#cw: vomit mention

[queenoftheimps]

Is this the same bar where Grant listened to Alicia Keys having diarrhea, because I live in New York City and want to visit the landmark of so much Grant O'Brien chaos

[moonbeamwritings]

this is for my migraine girlies and my migraine girlies ONLY

warnings: nausea description and vomit mention

Tonight was supposed to be fun, you think bitterly as you slump into a free seat on the train. Instead, the second you sat down at the restaurant hours earlier, a drink in hand and food on the way, you felt the familiar, creeping pain of a migraine start to settle behind your eyes. Naively, you thought it wouldn’t be too bad. You thought that with food and a glass or two of water under your belt, you’d be fine, that the dull ache in your head would subside.

But oh, how wrong you were. The dull throb wormed its way deeper and deeper into your temples until you found that even the crisp night air on the walk to the movie theater around the corner did little to ease the nauseous feeling making its home in the pit of your stomach. You knew you should tell Tetsurou that you weren’t feeling well — you knew that he’d understand; but you hadn’t had a date night in weeks, and you couldn’t bring yourself to dull the sparkle in his eyes as you sat down in the theater. He’d been waiting for this movie to come out for months, and you couldn’t bring yourself to cut the night short.

The bright screen and the thundering sound effects only worked to exacerbate your symptoms, leaving you rubbing at your temples and willing your stomach to settle for nearly the entire runtime. And as you made your way back to the train station, you faked conversation as best you could.

“That was awesome!” Tetsurou announced excitedly, moving your intertwined hands through the space between you as he analyzed the different scenes and characters.

“Oh she was my favorite,” you chime in, forcing a smile as your head seemed to be splitting in two. “She was definitely cooler in this one than in the last one!”

“Right!?”

Riding the train was pure torture, your stomach flips and turns, your vision swimming as images and buildings flash by the windows. You bounce your leg in a feeble attempt to distract yourself.

“Hey,” Tetsurou questions from his spot in front of you, a finger tapping against the crown of your head as his other hand holds the railing to steady himself. “You alright, angel? You look pale.”

You close your eyes for a moment as another pang of pain washes over your forehead, feeling as if an axe is being driven through your skull. Weakly, you force yourself to nod. “Mm, I’m alright.”

His palm rests flat on your head before he gently ruffles your hair. The motion and the warmth of his hand gives you a brief flash of relief. You sigh at the feeling. “Feeling tired?”

“Mhm.”

Tetsurou eyes you carefully, his hand migrating down to stroke your cheek. His brows furrow when he catches your gaze, and seeming to sense that something isn’t right, he replies, “We’re almost home, okay?”

Almost there, you think, counting the remaining stops in your head.

4... 3... 2... 1...

The long, agonizing minutes between your stop and the one before it have you bouncing your leg faster, sweat starting to bead along your brow. You felt hot and shaky all at once, like you were about to crawl out of your skin. Your tongue flashes out to wet your dry lips. If I don’t get off this train now, you think with clenched teeth, I’ll be throwing up in public tonight. You squeeze your eyes shut when the train pulls up to your stop, and you feel unsteady on your feet as Tetsurou guides you to the platform, a comforting hand resting against the small of your back.

Your apartment is a short walk from the station, going by quickly as you’re too focused on steadying your stomach to pay much attention to the familiar path along the sidewalk, through the lobby, and up in the elevator. When you finally, finally, reach your apartment, your hands shake as you try to get the key in the lock. Tears of frustration and pain start to well in your eyes.

“Hey,” Tetsurou calls gently, taking the key from your hand, “Let me get it, okay? Are you sure you’re alright?”

With the comfort of your apartment waiting just behind a single, locked door, and with Tetsurou’s soft, caring voice washing over you, you finally break. The migraine that had been mounting all night has now reached its peak and you finally allow yourself to cry.

Tetsurou is quick to push the door open and bring you inside, pulling you into a hug that keeps your head tucked just beneath his chin. “Oh, angel.” He coos sweetly, rubbing your back. “What’s wrong?”

You’re dragged into a vicious loop, where the tears make your head throb more, which causes even more tears. You feel pathetic and childish when you know you shouldn’t, hating to be doted on for something that you should’ve been prepared for — you feel like the image of a child, tired and unwell, telling their parents they’ve just thrown up.

“I have the worst migraine, Tetsu.” It’s a meek response, one that has your breath fanning his neck and your eyes clenching shut.

He tuts, squeezing you closer. “Sweetheart, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Didn’t wanna ruin date night.”

“You wouldn’t have ruined a thing.” He kisses your hairline once, twice. “I’m sorry.”

“‘s not your fault.”

He breaks away to lead you down the hall, your vision spotting as you manage to lower yourself to the edge of your bed. Tetsurou doesn’t let you lift a finger — taking your shoes off for you, changing you into your pajamas before leaving you in the dark, quiet embrace of your bedroom.

“I’ll be back.” It’s a promise that leaves you aching for his return, and when he finally does, he drops migraine medication and a cold glass of water into your palms.

“Take those and then we’ll try to get some sleep, okay?”

It takes you a while to settle once you’re beneath the covers, feeling hot and cold all at once as your head pounds. Before Tetsurou joins you, he presses a cool compress to your head, just how you like it. The room is pitch black and deathly quiet when he finally crawls into bed, his hand finding yours beneath the sheets. His thumb traces a pattern along your skin, a welcome distraction from the pain.

“Is there anything else I can do?” His voice is barely above a whisper, and even in the darkness you can sense the softness in his gaze.

“No, thank you.”

That night, you’re up and down, making frequent treks to the bathroom to feel the cool tile beneath your thighs and linger by the edge of the toilet bowl. Bile rises and falls in your throat, but it never comes. Tears of frustration and discomfort travel down the apples of your cheeks as you lean back against the tub. Tetsurou comes to sit beside you, a hand on your thigh.

“Tetsu, it’s late,” you remind him, your head on his shoulder, eyes closed as you will the nausea to subside.

“I know, but I can’t sleep if you’re not feeling well.”

He sits beside you on the bathroom floor through the dry heaving and the threat of vomit, uncaring that you’re a sweaty, shivering mess. When you feel well enough to stand, he guides you back to bed and coaxes you into his arms.

The silence is broken by the sound of a hum that you can feel rumble through his chest. “I love you.”

You can feel it. You can feel it in the way Tetsurou’s arm tugs you close to his chest, can feel it in the ginger way he speaks and the tender way he’d prepped you for bed. No boyfriend had ever even tried to care for you like this, had ever spent an hour sitting next to you on the bathroom floor. Love seeps into your blood just as the medication does, and you know you’ll feel better in the morning as long as he’s by your side.

You kiss the column of his throat once, nuzzling your nose against his skin. “I love you, too.”

[ansicred]

open your eyes | platonic hurt-comfort/angst

Art's in some serious trouble, Frank helps him out. setting: A hotel room, half-way through Black Dogs Tour, in June 1985 characters involved: Frank & Art (featuring James). warnings: tw: overdose (implied) , cw: mention of vomit, cw: mention of throwing up

[howdyneighborr]

closed starter for ->@friendscfmine; stan

The gentle whoosh of running water splashing against the cool enamel of the sink all but deafened Kyle to the world outside of his peripheral; and even the space just outside his very narrow line of sight felt hazy to him, at best. The sound filled and crashed against his eardrums as tension crawled up his neck and seized the back of his skull with a sharp twinge. A headache brought on by nerves and anxiety threatened him with incapacitation. Which only served to frustrate his hurried movements even further. 

Panic squeezed its tight fist around his heart, forcing his blood to pump faster and harder. His hands flitted nervously from the sink, to Stan's head, to the back of his own neck, to Stan's hair again to readjust his head, and finally back to the sink as he scrambled for a towel or cloth—dirty, clean, anything—to sop up the pale yellow bile leaking from the corner of his semi-conscious best friend's open mouth. He had propped the shorter man up on the toilet in a rush after hauling his body through the house and up the stairs; knowing, at the very least, he had to make sure Stan remained mostly upright—in case any secondary round of rebuff gushed forth. Stan wouldn't choke to death on his own poor decisions. Not on Kyle's watch.

