#octobie anarchy

[sareenawails]

Eat the Rich

OCTOBIE WEEK 2!!! YEAAHHHHHHHHH

I am LOVING this event everyone's work is sooo good.

Please check out @the-kr8tor ‘s octobie event!!!

banners by @mushroom-graphics-allotment

References

[the-kr8tor]

Movement

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

Word count: 3k

Summary: You see a familiar face during a protest.

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, can be read as platonic, CW blood, TW violence, CW injury.

Octobie 🎸

Navigation

A/N: special thanks to @pleaktale and @thesevenofstaves!!

One second you were standing atop a cop car with your megaphone blasting while you yell at the armoured coppers below. People were rallying behind you with the same fervor you had, throat aching screams thrown at the opposition whilst banners and picket signs reign high. It was peaceful for the most part, there was no pushing or hitting on both ends, but then just one bright muzzle flash from the coppers, just one ego infested man with a gun was all it takes for chaos to reign.

Fire flies from above, curling its flames downward towards you and the crowd behind you.

With brave yells from your people that depicts all the hurt and anger for the corrupt and oppressive government— it became screams of terror as the kevlar-covered cowards marched forward. Pushing and shoving with their glimmering barrels pointed directly at them. The ear splitting sounds of gunfire and broken glass rings in your ears like a broken record. The air smells like ash and embers, and yet, your people don't back down from the violence brought about generations ago.

After a struggle, you stand arm and arm with them, you know every single face. On your right is your neighbour just across the street from your own place. And on your left is the bassist from a local band. All have stories to tell, and different lives lived, but you all stayed to fight for the same cause, to fight for what's right against the regime that never fought for you or the people who hold your arm in a tight yet shaking grip.

Smoke itches your eyes, soot covers your face as the coppers stand before you, armed to the teeth, wrapped in darkened armour against regular citizens bearing not a single weapon on them or kevlar covering their chest. Yet, they look at you behind their dark visors with fury and gritted teeth.

The car under your feet creaks as the fire cackles on the bridge, flames strategically scattered to keep you all away from your goal.

“Hold!” You yell, and everyone grips tightly to one another. One thousand strong, one thousand faces that are full of determination but with fear etched in their eyes.

Everyone has gathered to end tyranny with hope by their side as they assemble around the bridge that faces Osborn's building.

The armed men bring out their riot shields, banging it with their batons as if they would even need it when your side is the one left bleeding and burned.

You swallow thickly, inhaling the smoke filled air despite your mask as they march forward in their militaristic pace. Shields clang and boots thump simultaneously. You and everyone fighting for what's right holds on tight.

An impenetrable wall of defiance.

Glancing at the woman next to you, the same woman who watched you grow up before her very eyes— you falter when you see her tear stained cheeks.

“Hold on.” She says, palm sliding from your arm to your hand, squeezing you tightly.

You could only nod as you turned towards the marching. And in their eyes, you see fiery embers reflected, and you know they've broken the line drawn on the sand as a fire bomb comes whizzing upwards from somewhere in the tightly packed armour that quickly descends down on top of you.

You don't close your eyes nor let go, instead, you watch as the black ball twirls in the air— and for a moment, time stands still.

The weapon comes close to you until you can see the groves of the metal, and you see a reflection of yourself staring back with wide eyes.

Suddenly, as if fate itself willed you and your people to live another day— a web comes to existence, it's shaped like a hand grasping the bomb in its hold. And then as quickly as it came, it's gone in your sight as the stringy web tosses it back to where it came from.

An explosion blows you and the people around you backwards, throwing you off the car harshly. Eyes closed and arms raised in front of your face, your body doesn't hit the hard ground. An eruption blasts from up front, nearer this time, and you feel the heat of it above you. But you don't burn nor see the bright light behind your closed eyelids.

“I've got you.” A familiar voice says above you, strained and tired.

You open your eyes, and you see his gloved hand wrapped around your collar while he has flipped the car over to shield everyone from the bombs. All the while carrying the car with one hand, and at the same time saving everyone behind it.

“Holy shit, it's you!” The woman who was next to you says with hope. You turn to look at her laying on a soft laid out web to take the impact from her fall. “You okay?” Nodding briefly, you glance towards the others behind you, finding nothing but scratches and bruises on each of them as they help each other back on their feet.

You return your attention to his mask, it's ripped out from the side, suit singed and half burned, revealing his hazel eye to you. “I'm okay.” You repeat for him. Your hand bracelets around his wrist, thumb brushing along his pulse point, his heartbeat is fast, terrifyingly fast. “I'm okay, you can let me go.” You notice the scratches along his left leg, still fresh and oozing with crimson.

He sees your concerned look. “Fuckers had Rhino with them.” Smirking, he still has the energy to smile through the pain. “Now they don't. Sorry ‘m late.”

“And here I thought you were stuck in traffic.” You joke while he gently puts you down on the asphalt.

He exhales sharply with a gentle smile that you can see through his mask that tugs around the corners. “‘m ‘ere now, we can do this together.”

“Together.”

Spider-Man, you've known him for years. You run in the same crowd as him, and even befriended him after he saved you from a thug who stole a box of donations from your hands. After that, you two got close. Friends even. He volunteers at F.E.A.S.T whenever he can or when he has a quiet patrol, always wearing his spiked costume, guitar at the ready but not without a smile hidden underneath his mask. He's either helping out with the kids, or with dinner in the kitchen with you and the others that always ends up with laughter. You're thankful for him and what he has given to the community, but right now as he holds up the car on his back with increasing weakness from his injuries, he's the one who needs everyone's help.

“We need to help him! Hold!” You stand up, a bit wobbly on your feet but once you place your shoulder against the heated metal, a new fire sets a blaze inside everyone's hearts.

Everyone behind you and the leather clad vigilante pushes the car down strenuously. With all the help gathered, the car crashes down on the road with its windows shattered and its once blue paint burned to darkened ashes. Flames still lick from under it, embers curling at your boots as he pushes you back and right next to him.

“Do you have a plan?” You ask, fists clenched.

“Thought you had one?” He teases.

A ghost of a smile passes by your lips. But before you could reply to him, he leaps up into the air and over the burning car. Landing effortlessly, he stands to his full height with his cherry red guitar slung over his back. You can see the sticker you contributed on the guitar, it's a rainbow peace sign that sits next to a pair of boots. He once joked about it being too on the nose, which you then threw a chopped carrot at his mask. You still remember how the whites of his mask widend before he fought back with a piece of crumpled tissue thrown at your cheek.

Your heartbeat thumps loudly against your chest, a thudding sound akin to the beat of war drums. He seems to hear it as he looks over his shoulder and through the blazing fire just to gaze at you. Flames dance in the reflection of his brilliant eyes, orange hues twisting and curling around his form as you meet with his eyes. One masked and one that reveals himself to you. He looks other worldly in your vision as the flames seem to embrace him fully in all his spikes and leather. It doesn't singe him nor eat and burn away at him, it's as if he's used to the flames.

For one moment, you saw his very soul bared to you.

“Take cover,” is the only thing he said to you.

Turning back around, facing an entire army of armed men, he takes his guitar from his back. The same guitar he plays for the children at F.E.A.S.T, the same guitar he once taught you how to play a few chords of. And it'll be the same guitar that will put an end to years of tyranny.

He raises his arm, the silver pick in between his fingers shining in the firelight. In that moment, fire could bring hope too, not just to destroy, but to rebuild what has been destroyed.

Breath staggered in your throat, you covered your ears. Unable to look away from him. Running footsteps muffled under your palms, wind rushing towards you like a gust of hurricane. And with no time to take cover, you kneel down, cowering behind the car just as when a bright light appears in your vision. The loud guitar riff splits the ground, almost bursting your eardrums. Then the light from the blast blinds you into unconsciousness from the sheer power he alone emanated.

