#asks and things

[visions--of--collisions]

for @jennsterjay who went with 5 (PG)

EXCERPT: remember when we didn't know who to be? (Spiderverse, Hobie/Miles, G, Post-Canon)

A welcome sight greets him at the kitchen table. Billie’s in her high chair with Miles’ tablet - judging by the stickers - propped on the table in front of her, waving a tiny fist in the vague direction of her mouth as her eyes follow something on the screen. She does a startled little flail when she notices him. ‘Ibby!’ she says, and drops what she was holding to reach for him; it’s mangled beyond recognition, but there’s cubes of mango scattered across the tray in front of her, and one or two in the bottom of her moulded bib, so he knows those little hands are a sticky, pulpy nightmare.

Hobie couldn’t give less of a shit, frankly. ‘Young Bill!’

Billie squeals in response, and he reaches out to let her grip his fingers in a pincer hold he swears gets tighter every time he sees her. She promptly uses them to start trying to leverage herself out of her chair, huffing determinedly. Hobie laughs, delightedly. A girl after his own heart. 'Alright, easy, I ain’t going nowhere,' he soothes, and works his hands free to lift her out. Billie kicks her feet excitedly, even getting a few decent hits in on him while Hobie settles her on his hip, whereupon she gets straight to work on widening the holes in his jumper.

The water stops running at the kitchen sink. Hobie glances over just as Miles’ Dad turns to meet him, wiping his hands dry on a tea towel.

Hobie has to give it to him; the man’s got an eloquent way of raising his eyebrows. ‘Ay, and here’s the Old Bill!’ He clicks and makes a finger gun with his free hand. Billie turns in his hold and reaches for it. Hobie resists the urge to comment on her being her Father’s daughter, even though he knows Miles would laugh (despite himself). ‘Afternoon, Mr. Morales.’

‘Hobart,’ Jefferson drawls. He side-eyes Miles, who’s cramming the last few plates into the dishwasher beside him. ‘You going ahead with your little plan, then?’

'Yep.' Miles straightens and accepts the towel Jefferson passes to him. 'See, it'll be fine! I can't be Spiderman if I'm dragging my baby sister around, but there'll still be one here - you know, if something comes up while we're out there.'

'Wiya,' Billie agrees. Hobie rearranges his fingers into web-slinging formation and grins when she reaches for them with both hands, this time.

Miles points at her. 'Exactly.'

Jefferson scoffs and tugs the towel out of his hands. 'Dragging her around,' he mutters. 'You better not be dragging my baby girl around out there.'

‘Dad. Come on.’ Miles flashes Hobie a disbelieving look even as he’s trying to maintain his patented Good Mama’s Boy smile. Hobie helps himself to a piece of Billie’s mango without comment. ‘I’ve done this a dozen times already. It’s literally just for the afternoon. We’re gonna take a cab there and back, so we’ll be out on the street for a fraction of that …’

Hobie pops some fruit into Billie’s mouth, which she chews on with the renewed enthusiasm of someone seeing another person enjoying the same food. ‘Whereabouts we headed, then? A bit nippy for the park, ain’t it?’

This is, apparently, the wrong question to ask. Miles’ nose wrinkles in a wince as Jeff cranes his head around the fridge door he’s just opened. The man looks at Hobie with round eyes before he turns them on his son. ‘And you’re telling me this boy doesn’t even know what the plan is?’

‘Well - the broad strokes!’ Miles insists. He’s doing his best not to get sharp or defensive about it, Hobie can tell. Billie makes a querulous noise, and Miles lowers his arms as his attention diverts her way. Hobie turns the hip she’s perched on towards him, and he exhales loudly, crossing the kitchen to take her.

