#and then i moved back and zero people have pressured me to get into the office and I'm technically still remote | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cheriladycl01 · 6 months

Text

Ghost - Oscar Piastri x UnknownDriver! Reader Part 1

Plot: Reader is the first female F1 driver of the century, however no-one knows that as you are a ghost on the grid. You started in 2022, coming in P12 in the championship. You get moved to Red Bull Racing in 2023 with the off year for Sergio Perez.

Credit to yrsonpurpose for the GIF

You stayed hidden in your racing suit. Your current team-mate didn't even know who you were, like the rest of the grid. It was fun being all secretive and undercover. You didn't drive with your real name, and when your radio was aired it was only text. You could actually live like a normal person with no pressures. You didn't have to attend post-race interviews, or feel the pressure of the Paps everywhere you went. There was a certain level excitement of getting your first race win and being able to reveal to the grid who you were.

When you'd first been introduced as 'Ghost' people were confused at why you weren't using your real name. But you, as Y/N Y/L/N were always seen in the paddock and garages and you knew some of the drivers and they would often invite you to the after parties.

I mean you were posed as the media manager for 'ghost' which in itself was hilarious. You could post your own memes, and comment on your own driving. It was amazing.

However your home race, United Kingdom Silverstone was coming up.

You were so excited, even though you knew Lewis, George and Lando would be just as hyped up as you for the win. But this was the most motivated you'd been. Your family were in the crowd, the only people who knew it was you behind the helmet.

"Oh Oscar Hi" you greeted the other young driver.

"Hello" he said his thick aussie accent coming through.

"How's the ghost today then?" he asks, you'd been close for a while. He was actually your first friend here, it was funny actually how you bumped into him.

"You'd just finished up in Australia and had gotten your first podium finish in your rookie season. Oscar had been there as a reserve driver for Alpine and as you were fumbling in your drivers room, trying to rip your driving suit and balaclava off. You were making a lot of noise, and you'd tripped over yourself. You slung on your Alpine Team gear, tying your hair up in a ponytail and hiding the sweat under a cap.

A knock on your door had you stilled, you shoved the suit into a crate and moved across.

"Hello?" you'd asked swinging the door open, he jumped back a little seeing how quickly the door opened.

"Erm, hi isn't this Ghost's room?" he'd asked you. He was the reserve driver for Alpine and that's who ghost drove for in their first year.

"Your are not supposed to be here" you'd frowned looking at him.

"I know, but the engineers said i might find you here, to go answer some questions on Ghost's behalf, considering his er win today" he smiles awkwardly at you scratching the back of his neck. He watched as you eye him over.

"Who sent you?" you ask, it had to be the team principle right?

"Marcin, he was asking for you and Ghost" he explains.

"Well, its just going to be me, Ghost is preoccupied right now" you say slipping out and shutting the door.

"Hmmmm, its strange you are in his driver's room. Were you in there the whole race?" he asks cocking his head to the side.

"Erm, yes i don't like all the fuss in the garage so i tend to stay in there and watch"

"Ah okay" he's said before walking off ahead of you to show you exactly where you should be going.

That was how you'd become friends, you'd then heard around the Paddock that come 2023 he'd have his rookie season in McLaren while you moved to RedBull, or well Ghost did.

"You nervous about today?" he asks grinning, the question through you off and your head snapped up to meet his gaze.

"What do you mean, nervous? I'm not nervous. Its not like I'm the one driving... because i'm not" you say, with zero coolness and all the panic in your voice.

"You're rambling, of course you are nervous for Ghost. Today could be the day they take their first win. Would be cool!" he grins pulling you into a hug, he flicks your Red Bull cap a little before you fully tuck yourself into his large embrace.

"Oh yeah, i guess i am a little nervous for ghost but they are a good driver. I'm sure they'll get us some points"

"Yeah they're insane in the Red Bull this year. Rival for Max" he admits brushing a hand through his hair.

Taglist:

@tallbrownhairsarcastic @littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @stupidandunnecessary @clayra-g @daemyratwst @honey-belden @moonypixel @lauralarsen @vader-is-hot @ironcowboycopnickel @itsjustkhaos @the-untamed-soul @beebo86 @happylittlereader @ziejustme @lou-larcher5 @thewulf @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @chillyleclerc @chanthereader @annoyingmoonballoon @summissss @evieepepi08 @havaneseoger08 @celesteblack08 @gulphulp @fandom1ruined2me @celebstories @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhh @georgeparisole @dakotatankbig @youcannotcancelquidditch @zzonsbeek

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 #formula one #formula one fanfiction #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri f1

578 notes · View notes

delfiore · 10 months

Text

—MY DEAREST FRIEND AND ENEMY. (1/5)

pairing: ona batlle x fem!reader

synopsis: you were ona’s biggest headache at man united, until you both move to barcelona.

word count: 3.7k

a/n: i’ve been watching the men’s game for years but i’ve finally sobered FINAL TODAY LET’S GO ENGLAND LET’S GO SPAIN (MOSTLY SPAIN)

PART II, PART III, PART IV, PART V

It started four years ago when Ona first signed for United. She didn’t notice at first the way you were always gunning for her, she was just doing her job.

But now, you were here in Barcelona with her. As she looked up at you, a soft smile on your face, everything she had buried in the past year all came rushing back.

Everyone was aware of the new signing from the States for her rival club just a couple of weeks before, a dragged-out saga of whether you were going to choose City or United. Unfortunately for her, you chose the Sky Blues.

If things had been different, maybe she wouldn’t have despised you as much as she did.

The first Manchester derby you played, she thought marking you would be easy until you dribbled past her several times to register a goal and assist. She must have been glowering at you when she walked back to the midfield line, because you shrugged before grinning at her, saying: “All in a day’s work.”

“Could I just ask what put Man City above all the other contenders for your signature?” “Well, I mean, it’s a great club with a great history, amazing players too. I’ve spoken at length with the new manager and he gave me a rough plan for next year’s project. So I’m really excited and confident that it’ll be a great destination for me.” “What do you say to the people who think you’ve chosen City for the money?” “People can think whatever they want to think. I’ll just play my game, and they can judge me all they want. It’s all anyone’s good for.” “You’ve just transferred from Portland, you’ve got an enormous price tag for the women’s game, tons of big clubs in Europe wanted you. There’s a mounting pressure on you, it seems. Do you think you’ll be up for the challenge of the Women’s Super League?” “It’s no fun if it’s not a challenge.”

Ona Batlle was what people considered a modern full-back, dangerous in attack just as she was solid in defense. But when playing against Man City, she usually has to stay back to avoid a dangerous winger finding their way into the box; you. It wasn’t her way of playing, and it frustrated her that that was what her role was while her team was struggling to create chances, especially when she knew she could help.

“I want you to stay back and mark Y/L/N. Whatever you do, do not let her out of your sight,” Casey had told her.

She hated you for caging her in, and the worst part was she wasn’t sure if she can stop you sometimes.

The night before her next game against you, she watched how you played the previous match, studied your movement carefully, and took notes. She liked that she had found a pattern. You liked to use your speed, but you also liked to taunt your defenders; a pace of prime Thierry Henry’s, and showboating tendencies like that of Neymar. It’s why you were so entertaining to watch, because every defender you faced ended up a sort of decoration to your parlor tricks, her included.

Ona never liked being second best to anybody, and certainly not to you.

And so when she was on the pitch, zeroing on you like a hawk, there was nothing stopping her from getting away from you. She didn’t need to resort to any risky challenges, she just needed to stick with you, keep you at arm’s length, and stay between you and the goal at all costs.

You may be a skilled player for your age, but controlling your temper is something you haven’t been able to achieve. She heard you cursing a few times, eventually earning you a yellow card when your insults were directed at the referee.

The ball had only left the City’s goalkeeper, Roebuck, yet she already felt you pushing back against her.

The game ended 3-1 for United, but she was secretly much happier that she had managed to piss you off so much, that you didn’t bother shaking hands with her afterwards.

“Congratulations, Ona. A huge victory for United. What do you think went well today?” “I think that our plans worked because we practiced and showed what we’re able to do. We didn’t have a lot of possession, but we focused on the counterattacks, and I think that definitely was a very effective tactic today.” “I have to ask you about Y/N Y/L/N. She’s been a formidable player in the league until now, and notoriously difficult to defend against, but she was practically silenced today on the left-hand side. Do you think you had something to do with that?” “I think what I’ve prepared in defense has worked out, for sure. I’ve also got my teammates to thank for covering the grounds for me. Y/L/N is a good player, and it’s always a joy to play against her.”

Her rivalry with you continued, and soon even the press was picking up on it. Manchester derbies now included Y/L/N v. Batlle, and everyone was predicting what crazy thing would happen next. It wasn’t common for defenders to make waves in the paper compared to superstar strikers or even midfielders unless they were linked with a big move. But soon Ona was reading about herself in the news, how she has defended Manchester United’s left wing with an iron grip, how they started calling her la matadora, for her ability to hold off forwards and tame them like bullfighters do.

One bull remained to be tamed though, and her conundrum continued into her second season at United.

Unlike her, you seemed to take the new breath of fame easily enough. Day in and day out, there were news of you scoring goals and bringing Man City to the top of the table by November.

You were born to be a star.

But Ona knew from shooting stars in the game that burned out too quickly; if you let what’s outside the pitch get to you, you might as well just leave it altogether. You might have been a good player, on your way to becoming a great one even, but you did have a flare for the dramatics which riled up the press quite a bit. If she was lucky, maybe the pressure would take you out of the game before she does.

