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#And what would the marshalls do or have done there
boy-above · 1 year
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some people lose all critical thinking skills upon seeing an animal video
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fangirl-dot-com · 1 month
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Chapter 22 - This Was Not the Spa I was Looking For
Uuuhhh, I don't even know what this was. I had an idea and then this other idea fought the first one and won? so, it's completely different than what I had in mind, but ya know what? its written and done.
There is slight SLIGHT angst, but everything is good in the end :)
so sorry for the delay - will be updating a lot this weekend!
like always comments, questions, concerns, messages in my inbox, reblogs, and likes are always appreciated! Love you all and enjoy :D
Budapest Not Included
Champions Standings 
Max Verstappen – 284 points 
Charles Leclerc – 227 points 
Lando Norris – 189 points 
Y/n L/n – 163 points 
Carlos Sainz – 112 points 
Oscar Piastri – 91 points 
Lewis Hamilton – 83 points 
Alex Albon – 44 points 
Fernando Alonso – 41 points 
George Russell – 40 points 
Logan Sargeant – 30 points 
Daniel Ricciardo – 23 points
Lance Stroll – 15 points 
Pierre Gasly – 12 points 
Yuki Tsunoda – 8 points 
Valtteri Bottas – 1 point 
Nico Hulkenberg 
Kevin Magnussen 
Zhou Guanyu 
Esteban Ocon 
Constructors Standings 
Red Bull – 447 points 
Ferrari – 339 points 
McLaren – 280 points 
Mercedes – 123 points 
Williams – 74 points 
Aston Martin – 56 points 
Alpha Tauri – 31 points 
Alpine – 12 points 
Alpha Romeo – 1 point 
HAAS – 0 points 
f1 has posted
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f1 Y/n L/n and Max Verstappen are out of the Belgium Grand Prix after the Red Bull of Verstappen hit the back of L/n. The latter skidded across the track before rolling over. L/n will be looked over at the medical site, especially after her last DNF back in Japan.
liked by y/n.nation, maxverSTOPpen, orange_army, and 802,394 others
max_and_rookie nah man, I like max but that was seriously his fault
y/n_on_top y/n had the priority to make way for him to win. he just ruined both of their races
max_all_the_way y/n should have just let him keep going tho?
redbullcan no she shouldn't cause Red Bull gave the 2-1 strategy, putting priority for the second car
maxiel333 I fear this is Azerbaijan 2018 all over again
f1fan well there goes that amazing teammate bond. great job max, what is this, 7 teammates? bout to be 8
Once again, you were hanging upside down, in the rain. But thankfully, this time you were conscious and talking. 
You pressed the button that immediately went to your panicking race engineer. 
“I’m fine Mitch. Stupid rain. This was definitely not the Spa I was looking forward to. You tell my asshole of a teammate that he owes me.” 
You switched your radio off before Mitch could reply. You were fuming as the marshals were trying to get you out once again. Your race suit was becoming wetter and wetter by the minute. Your back ached as you tried to move. 
So, how did this all happen? 
You had been able to get around Max, per team request to make way on the track that was a little less rainy. Apparently, Max thought that you were trying to get the jump on him and completely rammed the back of your RB20, sending you flying. It was definitely a mirror reflection of Azerbaijan 2018. 
How you ended up rolled over once again, you didn’t know. Maybe your car just didn’t have great balance when it came to kerbs and getting rear-ended. 
In a few minutes, the marshals were able to get you out. As you stretched when you got out, your eyes landed on Max’s RB20 with its nose crumpled and wheel hanging off. You smirked under your helmet. 
“Serves him right.” 
You two were doing amazing that weekend. Max had gotten pole once again, and you were right behind him. Except that Charles was so close behind Max most of the race. Mitch had given you the 2-1 and had told you that GP had also given the Dutchman the same order. 
There was still time for you to have given the position back, but you were quicker on the slicks. You could have easily brought home another 1-2 race. 
But now Charles would probably get his third win of the season because Max was too selfish. 
You watched as he climbed out of his own cockpit and your blood began to boil. He not only ruined his race, but yours as well. Your arms were crossed as you stood in the rain. Replays of the wreck were playing on the big screens, just for your enjoyment. 
The longer you watched, the angrier you got. 
A push to your arm brought your eyes from the big screen to the Dutch driver. 
“The fuck was that?” he angrily questioned. 
Your eyebrow raised under your helmet. Although you were shorter, you knew how to throw your weight around. So, you shoved his shoulder back. 
“Me? The fuck was that with you Max. I was given priority! This was your fault!” you shouted, earning looks from the marshals around the two of you. 
Max just glared. “My fault? That was clearly a rookie mistake.” 
He pushed you again. 
You let out a dark chuckle. “Rookie mistake? No Max. That was a you mistake.” 
Your pointer finger dug into his chest, earning you another shove. One that sent you to the ground. You were now down, looking up at Max as he glared down at you. Tears welled up in your eyes as you watched him stalk away. 
A marshal was quick to help you to your feet. Max didn’t ride back with you to the paddock and walked the entire way. You, however, took advantage of the ride back and immediately tried to hide inside your drivers room when you got back. You kept your helmet on the entire time and wanted to refuse to go to the medical room. Mitch was adamant about you going since the last time you were bruised pretty badly. 
She made sure it was quick: just a check over. After, your race engineer left you to yourself. While you undressed and peeled off your wet race suit, your mind started swimming. 
Feelings of guilt and anxiety were building in your core. Soon, you were beginning to sob as you sat on your little bed. Really, all you wanted to do was curl up and sleep, preferably with your boyfriend, who was all the way in the Ferrari garage. 
Your sobs quieted down as your eyes began to droop. Taking a nap right now seemed to be a good choice as you lied down on the small bed, curling up in a ball. A nap would keep you safe from whatever was going on. You didn’t have to deal with anything if you were asleep. 
Right as you were falling asleep, Max had just gotten back to the garage. His helmet was in his hands and his eyes were to the floor, missing the disapproving looks from everyone. On the way back, he had time to think about what he had done. 
Yes, he knew that you were given priority, but didn’t know exactly why. You didn’t seem faster on the slicks or were gaining. He didn’t expect you to go around him like that. And now looking back, he could see that you were making a way for him by getting rid of some water on the track so he could get more grip. 
What he didn’t expect was a shove to the back and a punch to the face. He barely had time to turn around before he landed on his ass on the concrete of the garage. He was so taken back that he really couldn’t understand what was going on. 
All he knew was that his face hurt, his ass hurt, and his pride hurt. 
How could he have done that to you? 
When he got his bearings, he finally saw a certain Monegasque be held back from jumping on him. Spits of French and English were thrown at him, and he deserved it. Once he was back on his feet, Arthur took two handfuls of his race suit and pulled him down. 
There was hardly a height difference, but right now Arthur looked a lot bigger than Max did. 
Arthur leaned close to Max’s face. 
“How dare you? You know that she would do anything for you and what do you do to thank her? You push her down. You break her down. You blame her for your mistake.”
Silence was all that Max could offer. 
Arthur scoffed as he let go. 
“You’re no better than her parents.” 
With that, he left and walked toward your room. He harshly pushed the door open, only to find you sound asleep, oblivious to the world outside. Arthur turned off the lights before gently climbing into your bed. He didn’t know how the two of you had fit, but you did. 
He guessed that you must have sensed him as you turned over and dug your head into his neck almost immediately. Arthur pulled out his phone before googling flights back to Monaco, back to home. He’d keep you in his pocket if he had anything to do it. 
Race Results: 
Charles Leclerc – 25 points 
Carlos Sainz – 18 points 
Oscar Piastri – 16 points (fastest lap) 
Valtteri Bottas – 12 points 
Lewis Hamilton – 10 points 
George Russell – 8 points 
Fernando Alonso – 6 points 
Alex Albon – 4 points 
Logan Sargeant – 2 point 
Zhou Guanyu – 1 point (highest placing this season) 
Lando Norris (spun out on last lap and barely missed the points) 
Daniel Ricciardo 
Yuki Tsunoda 
Kevin Magnussen (highest placing this season)
Nico Hulkenberg (highest placing this season) 
Pierre Gasly 
Esteban Ocon 
Lance Stroll 
Y/n L/n – DNF 
Max Verstappen – DNF 
Champions Standings: 
Max Verstappen – 284 points
Charles Leclerc – 252 points 
Lando Norris – 189 points 
Y/n L/n – 163 points 
Carlos Sainz – 130 points 
Oscar Piastri – 107 points 
Lewis Hamilton – 93 points 
George Russell – 48 points 
Alex Albon – 48 points 
Fernando Alonso – 45 points 
Logan Sargeant – 32 points 
Daniel Ricciardo – 23 points 
Lance Stroll – 15 points 
Pierre Gasly - 12 points 
Valtteri Bottas – 13 points 
Yuki Tsunoda – 8 points
Zhou Guanyu – 1 point 
Nico Hulkenberg 
Kevin Magnussen 
Esteban Ocon 
Constructors Standings
Red Bull – 447 points 
Ferrari – 382 points 
McLaren – 270 points 
Mercedes – 141 points 
Williams – 80 points 
Aston Martin – 60 points 
Alpha Tauri – 31 points 
Alpha Romeo – 14 points 
Alpine – 12 points 
Haas – 0 points 
Max had gotten a long talking to after everything was over. Christian probably screamed at him for over an hour, plus what GP and then what Mitch had to say after. He had wanted to apologize beforehand, but it seemed as though Arthur didn’t wat Max near you within a 25 foot radius. 
And when the Dutchman thought he could speak to you at the hotel, he had to find out the hard way that you had left that afternoon to go back to Monaco before the second Italian Grand Prix. Max huffed as he thought over what he should do. 
Just as you had anxiety and guilt about the incident, Max dubbed his as 10 times worse. This was it. In the past, everyone told him that he always messed up teammates for other drivers. That’s why Daniil didn’t work out, or Carlos, or Daniel, or Pierre, or Alex, or Checo. One way or another, Max always fucked it up. 
Well, that’s what his mind was telling him. 
And he didn’t want you to just be another name to the list. 
So with phone in hand, and pilot on call, he made the executive decision to fly back to Monaco. He knew exactly where your apartment was, since you gave me the address when you first moved in and a key for emergencies. 
When he landed, he went straight to the grocery store. Knowing that you had the cooking skills of Arthur and Charles combined and the pickiness of Lando amplified, he guessed that you and Arthur probably haven’t had dinner yet. So, he grabbed ingredients to make pizza. Simple enough. 
He drove to your flat and was suddenly enveloped with fear. He hit his head on the steering wheel once he parked. 
“I’m so stupid,” he whispered to himself as he gazed at the lights on in the windows. His head was still on the wheel as he turned to look down. What he failed to notice was you looking through the window. 
“Cheri? Is everything alright?” you heard Arthur call out from the kitchen. You two had just burnt some pasta while trying to make dinner. You gazed down at the familiar car parked in front. 
“Cheri?” 
Now Arthur was close, also looking out the window. 
“It’s Max.” 
The Monegasque scoffed. “What’s he doing here?” 
You hummed. “He’s probably wanting to apologize. I know what he’s like. Thur, he didn’t mean it.” 
Arthur’s eyes changed from cold to understanding. He had heard enough stories from his own brother along with gossip in the paddock about Max’s childhood (or lack thereof). 
He huffed once before saying, “Go to him and then invite him up.” 
He watched as your eyes lit up, before you placed a kiss on his lips. A smile formed on his lips as he watched you slide shoes on and go out the door. Arthur turned back to the kitchen. He guessed he needed to clean up before you invited thee Max Verstappen into the house. 
Max was so caught in his head that he missed you peering in. Only when you slightly knocked on the door, did he jump. He accidentally pressed the horn, making it echo down the empty road. He quickly unlocked the door, which let you slip in. 
His blue eyes gazed into yours before he started to cry. You looked at him with a frown on your face as he tried to desperately wipe his tears. He took many harsh inhales, trying to get his emotions under control. 
Max expected you to yell, scream, and hit at him. Yet, you gently placed a hand on his back and started to comfort him, like he’s done many times before. 
You let him cry and cry until he was ready to talk. 
“I’m such an asshole,” was the first thing that escaped his lips after his sobs started to break. 
You chuckled. “I could have told you that.” 
Max’s lips curved upwards in a small smile before going straight once again. He took another shuddering breath before continuing. 
“I don’t want to repeat the past. I am so sorry for what I did to you, that was unfair of me. I wanted to apologize before you left, but I was too late. And I didn’t want to end today without apologizing to you. Because I don’t want you to be another teammate that I failed.” 
He turned to you, eyes still glossy with leftover tears. 
You leaned to give him a hug across the dash, one that he was thankful for. 
He was the first one to part, still wiping at his eyes. You only gazed at him with compassion. When he was done sniffling, you started to talk. 
“Max, look at me please?” 
He turned his head so his bloodshot blue eyes could look at you. He looked utterly exhausted and your heart broke. If he was anything like you, you knew how much guilt he was carrying. 
“You’re not, we’re not, going to repeat the past. I just need you to understand that I am your team player. And when I’m given a team order, I will follow it every time.” 
Max’s head nodded in agreement. 
“I’m sorry.” 
“I already forgave you before I left the paddock. I heard Christian yelling at you.” 
A snort left his nose. “It was probably for the best.” 
The car was filled with a comfortable silence before Max broke it. 
“Did you and Arthur have dinner yet?” 
“Max. What do you think?” 
“I’m going to take that as a no. Good think I bought groceries. Seriously, I am getting you and the Leclercs cooking lessons for Christmas.” 
“I’m not that bad.” 
“You almost burnt down my entire kitchen.” 
“Not on purpose.”  
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y/n.89 have pizza, teammate, and bestie - will travel
liked by maxverstappen1, arthur_leclerc, logansargeant, and 90,294 others
y/n&co guys I was super worried but now I'm perfectly fine
rookie+maxie guys I truly believe that y/n is going to stay his teammate for as long as possible
best_duo frfr - no one has been on his level and he finally has a teammate that can keep up with him
y/n.nation generational talent right there
maxverstappen1 glad I could feed you two
y/n.89 we would have been fine on our own maxverstappen1 sure, after you burnt your food and almost set your apartment on fire y/n.89 hey, Arthur was there too? arthur_leclerc what is with this slander?????
f1_fan guys guys guys, it's the Dutch Grand Prix and then MONZA hello?????
true_tifosi I know I want to see Charles win again, but y/n deserves something
dutch_anthem_on_repeat time for MAX MAX MAX SUPER MAX
orange_army we are ready with flags and capes, bring it on Netherlands!!
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cevansbrat0007 · 2 months
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Sweet Tooth
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Summary: Ari gets inventive when he finds himself in the doghouse with you. Be sure to check out the follow-up drabble, Sweet Tooth Deluxe!
