#are you a cop? seems kind of like some shit a cop would say | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

persevereforahappyending · 1 month

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A Legacies Secret |13|

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader

Summary: You just wanted a happy life with your girlfriend but then Ghostface attacks, revealing long thought to be buried family secrets.

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Stabbing, Attempted Murder, Murder, Death, Blood

Word Count: 3.4k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

You glanced to the side as some of the guys laughed and shoved each other. You shook your head; you weren’t really friends with any of them, but they were fun. You put your attention back on the large canvas before you, smirking as you raised the spray paint bottle to the brick wall. While the others drank and smoked weed, you tended to focus on the vandalism side of things, you didn’t do any major damage, it was paint, it would wash off, eventually. Besides, it was the high school, it’s not like you were hurting anyone.

Just as you began to spray another line a siren sounded and there were red and blue flashing lights. “Shit,” you whispered. You tossed the can aside and took off running behind the others.

While the guys ran to their cars or down the street you veered right, running behind the school. You kept going, running behind all the buildings next to the school. When you no longer heard sirens or saw any lights you slowed to a light jog and eventually stopped all together. You rested against a brick wall as you tried to catch your breath.

You looked around one last time before pushing off the wall, you shoved your hands in your pockets and walked towards the street. If you acted casual, then no one would suspect anything. Almost as soon as you stepped onto the sidewalk a police car appeared. Your head snapped to the car, and you shuffled your feet as you considered taking off again.

“Don’t even think about it,” Dewey’s voice came from the speaker on the car.

You rolled your eyes and raised your paint-stained hands. You locked them behind your head as Dewey got out of his vehicle. “Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic,” he sighed. “Is the whole hands behind the head thing necessary?”

“Don’t you think some light vandalism is a little below the sheriff’s pay grade,” you snarked.

“What can I say, I just knew you’d be involved.” You couldn’t help but smirk at that. “Let’s go.” He gently grabbed you by the arm and led you to the cop car. He made sure you ducked down far enough so you didn’t hit your head getting in the back seat.

The two of you rode in silence back to the police station. “Want to give me the name of your friends?” He asked.

“They’re not my friends,” you said.

“Right,” he sighed, shaking his head in disappointment.

You watched Dewey through the mirror, he was still treating you with the same kindness he always did when he brought you in. There was something different though, there were bags under his eyes, and it seemed as if he hadn’t slept in days. You slumped in the backseat, nothing to do put pick at the hole that was already there.

The one good thing about living in a small town was that you arrived at the police station in a matter of minutes. Dewey wordlessly got out of the car and opened your door for you. He once again gently grabbed your arm and led you into the station. You passed by the officer left at the station, he barely glanced up from his paper before rolling his eyes at seeing you again.

“Sit,” Dewey ordered when the two of you got to his office.

You slumped down in the chair across from his desk. You looked around, nothing was new, not like it had been long since you had been in this same position before. Dewey’s office was at the back of the station, but he generally kept the door open, and the blinds were always up so he could see out onto the floor and his officers could see him.

“What was it this time?” Dewey asked as he leaned against the front of the desk, staring down at you. He once told you he did this because he felt it created a more open dynamic, that it was more casual, and easier to talk than it would be if he was sitting behind the desk.

“Nothing,” you mumbled. You crossed your arms as you refused to look him in the eye.

“Come on-”

“Look can you just call my foster parents, I want to go home.” You rolled your eyes, you didn’t know why Dewey was trying to do this tonight, it was late, you weren’t in the mood for one of his speeches.

“Cut the bullshit,” Dewey snapped. You couldn’t help the way you flinched, your eyes instantly snapping to Dewey. “We do this almost every week, you’re sixteen,” you looked down at your hands in your lap. “I can’t keep protecting you.”

“Then don’t!”

“So, juvie, that’s what you want?” You glanced up to see Dewey’s disappointed glare. “Is it?”

“No,” you mumbled.

“Cause that’s where you’re headed if you keep this up. If you’re lucky!” You looked up at him, your eyes wide. “If they wanted, you could be tried as an adult.”

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. ‘I’m sorry’ didn’t seem like enough. ‘I’ll do better’ wasn’t enough, those were just words. Words didn’t mean anything at the end of the day, actions are what matter, actions are what spoke the loudest.

“He came home drunk, again,” you whispered. You glanced up to see Dewey’s furrowed brow. “My foster dad.”

Dewey sucked in a breath and nodded. He knew what your foster dad was like, he knew exactly what your life was like. “Did he hit you?”

You shook your head. “Left before it got that bad.”

Dewey sighed and took a seat in the chair next to you. “You don’t have to stay there, you know.”

You let out a humorless chuckle as you scoffed at just the idea of that. There weren’t any other options, you had to stay with them until you were eighteen and then they’d kick you out and you’d be on your own. “Yeah, cause I have so many places to go?” you snarked.

Dewey got up and made his way around his desk, grabbing something on the shelf behind it. When he turned around, he was holding a packet of papers. He leaned across the table, holding out the papers to you. You hesitantly reached up, taking the papers from him.

When you looked down at the papers you couldn’t help but furrow your brow. “Emancipation?” you asked, looking up at Dewey. “There’s no way I’d ever qualify,” you shook your head, tossing the papers back onto his desk.

“Not if you do the work,” Dewey said. He picked up the papers and held them out to you again. “You’re a smart kid, the only one who can pull you out of the path you’re on, is you.”

You reached up and took the papers back from him. You looked down at it. You had thought of it before, of course you had. Getting emancipated required a lot of work though, you had to have your living situation figured out, you had to have an income, you had to prove that you could be independent and support yourself.

“I don’t even know where to start,” you mumbled.

“First,” Dewey said. “This shit,” he picked up an empty spray paint can from a previous encounter with you. “Has to stop. No more. I don’t want to see you in that seat,” he pointed to the chair you were in. “Again.” You nodded, keeping your eyes on the floor. “I can’t keep giving you chances.” You nodded, you had gotten lucky every time Dewey was the one to bring you in, no one else would have been as generous. He got up and made his way to the door, resting his hand on the doorknob as he looked back at you. “You know the way out,” he said before leaving his office, letting the door close behind him.

You continued to stare down at the papers in your lap. Maybe Dewey was just having a bad night, maybe he really was done with you, either way, you needed to get your shit together. You were going nowhere if you kept going at it like you were, it was only a matter of time before you got caught up in something much bigger than a little vandalism.

You shot up in your seat, your heart beating erratically in your chest as you looked around. “Hey, hey,” Tara’s soft voice came. You calmed down instantly when your eyes landed on her. “It’s okay.” She gave your hand a comforting rub. You were at the hospital, you were still at Tara’s bedside, you guessed you had passed out from all the crying.

“Sorry,” you rasped out. You got up from your seat, moving to the little sink in the room to fill a glass of water.

“You have nothing to apologize for.” You leaned your back against the sink, resting your hands on the counter behind you. “How are you holding up?”

You shook your head; you had no idea how you were doing. “I hate this town.” You stared at the floor.

You felt Tara’s eyes on you, but you couldn’t look away from the floor. “Ask me again?” Tara whispered. You scrunched your eyebrows, looking up at her with a tilt of your head. “Ask me again.”

Your eyes widened when you realized what she meant. You couldn’t help the small smile that appeared on your face despite your current situation as you made your way to her bedside again. “Run away with me?” you asked, leaning forward to stare into her eyes.

Tara nodded, happy tears filling her eyes. “Okay,” she whispered. You were already leaning in as she reached up with her good hand, resting it on the back of your neck to pull you closer.

You eventually moved to Tara’s other side, even though you couldn’t hold her hand anymore, you still wanted to keep your eyes on the door. You were in the chair, pressed against the bed as you ran your fingers through Tara’s hair. The two of you were watching some mindless TV, trying not to think about everything that had happened.

You rubbed your eyes tiredly; you could barely remember what sleep felt like. The only times you had slept since Tara’s attack had been in an uncomfortable position in a chair, passing out from crying yourself to exhaustion, and the few hours you had been knocked unconscious, though Tara told you that last one didn’t count as sleep.

You pulled out your phone when you felt it vibrate. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes when you saw whose name appeared on your screen. “Who is it?” Tara asked.

“Your sister,” you grumbled. You rolled your eyes again as you swiped to answer the call.

“Y/N,” Sam practically screamed into the phone as the phone got to your ear.

“Too what do I owe the displeasure Samantha?” you asked, unable to hide the irritation at her calling. The only reason you even picked up was because of Tara, you had no problem letting it go to voicemail.

“Ghostface is going after Tara.”

“What?” You shot to your feet. “How do you know?” You started pacing around the room, your eyes darting all around for anything that could be used as a weapon.

“Judy’s dead.” You stopped in your tracks. Your eyes were wide as you looked up at Tara. She scrunched her eyebrows, silently asking you what Sam was saying. “Wes too.” You shook your head, that couldn’t be, you had just seen both of them.

“Fuck,” was all you could manage to get out.

“He’s going after Tara.” Sam was clearly struggling with what she was about to say to you. You were sure it probably had to do with the fact that she told you to stay away from Tara and now she was calling you, telling you Tara was in danger. “Look I’m-”

“He’s not laying a fucking hand on her,” you cut her off. You didn’t need her apology; you didn’t want it. All that mattered right now was protecting Tara, that was your only concern.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

You clenched your jaw and gripped the phone in your hand tighter. “Whatever,” you hung up.

“What happened?” Tara asked.

“We need to get you out of here,” you said. You looked around until your eyes landed on the wheelchair.

“What’s going on?”

You rolled the wheelchair as close to the bed as possible, so you could get Tara into it without risking hurting her more. “Come on.”

“What’s going on?”

Tara grabbed your hand, forcing you to look her in the eye. “Ghostface.” Tara’s eyes instantly filled with tears, and she began shaking her head. The same fear you saw when she first woke up was back. “Hey,” you moved to her side instantly, gently brushing away the strands of hair that fell in her face. “No one is going to hurt you.” You stared into her eyes. “I swear, I’ll protect you. Okay?” You waited for her to nod.

You locked the wheelchair in place. As soon as you got your arms under Tara to lift her you heard a noise outside the door. You held your breath as you stared at the doorknob, waiting for whoever was out there to start turning it. You could feel Tara gripping onto you, her nails digging into your arm.

You moved quickly, getting Tara into the wheelchair as you continuously glanced at the door. No one tried coming in and you couldn’t hear a sound coming from the other side. The silence, which should have been peaceful, was anything but, you knew the second that door opened all hell would break loose. Sam said Ghostface was on the way, but he could have already been there. The only thing standing between Tara and Ghostface was you and you weren’t going to let him lay a finger on her.

You started to roll the wheelchair as quietly as you could when you saw the doorknob begin to jiggle. You raised a finger to your lips and moved across the room, so you’d be behind the door when it opened. Tara shook her head furiously, but you kept your attention on the door, you weren’t letting him get her.

As soon as the door creaked open you rammed your shoulder into it. There was a groan as the door whipped back into whoever was trying to open it. You quickly opened it, ready to tackle the person when you stopped in your tracks. “Richie?” you asked.

“What the hell?” Richie said, holding a hand to his bleeding nose.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Richie opened his mouth, but you didn’t know what he was about to say because behind Richie was Ghostface. “Look out!” You tried to warn him. Richie turned just as Ghostface brought down his knife, slashing him across the forearm.

Richie backed up, nearly tripping over his own feet before Ghostface grabbed him and shoved him against the wall. You kept yourself between Ghostface and Tara, straightening your back as Ghostface turned to face you. He tilted his head and twisted the knife in his hand.

“Move as fast as you can,” you whispered, glancing at Tara out of the side of your eye.

Before Tara could argue with you, you moved. Ghostface raised their knife, but you caught their arm as they tried to bring it down. You backed them up, slamming them against the wall. You heard the wheelchair begin to move behind you, at least Tara actually listened to you for once. Ghostface pushed back and you turned them, so your back was facing the door. You just had to stall them long enough for Tara to get to safety. You started to walk them back when they tripped over Richie’s feet. Ghostface crashed to the floor, their knife flying out of their hand.

You didn’t hesitate as you turned and ran out of the room. You got your hands on the wheelchair and began racing down the hall towards the elevator with Tara.

Something hit you in the side, sending you slamming into the wall, the force making Tara’s wheelchair tip over, and sending her crashing to the floor. You groaned, your eyes instantly widening when you heard Tara’s cries. You moved to go to her when you felt something pierce your side. Your breath caught in your throat as you looked down, seeing a knife in your side. You lifted your head, staring into the white mask as Ghostface slowly pulled out their knife.

“No!” you heard Tara scream, though she sounded far away.

Ghostface raised their knife and waved it back and forth in front of your face so you could see your own blood coating the knife. They brought the knife down, shoving it into your left shoulder and giving it an aggressive twist. You screamed and brought your hands up, trying to pull their hand away from you. They ripped it out without a care and watched as you slid to the floor. Your right hand went to your shoulder as your left hand held your side, trying to stop the blood but it continued to seep between your fingers.

You tried to pull yourself up as Ghostface slowly walked towards Tara, he was taunting her, knowing she couldn’t crawl away. It sounded like Ghostface was talking to someone, but everything was muffled. You tried to move as Ghostface reached her, but you only collapsed to the floor.

You took away your hand from the wound on your side, reaching out as if you could get to them, as if you could stop Ghostface. Just as Ghostface raised their knife the elevator doors opened. You choked out a sob as Dewey raised his gun, firing several shots at Ghostface until they dove out of the way down another hall. Sam rushed to her sister’s side, helping her up and as gently as she could rushed her to the elevator.

Dewey rushed to your side, he swung an arm around you and helped you to your feet. He whipped around with his gun when he heard a noise, but it was just Richie coming out of the room, a hand to his head from where he was hit. Dewey put his other hand around Richie and began struggling to help the both of you to the elevator.

As the three of you passed the hall Ghostface ran out, slamming into the three of you, making you crash to the floor again. Richie stumbled back to his feet, his eyes widening in horror as Ghostface dragged you back by your feet. He stood above you, and you could only stare up as he raised his knife.

The next thing you knew Ghostface was thrown back, crashing into the cabinet display along the wall. You turned your head to see Dewey with his gun raised. He kept his gun trained on Ghostface as he ran to your side. He didn’t bother flinging an arm around you this time, opting to just drag you by the back of the shirt towards the elevator.

Dewey finally let you go when he reached the elevator, letting you slump against the back wall. Tara dropped down to your side, resting a hand on your shoulder. Sam dropped down next to her, helping put pressure on your wounds. Richie was slumped in the corner, holding a hand to his bleeding arm. Dewey pressed the button for the first floor as he stood in the doorway.

“The head,” he whispered.

“What?” Sam asked, furrowing her brow as she stared up at Dewey.

“You have to shoot them in the head. Otherwise, they always come back.”

“Who gives a fuck!”

“I do.”

You Dewey held your gaze as he stepped back out of the elevator. You shook your head, you tried to move but your body just wouldn’t cooperate. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“N-n-no,” you whispered, coughing up some blood in the process.

Dewey gave you a sad smile before turning and walking back to Ghostface. You shook your head as he raised his gun at Ghostface’s head who still laid motionless in a pile of broken glass. When Dewey stepped closer, the broken glass cracking beneath his feet Ghostface’s arm shot up, stabbing Dewey in the gut, making him drop his gun.

“No!” you screamed, tears instantly feeling your eyes.

The last thing you saw before the elevator doors closed was Ghostface standing tall above Dewey, raising their knife as they prepared to stab him again.

#tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x fem!reader #tara carpenter imagine #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #scream #scream v #scream 5 #a legacies secret

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mypoisonedvine · 9 months

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NEED to read zemo/bucky/reader and I feel like you would nail it!!!! maybe with 98?? LOVE YOU J.D!!!!!!!!

oh my god I haven't written a threesome in SO LONG and of course this turned into a whole oneshot UGH. oops

98: "what happens next in your fantasy?"

warnings: smut (18+ ONLY!!!), threesome, oral m and f receiving, spitroast, overstimulation, hair pulling, slapping, degradation and praise, brief mention of smoking?, basically just nastiness with almost no plot at all!!

word count: 4.4k

100 random prompts - send me a number and a character!

"I shouldn't have said anything, okay?" you whined, hoping he'd drop the subject-- and Zemo walked in right then, which seemed like the perfect opportunity to change the topic.

"What shouldn't you have said?" Zemo pressed, and you sighed.

"It's-- it's nothing," you shook your head, "I just had a really weird dream last night."

"About?"

You wanted to end it there, but Bucky had to chime in, of course. "Let's just say, this dusty old apartment was getting to see some action for the first time in a few decades," he informed Zemo proudly, who smiled knowingly and continued his walk to the kitchen.

"Ah," Zemo nodded, "I see."

"I swear, I've never had a dream about you like that before," you explained to Bucky.

"I wouldn't take it too personally, James," Zemo suggested as he poured himself some tea. "The subconscious is a completely unpredictable place. We can dream about almost anything, whether or not we desire it in waking life."

"Well, see, that's the weird part," you admitted, shifting nervously in the chair as Bucky stared at you. "You were there, too."

That took his attention away from the tea, certainly; he set down the kettle and came back into the sitting area, leaving his cup behind. "Still, many people believe dreams have meaning... I happen to be one of those people," he added.

"You didn't mention that before," Bucky frowned at you.

"Well, I was going to..."

"I was there, doing what?" Zemo pressed.

"Sitting in the corner reading Machiavelli," you joked. "No, you were, you know... part of it..."

"How was it?" Zemo asked instantly, getting yours and Bucky's eyes on him then.

"Huh?"

"In the dream, having both of us," he clarified, "did you enjoy the experience?"

"U-um, I mean, I don't really remember..." you coughed.

"I don't think that's true," Zemo grinned. "You're wearing it on your face now— is that why you couldn't look at me this morning in the hallway?"

Your face got warmer. "Do I normally look at you?" you deflected.

