#enjoy the exposition

[waywardstation]

Look for anything (or anyone) that could be familiar

For part two:

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🔼 for Ingo to find Emmet

🔽 for Emmet to find Ingo

[siyuri]

Ef's moment of respite at the bottom of the Mariana Trench from amazing story Falling Falling Stars by @not-poignant

[clowningaroundmars]

Hobie1610 pt. 3

part 3 has finally arrived!!! at a faster rate than part 2 but a bit of a wait nonetheless lol

not entirely sure how long this lil story will go on for but hope y'all are enjoying this ride regardless, whether it ends on the next part or in 3 more chapters ldfjkdhf

in this installment: thrilling action, a high stakes chase, and we get to learn more abt our beloved hobie jones! yippee!

>pt. 1 here<

>pt. 2 here<

♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧

By some miracle, Hobie did not mention the suit to Miles once they started texting semi-regularly.

Unfortunately, they also couldn't really make their lunch date (date? God, get it together, Morales. It is not a date…) as soon as Miles would have liked, due to a million different things getting in the way of them setting a solid day aside to chill together.

Just his luck, of course.

But in the hallways, Hobie actually deigned to give Miles a passing smile every now and then. They didn’t ever get to hang out like they did for those precious few moments on the first day of school, but Miles didn’t feel the crushing weight of guilt every time he saw Hobie in his same classroom anymore. What a relief!

So Miles was mostly okay with how things were going anyhow, even if the hangout ended up falling through and they both decided not to go in the end. He was able to patrol and do his homework in blissful peace for the first time in months.

… Kind of.

That look on Hobie’s handsome face as he looked down past Miles’ coat collar though…

That still ate away at an anxious part of Miles’ brain whenever he had the time to sit down and really let his worries manifest.

No time to think about that now, though. Miles was suited up again on a school night, hoping to get at least an hour’s worth of patrolling in before security at Visions noticed he was absent from his dorm room. He hoped Ganke would be able to cover for him like he always did.

It was yet another cold evening out in New York City, and Miles was steadily covering the edges of Brooklyn, heading towards Manhattan to do a quick sweep through Central Park like he did on occasion. There was always something going on in Manhattan, especially during the evening.

Miles decided it wouldn’t hurt to take a quick peek before calling it a night and heading back to Visions.

So away he went-- now fully in his Spiderman element-- vaulting and soaring over buildings, showing off every now and then by doing silly flips and tricks mid-air for the opportunistic New Yorkers looking to snap their Spiderman Sighting of the day. A little social media promo never hurt anyone, after all…

Spiderman finally swung down onto a tree branch on the western side of the park from a street lamp and was just about to lower himself down as inconspicuously as he could, before immediately feeling the tingling electricity of his Spider Senses race up and down his spine, giving him the usual headache along with it.

He crouched down quietly on a branch and watched as a familiar lanky figure streaked across the path underneath him onto the grass and beyond.

Whoever this runner was, he was fast. And hot on his trail was a gang of burly bumbling assholes cursing up a blue streak as they gave chase.

Spiderman’s eyes stayed glued to the fast runner like they were a lifeline. His senses honed in on the person and he erupted out of the leaves of the tree with one mighty leap, sailing through the air to shoot a web out and swing his way on over to the excitement.

Several joggers, people walking dogs after work, and mothers with baby carriages exclaimed and shouted as they were barreled into by the gang of men trying to keep up with their moving target. The runner didn’t seem to be giving up, though, as their long legs sent them flying over bushes and rocks and lounging people as gracefully as a ribbon in the air.

It was indeed getting dark soon again, but the darkness didn’t really affect Spiderman’s senses at all. His mask helped him fine-tune his powerful vision and anticipate the runner’s next moves.

It looked as though they were trying to make their way up towards the Great Lawn from Cedar Hill, but whether the person was planning to make a break for the now-empty Delacorte Theatre or the Metropolitan Museum Of Art… or beyond? That was the million dollar question.

Spiderman didn’t want to lose the person in case they happened to just be a petty thief, since that would be a quick and easy problem to fix. But as he silently chased down the runner alongside (and unbeknownst) to the gang, his suspicions gave way to some other... ideas.

Namely, that the runner seemed young, a bit too young for someone to be pissing off this many fully-grown gang members.

He pushed through his confusion and made a break for the theatre the second he guessed that the runner was pivoting in that direction.

The trees were getting thicker the closer they got to the Belvedere Castle and Spiderman eventually resorted himself to hoofing it, mindful of sticking to the shadows of the foliage that surrounded them on all sides.

He was super grateful now more than ever that his suit happened to be his signature sleek black and red, rather than the tacky and hyper-visible reds and blues of many of his Spider counterparts (sorry Peter!)

Once he confirmed that the suspicious target was indeed planning on hiding in the bleachers of the massive amphitheatre, he shot up a web to hoist himself into the infrastructure from the tall stadium lights. From there, he positioned himself a bit closer to the fray, hearing the loud and heavy boots of the gang following the runner, not far behind.

Then, he squinted into the dusk as he watched one of the entrances from his perch up high... and almost choked on his own saliva!

In comes none other than Hobie Motherfucking Jones, streaking down several steps like a shooting star, clutching onto… something tucked under one of his arms. He was breathless, panting loudly, and heading straight for the Belvedere Lake.

Upon hearing the heavy bootfalls get ever closer with every passing second, it seemed that Hobie got the idea to attempt a last-minute juke by throwing himself underneath the stairs that faced the lake, tucking himself as tightly as he could under the massive stage at the center.

Spiderman watched all of this happening with wide eyes, holding his own breath in. He prayed that the ugly thugs didn’t see Hobie’s sneaky last-second move, but climbed up high onto the stadium lights and prepared to swing down anyhow, just in case.

What was Hobie even doing here, out at this hour? And what the hell did he manage to steal that was so important to these men anyways? It was quite a chase they were caught up in, running nearly two entire miles all the way up to the amphitheatre just to catch him, and that was only from what he could see when he swung into action.

The group split up and pulled out flashlights, determinedly searching the bleachers and corners as best they could while the sky rapidly darkened above them.

From right below the webbed crime-fighter, Hobie poked his head out from the shadows and took a peek.

No, no, duck back down! Spiderman wanted to shout, but he couldn’t.