Warnings: Smut, Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Arch Nemesis', Dominant Ari, Aprons, Arguments, Oral Sex (fem rec mentioned), Spanking (mentioned), Pussy spanking (mentioned), Pet Names, Cursing, Violent Thoughts, Minors DNI
A/N: Written for @honeygngergemini. Part of my Sweet Renegades Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!
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Ari leans back in his chair, one long leg coming to rest atop his knee as he levels a hard look at Officer Milton Foster. He scrubs a tired hand over his face, his mind working overtime to process what the young man had just said.
“But that makes zero fucking sense.” He grumbles, groaning when he sees Milton just shake his head.
“Aye, man.” The dark-haired deputy  throws up his hands. “You asked me where I thought you went wrong and I told you.” He turns in his office chair to spare a quick glance at his computer. “Do not shoot the messenger.”
“No one’s being shot, alright? I just don’t get the logic behind any of the shit you just said.”
Couple that with the fact that you’d been icing him out for the past several days for reasons unbeknownst to him – which had left him in a god awful mood. He missed you. Your laugh, your warmth, your smile. 
All of it.
Not to mention that deliciously curvy body that had been keeping him warm at night. He really missed that. More than than anything he needed a fucking kiss.
But you were ignoring him. And Ari had discovered pretty quickly that he didn’t like any of it. Not one bit.
So, he’d turned to what he felt like was his only ally in this god-forsaken town: the newly minted sheriff’s deputy, Milton Foster.
“So you’re really trying to tell me that the reason my woman is pissed at me is because I ate Charline Marshall’s pecan pie at the town potluck, liked it, and asked for seconds.” Ari smooths an annoyed hand over his bearded face. Trying to understand Bell’s Creek’s local politics could really do a number on a person. 
“And don’t forget that she purposely dropped your lady’s bramble berry pie on the ground.” Milton does a quick spin in his chair. “She tried to pretend it was an accident, but most of us know better. Charline Marshall has eyes for you and I think she might be ready to make it known.”
“I’m pretty sure that I couldn’t even pick that woman out of a lineup.”  
Milton simply shrugs before taking another spin in his desk chair. “You’ve got a lot of admirers, Mr. Bounty Hunter. A man like you blows into town…well, you’re downright exotic. Every single red-blooded woman under 75 wants a taste.”
Ari visibly shudders before crossing his legs at the ankle. He didn’t want anyone else. This particularly surly Bounty Hunter wanted you. He only wanted to eat your food. Enjoy your sweets. Fall to his knees and devour the fuck out of your pretty little pussy.
“Hard pass, buddy.” Your lawman sighs. “I didn’t know shit about the pie incident. I mean, how could I when she was barely talking to me or anyone at that party?”
“Not saying it’s your fault, big guy. Logically, what would you have been able to do if she had told you?”
Ari looks up at him, his piercing blue gaze never once leaving the young deputy’s. “I would’ve taken her back to my place and spent the rest of the night making her feel better. I would’ve done everything in my power to take my girl’s mind off that petty shit.”
“Mmm.” Milton murmurs as understanding suddenly dawns. “I really don’t wanna get too deep in your business, but your lady is like a sister to me.” He leans back in his chair so that he can kick his feet up on his desk. “We used to play on the playground together as kids. And full disclosure, she used to beat my ass.” The deputy chuckles as he begins to recount all the way you used to be a tiny force of nature. 
“I…can see that.”
“Yeah. Yeah. Anyway, I think your original plan was a good one.” 
“Meaning?” Ari leans over to take a sip of his now cold coffee. It tasted like shit anyway, even when it was hot. In fact he longed for you, his BIrd, to make him one of your little caffeine-infused concoctions – preferably while wearing nothing but his shirt. 
So he could also take a bite out of that luscious ass while you refreshed his mug. After all, he was a man who prided himself on his ability to multitask. 
“Meaning, you need to find a way to distract her while making your point.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, you’re a smart fuckin’ guy who set his sights on someone who could easily be the most stubborn woman in the whole damned state.” A smirking Milton offers up a salute with his can of Dr. Pepper. “That’s for you to figure out. All I can do at this point is wish you luck.” 
“Thanks.” Ari grunts, wishing that he had a better idea of what to do with you.
Oh, rest assured that he’d figure it out. You were too important to him not to. He just hoped you’d find it in your heart to take it easy on him for his mistake. 
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The Next Day
You wake up to the smell of cooking sausage wafting into your room. It makes you smile as you stretch your arms over your head. Your stomach growls in agreement, subtly reminding you that you’d neglected to make dinner last night. 
Oops. You hadn’t meant to forget, it had just happened. Normally you would end your night with speaking to your Beast of a Bounty Hunter, who always made sure you ate. But lately, you have been both mad at him and embarrassed.   
Because at a recent town potluck, Ari had eaten your rival’s pecan pie. Now, you weren’t children, but this had also been after she’d purposely sabotaged your own dessert by accidentally dropping it on the ground. 
Charline pretended that it had been a mistake. But the way you’d witnessed her laugh after the fact. And then she’d fed your man, reveling in every minute. You’d known her pecan pie was dry, but Ari had seemed to enjoy it. So much so that he’d asked for a second piece. 
Which was fine, except it had hurt your feelings. And you hadn’t been sure how to relay exactly relay that fact either. So you’d clamped down. You’d bottled up. 
And as a result, your poor, sweet man was suffering. Which meant you needed to apologize. But you weren’t quite sure how to go about it. As you sit up, you vow to yourself to give him a call today. As soon as you sat down and enjoyed your breakfast.
And then it occurs to you. You weren’t the one cooking. Which meant someone was in your house. 
You spring out of bed and grab your Louisville Slugger that you always kept nearby. Taking a deep breath, you quietly make your way down the stairs, your trusty bat poised to take a swing at whatever moron who’d chosen to take up residence in your kitchen.
Baring your teeth, you crest around the corner on bare feet, ready to make your presence known. 
“You gonna hit me, Bird?” Ari muses as he adds a dash of salt, followed by pepper to whatever it is he’s got cooking in the skillet. Your flippin' skillet. “Is that really how this ends? You take me out while I’m being kind enough to whip us up some breakfast?”
Momentarily flummoxed you find yourself lowering your weapon in favor of taking in the scene before you. This man – your Bounty Hunter – was currently standing in your kitchen clad in nothing but an apron. 
Your apron. And yet somehow it fit him better
“Wh–what are you doing?” You ask him, letting your baseball bat clatter to the floor at your feet. You wouldn’t need it. You were safe with this man, but only to a point. “And how’d you get in?” You hadn’t given him a key yet. 
That was supposed to be a present for later. 
“Eh.” Ari shrugs, flipping a pancake with surprising skill. “Maybe I saw my gift and swiped it after the potluck. Maybe you weren’t listening to me and I couldn’t get a read on you, so I had to be an asshole and make an executive decision.” He turns away from you to drop a finished pancake on a plate, giving you a fantastic view of his perfectly muscled ass.
“You mad?” 
“N-no.” You respond as you feel your thighs clench. God, how you wished that you’d come down here wearing pants. “I was actually planning to reach out to you today. Can I ask what you’re doing?” You shiver as you feel your thighs grow damp, your traitorous pussy working against you. 
You should be mad that your Beast had broken into your house. Instead you were happy to see him with a much deserved apology ready to fall from your lips. 
“Making you breakfast. Chocolate chip pancakes, eggs, and sausage.” He adds another delicious pancake to the stack. “I’m gonna feed you, and then I’m gonna fuck you, and make you rethink ever ignoring me again.” He purrs, the intoxicating rumble coming from somewhere deep in his chest. 
Fuck you were so wet it was almost embarrasing. 
“I’ve earned the rights to that tight little pussy, baby. And when I make a mistake like I did with that goddamned Charline, I want you to tell me.” Ari turns off the range, pulling the food off the heat and onto a plate.
“I’m sorry.” You murmur, both hating and loving the way your nipples pebble beneath the thin fabric of your oversized t-shirts. Actually, it was one of his. A detail he also seemed to notice. “How can I make it up to you?”
Ari studies you for a moment, his handsome face tilting to the side. And then your eyes stray to the sight of his impressive erection. You watch as one of his big hands reaches down to fist his hard cock, pumping it once. Twice. 
“You can start by going back upstairs. I want you naked, on all fours. I want to come up there and feast my eyes on your soaking wet cunt.” His heated gaze bores into your own, making your already drenched core spasm one more. “And you’d better be wet for me, otherwise I’m gonna spank it. And you.” 
“O-okay.” You find yourself taking a step back, your hand clutching at the wall. 
“I’m gonna eat it baby.” Ari growls, his voice filled with a mix of unbridled lust and determination. “I’m gonna make that pussy fucking cry. And you’re gonna fucking take it. You hear me?”
“Yes.” You whisper, resisting the urge to reach down as you stroke your eager fingers over your throbbing clit. “Yes, Sir.”
He takes a menacing step towards you, his body delighting in the way that you shiver. You’d been bad. Which means it was time to pay the price. And what better man to exact that payment than your own handsome, 6”4 Beast? 
“And then I’m gonna fuck you in front of that brand new mirror I bought you. I’m gonna show you who owns that beautiful body and remind you why it’s important to talk to me when you need me.” Another menacing step. “And then I’m gonna feed those delectable curves after I’ve had my fill.”
“And then…” He tilts his head from side to side, cracking his neck. “You’re gonna let me kiss it all better while I make love to you.”
“Y-yes, please.” Right now you were willing to give this man whatever he wanted. Whatever helped you atone for your supposed sins.
“There’s a good girl.” He intones as he unties the apron, leaving him naked and aroused in your simple kitchen. “Now run.”
END
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nyaagolor · 3 months
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How do you rank the prosecutors on order of homophobia
forgot about this in my drafts for literally months oops. Anyway. Finished now!!!!
So I made this post a while ago that has some of the prosecutors and antagonists, but if you want a ranking of EVERY prosecutor (not including DGS bc i haven't finished yet) huzzah!!
Simon Blackquill: Not actually homophobic but he gets points docked for siccing Taka (known homophobe) at Klavier (known bisexual) for stealing his pretzels from the office pantry that one time. 3/10
Blaise Debeste: I think he's gay but he made me look at that ugly ass beard for far too long and I consider that disrespectful. out of principle? 8/10
Sebastian Debeste: Just look at him. 0/10
Miles Edgeworth: Bratworth was simultaneously gay, homophobic, and a misogynist, and eventually develops into a man who is only like 1.5 of those things. he's getting better. 5/10
Byrne Faraday: I don't really think he cares much about gay people he's busy being a single father and stealing shit. For the apathy? 2/10
Klavier Gavin: He's extremely gay and does a lot of work for the gay community but making Ema Skye deal with him is explicitly lesbophobic so 4/10
Godot: He has a lovely wife but whatever he was doing with Ron DeLite was probably not osha-compliant. I don't know what that means for his sexuality or stance on gay people and neither does he. ?/10
Ga'ran: I think she has a lot of other problems she should deal with first but considered she's bigoted to defense attorneys I don't think her being homophobic would be that out of pocket. Not sure I want to find out. 7/10
Neil Marshall: Have you ever been a gay bar? This guy would do NUMBERS. Also, real cowboys support gay rights. 0/10
Gaspen Payne: Being homophobic is actually why he got fired by the prosecutor's office and Winston is really fucking embarrassed about it. 10/10
Winston Payne: You'd think he'd be homophobic but you can't work for the Japanifornia Prosecutor's Office and hate gay people or you would actually go insane. He's like that one suburban guy who uses terms from the 60s but has the spirit. However, his ally lapel pin is really ugly so 3/10
Jaques Portman: He was calling Edgeworth slurs even before realizing he was gay. 9/10
Lana Skye: Dated Mia in college but refused to explain that to Ema because she has a lot of internalized homophobia and other weird issues of self. Repressed yuri personified. 1/10
Nahyuta Sahdmadhi: He supports gay people but gets all his talking points from the internet so even though he's supportive he's also incredibly fucking annoying about it and no one wants to invite him to brunch because of it. Stop using twitter for fact-checking you jackass. 2/10
Franziska Von Karma: Despite the fact that her lesbianism is so strong it borders on misandry, I think she has a lot of internalized homophobia so she spends the first 25 years of her life being a judgmental little shit. She'll get better dw about it. I believe she can bring that number down with time. 6/10
Manfred Von Karma: I think when he finds out Edgeworth is gay he starts going to gay bars and picking up dudes just to show Edgeworth he has way more rizz than him. Considering how people in my notes have told me on numerous occasions how much they want him carnally, I think he could actually pull it off. In that respect I think he's done a lot for the gay community. It ends up cancelling out somewhat because I think he'd be kind of an ass about it. 4/10
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Text
The Farmer's Daughter 11
Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Characters: Walter Marshall
Summary: You notice a peculiar change in a family friend. (short!reader, sorry size kink is out)
Part of the Backwoods AU
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.
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“So… what happens if Walter buys us out?” Timothy asks, a confused squiggle in his brow that hasn’t lessened for the entirety of the conversation.
“Well, we won’t be out on the street,” your mother says, “and your father will be taken care of. We can send him to The Gardens. He’ll be comfortable there… we can visit.”
You bite on your knuckle, gnawing anxiously. Timothy frowns and rubs his chin, a sparseness of new stubble there. He sniffs as he tries to unravel the riddle.
“Does that mean he’s my boss?”
“Well, more of a landlord,” your mom explains, “he’ll help with the farming and take his cut. If he does this, he’ll have to cut back at the mill. It’s a big sacrifice. For everyone.”
Timothy nods and drops his hand to twiddle against the table, “it sounds like a good idea.”
“Yeah… it’s our only idea,” your mom murmurs.
“What are the terms?” You ask suddenly, hiding the ridged marks in your finger left by your teeth. “He’s going to let us pay rent? On a whole farm?”
“If the bank gives him good news,” she rubs her palms together, “I don’t know. We need more information but we can hope.” Her voice quavers as she brings the tissue back to her nose, “I only ever want to do what’s best for you two.”
“Ma,” you reach out to touch her elbow, “we can help. We’ll pull together. All of us, with or without Walter.”
“I hope we can,” she snivels and begins to weep again.
You look at Timothy. He looks gaunt. He’s absolutely terrified. No matter how hard you try, you can’t see him doing it himself. He isn’t ready to take over for your dad. You don’t know if he ever will be.
You turn back to your mom as her shoulders shake. She looks little better than Timothy and you bet, if you glanced in a mirror, you would be much the same. This can’t all fall on her. She’s had to deal with so much so far.
“Tim, what’s wrong with the truck?” You ask suddenly, your mother and brother flinching at the same time.
