#starting to think she knows how to open pocket dimensions

[pixlokita]

When your cat hides your inhaler ….

[jinjeriffic]

DCxDP Prophecy Universe Part 5

Part 4

After collecting their bags from the library lockers Jazz led him down the hallway until she found a small, unlocked, empty classroom. The room was barren except for desks and a whiteboard. I guess they don’t bother locking it if there’s nothing worth stealing.

Jazz sat her messenger bag down on the teacher’s desk and pulled a whiteboard marker out of a side pocket.

“Right,” Jazz began, “I don’t know how much you know about ecto-entities and since, as you said, the reports on them tend to be pretty biased, I’m just going to start from scratch. Sounds good?” she rambled.

Tim hopped up onto the front row desk and tried his best to look like an attentive teacher’s pet.

“Yes, Ms Fenton,” he said cheekily.

Jazz gave him an amused look.

“Careful Mr Taylor, or you’ll end up in detention,” she said lightly. She turned to the whiteboard and gathered her thoughts for a moment, then wrote ECTO-ENTITIES in large block letters, “Many people refer to all ecto-entities as ghosts, but this is actually a misnomer. Ghosts as most people think of them, i.e. the restless spirits of the dead, are only a small subset of the ectoplasmic population. There’s plenty of them that were never human to begin with,” higher up on the board, she wrote INFINITE REALMS, “Ecto-entities originate from a parallel dimension to ours, which is called the Infinite Realms by its inhabitants. Though my parents refer to it as the Ghost Zone, that name is woefully inadequate.” Jazz paused and glanced at him.

“Kinda like foreigners renaming places instead of using the one in the native language, gotcha,” Tim nodded. They had dealt with alternate realities before, so this wasn’t completely out of left field. He would go along with it for now. Jazz gave him a small smile.

“That’s right!” she said and tapped the whiteboard, “Now, the Infinite Realms and our dimension are closely interconnected, like two sides of the same coin. Large scale damage to one would cause similar devastation on the opposite side and vice versa,” she gave him a serious look.

“Which makes the hostile attitude of the paranormal research community rather worrying,” Tim mused, “If someone did something stupid the blowback would hit us too,” If he wasn’t trained to read people he would have missed the slight tightening around Jazz’s eyes.

“That’s the theory anyway. And it’s not like the US government ever dropped bombs on people just to see what would happen,” she chirped with false cheeriness.

There’s a story there, Tim thought, and not the kind you would find in a history book. What the hell has been going on?

“I’m guessing getting access to the Infinite Realms isn’t as easy as calling an Uber though,” he joked.

“You’d be surprised,” Jazz said wryly, receiving a raised eyebrow in response, “there are places where the barrier between worlds is naturally thin, allowing temporary rifts to form more easily, but they can pop up pretty much anywhere in the world. It’s what allows ecto-entities to enter our dimension. It’s also not unheard of for humans to stumble into the Realms either, though they’re lucky to return at all,” she twirled the marker between her fingers, “Time doesn’t seem to work the same way in the Realms as it does here. Just in case you ever come across one, make sure to leave through the same portal you entered. Otherwise you might find yourself stranded in the Middle Ages, or far in the future with everyone you know and love long dead.”

Tim had to fight to keep down a wince. The whole Bruce Lost In Time Debacle was still an emotional scar for the family, they really didn’t need a repeat performance.

“Duly noted.”

“Some entities are able to open and close rifts at will,” Jazz continued, unfazed by Tim’s dry tone, ”though that ability seems to be pretty rare. It probably requires an unusual level of power or incursions would be much more common.”

“That would explain the little disappearing trick Damian’s delivery guy pulled,” Jason murmured through Tim’s earpiece, “But does that mean we’re dealing with a fucking super ghost?”

Tim gave a thoughtful hum and drummed his fingers against the edge of the desk.

“Do you think humans could open a portal to the Realms?”

Jazz gave him a wry smile.

“You just summed up the bulk of my parents’ research over the last two decades. They managed to build a functioning portal about two years ago.”

Tim choked. Jason swore.

“What?! But that’s-! How is that not all over the news?!” Tim sputtered. Jazz just sighed.

“My parents have been ranting about ghosts since they were in college,” she said wearily, ”Most of the scientific community had written them off as crackpots years ago. It doesn’t help that large concentrations of ectoplasm generate some kind of interference that messes with recording equipment. Short of kidnapping the naysayers and shoving them bodily through the Fenton Ghost Portal it’s hard to prove anything. And thankfully even my parents aren’t that crazy,” she finished with an eye roll.

Tim buried his face in his hands. An interdimensional portal. What the fuck. He thought back on everything Jazz had told him so far.

“What’s ectoplasm?”

“You’ve been paying attention!” she smiled and added some notes to the whiteboard, “Ectoplasm is the basic building block of everything in the Infinite Realms, and by extension ecto-entities. Hence the name. It’s the equivalent of matter in our dimension; atoms, protons, quarks, etcetera. I’m not a physicist, so I can’t tell you exactly how it works, but that’s why ecto-entities are able to interact with our physical world in such fascinating ways. Flight, intangibility and invisibility are all common abilities for them.”

“Wow, what a fucking security nightmare. B is gonna freak,” Jason groused. Tim tuned him out to focus on Jazz’s continued explanation.

“My parents have been experimenting with using ectoplasm for power generation, but it’s proven extremely volatile. It seems like it’s affected by things like belief and emotion which is absolutely fascinating,” she said with a gleam in her eye, “not to mention its effects on organic tissue. Have you ever had your dinner come to life and try to eat you?”

Tim had a sudden, horrible suspicion.

“Can’t say that I have,” he managed to squeeze out past the lump in his throat, “Um… Jazz, what does ectoplasm look like?”

“Well that depends on what it’s been affected and shaped by but in its raw form it looks like a bright green, glowing liquid,” she tilted her head, “Why do you ask?”

Over the comms, Jason made a sound like someone had kicked him in the crotch.

“Lazarus water?! Is she talking about the fucking pits?!” he choked out.

Tim made a valiant effort to keep his own reaction in check.

“Oh, just wondering how I’ll recognize a ghost- er, ecto-entity when I see one,” he lied with fake casualness, “You mentioned something about powers?”

“Yes! All the entities we’ve encountered so far have exhibited powers which are common to their species, as well as additional powers that seem to depend on the individual core. I’ve theorized that powers develop as a response to stress related to either their Obsession or death trauma…” Jazz trailed off, “aaaaaand I’ve lost you.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, I know I have a tendency to ramble,” she said sheepishly and considered the bullet points she had written so far, “Let me backtrack a bit. Not all ecto-entities are ghosts. There’s personifications of concepts, which I theorize are formed through the collective consciousness of living beings. They are entities which represent Hope or Justice or-”

“Time?” Tim interjected. Jazz gave him a calculating look.

“...sure. They are among the most powerful entities and have powers related to what they represent. I suspect they may have even been worshipped as gods at some point. You definitely wouldn’t want to mess with them,” at Tim’s nod, she continued, “There’s also the Neverborn, which are formed when ecto-entities choose to reproduce. They are entirely of the Infinite Realms, and thus were never ‘born’ into our world.”

“Ghosts can have children?” he said, surprised.

“Yes, although I’ve never been able to get the details on how it works. They don’t like to discuss it with outsiders. And considering they can look like dragons or disembodied floating eyeballs I’m not sure I’d want to know the exact mechanics,” she joked.

“I’m sure there’s plenty of people who’d disagree with you on that,” Tim muttered, then paused. “Wait, dragons?”

Jazz waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. The point is that there’s way more to the other side than most people realize. There’s probably lots of things I’ve never even heard of. It’s quite exciting, really!”

Tim worried about it. A lot. Jason had also gone suspiciously quiet.

“So, ghosts are just the tip of the iceberg?” Tim hedged.

“Exactly. What sets them apart from other ecto-entities is that they are usually created upon the death of someone or something from our dimension, which gives them motivation to come back here,” Jazz added more notes and arrows to the whiteboard. “All entities have something they call a core; think of it as their central organ or brain. It houses their consciousness, and its nature affects what powers they get. There’s all kinds of elemental cores like fire and water, but also more esoteric ones like shadow or technology. An ecto-entity’s body is composed of ectoplasm and moulded by their core. Their physical form is malleable and heavily based on their self-perception. With experience they can change shape to suit their needs.”

Tim mentally added shapeshifting to the growing list of powers to worry about. So far it sounded a lot like a Martian’s.

“So can ecto-entities grow and age?”

“It depends. The Neverborn usually do, but a lot of ghosts have a bit of a Peter Pan thing going on where they don’t want to. They are often ‘stuck’ at the age they were when they died, physically and mentally. Though there’s always exceptions.”

Tim hummed thoughtfully. Something had been bothering him since ghosts had first entered the equation.

“Jazz, if ghosts don’t age or die, why aren’t they all over the place? Even if rifts are rare, shouldn’t there be hundreds of thousands of years worth of dead folks wandering the Earth?”

She gave him a sad smile.

“I never said ghosts couldn’t die, Adam,” she said carefully, ”And not everyone who dies comes back as a ghost. The ones who do typically have some unfinished business holding them back. Like an obsession they never got to fulfill, or a loved one they are watching over. Once they are done, they are free to move on to whatever Afterlife awaits them,” she sighed and crossed her arms, “It also takes a lot of energy for a ghost to do anything in our world. I think a majority of them never hit that level, or can’t keep it up for any significant amount of time. It’s also part of the reason my parents are so biased against them.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“Think about it. Most ecto-entities are just like regular people, going about their business and keeping their heads down. The ones who are both motivated to cross into our world, powerful enough to manifest and tend to make themselves known are the troublemakers. It would be like an alien looking at the population of Belle Reve and concluding that the majority of humans must be super villains! It’s sample bias.”

Tim bit his lip. This all sounded worryingly plausible, which would mean a literal world of trouble about to come down on their heads. Fuck, just what we needed.

“You mentioned that ghosts can die. I assume you don’t mean from old age, right?” he queried. Jazz looked at him wearily.

“You’d be right. If an ecto-entity’s core is too badly damaged, they will cease to exist,” she said cautiously, “It doesn’t help that ghosts tend to maintain a strength based social hierarchy and are fiercely protective of their territory. Ecto-entities usually have a lair within the Infinite Realms, and those who cross over to our dimension often establish a haunt to call their own. Any intruders would be met with violence,” she sighed and rubbed her forehead, “My parents have also been developing weapons to fight ghosts with… varying degrees of success. A lot of their tech runs on ectoplasm which makes it pretty temperamental.”

Seeing Jazz’s obvious discomfort with the topic, Tim decided to switch tracks.

“Is there any way to tell for sure if my brother came back as a ghost?”

Relieved at the change, Jazz made a see-sawing motion with her hand.

“Kind of? My parents tried for ages to build a ghost detector but they never got it to work quite right. Too much ambient ectoplasm in Amity I guess,” she shrugged as if that statement wasn’t extremely worrying. “You could always grab a ouija board or something and try asking. Just… don’t ask a ghost about their death. It’s a major trauma for most of them and there’s no better way to send them into a frothing rage. If they volunteer the information that’s one thing, but to ask about it is like the social faux pas among ecto-entities.”

Tim nodded and made a mental note to get his hands on some Fenton tech. He had a feeling it was going to be a long week for him.

Jason and Tim didn’t speak until they were safely back in the car. Tim was mentally composing the report they would have to make to Bruce. He was not looking forward to his reaction.

“So,” Jason began with fake casualness, “an interdimensional portal in Illinois.”

“Yep.”

“Creatures made of fucking Lazarus Water.”

“Sounds like it.”

“And we still don’t know if our mystery meta is Bruce’s dead kid or not.”

Tim groaned.

“It all adds up though, doesn’t it? The camera glitching, the powers, the portal…”

“And that damned prophecy. The personification of Time, huh?”

Tim pinched his nose to stave off the growing headache. They contemplated the fucked up situation they had stumbled into in silence for a few minutes. Finally, Jason sighed and started up the engine.

“Rock-paper-scissors for who has to tell B?”

Part 6

[oddly-specific-hermit-headcanons]

(guys I'm back with another essay long headcanon ,.I have to much time on my hands 😔)

I like to think some hermits with non overworld origins have never seen snow (like me before it snowed 8.8 inches in Florida where It hasn't fr snowed In like 50 years and they cancelled school for a week - I mean what?) they just see this mysterious white powder that makes your hands numb floating down from the sky and are like "what. is this like, ashes? nuclear fallout? drugs??".and one of the other has to explain "yeah that just. happens sometimes. we kinda just deal with it and move on" but even after years of living in the overworld they're still not used to it and just. look at it. In awe. everytime it snows.

NAH YOU THOUGHT THAT WAS THE END?! IF YOU THINK THESE HERMITS DON'T HAVE AN ORGANIZED SNOWBALL FIGHT EVERY YEAR YOU ARE WRONG. THIS THING HAS BETRAYALS, ALLIES, AND IS A FULL ON MONTH LONG WAR.

(don't ask them what the rules are, no one knows. they decide who wins by who has to get treated for frostbite the least) (its not a snowball fight on the hermitcraft server unless someone loses a finger)(or gets hypothermia)(it's usually bdubs)

tbh the reason bdubs always gets hypothermia is because he always hides in an impressively camouflaged igloo the entire month with a continuously growing pile of snowballs that may or may not be the size of a house of which he refuses to "come out we have hot chocolate" this is not helped by the fact they are shouting this into the open air hoping he is somewhere nearby as bdubs hide and seek skills are exquisite, and he refuses to "forfeit" the game by "giving in to the enemy" no matter how many hot drinks and blankets are promised

grian is treated like Schrodingers ̶C̶a̶t̶ (that's supposed to be a strike though btw) parrot, as in "if I don't check, he is both at once and therefore cannot hit me" (which he might be because grian will be grian fr) check being check to see if he is hiding around the corner with the ball of ice he passes off as a snowball which he never the less will be . Staring at you. (Until he starts pelting ice chunks at you. He might still be staring, but no one knows because they're too busy running away to check)

Cub sees grian standing in the door way and just dodges them. Without moving from his spot. He just dodges.

Did doc invent a large snowball firing machine that could knock over even the feistiest gem. Yes. Was he also banned from using it because it would break the server as well as the gem? Yes.

Do not .I REPEAT, DO NOT take the snow from pearls backyard. It may look safe, but I guarantee you, that snow has been peed on by a dog.

Jevin is over here just absorbing those snowballs like a boss

pearl is also over here staring into the open sky menacingly throwing a snowball between her hands. "Whatcha doin?" "Threatening grian" "?" "He'll know"

An unidentifiable being that you cannot look directly at but definitely has deer antlers floats down from the sky landing daintily on top of a kraken tentacle holding a glowing golden chest adorned with many beautiful designs and engravings. The chest floats down, gently landing on the floor in front of gem. "Thanks 👍" gem says looking directly at it with literally no trouble because she's just like that- the chest opens to reveal a hole to a pocket dimension full of unmeltable snowballs and a note that says "I heard you needed snowballs for a fight? Who am I to deny my champion a good war :D anyways usual Thursday gossip sesh still work?" This is probably a bad thing because if patron deities are about to get involved, this fights 'bout to get CRAZY . I would say it's impressive help from deities hasn't been banned yet, but there is both no rules and that would also disqualify a significant amount of hermits from playing

Pearl decides that the easiest way to win would be to get the moon involved, its basically a giant snowball right? This is quickly put a stop to. No one wants a repeat of moon big. How she was able to ask the moon though raises questions...

Biblically accurate angels look kinda like snowballs right? This is skizzs logic. He might have scared some people though... Alternatively, he divebombs people with an arm full of snowballs while laughing maniacally

Alternatively alternatively,skizz distracts them with dad jokes, and impulse comes at 'em from behind this works like a charm if you ignore all the times this ended up with impulse face down in the snow and skizz pointing and laughing before he gets a face full of the snow as well

Joel also prefers the tactic of laughing manically while chasing you with his (suspiciously yellow) snowballs (don't worry it's just from the honey) (or is it???)

COINCIDENTALLY (or not) one of these famed snowball fights during the empires crossover. This has resulted in some non hermits becoming aware of this amazing event and being roped in. This has subsequently resulted in many more people for me to think of head canons for 👍 yay !

Scott is just having fun making his snowmen with jimmy and gets pelted (dont worry though this results in many many shovels of snow being dumped down jackets and onto heads by Scott)

Jimmy wills get hit with one snowball and instinctively block it with a wing and start yelling and chasing people down with "I'm not a toy" level rage but then spend all day complaining to grian about how wet his feathers are now

Sausage will inevitably make a ball related joke

Oli will start singing the ballad of the snowball fight or something

jimmy will also start making a rube Goldberg style sort of machine or something outside of Grians house consisting or two oranges one milk carton five glass bottles 'organically sourced' wood planks, diamond ore wiring from the bowels of docs latest redstone machine, tango, some suspicious milk (not in the carton I might add) one of pearls dogs sitting precariously on a teetering wooden board (it looks quite surprise on how it got there) (don't tell pearl) an anonymous persons plushy, some number twenty two pencils (not sure where those came from) a Giga Pie, some royal emeralds, and a large boulder sitting at the very top, worryingly positioned above the dogs head. All of this to drop a bucket of powdered snow on grians head when he walks through. This is the ruined of course when who but grian himself walks up behind him and just straight up WALKS THROUGH THE DOOR. and then the bucket falls on Jim's head while his mouth is still open in shock. Sorry Jim.

