love our a.m.
— hobie brown x gn!reader
summary: Hobie hates mornings, but the ones with you aren't so bad.
warnings: hobie pov, fluff, alarm clock murder 😱 /j semi-edited
word count: 0.8k
a/n: wrote at midnight in like 2 seconds 🙏 p shabby but it's ok a little ooc hurt nobody thank you qiuwey for title idea ly
BRRIIIIII— Smash!
It didn't even get past the first ring. That was the third alarm clock Hobie had broken so far. If was almost a skill by now; he didn't even have to open his eyes. In fact, it was too bright to open his eyes. Everything was too much in the morning. Too bright, too loud, too cold. Why was it so bloody cold?
You. Or the lack of you, for that matter. The lack of you — and the back of you facing him. He stopped himself from moving you when he noticing the gentle rise and fall of your breath — that faint exhale he could listen to forever. Well, maybe not forever, given the way his arm was now cautiously hovering over your sleeping form.
Hobie inched just a little forward, peering over, his face tensed. You were asleep, alright. He couldn't tell if the expression on your face was a smile or a frown. For a moment, Hobie debated getting up and rotating his entire bed to stop you facing the wall, but his strength was only used for destroying appliances this early in the morning, it seemed.
With a sigh that had much more frustration than he'd like, the punk fell back against his pillow. He wasn't being needy, or anything, was he? Sure, he hadn't seen you in a while, and he hadn't held you in a while, but he could wait until you woke up at the very least — right? Hobie tried checking the clock, but it had already suffered fate of his fist. Truthfully, he hadn't slept a wink. Hobie thought about you often enough, sure, but you were all that had filled his mind last night — and arms. He surpressed another grumble. Not needy, of course — maybe a little cold.
You looked so warm — and comfortable. It'd be a crime to wake you up (not that he was much more lawful around you, but he didn't want to anyway.) The fact that his short-lived scrap with the alarm clock didn't alert you was a mystery. The wretched thing was from you, Hobie recalled: brand new from that little junk shop near the docks, now as good as a drumkit without sticks. There was probably a spring he'd dislocated somewhere on the floor for him to step on later. Another reason to hate mornings.
His pillow was starting to feel uncomfy. And the mattress. And all of his clothes. It was freezing now, as well. The blanket was too far, and was also probably too itchy, of course.
He relented, but not entirely. It was far more uncomfortable for him to try and keep his weight off of you, arm moving over your side and bent an awkward angle. If he wasn't so needy, this would be enough. No, this was enough, obviously... Hobie wished he had a second alarm clock to punch right now.
A sudden twitch of movement from you — and Hobie nearly punched himself. He held his breath, the muscles in his arm straining as you moved under him. He debated letting go (though he wasn't holding on much in the first place), before you were still. Hobie let out a quiet exhale.
It was a second later that your fingers curled around his. Then you squeezed his hand. Hobie's eyes flew open; his breath was trapped in his chest again.
"Hey..." He wasn't sure if he was just whispering to himself. "...You awake?"
Another squeeze to his fingers. Hobie sucked in his stomach. The expression on your face looked more like a grin. He had been, what one may call...
"You little—" Fooled.
Hobie couldn't finish his sentence before you turned to bury yourself in his chest, arms slotting between his to wrap him in a hug.
"Little what?" Your voice vibrated against his chest, still somewhat sleepy but awake enough to prove your guilt; you'd been awake all this time. All he could do was pull you more against him, closing his eyes in defeat. "Thought so."
Hobie sighed, soaking in your warmth as his body curled around you. He was like a bug to a radiator; the strange accuracy of that thought made him frown. He wasn't as small as a bug, but he could be as small as he wanted around you. Maybe one morning you'd hold him, but was more than enough, for now. He opened his eyes again when you shifted, yours narrowed by a faint smile.
"Morning," you whispered. The word didn't sound so bad coming out of your mouth.
Hobie leaned down to kiss your lips, if only for a moment, before pulling you back into his chest.
"G'mornin'..." he mumbled, yawning and closing his eyes again.
It was warm, comfortable. The sunlight had mellowed and the only sound was of your breathing, soft and even. Hobie hated mornings, but this one wasn't all that bad — not with you in it.
He decided he'd apologise about the alarm clock later.
🕸️🔭🎸
oho thank you for reading ^^ im trying to write more often but i have exams like... every week now so 💔 tis life but i hope u enjoyed
reblogs & feedback appreciated as always <3 find the rest of my atsv stuff here!
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it’s. .. late early. i am having Thoughts. these two things occurring at the same time only spells trouble but This Sign Can’t Stop Me Cos I Can’t Read.
so. on the boat. in the duat. after their scales fail to balance and marc and steven are left to the undead, we see marc move to protect Steven (as he always does), but this time he is not strong enough. and it always struck as an interesting thing to note ,, because we’ve seen marc (?) take on bigger groups , we saw the way he was able to take out so many when he and layla had to fight for their lives…
So why does he seem to struggle against the few undead?
this is going to be mostly incomprehensible but here are theories.
1. Marc’s tired. plain and simple . it doesn’t help that the faces of the undead are ones he recognises, it doesn’t help that watching their bodies explode into sand feels like he’s killing them twice . his punches don’t land as hard, he doesn’t struggle as much as he usually would.
2. He’s unused to fighting without Jake around and the lack of having their third alter there is just enough to get them into Trouble w a capital T. (have a funny lil running theory that Jake is only so good at masking and hiding from Steven and Marc bc he’s so in tune with them that they don’t even notice)
or maybe it’s just the inevitable, and these guys are the guys that can’t be beat, idk.
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