#i listened to it when writing ok

[findafight]

Steve shows up to work one day with a baby bjorn complete with sleeping baby on his chest and Robin is like Steve....what the fuck?

And Steve says "I would've called you last night but she'd only stop crying when I held her and my parents were fighting, obviously, and I had to figure out how to make her bottle then I fell asleep with her on top of me and I think my dad legitimately forgot about us even though this is his fault, and there's no one to take care of her so I had to bring her. Sorry."

That is a lot and answers very few of Robin's questions.

"who...is she?"

Steve brightens and smiles down at the baby who's tiny baby fist is scrunched up in his work vest. "Oh! My half sister. Her mom works for one of my dad's business partners and brought her to my parents while they were away last week so they came home, mostly to dump her off on a nanny they forgot to hire--hence my baby holder here--and fight. Turns out dad cheating is easier to ignore when there isn't actual proof of it."

"oh. Woah."

"yeah. Anyways, ready to rewind some tapes?"

So they start work Steve logging returns into the computer and cupping the baby whose name I don't know yet's head. Then the little baby wakes up, making little baby noises, and Robin is not one for babies really, but Steve coos and picks her hand off his chest and waves it at Robin.

"see, that's your auntie Robin! Say hiii auntie Robin!"

The baby chews her tongue at Robin and blows a spit bubble.

And how is Robin supposed to not be charmed by that?

"awww," she says, letting the baby grab her finger, "yeah, I'm your auntie Robin. Your big brother's gonna take care of you so good huh? You'll know your way around retail in no time."

Steve giggles.

It is then that The Gremlins decide to show up and Cause Noise. Baby sister starts to cry and Steve takes her to the back to get her to calm down and change her, comes out (ignores the party's questions. Giving them Ultimate Mom Pose with Bonus Effect of Baby) hands her to Robin who is a little nervous but she will not let her new niece (?) Down, and goes back to find and heat up a bottle.

Eddie, who drove the gremlins and was looking for something in his van comes in, sees Robin holding the baby and is like huh? What's this?

And then Steve comes out with a bottle and a baby blanket over his shoulder, reaches for the baby from Robin and tries to get her to latch on the bottle with quiet words and gentle hands and Eddie is not okay he's not fine he's having a melt down because Steve with the kids is one thing but Steve with a Baby is something very different and he should not be expected to keep it together seeing this

Part 2.

Part 3

[mudpuddless]

Knight Feemor and Padawan Kenobi in the shadow court

AU where qui-gon gives up on/is banned from training Obi-wan after melida-daan and Feemor becomes Obi-wans master.

[picture ID: it's a digital drawing of jedi knight feemor stahl, aged 37, a long haired blonde near-human with tan skin and forest green robes, sitting on the floor with his legs tucked in under him. He is levitating a bright yellow kyber crystal between his hands as a disassembled white-gold lightsaber is floating to his right. padawan obi-wan kenobi, aged 13, a ginger child with grown out hair and a padawan braid wearing white tunics is napping next to him on the floor using a sage green cloak as a blanket and knight stahl's knees as a pillow with his hands tucked under his cheeks. the wall behind them is tiled with diamond shaped star patterned tiles and to their right a large white blue and gold porcelain planter is holding a small gnarly tree with droopy green leaves. above them three identical complex lancet windows which let white gold sunlight into the room. the drawing is done largely in turquoise and yellow tones and the atmosphere is peaceful and serene. end ID]

[thatcoloradosunrise]

Dark Sonia's Monologue

"Hello again. We've met before.

You look different, I'm the same.

You've begun to know my face,

You already know my name.

I am the one who calls you,

Who says "come here, come home"

The voice that whispers from within

So you never feel alone.

I wait in all your doorways,

I watch you while you sleep.

I live right here inside you

Gnawing, growing, squirming deep.

I've taken the people you loved the most

One by one by one.

And I have come to take you next

Will you fight, evade me, run?