Bonus: I have this very clear image in my head of Martyn hearing all bout this and being like "you didn't tell me ren >:(" and ren just stand their sheepishly. About a week later, Martyn is visiting the hermitcraft server and someone throws a snowball at him. He is sitting in a pool chair. He catches it without looking. This is why they did not tell him.

(I do not apologize for the long headcanon I had so much fun with this)

.

[elementroar]

This is the "Why ABA and Paracelsus can feel horny" lore/theory post

The main Paracelsus deepdive post is a monster that I'm building in Google docs cos Tumblr can't handle it while it's WIP. This is a separate lore/theory monster I want to get out of my system first.

Here's my theory why ABA is consistently portrayed as being horny for Paracelsus from the start.

Translated excerpt from the Night of Knives Vol.2 audio drama CD, released in 2004 (20 IRL years ago):

Her being horny wasn't so much portrayed in-game in XX/AC+R really, prolly engine/sprite limitations and all; but then STRIVE happens and we get:

It's not just her being horny, and knowing exactly how to rizz Paracelsus up, and clearly has been doing this in her pocket dimension for a while now. PARACELSUS CAN FEEL HORNY NOW TOO!

And I stg I'm not joking...I think there's a legit lore reason for this.

Cos by the end of her arcade mode's flawless ending and according to the latest interviews with Daisuke-san and the game directors, it's explained that Paracelsus' form depends on what ABA thinks of Paracelsus, as well as her general mental stability.

ABA thought Paracelsus looked like a key, and he morphed into a key as part of his nature, which naturally makes him always fit to his wielder's preferences. In my deepdive I'll explain in more detail, but in addition to that, Slayer figured out that since ABA also saw Para as her hopeful "key to the future", Para's heart also began to change to basically fit her ideal of what he is.

So if ABA finds Paracelsus sexually attractive, and has made very obvious physical advances on him for years, then it follows that if she's horny for him, she can make Paras horny for her over time too, just like how Para is getting more key-like subconsciously just by being with her all this time.

I don't think this is entirely involuntary on Paracelsus end. I believe how much he wants to react to his wielder's emotions is still in his control...unless they become truly insane like with ABA's Jealous Rage being emotionally powerful enough to override Paras' ability to maintain his key form.

Also he reverts to his 'sharp teeth' design when he gets rizzed up, so he's losing his composure again and prolly holding back most of his...response. It's actually kinda telling cos Para used to just disassociate, ignore, scold ABA when she tries to make advances on him, so him actually responding now and to this degree is...interesting. And ABA seems very aware of this.

And for the bigger question of why ABA, an artificially created human would be created with the ability to feel horny...

Ok, crack theory time, it might be linked to why she apparently can summon an actual alchemical gate just whenever she wants, and even use it as her private pad. ABA doesn't just wanna rizz Paracelsus up as a key, she wants him in a human body since the start too.

Y'all remember Ghostbusters, and what the Gatekeeper and the Keymaster have to do to open the gate...?

[carry-the-sky]

go spin the wheel, see where it lands—

Here's the thing about time: it's always running out. He felt it even as a kid, this urgency moving through him, around him. Always just ahead. He'd catch up, if everything else would just slow the hell down. But there are rules, and rule number one is that time tends to be, well, linear. Directional. Things get a bit messy when it's not.

Four seconds. That was rule number two, and the consequences for breaking it are— bad. To put it lightly.

He doesn't exactly have a choice. Or, he does, but if it's between breaking the rules or not, watching everything he loves get ripped away or digging in, claws first— well. He knows a thing or two about fighting dirty.

So, no, it's not a choice. It's immutable, like gravity. Time. A strict progression from cause to effect.

Ekko breaks rule number two.

And the line becomes a circle.

.

He thinks it's a dream, the first time. What else would it be? She fell. She's gone.

She's here now, though. Whole and happy and here, running a hand through her chopped-short hair. That single streak of magenta hits him where it hurts, square in his chest. You can't feel pain in a dream, can you?

"You're back," she says, without looking up. She's lying on her stomach, sketchbook open, a whirling kaleidoscope of color on the page in front of her. "Took you long enough."

"Was I gone?" Ekko says.

She actually laughs at that, the sound filling up his ears, warm and bright. "Benzo was starting to worry, not that he'd ever admit it. Big ol' softie." Her hand flashes, chalk sticks arcing across the page. "You seem to have that effect on people."

He shakes his head. "I don't. I'm not—"

She scribbles faster, fingers stained pink and blue and every shade in between. "You know, for a smart guy, you're kinda dumb."

"Ouch."

"I still like you, though."

This is a nice dream. Maybe the only nice dream he'll have again.

"I miss you," he says, dredging the words up from some sunless space inside him. "I didn't tell you before."

Her hand slows to a stop. From where he's standing, Ekko can only see a few snatches of detail on the page; a fuchsia smile, twin blue braids.

"I'm right here, buster," she says, not looking up. Grinning softly at her hands. "Never left, actually."

The circle wobbles, shifts out of focus. Time and space folding in on each other like paper cranes.

When he blinks, Powder is gone.

.

Too late. It's always, always too late.

.

"It's you," she says, the next time.

They're somewhere green, somewhere he's never been. A part of the Undercity that doesn't exist where he's from, that never existed.

"Uh." He blinks against the sun. "It's me, yeah."

"Seriously?" Beside him on the lawn, she pops up on an elbow, scrutinizing him. "You still don't get what's happening? Sheesh, hopping dimensions really does do a number on the noggin."

Okay, this is a weird dream. Still, as long as he keeps her talking, as long as he has sun on his skin and grass beneath him, he doesn't really care. He'll take weird. He'll take whatever he can get.

"Noggin, right," he laughs. "Synapses. Drunk slugs."

Powder scrunches up her nose like she's trying not to laugh. "Alright, I give. If you wanna dance around the giant elephant in the room, be my guest." She turns her head into her arm, a shield from the sun. Between them, their hands brush in the grass, pinky fingers tangling together. "Next time, though."

Ekko hums, content. More than that— happy. Overflowing with it. Then he frowns. "Wait. Next time?"

Paper cranes, folding in and in and in.

"Dummy," he thinks he hears her say before she disappears.

.

"So when you said 'hopping dimensions', you meant—"

"Yeah."

"And that means—"

"Yeah."

Ekko spins in a circle, arms thrown out wide. "But— how? All of this, the lab, the tech— it shouldn't exist here. Heimerdinger made sure—"

"Hey, you're the genius," Powder says. "I just live here."

Four seconds. He lets it sink in for four seconds—she's whole, she's happy, she's here, at least in this tiny pocket of space and time—before he's crossing the space between them and pulling her into a bruising hug. Her breath puffs out in mild surprise, and then she's hugging him back, arms cinching tight around him. I won't forget this. But he's already started to. He drops his head to her shoulder, breathing her in, every tiny detail. He won't make the same mistake twice.

Her eyes are wet when they untangle. Ekko swipes at his cheek to find that his are, too.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I'm so sorry. I thought I saved you, but it wasn't— I wasn't—"

"Don't," she says fiercely. "Don't do that. Not with me, not here. I meant what I said, okay? You're a good one, Ekko. You don't give up on people. If I'm— if the other me is— then there was nothing you could've done to change it. That was always gonna be how the story ended."

The tears are a river, streaming salt down the slope of his nose and into his mouth. "I was too slow. I'm always too damn slow."

Powder's hands are on his face, her lips kissing the salt from his cheeks, his eyelids. "The boy savior," she murmurs. "It's not your job to save everyone, you know. But I love you for trying."

She's fading, or maybe he is. Time and space, a never-ending anomaly. But there are constants, too, things that keep the universe spinning. Rules worth breaking.

He feels it, this time. It's like someone's scooping out his insides, rearranging his atoms. Like he's being wiped clean, unmade. Hollowed out so that some other him can be stuffed into his skin. Four seconds is all it takes, or maybe four million.

I love you. I love you, too.

.

He tells her for real, when he sees her again.

"I know," she says, elbowing him in the ribs. Her cheeks are dusky-pink. "Following my lead, huh?"

He looks at her, really looks. Every detail; the dainty point of her chin and the dusting of freckles across her nose and her eyes, big and bright and blue.

"Always," he says.

.

Time and space. Paper cranes, folding and unfolding, creasing the lines of reality. Some rules can't be broken, but they can bend a little.

Here's one: when you die, you stay dead.

.

He must be dreaming. She's standing right in front of him, in this dimension, on this plane of existence, real and whole and here. Her hair is still short, all of it blue.

Four seconds. He holds his breath for four seconds, and then: "Jinx."

"Hey, buster," she says.

[aidemint]

To Break A Habit | Routine Doesn’t Get You Kisses Like These

Summary: You kinda-actually find out he wasn’t joking about the spider stuff. Okay. But you’re totally cool about it. Totally.

Word Count: 5.1k

Pairing: Hobie Brown/GN!Reader

Notes: 5 minutes of screentime and i’ve already wrote more about this guy in a week than i usually write about anything in three months jesus christ

Masterpost | AO3 |  Part 1 | Part 3

“40081’s got this hoodoo shit goin’ on.” Hobie sighs as he makes his way down the main hall of Spider-HQ, recounting his mission discoveries from days prior. “Some sort of bad luck spell that’s making the world lose its plot.”

Gwen paces beside him, listening intently. “Sinister Six behind it?” she asks with a frown. “Or do you think it’s something else?”

“Not certain,” Hobie responds with a shrug. “But I’m close to catching the anomaly. Things should reset once it’s out of the fabric.”

“Hope it gets resolved soon.” Gwen sucks in a breath from between her teeth. “Miguel’s not looking too happy these days.”

Oddly enough, the mission so far had been almost deceptively easy—three days into the operation Hobie had already located and shut down a multitude of energy pockets emanating from certain parts of the city. A variant of Mysterio or Osborn was bound to show up soon, as the sites were likely siphoning vitality from the dimension. Now he just needed to gather intel about the effects of the magic while playing the waiting game. Luckily for him, he has a direct source.

“Relax Gwendy, it’ll be fine. I even got in touch with one of the locals for—” Hobie starts assuredly, turning to address his drummer, but pauses and swivels around when she’s noticeably no longer keeping up with his stride.

“You what?” Gwen stands frozen in the middle of the walkway, eyes blown as large as dinner plates with her mouth slightly ajar. She readjusts herself with a shake of her head, though her hands and shoulders remain raised and stiff. “Hobie, please tell me you’re not getting to know a civilian. ”

“Then I won’t tell you that I’m ‘getting to know’ a civilian.” A roll of his shoulder and he’s back walking, half-lidded eyes peering at Gwen when she inevitably joins again, bobbing and weaving through a downcurrent flow of Peter Parkers. “And I won’t tell you that it’s strictly for information about the mission.” A coy smile tugs the edges of Hobie’s lips upward. “Probably.”

Gwen looks just about ready to explode at the last quip. “You just told me— Oh my God, you know that, out of everything, is against protocol. Very against protocol,” she hisses, her voice lowering as her lip curls and she leans further into the privacy of only each others’ company. “What will you do when Miguel finds out?”

“You gotta live freely past the propaganda, Gwendy,” Hobie replies nonchalantly, patting a palm on her shoulder as a point of reassurance. “Just think about it.”

The best Gwen can offer him is a wary glance and a moment of hesitation, but he takes it with a grin anyhow. He’s certain she’ll eventually come around—the extent of their friendship isn’t something so miniscule that a few words of indoctrination would ever be enough to turn her.

It’s a nice notion to have, but he unfortunately doesn’t get much time to dwell on it—suddenly, his watch buzzes with an alert.

Hobie checks the device. “Someone’s ringing me, gotta bounce.” A few taps of an orange screen and a twist of a dial, then a portal opens up just shy of his left arm. “Been fun, Gwendy. Don’t blame me if I come back late.”

No matter how hard she rolls her eyes, Gwen can’t help but give into the smile that creeps onto her lips. “Stay safe, loser,” she responds, bumping her fist against his.

“Safe is practically my middle name.” With that, Hobie ducks into the gateway, and disappears.

How the fuck do you accuse someone of having spider powers without sounding like you’ve gone insane? Since morning you’ve been stuck in a cycle of decision-making for a seemingly hopeless situation. You thought the hard part was over after seeing the guy in the costume swing away on white silly string, but the mostly sleepless night and brainstorming the resolution to be had was another beast altogether. What doesn’t help much either is the fact your favorite pair of jeans are now stained to shit because an idiot thought it would be a good idea to trickshot a half-full Starbucks drink into a trashcan you were standing right next to.

Oh, New York, how it surprises you each day. You swear you’ve never had bad luck like this in your life—and now you’re twenty minutes late, punching in your timecard and hurrying to tie on an apron.

Even through your shift the anxiety doesn’t go away, despite how you try to ignore it. Nervous energy bleeds into your work, shaking hands spilling and dropping drinks; your preoccupied mind is nowhere near as focused as you need to be for the rush—you remake a drink three times in a row before being on the receiving end of a tired lecture from an angry customer.

“Something on your mind?” one of your coworkers ends up asking after most of the crowd has dissipated. “Or just tired?”

You’re on the verge of bursting into tears actually, but you manage to stifle it with a deep breath in. “A lot of both,” you mumble in response. You can’t tell her about Hobie, and it’d be too winding to describe the entirety of everything. She’s pretty good at giving looks of pity and she’s already shot you one following the complaining customer. Honestly another one is the last thing you want to deal with right now. “Maybe I should’ve just skipped work today.”

“Don’t worry, we all have bad days,” she offers with a consoling pat on the arm. “How about you just calm down for a bit and take your break? I’ll make you your favorite drink and get a bowl started for you.”

The gesture does ease your nerves, even if only by a little. You sigh, shoulders slumping, and give your coworker a grateful smile. Parting ways then, she returns to her station to honor her word and you make your way to the back to punch in the start of your break.

Exhaustion starts to seep in when you catch yourself staring blankly at the time card machine, watching the hands of the clock tick away second by second. There hasn’t been significant progress in terms of settling the whole “Hobie Brown is a superhero” dilemma, you realize, just a lot of pain and aching on your part. Maybe it’s time to put the matter to rest just for a brief half an hour—you’ll pick it up later. There isn’t even a guarantee Hobie will show up to the shop anyhow.

Yeah, you have time.

The chunk sound of the punch machine brings you back to your senses and you put away your slip before making your way back to the front of the house.

“Drink’s ready and bowl’s on the way. You can enjoy that while you wait,” your coworker chirps, sliding a cup to you when you emerge from the back. You’re just about to voice your thanks before she cuts in again, gesturing to a spot just beyond the counter. “Oh, and someone asked for you. He’s right over there.”

Your eye is already twitching before you even look. But you suppose you hate yourself and the world at this point, because you slowly turn to where her hand points regardless and find the one man you just made a pact with yourself to not think about.

Hobie greets you by name and gives you a friendly wave. Out of courtesy, you force yourself to return in, lips pressed together in a tight smile with the short extension of your hand.

“Heard it was your break,” he says, approaching the glass panel between the two of you. “Mind if I intrude?”

Yes! you scream internally. Yes I do mind very much!

“No, it’s alright,” you end up saying to him, staving off a growing impulse to whack yourself upside the head.

“Sick,” is all Hobie replies with before he retreats to a nearby table. “I’ll be waiting here—don’t rush yourself.”

It’s right about now that you’re wishing he wasn’t so nice and you didn’t like him so much so that this process of confrontation would go about smoother. Your gaze lingers on him and you bite in the inside of your cheek as you think about the validity of what you witnessed yesterday.

The option to not tell him and maintain your chances of still potentially becoming friends like normal exists. Dodging the awry reputation that comes with the manic conspiracy theorist persona is always good. You’ll get over it one day, right? Leave the suspicions behind and assume that the image was just a hallucination brought about by stress; convince yourself that Hobie Brown is just your average British punk-rocker.

But you can’t fight the feeling in your gut, how it burns, and suddenly you’re leaning over the counter, over the glass.

This is a bad idea. “Hobie,” you call in his direction.

He looks up. “Yeah?”

Shit, this is a bad idea. “I have something to tell you.”

“Wah’gawn?”

“It’s… I think it’s a matter best told in just our own company.” You look around apprehensively, a slight crease in your brow. “Mind going somewhere more private?”

Trying your best to ignore the suggestive look your coworker shoots at you from your peripheral, you beckon Hobie to come into the back. Walking through the kitchen, you usher him into the storage pantry and shut the door behind you when you join him.

“I’m guessing we’re not just here to kotch?” Hobie teases with the sideways tilt of his head.