“What?” He stammers.
“What’s wrong with it? Is it running?”
“Yeah, kinda, it stalls out but you just gotta give it a few.”
“Ma, how long?”
“What?” She rasps.
“How long do we have? Without Walter, just us. How long do we have to figure this out?”
She lowers her head and takes a deep breath. Her voice cracks, “six months.”
You cringe and try to show the impact as her answer threatens to knock you over. You lay your hands gently on the table and stand. You leave them and go into the living room where your father sits, staring and still. You pull up the short footstool from in front of the couch and sit by him.
You’re silent as you watch him. His eyes are glazed, his features are slack and emotionless, he doesn’t even know you’re there. He is a ghost. You put your hand on his, begging him to smile, begging him to crack a joke. Your heart swells then shrinks down so small it hurts.
“Dad,” you whisper and squeeze his hand, “I love you.”
You stand and kiss his cheek. He doesn’t react. You see your mother in the doorway. She watches with arms folded but doesn’t say a word as you cross the room. Neither do you.
You pass into the hallway and march down to the front door. You slip your feet into your shoes and snatch the keys off the hook. Your mom always said you were a daddy’s girl and your dad always told you that no matter how shitty it is, you do what needs to be done for the family. At the end of the day, it’s the only thing you can count on.
You leave without looking back. A tremor rolls through you as you open up the garage. You just need the truck to make it there, that’s it. You climb in the front seat and twist the ignition, chanting desperate pleas until it catches. The engine rumbles and you hit the gas, surging out before you can think better of this.
Your mother watches through the window as you steer away from the house. You lean over the wheel as the headlights shine over the dark country landscape. You’ve never been up that way but you know where you’re going.
Tap, tap, tap. At first you panic, thinking the engine’s sputtering out. Then the droplets turn to rivulets and the rain pours down, streaming over the windshield as you flip on the wipers. You’re at the edge of the seat, clutching the wheel tight as the belt strains across your chest.
The tires suck in the mud as the countryside turns boggish. You rock with the truck as it chuffs over the slickening earth, slowing with the incline of the next hill. Not much further. Almost there.
There’s a sudden pop and a chortle that rattles the truck. You yipe as the engine putters out and the headlights dim. You feel the world rolling backwards. You yank on the emergency brake, the old Ford lurching to a halt. You slam your hands on the thin steering wheel and lean your head against the cool leather.
Just a little further.
You raise your head, looking forward at the black road then at the rearview at the void. You’ve come this far. You take the keys and pull on the handle, letting yourself out in the whipping rains. The cold shower soaks through you in an instant as you slip through the mud, arms pumping as you take the last of the hill in a half-sprint.
You’re gulping and gasping as you come in sight of a single light. A rectangle of yellow, the only beacon amid the storm. Your teeth chatter as you will yourself onward. Your feet splash and you tumble over the bumpy ground, staggering and stumbling towards the dark house.
You fall against the stairs and heave, shaking as you fight for air. You put your feet under you and push yourself up. You stamp onto the first step, then the next, and the next. You catch the door frame and heave as you hear noise from within.
You grip the handle of the screen door but before you can pull it back, the door within opens and amber light spills into the blackness. You stare through the mesh as Walter’s broad silhouette towers over you. You gasp up at him and touch the screen.
“I’m sorry,” you eke out through a shiver.
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calummss · 5 months
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dating 90s/00s eminem …
masterlist 𓆩♱𓆪
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kim and hailie don’t exist in this universe
start and development of relationship
i definitely imagine him to take notice of you at one of the underground rap battles roughly 1992/1993
your friend who was interested in going dragged you along one night cause they were really into rap and hip hop
and there you saw him! the one and only marshall marthers destroying every opponent that stood before him
after the battles came to an end you were already attracted to him and tried to get to him to talk to him
here’s how i think it would go:
‘hey, i just wanted to tell you that you absolutely killed it on stage. it’s my first time here so i lack certain knowledge but i know enough to know that you have an incredible talent’
‘thank you. your first time? what’s your name?’
‘y/n’
‘eminem. marshall mathers’
i imagine you to awkwardly shake hands. like i know you’re in the detroit underground scene but neither of you knew how to proceed
‘i hope this won’t be a shot in the dark but can i give you my number?’ your mind literally racing
‘sure, i’ll give you a call if i’m interested’
THIS MAN TURNS AROUND AND DIALS YOUR NUMBER AND LETS YOU ANSWER!! turning around with a smirk and just straight up low key flirting with you
he was embarrassed to bring you to his home but you eventually just showed up one day cause he wasn’t returning calls—you reassured him that you didn’t care and let slip that you loved him no matter what
marshall was definitely a bit overwhelmed at first and took him like a minute to snap out of his trance because it was most likely the first time he truly felt loved, appreciated and cared for
you supported him and his music until he was eventually signed
everyone was confused why you stayed with a man who wrote violent lyrics especially about his wife so you had to explain over and over again that the wife was fictional
and everyone that truly knew marshall knew that he would never lay a hand on you. he would rather d!e than hurt you
three years after you meet you become pregnant and were scared he was going to leave (news flash he didn’t)
he reassured you that if you wanted to keep the baby that you two would figure it out and that he would and could never ever leave your side
you married quick and definitely rushed it but it proved to be the best decision you made including keeping the baby
this lead to the birth of your beautiful daughter—for some reason the name romy jane won’t leave my mind so i’ll just leave it at that
anyway you blink and stardom surrounds marshall
a few hiccups occurred during the relationship but nothing major and you always managed to talk things trough
what the relationship would include
his hand would alway be on your waist! no matter if you’re on his lap, standing next to him or whatever, his hand will be at its rightful place
i believe he prefers cheek and jaw kisses. he loves a good forehead kiss and hand kiss when he’s emotional and talking to you about certain struggles
speaking of struggles; he would always and i mean always put on his strong persona for you but sometimes his walls would crumble and would cry into your shoulder holding you so tight like you’re about to slip from his grasp
you would make appearances in a few music videos
he would also prefer to be in the studio alone but brings you along when all demos are done to get your opinion because he values it a lot (low key more than dres)
of course you would be his main inspiration for a lot of songs, also you daughter, because he admires both of you so much
marshall is 100% a very jealous and possessive man. not overbearing but maybe a little more intense than the average man? he trusts you fully but not others. he doesn’t forbid you of anything but will always say and do stuff to let others know that you’re off limits
i imagine after you got married he got a tattoo of your face or name on his chest like right over his heart
likes holding hands in public and an occasional kiss but nothing more. he prefers his affection to be reserved for only you and not the world
ONLY refers to you as ‘my girl’. when he’s with friends he’d say stuff like ‘yo, where is my girl?’. and others would also refer to you as ‘his girl’. at one point you just got the nickname ‘slim’s girl’ or ‘shady’s girl’ depending on which you prefer
tries to keep you away from hollywood and only goes for recordings, shows etc. when he’s done you both leave for detroit to lead a somewhat quiet life
definitely will buy you a lot of gifts. sometimes expensive or cheap; something that reminds him of you or something he knows you want. he just feels like showering you with gifts. his love language is giving gifts or acts of service. he will watch your favourite show just because you like it
em will always thank you in his speeches!! something along the lines of ‘first of all thank you to dr. dre and my two beautiful girls who i love with my entire heart. you two are my world, i love you!’
but like you don’t understand he will always thank you. he could win a life time supply of soap and he would say your name with pride…he’s just so grateful to have you and to be able to call you family
would hold your bag/bags for you. marshall gives you princess treatment without realising bc he genuinely wants to do it. he will snatch those bags out of your hands before you can protest
when other artists or people take your name or your daughter’s name into their mouths with negative connotations you best believe em will rip them apart, so most people will never attack you or romy bc it’s a death sentence
people can call him lame, bad rapper, ugly, whatever they feel like but as soon as anyone mentions a hair on you or romy’s bodies…it’s over. careers are shredded…you love it though
if you are a girl who likes to get her nails done this is for you; at first you started asking him to choose a design and colour and at first he was confused but he learned to love it especially when you scratched his head or your hands around his yknow what…he even once tried to design some and you got it done
the sex is a mix of mildy rough and vanilla. sometimes you both need something a little more “agressive” but he also needs a calm session. i see it kind as a light switch: it’s either rough or vanilla, occasionally you mix it but it turns out one way or another
also the man is a sucker (pun) for head. like he loves your mouth on him. i genuinely believes it’s in his top 2 favourite sexual activities (don’t deny it i’m right)
extra: if you love marshall right and you two work, it will be both of yours best love, but if things don’t work they can quickly turn into a relationship from hell
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driftwithme · 6 months
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I love that Guillermo del Toro didn't want Pacific Rim to be all about the military, so he ended up giving the PPDC ranks based on cowboy imagery: ranger, marshall, etc.
It makes me think about some of the most beloved characters by the narrative are the ones who rebel agonist the military way of doing stuff: characters like Newt and Raleigh for example. Because well, characters like Mako and Hermann are rebellious but only due the influence of Newt and Raleigh -- and characters like Herc and Chuck seem to be rebellious in parallel to Raleigh too, like some contagious virtue on the loose.
It's palpable in two of their most famous lines on the movie: when Newton talks about how fortune favors the brave and when Raleigh tells Mako that in real life you make decisions and you have to learn to keep living with the consequences. Everyone around them looks down at them at some point for being what they'd call reckless, but Raleigh and Newt are aware of the risks, they are not kids. Which is funny because in contrast, they even do that to each other: the perception of the other as a fool of some sort.
And yet, without Newt and Raleigh tendency of disobeying, they'd all be dead and gone.
Without Raleigh insitance on having Mako as his co-pilot and his demand to get G. Danger deployed, the Double Event would had been the catastrophe that ended their last run to the Breach before it started. Without Newt's crazy plan of drifting with a kaiju, they would had perish due the lack or information.
Twice Raleigh piloted solo and twice Newt drifted with a kaiju. In one of those ocassion they had to give a part of themselves that they would never get back (a part of Newt's sanity, Yancy's life). After the first time, both emphasize to Pentecost that they can't do it again. They can, technically, but now they've done it once and it hurt.
Still they do it and it saves the world.
The man who was good for nothing except to hold his own on a fight and the guy who was destined to love fictitious monsters in every universe except that one. In any other world or timeline, Newtom and Raleigh would have been the losers. They were still somehow the losers on Pacrim, a has-been pilot turnes into a builder and a scientist perceive as another sick kaiju groupie. They weren't disciplined like the others yet they were a bit obsessive, they were the sort of ambitious that makes people doubt, stubborn and arrogant in their convictions, totally unapologetic in knowing themselves.
Sure, they have to pay the price in double, but at the end of the day, they are champs of fortune: they do the impossible and survive to tell their stories, breaking every rule and winning the faith of those around them.
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iwanthermidnightz · 2 years
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Maybelle Blair "could talk about baseball forever," she likes to say.
That's how the trailblazing 95-year-old wound up on stage at an event in New York City this summer, promoting a new TV series about women's baseball -- and then talking about something she never expected.
"You don't have to hide. I hid for 75, 85 years and this is actually, basically, the first time I've ever come out," Blair said at an event in June, speaking about her sexuality in public for the first time.
The audience burst into supportive applause.
Weeks later, speaking with ABC News, Blair said she hadn't planned on announcing her sexuality that day. But it was fitting, given the setting: The June event at which Blair had spoken was for the upcoming Prime Video series "A League of Their Own”.
Blair herself was a player for the Peoria Redwings in 1948. She and the 650 other female players in the league inspired the film and its TV follow-up.
The TV reboot, on which Blair was a consultant, aims to be even more inclusive than its source material.
Blair proudly noted that the Amazon adaptation, which premieres Friday on Prime Video, builds on the movie's legacy by focusing on Black female players and the racism they faced, as well as the reality of gay athletes balancing their personal hopes with society's homophobia.
"Penny Marshall would have loved to have done this," Blair said, referring to the original film's famed director and executive producer.
"She couldn't have done it in 1992," she added. "It wouldn't have gone over."
For Blair, working on the TV show -- helping the writers and actors tell more truths about the beginning of women's baseball -- may have helped her publicly embrace her own truth.
"I'm so happy I did come out, now that the little girls can have a chance to realize that it's not so bad to be who they are," Blair told ABC. "They should be proud of who they are and be happy that they can be able to live a life of their own. And that's what it's all about: a league of our own, so we need a life of our own."
Still, she admitted, it was hard for her to say it out loud: "gay."
"I was so afraid in my era that if you came out, we couldn't do anything. We couldn't be schoolteachers ... we couldn't even join the service," she said. "We were [considered] the bad guys, which isn't true."
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the-possum-writes · 7 months
Note
You may have gotten a request like this already so please ignore it if you have!
I really enjoy your works so far and I'd like to request the nsfw alphabet with Marshall Lee if that's something you'd like to do! Gender neutral or afab anatomy if that's okay but I really don't mind if you keep it fully gender neutral!
I hope this request finds you well and happy! Thank you for your time to read this ask and for sharing your work, it's very enjoyable to read! (It also helps that I adore possums hehe)
[Marshall Lee NS/FW Alphabet]
Tags: NS/FW, mentions of voyeurism, hcs, dirty alphabet
A/n: Thanks for requesting! Ya'll eating good tonight-! This is for the AT version of Marshall, the F&C Marshall would probs have some differences without the whole vampire thing.
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A = Aftercare
Marshall doesn't need sleep so he'll help you clean up asap and lay in bed with you so his low body temperature can help ya cool off, he would also sing you to sleep in compensation if he went too rough on you.
B = Body part
Regarding his partner's, he's fond of your chest. He doesn't breathe so he likes seeing it rise and fall whenever you're panting, and enjoys listening  to your heartbeat during cuddle sessions.
As for his body, he likes every aspect of it but if he had to choose it would probably be his eyes. They're the first thing someone sees when he's lurking in the dark.
C= Cum
Slick like glue, and lacks any kind of odor or taste (I guess it's because he's a supernatural creature). He doesn't produce an exaggerated amount of cum in a single shot but he's determined enough to fill you up until it's sliding down your thigh, no matter how many rounds it takes.
D= Dirty Secret
Marshall snuck into your house once cause he wanted to gonna prank you by hiding your toothbrush and other stuff but he accidentally floated in on you in a private time and didn't leave until you finished. Nowadays he knocks before visiting you, but there are times where he touched himself to that memory.
E= Experience
Marshall has been around for thousand years, he knows his likes and dislikes regarding stuff done to him, and what he likes in a partner. He's confident in his performance as well, he has skill and learns fast, he knows that he'll find and exploit your weak points that'll have you sobbing in a good way.