I am the weight that crushed your sister,

The guilt that carves you like a knife.

I am the fear that no one loves you,

The Creep that drank your family's life.

I am the dark that lives within you

As now at last you see -

I am the wound you've always carried,

You belong to me."

-Dark Sonia, Moonward Part 4 [x]

[turtledotjpeg]

when ur squad is size small-medium-large

[wordsinhaled]

more domestic vacation 'verse because it's apparently all i can think about now

-

It has been... good, being here. Quieter. Easier. The clamor of billions of visitors to the Dreaming is muffled, in Hob's flat. The things that dream here are calm things. Thriving things. Old and cherished things.

Loved things.

Here, Morpheus too has felt like something that could perhaps be loved.

In the mornings, after Hob has left for work, Morpheus draws himself soundlessly up from the bed and pads on bare feet to the record rack that stands overfull with vinyls in the corner of Hob's living room. He touches each record there carefully, the faint visions of musicians and composers flitting ephemeral beneath his fingertips. He selects his musical accompaniment for the day by intuition alone.

This morning, he finds a little yellow note stuck to Hob's copy of The Cure's Disintegration:

"You'll like this one. Promise. —H"

Morpheus listens to it five times through in its entirety with a cathartic sort of anguish. Afterwards he perches on the couch wrapped up in the blanket Hob has slept beneath each night these two weeks. The cedar and vanilla notes in Hob's soap still linger in the fabric, like traces of an embrace Hob Gadling has never given him.

He has especially enjoyed sitting on the floor by the window in the warmest patch of sun, holding court with Hob's houseplants. A marble queen pothos hangs there, suspended near the ceiling, its cascading vines of happy heart-shaped leaves long enough to trail down around Morpheus' shoulders. A row of succulents and a purplish-red bromeliad in a brightly enameled pot live lined up on the sill.

Morpheus gathers them all in his awareness, greets their leaves gently with the backs of his knuckles, speaks to them the way he speaks to all growing things. They whisper their daydreams to him in return, telling him tales of jungle and desert, and of the loving voice that sings songs to them each time they are watered.

Morpheus wonders what Hob Gadling sings, what he hums under his breath.

I would be sung to thus, he thinks. But would you sing to me, my friend?

He sits for long hours in the companionable silence. Lulled by the rhythm of verdant stories, he relishes the sun-warmth banking in the soft black cotton of his shirt, and feels some unnamed tension deep within himself begin to unravel.

Morpheus had not expected this from his stay with Hob. This comfort. This easiness between them.

How it has sunk into him and become something he could, in some version of the universe, come to require.

So, when on the eve of his fourteenth day Hob says, "I don't want you to go," Morpheus is surprised to find that the wistful note Hob cannot quite keep out of his voice finds a sympathetic echo in his own thoughts.

"I—" Morpheus begins.

It is rare that he does not find the ending of a sentence already laid out for him. Yet what is its proper conclusion? I also do not wish to go away from you is futile. An impossibility. He has a kingdom. A realm. A responsibility.

"You feel it too," Hob says. "Don't you?"

Morpheus does not need to breathe in the waking world. He does not need a heartbeat. These are paltry mortal necessities; mortal vulnerabilities. And yet he knows, suddenly, the kick of the heart against the ribs and the catch of a gasp in the lungs of his recalcitrant body. It pinions him to the moment.

"Hob," he manages to say. For a brief second, he is unmade and remade again by the hope in Hob Gadling's face.

"Dream. My dearest friend. I've been wrong before." Hob's eyes are wide and earnest. His voice is honey-soft and strong. He is wiser than Morpheus can aspire to be. "If I'm wrong about this, tell me, please."

"You were not wrong before," Morpheus says. "And you are not wrong now."