A clipped sputter caught Kyle's attention; his red curls flourished as his head whipped in Stan's direction. His hair settled over his face with a soft bounce and he quickly pushed the front locks out of his face. Not the time for regretting the attempt to grow his hair out. The round of the other boy's head had settled against the toilet tank's lid. Shit. Stan choked again. Shit. Kyle finally moved; he hadn't even realized the shock and fear had triggered a freeze response. He twisted his left fist in the front of Stan's shirt and yanked his torso forward, snapping Stan's head in the same direction so the vomit sliding down his windpipe would be able to safely exit his esophagus instead. In the same action with his right hand, Kyle slammed his palm against the stainless steel knob, cutting the faucet off just as the surface tension of the water broke and flooded the countertop. 

Once the room filled with silence in the absence of the overflowing, cacophonous sink, his heart rate began to scale down rapidly and he breathed a heavy fucking sigh of relief. Warmth and wetness glissaded down his left forearm. Putrid, acidic vapors rose to burn his nostrils and panic immediately took him again. His slathered arm dripped with the frothy, jaundiced ex-contents of Stan's gut.

He screamed in disgust, "Stan!!"

[seven-circlllxs]

[GLOW | ❤️] A glow appears from your chest when you first meet your soulmate. - @e-m-p-error (Fizz to Ozzie?)

_- Soulmate Prompts -_

(@e-m-p-error)

Mammon asking him for favors was really nothing new. But this, this was.. Different. Ozzie had been prototyping limbs for Mammon's newest sex toys, working on making new dolls, the usual, when the greenest Sin had contacted him in a panic, blabbering about how his newest brand baby had exploded in the worst way, and do ya think your robo-parts could work as more than doll parts? He reasoned that this fell under the confines of their weird not-contract but also not-not-a-contract of "helping to spread both their sins at once," and so he gathered opposite arms and legs, bundled them into a first aid bag (borrowed long-term from Belphegor), and made his way up into Greed, to Mammon's money-pit state of the art, totally not exploitative hospital. The halls were less than shining, not at all like Belphie's finely polished hospital wings, and tinged with Greed signature money-and/or-vomit green. Asmodeus' heels clicked down the hall, led by nonsense signs that pointed all sorts of directions. He glanced absently at his phone where Mams had texted the room number, and came to the conclusion that he needed to get his ass all the way to the top floor.

Of course.

The elevator was cramped, even with his being in a smaller form, and the slow crawl of the machine's ascent made him feel trapped. When the doors finally opened, Ozzie stalked through the halls and past the leech-demons in nurses uniforms, until he finally stumbled into a room with the curtains drawn and the sick sounds of someone nervously snacking as they waited.

He barely was able to acknowledge that Mammon was speaking to him as the Sin of Lust approached the hospital bed, inspecting the traumatized form swaddled in a cocoon of blankets and bedding. His face was small, his horns mangled, any visible skin scarred white save for a tiny spot on his mouth, giving him a little beak-shaped marking.

Asmodeus knelt at the side of the bed, eyes wide and soft, the bag full of limbs handed over to Mammon in a sort of trance. Nothing else in the room mattered, not right now..

The soft, swirling pinkish-purple glow that poured out from the little imp's chest and the vibrant blue-neon that emanated from his own, the vibrant swirl of light that grew between them filled Oz with all sorts of emotions, confusing emotions that he hadn't thought he was allowed to share.

He hadn't thought he had a true soulmate, not a love.

When Asmodeus' voice finally found him again, it was hoarse, tentative, awed.

"Mams? What's.. What's his name..?"

[beyuji]

[ ** tw/cw: allusions to homophobia, mentions of gaslighting, vomit mention ]

                                                                  ( 2012 ) yuji remembers-- she had been surrounded by her friends when a boy approached her. he had a chocolate bar and a single flower with a letter. presented it to her with a smile that made her friends giggle behind and push at her back. yuji remembers smiling, bowing her head and taking the things with given thanks. remembers how excited he had been, her friends had been; remembers talking about it with yubin and her mom that night at dinner. how happy they had been. your first confession, yubin had teased. wow, that’s impressive. 

yuji hadn’t found it impressive. in fact, at the end of it, she just felt bad that she wasn’t excited about it.

she doesn’t tell anyone, but she finds the boy the next day at school and says sorry, but she doesn’t like anyone. he had taken it well, but he avoided her afterwards. yuji remembers thinking it had been for the best. 

                                                                  ( 2014 )  a girl in her class invites her over. a sleepover to celebrate exams finally being over. and it was, in a sense. yuji didn’t know all of them, but the few she did grabbed onto her hands and tugged her down between them to sit in a circle. yuji remembers vividly, sitting there-- tight lipped and staring down at the bottle they’re spinning. tenses when it passes over her and doesn’t breathe until it goes right past her. 

until it doesn’t. 

the boy is nice, at least. he seems just as nervous too-- but not as much as yuji felt in the moment, being led by her friends to a closet and tucked away with a boy she doesn’t even know his name.

he’s nice at least. he kisses her once, twice. they’re simple pecks and it’s-- a kiss. there’s not much to make of it. he doesn’t push much past that and merely just stands there nervously making conversation as yuji smiles and nods, fingers curled into the hem of her skirt so he doesn’t see how they shake. saves face until they’re freed from the closer so yuji can dart out and escape to the bathroom. 

she’s hunched over the toilet, feeling sick to her stomach and low, low, low--  scrambling to dial her sister to come pick her up because she’s going to throw up.                                                                   ( 2015 ) 

she’s new. they’re assigned course mates so yuji can help the new student settle. she’s kind, nervous in a way that yuji finds endearing. it all falls in place after that; walls become knocked down and she slides her way in through yuji’s defenses. becomes something precious and close-- uttered secrets and dreams and goals yuji wouldn’t say in the same room as her family. 

it starts gradually, then it comes all at once. stuttered breaths and hands held outside of seeing eyes. lingering touches and longing stares, whispers and shared breaths under the guise of why not? it was easy. it was thrilling. it’s a euphoria that yuji clings to and thinks is far better than the monochrome of daily life and being held at unbearably high expectations. 

it’s yubin and yuji in the car when she brings it up. when she lays her heart bare for support, for blessing, for reassurance that hey, you’re okay. 

she’ll never forget the shadow that crosses her older sister’s face. her hesitation and the avoidance of her eyes. the start of shame that curls in her gut and makes her shy away. yubin doesn’t outright shun her away, but the words i wouldn’t bring this up to father ring in her ears. the tension in the car is so thick, but yuji doesn’t say a single word on the way back.

she doesn’t bring it up to father. yuji doesn’t bring it up to anyone. leaves it precious and secret, safe kept between yuji and her. in a world of their own, there are no worries. it feels good to be. 

it’s a heart that begins to beat. it’s eyes that begin to see. it’s dreams that begin to become unveiled. and yuji is only human. young and impressionable and rebellious and wanting. 

she falls and she falls. until she’s grasping at the walls and trying to claw herself out.                                                                   ( 2016 ) it’s the shame she remembers. shame and fear-- under the stare of her father and her frozen body sitting next to her. both silent, waiting for the break. waiting for the storm to come. yuji’s eyes are seeking her out of her peripherals but her eyes are on the ground. staring. unmoving. head bowed in shame. two in the same. 

the disappointment in her father’s stare. the impassive expression on his face but his eyes pinned them still. they said everything, they didn’t say enough. 

i wouldn’t bring this up to father, yubin’s words echo in her ears. now she understands why. their father has never been scary, not before; but now, yuji is terrified. held down in place by a stare that’s filled with disappointment, incredulity and disgust that’s clear as day. 

her father’s always had a way with words. yuji can’t ever recall a time where he’s raised his voice, but he speaks sometimes in a way that’s biting. both tone and choice of phrasing. he’s always known the best ways to get under her skin-- the best way to make her feel as terrible as he wants her to feel.

she doesn’t look at yuji. when her father dismisses her, yuji’s left staring at her back. there are no words, no hesitation-- just dismissal and easy obedience. it makes yuji angry. makes her sick to her stomach. 

you’re not that kind of girl. you’ll thank me later.  you know better, don’t you? that’s not normal. 