No one knew he had followed them and he was safe high above the action where he balanced himself on the metal bars that housed the bulbs. His muscles tensed as the bright beam of light from one guy’s flashlight swept a little too close to Hobie’s head. Damnit.

Spiderman couldn’t just sit there all day! He had a friend to save, stolen item be damned!

He rechecked his web shooters furtively and took aim.

He set his sights on another stadium light pole across from the stage, figuring that if he was quick and agile enough, he could time his swing well enough to scoop Hobie up from where he was hidden and avoid any detection. Hopefully.

Seemed like a solid enough plan though, until Hobie just. Shot out from his hiding place all of a sudden, the heels of his boots rapping loudly against the cement and echoing all around the stage as he made a beeline for the lakefront.

Shit!!!

Miles wanted to kill him. Those guys didn’t even suspect he was hiding where we was in the first place!

... Okay, plan B!

Spiderman’s brain whirred at breakneck speeds as he watched the thugs exclaim loudly and give chase yet again, this time much closer to Hobie than they ever were before.

Without thinking, he swung down from his perch and bowled over a couple of men in his haste to simply just… grab Hobie like a damsel in distress and fireman-carry him back around the gang to get a good line of web onto a nearby pole.

The men all cursed and shouted in surprise of course, flashlight beams waving around everywhere.

One of them even yelled, “what the hell was that?!” like a character in one of his dad’s favorite cheesy slasher movies.

Spiderman was too fast for them, a black blur simply whizzing by as he grabbed Hobie and hoisted the both of them up into the air with a mighty leap. Hobie yelped in surprise, grunting from the effort, and seemed to let whatever he stole slip out of his hands which then clattered loudly onto the ground below.

The thugs rejoiced then, shaking fists at Hobie and his rescuer as they flew up to the top of a tree and detached themselves so they could fall onto the stadium light opposite from Spiderman’s initial hiding spot.

Spiderman didn’t stop until he attached another web up to the lights and dangled there for a bit. Adrenaline still coursed through his veins as he shifted Hobie off of his shoulders and let him slide slowly onto his side, his friend’s wiry arms clutching him tightly.

They both watched with rapt attention at the goings-on several feet below them.

The thugs congregated around the fallen item, picking it up and turning it this way and that. It looked like a briefcase, though with the low lighting it really could’ve been anything. It was only when one of them-- the biggest and burliest of them all-- shouted out another colorful swear word that Hobie then seemed to come back to himself again.

He squeezed Spiderman’s shoulders with his arms and kicked at him. They swung a bit from the wiggling.

“Ouch!” Spiderman hissed, as quietly as he could. He was hoping the dark dusk would conceal their position now as long as they made No Noises, but even that wasn’t guaranteed.

“Go, go, go, go, man! Let’s get out of here!!” Hobie hissed right back into his ear, his face mere centimeters away from Spiderman’s mask.

Spiderman stubbornly ignored the heat radiating out from his face at that realization and jerked this way and that, looking for an easy escape from their conundrum.

Flashlight beams danced around the ground before finally swinging up to the trees and catching sight of a pair of shoes dangling in the sky.

The biggest and meanest one of the bunch pulled something out of his pocket and took aim.

Bullet! Spiderman’s senses screamed into his cerebellum.

“Goddamn,” he huffed ruefully as the shots rang out. Hobie panicked. “Bullets for us? That’s a little harsh, isn’t it?”

Hobie clung onto his hero for dear life. “Brother, if you do not get a move on from here, we are both gonna get turned into fish filets!” He shouted into Spiderman’s ear.

“Ow. Okay,” Spiderman grumbled, sticking himself to the side of the pole they dangled from and readjusting Hobie so that he clung onto his back instead.

He took a deep breath and narrowly dodged a bullet that whizzed unnervingly close to their heads. Hobie yelled again.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Spiderman began, speaking quickly. “Hold on, okay? Hold on tight. Just hold on and do not let me go for even a second!”

“On it!” Hobie shouted back, legs kicking a bit before wrapping themselves tightly around Spiderman’s torso.

They both took a breath and then Spiderman jumped, gaining some air before twin webs erupted from his web shooters-- aimed directly towards the seating area entrance.

Together, he and Hobie rocketed from their airborne position towards their escape route once the fluids connected to solid architecture. To his credit, Hobie only whimpered a little bit through the ride.

The thugs had no chance! They stumbled on tired, aching legs towards the very door the two teens had left out of, complaining and cursing some more as they searched through the steps and made their way out onto the theatre’s general admission and concessions area.

They searched and searched through the bushes and trees, going so far as to even check the sculptures near the structure.

After several tense moments of gruff shouting back-and-forth, the search eventually died down until only a couple of the men were left sweeping the area once more. The others had already given up their fruitless endeavor and called it a night.

“Fucking kids, man. What the hell,” Spiderman heard one of them grumble before kicking at the Romeo and Juliet statue angrily and following the rest of his cohorts down the path towards the Great Lawn again.

Hobie and Spiderman let out matching sighs of relief then, happy to have given the men the slip by managing to hide behind the giant 3D Delacorte Theatre sign right above the box offices. Lucky for them, most people don’t think to search behind lit-up signs, so they went completely undetected.

“… Wanna let me know what you were doing here this whole time? You could’ve gotten killed!” Spiderman breathed. He wanted his tone to be sharper, more authoritative… but he was just so glad to see his new friend still in one piece instead of riddled with more holes than a chunk of swiss cheese!

Hobie scoffed, tucking a loc behind his ear and sitting back. Thanks to the lighting of the sign and the other park lights in the area, Spiderman could see him digging around in his coat pocket and fishing out-- a USB drive?

Hobie held it up triumphantly, sleepy down-turned eyes glistening with pride.

“I got it! Suckers! Screw them by the way, I’m not the thief, if that’s what you’re wondering,”

Well. He was sneaky, alright. Spiderman had to hand that to him, at the very least.

He sat back on his heels as well and exhaled. “Fine. I believe you. What’s on that drive?”

Hobie squinted at him then, really giving him a good once-over now that the excitement had officially died down. “…Damn. You’re Spiderman,”

“Yeah, yeah. Hey, hi, nice to meet you, I’m your friendly neighborhood Sp-- ugh, seriously man, just tell me what all of that was back there or else I’m webbing you up and calling the cops.”