—

You crack open your eyes to blue skies, and the rough pavement scratching from under you. There's still smoke in the air, and shattered glass all over the ground. Your ears ring, eyes hazy as you blink away the white spots dancing in your iris. A warm hand wraps around your bicep, voice fading in and out as it calls for you.

Turning your head towards the voice, you see an old friend staring back at you. “M-May? What happened?” Your voice is hoarse like you've inhaled a pack of cigarettes worth of smoke.

“You blacked out—”

“Where is he?” You remember what transpired. Panic sets in your heavy chest, remembering how he stood alone in front of many. You should've helped him, done more despite your lack of special abilities unlike his own. Tears well up in your eyes as you see what's in front of you.

A dark ashen car, or what's left of it still sits in the middle of the bridge. Scorch marks in the shape of sun rays are left burned on the asphalt. But you don't see him anywhere, not even a sign that he was right there in front of you was left behind. You see that you're a few ways behind the car than before, maybe someone helped you, or you flew back from the blast. You don't care enough to know when he could be hurt, or worse.

You grab her arms desperately, chest heaving, hands trembling. “Is he okay?” Her mouth parts but the sound of determined shouts echo from the front of the bridge. You squint your eyes to see clearer with hope that you get to see him within the gathering crowd.

Your entire faction lays waste to Osborn's gilded tower. His men have left him, and some have either surrendered or fled by jumping over the bridge and into the freezing waters. Windows break, and fire breaks out on the other side. But your banners fly high above it all. His oppressive regime is gone, and the people have triumphed.

You've won, but where is he?

“May,” you stagger up to your feet despite her protests. You now notice that you and May aren't the only people left on the bridge. In the far end, there's a small crowd circling around something. Or someone. “Is h–he?” Someone moves to the left and you see his iconic boots on the floor, unmoving. “No!”

“You need to rest! You hit your head—!” She holds your arm, but your adrenaline pushes you to tug away from her careful grasp.

“He's hurt!” You wobble towards the crowd, with every step feels like you're walking on hot coals as pain flares up around your ankle. “He needs h–help.” Weakly, you push people to make way. May surrenders and lets you go, even helping you move past the crowd.

“He looks like he's the same age as my son.” Someone said tearfully.

“He's just a kid.” A woman utters regretfully.

“Why aren't you helping him?!” You yell at them, yanking your mask away to breathe properly.

Slowly, you see pieces of him. Someone seems to hold his hand, the spider on his chest is now all tattered, revealing angry marks on his skin. Gasping, you finally make it to his side, and you fall to your knees harshly.

“What are we going to do now?” One asks through a broken tone.

You give him a once over, his suit is marred by dark ashes. The bright hue of the spandex is no more. Eyes roaming up, you see his unmasked face. There's no trace of the mask left anywhere on his face. From his jaw up to his brows, it all seems familiar. You cry when you realize who he is.

“H–Hobie?” You've known him far longer than you thought.

The same old woman who was next to you lets go of his hand and places it atop your own. His skin is cold.

You shake your head with tears in your eyes. “I should've known, you idiot.” All the days that he disappeared from your side, it all pieces back together to this moment.

Sliding your hand down to his wrist, you tearfully kiss his knuckles. Guilt eats at you, you wish that he'd open his eyes once again and everything will be alright. “We did it,” you whisper against his skin. “We did it so please wake up so you can see.” You hold his hand against your chest, careful not to aggravate his injuries whilst trying to warm him up.

You feel his pulse thump quietly against your thumb. Hope ignites within you. “Hobie?” Scooching closer, you place your ear atop his chest. Closing your eyes, you hear his heartbeat. “He's alive!” You perk up, grinning in astonishment. Looking up at everyone, you instruct them. “Go get a doctor, a nurse or whoever—!”

“You're loud.” His gravelly voice cuts you off, hand closing around your own slowly.

Your neck snaps towards him lightning quick, gasping at his tired yet awake expression. “I–I should say that to you with your fucking guitar blast. I swear it was nuclear energy.”

“Nah, not even close.” He weakly grasps your hand as cheers erupt around you. “I would know, love.”

“You were on the brink of death and you're still cheeky.” Your wobbling lips peck each of his warming fingers.

His hazel eyes glimmer in the sun, a smile etched on his lips. “We did it?”

You nod, “we did, because of you.”

“I only helped a bit.”

“A bit?!” Someone answers for you. You recognize him as the guy who owns the local convenience store. “You have no idea, son. You're the spark that we needed.”

Hobie chuckles, but winces when a wave of pain washes over him. “I think I broke a rib, or several.”

“Someone already ran to get you help, Hobie.” You say as you loom over him, hand gently cupping his cheek.

His eyes widen for a second before softening. “I take it my mask is gone?”

“More like disintegrated.” You joke light-heartedly. “Your secret’s safe with us, don't worry.”

He reaches for the back of your hand, fingers still shaking but once he holds your hand properly, the trembling stops. His eyes look at you tenderly above the haze of pain. All the aches and gashes he attained are nothing compared to the satisfaction of triumph.

“I trust you.” He whispers to you, thumb brushing along your own pulse point. Sighing, he glances towards the crowd looking on. “I don't trust that bloke though.”

The same man who answered him before guffaws loudly. Everyone follows suit with their own amused laughter.

“I'll keep your secret, Spider-Man.” May says next to you. “My nephew needs someone like you around. I'd like to keep it that way.”

Hobie nods appreciatively at her.

“Same here,” the convenience store man says, fist placed above his heart. “I'll take it to my grave, son.”

Voices echo around the bridge as every person in that crowd promises the same thing.

Hobie grins despite his cut lip, locking eyes with you as ambulance sirens can be heard a few blocks away. He grips tighter around your hand, warmth fully coming back to his body.

“Thank you,” you sniff, your hands never letting him go as tears ebb away from his shining eyes. Taking your mask from your neck, you offer it to him before the ambulance gets to the bridge.

Hobie reaches for it, bunching it up in his grip, eyes never leaving your own. With a nod from him, you help him put it on before everyone helps him get in the ambulance. All the while never leaving him as he silently asks you to stay with him all the way. And you wordlessly promise to him that you'll never leave as long as he wants you to stay by his side.

Custom banners by @mushroom-graphics-allotment

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

[pinksugarscrub]

Ruby

Hobie Brown! x fem! black cat! reader

Am I basic? Yes, yes I am. I tried to keep the physical description vague but I had fun with adding Felicia's iconic attributes.

Event by the lovely @the-kr8tor and banner by @mushroom-graphics-allotment 💙❤️

Word count: 882

"And—"

One of the many monitors on Miguel's desk clattered to the ground. The screen of course cracking under the intense pressure.

"There goes another one," Hobie grins. Nudging Gwen as his eyes trailed over the remains. He rolled a stray bolt under the bottom of his boot before kicking it away.

Gwen promptly shushes him. Smiling awkwardly as soon as Miguel sets his eyes on them. Before she can open her mouth to hopefully ease the tension in the atmosphere a voice interrupts. A foreign voice.

"Heyo!" You laugh, eyes full of mirth as you strut into Miguel's base of operations.

Gwen may have thought Hobie was cool but she’s pretty sure he’s met his match.

Your silver hair bounces with every step and she swears pieces are almost shaped to resemble cat ears. There are yellow tinted glasses that rest on the bridge of your nose, cat eye frames. Gwen can see a pattern.

You stop short. Pointing a ringed finger in Gwen’s direction. “Cute hair.”

You can't help but relish in the various looks the Spider variants were giving you. Well, excluding Miguel O’hara, your dimension's Spider-Man.

The man has a special place in your heart regardless of the amount of worlds out there.