International breaks were times she always look forward to, being able to represent her country. Even if they were friendly matches, she knew Spain was always being watched, as a team’s form was important on the world stage. The team would play two friendly matches, the first one being against Brazil and the other against the United States. Some friendly fixtures . . .

Brazil was a breeze, mainly because she wouldn’t have to face her biggest adversary. Naturally, you were called up to your national team, and the back-and-forth game persisted.

She had played against you many times at club level, but the way you played for your country was something else. There was more passion to the way you weave your way through defenders, more flare to your shots. It could also be the adrenaline of being called up for the first time, and wanting to prove yourself—she knew that feeling well.

It didn’t come as a surprise, then, that when a long ball was played over the defense line and Marta Cardona was on her way towards goal, you’d be there to strike her down right at the edge of the box. Her teammates appealed, and the referee paused the game, but all Ona saw was red. With a speed she didn’t know she had in her, she sprinted to you and shoved you away as you were bending down in a show of checking on Marta.

“What was that?! You could have broken her ankle, cabrona!”

“Watch it.”

You had never seen her so angry before—her jaw locked as she continued to hurl insults at you. If she wasn’t your mortal enemy maybe you could have found it attractive. So you pushed back, and soon both your teammates and hers crowded around you, trying to separate you. Kelley put her arm around your neck and walked away, telling you to “keep your cool, this is only a friendly”.

Never, you thought. Never while I’m playing against her.

You apologized to Marta eventually, and she was cool with it. “Heat of the moment”, she said, and you were grateful. You never meant to hurt anyone. Sometimes you just couldn’t control your adrenaline spike.

As expected, Ona didn’t even look at you after the match. So you went home with Marta.

The next morning at breakfast, Ona heard laughing from the girls surrounding Marta.

“How was your American late-night snack, Marta?” Leila laughed.

The girl only shook her head with a grin. “It was delicious, alright.”

Ona didn’t know what that twisted feeling in her gut was when she heard what Marta said, as she walked back to her hotel room after breakfast. She just knew that as long as she was alive, you were the most despicable person she knew.

ESPN: Y/L/N-Batlle Feud Continues, Bonmatí Controls Midfield in Spain-USWNT Clash “LOS ANGELES -- Thursday night saw a friendly match between Spain’s women's national team and the USWNT at the Snapdragon Stadium that ended in a 2-2 draw. Several debutants started for both teams, including Man City powerhouse Y/N Y/L/N. After a stunning cross into the box from the left for Mallory Pugh to tap in, a dangerous slide tackle on Marta Cardona ensured Y/L/N to be the heart of a confrontation between several players, including Ona Batlle. It seems their club rivalry persists as they were seen giving each other a very clear piece of their minds, and several clashes succeeded the Cardona tackle. It would have been a good performance for both if not for the slip of attitude. One thing is clear, though; the mentality is there, and it sure is entertaining to watch. […]”

The end of the season was fast approaching, and while you had become a thorn in her side, it came to a point in which she would not think about you until a week before a clash. This one in particular was crucial in the race for a Champions League spot that both Manchester clubs were vying for. She knew what it meant for the club to secure a UCL spot for the first time, and you were not about to ruin it for her.

Tooney and Millie invited her out for dinner the night before the derby, but she turned them down, opting for a quiet night in instead. After a few hours, however, she suddenly felt antsy, the anticipation before the game nipping at her. It was only 7pm when she checked and she decided to go for a run. She followed the familiar path she always takes to the nearby park, and she was glad she did because the sun was going down, leaving a glorious trail of orange in the sky. She loved these peaceful moments, away from adrenaline, away from the constant pressure, away from constantly having to push herself or she’d be called ‘lazy’.

A constant huffing sound appeared next to her, and when Ona looked down she saw an adorable corgi looking up at her while wagging its tail.

“Hello,” she bent down and pet the dog. Loving the attention, the little corgi jumped up in an attempt to lick her face, to which she let out a laugh.

“Bratwurst! Come back here!” She heard a voice call in the distance, which she assumed must have been the owner. “Sorry, he loves people.”

Ona looked up, and her face dropped. You did the same, standing frozen in front of her. Bratwurst was jumping up and down before you, probably excited that he received pets from someone else today.

She had never seen you in plain clothes before. You clearly knew how to dress yourself, because she might have admitted that you looked good if she didn’t hate you so much. But it was difficult to see you as anything else other than Y/N Y/L/N, Manchester City winger, and potentially Golden Boot winner this season by the looks of it.

And yet, she sat down on a nearby bench with you anyway, watching Bratwurst stick his butt in the air, attempting to catch a squirrel.

“I named him Bratwurst ‘cause he’s . . . long, you know?” You chuckled. ”Short form is Brat too, that’s kinda funny.”

In a sea of northern Englishmen, she never got to hear your American accent properly as she’d only heard you speak no more than two words to her, and most of the time they weren’t pleasant.

“How do you have time to own a dog?” She asked.

“He’s a foster. I just got him a couple of weeks ago.” You looked down at your fingers. “It’s nice to have him to come home to.”

The conversation died down, and suddenly Ona felt like this was a mistake. Maybe she should just leave, and continue her run. But she saw a different side to you—a gentler, quieter side unlike the boastful player she knew you as—and she wasn’t sure whether it was a good thing or not.

“Are you planning on adopting him permanently?”

“Maybe. I just want to make sure that I’m settled before making him move.”

You leaned back, placed your arm on the bench, and closed your eyes.

“You don’t want to stay in Manchester?”

“I don’t know yet. Why, would you be happy if I did?” You smirked, and she saw a glimpse of that player again.

Yes. “Your presence doesn’t bother me. It doesn’t bring me any joy either.”

“Just face it, Batlle.” You turned your body to her. “I get under your skin, don’t I?”

Ona blinked, her jaw clenching. “You don’t intimidate me, Y/L/N. You might be used to people bowing at your feet, but I won’t let you walk all over me. We will win tomorrow, and you might think to show some respect for others in the game.”

“Sorry, Batlle, can’t let you win. We’re playing Champions League next season.” You really enjoyed taunting her.

Ona huffed and stood up. As she walked away, she heard you call out to her. “See you on the pitch tomorrow, la matadora!”

There was nothing you could ever do to make yourself less hateful in her eyes.

It was matchday, kick-off time. Ona saw you on the other side of the midfield line. “Remember what you came here to do, and finish the job,” Marc had told them in the dressing room. He was right. She had a job to do, and she wasn’t about to let you ruin that for her.

They were to play with a high line today, which required Ona to stay near the midfield line and run back, should a forward slip through. About halfway through the first half, she had a startling realization; you were dropping back too, playing a number-10 role. It meant that she couldn’t do what she did last time you met, because there would be a gaping hole where she covers.

United was leading 1-0 by halftime, and while they had the advantage, the fight was far from over.

“Okay, ladies. Have a drink and take a seat,” Marc stood at the front of the dressing room. “We’re doing good, we’re holding them off. Keep up the pressure.”

Ona sat back to catch her breath. You were much more versatile than she thought, and maybe that was her mistake for underestimating you. It seemed too easy that you were giving her exactly what she wanted, playing high at the flank like she always does. There was more to it, but she needed to adapt.

Ona held your gaze for a moment across the field. You weren’t giving up. It seemed you were confident enough in whatever wicked plan you still had up your sleeve, that you sent her a smirk back.

It was the 70th minute of the game and they were so close to achieving it. Katie was looking for a pass, so Ona made herself available.

There was empty space near the side of the box, and she wanted to utilize it but it meant having to get past a couple of defenders.

“Vilde! 1, 2!” She called, passed the ball to her teammate, and started running. Her momentum was halted when Vilde’s ball was cut off and instantly launched forward.

The counterattack came so quickly, it must have been what you practiced. 1-1.

Suddenly, the tides have shifted. The momentum was with City. Time was running out, and the sudden goal disoriented her team. It took about five minutes for everyone to get their head back into the game, but Ona could tell City were used to having possession by then.

And then, in the 88th minute, you were given the ball from the left. Everyone except Alessia had dropped back to defend a series of dangerous balls up until now. You didn’t have anyone to pass to without getting intercepted, and you were outside of the box. So you took the shot. She watched helplessly as the ball flew past Mary into the top right corner.

1-2.

Ona’s body ran cold as she watched you celebrate with your teammates.

When the final whistle came shortly after, she collapsed on her knees.

Some of her teammates were there to console her, but she let their comfort pass through her. She needed to break something.

She needed to get away from everyone and found a spot near the bathrooms where she could catch her breath. Her boots were dangling from her hand by the laces. She slumped against a wall and began to cry, the boots clattering next to her on the floor.

It wasn’t that she was sad to have lost—she blamed herself for letting you get to her head. The interaction of the day before got her thinking what ifs. What if we didn’t meet under these circumstances? What if I could have just gotten to know you without wanting to rip your head off every time I see you?

You heard quiet sobs down the hallway and knew it was her. You had quickly gone into the tunnel when you didn’t see her anywhere on the pitch, but you certainly weren’t expecting to see her cry.

“Batlle?” You called.

She didn’t seem to notice you, sitting against the wall and wiping her face with her shirt.

“Hey, it’s okay.” That was a stupid thing to say considering you just beat her out of a Champions League spot, of course it’s not okay.

“I’m really not in the mood,” she said, looking away.

“You did good out there,” you said, watching her anxiously.