                                                           it was real to me. and even when she avoids yuji’s stares. tugs her hands away when yuji pulls her aside days later and asks her why. hears the same iteration of words her father had carved into her memory. it feels even worse hearing out of her mouth. yuji isn’t certain this is love, but her heart certainly feels shattered like is should be when she walks off and leaves her. it’s twice now, to watch her back while yuji feels like the ground’s been pulled out beneath her feet. it’s not what we want, she says. it was just a phase, right. we don’t know what we’re doing. 

frustration scratches at her insides. anger and irritation-- feeling at her breaking point of being fed up with people telling her what she’s supposed to feel. she’s always expected to smile and bow her head in compliance. but she’s sick of it.

                                                                  ( 2019 )

yuji tries not to think about her. she learns to smile convincingly, even if her nails are biting holes into her palms to keep her true face at bay. she does what she’s asked of her and nothing more, nothing less. takes the freedom when it’s given and tastes the fresh air on her own, for the first time. without the intimidating stare of her father or the controlling clutches of her mother.

she doesn’t think about her and everything that’s happened. not until she has to-- not until she’s forced to. it happens, though, for the better or for the worse. it isn’t much, but it’s enough.

all it takes is a cross of paths. she doesn’t even see yuji at first, but yuji certainly sees her. she remembers her smile, the curve of her eyes and the slope of her nose. remembers the blush on her cheeks and the sound of her laughter in her ears. it’s music, a melody yuji will never forget. 

and it’s hard to not look away, especially when she’s smiling and laughing, hands intertwined with someone yuji doesn’t know. it hurts even more that it’s a boy, and it hurts twice as much when she catches yuji’s gaze and holds it for a moment.

it’s recognition. it’s fear. it’s regret, and for a moment it’s longing.  it’s a lot of things that both make yuji want to sink into the ground and disappear, and run forward towards her. 

and then it’s nothing. she breaks her gaze and turns her back. this time, it doesn’t hurt as the first and second time. it’s expectation, no matter how disappointing. it’s closure. a final page as the book closes.                                                         ( it will always be real to me. )

[mastermagician332]

Vent post because I could use any feedback the world can offer right now

Cw: period mentions, vomit mentions, Covid mentions, diabetes and discussion of illness in general

Since I got Covid at the end of last year I've been struggling with a weird, unexpected symptom that I hear isn't as uncommon as I initially thought: my bloodsugar is a wild animal right before my period starts. Diabetes is common in my family so I've been taking measures to monitor my own situation at home and track the good and bad days, leading to what follows.

In the week before, I've noticed this pattern of happenstances repeating itself.

I'll have a sleepless night. This often includes leg cramps, feeling like I'm feverish, general discomfort without a clear cause and my brain just will not shut down.

When I do finally sleep, I wake up nauseous, feeling light headed and shakey. Typically this is the sign that my bloodsugar took a nose dive during the night, and I always test when these symptoms start to make sure I handle it accordingly.

It cannot be avoided: I will vomit at least once. It doesn't matter if water is all I've had or a meal to boost myself back up. In the first 3 hours of being awake, my body is going to launch a protest that seems very counterproductive to getting what it needs.

The rest of the day I will struggle with dizziness and fatigue that typically lessens over the day, with the help of the determination to eat and refuel.

This is the frustrating part: It will either signal the start of my period, or it will rinse-lather-repeat until it does.

Its so hard to tell if this is a hormone issue, a bloodsugar issue or both? And being seen for it is a joke, I have been turned away for these same symptoms and told its just sleep deprivation, eat something and sleep and I'll be fine. And I mean kinda? But that doesn't give me answers on why these things keep happening the way they do. Why its timed so perfectly with the shift of chemicals in my body. And calling out from work once a month is a terrible idea, I need solutions.

I have ADHD and have to set reminders to eat.

Sometimes when I lay down at night my brain becomes a loud, anxiety powered hamster wheel that won't let me sleep.

I try my best to stay on top of it and still have crash days.

The worst of it is feeling like I'm perceived as lazy by my peers when I have the those days. If I had a dollar for every time I've been told its my own fault that I don't sleep well I could probably buy Tumblr. Nothing fits the saying "kick them while they're down" like telling someone with a chronic illness that its their fault for having it at all, that they did it to themselves. I don't choose sleepless nights or rough mornings, they happen against my efforts to prevent them.

I feel like I'm rambling here but if you've read this far, and have experienced anything like it, or even know someone who does, I'd love to hear from you. I'm currenly typing this from my recovery nest after another bad morning so if someone out there has advice I'm all ears.

[snakegentleman]

CW: Vomiting

So, I woke up 5 months ago and puked every 20 minutes for 5 hours straight with the scary accuracy of a fucked up clock. I don’t really remember much from that experience but I do distinctly remember two things:

1. Describing my vomit in detail to my increasingly grossed out mother while my bestie, sitting on the bathroom floor with me, egged me on

2. Turning on Andor on my iPad and dissecting it scene by scene out loud to my bestie and therapist(my captive audience) between vomiting sessions

Anyway, 0/10 experience, would not recommend

[bugsinapocket]

Finally finished hhh

Reblogs appreciated!!💕💕

[alyustailum]

Ugh happy hanksgiving might throw up in a minute

[incognitopolls]

We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.

[the-kr8tor]

Once More to See You

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 8.4k

Synopsis: Like Alice in wonderland, you accidentally fall to another universe where everything is different from your universe, including your best friend, Hobie Brown. Will you be able to come home to your best friend before you get ripped apart molecule by molecule? Or will you fail and leave the love of your life wondering where you are for the rest of his life?

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, No specific physical description of the reader, CW Blood, CW violence, TW death, CW injury, CW vomit mention. Bestfriends to lovers (speedrun edition), established relationship, Hurt/comfort, Angst.

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Masterlist

Eyes almost crossed, back hunched and aching, you tinker at the tiny components of the inter dimensional watch Hobie started putting together. He brought it to you last night with a paper bag filled with your favourite takeout to bribe you in helping him. “It's for emergencies,” he said, “I don't trust that vampire from the future,” he grumbled in between bites of chips.

The soft music from your record player filters through the dimly lit room, save for your work lamp, the sun is just about setting in the horizon. You have the perfect view of the expansive London skyline just outside your window. It's a foggy day, clouds hanging above like cotton balls, fluffy and grey— rain's coming, you surmise from the unmistakable smell of petrichor. It's already raining somewhere, you think. And you worry immediately for him since he's still on patrol. Did he bring a raincoat with him at least? But knowing him, he'd just swing around while there's a downpour. And when you scold him while he's dripping wet, soaking your carpet, he'd just shrug and say, ‘I looked bloody good at it though’ to which you'd scoff, but secretly agree.

Distracted, you poke at the wrong wire with your metal pliers, a spark from the main power source shocks you, flinching and yelping, you check for any damages on your fingertips.

“Should've worn rubber gloves, love.” Hobie's sudden whisper in your ear makes you jump out of the stool, goosebumps appearing on your arms as he catches you before you land harshly on your back. “Got you. Maybe you should invent seatbelts on barstools, hm? You'd make a fortune from pubs alone. No more drunkards falling face first.” He jokes, arm snaked along your back, hand splayed over your ribs, and face dangerously close to your own.

You decide to quip back as revenge for making you almost fall. “I would invent it if you weren't dropping so many projects on my lap.” Still floating above the floors with the help from his hold, he fakes letting you go. You squeak, hands instinctively flying to his shoulders for support. Maybe you shouldn't have teased him when he's the only one standing between you and a bump on your head. “You little—”

He raises a pierced brow, “what'd you say again, love?” His mischievous smirk tells you that he's about to do it again, so you surrender. How could you fight him when he looks at you like you're the only person in the world that's worthy of his touch?

Lips clamping down, you still glare at him despite the overwhelming fondness for the man holding you in place.