"Miss me Bossman?" You cheer. It isn't until you feel a hand tug on your collar that you tone down your normal eccentricities. For less than two seconds.

Tilting your head back you face Jess Drew. You offer her the least apologetic smile. She sighs, pushing you forward with a roll of her eyes.

“Thank you.” Clearing your throat you brush your hand along your shoulders. Like her touch was unwelcome.

“You must be Felicia, yeah?” Hobie interjects.

He’s studied you long enough to deduce you’ll be a fun way to further torment Miguel and Hobie will take what he can get. Although, he has the strangest feeling the two of you have already met because he knows Felicia isn’t your name.

It must be all the digging he’s done to find loopholes around Lyla and other security measures.

You whistle the moment you set your sights on him. Resting your arm on Gwen’s shoulder and glancing down at her. “Is he new-? He must be new. I would have remembered him.”

“My name isn’t Felicia,” you answer. “But pretty boy you can call me whatever you’d like.” Clicking your tongue and winking at the man. You take this time to extend your right hand.

Gwen cheeks burn for Hobie. She isn’t quite sure if anyone has ever been as outspoken as him.

“Is that right?” He chuckles. Accent thick, thicker than normal.

Is he…flirting back?

Gwen groans and she wants to die of her secondhand embarrassment.

You’re still holding onto his hand as you tap your pointer finger on the face of his watch.

“Oh, English.” You purse your black stained lips. Batting your lashes underneath your lenses. “Dreams do come true.”

Hobie is slightly taken aback. Who is he kidding- your fingers are tugging at his gloves of course his heart is fluttering like a bird but he doesn’t show it.

Instead he grins and leans down. Aware his height is the greatest intimidating factor he possesses. “Funny, I was thinking the same thing when you walked in love.”

His mind short circuits. What did you just do with your eyes? It’s bad enough you weren’t fazed but to openly oglie him. Is your hand on his chest? Can you feel his heart beating?

“What a charmer. I think I’ll keep you.”

Internally you’re laughing at how easy it is to charm him. It really must be in your dna.

You release him only to tap your palm on his cheek. With what little sympathy you had you decided to spare him with a warning.

“I have business to attend to gorgeous. You should wait out in the hall, things could get messy.” Your voice a hush whisper as your eyes glint with what can only be described as mischief. “For your own good.”

Subtlety is your strong suit when you want it to be.

With a careful gesture you expose the blinking red bug you had placed on Miguel’s monitor. The one that had undoubtedly latched onto Hobie’s watch while he witnessed the destruction with Gwen earlier.

With a confident stride back you prepare to head up to meet a seething Miguel. Playing with the bug that had returned to your finger disguised as a ruby.

Gwen is perplexed as Hobie takes her by the arm with the lamest excuse known to man. She wants to ask ‘what about the mission?’ but only receives an excited grin.

“We don’t want to miss the show,” he counters.

A second later the alarms blare before the building slowly shuts down. Lights flickering and chaos ensuing. A total blackout.

Hobie now recalls seeing you in a white cap adorning a janitor’s uniform. Another day in the cafeteria. The next in one of the training simulators. Wearing the same ruby ring.

You hum happily as you skip through your planned escape route. The power of the multiverse in the palm of your hand but most importantly, files from Alchemax.

You’re going to miss bantering with Hobie. The poor guy.

[nikkeora]

octobie week 2: anarchy (ft. blobie)

non shading/slightly alt versions below cut

changed hobie's costume a lil and i kinda like this better ngl

event: @the-kr8tor

banner(s): @mushroom-graphics-allotment

refs/inspo:

full disclosure i did trace far left but it saved me a tonna time, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[januscorner]

Octobie Week Two: Anarchy

I didn’t base it off Scott Pilgram you based it off Scott Pilgram

[hyperfix-wip]

Octobie Anarchy: Skirts Are For Everyone

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! OC/ Spider-Punk x fem! OC (can be seen as platonic or romantic, up to you guys 😂)

Summary: Earth-318's Mei Prak never expected her first day back to school to end with helping a skirt-wearing Brit argue with a shitty teacher.

Word count: 4.7k

Author's Note: HOLY SHIT, I WASN'T EXPECTING THIS ONE TO BE THIS LONG 😭🤣 Also, I am pleased to introduce my OC Mei for the Spiderverse fandom! I am thinking of building up her lore in the long run, so we'll see how this goes lol. Event by @the-kr8tor and banners by @mushroom-graphics-allotment

Tags: Discussions of school uniforms, TW mentions of sexual harassment, TW brief violence to an object with an object, Possibly OOC!Hobie(?)

The shrill ringing of the school bell shrieks through the crowded corridors, signaling students to disperse from their friend groups and trudge over to their classes. Chatters echo against the walls and metal lockers while waves of teenagers wade through to their destinations. Amongst the crowd on the wayside is a young girl with disheveled dark curls languidly grabbing her textbook, stifling a yawn while shutting her locker before trudging along with the rest of the student body.

Bodies of monotonous black, white and beige surround the girl in her matching uniform, her beige cardigan blanketing over her hands and past her hips, her matching black tie and white button up peeking underneath, and her pleated black skirt fluttering against her knees. Her drooping eyes scan past her lashes and wispy curls, scanning through the throng of bodies in the hallway, while her skin prickles from being in close proximity with everyone around her. Despite being surrounded by students and faculty minding their own business, either facing forward or looking down on their phones, her skin vibrates into a low buzz, as if all eyes are on her. With a drowsy grimace, the girl weaves through the masses with ease, avoiding bumping into anybody while she navigates herself to her Calculus class.

The girl’s head grows a little fuzzy the more she traverses through the cramped hallway, her sensitive ears picking up different chatters and gossips among the sea of people around her–

(“ –need to pass this exam–”

“ –going to Flash’s Halloween party–”

“ –hot British foreign-exhange student–”

“ –saw Spider-Girl kick Hobgoblin’s ass last week–”)

Her lips curl up into a slight smirk at the last comment she overheard, a tingle of vindication creeping up her chest.

The girl’s wrist throbs into a dull ache as the metal web shooter rubs against the skin, further irritating the slightly swollen joint while she covers her hands with her sleeves. She briefly makes a mental note to check her sprained wrist during lunch before her eyes drift off to the familiar sight of her classroom, her face briefly pinching up while her Calculus teacher stands by the door lecturing a group of girls in front of him, holding a ruler in his hand. Even with hordes of students walking between her and that classroom, she can see his leering eyes lingering on their legs while he holds the ruler by one of the girls’ legs. Her skin prickles more intensely at the sight while the girl having her skirt measured shifts uncomfortably in front of him. The teacher then gives a gruff nod and a dismissive flick of the wrist to the group of girls, who quickly scurry away from him and into the classroom with unease.

Fucking creep.

The girl’s sleep-ridden eyes quickly harden while her skin continues to crawl the closer she gets to the classroom, her fingers fidgeting inside her sleeves from the impending dread of having to interact with the old and stout man. The teacher doesn’t look physically imposing to her– hell, she’s fought with bigger and stronger criminals before– but he still makes her skin crawl like them, like he is a lurking danger to be wary of.

Fortunately for her, she easily weaves into the stream of students entering the class without detection, avoiding his beady eyes while he catches another unfortunate student with a dress code “violation” that no other faculty member seems to notice.

The moment the girl steps into the dull gray classroom, she instantly spots her childhood friend Miles settling down in one of the desks in the back. As he takes his headphones off and looks up from his phone, his eyes light up at the sight of her while a teasing smirk creeps up on his face.

“Welcome back, Mei,” Miles calls out to the girl with a cheeky grin as she crosses the classroom to him. “How’s your first day back after getting suspended for a week?”

