#HORRIBLE MAN (i lob him)

[lorelune]

ohh to get off by grinding on jing yuan's stupidly large thighs while he holds your waist

#lore loops #thirsts #i'm expiring actually #guiding you... just enough #teasing #HORRIBLE MAN (i lob him)

[katsu28]

Congrats on 2K Kait!!!! And this celi is gonna be so fun, but don’t stress yourself out <333

☕️☕️☕️ I’d love a drink of “carefully initiating slight intimacy (like holding hands, hugging, etc.) since they aren't quite sure how far they could go with where they are” from List D with Jake “Hangman” Seresin.

Thank you so much <33

may have strayed a little from the prompt but i hope you enjoy anyways!

jake "hangman" seresin x reader, 1.3k, join the celebration!

To make it extremely clear, you were not dating Jake Seresin. 

He was one of the most remarkable people you’d ever had the pleasure of being friends with, kind and funny and braver than most folks would ever admit, but no, you weren’t dating him. 

You really, really wanted to, though. You just weren’t sure if that’s what he wanted too. 

Sometimes you got the feeling he did, like when Nat had caught him staring at you from behind the rim of his beer and very loudly called him out in front of everyone for unashamedly ogling you. He’d vehemently denied any said ogling with flaming red cheeks, but you noticed him doing it again three more times that same night. 

Or when you went to the farmer’s market with him one Sunday morning and it was so crowded you were positive you’d lose him in the throngs of people. He slid his hand into yours that time, lacing your fingers together tightly as you tugged him to tent after tent. 

Sometimes you thought about how you weren’t all that slick either.

Like that time Mickey invited you to the beach with all of them, and you got so distracted by Jake’s shirtless chest during dogfight football you nearly missed the pass he’d lobbed you. It all worked out in the end though, because when Jake’s team inevitably won, he’d hugged you and spun you around gleefully. 

It was worth it to feel the press of his chest against yours. 

You found yourself looking for him everywhere you went, regardless of whether he was actually there or not. You’d like to run into him at the mundane places—grocery store, laundromat, coffee shop—just so you’d be able to spend more time with him.

But those were totally platonic, good friend things to do, right? 

Like always, your eyes searched for Jake as soon as you stepped into the Hard Deck tonight, scanning the packed bar for any sign of that telltale blond head of hair you wanted to see so badly. 

Today especially, because you’d had one hell of a day at work. Between spilling coffee on your shirt first thing in the morning, to your shitty boss lecturing you about an error that wasn't even your fault, to hitting the worst traffic imaginable on the way home, you could really use one of his special Jake pep talks right now. 

Much to your dismay, you spotted Rooster first, and although you did enjoy his presence, he wasn’t the man you were looking for. You made your way over anyways, greeting everyone as cheerfully as you could given your circumstances, still looking around for Jake. 

“Hangman’s getting another round, if you wanted to put your order in.” Nat informed you, nodding towards the bar. Lo and behold, there he was a head above the rest, broad shoulders helping you spot him almost immediately. You weren’t sure how you’d missed him upon first glance. 

You thanked Nat quickly, wasting no time in making your way over until you’d pushed up next to him at the bartop. Maybe a little too quickly, because your shoulder bumped against his arm a bit harshly, and his head whipped in your direction, probably an expletive at the tip of his tongue. When he saw it was just you, his expression did a complete 180, now a grin so big his eyes crinkled at the edges. 

“Was wonderin’ when you’d be showin’ your face around here tonight.” His smooth, Texas twanged voice had part of the tension dropping from your shoulders. He seemed to notice because his smile dropped a little bit and he tilted his head, regarding you with those pretty green eyes you always found yourself getting lost in. “Y’alright, darlin’?” 

“Yeah. Just…horrible day.” You sighed, drumming your fingers against the weathered wood. Jake raised an inquisitive brow, his invitation for you to talk about it. So you did, telling him every shitty little thing that happened since the moment you woke up to the second you pulled into the bar parking lot. 

As soon as you were done, it instantly felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders—not all of it, but enough to the point where you didn’t feel like you were about to burst into tears at any given moment. Jake’s eyes hadn’t left yours the whole way through, keeping you tethered to him with every slow nod and brow crease. 

“Sounds like you’ve had quite a time today.” He said quietly, sliding his hand over yours. His palm was calloused and warm, thumb rubbing along your knuckles soothingly. “I’m so sorry, darlin’. Wish I coulda been there for you, maybe knocked some common sense into your idiot boss.” 

“Can I just—can you hug me? I really feel like I need a hug right now.” You weren't sure if that was asking too much of him, considering you didn’t quite know where the two of you stood in terms of what you were to each other, but you had to ask. 

“Sure. Of course I can, c’mere.” Jake opened his arms for you as soon as the words left your mouth, letting you bury yourself against his chest like you’d done it a thousand times before. 

But really, you’d never hugged Jake before. Not like this, at least. A few brief greeting hugs, thank you hugs, celebrating your win at partners beer pong at a barbeque hugs—but you'd never felt so safe in someone’s arms as you felt in Jake’s right now. They were strong, circling around you tightly, one hand smoothing up and down the length of your spine slowly, the other cradling the back of your head. You felt like you could weather a storm and still be okay here. 

He smelled like laundry detergent and musky cologne when you inhaled, strong but somehow still comforting at the same time, and the cotton of his flannel shirt was soft against your cheek. When you were this close to him, you could feel the rise and fall of his chest with every breath he took, the way his breath hitched when you hugged him a little tighter than he’d expected. 

And you could’ve been wrong, but you swore you could feel his heart beating a little too fast. 

“Thank you, Jake. I really needed that.” You sighed, pulling away from him (a little too soon for your liking, if you were being totally honest). “Sorry if it was weird, I just—” 

Jake clicked his tongue, smiling at you warmly. “Don’t be sorry, darlin’, I’m glad I could help. You can hug me anytime, alright?” 

He licked his lips, clearing his throat before speaking again, voice a lot less confident than you’d ever heard it before. His cheeks were tinged pink too, maybe from the heat of the crowded bar. (Or maybe from you.) “And maybe next time you have a bad day, you can call me? We can go out for lunch or somethin’, help get your mind off the shitty things.” 

“You’ll be at work, Jake.” 

“The Navy does give us lunch breaks too, y’know.” He joked, giving your shoulder a gentle nudge. 

“It’s still clear across town. I couldn't.” 

“I’d be there in a heartbeat. I’d even take the damn jet if I had to.” 

You couldn't help but let the corners of your mouth lift up into a shy smile. “Pretty sure that's illegal, Lieutenant.” 

“But would you? Take me up on the lunch date?” Date. He said date. You smiled even bigger because Jake looked nervous, and he never looked nervous. You’d be lying to yourself if you weren’t enjoying the effect you seemed to be having on him right now. 

“I would.” 

“Good. I’m glad.” Jake gathered the beers Penny had set on the bar for him into his hands, shooting you one of those shiny, charming smiles that made you fall for him in the first place as he backpedaled towards the rest of your friends. “Maybe we can do a test run, say…tomorrow, noon? I’ll pick you up.” 

“I’d love that.”

So no, you weren't dating Jake Seresin. But maybe, just maybe, after a few lunch dates, you could be.

follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post new fics :)

#kait's 2k! #jake seresin #hangman seresin #jake seresin x reader #hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin fluff #jake hangman seresin #hangman seresin fluff #jake seresin fic #hangman seresin fic #top gun maverick

[forever1kay]

HIII I DON'T KNOW IF YOU STILL DO REQUESTS BUT- It you do, may you write this pls🤭

Miles morales x male! Reader who he meets at a school trip? The reader is very sarcastic or chill? (Reader has a personality that's like Mai from ATLA!)

The reader is like famous for their voice and guitar and art skills (brrrr) so when miles met reader he started to get interested in em so he follows reader whenever they go while on a school trip ✨

<3 ignore if you seem uncomfortable with this, lob youuuu

(I've requested to you before ;) )

Summary: Reader and Miles finally confess after years of dancing around each other. But first, let’s go back into where it all started…

Pairing: Miles Morales x M!Reader

Notes: I know exactly who this is. I apologize for not doing this sooner. I know you requested this months ago and I’ve been slacking off. I hope this makes up for it :) I did kinda diverge away from the request a little and went more so towards the direction of your previous requests. I hope that’s okay!

Warnings: Reader is probably more sassy than stoic tbh, Miles is very much aggravating in some of these, Miles and reader were born early 2005 (or late 2004, up to you), mentions of school, graduation, reader is a smoker (not really), Soulja Boy, Nick and Charlie slander, slow burn relationship. Let me know if I forgot anything!

The Ten Times You and Miles Danced Around Your Feelings

I. Taravella Playground - EST. 2008

A red and blue flash from a small size 4 shoe piques Miles' interest as he lazily glances up from his position in the middle of the sandbox. Miles looks up from the intruder's feet to their face after noticing how he’d wordlessly been staring for a while, but the boy's scowl leaves Miles feeling horribly disappointed (and afraid, might I add). He wasn't prepared for such hostility from a fellow Spider-Man fan—not that he knew what hostility meant anyway—but he was sure the expression on the boy’s face would haunt him for many lifetimes. Nevertheless, Miles made an effort to introduce himself and be sociable.

“Hi, I’m Miles.” He says with an apprehensive yet polite smile.

“I’m Y/N.” The boy responds, detaching his shovel from his bucket before settling down on the boards that surrounded the sandbox.

Miles searches his small brain for a conversation starter—not that there were many in there to begin with—and decides on a topic that he’s confident he can discuss without tripping over his words. His favorite hero. Spider-Man.

But, apparently, he asked a question that was entirely too obvious.

“Do you like Spider-Man?”

Y/n looks down at his own shirt and shoes then looks back at Miles, raising an eyebrow. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Miles sighs and gives Y/n a mostly toothless grin before returning his attention to his bucket. "I wanted to be sure.” He says. “I like Spider-Man too, you know.”

“Good for you.” Y/n replies, looking slightly agitated and mildly uninterested.

Suddenly, Miles wants to go home.

———

II. Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade - EST. 2009

Y/n shakes his head as he watches a small figure run through a large crowd at the parade. He made the decision to turn his head away and pretend he hadn't seen anything, but the next thing he knew, he was lying on his back, staring up at the sky.

His mom had forced him out to the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade, and he was less than thrilled. He tried to avoid it, but wasn’t given much of a choice. Saying as he was under his parents’ rule and wasn’t yet allowed to make his own decisions.

But, after this less than pleasant experience, he knew he should’ve pushed harder to stay home. This kind of stuff wouldn't happen indoors.

“Oops, sorry!” The culprit said with an annoyingly recognizable voice.

It was Miles, the Spider-Man fan who Y/n had to (painfully)endure seeing each Thursday evening in the park.

"Oh, it’s you," Y/n deadpanned. "I knew it."

Y/n sat up, and Miles reached out to help him up. But Y/n quietly declined and stood up for himself.

Miles opened his mouth to speak, but he was suddenly grabbed and placed on the shoulders of a lanky bald man wearing the coolest shoes Y/n had ever seen.

“Sorry about that, little man.” The bald man spoke while lowering himself to Y/n's level. “My little nephew can be a bit much at times.”

"I know him, Uncle Aaron!" Miles informed his uncle, pointing his finger directly in front of Y/n’s face.

Y/n looks at his finger and shakes his head no, slowly lowering Miles’ hand.

“He bothers me at the park.”

"That's not true!"

Aaron looked at Y/n who nodded rapidly, providing a counter argument—or in this case, action—to Miles’ statement.

Standing to his full height, Aaron chuckles, "It's okay little man. You’ll grow to love him.”

Aaron then turns to Y/n's teenage brother, Leon, who was standing next to him silently watching the events unfold.

"I'm sorry my nephew accidentally knocked your brother over."

Leon shrugs. “My dog does it all the time. It isn't anything new.”

Aaron chuckles. "Well, you gentlemen, have an amazing rest of your day."

And as they walked back to wherever they came from, Miles waved to Y/n.

—————

III. Briarwood vs. Montgomery Elementary school field day - EST. 2011

Miles thought Y/n looked silly, watching him emerge from the bathroom wearing a shirt ten times bigger than the one he’d just been wearing. Not too long ago, he’d been pushed fell into ice water when the kids were all instructed to go and grab a juice of their choice from the overly large cooler under the Pavillon.

Today, Miles’ and Y/n’s school were having a field day. It was supposed to be a competition, but it turned into a lot of fun when the kids from both schools started to become friends with each other.

That was cool with Miles, until his his best friend TJ suddenly took interest in playing with Y/n’s best friend Kaiden. This wouldn’t have been an issue if the teachers didn’t say to pick a buddy and stick with them. Miles would walk away if he could. But since he couldn’t, he found himself face to face with his worst enemy while his best friend and his worst enemy’s best friend had their own conversation.

“I know you pushed me into the cooler, Miles.”

“No, I didn't.” Miles promptly refuted. “You’re lying.”

“No, I'm not,” Y/n countered. "Because Toby told me, and Toby never lies."

“Well, maybe you don't know Toby as well as you think.”

Y/n took a breath, seemingly in an effort to calm himself down. “If Toby said he seen you push me in the ice box, it’s true.”

“Toby is a liar.”

Suddenly, everyone in the area gasped, never expecting to hear the truthful Toby labelled a liar.

You could have heard a pin drop in the absolute silence. Or, in this instance, swift footsteps and small but powerful hands pushing past a crowd.

“…’Scuse me, 'Scuse me, 'Scuse me.." Toby finally finds himself in front, face to face with his accuser. "You calling me a liar?"

"Um.." Miles freezes. "N-no, no. Of course I'm not.”

"Yes you are." Toby countered, "I heard you when I was over there with Emily"

“That wasn’t me.”

“…So, like I said.” Toby repeats. “You calling me a liar?”

The whole crowd of grade schoolers started to ooh at the interaction. Quite frankly, Miles is terrified. But his Uncle Aaron always told him it’s best to stand his ground.

“So what if I did call you a liar?”

Miles is given a blank look by Toby before he suddenly lunges at him, grabs his shirt forcefully, and yells at him.

“I am NOT a liar! My grandma told me I’m a good boy and I believe her! Take it back right now, squiggles!”

Squiggles?

“Fellas, fellas!” Miles’ friend Harry butted in, pulling them apart.

“I’m sorry.” Toby said. “I lost control.”

“That’s fine, but I think I know how to fix this.”

Less than two minutes later, Harry had them in court—whatever that means—and all Miles could wonder was where is my teacher?

Harry clears his throat and begins to talk, but is shortly interrupted by his friend (and sidekick), Walter. “We are gathered here today because- wait, what? Oh, sorry that’s for a wedding. ORDER IN THE COURT!”