"More than you realize," he answered cryptically.

"So, it was good," Bucky assumed. "It's obvious, you can just admit it."

You did hesitate, biting on one of your nails, but you nodded, and they both smiled. "Yeah, it was... it was really good..."

"Which one of us was better?" Bucky wondered. "It was me, right?"

"You were... I don't know, you were just different," you shrugged.

"Ugh, that's such a cop-out," Bucky rolled his eyes. "Don't be afraid to hurt his feelings."

"No, really— it's hard to compare," you insisted. "You were sort of, you know, sensitive and... patient, and you—" you looked at Zemo— "were kind of... intense."

Zemo smirked. "I've been told that before, actually. I mean, by people who got the real experience."

Bucky looked with a concerned expression over his shoulder at Zemo. You found yourself biting your lip for a moment.

"I know you won't answer this question, but I have to ask," Zemo began, "did you climax?"

"Oh god," you whined, hiding your face behind your hands.

"See? She did," Zemo smiled, maybe wider than you'd ever seen. "Perhaps even more than once."

"Please shut up," you groaned.

"Holy shit," Bucky smirked, "you really liked it, huh?

"What do you say, James?" Zemo prompted, looking at Bucky, and making you get a little wide-eyed. "Shouldn't we give the girl what she wants?

"Isn't that, uh— I mean, wouldn't that be... weird?" Bucky stammered, cheeks flushing.

"You're so sheltered," Zemo mocked with a small laugh. "Sharing a partner is very thrilling when the correct amount of trust is involved."

"Wait, wait— it was just a dream, I wasn't, you know, suggesting it," you explained nervously.

"I know," Zemo replied, "I am."

There was a tense pause, where all you could hear was your own beating heart.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Zemo offered, “I know it’s a strange thing to say. Just come here, darling.”

Though your legs were shaking, you got up off the chair and approached him slowly. He met you in the middle, reaching up to quickly caress your jaw when you were close enough. Bucky seemed to watch the whole thing in disbelief. “I-I’ve never—” you began.

“It’s alright,” Zemo assured you softly, “I won’t judge you, or mock you— there’s nothing wrong with what you want.”

You nodded slightly, another form of silent permission, and he leaned in to kiss you— gentle at first, but strong enough to make your knees feel a little weak. He deepened it quickly, putting a hand at your waist as his tongue began to tease your lips… but just when you pressed into him, ready for more, he pulled away. He smirked at the way you leaned forward for a moment, but then he looked over at Bucky— you couldn’t quite read his expression, perhaps a bit of disbelief and… more than a decent share of arousal.

He stood up, and stepped up to you two, and you could tell he was in over his head— but you pulled him closer by his shirt, sighing as your hand felt his chest through the black fabric. “I— I’m not sure how to—” he mumbled.

“Me either,” you smiled, “just kiss me, Bucky…”

He did, though he seemed slightly less confident about it. What started as a shy and soft kiss turned into something more almost instantly— something hungry. He pulled you closer by your waist, he slipped his tongue into your mouth; it was clear, somehow, that he had been waiting for this chance for longer than you realized.

You gasped into Bucky’s kiss when you felt Zemo’s lips on your neck. There were four hands on you, running over your body, and you were struggling to keep track of which belonged to who…

Zemo pulled you off of Bucky and spun you around, kissing you roughly again. He was less careful this time, and he was reaching up under your shirt as well; you whimpered a bit, arching your back instinctively and pushing your ass into Bucky’s— oh fuck, he was hard. You couldn’t believe how worked up you were already.

Zemo groped at your chest, purring as he tweaked a nipple between his fingers. You whined and pressed your legs together, feeling him smile before he broke away to look at you with a sparkle in his eye.

“So sensitive,” he praised as he pushed your shirt up to get a good look at you; he sighed at the sight, both hands cupping your breasts and massaging them carefully. “You’re so beautiful…”

When his hands moved down, Bucky’s took their place; you shivered a little at the metal hand’s cool touch, but it was actually more of a relief than anything considering how hot you’d become. He was a little more aggressive with the way he touched your tits— if not quite rough. He was panting in your ear as he held and rubbed them; and Zemo was already pulling your pajama shorts down, exposing you even further… god, why did it turn you on so much.

“Look at you,” Zemo praised with a sigh, running his hands up and down your body. “I know you must be so wet already, darling, look how desperate you are… you’ve been wet since you woke up from that naughty dream, haven’t you?”

You didn’t have to answer— he was already putting his hand between your legs, exploring your folds, both of you groaning at how slick and sticky you were. “Fuck, I can hear it,” Bucky noticed, and you clenched inside as he said it.

Zemo gently pushed a finger into you— but you were so wet it didn’t even feel like a push, it felt like your hole just sucked him in. He was looking right into your eyes as he did it, but that was a little too much to handle for you, mentally, so you let your eyes fall shut just before he slipped the finger back out again.

"Feel inside her, James," Zemo encouraged, "she's so warm."

Bucky sighed, rubbing his fingers around your entrance. "I-I'm going to," he mumbled in your ear, "but... not 'cause he told me to or anything."

You whined when two vibranium fingers pushed inside you, making you lean back against Bucky while Zemo’s hands pushed your shirt up even higher, giving him better access to put his mouth on your tits. “F-fuck,” you sighed, putting a hand on the back of Zemo’s head as he swirled his tongue around your nipple— he was incredibly, annoyingly good at that, but then again, so was Bucky with the way he gently opened you up with his fingers. “Oh my god, just like that,” you panted.

“Who are you talking to?” Bucky wondered.

“Both of you,” you whined, “fuck, don’t stop.”

Zemo moved his mouth to your other nipple, suckling harder at it, making your hips rock on Bucky’s fingers; and Bucky growled approvingly, starting to thrust them a little more confidently inside you. “I can’t believe you didn’t soak through those shorts, doll,” Bucky whispered in your ear, “you’re drenched. You wanted this that bad?”

You could only nod dreamily, too lost in the feeling.

Though you weren’t sure how they coordinated it, they both stopped touching you at the same time; you whined quietly, clenching inside as you longed for either of their fingers to fill you again.

“Take the rest of it off,” Zemo instructed you— but it wasn’t too firm, more just a… friendly suggestion. “Let us see all of you.”

Stepping out of your shorts that had fallen to the floor and pulling your shirt up over your head, you tried to fight the urge to cover yourself— after all, here you were naked in Zemo’s living room, with two fully clothed men eyeing you up and down. It was hard not to feel… scrutinized.

"What happens next in your fantasy?" Zemo purred.

"I-it's not my fantasy, it was just a dream," you insisted.

"Then let me ask you another way: what happens now?"

Instead of answering with words, you simply sank down to your knees in front of them, keeping eye contact with Zemo as you started to open his belt.

The smug look on his face should’ve driven you crazy, but it only pushed you further; Bucky, thankfully, seemed to get the idea of what was going on and began to open his belt and jeans for you. You loved his eagerness, even if the way Zemo seemed content to just let you do all the work was a turn-on, too.

Soon enough, there were two hard cocks in front of you. Just the idea of that was already intimidating— but both of them, at eye-level, was actually nearly overwhelming. You took hold of them both, stroking slowly to try to wrap your head around this as easily as you could wrap your hands around them.

Not sure where to start, you did a mental coin toss and found yourself leaning towards Zemo first, wrapping your mouth around his tip and letting your eyes fall shut. Zemo hummed, pushing your hair back as you bobbed your head. You only sucked him for a few seconds before switching over to Bucky, though you tried to keep a hand stroking each one while you moved back and forth.

It felt filthy and strange and surreal, but your biggest concern was that you were going to get so wet you’d start dripping onto the floor or something.

Yes, you’d watched porn like this before, but you never really thought you’d end up doing it— especially with these two. You felt pretty comfortable assuming they never thought this would happen, either… but they got into it shockingly quickly: soon, you weren’t even the one deciding where you went, they simply got more and more impatient and began to guide you back and forth. You blinked your eyes open a few times to look up at them, but in the end you found yourself totally lost in it, just leaving your mouth open them and letting them take turns fucking it until you weren’t sure who was who anymore.

Not much was said (least of all by you, with your mouth full) aside from a few mumbled curses here and there— except for one moment, where Zemo seemed to mutter to Bucky: “I don’t think she expected to like this so much.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong. You were drooling, with tears striping your face— a side effect from repeatedly choking on both of them— and you were nearly desperate enough to rub yourself

Though you weren’t sure how or when Zemo had gotten in your head like this, you had to admit it was convenient right now; “You want more, don’t you?” he noticed, and all you had to do was nod before they pulled you up to your feet. Zemo bent you over quickly, before you’d even really found your balance, and stood behind you.

You gasped as Zemo’s cock slid inside you suddenly, holding on tight to Bucky’s arms for balance— immediately you were rocked forward with hard, needy thrusts.

“God, she’s so fucking wet,” Zemo hissed. You hadn’t really heard him talk quite like that before…

You groaned at the feeling, amazed at how easily he fit inside, but clearly all the anticipation had prepared you well. Bucky only let you have a second to adjust before he shoved your head back down and pushed his cock into your waiting mouth. You were happy to oblige, though, and sucked him even more eagerly than before with fast bobs of your head and more pressure from your tongue.

Bucky’s fingers tangled into your hair, and his hips pushed forward to fuck deeper into your throat; you heard him groan, but it was muffled as he bit his lip. You gagged, and they both moaned lowly. “I can feel when you choke on him,” Zemo informed you with a grunt, “your little cunt squeezes me tighter.”

It must have been Zemo’s hand that slid up your spine and held onto your shoulder— it must have been Bucky that reached down to feel your tits— but if was your hand that ended up between your legs, rubbing your clit quickly simply because you couldn’t hold yourself back anymore.

“So desperate,” Zemo mocked— or praised, maybe? The difference was hard to define. “You want to come?”

You hummed in agreement around Bucky’s cock, before he forced you to choke on it again. You never expected him to be so aggressive, nor how much it would make you crave even more.

“If you want a turn with her, James, you’d better take it now,” Zemo offered, voice thin as he tried to catch his breath. “Any more of that and I won’t be able to stop myself again.”

Bucky roughly pulled you off of Zemo and sat back on the couch, turning you around to face away from him and pulling you into his own lap; that doll nickname felt a bit more literal when he tossed you around so easily.

You gasped as Bucky slid inside, and moaned as you realized you could so easily feel the difference between them. “Fuck!” you cried out loudly, louder than you really meant to, as Bucky instantly began bouncing you on top of him; you were trying to move with him, but he was so much stronger and basically just using you however he wanted… it made you moan even more and roll your eyes back in your head as you realized that. “Fuck, Bucky, oh my god—”

“See how much louder she screams for me?” Bucky grinned.

“That’s because her mouth isn’t full this time,” Zemo countered with a laugh. “That can be corrected.”

Bucky was certainly much more… impatient in the way he fucked you; Zemo, meanwhile, was as controlled as ever as he guided you to lean forward, gently opened your mouth, and slid just his leaking head inside. He purred as you suckled at the tip, looking up at him with watering eyes.

“Can you taste yourself?” Zemo asked you with a smile, humming when you nodded around him. “You really soaked me, darling— I expect you to be a good girl and clean all that off.”

You moaned at the praise and took him deeper into your mouth, using your tongue to lick up every drop of your own wetness off of him. You surprised even yourself with how shameless you were, pulling your mouth off to run your tongue over him instead, moaning as you licked him clean.

Bucky fucked up faster into you until you could barely focus on the task before you, but you still found a way: you kept Zemo’s cock in your mouth and let him hold your head, keeping you steady while Bucky moaned louder and thrusted harder.

You moaned more and more around Zemo until he pulled you away and you gasped instantly. “Tell me how it feels,” he demanded harshly, holding your head up by your hair.

“So good,” you yelped, “it’s so fucking good!”

He surprised you with a slap across the face, but you moaned right away. “Fucking whore,” he spat. “Look how badly you need to be treated. You want to come, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you sobbed, “yes, fuck, please—”

“Well, James,” Zemo hissed, “aren’t you going to help her?”

Bucky sighed and moved one of the hands on your hips down between your legs, rubbing you quickly and harshly. Your thighs were shaking instantly; actually, pretty much all of you was shaking.

“She’s coming, James, don’t stop,” Zemo barked out another order, holding you tight by the jaw and looking right into your eyes. “I want you to come until you can’t possibly take it anymore,” he explained with a growl, “don’t tell me to make him stop until then, is that clear? Show us how much you can take, nothing less.”

You nodded as best you could with him holding onto your face, and tried to lean in to put your mouth on his cock again, but he held you there.

“No,” he corrected, “I’d rather get a good look at this.”

Bucky’s hand on your clit was relentless, the pressure almost too intense for you to take— but you had to take it, you had no other choice. It started off almost slowly, a gradual descent into the numbing pleasure of your orgasm, but it didn’t stop; Zemo already made it clear he wasn’t going to let it stop until you were at your limit. Your moans were shaky and broken from how hard Bucky was fucking you, and your eyes were rolling back already but you could’ve sworn you heard Zemo chuckle at the sight of you. Did you really look that fucked up?

“Good girl,” he purred, “keep going. You can take more.”

You whined louder, higher, sharper; you weren’t sure how much more you really could take of this, but you wanted to do as you’d been told and not tap out until the absolute last second.

You knew you were crying, only because you felt the hot tears running down your cheeks. You heard Zemo encouraging you distantly, but you couldn’t quite make out any words, just the dark and sweet tone of his voice. You heard Bucky, too, groaning deeply while you felt his fingers digging tighter into your hips. Could he feel everything he was putting your body through?

“Fuck, stop!” you heard yourself blurt out, and instantly Bucky’s hand moved away— but his thrusts didn’t slow down. It was just the right amount of relief, and you blinked the blurriness out of your vision. It was almost like part of it didn’t even really hit you until then, until the aftershocks reverberated through your body.

“That’s it,” Zemo praised, “you’re alright, we’ve got you.”

“Oh god, o-oh god,” you sobbed, shaking uncontrollably— they were both holding you up, you would’ve toppled to the floor if it weren’t for them

“Fuck, m’gonna come,” Bucky groaned.

“Inside,” you gasped, even with how little mental clarity you had in that moment. “I want it inside.”

“Fuck,” he said again. “That’s so— god, baby, look what you fuckin’ do to me… I’m gonna come inside you.”

“Yes,” you begged with a sob, Zemo grinning as he watched you.

Still numb and clenching uncontrollably inside, you felt the way he pumped harder and harder and harder— until it slowed down and he let out the most delicious, long groan. You whined, but smiled, as he loosened his grip on your hips and relaxed under you, his moans and heavy breaths seeming to drip with satisfaction. “Fuck,” he said, one more time, deeper than ever, before falling back on the couch limply.

Zemo lifted you off of Bucky— apparently a little sooner than he was ready for, because you heard him hiss as he slipped out of you— and guided you with him onto the couch, pulling your back into his chest. He knelt behind you, kissing the back of your shoulder as watched you try to come back to reality.

“I should let you rest for a moment,” he noticed, “but you don’t want me to, do you?”

Weakly, you shook your head.

He moved in closer to you and you felt his cock, still wet with your spit, rub against the inside of your thigh— and even after all that, you arched your back deeper in invitation.

It made you blush when Zemo slid into you again, thinking about him filling you alongside Bucky’s load, especially with the way he groaned lowly into your ear. “You want me to fuck his come even deeper into you?” he taunted, and you whined but nodded. “I thought so.”

Everything felt so… sticky, in a disgusting but sexy sort of way; you were overly-sensitive inside, each thrust feeling so good with the fading sensitivity of your orgasm still present. You leaned back against Zemo with a sigh, letting him hold you close and fuck you however he wanted, more than happy to just be his toy now.

“Look how cute you are when you give in to me. You want me to use you, don’t you?” he noticed with a groan, and you whimpered but nodded ‘yes.’ “Of course,” he growled, kissing along your neck with more and more of his teeth each time. “You want me to fuck you however I want?”

“Yes,” you sobbed.

“But this isn’t about what I want,” he explained. “This is what you wanted.”

“Oh god…”

“You wanted us both to fuck you, at the same time. One cock isn’t enough to satisfy you?”

“Not anymore,” you admitted with a sigh, and he started to thrust faster and harder into you.

It turned very quickly from slow and sensual to rough and ruthless; he wrapped a hand around your neck to keep you close as you moaned and cried, anxious already to come again. “Touch yourself,” he ordered with a hiss in your ear, “make yourself come around my cock.”

“F-fuck,” you choked out, but slid a hand over your body and between your legs to obey him quickly. You were already so fucking close, and you knew you shouldn’t go so hard on yourself when you were so sensitive, but your desperation made you really rub hard and fast in search of that growing tension. “Yes, fuck, m’gonna— oh god—”

“I know, darling,” he cooed, “just let go. It’s alright, I’ll hold you— come for me.”

You didn’t literally black out, but you did sort of… lose time, in that moment. It was like you were just floating in pleasure for a while and then all of a sudden you were laying back on the couch and you weren’t even sure where Bucky had gone and Zemo was proudly holding your legs open.

“You look so beautiful like this,” he informed you, and you blinked back at him shyly.

You expected the warm, sticky feeling as their come leaked out of you… what you didn’t expect to feel was Zemo’s mouth on your pussy, eagerly lapping it up and sucking on your clit as your eyes shot open and you gasped and moaned with surprise.

“Dude,” Bucky grimaced, “that’s fucked up…”

Zemo just hummed and took his mouth off of you, giving Bucky a confused look. “She tastes amazing,” Zemo defended, “maybe even better after our… contribution.”

You laughed a little at the description, until he leaned down and latched onto you again, making you gasp and run your fingers through his hair. “Fuck,” you whined, bucking your hips against his face. Your clit was already overstimulated, and the way that he flicked it with his tongue made you shiver all over.