[billdenbrough]

@naturecalls111 prompted me kevaaron + massage when i needed a warmup prompt bc she is the best. waves hands this is a vague au and heads up for some suggestive content ahead but it's just prelude vibes lmao

The thing is. The thing is that Aaron’s hands, while smaller than Kevin’s, are firm. It was a fuck of a thing, coming onto this team after two years of Volshan’s huge, bone-cracking hands, and being told this small blond with sharp eyes and a clever, pretty mouth would be the one helping Kevin with keeping his body well-tuned.

He certainly feels like an instrument right now, strung too tight. Everything is taut. He’s only halfway sure it’s his muscles. The rest of it might just be him, here, right now, in this moment. 

“God, what have you been doing to yourself?” Aaron mutters. He digs his thumb in deep, and Kevin can’t help the low, guttural groan that rings through the air. Aaron pauses. Kevin buries his face in the bed.

“Well, clearly that needed some working out,” Aaron says. He resumes his motions, pausing only to re-lotion his hands, and it’s just - Kevin is just -

Kevin is a fucking professional, okay? You don’t get onto as many teams as he has—let alone at the international level—without going through the team PT’s hands a time or twenty. But it’s just.

Aaron’s kinda funny, see. He's got this dry, quiet humour, usually pretty cutting, and these blunt remarks that make Kevin snort even when the recipient of such a remark sends him an injured look. The breakdown in relations with his teammates is worth it when Aaron sends him that little smile. And Aaron is smart. Obviously, medical professional, but he likes trivia and has opinions on the best way to hide a body (“My something-in-law,” he says once, in the world’s vaguest lore drop. “He’s got a variety of skills.” Which, like, ominous? If Jean were here, he’d be telling Kevin that the fact that Aaron clearly being related to some sort of serial killer isn’t flagging his boner at all means Kevin truly has taken too many Exy balls to the head. It might be true. Doesn’t change the fact that his boner remains undaunted and his neck prickles whenever he hears Aaron enter a room, so aware of him) and confiscates Kevin’s Exy racquet when he catches him at the court too late, but doesn’t make him go home. 

Which is how they end up here, actually.

Aaron says, you’re going to injure yourself, don’t be a fucking idiot. Kevin says, I need to get better. Aaron says, you’re already the best person on that court, you perfectionistic fuck. Kevin grins at him, quick and fierce, then remembers himself, and says, I can always get better. Aaron arches an eyebrow and says, not if you blow out your knee trying to conquer the world. Kevin wants to argue, but Aaron reaches over and tugs his Exy racquet free, placing one hand on Kevin’s bicep as he does so. Kevin is so struck by it that he lets him. 

Aaron says, you don’t have to leave if you don’t want to go back home. Kevin doesn’t ask how he guessed or what he’s implying. Kevin asks, what are you doing here? And Aaron says, checking the office. Thought I could get some paperwork done.

And Kevin asks, do you want company? And Aaron looks at him, expression a little unreadable, then says, yeah, okay. Come on, Kevin Day.

And he goes. And Kevin follows. 

And now here’s Kevin, getting an impromptu massage because Aaron narrowed his eyes at the way he was moving his left leg. And now Aaron’s fingers are moving up the back of his thigh, digging in, and all Kevin can think about is how badly he wants those fingers to be digging in because he’s holding on. Because he’s pulling Kevin down on him, clutching at him because he doesn’t want to let go. Or because he’s clinging to Kevin’s shoulders for dear life while Kevin proves to him that all his chat about the stamina of champions isn’t just chat. Kevin’s not picky. He’s just losing his mind a little, maybe, with how it all feels right now.

“Did you want me to do the front?” Aaron asks. “I can check your knee.”

Kevin shakes his head quickly. “It’s fine,” he says, but Aaron is frowning at him. He moves around the bed to face Kevin, and Kevin can’t escape his gaze, lying down as he is.

“Are you sure?” he asks. He presses the back of his hand against Kevin’s forehead—if he thinks Kevin has a fever and benches him, Kevin is going to be absolutely insufferable, especially because he’s fine, he’s just horny. Then he does something so completely unforgivable, and flips his hand absentmindedly, cupping Kevin's jaw. 