Let’s just say, Miles pleaded guilty to pushing Y/n into the cooler that afternoon and was given a stern talking to by his best friends when they made it back to their school.

————

IV. Brooklyn Museum - EST. 2012

“Alright, kids! Single file, single file!” Miles’ teacher yelled as the students piled off the bus.

Today, Miles’ elementary school—along with seemingly every other elementary school in the district—have taken a trip to the local museum.

In all honesty, Miles would have preferred to stay at home, but he had no choice. Particularly because when they returned to school, he was given an exhibit to write about. Everyone takes advantage of the opportunity for a free grade!

When all of the children exited the bus, the chaperones divided the single group into smaller groups. Miles voluntarily zoned out for a moment while his group waited patiently for the final few groups to form.

He forced a smile on his face and gave himself a mental pep talk to try and convince himself that this will have a positive outcome. Surprisingly, it was working. But little did he know…

MEANWHILE…

“ALRIGHT, MONTGOMERY!”

“ALRIGHT, MS. BROWN!”

Ms Brown explains that the students will be placed into groups, and must pick a buddy within their groups. They must stay with their buddy and near their chaperones. You know, the usual.

“Do I make myself clear?” Ms Brown asks after the brief explanation.

“Yes Ms. Brown!” The kids reply.

“Alright!” She smiles, grabbing the roster from her seat. “If I call your name, you are in Mr. Kyle’s group!”

Today, Y/n’s school—along with every other elementary school in kings county—were being forced to go on a trip to a children’s museum.

The idea of visiting a museum made Y/n anxious. He had never visited this museum before and had no idea what to expect. For the record, he was expecting dinosaur fossils because, well, he's deathly afraid of dinosaurs. That would be kept a secret from others. Think about how people would respond if the cool, chill Y/N Y/L/N admitted to having a fear of dinosaurs. Y/n doesn't know and never hopes to find out.

Realistically, he could have just dropped the form in a puddle, let his dog eat it, or "forgotten" to get it signed, but his teacher made it his mission to let Y/n's parents know about the trip before the school day was over.

Thanks a lot, Mr. Kyle.

Y/n made the mistake of looking around as the kids, who have now been divided into groups, pile haphazardly off of the yellow school bus.

Unfortunately, Miles also made the same decision at the same time and the two boys unavoidably made eye contact.

Could this day get any worse?

—————-

V. Brooklyn Medical - EST. 2014

Y/n emerges from room 212 with a group of friends and a relaxed look on his face. If people didn't know any better, they would believe that he killed someone right here in the hospital and had no problem with it. But in all honesty, he was on his way back from a visit with his cousin TJ.

In an attempt to skateboard with Y/n and his friends, TJ broke his arm. But if you asked TJ to explain to an adult what happened, he rolled down a hill. Both boys were not yet allowed to ride a skateboard, especially not without an adult present or the necessary equipment, but he wanted to protect his cousin and himself, so blaming the hill seemed like the best course of action.

For Y/n, TJ was always like a breath of fresh air; he was different from the people he hung out with at school, from the people in his area, and even from his immediate family. He thought TJ understood him completely, and he never once thought he needed to disown him. Aside from perhaps the now, when he realizes that TJ is still in fact friends with one Miles Morales.

“Miles?” Y/n speaks softly, surprised, squinting to make sure he’s seeing things correctly. Y/n’s friends leave almost immediately upon seeing Miles’ face.

“Oh hey, Y/n!” Mike’s replied. "I heard that TJ fractured his arm because of you. Disappointed, but not surprised.”

“Actually, it isn’t my fault this time.” Y/n shrugs. "Why are you here anyway?"

“Because TJ is my best friend,” Miles said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Really? He said that he dropped you.”

“Nope.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You never do.” Reaching out to Y/n, Miles says while extending his hand. "Allow me to show you something."

“You don’t need to sound so professional.” Y/n responds under his breath, choosing to ignore the tingling sensation Miles' touch had given him in his hand.

“Sorry.” Miles responded, pulling him toward the front desk to ask for TJ’s room number.

“Where are we going, Morales?” Y/n asked, growing tired of being pulled around.

“To ask which room TJ is in.”

“212.” Y/n curtly responds, nodding his head toward TJ's room.

Miles reads the signs and guides himself and Y/n in the direction of room 212. After finding the room, Miles peaks his head in the doorway and tells Y/n to stay put, to which the boy responds, "I'm not a dog."

“TJ!” Miles yells excitedly, walking into TJ’s room.

“HEY MILES!” TJ yells back, hugging Miles with his left hand because his right one was damaged by the skateboard.

“Your cast is so cool!” Miles yells. “Can I sign it?”

TJ goes to respond when he notices movement at the door.

“Wow,” Y/n lets out an exaggerated sigh, walking into TJ’s hospital room. “I can’t believe you’ve done this.”

“I told him to leave, he wouldn’t leave.” TJ lies terribly. “You’ve gotta believe me.”

“I don’t.” Y/n shrugs before receiving a text message and looking down to see what it said. “My mom asked if you guys want Wendy’s.”

Miles says no to be polite and TJ basically asked for the whole menu. In the end, he ended up with a 4 piece and a frosty. Y/n got a Fanta.

About time Y/n’s parents arrived with the food (and also to retrieve their kid), Y/n despised Miles a little less. Not that he’d ever find that out though.

——————-

VI. Yankee’s Game - EST. 2016

Everyone in the audience holds their breath, sat uncomfortably on the edge of their seat. The Yankees had been behind the entire game, and it's the ninth inning. Jeter had sprained his foot during the sixth, and the Yankees only had about three star players left.

In the hope that his wish come true, Y/n bowed his head and closed his eyes as he began to pray to all the gods and Santa Claus that there’d be a miracle.

He looked up when he heard the crowd cheering, but a fugly red and blue tie-dye shirt sadly blocked his view.

Y/n’s eye twitched and he took a breath to keep his composure, then trailed his vision upwards.

Miles Morales was the perpetrator once again.

“Do you ever go home?” Y/n questions. "Why are you always where I am?"

Miles shrugs and sits stiffly in the empty seat next to Y/n side eyeing him nervously a few times.

“So… how is the the weather?

Y/n gives him a quick blink before returning to the activity.

This is gonna be a really long final inning.

_____

VII. Brooklyn Bridge - EST. 2017

On the trip home from the movie theater, Miles is startled from his nap long blink by a loud "Oh my God, what is that?!" from a few rows behind. Select schools in their county were forced to watch a Nat Geo documentary about Brazilian native animals. Naturally, due to his lack of sleep after staying up late having a solo dance party for quite a bit of the night, Miles slept through it.

However, his dazed state was short-lived as he heard his friend Steven screaming in panic.

"Bro, there's something chasing the fucking bus!"

“Hey! It's crucial that you all keep your composure and refrain from speaking in the same way that Steven did!” Screamed his teacher, Mrs. Nance. “We will all be fine!"

Then, out of nowhere, came a loud thud that landed atop the bus, as if danger itself had been listening in on their conversation.

Mrs. Nance contradicted her statement. "Holy shit, we're all going to die!"

With little explanation and in a hurry, Miles hastily pulled out his phone and texted his parents about the issue. This worried his poor mother, who hurriedly left work and hopped in her car to come get her son.

Miles made the decision to say a quick prayer because they were all genuinely convinced they were only two seconds from dying.

He was about to say amen when a nasty knock on his window forcibly interrupted him. Even though the person who caused it fell, the source of the sound stuck.

There was a web. A very familiar-looking web that Miles was all too familiar with.

"Spider-Man is here!"

As soon as they realized they could be saved, everyone hurried to Miles' side of the bus in joy, but the happiness didn't last long.

A tentacle instantly grabbed Spidey's neck, ripping his mask off his face in the process.

“Welp, nothing to see here! That kids dead.”

Everyone returned to their seats, but Miles remained transfixed.

The face seemed oddly familiar. If only Miles could connect the dots, then-

Miles gasped. "Is that Y/n?"

———-

VII. Brooklyn Visions Academy Valentine’s Day Dance - EST. 2018

“Can you at least smile?” Y/n’s friend Melissa asks him, randomly slapping his forehead to illicit some type of energetic response.

“Yeah, I got you when we’re walking in. We can put on a show for all your pristine rich people friends.”

Melissa rolls her eyes and speaks sarcastically. “That’s the spirit.”

Y/n chuckles for a second until the car comes to a stop in front of the drop off for the dance.

“You mind going in without me? I’ll be in eventually.”

“I don’t trust you not to try to pay off my idiot brother to drop you back off home.” Melissa says. “Let’s go Y/n.”

Y/n sighs and opens the door on his right, stepping out and then holding his hand towards Melissa which she takes happily.

“Smile!” She reminds him, “my dad will be here.”

“Man, fuck yo daddy.”

Melissa deadpanned. “Behave.”

“Why can’t you just tell him that I’m not dating you and the both of us are gay?”

“His image! You know he’s one of the richest men in New York.”

“Nah, I don’t think you’ve said it enough over the four years that I’ve known you. Tell me one more time?”

Melissa slaps his shoulder and he chuckles.

“I’ll behave for you, Melly. But if I see somebody fine, I’m leaving you.”

Melissa shrugs. “Fair enough.”

Finally, the two of them arrive at the school's front door and enter the gym, which has been set up for the event.

Y/n swears he could almost pass out as the smell of several different perfumes suddenly fills his nostrils, but he keeps himself together for Melissa.

“I want something to drink.” Melissa announces, pulling Y/n into the direction of the drink table.

Y/n started to wonder what drinks they’d have available, but unsurprisingly enough there was a large bowl of punch sitting there waiting for them.

“Do you want a cup?”

“Nah.”

As several of Melissa's friends and admirers approach to say hello, Y/n waits at her side.

They had only been here for a few minutes, but it was already starting to get very tiring.

Miles and his friend entered the room, and Y/n swears he has never been happier to see him.

But Miles would never find that out.

“Y/n!” Miles exclaimed before absentmindedly widening his eyes and changing the depth of his voice. “I mean… Y/n, hey.”

Y/n nods. “Morales.”

While Melissa's admirers came and went, the two of them and Miles' friend stood there in awkward silence.

They expected that to continue, but then a group of them first greeted Melissa before heading over to Y/n.

One girl stepped forward and Y/n could tell that the other girls were there merely as moral support.

“Hi! You’re really cute and I-”

Y/n didn’t even look in her direction.“Sorry, I’m gay.”

The girl turned red and the lot of them walked away.

Miles’ friend giggled in the background while Miles himself stared at Y/n incredulously.

“Your mother ever teach you it’s rude to stare, Morales?”

————

VIII. Kings County Schools camping trip - EST. 2019

“For fucks sake, Morales.” Y/n sighed in exasperation. “Go play with your friends or something. You don’t need to follow me around.”

Miles threw his arms up in surrender. “I just want to talk!”

Y/n nodded. “Cool, bro. I support. But you talking doesn’t have to include me.”

“Kind of does, since it’s you I want to talk to.”

“Fuck, okay fine.” Y/n sighs. “Can y’all like… go back to the tent or something? I need to talk to Morales.”

His loud friend Jamari laughs. “GAY! GAY! GAY!”

His other friend Michael sighs and grabs him my the ear, pulling him away. “Shut up, Jamari.”

When his friends are finally out of earshot, he turns to face Miles.

“What’s up, Morales?”

“Well for one, I-“ Miles stopped himself, “Why do you call me that?”

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “Your name?”

“My last name.”

Y/n shrugged. “Feels right.”

“So if I just call you y-“

“No. What do you want?”

Miles took a deep breath. “I seen you!”

“Yeah? When?”

“On the Brooklyn bridge two years ago when I was on a school bus.” Miles said quickly.

“Oh, word? What was I doing?”

“Swinging and flipping and flying and-“

“DANG,” Y/n chuckles. “I almost believed you but last time I checked, humans don’t fly.”

Miles blinked. “You know exactly what I mean.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “Do I?”

“Yes!” Miles threw his arms up. “Why do you always deny everything like I don’t have proof?”

“Why do you always lie and say you didn’t push me into the cooler?”

“That wasn’t me.”

“And that guy on the bridge wasn’t me.”

“But I seen you.”

“Everybody has doppelgängers, bro.” Y/n stated nonchalantly. “For all you know, that dude could’ve been named Jimmy.”

“Anyways,” Miles rolls his eyes. “I just wanted to tell you that I know and that your secret is safe with me.”

“There is no secret,” Y/n shrugged, popping a starburst into his mouth. “But, it’s nice to know that if there was a secret, you’d have my back.”

Miles goes to respond to Y/n, but freezes up when he hears something that sounds a lot like a bear growling.

He turns to ask Y/n if he heard it too, but Y/n has already grabbed his hand and started to carefully back the two of them away.

Moments later, Miles' shoe suddenly flies off, and as he races back to get it, the bear charges in their direction.

A lot like the white people in horror movies, Miles fell to the floor and decided to stay there screaming.

With the help of his webs and quick thinking, Y/n easily caught Miles and his sneaker.

So much for not being Spider-Man, right?

When the two of were next to each other again, Miles went to celebrate that he had been right all along when Jamari came around the corner and asked Y/n to play a song on his guitar.

“Yeah,” Y/n said after picking himself up off the ground and dusting himself off. “Tell them that I'll be there soon.”

Jamari nodded before returning to the other campers, and when Y/n was sure that Jamari was gone, he turned to face Miles.

“Tell anybody about this and I’ll steal all your money.”

—————-

IX. Lincoln High vs. Beachside Charter basketball game - EST. 2021

Y/n feels out of his element. It’s the first game after quarantine, and a lot has changed.

For one, there’s little to no people in the crowd. There are a few parents there, all of which look uninterested and have definitely been dragged there by their kids. Uninterested attendees result in little to no interaction among the crowd, which makes Y/n unmotivated and unable to concentrate.

On top of that, a few of his teammates are sick, so the team is definitely not at their best.

Y/n could never see himself saying this before, but he wishes there’d be no basketball season until the world got its shit together.

Not even the mascot is helping, nor the music playing lowly in the background to set the vibe.

The team isn’t doing well right now, and they really need a miracle.

The coach calls timeout and calls the team towards her. She tells them to put forth their best effort, but due to circumstances, she can’t get on them about their performance. She tells them to have fun, and that she won’t make them run laps if they lose.

The boys laugh a little before breaking up and making their way back to the court. Everyone’s spirits became the slightest bit higher after that talk, but Y/n’s spirits definitely lifted when he looked into the crowd and spotted one Miles Morales.

Suddenly, Y/n felt like he had to do his best. Even though Miles was his rival by default.