Your hold on his hair made it a little easier to push him away when he sucked too hard on your sore clit; he was more than strong enough to keep going, but he stopped anyways and let you push him back with a smug, slickened smile. “You really should try it, James,” he encouraged, “you’ll only want more once you do.”

Sighing in relent, Bucky knelt down in front of the couch— yes, at some point he’d gotten off of it, and you were too high on orgasm dopamine to notice it— and Zemo helped you adjust your hips towards him so he could just dive right in.

He gave one long lick over you first, making you shudder, and seemed to get more excited and aggressive quickly as he held onto your thighs and started to push his tongue inside you. “Oh god,” you whimpered, and Zemo watched proudly for a moment before turning his head to kiss up your leg.

“Poor thing,” he cooed between gentle presses of his lips to your skin, “you probably thought we were done with you, didn’t you?”

You were on the couch nursing a cup of tea, your feet resting in Bucky’s lap on top of the pants he’d changed into after his shower; Zemo was on the balcony having a cigarette. That was the scene Sam came back to, and he seemed to notice something was off just by the way he raised an eyebrow as he entered the living room. “Hey guys,” he greeted. “What did I miss?”

“Not much,” Bucky shrugged, “just a pretty quiet morning…”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #baron zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #baron zemo smut #bucky x zemo x reader #bucky x reader x zemo

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david-talks-sw · 2 months

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The OTHER type of Star Wars fan

We've already covered (through this longer post and this addendum) that research shows George wasn't that involved or interested in the derivative material of the Star Wars franchise, also known as the Expanded Universe (EU). Aside from approving a few points, he let Howard Roffman and Lucasfilm Licensing handle it.

He is the first to say that he ain't as knowledgeable about Star Wars lore as we fans are.

Thing is... he's also not as passionate as we are.

Recently, I was watching some Q&A videos of George R.R. Martin, the author of Game of Thrones... and it occurred to me:

Martin is what most Star Wars fans wish Lucas was.

Think about it.

He's a talented writer who likes to focus on morally "gray" characters and complex political plotlines,

who created a series of novels for a mature audience in which his narrative merely asks questions and lets the reader draw their own conclusions,

knows and engages in the lore behind his creation and will often respond to those lore-heavy questions, and has gone on record stating that canon is the glue that holds a story together and keeps it coherent.

Contrast that with George "continuity is for wimps" Lucas, who:

Wrote a movie franchise which is also, partially, political... but he makes it for kids, and he's explicit about how this is thematically a clear-cut story about how the conflict of "good vs evil" is really about "compassion vs greed",

with flat dialogue, boring cinematography,

and whose approach to lore and canon can be summed up in his answer to how Anakin got his scar:

"I don't know. Ask Howard [Roffman]. That’s one of those things that happens in the novels between the movies. I just put it there. He has to explain how it got there. I think Anakin got it slipping in the bathtub, but of course, he's not going to tell anybody that." - Pablo Hidalgo’s set diary, August 2003

And as a Star Wars fan, I will admit that some of his casual retcons felt disrespectful, growing up.

"Boba Fett is NOT Mandalorian?!"

I had the same reaction when I saw an interview of Kathleen Kennedy stating she was a fan of Star Wars... from a filmmaking perspective. That seemed like such a finagling cop-out for me, at the time.

"Just say you're not a real fan, God!"

And it's easy to divide it in two camps, like that. You have 1) the fans, who will delve into deep lore, and you have 2) the average moviegoer.

But looking back on it... holy shit, that is actually a completely valid way of being a Star Wars fan.

Yes, Star Wars is a transmedia franchise, it's books, it's video-games, it's deep lore, it's lightsabers and Jedi and Sith and bounty hunters and Ewoks and Jabba and High Republics and Tython and Revan etc.

But before it was that, Star Wars was a filmmaking revolution. A juggernaut of innovation for the silver screen that inspired most of today's filmmakers.

So, sure, George Lucas isn't an avid lore-loving Star Wars fan like you and me. But he is a movie fan.

"I'm not that passionate about this story. I like it, it's fun and I enjoy doing it. But it's definitely not my life. I'm a bigger movie fan than I am Star Wars fan. I like making movies. At the end of nine years of making Star Wars, I was not ready to continue it. I was completely burned out on it. I was more passionate about raising my kids than making movies and especially making Star Wars. So I made other kinds of movies and TV shows and advanced the technology I needed. It's not a matter of passion. My passion is for filmmaking. I'll go and do filmmaking that is easier to do, where you can realise your ideas better. And nine years is a big part of your life, and to commit to another nine years, I didn't wanna do that right away." - EMPIRE, 1999

And you can tell this, when you watch the Star Wars films.

There are honestly so many homages and interesting filmmaking techniques, peppered throughout the six films, which only a nerd for cinema history like George would know how to implement.

C3-PO being based on the droid from Metropolis (1927) is a perfect example of this.

And that's interesting.

Because there's essentially this entire other dimension to the films, where it's not just the story unfolding, but to filmmakers it's also a series of techniques that make them go "I wonder how they did that!" or homages that make them go "OH! I know where that's from!" like we do when an comics characters appears in live-action.

Here's other examples:

CINEMA HOMAGES

All of Star Wars is absolutely littered with homages to cinema history.

I mean, you may already know this, but Flash Gordon is what George originally wanted to shoot, but the copyright holders said they only wanted Fellini to direct it (ironically, George wasn't artsy-fart enough for them). So he decided to write Star Wars instead.

As such, the inspiration from Flash Gordon is also present visually and spiritually throughout the two trilogies.

"It was like a Republic serial, a 1930s-style matinee adventure. The idea was that you came in, saw Episode IV, had missed the first three episodes, and wouldn't get to see the rest of it." - Starlog Magazine #300, 2002

The dialogue that a lot of people refer to as "campy" and "flat" is actually a mix of George being an experimental filmmaker who doesn't give much of a fuck about dialogue (and is by his own admission, not the best at it)...

"I'd be the first person to say I can't write dialogue. My dialogue is very utilitarian and is designed to move things forward. I'm not Shakespeare. It's not designed to be poetic. It's not designed to have a clever turn of phrase. [...] I just wanted to get from point A to point B. This film doesn't lend itself to that sort of thing because it's not about snappy one-liners. I think that Lethal Weapon-style dialogue is overused, it's a necessary aspect of high action films where you have to have the smart retort. You have to say "I'll be back baby" and stuff. It's not my style. It takes away from the integrity of the movie. [...] I'm aware that dialogue isn't my strength. I use it as a device. I don't particularly like dialogue which is part of the problem." - EMPIRE, 1999

... which is convenient, because it helped him simulate the dialogue of 1930s matinee serials, such as Flash Gordon.

"Let’s face it, their dialogue in that scene is pretty corny. It is presented very honestly, it isn’t tongue in cheek at all, and it’s played to the hilt. But it is consistent, not only with the rest of the movie, but with the overall Star Wars style. Most people don’t understand the style of Star Wars. They don’t get that there is an underlying motif that is very much like a 1930s Western or Saturday matinee serial. It’s in the more romantic period of making movies and adventure films. And this film is even more of a melodrama than the others." - Mythmaking: Behind the Scenes of Attack of the Clones, 2002

But beyond that, literally it's everywhere.

The scene where Palpatine ascends to being Emperor as Anakin slaughters his political rivals parallels the final scene in The Godfather, where Michael becomes the Don while his goons do the same thing.

This video compiles all the tributes beautifully. Check it out.

youtube

Even The Clone Wars has whole episodes that are direct homages to cult classics. The Zillo Beast episode is a clear reference to Godzilla, the episode The Wrong Jedi is inspired by The Wrong Man, etc.

"CINEMA VÉRITÉ" CINEMATOGRAPHY

I've already written a whole post (one of my favourites) showing how his fascination with cinéma vérité documentaries is reflected in the cinematography of all six Star Wars films, and it's part of what makes the entire franchise feel so immersive.

You can check it out here:

KUROSAWA

We've gone over how he's a big fan of Akira Kurosawa, and how big an influence Hidden Fortress was on both the Star Wars trilogies...

... but so is the mise-en-scène and the way George approaches production design. The reason Star Wars feels so "lived in" is also a lesson George learned from Kurosawa, which is that by making everything just a bit off-kilter, a bit dirtied-up and imperfect...

... and yet keeping it all consistent, in a way, you manage to make the film feel grounded and immersive, no matter how alien it is.

"[It] may sound odd in a movie like this, but credibility and realism, even in the most unrealistic situation… to sorta create that sense of realism is very important to making the story work and making you feel like you’re actually in the environment that transports you and gives you the suspension of disbelief that you need in order to enjoy a movie. [...] Kurosawa used to call it “immaculate realism” which is to make it slightly off-kilter, slightly eccentric, like things are in real life. Even if it’s a very predictable situation, give it that little funny edge that takes it away from that and makes it realistic. And I had to struggle very hard, in the Star Wars films, to make them appear to be realistic, even though they’re totally fantasy." - The Phantom Menace, Commentary Track #2, 1999

POST-PRODUCTION & VFX

Another one of the more impressive aspects of the first Star Wars was the dogfights and the trench raid of the Death Star. The camera pans with the spaceship, the dynamism of the cuts. The space battles is what made George creat ILM in the first place.

He was determined to do the opposite of what 2001: A Space Odyssey had done with that opening scene where the space ship moves into frame slooooowly...

... so he gave the team a collection of WWII dogfight footage to give them ideas.

(note: this was the same approach he would take years later with Dave Filoni, when teaching the latter how to edit and craft dogfights in The Clone Wars)

The attempt to film the trench run eventually led to the creation of the first motion control camera dolly.

Best analogy I can think of, when describing George's approach to Star Wars, is the following:

An avant-garde esoteric contemporary artist - y'know, the type who puts a blue dot on a white canvas and calls it art - creates a comic.

Why? Because he wants to make this one art installment for a gallery exhibition. After that, he intends to move on to other things.

But the comic is really good! And like, its audience quickly expands beyond just gallery visitors, no, everyone likes it.

Suddenly, the comic develops a cult following, and the entirety of comic book geek culture has zeroed-in on the artist and they're all asking him to make more art! And he makes more! And more!

Then he stops for two decades, moves on to other art projects, raises his kids. Years later, he discovers new ways of drawing, and he's like "I'm making a Prequel to the comic, y'all wanna see it?"

Everyone cries out gleefully: "Oh God, yes! Finally! Show us!"

But this motherfucker makes a manga.

Why? Because he feels like it.

And of course he does, he's just creating art, right? He discovered the graphic tablet, so he's having fun with it, because he's always innovating and pushing the envelope with his art.

And the movies are fine, by manga standards. But by comic book standards, they obviously suck! The comic book audience is mad. They wanted another comic book, not a manga. Why is it in black and white? Why is read right-to-left? This comic sucks!

(And arguably, they have a point... as a savvy businessman, he's made a whole lot of money off this comic, he built a media empire out of it, and instead of giving them what they want, he made something else)

But again... this guy isn't a comic book illustrator, and has been very explicit about saying this.

He's an artist who - for a very specific project - drew a comic.

Many things can be true at once:

the fact that these creative decisions didn't always hit their mark for the average moviegoer, or fans of "Star Wars, the space fantasy movies and expanded universe" (usually the lore-loving geeks like myself)...

... and the fact that they were meticulously and carefully crafted in a way that fans of "Star Wars, the revolutionary film" (aka fans of cinema and filmmaking) can appreciate.

There's a spectrum of the fandom, and there is a spectrum in the way we can appreciate Star Wars. Which kinda reminds me of that scene in Chef (2014) where Carl goes on a rant explaining the intricacies of making his chocolate lava cake to a food critic.

It's not just undercooked chocolate.

It's molten.

Conversely, it's not just flat, campy dialogue. It's an homage to the 1930s matinee serials à la Flash Gordon.

It's not just boring cinematography. It's a reproduction of cinéma vérité documentary-style camera work which effectively grounds the film.

Having considered all this, when I hear that Tony Gilroy or Kathleen Kennedy were more in the latter camp, I go "fair enough".

First of all, because like it or not, so was George. He clearly didn't give a single crap about the comics and books, besides signing off on minor plot points. He's not a "sci-fi movie director", he's an experimental filmmaker who makes movies set in space.

But secondly, because - aside from children - it's clear the audience he was targeting was these cinema-savvy folks who'd get his references and would be inspired by the filmmaking techniques.

Not the fans or the critics.

#george lucas #star wars #long post #meta #cinema #kurosawa

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mcflymemes · 3 months

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PROMPTS FROM BILLIE EILISH'S HIT ME HARD AND SOFT * assorted lines from the album, some slightly adapted, adjust as necessary

baby, i think you were made for me.

i wish you the best for the rest of your life.

i need to confess, i told you a lie.

you were the love of my life.

i can't fall in love with you.

i see the way you want me.

i gotta be careful, gotta watch what i say.

god, i hope it all goes away.

did i break your heart?

you're just so sweet.

i don't need to breathe when you look at me.

keep it brief.

you seem so paranoid.

if this is how i die, that's all right.

open up the door for me.

i just want you to touch me.

i've never paid this much attention to you, ever.

i want you to stay.

i'll love you 'til the day i die.

i want you to see how you look to me.

you're so full of shit.

if you go, i'm going too.

we should stick together.

did you take my love away from me?

i never did you wrong.

fell in love for the first time with a friend.

it's a good time.

you told me it was war.

if it's forever, it's even better.

i don't know what i'm crying for.

call me when you're there.

i bought you something rare.

it's a craving, not a crush.

people say i look happy.

the old me is still me and maybe the real me.

i think she's pretty.

can you open up the door?

am i acting my age now?

i'll run a shower for you like you want.

if i'm allowed, i'll help you take them off.

bring that over here.

i need to be alone now, i'm taking a break.

am i already on the way out?

when i step off the stage, i'm a bird in a cage.

you said i was your secret.

the internet is hungry for the meanest kind of funny.

do you still cry?

i loved you for so long.

i could eat that girl for lunch.

tastes like she might be the one.

i don't know why i called.

i don't know you at all.

i could never get enough.

you need a seat? i'll volunteer.

i'm interested in more than just being your friend.

do you know how to bend?

when i come back around, will i know what to say?

there's a part of me that recognizes you.

do you feel it, too?

when you told me it was serious, were you serious?

they tell me it's all been a trap.

no, don't say that.

did i waste your time?

i tried to be there for you.

you said you'd never fall in love again because of me.

i love you, don't act so surprised.

things fall apart and time breaks your heart.

i wasn't there, but i know.

you don't need to remind me.

i should put it all behind me, shouldn't i?

did i cross the line?

good things don't last.

life moves so fast.

every time you touch me, i just wonder how she felt.

i know you didn't mean to hurt me, so i kept it to myself.

i'm trying my best to keep you satisfied.

you don't wanna know how alone i've been.

we don't have to fight when it's not worth fighting for.

you don't wanna know what i would've done.

i loved you and i still do.

just wanted passion from you.

it's not my fault, i did what i could.

you made it so hard like i knew you would.

after i left, it was obvious.

we're so glad it's over now.

say you miss me.

don't be afraid of me.

please don't call the cops.

bet i could change your life.

i tried to save you, but i failed.

i hope you'll read it this time.

i left a calling card so they would know that it was me.

i memorized your number.

if something happens to him, you can bet that it was me.

i'd like to mean it when i say i'm over you.

i thought we were the same.

he never learned to sympathize with anyone.

i don't blame you, but i can't change you.

it's over now.

#rp meme #mcflymemes #rp memes #rp prompt #roleplay memes #roleplay prompt #rp starters #ask meme #ask memes #roleplay meme #roleplay inbox prompts #rp inbox meme #inbox prompt #inbox meme #sentence starter prompt #sentence starter #sentence starters #billie eilish

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wakkoroni · 11 months

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I want y’all to imagine Nico, after the battle of manhattan, all alone, roaming around and being homeless pretty much. He probably did some stuff to stay alive/ did some stupid stuff cause he was a) young and alone and innocent and b) IN THE WRONG CENTURY

Imagine like Nico revealing the shit he’s done to like the seven (plus Will but I feel like Will would already know)

Nico: yeah so like I learned the “don’t take candy from strangers” the hard way

Percy; what the fuck does that mean

Nico: um so after the battle of manhattan went down and I left, things have changed in society that I didn’t know about. And the fact that I was in a whole different continent didn’t help either. So uh in the 1930s, it was all talk about how the future was going to be great and how everyone’s problems will be solved

Percy: yeah?

Nico: right so uh I’m walking down the New York, being my little depressed self-

Jason: *trying not to laugh*

Nico: -and this guy walks up to me and he said “you look like your having a tough times” and pulls out this baggy with like a pill inside, and says “here this should take all your sorrows away, for a just a few hours and if you need more you just have to find me”

Annabeth: you didn’t-

Nico: looking back at this I should’ve known, but then again how would I have known? No one taught me this shit. And he phrased it like this really cool invention and in my head I’m like oh wow times really has changed

Will: babe you are a idiot and I’m surprised you even still alive

Nico, laughing: me too actually- I should not have lived past a lot of stuff but anyway I took it and thanked him and ummmmm one minute I was in the streets of New York and the next I was in the back of a cop car in Jersey with a headache.

Jason: YOU GOT ARRESTED?

Nico: yup. But legally I don’t exist and I still don’t cause I managed to run away before they could get my DNA or smth idk the process and then went back to New York and tried to find the guy again

Percy: why would you try and find him?

Nico: so I could get more? But either I just have a horrible sense of direction or he vanished cause I couldn’t find him anymore

Jason: the city’s confusing streets saved you from an addiction

Nico: no actually-

Percy, still trying to wrap his head around this: wait so no one warned you about taking drugs?

Nico: I didn’t even know what they were, well that’s kind of a lie I knew that they existed but I didn’t know what they looked like?

Percy: and the baggy didn’t seem suspicious?