“Hey!” Hobie objected. “Like I said already, I’m the good guy here. I snagged this from those guys because I caught them snoopin’ around the museum over that way. I followed them and found out they were stealing this!”

Spiderman bobbed his head. “Okay? And what’s on it?”

Hobie turned the drive over a bit in his hands, admiring it. “Most likely? Security codes, schedules, maps. I’ve been uh… investigating those dudes for a while after watching them sniff around the museum for a few days now. It looks like they were just art thieves plannin' a heist, so I jumped on the opportunity to deliver justice myself.”

Hobie’s mischievous grin was met by Spiderman’s disapproving stare.

“And why didn’t you just call security and let them know? Like I said, super dangerous thing you did back there! If I wasn’t there to save you, you could’ve died, man.”

Hobie pocketed his USB drive again and rolled his eyes. “Y’know, for a vigilante hero with cool superpowers, you sure are a square.”

Spiderman sat up and placed a hand on his chest, feigning hurt. “Oof, ow. That’s mean,”

“Yeah, it is, but you know I’m right. If a kid like me walked up to some cops and tried to warn them of a possible art heist, you just know those pricks’ll laugh in my face and do literally nothing about it. I had to take matters into my own hands!” Hobie jutted his chin out defiantly.

Well. Couldn't really argue with that, especially considering PDNY’s less-than-stellar track record of taking preventative measures most times. All that they would most likely do is nod along to whatever Hobie was telling them and chuckle, shaking their heads as they walk away. Not their problem.

Spiderman rubbed his chin. “Point taken," he conceded. "So what’s your plan now?”

Hobie glanced around, as if he was checking for any eavesdroppers. “I’m gonna submit some photos to a journalist I met online before turning this in back to the museum. The journalist’ll help get those guys behind bars once a story's published and some actual adults talk to the cops. I am going to go collect my reward,”

Spiderman blinked. He had a bunch of questions swimming in his head, but the first question out of his mouth was, “what reward?”

“The reward for turning in precious security info, genius!” Hobie tapped at his forehead with a finger and grinned. “If I get to negotiate with them, I can get some money to save up and-- uh. Nevermind. Listen, are you gonna rat me out or not?”

Miles’ brow creased behind his mask. “… I don’t think I will. Sounds like you’re doing the right thing… mostly.”

Hobie cheered silently. “Yes! Okay, I take it back, Spidey. You are cool!”

Spiderman sighed. “But first, I need to know you’re gonna be safe. Like, actually, and that you’re not gonna get followed home.”

Hobie shrugged nonchalantly and pushed more locs out of his face again. “Yeah, you can walk me home if you want,”

“No, that’s not what I mean. I mean, that’s not the only thing I mean. I need you to promise me that you’re not gonna get into stupid stunts like this again. That was so dangerous and you really could’ve gotten hurt!”

Hobie exhaled as well. He stared intensely into the mask’s giant white lenses for a beat, making Spiderman shift uncomfortably.

Then, he held up his pinkie. “… Fine. I won’t do stupid shit like this again. I promise.”

Spiderman blinked a few more times and hooked his pinkie onto Hobie’s. “Uh. Okay, cool! Cool, that’s what I wanna hear, considering keeping New Yorkers safe is my job! I just wanna see you safe, that’s all. No more art heists, you gotta leave that to the professionals to handle,”

“What, professionals like you? You might’ve not even gotten to them in time before they snuck off with like millions of dollars worth of art, bro.”

“Anyone ever tell you you are just so mean? Dontcha have a little faith in me? The ‘vigilante hero with cool superpowers’?” Spiderman shot back.

They both laughed.

“Seriously, though. I do appreciate the fact that you saved my ass back there,” Hobie admitted, eyes cast downwards for a second. “I was actually gonna throw this thing into the lake and hope this drive got eaten by like… a fish or something.”

“And what about you?” Spiderman smiled despite himself.

“Well,” Hobie shrugged. “If I died, I died. I guess,”

It was Spiderman’s turn to scoff now. “You have a family, man. Don’t be ridiculous. You have friends and family that would miss you!”

Hobie’s expression turned dark, his entire face shadowing for a second before being replaced by cool detached nonchalance. A slight hint of annoyance stayed put underneath.

“… My family’s barely my family. I don’t have any friends, either. Don't worry about me.” Hobie admitted in a clipped tone. He stood up abruptly and started doing some casual stretches.

Spiderman stood up as well, knowing fully well how this song and dance was going to go.

He would never admit it out loud, but he’d seen his fair share of self-destructive citizens throwing themselves into the middle of danger in the short time he’d been doing this whole vigilante thing. He had talked many a melancholy or manic person from tossing themselves off of multiple different buildings, different bridges, stopped them from “falling” onto train tracks.

And as loath as he is to admit it, this Hobie’s particular brand of cool detachment was entirely too familiar to him as well.

A flash of his uncle Aaron’s face lit up a part of his brain that he hadn’t really allowed himself to acknowledge since that fateful day. He quickly stamped that out.

He cleared his throat and rubbed at his neck. “… Well. That sounds pretty depressing, man.”

He didn’t notice Hobie’s shoulders hitch at that phrase.

“But,” Spiderman continued, “You got people out here who care about you, even if you don’t know it. You’re still so young, you could be ending your life before you even meet, like, your favoritest person in the whole world, right? So just do me a quick favor, take care of yourself. For me. Live long enough to meet your favorite person, alright?”

Spiderman put on his best comforting expression that he could despite the mask most likely getting in the way of Hobie fully seeing it. He hoped his words were enough to convince him not to dive off the deep end, at least not anytime soon.

It seemed to work at least a little bit, because Hobie looked back at him with a much warmer-- albeit hesitant-- expression.

“Can I ask you something?” Hobie finally said after a few moments of silence.

“Uh, sure.” Spiderman replied.

“Do you know about a kid named Miles Morales at all?”

The air was sucked out of Spiderman’s lungs right then as he floundered like a fish for a minute, brain working into overdrive to make his answer sound both intelligent and convincing.

“U-uh, maaaybeee? I dunno, I meet a lot of New Yorkers everyday and I don’t get many names, yanno? S-sounds familiar, but sorr--”

“I knew it,” Hobie exhaled a laugh and surged forward to embrace Spiderman with both arms.