F= Favourite Position
The dude can fly, he likes having you cowgirl (or reverse cowgirl) style while on mid air even though you've told him how dangerous it is.
G= Goofy
Though he gets heavily feral most of the time Marshall is a versatile man who can still crack a laugh even at the most heated times, if he's feeling playful and is on a full teasing rampage he'd use wordplay/puns that depend on the location you two are at.
H= Hair
Marshall is well trimmed but not fully shaved, his pubes are just as dark and wavy as his hair. However, sometimes he'd occasionally try to do funny patterns and would walk out of the bathroom bare ass naked and ask. "Does this look like a bat to you?"
I= Intimacy
Okay so we all know Marshall portrays himself as the residential bad boy and everyone buys it, but in reality he keeps his relationships at an arms length since he's lost people close to him. The guy craves intimacy and it's evident in the small affectionate gestures during sex like how he intertwineds his fingers in your hands, and after sex, he's got his legs tangled in yours, plays with your hair and rests his head on your beating chest.
J= Jack Off
In the early years of vampire hunting he couldn't allow himself a single moment of vulnerability even if his hormones were getting the best of him, but in current times in Aaa where he isn't always on guard he wanks it on occasion here and there when he's lacking company. Once he starts dating you he can't help but stoke himself in front of you when you touch yourself for him.
K= Kink
Pray/Predator play:
He loves playing the part so much. On a full moon he will give you a 10 minute headstart to let you run loose through the woods in that white transparent nightgown he likes so much (fits your role as the helpless victim) as he shape shifts into a wolf or a giant bat and hunts you down by the scent of your arousal alone.
Size difference:
Okay hear me out on this- The guy can shape shift, it would be impossible that he wouldn't develop a knack out of it (especially with the prey/predator thing) when he's near you. He gets a thrill out of it when he's in his bat form, slowly diving you down on his shaft until your thighs come in contact with his fur.
Blood kink:
At first he wasn't interested since he had enough fighting those bloodsuckers (and because it's an obvious thing for him to have). So everyday he fought the blood kink allegations but after years of denying it, its become a new curiosity. He doesn't need to drink the stuff to survive but there's something euphoric about yours that tastes better than any shade of crimson, he'd avoid your neck the first few times but would obtain it from you inner thigh, it's like biting into a lovely jelly donut.
Voyeurism:
It's rude to spy on others but Marshall is well known to watch over others regardless if they're aware of it or not, you'd learn it the hard way when he caught sight of you touching yourself in your private time. In recent times you purposely masturbate in front of him as he sits back in a comfy seat but only after kicking his ass for being a creep.
Exhibitionism: He doesn't mind taking things in a public space like a bathroom stall or just outside a party, he already has his initials marked all over Aaa so a quickie is just another way to mark his place as his.
Praise kink: can't get enough when hearing you say how much you love him, how good he feels inside you or the sensation of his mouth all over you.
L= Location
Anywhere, anytime. The only place he refuses to go is the Nightosphere cause his mom has eyes and ear everywhere and those pesky demons would rattle him out and before he know it his mom is asking for grandchildren.
M= Motivation
It takes so little to rile him up but the fastest way is when you're wearing on of his band shirts.
N= NO
Alright hot take. Although he jokes around with it sometimes; Marshall refuses to actually bite your neck with his fangs. Sure he'll nibble on your neck and bite your shoulder but his fangs never really pierce the skin of your jugular, it brings bad memories of his own forceful transformation and how it made him feel.
O= Oral
Appreciates anyone who's brave enough to let his teeth near their privates.
P= Pace
He goes rough and fast, he knows he gets too carried away but he forgets it right away when he sees you enjoy it as much as he does.
Q= Quickie
Doesn't mind them.
R= Risk
Definitely a risk taker. There's many ways to turn him on and he'd love to share them with you, his safe word is probably something like batshit or fries.
S= Stamia
Impecable. Unless you're a supernatural creature you can't match up with his subhuman self.
T= Toy
Marshall likes them both on himself and on his partner, he likes the dildo varities in particular (when he needs to prepare you for his bat form) and how crazy some designs can get.
U= Unfair
Ultimate tease, if you start taunting Marshall he's gonna return it in an instant. Doesn't care if you're out in public he'll get handsy with you as punishment, and dear glob have mercy on you in the bedroom cause he'd edge that bratty attitude out of you.
V= Volume
He isn't as vocal compared to you when he takes the lead, he would mostly let out an occasional hiss or groan intertwined with his dirty talk or teasing. Buuut, if he's the one on the receiving end he'll cry, whine and moan like a bish.
W= Wild Card
If it wasn't because of his vampire regeneration abilities he'd get dick piercings.
X= x-ray
A nice 9 inches long with a slight curve upwards, he's long but a bit on the slender side like most of his body, it's color is just as pale too but halfway it leads to a small dark gray tip.
Y= Yearning
High libido, watch out. Although he doesn't need to eat or sleep he can still feel lust and hunger which become stronger the longer his needs go unfulfilled.
Z= Zzz
He doesn't really sleep much nor does he get exhausted easily, if he's with a mortal partner he'd pretend to sleep just to keep you company or sing/ play a lullaby on his guitar for you.
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incognit0slut · 10 months
Text
Right Kind of Wrong (7)
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She never thought she would be involved in a murder case. She also never thought she’d encounter her one-night-stand again—the awkward stranger who isn’t exactly that good in bed… Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong.
Part Summary: She finds herself in a compromising position.
Series Warnings: 18+ explicit content, graphic details of murders, mentions of suicide
a/n: this is my first time writing suspense and crime-mystery, so bear with me if you find any inaccuracy
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IF THERE WAS ONE THING SPENCER WAS SURE OF, IT WAS BEING SLEEP DEPRIVED. Fatigue, like an invisible shroud, draped itself around his shoulders, draining all of his energy while his mind stumbled through a labyrinth of exhaustion.
He stifled a yawn, his mind trying to focus on the situation at hand and not the lack amount of sleep he was having. When was the last time he actually slept on his bed? When was the last time he went through his days without constantly refilling his cup with too much caffeine? The muscles around his eyes were starting to twitch with restless energy, a sign of a restless mind faltered under the weight of weariness.
Yet amidst it all, a strange resilience emerged within him. He still managed to focus his blurred vision, scanning his eyes around the room as he pushed away any fatigue and the desire to be somewhere else.
His gaze finally ceased on Garcia, engrossed in her own digital world, a sleek laptop perched on the round table before her. She leaned in, her eyes fixed on the vibrant screen which illuminated her face with a soft, cool glow. "Alright, so, I did more digging onto our recent victim, and let me tell you this, Jamison Lynch wasn't exactly the boss of the year."
Jennifer Jareau—who most of them regarded as JJ—looked up from the document in her hand, sitting across from Garcia. "What do you mean?"
"Jamison Lynch was somebody you wouldn't want as a boss. There were a lot of complaints coming from his subordinates—which surprisingly, most came from female workers."
Spencer's eyes scanned the large board in front of him adorned with a labyrinth of interconnected information. Photographs of the two crime scenes were pinned up, highlighting key details, while strings of marks and drawings crossed the board. "He was very different from the first victim."
"Exactly. Kevin Marshall was the epitome of boss of the year, and everybody just loved the guy, which was why no one could guess how something terrible could happen to him."
"There's a chance what happened to him isn't related to his job," JJ offered.
"Maybe not," Garcia muttered, throwing Spencer a curious look. "But the question is still unanswered, how are the two victims linked to one another?"
"The Unsub's memo is clearly done to punish them," Spencer explained, his attention started to gather all the information gripped onto his brain. "The verse written on Jamison Lynch's body was Romans 6:23, For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in our Lord."
JJ leaned over the desk with a pointed stare. "One thing for sure, the Unsub has a strong religious background."
Spencer nodded. "All the verse they used highlights the notion that sin carries consequences, and death is described as the 'wage' or payment for those transgressions. In his mind, they may interpret these verses as a justification for his vigilante actions, believing that he's carrying out divine punishment on behalf of God."
"A religious upbringing," JJ suggested. "The Unsub could have grown up in a deeply religious environment, where strict interpretations of scripture might be emphasized."
"Most likely a distorted belief system." Spencer's hands were all over the place as he continued with his elucidation. "Over time, the Unsub's religious beliefs may have become twisted and distorted, leading him to believe that he possesses a unique calling to carry out punishment on behalf of a higher power."
He then studied the picture of the first crime scene, his eyes raking over the lifeless body covered in a pool of blood. "Kevin Marshall might seem like the golden citizen, but he must be involved in something that could be illegal..." He suddenly looked over to Garcia. "Did Jamison Lynch start his career as a journalist?"
Her fingers danced across the keyboard. "Yes, he published a lot of his work since 2004."
"Search any articles he wrote that might involve Kevin Marshall, or maybe the company he worked for. "
"Or legal cases that he was assigned with," JJ added.
"That could be a start, although it might take a while because sleuthing without much lead is difficult." Garcia peered at the two of them by the rim of her eccentric, colorful glasses. "But do not fret, I am known to be the best."
Footsteps suddenly emerged into the room as Aaron Hotchner glanced around the three of them. "Garcia," he mentioned, standing behind her. "Did you find any old cases that might be involved in the victims?"
"Ah, yes, the system was searching through the database based on your queries this morning and it took me a while before—" A sudden ping echoed from her device. “Well, that was perfect timing."
Her fingers clicked across the keyboard as her eyes scanned the dimly lit screen. Everyone in the room stood frozen in their tracks, their faces etched with a curious mix of trepidation and curiosity.
Garcia's eyes widened, revealing the turmoil that echoed the collective sentiment of the room. "Whoa."
JJ stood up and circled her way around the table, standing close to her. "What is it?"
"I started looking through the database for any similar crimes in surrounding areas this morning." Her attention shifted between the other three people in the room. "There have been enucleations in other cases, but none recently, and none close by. No similar murder case was shown, but suicide on the other hand..."
"Harvey Webb," JJ read, looking at the photo of the deceased man. "Suicidal death?"
"Thirty-nine-year-old landlord took a tumble off a sixth-floor balcony two years ago, exactly on the apartment complex he rented out."
"Why are we looking at a suicidal case?"
"That's the thing, the local authorities ruled out that he might've not jumped on his own accord, although his wife at that time determined that he had been having suicidal thoughts for a long time and decided to close the case." Garcia did more tapping on her keyboard and somehow pictures of the crime scene were plastered across the screen in front of the room. "Harvey went through depression and a lot of suicidal attempts, there were always cuts along his arm except—"
"There was a writing on his body?" Hotch guessed.
Garcia nodded as she clicked on a clearer picture of the victim's arm. "His autopsy came in that while there were definite signs of attempt self-hurt, this was written between the cuts."
"Galatians 6:7," Spencer read, his eyes fixated on the screen as he recited, "Do not be deceived: God cannot be mocked. A man reaps what he sows."
"Definitely a vigilante on the loose," JJ remarked.
Spencer hummed a positive response and walked over to the board, a marker in his hand as he wrote down the verse. "This verse underscores the concept of reaping the consequences of one's actions, which could further justify the Unsub's belief that his victims deserve punishment for his perceived sins or mistakes."
Hotch studied the pictures of the recent victims and the one shown on the screen. "The way the words are carved across the skin is definitely done by the same person," he noted.
JJ looked between the three pictures before nodding. "I agree." She then glanced up at her co-workers. "So why the different MO? Something connects these three victims, and yet this one"—she pointed to the photo of Harvey Webb—"died in a completely different manner. He either jumped or was pushed. We don't even know if it was a murder, just that he was branded the same as the other two victims."
"The timeline doesn't add up," Spencer claimed, his brows furrowed deeper. "There's too much of a gap between the first victim and the second victim, we're looking at two different stressors that triggered the Unsub."
Hotch stood beside him, crossing his arms as he studied the evidence they had collected these past few days. "If this was his first victim and the two men were his second and third, it's possible he's advancing, that his fantasy is developing."
Spencer looked back at the three pictures. What connected these three dead people, two murdered in violent, heinous ways, the third a potential suicide victim? What wrongdoings might they possibly sin? And now he couldn't help but feel the weight of Hotch's words and how revolting one could act in this series of crimes, proclaiming them as fantasies, his skill, and determination more distinguished than ever before.
"If that's the case..." he pointed out, a certain tension hanging in the air. "He's only getting started."
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Y/n must be mad—utterly, completely out of her mind.
She always considered herself a very sensible person characterized by an ability to think critically, or make rational decisions on logical reasoning. But her thoughts, once orderly and coherent, twisted into bewildering shapes because here she was, perched right in front of an apartment door she once closed behind and never looked back.
Why did she think it was a good idea to come here uninvited at this time of hour? How did she end up being here when she was lying in her bed a few hours ago?
She recalled turning around in her sleep, or perhaps, her attempt to rest her eyes, because she found herself staring into the dark with an unsettling feeling in her gut. Maybe all the turmoil of emotions piled up in her chest had her going into a panic frenzy, relentlessly moving in her bed when she should've been fast asleep.
Somehow amidst dwelling on her anxiety, she was suddenly on her feet, putting on a jacket before calling a cab. Her mind was too tangled to be driving on her own, and when the driver asked her where she was heading, she recited the area she was familiar with. Did she remember the building she wanted to go to? Yes. Did she know the exact address? Apparently not.
Although it was easy to spot the building. The old but clean apartment was recognizable, the sturdy wooden door, adorned with vintage brass fixtures, welcomed her after she tipped the driver her fair. The cool air hit her face, her hair flying around her shoulders as she spotted a residence walking out of the building. She quickly slipped in, seeking a very much-needed warmth, yet now she was starting to question her common sense.
But it was too late to turn back because her hand was already curling into a fist as she knocked on the door. Once, twice, three times. When there was no answer, she wasn't sure whether to be glad or disappointed. She knocked once again, and when she was met with silence, she decided it was a sign that she was indeed making the wrong decision.
So she exhaled a breath she wasn't even aware of holding, turned around, and completely froze when she was met with a familiar pair of hazel eyes. There he was, almost a week since the last time she saw him, standing on the last step of stairs.
Time seemed to stand still. Her heart skipped a beat, his presence exuded a captivating charm. His chiseled features were accentuated by a sculpted jawline, leading up to a pair of intense, deep-set eyes that seemed to hold a hefty amount of fatigue. Dark circles cast shadows beneath his eyes, hinting at nights spent wrestling with restless thoughts.
He was dressed in a rumpled shirt and loosely fitted trousers, his attire mirrored the fatigue he wore upon his face. The fabric seemed to hang upon his frame, lacking the crispness that usually accompanied his wardrobe. But despite his weariness, there was an undeniable pull emanating from his presence. It should be illegal how handsome he still looked even when he looked like he needed some rest.