Hobie’s a bit too conscious of Jeff’s eyes on them as they pass her between them. He tucks his hands into his back pockets, pushing out his chest like someone who’s confident and unworried and not excruciatingly aware of the pocket fluff migrating towards his mango-sticky fingers. ‘The plan was to give your Mum some time to rest, weren’t it?’ he asks, trying not to sound too pointed about it. Miles nods like it wasn’t his idea in the first place; like he even needs the reminder. Hobie curbs the instinct to put his shoulder in between them - to give Miles shelter he doesn’t need. ‘While we’re running the Mayday Contingency, obviously,’ he adds, like it’s an afterthought and not the first thing Miles texted him about this morning. ‘Bills not being a Spiderbaby makes that twice as easy, I expect.’

He glances over at Jeff and is a bit surprised to see him watching Miles with his brows drawn. He meets Hobie’s eye for a stilted moment and then leans back, his chest expanding with a sigh. ‘Mayday … as in, Parker’s kid, Mayday? Or is this one of those situations where the name’s pulling double duty?’

Hobie grimaces slightly and tilts a hand from side to side. ‘Bit of both, yeah.’

‘You already asked me this question, Dad, the last time we talked about this.’ Hobie blinks, and turns to find Miles seated at the table, arranging Billie in his lap so she can sit back against him, her little arms looped overtop his. He gives her some fingers to clutch at; bends down and sideways so she can see his face. Hobie knows his expression is doing something truly stupid when Billie looks at her brother and smiles, automatic, like a little lightbulb going on, so he keeps his back to Jeff as he squats down and catches one of her kicking feet. Miles grins at her visible distraction and leans in to kiss her cheek. He very determinedly keeps his eyes on his sister when he says: 'You really think I'd let anything happen to her?'

The kitchen is quiet for a bit, even with the noise of Miles’ tablet and Billie telling Hobie exactly how she feels about having her toes tugged on (the reviews are in and they agree: he should get kicked in the chin.) Jefferson mutters to himself before the fridge door thunks shut. ‘It’s not about anything you’d let happen, Miles. You know that.’

Hobie tries to control his expression when he looks up at his friend, because Miles already knows how he feels about so-called authority figures having opinions on personal autonomy and influence. Jeff himself knows, at this point. Besides that, Miles should always know Hobie’s on his side, but he doesn’t want to give him any reason to doubt it.

Miles’ eyes are still flicking across his face when Hobie feels Jeff’s presence behind him, and he sees him glance up like he can’t help himself before refocusing on Billie. Jeff reaches past Hobie’s shoulder to gather up the condiments left out on the table; he bites down on the urge to offer a hand that spending any amount of time in the Morales’ kitchen quickly makes second nature - even and especially when it means Miles’ Mom gets to tease her son about his friends “showing him up” until he’s flustered and whiny. Oblivious to the mood, Billie coos up at her Dad as Miles grabs his tablet and turns it to face her, and Hobie spends a good minute or so wondering whether they’re actually going to be leaving the flat today before Jeff bends down to kiss his daughter’s head and elbow his son as he straightens up again. ‘Cool it with that,’ he scolds him quietly. ‘Your Mom already said you could go, didn’t she?’

[TBC]

[ghostxmagnet]

(@chelseashellbell)

Hey uh. I saw some weird looking Braviary flying north towards Eterna. Pretty sure they're Hisuian. Maybe they're headed for the Lake Acuity or something, I don't know.

I looked it up, turns out they can be pretty hostile. Thought I'd let you know. Do you have any idea who I should maybe contact about this?

oh shit i missed this since i was offline. thanks for letting me know.

i'm not sure but possibly friendball-irl? i think they're a part of the group trying to do something about the hisuian variants. or someone in #radstealth? i've mostly stayed out of things because i'm not in the battle scene anymore unfortunately, so i'm not 100% on who all is a part of that.

[phantomrose96]

I think we should have a turn of phrase for "I'm not in the right, but I AM annoyed with this situation, so I just need to go bitch to a friend about this before I suck it up and go do the right thing" because more and more I'm finding this is a critical element of functional adulthood.