Mei rolls her eyes with an amused huff before pulling the chair in front of Miles’ desk out before leisurely straddling on it. “Shut up, man. Kinda wish I could stay home a little longer, to be honest.”

A snort slips through Miles’ nose as he leans forward, his dark twists swaying against his forehead while his grin softens into a lazy smile. “And leave me here to fend for myself? That’s fucked up, dude.”

“Whatever, dumbass,” Mei snickers as she leans against the backrest of the plastic chair, propping her cheek onto her knuckles. “So, what did I miss? Anything big happen while I was gone, or was everything the same as usual?”

Miles’s lips grow into a cat-like grin before leaning closer, and Mei follows suit with slight intrigue in her eyes.

“Well, you missed out on the new foreign exchange student starting beef with Mr. O’Neil.”

Mei raises her eyebrow before she looks over her shoulder, her freckled nose crinkling at the sight of the Calculus teacher lecturing another group of students, before she turns back to her amused friend. “So? Half the student body has beef with him. The damn narc pretty much got half the school in detention or suspended for–” she holds her hands up and air quotes– “ ‘not following the rules.’”

“Yeah, but this guy’s on a whole new level,” Miles snickers. “Like, the dude will find any loophole in the rules and argue his way out of trouble, pissing O’Neil off to no end.”

Mei stares at Miles with a confused look, but he only rolls his eyes as he continues. “Okay, first off: makeup. Y’know the deal– have minimal makeup and not wear bright and bold colors?”

Mei nods in response, covering her mouth with her hand to stifle a smile as she watches her old friend make his case.

Miles narrows his eyes at her, causing her to hold in a laugh trying to sneak out of her, before he goes on. “Dude practically came in all pretty and shit– gloss, eyeliner, blush, lashes. Like you can tell he was wearing makeup, but you’d low-key forget he is, and O’Neil got really pissed that he couldn’t outright call him out without being sure of it. Y’know what I mean?”

Mei shakes her head while stifling another giggle, mirth gleaming in her eyes. “You might have to give me another example or something, man,” she teases lightly.

Miles’ face drops to a deadpan before he scoffs and continues. “Okay, fine. Nail polish. O’Neil tried to send him to detention for having his nails painted, but the guy ended up getting out of it when he pointed out how his nails met the requirements in the handbook—“

Miles stops mid-sentence with another deadpan as Mei struggles to keep her giggles in.

“You’re just fucking with me, aren’t you?”

“A little, yeah. You really need to work on explaining things better.”

Miles groans before he drops his head down on his desk while Mei lets a small snicker slip through her lips.

“But nah, I think I get it though,” Mei murmurs with a pensive furrow in her brows. “Basically he’s fucking with O’Neil by taking advantage of the dress code not being gender-specific.” A small smile curls up on her lips at the thought of the narc turning red at the mysterious boy skirting around the rules. “Not gonna lie, I’m a little impressed that somebody’s that down to piss him off.”

Miles snorts and shakes his head at her, his own eyes lighting up with amusement while his lips curl up with a smirk. “Like you wouldn’t do the same shit if you had the idea.”

Mei only shrugs in response before crossing her arms against her chest. “Could’ve, but didn’t. Not that good with talking when angry, remember? Kinda why I got suspended in the first place, all because O’Neil stopped me to do a uniform check during lunch–”

“ –before you slapped the ruler out of his hand and cussed him out for being a creepy pervert?”

“Okay, is he not though?”

Miles holds his hands out in surrender, his demeanor still calm and casual. “Never said he wasn’t. I’m just saying you got in trouble on your own terms. Everybody else though…”

Both teenagers sigh at the same time before Miles drops his teasing demeanor and looks at Mei with a flicker of concern in his eyes. “O’Neil didn’t actually try anything with you though, right?”

Mei instantly shakes her head, her face pinching up into a grimace. “Nah, just tried to do his usual ruler thing, holding that stupid thing against my leg. Made my skin crawl and shit when his hand touched my knee.”

Miles’ eyes harden in anger and disgust, but Mei quietly waves it off. “I already spooked him when I called him out. It was bad timing on my part when the headmaster walked in on me cussing him out. The nerve of the bastard turning that shit against me and convincing the principal to suspend me for being ‘disrespectful’ and ‘aggressive.’” She then shrugs it off, “And honestly, it could’ve been worse than me getting suspended for a week.”

Miles sighs again as he pinches the bridge of his nose before looking back at Mei with a deadpan, which Mei instantly shrinks from with a groan.

“Miles, c’mon. Nothing actually happened to me–”

“Something could’ve–”

"Well, it didn’t–”

“It could’ve–”

“But it didn’t–”

“Mei, it could have.”

The bell suddenly rings in the classroom, and the rest of the students groan and wander to their seats while the two friends stare at each other in frustration. Miles’ eyes then soften from a harsh glare into a gaze filled with worry. “I just don’t want anything to happen to you…”

Mei’s glare instantly falters, her stomach lurching at the sight of her oldest friend worried about her, before she lets out a resigned sigh and looks away from him. “I know, Miles…”

A small lump sinks into the pit of Mei’s stomach from Miles’ words. She knows he means well, only worrying for her safety and well-being, which makes the guilt gradually fester inside. The metal web-shooters bound to her wrists also grow heavy, reminding her of her secret double life, of her responsibility as a hero, of keeping her as Spider-Girl a secret from her loved ones. Her face pinches up into a pensive frown as she stares down at her arms, a soft barrier hiding bruises and scars littered all over her skin, some from as recent as last week, and others from when she first became Spider-Girl years ago.

After a moment of silence, a small smile slowly creeps up on Miles’ lips before he gently nudges her arm. “We’ll talk more after, okay? Don’t want you getting in trouble on your first day back.”

Mei rolls her eyes with a snort before giving him a lazy smile of her own. “Can’t promise I won’t…”

Mei then turns herself to the front of the class just as the narc in question finally enters the classroom and steps to the front of the class. The old, balding man glares at the rows of students with a slight scowl, his face wrinkled up like an old bulldog, before snatching his clipboard for attendance. His beady eyes roam across the room, scanning through the sea of bored faces in front of him. When Mr. O’Neil’s eyes meet Mei’s, his eyes narrow in disdain while Mei returns the glare before sinking down on her seat. With a disgruntled sigh, Mr. O’Neil drops his clipboard back onto his desk before stepping closer to the front row of students.

“Before we start our lesson today,” his gruff voice echoes in the room, “I would like to share some concerns I have with you all.”

“Oh god,” Mei instantly mutters under her breath and rolls her eyes before her attention drifts to the empty seat in front of her, mentally preparing to tune out the incoming lecture.

“You all represent Horizon Academy, one of the most prestigious schools in all of New York City,” Mr. O’Neil continues, to the growing displeasure of the rest of the class. “This means you all have to behave like model students, to uphold the pride of this school and what it stands for.”

Mr. O’Neil’s eyes then narrow into a harsh glare as he crosses his arms against his chest. “This includes how you present yourselves in public.”

More groans echo in the classroom, but the narc continues to admonish everyone in the room. “Now, as of late, I have noticed that a lot of you students have grown complacent with yourselves. With all of you loosening your ties, leaving your top shirt buttons unbuttoned, shortening the length of your skirts, and wearing makeup and other varnishes on yourselves! Have some decorum! You all must uphold yourselves in a higher standard and not let yourselves look like slovenly hellions–”

SLAM!

Mr. O’Neil’s spiel suddenly gets interrupted by the heavy door slamming open, and everybody turns their eyes to the surprise guest. A tall, lanky boy pants as he leans against the doorframe, his dark coils puffed out and in disarray before he pushes his hair out of his face and carefully ties it up with a red scrunchie. The fluorescent lights shine down on the silver piercings scattered along his face and the slight perspiration on his dark skin as he stumbles into the stunned classroom.

