gotta urgent need for some not-quite-yet punkflower where hobie is chillin in some rubble post-(successful) battle all knackered out n miles is visiting (idk bc he just told his parents abt spiderman n it went well so he's bursting at the seems with love at being accepted n all yea? he's gotta tell someone, and why not him? why not hobie? it's no one else but hobie he's gotta tell, if he's being honest with himself [denile is not a river in his egypt, ok pav?] so yeah, he finds himself on 138) n catches the tail end of the battle, tracks down where hobie decided to make a couch outta concrete and lands in front of him, buzzing with cheezy lovey dovey feelins of elation, top o' the fucken world, and asks on abt hobie, rambling until hobie just lifts a hand, a silent ask for help up, (always asking for connection always makin sure they're actually there) n miles, have i mentioned he's happy? he's straight up a sap, so he takes that hand.
he takes that hand gently, bending at the waist a bit, dramatically sweeping back his other arm, bowing, for hell's sake, n plants a kiss on the back of hobie's hand, nice n proper, with a cheeky wink to boot (he'd finally fixed the eye mechanisms last week, thanks to penny), before pulling up new london's own spiderman chest to chest with a bright laugh that puts a different kind of stars in hobie's eyes, half dancing half belting out a song in spanish he doesn't quite understand but knows all the words to (it's some continental dialect, nothing his mami speaks, but would filter out the headphones of that kid in his building he walked w in middle school everyday)
before the sirens start getting closer n hobie can feel the warmth of miles-- the warmth of his smile, his hair that's still sparking from transdimensional travel, his arms, chest, laughter, everything, n all at once it pulls every affectionate n pining bit of hobie to the surface, if he weren't wearing his mask his blush would be so impossibly visible it's straight mad how much hobie loves n adores miles, how much seeing miles be happy lights hobie's whole fucking world
and oh, hobie's never seen a god he didn't punch, never believed in any one he couldn't, but right now, with his fingers entwined with miles', aches leaving his bones like he's never felt his left shoulder twinge the second it drops below 21 just because miles just yelled fuck off to the approaching pigs, he could fall to his knees n swear pious fealty to milesmilesmiles.
but hobie is cool (never has a label stuck to him like the one miles has given him), and his real, livin n breathing god is starting to ramble, so hobie webs them upupup, heat along his back as god wraps arms around him, breath on his neck as home weaves tales into the leather wrapping it.
then miles hears hobie's stomach growl, so he starts pulling them away from the path of what he knows is towards hobie's flat, and towards what he swears is the only good puerto rican food in the whole of hobie's haunt, his excitement steamrolling over his usual stuttering spanish, exchanging shouts n jeers with everyone behind the counter
bc everyone knows him, like miles has lived here, earth-138, new london, his whole life, like hobie brown being dragged into the shop every other week by miles morales to get the same two plates (n an extra something for miles to gush over n hobie to taste) is how the rest of this life will go, like hobie n miles are together, in a way that the unsubtle looks the owner's kid at the register is aiming at miles' left hand are correct, but don't involve stuffy socially religious systems like marriage
but they're not, as much as hobie would love to kiss miles, gaze into his eyes for ages, hear his laughter, his off-key singing, his scritch-scritch of something on paper everyday-- bc he can't go abt this like he does everyone else, can't do it with half a foot out the door n a shrug as agreed; it's gotta be both feet on the floor, n it's gotta be for the rest of this life, so he'll take what he can get, and he'll take the distance n devotion, take the faith n the heartache. take what he can get from his god, glad to be touched by his god, glad to be loved by his god, across universes n the fall from his bed to the futon on the floor where miles decides to lay his head for choice holy nights
(hobie doesn't know miles is putting himself at the base of his god's shrine, hoping for his deity to fall into his arms, spikes n all, (ready, so ready to tear apart dimensions again for hobie, to bleed and cry n go to war for hobie) fingers splaying on the side of the mattress warmwarmwarm after hobie starts snoring, before they slip down softly, a prayer imparting from the pads, memorizing the patterns of his god's breath, the smell of the room, the borrowed shirt he wears, the sounds of a second city he calls home, thrumming full with a bass note plucked from an electric guitar, usually shaky hands sure n still picking out a different shape to hobie's eyebrow piercing, deftly screwing a star onto the bar. miles brings offerings to his god in pins n patches on clothing, stickers n torn out sketches decorating a shrine)
so they'll song n dance in new york, in new london; learning each other's cities, earths, haunts, people, arts, each other, like new scars for the collection- permanent and signs of living, odes to loving and protecting.