“Unfortunately.” Your gaze lowers to the ground at the admission, fingers finding one another and squeezing. “Been thinking about something for a while.”

Hobie lets the change in the air stew until it thickens before responding. “Ready when you are.” His voice is softer, malleable, lost of all its previous playfulness and replaced with a certain kind of sincerity.

The slightest incline of your chin brings your stare back to him. You wish it served the simple purpose of just admiring the slopes and angles of his face, but your lips part and your curled hand trembles, and it all reminds you of the gnawing insecurity.

“I need you to tell me the truth.” You say it slowly, sincerely, keeping your voice as steady as you can despite the way your heart rate thunders. “Please.”

In your supplication, you aren’t certain how to appraise the extent of your desperation, but Hobie’s gaze does not leave yours. He nods wordlessly, a glint of something in his eye and it looks a lot like deference.

You take it as permission to continue. “When you brought up Parker”—you swallow thickly—“you were talking about something real, weren’t you?”

A beat of silence. There isn’t any external reaction from Hobie, standing as still as he had the moment he stopped in front of you, face lax and hands tucked away in his pockets.

“Ain’t got a Scooby-Doo what you’re talking about,” he says plainly, unfaltering in every word. Even then he doesn’t move, fortress-like in his disposition.

Perhaps he truly doesn’t know what you mean, you think. The chance is present, albeit slim, though present nonetheless—and how tightly you clutch this sliver of hope. But for a moment, in your hesitancy and under Hobie’s untelling stare, doubt creeps in—your palms grow clammy against the material of your pants, sweat assisting the glide of your fingers against one another. Your eyes search those of the man in front of you, wishing his look could change so you could find the courage to ground yourself.

What if you’re wrong? What if it’s all a fallacy, some trick of the light? New York is no stranger to oddities but even this seems too extreme. Coincidental talk of Spider-People leading to an impossible accusation. Fucking Spider-People don’t—shouldn’t—exist. The idea grows more absurd the longer you question it. Peter Parker got the short end of the stick, if there was even a long end in the first place, so what the hell are you doing?

But what if you’re right?

A breath rattles through you. “Hobie.” With a new waver in your voice and a tremble to your hands, you stand unsure of how your conviction bleeds through what you say but you try anyhow. “I know you’re gonna think I’m crazy, but I saw a masked man walking on the side of a building yesterday.” The admission comes quickly, riddled with cracks, but you’re entirely too focused on the followup to care. “After the conversation we had about Spider-People, after the whole thing about superheroes, tell me that it wasn’t you up there. Because I saw your— your fucking pins and I’ve never— God, I don’t even know! I’ve never seen something like this.”

Your fists clench, fingers digging crescent-shaped craters into the flesh of your palms. The marks bite, angry red and stinging—perhaps aching even more the absence of Hobie’s response, the seconds you give him to reply.

“Who are you?” Dry—your throat is so dry. Your voice can’t be anything above a whisper with how hoarse the question comes, flaking away with every shallow breath you take.

Silence blankets the both of you then, soundless space a limbo between comfort and unease. Unsure of what to do with it, what to make of the situation you stand in now, you let it hang listlessly, drawing upon an empty room and an even emptier conversation.

It takes a handful of moments for Hobie to even look like he’s processed all that you’ve said. Under your scrutiny, the smallest movement of his eye is the only discernible change to the testament. Whatever goes on inside his head is a complete mystery to you for the few minutes that elapse before he speaks.

Finally, he shifts in his stance. “You want me to just come out with it, yeah?” he asks, not sounding terribly happy, but not as nonplussed as you expected. He sighs when you nod slowly. “Alright. I’ll start from the top, then.”

He tells you his name is still in fact Hobie Brown, and he was bitten by a radioactive spider three years ago. Formerly a runway model, though not a role model, he’s been protecting the streets of his hometown against the PM. When he’s not playing shows, antagonizing fascists, or staging unpermitted political “action-slash-performance art pieces,” he’s out partying with his friends.

“And don’t call me a hero,” he ends with a frown. “Hate the label. Calling yourself a hero makes you a self-mythologizing, narcissistic autocrat.”

When he stops, you have both hands to your temples, pressing down hard. You can deal with his anti-authority spiel just fine—some part of you even agrees with the sentiment—but there is so much to unpack prior to the statement.

“So you— you have actual spider powers? Oh my God?” you sputter, eyes blown wide in an expression of surprise you’re sure looks exaggeratedly dreadful. “What even— that’s— what even are spider powers?”

“Dunno really.” Hobie gives a shrug. “Enhanced hearing, speed, vision, and sticking to walls are the main perks. Also links up to my—”

“Can you shoot webs out of your butt?” you blurt in a sudden horrible realization.

There’s a few seconds of tense silence before Hobie bursts into laughter, arms crossed around his torso to hold himself, shoulders bunched to his ears. The ring of his joy through the air lifts a weight from it and suddenly the atmosphere doesn’t feel as crushing as before.

Witnessing his state, it doesn’t take long for unease to fade away and for you to start softly chuckling with him.

“You’re so jokes,” Hobie cackles, a hand over his eyes as he leans back. A long, shuddering breath tears through him in his attempt to calm down. “But to answer your question, no I can’t shoot webs out of my arse.”

“Thank God,” you breathe, clutching your heart. “Wouldn’t have looked at you the same if you said you could.”

“I don’t think I can look at you the same after you just asked that.”

“Hey, in my defense it was just to get to know you better.”

“I’m sure that’s all it was.” Hobie gives you a pointed look, but is quick to smile after. “Speaking of which, I came in to ask you something as well.”

“Oh?” You blink. The sudden shift in conversation is unprecedented, taking you slightly by surprise, but suspicion is quick to replace your wonderment when you notice a change in Hobie’s features. A squint narrows your eyes. “What are you plotting?”

“Nothing, it’s just I have an excuse now that you know me better.” He pauses briefly, staring at you for a moment. “I wanted to ask if I could know you a little better.”

Your lips purse in confusion at the phrase, forehead pinching. “But you already know me?” you ask, brow raised. “Don’t tell me you forgot everything already.”

“I didn’t,” Hobie reassures gently. “I was just thinking instead of talking over a counter we could do it over dinner? Maybe a movie, if you have the time?”

A beat passes and suddenly realization sets in, drawing all the air out of you. The smallest groan escapes you as you bury your face in your palms, the skin of your neck and cheeks burning hot. Every inch of you seems more sensitive in your mortification—were you always this close to Hobie, and was his cologne always that strong?

“I’m an idiot,” you whisper from between the gap in your hands. “God, I’m such an idiot.”

Hobie supplies a soft chuckle to ease your embarrassment. “You’re not. It came out pretty corny anyways.”

“I can’t believe I’m getting asked out by a guy with spider powers.”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

You groan again, a tight breath pressed against your fingers. “You are so lucky you’re cute, Hobie Brown.”

It is as endearing as it is exasperating that you can practically hear how big his smile is. “You free tomorrow?”

“Anytime past five,” you reply softly, slowly inching your hands away from your face to peer at him. “Where should I meet you?”

Hobie’s grin tilts sideways at the query, a new sparkle of mischief brightening his eye. “I’ll come pick you up.”

Dates aren’t exactly a new concept to you—you’ve been on a handful, and they all go about the same. The first time, someone shows up with flowers or a small gift to start the evening right, then you’re whisked away for three hours to some place to hang around and have fun. It’s conventional, it’s safe—sometimes you enjoy the company more than the actual activity, leading to a second or third outing, but there’s nothing too special about the dance you do with routine.

Along this line of reasoning, Hobie crash-landing on your balcony with one of the most ridiculous offers of transportation isn’t exactly the way you imagined your date would start.

“You are not web-swinging me to Manhattan,” you tell him, still inside your apartment, arms crossed and shaking your head vigorously. “I don’t care what you have set up, I’m not gonna risk going splat on the damn concrete.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Hobie pushes playfully. “Promise I won’t drop you.”

You frown, brows furrowing and lips pursing as you glare at him. He returns the look as calm as ever, a slight smile edging the corners of his mouth and stance open in invitation. The way he holds himself has uncertainty creeping to you, forcing out your fervent disagreement in favor of consideration in a rather slick way of persuasion.

Perhaps you should’ve known you wouldn’t win, with the sheer difference in your demeanors. Your staredown continues for a couple of minutes before you sigh, breaking eye contact with a reluctant drop of your chin and a gentle moan of diffidence.

“Can I at least close my eyes?” you mumble, walking out and shutting the balcony door behind you.

“You can do whatever you want,” Hobie replies, sliding on his mask and gloves. “Just hold on tight.”

Stifling a breath when his arm wraps around the small of your back and under your thighs, you cling to his shoulders as he lifts you up and climbs on the railing.

“You ready?” His chest rumbles under your touch when he speaks, and you can only give a small nod in your position, heart pounding against your ribs and face buried deep in the nape of his neck.

Hobie laughs—a deep, warm sound—and then launches off your balcony.

There are no words to truly describe the feeling that swallows you while in freefall. Wind blasts past your ears in violent howls, gravity pulls your figure down but your insides up, and the only thing you have to ground yourself is the feel of Hobie as you clutch him with every bit of strength you possess. Adrenaline thrums through every vein, lighting your nerves on fire and prickling your skin with gooseflesh; even your energy to scream depletes into fueling the rush that floods your senses.

Upon the first pull up, Hobie’s web catching a surface to swing from, your gut lurches and a serrated gasp shudders through you. Your arms pull you impossibly closer to him, fingers clawing to dig deeper into the back of his vest.

“Easy now,” he chuckles, sounding miles away with how loud your heart beats in your ears. “I promised I wasn’t gonna drop you, didn’t I?”

“D-Doesn’t make it better,” you gasp, shivering now that the breeze whips against your back.

“Try to relax—we’ll be there soon.” Though he says it like it’s the easiest thing in the world, it proves contrary to the way his grip tightens around you with the next swing.

Despite how comforting the gesture is, you find that you can’t relax much while still flying through New York a hundred feet in the air.

After what seems like days of travel, Hobie finally lands on solid ground, giving you a moment to catch your breath before setting you down gently. His arms are threaded underneath yours as you try to balance on shaky legs, knees bent and feeling all too much like jelly for your own comfort.

“I feel like a newborn deer,” you sigh, voice trembling from the withdrawal of adrenaline. Jitters quiver your fingers, lightly chatter your teeth, and shake the thin chamber of your chest. “My God, how do you even get used to this?”

“Gotta learn to trust yourself,” Hobie hums smoothly. “First time’s always a tad tricky.”

You only nod, gaze now pinned to the ground as he gradually guides you forward, step by step, until you’re stable enough to slowly walk on your own. From there, the slightest incline of your head brings your attention to a small spread of food and flowers laid out nicely on a patterned blanket. A warmth comes to settle in your core at the sight, softening your eyes and easing the tenseness in your limbs—contentment reaches you and the stress gained from the ride here begins to fade, if only by a little.

“Hobie, this is so sweet,” you coo, pleasure lightening the tone of your voice.

His rings just as sweetly through the evening air. “Good to hear—would’ve been gutted if you didn’t like it.”

You laugh at the response, casting an affectionate glance at him that just grows fonder upon meeting his charming reciprocation. The bend of his brow, the part and curve of his lips, the crinkle of his eye—all of it has you transfixed for a generous moment, barely able to notice the way your navel aches with longing in your stupor.

The feeling persists throughout the evening, present in every winding conversation and instance of quiet shared between the two of you. It’s rather freeing to be unconstrained by the formalities usually held by the label of a first date and to sense such endearment for the whole of it. There is no talking to only talk—every sentiment has meaning, every word punctuated by some semblance of tenderness; there is no awkward atmosphere brought about by nervous tension—you rest comfortably, leaning back on your hands, as does Hobie, elbows on crossed legs, positioned towards you.

Hours pass by easily in the space, kissing the sky with hues of orange and gold and violet as they bid a teary farewell, trails of light following in the wake of their departure. Yawning clouds push to the east, unlined shapes dissipating with the fleeting luster. Soon, the New York city skyline is only a bleak, black horizon that cradles a half-yolked sun just shy of its surface.

Golden rays grace your skin, full and temperate and real. You’re just about to gush to Hobie about how this is your favorite time of the day when you’re stopped by the shallow movement of his arm.

He shifts to pick the carnation laid closest to your hand, snaps off the longer part of its stem, then tucks it delicately behind your ear. Wordlessly, he adjusts the petals, and grins when they seem to his liking.

You’re practically bursting at the seams when he retracts his hand, fingers ghosting the curve of your cheek on their path back. Heat rushes to your neck, white-hot on a quick shot up to heat every inch of your face. The sensation catches your breath, widens your eye, tucks the tip of your bottom lip between your teeth, and all you can do is sit and watch Hobie as he admires you.

There’s a look in his eye that you hope is reflected in yours, how beautiful he is. The warm vermillion hue of the sun hits his complexion and it’s like there’s nothing else in the world to behold but him.

Suddenly you find yourself reaching for the flowers on the blanket, clasping multiple in one hand and halving the stems with the other.

Leaning forward, palms stained with sap, you place the carnations in each of Hobie’s wicks, uncaring of the smell of chlorophyll or the tremble of your fingers. You only return to your seat and wipe your hands when you finish, the expanse of his head dotted in small blooms, all that’s left of the original bouquet messily cut stems and loose leaves.

A breathy laugh escapes you at the sight, light and happy and bright. “You are so pretty, Hobie,” you whisper, your heart swelling with adoration. “And I wanna kiss you so bad right now.”

He smiles. “I’m not going to stop you,” he says, then wraps his arms around you when you crush your lips to his.

You feel you must be drunk on something, but are entirely too far gone to care the slightest bit. Hobie is every bit as soft and warm as you imagined, his hold homely, his scent familiar. Breathing him in, bergamot, plum, and sandalwood filling your lungs, a dreamy sigh stutters out of your nose before you start to move.

The kiss takes on a steady rhythm then, perhaps the easiest thing you’ve had to follow. Each press of your lips against his finds just the right amount of resistance, the feel of his piercing snug as it nudges you in every shift. Your hands find purchase in cupping his face, fingertips smoothing the silver studs that line his ears and thumbs stroking his cheeks.

Hobie’s touch rests just shy of your waist, the bend of his elbows against your ribs, palms flat against your scapula. His chest rises and falls with every breath, a slight hitch in the motion when you crawl to his lap, sitting in the space between his legs.

The two of you share your own pocket of heaven for a minute longer, then with one last kiss, you part. As your eyes flutter open, Hobie slides a hand off your back to thumb your lip, swiping a finger across your bottom one.

You make a questioning noise but remain unmoving as he works, sliding his digit across sensitive skin.

“My lipstick got on you,” he explains when he finishes, showing you black makeup smeared on his thumb. “I liked the look of it, but didn’t know if you did.”

A gentle laugh spouts from you at his kindness. “I’m all for you giving me a makeover next time,” you say with a grin.

Hobie gives a small chuckle back, delight sparkling in his eye. “Good.”

The afterbuzz of the date still tingles the back of Hobie’s neck even hours later. It’s ten o’clock, the moon at highrise and not a single star in sight in the muddy violet pool that overhangs New York. He’s in the middle of a stakeout, monitoring an energy station reopened as bait for whatever, whoever, might come out in response. The task of fully focusing proves rather hard in the wake of remembering the warmth of you as you held him, the brush of your lips against his, and your small gasps of breath, but he tries anyhow.

Hobie’s just finished shaking off the image of your face in the light of dusk when his watch buzzes. He looks down with a frown, noting the peculiarity of receiving a call this late.

“Gwendy,” he greets, an orange hologram of Stacy appearing with the twist of a dial. “What are you ringing me for?”

“Hey Hobie,” she returns flatly, not providing much else before quickly casting her gaze askance.

From her projection, Hobie can gather that something seems off—Gwen’s stance is completely closed, arms crossed and feet together. What looks like nervousness twists her features, pinches her forehead, pulls her lips tight together. She’s never been good at hiding her emotions, but even this seems exaggerated.

Sobriety seeps into Hobie then, the high of hours ago eroding. “Something wrong?” he asks, voice dropping low.

Gwen pauses, hesitating. “Miguel wants you back at HQ,” is what comes from her after a few seconds. “Now.”

“What about the mission?”

“He just says to leave. There’s been some new intel. That’s all I know.” Gwen swallows thickly, her eyes flickering back to Hobie. “See you soon.”

“Alright, see ya.” The hologram blinks twice, then disappears. Hobie taps on his watch to open a portal back to Earth-928, dubiety sinking its teeth into his thoughts. Miguel was ever the autocrat, so he was never quite fond of the guy, but the way Gwen had come to him—with a fresh feeling that extended beyond terror etched in her expression—that doesn’t sit well. He doesn’t need a spider-sense to recognize that something is amiss.

Somehow, he can’t elude the feeling of dread that creeps to him when he’s swallowed by the vortex.

[cringe6fail6star6]

Personal take on sagau, from personal experience 1

Imagine u get sucked into a game u chose to reinstall after years of not playing. You stopped playing before meta changed, before even Inazuma become playable and all of it over a greedy mistake.