“This is 318, right?” his deep British accent smoothly rumbles against the walls, but everyone stays dumbfounded at his appearance. His beige blazer is decorated with numerous pins, his white button-up is unbuttoned and his tie is loosely hanging around his neck, and his undereyes are stained with black smudges. However, the one thing everybody’s eyes are focused on before breaking out into a tizzy is the pleated black skirt fluttering against his thighs.

“Is that the foreign exchange kid?”

“The hell happened to him?”

“Dude, he’s wearing a skirt–”

“Why does his legs look good, though?”

Miles tilts his head to the side with a disbelieving chuckle as his eyes follow the stumbling student. “Well damn, today’s your lucky day, huh Mei?”

Miles’ face falters soon after as he looks at his friend in front of him, her body suddenly frozen and tense at the sight of the new kid. “Mei? You good?”

No matter how much Miles taps on Mei’s shoulder for her attention, she still stays frozen in her seat. Her skin prickles with an intense burning sensation as the metal web shooters under her sleeves grow heavy, and her hands slowly ball up into fists despite the throbbing ebbing from her wrist. Adrenaline pounds into her ears as her fists ball up tighter, her blunt nails biting into her palms and her wrist screaming from the sudden tension in her body.

Mei shouldn’t be feeling like this, shouldn’t be panicking from the sudden appearance of this guy. She’s only felt like that during her patrols when she faces her deadliest foes in New York. The Prowler, Mister Negative, Green Goblin– those guys are way more intimidating to her, not this lanky Brit stumbling into her Calculus class with a damn skirt on. Despite this, she still feels that familiar tingle on her skin, like small spiders frantically crawling all over her body, itching for her to get the fuck out of this classroom. 

Sirens blare in Mei’s mind the longer her eyes stay on the approaching figure of the student, murmurs of the new kid’s skirt fall on deaf ears for her.  All she can think of this guy is one word.

Danger.

The boy suddenly stops in front of the classroom as soon as his eyes land on Mei, and the tingles on her skin instantly crawl up to the nape of her neck and her scalp while she stares at his steely-dark eyes, as if they were the only two in the room. His eyes linger on her, as if gradually unraveling her layer by layer, intensifying the crawling sensation on her skin. After a moment of silence, the boy breaks out into a boyish grin before quickly approaching the empty seat in front of her and straddling on the chair.

“Well hello, darling,” the boy greets her with an unwavering smile like an old friend would. “I’ve waited a long time to finally meet you.”

Mei stares at the boy in confusion and disbelief at his sudden interest in her, her freckled cheeks warming up as she ignores all the chatter and stares surrounding them. “Uh, who are you?”

The boy’s smile grows as he leans against the backrest of his chair and closer to her, his towering figure hunching over her desk to stay eye level with her. “Hobie, Hobie Brown. And may I have the pleasure of knowing your name?”

The intense tingle on Mei’s skin and the sirens in her head gradually subsides the longer she stares at him, her heart rate calming down and her fingers slowly unfurling out of her fists, until only a faint buzz lingers under her skin. His stormy eyes soften as his gaze stays on her, his arm now propped on her desk with his cheek resting against his knuckles. The muffled noises in Mei’s head grow quiet, and the uncomfortable prickling along her scalp warms up into a fuzzy sensation, soothing the brief pang of anxiety inside her.

Before she could respond, a loud clack! reverberates in the air, and both Mei and Hobie look up at a fuming Mr. O’Neil standing in front of them with the end of his ruler on Mei’s desk.

“Mr. Brown, Miss Prak, it seems you two have more important matters than what I have to say for the class?” Mr. O’Neil sneers down at them. “I do hope the conversation warrants enough of a reason to avoid detention...”

The teacher briefly narrows his eyes at the annoyed Mei as she gives him a sidelong glance. “Or in Miss Prak’s case, another few days of suspension.”

Hobie’s face drops from a friendly smile to a blasé stare once he turns his attention to Mr. O’Neil. “I find introducing yourself to someone is actually very important. However, it is quite rude to insert yourself into a conversation you have no involvement in.”

Mr. O’Neil’s eye twitches while a small vein starts to pop out of his neck. “But Mr. Brown, is it not also rude to walk into class tardy, let alone interrupting an important lesson that concerns you and your fellow peers–”

“Sorry, Teach, but I doubt Calculus would be useful for most of us here,” Hobie interjects with a dismissive flick of the wrist before turning back to Mei. “Now, where were we, darlin–”

“Mr. Brown, it seems you have misunderstood something,” Mr. O’Neil interjects with a slight snarl. “I was just discussing with the class about the importance of maintaining your appearance here on campus–”

“So in other words, you’re not teaching what you’re supposed to be teaching–”

“It is quite the opposite!”

Tension buzzes inside the classroom as sparks fly between the feuding teacher and student, one close to popping a blood vessel and the other staring up in boredom. Mr. O’Neil huffs out in frustration before his eyes narrow at the fluttering fabric covering Hobie’s lap.

“Speaking of appearances, Mr. Brown, you have seem to have disregarded the dress code yet again—“

“Again?” Hobie raised a pierced eyebrow with a cheeky smirk, languidly pushing himself up from his seat until he towers over the stout older man. “I don’t recall ever being out of dress code.”

Mr. O’Neil grits his teeth while the vein on his neck slowly pops out more. “Don’t you start. You may have an excuse to continue wearing that paint on your face—“

“Gotta make myself look decent—“

“And continue to stain your nails with that varnish—“

“Never thought a neutral or baby pink would look good on my nails, but they’re growing on me—“

“Would you stop interrupting?!”

Hobie feigns an innocent grin as he cheekily holds his hands up in surrender, irritating the reddening teacher. “I don’t see why you have any issues with my makeup and nails. I’m just abiding by the rules like any other student.”

“Those rules were mainly for the female students—“

“Rules never actually said that though, did they?”

The vein on Mr. O’Neil’s neck grows bigger as his face turns redder with each comment.  Meanwhile Hobie continues to look down at the teacher with a Cheshire Cat-like grin on his pierced lips.

“I can let the makeup and the nail polish pass, despite my best judgment,” Mr. O’Neil growls through gritted teeth, his hands curling up to fists before he sharply points his ruler at Hobie’s skirt, “but I cannot allow this!”

Hobie glances down at his legs, swaying his hips side to side to watch the fabric follow the motion, before looking back at the stout man with a confused pout. “What’s wrong with it? I got it from the school, so this is the official uniform.”

Hobie then looks over at Mei, who up until now has been watching the back-and-forth with growing intrigue and amusement. “Although, seventy-one US dollars for this skirt alone? Is this school really having a laugh?”

Mei only shrugs in response, hiding the growing smile on her face with her hand. “Still gotta buy the spring skirt if you haven't yet. Costs another sixty–”

“Oh, fuck off–” Hobie mutters in disbelief as Mr. O’Neil glowers at Mei, who stares back at him with an unimpressed deadpan.

“Miss Prak, you are not involved in this conversation–” Mr. O’Neil rebukes before turning his attention back to Hobie, “ –and you need to change back into the right uniform, or I will have you sent to detention for weeks–”

“A little excessive, innit?” Hobie mutters as a nearby student quietly offers him some makeup wipes, and he sends a quick wink at her before grabbing a couple of wipes to clean the smeared black makeup off his undereyes. “I mean, I’m just wearing a uniform like everybody else.”

“You are wearing a female student’s bottoms!” Mr. O’Neil barks back, his face practically steaming like an angry tea kettle. “You are to wear the male’s khakis just like the rest of the male students–”

“But they’re so restrictive,” Hobie pouts mockingly as he starts to bend his knees and straighten up, “and these skirts are so freeing. You can practically run in these without worrying about your trousers ripping.”