Spiderman stood frozen in his place, arms held in mid-air as he worked to process this.

“Uh. What--”

Spiderman felt Hobie’s chin dig into the side of his cheek a little as he turned his lips to his ear. “Your secret’s safe with me, by the way. I’m not telling anyone,”

Miles felt his whole world turn on its axis before shattering completely.

Oh no, no, no, no, no! Goddamnit!

Miles pushed Hobie off and stepped back, holding his hands up. “Oh hey, whoa, whoa, whoa. I dunno what you’re thinking or who you think I am, but--!”

Hobie sighed loudly. “Miles, I saw your suit.”

The world screeched to a halt.

Hobie picked his gaze back up off of his feet and even seemed apologetic, almost. “I, uhm. Like, back on the roof. At Visions. I wasn’t… a hundred percent sure I saw it, since it could’ve been any logo at all, but. Well, you’re a pretty bad liar too, y’know that, right?”

Miles sucked in a slightly shaky breath, gulping loudly. “Uh. W-well,”

Hobie smiled shyly. “You, uh… you’re like around the same height as Miles Morales, anyways. And you sure sound a lot like him, too.”

Damn. Damn it all.

Miles spun this way and that, placing his hands atop his head as he panicked slightly. “H-Hobie, you cannot tell anyone else about this, whatsoever. Do you understand? No one. At all. Or we’re both dead!”

Hobie held his hands up, lines creasing in his face. “Look bro, you’ve got secrets of mine too. We pinkie promised, remember? I don’t break promises.”

Miles didn’t point out that the promise was so that Hobie would stop getting himself into stupidly dangerous situations, but he accepted it anyways, albeit reluctantly.

“D-do… do you actually, like actually promise me you’ll never breathe a word about this to anyone? Ever? At all?”

Hobie held up his right hand into the air, as if taking an oath. “I, MJ, solemnly swear to never breathe a single word to anyone about your super secret identity, so help me god.”

Miles planted his fists on his hip and shook his head. “Oh my god,” he exhales on a shaky laugh.

“Don’t you believe me? What would I have to gain by selling you out? Oh,” Hobie stops suddenly, perking up. “We could even work together! I got me my sweet camera and my extensive connects, man. Think about it!”

“No, no. Hobie. Stop that, man. I’m not putting you into any danger after I just saved your skinny butt. Spiderman doesn’t do sidekicks anyways,”

Hobie looked a bit put out, but shrugged anyways. “Well, I mean… think about it sometime. We could seriously take down criminal activity around here, if you’re down! And, uh. You do have my number,”

Miles looked up and took a deep breath. “Mmnyes, I do. I do have your number. That’s… I mean you’re not wrong about that. Listen, I think it’s getting pretty late and we should both be heading back home now, though.”

The corners of Hobie’s mouth curled up mischievously. “True, true. It is a school night, after all.”

Miles couldn’t stop grinning despite the heavy anvil that threatened to burst out of his chest. “Yep, yes it is! Okay, time to get you home now. C’mon, let’s go.”

Miles moved to step into Hobie’s space and carry him on his back again so he could lower the both of them down from the lip of the theatre roof.

But before that happened, he felt Hobie place a cold but strong hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

Miles looked up inquisitively and felt his breath catch in his throat as he felt those same hands slowly slide up the smooth spandex of his suit, up his shoulders, and then they stopped at his neck, at the seam of where his suit and mask met.

The entire thing probably only took a few seconds to do, but to Miles it felt like eons passed as he felt every single muscle twitch and the pulse beating underneath Hobie’s skin while he ran those fingers up his arms.

He was standing so close to him! Oh god!

The entire ordeal was unbearably intimate, and Miles could barely stop the shudder that wracked his body suddenly.

Hobie’s soft lips were slightly parted, the lighting of the sign next to them caught in the dark brown portals that were his eyes.

“U-uhm. Sorry, this is weird...” he mumbled quietly. But his hands didn't move.

All around them, crickets started their soothing chorus.

Here they were, right behind the giant lettering of the Delacorte Theatre, intertwined in each other’s arms on a cold night-- and Miles’ core body temperature has never felt hotter before. He felt like he could melt steel, the way this night was going. He didn’t know when his hands raised to grasp onto Hobie’s arms, but they must’ve done it of their own accord because Miles then felt himself squeezing softly onto Hobie’s biceps.

Slowly, painstakingly, and carefully… Hobie made his move.

Every centimeter of the mask being pushed up was accompanied by a soft look that asked-- no, it begged-- for permission to continue. His hands seemed to move on their own eventually, as he slid the mask up over the back of Miles' head and then eased it up off of his nose.

Hobie wore a soft look of determination then, that fully came into view again once Miles felt his mask slide right up off of his eyes. Hobie’s soft hands eventually fell away, mask in one hand, no sounds in the air except for the wildlife of the park starting to wake now that the night has officially fallen.

Miles wasn’t sure why he did, but he held his breath.

After a few seconds of appraising gazes from each other, pupils meeting pupils, exchanging a million words a second with just a few looks… Hobie grinned beautifully.

“Damn. There you are,”

Miles felt a plume of heat erupt from his gut and rush up to his face. “Uh. Hm, y-yep. Here I am,” he blinked back at Hobie with his big brown eyes.

Hobie had a look of pure joy on his face before it started to melt away suddenly. “You know… I should backstab you for abandoning me out of nowhere that one time, though… I really should...”

The moment collapsed like an undone web, a delicate thing now completely destroyed as Miles leaped up in indignation.

“Hobie!”

Hobie stepped back and laughed loudly. “Re-lax! I’m not gonna actually do it. But. Y’know.”

“And if you do, I’ll leave you webbed up to that billboard near Visions,” Miles threatened, mostly light-heartedly.

“Psshh, and then get my mom’s two million lawyers on your ass? Good luck,”

“As if they could ever catch me! I’m Spiderman!”

Just as easily as they had stepped out of being just kids for a moment, they stepped right back into it, bickering like they'd been friends since forever.

Miles lowered the both of them from the sign and they headed towards the eastern side of the park, making their way over to Hunter’s Gate. They bickered and bantered back and forth the entire way there, and it was only once they made it to the outer gates of the park that Miles stopped them both.