Spencer took a tentative step closer, looking reminiscent of a puppy with his eyebrows pinched at each beginning in a way that can only mimic either confusion or concentration. "Y/n?"
"Hi," she awkwardly greeted, suddenly feeling out of place.
"What brings you here?"
"I..." she trailed off, her brows furrowed as she tried to find a reasonable answer. But somehow she found herself telling him the truth. "I honestly don't know."
His eyes fixed upon her, silently studying her figure. A cascade of lustrous hair framed her face, falling gracefully upon her shoulders.
"Do you want to come in?"
"I don't want to impose on you—" she stepped aside, letting him unlock his door. "Or disturb your much-needed rest."
A ghost of a smile curled on the corner of his lips as he fished out his keys. "I look terrible, don't I?"
"I wouldn't say terrible, just... you look very tired."
"I haven't had proper sleep in days." With a steady hand, he inserted the key into the lock before a satisfying click echoed in the air. With a gentle push, the door swung open, and he gestured to her with a nod.
She looked between him and his apartment. "Are you sure?"
"Come in," he offered. He walked inside his home and pulled the door ajar. "Please."
She studied him for a while before nodding. The floor creaked as she stepped into his household, and as the door swung shut behind her, she scanned the room that seemed familiar yet foreign at the same time. A sense of warmth enveloped her despite the predominantly dark colors that adorned the space. Soft, ambient lighting emanated from placed lamps, casting a gentle glow upon the room.
She walked past him and noticed the chessboard splayed across the coffee table. "I didn't know you play chess." She sat down on his couch. "Looks like you were in the middle of a game… was someone else here?"
He wasn't sure whether he heard a note of jealousy in her voice, but he smiled nonetheless.
"Actually, I was in a game with myself," he answered sheepishly, shrugging off his suit jacket before placing it over his couch. "Do you want anything to drink?"
"No, it's alright." She leaned forward, her gaze fixed upon the chessboard. Her eyes darted back and forth, analyzing the board with a keen interest before moving a chess piece, placed with precision and purpose.
Genuine surprise crossed his face as he settled beside her. "You know how to play chess?"
"A little. I used to play with my father growing up."
"You don't play with him anymore?"
She shook her head. "He passed away when I was young. Both of my parents did."
"I'm sorry," he gently spoke. He leaned back and turned his body toward her. "Do you have any siblings?"
"Nope, just me."
"I'm an only child too." Then he assessed her carefully while her eyes wandered beyond her striking features, a subtle tension betrayed a deeper complexity lurking beneath the surface. "Now are you going to tell me why you're here?"
He noticed the subtle language of her body where uncertainty weaved on her face. It was in the way she looked between him and her hands, a balance between wonder and reservation that hinted at the lingering doubt within. Then she took a deep breath, her brows furrowed as her voice filled in the silence.
"Does it make me a bad person that I didn't cry after everything that happened?"
He frowned, taken aback by the sudden question. "What do you mean?"
"There was a memorial service for Jamison a few days ago, and while everyone mourned, I just... stood there." She looked down at her hands. "What happened to him was very unfortunate, it just happened that, apparently, I have no emotions.”
His head fell back onto the couch as he watched her. "It doesn't make you a bad person. Grief is a deeply personal and individual experience, and people respond to loss in different ways. Crying is just one expression of grief, but it isn't the only definitive indicator of how much someone cared for or was impacted by the loss of a person, especially given how you saw what had happened."
"But it makes me feel kind of heartless." She glanced back at him. "I mean, he wasn't exactly the greatest boss, and I should've felt a certain kind of sadness, but I... I don't know how I feel, to be honest."
"Y/n," he gently called, his expression softening. "It's important to remember that everyone grieves in their own way. What matters most is that you find healthy ways to navigate and process your emotions surrounding the loss, whether it involves crying or not."
She hummed in response. "I guess you do have a point."
"I do, and I'm right most of the time." Spencer smiled when she rolled her eyes and a comfortable silence settled between them. "Now tell me the truth."
She quirked an eyebrow. "What truth?"
"You obviously have a lot on your mind right now and I'm trying to wrap my head around why you chose to be here."
"Do I need to have a reason?"
As his gaze lingered, he found himself drawn to her eyes—a delicate blend of curiosity and trepidation. They shimmered with a gentle vulnerability, revealing the depths of her longing to be seen and understood.
"I would like to know your reason."
She weighed her words carefully. "I couldn't sleep,” she decided to say. “My mind was constantly turning its gear, then it got too overwhelming?” She shook her head. “I-I guess I needed the comfort..."
As she tried to find her voice, her words become entangled in the turmoil of her emotions. With a deep breath, she gathered her courage. The words spilled forth, unfiltered and vulnerable, resonating with a sincerity that echoed through the room.
"And somehow you were the first person that came to mind."
Spencer felt an unfamiliar intensity washing over him—a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty that tugged at his heartstrings. And then suddenly, completely out of nowhere, the desire to embrace her consumed him, both thrilling and terrifying. It was such a baffling thought because he found hugs to be overwhelmingly intimate for his liking, yet there was this urge to hold her close, to feel the warmth of her body against his.
The weight of uncertainty pressed upon him, urging caution and restraint. But logic lost its battle with instinct, and caution lost its wrestle with impulsive longing as he found himself asking, "Can I give you a hug?"
Her body tensed, not believing the words coming out of his mouth. But as he kept staring at her, she realized that he was being serious. And she found herself nodding, yearning for the warmth radiating from his body.
He carefully drew closer and a magnetic force guided her movements, gently pushing her into his arms. Nervous excitement coursed through her veins, infusing a sense of vulnerability.
Bodies entwined, they breathe in unison, inhaling the essence of closeness as senses unfold—the warmth of skin against skin, the familiar scent that filled the air, the weight of the world momentarily faded away as they surrendered to the pure simplicity of human touch.
His head was spinning with longing and somehow he managed to pull her body gently onto his lap. She silently accepted his tug, placing her legs on either side of his thighs as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Amidst her relishing the gentle press of his body against hers, she couldn't help but find amusement in this new position.
He felt the subtle shake of her shoulder as a burst of soft laughter escaped her mouth. He suddenly tensed. "Is there something funny?"
The confusion etched in his voice had her pulling away, a small smile lingering on her face. "Yes," she answered. "It's amusing how you like having me on your lap so much.”
A slight warmth spread along his face as he became aware of her weight settling on top of him. "I didn’t notice."
She wasn't sure whether it was the glimmer in his eyes, the bashful smile on his lips, or the way he didn't pull his gaze away from her, but before it could register in her mind, she drew herself closer to him. The sudden shift of her movement caused a friction underneath her, and it was at that moment she realized how compromising of a position they were in.
Her fingers brushed against his skin, and an electric current surged through her veins, awakening a longing she had not anticipated. Her eyes flickered with a newfound intensity—a hunger that shimmered in the depths of her gaze as she could only focus on the pulse settling between her thighs. 
As her longing deepened, she became acutely aware of his proximity. The scent of him enveloped her, intoxicating her senses, and her mind was consumed by allowing herself to surrender in this newfound need. 
So she slowly rolled her hips, feeling his body beneath her, and suppressed a moan when she felt the outline of his bulge stroking against her core. Her breath hitched, betraying the innocent intentions that had initially brought them together. 
She felt him tense from the friction and his heart thudding hard against his ribcage, her heart beating to the same rhythm. "Stop doing that," he suddenly said, eyes darkening as he stared at her, voice deep and raspy. 
"Why?" She whispered.
A whirlwind of emotions churned within him. His heart ached to offer solace, yet primal longing tugged at his core, igniting an undeniable urge to keep her closer, to indulge in the sudden pull of desire.
"Because if you don't," he grunted, his hand sliding up her neck, burying it in her thick hair as he tilted her face. He pulled her closer, his thumb sweeping in long strokes along the side of her throat. The heat of her presence lingered on his fingertips, tempting him to pull her into an embrace that transcends mere comfort. "I won't be able to stop myself."
His gaze then traced the contours of her form. The subtle curve of a hip, the graceful arch of a back, the gentle swell of a chest—all become objects of fascination. He watched as her tongue wiped along her bottom lip while she slid her hands across his shoulders, stopping right on his chest, hovering above his heart.
"Then don't," she softly pleaded, moving her hips once again, igniting a moan deep within his chest. “I don't want you to stop."
It was the only push he needed as he closed the distance between them, finally crushing his lips to hers.
>> NEXT PART
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taglist
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PLEASE READ: If any of you asked me to be added and you're not on the list OR you want to be added in the future, please comment on this post so I could see it. But make sure your blog can be searched by anyone or I can't tag you. Thank you :)
And don’t forget to interact with the story! <3
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cerberusxt · 10 months
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Warhammer 40k & Age of Sigmar – Trans Pride series !
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My other big pride project, with the pride marine series ! The goal here is to paint one representative for each of the Warhammer40k and Age of Sigmar universes faction using the Trans Pride flag color scheme.
I’ve already done 11 factions (12 to be exact, the Ork I finished lately isn’t on the group picture yet).
Pictured above, from left to right :
Banshee (Nightaunt – AOS)
Horrmagaunt (Tyranids – W40k)
Spiritseer (Eldar – W40k)
Drone (Tau – W40k)
Cadian Castellan (Astra Militarum – W40k)
Reiver Space Marine (Adeptus Astartes – W40k)
Royal Warden (Necron – W40k)
Plague Marine (Death Guard – W40k)
Palatine (Adepta Sororita – W40k
Skitarii Marshall (Adeptus Mechanicus – W40k)
Xandria Azurebolt (Stormcast – AOS)
And a Warboss in Mega Armour I will post here later, probably.
Project Origins
For those who are wondering why I started this project, it’s pretty simple.
Everything started with a single model (obviously), the Horrmagaunt. I was trying to find an interesting gift idea for a close friend and, remembering that friend love the Tyrannids, I thought of painting them a little bugger. Since I wanted that gift to be even more personal, I decided to use colors that would be really meaningful to them, the trans pride flag colors. It was a first, since, up until that moment, I almost exclusively painted classic schemes (imperial Fists, blood angels, salamanders, etc...).
Here was the result :
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As you can see, my goal when translating flag colors on a mini isn’t to reproduce the flag 1 for 1, but to evoke it as naturally and logically as possible.
To be perfectly honest, when I started that little gift, I wasn’t entirely convinced the result would be all that great. After all, it was first and foremost more about the meaning behind the colors than anything else. But oooooooh boy was I wrong because, as the kids says, « that shit slaps yo » or something. I don’t know, I’m not a kid anymore !!
But one thing was certain, I fell in love with that scheme and couldn’t wait painting it again.
So, that’s what I did, that time with a Space Marine seeing those are my personal favorites. And once again, I was really pleased with the end result :
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Also look at them, being best friend forever, woooooh !
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You can easily guess what’s next. I simply had to try that scheme on basically everything, so I started the project of doing it on every faction !
Hell, I had so much fun painting such an unusual scheme, and having to find ways to integrate it logically on a mini, that it's the reason I started another project in parallel, the pride marine one, to try and see if the other pride flag schemes would work as well as the trans pride flag (guess what : not a single one of the scheme I tried disappointed me, even if I have favorites).
Anyway, if you want to try that scheme on your minis and need some inspiration / guidance, here is the recipe I use for the 3 main colors of the flag. Have fun !
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hypermania · 7 months
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transcript of the full thread:
"A very long thread: To the League fans, We found out this news along with you on Friday. I see the pain and anger and worry out there, which for the LGBTQIA+ fans of the show is of course compounded by what’s happening across the country right now. #ALeagueOfTheirOwn
So the first and most important thing to say is: Before anything, before you fight for the show or each other, please take care of yourselves. Reach out to your community and ask for help if you need it. You aren’t alone. Please be kind to yourselves.
As I’ve been thinking about what’s happened, I come back to a quote from Penny Marshall’s film: “The hard is what makes it great.” Making this show is so hard and so great. There’s quite a bit to say about what’s been hard, but at this point that’s in the past.
Of course, if we have an avenue to do it well, we will continue the show, and I love seeing the noise you’re making in support of that. The noise matters!
And it’s hard for me to imagine there wouldn’t be a home for a show that thanks to you was in the Nielsen Top 10 for three weeks, was the top show on Amazon for a month and in the top five for six, that was recognized by critics as something special, that’s been recognized…
…with awards from GLAAD, HRC and a million other organizations, that was on a million year-end top ten lists, and that has a built in and deeply passionate audience.
Amazon is pursuing different kinds of programming, but to the rest of the world this show is a hit and has huge value and even greater potential. But first things first, we have to win this strike and get a fair deal before we can explore what comes next.
But for a moment, I want to talk about what happens if the world didn’t quite change quickly enough for you to have all the seasons of this show that we want to give you.
If we don’t find a good path forward, I will still know that League did what it came here to do and, in its own small way, changed the world.
And that’s because of all of you, and the light you continue to shine on the show — How you let it matter to you, how you let it become a mirror, how you let it change you.
I’ve never experienced a response to a show that’s as deep, personal, creative and meaningful as what the fans have done with League. When we were making the season 1, we all wondered and worried about whether people would accept it on its own terms next to the film.
They have, and you did that, and so much more. You lit up the internet on your first watch throughs of the show, when you realized where it was going (and made all of us laugh in the process).
You wrote enough fan fiction for 100 novels and created an outpouring of art and creativity that could fill its own museum — I’ve truly never seen anything like it.
You lifted up a 95 year old who had just come out of the closet and made her into a celebrity who gets recognized wherever she goes. Every time any member of the cast appears at anything, you turn it into a convention.
You stop Abbi wherever she goes, and though I’m a happily inconspicuous person, and you constantly find me and stop me and give me gifts that now have a shelf in my house.
When thousands of you appeared to see D’Arcy at the stage door of The Thanksgiving Play over its run, you turned it into the hottest queer bar in New York. You made Max’s suit and Chante’s beautiful performance into a movement.
A mob of you went to Pittsburgh and saw all of our locations. You dressed as the characters and made our characters into one of the biggest halloween costumes of last year.
You came out, you changed pronouns, you started living more openly, you gave sermons in church about the show, you opened bars, and you got a truly mind boggling number of tattoos that say “to the five” and “rob the bank.” What else am I forgetting? I'm sure you'll remind me.
But most importantly, you made a community, you found each other and found joy, which of course is what the show is about. In many more ways than I would ever have let myself imagine while we were making it, you literally bring the show to life every day.
Thank you for making our work mean something bigger. We’ve heard from so many different kinds of people around the world who are watching League.
But, in a time when all queer people are personally and politically under attack across the country and HRC has declared a “state of emergency,” my biggest fear is that the many queer fans of League will take this reversal as one more invalidation, one more blow, one more…
…effect of the general politicization of our identities. Most of us grew up feeling invisible, and as we gain strength, the predictable backlash forces are trying their hardest to get us to go back underground.
