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boldlyvoid · 6 months

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Come Together

18+ Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader

Summary: Ever since the academy, Aaron and Y/N have been at each other's throats for a spot on the BAU. He got it, She didn't. Now they have to plan the Bureau's Holiday party together without killing each other.

Warnings: angst, fighting, mutual pining, enemies to lovers, Aaron had a crush on her while married. why he and haley broke up, miscarriage mentions, divorced Aaron, flirting, teasing, kissing, fingering, hate sex, p in v smut, rough sex, no condoms used

Word Count: 4.8k

Penelope is usually the one to plan holiday parties… but after last year's spiked punch— that ruined a lot of upper agents' sobriety, which wasn’t her fault at all, the director delegated to having two random people plan it together. He pulled names from a hat that just happened to be Aaron Hotchner and Y/N Y/L/N.

She was happy to do it, and he was fine with doing it… they just weren’t happy about doing it together. The two agents couldn’t stand each other and it goes all the way back to being in the same year at the academy.

They were tied for the top of the class, duking it out to be the chosen one for Agent Rossi’s new right-hand man. And of course, it went to a man. It didn’t matter to them that she was fantastic at what she did, or that her final score was 0.2% higher than his. He was a man so he got it.

She got a job in CARD which, she liked, it was still an opportunity to solve cases and bring kids home to their parents… she just had to work with the BAU more than she liked and take orders from them. And then Rossi left, Gideon stepped down and Aaron Hotchner was the fucking Head of the BAU.

She was taking orders from him. Him and his goon squad of pretty people he picked over her.

She would’ve pushed everything aside and dealt with him, she would’ve mended things if he accepted her into the team. But he never did. After 5 applications and being looked over for everything while he hired younger and younger, she finally gave up and started to hate his guts even more.

Now she’s in the elevator, pushing the button for floor 6 and shaking the thoughts of strangling him out of her head so she can deal with him for half an hour. He’s always so busy that she’s been waiting all week just to talk about this stupid fucking party, and the only time he has is at 8:30 pm on a Friday when she should be at home.

She walks right into the bullpen, up the stairs and knocks on his door. “come in?” He calls.

“Hey,” she says with a deep sigh. “Can we talk about the party?”

“Mhm,” he nods, waving her in. “Come sit, I already have some ideas.”

“Okay…” she sits down in front of him, ignoring all his plaques and accolades and staring down at her clipboard. “I called around and there are 3 places available that are big enough to hold us, on the 3rd Saturday of the month.”

“Awesome, I already called a friend of mine with a Christmas tree farm and acquired 3 trees— Douglas furs, all pretty and big, we’ll just need a ceiling over 12 feet to house them,” he explains.

“And who’s going to decorate them?” She asks.

He shrugs, “We’ve got a big budget, we can hire someone to do it.”

“Who did Penelope use?”

“Herself,” he smiles that devilishly condescending smile. “I’m sure if we ask she’d want to help out again. She loves Christmas.”

“Did you ever figure out who spiked the punch last year?” She asks, genuinely feeling sorry for Penelope.

Penny was the only one on the team that she actually liked.

He nods, “Dax Cooper up in counter-terrorism.”

“Yeah, he’s an asshole.”

“Worse than me?” He teases. “Seriously, when are you going to stop being mad at me?”

“When you admit you hate me!” She fights back. “I did nothing to you. You’re the one who conspired with Dave and got hired here and then you purposely lost all my applications and never let me know why you wouldn’t even interview me.”

“I didn’t lose them, I put them to the side,” he shrugs. “You weren’t ready to be on our team.”

“But the walking calculator and teen Mrs. USA are?” She laughs.

“Reid and JJ are wonderful assets,” he snaps, jaw tight and eyes full of fury. “This is why I don’t want you. You wouldn’t be a team player. Not until you get rid of the attitude and accept that this job is about more than numbers. Yes, they’re young, yes you beat me by a fraction of a percent, but that doesn’t mean you have what it takes to do what we do.”

“I look at cases full of missing, dead and raped kids all day, how is that any different?” She honestly can’t believe it.

“Because you look at a screen all day with facts and witness statements and I go out into the field and I talk to parents and I deal with the cops and I don’t start fights over petty bullshit,” he reminds her. “I have never called you names or signalled you out. All you do, every time we're on a scene together, is whisper and gossip and try to undermine me. You need to grow up.”

She just shakes her head, holding in a comment that could hurt him because… and she hates to say it, but he’s right. “Whatever. Should I call one of these places and book it tomorrow or what?”

“Do whatever you want, just give me the address so I can have the trees and decorations sent over,” he honestly doesn’t care. “I trust your judgement on a caterer, I’ll pick a band… what else would we need?”

“Invitations, which I can handle,” she assures as she stands up to walk to his door. “I’ll cc you on everything and include the director for oversight. I’ll call you if I have questions.”

“Y/N,” he calls out to her before she leaves. “I’m going to be looking for a new agent in a few months…”

“And?”

“If we can work this out by then… maybe things will be different when you apply this time?” He suggests, giving her innocent eyes and genuinely meaning it.

“Okay.”

—

“Did you see her last night?” Dave asks, walking right into Aaron's office with two coffees right at 8am.

He nods, “I did… you don’t have any connections to a band I can book for Christmas, do you?”

“The Jazz club might be able to lend us some members,” he suggests. “I’ll make a call… but I take it things went well?”

“As well as they could go, she’s still so mad at me for getting this position over her,” he shakes his head. “I don’t know how to make her realize she just wasn’t ready. Our working together would’ve been awful. It would’ve—

“Ruined your marriage that just ended?” Dave teases. “I know you liked her, I saw the way you two looked at each other and I saw the teasing and the way you talked about her. She was more than a friend to you… I couldn’t have her on the team like that. I couldn’t see you go through what I did with Caroline.”

“I hate thinking about how different things could’ve been if she was on the team though,” he shakes his head and stares off out the window. “We almost broke up back then, you know? We almost never had Jack…”

“You know it’s perfectly normal for marriages not to work out, it doesn’t mean you loved her any less, it just wasn’t meant to be forever,” Dave reminds him. “You’re still friends, there’s no ill will. You never cheated, she didn’t either. You just grew apart. It happens.”

“But now I’m single and I can pursue Y/N… but she hates me,” he sighs. “I don’t think she’ll ever stop hating me.”

“Nasty hate sex is fun,” Dave teases, making them both laugh. “I’m serious… you wouldn’t believe the women I’ve—

“I know, actually,” Aaron shakes his head. “Strauss can’t look at you the same anymore.”

“Hey… that wasn’t hate, it was just indifference,” he teases.

“Whatever,” Aaron can’t help but smirk. “Can you work on the band for me?”

“I will, I’ll get them to throw in some love songs too,” Dave teases on his way out.

This was going to be interesting.

—

Two weeks of planning and emails blow by in the blink of an eye.

He gets ready for the party early, having to be there to check things over and meet the band and shake hands with the higher-ups as they arrive. He has a nice suit on, a red tie for Christmas and dark green socks that no one will ever notice. But he wants to look nice.

For her.

He walks up to her where she’s hiding in the corner. Adorning the most stunning golden dress and holding her clipboard, making sure everything gets delivered and set up in time for the start time at 7. They still have 4 hours till then, but she’s an overachiever. And a worrier. She needed this to be perfect.

She looked perfect. Like the 2000 Holiday Barbie brought to life. He’s absolutely astounded by her beauty he just stares for a moment before he says anything.

“You know, you look very pretty today,” he compliments but she doesn’t take it that way.

She looks at him like he just insulted her mother. “What?”

“That dress, it looks nice on you,” he looks her up and down. Smiling like he has some tricks up his sleeve. “What? Can’t I think you look nice? Haven’t we spent enough time talking this last month to let me compliment you?”

“Don’t you have a wife?” She asks, disgusted he’d hit on her. “And a kid?”

“We got divorced back in April,” he shrugs. “And you say you want to be a profiler, yet you haven’t looked at my hands in months?”

She looks now, noticing that he doesn’t have a ring and the tan line that should be there is long gone, which means he’s telling the truth. “Oh… sorry.”

“It’s better this way,” he nods, giving her a sweet smile. “Is everything going to plan?”

She nods too, “Yeah. Just waiting on your band… please tell me they’re good?”

He laughs, “They’re great. Dave’s got this Jazz bar he basically owns with how much money he’s spent there so they owe him one… You’ll like them.”

“Jazz, at Christmas?” She can’t believe it. “Hotch—

“Aaron,” he corrects her. “Please, for the love of god, call me Aaron again.”

“Why?” She laughs, “We’re not close.”

“Oh, come on,” he teases. “You can’t tell me that before everything went down, we didn’t have something going on? We were friendly, I almost thought you had a crush on me?”

She looks at him with a brow raised, “You thought I had a crush on you?”

He nods, “And then you found out I was married.”

“So you’re saying if you weren’t married we could’ve hooked up at the academy?” She asks. “Sounds like you liked me too, regardless of the wife.”

“No—

“Be honest,” she begs, stepping into his space even more. “If things were different- if you didn’t have a wife and we fucked back then, would you have screwed me over for the job?”

“I didn’t screw you over, I simply already knew Dave,” he finally admits after 10 long years. “I knew he was about to leave, he knew Gideon didn’t want to be in charge. He wanted someone to run the whole unit who wouldn’t choke— not saying you’d choke, he just knew I was already hard on the inside, I wasn’t going to lose my mind with all the shit we see.”

“You could’ve put in a good word for me, Aaron, I would’ve been fine working under you. I would’ve loved even just an office job in the BAU, I want to work with more than just missing kids,” she begs. “I’ve done it for 10 years, now. You know that makes me strong. You have a kid of your own, you know it’s not easy to think about them missing, let alone deal with it.”

“I know… and I was serious, I have a new position opening up and I want to give this another try,” he admits. “I want you on the team.”

She shakes her head, “how can I be on the team when this—” she points between them. “This, whatever this is, is going on?”

“The sexual tension?” He teases and she swats his arm. “We’ll be fine.”

She shakes her head. “Just, give me some time to think about it?”

“I can do that…”

—

She watches him from afar most of the night. Talking only when they needed to, like in front of the director or on stage while introducing the band and thanking everyone for being there… she was having a very hard time being in the same room as him with all she knew now.

She was still mad at him.

Mad because she’s wasted so much of her life hating him when they could’ve been happy together… but at the same time she was sad for his ex-wife. She wondered how long the marriage was loveless. Did she know? Did she suspect? Who broke it off? Does he see his son? She knew he was a good man back then but, what kind of good man has a crush on someone else while married? Would he just do that to her if they got together?

She had so many questions in her mind and they wouldn’t shut up.

He approaches her again while she’s deep in thought, staring at the floor while she sips on a drink she doesn’t even like.

“Having fun?” He asks.

She shakes her head, “No.” she puts her drink down on the table just behind her and turns back to him as he begins to speak.

“Something not going according to pl—

“Why the fuck did you have to tell me you like me?” She snaps. “I was so okay with hating you for the rest of my life because I couldn’t be on the team I always wanted to join and then you tell me you like me? That if you didn’t have a wife you’d want to be with me back then?”

He steps more into her space so they can keep their voices down and between each other, “because you deserve to know.”

“No, I don’t think so,” she fights back. “You were never worried about me being too immature for the team, you were scared you’d end up cheating on your wife with me. I didn’t even know you had a wife until I developed feelings for you. You never wore your ring to class, we spent every day sitting together in class or at the library and you came back to my dorm a few times… you pursued me as much as I was pursuing you and then you made it my fault.”