Hobie then glances behind him as his fingers reach to the back of the skirt with a furrow to his brows, “Although I suppose most people would not want to expose their bums if they run…”

“MR. BROWN–”

As Mr. O’Neil’s face starts to turn purple while he continues to argue with Hobie, Mei glances over her shoulder and notices Miles blatantly holding his phone out with a stifled smirk on his face.

“Are you…?” Mei whispers with a gleam of mischief in her eyes.

Miles’ smirk grows a little more as he nods, and Mei’s lips curl up into an impish grin.  She slides her hand into her backpack and pulls out a small booklet before she turns back to the trainwreck of a show in front of her and pushes herself up from her seat.

“Okay, as riveting and important as this conversation is,” Mei interrupts the two with a cheeky smile on her face, slowly walking between them with her hands up in mock surrender, “I think we stayed on the topic of dress code for a little too long.” She turns to Mr. O’Neil, as if shielding Hobie from any more of the teacher’s tirade. “I mean, I don’t know about you guys, but I came here to learn some Calculus and try to make up some work after being gone for a week.”

Mei’s eyes then narrow at Mr. O’Neil as her grin becomes more taunting. “And isn’t education the most important priority for students to focus on?”

For a moment, Hobie looks down at Mei with confusion before his eyes briefly catch Miles recording them. Miles glances over to the Brit and puts a finger against his smug lips. Hobie’s eyes light up with respect and intrigue as they drift to Mei further provoking the seething teacher.

“Do not patronize me, Miss Prak!” Mr. O’Neil angrily yells at her as he points his ruler at Hobie. “As a teacher, I refuse to ignore this blatant disrespect against the morals and prestige of this school!”

“Morals?” Hobie scoffs dramatically as he sits on his desk, crossing his ankles and rocking his heels against the vinyl flooring. “These are just clothes, fabric that covers our bodies. Is this school’s reputation so fragile that a student wearing a skirt would ruin everything here?”

Hobie then looks around the classroom full of watchful students before looking back at the teacher with a bored deadpan. “If that were the case, then the school should get rid of the skirts entirely.”

“That is not the point!” Mr. O’Neil barks back. “The point is that skirts are for female students only!”

“Dress code didn’t say skirts should be only worn by female students though,” Mei jumps in as she flips through the mini booklet in her hands, stopping at a page before holding the booklet out to the teacher’s scowling face. “See? No mention of gender anywhere in the dress code–”

Mei’s skin on her hand tingles intensely for a brief moment, and she instantly lets go of the booklet and pulls her hands back in the air before the booklet gets slapped across the classroom with a loud SMACK! by a ruler. All eyes watch the booklet land on the window and slide down against the glass before everyone turns to the irate Calculus teacher.

“BOTH OF YOU! GET OUT OF MY CLASSROOM TO THE HEADMASTER’S OFFICE! NOW!”

Both Mei and Hobie stare at the teacher in disbelief as he stomps over to the school phone to make a phone call to the office. Mei glances over to Miles, who puts his phone down with a proud smirk, and she gives him a cheeky grin before looking over her shoulder to Hobie.

“We should probably go,” Mei whispers to Hobie with a snicker before grabbing their bags and gently pushing him towards the door, leaving behind a stunned classroom and a screaming teacher as they walk out to the empty corridor.

As the heavy door closes behind them, Hobie instantly lets out a snort before barking out a laugh, and Mei soon joins him as she walks up to his side. Their cackles echo through the halls as they wander down, with Hobie draping his arm around Mei’s shoulders and pulling her close to his side.

“Bloody hell, that was brilliant!” Hobie gasps out, his lips stretched out into a broad grin. “I didn’t think that wanker was gonna explode like ‘at. Honestly thought he was gonna drop to the floor with how purple he got.”

Mei struggles to wipe away her tears as she hiccups her laughter. “Dude, I’ve never seen him that pissed before! The fuck have you been doing for him to instantly hate you like that?”

Hobie scoffs playfully as he rests his hand on his chest. “I have done nothing, darling! I merely followed the rules like everyone else! S’not my fault that knob is too anal about the rules!”

Mei chokes out more laughter as she leans against him, barely able to breathe, before she grins up at him. “Oh, I think we’re gonna be great friends, Hobie Brown.”

An impish smile curls up on Hobie’s lips as he gazes down at her, his eyes lighting up with mirth. “Oh, I know we will…Miss Prak?”

Mei rolls her eyes with a chortle at Hobie’s teasing smile, her freckled cheeks growing more flushed from the laughter. “Mei’s fine, man.”

Hobie’s expression softens as his hand gently squeezes her shoulder, “Alright then, Mei…”

The two new friends trudge along to the office, unaware of the domino effect of their chance encounter as a certain live video of a teacher yelling at two students circulates throughout the school and social media.

[marukyubi]

Octobie Week 2: Anarchy Just a little drabble for this week '3 Pairing- Hobie x OC this week 'D (Couldn't squeeze out more. Was planning a drawing for this week but a sudden burst of desire to write has consumed me full and quick.) Brief Background - So, my oc, and her universe is in a type of dystopian world where only the people who are born rich keep getting more and more rich and powerful while the people below will never stand a chance truly, being kept in such chaos so they will never remember, get stronger, to trouble any of the "ELITES BORNS". The elites are tight-knit too, but also have tight rules that they made even their own kinds follow strictly, and very rarely that one survive from the pack if they defined the rules. My oc, Angelina, is born an Elite descendent whose family is kinda a feared outcast. Their family defies rules and even advocates the people who are not elites to defy them as well. Also support and try to make the people's lives and the society better even if it's a little bit (The irony of them being able to resist the elites this strongly is because their family has a long line of private military and the control of weapon trading businesses, which made them an essential among them. But in Angel's father's hand, to simply put how the family business stopped, "You know what. I tried the peaceful path first but you guys killed my *adopted* brother. FUCK YOU AND YOUR MOTHERS. I'm burning you all if given a chance.)

If you see Wayne family refs I took, no you don't-

Also, Angel is a Spidersona who now uses the mantle of prowler more often. She still has her organic webs, and she still uses them to have swinging dates with Hobie- but she doesn't like being associated with spiders (especially Peters) after being killed and resurrected. (Her universe Peter is not really that great. He's one of many main factors that caused her death.) She mainly uses magic weapons like her pa :D

Warning - Vulger words, mentions of violence, mentions of cannibalism, mentions of blood, brief old men yaoi, Hobie might be a bit ooc 'cause I wrote in a rush of creativity(sorry '3), it's (almost) an indulgence oc content