“That's what I thought.” Chuckling, he sits you upright back on the stool, he even fixes your shirt for you. “There, lookin' mighty fit today, why are you all dressed up?”

It's your turn to quirk an eyebrow, “dressed up? Hobs I basically live in this shirt.” He unabashedly roams his eyes over to the old band shirt that he made himself once upon a time. “Bold of you to assume I have some place to go.” You say even with the searing heat from your cheeks, and clammy hands.

“We could go,” Hobie shrugs, hiding his sudden shyness, you have that effect on him. “There's a new building we could swing to, if we go now we could still catch the sunset.” He inches closer, hand smoothing down the goosebumps on your arms.

“It's gonna rain, Hobs.”

“How'd you know? You a weather girl now?”

“I can smell it, and also my knees feel it.”

“What are you eighty?” He says with a laugh. “Does that make you a cradle snatcher?” Half joking, he really wishes that you'd get the hint.

Eleven years of friendship and counting, you still haven't crossed that invisible line between friendship and something more. It's not from the lack of trying from Hobie's end, no, he has told you a few times that he fancied you, more than a best friend would. But you're too afraid to say it back, to say or even scream that you fancy him, or love him is the better way to put it. But you're afraid that it might not work out, that friendship is the best thing for the both of you, that all the longing looks thrown between you, and all the lingering touches were all just attraction because you've known each other for basically forever; and the feeling wouldn't last once you do get together.

You don't want to risk your friendship only for it to end in tears and heartache. No, you love him too much to hurt him like that, and he knows it too.

He was more bold with his feelings for you a few years before, years before he was bitten and was given the heavy responsibilities. But now that he bears the title of Spider-man, he's starting to think having a romantic relationship with you while he's tangled up in all the danger he faces everyday, isn't such a great idea. So his advances are much less now, Hobie just misses you, he suppose, that's probably why he asked for your help with his own batch of watches even though he can handle it on his own while he's blindfolded. An excuse to just see you, an excuse to be in your presence. Because if you can't be together, he'd settle for staying like this forever, just best friends.

Best friends who unequivocally love each other, best friends who are waiting for the right time. Even if it means waiting for forever.

You smile softly, knowing that his joke is a half wish. “That means you're a coffin snatcher then.”

Hobie leans closer, hands on top of your table that's behind you, arms caging you in. You can smell the leather on him, and the usual scent he sports when he's particularly in a good mood. You'd know, you gifted the cologne to him. He thinks you're uncomfortable because of the position, he was about to move away but you remedy that with a smile, and with your hand placed on the back of his elbow. He can feel how your pulse hammers against your skin.

“C’mon, love, the view's pretty up there.” His view right now can't compare though.

“I can see the view from here, besides, I still have work to do.”

He tilts his head, an act he knows you can't resist. “I’ll swing you back home quicker than you can say ‘cougar’” you laugh, eyes crinkling in the corners, and he thinks your smile is better than any sunset he has ever seen. “You've been cooped up in here for too long. When was the last time you've seen the sun—?” You open your mouth for a quip but he beats you to it, “not including seeing it from your windows.” Nodding, he raises both eyebrows, looking at you through his long lashes.

For a moment he thought you'd agree, that you bought into his charms. But you clear your throat, moving away, lips tightly closed like you refuse to spill any secrets. Or spill out a confession. I don't want to ruin this, you think, if I go, what would happen up there? Your mind runs through a thousand scenarios, a consequence of your genius mind. It's not all good, you suppose, and you're sure that whatever happens on top of that skyscraper, you'll never come back from it.

You love him, you really do, but he has a heavy burden to carry. You don't want to add to it. Leaning to the side, still sitting on the stool, he instinctively hovers his hand close to your side, just in case you fall off again.

“I fixed the problem on your watch by the way.” Changing the subject is good, changing the subject means you don't have to face reality.

“Yeah?” He acts nonchalant, yet, there's a lump in his throat that threatens to choke him. It's not all your fault, he thinks. All the tiptoeing around each other, all the heavy side glances aren't all your fault, it's his too. He might've faced a hundred or so dangers but he can't seem to find the courage to finally say those three magic words. Jaw tightening, he's not mad at you, he's mad at himself.

“Your initial power source didn't have enough juice. Hence why it can't generate the right particles for inter dimensional travel.”

Hobie leans on the table, hand still close to your waist, eyes roaming intently at your handiwork. You're good, too good at making these watches, even better than Miguel could be. Or he's just biased. You made it look good too, even with the hodgepodge of materials he gave you.

“You figured that out in less than twenty four hours?” He's in awe of you, he could've thought of that, but it would've taken him a tad longer. “Fuckin' brilliant,” he says under his breath.

You raise your chin proudly, “I did, it was easy-peasy.” It was not, you barely slept because you couldn't sleep not while this huge glaring problem sits at your work table. If it needs fixing, you're gonna get it fixed within the day or you think you'll crumble into dust. Especially if it's Hobie asking for help.

Hobie beams, he's incredibly proud of you, but, “you crossed your lines, love. If you want me to catch on fire then you did it brilliantly.”

“What?” Your smug smile melts, eyes scanning the colourful wires. Shoulders sagging, you glare at him. “No, it's not.”

“Yes it is,” chuckling, he takes your hand to guide and point it out for you. “Right there. Between the cooling system and the red wires.”

Eyes narrowed, nose wrinkling, he smiles at your cute expression. “I can't see— oh.” You see it, the mess of wires lies just under the new power source that you were so proud of. “Fuck.”

“You owe me,” Hobie pokes your side.

“No, I don't. Not all of us have super eyesight.”

“Really? Blamin’ my poor eyes?” Hobie widens his hazel eyes, brilliant swirls of colours mesmerize you.

“Your eyes are far from poor.” You shove his face away from you gently, smiling, you laugh at his fake glare. “Don't you have to patrol, spiderman?”

He surrenders, huffing, he takes his mask from his back pocket to put it back on his head. “Fine, just make sure to fix your wires, I don't want to come back to a crater the next time I visit.”

“I'll uncross them, don't worry. I'm not an amateur, y'know.”

Hobie pats your shoulder for now, maybe he'll pay you a visit again tonight just to make sure your flat didn't turn into ashes. You call him back before he could exit through your fire escape.

“Be careful, please?” Your worried tone makes him turn back around to face you. You imagine that he's at least smiling under his mask. “Just…I have no idea what to do with your watch if you suddenly croak.”

“Always so bloody sweet,” walking back towards you, he grins even though you can't see it. Your worries make you reach towards him. Holding him by the lapels of his leather jacket, you trace the little stitches he made. His spider senses tingle, and he hears how your heart quickens. “I'll be fine, yeah? Don't worry ‘bout me.”

“You know I'll always worry.” You whisper.

“I know, I'm like that too when it comes to you.” Your breath hitches in your throat. He shuts his senses down so he can't hear how fast your pulse thumps, or how you weakly swallow down your nerves. “Why don't I come back here tonight, ease that genius mind of yours.” He pokes your forehead, you nod. “Good, I'll bring takeout, that isn't instant ramen. Seriously, love, that shit ain't good for you.”

“It's tasty though.”

“You'll get kidney stones.” He begins to walk backwards, so he could still see your face as he goes. For some reason, he doesn't want to go. But he suppose that he always has this feeling whenever he visits.

“I've got a clean kidney,” you softly smile, waving goodbye, hoping that he comes back to you in one piece just like always.

“Sure you do,” one leg after the other, he exits from the window until you're staring into your open window and until his lingering scent fades.

“Right,” you sigh, slapping your cheeks to stay in the present, then turning around to continue your work.

For an hour you painstakingly untangle the wires with your tweezers, minutes turn into hours, and your empty stomach grumbles. Lower back aching once again. For a second you're just about finishing it, then a spark lights up, then a blinding explosion of colours.

You should've worn rubber gloves.

—

Hobie swings casually towards your flat, it's a lot harder to swing with one hand while the other holds onto the plastic bag filled with your favourite. Smiling under his mask, wind blowing towards him, buildings whizz past as he increases his speed.