“I know, and I’m sorry,” he bows his head, ashamed. “My wife and I weren’t in a good place, we were talking about getting separated… then she got pregnant.”

“I thought Jack was only—

“We lost a couple babies before him,” he admits. “I didn’t want to be like my dad. I didn’t want to knock her up and leave her so I stayed. I stayed but I wasn’t a good dad anyway. I was always at work, I missed important things with my son and she was the one to end it because she deserved someone who wanted to be home with her and my son deserved to grow up knowing his dad wasn’t always going to be there but loves him enough to be as present as possible when he is home. I couldn’t be that when I was with his mom. we’re so much better apart, I love having weekends alone with my son and doing things we like and not worrying about fighting with his mother in front of him. And she’s happier now with her new boyfriend and Jack's happy with the prospect of a stepdad who can step up in all the areas I lack.”

“That’s a really mature thing to do for him,” she manages to give him a small, press-lipped smile. “Still doesn’t make me feel better about what you did to me.”

“I’ve wanted to tell you the truth and that I’m sorry for so long, but when we’re together it’s always a fight. I can never get an honest minute with you, you always just come in guns blazing and my instinct is to tease you back,” he admits. “I am sorry. I wish things were different. I would like to start over if you’d allow me to.”

“I don’t want a job on your team,” she says, stepping in even closer. Close enough to kiss him. “I can’t work with you like this.”

“Why?” He smirks.

“Because Strauss hates you enough as is without you fucking your subordinate,” she whispers. “I’m not throwing myself under the bus… just to be under you.”

He lunges for a kiss, pressing his lips against hers as he cups her face. She backs up slightly in surprise, bumping into the table behind herself. Aaron’s instincts are sharp, he reaches behind her and steadies it so the drink doesn’t crash against the floor and draw more attention to them. She knows the few people in this corner are already looking at them, but she doesn’t care.

This is a kiss she’s waited a decade for.

Her hands go inside his suit jacket, she reaches around to grasp his back and pulls him flush against herself. They break the kiss just to breathe, going in for another and another until their tongues meet and they’re the odd couple making out in the corner of the party.

His hand slips from her cheek to her jaw, along the side of her neck and then she pulls away, “not here,” she reminds him they’re in public and he can’t touch her anywhere he wants to.

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “How long do we have to stay here?”

“I have to stay for shutdown tonight,” she sighs. “But…. Come with me.”

She pats his side and moves past him, leading him out of the little corner they’re in and towards the main room. He follows her up a staircase, past people they both know and respect and they catch a few eyes but, she puts on a fake pissed-off look and they think she’s leading him somewhere to yell at him… cause that’s what they do.

“Hey man, where are you going?” Derek asks as they pass him and Penelope sharing a plate of hors d’oeuvres.

He’s quick on his feet, “One of the vendors fucked up, we have to chat with their boss and discuss how they can make it up to us.”

“Oh, damn, well… have fun,” he teases. Letting them go on down the small corridor towards some offices.

She leads him to the only open office she has access to, flicks on the light, lets him in and locks the door behind them. He’s quick to crowd her space, press her up against the door and grip her chin to tilt her attention up toward his eyes once more. She’s back inside his suit jacket, he’s so toasty-warm in there she can only imagine what it’ll be like to be naked with him.

“What were you saying about fucking up and making up for it?” She teases him.

He smirks, “I will… but first we need to find a way to release all that pent-up frustration we have against each other.”

She tries her best not to laugh, just shaking her head with a smile as she lets out a little huff, “Ah yes, fuck me like you hate me so we can restart fresh.”

He cups her face with both hands, eyes darkening with lust, “you’ve been such a brat for so long.”

“And I’m sure you know the cure for that?” She teases, pulling him in closer. One of her legs slips out of the slit of her dress and she brings it up to wrap around his hip, he’s quick to drop one of the hands from her cheek to grip her thigh.

“I do,” he whispers, his voice so deep it makes her stomach drop with anticipation.

He kisses her abruptly, she grips his back pulling him as if they could possibly get any closer but they can’t. Not yet. He grinds against her as their tongues meet again, his hand on her leg goes a little higher until he’s gripping her ass. The hand on her cheek starts to slip again, caressing her chest, she lightly moans into his mouth at the feeling. He’s everywhere, boxing her in against the door, but she wants more. She wants him buried deep inside of her, pounding her against the table over there, letting her know just how much he’s wanted her this whole time.

He kisses the side of her mouth, her jaw and down her neck, letting her catch her breath just to knock it all out of her again when he starts to lightly suck on her skin. “Aaron, don’t you fucking dare,” she scolds him.

“I won’t,” he speaks against her, just lightly nipping and sucking at her skin on his way down to her cleavage.

She pulls her hands out from inside his jacket to roam his shoulders until one hand ends up at the nape of his neck to play with his hair. Her head is tossed back against the door, and he kisses every inch of available skin on her chest.

He reaches down and gets both of his hands under her ass, making her jump up so he can carry her. Still kissing her neck, he moves them over to the table and sets her down. She’s just the tiniest bit taller now, he kisses her cheek again, looking her in the eye once more as he spreads her legs and runs his fingers along her thighs, realizing now she has nylons on. His hands go further, towards her aching cunt, he grips her thighs while both thumbs play with the seam of her nylons.

“I’m gonna rip these,” he announces, finding the weakest part of the seam and tearing it open enough to fit his cock through, without completely ruining them. He moves her thong to the side and drags his index finger over her clit. “You’re fucking soaked…”

She tosses her head back, both hands gripping the table like her ice depends on it when two of his fingers plunge into her. “Oh, fuck,” she moans a little too loud.

Attaching his lips to her neck again, he sucks on her pulse point while fucking her on his fingers. It’s hard and quick, covering the palm of his hand with her slick as his thumb rubs her clit. She’s always known his hands would be good for this, if nothing else.

“Please, Aaron? Oh my god,” She starts to beg.

“Words, princess,” he teases against her neck, teeth grazing her skin, his breath hot, it sends a shiver down her spine.

“Wanna cum,” she whispers, breathy and so close. “On your cock.”

“Okay,” he pulls out, bringing his hand to his mouth and licking his palm up to his fingers. He sucks them into his mouth with a groan. His cock twitches between them, jumping with excitement.

She whines again while he undoes the zipper and tugs his cock out, “please?”

“Hold on,” he spreads the excess wetness over his cock, stroking himself twice while biting his tongue. It clearly felt so fucking good but she knew her tight cunt was going to be better.

He slips in slowly and her grip changes, letting go of the counter, she wraps her legs around him and grips his back with her fingernails dug into the skin. “Better?” He whispers into her ear.

She whimpers when he doesn’t move, feeling so full, “fuck me, please? Fuck me the way I deserve.”

He hums, kissing her cheek before looking into her eyes, all watery and blown out, her mascara started to run a bit. He tilts his head to the side, “how hard?”

“Hard,” she looks him dead in the face.

He slips out, pulls her off the table and turns her around so her chest is against the cold hardwood table-top and flips her dress skirt up and out of the way. He rips her nylons even more, all the way up the back so her ass is exposed. He takes her ass cheeks in his hands and spreads her apart, amazed at how her pussy clenched in anticipation.

“Please,” she whined, almost stomping her feet with desperation.

He slams into her without warning, making her gasp loud enough to be heard by anyone wandering the hallway outside.

He pulls out a bit and slams back into her again and again and again until the noises she’s making are complete nonsense. She whines and moans and leans against the table for dear life while pushing back against him. He slaps her ass a few times, making the sound reverberate around the room like an echo.

He needs more friction, so his thrusts get less powerful and more rhythmic, he uses her like a toy bouncing her on his cock like a rag doll. She felt like her main purpose in life was to be fucked by him like this, it felt so good, it felt incredibly right, and she loved every fucking second of it. All those years of fighting paid the fuck off.

He slams into her cervix over and over, the head of his cock kissing the puckered spot inside again and again. Her hungry cunt sucks him in so deep, never wanting him to leave, and he can tell she’s close just from the way she clamps around him like a vice. He reached around to her stomach and drags his hand down her mound to rub her clit with his middle finger. The rhythm barely matches, but she loves the way it feels. It’s unpredictable, it’s all under his control, she just sits there and takes it like the good girl he’s raised her to be.

“Cum on the cock you hate so much,” he insists, “I wanna feel it. I want you to cover my cock in your cum before I fill you up to the fucking brim.”

Too fucked out to really respond she reaches one hand behind her back so he’ll hold it. He intertwines their fingers and leans forward to kiss her shoulder as his hips snap against hers with force. She starts to shake, her legs barely able to keep her up as her orgasm hits her and rattles through her body. He feels the spasm from the inside, her cunt flutters as she releases all the built-up tension in her body She’s so fucking tight he’s barely able to register his own orgasm approaching when he topples over her on the table.

He fucks into her as deep as he can go and then stills. She can feel rope after rope of his cum pump into her, they can hear the dribbles on the floor between them as it overflows and drips out of her, along with her own.

He kisses her back, breathing hard against her. She’s just trapped there under him, legs quaking in her heels, “holy fuck?”

“Sorry,” he pulls back and out of her, “shit… we didn’t think this through.”

She sighs, holding her dress up so she doesn’t make a mess. “Are there any tissues in here?”

He looks around, “Yeah… but it’s just that brown paper towel roll like we have at work.”

“It’ll do,” she shrugs. Watching him walk over to the dispenser near the sink in the corner of the room, he takes a bit out and cleans himself up quickly, putting himself back in his boxers before her gets some more.

He leans her forward again, kneeling behind her, he cleans her up to the best of his ability and then he repositions her thong. He even wipes up the floor before tossing the paper out. “I can’t believe there was so much…”

She laughs, dropping her dress back down and fluffing it so it looks normal again. “10 years worth of—

“Okay,” he shakes his head with a smirk, stepping back into her space, he wraps her up and kisses her forehead, “you did so good.”

“Thank you,” she smiles sweetly, she feels so different. There’s so much affection in her chest as she looks up at him once more. “I’m glad we got that out of the way.”

“I’ll stay with you here while they’re cleaning up,” he assures. “And maybe later I can show you how sorry I am for keeping secrets all these years?”

“I’d really like that… but I’m still not working for you,” she teases.

“I guess I’ll just have to take on more CARD cases so you’re forced to see me,” he teases right back, smiling at her.

This is going to be fun.

General Taglist

@ncsls0515 @stevesmunsons @reidsbookclub @sweetyyhippyy @manuosorioh @mrs-dr-reid @k-k0129 @squishyturtle @katsukis1wife @buckleyhans @mrs-ssa-hotch @ssavanessa22

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch x you #hotch smut #hotch x reader #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine

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kiersau · 1 year

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I'm sure someone has posted about this already, but I was curious about the book Sister Illuminata wanted to destroy. Long post under the cut.

The book is "The Mirror of Simple Souls" and it is a long poem written by Marguerite Porete around 1300. Porete was an educated woman associated with the beguine movement (a lay religious order), which allowed her more freedom to write and travel than most women of the time had.

The poem is a work of Christian mysticism and deals with "agape," or Divine love. It's unique in a couple of ways, not only because it was authored by a woman. It was in Old French at a time when Latin was the only approved language for religious texts, which was already a strike against her in later investigations. The book was also very popular - until, of course, it was condemned by the church. All existing copies were seized and burned, and circulation of the text was banned.