Nico: it was a free sample

Percy: I- I don’t even know what to say

Nico: to be fair they treated the common cold with like cocaine back in my day so-

Percy: dude- *turns to Will* you don’t seemed surprised by this

Will, shrugging: wait til you hear about the “friend” he made

Nico, clapping his hands together: that’s a story for another time, hopefully never

Annabeth: I want to know-

Will: you really don’t-

Nico: if you thought this was bad the other was way worse

#the vibe speaks #nico di angelo #percy jackson #jason grace #annabeth chase #nico di angelo headcanon #this was a silly thought #but like he probably did learn stuff the hard way cause this man was tossed in another century and lived on the streets #incorrect pjo quotes #will solace #solangelo

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englandsgirl18181234 · 2 months

Text

I'd say sorry for the sudden political spam but I'm really not. We finally have a good option and we need to grab it with both hands and run with it as far as we fucking can. So here's some facts that people seem to be ignoring when they say you shouldn't vote for Harris.

Harris was not a fucking cop, she was a district attorney and attorney general. Stop fucking saying otherwise, it's misinformation and you need to understand that.

Harris is documentedly pro LGBTQ+. When she was elected Attorney General, she co-sponsored legislation to ban the gay and trans panic defense which passed. She also officiated the first same-sex wedding in California after Section 8 was overturned 20 years ago.

In her entire time as District Attorney she never sought the death penalty. She also created the San Francisco Reentry Division, with the first of its kind reentry program Back On Track for first-time nonviolent offenders. 200 people graduated from it with less than 10 percent going on to commit another crime, compared to the 53 percent of California drug offenders that would do so in less than 2 years after release.

When she was elected to Attorney General of California, she introduced the Homeowner Bill of Rights, considered one of the strongest protections nationwide against aggressive foreclosure tactics.

In 2015, Harris's California Department of Justice became the first statewide agency in the US to require all of its police officers to wear body cameras.

So to reiterate:

Fucking vote for Harris.

Voting third party right now is not the fucking way. All it's gonna do is split the fucking votes that we need to keep Trump out of office. None of the third party candidates have the numbers to actually beat Trump. It's not going to fucking happen, stop saying it will because you're lying to yourself and others.

Not voting at all is even fucking worse than voting third party and you're an idiot if you think otherwise. Not voting isn't a fucking protest like some idiots are spouting. It's not making a fucking point. It is giving the fuck up and being a coward about it. It is actively choosing to not make things better when you have the fucking chance and I am disgusted that people actually think it's a good idea when we are on the verge of a second term for a literal traitor and convicted felon that actively thinks disabled and LGBTQ people should die.

Someone is still going to be President. Full stop, that is how elections fucking work. THERE IS STILL GOING TO BE A PRESIDENT. There is still going to be a president whether you vote or not. And our only real options right now are Harris or Trump. So use your fucking vote to make things better in the only way we can right now.

Yeah, there are things Harris needs to change and things she isn't on the right side on. But Trump is worse in every possible fucking way. So we need to lock this down and push for improvement, not decide shit is hopeless and fucking give the bad guy the win now that we finally have a fucking shot!

You didn't want to vote for Biden? Great, you're not! Now take the fucking miracle that just dropped into our fucking laps and run with it!

#i mean this with my entire fucking chest #fucking vote for Harris #all voting third party is gonna do is make it more likely for Trump to win #all voting third party is going to do is split the fucking ballot and accomplish less than nothing #and not voting at all is just giving up #it's not protesting #it's not making a point #it is giving the fuck up and people need to understand that #vote #vote blue #vote harris #kamala harris #us politics #politics #democrats

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steddieas-shegoes · 4 months

Note

CONGRATS ON 3000!!! ❤️ That’s so exciting!

For the ask game, I’d love to see your take on the song Heaven, Iowa by Fall Out Boy! (I vibe with “Scar-crossed lovers forever” as a Steddie-coded lyric but honestly whatever comes to mind for you when you hear the song is great!)

Congrats again!! 💕🎉

Thank you! I got a few different steddie-coded lyrics from this song, but the one you provided is good for something short, so I’m sticking with that! ♥️

〰️➿〰️➿〰️➿〰️➿〰️

He wasn’t even supposed to be here. Wayne specifically asked him to stop coming to the Harrington parties, didn’t want him to risk being caught when they inevitably got shut down.

He knows he’d be in deep shit if a cop managed to catch him and see what he had in his lunchbox.

But one of his best customers insisted he stop by, promising he knew enough people would buy his entire inventory. He wouldn’t have to stay long.

“That’ll be $30 for the bag, or $10 if you just want a joint,” Eddie told one of the girls who always gave him dirty looks in the hall to cover up the hungry look she gave him at parties.

“What about the harder stuff?” She asked, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

“Don’t have any on me,” he rolled his eyes. They should know by now he only handles those items when requested.

“Fine. Just a joint then.”

He exchanges his product for her money, another addition to his savings that seemed to constantly dwindle on useless. He never stopped trying though.

She was his last customer in the line that had built up in the kitchen, so he decided to make his way to the backyard to finish up. Not many people usually hung out there when it was this chilly outside, but he had to give it a shot.

The patio surrounding the pool was absent of people, but he decided to take that as a sign that he needed a minute alone.

He heard a sniffle and his head shot over to the table in the corner of the covered area.

“Harrington?”

What the hell was he even doing out here? Was he crying?

“I’ll be in in a minute.”

Jesus. He sounded like someone had tried to strangle him. Was he sick?

“Dude, you okay?” Eddie steps closer, hopes he doesn’t end up regretting choosing kindness. “It’s kinda cold out here.”

Steve was sitting in a chair, knees up to his chest, arms around his legs. His face was half-buried in his knees, but Eddie could still make out the shivering.

“Yeah. Just needed some air.”

“You shouldn’t stay out here long without a jacket, man.”

Steve didn’t respond.

Eddie was actually growing more concerned for him, like maybe he’d been drugged with something and couldn’t move.

“Hey, look at me,” Eddie snaps his fingers in Steve’s face, relaxing slightly when he glares up at him with surprisingly clear, but watery eyes. “You need a jacket.”

“I’m fine. Go back inside.”

“You won’t be if you sit out here much longer. You’ll freeze to death. And then I’ll have to live the rest of my life knowing I could have stopped it by making you go inside and I’ll die feeling guilty.”

Was it dramatic? Yes. Did it make Steve give the tiniest smile and lift his head to look at him completely? Also yes.

“It wouldn’t be your fault.”

There was a cut under Steve’s left eye, and as his eyes adjust to the light coming from the windows, he sees a purple bruise surrounding most of the left side of his face.

“What happened?”

“The crown was pretty heavy when it fell,” Steve laughs without humor.

Eddie feels his stomach sink further.

“Who did this?”

It’s not like Eddie could do much, but maybe he could at least make sure he didn’t sell to the guy.

“Doesn’t matter.” Steve placed his legs down, careful, like he was trying not to hurt himself more. “You got anything left?”

Eddie should say no. He should leave now, head to the comfort and warmth of the trailer, forget about this interaction entirely. Maybe give one awkward head nod to Steve at school on Monday as an acknowledgment he didn’t forget, but won’t say anything to anyone.

“Just the one joint. You want it?” Eddie set his lunchbox on the table across from Steve and sat down.

“How much?” Steve turned to face him, reaching into his pocket for his wallet.

“Free for the host.”

That’s not something Eddie ever did, but if anyone needed it, it was Steve.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Well, I am. You got a lighter on you?”

Steve shook his head.

“Then I light it and get the first drag. Deal?”

Steve nodded.

Eddie is gonna regret this entire interaction, but of all his regrets, it’s probably pretty low on the list, so he pulls his lighter out and does exactly what he said he would.

Steve is watching him so intensely, it’s almost enough to make him blush. He won’t, he hopes, but it’s a hell of an effort.

“This why you’re sitting out here instead of enjoying your party?” Eddie asked as he hands over the joint.

“Part of it,” Steve takes a long drag. “Just tired of it.”

“Tired of what?”

“All of it.”

An alarm starts going off in Eddie’s head, a reminder that Steve may seem like he’s got the entire world, but those who hold the world tend to lose their grip.

“All of it meaning…”

“All of this. The parties, the people who only like me because I have money and throw parties, the popularity contest I didn’t even ask to participate in, the fucking concussions and nightmares. I’m just-“ Steve takes another drag. “I’m just tired. You should go back inside.”

Eddie watches him lean back in his chair, his shirt riding up and exposing just enough of his stomach to see a scar. The moonlight reflects off the lighter line of skin.

“Nah. Kinda like it out here. It’s quiet. Company ain’t bad either.”

Steve looks back at him with a frown. “Don’t have to pretend to like me, dude. Everyone else already does that enough.”

“Who said I like you? I’m tolerating you.” Eddie smirks, waits for Steve to recognize he’s joking. When Steve relaxes, he nods towards the scar on Steve’s stomach. “Appendix?”

“What?” Steve glances down. “Oh. Yeah. When I was 12.”

“I was 14 when I got mine out,” Eddie lifts his layers to show off his matching scar. “My Uncle Wayne thought I was dying. He didn’t even know what an appendix was, let alone that it can cause all this trouble.”

“Yeah. My parents weren’t home when mine ruptured so I had to call the neighbors.”

Eddie frowns down at the table. “They leave you alone a lot? Even then?”

“Yeah. Not a big deal. I made it through okay.”

Okay isn’t the word Eddie would describe, but Eddie didn’t wanna argue.

“You eat a ridiculous amount of ice cream after?” Eddie’s smile grew when Steve nodded. “I convinced Wayne it was the only thing I could eat for nearly a week after.”

Steve laughed, Eddie smiles.

“You got a nice laugh, Harrington.”

He watches as Steve gets red in the face, a beautiful blush covering his cheeks and spreading down his neck.

“Not sure the last time I really laughed,” Steve admitted.

“Shame.”

Eddie stood up, grabbed his lunchbox, and walked around to stand in front of Steve. Steve looked up at him with glassy eyes, the high already sinking in.

“Want me to clear everyone out?” Eddie shouldn’t offer that, or anything. But Steve looks so lost, so tired.

“Nah. It’s nice just not being alone, even if it’s people I don’t like.”

“That’s fucked, man.”

“Yeah, well,” Steve shrugged. “Thanks for the weed.”

“Anytime.”

Eddie doesn’t know what comes over him. Maybe it’s the one drag of the joint he’d taken, maybe it’s the cold air, or maybe it’s just that annoying crush he’s had on Steve Harrington for years.

He reaches out, cups Steve’s cheek in his hand, and holds him for just a moment.

Neither of them say anything when Steve leans into it.

They don’t say anything when Eddie pulls away with a sad smile.

They won’t talk about it again at school.

But when Steve saves Eddie from the Upside Down a full year later, when he’s sitting at his bedside cupping Eddie’s cheek in his hand, they both seem to remember at the same time.

“We’ve got two matching scars now, Harrington.”

“Don’t think the appendix has anything on demobat scars, Munson.”

“What happened to calling me honey? I liked that.”

“What happened to sweetheart?”

Eddie let out a small laugh. “You’re gonna be trouble, sweetheart.”

“But I’m gonna be your trouble, honey.”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #drabble #follower celebration #asks #pre steddie #getting together #cw: recreational drug use

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relaxxattack · 5 months

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can you rant abt hiveswap and how it changes the per-established alternian lore and not in a good way. i hold no stake in this topic but i love to hear about worldbuilding differences and people complaining

oh my god i would loveeee too. well first of all the obvious stuff with how they seem to think the beta trolls were the stereotypes for their caste (NOT TRUE... very very untrue but ESPECIALLY untrue with like. jadebloods goldbloods and purplebloods who seem to get this the worst somehow)

i hateeee how they made jades preppy THATS KANAYAS THING.. AND SHES EXPLICITLY *WEIRD* FOR THAT. they literally mention it like over 20 times how kanaya is sooooo weird for liking fashion and dressing well and then. oh no i guess every jade does that actually whoops sorry! ToT and god do i even need to go into the terrible prevalence of the idea that "jadebloods are typically/instinctively nurturing" when that is textually not the case?

goldbloods all having double horns is not that big of a deal tbh but its really funny to me that they made that assumption when sollux is like. actively called a mutant for most of the comic. "oh yeah hes mutated and weird and fucked up and some of his body parts are doubled (cue dick jokes here)". like that was a thing for sollux but they just decided to say "well actually. thats just how all goldbloods are"

most purplebloods having a "clowny aesthetic" is fine with me honestly since theres an actual Profession of being a subjuggalator and presumably lots of purples are going to be wanting to go into that? but alllll of them being full on juggalo cultists goes directly against canon. its like. the difference between american lawmaking and christianity. yes the separation of church and state is like nonexistent here. but just because american lawmaking is an enterprise controlled by christianity doesnt mean that All Politicians/Cops are automatically christian. and definitely not the same kind of christian?? there are probably agnostic clowns, or clowns who are only into cultism for the aesthetic. even reformist vs. orthodox clowns. they may all be upholding the same systemic white christian status quo, but they doesn't mean they all fit into that niche themselves. if that makes sense?

and of course i've already made a whole post about how i hate the idea that olivebloods are all feral little rogues, since that makes very little sense in canon.

i would really love to do that full stream of the hiveswap and friendsim games just. going through all of their alternian stuff and explaining my thoughts on it and how it relates to canon... i could go on and on about this stuff for ages and get into way more than just caste stereotypes. i think i would need to reread all of homestuck first to make sure i wasnt just pulling shit out of my ass and was truly studied up though, lmao

#op #hsmeta #hiveswap #homestuck

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trans-axolotl · 2 months

Note

hi! saw your recent posts and wanted to ask for some advice, if that's okay. I'm a wheelchair user and I really want to get more involved in protests, but I feel pretty out of my depth. A lot of protests seem inaccessible and I just have a lot of questions about how things would work as a wheelchair user. I guess, do you have any tips about protesting as a wheelchair user and how you deal with inaccessibility?

Thank you!!

Hey anon! completely okay to ask for advice about this--I feel very passionate about this topic and am happy to share some tips! disclaimer that not all of the tips I share here are going to be applicable to everyone's situation--even among wheelchair users, we have so many unique situations, types of wheelchairs, health variations, other medical devices, etc etc. and many of us are multiply marginalized, which can also shape our experiences pretty significantly. so i'll share some general tips, and feel free to take what works for you and ignore the rest! most of this is based on my experience in the type of protests I go to in my city, so I also understand that this advice might not be applicable to every type of protest in every location. i've been involved in many types of protests for the past 9 years, from marches to die-ins to encampments, and have dealt with many situations including tear gas, riot cops, police brutality, fascist agitators, getting arrested, and many different types of high risk tactics. i don't want to position myself as an expert or anything, because i'm always learning and growing, but I do just want to share that for context!

I think the first thing I want to say is just to affirm that it is absolutely possible for wheelchair users to get involved in all kinds of protests, including higher risk and escalated protests. I'll focus on actual on the ground protests in this post because that's what you asked about, but know there are many many ways to get involved with organizing if protesting in the streets is not accessible for you. There are many of us involved in these type of actions already and figuring out ways to make it work for us, so you are not alone in that. I won't lie that it can be complicated, there's a lot of inaccessibility, and some shit might not be possible, but a lot of stuff can be made possible if we get creative.

Before the Protest

For me, one of the most helpful things is trying to find out as much information as possible before the protest, so that I can have a really good plan going in. Sometimes this might be more difficult, because there might be legitimate security culture reasons that a march route can't be announced publicly, for example, or specific tactics aren't posted about on social media in order to keep people safe from police surveillance. But when it is possible, this is the type of information I like to figure out:

What is the location? is it a stationary protest like a sit in or an encampment? is it a march? what is the route? how long is the route? are there obstacles in the route? are there curb cuts? is there hills? construction? other barriers? are there easily accessible exit routes? is there pavement, grass, gravel, etc? are there accessible transit stops nearby? are there accessible bathrooms nearby? if it's indoors, are there elevators and ramps?

A lot of times, to find out this information, I look through google maps street view, ask friends, or go in person if i can beforehand. for me, as a manual wheelchair user, I can deal with a lot of of nonideal circumstances such as hills, curbs, rough terrain, especially when I have a protest buddy who can help push me when needed, but it helps to know if i'm going to have to deal with those situations. Often times, protests are held in pretty inaccessible locations. Sometimes, this is because organizers are not considering accessibility which pisses me off, but sometimes, there are legitimate strategic reasons that we might need to protest at an inaccessible location because of the specific circumstances of the protest. (maybe we're even protesting at it because it's inaccessible!) You'll know best about what geographic features are inaccessible deal breakers for you and having that kind of information can help you make a decision about whether it's possible to attend.

What is the risk level? What tactics are being used? Are people intentionally risking arrest? What patterns of repression and brutality are most commonly used by cops in your city? How high is the risk of chemical weapons?

This can be really hard to predict--there's no way to ever say for certain how cops are going to respond and we can't see the future. But paying attention to how cops in your city have been responding to protests and learning the patterns of what types of protests are more high risk can help us make more informed guesses. We can reasonably estimate that a silent vigil in the daytime is likely going to be lower risk than a occupation of a building, for example. And for some of these things--there's no real way to make getting tear gassed an "accessible" experience for anyone, but for some of us, the consequences might be more severe than others. I have a comrade who uses a ventilator who cannot come to protests where we think there's a risk of chemical weapons, so that can be really important information to try to figure out beforehand.

What do I need to practice? Do I need to teach my comrades how to de-arrest a wheelchair user? Do we need to practice lifting me and my wheelchair over a barricade? Do I need to teach my comrades the safest places to hold onto my wheelchair if we're locking arms and moving as a line? Do I need to practice wheelies to get over curbs? How will I plan to protect the electrical parts of my wheelchair from chemical weapons? etc.