—————

(+ the One Time You Acted On Them)

X. Kings County Class of 2023 graduation trip: Phoenix Arizona - EST: 2023

Miles cautiously walks towards the edge of the ledge after getting the directions from the best friend of a certain someone. It’s been over a year since they last seen each other and Miles has finally accepted the reason why. Miles likes Y/n—he thinks—and he’s finally ready to confess his feelings. He’s hoping that things go right tonight so that he won’t have to hurl himself over the edge.

“Hey.” He starts, standing behind to Y/n who’s sitting dangerously close to the edge with his legs nearly dangling. “Is this seat taken?”

“You don’t see anyone else sitting there, do you?”

Miles chuckles silently and takes the hint, sitting so close yet so far away from Y/n.

He looks to Y/n and takes in his appearance. Hooded eyes, head tilted back to watch the moon, and a hint of sadness in his eyes as he blows a misty cloud of smoke from his lips.

Now that got Miles’ attention.

“You smoke?”

“It’s a fuckin’ Smartie.” Y/n replies with a blank look after hesitating for longer than he’d care to admit.

Miles giggles before he can stop himself. “Wow, Y/n. How cute of you.”

Y/n roles his eyes. “I told my elementary school teachers I’d never do drugs. I’m no liar.”

Miles chuckled then took a deep breath, leaning back before speaking. “Hey, uh…” Y/n looks at him, “I actually need to talk to you about something.”

“Talk to me.”

“So, um…” Miles starts, playing nervously with his fingers.

“…If you need a moment, I can go get another drink and let you marinate.”

Marinate?

“Where would you be getting a drink from? You’re underage.”

Y/n shrugs. “I know a guy.”

“You know more than one!” A random guy whisper yells from the bushes.

“Not now, Carl!” Y/n whisper yells back through gritted teeth. “My bad, Morales. You found your words yet?”

“Yeah, uh…” Miles takes a deep breath. “I know when we were kids we had our differences, but I feel like we’ve come a long way since then. I mean, you haven’t death glared me in a while, and I haven’t pushed you in a cooler since before we were like five.”

“I knew that was you.”

“Uh- Yeah, I’m sorry.” Miles scratches the back of his neck. “Anyway, what I’m trying to say is…”

“So this is a love confession, right?”

“Um…”

“Okay, let me stop you there.” Y/n starts, standing up to his feet. “You like me, and I just so happen to not hate you, so I think we have a deal.”

“A deal?”

“Yeah, we can be the next Nick and Charlie but better looking.”

“That one guy is cute.” Miles points out.

“Is he?” Miles nods at Y/n’s question. “Mm, okay.”

“So what now?” Miles asks. “Am I your boyfriend?”

“Perhaps…”

“Perhaps?”

“Nah, I’m just kidding. You can be my Soulja Bae.”

“I hate it here.”

Y/n chuckles and takes another hit from his smarties. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, two things.”

“You’re Spider-Man.”

“You knew?”

“You’re not as discreet as you think you are.” Y/n shrugs, standing up and dusting his pants off, then reaching a hand out to Miles. “Let’s go get some drinks, yeah?”

Miles smiled and took Y/n’s outstretched hand. “Yeah.”

© forever1kay, 2023

#lovekaia #kaiaxmarvel #miles morales #into the spider verse #sony animation #marvel #lgbtqplus #spider man across the spider verse #spiderman #character x male reader #mcu #sony pictures #miles morales x reader

[much-obliged-timothy]

Whumptober #4

Day 4 - Baldur's Gate 3 - Shocked

*

“Must you talk to every single rat we come across?” Astarion asked in exasperation.

“It gave us directions to get out of here, didn’t it? Or did you want to stay in the dark, damp cave?” Tav said, raising an eyebrow.

Astarion waved him forward with an irritated flourish. “Lead on.” 

“Ha! You tell him, soldier,” Karlach said, grinning at Astarion’s glare. “Aw, lighten up. This has been fun.”

“I think I’m with Astarion on this one. Being lost in this cave for hours is certainly not my definition of fun,” Gale said. “I’m quite eager to make it back to camp and wrap myself in every soft, warm blanket I own. Perhaps even invite Scratch to cuddle, just for the extra warmth and company.”

“Perhaps I’ll call my dog for warmth, too,” Astarion said, looking mildly affronted when Tav kicked his ankle and made him stumble.

“You deserved that,” Tav hissed, but he was trying not to laugh. “Dogs are wonderful creatures, so I’m choosing to take that as a compliment.” He raised his voice. “I think I’ll just share a tent with Karlach.”

“Hey, don’t drag me into your bosom buddy quarrels,” Karlach said, raising her hands in surrender and shaking her head. 

“Gah, I told you to stop that!” Tav said, kicking her ankle now. “I am never forgiving Withers for allowing those words out of his mouth.”

He leapt over a gap in the ground and climbed up a ledge. Gale and Astarion shared an exhausted look before following, and Karlach leapt behind them and slapped them both on the back with cheerful encouragement. 

The ledge led to another stretch of the cave, but this time wider and showing more hints of life. Tav gave them an “I told you so” look before striding along. 

“Ohhh, the river must pass through here! We’ve got to be getting close to the exit,” Karlach said as they came up upon a fairly wide stream of water lazily making its way along. 

Tav poked a finger in, shrugged at the temperature, and plunged his boots in to cross. “We’ll be out of here in no time. See? Always trust the rats. Camp, here we co-”

The shadows on the wall beyond the water shifted so suddenly that they didn’t even have time to react. Six armed men lurhced out, one lobbing something into the water.

“Tav!” Gale yelled.

Tav was bringing his hands up, mouth open to cast a spell. The thing the man had thrown hit the water before he got the chance to do so.

Tav screamed as he was electrocuted, his entire body jerking violently with the force of the currents rushing through him. Karlach grabbed Astarion and Gale to keep them from getting too close.

The water settled, and Tav’s body fell limply in, sending a splash of water at his helpless friends.

“Gale,” Karlach said stiffly, already brandishing her axe. 

Tav’s breathing was labored. His chest barely rose and fell. Burns claimed his skin.

“Keep them off us while I get him stabilized,” Gale said.

Astarion had his daggers in hand, teeth bared and violence screaming in his red eyes. “With pleasure.” 

These bandits were about to learn just what a horrible mistake they’d made.

#whumptober2023 #no.4 #shocked #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #fic writing #bg3 tav #astarion x tav #karlach #gale dekarios #jtdoeswhumptober

[light-yaers]

Right Where You Left Me: Chapter Three

Fic Masterpost | AO3

Warnings: swearing, alcohol, implied sexual content, flirting, eventual sexual content/smut, 18+

Find the chapter list here

Word Count: 6.4k

Chapter Three

The anxiety eats away at you every day, up until try outs. You study and attend lectures with Heidi, you read until 4am, you wake up worried. Sometimes, you find yourself looking at your phone as if waiting for something; for time to stop, for the clock to change, for you to be shoved into your fourteen-year-old sleeping body as if this was all some horrible dream. 

You see Poe a few times around campus, but it’s minimal. Honestly, if you weren’t already aware of his existence, you probably wouldn’t have noticed him in the bustling halls or the giant cafeteria or reading textbooks on the bleachers when suddenly lacrosse practice starts. 

That’d happened two days after Snap’s party, and you’d all but fled before Poe could even approach you. Snap had waved, though. You’d waved back as fast as you could before grabbing your things and getting the fuck off the field. 

It still felt odd, knowing that he was here. 

It felt surreal. 

God, if you could have it your way, you never would have seen the man again just to make both of your lives easier. A blissful existence away from the torment of your shared childhood trauma—

But no; nowhe lives ten minutes away from you all over again. 

And you still can’t talk about it properly. A lump the size of fucking Jupiter still pops up in both of your throats as soon as that silence trickles over you, where you’re both left with that nagging part of your brains that’s yelling TALK TO EACH OTHER. 

“Couples therapy could work?” Heidi suggests in the library, and you snort so loud you garner some head turns to your table. “What!” she whispers harshly. “It could work,”

“Shut the fuck up,” you blurt out in spluttering whispers, almost crying with laughter over your book notes. 

“You guys talked though, right?” 

“Define talked?” you reply quietly, flipping through the thick and rubbery pages of your poem anthology. 

“Said words to each other about things that you needed to talk about after seven years?” she muttered quickly. 

“If that’s what that means then sure, we talked. Sort of,” you reply. 

“Sort of? Only you and Poe could sort of talk to each other—,”

“Hey,” you whisper harshly, as Heidi’s voice raises ever so slightly in volume; enough for other tables to hear. “The library is not exactly a prime location for having this conversation, is it?”

Heidi smiles at you deviously. “That’s exactly what you and Dameron say to each other when you get close to talking,”

You lob the anthology at her without any hesitation. The two of you promptly leave the library after. 

“If I lose library privileges because of you, prepare to feel my fucking wrath,” you threaten her outside, as the two of you bound down the stairs with giggles on your lips. 

“You’re cute when you threaten me,” Heidi sends you a smug smile. 

You only have enough energy to roll your eyes at her, before the clock tower strikes six o’clock in the evening. Your heart drops into your stomach—an hour to go until try outs. Heidi sees your expression falter and takes a reassuring step closer to you. 

“Don’t stress, girl. He’s not worth it,” she says smartly. “Besides—he was the one that practically begged you to try out for his team,”

“That’s the part that makes me feel even more stressed, funnily enough,” you let out, as the two of you stroll around campus in the beginnings of the autumn sunset. “What if he’s playing me?” 

Heidi immediately snorts. “Poe Dameron is not capable of playing anyone when it comes to lacrosse. Women? Sure, he’s a dickhead. This is his game, girl. He wouldn’t fuck it up for anyone, especially not himself,” 

“What if he invited me to try out just so he can humiliate me?” 

Heidi’s expression turns thoughtfully sad when the words leave your mouth. She turns her gaze to the walkway ahead of her, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly as you continue to stroll in silence. 

You’d never seen Heidi so... silent. Quietly picking the correct words to use, taking her time to sound out the sentence in her mind before her mouth actually said it. 

“You really don’t see what I see, do you?” she says finally, and you don’t know how to react to something that sounds so serious. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” you let out lowly, swallowing back some anxiety that had made its way up your throat. Heidi looks down at the ground, at a loss for words. You stop abruptly on the walkway, confused. “Heidi?”

She lifts her head up and sighs. “It’s nothing. It doesn’t matter,” 

“Hey—,” you begin, but she cuts you off when she turns to you with a smile and places her hands on your shoulders comfortably. 

“Enough Poe talk,” she says quickly, beaming at you like sunshine. “Go and kick his ass on the field,” 

“You’re not coming?” you say sadly.

“Closed practice, girl. Always is for try outs,” 

It was oddly sad when Heidi left, leaving you on your own in the centre of campus. The lacrosse field was behind the cafeteria, so you strolled there while you had the time. The entire walk you felt sick—that empty feeling in the bottom of your stomach where you might need to eat, but the thought of food also made you want to vomit. 

The sunset loomed over the field warmly, but all you felt inside was a bitter cold that you knew you wouldn’t be able to shake until you had a stick in your hands and boots on your feet. 

The changing rooms were standard—pasty cinder block walls and a smell that reminds you of chlorine, despite the pool being on the other side of campus. They’re empty, much to your delight. There will be others soon, other girls and women and men all mixed together on a muddy field, shouting and aiming at each other for fun. 

Was this fun? Was it ever?

Poe had always been a major reason you’d enjoyed the sport growing up, but after he left, he ended up taking a portion of that passion with him. You still watched games when you could, still loved going to live matches, but there was a certain shine that no longer surrounded lacrosse in your mind—

Until now, maybe. 

You drop your bag to the floor and rummage through it clumsily, picking out some shorts, a sports bra and a shirt. You don’t have lacrosse boots anymore, just running trainers, but they’ll have to do for now. 

You strip in silence, rhythmically folding your clothes before shoving the sports bra over your head and squishing your breasts into it. Whoever invented the sports bra was a saint in your eyes—comfort, sometimes stylish, giving you the ability to run up and down the stairs without your ladies falling out. 

You drop your trousers, ready to jump into some shorts when the changing room door bursts open—

“... and so, I said to her; I have a stick, you have a vodka and lemonade, who do you think is going to win?” the first woman inside was saying, right before three others followed her into the room. You panicked and froze as the main girl stopped abruptly. “Oh,” she let out bouncily. “You’re Poe’s friend,” 

Poe’s friend. 

You chuckle awkwardly while pulling up the shorts quickly, almost stumbling over your own feet. She comes forward with a harsh face—stern eyes, black as night hair. Even though she’s shorter than you, she intimidates you beyond belief for someone you’ve only just met. 

“I’m—” you start, but she cuts you off as everyone else files into the changing room. 

“Poe’s friend, I know,” she repeats, stopping when she’s face to face with you. “I’m Jessika,” she sticks out her hand abruptly, you take it clumsily. “He told us a friend of his would be trying out—,”

“We’re not...” you cut over her, hating the way the words sound on your tongue. “We just know each other,” you pull your hand away. Jessika ties up her hair with furrowed brows, swinging her bag down onto the floor next to yours. 

“Oh?” she lets out. “Is there some beef here that I’m missing?” 

“You were that drunk girl at the start of the semester, right?” a voice cuts through from the other side of the room. She’s blonde; petite yet tall; massive fucking eyes. You swallow uncomfortably. 

“Oh!” Jessika exclaims. “That was you? The mystery person that Poe swung over his shoulder and up to his room, huh?” 

“It’s not like that,” you say lowly, stuffing your neatly folded clothes into your bag in subtle anger. 

“He missed our date because of you,” the blonde girl adds, sending you a stare that can only mean the entire ordeal pissed her off. 

I had a date. 

Oh, don’t let me ruin a momentous night of uncomfortable car sex, Poe. 

You grimace slightly, sending her an apologetic look, despite how uncomfortable and almost angry you feel. “Sorry about that,” you say. The blonde shrugs. 

“Whatever. He never asked to reschedule, anyway,” 

“His loss,” another girl chimes in, before the room fell into an awkward kind of silence once more. Just the shuffling of feet, the folding of clothes and the brushing of hair was heard. You slumped down on a bench, pulling on some socks before putting on your trainers. 

Jessika slowly migrates back to the other girls, some of which look nervous. At a guess, you’d say they’re all friends— but still newbies who thought they’d give lacrosse a try. 

It’s now that you start to doubt yourself. 

The anxiety creeps in, like a fly shimmying through a window. Silently, until there’s an incessant buzzing that travels around the room, until it eventually settles around your head. You haven’t played lacrosse in fucking years—not properly. Throwing and catching a ball with a stick occasionally is not the same as staying in shape. 

You haven’t played with a team since you played a charity match at age 17; haven’t had proper field boots since 16; haven’t played alongside Poe since 14...