Marguerite Porete was arrested by inquisitors, likely around 1308 after she gave a copy of her book to a bishop. She was tried before William of Paris, the Inquisitor of France, where she staunchly refused to cooperate with any of the proceedings. She would not recant her views nor commit to stopping circulation of her work. She was burned at the stake for heresy in 1310.

I don’t understand it well, but from what I can wrap my tiny little brain around, the book essentially covers the way to unite one's soul with God, and includes characters like Love, Reason, and the Simple Soul. By giving up reason, she says, the soul can be filled with only Love and achieve oneness with God, transcending earthly troubles. She says a soul that is filled only with God's love has its sinful nature erased and therefore cannot sin - this is likely where the claims of heresy arose.

The text did survive the inquisition, though, and it was circulated anonymously until Porete was identified as the author in the 1940s. It is a foundational text for people studying Christian mysticism and the beguine movement.

(And if you wanted a translation of the above images, here is my own shoddy attempt:

"The soul touched by God and empty of sin in the first state of grace is ascended by the divine graces to the seventh state of grace, the state where it possesses its perfection in full in the land of living by divine enjoyment.

"Love says here:

"O, you active and contemplative, perhaps even annihilated by true love, you who will listen to those wonders of pure love, noble love, uplifted love of the liberated soul, you who are going to listen how the Holy Spirit has set his sails both in it [the soul] as in his ship. I beg of you out of love: listen, with great application, to this subtle understanding that is within you, and with great diligence. Otherwise, for lack of being so disposed, all those who hear this will misunderstand it. Now understand, with humility, a simple example borrowed from mundane love, and apply it equally to divine love.")

#pentiment #medieval history #the mirror of simple souls #marguerite porete #long post #christian mysticism #if anyone has more insight on the content of the text and the metaphysics I’d be interested!

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agent-cupcake · 8 months

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Diplomacy

Here is another for my pitiful Kinktober! I meant to put this out faster, whoops. The next one is Zenos+cockwarming. I'll try to get the others out too but who is to say.

Pairing: Solus zos Galvus/Emet-Selch x f!princess Reader Kink: Vibrators/Overstimulation Tags: Explicit, dub/non con, bondage, Word Count: 2.6k

A while back I mentioned Emperor Solus taking advantage of a poor foreign princess for strictly diplomatic purposes.

Gifts, he told you, were an important part of diplomacy. He said things like that a lot. Lessons. His Radiance Solus zos Galvus, the Emperor of Garlemald, taught you a lot of lessons. The most important had been that a princess shouldn’t ever trust the charm of a foreign ruler, and even the most innocent of feelings could easily be twisted and used, and that inequality would never result in cooperation, and that you were a fool for believing a single word out of his mouth. There were others though, so many things of which you were ignorant. Late at night, when he appeared in your private chambers like an evil spirit, when he took advantage of impulses you didn’t know how to control, when he abused the dominion he’d so easily claimed over your ruined body, he taught you many things.

“This color suits you far better than the drab dresses you have been favoring as of late,” Solus mused, tugging the neckline of your silky candy-colored nightgown down a little further. Just enough to expose your nipples, to further prod at your indecency. You squirmed, but with your hands bound, there wasn’t anything you could do. “Mayhap you believe darker hues will assert your maturity. I assure you, my dear, nobody will take you seriously either way.”

“Don’t,” you said, looking away in embarrassment. It didn’t matter if you hid your face, your body was on full display, bound flat on the bed without any underwear, your nightgown hiked up around your waist. Solus wasn’t undressed, another assertion of his control.

“It was a compliment. If you were smarter, you would realize how to use that perception to your advantage.”

“I don’t… I don’t need your advice.”

“You ought to be grateful that I’m wasting so much time on such a silly little creature like you. Time, energy, and resources.” He sighed. “Never mind about that. I brought you a gift.” He held up the strange device. Your present. Its design was unfamiliar, although it looked to be fueled by magitek, the handle glowing with bluish energy. “This clever little tool was originally of Allagan design. To relax overworked muscles. Of course, it wasn’t long before perverted minds found other applications for it. A fitting gift for the virgin princess, I think. Especially when you have been such a dear friend of Garlemald.”

“What does it do?” you asked, ignoring his barbed remarks to focus on the device. It didn’t look like much, a handle with a bulbous head a little smaller than your fist. The magitek part was what worried you. Garlean weapons didn’t always look like much, it was the Ceruleum that made them dangerous. Solus didn’t often hurt you, but he could. He had. All you had to do to remind yourself of that was look down at the pale, raised imprint of Garlean chains branded on the flesh above your womb.

“Are you afraid, princess?” Solus asked. “Why might that be? You know very well I would only hurt you if you were deserving.” His hand dropped, one long finger tracing the chain link. It was the permanent reminder of your attempt at defiance. Back before you realized that Garlemald didn’t have allies, they had acquired territory. “Have you done aught to earn my ire?”

“No,” you said quickly, loudly, shaking your head. “I haven’t—I wouldn’t.”

Solus smiled. “Then you needn’t be afraid.” He pressed a button on the handle, and the device’s bulbous head began to vibrate with enough intensity that it seemed to blur, filling the room with a low hum. He pressed it against his hand. Gods above, it sounded aggressive, not unlike the engines on their infernal vehicles.

Without any sort of warning, Solus pressed the large, vibrating head right between your legs. A fraction of a second passed before the sensation registered, it was just that foreign to your nervous system. And then it hit, and the feeling was that of hot, horrible fire. Every single nerve ending blazing with the agonizing heat of very abrupt and very mean overstimulation.

“No-ooh—no! Stop-stop it!” you squealed, your hips twisting in all directions to get away. Your violent reaction caused the ropes binding you to the four corners of the bed to snap taut, the sheets dragging off of the mattress to form a wrinkled pile beneath you, and the wooden bed posts to loudly protest.

Despite that, Solus added more pressure, pushing it past your labia and to the far more sensitive flesh beneath. You screamed. You couldn’t help it, you screamed like an animal would, in a way that would make your throat hurt later. He leaned forward to clap his hand over your open mouth, stifling your wailing. Holding you down.

“Hush now, my dear. They might begin to suspect that you’re not as pure as they believe you to be,” he said, his voice low and intimately close to your ear. Now that he was so close, he was all you could smell. Leather and cold air and a sharp woody scent. You didn’t care that someone could hear, if anything that just made you scream louder. You needed it to stop, you couldn’t handle even a second more of this torment. He huffed, rolling his eyes impatiently. “Do you think I might begin to pity you? Now? Well, rest assured that I won’t. I’ve given you a unique gift. Be grateful.”

He paused, waiting for the response you couldn’t give, not budging even as you bucked up against him. That was involuntary, you were physically unable to keep your body from convulsing. But you did stop screaming, hoping that it would make Solus relent. His expression softened.

“There, that’s not so bad, is it?” Solus cooed, saccharinely sweet. “Now do the only thing you’ve shown even the slightest hint of aptitude for and come for me.”

With that command ringing in your ears, he sat up to watch, his hand still firmly clasped over your mouth and the toy painfully pressed against your vulva.

The order terrified you. That was impossible, you absolutely couldn’t. You pulled at your bound arms and legs with all your might, desperate to get away, but the ropes had no give, you were more likely to hurt yourself than you were to escape. And the harder you struggled, the more you ground against the thing. All you could do was wail into his hand, tears squeezing out of the corners of your closed eyes, your body impossibly taut, drawn in an arc between the ropes and his hand.

“I’ll wait. I do so enjoy watching you like this, writhing and struggling against the inevitability of my will. Take as long as you need, my dear.”

You couldn’t. If you came, it would hurt. Then again, if you didn’t, it would hurt more. He couldn’t hear your pleas, so you tried to beg with your teary eyes. You couldn’t do as he asked. It hurt and you couldn’t, he had to realize that, he had to understand, he had to. It hurt, and even if there was a stirring sort of pleasure within the bombardment of sharp, agonizing heat, you couldn’t do anything with it.

Solus met your pleading gaze. He didn’t care. Amusement shone bright in those pale eyes, twisting his lips up into a familiar smile. It wasn’t like what you imagined with other men. Pity or sympathy was useless against most of them, but Solus couldn’t be manipulated through his desire either. Self control—or maybe it was more accurate to call it sadism—kept him from ever wavering no matter how long it took to force your compliance. You would obey, or you would suffer. He would wait. There wasn’t actually a decision for you to make, just the painful fulfillment of Solus’ merciless order. Obey now, or obey later.

As soon as you gave in, closing your eyes to try and cling to the pleasure within the overwhelming heat, he moved the vibrating head just a little bit to the side, your swollen clit rolling with it, providing a new point of stimulation. It hurt just like everything else, an endless fury of too much, of hellfire. Gods, you nearly blacked out at the excruciating intensity of it. But it worked. You didn’t even have the time to brace yourself before you were coming. It was, like everything else, a painful, sticky, hot, wretched orgasm. Your body locked up like you were having a fit and you twitched and trembled and drooled and cried your way through it, unsure if the cresting pleasure was even good or if you were just twisted enough to interpret pain in the same way as long as it targeted the same parts, as long as it was at Solus zos Galvus’ command.

When you were done, returning to the weeping, whining excess of torturous overstimulation, Solus removed the thing from between your legs and his hand from your mouth. He finally turned it off and, in the absence of the hornet’s nest buzz, your ears rang. You barely reacted when he wiped off his hand, slick with your saliva, on the bunched up material of your nightgown.

“You will forgive me,” Solus said. He didn’t bother to hide his amusement as he dragged two fingers between your labia. The overstimulation was too much, you almost saw white, crying and shaking. But then he sunk two fingers into your pussy, and you were beyond wet enough to make it smooth, and all you could do was choke back a confused moan. It hadn’t felt good, but you had come, and one was never enough. Was that something he had taught you, or were you predisposed to being so depraved? “You will, won’t you? As long as I let you come again, you’ll forgive anything.”

“No,” you moaned hoarsely, trying to squirm away. For all the good that did. He curled his fingers as they dragged out and your mouth fell open wordlessly, any further rejections poofing away like smoke.

“No? It is a wonder that word remains in your vocabulary, considering how worthless it has become.”

You sniffed, knowing better than to rise to his petty bait. “Are you done? With that… that thing.”

“Are you so eager for more?”

“No! No, I can’t, no, I-” You didn’t finish your babbling denial, his fingers driving deep into your pussy with a harsher thrust. “Please. Not again, it… it hurts.”

“Begging is unbecoming of a princess,” Solus chided you. “If you truly want me to stop, you do not beg. You offer something of equal value in return.”

“What?” you asked, more than a little distracted by the fingers that hadn’t stopped pumping in and out of you with terribly slick sounds, moving too slowly to provide any substantial friction yet just fast enough to keep you on edge. You were still jerking in random bursts from the aftershock pain of overstimulation.

“Have you learned nothing about the art of negotiation?” Solus asked, his fingers snapping forward in a way that made your entire body jolt, made you whimper. “Mayhap I wasted my time trying to educate you.”

“I… I do, I know,” you exhaled shakingly, trying to ignore his fingers. “I don’t want that… again… and… And you want… Something. Please, I’ll do anything you ask—whatever you want.”

“I want to watch you come over and over. Until you’re reduced to nothing more than a dripping, trembling mess,” Solus said, emphasizing his words with sharp thrusts, his fingers curling in a way that had you keening. “So you see the problem with your pleas, pathetic and heartfelt as they are. Our wants are not compatible.” He hesitated, considering that. “If you had been smarter in the first place, we might have reached this point of disagreement on equal footing and found a middle ground that would suit us both. Unfortunately, you’ve put yourself in a terribly disadvantageous position. You’ve no power to stop me, and nothing to barter with.”

