everything that has happened since I first came on property three or four years ago

you can't do that you will never do that

from the group and Artesia to the young ladies who robbed me in my home to the collection of individuals engaged in process here

I really don't know what you imagine is going to happen from posting images of people here or there or anywhere really I don't have any interest in tracking anybody down for any reason I don't do that

not ever

so showing me this one or that one can be found here or there is really immaterial to a degree that makes you seem completely incompetent because you just have no clue

in the exact same way that you think there's some way you're going to compartmentalize or refrain you're not

not ever

I don't care for what or why I don't care if you thought it was appropriate or you thought you were helping or you thought it was needed

you're welcome to

but the investigation as it were has been concluded and I am not inclined to afford you the opportunity to spin more stupid stories

Fred owes me $100,000 and since I know his big move is prove it prove it prove it you can't prove it prove it you can't prove it

I'll have to collect in some other way that isn't going to be anything that makes anybody happy in any way but I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist

and the decision is final

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wrongpublishing · 1 year

Text

BOOK REVIEW: CARSON WINTER'S SOFT TARGETS

by Elizabeth Broadbent, Staff Writer.

You have worked a shit job.

We don’t know each other. We don’t have to, because we’ve all done it. I worked at a hotel in Myrtle Beach which shall remain nameless (it was that really really huge purple one at the end of the strip that has since changed ownership so I can say whatever I want without offending the owner, who I can’t offend any more than I already have anyway because Reasons.) People, mostly Midwesterners, spent a lot of cold, hard cash on this vacay. Pause. Imagine the people that drop cold, hard cash on a very expensive resort vacation . . . in Myrtle Beach. If you don’t understand the meaning of this statement, please watch this video.

I alternately answered phones and took reservations—we were not allowed to get up, speak to one another, read books, etc. in between phone calls—or was roundly abused at the front desk by people who claimed they’d seen a roach on the ninth floor and demanded a free week’s vacation (newsflash: we had no roaches, and anyway, how the fuck would the roaches make it up nine floors, the goddamn elevator?!)

There were days when I prayed for a death that would not come.

Except what if it would?

What if you were working that Target/Wal-Mart/Piggly-Wiggly register and you could make it all end?

And not in, like, a permanent sense. In a temporary way. Maybe even in a blaze of gory glory. Didn’t you always wanna kill that bitch from accounting who ratted you out for reading under the table? Didn’t you always sorta/kinda/maybe wanna kick that customer in the crotch? Truthbomb: if you are the lady who refused to use our keycards and made staff members let you into your room every single time you left, I wanted to punch that hooker-red lipstick off your face (and no offense to sex workers, ‘cause I wear hooker-red lipstick all the time).

Carson Winter’s Soft Targets imagines . . . yeah, you could do all that. Then you could wake up, consequence-free, roll out of bed, and return to that shit job in the morning. What if some days just didn’t count? What if you figured out which they were, and you . . . did whatever?

Sign my ass up.

Our nameless narrator (yeah, he’s nameless; I checked, and Carson says I’m not the first to ask, so I felt like less of a dumbass) has this buddy, Ollie. He and Ollie are the dark-humor type. Y’all read horror, so you have that buddy. You know, the one you sit around with and say something like, “Okay, so when the zombies come/the aliens arrive/the serial killer breaks in, what do you do?” I mean like, hello job description, writers. Except their conversation revolves around workplace shootings, because, well, their data-entry job sucks ass.

Don’t pretend you wouldn’t do it.

Don’t worry it’s too macabre for you, either. I thought it would be—I approached this one with kid gloves, since my husband works in a place where, here in the grand ol’ USA, people execute elaborate shootings, then others offer #thoughtsandprayers. But when our nameless narrator begins musing on shattering windows with staplers, or perhaps a copy machine—would the kneecap break be worth it?—I was in.

These dudes endure the tedium . . . then discover a way to break free. But are there consequences to living without consequences? I just described every F. Scott Fitzgerald story ever, so if you sat through sophomore English, do the math (unless, like me, you failed it, but if you did, you probably know what I’m talking about, anyway._

It reads fast. As usual with Winter, the voice is impeccable (any read him in Split/Scream 1 by Dreadstone Press? Hot damn). His talent with characterization shows not only with the main characters, but the side peeps as well: I know Kayla and Wayne. I wish I didn’t. As for setting: please take me away from your bachelor pads. I’ve seen enough of them. They were very vivid.

He also sticks the landing. He really, really sticks the landing.

I loved this creepy little romp. Yeah, I called it a romp. It’s a wicked little fantasy, this juicy piece of what-if. Definitely worth picking up. I liked it as much as I’ve liked Winter’s other work, which is to say a hell of a lot.

Links:

Carson Winter (Instagram): @ wintercarson

Carson Winter (Twitter): @ CarsonWinter3

Tenebrous Press (Instagram): @ tenebrouspress

Tenebrous Press (Twitter): @ tenebrouspress

#review #fiction #horror novel #horror novels #book review #horror lit #gothic lit #horror fiction #indie horror #indie novel #indie press

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