"Just dont play for a week and u'll get a reward! Free primogems are far and wide between! (Also go outside n touch grass)" - your inner voice tells u as u close the game for today.

But after the week you dont find interes in the game again. It seems boring and reward of playing it unrewarding in your opinion. And that week of actually socializing with your friends was so much better than staying inside and going up the mountains.

But its in the past. You redownloaded the game years later with a goal of catching a few characters that got your attention while you stayed away. And since last time the game became bigger with content and literally everything you could ask for. (Also life got much worse than when you stopped playing last time) But when you open the game you blink and youre sitting under a tree in Mondshtadt forest instead of your chair. You look around in confusion, sure u died and or hallucinating.

U stand up, brushing off dirt and leaves, trying to backtrack and figure out whats going on. You look at your hands and torso. Your clothes changed too, your skin has really light gold lines you never seen before - glittery surface feels like normal skin even though it shines under the sun. You find a walked through road and hear familiar voices. It feels wrong to exist not as a watcher but as participant of this world.

Traveler thinks so too. They dont draw weapon at you and Paimon asks who you are in her, before the downfall, high voice.

"Im umm...." you stammer, trying to find word to call yourself.

"Youre a player?" traveler asks, their eyes brigthen up as you realize how weird it feels like being seen.

"Yes. Youre too!?" but you throw fear aside as you smile, maybe you arent as fucked as u thought u were.

"You dont look like Lumine/Aether." Traveler say, putting the sword back into pocket dimension or something. "Whats your name? I never saw you in the game. Do i know ur ID?"

"Nah, my acc probably got blocked, i havent played this game in YEARS." you wave your hand away before grabbing weird white tunic you wore. Like from ancient Greece, which was already weird as it is, but at lest you have sandals so your feet werent on dirt. Which is good enough.

"When did you stop?" Traveler asks as Paimon tries to comprehend reality. She found traveler a few minutes ago n they admitted that he was a player who isekaid here, she didnt knwo she'd meet anyone else from `Real world`

"Umm.... A long time ago. Embarassing long time ago". u look away, scratching the back of your head.

"Specifically?"

"Look, i dont want to tell."

"Paimon is curious how do u know each other?" she flies closer to you, surprisingly shyly.

"See? Dont give her exestiential crisis!" You hug paimon in ur arms, petting her head. "Shes just a baby! She doesnt need to know meta?"

"Do you even KNOW meta?"

"...." u look at Traveler.

"...." Traveler looks back at u.

"What is meta?"

"ANYWAY, lets go to Monshtdadt or something." u keep holding Paimon in ur arms like a baby and start guiding Traveler along.

Next thing u figure out is how to open inventory menu, gacha, literally every other game mechanic. U find out that traveler also a gamer who got isekaid in travelers body and actually was consistent with the playthrough.

"N thats Paimon, our emergency food."

"Paimon is not emergency food!"

"Im sure u know how they made her in future updates." as neither of u explained meta n elusive `Real world` to ur 3 companion she tried to figure out what the two of u were talking about in these weird moments of gamer solidarity.

"Yes, and she still not emergency food. Shes just a baby with gacha! U'll need it."

"By the way how much primogems do u have?" Traveler fully ignores ur answer to his name calling, u open ur palm, stars start shining with Paimon and gacha window opens. Banner with wherether chracter appeared while u didnt play looks back at u with serious expression.

"Like a few mil." u shrug before u look at travelers mouth open wide in surprise.

"HOW??? I thought we had primogems connected too!" traveler opes his own gacha window, showing u his 0 primogems only with free blue pulls. "How much did u grind when u still played??"

"Obvi less than a mill, idiot! Idk, i lost my acc ages ago, how am i supposed to know???" u shrug, rolling ur eyes to hide ur pride at their reactions. The amount of primogems was astronimically more than u ever saw on `ur` account. "Were u a whaler or something?" before Paimon could ask what that means u shake ur head.

"Bro i was broke in my past life, do i look like i would spend my money on a GAME? THAT I STOPPED PLAYING YEARS AGO??" u mock him with annoyed expression.

"Lets pull then while we have an opportunity! With these savings we will have the best meta party ever!"

"Wait will we have 2 more or both of us will have 3? Like 4 pr 8 people?"

"Lets figure out!" as traveler tries to touch ur gacha screen and phazes through accidentally smacking Paimon on her head, she yelps and start whining.

"Hey! What do u think ur doing!?" u grab travelers back hair, tugging their head up as they grab u on ur clothes. Childish fight starts before three of u hear familiar melody, plot point approaches.

Fighting ceases as u walk towards a weird wind occurance, hiding behind a rock the party finds Venti calming down Dvalin.

[jinna-aka-ninja]

Calling of the Souls ~ Poly!LostBoysXFem!Reader

Word Count: 1,082

Just a little fun writing something on my free day, might make a part 2

Part 2 here! - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5  Part 6

It ached. Hand clutched to her own chest, unsure how to stop the pain from rushing through for the fourth time in lord knows how long. Y/N had this pain go through her exactly 3 precious times. She knew what it had meant. Her soulmate died... again. How many times would Y/N have to endure this? The chances of finding your soulmate were next to impossible. One would think with a life of eternal youth it would give one more hope, but Y/N thought it was hopeless. It took no longer than a century for her to feel it 4 times. The pain within her chest crashed like violent waves in a storm. Merciless.

The only soothing sensations she felt was when the familiar  that she had born with would start to mutter spells of his own to help her through it. A demon familiar by the name Tyr. Think of the demon and he shall appear. Tyr strode in seeing Y/N grabbing her duffel bag already he knew that this meant she had no intention to stay in this location any longer. "Where to?" He asked her moving to her side. Tyr had been by her side for so long now. Having watched over her, helped her hide, helped her harness her abilities. "You pick." Y/N said shrugging; there was no point in staying in the town. Having grown bored of it, small towns were always the same like that. "How about somewhere exciting?" He asked, eyes shining scarlet red, muttering an incantation as he opened the door to the room they were in. Looking through the door, she glanced back at him with an eyebrow raised. "A carnival?" "It's a boardwalk! Now go through so I can close the portal." He said to her, Y/N obeyed as she walked through, Tyr following after her. Y/N looked at the place bustling with life. It was summer, of course it was packed. She had to admit, it was a great place to hide. No doubt she could blend in with the crowds. The sun was slowly setting. They had to find a place to temporarily call home. How fun, a part of the beach had been closed. This meant something good for Y/N. Abandoned lifeguard buildings. She did happen upon one. Tyr had to help her in harnessing the power to change the small building into what they required. Bigger on the inside. If someone were to enter they would be in the original, she remained in this pocket dimension Tyr built and transported with her from place to place. Sure saved on rent. After she set her things down Y/N wondered if she should travel to the boardwalk. "I'm going exploring, are you coming?" She asked Tyr who lay on the bed. Hands behind his head as one of his long legs bent. "You're on your own. You know how to call me if you need me." He said closing his eyes. Y/N rolled her eyes as she left. Y/N began walking on the beach until she ended up at the boardwalk. The sun had set already. The lights of the rides of the carnival illuminating it up for all to see, like a bug zapper luring in insects, her included. How could anyone avoid the allure of the boardwalk? Y/N walked with a smile on her lips as she passed by the vendors selling trinkets and other things. Glancing at their wares before stopping to purchase a cup of lemonade. It had Santa Carla printed on the cup. It was huge. She was almost regretting buying the cup; seeing as she needed both hands to hold the souvenir. She almost skipped as she made her way to the carousal. This was her first time in a place like this. Her excitement beamed from her as she looked for somewhere to sit. Spotting a unicorn her eyes lit up. However before she made it to the unicorn someone beat her to it. She didn't want to sit on the carriage. It was meant for 2 and she felt bad taking it from some couple who could use it.

The sound of boots and chains reached her ears. Her heart pounded in her chest as her eyes narrowed. She couldn't explain why, maybe it was because her senses picked this up specifically through the loud boardwalk. Quickly she took a seat, not caring if she did take a potential couples spot. All she could focus on was trying to avoid drawing attention to herself. The feeling of someone's leg brushing against her snapped her attention to the formerly empty seat beside her. Her eyes on the leg before making their gaze drift up to the person's face. Piercing blue eyes bore into her own Y/E/C. Y/N's breath caught in her throat. What was this? The platinum blonde smirked at her as he lifted his hand to hold her chin, fingers against her cheek to keep her gaze on him when she started to look away to the laughter so close to them. "What's your name?" The male with platinum blue eyes asked her.

It almost felt like she would tell him anything he wanted to hear. Her mind in a fog as her lips parted to speak, then almost like a shock to her brain, something cleared that fog away.  She knew that she should not feel that way. "Does it matter?" Y/N responded moving her head back and out of his grasp. This answer seemed to surprise the guy, but he only let it show for a second at most. Then he looked like he was accepting a challenge. His "friends' started to laugh again. Enjoying that he seemed to not have as easy of a time as he had clearly expected. "Of course it matters. How about this, I'm David. That's Dwayne, Paul and Marko." David said pointing at each one respectively. Dwayne had the faintest of smiles on his lips, had it not been for the amused and excited look in his eyes Y/N would have thought he was the most calm of the bunch. Paul didn't hide his excitement in the least bit. His smile and his eyes showed just how much fun he was having with this encounter. Marko, he was something, his gloved hand up, biting his thumb, hiding a grin. His eyes showed what Y/N could only describe as him trying to hold himself back from his giddiness. David spoke again, "So... what's your name?"

[theromanticscrooge]

Dissecting Laserblast's and Silver Spark's Romance

(Note: This is probably gonna be the Valentine's Day drop video since I already covered Cupid...)

Laserblast's reaction to Rippy in flashbacks says a lot about the softer side of his character: He openly expresses how cute he thinks she is and is very quick to open, warm displays of affection. His reaction to Rippy carries similar weight and heartstring pulling to a later scene where his adoptive daughter Fink plays on his emotions with a pathetic puppy dog pout. While Laser's emphasis on how cute she is over anything else feels a bit patronizing, its offset by Rippy's enthusiastic response and jump to return his hug. Rippy is also shown as very capable and intelligent. Her gimmick is a mix between classic cartoon slapstick with what she can pull or hide away in her portable pocket dimension. Not to mention, the episode following up on Rippy in her later years reveals that she's a PhD grad with a focus on quantum physics!

Cute things are one of Laser's Achilles' heel. Whatever Laser specifically found endearing or lovable about Rippy absolutely transfers over to whatever circumstances led to him snapping up and adopting Fink. Those feelings carry even stronger weight here considering he steps up as her primary caregiver despite otherwise foregoing his role as K.O.'s bio dad. He can be really mean, nasty, and approaches most people with disinterest, boredom, or indifference. Scenes where he brags about conscious but expendable goo clones are slightly offset by other scenes where Fink is casually hanging out on his shoulder or cuddling with him. Shadowy Figure and the baggage attached to him aside, Venomous honestly cares about Fink and shows that he's very capable of being a concerned, compassionate parent that wants the best for their child. He also has much more thoughtful, considerate, and level dialogue with her than other characters. Fink arguably sees this side of him the most often. Boxman has to fight and work for it. Other characters never see this and K.O. gets table scrap attempts from Venomous to share this side of himself.

The cuteness thing doesn't apply to just Fink and Rippy, though. Silver Spark is not only a muscular and attractive young woman, she's openly enthusiastic, optimistic, and dorky. She has no problem showing off her craft supplies and stickers to her fellow junior POINT teammates. She probably would have gushed about Laser to Rippy or El Bow if the opportunity came up. When she started decorating her locker, she made no move to hide the Laserblast bias. Those were the bulk of the decorations. Enter Laserblast himself and it's awkward because Silver has only seen and admired him from a distance or her 'fangirl' bubble. Starting with the accidental finger in nose scene and building up to the awkward locker slam is a move pulled from a sappy romcom. It may have been humiliating for Silver, but it was a damn good showcase to Laser what the sillier, fun, behind closed doors part of her is like. She's adorable. Its easy to see why El Bow is so smitten with her and how she checks whatever boxes that Laser considers cute.

Despite this, Laser's romantic interest is dubious. Openly dorky, affectionate, earnest people are definitely his type (look at Boxman!), but unlike whatever platonic or fatherly dynamic he shared with Rippy or Fink respectively, there's another layer or set of expectations to a romantic relationship that makes them more difficult for Laser. Part of the equation is how Laserblast is a front or persona vs a fully realized person. The bigger part is Laser's attempts at appearing friendly, warm, and approachable in public but that he's walled off behind closed doors.

He's definitely drawn towards and attracted to Silver, but he doesn't know how to handle the deeper emotional intimacy and vulnerability that Silver wants and what makes a longer lasting romantic relationship work. Silver has no problem with physical touch, affectionate gestures, and letting herself show some ounce of vulnerability. She doesn't tie these attributes to a persona and approaches everybody with the same level of warmth. Based on generalizations about people being drawn towards potential partners with traits they lack, Silver's strong self confidence and comfortable self image is both alluring and intimidating. Another element is something Boxman lays out as "PV does what he wants, doesn't he?" He tries to commiserate with Carol on this point, hinting that the Professor has always been more individualistic and prefers to fly solo. He can work with others, but its only effective as long as they comply with what he wants and the bigger project matches his specific needs, goals, and motives.

Laser and Silver's dynamic starts with some questionable power dynamics at play with Laser as the more senior team member. He takes full advantage of this when he creates a convenient excuse to go for a one-on-one patrol with Silver. He also knows that he's probably getting a very enthusiastic green light based on the stickers alone. That knowledge places him in a similar situation to a celebrity meeting and dating someone that's very obviously a fan; and not just a fan, but someone that's entertained romantic daydreams about their snowball in hell chance with this celebrity.

There's a certain layer of optics to that situation which adds extra obstacles to overcome. It can and has been done. This isn't an immediate bar to what could be a healthy relationship. It's more that the fan/celebrity dynamic needs to be addressed and evened out at some point; preferably, the fan becomes a partner on even footing and the celebrity becomes a more actualized person rather than the fluffy caricature in the fan's head. Silver sees glimmers of Laser's true self, but it's more the rougher edges of his personality like his low self-esteem and hangups about his powers. Those glimmers are tempered or offset by his smooth talker, tough guy persona. Unfortunately, Silver was enamored with his persona to a degree that he could push aside her doubts, fears, and reservations with the right amount of swagger, sweet talk, and feigned confidence.

From what little screen time there is focusing on Laser and Silver's dynamic, Laser's interactions with her have a performative quality to them. Silver tried to reassure him and nudge him to be more vulnerable in private. She's a very sweet, considerate person that tries to talk things out and connect with others to the best of her abilities. Rather than communicating, Laser bottles his feelings and decides to sit with his brooding and envy rather than open up. The lead up to the donut shop explosion is a solid showcase of how Laser brushes Silver off with his persona.

Laser starts to get revved up and angry when Silver understandably pushes back on him going in alone. He insists that its safer for her and El Bow to hang back. When using logic doesn't dissuade her, he leans into using charm and charisma. He fully utilizes whatever romanticized and cool guy image of him that Silver is heavily invested in and enamored by. Under a certain lens, Laser leaving Silver with his discarded sucker could be seen as gross but sweet. Its a thematic echo to their awkward first meeting. The sucker is an important part of his aesthetic; there's always a sucker sticking out of the side of his mouth. Leaving this piece behind is a promise that he can and will be back. But its an empty token gesture.

Given different circumstances, Laser has probably left his sucker with other fans or civilians as a means to pacify and reassure them. Its a prop. The sucker hand-off is deliberately framed from El Bow's perspective as something very tense and uncomfortable to watch. El Bow's bias is something to keep in mind, but it doesn't lessen the weight of the framing choice. Silver looks at the sucker with heart eyes and holds it like its a precious artifact, but every other part of the scene including the saliva puddle scream "gross" and "why" to the audience. It's not sweet and goofy like Silver's accidental nose pick. It's just gross.

When the story picks up from Laser's POV, he's desperate to destroy any evidence that might link him to the contraband experiments that affected Dr. Grayman. Along with the offending orbs, Laser destroys a photo prominently featuring him and Silver. He categorizes it as another, easily disposable piece of evidence that could potentially be used against him rather than a precious momento. Its very bittersweet. He did care and treasure their relationship enough to keep some kind of visual reminder nearby. But their relationship is a lesser priority compared to maintaining his position at POINT or starting up his research efforts again elsewhere.

Laser and Silver were very physical. They kiss, they hold hands, and there's the implications behind the French kiss and sucker combo fantasy. Carol reminisces on her time with Laser with fondness and there's a note of tenderness to everything, but it's one-sided. What moments Laser and Silver share lack the intimacy and tenderness that Carol later experiences in romantic scenes between her and Mr. Gar. There are more scenes from a third person omniscient camera that show very obvious reciprocated interest between Carol and Mr. Gar. There's also focus on both Mr. Gar and Carol learning how to effectively communicate with each other. Mr. Gar learns how to be sweet, vulnerable, and open without some layer of blank expression or stoic mask that he wears as protection in other attempts to talk to others.