“It’s-ss not my fault,” you told him, too wrung out and frightened to argue with his cruel interpretation. “You’re the one who-”

“Me?” he demanded incredulously, raising an eyebrow. “You think this is my fault?”

It was. Everything was his fault, the results of his meticulous manipulations. But you didn’t dare say that, not when his eyes were narrowed so dangerously.

“I thought so. Your decisions are what put you in this position,” Solus told you. “You’ve nobody but yourself to blame.” With that, he pulled his fingers out of you entirely, picking up the toy from where he’d left it on the sheets. “We’ll try a lower setting to start with, hm?”

“Nn-no, Your Radiance, please,” you begged, pulling at your legs. You’d have bruises where the rope was cutting into them. He turned the thing on, filling the room with its loud, low hum. “Please, you don’t understand, I can’t… Please, it hurts, please don’t-” When he pressed it directly against your vulva, the vibrations didn’t hurt and burn like before, but it still made your body jerk against the ropes. The bedframe creaked unhappily, matching your own broken cry.

Already you were trembling, the vibrator made it worse. And still, now that it was lower, now that you could differentiate the sensations, now that it wasn’t as furious and intense, you could feel the stirrings of genuine pleasure, hot and twisted in your gut. The low buzzing hum was more insistent than simple friction. There wasn’t any place from which you could draw to know if it was good or bad, not after earlier, but you moaned. And then whined. It was impossible to help. Without his fingers you felt empty, and the excessive stimulation only exacerbated that hollow, anxious sensation.

“That’s much better, isn’t it?” Solus asked, smiling as he looked down at you.

All you could give as an answer was a panicked sort of whine because it was better. A lot, lot better. Good enough to have saliva pooling on your tongue, and your muscles all pulling tense despite your best attempts to relax them. Good enough to make it hard to breathe, especially because he was watching, entertained by the pitiful show. You wondered, even with your head full of lustful fog you wondered, how you had missed the cruelty in his delight for so long, back when you believed him to be a good and noble man. The darkness in his eyes as they watched you squirm and whine, helpless to the pleasurable vibrating, seemed so obvious now. It was his fault, you knew that. But it was also your fault, your mistake, the lesson you couldn’t seem to learn. It didn’t matter that you knew he was cruel, or that he had and would hurt you, or that he was using you. You were going to come anyway, your body was already tightening up, your brain on fire from the unfamiliar stimulation, unable to focus on anything else.

Solus rubbed your thigh, his large hand gentle and strong and warm, almost soothing. You whimpered, that small act of affection feeding the ravenous need in your core. “Solus…” His name wasn’t what you meant to say, to moan. You meant to tell him no, or stop, or don’t, or I can’t, but it was all, just like he said, worthless. Empty words to try and hide the fact that you were moaning, shaking, coming, giving him exactly what he wanted. Just like always.

“Insatiable as you are,” he said as you tried to collect yourself—an impossibility when you were given no reprieve from the relentless vibrations. “I suspect the first dozen will feel quite good. After that, however…” Solus sucked in a breath through his teeth, shrugging theatrically. “I doubt it will be so enjoyable. For you, at least.”

#solus zos galvus #emet-selch #solus zos galvus x reader #emet-selch x reader #ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #my writing #not sfw #tw.noncon

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mrsshabana · 1 year

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Hiii! Can you expand more on the "Toxic" Gyutaro fic? (The one where the reader is the cheerleader gal, and fucks gyutaro to get on the team)? If you choose to so so, thank you so much ❤️❤️❤️ Have a great day regardless ❤️❤️❤️

Yes, of course! I actually LOVE that fic. It was so much fun to write, making Gyutaro just a toxic asshole.

Toxic!Gyutaro x Cheerleader!Female!Reader

Read it here

Gyutaro is 21, and a sophomore in college. While you and Ume are both 18 and seniors in high school.

Ume really didn't care about you until you started "dating" her brother. You were always just someone she could use. But now that you are dating her brother, she still uses you to an extent but she treats you with more respect because she respects you as her brother's girlfriend.

Gyutaro is crazy about you. He likes you a lot, but doesn't know how to express it properly. He feels like you would never be with a guy like him unless it was forced onto you. So in his mind you gave him no other choice. If you don't like how things are, it's your fault.

Now that you are his girlfriend, you are his property. You do what he says when he says it. Your only purpose is to please him, mostly for sexual purposes.

Over time some of these toxic tendencies of his will lessen when you start to love him without him forcing you to. He's actually a really cool guy and the two of you have lots in common. If he wasn't such an asshole, you could've seen yourself having a normal relationship.

But now that you are his, he will do anything in his power to steer you in the direction that he wants. You want to go to a specific university? Not happening, he's going to make sure you go to the university he goes to. He'll go to extreme lengths to make sure it happens.

You say you can't come over because your parents are making you stay home to study for the SAT's? Gyutaro will show up at your house, posing as an honors college student. So your parents will let him tutor you. When in reality the moment he enters your room he starts fucking you silly, holding his hand over your mouth to make sure your parents don't hear him making you cum over and over again.

When you send in your applications to other universities, Gyutaro will email the admissions office and tell them bad things about you so you don't get accepted.

You will go to university with him, and you will like it. He already has everything planned out for you. So if you cooperate, your life with him will go just as he planned.

#gyutaro #gyutaro shabana #gyutaro x reader #gyutaro x y/n #gyutaro smut #replies

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countrymusiclover · 1 month

Text

10 - Switching Coopers

part 11

It's About Time

Tags just ask - @lover-of-books-and-tea @bvbwestfall @bubble-blu @liesanddreams @bethanymccauley @skeletonontheroad

“I’ll pick you two up from here in an hour.” My mom said to me and Missy get out of her car. I had started hanging out with her more since I couldn’t stand to be around Georige since he was dating someone else. From what Mrlowe and I could tell our plan was somewhat working. Jana would give me mean looks in the hallway.

I held open the door for Missy and she skipped into the sporting goods store. “So why are we here? Ohh do you want me to throw a baseball at him?”

“We talked about that already. It’s still no.” I sent her a half glare and the smirk dropped from her face.

Someone came around the corner and stands at the front glass case with the cash register seeing us looking around the sports store. “Can I help you find something?” The man was almost bald with grey hair wearing a green shirt and blue jeans with boots.

“I was just promised ice cream when her mom picks us up.” Missy shrugged her shoulders.

I stepped forward leaning my elbows on the counter top. “Mr. Ballard, I was hoping to see if I could get an after school job here. If you’re hiring of course.”

“I actually am. I’ll give you an application to fill out and bring back to me. The sooner I get it back the sooner I can get you started here, uh..”

“Y/n, Y/n L/n.” I introduced myself where he stuck his hand out shaking mine.

He nodded heading to the backroom coming back with the paperwork before we heard my moms horn honk from outside. “Dale Ballard. Hope to see you on Monday.”

Exiting the sporting store we got back in my moms truck and she drove us back to her house. Missy and I went into her and Sheldon’s room so she could grab her baseball glove. “Are you sure I can’t throw a ball at my brother for you?”

“Missy!” I scolded her.

She shrugged her shoulders, tossing me a ball so I could throw some hits at her. “I’m just saying it might work.”

“I already have my plan in motion.” I raised my hand back, throwing it at her.

She caught the baseball in her glove. “Okay.”

The front door opened where I dare to turn my head and see Georgie walking out with his car keys in his hands until he paused in his steps. “What are you two doing out here?”

“Just baseball.” I answered him clutching the glove I was wearing. “What are you doing?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Gonna go hang out with Jana.”

“Oh! That’s great.” I bared my teeth hearing that name.

He nodded, tossing his keys from one hand to the other for a few seconds before he saw me not saying anything more. “Well I’ll uh see you around.”

“Yeah see ya, Cooper.” I clicked my tongue and he got in his car driving off while I kicked the grass with my shoes.

Missy called my attention back to her. “Y/n, why can’t you just hang out with my brother like you used to?”

“It’s kind of hard to explain except this way. Being a grown up sucks. So enjoy the years of being a kid.” I said back to her with a gentle smile thinking back on when things were easier between me and her older brother.

Georgie and I were watching Ducktales on the tv in the living room laying on the couch. Missy came in from the kitchen with a red notebook in her right hand. “Can you two help me with my homework?”

“You’re asking me. I don’t understand my own homework.” Georgie asked her muting the tv with the remote.

Missy admitted. “Yeah but you’re all I got.”

“What kind of homework is it, Missy?” I asked the young girl.

She held up the book away from her chest. “Grammar.”

“I ain’t great with grammar.”

I shifted sitting up on the couch giving my best friend a sympathetic look to help his sister. “Georgie, come on. At least give it a shot.”

“Grammar is just talkin’ and we talk good.” Missy sat down on the other side of her brother so the three of us were sitting upright on the couch before she handed him the book. “There’s a list of sentences and you’re supposed to say if each one’s a complete sentence or not.”

Georgie eyed the book, shutting it after reading the pages for a few seconds. “I don’t think I can help you.” He hands it back to his sister.

Missy started walking back to the kitchen but turned around with a frown. “Do you think we’re stupid?”

“Sheldon’s in high school at nine years old and we can’t figure out your homework. What do you think?” Georgie sighed heavily unmuting the tv until I snatched the remote from his hand. “Y/n!”

I sent him a glare keeping the remote away from his grasp. “Try and help her. Then you'll get this hack.”

“Sometimes I tell myself I only look stupid because he’s so smart.” Missy responded to her brother where he finally answered her.

“Give me the book.” She sat down handing it to him. “So the first one on your homework is most people in the country.”

“I don’t see an action word. Georgie , I don’t think this is a sentence.” Missy paused reading over it.

He hands her the pencil and her book. “Put a verb in there, girl.”

The next day Georgie and I were laying on his bed playing Uno until a piece of paper slipped underneath his shut bedroom door. He got up from the bed unfolding the paper where I asked him, seeing him grinning ear to ear. “What does it say?”

He turned it around to show me that the paper read 100% written in red marker with a smiley face. “That’s amazing, bestie!”

“Did you cry when you saw it?” Missy’s voice came from the other side of the door.

Georgie grumbled back. “No. Cause it ain’t that big a deal.”

“Shut up. It is such a big deal.” I jumped up from my seat on the bed.

My best friend noticed it was me and smiled with a grin directly back at me. “Hi Y/n. Looks like we'll be working together.”

Georgie whispered under his breath. “Be quiet, Y/n.” He went over using one of his pins to pin it on his board on his wall.

“Did you hang it on your wall?” Missy piped in again.

Georgie snapped at her. “Get out of here!”

“I’m telling people you cried.” Missy teased him and I heard her shoes hitting the floor as she walked to her bedroom.

I clasped my hands over my mouth trying to contain my laughter causing Georgie to come walking over to me. “Come here you little tease.”

“Ah no.” I screamed crawling off the bed but he managed to grab one of my ankles holding me on the bed.

Georgie grinned down at me with me underneath his body. “You ain’t going anywhere now.”

“Georgie!” I squealed when he moved his hands over my body to the spots where I was ticklish and I started giggling at the top of my lungs.

He chuckled, raising his hands over my stomach letting me catch my breath. “Have you quit making this a big deal?”

“Yes - for now.” I grabbed his right arm and flipped him onto his back where I was on top of him now. He stared up at me for a few minutes, shocked that I had just done that to him.

“You better not tell anyone this just happened.”

I chuckled climbing off of him and he sat up on the bed next to me. “Don’t worry, Cooper. Scar code.”