For higher risk protests there might be a lot of different tactics that we can use to navigate things like barricades, arrests, facing down a riot line of cops, etc. It is so, so helpful to be able to practice these skills with your protest buddies before a protest, so that when these situations start happening in a chaotic, fast moving environment, you and your comrades are prepared to navigate the inaccessibility that can come with a lot of these situations. You'll know what is possible for you and be the expert on what feels important to prepare for before an action.

2. At the Protest

Navigating a Crowd. To be honest this can be one of the most frustrating things for me to deal with while at protests. A lot of people are not aware of their surroundings, areas will get very crowded with little space to navigate, and people will block my view. The main ways I try to deal with this are by trying to be in the front of a march or on the sides of a march when possible, to try to have the most space to navigate. As we move, I continually scan our location to find the closest accessible exit route, paying attention to where cops are, curb cuts, etc. My protest buddies know that if we're in a middle of a crowd, they need to provide me with updates about cop movements or any other information that I can't see. I get loud and tell people to get out of my way when I need to. I try to stay near other mobility aid users, bike marshals, or people with wagons because they often leave more room for me to navigate.

Roles. There are lots of different roles we can take on at a protest that might make it easier for us to navigate. I sometimes like to join the bike marshals and help block off roads and intersections. Maybe you have medic training and you act as a street medic. Maybe it's more accessible to act as a scout and communicate police movement to your comrades. Other roles could include leading chants, handing out supplies like water and masks, acting as a legal observer, filming the cops, organizing art builds beforehand, etc.

Community. It's been super, super important for me to always go to a protest with a protest buddy so that we can watch out for each other and keep each other safe. Oftentimes, situations can change rapidly at higher risk protests, and we might end up in an inaccessible situation that we didn't plan for. If I don't have a protest buddy, I usually just turn to the nearest person next to me and start saying loudly "I need you to help me exit this situation/grab my handles and get me up this curb/tell me what the cops are doing etc." It can feel really scary and vulnerable to have to rely on complete strangers in these type of situations, but I've found that a lot of people are really willing to help if I tell them exactly what I need from them.

Surveillance. A lot of us really can't bloc up or hide our identities, because our wheelchairs are easily identifiable. This might shape what tactics we use, and also means there might be added surveillance concerns after a protest. When thinking about your own risk tolerance, grappling with the fact we are visible in a crowd is a really important consideration. This might mean we need to be even more careful about security culture, use encrypted messaging to communicate, avoid cameras, stay in a middle of a crowd to block visibility, and other things like that.

Unique advantages. There can be advantages and skills that we bring as wheelchair users! In flat locations and downhills, I'm much, much faster than my comrades who are walking--I can easily pass messages or get in front of a line of bike cops. I can usually carry a lot more supplies on my wheelchair backpack without getting tired. In my city, there's only one cop van that has a wheelchair lift, and at a recent protest where there were multiple of us in wheelchairs, I heard a cop say on their radio that "There are too many people in wheelchairs and we don't know how to arrest them all." In situations where it's logistically difficult to arrest us or the cops think the optics are bad, that can allow us to cause a LOT of logistical delays, act as a front line, get in between the cops and other people, and just generally make the cops lives a little more difficult.

3. After the Protest

Arrests. If we're risking arrest, there's a lot of wheelchair specific information we need to know. Theoretically, under the ADA, cops are supposed to arrest us with our mobility aid and let us have access to our mobility aid in jail. In practice, this doesn't always happen. Cops might arrest us with our wheelchair but then take it away from us in the holding cell, make us use the jail's standard transfer wheelchair instead, or just completely take away our mobility aid altogether. Cops might zip tie our hands so that we have no way to independently move. The cops in your city might have a van with a lift, or might try to get you to fold or disassemble your wheelchair and put it in a standard car. If they don't have a van with a lift and your wheelchair doesn't disassemble, they might have a contract with a wheelchair van company. Once we're taken to a holding cell, there's a lot higher chance we might get put in solitary. We often won't have access to wheelchair accessible restrooms. We might get separated from all of our comrades--at my last arrest, all my other comrades were taken to a location that processes mass arrests, while I was taken to a separate, wheelchair accessible location and held in solitary. It's super important that whoever's running jail support knows these things and can advocate for us and also track us in the system, especially if we're taken to a different location. If your area has a chapter of the National Lawyer's Guild, they often have a designated person running a hotline. It can be super important to memorize that number, and also to reach out beforehand and explain your needs as a wheelchair user if you're risking arrest.

Overall, there are a lot of considerations for protesting as a wheelchair user, and you are going to be the expert on what is important for you! My general approach is that I want to have as much information as possible so that I can make an informed decision about if I want to attend a particular action. Then, when I'm at an action, I expect my comrades to respect my autonomy and support me in making sure that I can participate and that all of us can stay safe.

Also, for any abled people reading this post, I want you to read this very carefully and understand just how many barriers there can be at protests for wheelchair users. You have a responsibility to your community to whenever possible, mitigate these barriers, choose accessible locations, communicate with your disabled comrades, and support us in the moment. If your excuse is that "oh there aren't any disabled people at our protests, so we don't need to think about these things," you're wrong, and this attitude ensures that no disabled people can show up to your protests. and if that's the case, you're missing out on so much meaningful experience and knowledge that your disabled comrades could bring to the table. "We keep us safe" means that we actually work to meet everyone's needs, including the needs of your disabled comrades.

anyway, this turned into a very long post, but any other wheelchair users feel free to add on your own advice! love to share as much community knowledge as possible, especially advice from people who have different access needs than my particular situation.

anon, please let me know if you have any other specific questions that i didn't cover, and best of luck!

#asks #protests #activism #disability #cripple punk #wheelchair user #accessibility #direct action #disability justice #im a manual wheelchair user but several of my comrades are power wheelchair users so i've learned some from them about #what they need. so i have some comrades who it is not possible to lift their chairs up curbs #so we work really hard to always make sure theres curb cuts or alternate routes

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igetnosleep · 3 months

Text

The Night We Met

Second attempt at angst might try again with the next one. I'm glad you all liked "Finally home" I guess you people were rabid for something soft..makes me feel like I hold power here lmao. Also this is connected to "Finally Home" and "Comfort" since those kind of inspired me to write this...Strangers to Lovers cause I like that shit.

So canon typical violence (it's RE so not surprising) and happy reading!

You didn’t like Leon.

Maybe it was the situation or the fact that you couldn’t bear to separate yourself from him after you managed to escape Raccoon City but you didn’t want to stay away from him.

You’d so happen to meet the stupid blonde when you nearly bludgeoned him with a rusty pipe in the darkened halls of the police station. Too many fucking rooms too many of the undead trying to crawl through the windows, not enough sleep in your system to get through the night that seemed never ending.

All of this happening in the span of a day or two.

You’d seen your friend die in front of you by one of those..things. Now here you were with a man you’d just met who was supposed to be a cop.

“Come on, aren't you a cop?!” You hissed hearing the groans and shuffling through the halls as he held your hand like he was trying to guide you. You’d be kicking and screaming if it didn’t mean certain death. Leon only shrugged, looking to the side almost nervously under your scrutinizing gaze, “It’s my first day.”

You blinked, staring at him, “The fuck did you just say?” you whispered a bit too quietly, too calmly for his liking. Leon didn’t need to turn around to see your face; he could feel your piercing gaze against his temple, almost debating if you should take him out with you.

“I said-”

“I know what you just said.”

“Then why did you-”

“Leon, I'm going to hit you if you don’t shut up.”

He promptly kept his mouth shut until you deemed it okay.

Leon didn’t have survival instincts like you’d expect him to. Always eager to help, always sticking to the rules, you’d even tried to reason with him but he wasn’t swayed, if it weren’t for the fact that you were in the middle of the apocalypse, you’d admire him, but you’d almost hit him before you jumped at the sight of the man on the other side of the jail cell turn into a bloody pulp by the..whatever it was as it walked away.

You never considered yourself kind, some of the things you did while finding a place to hide out would be considered heartless. You accepted that you’d never get into heaven, your tongue having spewed more blasphemy in your life time that you were sure that Saint Peter would smile kindly before pushing you down into the lake of fire before disinfecting his hands and going back to his post.

Leon believed in an afterlife. He liked to believe that his parents were somewhere better, somewhere kinder than the life that they were given. Something more peaceful than the death they had lived.

“You speak from experience?” You asked him, earning an expression you could only read as shame from him, you could picture the dog ears pressed against his head. The way he looked like he wanted to cry maybe it was him missing home, you didn’t blame him, you wanted to go home too. You sighed not imagining that this was how you’d spend the apocalypse squeezing the hand of a rookie cop in an attempt to tell him that it would be okay?

The halls of the police station and the foreboding dread in your gut, Leon was a good distraction from the constant stream of fear. You’d squeezed his hand and tried to imagine something better than whatever was trying to kill you at the moment.

You didn’t like Leon, you found him cute, like a puppy it was hard not to look at him and forgive him right away. His face was soft, eyes wide and hopeful. All he had to do was look at you a certain way and you wanted to pet him. You obviously wouldn’t because hello you just met the guy. He felt soft too, healthy and still had his baby fat.

He reminded you of a golden retriever, maybe even a labrador. Dogs were nice to think about. Now imagining him with dog ears made you smile a bit. A small bit of peace one he gave you while he was flattered by the attention you gave him he never admitted it though. With cheeks tinted red “That would be embarrassing.” the rookie cop thought to himself.

Leon liked you. Maybe more than he could admit at the moment. Maybe because he latched onto you faster than a baby chick would to the first thing it saw. He liked the way you latched onto him recalling the way Marvin side-eyed him reminding him to keep his head on a swivel. “Just because you found someone doesn’t mean you can have your head in the clouds, understand?” a quick “Yes, sir.” from him and he pulled you along with him.

Was that the selfish thing to do?

Drag a civilian along with him?

You were pretty, yes, he would never deny it, the way you did things the hard way because it was the only thing you could think of at the moment. But it did make him smile when he bothered you about it.

You looked cute when you pouted, cheeks tinted red in embarrassment. “Shut up. It was the only thing I could think of.” you whined as he laughed.

Why’d he have to look like a ray of sunshine? Why’d he have to make you feel..happy?

You didn’t like Leon.

You didn’t.

You don’t.

“What did you do before this?” he asked curiously while you were stuck in one of the rooms waiting for the undead to pass by, his voice cutting you out of your thoughts. You looked up from the ground humming in thought.

“Tax fraud.”

“Seriously?”

“No, you big goof. I was a barista, worked in a coffee shop, over…somewhere.”

He noted the way your hand waved dismissively down the street from the police station right he noticed it from the fence. He fumbled around with his gun for a moment pretending to check the magazine while he pondered, maybe if he’d been here just a week early.

Maybe he would have met you, how would you look when you smiled or laughed at a joke.

He pushed the magazine back into place, shaking himself out of his thoughts. A weight settling on his shoulder had him tense, turning and looking over at you seeing you lean on his shoulder. Leon relaxed a small smile playing on his lips as he admired you.

You leaned on him, your body relaxing just a moment as he offered his shoulder, he was thoughtful, you liked that about him. His hand came up to your back and gently rubbed circles between your shoulders. “You’re doing great.” he hummed, leaning his forehead against yours, you could only glare weakly as he was using those stupid puppy eyes on you. You poked the soft pudge hiding under the bulletproof vest. “Shut up.”

A small bit of silence left you two relaxed momentarily forgetting about the shuffling and the random thumps and bumps against the door.

Ada was someone you didn’t trust, she spoke to the point but in circles, never willing to give you a straight answer. In all honesty, if it were any other day if it didn’t feel like the world was ending, you’d be fawning over her like some sort of moron.

For fucks sake she was wearing heels during a zombie outbreak you internally felt yourself putting her on a pedestal practically forgetting about survival and choosing to trust this woman who looked like she was coming out of a fashion catalog.

Noticing your staring Ada, snapped her fingers at you and you stood in attention feeling your face burn in embarrassment. Great, now you look stupid in front of the pretty lady.

Leon didn’t hide his admiration for her, you couldn’t blame him, she had an air of confidence, independence, a person who you wanted to be with but couldn’t attain.

She was mildly amused by your poor attempts at flirting “You’d have better luck telling Leon those jokes of yours.” She hummed as you helped bandage her leg. You only looked confused “What do you mean?” “Come on, you're practically clinging to him giving him those eyes,” She gestured vaguely to your face, you’d still stared at her confused, she rolled her eyes staring at you in disbelief “You’re telling me you don’t like him?” You snort hearing it echo through the sewer “No.” she didn’t seem amused with you.

The train leading away from the city was melancholic and frankly bittersweet, you made it. Somehow you survived just when you were about to leave a note or something for someone to find on your corpse. Leon looked somewhat satisfied relaxing as he just leaned on your shoulder as the train went on towards an unknown location.

His hand gripped yours, fingers interlacing, a nap sounded perfect at the moment. His body was screaming for rest and you felt like a small piece of heaven. Your thumb swiped over his knuckles. “Go on. I’ll wake you up when we stop, okay?” He couldn’t say no to that.

The woman, Claire, stared at you from the corner of her eye. A clear need of an explanation was visibly wanting to pry you for an explanation.

“We met in the police station.” She deflated sitting down on the ground next to…Sherry? Her name was? Yeah she introduced herself to you almost enthusiastically in her tired state, fell asleep like a rock to the insistence of you and Claire. “Sorry we arrived in the city together and we got separated. I thought something happened to him.” She admitted their relationship, acquaintances, “Something almost happened, I almost hit him with a pipe.” Claire felt bad that she laughed at that.

The train stopped a few hours later and once you all reached civilization it was time to go your separate ways. Claire was looking for someone and whatever happened down in Umbrella she looked determined to investigate it.

You understood why but after everything, you just wanted to suppress the memories and go on with your life and you agreed to take in Sherry. Claire looked like she felt bad but you waved her off, “I’ve got like five cousins her age. She’ll be fine.” you assured the redhead as she hugged you, she didn’t look like she was the maternal type anyway, she was younger from what you gathered about her talking about her brother.

She should be able to find him without worrying about the safety of someone else.

A brief glance around your shoulder saw Leon looking exhausted, the mental fortitude he had to not break down crying was worrisome. You couldn’t blame him. You felt the same, what do you do in that situation now that you had to look after someone, you couldn’t cry or scream. No, Sherry wouldn’t react well to a breakdown.

You offered your hand to the little girl and she hesitantly accepted as Leon led the way with a hand on your back as you managed to find a military base ahead.

Looking back, a part of him wished he had been more vigilant, maybe he could have protected you and Sherry. Instead you were both dragged off somewhere with blindfolds over your eyes. He fought against the men screaming at them to bring both of you back only to get a whack to the back of his head and he was out like a light.

Leon woke up after the men had separated from both of you. Heart pounding his breathing erratic as a man in front of him commended him for making it out of Raccoon City alive. “Rookie with a hell of a first day.” wearing a crooked smile that made his stomach turn.

Where were you? Were you okay? Did they hurt you?

They made him an offer. An ultimatum. They didn’t really give him much of a choice.

You had been sitting alone clutching Sherry close afraid of the men surrounding you, hands close to their weapons and their eyes wandering staring trying to get a read on you. Your leg bounced the heel of your shoe clicking against the ground, you were sweating bullets, heart beating rapidly.

You tried to calm down. Nothing was working.

When you saw Leon again after what felt like hours you practically ran up and hugged him, his arms wrapping around you squeezing you so close you almost missed the way he was shaking. His face buried in your neck fingers curling around your shirt wrinkling the already ruined fabric. He only pulled away to kiss your shoulder whispering apologies into your skin. “I’m sorry.”

It was like you blinked and he was gone, gone to whatever new hell they’d introduce him to. The government relocated you and Sherry, not together I’m afraid.

You tried to live life like normal but nothing got rid of the nightmares. Dates ran away from your screaming like roaches to sudden exposure to light. New forms of comfort taken from scalding hot showers and wrapping yourself in blankets galore. You nabbed a pitbull from some dumpster. It didn’t seem to matter.

A part of you wanted Leon back. Someone who understood you, someone who'd give you a shoulder to cry on at the moment. You were ashamed to admit that you needed him so bad. It was only one night. One fucking night he didn’t sleep with you. Not like that anyway. Why did you feel so strongly for that dumb blond?

You didn’t like Leon.

You didn’t.

Six years later you saw Leon again.

Standing at your door looking different from the rookie cop you met that night.

A frozen look of shock on your face as you stared at him.

Your mouth felt dry, your blood went cold.

Oh fuck.

You liked Leon.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy

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absolute-flaming-trash · 1 year

Text

Been a hot minute, my friends, and I'm sorry for that.

This is something that has been sitting in my drafts for a bit and with how long it's been taking me to get other work out, I figured why not even if I'm not fully pleased with it.

I hope you enjoy regardless 💛

Pairing: Yandere!Chrollo x Reader

SFW

Word Count: 910

Warnings: Yandere, Kidnapping, Forced relationship, Murder (mentioned)

Please be nice, I don't write for this man often

“May I ask you something?”

It was a simple question, but one you regretted the moment it left your lips because of how it silenced the room.

Gone was the soft scratching of pen against paper as Chrollo looked toward your seated position, his expression thankfully that of neutrality mixed with a hint of slight intrigue.

You swallowed and looked down at your lap. Better than annoyance, you supposed.

“I just… I can’t stop thinking about it, and I have to ask...” Your fingers picked at the frayed ends of the couch while your graze returned to his. “Why me?”

He arched a brow, amusement creeping into his eyes. “Why you?”

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

“Yes.” You replied with a little more conviction in your own tone this time. “Surely keeping one person alive when the rest were doomed to die is more trouble than it’s worth.”

“Are you saying that you would’ve preferred to have shared the same fate as the rest of your fellow party go-ers?”

Your cringe followed by a beat of silence was more than enough of an answer, but you felt obligated to continue since you were the one who started this conversation in the first place.

“...No.” Your teeth found your bottom lip while you tried to gather your thoughts in a way you hoped would make sense, all while pushing the memory of the fundraiser-turned-bloodbath out of your mind. “I’m saying I don’t understand.”