“Don’t act like you care,” she sniffled. “You got what you wanted.”

“I’m not as heartless as you think, Ona.” You quipped back. “I’m not sorry that we won, but I am sorry that you’re hurt.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” She sobbed and glared at you. It sent a chill down your bones. “I wish we had never met.”

How do you tell her that you never meant for things to go this way? That every word you had ever said to her didn’t stem from malice but from fear? You had wished to push her away so that you don’t collide with her head-on. How do you tell her that no matter how hard you tried, you still gravitated toward her?

“I’m sorry.” You repeated, like a fool.

She was hurting because of you.

You snuck a glance at the form of the girl in front of you, like you would be penalized if you were caught looking at her. You took a step back to go, but she held onto your arm and pulled your body against her.

You had been fantasizing about having your mouth against her for months, usually in absurd circumstances, like you two making out in a bed of roses or you giving her a kiss after she, a masked superhero, saved you from danger. Never like this, muscles aching, sweat coating your foreheads, wearing your respective uniforms—being so you doing this.

You wanted to enjoy it. Her lips were soft and salty, and she might have secured you by the waist against her. Your knees trembled as you sighed into her lips, pushing her against the wall gently. Your hesitancy soon turned into hunger, as you pressed your body into hers, desperate to feel her.

Murmurs in the distance snapped you out of it. “Where’s Ona?” You made out one of the voices saying.

You looked back at her, your faces just inches away. You never noticed, but she had so many beautiful freckles adorning her face.

“Ona—“ You said, but she quickly picked up her boots and left towards the voices.

Chest heaving and head spinning, you slumped against the wall with a small grin, bringing your fingers up to touch your lips where she had been.

“Where have you been?” Keira asked in the dressing room, but you just shook your head.

“Just to the bathroom.”

Sky Sports: Man City’s Talisman Y/N Y/L/N Nets Stunning Late Goal Against Man United To Secure UWCL Spot […]

a/n: this gif is so y/n and ona coded

#ona batlle x reader #ona batlle imagine #ona batlle imagines #ona batlle #woso #woso x reader #woso imagines #wwc23 #spain wnt #man united women

1K notes · View notes

beatrice-otter · 1 month

Text

The President and the Police

It is curious to me that people who are (rightly) outraged at the police being sent against the college protestors and want to reflect that in their voting in the next election are focusing on the office that has zero power over the police, and not the offices that actually control the police. (This is especially aggravating because we've been talking about the police a lot over the last four years, and so if people actually wanted to change things you would think they would have figured out basic things like "who controls the police.")

The President does not and never has controlled the police. Anywhere in the US. Policing is a local matter. The vast majority of law enforcement is done by the city police (employed and governed by the city), county sheriffs and their deputies (employed by the county), and state police (employed and governed by the state). The laws and regulations and policies are made at the local level. So are hiring decisions! If you want to change things--and God knows the police are corrupt and violent and bigoted and awful, and DESPERATELY need to be changed--you can't do it through which presidential candidate you vote for (or don't vote for). You do it by voting for your local elected officials: town mayor and city councilmen (or whatever the exact positions are in your area), your county sheriff, and your state representatives. And then following up by doing things like attending city council meetings and raising the question of police reform--and talking to your neighbors and people in your community and building a coalition of people to work on alternatives to the police and convincing people to try some of them. If you live in a city that has a protest that the cops have been called to, please call your city government and complain. It won't magically change things but it'll be a little bit of pressure in the right direction.

The President does have some control over Federal law enforcement, but that's the FBI, DEA, ICE, and other more specialized groups (like the military police and Fish and Wildlife enforcement officers). And God knows that they could desperately use reform as well! ICE in particular should be abolished. So yeah, your vote for President will affect those organizations. (Trump, of course, loves ICE and wants to expand its powers and reach.)

But if you are rightly concerned by police response to the protests, and want to use your vote to do something about it, you need to be thinking locally.

And good news! Local elections have far fewer people voting in them, so it's actually much easier to affect things at a local level than it is to affect national affairs.

I know this, because I've seen it happen in my community. I am a supporter of an immigrant rights group in my community, and a while back our little local police department hired a guy who had been fired for racism by the biggest city in the region. This is extremely common; most trained and experienced police would much rather work in larger cities which pay better. So a lot of small towns and county sheriff's departments have trouble getting "qualified" people who want to work there, and regularly hire cops who are only willing to move to rural areas because they've been fired for cause and no larger police department will touch them.

But in this specific case, the local immigrant support group was watching, saw he'd been hired, and swung into action. They encouraged their members to call the city council, and go to city council meetings, and write letters to the editor, and after a couple of months of this the city council conceded and got rid of the guy. If you get a group of people together to make a concerted effort, you can make a difference in the policing in your local community.

But the President can't do jack about it. So don't blame him, blame the people who actually hire, train, and write the policies for the police. Who are all local people living in your area!

177 notes · View notes

strawberry-daiquiris · 24 days

Note

i just need you to know that all of these ~water adventure oscar~ photos have me thirsting for a salt skin part 2. maybe he and lando decide to take to the sea ? i don’t know. i’m just spit balling. and this is ZERO pressure! i just wanted you to know im thinking of you and your boys! (plus my fave photo from the set!!)

this photo was intense immediate salt skin vibes for me! the concerned look on his face, the clutching hand on the towel, the person captivating him off camera.

i haven't done much meta around them because that fic still feels a bit sacred - i wrote it all in one sitting, more or less, and felt a bit like i'd been drowned in the ocean/dehydrated on a rock when i finally stood up off the sofa.

i've always thought that afterwards, lando would become oscar's very curious, slightly violent wag, flitting all ethereal around the paddock charming people then threatening to rip their throats out if they so much as hinted a threat at oscar. everyone would know there was something weird about him, they could just never really guess what. except for maybe zak brown lol still don't ask me what i was getting at with that weird hint of a side plot.

anyway here's a little 900 word snapshot of their morning before this picture would have been taken in the saltskin universe!

tw for them being bloodthirsty sirens and also displaying slightly coercive behaviour!!!

_________________________

“Are you going to put SPF on?”

Oscar hangs back against the bathroom door, rubbing a stubborn patch of lotion into the dry skin at the side of his nose. On the floor, Lando is rooting under the bed for something, his naked arse pointing Oscar’s direction. It still gets him, even now, how weirdly Lando moves his human body, whipping around slightly too fast, fixing Oscar with a stare that’s a little ethereal.

“I’m a merman, Oscar. I don’t need frickin’ SPF.”

”Were.” Oscar emphasises with his hands, chucking the tube onto the floor next to Lando. He flinches from it like Oscar’s thrown a grenade, or a fishing line. “You were a merman, and now you’re not, so…”

He points out the window to the baking hot sun. It’s a free weekend in Monaco, time to take the boat out into the furthest reaches of the bay so Lando can dive under the water for longer than it should be possible to hold his breath.

“SPF.”

Lando grimaces, poking at the tube with his foot, trying to roll it under the bed to its final resting place next to whatever he’d been looking for. He treats the underneath of the bed like a cave, hoarding things there. It’s fine, and Oscar doesn’t mind, until it’s something important, like his passport, or the car keys.

”Lando, don’t make me do it.”

Oscar turns back to the bathroom mirror, sighing when he realises he’s still got a glob of white on his nose. He pauses, listening for the squelch of cream on soft skin, but it doesn’t come.

”Lando,” he starts, and he hears a groan as his voice curls out of the bathroom, tantalisingly soft as it creeps away from him. Oscar has learnt how to control it, how to target the power towards a person, or an object. It’s not the only reason there’s trophies on his shelves and a different coloured team wear in his wardrobe, but it’s one of the biggest. “Put on the sunscreen.”

He hears the cap pop, the heavy weight of Lando’s footsteps as he comes closer, standing naked in the doorway squirting it on his chest. It’d be hot, if it weren’t for the scowl.

”I hate you,” Lando spits, tongue more pointed than usual, the tops of his ears going red like they want to spike, fighting the siren rage.

Maybe it’s hot because of the scowl.

Oscar only smiles, wrapping an arm around his stomach and holding him against the door frame, fingers working some of the cream into the scarred skin that used to be gills, shiny silvery purple like stretch marks. When he comes to a stop, he looks at his hand, pale against the tan of Lando’s skin. Ever since he came out of the ocean, he’s had webbing at the base of his fingers. Not enough to be noticeable unless you really look. Take it in alongside his slightly lighter eyes, and his sharper fingernails. Surface changes to the eye, but rooted far deeper than that, somewhere in Oscar’s DNA.

”No, you don’t,” Oscar whispers, and he doesn’t need to use his powers for this, needs nothing more than the press of his lips against the side of Lando’s face, where he’s finally starting to grow something that looks like facial hair. “You love me.”

Lando squirms, but Oscar has the upper hand. More strength in his thighs, more defined muscles in his chest. He’s not fighting a monster now. He is one.

”Don’t.”

Oscar smiles, twisting Lando so their faces are pressed so close he can smell the salt on Lando’s breath. Strong like he’s been swilling sea water, even after he’s brushed his teeth.

”You do, you love me,” Oscar insists, and Lando shakes his head. Oscar rests his fingers along Lando’s scars again, scraping the pointy bits of his nails along the soft, new skin until Lando shivers, whimpering, pleading. Tame. “You wished for me.”

Lando grabs Oscar’s arm, wraps his strong, long fingers around his wrist and tugs, heaving breaths like he’s just gulped down a lungful of water.