The smell of smoke hits his nose. Then puffs of black tar greets him where your flat used to be.

Heart in his stomach. He lands on the pavement less gracefully, the bag slipping through his trembling fingers.

A crowd watches on at the burning building, pieces of glass lay under his boots, crunching as he stands frozen on the spot. His eyes roam for your familiar face, around the people that watch the blaze, grief curls around his throat when he doesn't find you amidst the throng of strangers. It slowly suffocates him.

Your name spills out of his lips, hoping with every utterance of your name you'll emerge unscathed. He feels dizzy.

A firefighter notices him. Hope blossoms in his chest when Hobie turns towards the uniformed man. But the forlorn face the man sports under the soot covering his skin says it all. “There's no survivors!” He yells above the sirens, Hobie crumbles to his feet. “There's no survivors. You're too late, Spiderman.”

He's too late. His ears ring, he could only hear the crackling of the fire whilst it eats away at you. Charred wood collapses, nose stinging from the smoke, vision blurry as tears silently fall.

You're gone. And all that's left of you are ashes that float down towards him like grotesque snowflakes. Sticking to his suit, heat clinging to his skin.

It's too soon, he had a lifetime with you. A sudden burst of rain pelts at him. You were right, rain was coming.

He should've tried harder to convince you to go out.

—

A swirl of neon colours whizz past as you fall into the kaleidoscope depths. Scream stuck in your throat, hand stinging from how you grip the watch, or what's left of it. It's now in your hand, jagged metal pieces piercing your skin. There's a light at the end of the tunnel, bracing yourself, you fall on the harsh concrete. The portal spits you out feet first, skidding across, body tumbling on the ground. You're otherwise unharmed despite the harsh landing.

Eyes adjusting in the light, you blink rapidly, shielding your eyesight from the intense sun.

Wait, the sun? Wasn't it sunset a few minutes ago?

Sitting up, you roam your eyes around where you landed. The familiar London skyline is to your right, while on your left are buildings you can't seem to recognize no matter how you try to remember.

“I don't think I'm in Kansas anymore.” You say, full of bewilderment. The watch worked, but in the way you wanted it to.

The roof where you landed on is dirty, full of abandoned broken furniture. Pots upon pots of dead plants stacked on top of the other. Good thing there isn't any broken glass or you'd be bleeding.

Propping yourself up, you stand up on two wobbly feet. Stomach churning, vision warbling, you think you're about to be sick. You can't believe Hobie does this on a daily basis.

You inhale sharply, trying to compose yourself and the instant ramen in your stomach. “Oh fuck.” Exhaling, you calm yourself down. Heart finally steadying to a normal rhythm, you sigh before you check the remains of the cracked watch in your hand. “Shit!” The broken pieces fall off from your palm as you look at it. “I'm fucked!”

Like a child throwing a tantrum, you kick a cardboard box, it soars across the roof. Groaning loudly, you stomp on the ground as if it was its fault that you're in another dimension.

You felt it before it happened. Something spreads inside you, like a bolt of lightning has struck you. The sensation starts from the crown of your head to your fingertips, goosebumps appearing on your skin, you glitch for only a second but it's enough to give you motion sickness.

“Oh my fuck—!” A blast from behind you reverberates, wind rushing around you, whipping your searing skin. “What the—?”

If being stuck in an alternative universe wasn't enough, a guy wearing huge mechanical wings is approaching you quickly. Too quickly.

Before you could duck, the cackling vulture grabs you from the roof. Lifting you up, the whiplash from his momentum almost breaks your neck.

“Got you!” He laughs in your ears, metallic claws digging into your biceps. A black slithering blob weaves around his bicep, crawling up to your own like a slimy worm.

“What the hell, old man!” You scream above the noisy exhaust of his wings. “Let me go! I was literally just standing there!”

He clicks his tongue, like he's chastising a child. “No, no, no, not until he gives me what I want. Then I'll think about letting you go, but it's a long drop.”

“Who—?” As he says the word ‘drop’ you look down, vertigo making you nauseous. You must be a hundred feet above the streets. You wish Hobie was here to save you. Tears in your eyes, panic sets in, making your hands tremble and your chest desperately heave in air.

A flash of red and black, a harsh crack of bone, and a splash of something warm on your cheek, you fall from the vulture’s hold.

Gasping, reaching for something, anything to hold onto, you get snatched up before you turn into a bloody street pancake.

A strong arm envelops you as you hug tighter, face hiding away from the harsh winds. Clinging onto the stranger, they seem oddly familiar under your touch. They smell familiar too, like your nose is so used to it that you can recognize it above anything else. Leather and bergamot, the scent he wears when he's in a good mood.

You raise your head to take a peek at your savior. The spikes on his head are dark and swirly, like an evil unicorn's horn. They don't shine in the sunlight anymore, it's the same deep shade as his mask. He no longer bears the resemblance of your Hobie. He feels like him, smells like him, even the warmth spreading to you is the same. There's a deep familiarity, yet, there's something amiss.

“Hobie?” You call, and when he shifts his head to gaze at you, his grip loosens.

Craning his neck down, the eyes of his mask widens. “Y/N?” He breathlessly asks, arm sliding off from shock. “Shit!”

“Hobie!” Briefly falling, he catches you immediately. You both land on a roof, his arms are around you, hand shielding your head from the collision as you both slide across the terracotta roof. Eyes closed, you hide your face on his chest as he bears the impact for you.

Hobie groans, glad that he's wearing leather that helped with lessening his injuries from the awkward fall. Opening his eyes, he thinks he has died when he sees your face look back at him.

Expression etched into worry, you check for any injuries on his body. You get a good look at his suit, it's different, way different than you saw him last. The only thing that stayed the same is his old leather vest, but it looks like it's more well worn than the last time you've seen it. There's marks on the leather, and holes where it's not supposed to be in. You'd mend it for him like always, but there's more pressing matters.

Hobie reaches for you, black cloth enveloping and swirling around his toned arms, showing a bit of his scarred skin. You don't miss how his hands tremble as he holds your face in his calloused hands. It's all familiar to you, yet, his hands are more rugged, rougher, but you know it's him. You could recognize his touch anywhere.

“Did the vulture finally get me?” You raise an eyebrow at his question. The heaviness in his chest slowly fades for the first time in years, he wants to tell you everything, to hold you forever in his arms until all the holes in his heart are filled by you once more. His thumbs wipe the crimson off of your cheek, an instinct of his.

“W-what?” You shake your head, and he relishes at the sound of your voice. The same voice he has only heard in your old voicemails that he plays before going to bed. “I think you have a concussion, Hobs.” Gently, you reach for his mask, he stops you before you could lift it away.

“Hobs,” he chuckles weakly, “I haven't heard of that name in years.”

You know this isn't your Hobie but you can't help but sympathize with him, you can hear the sadness and hurt laced with his deeper tone. You'd ask, but it isn't your place. Literally.

Hobie sits up with a groan, back cracking, the sound making you wince. “Sounds like you need to stretch more.” You joke.

He laughs, his mind tricks him, making him think of all the teasing you've said to him once upon a time.

“I think my back is beyond saving by just stretching.” Head leaning on his elbow, arm propped up by his knee, he still can't wrap his mind around your existence. “Which dimension did you come from?”

You straighten your back, lips curling into a smile. “How'd you know I'm not from here?”

Hobie reaches for his mask, for a moment he pauses. Still, with an apprehensive tug, he takes off his mask. Shock and confusion is evident in your expression. Reminding him of the time when he told you he was Spider-Man all those years ago.

“You're…old.” A hundred questions flood your mind at the sight of his crow’s feet that decorates his eyes. He has smile lines around his mouth, he still has piercings but there's less of them now. His hair is graying, patches of grey that weave around his locs. Under the wear of time on his face, you could recognize that face amidst a thousand faces. It's Hobie, but not your Hobie. “Definitely not in Kansas anymore.”

He chuckles deeply, he misses that humour of yours. “You look how I remember.” he whispers, you could barely hear his words.