chest to chest, fingers entwined, warmth in the skies above cities, right on the edge of it all until they fall together, eyes wide open, gods broken down into blood and teeth and lovelovelove
not-quite-yet 2 - 3
. my ko-fi 💛
ao3 link
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I forget who in bookclub mentioned this (pls call yourself out and I'll @ you with credit in this post), but someone pointed out that we don't know if anyone knows what Meryl went through. What she knows. Wolfwood has a conversation with her earlier, but it's just about what Vash is, probably clueless as to their shared memories. Vash doesn't give any hints he has any idea what she's witnessed--he's so fearful of what he is and what he's capable of, it's possible he doesn't know what his powers are. Eventually, at the very earliest, it's seven months from now before we see her admit aloud what she's seen. And, hell. With how much Wolfwood and Vash tuck away and don't talk about, why would she feel like she could talk about it?
And yet, despite all that. Despite having trauma unlike anything she's ever known in her life before. Despite having trauma that no human should have to bear. Despite not being sure what to even do with that, with herself, with Vash (who she's seen witness and commit unspeakable horrors!). She still chooses kindness. She still chooses love and peace. She still chooses Vash.
We see a lot of people handle their trauma in really shitty ways in this story; in many ways, it's a story deeply about trauma. And Meryl, isolated and afraid and with this pain fresh within her, doesn't turn away from what she knows is good and worth saving on this hellhole planet. And, idk, I think that's beautiful, and I love her for it.
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You know something? if they go for having a moment when Luca goes to work in the bear, and Carmy becomes jealous of Luca because he is besties with Sidney, they won't even need to imply that Luca and Sydney want to date each other to make Carmy green as a tree.
Let me explain. Using Luca as a plot device to make Carmy decide over his feelings is kind of cheap, especially if Luca's relationship with Sydney becomes a footnote. On this occasion, yes, for platonic relationships for the win/hot people can be friends. Give Sydney an actual romantic interest, or tell us the story that broke her heart. Luca is a more chill/creative free version of Carmy, the potential for a quite unique creative partnership is way more interesting. Not to mention, that sounds like a cool friendship.
But, again, they do not need to imply they are attracted to each other (Luca may be gay and Sydney knows). They just need to make them work in a flow/telepathy type of thing, they are both brilliant and creative. Sydney could have with him a "chef chemistry" that previously only happened with Carmy... and Carmy will not be having it.
Like I can totally imagine Carmy walking on them (jejeje) working together in the kitchen, his girl, his C.D.C., brainstorming with another man? Oh what do you mean you two have ideas for a menu and trying recipes together? I thought we had something special!!!
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i've been thinking a lot about these parallels
my newest obsession meets my longest one.
Luke's life was music. He didn't love anything else than that. Then he met Julie.
Carmy was the best chef at 21 and after his brother died, he wanted nothing more than fix Mike's restaurant so it could be a place ran by adults. Then he met Sydney.
just like sydcarmy, juke makes each other better:
my twinssss
so, yeah, i think a lot about them
and also about the fact that Luke brought music back to Julie's life and Carmy hires Sydney and inadvertently makes food good again for her. Both Luke and Carmy see their potential and do whatever it takes to bring it to surface. They're down BADDD
Syd's failed in the past, but Carmy sees the undeniable passion within her and harness her talent to do big things. So does Luke with Julie's talent.
bonusssss:
like, both of them fully turning around ready to follow their annoyed soulmates just tickles my heart in a different way, i guess
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