“You did,” Oscar insists, the hand Lando didn’t grab scratching deeper, until the scars start to pinken. It turns Lando on, every time, still sensitive with an erogenous zone unique only to him. “Say it.”

”I wished for you,” Lando blurts, and Oscar lets go, stepping back out of his space triumphantly. Still, Lando reaches for him, sliding his hands under Oscar’s t-shirt, feeling the muscles, pulling him close. His voice is softer, when he speaks again, more like the boy who dazzled him in the water, tempted him close to death. “You know I wished for you.”

Oscar kisses Lando’s forehead, holds him as he rests against his chest, so much skin on display, so much vulnerability. He can tell the moment it takes them both, remembering how lonely they were, how much they loathed the absence of this, even when they didn’t know what this was.

“I know,” Oscar whispers, letting his hand fall to the curve of Lando’s waist, and the small ridge where his tail used to start, the one you can feel if you know where to touch. Eczema, Oscar has taught Lando to claim, if anyone asks why his skin looks like the surface of a rock, weathered by a storm. “I know.”

They stay that way until the SPF starts to dry, tacky, on Lando’s skin and Oscar has to push him away before they’re bound by more than just the sea.

”Put some clothes on, Lando,” Oscar says, brushing past him to leave for the kitchen, pack a cool box with raw meat they don’t eat anywhere but home, the boat and any restaurant with carpaccio on the menu. “The boat’s not going to sail itself.”

#GOD I LOVE THE BLOODTHIRSTY LITTLE MONSTERS!!!!#Both changed in different ways #Weirdly nervous about this because that fic sometimes feels like it was written by someone Not Me lmao #my fic #salt skin #landoscar #strawberry.ask

145 notes · View notes

neverevan · 21 days

Text

Fuck It Friday 💌

I keep wondering if people even know that I write... like, I know giffing has captivated me lately, but actually this is where I'm "based", so to speak. I just kinda fell off the map since the new season started airing (and since posting that 75k monstrosity that was the mudslide fic lmao).

Anyway, I am finally, finally getting closer to finishing the buck loves tommy fic (which pretty much does what it says on the tin, though it does have an actual title now), all it needs is some hefty editing and it's ready to be posted — hopefully within the next few days. Until then, here's some soft angst that somehow found its way into the middle of the smut.

“Good.” Tommy’s lips stretched into one of those wide but close lipped smiles and it was hard to hold back the urge to trace it with his thumb — so he didn’t. Tommy gave a small kiss to the tip of Buck’s thumb, before opening his lips and sucking it in between them, humming quietly. “God… did you get even hotter while you were away?” Buck mused with an incredulous huff. “Are you trying to talk your way into my pants?” Tommy’s grin was downright dangerous as he let go of Buck’s finger and leaned down to get a hold of the hem of his t-shirt, rolling it up as much as he could with the stupid sling in the way. “You’re not wearing any pants.” Buck pointed out with a teasing lilt of his voice. “Must be doing real good on all that talking then, huh?” “Funny.” Buck rolled his eyes jovially, but when Tommy didn’t answer or in fact moved at all, he zeroed in on his face with a frown. “H-hey, you okay?” “I don’t know. Are you?” Buck followed his line of sight, only to realize that Tommy was staring directly at the bruises on his ribs, where they were blooming like a collection of poisonous clematises; hugging his torso tight, probably for weeks to come. “Y-yeah, I told you, I’m fine. It’s- it’s just some bruising, no big deal, I swear.” “We can wait until you feel better.” Tommy suggested, his face darkening and his eyes never leaving the big blotches of purple and pink. “Baby, does it look like I wanna wait?” Buck scoffed, gesturing vaguely at his achingly hard cock, only inches away from Tommy’s own. “Evan, that’s not—” “You a-asked me what I need.” Buck cut him off with a serious set of his jaw. “This- this is what I need. You. That’s all I want, okay? So just… please, would you just touch me already?” Buck closed his eyes with a frustrated little sigh and only opened them when he felt a feather light touch on his skin, causing it to twitch with a tickle, as Tommy’s lips brushed over the bruises. “That okay?” He hummed quietly, his lips gently vibrating with it and bringing a small tingle into Buck's ribs, one that somehow felt like it was going much deeper than skin or bone. “Y-yeah… okay.”

✨I have been tagged by and am absolutely no pressure tagging the ever so talented @sunshinediaz @spagheddiediaz @jeeyuns @exhuastedpigeon @bidisasterevankinard @diazsdimples @likegoldintheair @honestlydarkprincess @watchyourbuck @actualalligator @wikiangela @bucksbignaturals @loveyouanyway and anyone else who feels like sharing mwuahhh 💛

#the smut is just some very rought draft at the moment but it's finally done #and the whole thing is nearly 9k unedited #which the people who do remember how i am when i write already know means it'll be a miracle if it comes out under 10k lmao #i kinda missed this ngl #anyway #911 #911 abc #bucktommy #wip #buck loves tommy

98 notes · View notes

justalittlesolarpunk · 24 days

Note

I've been feeling climate anxiety lately. I think it's really necessary to change everything and progress towards a postcapitalist future that doesn't endanger our planet, our Pachamama. But I don't see how that will be possible. What do you think about this?

Hiya, thanks for getting in touch and sorry it’s taken me so long to reply. I get a lot of asks like this so I think I might make this another masterpost. Here’s climate anxiety solutions according to me:

1) Accept your feelings. Recognise that fear, grief, rage and despair are all normal, healthy, human reactions to paying actual attention to what is being done to our planet right now. You aren’t wrong or sick or overreacting by feeling them. Sit with the emotions, allow them to wash over you, cry, smash plates, punch a pillow, journal, write poetry, yell at the news, scream in the woods! Trying to repress these feelings will just make them harder to deal with.

2) Recognise that the paralysis of climate anxiety is not a good place from which to make a difference. Try to let horror, guilt and self-blame go, and lean into the love for people and planet that motivates all eco-anxiety. Start consuming good news stories and keying into activist spaces so that you can learn how others are claiming agency to fight this problem, and how you can emulate that. Remember that despair absolves you of responsibility and that true solidarity with the most affected means letting your emotions drive you towards action.

4) Educate yourself through reading, listening to podcasts, attending talks, seeking advice from elders, and more - whatever works for your particular life and circumstances. The more informed you are about these issues the more you’ll feel able to address them.

3) Make as many changes as you can in your personal life. Are you eating a high-carbon diet? Try to reduce that. Are you consuming a lot of water or energy resources? Look for green and low-intensity alternatives. Examine your transport habits and prioritise walking, cycling, trains, low or zero emission buses, sailing, and replacing longer-haul journeys with remote options. If you live in a throwaway culture, try to prioritise reuse and repair over consumption. Consider how your livelihood impacts the planet, and if it’s negatively and making change is possible for you, start the process of moving towards an occupation that lets you make a more positive difference.

4) Fight! Join a campaign group, write to your elected officials, attend a protest, donate money to causes if you can, commit civil disobedience if you feel willing and able. Put pressure on governments, businesses and the public to change their ways.

5) Prioritise joy and connection. Spend time in nature, watching animals or foraging for plants or swimming or walking or just letting it all wash over you. Link up with other people to talk through your worries, go hiking, lobby for climate justice, safeguard ecosystems and pass down your local heritage. Sometimes, take a day or two to check out of all these issues and problems and just spend time drawing, cooking, playing games with loved ones, or whatever it is that relaxes you. There are enough of us that you can take the time to avoid burnout.

I hope some of this was helpful, and do please get back in touch if you have any other questions or queries. You’re part of a huge global community of people who love and revere the earth and want to build a better future for all life upon her. Hold onto that.

#solarpunk #hopepunk #cottagepunk #environmentalism #social justice #community #optimism #bright future #climate justice #tidalpunk #ask #answer #climate anxiety

55 notes · View notes

piratecaptainscaptainpirates · 4 months

Note

I'm such a big fan of your 1K fic requests (as well as your fanfics overall)! If you have time for one more 1K request, I would really appreciate it, but no pressure. I'm sure you get dozens of these. Anyway, we've seen how sensitive Ed is about people touching his face and hair and how respectful Stede is of that boundary. Could you write a fic about the first time Stede asks if he can touch Ed's face/hair? Like maybe they're kissing and things start getting more passionate and Stede wants so badly to cradle Ed's face and run his fingers through his soft hair, but he is aware of how Ed has reacted to that type of thing in the past, so he finally asks if it's okay.

I adore this prompt! People of color letting their white partner touch their hair for the first time is something that can be so beautiful.

(And no worries, I promise there will never be too many prompts in my inbox! I cherish each one. <3)

Ed didn’t let people touch his hair, as a rule.

He’d gotten tired of entitled light-skinned folks feeling like they could touch his hair without asking well before the Blackbeard persona came along. One of the very few mercies of being Blackbeard was that no one felt like they could just walk up to him and start touching his hair or his beard. Still, the idea of someone’s hands in his hair brought back bad memories. Rich fucks at that party trying to snatch the bows out of his beard and laughing when he flinched. Old boyfriends yanking his hair and laughing when he told them to stop.

So, yeah, Blackbeard used to have a zero-tolerance policy. Start with your grubby white fingers towards his hair, and you were out.

It had been a long time since he’d needed to order anyone tossed overboard for trying to touch his hair. But Ed still froze when he felt Stede’s hand on the side of his neck.