With his mask back on and other New Yorkers now milling nearby, Miles made it a point to lower his voice as he turned to Hobie and puffed his chest out heroically.

“So, random citizen. Where are we off to today? I told you I’d take you back home safely, and that’s what I’m gonna do.”

“’Cause you promised, right?” Hobie smirked, tucking his hands into his coat pockets.

“Uhm. Yeah, yeah. I did. So, lead the way!” Spiderman made a grand ushering gesture, and Hobie chuckled good-naturedly as he stepped aside and exited Central Park.

“You gonna walk me home, Spiderman?” Hobie threw him a side-long glance.

“Yyyeah…? Why? You’d rather swing home?”

“I liked swinging, actually. Yeah,” Hobie stopped where he was on the sidewalk and nodded with an air of finality. “Yeah… let’s swing!”

Spiderman felt his heart do a few somersaults in his chest before he gestured towards his shoulders. Hobie quickly assumed the position, long lanky arms wrapping around him and leaning his body weight against Spiderman’s side.

Spiderman shot up a web to a nearby street lamp and gave his friend one more glance.

“You sure?” He asked again, really making sure that Hobie was okay with this. Not many people really liked swinging, which was understandable. Even Miles wasn't the biggest fan of it at times.

Hobie chuckled and ignored the onlookers as they slowly ambled past the two, throwing the teens questioning glances as they made their way past them.

“Yeah, I am! Let’s go,”

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Miles: Do you actually actually really like on your LIFE promise that you’re not ginna tell a soul about… well…

Miles: gonna*

MJ: Yes, Miles. I PROMISE [eyeroll emoji]

Miles: I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE

MJ: Do you actually, though? ;)

Miles: No. But I can find out… I got connects

MJ: Uh huh. I’ll tell your “connects” that if you don’t take me out on that promised lunch date, our friendly neighborhood Spiderman just might be the next trending topic on ALL social media apps again very soon……..

Miles: Oh my god. You are Evil. I can’t believe this. My next arch nemesis… damn

Miles: What a killer plot twist. The greatest foe I have yet to face happens to be none other than one of my very own classmates

Miles: It be ya own people

From his family’s Lower Manhattan penthouse, Hobie laughs out loud as he reads the text messages, ignoring all of the curious glances thrown his way by various members of his team.

From Miles’ own humble dorm room at Visions, he laughs aloud as well.

[lotrmusical]

haven't talked enough about how good the watermill lament for moria is. i will never recover

[belphegor1982]

Watching the first episode of the Mighty Nein campaign with the Best Beloved and he goes, "Wait, 'Taliesin' is his name?"

And... dude, I did tell you most of his DnD characters' names would look less out there than his real one :D (It's pretty much the same case for me, so :P)

[rhaenyratargcryen]

why does all the cool shit in this show happen offscreen aofbakvoa why didn’t we see daeron readying himself in oldtown. why did we spend so much time with tyland lannister this episode

[eemoo1o]

Cosmo and Wanda suck at gift giving actually

[kiwibirdlafayette]

you heard of the kites and nightingales, kestrels and herons... but little do you know, another faction hides in the caves and unseen crevices of the faction isles...

I've been brainrotting about a Krimson Krakens (+ mianite pirates and Tom because I do what I want) cameo in Pirates SMP, so have some worldbuilding and lore ideas! Of course, all for fun, moreso an AU/Headcanon than anything, not meant to be taken seriously at all :] If it turns into anything more, cool beans, but for now! I'm just vibing

(Made in collaboration with @kaye-memer-kurrentvertz who helped with the Dave, Krinios and Krakens dynamic stuffs :D)

Little prologue and ficlet below the cut; Enjoy!

Meet the Krimson Krakens.

Comprised of mystical and mysterious individuals- some of more human in appearance than others- no one is sure when this faction formed. Unlike the others, it holds no precedence over the many generations of pirates in these Isles, nor is their presence heard of other then in whispers between pirates across the land.

Carrying with them an infamous reputation of a crew like a Kraken; in search of breaking curses, solving the mysteries of the Isles. Who would find their target and take it over like tentacles wrapping around a ship reaching into its deepest corners until they've found what they're looking for, no stone left unturned in their wake.

The crew is headed by the elusive Captain Kara Corvus, adorned by many snakes upon her shoulders, and Captain Jordan Sparklez of draconic origins; the latter said to have begun life in the End, given humanity by a deity and brought into the Overworld as a curse. While they bicker a lot sometimes, they are a powerhouse of a duo who know each other very well, being a force to reckoned with especially while wielding their respective weapons- Kara's ruby-adorned Leviathan Blade and Jordan's unbreakable enchanted prismarine trident with a name in Enderian spoken only once ever by the deity that crafted it

But they by no means hold any sort of superiority over the others, for like Nightingales, they value friendship and comradery over power over one another. By their side is the former Kestrel cyclops Krinios- a man with a keen eye for treasure and an ability to loot a ship in the heat of battle which has been considered unmatched, only having been caught a few times. - and Dave Krtzy, a fighter from a bloodline stretching generations in the Kites who broke it to join the Krakens. A master with any melee weapon he can get his hands on, he's usually the first to jump into battle, and if someone's in danger, his waterman abilities come into play.

However, while these four make up the core of the Krakens they are not alone in their adventures, and have picked up other friends along the way

Joining them are the Dulahann siblings, Katherine "Capsize" and Redbeard (his birth name has been all but forgotten by the others) and family friend Rupert, a skeleton reborn from an island of purple goo who gained sentience thanks to Capsize's mother. The Dine-at-Night is their family's tavern-BnB that was expanded into a base of operations after the trio met Jordan, who one day washed up on the beach with little memory of where he came from- and sort of became his family. While not a Captain in this universe, she still takes up a leadership role of her own right in being rather good with a sword, solving mysteries, collecting evidence and giving the realest advice to both friends and passing bar patrons. Red's a little more loose headed but alongside Rupert is a skilled ship engineer, and the guy to go to if the boat's got a leak or a steering system has gone awry. Not much is known about Rupert besides him being known to be a jack of all trades, a powerful asset to have onboard. He has said to have had said he has a claim to fame in his past life before dying on the taint-covered island, but has yet to share it with anyone..