[druid-for-hire]

[image id: a four-page comic. it is titled "immortality” after the poem by clare harner (more popularly known as “do not stand at my grave and weep”). the first page shows paleontologists digging up fossils at a dig. it reads, “do not stand at my grave and weep. i am not there. i do not sleep.” page two features several prehistoric creatures living in the wild. not featured but notable, each have modern descendants: horses, cetaceans, horsetail plants, and crocodilians. it reads, “i am a thousand winds that blow. i am the diamond glints on snow. i am the sunlight on ripened grain. i am the gentle autumn rain.” the third page shows archaeopteryx in the treetops and the skies, then a modern museum-goer reading the placard on a fossil display. it reads, “when you awaken in the morning’s hush, i am the swift uplifting rush, of quiet birds in circled flight. i am the soft stars that shine at night. do not stand at my grave and cry.” the fourth page shows a chicken in a field. it reads, “i am not there. i did not die” / end id]

a comic i made in about 15 hours for my school’s comic anthology. the theme was “evolution”

[bixels]

Baffled.

[inkskinned]

because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.

you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.

you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.

don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.

if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.

you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:

how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!

aren't you happy yet?

[yourangle-yuordevil]

That time in ancient Greece when Aziraphale needed a speedy horse and accidentally invented the pegasus

VS.

Whatever Crowley had going on in medieval times

[bayleymania]

New ask game:

Reblog if you want your followers to tell you what your trademark ™️ is. Like, what’s that thing that really identifies you.

[assiraphales]

a five year old had my phone & this is what he searched

[visions--of--collisions]

EXCERPT: but you're gonna need some help (outta those) [spiderverse, hobie brown/miles morales, rated e: pink suit-inspired pwp]

Miles’ arm moves against his ribs, and the both of them gasp a bit at the space that appears between them when he retracts his web. It pulls Hobie out most of the way, but he grits his teeth against the sensitivity as it sets in, coaxing Miles to tighten his arms and legs around him. He crawls backwards slowly until he can feel the floor with his toes, unsticks from the wall, and promptly slumps to the ground. ‘Hobes!’ Miles yelps, startled, still kind of breathless, and then: ‘Hobie …’ More of a complaint, this time, but Hobie can hear the lightness and he capitalises on it, twisting and tipping forward until Miles is on his back under him with Hobie’s clinging arms pinned between him and the floor. ‘Man …’

The laugh creaks out of Hobie, rusty like a hinge, and he plants a sucking kiss on the soft skin below Miles’ ear before propping himself up on his forearms. Miles is still kind of in his lap, legs spread around Hobie’s hips, but he looks up at Hobie like he’s not the one who’s pinned. Hobie flutters his eyelashes at him, grinning stupidly. Miles groans; he scrubs at his eyes and stretches, blinking down at himself. He makes a face. It’s a goddamn mess between them, right from where their cocks lie softening to the collar of Miles’ rucked-up sweatshirt. The less said about the situation around their thighs, the better.

He lifts up the hem, mouth pursed. Miles pauses when Hobie’s eyes track the movement; he shoots him a disbelieving look. ‘You know I’m gonna be wearing this every day, right?’ he points out.

‘Fine by me,’ Hobie growls, with only slightly exaggerated interest. Miles groans again, wrestling with the hem, and Hobie laughs as he helps him work it up and off over his head. ‘Ay, shush. We can call it exposure therapy, yeah?’ One corner of his mouth twitches higher than the other when Miles gives him a hairy eyeball as he rolls the sweatshirt down  his arms and tosses it aside. Hobie gives him a minute to take stock in peace, very tactfully ignoring the dampness smeared across his chest, keeping any observations about how good or not a look that’s just gloves and web shooters may be to himself. 

The crease in Miles’ forehead is a less welcome sight, all told. ‘You good?’

Miles blinks. He looks at Hobie’s face and leaves off his fumbling with the clasp of his web shooter to smooth a hand down his shoulder, kissing his teeth around a smile. ‘Yeah, I’m good! I’m great,’ he adds, huffing with quiet laughter. Hobie tilts his head at him, mostly convinced, and Miles goes back to undoing the clasp. He leaves the cuff off to the side and flexes his gloved fingers thoughtfully. ‘I dunno, I just - I can’t figure out if I want these shorter or not.’