Chrollo leaned back in his own seat, still looking directly at you. “You’re here to keep the police from doing anything foolish.”

“I know that!” The frustration in your chest made itself known. “But you could have taken anybody. One of the sponsors of the damn thing, or even some other random woman, yet you kept me alive. I want to know your reasoning for it.”

He didn’t seem upset by your outburst, if anything it just served to increase his growing interest in the conversation.

Likely because these were the most words you had ever spoken to him at a given time.

Bastard.

“I liked you.”

Such a simple answer, and one you did not expect from someone who typically played their cards so close to the chest. It threw you off whatever balance you mentally had, and you recovered with a scoff.

“You liked me?”

“Yes.”

A twitch went through your eye when he didn’t expand on that - the sound of pen on paper filling up the room once more. You refused to let the conversation die there.

“I don’t believe you.”

That was a lie, but one you were willing to risk if it meant bringing the topic back to life, and boy did it work.

Not only did he stop writing, he set the pen down on the desk in front of him and turned his whole body to face you. “Oh?”

Shit.

“I mean, I don’t know how you could decide using something like that in a situation that was such a spur of the moment.”

“What makes you think any of what I do is ‘spur of the moment’?”

That made you pause. He had a point there. In the short time that you knew him, he had proved himself to be anything but impulsive…

Your temples throbbed with a quickly encroaching headache.

“If it wasn’t, then what? Your choice was made before the bloodshed started?”

The words were spoken sarcastically, but you had no idea just how right you were until you saw his expression change from amused neutrality to one of…

Come to think of it, you had no idea what to call the look on his face. Admiration came closest to mind, but that didn’t feel right.

“You catch on fast, well done.”

You made a face, not a fan of the condescending tone. “So, what? If I’m not sacrificed to the cops in a hail of bullets, you’re going to keep me as some kind of pet?”

Amusement crept back onto his face. “Is that what you think?”

“If it is, I hope you know I’ll fight that with every fiber in my being.”

He hummed lowly, your promise of violence completely brushed to the side. “As intriguing as the notion is, I have no intention of doing such a thing to you.”

“Then what do you intend to do?”

A small smile appeared on his face, but he didn’t answer, allowing you a moment to draw your own conclusions.

When you did, you frowned.

“Not a chance.”

“Why?”

You gave him an indignant look. “You can’t seriously expect me to willingly be with you after everything that has happened.”

“I don’t, hence your current circumstances.”

Silence filled the air again after that. A nice reminder that whatever outcome you could’ve hoped for during this exchange, you were doomed to lose regardless.

All you could do was shake your head in malcontent and pick at the frayed ends of the couch again, unable to come up with anything further to say.

More amusement flickered across his face. “You do not wish to be my pet, nor to be my lover.” He sat back ever so slightly in his chair. “Tell me then, what do you wish to be?”

“Free.” You replied without a sliver of hesitation, locking eyes again with him once more. “But we both know that will never happen, will it?”

Chrollo threatened to genuinely smile at your answer and he shook his head once.

“No. It won’t.”

#riri writes #Chrollo x Reader #Chrollo Lucilfer x Reader #tw yandere #tw kidnapping #tw murder #tw forced relationship #Chrollo #Chrollo Lucilfer #HxH #Hunter x Hunter #Reason I'm not a fan of this is I think I made him too talkative here #but c'est la vie

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chicago-pd-is-weird · 3 months

Text

Hank Voight x Fem!Reader Oneshot (Part 1)

TW: domestic violence, multiple mentions of suicide

Synopsis: Reader is being abused and feels like she has nowhere else to turn to but a dirty cop named Voight.

Part one of however many because I like this idea and want to run with it a little haha.

Maurice Owens. Gangbanger. Scumbag.

Unfortunately, you needed his help.

You walked up to him, about midnight. His bodyguards stood, showing their guns, but you weren’t scared. You’d had worse than a pistol whip or bullet hit your body. “I’m just here to talk. I don’t have a weapon.”

“Alright, and who are you, huh? Never seen you around this block before,” Maurice replied, motioning his guards to sit back down. “You come looking for something, baby? You lost?”

“I heard you’re out there on the streets. I need to get a hold of someone. Think you can help?”

“Depends on what you can give me in return, baby girl.”

You sighed softly as Maurice eyed you up and down. You didn’t think you looked that good, but some men would bang anything that breathed. “Alright, then. What’s your price for information on a cop?”

“Cop?” Maurice huffed. “I don’t know no cops.”

“Look, I’m not stupid, Maurice. Anybody who’s heard your name knows you’re in bed with some dirty cops. I’m not PD and I’m not here to report them. I want to get a hold of one. A cop who can help me.”

“What’re you trying to do? Run game on the streets?”

You shook your head, sighing again, this time louder. “Look, I just need a cop who can help get me out of a bad situation. I’ve heard the name Voight tossed around by some bangers on my block. Get me him.”

Maurice laughed. “Voight, huh? He’s not the kind of guy you find. He finds you.”

“Then tell him to find me.”

“Ambitious, aren’t you? And, what should I tell Voight, should I ever cross paths with him?”

You thought for a moment before nodding to him. “Tell him I’ll be waiting for him. 2PM tomorrow - at Butler Field.”

“Yeah? I doubt he’s going to come just for that. I mean, I wouldn’t.”

“Didn’t I say I need help? Just tell him that. If he doesn’t show, then make sure you catch the news tomorrow night. They’ll be scraping me off sidewalk somewhere in the city.”

Maurice scoffed as you walked away, but whistled to you. “Hey, how are you gonna pay for this info?”

“You only get paid if this works out for me. Otherwise, you won’t have to worry about killing me. I’ll do it myself.”

With that, you walked away, listening to Maurice and his men talk about you.

When you got home, you let out a breath before walking around your house and to the back steps, as quietly as possible. Slowly, you moved the knob and opened it. The creak of your back door seemed like a siren compared to the silence in your house. You let out a slow breath, opening it only as much as necessary to slip your wiry figure through it, then closing it just like how you opened it. You bit your lip and turned around, the light turning on behind you. When you turned, he was standing there, arms crossed. You looked up at him like a child who had just been caught in the cookie jar.

“Where did you go?”

“I-I just went for a walk,” you replied, your voice shaking. It was the complete opposite from the way you’d spoke to Maurice just twenty minutes earlier.

“Yeah? At midnight? Without me?”

“You… You were sleeping. I didn’t want to wake you up. I just needed some time to myself, and-“

Shit.

“Time to yourself?! Huh?!” He moved forward quickly, getting into your face and pushing you against the door. His hands gripped your shoulders to pin you against the wood, squeezing hard.

“Ah-Ah, ow! Please, Jeff! P-Please, please!”

“You bitch!” His hand raised, making you close your eyes and brace just as his hand came down on your cheek.

You cried out in pain, hot tears coming to your eyes. You were exhausted despite your adrenaline pumping. You barely ate, barely slept, and his abuse didn’t help. You had bruises from weeks ago that hadn’t healed because you were so unhealthy. “Please, Jeff! Please, stop!” You just wanted it all to be over. Voight was your last hope.

“Why did you leave tonight, huh?! Who were you going to see?!”

“Nobody! I swear, nobody!” You sobbed as his fist found your ribs, making you curl in pain and collapse on the floor.

“Tell me the truth, bitch!”

He kicked you, over and over and over again. Eventually, you blacked out, bloody and bruised.

—

When you woke again, it was mid-morning. Your body ached and your head spun. You slowly say up, wincing softly at the pain. You couldn’t be too loud, or else he would do it again. You pulled yourself up, stumbling to the bathroom to shower and change.

You peeled off your clothes, whimpering softly at every movement. Dark bruises were on your bony shoulders where his hands had dug into you the night before. Your protruding ribs, similarly, had dark bruises all over them. Not to mention all of the other cuts, bruises and scars he’d laid on you the past ten years. The paper trails were scarce, since he’d always contracted an off-the-books nurse when you got real bad. He’d threatened her to keep her quiet, and always got a different one.

As you got into the shower, you felt the water run over you. It was only lukewarm, since you needed a new hot water heater, but you weren’t going to bring it up to Jeff. You shivered as you watched the blood wash from your hair, suddenly bringing your attention to the cut on your temple where his toe had caught you just right. It wasn’t too bad, but head wounds bled a lot, you knew.

After you finished your five-minute shower, you got out and wrapped a towel around yourself. You took care of your dirty clothes right away, then went to your room to find some clean clothes. When you got dressed, you let your hair stay down, to cover the cut on your head, and you wore a long sleeve and pants despite the summer heat. You glanced at the clock - it was nearly 11:15. That meant you had an hour before he got home for lunch to check on you. Despite working a nearby construction job, he always came back to check on you, making it difficult to go anywhere or do anything without him knowing. You sighed, then decided to get lunch together for him.

When he arrived at home, you’d already made him lunch and cleaned the evidence from the night before. You ran the wash to get the blood out of your clothes and mopped the floor near the back door. He walked in, sitting down at the table without a word. You put the sandwich and chips in front of him, allowing him to eat while you did dishes from the night before. When he was finished, you took his plate and put a list in front of him. “I’m going shopping this afternoon. Can you write down what you’d like me to get, please?”

Despite your sweet voice, he huffed. “No, just get what you usually get.”

“Okay,” you whispered in reply, walking with the paper and pen into the kitchen to start writing down everything you were low on. “Can I use the debit card, or should I put it on my credit card?”

“Put it on your card. Not mine, bitch. I make the money. Go out and get a job if you want your own money.”

“Okay…” you mumbled again, deciding not to push it.

After his lunch hour was over, he got up and left without a word, allowing you to get everything together to go out. You had about thirty minutes to walk to the baseball field, which you knew would take you twenty. You decided, if you were coming back, to simply make your store trip quick.

You walked as fast as you could, your movements slowed by the pain in your body. You’d only eaten a small meal that morning, one egg and a piece of toast, not really hungry in the first place.

As you approached the baseball field, your adrenaline began to pump in a new way, one you hadn’t felt in a long time. There were people all over, seeing as there was a little league game going on. You breathed shakily, sitting up on the bleachers, away from everyone else, pulling your sleeves down over your wrists. You weren’t cold, seeing as the sun was still high in the sky, but you were shaking. The shade provided some shelter from the suns rays which made you look like a ghost because of how pale you were.

You scanned the park, paranoid he would somehow find you there. When a stranger walked up and sat near you, you nearly jumped from your seat. You looked to the man, who had sunglasses on, his hair greying. He was probably around your age, or a bit older, late 40’s. You bit your lip, looking down at the sidearm on his hip, then at the star clipped beside it. You let out a breath. “Are you Voight?” You asked quietly, your voice meek.

“I am. Who are you?”

“(Y/N),” you replied. “I need help.”

“With what?”

“Look, my husband, he-“ You choked up. Suddenly, it was hard to admit. You looked away as tears blurred your vision.

Voight let you have a minute before moving up to sit beside you. “What about him?”

It was now, or never. “He hurts me…” you mumbled, turning your head back at him as tears rolled down your cheeks. “I need help.”

“You ever make a report to the police?”

“What the hell do you think I’m doing?” You huffed, frustrated.

“Look honey, you seem nice, but you should go to the district and make a report.”

You huffed. “Fuck off. I knew this was a mistake.” You got up, wincing in pain as you stumbled off of the bleachers. “Don’t be surprised if you find my body tonight, officer. One way or another.”

You walked away, shaking your head as tears streaked down your face, letting hair fall down to hide it. You heard footsteps behind you, making you stop and whip around, eyes wide. You thought maybe someone would come to put you in your place for talking to a cop, paranoia setting in.

When Voight approached, he put his hands up. “Easy, easy. I’ll help you.”

“What made you change your mind?” You wiped your face, looking up at him.

“Look at you,” he replied softly, pushing the hair behind your ear and taking your chin softly to maneuver your head, examining the cut on your temple. “What else has he done?”

You started to sob, Voight leading you to his car to sit and talk with you for a while. You explained the last ten years to him, which took nearly an hour. When you realized the time, you looked at him. “Please, are you going to help me? Because… if not, I need to get to the store. If-If I come back without groceries, he’ll have a reason beat me again.”

“Let me get you to the store, then,” he said softly. “I can help, but you’ve gotta give me a few days. I got some other things to deal with.”

“Okay…” you mumbled. “Please… don’t abandon me.”

He gently held your chin to look you in the eyes. “I won’t. I promise.”

When your glassy eyes met his deep, brown ones, you nearly got lost for a moment. He made you feel safe and warm, like hot chocolate on a cold Chicago night. You nodded slowly, reaching over to grab his free hand. “Thank you…”

Hank drove you to the store, then dropped you off at home just in time. Your husband arrived about ten minutes later. You put the groceries away quickly, starting on dinner. He brought home beer and some friends, like he did every Friday night. You sighed softly, but knew at least he wouldn’t abuse you too much that night until his friends left.

You held out hope, for days, that one day cop cars would just show up and take care of your husband. When a week passed by, you snuck out to see Maurice again, walking up to him around eleven at night this time.

“Hey baby girl, you come to pay?”

“I need to get a hold of Voight again.”

Maurice laughed, shaking his head. “You ain’t heard? Nah, baby, he got put in jail.”

You stopped, looking over Maurice again for any sign that he was lying. “No, don’t lie to me.”

“I don’t have no reason to lie, especially when you owe me.”

You huffed, shaking your head. “What did you do? Did you report him?”

“Hell no, I didn’t. Me and Voight, we had a special relationship, baby. Mutually beneficial. Now that he’s in jail, I gotta groom another dog cop into looking the other way.”

You frowned, looking at him intently. “Where is he? Statesville?”

“Yep. Got sent away for a long time, I heard.”

You couldn’t help the tears that had welled in your eyes. Voight had promised you. Was that even still a thing? You debated going to the nearest tall building to jump from, but you just wanted out. “I need another favor.”

“Baby, you ain’t paid for the last two I just gave you.”

“I’ll pay. I’m good for it. You just gotta distract somebody for me. Make sure he can’t come home for the day while I catch the bus over to statesville.”

“Are you insane? That’s a big ask, baby. I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s (Y/N). I need you to keep my husband busy tomorrow. Jeff Greyson. Don’t let him come home for a few extra hours. He likes to drink, and he even used to shoot up when he was in high school. I’m assuming you’re drug runners. Dangle a free sample in front of his nose. I’ll pay you off after this.”

Maurice cocked an eyebrow. “What’s going on that you can’t tell him? You having an affair with Voight?”

You scoffed, looking at him intently. “My husband abuses me. I’m trying to get out. Voight promised he would help. Does he make good on promises?”

Maurice slowly nodded. “Every time.”

“Then I need to see him.”

“Fine, but my rate just doubled, baby.”

—

You finally got into Statesville and were sat at a booth with a phone on either side. Voight was brought in on the other side of the glass and sat down across from you. You picked up the phone, and so did he. “What the hell happened?”

“You knew I was a dirty cop when you met me.”

“Maurice says you’re a man of your word. Is that true, or should I go looking for a tall building for a solution?”

“You need to report this to somebody.”

“I can’t. The investigation could take weeks and if he finds out, he’ll kill me first. I’d rather go out after seeing the city skyline one last time.”

Hank sighed on the other end. “Can you make it to the 21st district?”

You frowned. “I just told you, I-“

“Trudy Platt. Remember that name. I’ll have her find you.”

“Platt… okay…”

“I make good on my promises, (Y/N). It’s just going to take a little longer.”

You sighed, looking back up into his eyes. He was genuine. “Alright…” you mumbled. “Fine… who is she?”

“Trudy Platt is a sergeant in the 21st district. I’ll have her find you and work your case, personally.”

“Okay.”

“Just hold out. Has he hurt you any more?”

“Every day, Hank. Every fucking day.”

Hank sighed a little, but nodded. “Trudy will take care of you.”

—

The next few days went by without event, your hope dwindling with every punch, hit, and cut he put on you. One night, as you sat at home, straddling his lap at his request, a knock came to the front door. You jumped at the sudden knock, looking down at him to see what he wanted to do. He pushed you off him and got up, opening the door. “Can I help you?”

A man looked at him through the door, which he had only opened enough for him to be seen. “Detective Dawson. This is Detective Willhite. Can we come in?”

“No,” Jeff growled. “Do you have a warrant?”

The two detectives looked at once another, then back to Jeff. “Look,” Dawson said. “Some neighbors have called in complaints about a girl screaming here multiple nights in the past few months.”

You furrowed your brow. If that were true, wouldn’t the cops have shown up already?

“I guess the neighbors don’t realize we can still be active even though we’re in our mid and late forties.”

Willhite scoffed. “Oh yeah? Can we talk to your wife? We need to corroborate your story.”

“Sure,” Jeff said, motioning you forward. “Here, (Y/N), tell them.”

“Actually,” Dawson said, looking at you. “Standard procedure is to separate the two of you for questioning. Ma’am, could you step outside?”

“Maybe you should talk to our lawyer, then,” Jeff said with a huff, putting a firm hand on your shoulder. “Have a nice night.”

“Let the girl speak. We can’t go anywhere until she tells us what’s going on,” Willhite replied.

You let out a shaky breath, looking at the two detectives, nodding. “Yeah, uh, it’s… it’s all good… we’re just…” You cleared your throat. “… Active.” You blinked three times rapidly, three times slower, then three more times rapidly, hoping they’d catch on to it.

Dawson and Willhite looked at one another again, then each drew their guns. “Sir, we’re going to need you to step outside with us,” Dawson said.

Jeff scoffed. “This is completely unjustified. You came to my house and forced me to talk, and now you’re going to arrest me? This is not based in law. You’re going to have a six figure lawsuit on your hands now. Both of you, individually.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dawson said as he pulled Jeff out of the house, making you yelp as his grasp pushed you into Willhite on accident.