They’d been having such a nice time. Just hanging out on the sofa in the captain’s cabin, their intended job of stitching up the holes in the fabric long since abandoned in favor of making out like teenagers, and Ed was about to relax back into the kiss when he felt Stede pull back.

“Hey,” Stede whispered, slowly moving his hand away from Ed’s neck.

Ed pouted, sticking out his lower lip a bit to emphasize how tragically unkissed he currently was. “Everything okay?”

“Oh, yes, I’d love to get back to what we were doing ASAP, actually,” Stede said in a rush, his eyes dipping down to look at Ed’s lips before he visibly forced himself to make eye contact again.

Ed giggled. He loved that his boyfriend said things like ASAP.

“But I was just wondering,” Stede went on, “if it would be alright if I could touch your hair?”

Ed blinked, feeling his smile falter.

“You don’t have to let me, not at all, I know you don’t really like people touching around your face,” Stede assured him hurriedly, and even if he didn’t know the exact reasons why, he clearly at least had an inkling. “I’d just…it looks so soft, and I love your hair so much, Ed. All the time.”

It was hard not to hear what Stede meant. I love you so much, Ed. All the time.

Deep breath.

“Would you stop touching it if I asked you to?” Ed knew Stede had never been anything but perfectly respectful of his boundaries, but he had to be sure.

“Of course,” Stede said immediately, frowning like the mere idea of making Ed uncomfortable and ignoring his request to stop was the worst thing he’d ever considered.

“Okay,” Ed said, and his eyes fluttered shut in bliss when Stede’s lips met his again.

Stede pulled back just a bit, just enough to nibble cheekily at Ed’s bottom lip, and Ed practically purred into his mouth. Then he felt Stede’s gentle, hesitant hand on the side of his face, cupping his face, gently scratching his nails through Ed’s short beard, and he groaned in delight, shifting to try to nuzzle his cheek into Stede’s palm.

When Stede got his other hand into Ed’s hair, it was the most profound gentleness he’d ever experienced. Stede ran his hair through his fingers so carefully, taking so much care not to pull or hurt him in any way.

It was so rare, for someone to be touching Ed’s face like that, to be in his space so intimately, and so obviously not have any desire to hurt or mock him.

When they pulled back, panting into each other’s mouths, a worried line popped up between Stede’s eyebrows. “Ed? Are you okay?”

“Mmmmyeah,” Ed said, very eloquently.

“You’re crying,” Stede whispered.

“Oh.” Ed lifted his hand from Stede’s chest - he didn’t even remember putting it there - and wiped at his eyes with his knuckles. “Sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” Stede told him softly. “I didn’t hurt you, or make you uncomfortable, did I?”

“Nah, man. The opposite, if anything.”

Stede had moved his hands back to his own lap, and Ed picked them up, gently guiding him to cup Ed’s face in his hands. He took a deep breath, then let it out, letting himself relax, letting Stede cradle him in his hands.

“This, Stede?” He said, nuzzling down into Stede’s hands. “This is perfect.”

That night, as they were getting ready for bed, Ed worked up the courage to ask Stede to brush his hair.

It wasn’t like he couldn’t do it himself, of course, and with their hair textures being so different, it took some explaining for Stede to learn how to use Ed’s brushes and hair products. But Stede was a fast learner, Ed was a patient teacher, and he knew Stede wanted to take care of his hair just as much as Ed wanted to be taken care of.

It was a bit scary, at first. They sat on the bed with Ed between Stede’s legs, and Ed was very aware of how much trust he was putting in Stede. For his part, Stede was hesitant and careful, making the beginning a very slow process, and Ed jumped at every unexpected touch. But it was so easy to feel safe with Stede, and soon enough Ed felt like a boneless puddle in Stede’s lap as he brushed his hair, cooing about how beautiful and soft Ed’s hair was.

“You’re so lovely,” Stede said, and Ed could feel his smile against his skin when he leaned down to press a kiss to the back of his neck. “I could stay here for the rest of my life, just like this, and die happy. I’m so lucky you’re mine.”

Mine.

“Oh,” Stede muttered, pausing in his brushing, sounding almost surprised at himself. “Is that okay? Can I say that?”

“Yeah,” Ed said, preening under his hands. “I’m all yours.”

#ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd fic #my fics

65 notes · View notes

oneatlatime · 7 months

Text

The Desert

Alternate title: Gimme Appa back.

"But I believe, Aang can save the world." no pressure kid.

I had completely forgotten about these two chuckleheads. For once the 'Previously On' segment is useful rather than spoilery.

Ok Aang is going to get the world's biggest pass this episode, because he's in the suckiest of all situations. But even so, how exactly was Toph supposed to come and get them, when she was both actually blind for once and the only reason the library hadn't drowned them yet?

Aang has something of a history of running away. Does going after Appa count as running away from his friends?

Zuko's theatre kid tendencies are genetic.

The way Iroh said "What Now?" you know he was actually saying "fuck's sake."

Zuko's hair seems to grow very quickly. I thought that I could use his hair growth to measure time passing but this is not tracking. He barely had a buzz cut in The Chase and now he's fluffy.

Two things: a) this guy has eyes greyer than Aang this episode. b) He's cocking his hands like that ridiculous Henry Cavill scene from Mission Impossible where he cocks his biceps.

This guy's spear has piercings. And is coming out of a Dragon's mouth.

I don't know that I'd call these guys legendary. They're zero for two against an Avatar in Drag and two starving refugees with three functioning arms.

Doesn't Katara ever change out her water? Or even use it up and have to refill it?

I said it last episode, and I'll say it again: why did five people, a lemur, and a ten tonne sky bison travel into a desert famous for its desertiness with only a single water pouch between them? Admittedly, if they'd brought extra water and left it on Appa, they'd be having the same problem, but still...

Is a kids' show actually going to go there?

They actually went there!

Honestly if you're dying of dehydration in the desert, eating strange plants is absolutely the way to go. I'd rather trip my way into the afterlife than just shrivel up and die.

I love the way Aang's glider shadow moves over the dunes. Another one of those tiny details that the animators could have left out, but they didn't!

Sand benders must get crazy high speeds if Aang can't spot even a trace of Appa from up high. He wasn't Appa-napped very long ago.

Everyone go watch the scene where Aang blows up the mushroom cloud. Go right now I'll wait. And pay attention to Sokka's mouth. It does the wave.

His mouth does the wave and his arms do the worm. Someone really had fun this episode.

Zuko breaking the world record for highest number of Fire Nation wanted posters. Despite being the only person on that board who's unquestionably loyal to the Fire Nation. What a nice reward he got for his loyalty.

How is that one wrestler dude's hair so shiny?

Why, other than plot convenience, would Zuko and Iroh be at the Ice Spring?

I see now that the left hand shadow is Sokka with a Momo on his head. But for just a second I thought it was Ramona from Scott Pilgrim.

There are some really beautiful colour gradients in this desert.

"We won't survive without Appa." Well yes, but you have to try.

If this is a normal desert they're going to freeze their butts off overnight.

No comment. Just vibes.

Hey this is a Katara episode! Toph is blind, Sokka's zoinked, Aang's given up, so it's Katara time baby!

This episode has no business being this pretty.

"Sokka. I was there." I'd be very surprised if Katara's voice actress doesn't have an idiot older brother. That line was delivered a little too perfectly.

I'm not going to comment on every Sokka is high joke, but rest assured I'm finding them all hilarious.

Those drinks cost a gold piece each. Where did they get five gold pieces from?

Colour me shocked. The chuckleheads actually had a good idea for once.

Colour me shocked again! I vaguely predicted this!

Zuko. Honey. How are you this dim? He's so very good at missing exactly what's in front of him.

"Gold?"

Big muscles. No brains.

Very pretty. The sand texture is good too.

Well that was mean.

Passive aggressive glider deployment. Also how low is that cloud if Aang can reach it to bend it?

Aang is not shining this episode (understandably) but Katara is going from strength to strength. I NEVER would have thought that she was someone who could keep her cool under pressure like this. Happy to be wrong!

I have no idea if Sokka is going to remember or be aware of this epic trip he's on, but this is probably the best time he's had in months. Certainly since Yue died. He deserves this. Bad timing, but he needed a break.

"You must forgive my nephew. He is not an initiate, and is dumb as shit and incapable of reading the room."

Why is there a flower shop in the middle of the desert? What clients do they have? Obviously it's a front for this pai sho secret society thing, but why did they pick such a nonsensical front?

Toph has so much personality that it's easy to forget how tiny she is. Like a little gargoyle.

Sokka talking like a Greaser was the thing I didn't know I needed.

Poor Katara. Now you know how your brother feels every time he has to save your bacon from your weekly prison break.

I am losing my mind over these colours. Especially after The Library.

"I have a natural curiosity." I'm going to start using that.

Oops they found the circle bird nest.

Hey showrunners, you're going to take Momo from me too? You sure you want to do that? After last episode? Don't give me a pretty sunset with a latte swirl. Give me back Appa, put down Momo, or I'll sic Toph on you.

I do like Toph as a piece of artillery.

Turns out a combined Appa and Momo -napping is what it takes to get Aang to break his no killing rule. I now know how to defeat the Fire Lord.

The Audacity. Going to Ba-Sing- however the hell that's spelled. The sheer audacity. But then what? What's the plan after they get there? Just live the rest of their lives?

Rejected Mortal Combat guy.

You ever have one of those days where you do only your top lip?

Whoever made that door, and that lock - good job!