God—this is a bad fucking idea—

“Okay, ladies!” Jessika erupts, clacking forward on the studs of her boots. “Let’s go out there and show them what you’re made of!”

Your brain short-circuits on the way outside. The sun sets over the trees on the edge of campus as you make your way to the field. The boys are already there, jumping on the spot and stretching on the floor.

Your eyes immediately found his—hazel, deep, staring off into space before he caught the sight of you. The smallest of smiles stuck onto his lips, just for a second, before it disappeared into thin air once more. Poe stuck out like a sore thumb out of the rest of the team and those trying out. It was like he had a sticker on his forehead that screamed I’m the fucking Captain. 

“Okay!” he yells enthusiastically as everyone gathers around. “Welcome to lacrosse try outs. If this if your first time, line up over there,” he points to the right. You shuffle yourself over to where he points, followed by two more girls and almost ten men. 

Jessika stays by Poe with her arms crossed, eyeing everyone up as if they’re a steak she’s about to cut into. 

“Jess and I will act as judges while you do a series of drills and penalties. We only have space for three on the starting team and four subs. That means that five of you aren’t gonna make it this string,” some of the lads at the back started muttering under their breath as Poe spoke, no doubt about what was at stake. 

All you could dare to focus on was his nose while he was talking, not knowing how to keep eye contact with him in this scenario; or any scenario currently. 

He had a big nose. Always had. When he was younger it made his face look smaller, but now it fit in with the rest of his features and razor-sharp jaw. He was just... grown. It was still something you were innately coming to terms with whenever you looked at him. 

“Alright—let’s go!” Poe announces with a clap, and then you’re off. 

The first twenty minutes of drills and sprints almost wipe you out, but you eventually get into a rhythm. Your body stops and starts with the ease of a car engine, burning your lungs and making your limbs and muscles scream with every push and jump and pump. 

But it feels nice. It feels familiar and different at the same time. The static lull of pushing forward when you know you’re almost at breaking point, the way your bones ache every time you stop moving, the pounding of your heart beneath your ribcage that only tells you one thing—

You’re alive. You’re tired and you’re pushing, and Poe is watching your every move, but you’re fucking alive. 

It’s a great feeling. 

When you complete their circuit in under three minutes, Jessika turns to Poe and whispers something in his ear. He smiles smally and ducks his head down, as if he doesn’t want anyone to see the expression he just made. 

“Huddle up,” he announces after an hour, and everyone gathers round, huffing and puffing and ready to absolutely collapse; but you know this tactic. They’re only just getting started. “Squat, sit,” he says, gesturing to the ground. Some people fully crumple—you’re almost one of them. “Good moves out there. Jess and I have been watching and, wow, there’s potential here. Really great, guys,” 

He's playing good cop. 

“But,” Jess chimes in, peering down at everyone as she stands above Poe. “There’s still work to be done. Lots of fucking work,” 

She’s playing bad cop. 

“Which is why, we’re going to play a game,” 

“A game?” one of the guys at the back lets out, wheezing slightly as he speaks. 

“A game,” Poe repeats his words, as a mischievous smile appears on his pretty boy face. 

Oh no.

“Strip tag,” he says finally, and the audible groan you let out makes everyone turn to you immediately. Poe’s eyes find yours in an instant, but his smile is still there. If anything it gets bigger. “Is there a problem?” he says, perking a brow at you. 

You don’t know what comes over you, but all of a sudden your mind is completely clear. “Oh no, nothing’s wrong,” you let out, pulling a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “I was waiting for when we’d all be forced into playing a convoluted game at the expense of those who over worked themselves in the first half,” 

Jessika is speechless when she looks down at her Captain, but Poe lets out one static laugh. 

“You sound like you’ve done this before,” he lets out. 

“A long time ago,” you reply sternly, reminding him that this buddy-buddy act isn’t going to work on you at all. 

“Then why don’t you start us off,” he says, and you’re too stubborn and angry and tired all at once to back down from his obvious challenge. 

“Fine,” you agree.

“Fine,” he repeats. 

There’s probably nothing more embarrassing than being a grown woman, playing tag, and having to chase people you don’t know around a field. Poe and Jessika join in when they see the laughs and smiles everyone dons, and luckily for you it’s not long until you tag someone. 

The poor guy stops and takes off his shirt awkwardly, but Poe yells out a “Look at that oncoming six pack!” comment that makes him chuckle instantly. With every person tagged, everyone chants and cheers when they have to strip off a piece of clothing, and running in between breaks everyone out in a happy sweat. 

You’ll hand it to Poe and Jessika—you’d misjudged their methods. But this; this stupid game between adults; was bringing everyone together faster than you could have ever imagined. 

When Poe gets caught, the whoops go off the charts. The Captain gives up gracefully, before whipping his shirt off and throwing it behind his shoulder without a care. He scans the field, picking his next target while everyone cowers in fake fear.

A snort escapes your lips at the sight of him—serious, shirtless, looking like some sort of caveman ready to hunt. His stare meets you then, and you know you’ve fucked up. 

“Poe,” you let out, stepping back slowly as he begins treading towards you. “No,” you say sternly, but it only acts as his motive. 

He sprints at you full pelt, and all you can do is attempt to run away. It’s useless though, you didn’t need to properly know Poe to know that he could outrun you. Everyone laughs as his palm eventually places itself in the centre of your back. You slow down, defeated, as he huffs and puffs in subtle laughter. 

“Go on, then,” he splutters out, hands on his knees. You breathe deeply as you grab the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head. It’s not a big deal—sports bras cover everything up—it’s just the fact that you and Poe are now face to face, bare chest to almost bare chest. 

“You run fast,” is all you can say as your shirt drops to the floor. 

“I’m bigger than I used to be,” he says lowly, and you could have sworn his eyes fucking glinted before he ran off in the opposite direction once more. 

You continue running, continue chasing, until everyone’s been tapped at least once. Poe avoids getting hit another three times, slaloming out of the way of people as their lungs start to give way. 

When you get caught a second time, you take off your shoe in a huff and pull off your sock quickly. “The shorts stay on,” you say, laughing through your nose. Your cheeks are burning, your chest hurting, your legs ready to give in. 

“One more turn!” Jessika yells, and now you know what you must do. Poe got you once, it was your turn to get him. He’s tuckered out, you can tell. His brow is drenched in sweat and his chest is glistening as it heaves. He’s tired—which makes him a perfect target. 

When he catches your eye it’s like he knows what you’re about to do. You start sprinting immediately, heading straight for him with your hand outstretched. You half expect him to run, to at least try, but it’s like he’s been waiting for this—

He stays still, peering down at you knowingly as you slow and send him a quizzical look. He just smiles, and you gently press your palm to his chest. 

“You’re it,” you say, timidly from the unexpectedness of him just accepting that you caught him. 

“Damn,” is all he says, and he’s already undoing the strings of his shorts. Chortles and oooo’s traverse the field. Jessika lets out a wolf whistle when Poe drops his shorts to the floor, fully exposing himself in his boxers to his future teammates.

You take a haste step back, not knowing what to think of the entire situation. He’s staring at you, not intensely, but intentionally, as he steps out of his shorts and picks them up swiftly. He whacks them over his shoulder in defeat, standing up straight as you try not to look there. 

It’s not that you want to, it’s just... present. The urge to take in his entire form is inescapable when you’re face to face with him. All muscles and tan skin and curls covered in spots of sweat. 

God, he knows what he’s doing. He must know. 

Is this him showing off? Or is it something else?

You gulp in air when you realise you’ve been stood, frozen, for the entire time it took him to strip. You don’t want him to notice though, so you let out a sarcastic “Comfortable?” to him. 

His grin is enough to stake you through the heart. “There’s a nice breeze,” 

You let out a guttural chuckle, turning away and strolling back to the rest of the team while looking at the floor. There’s a fire invading your cheeks and you don’t know why—you don’t want to know why. 

Bastard. 

“Right!” Jessika takes over, as everyone collects their lost items of clothing from the field. Poe saunters over to her at the edge of the field, all too happy to be prancing around in his boxers and boots. “Well done, guys. Really well done,” 

“Fixtures will be posted outside the sports office next week,” Poe cuts in, and just like that it’s finished. You allow yourself to drop to the floor and pull off your trainers. After two hours of running around without studs, your calves are killing you. You still only don one sock, the other being lost on the field somewhere. 

Leaning back, you look at the world above you. Clouds dot the ever-darkening sky and your heartbeat is running circles around your nervous-system. It’s a good feeling though, oddly soothing, despite the pain in your limbs and the obvious aches that you’ll have tomorrow. 

You’re shot out of your gentle cool-down by a sock hitting you in the face. 

“Forgot this,” Poe says, coming into view and peering down at you. From this angle, it’s impossible not to gawk. He’s put his shorts back on, but his shirt is still nowhere to be seen. He has such long legs, the kind where you can see a clear line between his calves and thighs. His chest heaves gently as he continues to catch his breath, and from here you can see the outline of his pectorals. 

You look away quickly, not wanting him to notice your scanning gaze, but your eye catches his left ankle. A small tattoo peaks out over his sock, no bigger than a quarter. “What’s this?” you chide, prompting him to drop to the floor and join you. 

Sitting up, you run your fingers through your damp hair. 

“Tattoo,” he replies. You let out a scoff. 

“Oh, I just thought it was a really big mole,” you let out sarcastically. Poe pulls down his sock as you lean back on your hands. He twists his ankle towards you, so you can see it fully. 

“The moon,” you say gently, as your eyes traverse the ink under his skin. It’s small, but detailed. Easily identifiable as a full moon, with all its craters and shading on one side. You have the urge to reach out and run your fingers over it, but you bite it away. 

Poe looks at you while you take in the design, eyes scuttling over your sweat dotted brow and your raggedy looking hair, but your eyes are glinting with something that he hadn’t seen since you’d reunited— fun, maybe? Comfortability? A sense of belonging. 

“Why the moon?” you finally question, and Poe sucks in a breath. 

He’s doing that look again, the one where he’s deciding about whether or not to lie. The cogs in his brain whir and splutter while you wait for an answer, but this time you didn’t want him to lie. You want him say what it truly means, because that’ll mean you’re slightly less than strangers. That’ll mean you know something real about him after so long. 

“It’s just cool,” he says, and there’s a certain aura of disappointment in his voice that you can immediately pinpoint. 

Not disappointment at your question, but disappointment because he can’t tell you the truth. Not yet, maybe not ever, but definitely not now. 

You shoot him a sad look, not meaning to be so exposing about the blow that you feel towards his response. 

Why did you lie, Poe? Why did you lie again?

“Cool,” you let out, trying to be as blunt as possible, but the upset in your voice is so prominent that you wish you’d said fuck all. You stand then, trying to act nonchalant as you dangle your trainers from your fingers and stuff your sock into one of your shoes. 

When you start to walk away, you spot Poe’s shirt two meters to your right. You detour quickly and pick it up, choosing to throw it casually at the back of his head. He flinches as it hits him, but you’re already strolling away when you say “Forgot this,” with your back turned. 

He doesn’t reply, just stays sitting on the field as the dew starts to settle and the moon starts to be visible over the treeline. 

You’re the last to leave the changing rooms, taking your time as you run a brush through your dishevelled hair and wash your face at one of the sinks. You could shower here, but none of the other girls have and honestly you can’t think of anything worse than washing up in a university changing room. The very thought irks you. 

But still, you allow yourself to relax as you gather your gear and slip on your clean clothes over your very not clean skin. You try not to think about him, about Poe, but it’s impossible to bat away the incessant questions that race through your mind. 

His behaviour during try-outs, his decision to lie to your face again afterwards. 

He frustrates you to oblivion. You don’t know where the fuck you stand and both of you are incapable of actually talking about it. You want to know if you’re cool, if you’re destined to only be half-strangers to each other for your remaining years at college and beyond, if you’re—God forbid—almost friends again. 

If there was one thing Poe always did, it was complicating things beyond belief. 

Slinging your bag over your shoulder, you leave the fluorescent lightbulbs of the changing rooms and shove open the door—just to shit yourself. You jump back immediately and let out a small squeal when your eyes register him. 

Poe’s stood directly outside the door, hand outstretched as he was about to knock and enter, and your heart has just catapulted out of your chest and into the palm of his fucking hand. 

“Ffffucking hell—,” you whisper shakily, clutching at your chest as you realise he is not a serial killer that’s come to murder you while you changed alone. 

“Fuck—sorry, sorry, sorry,” he steps back immediately, putting his hands up as if he’s got a gun to his chest. “Bad timing,”

“Bad fucking timing, Poe,” you breathe out, but it comes out with a chuckle of relief. 

“I was just checking if you—,” he coughs. “If you wanted to walk back together?”

You squint at him subtly. “My dorm is the other side of campus to the frats,” 

“I’m visiting a friend that way,” 

A friend. 

“Okay,” you say, but Poe doesn’t register it as an answer. You have to nod at him and repeat “Okay, Poe,” for him to understand. He smiles to himself as the two of you leave the changing room doorframe and step in line together, headed for your building a fifteen-minute walk away. 

You think he’s going to talk first, but that thought quickly fizzles away when you realise he’s intentionally looking at everything but the side of your face. You force yourself to make conversation. 

“Jessika is nice,” you spout from nowhere. 

“She’s a keeper, for sure. Fast, good tactics, great player,” 

“Nice person?” you urge. He raises his brows. 

“Yeah—at times. She’s definitely stony and cold, but she can be nice once you get to know her. She dates Snap, did you know?”

Imagining Jessika and Snap together makes you scoff without meaning to. If Snap is the human embodiment of a golden retriever; Jessika is a German shepherd or a Rottweiler. Poe smiles at your abrupt scoff. 

“I know, they’re very different,”

“Ying and Yang, I guess,” 

“Opposites attract, definitely,”

“Not always,” you argue. “But sometimes, yes. People always talk about having something in common with their significant other, but if you had everything in common, wouldn’t it get boring?” 

“Maybe,” Poe replies. “Or maybe not. You could bond even more through those shared interests,” 

“I don’t know,” you keep up your side of the argument, but you’re not sure where the words are even coming from. It’s not like you think in depth about could-be relationships in your spare time. “Maybe both is good,” 

“Both?” Poe indulges you. 

“Having things in common, but also having things that only you’re into. Then, I don’t know, you could introduce each other to those worlds,” 

Poe’s silent for a few seconds. “That’s... nice. That sounds pretty good, actually,” 

“Yeah,”

“Yeah,” 

It’s not awkward, so to speak, just an awkward subject for conversation that then turns into a tension filled silence between the two of you. You’re both older, have both been through your fair share of heartbreaks and has-beens and maybe-this-could-have-been-more things. 