‘Is it?’ Hobie frowns and carefully extracts his arms to reach for Miles’ other hand. The clinging fabric has mostly stayed in place despite the tension Miles’ web must have put on it, but he smooths it out anyways, considering. ‘Looks pretty good as is, from here,’ he offers. The callus on his thumb catches on the fastening of Miles’ web shooter when he unthinkingly strokes the underside of his wrist.

Miles hums as he watches Hobie take it off and lay it beside the other. He’s visibly conflicted. ‘It’ll mess with the line of the suit,’ he points out.

‘Could make ‘em a feature,’ Hobie suggests. He narrows his eyes, trying to picture how that might look with a Miles-specific twist. It’s been a minute since he’s used his spraypaint signature, outside of the Spider symbol …

Miles’ eyebrows arch toward his hairline at that. ‘Well …’ When Hobie looks at him curiously, he gnaws on his lip before continuing: ‘Margo had this idea, for like - a short-sleeved suit. Since, I mean, I’ll be wearing the sweater overtop anyways, so it’s not like anyone’s gonna know until I lose it. And that’ll be pretty tricky with the way the cuff’s elasticated around …’

Hobie perks up. ‘Oh, you mean your sweater paws?’

There’s a faint thunk as Miles drops his head to the floor. He immediately looks so put upon that Hobie knows it’s not the first time he’s heard this. ‘You don’t - that’s not … I can’t …’

He props his cheek on his fist. ‘Damn, Mags already beat me to it? That’s humiliating.’

Miles knocks him in the side with his leg. ‘Yeah, you should feel bad. Derivative,’ he accuses. ‘Inauthentic. Ain’t a drop of originality between you.’

‘Alright now …’

Miles opens his mouth, but he looks at Hobie’s bemused face and immediately seems to run out of steam. He sighs gustily, instead. ‘She won’t change the filename back,’ he complains. ‘Ugh. Lemme up.’

[TO BE CONTINUED]

[beebfreeb]

[ghostxmagnet]

(@wingsofachampion) Hiya! Do you not have wands here in the human world? They're really useful for keeping hostile Pokemon away! -Tropius

oh! hello? nice to meet you!

aaand no i don't believe so? at least not the kind you're talking about, i don't think!

we use repels for doing that though! it's a spray that's harmless to pokemon but doesn't tend to smell that great to them, so they usually stay away. it's not a fullproof thing but works well enough, especially if you have a pokemon that's a bit stronger than that area's wild ones to help put them off approaching.

[unholyhymns]

still one of my favorite bits i ever got to commit was pretending not to know who jesus is when a street preacher was evangelizing to me. he was like "do you know who jesus is?" and i had so much time before my next bus and i wanted to know what would happen so i said no. and you know what. he had clearly never been told no to that question before because if i hadn't actually known who jesus was, his baffled and fumbling attempt sure wouldn't have told me. literally reversed the roles. now you get to stand here feeling very uncomfortable and wishing you could be somewhere else because guess what buddy, this is my bus stop, im early (and can catch like five other buses from this exact stop), and im now thoroughly invested in hearing about this mysterious jesus figure. you're locked in here with me. im eating the key as we speak. i will kill us both before i let you out of here.

very highly recommend this bit if you can pull it off and if you have time to kill

[rooniearts]

POV: you opened tumblr dot com on april 1st 2024

[sergeant-angels-trashcan]

Yall remember how Texas had that "report an abortion" form that they had to take down after a week?

Well, Missouri has one, only it's for reporting transgender concerns.

Comrades. Friends. Romans. Countrymen. You know what to do.

[daisywords]

btw I know ppl on this site go on abt mutuals but if you are someone that shows up in my notes regularly who I don't follow, I do notice and I am fond of you and if you reblog something from me I do think "YES I have pleased the follower with good taste"