Nothing to see here, just making a delivery of two giant planters in the middle of the desert. The Owl decided to spruce up his entryway.

Y'all are fucked. Y'all deserve it. Aang has completely lost control. He's spent the whole episode losing it more and more and now he's gone completely off the rails. Has he ever zipped into the Avatar state that fast before?

Never underestimate the power of a woman who's fed up with everyone's nonsense. Just so fed up.

Well that was sad.

Badass name of the day: Malachi Throne, voice of a character whose name I don't recognise.

Final Thoughts

This was Katara's episode. I'm not going to forgive not getting Appa back, but Katara actually keeping a level head for once was an unexpected delight.

This episode was pretty unrelentingly heavy in the A-plot, which is why I don't understand why Sokka and Momo tripping worked so well. It did work, and I very much enjoyed it, but it should have stuck out like a sore thumb and it didn't. The beat up Sokka quota fulfillled from within by chemicals was a nice creative touch.

I am very happy to see Iroh take the wheel, although I'm not convinced there's a long term plan here beyond get food and shelter. Which, fair enough, goals tend to be short term and immediate when you're in dire straits.

This episode really stomped all over Aang. And then stomped some more. I was surprised how negative and shouty he was at the beginning, but by the end I was surprised how long it took him to lose it. Apart from his staff and his clothes, Appa really is all he has left from before he got frozen. That sandbender punk was rotten to the core.

So I guess we're going to the earth kingdom capital regardless of the eclipse information. Is the rest of the season going to be getting there? I also can't help but notice that it's where Iroh and Zuko are headed as well. Zuko could actively run in the direction opposite to the Avatar and he'd still end up tripping over him. The earth Kingdom is ginormous. And yet, like every two episodes Zuko runs into the Avatar. Is it fate? Is it plot convenience?

I should dislike this episode. It's 24 minutes of our faves getting beat down and not finding Appa, with a b-plot of Zuko being more oblivious than usual. I should dislike it, but I don't. This is definitely going on the rewatch list. It was a very pretty episode, which helped. Beyond that I can't put into words why I liked it, but I did!

#atla #avatar: the last airbender #avatar the last airbender #The Desert #Dessert?#Desert is one of the words where the longer you stare at it the less it's a word #Like Sausage #Sew-sahhj

89 notes · View notes

theresattrpgforthat · 8 months

Note

gundam themed/similar games?

THEME: Gundam

Hello friend! This actually made me go back into my previous game recs and realize that I hadn’t properly tagged my Mechs Part 1 and Part 2 recs - so now you should be able to find them! Out of the games listed there, I’d definitely recommend Disaster/Wing by A Couple of Drakes, Mobile Zero Firebrands,by Lumpley Games, and Apocalypse Frame by Binary Star Games.

Now, let’s see what else we can rustle up.

Last Sentinels, by Jason Price.

The people of AUGUR-V had been cast into the stars, pursued by the vengeful forces of the New Alliance. But one Sentinel pilot still offered them hope. This is their story.

Last Sentinels is a GM-less storytelling tabletop roleplaying game for 3 or 4 players. It focuses on one main protagonist, a gifted young civilian who escapes the besieged planet of AUGUR-V on a titanic starship with their remaining people. They must defend these survivors against overwhelming odds as a vast fleet pursues the ship through their former empire.

But your protagonist is doomed.

Their story will end in death or betrayal when they succumb to the intense pressures of hope, despair, scheming foes and high-stakes mech combat.

Last Sentinels is more focused on the structure of the narrative than it is on the fights between mechs. Because the game is GM-less, the story becomes a negotiation, with the responsibilities of the players depending on where they sit at the table. Another thing unique about this game is the fact that no one player is responsible for any one character. This is because this is a story with one protagonist - similar to Amuro Rey from the original series. The game isn’t meant to tell a happy story - this is a game with a tragic ending. If you want a game that treats the subject matter of war with the same gravity as Mobile Suit Gundam, this is the game for you.

IGNOBLECORPS: Pilots of Command, by Declan Lowthian.

Hello Pilot You are about to embark on your first mission for the glory of Command. We have faith that your training will not fail you, and that you in turn will not fail us. You have your mission. Ready for launch.

IGNOBLECORPS is a game about desperate mech pilots working within a titanic organization spanning the galaxy. Fight for and against Command's control and try to get out alive.

This is a hack of a game called NOBLECORE, a game about metal space fantasy with legendary heroes. This system uses exploding dice pools, which means that when you roll the highest number on any given dice, you get to re-roll for a chance at more success! This is also a collaborative game, so it expects all of the players at the table to generate the galaxy around you, rather than providing you with chapters and chapters of lore. This game reminds me of Gundam because it expects combat to be brutal and desperate - even if the moves are flashy, the war behind them is gritty and dark.

Armored Battle Frame, by Mundos Infinitos.

The WORLD is in a WAR fought with MECHAS. You are a PILOT, shaped to fight, witness to atrocities, bearer of wounds, a tool for victory. This is the story of your dreams and ambitions.

As a pamphlet game, expect Armored Battle Frame to be quick to pick up and quick to play. The designer, Benjamin A. Reyna, is very good at fitting a lot of information into a small space. This game can be played with or without a GM, and it can also be played solo! Mobile Suit Gundam is also listed as an inspiration in the game description. The designer also has another Mech game called Real Robot TechaMech: Professional Level, which uses a game system found among a number of Reyna’s games.

Battle Century G: Remastered, by GimmickLabs.

Express your creativity without mechanical restrictions. The game is effects-based, so how you do something does not matter as much as what you do. And what you do is pilot a kickass Mecha, command a badass Battleship, or ride a terrifying Kaiju.

Employ tactics and teamwork to defeat your enemies. Enemies in Battle Century G are powerful, you'll have to adapt on the fly to their weapons and schemes, watch each other's backs with your allies to ensure no one gets shot down, and employ synchronized combination attacks to defeat superbosses.

Explore a solarpunk future. The setting included in this book presents an environmentalist, inclusive and transhumanist society opposing an industrialist empire with the looming threat of kaiju mechabeasts on the horizon. It is inspired by the likes of Turn A Gundam, Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind, Dune and Sid Meier's Alpha Centauri.

Battle Century G boasts fast-paced combat and big powers that make you feel more than competent. It also includes advice on playing for both GMs and players, in what looks to be an effort to make the game as easy to step into as possible, and the themes and setting information allow for a number of societies that look very different from our own - great for speculative fiction.This is a game that is the result of various playtests and previous editions, so it’s less likely to feel like a quick hack and more likely to feel like a full game.

Maharlika, by makapatag.

MAHARLIKA RPG is a technomystic Science Fantasy mecha RPG inspired by Filipino Mythology, centered around Mekanized Weapons or Meka, and their pilots: the eponymous Maharlika.

You will play as these titular spirit-warriors, mavericks, aces, and knights that all swear loyalty to a Datu, one of the CEOs of the Megacorporations, so that you can protect the technospiritual galaxy of Arkipelago.

As a Maharlika, you venture out into space where you will take on dangerous missions, fight for your ideals, hack the spiritual internet that is the Lambat, repel Xenobeings, trade love and resources, and participate in fiestas to survive, thrive, and protect what is yours in the dangerous Starsea.

Maharlika is inspired by a number of mech media, including Mobile Suit Thunderbolt and Iron Blooded Orphans from the Gundam series. The game has two modes of play: Maharlika (narrative) and Meka (mech combat). You’ll use mainly d10s and d20s for these rolls, and add modifiers for skills and stats that your character is strong in. The setting itself is described as technomystical, and the lore is heavily inspired by Filipino mythology, so if you want to really lean into the supernatural abilities such as the psychic abilities suggested in Mobile Suit Gundam’s Newtypes, this might be worth checking out. Maharlika is possibly also the most technically complex game on this list.

Games I’ve Recommended in the Past

Spectres of Brocken, by ehronlime.

Lancer, by Massif Press.

#tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #dnd #game recommendations #asks #mechs

108 notes · View notes

zeezelweazel · 1 year

Text

Lottie Matthews| On the field|

______________________________________

This is the first time I do a fic for s single character please bear with me

Also is it too obvious that I'm obsessed with Lottie?

Also I'm sorry in advance if this is confusing to people who don't know much about football I don't know how else to explain the positions since I've always been a football gal. But I am a European so like I have no clue how nationals work

Summary: You and your team have made it to nationals and you promised yourself that nothing will distract you from winning. Little did you know the enemy team's CB is going to steal your heart like she steals the ball from your feet.

______________________________________

You are nervous about this game, I mean of course, you are at motherfucking nationals. You are not going to let anything get in your way. You are ready to give it your all and as your team's top striker everyone depends on you to seal the deal.

It's already been 30 minutes since the game started and even though the score is set at zero for both teams you're quite confident you can win this. Wiskayok High School, the team you were going against, was good alright but you were better. It is quite obvious that their striker was getting frustrated by your defenders blocking her each and every time she tries anything and their desperation becomes more obvious as their midfielders try to push more and more, without producing any results.

Their defense on the other hand is having trouble controlling the ball and keeping you at bay to the point where one of their midfielders, number 6, has to stay behind for extra help.

All was going well until the second half started and the Yellowjackets started of with a switchover. You tried to suppress a grin when you saw their coach bring in a fresh player in their backline just in hopes of stopping you. Suppressing your grin though became a lot harder when you took a look at the girl running across the field, heading straight to you to claim the central-back position.