She caught you, taking you out of the way and onto the grass. “Hey, it’s okay now. My name is Jules. That’s Antonio. Platt sent us.”

You started to cry, shaking. You were barely able to breathe because of your injuries as your body convulsed with sobs. Jules helped you lay down on the grass and breathe until the ambulance arrived. Jeff was taken away in a car, while you were taken to the hospital in an ambulance. Jules sat by your side the whole time as they checked you out. Turns out you had multiple broken ribs from a few weeks ago as well as several other ailments from the past ten years that never healed correctly. You cried until you couldn’t cry any more, slowly falling asleep as Jules held your hand, Antonio and Trudy Platt talking to one another in the hallway outside your room.

#chicago pd #chicagopd #hank voight #sargent hank voight #sergeant hank voight #cpd #antonio dawson #detective julie willhite #jules willhite #detective antonio dawson #hank voight x reader #sargent trudy platt #trudy platt

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maddogofshimano · 10 months

Text

The Fist of Reason: Majima Boss Rush

Happy 5th anniversary to rggo! hard to believe it’s been this long already

look at our festival boys! anyways lets get into this because I’m very excited

summary:

sometime after the events of Y1, Kiryu gets a call that Haruka has a fever. On his way to pick her up, he bumps into someone familiar...

[One day, some time after the strife caused by the Tojo Clan's stolen 10 billion yen was settled...]

Kiryu: Hello. ...Thank you for calling.

Kiryu: ...Huh? Haruka's got a fever? ...I understand, I'll be there right away. <scene change to outside> Kiryu: .....

<he bumps into someone> Kiryu: Oh, sorry. ???: Sorry? If sorry was enough to cut it, there wouldn't be yakuza! Majima: Ain't that right? Kiryu-chaaan!

Kiryu: Majima no nii-san!? What are you doing at a place like this... Majima: What's so weird about that? If Kiryu-chan's somewhere, then Majima is too! Majima: Outside of that, the spot where ya just rammed into me hurts like hell... Majima: Shit, ya probably broke the bone... Hehe, what're ya gonna do? Kiryu: People with broken bones don't laugh about it. Sorry, but I'm in a rush right now. Majima: Why ya bein' so cold~? We ain't seen each other in ages.

Kiryu: We can talk more next time. Like I said, I'm in a rush. Majima: Too bad! No matter what ya say, ya gotta beat me if ya wanna go!! Hehehe! Kiryu: Tch...! Kiryu: Give it a damn rest already! Haruka has a fever! Majima: ! ........ Majima: What the hell... I didn't know that. Majima: I'm sorry for this. Go on, hurry up 'n' get gone.

Kiryu: .....Damn. <he runs off>

[And then, 3 months later...]

Kiryu: ...I haven't seen Majima no nii-san around here since then.

Kiryu: (I thought he was the kind of person to come back the next day for a fight, but...) Kiryu: ........... Kiryu: (Even if I was in a rush at the time, did I speak too harshly to him...?) Kiryu: (Of course I don't think a guy like him would be dejected from that... Well, it is possible...) ???: Kiryu no ojiki (tl note: ojiki is an honorific that's literally "dad's younger brother" which is used for patriarchs less senior than your own. Nishida usually uses it) Kiryu: ...Hm? Kiryu: You're that Majima Family guy...

Nishida: About that... My boss is going to be put in jail. Kiryu: What...!? Nishida: It happened yesterday... Our family is supposed to be running a festival... Nishida: In the middle of it some thugs started acting up, and they got into a fight with our family members. Nishida: So now they've issued a warrant for my boss, since he was the one in charge... Kiryu: What is Majima no nii-san going to do? Nishida: He thinks it would be futile to resist, so he's waiting at the festival site for the police to arrive. Kiryu: What? Nishida: My boss has been acting oddly for the past 3 months or so. He doesn't have any energy, and seems pretty depressed. Kiryu: 3 months... it can't be. Nishida: And so, my boss really wants to see you before he goes to jail... Kiryu: Me...? Nishida: Yes. He said he has something to tell you, so... Kiryu: ...Got it. Lead the way. Nishida: Y-Yes sir! <they leave> Majima: ......... (tl note: I'm sorry the image of him just holding that pose in that outfit while waiting for the cops to show is so funny to me)

Kiryu: ...Majima no nii-san. Majima: ...Oh, Kiryu-chan, ya showed.

Majima: Excuse my appearance. I was up on a float till now. Kiryu: ...I just spoke with Nishida. Are you really going to jail? Majima: ...Yeah. Orders from on high, can't be helped. I'll be awfully lonely during those years... Majima: That said, I won't be botherin' ya any more, Kiryu-chan. Kiryu: ...... Majima: I'm sorry for all the trouble I've caused ya. ...I wanted to at least say that, before I went to jail. Kiryu: ...That's not like you. Kiryu: Are you really going to let your underlings see you leave the outside world with such a pathetic display? Majima: ...I don't really care either way. Kiryu: ........... Kiryu: ...Good grief. You acting this way is completely infuriating to me. Kiryu: It can't be helped, this is a big favor. ...I'll get you all fired up again.

Majima: Hah...? Kiryu: You know the best way I can cheer you up? ...Come at me, Majima. Majima: ...!

Majima: Is this... are you pickin' a fight with me?

Kiryu: Heh, isn't that what I just said? Majima: ........Hee, hehehe! Majima: Kiryu-chan, you're always the best! Majima: Let's get started...! Kiryu-chan!!!!

Majima: Hehe... As always, Kiryu-chan... you're tough as nails...

Kiryu: Heh... You are too. (tl note: RARE KIRYU SMILING SPRITE)

Majima: Oi oi, you're sayin' somethin' nice? Kiryu: Majima no nii-san... I'm sorry. Majima: Ah? Kiryu: For what happened 3 months ago. Kiryu: I was flustered, and I snapped at you. Majima: ........As always, Kiryu-chan, you're soft as a marshmallow~. I'm astounded. Kiryu: ....? Nishida: E-Excuse me! Kiryu no ojiki!

Nishida: The truth is... My boss going to jail was a lie in order to get you to show up... Kiryu: What? Then... was him being depressed also a lie... Majima: It was aaaaall an act! Majima: I was pretendin' to be put off by how ya talked to me so ya'd feel sympathetic, then after worryin' ya for long enough-- Majima: I'd reveal it was all a ruse, 'n' you'd get pissed off enough to throw down! That was the plan! Majima: It played out a little differently than intended, but, we still had a fight so it's all good. Kiryu: .....Heh, you're such an ass. (tl note: TWO smiles!! unprecedented.)

Majima: What, you're not mad? Kiryu: I had a feeling that something like this was going on. Majima: Then why'd'ya fight me? Kiryu: ...When it's with you, I can go all out in a fight. Kiryu: ...If I really think on it, I guess I enjoy fighting with you. Just a bit. (tl note: THIRD smile!!!)

Majima: !!..... Hehehehehe!! Heeey~! I knew it!!

Majima: C'mon, let's go another round! Hearin' ya say that's gotten me all worked up again! Kiryu: ...Heh, sure. It's a festival, after all. It's a good excuse to really cut loose. Majima: Hell yes!! Let's do this... Kiryu-chaaaaaa~n!!!! Nishida: A-Ah... This won't end until the sun comes up...

<END>

bonus stuff:

oh wow. oh man. that was pretty gay. between this and like a dragon: gaiden: the man who erased his name (lad gai man) thank you ryu ga gotoku studios for sending me birthday presents

obligatory boss rush pic

also a bonus shot of Kiryu’s apartment

the two new cards for this are “Mad Dog of the Festival Stage” and “Dragon of the Festival Band”

and since it was a festival I also put together a very special team to repeatedly kick Majima’s ass

#rggo #Ryu ga Gotoku #ryu ga gotoku online #yakuza online #yakuza #like a dragon #Majima #Kiryu #Nishida #Majima Goro #Kiryu Kazuma

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tojisbbygworl · 1 year

Text

Just For The Night - Hobie Brown x Black!Punk!Reader pt. 2

Summary: Two anarchists meet at a concert and decide that one night just isn't enough...but one night is all they have

Words: 5,697

Tags: 18+, 3rd person, Mutual Pining, SMUT, Oral (f receiving), Degradation, Marijuana, High Sex, Pussy Whipped, Slight Accent Kink, Slight Angst, Yandere if you squint, Reader and Hobie are 21+, Canon Divergence (Doesn't follow ATSV events/Hobie's universe is present day instead of 1978), Mentions of protesting and Cop City in Atlanta, I tried my best with the British slang

author's note: Here's part 2! This one is muuuchhh longer so you can really skip the part before the page break if you're just here for the smut. It's mostly just her (your) backstory.

Part 1 Epilogue

AO3 Version

My AO3

Masterlist

"Shit, it's brick out here."

"You're telling me." The difference in temperature from the sweltering venue to the city almost made Hobie want to go back inside and fuck her in the bathroom instead. But Y/N did say that she had a blunt at home and she seemed very eager to smoke it. Or fuck him. Either one was good.

He took a moment to admire her. He was right about her Demonias. They were long with lot's of large buckles and he loved that he still towered over her even though they were platforms. Now that they were out of the dark building, he could see the various tattoos that littered her arm and thigh. Fuck him, he was going to have fun with her.

She told him that she didn’t live far and they could walk there. That was fine with him, he didn’t want to get on a cramped train anyway. He did wish that he could just swing them there, but then he wouldn’t see the way her ass moves while she walks.

He would be lying if he said she didn’t intrigue him. From his knowledge, Atlanta, Georgia was considered the Deep South of America. It had to have been hundreds of miles away. And this area doesn’t seem like a place someone who was swimming in money would be living in. Not that it was terrible, more so humble. Like where he lived.

“So, tell me,” he calls out to her. She was walking a little ways ahead of him, courtesy of Hobie wanting to ogle her. She turned around when he spoke. “How does an Atlanta babe find herself at a Rico Nasty concert in Brooklyn?”

She waits for him to catch up to her then starts walking by his side. “Huh, it’s a…long story.”

“I don’t mind.” He answers honestly. Since they’ve left the concert, Hobie has felt a strange pull towards her that exceeded his feeling of lust. He wondered if she felt the same.

She went quiet and opted to look thoughtfully towards the ground. Hobie began to backtrack. “Or, I could shut up and let you sit on my face instead. Whichever one you want.”

She squealed and hit his chest making him laugh. It wasn’t really a joke, but Hobie’s glad to see that he didn’t make her uncomfortable. “Nah, your good,” she reassured him. “I can do both.”

“Oh?” Hobie raised his eyebrows and gave her his full undivided attention. She takes in a deep breath, let’s it out, and begins to tell him her story.

“Well, you seem like someone who can appreciate a rebel.”

“Yeah?” Hobie bemused. What would this girl be rebelling against? “So, what your like a runaway? Parents, maybe?”

She looked away. Ah, he read her like a book. Then she dropped a bomb on him. “Eh, kind of. More so the Atlanta Police Department.”

He froze. She giggled to herself pretending to not notice and turn around when she was some feet away. She knew he wasn’t expecting that. No one does. She could count on her hand how many people up here she’s told and he was one of them. She trusted him, and she doesn’t know why. She hoped he felt the same.

Hobie couldn’t take his eyes off of her. When he realized how far she was, he ran to catch up. “You're on the run from the Atlanta PD?” She couldn’t contain herself enough and she let out a snort and nodded her head. Hobie shakes his. “No. I don’t believe it. You’re having a laugh.”

“I’m deadass.” She answers still laughing. Hobie drops his head in utter disbelief.

“Well what in bloody hell did you do?” The both of you start walking again.

“...You might not know but, a couple years ago there was a huge uproar of protesting here. In the US, I mean.”

Hobie did not know. He assumes something terrible must have happened, and he’s sure that something like that would have reached London. Maybe it didn’t happen on Earth - 138.

He gingerly shook his head. “I was a part of them. I would organize with some close friends and hand out water and snacks while we were there.” She explained.

“My parents weren’t too happy about that. I had just graduated and I wasn’t going to college. I had a job at a tattoo parlor so…they thought I was a failure.” Hobie listened intently to every word she said. “They would say I just love to bring trouble and always used me going out as an example.”

“They were afraid an officer would come to the door next. And then one day shit went left and we were getting sprayed with tear gas. My stupid ass picked up a can and threw that shit. I guess it hit one of them in the face, I don’t know. I couldn’t see shit.” She giggles and he laughs with her.

“I was pinned down and put in a holding cell for about a week.” She continues.

“Shit.” Hobie knew a few people who that’s happened to. Every story shares the same thing, it’s fucking terrible.

She nods. “Yeahhhh…then my parents kicked me out.”

“Shit,” he exclaims. She continues to nod. “So is that how you got here?” She shakes her head. Hobie gasps. “There’s more?” Nod. He gasps again making her laugh at him. “Tell me.”

“Okay, Okay,” She waits to calm down a bit. “I was just staying with friends after that. Then, maybe some months ago, there was this project announced for the city.” Hobie frowns noticing how much more dejected she had become. “They were going to cut down a forest to create a ‘training ground’ for emergency services.”

“What the fuck…?” Hobie was appalled.

“You can imagine how that sounds to civilians, right? A mock city for law enforcement to play cops and fucking robbers.” She spits out. “I was part of the groups of people who stayed in the forest to prevent construction.”

Just like before, he stopped again. This time, in complete and utter admiration. She smiled at him. “That’s…amazing.”

“Thank you.” She nods her head back to the path so they can continue walking. Hobie stands just a little bit closer to her now.

“So...did shit go left again?” He asked only half joking. She grimaced.

“It was bad. There were a lot of gunshots, and screaming. And fireworks.”

“Fireworks?”

“Fireworks.”

He stared at her expectantly. “And what did you do with them?”

She looks around cutely while smiling. Hobie knows that whatever she did, she didn’t regret it for a second. “Maybe I lit up and threw it at one’s foot. And then it lit the leaves on fire.”

He can’t hold back the laugh that kept from his throat. “Ha!” He clapped his hands and looked at her. “What happened after that?”

“I think he recognized me from the protests or maybe I’m just a hot topic, because the way that man came at me and mowed me down.” Hobie jerked his head back.

“What?”

“Boy, yes. That man tried to beat me with his baton.” The story just kept getting wilder and wilder.

“How did you get out of that?”

“I stole his taser and shot it at his chest.”

“No, your taking the piss,” he shouted excitedly. “No you didn’t.”

“Hold on now because he was still holding me so I got shocked too.” Hobie cackled at her. “It worked though. He let me go and I ran away with some of the others. Only a few people stayed behind. I went back home and woke up to my face on the news the next day.”

The the emotional rollercoaster that Hobie was one was something for the books. He had never felt such quick changes in such little time. He was shocked, then sad, then impressed, then elated, then sad again. What is this girl’s life?

“Man I had to get the fuck out of there. My friend took me up to Maryland where her family lived. Then they brought me here. I got a lil’ ugly ass apartment and a new tattoo job. Made a couple friends, and now I’m here. With you.”

That last part wasn’t expected for either of them. It just came out. But it felt nice.

The two of them looked at each other and basked in their presence. She could feel the pride and admiration for her coming off of him in ways. She could see it in his eyes just as brown as hers. Good. He wanted her to.

A car pulled up from down the street. The both of them were released from their trance and looked. They recognized those kinds of headlights anywhere.

Hobie fought the urge to try and hide before the cop car got to them, as he didn’t want to scare her. There was no reason for her to run from NYPD, right?

Wrong. She grabbed his hand and slipped into the alleyway.

Hobie just let her pull him along. She clearly knows what she’s doing. After coming out on the other side of the street, she begins to keep her eyes alert. She lets go of his hand and continues walking. She just won’t stop giving him reasons to want her, huh?

“And what was that about?” He teases. She smirks at him.

“I didn’t come to New York to be a good girl.” And it was as simple as that.

She walks a few more feet then turns wondering why he’s not saying anything. But when she meets his eyes her heart start beating in anticipation. He was staring her down hard. His smirk was small and his eyelids were low. She couldn’t think of anything to say.

Hobie uses her surprise to his advantage. He walks up to her and pulls her into a tiny space between two buildings. It wasn’t much of an alley, but it did enough to shield their bodies from the street light; it only shining his wicks as he towers over her body and presses her against the wall. He nudges her chin up, winks at her, then meets her lips. Her hands rest on his shoulders as his arms trap her in. He resists putting his tongue in her mouth, as she still had her makeup on and this sweet but desperate kiss would turn sloppy.

He’s the one who has to pull away, her eyes were still closed when he did. “How much longer do I have to wait before I can have you?”

She catches her breath and tells him, “We’re only a couple minutes away, Hobie.”

Hobie leans down again and kisses her neck. She shudders and moves her hands to the back of his. Hobie gives her soft smooches, one lick, and a bite. Then, one more kiss, before he finally pulls away. He tugs her back onto the street and nods his head down the path. She starts to pick up the pace.

Her building wasn’t too shabby. At least the walls looked freshly painted. The inside of her apartment looked very cozy. She had rugs wherever it made sense to put them and low beam orange-yellow lights. She was walking ahead of him and turned around to speak. “Get comfortable on the couch. I’ll be right back.” Then she disappears down a hallway.

Hobie pulls off his boots and places them against the wall. Then he takes off his jacket and a few extra accessories that were a bit uncomfortable now that he had no adrenaline. He walks into her living room and plops himself onto the comfy, leather couch. Faux, he hoped.

He rests his arms and hangs his head backwards over it, eyes closed. Before Y/N disappeared down the hallway, she had flicked a little device on the wall. It must have been the heater since Hobie had just heard something blowing air in the walls. He lifts his head up and takes in his surroundings.

It was a bit small, but perfect for one woman living alone. There were unlit candles on almost every surface, and a beats pill sitting in the side of the room. His favorite sight, by far, was a fat bong sitter right on the coffee table. He chuckled to himself. She could probably live here with a significant other.