EAT THE RICH It's an old saying that originated from the French Revolution and is used by many people who have taken the mentality of anarchism to this day. EAT. the "RICH". When Hobie said it in front of his lover, and her dad who is a great inventor with such generational wealth but even joined him in the chant, and their family who... support him fully despite their power hold and background? (It's a weird family, he knows it when he gets in head first, but they were kind enough...?) He didn't expect her to take it as literally... "You're telling me..." asks Hobie to Angelina slowly, to take in fully of what he's about to say. "That you killed a bunch of big politicians... and fed the meats to... who!?" "My babies!" Angelina answers with a beaming smile, looking all too prideful to drench her limbs in the blood of said people. "Crowley did not mean literal babies," her brother, Felix, chimes in while working on a project near the conversation, and so does her pa(other dad :D). "We don't accept cannibalism in this household," says her pa as he tries out a new magic spell he had just found from an old grimoire. "At least not with those degraded meats." "Then what babies?" Hobie can't help but ask. "My... babies!" She replies with an emphasized voice as if he will just suddenly get the enlightenment of what she truly means. But she did catch her own mistake quick and pointed at the big aquarium behind him that has a wide variety of colorful fishes. "And hey, I'm not a meanie." She proclaims herself with a huff and a proud grin that is a bit terrifying, considering the situation. "I ground the meat to the softest pulp form I can get and mixed it with their normal diet so they won't get sick from the "treat". I also fed to the strayed animals too, no worries." It rendered Hobie a bit speechless, to hear her say all of this like it's nothing special and/or horrifying process. He's almost used to his partner's uncanny and abnormal thought processes but to see her commit one? She can always surprise him in ways he has never thought possible... "... And the reasoning?" asks Hobie quietly with a sigh. He just can't... help it, like how he fell for this bumbling idiot. And one thing he knows for sure about his love is... she would never do things out of irrational or unjustifiable excuses, no matter how the execution is. She sort of means well, almost always. It's just the acts that weird out the people who weren't around this strange family enough. And she does give him the answer immediately, with a brightening, childish smile. "Those pigs tried to legalize underage marriage in their state for the child trafficking shit they're covering for." "...Blimey, tell me you gave all in to torture those bastards." "Hell yeah! Started with making my men slice their dicks and balls off into thin strands with a bloody dull knife while keeping 'em fully awake."

[itsparis-07]

Serena’s diary entry’s (10/7/77)

Dear diary, i meet this guy on my back from Roxie (my phone line job) today. There was this protest in Camden downtown, it was pretty boring until this tall dude with funky dreads looking things on his head started throwing bottles of beer at a cop with a riot shield. And BOOM! People went crazy, like full chaos, in a good way I guess. But the cops kept pushing the group of 200 people back and forth, it even got to the point where the crowd started pouring in from the bars and from sidewalks. And from me being 5’3, i got swept into that crowd. I was lost and holding tight to my purse. But it was no use, i got knocked down repeatedly, until, he came behind me, the guy with the skinny build and funky hair! He guided me down back to the docks, where surprisingly he lived in the boat house next to me..huh. I noticed his cut from glass that got thrown around during the riot. So i let him inside for dinner and to clean his wounds. After that he left after a 2 hour nap, but now whenever he sees me walking to work…he waves at me with a little smile… sigh…he told me he’s coming over next weekend!

wish me lucky - SJ

@the-kr8tor

[the-kr8tor]

Octobie Week two— Anarchy Masterlist

*if you don't see your work here and want it to be added please tag me in a reblog or tag me in the comment section. Or if you want your work to be removed in the masterlist please don't hesitate to ask.*

Navigation

Octobie 🎸

Custom banners by @mushroom-graphics-allotment

Hobie and blob fanart by @nikkeora

Eat the rich by @sareenawails

Handmade felt figurine of Hobie by @themossisglowing

Hobie fanart by @januscorner

Hobie fanart by @kissthem-forme

Hobie fanart by @spiderblight

Billie and Ramona by @friendly-neighborhood-mushroom

Hobie fanart by @michelleart8

Movement by @/the-kr8tor

Ruby by @pinksugarscrub

micro rebellion acts Hobie headcanons by @lorraine-dcmbr

Serena’s diary entry’s (10/7/77) by @itsparis-07

Hobie x Angelina by @marukyubi

Skirts Are For Everyone by @hyperfix-wip

DiscoPunk - Anarchy & Admiration by @the-cat-and-the-birdie

Daily Hobie HC day one by 🐦‍⬛ anon

Daily Hobie HC day two by 🐦‍⬛ anon

Daily Hobie HC day three by 🐦‍⬛ anon

Daily Hobie HC day four by 🐦‍⬛ anon

Daily Hobie HC day five by 🐦‍⬛ anon

Daily Hobie HC day six by 🐦‍⬛ anon

Daily Hobie HC day seven by 🐦‍⬛ anon

*please consider reblogging each work if you liked them!*

[dema-heart]

*crawls from under the many hours I've worked*

I PROMISE IM WRITING FOR OCTOBIE.

I have wips from anarchy and wildcard for you guys today. My mangers house flooded due to the heavy rains here from the hurricanes further south, and i had to cover for them the last few weeks (I'm usa based)

HERE THEY ARE. I'll be introducing my spidersona for anarchy and inserting her into the part of the movie where everyone meets in pavs universe up to myles chase scene where hobie leaves!

I'm hoping to have at least wildcard done this week for sure!

[michelleart8]

Forgot the hashtags OOPS

Octobie Month !! 🎸

Week 2 : Anarchy !

I know a bit about history of Anarchism and I used the Ukrainian anarchy flag because it is great and is a reference to the important figure of Anarchism Nestor Makno.

⚠️TW FOR GORE⚠️

(It’s Norman Osborn head cut in half and a bit messy on Hobie’s guitar)

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Credit to @mushroom-graphics-allotment for the banner and @the-kr8tor for the idea of Octobie

[hyperfix-wip]

Octobie 2024

These works are from @the-kr8tor's Octobie event, dedicated to Across the Spiderverse's Hobie Brown! Banners are made by @the-shroom-garden

Week 1: Comfort:

Sleepy Quips

Week 2: Anarchy

Skirts Are For Everyone

Week 3: Wildcard

Double Interrogation

Week 4: Halloween

The Demon in the Dark

The Witch's Vindication

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

'Blue Ribbons' - DiscoPunk -Hobie Brown x OC

Octobie Week 1 - Comfort

Synopsis - When Diane is faced with a horrific canon event and blood on her hands that only Hobie can understand, he offers her comfort - and a way to just be.

DiscoPunk - Hobie Brown x Diane Pastors - Hurt/Comfort Word Count: 3.8k

TW : Violence, (brief mentions of) Gore, Murder, Racism, Racial Slurs a.n: Thanks to @the-kr8tor for inspiring me to finally finish a fic lol! I proofread this like a speedrun so excuse any typos thxs <3

___________________________________________

Diane had never been like Hobie. Some could argue they were more different than they were alike.

It seemed like Hobie was rough in all the places she was soft. Like Diane was tender in all the places he was tough. Just like there was order in his anarchy, there was chaos in her order.

It was rare that people so different found themselves in the same place at once. When before, they had been universes apart.

They had a few things in common, though.

For one, they were artists. They were radicals. Musicians. Creators who turned rage and chords into melodies and hooks.

They were many things. But if there was anything they wasn’t - it was heroes. If it was one thing they could agree on, it was that;

Hobie and Diane weren’t heroes.

They didn’t want to be. That was the thing though - No one had ever stopped to ask them what they wanted.

They had never asked to be the foot-soldiers of their own freedom. They had never wanted to keep fighting, no matter how futile and hopeless it felt. Broken bones exchanged for a chance to fix a broken system; waking up the morning after to piece together a broken spirit, then continuing on like nothing had happened.

No one would ask for that. 

Yet when did canon ever care?

Hobie didn’t believe any of it, ‘Bollocks, the lot of it.’ if you asked him. But for Diane, the writing on the wall wasn’t so clear, not yet. That he could tell. Even if he couldn’t do much to help.

In the face of it all, it was easier to feign normalcy. Easier to be rockstars and delinquents than the people the universe wanted them to be. 

Easier to record record after record. Easier to sell out venues, swimming through afterparty after afterparty, waking up just to put on the suit, and go swinging hungover. Easier to crash on each other's couches, and pretend they were just two musicians who had met drunk at a bar. 

Like tonight. It was simpler that way.

It was usually simpler that way.

Hobie was dead asleep on Diane’s couch.

It was a pink and plush number, covered in velvet, and dwarfed by her overwhelming throw-pillow collection. The place smelled like vanilla, pecan pie, and good ‘skunk’ - Diane’s word for weed. No matter how many times Diane spontaneously redecorated, that one thing had always seemed to stay the same. It had been that way since the night he had met her.