In case anyone needs to hear it: You are not small, niche, modest, off-putting or marginal, and neither are your stories. You are multitudes, you are building, and your stories are universal. You are the most rapidly growing audience and consumer group in this country.
You are powerful. You are the future, and the people who don’t recognize your importance now will feel be clamoring to catch up in a few years. As Chante said so beautifully when we received the Human Right Campaign Visionary award, you are the main characters. Be proud.
Be angry if you that’s how you feel, but know that we are going to win, and don’t ever let this moment or any other make you small. The biggest lesson of the characters in this show is that, in a world that had no space for them at all, they LIVED. (Continued)
They found love, they did the things they loved, they won. You’re doing the same thing, and just like them, you are heroes. We are still fighting for League. But whether we win or lose this one, I’m so proud.
From the time when we began working on the season, Abbi, Deta and I said to each other — Let’s not hold anything back, for as long as we get to be here, let’s do this the right way.
We got so many notes wondering if the exploration of the queer world of the 1940s or Max’s world would be better saved for season 2, if people needed to start somewhere a little more familiar. I’m so glad we didn’t listen, cause now I’m sitting here without any regrets.
And no matter what happens, the people behind League aren’t going anywhere. Give us a minute, we will be back with more for you to watch and read and feel. We’re going to win.
And you’re not going anywhere either, because what you’ve built and what you are is bigger than this show. It’s the story of our community, that comes to us through the hidden history that League shows just one small part of: The bars got raided and shut down.
But the people didn’t go anywhere, and they opened a new bar, and out of those spaces came music, cinema, dance, culture — What we now see as mainstream was birthed from the spaces our predecessors were forced to hide in. They made joy there."
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stupittmoran · 4 months
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In 1992 a man that had no record of violence whatsoever was approached and entrapped by the feds illegally.
After he was sent the wrong court date and failed to show up, his innocent son, dog, and wife (while holding their infant daughter) were all slaughtered because of it.
Randy Weaver and his family lived in an isolated cabin in the mountains of Ruby Ridge, Idaho.
An undercover federal agent targeted him and entrapped him into selling him a sawed-off shotgun.
The agent ingratiated himself to Weaver for weeks. He kept asking Weaver if he would sell him a shotgun. Weaver initially hesitated but finally agreed. Then, the agent asked him if he could saw it off first since he didn't have the tools. Though he warned FBI guy it was illegal to do so, he was nice enough to do it anyway. The agent then also had him drive out of the way across State lines to add charges.
After Weaver was sent the wrong court date and (understandably) failed to show up, the feds used this as permission to do anything and everything they could to take him down.
Marshals called in military aerial reconnaissance and had photos studied by the Defense Mapping Agency. They prowled the woods around Weaver’s cabin with night-vision equipment. They had psychological profiles performed and installed $130,000 worth of long-range solar-powered spy cameras. They intercepted the Weavers’ mail. They even knew the menstrual cycle of Weaver’s teenage daughter, and planned an arrest scenario around it.
On August 21, Marshals outfitted in full camouflage and carrying machine guns trespassed onto the Weavers’ property. Three marshals circled close to the Weaver cabin and threw rocks to provoke the Weavers’ dogs. As Weaver’s 14-year old son, Sammy, and Kevin Harris, a family friend, ran towards the barking, a marshal shot and killed his dog. Sammy Weaver fired in the direction those shots came from. As he was leaving the scene, a marshal shot him in the back and killed him. Harris responded by fatally shooting a federal marshal who had fired seven shots at them.
Snipers from the FBI Hostage Rescue Team were sent in the next day and ordered to shoot to kill any adult male outside the Weaver cabin. Randy Weaver was shot in the back after he stepped out of his cabin. As he struggled to return back inside, they shot and killed Vicki Weaver (his wife), who was standing in the cabin door holding their 10-month old baby.
From the testimony of Randy Weaver: "On August 22, 1992, completely without warning of any kind, an FBI sniper shot and killed my wife, Vicki. He was using a .308 caliber sniper rifle with a specially weighted barrel and a 10-power scope. He was using match grade ammunition. He had years of training to kill. I heard him testify at the trial that he wanted to kill. He shot my wife in the head and killed her. She was not wanted for any crime. There were no warrants for her arrest. At the time she was gunned down, she was helpless. She was standing in the doorway of her home. She was holding the door open for me and Sara and for Kevin Harris. She was holding Elishe a our 10-month-old baby girl, in her arms. As the bullet crashed through her head, she slumped to her knees, holding Elisheba tightly so she would not drop her. We took the baby from her as she lay dead and bleeding on our kitchen floor."
Weaver and Harris, who never fired any shots at FBI agents, surrendered after an 11-day siege.
Thankfully after all of this was said and done, the FBI conducted an "internal investigation" and guess what? They did nothing wrong. SHOCKER.
Randy Weaver and his daughters filed a wrongful death suit for $200 million which was related to the killing of his wife and son. In an out-of-court settlement in August 1995, the federal government awarded Randy Weaver $100,000 and it also awarded $1 million to each of his three daughters.
The government did not admit that it had committed any wrongdoing in relation to the deaths of Sammy and Vicki.
The moral of the story is, if the government wants to kill you, they'll find a way to do it. They are not your friend. They do not have your best interests at heart.
If you are an enemy of the state, if they don't like you, the Constitution seemingly doesn't apply.
These federal agencies (FBI, CIA, ATF, USMS, etc.) Do whatever they want, stay in power indefinitely, and have effectively unlimited funds. Not only should they be defunded, they should be abolished entirely. They do nothing but make us less safe and are wholly incompatible with a free society.
The fact that people want to give the government more power, more control, and take away our means of defense (gun control) is absolutely beyond me. If they could pull this off in the 90's they can do it now. I assure you.
Never give up your guns. Your government will kill you.
Dylan Allman on Twitter/X
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geralts-yenn · 4 months
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Memories - part 2
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Walter Marshall x OFC Maxine (second-person pov)
summary: You finally have to face Walter and talk to him about what happened in that night, years ago
warnings: 18+, minors DNI! drinking alcohol, vaginal fingering, oral (F,M receiving), protected p-in-v sex
word count: 4,6k
A/N: sorry for leaving you with a cliffhanger, but I'm not cruel, so here we go, here's the second part
Part 1
My masterlist
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As you approached your table, you shot death stares over to your sister-in-law who happily smiled back at you. She kissed your brother on his cheek and acted as if she didn’t know at all why you were glaring at her. 
You sat down on your chair, trying your best not to look at anything or anyone. You pretended not to be here at all. A deep huff behind your back told you he had found out about the seating situation now, too. Walter dragged his chair a bit back and sat down. 
“Max!” he muttered under his breath and you answered with a nonverbal grunt and a nod. Both of you did your best to stare into different directions. 
“You really like seeing me suffer, huh?” he asked after a while, still avoiding your gaze. “What do you mean?” You had done nothing and still, he was already angry with you. “Like there wasn’t any other table where you could have seated me. You need to humiliate me in every possible way.” Hold on? Did he think you were responsible for this bullshit? You were suffering just as much as him.
“So it’s humiliating to sit beside me? For real? What’s wrong with you, Walter? And just so you know, I’m not happy either, having to spend the evening looking into your dumb face.”
Walter scoffed at your answer and the two of you went back to ignoring each other until another guest approached you. An older lady sat down opposite of you two and introduced herself as Mrs. Goldstein, an aunt of Vicky. She smiled at you and Walter. “You’re such a sweet, good-looking couple.” Both Walter’s and your eyes got wide and you both started mumbling.
“No, no, we’re not a couple!” Walter said determinedly. “Just, uhm, old friends.” you added, not sure how to name the relationship you had with Walter in a friendly way without lying. 
The lady raised an eyebrow and leaned forward, feeling for Walter’s biceps. “Oh, then you don’t mind if I make a move on this attractive man?” Her eyes were glistening with mischief as she gave you a wink. You had to grab your champagne and take a huge sip to hide the laugh that was going to slip you. She repeated her wink as she turned to Walter and to your surprise he reacted with a playful smile. But when his look met yours and he saw your amusement, his eyes went dark. 
Thankfully, the table filled with more guests that helped you to ignore each other. The first course was served and you started eating. Which ended in the next argument with Walter. Being left-handed, you had to move your arm opposite to him and your elbows crashed together more than once as you tried to cut your meat. Every time you touched each other, Walter gave you an angry glare. “Would you just eat like a normal person without bumping into me all the time?” he snapped and you answered with an eye roll. “What do you expect? I can’t do this any different. Sorry that I’m not normal enough for you.” Of course, you could have tried to be more careful, you even would have been able to switch hands. But not for him. Especially not if he was acting like a baby over it.
To your own surprise, you made it through dinner and toasts without killing each other. The band started playing and you could have just mixed with the other guests, but you weren’t in the mood. You kept sitting beside Walter, who looked just as pissed as you.
When the third woman asking him for a dance got rejected, you couldn’t keep your mouth shut any longer. It was just boiling in you. “Why do you keep saying no? All those ladies would love to have some fun with you. And I’m sure they would be in for a treat. You were good, even back then when we didn’t even know what we were doing. Guess you learned a few more tricks since then.”
Walter looked at you with more hatred than you had ever seen in his face. “Do you really want to talk about this? Here, now?” He was barely holding his voice down. You knew immediately that you’ve gone too far. Heat flashed over your cheeks as you only pressed out an embarrassed “No”. 
“Good! Because I surely don’t want to!” Was his voice trembling? You felt awful, and you silently cursed at your sister-in-law who ruined your evening by setting you up with your ex. No, ex wasn’t the right word. But what would you call it? The crush you fucked and then ghosted? You decided to just stop thinking about it. 
Mrs. Goldstein sat down on her chair again after a dance with one of Josh’s friends and was apparently eager to start another conversation with the two of you. “Walter, what do you do for a living?” she asked and Walter told her about his job as a police officer. He didn’t get into detail, but Mrs. Goldstein was glued to his lips. Then she turned to you. “And you, young lady?” 
Usually, you loved talking about your job, but now, with Walter listening, somehow you felt stupid. As if you were still the teenager who wrote fan fiction. “I’m an author.” you said, hoping she would turn back to talk with Walter, but her curiosity wasn’t satisfied yet. 
“Oh, interesting, what do you write, romances, something steamy?” She wriggled her eyebrows at Walter who couldn’t hold back a scoff. Meanwhile, you wanted to disappear, so you never would have to look into Walter’s face again. 
Why did you feel so ashamed? You were a good author. You puffed out your chest and answered. “No, mostly I write thrillers and crime stories.” This earned you another disapproving huff from Walter. 
Mrs. Goldstein didn’t seem to notice the hostility between the both of you. “Oh, so you can ask your friend for help when you need advice about police stuff.” 
Now Walter couldn’t hold back any longer. He let out a derogatory laugh. “She would never ask anyone for help, She’s too proud for something like that. Guess she rather still gets everything wrong. Like always.” 
Now you were the one glaring at Walter. What was he talking about? “What did I get wrong?” you shouted at him. 
It shocked you not to see anger and hate in Walter’s face as he looked at you. Instead, you saw hurt. “Me! You got me wrong! I was in love with you, Max. So much. But you broke my heart. And you never got it, did you? You never saw it? How much you hurt me, for giving me one night in heaven and then years in hell.” He shot up from his chair and stormed out of the room. 
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When you got into the foyer, there was no sign of Walter and you cursed that it had taken you a moment until you were able to react and run after him. You glanced around helplessly. The guy at the reception looked at you and gave you a small smile. He pointed at the elevator and made an upwards gesture with his thumb. You nodded in thanks and got into the elevator. Walter could be anywhere. Probably he just left for his hotel room. And as nice as the guy at the reception seemed, he surely wouldn’t give you Walter’s room number. But then you saw the sign for the rooftop terrace. That would be a possibility. So you pressed the button and as you waited to get to the top level, you tried to gather a straight and logical thought, unsuccessfully, of course. 
But whatever thought you might have had, it got lost the moment the doors opened and you saw him. He was sitting on a stone bench, close to the balustrade, gazing over the lights of the city. He didn't seem to care about the drizzle, slowly soaking his suit. It reminded you of that night when he found you in front of that motel. In the soft light reflecting, even his face looked younger. 
You saw how his body tensed when he noticed the sound of your heels hitting the concrete tiles, but he didn't turn. Not even when you stood next to him.
“Can I sit?” you asked and Walter brushed the sleeve of his jacket over the bench to rub it dry for you, even though he still kept his gaze locked on the streets. The gesture gave you hope. He accepted you at his side, he even took care of you.
You slowly sank on the bench next to him and pointed your gaze at the lights of the city, just as he did. Both of you stayed silent for a while and somehow it felt comfortable, peaceful. Not even the cold raindrops were bothering you. But when your thoughts got too loud in your head, you finally spoke:
“You know I regret my decision every day, ever since that morning I left.” You turned to look at Walter, but he still didn’t move, it appeared as if he hadn’t even heard you. His apathy killed that small spark of hope inside of you and it was as if something cold gripped your heart tightly. And just the moment you wanted to leave and cry your heart out, his eyes locked with yours. 
“You do?” It was a whisper, barely audible. The look on his face didn’t give away any emotion. You cursed silently at this man’s stoic demeanor. Opening your heart would be so much easier if you could read at least a tiny expression on his face. 
“I broke my own heart, too, that day.” You wanted to say more, but you just couldn’t. Your mouth was dry, and your tongue felt heavy. Instead, tears formed in the corner of your eyes. 
Walter furrowed his eyebrows. He had tried to make sense of your behavior for years, hearing you say that you felt something for him too made everything just more absurd. He shook his head in disbelief as he asked you why. And you owed him an honest answer.
“I was so scared. I would have never thought you like me. I was sure it was just sex for you. And that you’d regret it. That you’d feel obligated to date me because you were stupid enough to screw your friend's sister who threw herself at you half naked and you got weak.” Something in Walter’s expression changed. He looked confused and hurt. He opened his mouth to speak, but you still needed to get some things out: “I thought you'd take me on a few dates and then find an excuse to get rid of me. And that would have made me fall in love with you even more. And then I would have had to see you anyway because you’d still hang out with Josh. The thought of this killed me. That’s why I decided to stop it before I got hurt. I thought it could save me from a heartache. And now look at me, still hurting after all those years.” The tears were falling now from your eyes, mixing with the rain on your cheeks. 
Walter startled you when he pulled you to his side. He took off his jacket and wrapped it around your shoulders, placing his arm on top. His other hand on your cheek, you felt the warmth that he radiated. The gentle gesture made your tears fall more freely. You were shaking, overwhelmed by all the emotions flooding you, now that you finally allowed yourself to be honest. 