“Scar code.” He bumped his scar with mine and we both grinned back at the other.

The front door to Mr. Ballard’s store opened where he was reading over the application I had filled out for him. He held out his hand and we shook on it before he turned to see we had a new customer. “Everything looks good here. Welcome to the sports salman's department. Oh I’ll help this person out.”

“Excuse me. Are you Mr. Ballard?” I stand behind the counter hearing a familiar voice.

Ballard answered. “That’d be me.”

“I’m Georgie. Connie Tucker’s grandson.”

Ballard eyed his hair. “Oh yeah the hair. Very pretty.”

“I was wondering if I could maybe apply for a job here.”

I bolted around the glass countertop and into the back room for the employees. Slamming the door behind me I put my hands against the door screaming lightly under my breath. “Ahhh! You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I actually just hired a girl that looks to be your age. You two could tag team working the store for me.” Ballard explains where I cracked the door open deciding that I had to face him.

Georgie asked before I came around the corner very slowly. “Oh cool. What’s her name?”

“Hey Georgie.” I nervously waved at him.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

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gf-seasons-zine · 2 months

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Information About

Writers, it's your turn to shine/see the specific application guidances that apply to writing applications (same thing, really...)

Applications open April 1 (this upcoming Monday)! Of course there is always complete information on our carrd, but if you are curious to see the application guidance for writers here instead, we entreat you to read below the cut!

General Application Guidelines

1. PLEASE tag your content!

The zine will be completely SFW and will not feature ships but we understand some people may wish to submit ship art or content that might be less family-friendly in their portfolios.

All mods are 18+ but we don't want any surprises, so please describe your art in the boxes provided if required!

2. At least ONE of your pieces must be Gravity Falls themed or featuring Gravity Falls characters.

We would particularly like to see your work of Ford, Stan, Mabel, or Dipper as the Pines family is the main focus of this zine!

3. Check your sharing settings!

If sharing a Google Drive folder link for your portfolio, please ensure your folder's sharing settings are set to 'allow anyone with the link to view'. You can test this on an Incognito browser or a browser NOT logged into your Google account to make sure.

Mods will NOT be able to contact every person who makes this mistake to ask them for a new link to their portfolio and it is very likely your application will just be dismissed.

Writer Specific Guidelines

*~*~*~*A note from us mods to you, for transparency: ~*~*~*~*

We won't have space for long fics in the physical zine due to page limitations, but we would like to include more of your work in our digital zine where we will have unlimited space. For the physical zine, a maximum of two pages of writing per writer will be printed, whether it is for the diary entry OR the writing piece. The rest of the pages will be printed in the digital zine if you wish to write more!

Please submit 2-3 pieces that best demonstrate your style of writing.

1. At least one sample should be a minimum of 1,500 words. All three samples combined should not exceed 7k words. (If you would like us to read a particular chapter or extract of one of your fics you should copy that into a word document and put it into a folder in your Google Drive portfolio).

2. Samples should be in English as this is the language the zine will be published in.

It doesn’t matter what kind of English spelling or vocabulary you use (British, American, etc) as long as you are consistent.

3. We will judge samples based on characterisation, grammar, punctuation, flow, and plot.

4. All samples must be entirely written by you. AI generated content is NOT allowed and does not count. Previous zine works are allowed but please ask for permission from your mods to share first! We will not be sharing ANY applicants’ links outside of the GF Seasons Zine Mod Team.

5. NSFW works will NOT be allowed in the zine (this will be a family friendly SFW zine!) but you CAN put them in your portfolio.

If your pieces require trigger warnings, feature ANY ships, or feature NSFW content there WILL be a space for you to write this on your form and we expect you to do so. All moderators are 18+ but we wish to avoid any surprises.

Thank you for your cooperation and understanding (Yep, this was so important we included it twice!)

6. Two types of writing pieces will be featured in this zine- ‘diary entries’ from the perspective of Dipper, Ford, Stan, and Mabel; and ‘normal’ fics.

If you would be interested in contributing a diary entry for characters from the perspective of Stan, Ford, Mabel, or Dipper, please also provide a SHORT extract of how you think a diary entry by them might go!

And there you have it! Please let us know if you have any questions, and we look forward to checking out your applications! See you April 1st!

The GF Seasons Zine Mod Team

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Disclaimer: We are not affiliated with Disney in any way. The zine will be a charity zine with all surplus going to charity- no one will profit from this zine.

CARRD TWITTER RETROSPRING

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eyesthatroll · 1 year

Text

SCARS | JAKE SERESIN

pairing: dad!jake x fem!oc x teenage!son

warnings: angst, self harm, scars, talk of depression, this chapter reads extremely heavy and can be very triggering to some, please read with caution. established relationship. lower-case intended. i read through this a few times so there shouldn't be any typos, but if there is, i'll go through in a few days and fix them, i can't read this anymore at the moment, lowkey triggering myself lol.

suggestion: would recommend listening to the song home ll by dotan, as that’s what i listened to when i wrote this. really beautiful song.

word count: 2.5k

summary: noticing teddy acting a little weird, you ask jake to talk to him. it's worse then you and jake ever thought.

"hey bud, wanna go to 7-eleven with me?" jake asks his second oldest, leaning against the doorframe of his room.

the boy looks up from his chair, glancing to the clock that read 1:14 am before looking back to jake. "this late?"

jake smiles. "it's saturday, why not? like old times?"

theodore remains silent for a few moments, contemplating. "sure, i guess."

he slips on a random hoodie before meeting his dad at the front door.

"ready to go?" jake asks.

the young boy nods, stepping outside into the crisp night air.

the drive to 7-eleven is quick, considering it's right down the road.

the two step out of the truck, and enter the brightly lit convenience store, theodore headed to the slurpee machine, jake to the decaf coffee.

theodore gets his usual flavors, blue raspberry and cherry, and him and jake meet up at the counter.

jake pays, thanking the cashier, and they leave.

"hey, come sit with me for a sec." jake sits down on the curb, patting the space next to him.

theodore sits next to his dad on the curb.

the two sit in silence for a few minutes.

"you okay, buddy? you seem a lil' down recently." jake breaks the silence, speaking softly.

theodore shrugs. "school i guess."

jake frowns. "school?"

"ya know, the SAT, college apps, that stuff. stress."

"okay." jake nods at his sons words. "any way i can help?"

"grandpa has been saying i should apply to USNA, like cooper."

jake is taken aback. he wasn't even aware that theodore and his father were talking. "i didn't know you two were talking."

theodore shrugs. "he's been calling me a few times. keeps asking how my application is going."

jake's jaw clenches. of course, the few times his father would reach out to his grandson, would be to pressure him into joining the naval academy.

"ignore whatever he is telling you, teddy." jake says, a bitter taste in his mouth.

"would you be mad at me, if i didn't join the navy?"

jake shakes his head. "of course not, son, you know that. all i want is for you to be happy, i'll support whatever you decide."

theodore sets his slurpee down next to him. "i'm not happy."

jake frowns. "what's goin on, buddy? you can talk to me, i promise i won't judge."

lifting up his arms, he rolls his sleeves up, revealing uneven scars, band-aids covering his left wrist.

"i think something's wrong with me, dad."

jake looks away from the teenage boy next to him.

tears form in his eyes.

he takes a minute to compose himself, inhaling deep breaths, before finally turning back to his son. grabbing his hand, his calloused fingers trace over the old scars. "how long have you been doing this, teddy?"

jakes voice is low, unsteady.

theodore shrugs. "i don't know, little more than a year, i guess."

jakes eyes widen. he drops theodore's hand, before quickly standing up. "i need a minute, buddy. don't go anywhere."

jake goes back into the 7-eleven, and heads straight for the bathroom.

once inside, he falls against the back of the door, heavy sobs escaping his chest.

jake was a strong man, being his fathers son, he had to be. it took a hell of a lot to make him emotional, growing up in a household where crying is weak will do that to you, but here he was, sobbing on the bathroom floor of a 7-eleven.

becoming a father had been the best thing that ever happened to him,and an opportunity for him to break generational curses and show his children and his father and grandfather, that you could be tough and deal with your emotions in a healthy manner.

jake was taught to push those feelings deep down, and never let them out in the open, never let anyone else see them. it was in this moment, he hoped and prayed to god that theodore wasn't taking after him.

theodore had been in pain for over a year. suffering for over a year. unhappy for god knows how long.

his beautiful boy had been harming himself for over a year, and he didn't even notice.

jake felt like the worst parent in the world.

how could he not have noticed?

he tries to think back to all of the family gatherings and the birthday parties. everyone always commenting on how well mannered and mature theodore was. the nights where you guys would get home, and theodore would close himself up in his room. the weekends, where jake only saw him at dinner. the way theodore always wore long sleeves, even in the summertime.

jake had missed the signs.

growing up, theodore was always a quiet boy, very different from his siblings. his siblings were sparkplugs, reckless and always getting into trouble.

jake had liked to believe that theodore had taken after you, but after remembering the stories your mom tells of you being a raining hellfire, he wonders how truly long his boy has been feeling unhappy. was it just this past year, or was it subconsciously his whole life?

jake didn't know if he wanted the answer to that last question.

it takes a few minutes, but he finally calms himself down enough to be able to leave the bathroom.

stepping outside, he sees theodore sat in the same spot.

he frowns.

jake doesn't know what to say, or what to do. none of the parenting books covered this.

all he can do is stand and look at the broken boy in front of him.

he thinks back to when theodore was younger, about six or seven, when he and jake would go to 7-eleven every saturday at an ungodly hour (that hour being nine, 'ungodly' because his bedtime was eight.)

theodore practically running inside the store, insisting that he can dispense his own slurpee because he was a big boy. begging to get a big cup, even though he never finished it.

he was so happy then, getting to spend time with his daddy alone-without his siblings present, doing something they 'weren't supposed to do' all while keeping the promise of: no telling mama.

jake didn't see that little boy standing in front of him, and it made him so incredibly upset that he hadn't realized he was ever missing.

sitting down next to theodore, theodore looks up at him. "were you crying?"

jake nods. "i was."

theodore frowns. "i'm sorry."

jake wraps his arm around his sons shoulder, and pulls him into his side. "don't apologize, kid."

the two sit in silence for more minutes. jake, trying to figure out what to say, and theodore, silent tears rolling down his face.

jake can't put it off any longer. he grabs theodore's left wrist and holds it up between the two of them. "i don't know exactly how you are feeling, but i know that this, this is not the answer, teddy." jake pauses.

theodore remains silent.

"i love you so much, teddy bear." jake calls theodore by a nickname he hadn't used since he was a little boy.

jake had stopped calling him that when theodore became a teenager.

dad, don't call me that anymore, it's embarrassing!

theodore lets out a sob at the use of his childhood nickname, crying into his fathers jacket.

"i-im sorry, i just- i can't, dad-" theodore begins to cough over his words.

jake pulls him closer, one hand on his back, another tousled in his curly hair.

"why can't i just feel normal?"

jake remains silent, trying to formulate what he was going to say, before speaking.

"everybody loves you so much, buddy. you need help studying for your tests? i will find someone to help you. you want to explore college options? your mom and i will drive you to check out every campus in the goddamn united states if you want to. you want to join the navy? great! you don't want to join the navy? that's okay, too." jake says, his hand rubbing theodore's back soothingly.

"i don't know why you're feeling this way, teddy. i wish that there was something i could do, or say, to make it all better. i know you're not happy, and we can get you help, buddy. there's counseling, medication—we have options, teddy. better options than hurting yourself, okay?"