The most recent member to join them is the undead Tom Syndicate, a blue-haired zombie with an explosive personality and fighting style, who had been known to frequent taverns across the Isle. Having once belonged to a rival independent crew of the Krakens, rumor has it that he betrayed them after years of mistreatment, turning instead to choose to join Cpt. Sparklez out of admiration and perhaps a kind of affection that turned romantic over the years (to the point of claiming to be married to the captain, no one knows for sure how true this is). Despite coming from a very different background than the others, including a lost memory of who he was before he had been zombified he fits in quite well, his willingness to jump into battle like a cannonball flying through the air and explode on enemies without second thought brings a certain chaos to the Krakens that they have accepted wholeheartedly.

While their ship is stored away in a sea cliff hidden behind a waterfall somewhere on the island, the tunnel system leading there from beneath the Dine-at-Night, the Krakens enjoy a relaxing life on land, chilling at their tavern base of operations, or being a living legend amongst the other inhabitants, familiar but unfamiliar faces in the crowd. Some have started to believe that their swashbuckling days are few far between in the lack of comings and goings since the new recruits have arrived, but contrary to that they still have been traversing under cover of night to seek out what darkness could be brewing just around the corner. From the growing amount of purple in Rupert's hair to a sudden glow of the rusted coin around Dave's neck the Krakens have had their suspicions for a while....

-------------------------------------------

"Oi! Ye heard what happened?"

Jordan jolts awake off the bar when the bottom of a mug hits against his shoulder. He glares at the Scottish accented, freckled face that passes him, an eyebrow raised.

"No... Heard what Kat?" He grovels, and sits up a little straighter, turning to check the time. 1am. He rests his hand under his chin, hoping that propping it up would keep him awake for the time being. "It better be important, I was having a nice dream for once in my life."

Capsize rolls her eyes. "I don't think that's all gonna matter all that much one ye hear about what I heard today."

He eyes her cautiously as sets the mug she was drying down on the bar. There were a number of things that she could be alluding to, from their own personal affairs, to Tom causing trouble at the Heron's base to something as drastic as their ship had been stolen, or worse burnt to the ground. He hoped it wasn't the last one, but even if it was, he and Kara had a contingency plan.

He murmurs. "I mean maybe... what'd you hear?"

She sits down on a stool across from him, folding her hands together. "The Factioning was a few days ago, right?" She waits for him to nod in response, ensuring that she had the dragon's full attention. "Turns out, that's not the only thing that happened that day. Something calls them out to the Isle to the north, spoken through the recruitment officer."

"The fox man? He told them to go?"

"From the looks of it, yeah." She fiddled with her bracelet, the clacking of the beads breaking through the ambient sound of distant ocean waves and the crackle of torchlight. "I mean, I wasn't there so what would I know. for sure, but they listened."

Jordan shrugs. "I mean PK's a trustworthy guy, I'd probably go if he told me to."

"Yeah, well you'd trust Tom if he told you to walk the plank, I'm not surprised." Despite her little quip, Capsize's face becomes more serious solemn in expression and her voice lowers. "I don't think they were meant to because turns out, twenty-four of them went over there, two of them didn't come back. Kestrels and Kites apparently both lost a member of their faction."

"... Like they stayed? Why would anyone wanna hang out at the wasteland, there's nothing there but-"

"Jordan. They died."

A gust of wind howls outside through the barely cracked windows, the flame within the lantern beside her flickering briefly twice.

The wings on the captain's back droop slowly downward as he lowers his hand onto the bar crouching over ever so slightly. "Died? From what, the island?"

"I don't know, but from what it sounds like. Yeah." She gulps. "One get taken away on a boat.. of sorts? The other follows and lands onto the island probably to chase after their friend, and never comes back."

Jordan feels his heart drop further down into his chest. He finds himself fidgeting with the rings on his fingers, already a million possibilities running through his head "Did they get a look at who took the first one away, at least? So there's somewhere to start?"

"All that I was told is that they were dressed in robes. Could've been a cult, bandits in disguise, ghosts for all I know- Not much to go off of." She solemnly runs her hand through her hair, reaching to untie her bandana allowing her bangs to fall into her face. "It's a feckin' shame really... after all these years. I didn't think anything of that damn accursed land would ever come back. Because here I thought they'd be able to recover properly this time, not let whatever still lingers take back over."

A glaze falls over Jordan's expression. Memories of dried violet entrails wrapping around buildings, skeletons not unlike in appearance to Rupert buried in the masses of warped wood and sunken docks. Wind howled over the tops of the valleys and mountains carved out, through temples that had been thought to be abandoned for centuries. The time he, Kara, Red and Dave travelled there in search of another medallion there was a certain eerie silence, the sign of a land that no longer had any visible, breathing life to it, but remained haunted by all that came before, and all that was yet to come.

Jordan furrowed his eyebrows together. "That means… the island's alive again?"

Capsize nodded. "Aye. The island is alive again."

[saturdaynightghostclub]

Leander Mason, Prince of Chicago

Leander Mason is late. Which is not necessarily unusual, but for the fact that he’s late to his own engagement party. Which consequently has made you late to your own engagement party.

You wouldn’t normally mind, you swear. Honestly, this party wasn’t either of your ideas. It came about three months after Leander’s hurried late-night proposal, after which you’d both sworn to keep the news under wraps from your respective families, at least until you’d ironed out the important details of the wedding. The date, the venue, the catering—these were things you wanted to take care of yourselves, refusing to leave the door open for family interference of any kind. Naturally, though, an eagle-eyed uncle of Leander’s spotted your engagement ring in a photo his too-thoughtful nephew had sent alongside some holiday card or other, and then the entire Mason clan knew, which meant you had to tell your parents, and then the combined force of your two unhinged families became too much to bear and you buckled, both of you, allowing them this one concession in exchange for a (theoretically) peaceful wedding-planning process. So really, you wouldn’t normally mind if you missed a few minutes of this whole ridiculous affair, only it happens that Leander Mason is late because he procrastinated picking up his dry cleaning, neglecting to consider that the dry cleaner is closed on Sundays, and cannot possibly think of a better solution than driving all the hell over Chicago in search of a suit jacket that matches the trousers he plans to wear. He called you from a phone booth an hour ago to let you know. If you’d left an hour ago, you might have been a few minutes early. If you leave right this second, you’ll be twenty minutes late.