“You should have told me, Max! I thought you didn’t want me. I thought you hated me for what I had done. For using you.” Walter’s voice was husky. “And I’m sorry I took opportunity of you. I am so very sorry.” He shut his eyes for a brief moment, inhaling deeply before he spoke again. “ I should have done this differently. Asked you for a date, making it clear I want you as my girlfriend before…before that night.” He took another pause, shaking his head again. “You know, even though it hurt us so both so much, I never regretted that night. It's still my favorite memory. The moment I had you in my arms.”
Your heart was racing as you listened to Walter’s confession. “Don’t apologize. You’ve done nothing wrong. I wanted it just as much as you. Damn, Walter, you’ve been asking me multiple times if I was sure.” 
Walter sighed, a sad smile playing on his lips: “That whole day I was so upset. Charlie had told me about your plans. And how Paul was being an ass about it, talking about it in the locker room. I was so fucking jealous. I needed to clear my head, so I drove around town. Guess driving by the motel was a half unconscious decision to be near you. And when I saw you sitting there in the rain, in your beautiful dress, I just couldn't form a proper thought anymore. I shouldn’t have gotten into this bed with you, not before telling you about my feelings. But I did, and it was the best moment in my life.”
You turned to him, your face only inches away from his. Was this possible? Was it possible that he had feelings for you? It felt like it. The way he talked, the way he looked at you. 
“We fucked this up badly, didn’t we?” he asked you, chuckling incredulously.
You shook your head. “There’s only one who fucked up all of this and that’s me. I should have given you a chance. Instead, I lied, I was mean and I hurt you, on purpose. Destroying the feelings you had for me and everything that could have been between us.” 
“Max!” You could have melted by the way he said your name. “You can’t take the blame for destroying my feelings. They are all still the same. And there could be a future for us. If you want me.” Walter cupped your face with both his hands and sank his forehead down on yours. The world stopped turning and the only thing that kept moving was your heart racing in your chest. 
He wanted you. He still wanted you after everything you had done to him. You got the chance to finally make the right decision. And you took it. As your lips collided with Walter's, the passion and intensity behind that kiss became palpable. As your tongues touched, everything around you blurred into mere background noise. And when your lips parted again, both of you were left breathless and struggling to grasp the magnitude of what had just happened. A spark of optimism ran through your veins. Maybe this was really a new beginning and your scars of the past could be healed. Everything ahead was uncertain, and it would have been a lie to say you weren’t scared, but with Walter's lingering touch still burning upon your lips, you felt the determination to nurture this second chance.
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Walter still had your head cradled in his hands and pulled you in for another kiss. Your own hand reached for his jaw and your fingers raked through his coarse beard. His lips were soft and warm on yours and when he parted them your tongue slipped past, eager to taste him again. His cologne mixed with the scent of petrichor was intoxicating. A shiver ran down your spine as one of his hands slowly moved to your neck.
While you surrendered to your feelings, not letting go of one another’s mouth, the drizzle turned into a full-blown rain shower. It was only when the water was pouring down your faces that you finally broke the kiss. You were both laughing, sparks of joy in your eyes. 
“I think we should relocate to somewhere dry.” Walter remarked. Not waiting for your answer he got up and dragged you with him. Waiting for the elevator, his mouth was on yours again, just little pecks in between smiles, but they felt just as good as every other bit of love he had shown to you in the last minutes. The ride in the elevator was short, and Walter distracted you with his mouth and hands roaming over every bit of skin he could reach. Not stopping the kisses, you stumbled along the corridor and Walter fumbled in his pocket for his keys. 
Eventually, you were standing in a hotel room. Walter kicked the door shut and the next moment you were pressed against the wall. He stepped between your legs, his chest pining you in place, and resumed his assault on your mouth. His hands explored your body. One of them settling on your hip, the other one brushing down your thigh. He found the slit of your dress and took advantage of it, rucking up the fabric and feeling for your leg. His fingers caressed over the delicate material of your stockings, and he groaned when he reached the lacy border and then your naked skin.
“I need you to get out of this!” he said, his hands running over your dress. He found the zipper and pulled it down impatiently. The black satin pooled around your legs as he let go of the dress, and Walter took a step back to take you in. His eyes roamed over your face, then moved down, resting on your bare chest for a moment. As he moved further and looked at the lacy garter belt and the stockings attached to it, he bit his lip. “These need to stay on” he ruled. Just hearing him talking to you like this made you want to drop on your knees for him and surrender to your longing.
But Walter ruined your plans when he got on his knees himself, pulling down your thong unceremoniously. He lifted one of your legs over his shoulder. But the moment you thought you’d feel his mouth on you, he stopped. Instead, he let out a soft chuckle. “Damn, how many times did I curse myself that I didn’t get my mouth on that sweet pussy.” And then his tongue darted out to lick through your folds. You let your head sink back at the wall as he made you lose all your control, lapping and sucking on your clit like it was the sweetest thing he had ever tasted. He rolled it between his lips and made you scream when his fingers pushed into you. He still knew exactly well where you needed to be touched. His mouth, his fingers inside of you, and his other hand playing with your hard nipple had you at the verge of toppling over the edge. But every time you thought you’d reach it, Walter stopped for a brief moment. You were squirming and whining and pleading, but Walter just chuckled.
When you thought your knees were about to give out, he finally showed mercy. His fingers pumped into you frantically as he grunted. “Come on my tongue, Max!” Hearing him, feeling him, you couldn’t do anything else as obey, and you screamed his name as your climax washed over you. His arms were cradling you, his hands firm on your sides, holding you close, when you weren’t able to control your own legs anymore. Walter raised to his feet again, picked you up and carried you to his bed. He dropped you onto the mattress, watching you hungrily. His hands made quick work of his bow tie and the buttons of his shirt, so when you knelt in front of him, you were able to rake your nails through the hair covering his chest. His shoulders were wider than you remembered, his pecs and abs more defined. “You’ve grown into a man,” you purred, and Walter laughed softly. You wanted to sink your teeth into his skin. And after kissing and licking over his neck, you did exactly this. You got rewarded with a deep moan.
You brushed his shirt down his arms, and then your fingers were on his pants, cupping the bulge that couldn’t be hidden under the soft fabric. Walter unbuttoned his slacks, and you helped him with the zipper and the boxers underneath. As soon as his cock sprang free a bead of pre-cum built at the tip of his cock and you licked your lip as you saw it. “Let me taste you,” you begged, and without waiting for an answer, your tongue flicked over his swollen head. Walter hissed at the sensation, his fingers digging into your arms. After wetting your lips, you took him into your mouth, slowly sucking and circling your tongue around the tip. Walter carefully pushed deeper into your mouth, and you let him, taking him all the way to the back of your throat. With hollowed cheeks you looked up at him, and the feelings that rushed through you as you saw him almost made you cry. He was watching you with hooded eyes, full of lust and love. 
You both moved in the same steady rhythm, Walter’s hips pushing forwards and your head bobbing up and down along his cock until Walter was breathing heavily and curses were falling from his lips. Your hand cupped his balls, slowly caressing them. Walter let you keep going like that for another few moments, but when his moans got louder and more desperate, he finally pulled out of your mouth. His thumb brushed over your swollen and tingling lips, and he leaned down to press a kiss on them. “I need to have you, now!” 
He pushed you to lay back and crawled between your legs, pumping his cock as his eyes darted over your tits and pussy. “Goddammit, you’re so beautiful!” he growled. Another few strokes, then he moved backwards. “Don’t you dare move. Stay exactly like this!” he told you, and you did. Keeping your legs open for him, biting your lip, you watched him as he searched through his jacket, fishing a condom out of his wallet. 
Within seconds, Walter was between your legs again, his cock sheathed now. His body engulfed you, and then you felt his cock slowly stretching you open. You both moaned in unison, locking your eyes with each other when Walter bottomed out inside of you. He pressed his lips on yours, kissing you fervently when he started to move. 
While he kept thrusting into you, your nails left red streaks over his back. You were desperate for him to take you, pressing your heels into his back, moaning and whimpering. Walter was just as lost in his desires as you, rutting into you almost violently. He grabbed your knee and threw your leg over his shoulder, straddling your other thigh. When he sank into you again, your eyes rolled back. His cock brushed over your most sensitive spot mercilessly, you felt him so deep inside of you. To make you go totally insane, he rubbed his thumb over your clit with every thrust. You were shouting profanities at him, begging him, trying to fight back the tears that started to fall. 
“Let go, baby! Let me see how you look when you come around my cock!” He rocked his hips into you, faster and harder, until you finally exploded, your legs shaking. “That’s my girl,” Walter cooed, leaning down to press wet kisses on your neck. But he wasn’t yet done with you. He manhandled you to lay on your stomach. “Get your sweet little ass over here!” he ordered, and you moved to all fours, raising your bottom invitingly to him. His hands kneaded your ass cheeks, accompanied by a content groan of his. “Look at that juicy little pussy!” His fingers brushed through your folds, circling your entrance and then moving further up, teasing your puckered hole. You squirmed, a wanton gasp leaving your lips. “Hm, you like that, don’t you? I’ll keep that in mind for another time.” You could tell he had a smug grin on his face even when your face was buried in the bedsheets right now. 
Then his cock was driving into you again. The lewd sounds from both Walter and you echoed through the room as Walter fucked you into oblivion. He lost his rhythm now, rutting desperately into you. You felt he was close. His arms wrapped around your chest, pulling you up to him. He sank his teeth into your shoulder when he reached his climax, spilling his seed into the latex as his hips stuttered behind you. 
You both collapsed onto the bed, breathing heavily, but with a smile spread over your faces. Walter brushed a sweaty streak of hair out of your face before he pressed his lips onto yours. This kiss was nothing like the passionate, hungry kisses you had shared earlier. It was gentle and sweet and lovingly. And your heart skipped a beat when you realized that all the love you both felt was still there, even after you had stilled your desire. It was still palpable and not threatening to vanish. Walter nuzzled his nose into your neck, holding you close. You could have fallen asleep like that, if that memory hadn’t appeared in your mind that moment.
You laughed, raking your fingers through Walter’s curls. Walter frowned at you, though not losing the wide smile that was spread over his face. “What’s so funny?” he asked, and you were a little ashamed to admit, but then you told him anyway.
“You really learned a trick or two. And you definitely worked on your stamina.” 
Walter chuckled and pressed a kiss on your cheek. He whispered into your ear: “Hey, I don’t think I did a bad job back then, considering I was a teenager having his first time.” Your eyes went wide.
“What? It was your first time as well? But.. I didn’t know. I mean… You were in college. I thought you already…” You felt heat crawling up your neck. It wasn’t as if this information would change anything, but somehow it warmed your heart.
Walter laughed at your stammering. “I was waiting for the right one, Max.” 
*****
You woke up and for a tiny moment you considered if everything was just a wonderful dream, but then you heard the soft snores at your back and when you turned you saw him, lying on his stomach, hugging his pillow, his curls fallen into his beautiful face. You must have watched him for hours, and still, there was nothing in the world that you wanted to do instead of it. Well, maybe one or two things, but these involved Walter as well.
Then he finally opened his eyes. When he saw you watching him, his lips curled into a smile. “Hey!” you greeted him, and he gave you a "hey" back, his voice still hoarse from sleep. 
“You’re still here,” he remarked, his arm wrapping around you and pulling you close. You pressed a soft kiss on his lips. “I won’t run away anymore, Walter,” you promised him. You kissed again, and when you pulled away, you smiled mischievously. “Also, I don’t have any dry clothes, so I can’t leave.”
Walter chuckled. “What a pity. Guess we have to stay in bed, then.”
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therealcocoshady · 2 months
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Recovery - Chapter 1
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Eminem x Reader (Y/N) fanfiction
Summary : Y/N is getting sober and trying to rebuild her life after a hard breakup when she meets Marshall Mathers.
Tags : mention of SA ; Miscarriage ; Addiction
Author’s note : this is my first shot a my writing a fanfiction. Hope you enjoy it x
Chapter 1
- Thank you for having me, you said to Talia.
- No problem, baby. You stay as long as you need to, she answered while giving me a hug.
You looked around, taking everything in. In a matter of days, you had lost nearly everything. It all started when you woke up in the hospital, several tubes attached to your body.
FLASHBACK
Apparently, you had been in a coma for three days. Simon, your boyfriend of two years was sitting in a chair next to your bed.
- I can’t believe you did it again, Y/N.
- It’s not what you think, Simon.
- It is exactly what I think. You need help. You need to get yourself together. Next time you might not be so lucky. You might actually die, he said.
Dying. To be fair you hadn’t really tried to kill yourself. It was more complicated than that and Simon knew it.
- I’m sorry, you said, trying to hold his hand.
- No, he simply answered, taking his hand off yours.
He looked at you with a piercing gaze, not saying a word for what felt like forever. He didn’t need to, anyway. You already knew it was over.
- I love you, Y/N. I really do. But I can’t go on like this. You need to seek treatment, he said with tears in his eyes.
- I just wanted to sleep, you know, you tried to explain.
- By taking over 100 pills of Xanax ?! Are you fucking kidding me ? He asked, fire coming from his eyes.
- I…
Tears started rolling on your cheeks. As much as you knew you had done something terribly stupid, you wished he wouldn’t break up with you. You wished he would understand.
- Simon, don’t do this, you pleaded.
- I’m sorry, he simply said, getting up and grabbing his jacket. You have a problem and I cannot deal with it.
He walked towards the door and faced you for the last time.
- Your stuff will be packed when you get out of here.
And there it was. Shortly after moving in with your boyfriend, you were homeless.
END OF FLASHBACK
- Are you ok, Y/N ? Talia asked.
- Yeah. Sorry. I just… I can’t believe it’s over, you said. I really screwed up.
She gave you a big hug again.
- What’s done is done. Now you need to focus on getting better, she said.
- Thank you for being here for me. And allowing me to move in with you. And not judging me.
- What you need now is not judgement. It’s support. I am a bit mad though, she explained. I wish you had come clean to me about all those prescription pills.
- I thought I could manage, you tried to explain.
- Well you thought wrong.
Your best friend was being hard on you, and she had every right to be. For months, you had been lying through your teeth to everyone in your life. You had pretended that you were this happy-go-lucky girl who had it together. On the outside, you had everything : you were successful in your PhD research at university of Michigan, a loving boyfriend you had just moved in with and a tight-knit circle of friends who loved you unconditionally. But deep down, you had been unable to handle the pressure of your studies and, the hardest thing of all, you had lost your baby, going through a miscarriage at 13 weeks of pregnancy.