"okay."

jake uses his shirt to wipe the snot from theodore's nose. "i love you, nothing will ever change that."

the two of them sit together in silence, watching the cars drive past the dark road, an honest silence between them.

jake just wants his boy to be okay.

"please don't tell mom about my scars."

jake freezes. jake had completely forgotten about you, the one who had sent him to have this talk with theodore in the first place.

what was he supposed to tell you?

if you asked, he couldn't lie to you.

"promise me you won't tell her, please, dad."

god don't say that. don't make me promise.

"dad?" theodore looks up at his dad with worry.

jake sighs. "buddy, i—i can't not tell your mom."

theodore frowns. "please don't. please, i don't want her to know."

jake sighs. if theodore didn't want him to tell you, then he wouldn't tell you.

jake reaches down, and brings theodore's wounded wrist up to his lips, placing a soft kiss there.

"i won't tell your mom about this-"he gestures to theodore's scars. "but i need you promise to try your best to not do this again."

theodore remains silent for a moment. "okay."

jake takes a deep breath. "what do you use to make these?"

teddy shrugs. "whatever i can find. knives, desk corners, mainly blades, though."

jake stills. "okay, do you think i could get them from you—when we get home? are they in your room?"

theodore nods. "under my bed."

jake nods. "i want them as soon as we get home."

"okay."

it's only a few minutes later that theodore says he's ready to go.

the car ride back home is quiet, except for the radio playing lowly in the background.

once jake and theodore get home, they quietly make their way through the house. the last thing needed was someone waking up and asking questions.

stopping at the young boy's bedroom, jake's eyes follow theodore, as he slips off his shoes, and bends down to reach under his bed. standing up, he hands you a small box full of about a dozen or so box cutters.

jake frowns at the brown tainting the bandaids theodore is wearing.

"is that all?" jake asks.

"yeah." theodore says quietly.

jake nods. "let me clean your bandages, teddy, i'll meet you in the bathroom."

"wait—what are you gonna do with those."

"i'm throwin' em' out, buddy."

"not in the kitchen garbage, mom or the boys will see."

"i know, teddy. i'll meet you in the bathroom."

jake takes the tattered box full out blades outside and throws it in the neighbors garbage can.

entering the house again, he locks the door before quietly making his way to the bathroom.

shutting the door, he grabs bandages and neosporin from the cabinet above the sink.

"when did you do this?" jake asks.

"few days ago." theodore mumbles.

"did you clean them?"

theodore shakes his head. "i never really do. i usually just slap a bandaid on them."

his words make jake wince. it's a miracle none of theodore's cuts had ever gotten infected.

slowly, jake unwrapped the bandages from his wrist. his heart absolutely breaking at the sight of theodore's freshly wounded wrist.

jake turns the water on, and lets it run until it's lukewarm. with mild soap, he gently cleans theodore's cuts.

drying theodore's wrist with a spare towel, he spreads neosporin over the wounds before applying bandages to the area.

"no more, okay?"

theodore nods. "okay."

jake pulls his son in for another hug. "get to bed, it's late. we'll talk in the morning."

"goodnight, dad." theodore says quietly.

"goodnight, teddy bear."

sighing, jake puts everything back in the cabinet and heads to bed, absolutely exhausted from what was supposed to be a simple, short conversation.

stripping to his boxers, jake tries not to wake you as he climbs into bed.

"jake." you mumble, sensing the dip in weight on your left side.

you had tried your best to be awake for when they got home, but minutes turned to hours, and you accidentally had fallen asleep.

"hey, darlin'" jake says quietly, brushing your curly hair out of your face.

"how did it go?" you asked. jakes eyes were bloodshot, his skin blotchy, you knew it couldn't have gone well but you still had a tiny bit of hope.

"he's not okay, josephine." jake says. "he's been in so much pain."

tears welled in your eyes.

"how could he have been in so much pain without us noticing?"

jake held you against his chest, you crying silently at the thought of your baby boy being as unhappy as jake is describing.

jake tells you everything.

almost everything.

he leaves out what he promised theodore he wouldn't tell you, telling you that it wasn't his place, that in time, teddy would tell you himself.

"remind me tomorrow to call my dad and ask him what the fuck he's thinking."

"i will."

the conversation ended there, and though you had a few more questions, jake looked absolutely exhausted, so you didn't push him on it.

it's been a few hours, jake had since fallen asleep, but you couldn't. you laid there, your husbands heartbeat steady in your ear.

you stared at the clock that rested on the wall across from you, counting down the minutes until it was breakfast time and you had an excuse to wake up theodore.

and when you couldn't wait any longer, the clock read 5:42am. you slowly removed yourself from jakes grasp and made your way to your sons room.

"teddy?" you said quietly.

"mom?" his voice is hoarse, strangled.

you made your way over to his bed. "hi sweetheart."

you brush stray curls out of his face.

"dad told you?" he asks.

you nodded. "only some of it. whatever he promised you he wouldn't tell me, he hasn't."

your beautiful boy frowns. "i'm sorry."

"don't apologize." you tell him. "room for me?"

theodore slides his body over, and you join him in the small bed.

he rests his head on your chest.

"you hated sleeping in your bed by yourself." you tell him, quietly.

"you would beg me for story after story just so i would stay with you until you fell asleep."

"you were such a sweet boy. you still are a sweet boy." you pause, trying to stabilize your breath. "my sweet boy."

"i love you so much, okay?" you tell him.

"okay."

"i mean it, teddy. i don't want you to ever feel like you can't come to me. even if you don't think i will understand, even if i don't understand, i will always be there to listen. so will your dad."

"you promise?"

"i promise, angel."

a/n: this is... i don't know. this chapter is loosely based on personal experience, except, my parents weren't as nice as teddy's. i don't know how i feel about this, it did feel good to write, though, cathartic in a way i guess. this fic takes place in a universe that i'm developing where josephine and jake have four boys (you might remember josephine from the fic 'leaving' that i posted a few days ago) obviously, this is set further in the future, and i probably should wait to post this until i post the fics of the boys growing up, but i don't have any of those written and instead i hyper fixated on this, so here it is.

teddy has such a huge piece of my heart, and if any of you are feeling like teddy right now, just know that i've been there, i see you, and it does eventually get better with time.

sidenote: i have no idea what pov i want to write this in, but i guess i don't it to be y/n? i'm reading another jake series, i believe its called my girl? where its centered around an oc, but the story is written with you pronouns, and i liked how that read, so i attempted to do that here, not sure how it worked out or will work out in the future for me. as usual, i'd love to hear your thoughts about this story. this is an extremely heavy topic, and i hope i wrote about it at least decently.

#dad!jake seresin #jake seresin #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin fanfiction #hangman top gun #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x oc #hangman imagine #top gun: maverick #top gun: maverick imagine #hangman x reader #hangman x oc #dad!hangman

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preservationofnormalcy · 4 months

Note

Hey, I was on my normal walk around town when I noticed more OPN posters popping up. Most of them were repeats. Nomenclature awareness, sensible thaumaturgy, all that stuff. One that I hadn't seen, and have scarily little clue about given my like of work, was the molemen one. I work for various groups (sometimes the Office, as needs arise) as I tend to map out caves "in advance" before anyone else can get in. This is for spelunkers to make sure they're safe in "new" caves from extranormal threats.

There are fates worse than death, and their causes like to sleep below. Now I'm worried about, well, the molemen. I was never taught about them in any of my training courses, and I go through both mundane and Office approved extranormal training every other year. Is this a recent awareness campaign, or just something that I somehow missed over the years?

A lot of our awareness posters are more meant to be inward-facing - that is, directed towards Office personnel or in your case contractors, but yeah, this is recent!

As a part of our recent successful diplomatic relations campaign with the Molemen, we created and disseminated those posters to applicable Office and private contractor locations. In order to foster a positive, respectful, and distant relationship between the people of the Surface and the People Below.

The Molemen have remained hard to contact since they retreated to their massive series of self-made intercorrected bunkers and shantytowns during the Cold War. Although their domain runs under much of North America, they’ve mostly kept to themselves since the 1970s. Their founding members were notoriously….recalcitrant to cooperate with any Surface authority, but some of their newer leaders are more willing to work with us. We’re currently cooperating with Molemen authorities to grant LEP status to the People Below after a quick review. We’re mostly just waiting on the Administrator council to approve what classification Molemen would fall under - the Underking Murmur engaged in significant genetic engineering during the early 1970s to enable those who went with him to survive the Below, but it’s mostly paperwork at this point.

Thank you for noticing and participating in our recent campaign of cooperation with the Molemen, and let us know if you have any other questions about the People Below!

#office for the preservation of normalcy #ask #molemen

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hotsuqueen · 7 days

Text

Yamato Hotsuin's Recordbreaker Dialogue

While I replay Devil Survivor 2: Recordbreaker, I thought I'd take the time to record Yamato's dialogue. I don't know that I've found a complete transcript, so I figured I might as well make one for myself and have it exist as a reference for anyone else who might like it!

Dialogue below the cut 👇

Sunday 17:30 Tokyo Branch

Nagata-cho Diet Building

You arrive at Nagata-cho, led by Makoto…

Makoto: We're here.

Io: This is…?

Hibiki Kuze: - The Diet Building, eh? - Of course.

- The Diet Building, eh? Io: Yeah… that means Makoto must be in the government?

- Of course. Daichi: Huh…? Oh, I guess that means Makoto's in the government?

Makoto: Very perceptive. I belong to an organization which answers to the government. It's not much further now, keep up!

Makoto leads you into the underground levels of the Diet Building…

Makoto produces an ID card to authorize herself at the terminal…

A huge facility spreads before your eyes…

Daichi: This is what's under the Diet Building? You've gotta be kidding me!

Daichi is looking wildly around…

Daichi: Hey, did you see that logo a moment ago? How do you pronounce that? J, P, apostrophe…?

Hibiki Kuze: - I have no idea. - "Jips," I guess?

- I have no idea: Makoto: "Jips." Now be quiet. I'd like to avoid any trouble.

- "Jips," I guess? Makoto: Correct, "Jips." Now be quiet. I'd like to avoid any trouble.

Before Makoto finishes speaking, a man appears up ahead…

???: You're late, Sako… Who are they?

Makoto: Chief, these children signed up for Nicaea.

You detect a slight tension in Makoto's voice…

Chief: Why are they here?

Makoto: I thought they might have intel on the summoning app, Sir. They have firsthand combat experience against the demons, so I thought we could use them…

The "Chief" holds out a hand, stopping Makoto…

Chief: That's rather presumptuous, Sako. They're just civilians. Debrief them and have done with it.

Makoto: Understood, my apologies.

The "Chief" looks at you coldly…

Chief: I'm grateful for your cooperation, but this facility is off-limits. I must insist that you leave as soon as possible. Dismissed.

The "Chief" nods to you and leaves…

Daichi: What a jerk…!

Makoto: Don't talk like that…! That man is Yamato Hotsuin, Chief of JP's.

Io: Chief…? He's your superior, Makoto?

Makoto: That's correct.

Daichi: H- Him? He's probably even younger than us! He's that high up?

It seems Daichi has recalled something…

Daichi: By the by, M-Makoto, did you say you're gonna get intel from us? Are we gonna be interrogated!?

Makoto gives a slight smile and turns towards Daichi…

Makoto: No, of course not. That was just a pretext. I'd never get away with bringing a civilian here just to treat a sprain.

Daichi: Oh… Hahaha! Good one. Had me going there.