It was times like this that he wishes he was normal. He wishes he could wake up to a beautiful face, smoke something, leave home to work, dismantle corporations, or just spend time with his friends, then come back home to that same face, light some candles, and enjoy the rest of his night in her arms. He doesn’t understand why he’s thinking of her when he imagines this, but he invites it.

She comes back with a burner and a small Bic lighter. She uses the burner to light the various candles and Hobie admires her. She still had her clothes on except her shoes which he was happy about. He really wanted to see her tits in those fishnets. Her makeup was off. Her skin was glowing. Her Bantu knots were still in her head. He wondered if she would let him help her take them out, but he’s sure she just wants to fuck and get it over with.

He stops watching her to think about it for a second. When they’re done smoking and having sex Hobie would leave. Not just leave, go back to his own dimension. The thought that he couldn’t keep tabs on her, maybe follow her Instagram or even get her number hadn’t even crossed him. He didn’t like it.

His face must have seemed troubled, because she stopped and looked at him in concern. “You good?” She asks getting his attention.

“Hm? I’m fine, love.” She nods and reaches into her pocket and throws a condom onto the table, then behind her ear to take the blunt out. Then she sits next to him on the couch.

“Want some music?” She asks. Hobie nods. “I’m all punk’d out. Can I play RnB instead?”

“Please do. I feel like chilling right now.”

The pill begins to play soft drums and a bass before Erykah Badu starts singing. He liked music from Miles’s universe, regardless of the genre.

It’s like an unspoken agreement that they would be hanging out for a while. She lights it up, takes a couple puffs, then hands it over to him. He does the same. He takes longer drags producing a much larger cloud then breathes it all in. She looks at him incredulously.

“Ay? Problem, love?”

Her eyes narrow. “You think you’re so cool?”

He takes another drag. “I am.”

She grabs it from him and does a French inhale. Hobie couldn’t stop looking at her. He reaches his hands behind her back and pull her even closer to him. Her legs rested on his. She hands it to him.

“I told you everything about me. What about you? Did you travel to America just to see Rico?”

Hobie shook his head, trying to rack his brain for a proper explanation. “I travel around a lot. Had a pen pal who lived here and I came to see him. He told me about the concert so I went with him. Not as interesting as your journey.” He takes a drag. “Although I’ve had my fair share of trouble with cops.”

“Is that why we click so well?”

He smirked at her. “Yeah.” Another drag. “But, as banging as you are, you’re not on my level.”

Raising her eyebrow she sits up. “And why the hell not?” She jokes.

“Haven’t killed a cop yet.”

It was her turn to be shocked. She gave him the same fascinated look he had. “You’ve killed a cop?”

“Check the laces, innit?”

She stretches her head over the couch to look at his shoes and sure enough, his laces are blue. Speechless and filled with admiration, she freezes. Her neck is exposed, and Hobie doesn’t stop himself from licking it then giving it a smooch. She gasps and shudders. Slowly she smiles as she sits back down and stares at him.

“Does that excite you?” Hobie asks. She nods. He shifts, his pants beginning to get uncomfortable. He puts the blunt down on the side table, grabs her and pulls her into his lap. Her center collides with his crotch and they both groan. Hobie picks up the blunt, puffs on it to light it up again, then hands it to her. “Hit it nice and slowly. And lift your head up.”

She does as he asks. Hobie pulls her neck down to his mouth and his begins to bite and suck on it. She whines and takes the blunt out of her mouth, not being able to focus on it. Hobie hums in desperation when she starts grinding on him.

“You’re a proper sket, aren’t you?” He whispers. He’s sure she has no clue what he means, so he brings her face down to look at him. “Just a big fucking slut.”

She bit her lip and nodded. Hobie smirked, takes the blunt and drags, then kisses her. The smoke escapes their conjoined mouths as they explore them with their tongues. She starts to suck on his, making him hold her tighter to his body. Hobie makes a sound of pleasure in his throat that ripples through his chest. He pulls his face away from hers and they pant while staring at each other.

“Take this shit off.” He lays her down onto the couch and stands up to pull his shirt and jeans off. She takes off her shorts and fishnet bottoms at the same time. Before she could take off her top, Hobie holds her thigh and squeezes it. “Only take off the shirt.”

She nods and pulls the crop top off. Her tits fall in unison constrained by the fishnets. Hobie could moan at the sight of them. He was right about how good they would look. He doesn’t waste anytime in getting between her open legs and grabbing them. He lets his thumb flick her nipples, enjoying the feeling of fabric and skin. Her small moans go straight to his member, and he decides to take his underwear off completely. She braces herself.

He is long and curved. She knew he would ruin her when she got him home, but she underestimated how nice his dick looked.

“Don’t get scared. I’ll take good care of you.” He tells her.

“Yeah you better,” she tells him. She begins looking around. “Hey, where is it?”

“This?” He pulls out the blunt from seemingly nowhere then the lighter lighting it up once more. He hands it to her then leans over and takes a nipple into his mouth. Her moan was lethal, and Hobie loses his resolve. He was going to tease her, but he couldn’t deny the pleasure shooting through his body as he licks her nipple through the small diamond hole. She begins humping the air.

“You’re desperate to be played with aren’t you, love?”

“Uh-Huh” she says breathy. Her eyes are red and lidded. Hobie gets an idea.

“Hand that over,” he takes a couple more puffs giving her a kiss afterwards. She reaches out for it and he smirks at her. He holds it away from her, rubbing her thighs. She lets out an exclamation.

“Excuse you. That’s my weed.”

“What’s yours is mine.”

“Um, what’s mine is mine.”

Hobie trails his finger to her wet center, playing with her thong before pushing it to the side. He puts his thumb on her clit and she flinches. “Oh…”

“Yeah. Stop talking all that shit.” He begins to rub his thumb around it, his finger getting wet with each pass over. She’s whimpering and jerking her hips into his hand. “You like that?” All she can do is nod.

Hobie slows down and switches fingers. He smokes while inserting his middle finger into her. As it sinks further and further, she lets out a satisfied moan. He pumps it in and out of her pussy, a squelching sound filing the air.

He leans down and puts his tongue on her clit not letting up on fingering her too. She lets out a loud moan. Hobie puts the blunt on the floor, obsessed with the way her pussy gushes in his mouth. She starts to hump his face. Hobie watches her hand begin to reach out to him, then he grabs it and puts it on his head, wrapping her fingers around his wicks. He moans when she begins to pull him further into her pussy. He pulls his drenched finger out grabs her thighs and grips them tightly. He shakes his head back and forth, sucking and spreading her juices across her vagina.

“Ooo, I’m gonna cum.”

When he hears that he lifts his head and wipes his mouth. She whines but he shushes her by taking the blunt, holding it to her mouth, and she takes a drag from it. She is completely relaxed as she breathes it out, her eyelids lidded and eyes fluttering into the back of her head. He thought it was the sexiest thing you had done that night.

“Fuck, you’re peng.” Shit, he has got to start learning American slang. “That was sexy. I want to see you do it with my dick inside you.”

He takes the condom and rolls it on his dick, groaning under his breath from how it feels. He aligns himself with her hips.

“Ooo,” she lets out. “But wait, you don’t want some head?”

Hobie shakes his head and jerks himself. “I want you now, beautiful.” He keeps the blunt in his mouth and slaps his dick on her pussy. Her juices splash onto their thighs. Hobie grunts.

Keeping his head down, he looks at her face. Her eye lids are still low, but he can see her beautiful brown cornea staring at him full of lust and want. With the blunt in his mouth, he talks out the side of his mouth. “Beg for it,” he says.

Her eyelids widen, but the promiscuous look on her face doesn’t change. “What, baby?”

“Mm,” he says pleased by the pet name. He takes it out of his mouth and smiles at her. “Beg me to fuck you like a whore, love.”

She scrunches her shoulders up and tries to close her thighs, but she smiles and bites her lip. She liked the degradation and embarrassment of it all. Hobie liked it too. He pulls her thighs apart again. Placing his dick on top of her pussy, he waits for her to follow his instruction. “Come on, I know you can, pretty girl. You want this dick don’t you?”

“Yes, baby.”

“Call me baby again.”

“Please fuck me, baby.”

Hobie pumps his dick even more. He places the tip right at her hole, becoming evermore impatient. “Fuck, now say my name.”

“Hobie…mmm…” he slowly sinks himself into her.

“Fuck, say it again.”

“Hobie…” They sigh together when he’s fully sheathed inside of her. Her walls are already clamping around him. She’s so wet, and ready for his dick. Hobie keeps himself inside her and lights the blunt again reveling in her desperation. He takes his precious time to smoke some more while she begins to whine and grind herself onto him.

“Hobie, please fuck me.”

“Wait.” She whimpers for him, tears begin to form in her eyes from the depravity.

“Hobie…”

“If you keep saying my name like that I might stay inside you like this.”

“No, please don’t. I need it so badly.”

He inhaled a ghost. “Yeah?” He slowly unsheathes himself then slams back into her. She yelps.

“Yes, daddy,”

Hobie whistles. “Oh, I didn’t know you had that in the vault. You wanna keep calling me that, Atlanta babe?"

“Start fucking me and I’ll call you whatever you want.”

Hobie chuckles. “You got a mouth, don’t you?” He holds the blunt to her mouth again, grabs her hips, then starts fucking her. "I like baby a little more." She blew out the smoke the same way, it coming out in puffs from Hobie’s humping.

“Shit, love. You’re amazing.” He takes the blunt away and places it on the side table. Hobie grabs both sides of her hips and begins to fuck her harder. Their moans fill the apartment. Hobie stares at her beautiful breasts bouncing in her fishnets. Hobie’s too tall to lean down and suck on them, so he grabs one instead and squeezes it. She looks into his eyes and grabs his face. She smiles at him. Hobie’s eyes fill with curiosity.

“You can smack them if you want.”

Hobie slows down in disbelief. Then he smiles and starts fucking her harder. Hobie takes his hand and smacks one, as she requested. She moaned with a permanent beam on her face. Hobie is completely and totally enamored. He stops fucking her and pulls himself out.

“Come sit on me.”

“Okay, baby”

Hobie sits upright on the couch. She climbs on top of him and grabs his dick, loving the little grunt he let out She inserts him back inside her. They moan together while she sinks down onto his curved length. She pauses when he’s fully inside, his dick hitting places she didn’t even know could feel so good.

She grabs his face and pulls it up to meet hers. They stare into each other’s eyes for what felt like forever. Hobie lost himself in hers. He couldn’t move or speak or think. All of his emotions were portrayed in the way he looked at her. He wanted her, badly. In this moment she became everything to him. Then she started to rock.

“Oh, shit,” he muttered embarrassingly. The sounds that left his love’s mouth were lilted and pleasured. It didn’t take long for her to go faster. “Just like that, babe.”

Hobie’s breaths are loud and raunchy, while she lets out small pleasured hums. He takes his hands and rubs up her torso. Hobie wraps his arms around her waist and embraces her tightly. His head rests in her neck as he shifts down the couch the begins lifting his hips up into her. She doesn’t sound so quiet anymore.

“Oh…Y/N…” he whines.

Something inside of Hobie broke and he felt completely vulnerable. If she were to ask him anything, he would answer truthfully. He wanted to tell her everything. About the spider society, him being a spider man, the multiverse and everything within it. He wonders if she would accept it. Hell, he felt as though he could, she reacted better than he imagine she would when he told her he’s killed a cop.

For some reason, he felt like he could trust her. He thinks if he did tell her the whole truth, she wouldn’t even bat an eyelash. How would she react if he opened a portal right then and there and brought her to his own apartment in his own universe? Would she be okay with it? Would she even come in the first place?

He liked the idea of keeping her with him. He liked the thought of seeing her all the time without the risks of inter dimensional travel. Just coming back home, after the most tiring and troublesome day of working for Miguel, and seeing her beautiful body and even more gorgeous face.

Mm, he really liked it.

“Ngh…fuck, Y/N,” he whines into her ear, holding on to her body for dear life.

“Hobie, I’m gonna cum,”

He smacked her ass then pulled her face towards his. "Call me baby."

"Baby, I'm gonna cum." He bites down on her shoulder and begins to really pound into her forcing quick breaths from her lungs.

When the both of them come undone, they stare into each others eyes, not saying a word. She slowly grinds into him, and it overstimulates the both of them.

“Fuck, doll,” he whimpers looking between their stomachs. He was completely seated inside of her, and made him want to go for a second round. It normally would take him a minute to get himself back up, but with the way she was yearning for him with her eyes, it won’t take him long before he flips her around and takes her from behind.

As the both of them were coming down, Hobie began to feel an overarching sense of anxiety. This wasn’t Spidey-sense as there wasn’t any feeling of danger. No. Hobie was feeling…grief.

Grief from what? Why is it that he didn’t want to stop humping into her? Making her whisper curses into his ear? Was it because if he did, that would mean what they were having was over? If he pulls out of her, he’ll put on his clothes, find an alley, and travel back to Earth-138. Hobie can’t see or contact her. He would be gone forever.

Did she feel the same? Is that why she refuses to let go of him? Why she sounds like she’s on the verge of tears as she continues to milk his dick?

He could use some rest. He wanted nothing more than to finish smoking and fall asleep. But, when he thought of his bong at home it felt…wrong. As if there was a question and that wasn’t the right answer.

Why is he instead thinking about finishing what they were smoking then falling asleep on her bed? He needed to get a fucking grip. So he knocked out of his stupor. It felt like a bucket of cold water splashed over him and he came back to reality

She felt the shift. The thought they both shared that it was time to stop. Their time together has come to an end. The toll of a bell rings through her chest, and she fights the tears as she climbs off of him, kissing him sweetly before she goes.

Hobie sits there and looks at her standing up. He enjoyed that kiss. He wanted another one. He needed another one. He swallows his spit and asks her, “How was it?”

She smiles at him shyly. She was just the prettiest thing he had laid eyes on. “Amazing, Hobie.”

He smiled in content and relief. “I live to please,” he joked. It was otherworldly for him.

She giggled and walks by him, but before she could go, Hobie grabs her arm and pulls her down towards him. He captures her lips in a blissful kiss, then lets her go so she can walk to her room for a minute. Hobie isn’t sure what she’s doing, but while she’s gone, he lets his mind run. Tonight, he had found a perfect woman. She was beautiful and disruptive, not performative in anyway. All the qualities of a superhero in one civilian body. If anyone deserved the spider bite, it was her.

This…can’t be the last time he sees her. And why does it have to be? No one cares about the casual travel rule; everyone visits each other’s worlds all the time for whatever reason. The only thing was doing it sparsely so Miguel doesn’t catch on. Hobie could pop in here and there, right?…but would she want that?

How could it even work? He has no way of contacting her, so she’ll never know when to expect him. Is she just supposed to wait for the one day he can finally show up?

This was frustrating. Hobie always breaks the rules. He does what’s not supposed to be done, but he can’t figure out how this relationship would ever work. He can’t bring her with him, lest her particles stretch, bend, and spread across space and time, and he can’t stay here. His people need their spider man.

Damn, he wants to keep her so bad. She is perfect. Even if he could get to America back home, he would never be able to find her. The story is different in every universe. Hell, she probably wasn’t even in America.

She comes back into the living room adorned with pjs to see Hobie standing with his clothes back on. The condom had long been thrown away. Some of his belts and accessories were off as well as his jacket, but he looked as though he was ready to go. She felt…broken. And she didn’t know why.

This wasn’t her first one night stand, but she doesn’t think she’s ever clicked with someone like this before. Definitely not a stranger. Definitely not a fine stranger like him. He was perfect to her, in every sense of the word.

And she to him. Certainly, this was his Gwen Stacy. “You goin’?” She whispered. She cleared her throat and held up the roach. “Thought you would want to finish this.”

Hobie could feel that she was just as desperate to get him to stay as he was inclined to. He looked into her longing eyes with some of his own feelings, and considered a possibility. If Miles can have his Gwen from a different universe, why can’t he have the same? It worked for Miles.

And he knows the answer. It’s because she’s a regular person. Hobie is Spider Punk. He doesn’t belong here, and she doesn’t belong with him. But it wouldn’t hurt to dream of getting what he wanted.

He clears his throat. “I, um…” he couldn’t find the words he wanted to convey. How does he say, “I’m a spider man from a different universe and we will never see each other again.” without scaring her from how clinically insane it sounded?

Luckily, she speaks for him. “I’m saying…you can stay the night.” She finishes confidently. “If you wanted.”

He did. He did want to. He wanted to stay with her so bad. But he shouldn’t. He’s spent way too much time here, and he has no idea what would alert Miguel…he should go. He should go. He really should go.

Hobie…

Go.

“I would love too.”

Her beautiful smile makes its appearance and the doubts that Hobie had melted away. He drops his things and start to take off his shoes. When he walks towards her, he notices how badly she’s struggling to contain her excitement and he knows he made the right choice.

“…Just for the night,” She says, giving him the roach.

“Yeah.” He takes it from her and grabs her hand to walk down the hall into her room. “Just for the night.”

He’s gone before the sun is up the next morning.

ending a/n: I hope y’all liked this. I love writing angst so much y’all don’t even understand I had to put some in here. And yes, he takes her hair down for her.

I am cursed with writing way too much and I apologize for all that reading. I hope you still enjoyed it. It was very fun to write and it’s probably one my most favorite things I’ve ever written. I love Hobie so much, maybe I’ll write for him again idk chile. Maybe I’ll write these two again in an unrelated fic. Or maybe I’ll continue this and y’all can get y’all’s happy ending. Maybe. I don’t rly write those lmao.

Part 1 Epilogue

AO3 Version

My AO3

Masterlist

Taglist: @otaku-degenarate

#across the spiderverse #spider punk #spider punk x reader #spider punk smut #black reader #spider punk x you #hobie brown #hobie brown x you #hobie brown smut #smut #spider punk x black reader #spider punk x black!reader #spider punk x black!reader smut #spider punk x black reader smut

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