Her hair is dark and curly tied in two pigtails with small yellow bows. Her eyes are a soft chocolate colour that perfectly matches her soft face. She's tall, like really tall, and her sun kissed skin seems to shine in the sunlight. When your eyes go back up to her face, after you took a good look at her from head to toe, you notice her staring right back at you.

Fuck, she caught me staring.

You are about to look away in embarrassment when you notice a faint blush in her cheeks. Well maybe you weren't the only one staring.

The sound of loud cheering brings you back to the game. You look at the score board and sure enough the score was now 0-1. You let out a sigh honestly disappointed by how you're losing when everything was going fine three seconds ago. As you're moving to get in position for the kickoff you can't help but look back at the stunning CB and to your surprise she's not just looking at you, she's full on smirking.

Oh game on Yellowjackets.

During the next 15 minutes you relentlessly attacked working perfectly with your midfielders to put pressure on the enemy defense. There were so many good opportunities for you to score but all of them were cut short thanks to their number 5.

It's like you and this gorgeous girl silently created a 1v1 and after one point it honestly felt like it was only you and her on the field.

The match is nearing it's end with the clock ticking at 80 minutes and that's when you see the goal coming in the form of a crossover pass that lands right in front of you and after dribbling your way out of their defense, it's only you and their goalkeeper and you swear you see the the crowd already cheering as you lift your leg ready to shoot...

And then suddenly the world is upside down and you hit your head really hard on the turf and you're honestly so ready to get up and start yelling at the idiot that did this.

When you open your eyes you're met with wide and apologetic brown ones and you don't register anything else going on for what feels like years until you try to get up but you're unable to.

You both look down at the same time just to see her strong thick thighs frame your hips and her hands clutching the front of your jersey. Now it's your turn to smirk as she blushes and stumbles to get up on her feet. She extends her arm to help you up but you don't waste the opportunity and tug her down so she's face to face with you.

"Let me buy you a milkshake after we win." You whisper in her ear before walking in your position to execute the foul she just granted you, leaving her dumbfounded.

After you hear the whistle all it takes is a good kick and three seconds before the crowd goes wild and you're surrounded by your teammates. You can't deny how your eyes skipped over all the disappointed faces of your opponents before locking in with soft brown ones. This time you don't try to suppress your grin when you see a soft smile on her face.

The last few minutes of the game were torturous as both teams tried incredibly hard to out do one another. But, no matter the effort of your dear number 5, the enemy defense was just not strong enough to stop you from scoring again just a few minutes before the end of the game and getting the win for your team.

After the final whistle, you go around the field shacking hands with your opponents and feeling sorry for them after seeing their hurt and disappointed expressions.

"Hey, good game miss Messi."

You turn around, startled by the unfamiliar voice only to find your favourite defender staring back at you with a soft loopy smile.

"You too um...?"

She looked at you confused for e few seconds before she registered the silent question.

"Lottie. How about you?"

"It's Y/N"

You two simply smile at eachother for e few seconds before the moment gets ruined by exaggerated sounds of kissing. When look to the side you spot their goalkeeper, who is still making those sounds while wiggling her eyebrows, alongside their midfielders, numbers 7 and 8, who are trying and failing to fight back their laugh.

"Oh my god." Lottie mumbled quietly beside you as she put her head on her hands in defeat and embarrassment. You only giggle and grab her hand, leading her towards the locker rooms.

"Come on, we still have that date to go to."

____________________________________________________

#wlw #female reader #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets imagine #lottie x reader #lottie matthews #lottie matthews x reader

196 notes · View notes

freehideoutpuppy · 3 months

Text

Ok so I've briefly touched on this, and I've done some reblogging of some other people's posts about it but I've decided it's time I add my own thoughts on Midoriya using Deku as his hero name.

Personally, I think it's one of Horikoshi's biggest failures in the early part of the series. We get glimpses of Midoriya's mental health being shit throughout the series, and the name Deku and his mistreatment by his peers and even his teachers pre OFA is pretty damn bad.

So, while I do understand what Horikoshi was going for with having Midoriya claim the name Deku as something different, it still feels wrong. Especially when adding in the context of how Uraraka just bulldozed over it being an insult that his freaking bully called him to be awful. And maybe if Bakugo had actually gotten REAL consequences for his actions or moved to 1-B or something, I wouldn't have as big an issue with it. But damn Bakugo has treated Midoriya like crap in every flash back we see. And has been a constant negative presence in Midoriya's life the entire time. And that, along with Bakugo being the one to give him that awful nickname in the first place, drives me crazy. Horikoshi has had so many missed opportunities and made a lot of choices with character development that leave me scratching my head in confusion. And about 90% of those decisions have something to do with Bakugo.

But I'm getting off topic a bit. During the war arc we really see Midoriya spiral and a big part of me actually enjoyed it in some ways because it was the first time we really get to see Midoriya behave in the way that's indicative of how he and heroes have treated by society as a whole. He believes wholeheartedly that he needs to hunt down AFO and Shigaraki alone because that's how All Might has been presented, and he has to live up to that pressure. He fully believes that his life is worthless and that he's only useful if he's doing everything he can to protect others even at the cost of himself. Which all comes back to Deku. I fully believe that Midoriya still feels like as a person he's worthless, and that's why he really chose Deku. Maybe he hoped that he could change the meaning of it now that he has OFA, but I think deep down he believes otherwise. We've seen that throughout the manga and anime. He consistently broke himself when he realized someone more powerful than him or who had a quirk from childhood was in danger. At the USJ, when he tried to attack Shigaraki, who was trying to dust Tsu. When he attacked the Zero pointer during the entrance exam so it wouldn't crush Uraraka. When he launched himself at Shigaraki to protect All Might. When he and Todoroki fought in the sports festival and he irreparably damaged his hand. There are so many instances of this kid letting himself be hurt by others to protect someone else, and he has zero regard for his own life. It's pretty heartbreaking, honestly. It's a big contributor to why I stopped reading the manga at this point. Well, that and Bakugo's deus ex machina, but well, it's bakugo, and I hate him, so that shouldn't surprise anyone who has seen my rants or knows me irl.

But yeah, I both loathe and understand why Midoriya went with Deku as his hero name. That doesn't mean I agree with the decision, but I understand it.

#anti bakugo katsuki #boku no hero academia #midoriya deserves better #Midoriya making Deku his hero name was awful #reffering to Midoriya as Deku gives me hives #get midoriya a better hero name ffs #justice for midoriya #horikoshi critical #horikoshi cant write redemption arcs to save his life #Bakugo Katsuki shouldve stayed dead fight me #Bakugo Katsuki is the worst #Bakugo is a bad plot device that should've either been made a villain or stopped being relevant after Kamino

39 notes · View notes

nonexistent-introvert · 7 months

Text

Seat Partners 3

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x f!reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Content: Miguel being blunt, some apologies, and the overall study date. also flirty banter and Miguel letting his guard down

A/N: HELLO IM BACK. i wrote the front part like a month and more ago then continued it so if things dont connect as well im sorry, im kinda rusty when it comes to writing but ik if i procrastinated anymore ill never get back to writing. Also, idrk where im going with this series so... if anyone has any ideas...

part 1 part 2

The one thing that both you and Miguel can agree on when it comes to the library is that the study corner seats were the best. Those seats faced a giant window that showcased the streets outside and if you stayed long enough, would be rewarded with the breathtaking views of the sunset. Miguel was pleasantly surprised to see you make a beeline for those seats, most people tend to prefer the seats that were situated in the middle of the library since it was closer to the books and more facilitated group study sessions.

“I don’t study anywhere else other than here. If these seats were taken then you would never see me in here.” You whispered to Miguel when you noticed his gaze. He chuckled, “It’s my favorite seat too.” he replied. “Good view and people can’t distract me here.” He added on. “Ok mr popular.” You teased. Miguel has his fair share of admirers who would admire him whenever he is in the same room as any of them. Some even seem to turn into complete mush when he’s around. Miguel had a strong presence, a presence that demanded people’s admiration and respect. You had a weaker presence, someone who wouldn’t be noticed at first glance so you had zero trouble when it comes to being distracted because of someone’s gaze on you. Miguel shook his head, refusing to argue with you as he pulled out his revision materials, eager to consolidate his learning for the week. The silence in the library especially at this section of the library where most people were studying alone and the overall atmosphere was enough to motivate you to start studying too. The heads buried in books, the sound of pages flipping, and the sound of pens moving against the table acted as a sort of peer pressure to get anyone to start studying.

Your first study session with Miguel started. The both of you would do your own things, his eyes would fall onto your work every once in a while to check up on you and give you a few nods of encouragement. You picked up your phone, using it to search something up when you felt Miguel’s gaze on you. “I’m not using my phone I swear! I’m just checking something.” You defended immediately, noticing the disapproving look in his eyes. “I haven’t even said anything yet.” He merely replied, glancing over your shoulder and to your phone. You pursed your lips at him, “Actions speak louder than words you know?” He gave you a small smile. “Just making sure,” He leans back into his own seat. “Did I not mention that I would be your Google? Ask me anything you aren’t sure of.” Miguel repeats his words from the earlier lessons. “It’s a stupid question, common sense.” You shrugged, writing down the information on Google. Miguel crossed his arms over his chest, “If it’s common sense then why did you have to google it?” Miguel meant to encourage you to ask him questions you had but it seemed to have had a negative impact on you instead. “I’m an idiot that’s why.” You replied without missing a beat. The usual humour and playfulness in your voice are non-existent. The grip on your pen tightened while you put in more pressure to write the next few words. Miguel pinched his nose bridge, realising that you had interpreted his words the wrong way. “Ay coño” He muttered under his breath. “I didn’t mean-” He turned to you, trying to explain himself only to be cut off by a sheer “Never mind.” He opened his mouth to make his stand known but closed his mouth, realising that you had long shut yourself off towards him, the small furrow in between your eyebrows was enough to tell him that you didn’t want to continue that conversation any longer.