You can sense Poe’s mind trying to pinpoint where to go from here. 

“Did you ever find anyone?” he asks suddenly, as the two of you pass the library, where Heidi wished you luck just hours before. “Like, a boyfriend, or a girlfriend, or—whoever,”

Maybe it was your turn to lie. You could tell him you had a string of exes, all of whom still wanted you. You could tell him that you’re talking to people right now and seeing what’ll happen; but there’s a part of you that feels sick lying about this. 

It’s not worth it. 

“No,” you say simply. “A few dead talking stages in high school,” you shrug, trying to play it off as normal. “But no. Nothing long lasting...” you pause, letting out a long breath. “Nothing you could call love,” 

You don’t even know why you brought up love, but it’s too late now and Poe lets out one singular “Oh,”

Oh, God. 

“What about you?” you ask quickly, trying to change the subject onto him. 

“Oh,” he says again, readying himself by stuffing his hands in his pockets and shrugging all the same. “I’m sort of the same. Nothing long lasting. I’ve had a few girlfriends though—,”

“From what Heidi’s told me you’ve had many,” you butt in.

“Don’t listen to a fucking word that girl has to say,” he says strongly, but there’s a smile on his lips as the words tumble out. “She’s a gossip-monger and a shit stirrer,” 

“She’s brilliant,” you argue. 

“Being brilliant doesn’t stop you from being a giant, gaping asshole—”

“Hey!” you yell, but as the two of you combust into chuckles it’s incredibly clear that the adoration you both feel for Heidi is prevalent. “Still though,” you start, after your giggles disperse. “You’ve had girlfriends,” 

“Doesn’t really feel like it,” Poe admits, and you find yourself turning to look at his side profile. His eyes are on the floor, his feet scuffing over the patio stones as the two of you go in and out of darkness beneath the campus streetlamps. “Wasn’t love or anything like that,” 

“What were they then?” you ask, softening your tone as you feel a jolt cut through the conversation topic. You knew Poe well enough from the past to know when he was about to talk seriously about his feelings. 

“I don’t know,” he says, letting out a huff in an attempt to play it off as nothing. When he turns to your stare and looks in your eye, the small smile on his mouth doesn’t look unbothered; it looks sad. 

Really fucking sad. 

“Distractions,” he lets out. “Attempts at feeling something real for someone. Yada, yada, yada,” he lets out a subtly shaken breath when he faces front once more. “They weren’t important,” 

“The relationships? Or the girls?” you continue, even though you can tell Poe is ready to drop the subject. His face immediately drops.

“The girls? You think I’d say the girls themselves were unimportant?” he accuses you suddenly, and the dynamic switches. You panic.

“N—no, of course not. I just wanted clarification—,”

“The relationships weren’t important. The girls were all... lovely. Beautiful, nice, fun,” he cuts over you, and you gulp down the want to argue as he all but scolds you for even asking such a question. It wasn’t any indication on him, you just wanted to know what he’d meant. 

There was a part of you that wanted to ask if you’d count within those relationships that he didn’t deem important. Was your friendship meaningful to him? Had he meant it while growing up? Or were you simply another one of his girls that were beautiful, nice and fun—yet he’d still thrown you away. 

It’s a thought that you can’t bat away, even though you know your friendship wasn’t anything like an actual relationship. 

“Stop thinking that,” Poe says sternly, and you’re torn from your thoughts. 

“Thinking what?” you hit back with bluntly. 

“Thinking that I think us growing up together was unimportant,” 

Well—fucking hell—he can read minds now. 

You immediately let out a scoff, furrowing your brows in sudden anger at the fact he’d fucking guessed what you were thinking. “I wasn’t thinking that,” you lie. 

“And you’re still a terrible liar,” he says.

“I’m not lying,” you lie, again. Now you’re even. 

“Yes, you are,” his tone makes you want to explode, but your brain fires words at your mouth instead. 

“And do you think you’re a better liar, Poe?” you spout suddenly, stopping on the pathway towards your dormitory building abruptly. Poe halts next to you, peering down at you with a gaze of subtle but rising anger. 

“What the hell are you saying?” he lets out, as if he can’t be bothered to continue the conversation anymore. 

“You lied to me the day you left my flat, the morning after I got shitfaced,” you admit. “That face you pull,” you stop, trying to express your own rendition of his stupid fucking lying indicators. “The zoned-out eyes, the jutted out lower lip—,”

“You look into things waaaay too fucking much—,” he tries to cut over you, but you ket out an abrupt shush! in his face. He flinches back immediately, shooting you a squinted and shocked look. “Did you just fucking shush me?”

“You lied, Poe. I don’t know what about, something about what happened on the fucking lawn or something—,”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re crazy?” he attempts to butt in again, but you simply keep talking. 

“You lied to me tonight, Poe,” you say strongly, and his sudden silence is enough of an answer that you need. He lowers his gaze to the floor, almost as if he’s given up. You can see the defeat on his forehead. “You didn’t tell me the meaning of your tattoo, and honestly—I don’t fucking care— but it was just... that look,” 

That look. Like a deer in headlights. The cogs whirring in his brain. The wonder about whether to say the truth or hold it back, for whatever reason he sees fit. 

When he catches your eye once more, you step back; frowning as a sullen sadness cascades down your face. “I’ve always hated that look,” you whisper, just loud enough for him to hear, but even if you’d thought it he would have known what you were saying. 

Why is it, if the two of you spend any extended time together, that things always get so sad? 

It’s like you both go through the five stages of grief throughout the time you’re alone. Sadness, anger, bargaining, depression—acceptance. 

Will either of you ever reach acceptance?

“Is it always gonna be like this?” Poe whispers in response. You gulp away the want to wrap your arms around his shoulders, or punch him in the face. Your feelings are like you’re trying to catch rain water with a basketball net. “The tiniest semblance of normal, before we get angry and sad all over again?” he adds. 

He’s right. He sums it all up so well. That’s exactly what your conversations and time together is like, now. 

The saddest part of it all is that the only thing you can fathom replying is—

“I don’t know,” you swallow uncomfortably. 

He steps forward suddenly, and for a split moment you think he’s going to encase you in a hug. You think he’s going to hold you the way he did last week, when you swayed to music and both calmed down from the fight beforehand. You’d lost count how many times he’d made you mad or upset in this tiny amount of time since you’d been reunited. 

He was probably the same towards you; not knowing the exact number; not caring to try and count all the fucking times.

“I got the tattoo because it reminds me that everyone sees the same moon as me, even if they’re far away from me,” he says suddenly, keeping his eyes on yours. You want to look away, to stare beyond his shoulder or at the floor, but something’s holding you in place. “It tells me that whenever I look at the moon, the next day someone far off will be looking at the same sky, the same stars, the same moon that I looked at the night before,” 

God, is he talking about you? Is he straight up saying that he got his tattoo because it keeps you connected to him? 

No. Don’t be fucking ridiculous. 

You swallow, flicking your eyes across his face. “Why didn’t you just tell me that?” you whisper. 

All Poe can do is shrug, letting out a vulnerable chuckle afterwards. 

“I don’t fucking know,” he admits. “I honestly don’t fucking know,” he repeats, before letting out another chuckle from the sheer fuckery that comes alongside every private talk, every conversation, every fucking interaction that you have together. 

You want to ask him about the lawn, outside his frat, but you can’t get the words out. This moment here—this subtle expression of vulnerability and actual honesty—it’s so rare that you don’t want to fuck it up. You don’t want to mess this up and go back to ground zero again. 

A thought hits you then, something light-hearted. You smile. 

“It’s also because you like space, isn’t it?” the tattoo. Poe lets out a long breath, his grin growing until it’s across his entire jaw. 

“I fucking love space,” 

There’s the Poe you once knew. 

Tag List: @noctem-vincere @browneyes-issac @theidiotsincontrol @harrys-tittie @leithatnight @iridian-darkbloom @angellicpraises @philiasoul

#poe dameron x you #poe dameron x reader #reader insert #star wars ff #star wars #star wars sequels #oscar isaac #oscar isaac fanfiction #fanfiction #x reader #second person #college au #writeblr #ff #lightyaers #archive of our own #wattpad #smut and fluff #angst #mass angst #enemies to lovers #childhood friends to lovers #sw #update #ao3 #poe dameron

[the-s1lly-corner]

First Date w/ Hieronymus

Squeezing out another valentine's day thing!! This man is making me go boinkers!! Writing this with VP bump in mind because I just

Lob

Reason I picked VP bump is because I hc he's just. Awkward when it comes to new romance

Like I talk about how great of a partner he is, but when it comes to actual dates? Specifically first dates?

Hoo boy, this man is a mess

Hes not rude or horrible by any means, he's just really

Awkward

Tripping over his words and stuff

It'll be less bad if you and him were already friends before the date, but it wouldn't fully erase it

Basically "oh wow, s/o is so cool and is interested in me?? I better not screw this up, they'll think I'm a loser" type of mentality for the first few dates

PLEASE reassure him

Simple date, probably to a park or grabbing lunch together, both to keep it chill and to put less pressure on him

That said I feel like he'd offer something on the date, to be polite

Probably some flowers or something

Laughs in my "he's a stereotypical romantic" hc

Mf opens and holds doors for you, would probably also offer to carry your stuff

Mfs cheeks are some shade of pink for the majority of the date

I promise he's not rolling his eyes, Frewins just getting tired of the stalling; just kiss already/j

I still firmly believe Frewin would try to nudge Hieronymus into making moves

Hes a lil wingman

Overall? Hieronymus would probably calm down and chill out after the date really gets rolling, and start loosening up. He wants to make sure the date is enjoyable for both parties, and will work hard to make things right if he makes you uncomfortable

Give him some time and he'll really let his guard down and just

Exist

Oh also I forgot to mention, but this dude is V cool, he will ask you for explicit permission before doing anything (i.e. handholding, ect ect)

Be like Hieronymus, communicate with your partner (and friends), be cool

12/10 would go on a second date with him plus you two can laugh about it later down the line

#toh bump x reader #toh bump x you #toh principal bump x you #toh bump #principal bump #principal bump x y/n #principal bump x you #principal bump x reader #hieronymus bump x reader #hieronymus bump x y/n #hieronymus bump x you #hieronymus bump

[zevexsii]

omg ur like the second person ive seen write for spr, but could i get a hc list of how private jackson, reiben, and medic wade would react if u were injuered in battle??? please and thank u

SPR boys react to an s/o who's been injured in battle

private daniel jackson

jackson damn near loses it. he isn't focused or calculated like when carparzo got downed, he's frantically crawling over to your side as best as he can, muttering curses and mingled prayers while pressure is applied to your wounds.

"c'mon [l/n], stick with us here," jackson's chest is tight, fear clawing it's way up his throat from inside. the fear is worsened when your eyes begin to roll back.

the medics find a grisly sight, jackson keeled over your barely breathing body, incoherent please to god and anyone who'll listen sprinkled throughout horrible bouts of sobs that wrack his body. they take you away on a stretcher, jackson's rosary hanging loosely around your neck. you'll need it more than he will.

richard reiben

"damn hotshot, that was a close one," reiben makes light of situations that are scarily serious. it's what he's always done, and god willing, always will.

"hotshot?"

you don't answer. reiben throws a glance your way, only to find you slumped over, hands pressed absently over a spreading patch of terrible red.

there's no joke to be made. reiben checks the area for anyone who can help, but amidst the noise and smoke, it's hard to even hear himself think. not that any of his present thoughts are coherent. reiben haphazardly dives your way, not a single shit given about his current position. he awkwardly attempts to cover your body from fire with his own, shoving his canteen in your direction and giving the best directions he can.

"you better keep your damn eyes open. i'll find a medic around here somewhere. just hold on."

irwin wade

medics are notoriously easy targets and wade hates it. as much as you've told him to quit worrying about you, he can't. that's what it means to care about people, right? at least half of care is spent on worry. maybe two thirds of it, in wade's case.

this time, wade's worry saved your life. the field was still smoky, violent tension occasionally punctured by a smattering of screams and abrupt gunfire.

that's how he'd been able to find you, fussing over a clearly dying soldier who was doing his damnedest to refuse medical assistance. wade overheard bits and pieces of dialogue, at least the part where the soldier had complained that if he was gonna be saved, he was gonna try to do it himself.

adrenaline and the threat of death do wonders for a person's audacity.

wade began to make his way to you, watching you pull the man to his feet and lob his arm over your shoulders, pulling him out of the blood and muck that desecrated the place. everything was going well until the soldier fell, along with his very loaded gun. it felt like the world was going in slow motion when the gun fired, sending you to the ground.

wade hauled ass through weeds and wet ground that intended to swallow him whole, all in an attempt to reach you as fast as possible. irwin's hands had an undeniable shake, unwrapping various supplies and cursing and reassuring you in the same breath. once you tried to reach for a bandage, wade nearly slapped your hand away. you were too precious to him to lose, and fixing this himself was the only way to assuage the guilt brewing already.

#i didnt mean to make wades bit so long oops #gifs arent mine (obv) #irwin wade x reader #irwin wade #saving private ryan #spr #spr x reader #spr headcanons #saving private ryan x reader #saving private ryan x reader headcanons #spr imagine #private daniel jackson #private jackson x reader #private daniel jackson x reader imagine #richard reiben #richard reiben x reader #richard reiben x reader imagine

[originemesis]

@kugel-bitch cont. from xxx

Predictably, her impromptu (and horribly ill-conceived on Sera's part) vacation only really served to infuse her existence with more stress, piled high atop her usual, seraph prescribed daily serving. Being away from her station for a week of course meant that she had to spend the one that came after it catching up on the work she'd been forcibly made to shirk. It's a good thing, a blessing, if you will, that she has the innate ability to slave like a beast under pressure, otherwise she might have given the particularly hefty stack of papers that greeted her at her desk this morning the middle finger in favor of blowing some retaliatory riffs up boss lady's ass. She's a better dog than that, though.

When Adam decides to blanket a wing across her shoulders her trance-like focus is disturbed, but not entirely broken. "Uh-huh...yeah I just need to finish filling out these forms. Compound's running low on essentials, gotta get them mailed out before tomorrow morning." a triangular ear swivels on the flexible axis of its shell when she hears a name that is not commonly spoken in her proximity. "Earth?"

"...you know Sera is going to give you so much shit if you take me down there." It's one of those things that has always been a thing. Exorcists stay in their coop, no ifs or buts about it. If the council let a flock of voracious birds of prey loose on the universe there's no telling what sort of chaos might ensue as a result. "...where were you thinking of going?"