He's a trusted mentor figure. He usually tries to balance his powerful hero appearance with what he hopes is useful, helpful advice and guidance. The stoic mask is a defense mechanism to some extent; he was hurt and deeply impacted by Foxtail scapegoating him and Silver blaming him for Laser's death. Though his students saw him breaking down and panicking from trauma, it doesn't break their confidence in him. If anything, its powerful that they extend a hand to help him stand back up and their relationships with him become stronger because they saw such a fragile part of him. Mr. Gar is able to establish a healthy split between his stoic image and when to be vulnerable in large part because of Rad, Enid, and K.O. His relationship with Carol helps address his trauma and leads to him working through things in an even healthier, more meaningful way.

Carol feels more comfortable in trying to be spontaneous, take risks, and expressing what she wants and needs from her relationship. Since Laser was her last on-screen long-term relationship, he set some unhealthy precedents: There were certain topics that were always off-topic, he was secretive and mysterious in an uncomfortable way, and the relationship was centered on his needs. After grieving Laser, Carol has a stronger interest in rebuilding who she is and what her life looks like as just her and K.O. She makes a very positive push in sharpening her empathy and strengthening or expanding her emotional IQ. Giving herself space and focusing on herself also led to her better able to approach others with more patience at their level or wavelength. That said, Carol is still deeply engrained in POINT. She holds some level of implicit trust in POINT as an institution as well as Foxtail's shaky leadership. Her approach to what doubts and misgivings she has is working within the existing system. This also installs similar trust and blind faith in POINT and heroes in K.O. Part of Carol's recovery process relied on POINT as a stable fixture in her life.

Where Mr. Gar rebuilds himself as well as something entirely new, Carol was working on a patchwork between who the new Carol is as well as a continuing, but tenuous connection to Silver Spark. She's Silver Spark by title alone. In every other part of her life, she deliberately goes by Carol in an attempt to distance at least some part of her life from the frustration around Silver Spark's remaining unsolved issues. She never found closure with Laser. She maintained their relationship despite what secrets and other hidden side he had. If that state of things was acceptable with Laser, then she could perform similar mental gymnastics for what obvious cracks and issues there were with POINT. She eventually helps push back against Foxtail and her authoritarian measures, but it took rebuilding her trust with Mr. Gar and re-establishing that she does have a strong support network separate from POINT.

In regards to Mr. Gar specifically, Carol feels overwhelmed by Mr. Gar's romantic gestures and active effort to make room for her and dates in his schedule and life overall. While Mr. Gar goes a little overboard, asking him to scale back is a far more approachable and easily resolvable issue compared to whatever tooth pull efforts Carol faced with Laser. Again, Laser and Silver were only ever shown as very physical and flash in the pan surface level. Carol's relationship with Mr. Gar has meat, substance, layers. They help each other work through what issues they had as a result of the sandwich incident as well as how to progress and become better people period.

Every healthy romance in O.K. K.O. places emphasis on both characters involved showing obvious, blatant interest as well as what their kind of emotional intimacy looks like. There's active story beats on the how and why these characters are drawn together; the efforts both put in to improve each other and their relationship. While Red Action and Enid is a slightly different case that frames the majority of interest from Enid's perspective, Red does share intimate moments with Enid leading up to affirmative dialogue where she calls Enid "my girl" as well as an on-screen kiss. The bulk of their romantic storyline are a pair of cool kids learning its okay to be dorky and vulnerable. They end up together because the other girl is one of the handful of characters they feel comfortable around as their true, unrestrained self. In short, the lack of confirmed reciprocity from Laser was a deliberate narrative choice.

Venomous shares a lot of these flagship romance cues with Boxman. Both Venomous and Boxman give each other a very anime-inspired, elevator eyes treatment. In general, Venomous is the more competent villain and attentive parent. Boxman becomes a more proactive parent and better villain both on an individual level and in regards to Boxmore's overall success because Venomous enters the picture. Also, while Boxman holding hands or sharing some physically intimate gesture with Venomous isn't as explicit as Laser and Silver could be, there's stronger, mutual intimacy to all of these gestures. When Boxman tries to talk to or engage with Venomous, he's far more soft and receptive. Boxman is the driving force for most romantic overtures, but he gets very enthusiastic propositions about commitment and collaboration from Venomous in turn. Its framed as just business, but Venomous and Boxman share two keystone scenes that are pretty much equivalent to going steady or getting engaged. In a nutshell, Boxman sees something closer to who Venomous really is and has very blunt reciprocated interest.

The caveat is that the bulk of Venomous and Boxman scenes are still filtered through Boxman's perspective. "Boxman Crashes" is one of the few exceptions. Where Venomous is attracted to Boxman, there's a more fleeting feel to his elevator eyes scene; the sparkles are immediately followed up with something like a pin popping a balloon. Where Boxman maintains a rosy picture of Venomous no matter what, Venomous still keeps some level of distance and attempts at maintaining his wall. Boxman has a reputation as a weird, awkward, social pariah. While Venomous does peel away this bias, both through active and unconscious effort, it's in play up until Venomous offers to fund Boxmore and moves in. Boxman is annoying until Venomous actually learns how to talk to and work off of him. When Boxman and Venomous share domestic scenes like what's scattered through "All in the Villainy," they've achieved a level of open communication and intimacy comparable to Carol and Mr. Gar.

What sucks are the layers of subtext and queer coding for these two where Carol and Mr. Gar can share explicit romantic scenes together. I'm glad that Red and Enid managed to escape this bullshit. It says a lot about media censorship that Boxman and Venomous are obviously a gay couple with a blended family and supposedly the general family target audience can't handle that level of queer rep. RadChad called this out in a side tangent in one of their videos. It hurts my heart so much, but they're right. It's disappointing there wasn't a fight for making the Voxy Bunch clear, undeniable text vs subtext.

Compared to Carol and Mr. Gar or Red Action and Enid, Boxman and Venomous fall apart because they don't have a clear scene addressing their respective trauma. Carol and Mr. Gar have their defining moment in "Dark Plaza." They recreate their trademark elbow drop move dressed as El Bow and Silver Spark, apologizing to the other and promising to be more trusting and open with each other going forward. Red and Enid have their defining moment in "Red Action to the Future." They've established that they like, appreciate, and admire the other. There's a vested interest in hanging out and getting closer, but Enid hasn't expressed honestly and clearly that she wants more than a casual dynamic. A big part of her character story is telling others how she feels and owning who and what she decides to be regardless of others' opinions or perspective of her. Owning that she wants to date Red Action in a serious, long-term way is part of that.

Unfortunately, Professor Venomous refusing to unpack his trauma around losing his powers or doing any kind of meaningful introspection is a huge part of the overarching story. It's more complicated than this, but a general overview is that Shadowy Venomous is following someone self-destruct in the worst possible way. The other romances can wrap up or reach a satisfying conclusion because the mutual understanding needed for them to function fits neatly in where the story wanted to go. Because Shadowy Venomous was a centerpiece of the series finale, Boxman and Venomous were a narrative element left to the aftermath or any follow-up that has breathing room for them to talk things out in the respect that the other couples have.

As for Carol's awkward reunion with Professor Venomous, its the capstone for years of resentment on Venomous' part and both Carol and K.O. experiencing a cold water realization. When Venomous shares his version of events, it's a knife in the back moment. At the time, Carol chalked up Laser's brooding as a character flaw that could be addressed or helped with time and effort. When Venomous shares just how deep his envy towards her powers was, it's a retrospective red flag. Venomous saw every move or gesture from Carol through a specific, narrow lens: She had more power and prestige than him because of what super powers she had and would never see him as equal. He places such a high premium and importance on power that he prioritizes this above everything and everyone else. Venomous revealing his villain origin story was a warning. It's compounded by him surrendering to the unchained impulses and utter lack of restraint from Shadowy Venomous. No relationship this man has survives this all-encompassing, world-narrowing and shrinking desire.

Venomous is a product of giving in to bitterness and festering in those bitter feelings with no real attempts at working through the root cause. He's contrasted against Carol, someone that chose active self-improvement and learning to grow to help her grieve. How they sit as such intense thematic opposites paints a dramatic picture of what their original relationship and dynamic looked like. Laser was entertaining a passing fancy. Silver was going for a wild dream come true and ready to put in the effort to make things work. They would have been a one off, experimental, bad fit relationship without soap operatic tier elements like an unexpected pregnancy and Laser faking his death only to show up as the nasty, mustache twirling bad guy later. Instead, these two remain connected because of the obstacles around their co-parenting situation and respect for K.O.'s desire to learn more about his bio dad.

These two were a bad fit and its a really thoughtfully done and detailed exploration on why.

(Unnecessary End Note: The petty part of me wants to point neon signs at how effectively this was set up without bringing other story beats and themes to a crippling halt or world-building lore to its knees like another certain superhero cartoon does. If I end up in an especially bad mood, I might just make a compare and contrast that'd get Miraculous fans storming my door with torches and pitch forks. If for some godforsaken reason you absolutely need this, I'd start working as soon as tomorrow for $100 and a pizza.)

[evelhak]

I’m curious about a few: Propinquity, Anem and Bitchberg (a great name, lol)

Well, you've already read about Bitchberg by now from the previous ask. :D

Lol, I actually winced a little when I saw you asked about "Propinquity" since it's the current working title of my Akashi centric fic, and I know you don't find him that interesting. It's still just a bunch of "notes" (=bits of monologue and dialogue that come to me and I have to write down so I won't forget). I haven't actively started this fic yet, since I can't really write multiple projects at the same time. I will probably have to finish another shorter fic after The Luminous Things, before I get to this one.

I know the opening lines, though:

Winning is like breathing. Sometimes I wake up, gasping for air, but my lungs seem to have fallen into a partial state of paralysis.

Or something fairly close to that. The idea has been in my head for a long time, because I really enjoy digging up ignored dimensions that kind of naturally follow from whatever is going on in canon.

There is of course one thing in this fic that could interest you: The main love interest is an OC. :) You know some things about Azumi already. Here's a snippet that will probably serve as her introduction in the fic:

I absolutely pretended to be the empress of this micro-utopia, growing up. Not because it was mine to conquer, or control. Because it was mine to know. To pick apart. Explore, taste, and merge with. A little pocket of wonder in this huge city, a bubble with its own rules. That's what I came to realise pretty soon, anyway. About the world. How different, how illogical and ultimately unsatisfying it was, compared to my shrine, my home, my own ecosystem, my island of undisturbed ground. It frustrates me that the rest of the world doesn't know how to do it. Live and let live. Give and take. Circle of life. A system that works. Because I was born into it. An heir to it. Happiness.

Micro-utopias are a huge element in my whole fic series as it progresses, and there are several kinds of them, Azumi's home life being its own example. Utopia is generally something I'm really interested to write about, especially because a lot of people claim you can't write interesting utopia without making it dystopia in the end, and I very much disagree with that, as people are always imperfect, so you don't need to add any intentionally awful circumstances for a story to have conflict, if you're writing believable people. For me, the key to what makes the most out of utopia is to centre it around whose utopia it is and why. This got slightly off topic, these are just themes I really like exploring and since my fics are my playground, I definitely use them for exploration of things I might want to write later in a more polished form in my original fiction.

The working title "Propinquity" came while I was writing a chapter in The Luminous Things where Kagami ends up lost in Kyoto (it's complicated) and spends the night in Azumi's place, where he has many enlightening conversations with Akashi. (Azumi and Akashi are already together in my main fic timeline, their own fic will cover how they got together, among other things.)

Here's a snippet from the chapter also titled "Propinquity", which I haven't yet posted anywhere, so things might still change a little, but for now, Akashi muses something like this in it:

"[Propinquity] is the central theme of this shrine. Things develop, and change, and prosper in propinquity. It rings true, doesn’t it? Right things, wrong things… so it really matters what you surround yourself with. It’s not enough to know and think. You have to see, and taste, and touch… A plant wouldn’t grow from the understanding that it needs water, if it never got it. It would still die from poison, no matter how informed it was. Azumi knew all of this, so bone deep. That’s why she was disappointed with the world. That’s why she retreated back to her paradise. I think that’s what caught my attention at first. How she had a physical place to go to when she needed to get away."

I probably would not have developed any need to write a story about Akashi's love life on my own. (Well, it's not all there is to it, but it is a how-they-get-together type of story). It was the influence of my ex, who's a big Akashi fan, and as I have probably said before, Azumi was originally her OC that we worked on together a lot. Eventually I grew attached to Akashi and Azumi together, and now I have my own version of the story.

I don't think I actually read any Akashi x OC fics myself, but my ex read them and complained about them, usually, and I picked up on two pretty common patterns, which I didn't want to do: I didn't want the OC to be 1) poor, or 2) have a similar family dynamic and childhood trauma as Akashi. This is because I wasn't interested in dealing with the power imbalance that tends to come with very different socioeconomic standing, and I also didn't want to write a relationship where people get stuck in validating each other's trauma, and it takes them a long time to grow beyond that phase because their relationship is centred around how similar their experiences are. I wanted to hit that sweet spot which I like the most, a relationship that centres around growth, having enough common ground, and being inspired by things about the other that you've never experienced before, or even believed really exists in the world. The kind of relationship that makes you feel that you want to fill your own gaps, and a key factor in that is the proximity, or, propinquity to a person you can rely on, because they don't have the same weaknesses as you. I just really love writing about people who are good influences to each other.

A lot of this fic will also be about dissociation and trauma. Yay.

Anem, then, is another original novel I've started multiple times without being completely satisfied. The premise is pretty classic religious cult + good girl/bad girl dynamic, or at least would seem like that in the beginning.

Here's how I seem to have described it on my website at some point:

Dina is a good girl. She picks up flowers every morning, to put on the altar of her family’s home. She’s chaste, she’s beautiful. She fears God. Semira is a “Wild One”, she rarely goes to church, she speaks out of turn. She could be beautiful, if her hair wasn’t so short. Dina doesn’t think it’s her job to save Semira. After all, if the Fathers don’t know how to help the girl, how could she? But Dina keeps ending up spending time with Semira anyway, and the more she does, the stronger the big black swirling something grows in her stomach. There’s clearly something very wrong about Semira. And there’s something wrong about the woods surrounding their isolated village. Dina knows she’s supposed to stay away, but Semira keeps going into the woods.

It has a lot bigger world and anything but clear-cut themes and dynamics, even though it may seem like that in the beginning... and it's one of those early projects that are sort of everything, because you're not good at narrowing it down yet. It's like a dystopian supernatural medieval fantasy horror philosophical cult story I wrote just to barf out everything I was thinking in my early years of studying theology. It's certainly a cult story, but is the cult the big bad or the world around it? It's certainly a queer story, but is it a love story or a hate story? It's certainly trying to say something, but what? No one knows, not even me. It's a big mess.

I'm also starting to feel like I'm dealing with every element and theme I have in this story, in some other story too, and coincidentally someone from my writing group actually just got a book published this year that has a strikingly similar setting and themes, (we both wrote them without knowing about each other) and even though it shouldn't, it does kind of add to my confusion to what to do with this story. I do still want to write it at some point, but it's a big question mark that sort of just pops up from below the surface every time I'm not actively thinking or writing about another project.

Some angsty pictures of Dina, also drawn in my early university years (Oh Lord how obvious my Arina Tanemura influences still were in the way I draw):

Yeah... at least they are accurately dramatic to the story.

Thanks for the ask. I hope there was something entertaining. <3

For anyone curious, here's the WIP list.

[alexanderlightweight]

hi!!! if you haven't done it yet and are interested, i would love to see undertow magnus having tell ragnor and cat how he accidentally acquired a mate and their reactions

here we go! i hope you enjoy

<3 lumine

—

It isn’t until Magnus is brushing a sleeping Alexander’s hair that he realizes the sudden problem he has.

Alexander fuses sleepily, snuffling the pillow and shifting closer to Magnus. There are creases from the sheets on his cheek and he looks both young and timeless.

Alexander thinks that Magnus has been wooing him towards exclusively, and while most courtships allow for casual sex during, Magnus doesn’t think Alexander is the sharing type.

Magnus isn’t either. Not with this.

So if this is going to work. Then no one that Magnus has slept with during the period of their courtship can continue to live.

Not if Magnus wants this new relationship safe.

And Magnus finds himself suddenly feeling very protective.

—

He calls Cat before his third stop, because the warlock he’s about to take care of is a mutual acquaintance. 

And a healer.

Which means that Cat might enjoy access to her library, since Selene has always been famously stingy with her books.

Cat gives him a look that Magnus hardly thinks is deserved when she portals in across from him.

“I thought we agreed to avoid Selene after Ragnor lost that book to her during the whale migration bet. Solidarity and all that.”

“Yes, well Ragnor also wants that book back and it is nearly his birthday.” 

Magnus doesn’t actually remember Ragnor’s birthday but he’s fairly certain neither does Ragnor so it’s fine. 

They tend to assign each other the closest season as a birthday and that’s worked well enough for all of them.

Cat raises an eyebrow and huffs at him and Magnus sighs.