You knit your eyebrows together. “Did I travel to the future instead of a different dimension?” The same sensation passes through you, rattling your bones and wracking your senses. You glitch once again. Stomach churning, you cough out harshly.

Shaking his head, Hobie stands up then he gives you a hand. “Not time travel,” you take his hand weakly, lifting you up, he worries for you. “Definitely from another universe. Come with me to the safehouse and we'll fix your watch, yeah?”

Nodding, you trust him completely. “Okay, just to remind you though, don't jostle me around too much—”

“You get motion sick from web swingin’, I know, I remember.” His heart aches, and you can see it hidden behind his hazel eyes.

—

After swinging across the city, and with you fighting the bile rising to your throat, you two finally make it to his safehouse that's masquerading as an old laundromat. You and older Hobie enter from the back door, and another door greets you, all thick steel and seemingly bullet proof.

He enters a set of codes on the numpad that you didn't notice until he was pressing numbers in. You don't bring out the fact that the passcode was your birthday.

The door beeps, an indication that it's unlocked. He looks at you over his shoulder, smiling softly at your nervous eyes.

“Stay behind me, yeah? Don't mind the lads. Or the whispers.”

“Whispers? Why would they gossip about me?”

“Nothin'” he turns back around. “Just stay close to me.”

“Okay, I wasn't planning to wander anyway, it looks like a small house so—” just as you say it, a long staircase leading down to what looks like the abyss makes you think otherwise. “Are you evil Hobie? You planning on bringing me to your little house of horrors to kill me?”

“Are you part of the sinister six?” He asks flatly, slightly enjoying the banter.

“No—”

“Then you've got nothin’ to worry ‘bout.” Hobie continues to walk down the stairs, heavy boots thudding against the concrete with every footstep. Darkness surrounds him quickly, you could only see the outline of him under the dark. He notices the way you stay on top of the stairs, hands wringing together. “I've got a torch if you're scared—”

“Yes!” You exclaim too fast. “I mean, sure, yeah.” He doesn't tease, for that you silently thank him. You hear a click, and then a torch coming from a gadget on his arm lights the way. “Thanks,” you whisper, finally catching up with him.

The stairs lead you down further, with only Hobie's torch guiding the way, you subtly hold the hem of his vest. If he minded, he never said anything. Ears popping, another door greets you at the end.

Hobie knocks, a rhythm that you can't quite place. A panel on the door slides open, a pair of eyes roams over to Hobie's face and then to yours. Brown eyes widening at the sight of you, they close the panel, then they open the metal door with a creak. Light escapes from the opening, and you shield your eyes from the sudden brightness.

“Holy fucking shit,” a female voice exclaims. Their cadence is full of surprise, and somewhat breathless. “W-what— how?”

“She's not from here,” Hobie explains, almost sounding forlorn at his own words.

Your eyes finally adjust, and you see an older Yuri gawking at you. She has aged well and gracefully, you think, as she sports the lighter hair with confidence and wrinkles barely noticeable.

“Yuri?” You still ask even though you're ninety nine percent sure that it's her.

“The one and only, gorgeous.” Without thinking, she drags you inside, pulling you in for a hug. You heard her sniffle, and you felt how her shoulders relaxed just from the hug alone. So you let her embrace you, with your hand awkwardly rubbing in an attempt to soothe her. Pulling away, she holds you at arm's length. She pats your shoulder, smoothing your sleeves, “still gorgeous, and still unfair.” Snorting, she lets you go, turning towards your companion. “Gwen's been waiting for you.”

Hobie gets flung back to the present, the simple sight of Yuri hugging you has brought him to the past, back when everything was better.

You stare at him, and he knows there's a lot of questions swimming in that genius mind of yours. He nods once wordlessly, not trusting his own mouth to form coherent words right now.

You follow him just as he instructed, Yuri reluctantly lets you go. Your nails dig into your sweaty palms, and eyes restlessly looking around the safe house. The place is expansive, walls high up, and when you look down, you see weathered tiles that have cracked from time. There's a train track in the middle, and you realize it's an old metro station. Instead of advertisements and train schedules on the walls, you see several monitors hanging on it, thousands of wires running through all of them, beeping and buzzing coming out of the computers. There's also weapon racks littered around the place, large and something that looks like it came from a sci-fi film.

There's a lot of people running around, all clad in the same style as Hobie. Leather, chains and metal spikes all adorning their forms. You quickly look away whenever you pass a stranger who widens their eyes at the sight of you.

Tugging at Hobie's vest, you peer at him. “Why does everyone give me that same look? And who's Gwen?”

He doesn't stop his strides, “Gwen's a friend, she knows you, kind of.” He decides to tease you. Maybe it's his brain trying to compensate for the time he hasn't done it. “Why? You jealous? Green eyed monster rearing its ugly mug?”

You scoff with a playful smile. “Technically, I don't know you, so…” his smile wavers, “there's no way I'd be jealous. Also you're…old.” His smile returns, there's a question that suddenly pops in your mind. “Are we a thing here?” You suppose you should ask just to get it away, and this isn't even the same Hobie back home so you don't lose anything by asking.

His face flattens, something passes by his eyes and he turns away. “Don't worry ‘bout it.”

“That's not answering my question, or any of my questions—”

“Gwen.” Hobie passes by you without sparing you a glance.

He enters a large open space that is full of computers and screens that blink and beep. There's a dozen or so people that walk around the area, all looking frazzled and tired. It looks like a command center of some sorts. A stranger bumps into you, accidentally shoving you by your shoulder.

“Sorry, I—” The man stops in his tracks, it's Ned, or at least this universe's version of Ned. The wrinkles around his eyes and white hair says that he must've been the same age as this Hobie. The clipboard in his hand falls from his grasp, eyes wide and watery, he gasps. “Y/N—”

Hobie appears next to you, “yeah it's her, Ned.”

“B-but…she's—”

Hobie shakes his head, wordlessly having a conversation with his best friend. “We'll talk later, I promise.” He softens his voice. The interaction has you more confused. They have a stare down with you caught in the middle.

You give Ned an apologetic smile. Crouching, you take the fallen clipboard, giving it back to him. “Here, sorry for bumping into you.”

His hand trembles as he takes it. “It's okay, I gotta go.” Rushing, he leaves you and Hobie.

“Is he okay? Please don't tell me you're working him to the bone.” You scold him.

“No, you know I'll never do that.”

“Just like I said, I technically don't know you.” Exasperated from all the dodging Hobie has done, you walk away and towards the command center where a large table sits in the middle and in-between a huge screen.

Hobie has forgotten has stubborn you can be, following behind you, he can already see Gwen looking furious just standing next to the table, all menacing like.

“Hobie, what the fuck did you do?” The sudden angry tone makes your skin jump, kind of reminding you of your days back in school. “Have you finally lost your damn mind?” The blond woman gestures towards you.

There's red streaks in her braided hair, clothes perfectly suited to her form. She stands out from the rest, she looks sporty in her varsity jacket and white trainers. But of course she wears a pair of leather pants and an old band shirt that says ‘fuck getting fridged!’ You have no idea what that means.

Before she could blow a gasket, you explain yourself. “It's not time travel actually,” you say, voice faltering once you notice all eyes are on you. “It's interdimensional travel— on accident! I didn't mean to.”

Gwen crosses her arms over her chest, “you a spiderperson? Do you answer to Miguel?”

“No, not a spiderperson, just some idiot who made a huge mistake by trying to make her own watch because my best friend asked me to.” You take the broken watch from your pocket to place it on the table. “See? I broke it.”

“Your Hobie asked you to help him?” Older Hobie asks, you nod, his eyes flick over to you and then the bracelet. “Sounds like something I would do.” He whispers to himself.

“Wait, you don't have a watch on you anymore? Then—” Gwen starts but your glitching interrupts her.

It was only two seconds but you felt like your insides were being ripped apart, and your eyeballs were getting scooped out by a spoon. Heaving, hands gripping on the table for balance, you cough loudly as Hobie pats your back.

“Motherfucker—! That one was worse than the last one.” You almost choke on your own spit. “Goddamnit.”