Kevin lets out a low whine.

Aaron steps back, and Kevin goes, “Shit, sorry, it’s—Keegan bruised me there earlier.”

The look Aaron gives him is unconvinced, but he nods. “Okay,” he says. “I'll just do a warm down then, if you’re sure.”

Kevin swallows, nods.

But then Aaron's hands are back on him. Gentler this time, for the most part, but digging into softer flesh, more tender spaces, and then—

Kevin makes a kind of gasping noise as Aaron’s hand slips a little, a little too slick from the lotion. Aaron’s apology is swallowed up by the gasp, but then cut off completely as his hand brushes against Kevin’s hard dick.

“Oh,” Aaron says, and then, “Is this why you were being so—Kevin, it’s fine. This is really normal. I promise I've seen it before.”

Appallingly, Kevin’s first instinct is to indignantly ask “Who?!”; however, cooler heads prevail and he says, “Uh huh.”

“No, I promise,” Aaron says. His voice is a little strange, but there’s sincerity in it, Kevin can tell that much. “I know it’s just a reaction, it doesn’t mean anything, it’s natural.”

Kevin blames Jeremy, who is the least honest but most sincere person he knows, for what comes out of his mouth next. Jeremy, who never tells anyone shit but is always so encouraging for people to be open with their feelings. It’s his fault, Kevin decides, because Kevin’s stupid fucking mouth decides to say, “I wouldn’t say anything.”

Aaron goes really still for a moment. Kevin is still not looking at him, so he only knows this from the sudden lack of breathing. Then, finally, “What?”

Kevin huffs, then turns over. No point hiding it now that they both know he’s hard as a rock.

It's embarrassing, but he’s said it now. He can’t unfuck that. So he stands his ground instead. “I wouldn't say it’s entirely meaningless.”

Aaron’s looking at him. Mostly his face, but he glances down at his dick, and Kevin feels it stir with interest beneath the attention. He's about to feel embarrassed, but then Aaron tilts his head, and his eyes darken just a shade, and Kevin thinks—oh. Kevin thinks, maybe this isn’t such a lost cause after all.

[writing-is-a-martial-art]

When making a monster story, ask yourself: did you seal their FATE?

Is it freaky

Is there an abomination

Are the themes transsexual in nature

Is it emotionally devastating

[kindahoping4forever]

📸: Ryan Fleming

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

"i have to go to sleep" i say

"i really have to go to sleep" i say again, four hours later

[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,”

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

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.

[lilcathsmith]

Crime Show Meme - CSI insp [3/5 cases]

"I hate my birthdays. They always suck." - Appendicitement (Season 10 Episode 9, 10th December 2009)

[ded-lime]

my attempt at lily versions

[freebooter4ever]

I always enjoy it when people come up to me while im drawing as long as they're nice about it, and especially kids. And while the last two weeks only seemed to have obnoxious parents (at one point a kid was pointing like 'i want to be able to that!' and their parent replied 'you can't' and i was like ???? Wtf), this week there was a mom and two daughters who were really interested in art and were standing behind me while i sketched for a long while. Neither of the girls could have been much older than 10, and they were super shy, and were asking their mom questions, and i answered one of the questions. And the mom laughed and said 'see, she can hear you, don't be afraid to ask her questions!' and then i turned around and introduced myself a little and explained what i was drawing. And then they just stood and quietly watched me draw for like ten minutes, it was so sweet. 🥹