“You’re better with bloodstains and this could be a bit—“ Magnus wrinkles his nose. “Messy.”

Cat blinks at him incredulously and then she sighs, shaking her head. 

“Ragnor’s book doesn’t warrant her demise, no matter how much Ragnor complains.” Cat adds the last part quickly, already knowing Magnus’ response.

Magnus opens his mouth for a moment to bullshit and then stops.

He’s hardly ashamed of his new lover and while Cat might judge his lack of awareness, she also works better knowing the full picture.

It’s with a slightly haughty expression that Magnus explains and he glowers at her when Catarina starts laughing.

It’s belly deep, her head thrown back as she laughs and it’s only because of how dear she is that Magnus ignores the rather obnoxious display of mirth.

— Magnus very specifically always forgets all the times he’s laughed at her in turn — 

“Oh Magnus,” Cat finally gets out, wiping at her eyes and nose. “Oh only you. Once you tell him, Ragnor is going to create a list of all the  possible clues you’ve missed and spend decades going over it with you.”

Magnus sighs but allows it with good humor. Joy can be a rare thing in their world and Magnus can't begrudge the humor and laughter of one of his dearest friends… even if it is at his own expense.

“Is he part of the queen's court? Or the unseelie king’s?” Cat asks and Magnus shakes his head lightly.

“No, he has no allegiance to any sovereign before me. Alexander—'' Magnus takes a moment, trying to figure out how to explain. “The lake I took him from had claimed him as a protector of sorts. There’s a very powerful, nearly sentient, kind of magic, all through the lake. Different from dominion magic, or from the magic in the seelie realms. It’s what keeps it from being found I think. It created a self contained pocket dimension. A kind of magical ecosystem that used Alexander as a boost and an anchor.” 

“Powerful enough to be an anchor but with no allegiance lines, that’s very odd Magnus. How did he manage to stay unknown to any of the courts?”

Magnus sighs and then finally looks at Cat directly.

“He’s half-nephilim, Cat. I’m pretty sure that he was dumped near the lake when his other heritage came out. The memories are blurry, he doesn’t think he was supposed to survive. He remembers them trying to take his runes and fighting back until he got to the lake.

“The magic there lured him and his pursuers in and then the magic and he boosted each other. A symbiotic relationship I suppose. However accidentally, he accepted the wild magics protection and consecrated his vow to it with angelic blood. 

“Since then he’s stayed in pretty strict isolation there; especially because he can’t portal. He knows the world, he just hasn’t experienced it.”

Cat looks worried now and she looks over Magnus with careful, protective consideration.

“Poor kid, but Magnus. If he needs someone to get him out of there and set him up, there are plenty of warlocks I know who could help.” That she’d force to help if necessary. “You don’t need to continue the relationship unless you want to.” 

Magnus grins at that, because he suddenly knows what Cat’s worried about.

“Ah, I forgot to mention how long Alexander thinks I’ve been courting him. And also the reason why I need to clean things up. Alexander and the magic have tangled so deeply that he’s able to leave the lake and still anchor the dimension. The reason he never leaves is because I was courting him.” Magnus can’t help the wistful sighs he lets out, “he’s waited for me for decades, Cat.”

Cat is watching him carefully, contemplating Magnus’ words as he waves his hands in emphasis. 

“I’m also positive that Alexander has very discerning tastes despite his isolation, because he’s killed every other person who found the lake before me.” Magnus can’t help the fact that he’s preening,  “And he killed everyone who found it after. Apparently, I am the only person who Alexander has ever registered as ‘suitor’ instead of ‘prey’. He also—“ and here Magnus chuckles, something dark and content in the noise and Cat’s eyes soften at the sound. 

“He considered everyone who came after me to be prey still, but he was worried about what I’d think. That I’d consider them suitors, that I’d think he allowed himself to be courted by others. So he killed every one of them even when he wasn’t hungry or interested. And then because he noticed I wear a lot of jewelry, he carved me pendants from their bones. So I could show off that he was faithful and he waited.”

Magnus can’t help the pleased hum he lets out at the memory. 

“He waited for four decades, Cat. For me.”

Cat is smiling at him, her eyes shiny with unshed tears and she wraps him in a hug. Her strong arms that have saved countless lives wrap around him, delicate in their tenderness. 

“I’m so very pleased for you.” Cat murmurs close to his ear and then she lets him go, presses a kiss to his brow and then she turns on the warded cottage with a raised brow.

“Were you waiting for an invitation? Because she did cheat during that bet and steal Ragnor’s favorite book.” Cat says, snapping her clothes into something more… forgiving to blood. “I only let her get away with it because Ragnor forgot to bring me scones from Lady Gray's.”

“Every book is Ragnor’s favorite.” Magnus laughs out, and he’s grinning wildly and laughing because Cat will always have his back. 

And so will Ragnor. After he stops complaining about the inevitable blood stains on his new books. 

Cat cuts into the wards with the precision of a scalpel and Magnus follows her, cauterizing the wards once they’re through. 

There will be no healing here tonight.

—

Cat accepts a cup of tea with a small smile as Magnus laughs and Ragnor’s scolding gets increasingly louder.

“They were a perfectly lovely invention!” Ragnor is saying. “They should never have gone out of fashion!”

He’s said the same thing three times. Increasingly louder, as if it will eventually shut Magnus up. 

Cat sips her —perfect as always— tea and summons a box of biscuits.

Normally Ragnor offers them himself, but Cat will allow the discrepancy. They did find him quite indisposed.

Magnus is still laughing, holding his belly as though it might burst as he slumps into one of Ragnor’s large armchairs.

Ragnor seems to have given up and is grumpily sipping his own tea as he gives Magnus a snotty look.

When Magnus has finally, finally stopped laughing, Cat gives a silent sigh of relief.

And then Ragnor opens his mouth, dooming them all.

“If you must know.” He says with an aggrieved sniff, “it helps keep my horns from rubbing against the headboard. It’s quite annoying to have to polish them so often. Valois mentioned they were looking a little worn at the last gathering.”

And Magnus loses it again.

Ragnor had been napping on an armchair when they’d portaled in. Small round glasses perched on his snoring nose, a long flowing nightgown and a nightcap that hasn’t been used in several hundred years. 

It was only several lifetimes spent practicing self control that ensured Cat didn’t burst into laughter herself. 

She makes a note to order and send several bonnets to Ragnor, they’re much nicer than the undoubtedly musty nightcap Ragnor probably dug out of a moth-infested dresser in some half-abandoned cottage he forgot about.

Ragnor huffs and gulps half of his cup before Cat has pity and offers him a digestive. 

“The cheek on this lad.” Ragnor grumbles, “and what kind of present is this! At least it was well taken care of in that witch Selene’s library. If not tragically undervalued, so why is there blood on my bloody book?”

Magnus is going to give himself a hernia at this rate and Cat is both off duty and not inclined to be nice so she sends him a little zap and gives Ragnor the most mischievous smile she can.

Ragnor immediately catches on and good humor replaces his glower.

“Oh? What’s this? Cat, love! Don’t hold out on me. What’s ducky done now?”

“Guess who has to do a little spring cleaning, because he accidentally courted an un-declared kelpie.” Cat says in a rush, fingers snapping her biscuit in her eagerness to share.

Magnus gives a mock groan, “yes yes, laugh at my hubris. But trust me, a little bit of cleanup is well worth my Alexander.”

Magnus has one of his arms flung over his eyes and doesn’t see the quick, tight look Ragnor shares with Cat. Nor the brief joy when Cat simply smiles and nods, giving her assurance that Ragnor won’t need to make too many contingencies.

“And what does this time of new life and purging entail?” Ragnor asks and this time it’s Cat who laughs as Magnus gives them both a sheepish smirk.

“Ah, Alexander may be under the impression that I have been courting him… exclusively.” Magnus winces, “For the last four decades.”

Ragnor fights desperately not to gawp, and to not ruin his tea with incredulous laughter. 

And then he realizes the problem and his laughter fades.

“But you didn’t know.”

Magnus shakes his head, something bitter and angry in his eyes that Ragnor will worry over later. 

With sherry and Cat as backup. 

“That’s quite a bit of cleanup.” Ragnor murmurs quietly. Because Magnus takes fidelity seriously when it’s offered, “better take it to the last five decades, just to be safe. Don’t forget that orgy you told me about, the one in Dubai that you talked about for weeks in the 70’s. Don’t just do memory wipes, make it clean.” 

Magnus nods and Cat sighs despairingly as he summons a notebook and jots it down. 

“My, dear overachieving boys. Magnus should just use a ritual. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it properly. So we need to be thorough. We’ll have to add some element of a geas to the secret, Magnus can use one of his loose ends to power it. We can’t just murder all of them outright, it’s too conspicuous. Are there any spells that the Council needs done that require past lovers?” Cat looks at both of them sternly, “see how much we can brush under the Council’s cauldron and go from there.” 

“There, there ducky.” Ragnor tuts and sends over a cup and saucer to a groaning Magnus. “There’s not as many as you think. It’s a much smaller mess than if this happened when you were younger and off sowing your oats.”

‘Sowing my oats?’ Magnus mouths incredulously across his cup at Cat and she bites her lip to hide a chuckle. 

“Ah and Camille will need to finally be dealt with.” Ragnor says, so very obvious in how hard he’s trying to be nonchalant. Ragnor is always looking for a reason Magnus can accept and Cat is always hoping it works.

And for once, Magnus doesn’t even notice. 

“You know what, you’re right.” And Ragnor’s gaze snaps to Magnus with a relieved but disbelieving look as Magnus continues.

“She would definitely use any opportunity to get between us.” Magnus looks angry now, instead of the bitter pain that Camille normally brings out. “Putting a geas on her and sealing her won’t be enough.” And then Magnus pauses and there’s a dangerous, confident gleam to his eyes that Cat has mourned the lack of.

“Alexander does look divine in jewelry, and after everything he’s made for me, I should return the gesture. So I’ll need to commission him some.” And Magnus gives a soft, pleased smile. Like some deep wound has finally been healed, “and I have always wondered what the color of Camille’s soul is.”

Ragnor gives a content, pleased smile and nods sharply. “If need be we’ll say you’re cleaning up your court. Camille is a perfect and public example of a traitor being dealt with. There’s always an enemy if you look hard enough.”

[jhilsara]

I Can See You

Pt. 1/ Pt. 2/ Pt. 3/ Pt. 4/ Pt. 5/pt. 6/Pt. 7/Pt. 8/Pt. 9/ Pt. 10/

Pt. 11/ Pt.12/Pt.13/Pt. 14/Pt.15/Pt.16/Pt.17/END

Mariana Jimenez-Watson or MJ works in a normal pub living life paycheck to paycheck. Nothing exciting happens to her except the occasional drunk getting thrown out. She's 24 working away and finds a wrench thrown into her very boring life. His name is Hobie and she thinks maybe, a little excitement isn't awful. In fact she might start to crave some change for once.

Small moments of Hobie meeting his world's MJ. AKA I made an MJ variant and I think she's neat.

Chapter 9

Hobie’s attached to MJ in a way that he hasn’t been with anyone else before. It scares and excites him at the same time.

She’s fun and bold but also is maybe the nosiest person he’s ever met.

 He doesn’t know how she seems to continuously find herself tangled in his web of Spider-Man activities. It worries and eats at him, but he knows how stubborn she is.

She keeps pushing and pushing, begging to be let into that world. She didn’t even try to pretend she didn’t know he was Spider-Man.

Instead she had stood there and called him out, almost ripping the mask off his face herself. She just kept popping up. He’s known her for maybe six months and she’s gotten into more trouble than he cares for.

It’s not even that she’s looking for it, she’s like a magnet. She just happens to find him at just the wrong time… or he finds her.

Maybe it’s him that’s getting pulled into her orbit and he brings the storm in with him.

She’s carved out a place in his heart and he doesn’t know how to feel about that. More like, he has a vague idea of his own feelings for her, but that’s a different and terrifying thought.

People like him get others hurt. When people get too close, know too much… they get hurt.

It’s happened before and the literally thought of something happening to her, it’s enough to push him away. It enough to make him shut his brain off and run for a while. 

Maybe it’s better if he’s not in her life… maybe it’s better if he stops it before it can start.

He looks over at his wall of photos and sees the many he’s already collected of them. He takes one of the polaroid’s and pockets it before he can talk himself out of it.

He begins to tap coordinates into his watch. He has to get out of here. He knows he’s being a coward and he can deal with that later.

Every feeling is too big and too tight as it pounds against his chest. The anxiety rising in him isn’t fun and he just wants to shut it off.  

He jumps dimensions, landing in Mumbattan, Pav was usually good to talk to. Easily excitable and was always happy to see Hobie.

He was younger but Hobie had a soft spot for all the younger spider people. It wouldn’t be a stretch to say he was just checking in on him. Give him something to do before he tries to do something stupid.

Something he’d regret.

Too bad Pav was one of the most observant people when it came to matters of the heart.

He knocks on Pav’s window, surprising the young man at his desk. A wide smile crosses his face as he lets Hobie in.

“Hobie, my guy!” He exclaims and the two immediately fall into their routine. It’s nice, comfortable, not something that Hobie has to actively think about.

This is what he wanted. To not think.

He falls comfortably into conversation with Pav and they catch up. Hours pass like that, Hobie joins him on patrol, Pav welcoming another pair of hands to help out his busy Mumbattan.

Hobie returns the next day and it’s a rinse and repeat. Then again, and now, Pav is too smart to just let this pass.

Pav didn’t have any plans that day and the two men were lounging is his room, window open hoping for a breeze on this unbearable hot day.

Hobie’s stretched out on the floor, not used to the heat at all. Old York was hot if it hit anywhere near 30 C, this was a different heat. Hobie’s vest was discarded forever ago on Pav’s bed, the leather too much for him.

Pav is on his bed, trying to catch a breeze from the window. He looks down at Hobie and just rips the band aid off. “You’ve been here for almost three days… Don’t you have, I don’t know, your own universe to save or something?” he presses.

“Ouch,” Hobbie mocks offense, “Come by to hang out with a dear friend and get the could shoulder. That cuts deep.” He deadpans unmoving from the floor.

Pav picks up his vest and throws it at him. In doing so a small polaroid picture falls from the pockets.

“You’re avoiding something and I’ll find out what it is.” He says in an accusing tone.

Hobie just grunts in reply and grabs his vest. He folds it up to use as a faux pillow. “What? Can’t just come to see my friend?” he asks raising a brow.

Pav’s about to respond when he sees the picture, he goes to pick it up, “What’s this?” he asks raising a brow.

“What’s what?” Hobie asks sitting up on his elbows to look over.

Pav’s face is split into the largest grin as he waves the little photo at Hobie, “More like who is this?”

Hobie’s face falters into a frown, “Give it back mate.” He goes to reach for it but Pav jerks away.

“No no no no! Who is this lady? You don’t keep pictures of random girls in your pocket!” Pav says cheekily.

He gasps quickly, “Is she who you’re avoiding?!” he demands.

Hobie groans and flops back down. He covers his face with his hands, “Should have just went to Peter…” he mutters.

Pav’s eyebrows raise, “Wait, wait,” he looks over the picture once more. Really looking at the girl and her maroon hair sticks out like a sore thumb. “Is this MJ? Is this girl your MJ?” He asks excitedly pointing at her.

“Yes, no, don’t know… it doesn’t matter nothing about the canon bullshit even matters anyway.” Hobie mumbles with a frustrated sigh.

“Ouch… that doesn’t sound very confident.” Pav responds handing the picture back to Hobie.

He’s lost his need to take it away from Pav, he just looks down at it. At her.

“So, what are you doing here then? Are you just avoiding her?” Pav pushes looking at him expectantly.

He’s met with silence from Hobie. He’s just mulling over his own thoughts. He feels his chest tighten again with anxiety.

“So, yes? You’re undeniably avoiding her.”

Hobie stands up and grabs his vest, “I need to go talk to Peter.”

“To actually talk to him or to avoid going home?” Pav questions.

“To talk about MJ.” Hobie replies with a heavy sigh.

“Have fun, his is like the blue print, right?” Pav says playing around with his own watch.  

Hobie raises a brow pointing at his watch, “What are you mucking about with that for?”

Pav doesn’t look up just grinning, “Going to call Gwen and Miles duh. This is the latest gossip.”

Hobie rolls his eyes and shakes his head. He sets off to go talk to Peter. He needs advice. Peter for one, has Mary-Jane. Peter also almost fucked it all up.

Hobie doesn’t want to fuck it up.

If you'd like me to make a tag list and add you too it please let me know. &lt;3

[insertyourselfhere]

Anomaly Part 5

A/N: I cannot thank you guys enough, you have been blowing up my notifications with all your support on this series and its motivating me to keep going! Thank you everyone so much!

HUGE SPOILERS FOR ATSV

Pairing: Gwen Stacy x Reader

Characters: Reader, George Stacy and some slight Hobie and Gwen.