“I was about to ask why you're not glitching, I guess I got my answer.” Gwen hands you a water bottle. “Here.” Turning towards Hobie, who's already picking apart the bracelet, she sternly calls for his attention. “What do you plan with her?”

“Fix her watch then let her stay because she's Y/N.” He nonchalantly says, lying through his teeth to rile up his already mad right hand woman.

“Your real plan, Hobie.” She taps her foot impatiently, you still wonder what his words meant. “We don't have the time or the resources to help her right now. Especially when our little machine still hasn't turned on.”

“Would you rather have her molecules ripped apart or spare a few parts so she could go home?” Hobie places his hands on top of the table, eyes narrowed, challenging Gwen. Whilst you take in his words. “Our main focus still hasn't changed, she's a guest and if we don't help her she will die.” Inhaling, he continues, “you heard her, she has someone to go back too. Someone who's lookin' for her. Do you really want him to experience that kind of—” he stops after feeling your eyes on him. He clears his throat. “We'll help her fix the watch, it'll take me a few hours to finish it and we'll still be on schedule for the attack.”

You set aside your oncoming demise to ask him about ‘the attack’. “Schedule for what?”

Gwen visibly relaxes from your gaze, you surmise that this universe’s you has history with her. “We're gonna take down Osborn once and for all.”

You knit your brows together. “You haven't done that yet?”

Gwen and Hobie blinks in surprise, intrigued, everyone else who wasn't already eavesdropping looks at you expectantly.

“What do you mean ‘haven't?’” Gwen asks, eyebrow raised.

“We already did that in our dimension a few years ago. I still have a few scars from it.”

Hobie cranes his neck towards Gwen, hazel eyes suddenly forlorn, shoulders heavy, and jaw tightening. “You succeeded?”

It all hits you, they've failed in where you and your friends have succeeded. You gained where they've lost, and you feel for their pain, you for*his suffering. You now know why he gave you that look the first time he saw you.

Composing yourself, even though your chest feels heavy, you still act as if their revelation doesn't bother you, when it has impacted you like you're the one who lost. “Y-yeah, I mean everyone helped a lot. I just did the best I can.” You scratch the back of your neck, “we had this thing that can cripple the symbiote inside his men—”

Gwen takes out a small circular device from her pocket. “Like this?”

You shake your head, “no, we just hooked a bunch of amplifiers around the area and Hobie and his band played really fucking loud. My ears ring just thinking about it.”

“Yeah we all know about them hating loud sounds but that didn't work for us before.” Gwen and Hobie's hopes are dashed. “And after all the tries, we stopped trying that method.”

“Why don't you guys ask for help with spider society? I'm sure—”

Hobie cuts you off, scowling at his feet. “I did, I asked for help. And what did that vampire from 2099 say?” He grows frustrated, knuckles shaking, eyes looking away from you. “He refused, saying that no one could intervene. That this was my canon event, and if anybody helped that it'll put the multiverse into dangerous territory.” Shaking his head, the man before shows up, and Hobie turns away from him. “It's bullshit, that's why I left.”

“We did find out why sound doesn't disable the symbiotes. Osborn made some kind of shield around them.” Gwen pipes up, shifting the conversation before Hobie gets angrier from the mere mention of Miguel.

“Like armor?” You ask.

“Yes, it's invisible to the naked eye. Thanks to Hobie, we finally found their Achilles heel. If only we could get this damn device to work then we'll be free of him and his regime.” She continues.

“Maybe I can help—”

“No,” Hobie quickly says, hurt in his eyes, he avoids yours. “No, I'll get your watch fixed up and you can go.”

“But I may be able to help—”

“No,” he emphasizes, with a shaky breath, he calls for Yuri. “Take her to the extra room,” instructing Yuri, she smiles at you apologetically. “Stay there until your watch is fixed.”

“She might be right—” Gwen starts but Hobie ignores her.

You glitch once again, stomach turning inside out, this time you feel like your skin is being ripped away. Eyes rolling on the back of your head, head spiralling. The next thing you know, you're laying on top of a hard mattress. Groaning, vision adjusting, you sit up carefully.

Your eyes adjust to the dim light hanging above, a single light bulb that swings from a draft seeping out of a crack in the wall. The room is small, barely even fitting the single bed. Walls of grey concrete surround you on all sides, there's a few posters on the walls that are tacked lopsidedly. They're all worn down, like they're older than you from the looks of the fading ink. A singular guitar sits at the corner, black and cherry red, hundreds of stickers are placed on it, adding to the roses that are painted all over it. It screams Hobie, but not your Hobie. Just sitting on his bed makes you miss him, even though you know they are not the same.

Stretching your aching neck from awkward angles it was put through because of the glitching, you spot a polaroid picture sticking out from under the pillow. You don't want to be nosy, but seeing your own face smile at you has you reaching for the photograph.

It's you, but not you exactly. Your face is the same, clothes you can't recognize. The only thing you can recognize is the way you hold onto Hobie. This universe's Hobie. Cheek pressed on his own, mirrored smiles on both your lips, his arm around your waist, pulling you close as if you'd fade away. And your arms enveloping around him like you're shielding him from harm. There's one detail that jumps at you with how yellowed the paper is and how crumpled the corners are, you're both incredibly young.

“Oh,” There had been signs, and this now confirms it.

You look at the steel door as if you had x-ray vision, as if you can see through it and see the Hobie that this version of you had loved once upon a dimly lit pub where the polaroid was taken.

Placing the picture back where you found it, you test your shaky legs. You make it two steps before you start glitching out, tumbling towards the door, forehead pressed on the cold steel, you heave dryly.

There's tears in your eyes when you open the door. Silence greets you, the air is cold and stagnant, the lights that were blinking at you earlier are now dim enough that you have to feel your way towards the concrete hallway and out into the warm light. Your hands glide along the almost frozen walls, rough sandy concrete hitting your palms like sandpaper. Footsteps quiet to not rouse the sleeping crew.

Finally making it out, lungs cool, and teeth chattering, you feel sicker by the minute. Hobie stands next to the large console, back towards you. Metals clicking and grinding against each other, Hobie doesn't look over his shoulder from your presence.

You knock on the wall to not startle him and ruin his work. Hobie finally cranes his neck to look at you, shoulders tensed and eyebrows knitted together in either frustration or concentration.

“You okay?” You ask, voice echoing in the vast room.

“I should be askin’ you that.” He goes back to the table, immediately tinkering.

“Well, are you?”

“You're stubborn.”

“My best quality.”

You hear him softly chuckle thanks to the silence hanging in the air. Walking closer, you smile at the sight of his rubber gloves that protect his hands.

“So?” You ask again.

“Never better.” He flatly says, eyes focused on putting your watch together.

“Why'd you leave the society?”

“Thought you were smart?”

“I am, and a consequence of that is being utterly curious.”

Hobie sighs but doesn't stop working. “Creative differences.”

“Ah, I knew it. You and my Hobie would get along well.” Your words trail off when you see the same spherical tech sitting next to him. “Is that the thing you can't figure out?”

He spares it a glance. “Yeah, the bane of my existence.”

You go around him to look at it closely. Eyes narrowed, arms tucked, you lean closer. “I think—” you grab it before Hobie could stop you. The glitching must've taken a toll in your critical thinking because you crack it open like an egg in your hands. “That's your problem.”

“What the fuck?” He says breathlessly, almost yelling, eyes wide, hands already grabbing the tech to fix it. “What is wrong with you?”

“Thin shell.”

“We've established that you have a thin skull—”

“Rude, but I'm talking about that.” You point at the sphere while Hobie's cradling it like a baby. “the shell is too thin,” you take half of it, pointing out its faults. “See? You need to make the shell a bit thicker, put a pressure plate so that—”

Hobie has a growing smile. “When it's thrown it automatically turns on. With the thicker shell it can withstand it and with it helps distribute the energy more evenly. Shutting all the shields down around its vicinity without needing to push a button.” His eyes widen with realization with every word he says that you already know of. “That way we can arm every rebel with a hundred of these and take down Osborn's venoms without risking close combat. Fuckin' brilliant.” He looks at you in wonder. Embarrassment flickers in his eyes, he should've thought of that, yet, he didn't. You might not be his Y/N but you're worthy of her name.