Of course- 'the compound'... she'd been at getting shit squared away at the coop that she'd even opted to skip lunch to keep up the momentum, and though he'd usually shrug such an endeavor off as 'her loss' on some highly necessary midday chips and guac some poor bastards had to keep bringing out with every complimentary bowl he'd polish off while staring them directly in the eyes while swirling a talon around a salsa bowl expectantly, he had instead opted to do her fetch while he was busy job for her and nudge over a container of enchiladas in her workspace with exactly one bite taken out of one. Boss taxes. Anyway, today was...not the kind of day for her to busy herself through lunch, so while weighing her down with his ruminating, he made sure she'd taken at least a few pecks of the food. Though even if not, he supposed he could tuck it into his robes for later-

Oh yeah; she was definitely hooked now. Technically he could do whatever the fuck he wanted even if the seraphim would give him a heavy side eye for it. Their fault for giving him First Man taxes to collect at his own leisure, the sanctimonious shits. And while she might be a target for harder side-eyes, that was what his wing lobbed over and shielding her from view was for. "-like she hasn't already?? Freakin' in person hell meetings shoved right up my ass with you yeeted off to fuck knows where. Ehh, consider this my payback. And possible pay-dock." And perhaps a way to ensure the big boss lady doesn't grant Lute more vacations any time soon in the future. Something he figured she'd like, all things considered since he was about to take some abrupt vacation time of his own.

With a shimmy of his shoulders, he coughed up a laugh strained halfway between the enjoyment that came from stringing someone guileless along, and whatever mood was causing his feathers to keep splitting ends. "Oh, you'll see." He added with a quirk of a toothless smile that glowed just as golden as those with sharper ends. With a flick of his wrist, a portal appeared nearby they could take to said sight-seeing, of which looked exceptionally green inside.

"Right this way, babe ~ it's break time." An extra long break at that. Perhaps as long as her first vacation, even.

#//ShHHsh- #kugel-bitch #long post #suggestive cw

[ironwoodprotectionsquad]

"childish tantrum" Last I checked Ruby wasn't the one blaming everyone else for their screw-ups at Beacon, getting pissy over poor people not adoring them, going full f--k-the-poor and deciding to arrest or kill anyone who told them off. If only she was a big strong manly man you'd worship the ground she walks on. Too bad women aren't automatically wrong and horrible for not obeying men huh?

What show are you even watching? Also nice circumventing my block to continue harassing me. You really are a child so desperate to get the last word in you would go and break Tumblrs TOS by ignoring my block huh?

If you actually paid attention to the show, you would know that yes in fact Ruby did try and blame everyone else for their failures and refused to listen even back in volume 3 when Qrow said they failed at the end of volume 2. And lamenting “why didn’t Ozpin listen?” Is not him blaming other people for his mistakes. At the end of the day Beacon was Ozpins responsibility and he made a lot of mistakes. James doesn’t ever say it was all his fault but is going through a difficult process of processing all his emotions and trauma from Beacon which is not a fun process.

Also I love how we’re now pretending James was secretly Tyrian the whole time like the sheer amount of reach on that point is mind boggling. James arrested someone who was defacing military property. That same man was released the same day and was killed BY TYRIAN. We literally saw that happen and somehow you’re going going to blame James for that??

I don’t worship the ground James walks on. I don’t worship the ground anyone walks on that’s honestly disturbing and unhealthy. Just like your obsession with me and my content. You don’t actually have any evidence to support your unhealthy obsession with making Ruby a perfect angle so you instead lob insults and try to pretend that I, a woman, am a misogynist because I don’t like a character that a bunch of white men wrote to do shitty things.

Now please leave me alone and block me. It’s so easy to do and you won’t get pissed off because someone dared to like a fictional character you deemed a monster because the writers told you to.

#james ironwood #ironwood protection squad #pro james ironwood #pro ironwood #general ironwood #general dadmiral #rwde #fndm toxicity #toxic fndm #anon ask #harassment

[persimmonsimmer]

Miguel was enjoying his day off from school. He was trying very hard not to think about what his mom had told him, about how he’d need to be brave and go back tomorrow, because his education was so important.

If only the other kids’ education wasn’t also so important. He thought he would like school quite a bit if it was only him and Grandma Hannah and learning cool and interesting things about the world all day long.

So far he was doing a pretty good job of not thinking about it. He’d taken Peanut and Bandit for a walk, and he’d helped his gran make lunch, and his mom had read him a book. And now he was jumping about in the pile of moist, earthy-smelling leaves (his gramps had sighed and laughed and said sure, go ahead, I should’ve known how tempting that pile would be) and watching them spin and cascade gently down around him in the light breeze.

“Well, you look happier than last time I laid eyes on you,” said a deep, cheerful, almost-familiar male voice. “Glad to see it.”

Miguel recognized the man who’d been with his mom yesterday. Who’d seen him crying (like a little baby) after his horrible, awful, no-good first day of school.

Embarrassed but polite--his mom and gran and gramps were always telling him how important it was to be nice to others--Miguel brushed his palms against his jeans and gave the man his best, firmest handshake, just the way his gramps had taught him.

“Hi Mr... Mr... uh. I don’t know your name.”

“You can just call me Carl,” the man said. “No need for any ‘mister’s.”

“Are you here to see my mom?”

“Partly. But I also wanted to see how you were getting along. And bring you something.”

“You have a present? For me?”

“It was your birthday not too long ago, wasn’t it? Anyway, it’s not much...”

* * * * *

Some time later, the sound of voices in the front yard drew Citlali away from the book she’d been reading.

“--is not to tense up at the last minute, to stay loose--just like that, good! That’s a good arm you’ve got on you. Now let’s see you do it again.”

“Mom! Mr... uh, I mean Carl’s teaching me how to throw my new baseball! Wanna see? Watch this!”

Miguel lobbed another throw Carl’s way.

“Nice one!” Carl returned the ball to Miguel with a wink. “Keep practicing while I’m away, all right? I’m telling you, you’re a natural.”

“I will! Promise!” Miguel said at the same time as Citlali asked, “You’re going away?”

“Mind giving me and your mom a moment?” Carl asked, giving Miguel’s hair a playful ruffle.

“OK. But you promise to practice with me more when you get back, right? Bye, Mr. Carl!”

“How long will you be away? Where are you going?” Citlali’s face felt flushed.

“Not too long. I’ve got some messenger business to wrap up, and the plumbing project’s all but finished. I need to leave soon if I’m going to get back before the start of winter. Thought I should tell somebody, though, not just disappear on you all.”

Citlali swallowed. “I guess I should wish you safe travels, then.”

“Thank you, Citlali. And don’t worry about me. I’ll be back before any of you even have time to miss me.”

#panorama bacc #sims 2 #sims 2 bacc #panorama round 5 #morales family #miguelmorales #carlworth #citlalimorales

[harrison-abbott]

There was this kid I had a mini feud with in high school. It’s not even that grandiose a story. There was a big snowball fight behind the school, one afternoon. He was in the year younger than me, this podgy guy. Who lobbed a snowball at me. So I threw one back at him: and then he rugby tackled me over. And all his mates laughed. So it seemed like I’d lost the fight, as it were. And a few months after that him and his cronies all guffawed at something I said within their earshot, thus rubbing in the violence, again, verbally. That was basically it. But, it also happened when I was 15. And, honestly – I wanted to murder this kid. Because he’d debased my manhood, with the macho stuff and the pisstaking. Moreover, I had to pass him every day when I went to school, because he was waiting for the schoolbus and I’d see him at this particular stop [I got on a different bus than he did]. For months and months I wanted to kill this boy. Never even found out his name. And, nowadays, as a man of 30, I find it odd that I was so angry back then, so pent up with that make-believe sense of cowardice that to be a man is to be physically tough. Because there were so many other violent incidents strung to that one? Probably. It seemed like it was always me that lost, forever me that was targeted. But, now that I’m this age, I barely even think about that kid, whoever he was. He’s probably still there in that horrible provincial town where I attended that awful school. And has likely done very little with his life. Just some stupid aggressive lad looking to rough somebody up. I’m glad that I never went and murdered him. Seriously, I thank the stars I never retaliated in such a way: and that I’ve become the man I am these days instead.

#writeblr #personal writing #diary #author #writers on tumblr #autobiographical #high school memories #tumblr writers

[moonglittering]

♥♥♥♥♥♥

✨ @seeasunset. meme. still accepting!

♥ be cool as fuck, because virote doesn't like men who get too sappy. like there's a certain threshold of corny he can handle and it's a lot lower than most peoples lgkjgkldf. he's not a my moon, my stars, my life type of guy when it comes to romance... he's a if you roll my blunt for me, i’ll rub grapeseed oil on your hands after and we can talk about stupid, shitty movies we hate because im a hater type of guy. i feel like the most romantic thing for vi is to just like. chill. and shoot the shits. he appreciates a fancy lil date occasionally and being doted over obnoxiously, but he really likes his space.

like... as a boyfriend he wants to be a homie, homeboy, bro, bruh, breh, and lover...!

above all else, it’s just about letting him feel comfortable and not overwhelmed. how can he unravel around someone when the atmosphere feels smothering and not loose???

♥ open to new food, because virote rarely cooks food that isn’t thai or chinese. sometimes he’ll whip up something else like korean or cuban or jamaican food, but virote appreciates men that won’t turn up their noses at stinky tofu and century old eggs... like one thing virote likes is fried tarantula. approaching food and culture with an open mind is always a plus... :) lets him kno ur chill.

♥ make him laugh!!! virote’s the type to have a relaxed way of speaking to his boyfriend that crosses into banter. like insulting banter, because it’s funny to him. and virote likes a man that can catch the ball and lob that shit right back at him. like yeah he’ll crack on you. crack on him back and make him guffaw and burst out laughing.

♥ this is both romantic and platonic, he loves people who contribute as much as he do. quid pro quo in discussions, hang outs etc. even if theyre not into the same things, he’ll listen to ur thing and you listen to his. he ask you out today you do it next week. basically he love those who show they think about him when they don’t have to.

♥ this kinda boomerangs back to point one but vi intensely dislikes large, grand gestures in public. if a man shows vi he can be normal about stuff like going out in public, then it’s millions of bonus points!!!

♥ physically???? horrible, troublesome smirks... smarmy, shitty, know-it-all grins. idk he finds them so cute!

#🌙 ABOUT! LET'S MEET ON A MOONLIT PATH. #seeasunset #/ he's such a free-spirited person..... he cant stand being adored TOO much. lol.

[blitzendoggo]

Together Again

In Backspace, Emerald has set up a meeting that will make both groups happier because they have what the other needs. Emerald forgot to mention one key difference.

Callisto/Prophis (1195 words) 

~~

“It’s not exactly common for a Callisto-”

“I’d prefer if you stopped referring to me as ‘a Callisto’.”

“To arrive without his respective Prophis, if they were romantically involved that is.”

“What are you suggesting?” Callisto asks hotly, internally seething at the suggestion that he did not care for Prophis. 

Emerald stops walking before slowly turning to the man. “I’m implying nothing, only stating that your group is stranger than we previously thought.”

“Where are you taking us again?” Glib asks before Callisto can lob a fireball at the shadowed man. 

Emerald glances down at Glib before resuming his walk. “The group that arrived here before you was odd in a similar fashion. It is rare for those romantically involved to not appear together, no matter those in the relationship, and believe me,” Emerald casts a glance over their shoulder at the group trailing behind them, “I have seen some odd pairings.” 

The party gives each other questioning looks, minds wandering to the worse outcomes of these romantic pairings before Emerald draws their attention back. “But it is not only the romantic loss that sets your group dynamic apart.” They stop in front of a bulkhead door and the raspy-voiced individual turns to them, an almost optimistic look on their dark face. “You are also missing a close friend.” Although none of the group says anything, the mood of the room dampens as they separately grieve S.G.

Without another word, Emerald slides a card across a scanner, a green light blinks rapidly, and the door opens as the sound of air decompressing echoes through the quiet corridor. The heavy door slowly opens, and Emerald steps through followed closely by Callisto, Glib, and Goodbid. 

Standing in the middle of the room is a group of three people, two of which talk in hushed almost aggressive voices while the third stands to the side of one, face obscured but posture uncomfortable.

“I’m just saying, don’t get your hopes up,” the S.G. variant hisses. They look identical to their S.G. except for a jagged, lightning-strike-shaped scar that runs the length of their face, fanning over the majority of it. If the changeling had facial features, the scar would have horribly distorted them or made them unusable. 

“And I’m saying that there is nothing wrong with a bit of optimism,” Prophis says. His hair is braided loosely and pulled to the side, strands of chaos magic glistening in the light. He is dressed identically to the other Prophis, but his eyes are tired, more so than their Prophis’.

“Um, guys?” the third figure speaks up, though his face is obstructed as he half hides behind Prophis, his nervous tone is clear. “They’re here.”

Callisto stands slack-jawed as the other two men step in around him. Emerald shuts the door and walks to the center of the room, allowing the two groups to stare at each other for a moment before he speaks, “Considering your backgrounds are extremely alike, with only a few notable differences,” he nods to the figure still hiding behind Prophis, “the council and I decided that it would be in both parties best interest to combine your groups.” He looks between them before nodding to himself, satisfied. “I’ll leave you to get orientated.” The room goes dark followed by heavy footsteps and the lights come back to an Emerald-less room. 

A heavy silence permeates the room before Goodbid takes off his hat and steps forward. “Ain’t no reason to beat around the bush,” he says bluntly before his smile softens at the edges. “We know who you are, and you know who we are, but I gotta ask, who is that hidin’ behind ya?” 

S.G. and Prophis give each other uncomfortable glances but the person behind Prophis slowly steps out. He is an air genasi with long white hair, tied back in a similar way that Prophis used to wear his hair. He is wearing a tight black long-sleeved shirt, simple black cargo pants, and work boots. Sticking out of random pockets are numerous tools and the genasi’s face is streaked with oil and soot, making it clear that he was working on a machine before coming to this meeting. On his back is a sword that strikes the party as familiar, but they can’t place where they’ve seen it before. 

“Hi,” his voice shakes as he throws a glance at Prophis, making sure the man is still there before gaining more confidence and making eye contact with Callisto. “I’m Reylias, and I’m your son.” 

The dark-haired man stares at Reylias, mouth agape before Glib starts laughing.

“God, I wish S.G. was here to see your face!” he gasps, doubling over as his entire body convulses.

“Why is that?” S.G. asks, voice clearly skeptical.

“Because when we met Reylias, S.G. gaslit him into thinking that his dad was Callisto!” Glib explains as he straightens back up. “He almost believed it too.” Goodbid and S.G. cackle as Callisto, Prophis, and Reylias still look at each other like anxious animals. 

“Father was never fond of hugs,” Reylias says quietly, “but I had to watch him die without the chance to tell him goodbye.” He looks back to Prophis who nods encouragingly. “And I know that I am not your son, but.” he takes a deep breath and rushes out, “I was hoping to get a hug from you.”