[lighthouseas]

whenever will has a bad day at work (or just a bad day in general), and he's just sitting on the couch and sulking, mike will put on will's current favorite song and ask him to dance really stupidly formally like they do at weddings. will always rolls his eyes and pouts and refuses at first - until he sees mike, his wonderful amazing beautiful boyfriend, busting out his absolute cringiest dance moves to their favorite the cure song or whatever else and singing along to said song horrifically off key in the middle of their living room. and then mike extends his hands to will and forcefully pulls him up off the couch and twirls him around and dips him down to kiss him like he's the most special boy in the world (because he is. Obviously) and will can't pout anymore because mike's hands are so big and warm in his own and it's just them, being stupid and silly and crazy together in their tiny little one bedroom apartment and dancing along to all of their favorites. before the first song even finishes, though, will finds himself singing and dancing along too and twirling mike back because mike's dopey little grin is so damn infectious that he just. can't help it.

and this is how mike develops the Tried And True Method To Turn Will's Frown Upside Down (pun not intended) that he still continues even when they're older and married, because they're still stupid kids at heart and love each other so much that it needs to be shared in every way possible ❤️

[daedalusdavinci]

22, twobat. heard u were talkin SHIT

22. While someone demeans your lover, standing up for them. Either in word, or by physically placing yourself right in front of them as a protective barrier. im thinking about emotional dysregulation and a strong sense of justice and how bruce is the reason alfred lost all his hair. in the words of karkat vants: anger can be a love language. alksdjnfsldjknfs i am NOT editing this

You get in fights for him. You've been getting in fights since no one gave your parents a chance to, something in you quick to snap and your fists faster than anyone could stop. You don't know how many strings Alfred had to pull to keep you from being suspended in middle school, but you know it was a lot, because he used to pick you up with a sigh written in the lines of his face, white gloves hiding the tension in his hands on the steering wheel. Sometimes he tried to argue with you about it. You never folded, because you were certain you were right.

Your school records are a mud-stained mess of arguing with teachers, getting in between a bigot and a victim, and the crack of your fist against someone else's jaw. You grew up stocky and angry, and you never had a problem taking things outside so someone else didn't have to. You think a part of you still feels like if you take on every fight yourself, no one else will ever have to get hurt. Regardless, it means that the college you get into isn't near as prestigious as everyone expects of you, and you know Alfred had to grease a lot of palms to do it. You think he's hoping maybe you'll keep your head down for a few years, and the intellectual challenge will be enough to keep your fists steady.

But then you meet Harvey, and he's simultaneously everything Alfred wants for you and everything Alfred doesn't.

He's optimistic in a way you aren't, level-headed and determined, but filled with the same drive for justice you are. Unlike you, he got in with scholarships and smarts, and he tells you stories about the kind of lawyer he's going to be one day, and the way Gotham will change. He flips some kind of switch in your brain, and your plan for the future starts to take a slightly different shift, accommodating for a world where you're not the only one who cares. He motivates you. He challenges you. He makes you better, and you think Alfred would like the person you become when you're around him.

At the same time, Harvey's a brown kid struggling with some kind of disability you'd never heard of before you met him, and the privileged fucks around you can smell it. So you get in fights. You're so quick to snap to his defense, putting yourself between them and him because you've never done anything else in your life, and Harvey tells you he's sick of patching you up, because you're bleeding again and he thinks it's his fault and he's trying to make you laugh.

It works. It always works when it's Harvey.

In later years, they'll call him Apollo. He's the handsome white knight who brings light back to Gotham, and he'll find it embarrassing and flattering all at once. You'll tell him you think it's apt, and he'll shove you, laughing like you told him a joke. But in college, he's the sun you orbit your world around, warming you when nothing else will.

The dean calls Alfred after you land a kid in the hospital. He doesn't need hospital treatment, but his friends don't know medicine like you do, and they panicked. He'll be fine. Alfred still calls you, cold, clipped anger in his voice, and you feel like you're eight again, angry and muddy and past the point of reason, the crushing feeling of a meltdown spiraling past what you can handle. Alfred tries hard to be a parent, and he tries to be a butler, and you're his kid and his spoiled charge, and this isn't the first time the two of you haven't nailed the impression of a functional family unit. You fight.