It’s not that you’re in any rush to fraternize with your estranged family. On the contrary, you’d rather never see them again. But being that they’ve invaded Chicago like cicadas and are unlikely to leave without torturing you for at least an hour or two, you think you’d better just get it over with.

The crash of a gangly frame through your front door sets you alert, and you’re met with Leander, haloed by the glow of the hallway light, panting from exertion. No suit jacket to be seen.

“Hi, darling,” he breathes, crossing the room to kiss you on the forehead, “I’m sorry, I thought I could make it, but then Saks was closed, and I hit every red light on the way here, and—my god, you’re beautiful.”

You can’t help the smile that crosses your face. You do look stunning, if you do say so yourself. “Next time you send yourself on a wild goose chase to avoid our families, take me with you,” you reply.

“Roger,” he says, smiling apologetically before he bolts into your bedroom. When he comes out, his hair is artfully tousled and his dress shirt is pressed within an inch of its life. “Ready?” He asks, taking your face in his hands and examining it as if for signs of regret or apprehension. Both of which you feel in spades, for the record.

“Ready,” you confirm in spite of yourself, unable to keep the nerves from your voice. Leander kisses you hard.

“No matter what happens tonight,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours, “we’ve got each other’s backs, deal? You are my priority, Professor.”

“Deal,” you nod. And then you’re in the car, and then you’re in a small hotel ballroom with, like, one million rich Midwesterners and twenty or so of your own confused family members, most of whom (yourself included) have never experienced an opulence of this magnitude.

Leander sticks close to you as you enter the party, long fingers stretched across the small of your back. Where you have complete tunnel vision, he’s scanning the crowd like a hunter in search of game. “Come here,” he mutters suddenly, pulling you gently but firmly toward him with a nasty look over his shoulder. You glance behind you to see which of his family members he’s shielding you from, only to lock eyes with your own father. Jesus, here we go.

You turn fully to face your father, ignoring Leander’s insistent tugging and efforts to pull you away. “Dad,” you say, keeping your voice impressively neutral.

“Hi, sweetheart!” Your father beams, moving as if to hug you. You take a reflexive step back, feeling Leander’s hands on your shoulders as you do. He knows the hell your family has put you through; hell, he’s probably angrier about it than you are at this point. Your father’s smile falters for a split second, and you instinctively fear the rage that will follow if he’s made to look foolish in public. “This the man who’s stolen you away from us?”

“This is Leander,” you say, refusing to indulge his comment which, though delivered with the cadence of a joke, is certainly intended to bite. Cool, calm, collected. Measured and calculated, even.

“How do you do,” comes Leander’s voice, deeper than usual, as he leans into your back to extend a steady hand. Your father shakes it evenly, Pan-Am smile firmly back in place. Before he can say anything though, Leander speaks again. “Love, we’ve got a lot of people to greet, yeah? Let’s do a lap, maybe catch up with Dad later?”

“What are you doing?” You hiss as Leander sweeps you away.

“Trust me, Professor,” he murmurs in response, face carefully neutral as he navigates the crowd, “I know men like him. He’s angry, right? He’s miserable, he’s mean?”

“Sure,” you say.

“Then let him be angry with me,” he says. You’ve reached the corner of the ballroom now, his fingers gently circling your wrist as he attempts to maintain a facade of casualty. “Let him think I’m keeping you from your family, or whatever he wants to tell himself. Better me than you.”

You’re formulating a response, trying to decide whether you want to start an argument or fall into his arms and sob, when a bony, manicured hand lands on Leander’s shoulder. He spins to face the woman trying to get his attention, who you recognize after a moment as his aunt Livia.

“You two are just adorable!” she exclaims in a frankly impressive misreading of the situation.

“Thank you,” Leander replies, exasperated once again. You can see the frustration rising in him, as it so often does when dealing with his family, and suddenly you’re a fish out of water. Actually, you’re a fish in the razor-sharp beak of an eagle, and the eagle is soaring over the city at warp speed, and you knew it would be intense, but you couldn’t have predicted how completely overwhelmed you’d be when it really came down to it. His family and yours. Clueless and cruel, two sides of a really, fantastically stupid coin.

Jesus, girl, you think, you raised yourself better than this. So you roll your shoulders back, inhale (cigarette smoke, whiskey, heat) and exhale (pure unadulterated rage), and enter survival mode. If Jerry Cantrell was born to wail on the guitar and Leander Mason was born to be a (beautiful, wonderful) thorn in your side, then you were born to navigate the psychic minefield of family dysfunction.

The next few hours pass–or maybe they don’t–in a haze of “Good to meet you” and “Yes, we’re very happy” and “Sure, I’ll call more.” You can feel Leander’s anxiety spiking, too preoccupied with your own to do anything about it. And then, like magic, you’re back in his car. His forehead is on the steering wheel, his entire body curled forward in an impressive display of defeat.

“Leander,” you say softly, laying a hand flat on his back. His response is a low, guttural groan that you think wouldn’t be entirely out of place in a medieval torture chamber. “Want to run away to Iceland?” you ask, only half-joking. The poor man has been needled within an inch of his life tonight, by his family and yours alike.

He barks out a surprised half-laugh, righting his posture to look at you. “Yeah,” he says. His voice is raw. “But we’re not going to, right?”

“I mean, I don’t see why not.”

“Alright, give me your elevator pitch.”

You grin in spite of yourself. “You, me, and a little apartment on a river. No family to speak of.”

“Well, we don’t exactly need to go all the way to Iceland to have that, do we?” He asks, lifting your hand to his lips from where it rests on the center console. You raise an eyebrow. “If it’s a river you want, we’ve got a perfectly good one right here in Chicago.”

“And our families?”

“Fuck ‘em,” he says, eyes steady on yours, “You and me, my love. We’re more family to each other than all the people in that ballroom combined.”

You lean into your seat, letting your head fall back. “Yeah,” you say softly.