Daichi seems relieved…

---

Makoto takes Io to a room to treat her sprained ankle, they talk about Nicaea and the summoning app, Makoto leaves, and Daichi decides he has to pee immediately.

---

You lead Daichi to the facility hallway…

Daichi: Urgh… Hurry! Can't… hold it.

Hibiki Kuze: - You're going to have to. - Just go here. - Shhh, listen.

- You're going to have to. Daichi: Unngh… So cruel…

- Just go here. Daichi: I would, but… that doesn't seem right.

- Shhh, listen. Daichi: Argh! Not so loud! I'm at my limit here!

You hear people talking further down the hallway…

Makoto: …They're just civilians, Sir!

Yamato: How can you be positive they won't misuse the summoning application?

Makoto: They cooperated with me, they helped reseal Coordinate K. I don't think they'll abuse it.

Yamato: When a man grows accustomed to power, he is more likely to abuse it. Isn't that right, Sako?

Makoto: S-Sorry, Sir.

Yamato: We're finished here. Take them to a cell.

They seem to be talking about you…

Daichi: D-Did he just say what I think he said?

Hibiki Kuze: - A cell… - We're going to be imprisoned…! - Sorry, I wasn't listening.

- A cell… Daichi: This is bad! Real, real bad! They're gonna lock us up!

- We're going to be imprisoned…! Daichi: This is a disaster! They're gonna catch us and throw us in jail! I'll nver see the sun again!

- Sorry, I wasn't listening. Daichi: You moron! They're gonna toss us in prison!

Daichi: Let's get outta here, man! We need to get to Io before they do!

You return with Daichi to where you left Io…

---

So this is Yamato's introduction, and on the whole, I think it's a really interesting scene. It's our very first look at JP's and at Yamato himself, and right off the bat, we're establishing some important things about the characters. Yamato is cold and dismissive and in the leadership role, and Makoto is loyal to and defensive of him while also being completely willing to lie to him and disobey his orders on behalf of people she doesn't know at all.

There are also some really choice moments that are ridiculously funny to me, namely Makoto calling Hibiki and his friends 'these children' when she's talking to Yamato even though Yamato is younger than every single one of them. Even Daichi clocks immediately that he's younger than they are, so it's canon that he looks his age. I'm kinda glad they told us that, because the art makes it hard to tell. Either way, I have to wonder what Yamato thought about that.

I also kind of love that Makoto tells them to shut the fuck up so she doesn't get in trouble just seconds before Yamato rolls up onto the scene and immediately gets her into trouble. He had to have been close by, since he appeared before she'd even finished her sentence, so that's really unfortunate for her.

I also can't help but wonder what made him change his mind about locking all of them up. The whole scene takes place within thirty minutes, so it couldn't have been that long between him telling them to fuck off and then telling Makoto to chuck them in a cell instead. He would have been totally screwed if she'd actually listened to him the first time and kicked them out instead of taking them to a room to treat Io's sprain.

Also, can we talking about Daichi's response if you tell him to go on the floor????? What do you mean, "I would, but...?" WHAT DO YOU MEAN, DAICHI

Anyway, while I was recording this, the thing that stood out to me the absolute most is how many fucking ellipses there are. Oh my god. I've played this game a ton of times (at least 200 hours worth according to my save files), and I never actually noticed that literally every line of narration ends in an ellipsis until I started recording this transcript. I think from now on I'm going to leave them out, because they are slowly driving me insane, but I left them in there this time so you have to suffer with me. I'll never unsee that.

#devil survivor 2 #recordbreaker #yamato hotsuin #fic reference #dialogue transcript

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mostlysignssomeportents · 8 months

Text

The Lost Cause prologue, Part V

I'm coming to Minneapolis! Oct 15: Presenting The Internet Con at Moon Palace Books. Oct 16: Keynoting the 26th ACM Conference On Computer-Supported Cooperative Work and Social Computing.

In my upcoming solarpunk novel The Lost Cause (Nov 14), we get an epic struggle between the people doing the repair and care work needed to save our planet and species, and the reactionary wreckers who want to kill the Green New Deal and watch the world burn:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865847/red-team-blues

Amazon refuses to carry my audiobooks, which means that I make my own indie editions and pre-sell them on Kickstarter, along with ebooks and hardcovers. I narrated this one! It came out great! You can back it here:

http://lost-cause.org

This week, I've been serializing the prologue to give you a taste of what you can expect from the book, which Bill McKibben calls "politically perceptive, scientifically sound, and extraordinarily hopeful."

Here's part one:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/06/green-new-deal-fic/#the-first-generation-in-a-century-not-to-fear-the-future

And part two:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/07/met-cute-ugly/#part-ii

And part three:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/09/working-the-refs/#lost-cause-prologue

And part four:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/10/weaponized-interdependence/#super-soaker-full-of-hydrochloric-acid

And now, part five:

Look, I had weeks to go until graduation. I had a life to live. I had stuff to do.

Gramps and his friends would stew and shout. Idiots on the internet would make dank memes out of Mike Kennedy and deepfake him into a million videos, turn him into a main character whose image would be around long after he left the world.

I just had to keep my head down, collect my diploma, and get the hell out of Burbank. I’d already been provisionally accepted for a Blue Helmets AmeriCorps spot down in San Juan Capistrano, helping to rebuild the city’s lower half a mile inland, up in the hills. I was going to do a year of that and then go to college: I had applications in to UCLA, Portland State (they had a really good refugee tech undergrad program), and the University of Waterloo, where my mom did her undergrad in environmental science. They’d let me declare my major in my second year, so I could take a wide variety of courses before settling on something, and if anything, Canada’s free college was even more generous than the UC system or Portland’s, with a subsidy for dorms and meals.

To tell the truth, I’d be glad to go. My senior year hadn’t been anything like I’d anticipated. Gramps’s health had gotten a lot worse the previous summer and his shitty sexist and racist remarks chased away any home help worker Burbank sent over within a week or two, so I’d been trying to keep my grades up while picking up after Gramps, getting him to take his meds, washing his sheets and cleaning his toilet—not to mention making sure he made his doctor’s appointments and even bringing him into the office a couple of times a month for the kind of exams you couldn’t do by telemedicine.

I wasn’t sure what Gramps would do without me to take care of him, but at that point, I was running out of fucks to give. Let his asshole Maga Club buddies look after him, or maybe Gramps could figure out how not to offend everyone that came over to wipe his ass and do his laundry. He was—as he was fond of pointing out to me—a grown-ass adult, and this was his house, and he was in charge. So let him be in charge.

I put myself to bed stewing about all of this, thinking of San Juan Capistrano. Some of my older friends had graduated the previous years and had gone down there and I’d followed their relocation of the old mission on their feeds. It looked like hot, sweaty, rewarding work, the kind of thing where you could really measure your progress.

For the second night in a row, I was woken up at 2 a.m. This time, it wasn’t my screen, it was Gramps, who’d stumped into my room with his cane, flipped my lights to full on, and started shaking me and calling out, “Get up, kid, get up!”

“I’m up,” I said, getting up on my elbows and squinting at him.

He was shaking, and he reeked—of both booze and BO, and I felt a flash of guilt for not getting him in the bath that day.

“God dammit,” he said, and staggered a bit. I leapt out of bed, pulling the sheets off with me, and steadied him at the elbow.

“Calm down, okay? What’s going on? Are you all right?”

“No, I’m not all right. No one is all right. Fuck all right and fuck you.” I’d had Gramps tested for early dementia the previous year, by showing his doctor videos of moments like these. The doc had run a battery of tests before pronouncing, “Your grandfather isn’t senile, he’s just ornery.” Which was undeniable, and also pissed me the hell off. “Ornery” was a polite word for “asshole.” What the doc was telling me was that Gramps didn’t have to be cruel. He was cruel by choice.

I untangled myself from the sheets and piled them on the bed.

“What is it?”

“It’s Mike Kennedy, that asshole. Someone shot him.”

“What?”

He shoved his giant screen into my hands. I tapped the video window. It was from the POV of a car cam, that weird fish-eye view of a self-driving car, split-screen with the passenger in the front seat, and it was Mike Kennedy, looking even worse than Gramps, bloodshot and trembling, with that under-chin camera angle that makes everyone look like they’re half dead.

I tried to watch both halves. There was Kennedy, whispering something to him. There was the cul-de-sac he was parked in, false-lit with IR from the cameras. The timestamp was 1:17. Less than an hour before.

Then the external image flickered for a second and resolved itself into a man, who phased in and out. He was wearing a ghillie suit like the one Kennedy had worn on the roof, covered in telltale CV dazzle stripes, designed to exploit defects in the computer vision system. You had to wear a different specific pattern for every algorithm, but if you got the right matchup, the computer would simply not see you. The man was flickering into existence when his posture crumpled up the ghillie suit and made the pattern stop working, then out again when he straightened up.

He straightened and disappeared and Mike Kennedy’s eyes widened as he noticed the man for the first time—computer dazzle worked on computers, not humans—and he started to say something and then a round hole appeared in his forehead, his head snapping back against the headrest, then careening forward. The flickering phantom appeared again as the man in the ghillie suit turned and disappeared.

I dropped the tablet to my bed.

“Jesus Christ, Gramps, I didn’t need to see that snuff movie—”

He tried to smack me then. I was ready for it. I was faster. I stepped out of his reach. I was shaking too.

“You don’t get to hit me anymore old man. Never again, you hear me?”

He was purpling now, and a decade’s worth of fleeing and defusing his rages rose in me, made me want to apologize. After all, I rationalized, he’d just seen a friend murdered.

But I’d seen that friend murdered too, videobombed with a snuff flick at 2 a.m. without warning or consent. It was a traumatizing, selfish, asshole move. I’d be watching that movie on the backs of my eyelids for years to come. And the friend who’d died? He’d been ready to kill me. Gramps had no right. He was a grown-ass adult. He had no right.

“Listen to me, you little shit, you think you can live under my roof, take my charity, and talk to me like that? Now? With all the shit that I’m going through? No sir. No. Get out, you little bastard, get out now. Get out before I kick your goddamned teeth in.” He was vibrating with rage now, literally, actually shaking so hard his wispy hair swished back and forth across his forehead.

I didn’t say another word. I picked up some jeans and a jacket, put a pair of socks in a jacket pocket, and jammed my feet into a pair of sneakers without bothering to unlace them. I shouldered past him—still vibrating, stinking even worse—and banged out the back door and stomped through the nighttime streets.

My feet automatically took me up to Verdugo, and then across the empty road. I turned toward school—as I did every morning—and autopiloted in that direction. By the time I reached the Verdugo Aquatic Facility I had calmed down enough to realize that there was no reason to go to school at two thirty in the morning, so I stopped and headed for the playground in the park behind the pool. I sat down on a bench and kicked my shoes off and shook out the playground sand, pulled out my socks and put them on, then put my shoes back on properly. I was still furious, but now I could think straight and my hands weren’t shaking. Gramps and I hadn’t had a blowup like that in years, mostly— okay, entirely—because I’d backed down every time we’d been headed in that direction. I wasn’t in any mood to back down. Not ever, to be fully honest.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/11/equal-opportunity-class-war/#part-v

My next novel is The Lost Cause, a hopeful novel of the climate emergency. Amazon won't sell the audiobook, so I made my own and I'm pre-selling it on Kickstarter!

#pluralistic #books #science fiction #clifi #solarpunk #crowdfunding #audiobooks #the lost cause #fiction

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theroyalsims · 1 year

Photo

SHANG SIMLA’S PRINCESS HANNA TURNS 15

Emperor Kenji’s little Princess is now officially a young lady!