Description: Wow…All the stuff went down with Miles, the entire spider-verse chased after him. Miguel went bat shit crazy like you wouldn’t believe. Hobie quit the team, Miles sent himself home. Both you and Gwen were thrown back into your own dimensions without a watch to get you back. You broke a little fearing the fact that you will never see your friends again, fearing for Miles and absolutely devastated at the thought of Gwen now being alone in her dimension. As you laid in your lounge filling your aunt in with all those details a portal opens up, but not one you’ve ever seen before it looked like….

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

“Hobie!” You said running towards the portal, Hobie came out with a smile on his face and a watch on his wrist.

“Big steppa! How you been” he said fake punching you. He took the watch off his wrist and threw it towards you with a salute.

“You gotta help save our Gwendy yah?” He said shoving his hands back into his jean jacket pockets. You nodded putting the watch on and clicking over to earth 65. Another portal opened up and you went to walk in it, Hobie however did not follow you and laid down on your couch in your living room.

“You’re not coming?” You asked turning back towards him with a curious look in your eye.

“Nah, I think my drummer needs some time to process what’s happening hey. And I think you’re the one to do it, so off with ya. I just wanna hang out with ya aunt anyway” Before you could protest about leaving Hobie alone with your aunt he pushed you through the portal with a forceful web, the last thing you saw was his playful smirk as he kicked his feet up on the coffee table and lounged back.

You travelled through the multi-verse like you had millions of times before, it opened up and you were in Gwen’s Dimension for the first time since you had gotten to know her. It was beautiful, the world had such an eerie but amazing look to it, you had never seen something like this before. The one thing you did notice though was even though the sun was out, there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky, the colours of the world were emanating a dark blue look. You could feel the sadness in the air lingering around you like a dark aura. Without a second thought you went to thwip away only to realise.

“I don’t know where she lives” Letting out the biggest sigh you fell down into a crouch, your arms resting on your knees as you thought of a plan.

You did the only thing you could think of and that was head to an internet café and look up sightings and theories about the ‘Ghost Spider’. As you entered the building still in your Spidey get up you got weird looks from different people.

“What are you meant to be?” One of them asked confused at the different costume you sported as opposed to their usual Ghost Spider costume they were used to seeing.

“Oh uh, this is my cosplay! Yeah! I decided to do my own Spider Costume as like a representation to our Ghost Spider” They all looked at you weird and you didn’t blame them. Your outfit was nearly the polar opposite to their masked hero. With a quiet groan you went to your compute and started doing some digging.

“Are you looking for her?” They asked looking over your shoulder, you were hoping that it didn’t come off as weird but then again you just looked like a crazed fan, wearing the wrong Spidey suit in an internet café full of other nerds who were probably into the same thing.

You nodded looking back at the person hoping they had something for you. “I heard that she frequently comes out of this apartment block. I’m not too sure if that’s whee she lives or if that’s her hangout but it’s what I heard” They entered an address into your computer and you couldn’t help but feel over joyed that you hug the stranger and left.

As you exited the building you yelled a quick thank you as you Thwipped out of there. “Was that another Spider?” They asked their surroundings, the person you hugged just fainted from the interaction and then everyone else began writing rumours of a new Spidey in the area.

You got closer to the building, and stuck against the wall. You didn’t know how you were going to try and find Gwen in amongst all these apartments, you slightly regretted it but you had to look. What was a clear indication though was a cop car parked outside the apartment and it meant that her dad was home too.

You went over the apartment checking (respectfully) any windows you could hoping to catch that familiar blonde hair. As you peeked into this one window though a gentleman was sitting on the toilet playing crossy road. He let out a high pitch squeal and you awkwardly thwapped way. “I’M SO SORRY IM JUST TRYING TO FIND MY FRIEND” You yelled.

Finally after hours of searching you found an open window, inside you saw those famous ballet shoes that Gwen loved and adored so much before she stole your chucks, opening the window slightly you crawled in and saw the photo of Gwen and Miles left on the desk. You smiled knowing that you had finally found the correct room.

The TV was on playing some sort of infomercials in the lounge and the sound was filtering through, you looked around the room and saw that it was untouched, somehow Gwen hadn’t made it to her room yet. Before you could do anymore digging the door opened slightly and you turned around slowly but carefully. There standing in the door was George Stacy he had a bat in his hand ready to attack you at any second. When you full turned around he noticed the Spider across your chest.

You held your arms up defensively and took your mask off just to know you weren’t trying to hide anything, however in doing so you completely forgot about what happened to you in this world.

“Y/N” George said moving slightly closer to you, bat down. You internally chastised yourself for being so reckless and revealing who you were in such a haste that you forgot about the you in this universe.

“Captain Stacy I am so….” Before you could finish George interrupted you “It’s just George now, no Captain Stacy” You went back to what Miguel had said about Captain’s and how it was their ‘Canon Event’ to die, so hearing about him no longer being captain you released a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Sir, I am Y/N but not from this dimension” He chuckled and left the door open gesturing for you to follow. “Yeah I can tell, you’re a bit taller, and a bit more um stockier too” he walked over to the fridge and grabbed a photo that had a photo of who looked like you and Gwen both with their arms around each other smiling big broad smiles. There was something in that photo you hadn’t seen in yourself or Gwen either. It was pure innocence.

“I see what you mean” George went and sat down back on the couch flipping through channels. “His face solemn like he didn’t want to know why you were here. You put the photo back on the fridge and turned to face him.

“Captain St…George…sir um look I am here to find Gwen, we both got tossed back into our own dimensions so I thought she would be here already but it seems like she’s not” George had a look of relief pass his eyes but only briefly. He turned to face you his eyes still harbouring a lot of sadness.

“She hasn’t come home just yet, I don’t know if she ever will” He said looking back at his tv. You got up and walked over to him. “Why did you do it?” You asked sharply, hands balled in a fist as you went into a quiet rage, now that the shock of seeing him was over you had to get your opinion out there.

“You were the only person she had left in her life, to lean on, to talk to, to look forward too and you squashed that” George looked furious standing up in his own apartment remote thrown into the couch. He looked at your face still shocked by the memory that it was you but then quickly he turned around suddenly filled with anger again.

“What do you want me to do!? My daughter LIED to me for months, years even, I don’t even know how long shes been this Spider-Woman but I know she has been lying about it to my face. She’s been the one I’ve been hunting and who’s been going around doing my job because she felt some sort of obligation to help”

“You and I both know why she lied, why she was terrified of telling you the truth behind what has been happening and you proved her point right, you tried to ARREST her, your own daughter, yeah she may of lied but you confirmed her fears the second you called her in” George took a slight step back, his form wavering in hearing those harsh words, that his own daughter couldn’t trust him and he proved her right.

“She could of told me, things would have been…” Before he could finish you cut him off “Different?” You asked venom laced in the words you repeated back to him.

“Let me tell you a story here Mr. Stacy. My Aunt knows, I told her the second I felt comfortable too because I knew it was going to be a lot on her to tell her, I knew when my truth came out that she would either cry and scream at me to stop or she would hate me for the rest of her life. My Aunt proved me wrong on so many levels that night, instead she made me a cup of Chai T….cup of Chai and she sat me down and opened up to me. She told me all about my family, my parents, my uncle. She told me about our selfless need to want to help other people and we’re willing to put ourselves on the line to do so. I understand that your situation wasn’t that great and I understand your frustration, your confusion on what she was doing and how she was putting her life on the line. However they say the apple never falls too far from the tree.”

George wasn’t mad anymore, George didn’t know what he was, he just stood there taking it all in. Taking in everything you had said to him and he knew what the right course of action was. You could see his brain internally fighting you could feel it in this world of Gwen’s the amount of sadness and hurt.

You walked up to him tentatively and placed your arms around his waist giving him a big hug. It was unusual for you because you met this guy only hours ago, however for him it’s like he had known you his life time.

“Thanks Y/N” Before you could finish your conversation you heard a portal open up in Gwen’s room and you knew what that meant, before he could protest you had slipped your mask back on and slipped out the window giving them privacy. You sat on the far opposite building to them, watching the events unfold. Your mind going crazy at wanting to see Gwen, wanting to be there, to hold her and tell her it will all be okay. Slowly though you realised that isn’t what she needed. She just needed a friend, someone to count on that she won’t end up losing again like the rest.

You stood up on the apartment building and stretched pulling yourself back to her window. George and Gwen had made their way into the living room so you took this time to go through her room a little bit more. You found old photo albums of you and your aunt all hanging out with the Stacy family. You also saw pictures of you with Parker too who seemed to be apart of this crazy group you had.

As you were perusing her room you heard pure silence coming from the lounge room, followed by a soft sob. Your heart broke at hearing that noise come out of Gwen, but you knew that her and George would be alright. As you were leaning closer to the door to get a good listen you tripped on one of Gwen’s Ballet shoes and fell through the door. You coughed a little and got up quickly dusting yourself off and standing there awkwardly while both Stacy’s looked at you funny.

“Um that wasn’t supposed to happen, there was a fly in my mask and I was trying to get it out but I ah tripped and fell…” Before you could finish your ramble Gwen had rushed her way over to you and leaped into your arms. You hugger her back with all the love you could muster showing her that you were here for good.

“Y/N” She said, a small tear in her eye, you wiped it away before setting her down again. “It’s only been like what 5 minutes for you since I last saw you, why are you upset?” You asked she was still wrapped around your arms and then nuzzled herself under your chin. “I thought I’d lost you again” She said quietly “Pfft as if Vampire, ninja super buff big guy Miguel was going to keep me away from you” She let go of you and walked back towards her father who had the biggest grin on his face. His whole face was filled with love and you could feel it in the air. The landscape around you began to change, no longer did it have that blue filter (Twilight) on but now it was radiating much brighter colours, it felt warm and breathable.

“How did you get here?” She asked walking towards you and grabbing your hand, you sighed and intertwined your hands together.

“It’s a long story but we need to get going like asap, I’ll explain on the way but here’s a gift from Hobie” You took the watch off your wrist and gave it to Gwen, her eyes widened at the make shift watch you had for her. She had a determined look in her eye and pulled down her mask, you doing the same thing (After getting that fly out of course). “We just need to stop off in my dimension and pick up Hobie, I’m terrified to know that he’s been with my aunt alone this whole time” She laughed and set the destination to your dimension. You jumped in straight away knowing she would follow suit, the last thing you saw before you could no longer see them is Gwen hugging her father again before following suit.

“So explain things to me now”

“Okay so Hobie was being destructive or so I thought…”

[moonglide]

Echoes of wisdom hours 10 & 11

-spoilers for the end of the gerudo quest, and most of the hyrule castle quest.

-previously on: moon's eow playthrough

-AAAHHH WHY THE FUCK ARE THERE THREE LINKS???

-this concludes the segment about the last entry.

-okay so with some clever manuevering, i killed them. had to distract them with moblins and then take them out individually.

-oh i got a bow! guess that makes sense. will the next one be bombs???

-oh i have to be in hero mode to use the bow. lame. zelda is totally an archer.

-i only knew half of the two statue puzzle so i just guessed. and it worked.

-mole guy. i'm a little scared because i've seen people talk about this guy

-guess i'm just too skilled. that wasn't that hard. i used albatrosses or whatever they're called.

-ok so yeah the restored parts of the world are definately just copies. how can i still be standing on gerudo sands in the still world if it got put back?

-no extra triangle? i just get reduced cost on certain echoes? huh? are those echoes gonna be useful in the castle or something?

-ok tri. you want me to go back to lueberry's? joke's on you, i was about to go there anyways to upgrade my sword.

-i ship lefte and wright. i also headcannon that lefte is right handed and wright is left handed.

-OH GOD the rift has overtaken castle town.

-love how when the soldiers are freaking out wright just takes charge. he's actually a really good leader. he boosts morale, is decisive, helps out his soldiers. it's great.

-down, you say? guess i'm taking the well.

-ohhhh we get to go through the castle again! but backwards!

-there's magic evil soldiers? ok. guess they'll die.

-guess they won't die. what? why are they so strong?

-OOOHHHH it's so it can be a stealth section like the beginning of the game!!!!

-got caught and it took me to a pocket dimension. is that why they one shot everything? they're just being teleported?

-ok so apparently you can place water blocks as long as they're connected to the ceiling. the more you know.

-fell off the roof. got stabbed by guard. there's like two darknuts and a moblin in here. guess i'll die. that's death #6

-impa????

-wait she has a diary

-read the diary, i'm not crying you're crying. god impa did you have to punch me in the feels so much?

-ok but also this is the same cell with the hole in the wall. impa you are a ninja. you could have figured something out.

-man imagine what it must be like for zelda in these underwater tunnels. she can't see through walls. she doesn't know where the next pocket of air is. terrifying.

-diff stealth section. landed on this guard's head. from the ceiling. bro turns around and i teleport off.

-hey remember when i asked if the echoes with reduced cost would be useful in the castle? they were useful in the castle.

-death 7 from that room with the ball-and-chain darknut.

-oooh high jump amulet!

-i teleported back but forgot to open the big chest. now i gotta go back again.

-wait am i just straight up fighting the king and left and right???

-oh it's ganon. and he's an echo. i still think ganon from the start of the game was an echo.

-first phase went well. was low on hero mode mana so had to send birds to fight for me

-second phase went well. could get mana from the flaming keese, so i could actually stab him.

-i'm so disappointed in myself. i'm actually so disappointed. i died to magic tennis. how did i die to magic tennis???? it's so simple!! i was too close to him and so when it sped up i couldn't react. i'm a fool. i'm pretty sure i have to start from phase one. whatever.

-death count: 8.

-fave monster: albatrawl. with this guy i can use cloud of bats but better, because they can take a hit, and attack faster, and are stronger. two strong birds is still better than four weak bats.

[plusultraetc]

WOW please ignore how much this brush in red looks kind of like blood upon closer inspection. I was trying to do Christmas colors with the green background + red & white letters and it went... questionably.

Anywho, here is the promised advent calendar recap/review (part 1!! to be followed by a very brief part 2 on or after Christmas lol) I've been having a really lovely time opening these every day, and I'm really excited to see what the final four pockets contain 👀

Day 1: All Might pin | Okay, so I actually knew about this one in advance--when I was reading item descriptions on different websites, trying to figure out whether or not I wanted to buy the advent calendar, someone posted a picture of this pin in their review 😭 Which, like, rude ig but it was a selling point for the calendar itself, so I really can't be mad about it. He looks like he's going for the world's greatest fist bump.

Day 2: Iida sticker | Iida truly said everyone out of the way, I have to appear in this advent calendar before Midoriya and Bakugou, and I love that for him. I am a very big journal & planner person so I'm always looking for more stickers, and I already have a small MHA collection where this one can live until I find a permanent place for it!

Day 3: 1-A pencil | Pretty self-explanatory, but I am like. Stupidly charmed by this. It's a really cute addition to my pen cup.

Day 4: MHA keychain | This has been one of my favorite items in the advent calendar. I've actually been needing a new keychain, and I really love the crest-like design. 10/10, flawless.

Day 5: MHA magnet | The first of the magnets! Love love love the color palette of this one, especially the hint of purple in the outline around the letters.

Day 6: Tsu & Uraraka to/from gift tags | These are also super cute, and such a great idea for an advent calendar!! Unfortunately, I don't know many MHA fans irl, so I doubt I'll be using them unless I plaster, like. Two people's gifts with four labels each 😭 One of my friends did dress up as Tsu for Comic Con this year, so she may be about to have A Very Froppy Christmas 🐸 🎄

Day 7: Hawks sticker | HAWKS STICKER MY BELOVED. This one is actually a puffy sticker, which can be a bit of a pain to place in a journal when you want to write on the following page, but they also add some fun dimension so I use them anyway lol. Needless to say, I Love Him.

Day 8: Endeavor puzzle | Everyone I've asked has concurred that this is indeed meant to be a puzzle!! Regardless of one's opinions on Endeavor, it is objectively hilarious that the makers of this advent calendar said 'here is a small picture of this man. Destroy Him.'

Day 9: Midoriya & Bakugou door hanger | Another incredibly amusing inclusion. Midoriya, who is supposed to be the 'welcome' side, looks like he's about to punch you across the continent. Meanwhile, Katsuki "Stay Out" Bakugou looks like he wants you to try it, actually. Make his day.

Day 10: Aizawa & Present Mic bookmark | My personal favorite, the erasermic bookmark. I'm currently using this for book club, and I have zero notes. They bring me inestimable joy.

Day 11: Shigaraki magnetic bookmark | Much like stickers, I always, always need more bookmarks. This one is kinda heavy, but not so much that it's cumbersome to use. However, my dog Hates Him--I say him, not it, because she was also Not A Fan of my Shigaraki figure when I unboxed him, which is weird because she's largely uninterested in the others except for the most recent addition to the collection. I think it's because their more dynamic poses are supported by an extra stand--they're definitely a little shakier and less stable than the others, but that still doesn't explain the bookmark. ANYWAY I've already started using this for my current non-manga read, go little rock star, no ragrets.

Day 12: All Might sticker | TRULY so many W's in a row. I do wish we'd gotten a little more creative with the pose here (it's the same as the one on the pin), but I Get It and I'm pleased with this one anyway.