Part of you always sort of wondered if you’d eventually regret cutting off your parents the way you did. But wouldn’t it have happened by now? It’s been almost a decade, and you’re just as angry with them as you were at eighteen. The only person in the world who’s managed to make you feel sane about the entire thing is sitting beside you in the driver’s seat, and if that makes you both assholes then fine, you’ll be assholes together. God, fuck ‘em. You’ve got your family. And you’re definitely fucking eloping.

[themissingnumbers]

Red- Hey… Are you-? You’re shaking… Do you need a second?

"I'm fine. I'm FINE. It's nothing. Next question."

He takes a deep breath, and quickly appears to calm down, putting on a relaxed smile once again.

"So! I'll admit it. I see things a bit differently than... Others, you might speak to."

"Which is to say; I see you as EXACTLY what you really are."

"... Hah, that's kind of a lie- I KNOW what you are, though my sight through the screen is pretty limited."

"I know you're not actually Ace's assistant or whatever, and I know you aren't actually watching me through a drone- you're looking through the screen of something far beyond our quaint little reality."

"And I know you're not one, but many."

"... But almost nobody else does. As far as they're concerned, you ARE the vessel you're playing through- some quirky little nobody, helping at a lab in the middle of nowhere, who acts oddly erratic and is scary good at multitasking."

"The ONLY ones who could fathom what you REALLY are- and NOT immediately fall apart at the seams- are the ones who were made with you in mind, and have felt your influence: Player characters. But even then... Well. Most of us are still supposed to believe our actions were our own. Maybe it's for the best that you leave the veil unbroken for them if you had the choice..."

"Or don't! I could always use more company."

BEGINNING | EXPLORATION || PREV | NEXT

[porto-rosso]

brother where is the charles appreciation

[ruelpsen]

Honestly, as someone who has been going through fictosexual attraction for years and also didn't know how to deal with it at first: Just write and think about the most self-indulgent bullshit you can picture. It is the only way to keep sane or so I've found.

Oh I'm already on it, believe me. In fact, here's a little snippet from what I've been working on...

"Are you... turned on by this too?" you ask. "I'm not sure," he growls. "I will admit it's not something I've ever involved in my... liaisons before. But seeing you so desperate like this is always sure to awaken a hunger in me. Or rather-" he pauses for a moment, burping again- "a thirst." With that, he kisses you deeply once more. You feel his fangs press against your lips as you moan with pleasure. You grip the back of his shirt as your hips instinctively buck against his, suddenly jostling his body. He abruptly breaks his lips away from yours only to turn his head to the side and release a short, thick belch. "Apologies," he says. "I didn't want to be..." He trails off, lost in thought for a moment. He eyes you for a second, observing the redness in your cheeks and the pleading look in your eyes. "On second thought, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" "Yes," you moan. "God, yes." "My, my, what a nasty little creature you are..."

[serabellyms]

  PLOTTED STARTER !     ⤷ @downs1de ✧ rustin cohle.

Finally, finally, she'd been able to take some leave. It was difficult, given the intensity of her training, but now that there were final evaluations for those who'd be deemed N7 status (and her passing all of the previous levels with flying colours), she had time to wait until she'd know whether she'd been chosen for such an esteemed vocation. It'd been a difficult journey, and so far... she'd passed. Now, she had a chance to take a break, and she’d sent a message to Rust, letting him know where she was staying if he’d like to come visit. She hadn’t received a message back, but she figured he’d see it eventually.

What she didn’t expect was hearing a knock at her door late at night. She was up in a flash, grabbing her sweater and pulling it over her head to conceal the garish scars that marred her arms and shoulders. Who would be coming at this hour? She hadn’t received any messages; surely if it was emergent, one of her COs or her training officers would’ve sent her a message. Raising a hand, she pulled her pistol close with her biotics, setting it out of sight in case of an intruder, but somewhere she’d know where it was. No need for her to answer the door holding it; she didn’t exactly need a gun to defend herself, after all.

Opening the door, she was... surprised at what she saw. Dishevelled was one way to describe it; clothing rumpled, tie loosened, and a half-abused bouquet of flowers that looked like it'd been bought hours ago. The only saving grace was his hair; it always looked like that, a little tousled. The rest was easy to figure out; even if she couldn't smell the alcohol yet, she certainly knew the look of a man who'd had one too many drinks.

At least he'd taken a cab, identified by the car that was leaving now that she'd opened the door. Oh, god, what did you do? At least he looked... okay, for the most part. No bruises or cuts, which mean no fights, but something had happened. Sighing softly, she reached for his arm to gently coax him inside, resigning herself to... whatever this was. If he'd come to her in this state, there had to be a reason he'd picked her over everyone else.

"C'mon," she encouraged, guiding him to the couch. "Do you... want some coffee, or do you just want to sleep it off?" Either option didn't matter to her; she doubted she'd be sleeping much, given she'd be too damn busy worrying. Once he was sitting, she pulled two glasses from the cupboards, filling them both with water; if nothing else, she’d get him to drink at least one glass of water, and she herself probably needed one. Of course, water wasn’t the only thing she grabbed; reaching into the fridge, she juggled one of her usual electrolyte drinks, knowing that ought to be a hell of a hangover cure for a non-biotic.

Setting the glass down in front of him as well as the bottle, she took a seat next to him, sipping the second glass of water herself. “Drink. The water first, then that. It’ll at least save you from being dehydrated in the morning. They’re, uh—they give them to us after… long stints groundside.” Hopefully he wasn’t apt enough to notice her cover-up; she’d yet to tell him about their real purpose: to keep biotic soldiers hydrated, given the amount of calories and electrolytes burned in combat generating and controlling mass effect fields.

[imekitty]

This chapter of Disillusioned I’m working on is really fucking hard because I need Danny to talk about some very difficult things and Danny doesn’t like talking about those things because he doesn’t like portraying himself as weak or as a victim, he has such a strong desire to be seen as a hero. But like I need him to talk about these things so I’m having to figure out how to get him to just say it already while keeping him in character and not dragging it out too long.

Like Danny, babe, work with me here.

[straylaughs]

me having hope for bucchigiri?! to still turn around and impress me is totally not (it deifnitely is) based on the fact that utsumi crafted such an enjoyable experience with sk8 for me that i seriously cannot comprehend bucchigiri?! having no pay off

[can-i-get-a-yippee]

9-1-1 writers,, I’m begging you to stop deleting scenes that make your storylines actually coherent