- You should rest before I take you to your meeting, Talia said. And then, we’ll go to the studio. Jamal invited us.
- Do we have to ? I think I’d rather come back here right after the meeting, you pleaded.
- Meeting new people will be good for you, she said. And I won’t lie : I don’t think you should be alone in here.
She was making it clear that she didn’t trust you. After all, how could you possibly prove that you weren’t going to be popping pills as soon as you were alone ?
- Right, you said.
She left you to your new room. Thank God she and Jamal, her boyfriend, were living in a big house with plenty of room to spare.
Jamal was a beat maker and producer and had made quite a name for himself. He was now starting to work with famous people. One of them was Eminem. You weren’t a big fan, although you did enjoy some of his most well-known music. In fact, this man was to be credited for you learning how to swear in English, as you’d learned the language by watching movies and listening to music. You hadn’t listened to him in a long time though and you were kind of wondering what he was up to, now.
Talia sometimes went to the studio with Jamal and she was getting along with everyone. According to her, “Em” (as she called him) was a great guy and she was pretty sure the two of you would get along.
FAST FORWARD
You had officially made it through your first NA meeting. It had been emotional but you were glad you went. Now was the time you dreaded : meeting everyone at the studio. As much as you appreciated Talia’s efforts to help you clear your head, you weren’t exactly the social type.
As the two of you entered the studio, you were greeted by half a dozen people. As soon as he saw you, Jamal got up and have you the biggest hug.
- How did it go ? He asked.
- Uh… it went well, I guess, you answered.
You weren’t particularly intent on talking about it, especially in front of people. Fortunately, Jamal was wise enough not to elaborate. The two of you were close and he knew better than to embarrass you. Still, you were thankful for his concern. From the moment he learned you’d be moving in with them, he had been nothing but supportive. « I know you’ll get through it », he had said.
Talia introduced you to everyone.
- So, this is Y/N, our new roommate and my very best friend, she said.
- How come we never met you before ? Somebody asked.
- Well, Y/N is a scholar so she doesn’t have a lot of time for people with lesser minds, she said jokingly.
You blushed immediately. Your best friend was the most supportive person of your work and she never stopped telling you how proud she was.
- Nice to meet you all, you said a bit awkwardly.
You shook everyone’s hand and you kind of had a shock as you introduced yourself to Eminem. You remembered him from at least fifteen years ago, blonde hair and clean shaven. He was now sporting brown hair as well as a well-trimmed beard. You would never have recognised him, had the two of you crossed path in the street. You couldn’t help but think to yourself that he was rather good looking. And in pretty good shape for an older dude who was in his early fifties. In fact, he did look at least ten years younger.
- Call me Marshall, he said as soon as he shook your hand.
- Ok, Marshall, you said while looking in his deep blue eyes.
He wasn’t as cheerful and smiling as the others, but he wasn’t distant either. You had always pictured him as a loud person, but the man you had in front of you was far from it. In fact, he seemed like the quiet, rather serious type. He looked like he was staring at you as if he was trying to read into your soul.
You joined Talia and sat on one of the big leather couches while everyone got back to working. You looked around and noticed that the studio seemed like a very comfortable, soothing space. For the first time today, you eased a little.
After some time, the group decided to take a break. Most of them went outside to smoke a cigarette and get some air, but you stayed inside. You did indulge in the occasional cigarette but you had been told it would be easier for you to refrain from taking any substance. You tried to be reasonable and not get tempted by the smell.
At some point, you were left with only Marshall, who was listening to the tune they just recorded in his headphones, pushing buttons on the mixing desk.
- So, how long have you been sober ? He asked as he looked at you.
- How do… how do you know ? You asked in shock.
- I was with Talia and Jamal when they got the call about one of their friends behind in the hospital after an OD. And you playing with your NA chip kind of tipped me off, he shrugged.
- Oh. Right. Actually, today was my first meeting, you said and blushed a little.
- Recovery is hard, he pointed out. Congrats on taking the first step.
You didn’t say more and he got back to mixing, as you stayed silent and watched him being extremely focused. As you studied him, you couldn’t help but notice an AA necklace dangling from his neck.
- So you’re in recovery too ? You asked.
- Yeah. Been sober for fifteen years now, he said with a smile.
- Wow. That’s impressive.
- Doesn’t mean it’s always easy, though, he confessed. But it’s 100% worth it.
There were a hundreds of questions going through your mind, but you clearly did not know him enough to ask them. Instead, you just smiled.
- Want to give me your opinion on the track ? He offered with a smile while handing you the headphones.
- I know nothing about music but sure, why not, you said, taking place in the chair next to his.
You placed the headphones on your ears and he played the song. You closed your eyes, in order to concentrate on what you were hearing. You were amazed at how fast this man was able to rap. Yet, you could hear and understand every single word. You particularly enjoyed the rhyming schemes. And, as ever with Jamal, the music was on point.
- it’s good, you said. It’s really good.
- Good to hear, he said with a smile.
The others came back to the room and Talia seemed extatic at the sight of you and Marshall talking. She knew how shy you were and every time you talked to someone new, she saw it as some sort of victory.
- So, people, Jamal said. How about y’all come to our place after ?
Everyone cheered and agreed. From what you gathered, it was usual for the group to meet at Jamal and Talia’s after a long day at the studio, so that they could kick back and get their mind off work. Talia held your hand in hers.
- I forgot Jamal wanted to have people over, I’m so sorry she said.
- It’s fine, you reassured her. But I’d rather stay in my room, if you don’t mind.
As everyone was arriving at Talia and Jamal’s, you said your goodbyes decided to hide in your room. Not that everyone hadn’t been super nice, but you highly suspected that there would be alcohol involved, if not weed. While you were climbing up the stairs, Talia grabbed your arm.
- Are you going to be ok ? There won’t be any hard liquor or anything like that, Y/N. Just a few beers, she said.
- I know, but… it’s been a long day. Meetings, people… I’d rather rest, you reassured her.
- Sure, she said as she gave you a peck on the cheek. I’ll be downstairs if you need me.
As soon as you entered your room, you changed into some comfier clothes : a cream-colored, cashmere set. You removed your makeup and put your hair up in a bun. You weren’t going to see people anyway so why bother ? You decided to watch Friends (your favorite show on Earth) and snuggle under a throw that reminded you of the place you shared with Simon.
After a couple of episodes, you heard a unfamiliar knock.
- come in ? You said.
The door opened and you saw Marshall standing there.
- So, are you hiding ? He asked with a smile.
- Kind of, you admitted.
- You have nothing to be scared of, he said. It’s very chill, downstairs.
- There’s still booze, right ?
- Just beer.
- I don’t really trust myself, you admitted.
- You had a drinking problem too ? He asked.
- Nope. Just pills. But now that they’re gone, I swear I’d take anything just to feel remotely… whatever.
- I feel you, Marshall said.
- Do you ?
- Yes, he simply said, showing his AA necklace.
- How do you feel so comfortable in a setting like this then ? You asked, wondering if you would ever get to the same point.
- It’s been 15 years, he explained. It gets easier with time. Plus, I’ve come to value the person I’ve become much more than the person I used to be when I was using. No money in the world could convince me to come back to that.
- It’s hard, you know. Hiding here when I know what’s going on down there, I said.
- Talia already gave Jamal so much shit about it, he said with a laugh.
This made you smile. Deep down, you knew Jamal didn’t mean harm, so you were kind of hoping Talia wasn’t giving him too much of a hard time.
- Thank you, you whispered. I don’t want to deprive you of your own fun, though.
- It’s fine. I don’t think I’m gonna stick around for long. I wanted to see if you wanted to go for a drive. You know, change your mind …?
- Uh… sure, I replied. Give me 5 minutes so that I can get dressed ?
He left the room and you quickly put together an outfit with a pair of dark wash jeans, a black turtleneck, a pair of knee-high boots and a blazer. You put your hair in a sleek ponytail and added some mascara for good measure. You weren’y trying too hard, but I definitely wanted to make an effort. After all, you had just met him - and he was extremely attractive.
- Ready to go, you said as you emerged of my room.
- Some sweats would have been enough, you know, he said joking.
- Oh. I started blushing.
- You look great though.
He didn’t say a word more and you got downstairs.
- Y/N and I are going on a drive, Marshall announced.
- Wait a minute, Talia said before you got the chance to get through the door.
She looked at both of you.
- No messing around. No drinking. No smoking. Nothing illicit or illegal. And you’d better be back home before midnight.
- Yes, Marshall noted with a chuckle.
- Yes Mom, you said jokingly while giving her a peck on the cheek.
As you got ouf of the house, you got to an impressive car. You were never good at recognising the brands or models, but this one was huge and it seemed like it was really expensive. It was also a bit contrast with Marshall, who did not look like the over-the-top stereotypical rapper. In fact, he was wearing normal clothes - jeans and a hoodie, no luxury logo to be seen.
- Where are you taking me ? I asked.
- You’ll see, he said with a voice full of mystery.
Normally, you wouldn’t have agreed to a car ride with someone you barely knew, but you were so eager to leave the house that you did not really care.
You took place in the car and Marshall started driving.
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The Farmer's Daughter 4
Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Characters: Walter Marshall
Summary: You notice a peculiar change in a family friend. (short!reader, sorry size kink is out)
Part of the Backwoods AU
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.
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Your father’s nurse, Heather, doesn’t arrive until after noon. Your mother spends much of the morning waiting on her, wondering if something happened. The woman with the steely hair explains that she had to drive from several towns over. It doesn’t matter, you’re just happy to have her there.
Your dad remains despondent. Your mother frets and hovers as Heather’s voice carries through the old farmhouse. She enunciates and projects as she speaks to the husk sitting in the recliner. Your mother paces and as you peek in on the nurse trying to guide your father in a simple exercise, your heart knots and nearly breaks.
You fell outside, proclaiming to your mother that you’ll check the hen house for eggs. She doesn’t argue even though you already did so that day. You tramp out onto the porch and clatter down the stairs. Things change so quickly.
In the distance, you watch the tractor drawing a straight line across the fields. You shield your eyes from the sun and squint. Timothy steers the smaller of the machines closer by. It should be your father out there. He doesn’t belong inside, he’s no type of man to be so still.
You sigh and muster your courage. You go back inside and find your mother standing at the door of the front room. She watches Heather and your dad. He mimics her clumsily as she shows him what to do. He’s shaky and gives up with a harrumph. He’s never been the one to surrender.
“It’ll be okay,” your mother whispers.
“Ma,” you rub her back, “we should start dinner. The day’s half gone.”
She sniffs and nods, “you’re right, honey.”
You walk silently to the kitchen and start on the evening meal. Her special sweet and sour meatballs. The sauce is a family recipe and she serves the signature dish on white rice. The work will keep you both distracted.
🌾
Your mother helps your father to the table as you go out to get your brother and Walter. You find Timothy with a cigarette between his lips. You scowl.
“Don’t let ma see,” you warn him.
“Sorry, I… it’s stressful.”
“Yeah, I know,” you utter dully. “Just don’t smoke by the door.”
You leave him, searching around in confusion. Where’s Walter? Did he leave already? He swore he’d stay for dinner and it’s all your mother talked about as you cooked. You know she’s avoiding mentioning what’s on all your minds.
You walk along the front of the house and turn the corner, nearly colliding with Walter as he comes around. You cry out and laugh at yourself as you touch your chest. He doesn’t flinch.
“Sorry–” You begin.
“My fault,” he insists, “was just making sure the tractor’s read for tomorrow.”
“Oh? Tomorrow?”
“Still lots to be done,” he says casually.
“Right,” you agree, “er, dinner’s ready.”
“You cooked?” He wonders.
“I helped,” you say as you turn and walk ahead of him.
“I saw you. With the chickens,” he follows at half a step. He’s like your very own shadow.
“You did?”
“Tractor stalled,” he supplies. “I think I figured it out though.”
“Oh, that’s good,” you reply awkwardly. You’re not used to him speaking so much. Not to you. “I made dessert tho–”
As you crane to speak over your shoulder, simultaneously lifting a foot to climb the porch steps, your toe hits the wood. You cry out and throw up your hands, bracing for impact. You don’t hit the rigid zigzag, instead caught around the waist as you hover just above them. His strength is effortless as he has you bound up in his thick arm.
Again, Walter saves you from catastrophe. He pulls you back and rights you, brushing against you as he unhooks his arm. He clears his throat and runs his hand down the front of his shirt.
“You alright?” He asks.
“Yeah, I…” you giggle and shake your head, “I’m so… all over the place right now. I’m sorry–”
“As long as you’re fine, no need to apologise,” he assures you.
“Ha, yeah,” you rub the back of your neck and look pointedly at the steps. You take each deliberately, “just needa watch where I’m going.”
He hums and trails after you. As you get to the door, he reaches around you to pull back the screen before you can. You thank him and go inside, stopping to slip off your flats as he unties his boots. The savoury scent of dinner draws you in.
You wait for him and lead him to the dining room. Your mother welcomes him in as she sits close to your father and feeds him. Timothy’s eyes flick back and forth between your parents and his plate fearfully.
“Pat,” Walter approaches the table with you, “Maddie,” he greets firmly, pulling out a chair. Before you can do the same, he gestures you into the seat before him.
“Oh, thanks…” you accept and sit down at your father’s other shoulder and Walter lowers himself into the next chair. You catch your mother’s gaze as she peeks over at you.
“Thank you for having me.”
“It’s our pleasure,” your mother insists, “really. You are helping us so much, dear. I can’t–” her voice crackles, “I can’t tell you how much it means.”
“Ma,” Timothy utters, embarrassment lining his tone.
“It’s the decent thing,” Walter says plainly.
“Would you like some meatballs?” You offer, “rice?”
“Please,” Walter nods and sits back as he watches you scoop a healthy serving of both onto his plate, “thank you.”
You recline and spoon out your own dinner. A lot less than his. You’re not very hungry. Your mom’s plate is barren as she focuses on your dad. Or you assume she does until you once more meet her eye. Her eyes drift over to Walter and back again.
“Very good,” Walter says after a bite.
“Oh, well, my daughter did all the hard work,” your mother preens.
Your furrow your brow at her lie. You are ever her helper. She told you what to fetch and to set the timer but she has to measure it all so precisely.
“Mmm, well, she was taught well, I’m sure,” Walter comments and shovels more into his mouth.
“I didn’t do that much,” you scoff as you slice into one of the large meatballs.
“Oh, of course you did, honey,” your mother chimes. “She’s a great cook, Walter, don’t let her fool you.”
You don’t argue. It isn’t the time and besides, it’s harmless. Just another distraction. She’s redirecting the attention so she doesn’t have to acknowledge the reality sitting right beside her. A few white lies are nothing compared to that.
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