The air between the both of you shifted after that, at least it did for Miguel. There was tension in the air that Miguel just couldn’t ignore, he was arguing with himself over the matter of if he should explain his words. The words in the textbook were a blur to Miguel when every sentence he read would be interrupted by his inner turmoil and the regret weighing on his shoulders. So instead, he just kept sneaking glances at you, trying to see if you were in a better mood now.

He let out a sigh, running his hands through his hair as he bent over to pick up his bag, knowing that he would just be wasting his time in the library until he cleared his name. Miguel quickly found what he was looking for, a small pack of grape-flavoured chewy candy that he knew you liked. The same ones he saw you sneakily eating in class, the smell of grapes lingering on your breath when you talked to him was enough to give you away. Miguel told himself that it was because he wanted to try it when he decided to buy it upon seeing it in the convenience store despite refusing your various offers of the candy. Deep down, Miguel knew it was because you liked it, and he knew that it would cheer you up. Although he hasn’t found a way to offer it to you yet, he had imagined the smile on your face when he would take the initiative to give it to you. Miguel carefully placed it onto the table, pasting a post-it note onto the candy packaging with a single word on it. “Sorry.” and a small hand-drawn sad face next to it. Miguel exhaled, giving himself encouragement as he leaned over to you again. Miguel gently nudged your shoulder and passed you the candy, quickly returning to his work to hide how nervous he truly was.

A smile quickly replaced the confusion on your face. “For what?” You asked, referring to the apology. Miguel’s face burned with a light flush, “The words sounded better in my head, sorry, I meant that you can ask me any questions. You don’t have to necessarily turn to Google.” he slowly trailed off, stuffing his hands into the black jacket that he was wearing. You noticed the discomfort he was feeling at that moment. “You’re tempting me with the candy, no eating in the library.” You reminded him. Miguel looked to his left and then to his right, he sat straighter up in his seat. “Just eat one, and I’ll cover you.” His eyes drifted to the ceilings, looking for any surveillance cameras. You chuckled at him, “Miguel O’Hara! What happened to you abiding by the rules?” You jokingly teased him, knowing that he didn’t indulge in your offers of candy in class. “Hurry.” He simply says, head turning in all directions to keep watch.

The sweet familiar taste of grapes in your mouth made you hum happily. You kept looking at Miguel, a small smile forming on your lips. Seeing the smile on your face seemed to lift the guilt off his heart.

“You’re staring.” You laughed at him as you chewed on the candy. Miguel snaps out of his daze, turning away from you and back to his textbooks. A faint blush tinted his cheeks. You leaned back on your chair, “Have one.” You offered once again. He clicked his tongue at you, “No thank you.” Miguel busied himself with his notes, still avoiding your gaze. “Why did you buy it if you’re not even going to try it?” You questioned him. Your eyes narrowed at him, “Unless… you were planning on giving it to me already?” Miguel’s eyes snapped to yours, his eyes widened as he snatched the candy from your hand. Miguel cleared his throat as he popped one candy into his mouth. “Why are you looking at me like that?” Miguel asked, noticing the amused look on your face. Your eyes slowly drifted to the surveillance camera. You snickered when you watched the colour drain from his face.

“You’re such a bad influence.”

“It’s called having some fun.” You retorted.

=======

“You’re awfully quiet,” Miguel muttered. You walked next to him, your eyes distracted by the city lights in Nueva York. “Mmm, drained. My brain’s fried.” He chuckled lightly, “But don’t you feel productive?” You shook your head, Miguel seemed more energized than usual, more relaxed, unlike him in class. “Why do you seem less grumpy?” His signature frown returned immediately, “I am not grumpy.” You rolled your eyes at him, “Please do not tell me studying energizes you.” “Feeling productive energizes me.” He corrects. “Workaholic, no lifer, nerd.” You call him names, and he simply chuckles.

“I hate studying.” You told him. He hums, “Doesn’t take Sherlock to figure that out.” You shoved him lightly. “I can’t believe my first time studying with someone was with you, I never ever study with my friends.” You complained, he snickers. “Wow, I’m your first?” He gave you a teasing look.

“Don’t make it sound weird.” Miguel bites back the smile on his face. “Well, I hope you had fun on our first- study date,” he announced. You looked at him, laughing sarcastically in his face. “This is the reason why you’re single, if this is what you consider a date, let me tell you, it's horrible.” He shrugs, “That’s what you say for now, but you will keep coming back for more.” he says confidently.

#miguel o'hara imagines #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara #spiderman #spiderman 2099 #spider man #spider-man #into the spider verse #spider verse #across the spiderverse #atsv miguel #spiderman atsv #miguel ohara #miguel x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o’hara x you

60 notes · View notes

codename-adler · 7 days

Text

Kevaaron scraps ♟️

i was editing the beginning of dance ‘til you find someone to die for chap. 21 and—did not like it. in the recycling bin it goes! enjoy this slight what-if, and the pool, as next time we’ll completely skip the swimming part and hit the showers directly 😏

xxx

Aaron did not want to know what Kevin had said to convince Wymack to get the keys to the pool from the swim coach, and he didn’t ask Kevin how Wymack got said keys from said swim coach either. It did not matter. Not now, when Aaron was floating in the largest body of water he’d ever had the chance to approach. He tried not to think about how that was probably another thing he had in common with Josten, sheltered asocial bastard that he was. He tried not to think of the asshole, end of the line. No matter the hours that had passed since their fight, no matter how ensconced the pool made him feel, Josten’s words rang from wall to wall inside his skull.

What good are you, then?

What good are you?

Be useful.

Do something!

Resident coward.

What good are you?

“Five minutes are up, stop trying to morph into a starfish. We do two other reps like this one, then we move on to weights,” Kevin snapped at Aaron.

“Weights? I’m not doing weights in the pool, Day,” Aaron bit back before pulling away into his second rep the set they’d just done. He swam as fast as he could, head above water in a disgraceful; attempt at front crawl, his leg muscles killing him after such disuse.

“You body can’t handle the pressure otherwise! It’s the only way!” Kevin yelled after him, using his hands to amplify his voice.

Your body can’t handle the pressure.

Your body can’t handle it.

You can’t handle it.

You can’t handle the pressure.

Aaron swam away faster, shoulders rolling, feets kicking, anger fuming. Kevin let him be. He watched Aaron’s form carefully, trying to spot any weakness or any pain through his motions. The waves and splashes didn’t make his job easy, but he’d rather be right here in the pool, standing in the shallow end, than outside on the ground, or up on the lifeguard post. He had to show Aaron they were in this together. Kevin didn’t take this unusual training lightly. He wanted to show Aaron he was in this, with him. He also had to admit that the water did wonders to cool off his temper.

They never had swim training in the Nest, probably because drowning a teammate or two would be far easier than killing them on the court. He’d heard the swim team was pretty strong, though. The Ravens could have done with some pool time, though, if Kevin was being honest with himself. The rhythm of the water, however irregular it may be, was a constant, just like a ball hitting the plexiglass; the water relaxed things, people, even those as wound up as Kevin. It put things in perspective, too. How your body suddenly became something else entirely, how your perspective suddenly shifted on all matters. That was more likely to have been the reason behind the strict no-pooltime rule the Master had implemented. On the court, everything needed to be in focus, all your skills honed for a single purpose, your mind and eyes zeroed in on a single thought: win. In the pool, you were small, free, and weightless. There was no win or lose. Only the water, and whether you let it carry you or drown you.

As Aaron passed him for the 30th and last time, he followed him to the edge. Aaron readjusted his long-sleeved shirt again as it floated up and away from his abdomen. Kevin hadn’t questioned that choice, but his own shirtlessness was enough to convey his comment. Hydrodynamics and all that jazz. Aaron saw Kevin about to continue arguing about the weights thing again so he cut him off before the words tumbled out of his mouth.

“I’m not doing weights in the pool, Kevin, I’m not. We don’t even have weights right now. You thought you could just leave me here and what, run to our gym in your swim trunks? Barefoot? What would the press say, huh?” he said.

“Aaron, it’ll be a cool down exercise. Sort of. I’m sure the swim team has some pool weights in the back room,” Kevin replied.

“A cool down exercise? We are in the water. How much more cooling do you need?” Aaron deadpanned.

“Aaron. You promised.”

Aaron glared, but relented. “I did.”

Kevin nodded and gracefully got out of the pool in one pull up. As he watched him walk away, Aaron was reminded again of the long way he had to go. He used to bench press Kevin’s weight before. Now he had to use the stupid ladder to get out of the shallow part of a pool.

Unsurprisingly, Kevin didn’t have access to the pool’s material, and so he walked back empty handed, discarding his previous plan unfazed and already making multiple new ones in his head. Slowly approaching as to not break his damn neck on the wet floor, he watched Aaron who, lost in his thoughts, had resumed his floating around.

xxx

#dance ‘til you find someone to die for #dtyfstdf #my fics #kevaaron fic #kevaaron #kevin day #aaron minyard #all for the game #the foxhole court #aftg

21 notes · View notes