The Shang Simlan Imperial Court today released a brand new portrait of the beautiful young Princess to mark her fifteenth birthday. The new photo was captioned:

“Wishing Her Royal Highness The Princess Hanna a very happy fifteenth birthday.”

Sources confirm that the Princess is wearing two very special accessories in the picture: a pair of pearl earrings from her mum, and a brand new luxury watch from her step-mum, Empress Alexandra.

The Princess also made headlines earlier this week when her I.D. photo that was used for her school application went viral on social media. Already dubbed the most beautiful face in Shang Simla, the young Princess has seemingly captured her kingdom’s hearts thanks to her angelic face and her striking honey-coloured eyes.

The Princess, of course, is the only child of Emperor Kenji from his first marriage. Princess Hanna is big sister to baby Princes Seoji and Soobin. She’s also step-sister to Emily, Duchess of Fjord, and Olivia Dorsey-Chegeya.

Although the Princess is the Emperor’s eldest child, she is not in line to inherit the throne, as only male heirs can do so. Since the birth of the royal twins, the Shang Simlan government is reportedly “cooperating” with the Imperial family to declare the infant Princes as “suitable” to inherit the throne despite the fact that they were born through surrogacy - a first in the Eastern kingdom’s history.

Will these speculated changes in the line of succession affect Princess Hanna?

Either way, we’re wishing this lovely young lady a very happy birthday!

#ts4 #theroyalsims #ts4 story #ts4 legacy #ts4 simblr #ts4 royals #ts4 royalty #ts4 royal family #ts4 royal story #ts4 royal legacy #mystory #shang simla #hanna

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mylordshesacactus · 1 year

Text

So as of last session, my players have learned what’s really going on, and why it’s such a secret, and how little time there is to try to stop it.

It happened like this: They solved the TREATY puzzle. As the final ring ground into place and locked, the glyphs and magical inscriptions all snapped into place at once--triggering the complex network of interlinked Major Illusion, Magic Mouth, Prestidigitation, and Thaumaturgy spells contained in small semiprecious stones set every 12 inches around the entire underground chamber.

Small spells, weak ones. Ones that could be cast by a trusted hired mage of average skill--or with countless applications of low-level wands over the course of years.

The party is aware that this is an illusion--they ID’d the network as being dormant and containing only harmless illusion spells long before they tried to activate it. But it’s a VERY good illusion and it’s a bit of a shock regardless.

As soon as the spell activates, they’re snapped out of the safe sunlit underground chamber and flung directly into hell.

It’s easy to figure out, after some disorientation, that this is the Rending. It could hardly be anything else. The sky is black-purple and writhing, like it’s been turned to blood. The landscape is charred and glowing with blacklight, wrong, unnatural. Completely destroyed. In the sky above them are creatures so massive it’s impossible to comprehend if they even have a shape, and so shifting and horrific and formless that maybe it’s better not to know.

Everything smells of death and blood and salt and burned rubber, and the figures the party just grew familiar with through their statues are scattered around the piles of shattered, burning buildings--in full color now, shouting, alive. Most of them. A few are terrifyingly still.

As they watch, the one figure they don’t recognize--a young human man, late 20s, mage robes, and clearly the Bastion of Life as he was in his adventuring days--shouts and throws up a barrier of some kind. It holds--holds--then shatters, the backlash throwing him ten feet through the air. A deep magenta-skinned tiefling woman--Rochelle Willowfeather, as they know her--grabs him and hauls him to his feet in passing, dragging him out of the way of a blast of invisible power that explodes a chunk of masonry like it’s balsa wood.

He pants out a thank-you, she tells him to stay down, and then a tentacle the size of a redwood trunk hits her at about ninety miles an hour and throws her across the battlefield, into a stone pillar.

The young man cries out as if in pain; then, hyperventilating, ducks down behind the cover his leader may have just died getting him and says, out loud, a realization: “We can’t do this. We can’t do this on our own.”

Another, visible, realization: He’s just had an idea.

He stands, hands working frantically. The party wizard tries to track the spell but can’t recognize it--but its purpose becomes clear immediately.

Sebastian Wrighthall-Cooper burns his ninth-level spell slot at the end of the world to cast Time Stop.

Everything goes still. Eerily silent, except for his panting. He steadies himself. Casts another spell--Plane Shift. Opens a portal. A glowing, green portal--a passage to the Faewild.

Time moves differently in the Faewild.

The vision shifts--becomes more rapid-fire. They see Sebastian, questing through the fae realm. He’s not visibly aging, nothing that dramatic--but he’s growing a patchy beard, his clothes becoming visibly ragged. They see him bartering favors, trading power, making deals. Access. Resources. Audiences. He gets an oath from an archfey to return him at the time and place he chooses. Things like that.

They watch as he struggles, as he bleeds, as he kills some people and saves others. As he gets more and more stressed, more and more desperate. They watch as he lies. They watch as he tells the truth, as he bargains, as he begs.

They watch as he makes a deal he should not have made.

The memory is...off, somehow. As if whatever illusory magic powers the room couldn’t quite manage to represent this figure. The vison is bright, uncomfortably so, making it hard to visually focus on anything or make out details.

But the figure, in a voice they’ve never heard before and can’t describe, is clearly in the middle of a negotiation. It laughs, softly, not unpleasant. It asks Sebastian--the only thing clearly visible--if he truly has nothing better to offer than the promise of a future favor--from a mortal? In exchange for nothing but that--why, human, should I save this kingdom for you?

And the party watches as he asks the fatal question:

Your Majesty, would you save the Dominion for yourself?

It’s sealed with a handshake. Sebastian Wrighthall-Cooper has promised the Queen of the Fae that she can have the Spellbound Dominion to rule as she sees fit, if she kills the monsters that threaten it.

The vision snaps back to the ruins of Canticle and the apocalypse unfolding there. Everything is still. Silent. Sebastian blinks back into existence in a rush of emerald. He breathes. He has a beard now. He hasn’t cut his hair.

As suddenly as it ended, hell opens up again. The unearthly screaming returns, somehow more deafening than before because it’s coming from dead silence. The reek of death slams back into place, the roiling sky--

Come on, Sebastian breathes. Come on, any second, if she doesn’t--it has to be now, it has to be now--

Over the horrific wet shriek of the Plane of Madness, a sound: The clear, piercing, silver note of hunting horns in the distance.

We don’t see the battle. The battle isn’t what’s important here.

The next vision, we see the party back on their feet. Rochelle has a broken arm, but none of the devastating injuries that we last saw her take. She’s breathing again, doesn’t seem in pain. They’re all standing in the aftermath of a battlefield, catching their breath, starting to come down from an adrenaline high.

The party, the modern-day party, the real people watching this unfold--realizes suddenly that they recognize the way thee heroes are standing. That they’re starting to recognize the specific positions. Ylla Telaryn, their soft-voice healer, shakes her head with a weary laugh. “I don’t know what you did or how you did it,” she says, doesn’t notice that Sebastian nearly winces and starts to interrupt, “But I’m glad it--”

In the background, Rochelle Willowfeather just barely starts to glance up, as if something in the distance has caught her eye--

Two things happen within seconds of each other. The first is a blinding flash of light--we don’t see Sebastian’s party turned to stone, but we see the positions they’re in. Down to the specific fall of fabric, the shift of hair--this is the moment.

The second, simultaneous--impossible to even tell who moved first--is Sebastian casting one last spell. This time, Audie the party wizard doesn’t need to roll to recognize it. She became an adventurer to prove herself--a former lover, an adventurer herself, decided that with the renown she’d gotten she could do better than just a low-level archive mage, that Audie wasn’t interesting enough anymore, and Audie spitefully wants to prove that she was always good enough to be whatever she wanted and being an archivist was a choice.

Audie, who became an adventurer to prove she had as much power as anyone ele, knows this spell, would know this spell.

In the same moment the Faerie Queen strikes, or perhaps just before, or just after, two powerful figures who always intended to double-cross each other--an arrogant human wizard who signed a contract that wasn’t his to sign, who believed his party do anything together, who thought they could fight the fae and win and didn’t realize others were smart enough to realize the same thing, who thought he could con the Queen of the Summer Court and is about to pay dearly for it--

Sebastian Wrighthall-Cooper, who was the son of a barrel-maker once, casts Wish.

It works.

The party sees it work, watches as it takes hold, and watches as it goes terribly, terribly right. The vision fades, and the contraption that had once been a riddle now glows with faint arcane calculations, very clear to anyone with the background for it--and Audie has that.

Wish is not a spell, not really. There’s no incantation, no material components to gather, no ritual to perform. It is the hardest thing in the world because it is not a spell. To cast Wish is nothing more or less than acting as a direct, open, unimpeded conduit for all the raw energy of the universe at once--and surviving the experience. Divine, arcane, every element at once, all of it.

For a single, brief instant, you become a god. And if you try to grasp at more than that single heartbeat, it will destroy you. Sometimes it does anyway.

The only way to use that kind of energy is to give it a direction. You can’t control it, not really--just channel it. That’s why the safest method is to use Wish to replicate the effects of another spell--something you already fully comprehend, already know how to do, just using your open tap on all the power of creation to substitute for paltry material concerns. If you want to do anything beyond that, you have to know exactly what you want. You have to know exactly what you’re asking for.

This is not a carefully-crafted gift from a benevolent force. You are, in this moment, your own god, and the power you are allowing to flow through you does not think like a human being. You have to point it in exactly the right direction, and if you don’t have a crystal-clear focus, a laser-guided idea of exactly what you want, there will be unexpected side effects. There...are almost always unexpected side effects. It’s impossible, in a stressful moment, with so much power searing through your veins, to keep a clear mental image of ONLY the EXACT effect you want.

Sebastian Wrighthall-Cooper casts Wish, and asks for magic that will protect his kingdom completely--ensure that no fae can set foot beyond the border, ever.

He gets exactly what he wanted.

It’s a concentration spell.

Oh, not in the traditional sense. He can sleep, he can eat, he can perform other tasks without focusing constantly on the spell. If you slap him, it won’t end the world. But if he ever uses magic again, the barrier falls.

The curse on his friends, the magic Audie detected instantly upon touching them, the faerie spite that sealed their petrification far beyond a simple restoration spell, is clear. Nothing short of a Wish can restore them.

There is only one person on the planet powerful enough to cast Wish.

And he’s getting old. He was nearly thirty during the Rending...and that was fifty years ago. And he has not led a stress-free life. The barrier is beginning to waver. Little by little, a few feet every year, the protective bubble defending the Spellbound Dominion from fae incursion has been shrinking, a defensive cordon slowly pulling inward. And every decade or so, the barrier trembles hard--instead of drawing in by a few feet, it stabilizes, wavers dramatically, then snaps hard inward, by anywhere from one to ten miles.

The contraption that triggered the illusions now serves two purposes--it contains the calculations for the barrier spell, explaining how it works. It’s also etched with a functional map of the Spellbound Dominion, including a glowing band showing the current perimeter of the bubble....

And a countdown timer.

The edge of the “bubble” isn’t a paper-thin force field. It’s a wide band, a stretch at least a mile wide. This is the “siphoning” that Arlette has been picking up. Ambient magic isn’t being sucked away to fuel some big spell--it’s MOVING, being drawn slowly inward, because they’re currently inside the edge of a powerful enchantment.

In three to six weeks, the barrier is going to waver again. Judging by the calculations on the puzzle board, it’s going to snap inward by about ten miles.

Suncrest will be left on the outside.

#d&d #welcome to the endgame

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