“Sometimes the easier solution is the best.” Your next sentence has your hands shaking, he notices. “Was your Y/N as brilliant as me?” You finally ask.

Hobie's cheery face falls, “She was smart, but not that brilliant. Her bravery makes up for it.”

“I'm sorry.” Tears stick to your lashes, heart aching for the man before you.

“You are curious.” After years without you, he still has no idea how to respond to those exact words. “How you feelin’?”

“Me?”

“Finding out a version of you is dead must be fuckin' weird.”

You shake your head. “I first thought that I'd see an old wrinkly me.” A half joke. You smile at him to make him feel better, but with how forlorn those hazel eyes are, you might've made it all worse. You weren't lying, you wanted to see a glimpse of your future, but finding out the version of you here is long dead doesn't compare to the feeling of losing someone you've known for years, loved even. “It's terrifying, but it doesn't compare to how hurt you must be. Losing her, I mean.”

He didn't see you grow old. He didn't experience growing old with you.

Hobie clears his throat, “I know you're not her.”

“And I know you're not him. But it looks like we both share the same feelings for them respectively.”

“That obvious?”

“Hobie once told me that in every universe there's always someone for Spider-Man. So yes, it's obvious.” You give him an empathetic smile. “How'd you know it's the same for me?” For us?

“You talk about him like how I talk about her. Takes one to know one, love.” He holds your hand briefly, like it was acting on an old instinct. “Have you told him? How much you're bloody smitten? I have a feelin’ you haven't.”

You nervously chuckle, hands fiddling with a loose screw on the table. “Nope.”

“Let me guess, waitin’ for the right time? Scared of what would happen in the long run?” He says knowingly.

You don't look him in the eyes. “Yeah.”

Something flashes behind Hobie's eyes, after a beat of silence, he finally speaks. “She died protectin’ my crew, did you know that? She died protectin' me, and how do I thank her? Years of failing, years of fighting and we've only come close but never winning in the end.” Hobie sniffs, head raised to look at the graffiti painted on the ceiling. “If i just told her that I loved her, I would've had more time with her. Instead, I was a coward, all those years wasted because I'm a coward.” Hobie finally looks at you, the warm light from the lamp lights the trapped tears in his eyes. “Don't wait for the right time.”

You shake your head, heart clenching at the sight. “I don't think all those years were wasted. You loved her quietly, and I think she did too. Time spent together isn't wasted, just like your silent love. Love is never wasted.”

He smiles softly, the resemblance of a younger Hobie is etched under the small smile. “You would know.”

“I would know,” you smile back. Trepidation hangs around your neck like a two ton steel necklace. “How would I know that he feels the same way? What if it doesn't work out? Or worse, reject me?”

“His loss,” Hobie grins, a genuine one that you haven't seen this version of him sport. It's the only thing you need for reassurance. “But I highly doubt that will happen.”

Nodding, you feel determination where the heaviness once resided. “I'll tell him when I get back. I promise.” You say wholeheartedly.

“You better, don't make the same choices I did.” Hobie holds your hands like how someone holds a feather, gentle and kind. “At least I got to see her one last time, eh, love? A bit younger but beggars can't be choosers.” You feel something heavy on your wrist. Looking down, you see a working watch. Hobie slyly put it on you, it even has your dimension already keyed in on the screen. You look back at him, mouth slightly agape. “Too much power, that was the problem. Sometimes the easier solution is the best.” You laugh at him using your own words against you.

“Thank you, do me a favour?”

“Tit for tat, huh?”

You giggle, then you face him seriously. “Crush Osborne. Fucking decimate him. Or I'll come back and bring the cavalry.”

Hobie's finger ghosts above the button. “You know where to find me, love.”

“And you know where I am.” You smile as the portal opens behind you. A gust of air breezes past you, eyelashes fluttering in the wind, a kaleidoscope of colors dancing on Hobie's face, illuminating his hopeful eyes. “I'm serious, if you need help—”

He slides his hands away from yours. “Go home, Y/N, your Hobie is lookin' for you.” With the mention of him, you give him one last smile for him to remember. You take a step back and fall back into the portal.

—

You fall unceremoniously on the wet pavement, body crashing on a pile of discarded boxes and metal trash cans. The crashing sound would've startled anybody and would have their attention, but no one seems to pay you mind as everyone stares at the ashy remnants of your flat. Groaning, you slap your forehead because of your stupidity. You feel relieved because you seem to be home. Everything seems to be in place, and everything seems to be normal.

“Fucking idiot.” You whisper breathlessly at the sight of your charred flat. Your relief gets washed away when you see Hobie in his suit kneeling down in agony whilst bystanders watch on in grief. Your eyes flick over to him and back to your flat, then back to him.

His shoulders are shaking, head in his hands, nails digging into his mask. You'd yell his name if not for the crowd. Instead, you walk to him, legs still wobbly but getting steady with every step. Soon enough, before you could make your presence known with your hand reaching for his shoulder, he moves his head so fast that you're afraid that his neck would snap. The eyes of his mask widens, standing up, he grabs you lightning quick.

Arms holding you close, you feel his warmth as he slides his hand to your pulse. Hobie sighs in relief, even laughing as he slots his face in the crook of your neck.

You mirror him, hands kneading on his back, telling him you're back and you're not going anywhere with the simple touch.

“I thought— where—?” he starts, but you press your lips on his cheek. He practically freezes in place even with his mask acting as a barrier.

“I love you,” you confess, just as promised, and truthfully. “I love you—!” In a half second after the words are uttered, he swings you both effortlessly on a rooftop, away from prying eyes.

Hobie steadies you on your feet, mask discarded in a heartbeat. “You mean it?”

“Of course I do.” You don't miss the sight of his tear stained cheeks. Your hands reach for him, thumbs rubbing softly on each cheek. “I love you, Hobie.”

“Good, then you don't mind me doin' this?” The warmth of his hand seeps through his gloves, that won't do, so he takes his gloves off to feel you. His bare hand is on your nape, the other is placed on your waist, fingers tapping on your skin lovingly.

You already know what he's asking. “Nope, not at all—”

With an inhale, he closes the distance, kissing you, taking your breath away.

You've fulfilled your promise.

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

[effen-draws]

I'm real sick rn so I could come up with nothing other than to publicly document how bad my luck is in Disco Elysium...

Anywaaaaays all I've been doing this last week is playing this game and I am head-over-heels hyperfixated!! Like why haven't I played this sooner? Am I cursed to always be late to the party??

[michaelitheocelot]

An opinion I have that would probably be a hot take anywhere else but is lukewarm on tumblr is that i think hating on picky eaters is more childish than being one. Like why does it make you so upset that someone has a limited list of foods they enjoy. Unless you’re a parent/guardian who has a hard time making meals for everyone in your care, that does not affect you in any way dawg.

It’s especially childish when it comes to hating on people who complain about the texture of food. “I hate it when people blame their picky eating on hating a texture!!” Thinly veiled ableism aside, that has to be the most valid reason to not like a food!! Someone eating mushrooms makes them feel like they’re gonna throw up, and you’re MAD?? You’re MAD about that??? GROW UP!!

[snakegentleman]

I have thrown up every day except one for the last 12 days. I love being disabled soo much

[bookishnewt]

How have we not been talking about the death visions both Kremy and Gideon see when looking at the ghost train!? They’re so sad, dark, and tragic.

Kremy dies flat broke and alone wandering through a desert with a zombified Gideon by his side. Something happened to Gid and was brought back in the only way Kremy could.

Gideon’s vision has him alone, having lost Kremy years ago. It’s the anniversary of the night they met and he’s drowning himself in alcohol. Then he gets sick, falls and died in a puddle of his own vomit.

Both visions involved one losing the other and I can’t stop thinking about it.

(Video Source: https://www.twitch.tv/videos/1992760735?collection=xqoLmFvHnBfa2g)