Callisto stands stock still as the room waits for his reaction. Callisto suddenly surges forward and draws the genasi into a tight hug, burying one hand into his hair to pull his head down. Reylias collapses most of his body weight onto the smaller man as he wraps his arms tightly around him. Callisto rubs a soothing hand down the taller’s back as they both breathe raggedly. 

Callisto laughs as he pulls Reylias’ face away and cradles it into his hands.

“We always wanted a child,” he says with more emotion than anyone -other than Prophis- has ever heard from him. He kisses Reylias’ temple as tears streak down his cheeks. “I’m glad I finally have one.” He releases the taller’s face and pulls him into his side as he turns his attention to Prophis who has begun to silently cry. “Come here, my dear.” He holds out a hand which Prophis takes. “There are many stories that need to be shared.” Callisto kisses Prophis -which Reylias jokingly gags at- before they devolve into giggles and tears.

S.G. sneaks past the family reunion and joins Glib and Goodbid whose jaws are sitting on the floor. 

“That was weird, yes?” the changeling says in their heads to which the boys nod. “Do you want to go to the cafeteria and let them have their moment?”

Glib doesn’t respond, but Goodbid slowly turns his head and nods. They quietly sneak out the door as the happy family tells stories from their respective timelines.

“Happy Callisto is the weirdest thing I think I've ever seen,” Glib says once they’ve reached the hallway, “And I saw a Frankie Goodbid making out with a pastel-colored Zalkas while riding a black Warhorse Friday in the breakfast hall.”

#d&dorks #Symmetry: Backspace #Callisto #prophis #Callisto/Prophis #eldritch gays #glib #Mr. Goodbid #reylias #s.g. iguess #Emerald #they/them Emerald #fanfic #repost

[combatfaerie]

Ficlet: Count On It

Story: Count On It Word count: 1,100 Relationship(s): Becky Lynch/Seth Rollins Prompt: "We can count to our own doom, thank you!" Also available at: AO3 and Wattpad and dreamwidth Summary: Becky regrets her choice of workout partners, or at least one of them.

Becky's face was on fire and it wasn't just because of the intense workout Joshy had run them all through. "We can count to our own doom, thank you! And some of us can do it in one than one language. Right, Sheamus?"

Sheamus held his hands up in surrender. "You know I'm not one to argue with The Man," he said hesitantly, "but your rep counting has been off all day, Becks."

Seth laughed as he toweled off his chest. "Or are you going to say that reps are counted differently in Irish now?"

"You're all horrible." Becky put her hands on her hips and walked away from their small group. She wasn't quite sure what was wrong with her today. For the past few years, she had worked out more with her male friends than her female ones, so seeing them in nothing but shorts and shoes was nothing unusual. Her reaction to it—or at least one of them specifically—was very new. And very annoying! "it's not like I was trying to cheat or anything!" she insisted. "I was doing all the workouts, just like you. I just… miscounted, that's all!"

"Miscounted repeatedly," Seth teased. He tossed his damp towel into a laundry bin at the back of the gym. "Did they not teach math at clown college? Is that why they're always asking someone else to count how many clowns fit in the car?"

Sheamus let out a low whistle. "Careful, mate, or you'll be the next one out with a broken face."

"Except in your case," Cesaro added, "it will be on purpose."

Becky shook her head and kept walking to loosen up her muscles—and to keep herself from thinking too much. "Only thing I'm breaking today is your records," she declared, "so if you're all done yapping, can we get back to it? Some of us have plans tonight."

"Oooh. Plans." Sheamus slung an arm around Seth's sweaty shoulders. "Hear that? Our Becks has plans. What are your plans, Becks? Is that comedian boyfriend of yours finally going to take you out somewhere, or is he just going waste the time he does get with you and complain that he only gets to see you on Wednesdays?"

"Hey, hey." Cesaro, ever the voice of reason, smacked Sheamus on the arm. "Becky stopped teasing you about dating someone young enough to be your daughter," he said with a slight smirk, "so be nice."

Becky muttered something in Irish that made Sheamus go even paler than usual. "Have your bro fest," she said simply, grabbing a bottle of water from the cooler. "I'm going on a bike." She grabbed a chunk of ice from the cooler and lobbed it at Sheamus before heading over to the stationary bikes. She would have rather kept lifting weights, but the bikes didn't require a spotter and they gave her a bit of space. And they're mindless, she thought as she grabbed her phone, plugged in her ear buds, and picked a playlist that would drown out the sound of the weights—and whatever comments the boys wanted to make about her lacklustre love life. Why did I ever tell them anything? she chastised herself as she started to pedal. Since she and Charlotte weren't close anymore, she had confided in Bayley first, and Bayley in turn suggested telling Cesaro, Sheamus, and Seth to get their opinions. <i>Never again. Next boyfriend I get, they aren't even learning his name.</i>

A gentle tap on her arm made her look up to see Cesaro beside her. She did her best not to sigh when she paused her song and took her earbuds out. "Ignore them, Becks," he said gently. "You're so much like… well, one of the guys that sometimes they forget you're not."

Becky shot him a look. "That's not as reassuring as you might think." She slowed her pace, though, and waited until Cesaro settled on the bike next to her and started pedalling himself to continue. "You know how people always used to say the women's locker room was petty and full of bickering. This isn't that much better, you know."

"I know. If I may?" Cesaro waited for Becky to nod before he said more. "You don't seem happy with Jeff. It's more stress than fun, is it worth it? I know breaking up with someone is rarely a treat, but sometimes it's necessary."

She was quiet for a long moment. Jeff wasn't horrible, not outright. His jokes were pretty flat, she had to admit, and he could be annoyingly possessive, but she had met far worse men. You've also met better, Becky reminded herself. "I know. It's just… there's so much going on, with The Man and feuding with Charlotte and setting up a match with Ronda…."

Cesaro managed to shrug without affecting his rhythm at all, of course, because the man was a freak of nature. "That sounds like a weak excuse to me. Actually, it sounds like a reason—the perfect reason to break things off if you aren't happy. Tell him that you already hardly have any time together and it's just going to get worse in the coming months and you need to focus on your career."

Becky looked at him with a grudging mixture of suspicion and respect. His logic made perfect sense, which made her wonder why she hadn't thought of it already. It also made her wonder just how much time he had spent analyzing her relationship and why. As far as she knew, he and Sara were still together and happy, so he couldn't be making a move on her. "That's a good point," she said at last. "I'll think about it."

"Soon," Cesaro urged, sliding his feet off the pedals and standing. "And as someone who can count to his own doom, as you say, in five languages?" He ruffled her hair and kissed the top of her head before stepping back. "Some things are never easy to say no matter how many languages you know. But they still need to be said so you're free to say the words you really want to say to someone else."

Before Becky could ask what he meant, Cesaro bowed slightly and headed back to the weight section of the gym. She watched him go until she realized Seth was looking over at her, and she put her earbuds back in, cranking the volume until it almost hurt. She didn't want to hear the boys or the weights, but most of all, she didn't want hear her own thoughts.

#combatfaerie fic #brollins fic #rollynch fic

[patrickcharlton-oshea-author]

Waging War. An Age of Steam and Sorcery Novel. Chapter 10

“So what you’re saying is that we’re headed back into the same dungeon where you two became best friends?” Peter asked, flipping through a rack of leather armours on hangars.

 “Well, I wouldn’t say BESTIES”, Pham said. He was sitting on the counter swinging his legs and watching everyone else shop. “I mean, we got off to a rocky start. Woz came into my starter town all “hurr durr, chop chop” with this sabre or something. I was set up at the local smithy grinding my skillz, cos I wasn’t 31337 back then. It was, like day one? Two?”

 “Day one,” Warren’s voice sounded echoey and tinny, as he was trying on a new helm. “And it was a katana. I’ve still got it somewhere. Besides, you weren’t IN the smithy, you had tools spread halfway across the road. I nearly broke my neck tripping over one. Pfha, do they even wash these out before they put them on the shelf? This one still smells of sweat and dragon ass.”

 “Should I ask how you know what dragon ass smells like?” Dani’s voice floated over the racks and shelves in the store.

 “No.” Warren and Pham said in unison. 

“It was an Ant-Man versus Thanos plan, wasn’t it?” Peter grinned.

“Shut up, don’t want to talk about it.” Warren lobbed the helmet at Peter. “Worry more about what we’re getting into. You’re going to need armour with more elemental resistances, the traps in that place are nasty and not even Pham can disable them all.”

“Speaking of armour, I remember you lost your entire wardrobe that day we first met. Walking into town buck nekkid, wang swinging in the breeze all pixelated like a cheap hentai. The “one point oh my god” version was the Wild West.” Dani chuckled, a hint of pink in his dead white cheeks. “It took the pearl clutchers less than twelve hours to “someone think of the children” a patch out.”

Warren sighed and stomped out the door. “It wasn’t all my clothes, it was just the seat of my pants. There was no wang,” he called over his shoulder. “Come on, this is low tier vendor trash. I know a place, but it’ll cost me a favour.”

Peter and the other two followed Warren deeper into the gloom as the road led away from the water and under the overhang of the upper level. Here the gas lamps never went out and condensation dripped from the roof to form rivulets in the gutter. The buildings were grimier, soot from the fireplaces adhered to everything damp, which was everything. Light shone through smoky windows streaked where the drips had carved tiny tracks in the grime. Even the people looked grittier. There was no way to tell NPC from Traveller, all were equally worn down and coated in black.

Hard up against the back wall was a building even blacker than the rest. Iron walled and imposing, with red rust patches like a rash over the frontage. No windows on the front, just three stairs up to an iron door inset with a sliding hatch at eye height. There wasn’t even a handle on the outside. If you weren’t let in, you weren’t getting in.

Warren ascended the stairs and rapped his knuckles on the door in a rhythm that Peter found familiar but couldn’t put his finger on. Da ta-da da da.

The hatch slid open and a pair of beady eyes examined Warren. “How much?”

“Two bits.”

The hatch slammed shut and they were left standing in the street, listening to the sigh of gently escaping steam from a nearby valve. The nearby lamp flickered and went out, and a horrible rotten egg smell wafted over them before it reignited with a whumph. Peter was just opening his mouth to suggest this trip had been in vain when the door clanked as the locks inside were released and it opened with a screech.

The owner of the beady eyes stood in the gap and beckoned them in. “Yer mates better be on their best behaviour MacGregor. You’re on thin ice with the boss as it is.”

“He’ll get what I promised on time,” Warren rumbled, reminiscent of when Peter had first met him. “I still have several days and for now I have bigger issues.”

The beady-eyed bloke huffed noncommittally and led them deeper into the building. The iron theme continued inside, with metal bound glass light fittings illuminating the halls with riveted iron walls, though these were at least painted to prevent rusting. It was an even institutional grey that reminded Peter of pictures of warships from the late 1900s that he had seen in History class. It was not a colour choice that inspired hope, joy or faith in humanity. In fact, after the fourth or fifth bland hallway separated by a bulkhead style door he was beginning to feel like they’d stepped into the domain of a happiness sucking demon. 

The waiting room they were eventually deposited in did nothing to relieve that feeling. The seats were bare metal benches the same colour as the walls and attached by a hinge at the base and a chain at the edge. There were no windows at all and the only entrances and exits were the same metal doors with a wheel in the centre. Without the lights and paint, Peter could have mistaken this room for the labyrinth under Averton.

“Wait ‘ere”, Mr Beady-eye grunted and left by the same door they’d entered. The locks clanked when the door closed.

“Woz, what have you gotten us into?” Pham asked, flopping down onto one of the benches and lacing his fingers behind his head. “Peter might not care about respawns, but you know my stance on them.”

Dani had her ear against the door they’d come through and was trying to see if she could insert some sort of probe in the gap between the door and the jamb. “Yeah, mate. This is kinda unpickable. I’m guessing there’s two ways out of this, Peter’s and that door over there.”

“I’m standing right here, you know?” Peter felt a bit put upon. “I don’t ALWAYS die. Besides, I’m sure Woz has a plan. You DO have a plan, don’t you?”

“Wheest yersel. I dun need a plan. This is just a weekly quest. I just… hannae done it in a while and my rep has dropped with tha faction ye ken?” He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “They’re going to make us wait for a mite, just to flex that they have all the power. Which, in this town the kinda do.”

“Izzat all?” Pham responded. “What kind of faction are we talking though? Cos there’s a big difference between a reputation drop from the Mechanists Guild and a reputation drop with the mob. One means you lose access to the good materials and one gets you concrete shoes.”

“Uh,” Warren looked uncomfortable. “What’s your shoe size again?”

All eyes snapped to him.

“Kidding. Mostly,” he held up his hands in surrender. “I’m still liked, but if I don’t get them the stuff they’ve asked for by Friday I drop back to neutral and have to start again. It’s just posturing, we’ll be fine. We’ve been busy and I haven’t had time to turn in my dailies, weeklies or monthlies cos, you know, taking on a Geas was a big deal.”

“I knew it!” Part of the wall detached itself and became a formless humanoid shape, as though a puddle had delusions of grandeur. “I knew you’d have something to do with the Geas. You can’t help yourself, can you Mister MacGregor?” As the humanoid spoke it rapidly assumed the form of a green skinned, scaly creature in an admiral’s uniform and hat. “Always chasing the bigger fish.”

“Goober, you wee scunner. I KNEW you’d be listening. I’m just surprised you hadn’t shown one of your faces already,” Warren loomed over the diminutive naval officer. “This is a new low, though, even for you.” He picked up the creature by the neck and slammed it into the wall. “The real Captain would have you keelhauled for stealing his image like this.”

“Hey, he’s just a lil’ guy,” Dani protested. “Is that really necessary?”

“Yes, it is,” Warren growled over his shoulder. “Goober, show the nice people your real body.”

“It’s Gruber, and you know it,” Gruber hissed. Seeing no support from the others in the room his form melted again and reformed into a child sized being in a robe and hat. The hat had the word “wizzzard” stitched into the band, multiple z’s stretching the word to wrap entirely around it.

“Bloody wizards,” Pham spat.

Peter held up a finger. “Um, how does this help us?”

Warren shook Gruber like a dog shakes a toy. “Goober here is a Traveller like us. He makes bank by eavesdropping and selling secrets to the highest bidder. I’m betting he slipped Benny Blue-Eyes out the front a handful of silver to let him loiter in here until we’d dropped something juicy. Isn’t that right, Goober?”

“Damnit Warren, put me down. That bloody hurts.” Gruber’s real form as a gnomish spellcaster was even smaller than the kobold body he’d worn as a disguise. “How did you know it was me?”