Day 13: Toga pin | So I actually really love the look of this kind of pin on tote bags, and while I do already have a few of those, this was the point that I became Very Tempted to buy an MHA-themed tote and start yet another collection. Which, I haven't. Yet. Either way, she's very cute.

Day 14: Dabi holographic card | Dabi is the clear favorite villain of whoever designed this calendar, because this little card is literally so cool. Fittingly, he gets ✨dramatic effects✨ and ✨two poses✨ (the second pose is pictured below). I'm not yet sure if I'm going to use double-sided tape to turn this, too, into a sticker, but I think it's really fun either way.

Day 15: Midoriya tree ornament | Cute in theory, but admittedly very flimsy. It is however very seasonally-appropriate and therefore the flimsiness is excused.

Day 16: UA magnet | THIS IS SO CUTE. I absolutely love this kind of 'in-universe' merch, so this is another favorite advent calendar item.

Day 17: Tokoyami magnet | I was surprised that, of all the characters they chose to dedicate a magnet to, it was Tokoyami & Dark Shadow, but like. Surprised (affectionate). Surprised (positive). A surprise to be sure, but a welcome one, etc. This did get stuck to the table while I was taking pictures, but ain't that just the way. Go little rock star x2.

Day 18: Character cards | I don't have a lot to say about these, but they were fun!

Day 19: Kaminari note cards | Again: SUPER cute, and I love the pose they chose (lol), even though I personally don't have much of a use for them.

Day 20: UA sticky notes | ANOTHER FAVORITE, because I Love Stationery, so this is like the UA magnet but better. I would have paid the full price of the advent calendar for these + the erasermic bookmark because I am insane. Okay that might be an exaggeration, but still. Everything else is just almost-as-delightful gravy.

Day 21: Todoroki cardboard standee | Adorable!! I can definitely find a place for this on my bookshelf, so I'm really happy with this one too!

[aidemint]

Bad Luck and Bad Decisions | To Break A Habit

Summary: Hobie gets called back to HQ. Miguel does what Miguel does best. You... have a good day. For the most part.

Word Count: 3.8k

Pairing: Hobie Brown/GN!Reader

Notes: canon-level violence, mentions of blood! read at your own discretion

Masterpost | AO3 | Part 1 | Part 2

Gwen meets Hobie at the mouth of Sector Seven at Spider-HQ—Miguel’s office.

If it had been a normal day she’d show up with iced coffees and a smile, start light conversation during the walk through the control room, laugh as Hobie snags bits and bobs from the walls and keyboards. But this time she’s empty-handed, keeps her head down, doesn’t meet his eyes, doesn’t say anything even when he pulls a circuit out and pockets it.

She seems less of a friend, more of a guard—Hobie doesn’t miss the way she keeps her hands straight and still by her sides as she paces. She looks a lot like the person she was when she first came here.

Hobie’s brow twitches at the thought, fingers curling to press crescent-shaped craters into his palm. Unfortunately there isn’t much time to stew on the notion, as he treks the path through an old portal frame and past dim orange screens, soon approaching a familiar, open-ceiling room.

Blue light bears down on tilted towers and slanted bars, layered atop each other to carry the walls of the place on their backs. In the center of it all, a muscled figure elevated on a floating platform, a galaxy of tangerine screens surrounding his hunched figure.

A glare sharpens Hobie’s eye, narrowing the edges as Miguel O’Hara turns around to face him.

“Nice of you to finally join us,” the latter quips with the tilt of his head. “Earth-40081 seems plenty interesting.”

“It is,” Hobie remarks right back. “Bloody shame you can’t experience it yourself.” The clench of Miguel’s jaw tweaks the left end of his mouth upward.

“You can fill me in on it, then. Like you were supposed to.” Miguel pauses as his stare flickers from him to Gwen, though it remains every bit as piercing. “You can go.”

Perhaps some part of Hobie hopes that she’d stay—stand by his side as some semblance of the support he’d once given her fresh-faced, past counterpart. He remembers the time he offered an arm to wrap around her, a shoulder to cry on, a room to live in without fear. But it only takes one look at the glance she casts him, sideways and long and walled-off, for him to know better. Much better.

Gwen Stacy spares him guilt—every bit of it in the shredded, desperate mess it is—then walks away.

A fire begins to burn in the column of Hobie’s throat the moment the heels of her shoes—his shoes—disappear beyond the walls of the chamber.

“What’d you pull me in here for?” It’s less of a question, more of a demand, spoken low, searing across empty air. “Comin’ on me with a two and eight.”

Miguel provides no reaction to the provocation, expression unmoving as he steps down from his platform to stand on even ground. “I think you need to know something about Earth-40081,” he says, stilling with his hands on his hips.

“Thought you wanted me to tell you about it,” Hobie halfway scoffs as he crosses his arms in tandem.

A small sigh hunches Miguel’s shoulders. “I’m not even going to try to argue with you, I just need you to listen.” Silence from the latter, though reluctant and accompanied by judgment, is enough indication of compliance for the former to continue. “Earth-40081’s period of bad luck isn’t just because of the anomaly.”

The statement catches something in the air, pulls a cord, twists a latch. Hobie’s brow furrows in sudden attention as the motion threads through him, as he receives the news. Something stirs in his chest, a pinball striking dials all the way up to his head. Explain, his gaze seems to say, with no attempt to disguise how pointed it becomes.

Miguel obliges—“The thing about Earth-40081,” he starts grimly, “is that it’s more delicate than the other dimensions. It runs on a linear line, a consistent path that everyone follows without deviation. It works like a routine, bound to a set of rules.”

A breath, a break elapses for a moment. Silence stews thick in the atmosphere in the time it takes, dragging comfort in conversation thin as it swirls. The back of Hobie’s head tingles with a suspicion he doesn’t want to pay attention to, especially with how Miguel’s expression seems to confirm it.

Unfortunately, O’Hara can’t read his thoughts. “One of these rules is the prohibition of the existence of the supernatural—which includes superpowered people,” the former continues, making room for the slightest downward tilt of his chin. “That’s the reason why 40081’s Peter Parker never developed powers after getting bit. And the rules are strict. If the dimension senses properties that go against it, it starts affecting the normal—the canon. Whether it be you or an anomaly, the longer interference continues, things are just going to get worse.”

“Why are you telling me this?” The query comes from Hobie just as the image of you flashes across his mind. It’s useless asking, really—he knows why, remembering how you confided in him, spilt all the details of your out-of-the-ordinary encounters with your environment. But when he asks himself the reason such a thing tumbled from his lips, he thinks back to how warm you were in his arms; he thinks about how vacant it feels just standing here. He wonders what it would be like to have never had you at all.

Miguel seems to somewhat share the sentiment. “I know what you’ve been doing.” A flicker of something bright red passes by his iris, but it doesn’t glow like anger. He stifles a grunt as he rolls his shoulder, fatigue in what looks like recollection catching up with him. “With your friend.”

Your laugh rings in Hobie’s ears, sweet and soundly. “What about the mission?”

“You finish the mission you were assigned, then you need to get out and stay out. Then things will go back to normal. It’s the best outcome.” Miguel’s jaw tightens, the tips of his talons unsheathing with the effort. His voice dips low, as worn as it’s ever been, gaze downcast to follow it. “You know that I’ve tried, Hobie.”

Maybe once Hobie would have something to say in the face of it before, a retort for respite, but it’s different this time. Grief claws at Miguel’s visage, teeth sunk far into the depths of him. It’s imperceptible to any untrained eye, but Hobie can make out the print of the smallest, tenderest hand that still lays steady upon his heart, staying with him during the day and haunting him throughout the night.

Despite it, Hobie tells himself in soundless reckoning that he’ll find a way, just as he always has.

But his silence feels like betrayal—once more is it taken as compliance.

“Hope can only sustain us for so long.” Miguel shifts to move back towards his platform, back now facing Hobie. “Then we move back to reality.”

You like to tell yourself there’s a positive to every negative.

The past week was highly irregular, spilled drinks, soiled clothes, angry customers and all, but you got a cute date and a kiss out of the effort, so it wasn’t a total loss. You keep reminding yourself of the sweetness of Hobie’s taste, the feel of his lips, the delicacy of his hold throughout all the moments of anger or disappointment that now seem to make themselves a new part of your routine; you remind yourself that things will get better because that’s the way things are, that for every bump in the road there’s a reward to reap at the end.

Perhaps you thought holding your ideology steadfast wasn’t for nothing today. It was normal—what you were used to, at the very least. You caught your train on time, managed to be punctual and pay attention in class, even got a drink on the house from your favorite spot.

Work was better than all the other shifts you’d taken in the past week. The shop’s daily regulars were tipped better today, wearing kind, pitying smiles. You assumed the purpose of the gesture tied into them witnessing how the customer the other day had made a hissy fit. You’d gotten over the outburst early on, but the extra cash sure helped seal the scars better.

Hours of calmly juicing fruits and veggies and making quinoa bowls turned the sky dark and soon enough you find yourself making one final sweep of the shop and clocking out your closing shift.

“See you!” your coworker bids with a wave, turning in the direction of their block.

A snick of a lock and a returned goodbye has you treading away from them and towards the path to your apartment, a sigh of relief pushing past your lips. The ache in your legs is the only thing keeping you from resolute peace, but the prospect of sinking down into your couch back home numbs the pain, if only by a little. Gratitude pricks at you when you recount the day, legs on autopilot as you walk—for the worries of adopting a bad routine that awoke you this morning, you’re glad that they were somewhat put to rest.

All that’s left is to get back safe, wash up, and melt into your mattress with the hope that tomorrow will herald the same kind of luck.

The notion keeps you complacent for the road you walk down an emptier avenue, lampposts sprinkled down the side to provide ample lighting for any person active at this hour. Perhaps you’d normally see other late workers coming home from their shifts, dragging their feet, some even having the spare energy to muster a greeting, to which you’d return, just as exhausted. But today, it’s only you that treads the concrete, dimly lit underneath dirty yellow in the city that never sleeps. Today, there is no company to address, no comparison to be made.

Today, you are strangely alone—or so your weary vacuity brings you to believe.

One step forward into the space just beyond a flickering streetlight brings about two things: a wince at the crick in your right ankle, and the click of hard metal right behind your head.

You—mind, body, blood, and soul—still.

“It’s loaded. Hand over your bag.” The demand is dark and deep, muffled by fabric but nonetheless whetted as it cuts you.

Fear is a rather merciful word to describe what runs through you in the absence of your tangible pulse. There’s no room to think or move or do much else, what space the sensation takes up. Gooseflesh raises across the back of your neck when you feel the rounded front of a pistol barrel press against your skull. It’s colder than the clamminess that envelops your hands, chills your spine straight.

“I’m not going to ask again. And if you scream, I’m shooting. Give me your bag.”

Curses don’t come easy—no words do, really. All you can focus on is the thought of how hot steel can get in the time it takes to fire a bullet, how warm the wound would be in the same place where such bitter metal bites. There’s this—terror—and then the conceptions of the smallest shred of hope that hasn’t drained from you yet—flashes of red, black, and blue carved in the shape of a spider.

The gun does not shake like you do, however. A ragged gasp tears through your chest when the weapon is shoved into you.

“Give me. Your fucking bag.”

Your vision blurs with tears as you feel a hand try to pry your arm away from what it clutches so desperately against your side. In a blink, your resistance has you wrestling with the figure behind you, against your better judgment, against the looming kiss of death to the bend of your head. Digits clamp over your mouth, smear oil against your lips to prevent them from parting, a knee delivers a swift impact to your ribs, an elbow gives your back a sickening crack—but pain means there’s a chance, pain lets you know your breath still tremors through your lungs. Nails dig into your cheeks as they moisten and burn but you grip whatever you can and pull.

Hobie, you plead silently.

“Fucking bitch!” Steel batters the back of your skull and fuzz appears where the clear road once was. A variation of the phrase spits from behind you when your teeth catch fingers that aren’t yours and bite down hard, also earning you the taste of blood on your upper lip as a palm slams back toward you.

Help! you think you scream in the flurry of pain and ache and cloudiness. Help me!

Hope fuels the invocation, whatever supply you’ve dug from the depths of yourself now untucked and bared in exchange for your life. For a moment, it seems like someone hears—a change in the wind, a rustle in the bushes—and your weakness loosens you. But when your bag comes away, the friction in the motion tearing skin from your arm, nothing gives back to the void you bore as you collapse, bloody, bruised, and blind.

Then there is silence. Silence without reason to rise, so you just lay there, waiting for the world to swallow you whole.

It takes a few minutes to realize that, after a while, a different presence has arrived, and you are not alone in the street.

Bergamot, plum, and sandalwood envelop the air around you as a gentle hold wraps you in an embrace. Your eyes only crack open to let out fresh tears, watercolor fractals painting the background in rhinestones. A sob—a sound—sears, serrated, through the length of your torso, from your quivering heart to your trembling gut.

The touch that graces you brushes all your points of hurt, familiar loving pressing the memories of affliction in such kindness it shakes you. It makes you forget you’re on the ground, bleeding from nose to chin, sitting in suffering with a pounding head and an empty bank of promise.

Somewhere along the line your lips find the feel of worn leather and smooth plastic, buried in buttons and a comforting bend of the body. Your fingers meet the edge of a shoulder, the curve of a chest, and latch on with reckless abandon, indifferent to the way spiked adornments dig into your skin.

When your cries subside into choked, stuttering breaths, you grip tighter. “Don’t leave,” rasps the heavy whisper that spouts from you. “Don’t leave me.”

There’s no new tension in Hobie’s hold when he receives the request. If anything, it only becomes softer—impossibly so, feather-light in binding the breaking bits of you together.

“I’m here,” he murmurs into your hair. “It’s alright.”

It’s enough to convince you for now, sniffling into the warmth of his collar.

After the affirmation, the trip to your apartment is wordless. Hobie doesn’t swing—he walks, arms supporting your figure as he carries you back the entire way. It’s a trail you’ve tread a hundred times but somehow when you think of trekking it alone again, consolation seems so distant.

At your apartment complex, you tell Hobie the code to your door, let him inside so he can set you on your couch. He pulls up a cushion for you to rest your head on and manages to find a first aid kit tucked away in the lower cabinet of your bathroom.

The first question comes after all the cracked and dried bits of blood and snot are rubbed off your face. “Do you want to talk?” he asks, voice hushed and tender.

A beat passes as you blink. “Got mugged,” you reply after, meeting his eye when his thumb caresses the crescent-shaped marks on your cheek. “Didn’t see their face but they had a gun and threatened to shoot. I fought a bit, but…” You bite the inside of your cheek, deciding to omit the part where you thought of Hobie. “But they took my bag. And everything in it.”

The man who’d plagued your thoughts then, now maskless and kneeling in front of you, sifts through some bandages in the white box he holds. He looks troubled, though you know he tries to hide it, judging by his half-cinched brows and subtle frown.

“It’s okay though,” you reason in an attempt to alleviate the tension. “I still have my phone in my pocket with my ID and license and my laptop’s in my room. Just lost some cards, cash, and a water bottle. I can always get new ones. Not the end of the world.”

Hobie’s fist clenches around a roll of gauze. “You had a gun to your head.” His tone is hardened, though the low volume of the phrase remains consistent to the query posed earlier—he’s holding back. “Don’t… You could’ve been killed.” He doesn’t miss the slight wince that passes by your face at the mention of what happened, and the wrinkles that etch his features only deepen.

“I know,” you murmur as he works to patch the scrapes on your joints. “But I wasn’t. And you’re here with me. And I’m okay.”

Hobie just sighs, moving on to place a cooling patch on the bridge of your nose and left eye to ease the swelling. He’s uncharacteristically quiet. The look of self-blame in contemplation is all too recognizable on him.

You try a smile in return, tilting your head to the side. “It’s okay,” you repeat, weakly reaching to massage his temple. “I got out alright. It’s not gonna happen again.”

His fingers linger on your face even when he finishes bandaging you, his eyes trailing across the same places his digits ghost.

Your hands slowly guide his lips to yours for a soft peck, open arms allowing him to slip around you and hug you close. Hobie’s chest touches yours as he leans forward, the slow, steady rhythm of his heartbeat beginning to align with the drum of your own the further you connect.

“What kinda chav am I to have you comforting me like I’m the one that needs it?” he mutters, a slight scoff lilting the sentence.

“A cute one,” you hum playfully, twisting a lock of his hair between your fingers. “But bad things happen. I think as a superhero, vigilante, activist, whatever you do call yourself, it’s to be expected. I’m just happy I’m okay, and that you’re here with me.”

You press a kiss to the space between his brows, then two more on both his eyelids. Your smile grows when you feel his shoulders relax, a breath easing out of him.

“Just stay with me for now,” you murmur, nuzzling further into him as he joins you on the couch. You feel his lips on your forehead before being drawn into a cradle of legs and limbs.

The rest of the night is spent in Hobie’s arms, safe and warm, until you feel the tug of slumber pull you under.

When you wake up, you’re in your bed, tucked into layers of cushy blankets with a fresh, frosty ice pack resting on your bedside table.