Med students aren't supposed to hurt people. Med students aren't supposed to snap and beat the shit out of other students. Med students aren't supposed to have meltdowns, no matter how crazy the workload is, no matter how much injustice happens in the medical field alone, no matter how much injustice your best friend faces at the hands of people you're supposed to view as mentors. Med students aren't supposed to recognize themselves in the textbooks. The dean is threatening you, and you're supposed to shape up.

In a few days, you still haven't gotten over it. Alfred isn't talking to you, you're not talking to Alfred, and a call from Leslie only makes things worse. You don't go out of your way to pick fights, but you don't need to, because people seem a little afraid to say anything after you sent that kid to the hospital. Harvey tells you it'll blow over with a grim confidence that you take seriously. It sounds too much like he's speaking from experience.

Then, someone makes a comment about your parents. It's not a particularly interesting comment- you've heard much, much worse over the years, and they've lost a lot of their effect. It stings- it's cruel- but you brush it off. You're in enough trouble already, and you've never cared about standing up for yourself the way you do about standing up for others.

Harvey's fist snaps out before you know what's happening.

The kid is flat on his ass, gaping up at you both, and Harvey is brimming with rage. "Shut the fuck up," he says, thick and growling. "You'd be fucking lucky if your parents loved you half as much. They probably only sent you here to get rid of you."

"Harv!" You grab his arm, tugging his attention back to you. You're torn between shock and worry, but worried for him, and what this will mean for him once the stupid kid reports him to the dean. You think for a terrifying moment that he could get expelled, and selfishly, you don't know what you'd do here without him.

You can tell he's furious, but he lets you drag him away, ushering the both of you away from the scene before things can escalate further. You stand in an abandoned stairwell and Harvey's fingers clench and unclench in your sweater as you hold his arms, giving him time to breathe.

"You didn't have to do that," you tell him quietly.

"Shut the fuck up, Bruce," he scoffs. His gaze flickers up to your face, thumb grazing the bottom of a bruise that's purpled in the past few days. You didn't get out of that fight scot-free, but no one ever cares about that. Except Harvey, who always cares. "You don't get to talk to me about when I should or shouldn't stick up for someone."

You don't have anything to say to that. The words all dry up in your throat as you stare at him, caught on the heat of his touch, the soft brown of his lips, and the determination in his face, like he'd do it all over again. You've never met anyone who understood you the way Harvey does, who matched your drive for justice and inspired you so completely. You look at him the way an astronomer looks at the stars, struck by their beauty and complexity- understanding, and yet endlessly wanting to know more, to know everything, to hold something you don't think you ever can. "Okay."

Something pricks embarrassed in his face, eyes shifting away suddenly. You think his cheeks are a little darker, but it's hard to tell.

You'll think about that moment for years. For years, when you hold his face and try to figure out how to tell him all the ways you love him, and when you watch him become the hero you always knew he could be, and when you watch him fall, holding his hand in the hospital and meeting his eyes across a rooftop, you'll think about what it was like to be so young, trying to put words to the way you wanted to press your lips to his. You tell him, once, that you think you're always going to see that little college kid in him, and he laughs at you. His laugh has turned raspy after years of smoking, and the shake of his shoulders makes the chains rattle, but it's the same laugh. "Maybe it's better that way," he says, grinning. "We were two of a kind, back then."

"Three," you correct.

His grin turns a little more sincere, a little more embarrassed. He says his words like a tease, but it's only to lighten the truth. "We thought the sun shined out of your ass."

"That's just the light reflecting off of it," you say, and he laughs again. You still love his laugh.

These days, you fight each other. You don't think it'll ever stop you from loving them both every bit as much as you did then.

[blueskittlesart]

its so funny to me when such bad lyrics get thru cause like... if I were a billionaire I would hire people to make sure my songs were lyrically perfect. i would simply not fumble the bag that hard

unfortunately i think shes gotten to the point where no one wants to say no to her. shes so rich and famous that no one is willing to look her in the eyes and say taylor you cannot put that in a song