“Captain Krunch hates spellslingers more than Pham does,” Warren harrumphed, dropping Gruber to the floor. “You’d know that if you’d done your homework instead of just bribing the doorman. Now get out of here before I send you for a respawn.”

Gruber gathered himself up to his full unimpressive height. “You haven’t heard the last of this,” he insisted in his high-pitched voice.

“Peter, do your eye thing please.”

Peter let the cold of the Paragon state flood his body. He was getting more proficient with it every day, even though it scared him in equal measure. He still didn’t know what they meant about his eyes, they always looked normal to him when he checked the mirror, but the way Gruber wet himself when he looked at Peter’s face told him he was doing something right.

“Ok, you’ve heard the last of this,” Gruber pressed himself against the cold metal as he hurriedly rapped out a code on the door.

Benny cracked the door, looking entirely unrepentant as the tiny Gruber pushed past him. “The Captain will see you now.” He pressed a something on his side of the wall and a buzzer sounded. The door on the other side of the room opened and swung wide. “Best not keep him waiting.”

On the far side of the final door a completely different room awaited them. A massive bay window stretching from wall to wall allowed a view out over the waters unimpeded by the town. How that was possible, Peter was unsure. The trip through the winding halls had left him disoriented but he felt sure they should have been able to see at least the lower tiers’ tallest buildings. A problem for another time, he thought, suppressing the memory of the walk in. There was no sign of the soul-sucking grey walls here though. The whole room was wood panelled, with shining brass fittings and artfully lit by primitive electric lamps. No gas appliances were visible at all, nor were any suggestions of magic. It was the most technologically advanced scene he had experienced in the game.

Dominating the room was an ornately carved mahogany desk. Spread across the glossy surface were maps of the world and its various regions. Exquisite cartography tools littered the desktop, finely made pens, protractors and compasses scattered seemingly willy-nilly at first but a closer inspection there was a sense of a greater organisation in the chaos. There were also, for some reason, footprints.

Behind the desk, in a red velvet lined swivelling chair that dwarfed its occupant, or maybe koballed it, was a doppelganger of the first form Gruber had taken. Small, green, scaly and in possession of a marvellous admiral’s hat, Captain Krunch lounged in the opulence of his domain. “Well, Mister MacGregor, we meet again.” Where Gruber’s voice had been reedy and hesitant, the Captain’s was deep, confident and resonant. Not at all what one would expect from a diminutive, dragon-runt like creature – no matter how impressive his headgear. “I am a busy man, Mr MacGregor. State your case and be quick about it.”

“We do indeed, Captain,” Warren knelt before the desk, waving to the others to do the same. “I come bearing gifts, in the hope of obtaining a meeting with… the armourer.”

The Captain waved a clawed hand disinterestedly. Warren stood and placed a small chest on the desk, facing the captain, and opened the lid. Peter couldn’t see what was in it, but from the way that the kobolds’ eyes widened he must have been very impressed. The reaction was only fleeting, however, and the captain schooled his features back into an impassive poker face. “This will do for now, but I trust you are aware of your obligations?”

“Captain, I assure you that you will have your tribute, as agreed, by the end of the week.” Warren’s voice was the most subdued Peter had ever heard it as he returned to where he had been kneeling.

The Captain stood on his chair and stepped up onto the desk, picking his footfalls carefully so as to not disturb . He closed the chest and picked it up gently, almost reverentially while maintaining an impressive air of impassiveness. “Then I will send word that you are on your way. I expect you still know where to go.” 

“Aye, I do.”

“Then see yourself out. And send Benjamin in as you go. I feel I need a word with my doorkeeper.”

Warren waved them all to follow him and exited the room as quickly as manners would allow. In the antechamber he leaned in close to Benjamin in passing and whispered a few words that Peter couldn’t make out. Benjamin paled, looking decidedly less smug as the Travellers left the room.

When the crew were what Peter deemed a safe distance away from the imposing iron building, he burst into laughter. “Do you think he knows? About the cereal?”

Warren harrumphed. “Aye, he knows. NPCs regard our world as a sort of mirror dimension to theirs, in case you hadn’t noticed.” He waited for acknowledgment from Peter before continuing. “So the captain regards it as a point of honour they’ve named a food after him. He says it puts him on the same standing as Lord Wellington and the Earl of Sandwich.”

“For cereals?” Peter punned. He couldn’t help it. Everyone groaned and Dani punched him in the arm. “Ow! I know, I deserve it, but ow!”

“So, what’s with this armourer dude?” Pham asked. “I’ve never heard you mention them before.”

“Well, we don’t come here often,” Warren explained. “He’s a secret shopkeep you get to meet at the end of the local guild questline. You never did the quests, you never got to meet him. Besides, he specialises in heavy armour and you wear,” he waved generally in Pham’s direction, “that.”

“It’s called fashion, sweetie. Look it up!” Pham twirled on the spot, showing off his blood, oil and soot stained overalls. “I don’t need armour if I don’t get hit.”

“But, you DO get hit,” Dani pointed out helpfully.

“Yeah, that’s where the plan falls apart.”

“Come on,” Warren urged. “It’s not far and at least two of us need better protection if we’re going back into… well. There. You,” he looked pointedly at Pham, “we’re just going to cover you in bubble wrap and hope for the best.”

#writing #writblr #Age Of Steam and Sorcery

[sylvielauffeydottir]

Hello, it is I, your friendly neighborhood historian. I am ready to lose followers for this post, but I have two masters degrees in history and one of my focuses has been middle eastern area studies. Furthermore, I’ve been tired of watching the world be reduced to pithy little infographics, and I believe there is no point to my education if I don’t put it to good use. Finally, I am ethnically Asheknazi Jewish. This does not color my opinion in this post — I am in support of either a one or two state solution for Israel and Palestine, depending on the factors determined by the Palestinian Authority, and the Israeli Government does not speak for me. I hate Netanyahu. A lot. With that said, my family was slaughtered at Auschwitz-Birkenau. I have stood in front of that memorial wall at the Holocaust memorial in DC for my great uncle Simon and my great uncle Louis and cried as I lit a candle. Louis was a rabbi, and he preached mitzvot and tolerance. He died anyway. 

There’s a great many things I want to say about what is happening in the Middle East right now, but let’s start with some facts. 

In early May, there were talks of a coalition government that might have put together (among other parties, the Knesset is absolutely gigantic and usually has about 11-13 political parties at once) the Yesh Atid, a center-left party, and the United Arab List, a Palestinian party. For the first time, Palestinians would have been members of the Israeli government in their own right. And what happened, all of the sudden? A war broke out. A war that, amazingly, seemed to shield Benjamin Netanyahu from criminal prosecution, despite the fact that he has been under investigation for corruption for some time now and the only thing that is stopping a real investigation is the fact that he is Prime Minister.

Funny how that happened. 

There’s a second thing people ought to know, and it is about Hamas. I’ve found it really disturbing to see people defending Hamas on a world stage because, whether or not people want to believe it, Hamas is a terrorist organization. I’m sorry, but it is. Those are the facts. I’m not being a right wing extremist or even a Republican or whatever else or want to lob at me here. I’m a liberal historian with some facts. They are a terrorist organization, and they don’t care if their people die. 

Here’s what you need to know: 

There are two governments for the occupied Palestinian territories in the West Bank and Gaza. In April 2021, Palestinian President Mahmoud Abbas postponed planned elections. He said it was because of a dispute amid Israeli-annexed East Jerusalum. He is 85 years old, and his Fatah Party is losing power to Hamas. Everyone knows that. Palestinians know that. 

Here’s the thing about Hamas: they might be terrorists, but aren’t idiots. They understand that they have a frustrated population filled with people who have been brutalized by their neighbors. And they also understand that Israel has something called the iron dome defense system, which means that if you throw a rocket at it, it probably won’t kill anyone (though there have been people in Israel who died, including Holocaust survivors). Israel will, however, retaliate, and when they do, they will kill Palestinian civilians. On a world stage, this looks horrible. The death toll, because Palestinians don’t have the same defense system, is always skewed. Should the Israeli government do that? No. It’s morally repugnant. It’s wrong. It’s unfair. It’s hurting people without the capability to defend themselves. But is Hamas counting on them to for the propaganda? Yeah. Absolutely. They’re literally willing to kill their other people for it.

You know why this works for Hamas? They know that Israel will respond anyway, despite the moral concerns. And if you’re curious why, you can read some books on the matter (Six Days of War by Michael Oren; The Yom Kippur War by Abraham Rabinovich; Rise and Kill First by Ronen Bergmen; Antisemitism by Deborah Lipstadt; and Israel: A Concise History of a Nation Reborn by Daniel Gordis). The TL;DR, if you aren’t interested in homework, is that Israel believes they have no choice but to defend themselves against what they consider ‘hostile powers.’ And it’s almost entirely to do with the Holocaust. It’s a little David v Goliath. It is, dare I say, complicated.

I’m barely scratching the surface here. 

(We won’t get into this in this post, though if you want to DM me for details, it might be worth knowing that Iran funds Hamas and basically supplies them with all of their weapons, and part of the reason the United States has been so reluctant to engage with this conflict is that Iran is currently in Vienna trying to restore its nuclear deal with western powers. The USA cannot afford to piss off Iran right now, and therefore cannot afford to aggravative Hamas and also needs to rely on Israel to destroy Irani nuclear facilities if the deal goes south. So, you know, there is that).

There are some people who will tell you that criticism of the Israel government is antisemitic. They are almost entirely members of the right wing, evangelical community, and they don’t speak for the Jewish community. The majority of Jewish people and Jewish Americans in particular are criticizing the Israeli government right now. The majority of Jewish people in the diaspora and in Israel support Palestinian rights and are speaking out about it. And actually, when they talk about it, they are putting themselves in great danger to do so. Because it really isn’t safe to be visibly Jewish right now. People may not want to listen to Jews when they speak about antisemitism or may want to believe that antisemitism ‘isn’t real’ because ‘the Holocaust is over’ but that is absolutely untrue. In 2019, antisemitic hate crimes in the United States reached a high we have never seen before. I remember that, because I was living in London, and I was super scared for my family at the time. Since then, that number has increased by nearly 400% in the last ten days. If you don’t believe me, have some articles about it (one, two, three, four, and five, to name a few). 

I live in New York City, where a man was beaten in Time Square while attending a Free Palestine rally and wearing a kippah. I’m sorry, but being visibly Jewish near a pro-Palestine rally? That was enough to have a bunch of people just start beating on him? I made a previous post detailing how there are Jews being attacked all over the world, and there is a very good timeline of recent hate crimes against Jews that you can find right here. These are Jews, by the way, who have nothing to do with Israel or Palestine. They are Americans or Europeans or Canadians who are living their lives. In some cases, they are at pro-Palestine rallies and they are trying to help, but they just look visibly Jewish.  God Forbid we are the wrong ethnicity for your rally, even if we agree.

This is really serious. There are people calling for the death of all Jews. There are people calling for another Holocaust. 

There are 14 million Jews in the world. 14 million. Of 7.6 billion. And you think it isn’t a problem the way people treat us?

Anyway (aside from, you know, compassion), why does this matter? This matters because stuff like this deters Jews who want to be part of the pro-Palestine movement because they are literally scared for their safety. I said this before, and I will say it again: Zionism was, historically speaking, a very unpopular opinion. It was only widespread antisemitic violence (you know, the Holocaust) that made Jews believe there was a necessity for a Jewish state. Honestly, it wasn’t until the Pittsburgh synagogue shooting that I supported it the abstract idea too.

I grew up in New York City, I am a liberal Jew, and I believe in the rights of marginalized and oppressed people to self-determine worldwide. Growing up, I also fit the profile of what many scholars describe as the self hating Jew, because I believed that, in order to justify myself in American liberal society, I had to hate Israel, and I had to be anti-Zionist by default, even if I didn’t always understand what ‘Zionism’ meant in abstract. Well, I am 27 years old now with two masters degrees in history, and here is what Zionism means to me: I hate the Israeli government. They do not speak for me. But I am not anti-Zionist. I believe in the necessity for a Jewish state — a state where all Jews are welcome, regardless of their background, regardless of their nationality. 

There needs to be a place where Jews, an ethnic minority who are unwelcome in nearly every state in the world, have a place where they are free from persecution — a place where they feel protected. And I don’t think there is anything wrong with that place being the place where Jews are ethnically indigenous to. Because believe it or not, whether it is inconvenient, Jews are indigenous to the land of Israel. I’ve addressed this in this post.

With that said, that doesn’t mean you can kick the Palestinian people out. They are also indigenous to that land, which is addressed in the same post, if you don’t trust me. 

What is incredible to me is that Zionism is defined, by the Oxford English Dixtionary, as “A movement [that called originally for] the reestablishment of a Jewish nationhood in Palestine, and [since 1948] the development of the State of Israel.” Whether we agree with this or not, there were early disagreements about the location of a ‘Jewish state,’ and some, like Maurice de Hirsch, believed it ought to be located in South America, for example. Others believed it should be located in Africa. The point is that the original plans for the Jewish state were about safety. The plan changed because Jews wanted to return to their homeland, the largest project of decolonization and indigenous reclamation ever to be undertaken by an indigenous group. Whether you want to hear that or not, it is true. Read a book or two. Then you might know what I mean.

When people say this is a complicated issue, they aren’t being facetious. They aren’t trying to obfuscate the point. They often aren’t even trying to defend the Israeli government, because I certainly am not — I think they are abhorrent. But there is no future in the Middle East if the Israelis and Palestinians don’t form a state that has an equal right of return and recognizes both of their indigenousness, and that will never happen if people can’t stop throwing vitriolic rhetoric around.  Is the Israeli Government bad? Yes. Are Israeli citizens bad? Largely, no. They want to defend their families, and they want to defend their people. This is basically the same as the fact that Palestinian people aren’t bad, though Hamas often is. And for the love of god, stop defending terrorist organizations. Just stop. They kill their own people for their own power and for their own benefit. 

And yes, one more time, the Israeli government is so, so, so wrong. But god, think about your words, and think about how you are enabling Nazis. The rhetoric the left is using is hurting Jews. I am afraid to leave my house. I’m afraid to identify as Jewish on tumblr. I’m afraid for my family, afraid for my friends. People I know are afraid for me. 

It’s 2021. I am not my great uncle. I cried for him, but I shouldn’t have to die like him. 

Words have consequences. Language has consequences. And genuinely, I do not think everyone is a bad person, so think about what you are putting into the world, because you’d be surprised how often you are doing a Nazi a favor or two. 

Is that really what you want? To do a Nazi a favor or two? I don’t think that you do. I hope you don’t, at least.

That’s all. You know, five thousand words later. But uh, think a little. Please. 

#jumblr #free palestine #zionism #gaza #signal boost #antisemitism #jew tag