In a way, Diane was like that too.

No matter what, she was always new - a new lip gloss, a new fragrance, a new fashion trend to try. Every day there was a new lingo to learn, and a new song to write. She was always so ‘new’, even if the two of them were living 50 years in what everyone considered ‘the past’.

But at the end of the day, she was always her. At the end of the day, she would always be Diane.

Hobie felt Diane before he saw her.

Even in his sleep, he could always tell it was her.

The feeling was unlike any other - something innate like their Spider Sense, something sweeter like affection. There was a time Hobie could never understand it, the spark at the edge of his perception, the unignorable energy that let him know she was there.

He felt it behind his eyes before they opened.

Outside her window, the ever-burning neon signs left stains of color across the carpets on her floor, hyper-saturated paint strokes in the darkness of Earth 1294.

Hobie didn’t want to be right - but felt like something was terribly wrong.

The window in the kitchen slammed open, filling the apartment with the sounds of traffic and city chaos if only for a moment. But he could only hear her. Diane’s footsteps were heavy and uneven, like she wasn’t wearing her skates. Without a doubt, he could tell she was crying.

The window slammed shut.

“Di.” Hobie called, climbing over the back of the couch to stand. “Fucking hell, you alright-”

What he saw stopped him dead in his tracks. 

Hobie had never seen her this way.

Diane stood in the doorway - Hair, hands, body, and face, covered in blood. Her eyes were wide, trained on Hobie, but looking straight through him. The image of it all was enough to make his mind go blank.

“Is that your blood?” Hobie asked.

Diane shook her head.

“Hobie, I just killed someone.”

There was terror in her voice.

Diane whispered it - fearing the ground would split and swallow her whole for simply admitting it. Her voice was raspy with the first words she’d spoken since. She was shaking, running bloodied hands through her hair as she tried to smooth out the curls - over and over again.

When Hobie wrapped his arms around her, Diane fell into his embrace. With her chest against his, he could feel the stutter of her breath - the way her lungs tried to fight through the hyperventilation.

There were only two options here, only two true explanations - ones all Spider people knew. Either she had failed to save someone, or something far, far worse. 

It was only then he realized that she wasn’t wearing her mask. Hobie couldn’t ignore the way his stomach dropped. 

“You hurt?”

Diane shook her head. “No.” she said, breathless.

Her hands shook so hard she could barely steady herself. And even through the blood and mess, Hobie laced his fingers in hers, clasping her hands tight to stop the shake. Guitar-calloused fingers ran against the back of her hand, the blood of her crime spreading to him. It did little good, they still shook.

 “That’s all that matters then.” Hobie told her, taking steps towards the sink. “Ain’t no use in you staying like this.” 

He turned the water in the sink on. He dampened a paper towel, raising it to wipe the blood from her face. “We gotta get you cleaned up, yea-”

Diane swatted at his hand, the first time she’d ever rejected his touch. And suddenly - she was looking directly at him, eyes wide, piercing, and urgent.

“No! No, I can’t - That’s not what matters right now.” she said, pulling away from his touch.

Diane had never drowned in her life, until that moment.

That’s what it felt like.

She could feel herself gasping for air, her heart beating so hard she could feel it in every muscle.

She felt like she was underwater, suffocating in her living room - like any second it would all be too much and if she was lucky, her heart might stop. Her mind moved slow, thoughts distorted through seasalt, memories, and fear. The only words she could think to say - “We can’t be here”.

Over and over through the sobs. “We can’t be here.” 

Diane moved through the living room like a hurricane, grabbing anything she could think to grab - her multi-verse watch, a photo of Aunt May, her songbook, things Hobie had made.

Hobie came to her, trying to still her if only for a moment. But she was falling apart at the seams, and he was at a loss.

“Hobie, we have to leave. Now.” she said. “We can’t be here when they get here.”

And just like that, Hobie knew.

Diane could see it. He didn’t show it, yet somehow she knew.

Diane knew the answer before she asked.

The universe tilted with the realization, the neon signs outside slipping into shades of suffocating blue. Like a  glowing tide flowing in, threatening to swallow her whole. Now, all at once she realized - this was a wave she couldn’t stop.

“This is a canon event, isn’t it?”

Hobie’s response was enough of an answer. “Diane,” he said, “You have to tell me what happened.”

“I just killed a cop. Someone saw.”

Diane had never wanted to be a hero.

She had never wanted great power; She’d never asked for great responsibility either.

She never had asked to give up her body to the universe, for it to change into something just barely un-human. Or risk her life for a people - for a city of people - who just didn’t seem to care.

There was a time when she was younger, when she thought she could be anything she wanted. Now none of that mattered.

Canon was what mattered.

Canon had made her what she is. Canon had made her a hero, and a killer too.

All she wanted was to be Diane.

Diane let him clean her up.

Her breath had quieted, and for a bit the look in her eyes were lidded, and far, far away. Yet the tears still came, silent streams on her face as she fought off the sniffles. Hobie planted her on the couch and knelt on the shag carpet on her floor - long fingers wiping away the mess of tears and cleaning the blood on her cheeks.

It felt like she was sitting someplace between a nightmare and a horrible, horrible reality.

The cold dampness of the tissue was a shock to her system, pulling her out of a place where time seemed to move so slow. Her eyes locked with Hobie’s, and in that moment, he could tell she was truly there, ready to talk.

“Who saw?”

Conjuring the memory to mind made Diane’s stomach drop.

“His partner.”

“The partner see your face?”

“No. I don’t think so.” she said, but she wasn't sure, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Was it an accident?”

“No.” Diane said again. “I don’t think so.”

That hadn’t been the answer Hobie expected. Not from Diane.

By the look on his face, Diane felt the need to explain.

“We were fighting. The bastard was using a little girl as a shield, gun to her head. So I went at him from behind.” Diane said, pointing a finger gun to her temple. “I didn’t touch it - It just fired, I don’t know how. He ended up taking the bullet to the side. The little girl got away.”

“Then you did the right thing, Di.”

Diane shook her head.

Again, the feeling was there again. Drowning.

“The thing is - He’d gotten my mask off.” She said, voice trembling. “He’d seen my face. He was there bleeding on the sidewalk, looking me dead in the eye. And you know what the bastard did?” she asked. “He laughed at me.”

For a second, Hobie thought that maybe he had heard her wrong. For a second, a part of him didn’t want to believe it. But he could hear it - in the way the memory and the rage left her voice shaking, the way her eyes squeezed shut, trying to erase the images.

“He didn’t think I would do it. He started saying horrible things.” Diane said. “Called me a n!***r-bitch. Told me they’d lynch me for it - all of that. He’d thought that because my mask was off, that he’d won.

“I should’ve ran. He thought I was going to, but I didn’t. I didn’t know his partner was there waiting to ambush me. I just remember feeling so cold, all over. I just - I wanted to make him feel like, how cops have made me feel all my life. I wanted him to feel that fear. I wasn’t thinking - I just figured, if I hurt him this one time, he couldn’t hurt us ever again.”

Hobie understood.

He wished he didn’t. Hobie wished that Diane would never know the feeling he knew all too well, would never have to make the choice he’d made years ago. But canon was cruel like that.

“Daiquiri,” 

“The gun was by my feet. I just remember picking it up and aiming it at him. And he got real quiet. I almost ain’t do it. I just wanted to scare him. Then he spat at me, so I - I just pulled the trigger.”

The sobs seemed to break her, and Diane turned her face from Hobie, even as he leaned forward to embrace her.

It was like being there.

The words alone made her stomach sour, the shining signs outside slipping from shades of aquamarine to a shamrock green. The images behind her eyes seemed to play silently, vividly, more distorted and revolting each way around.

She really wished she had looked away.

It was the first time in her life that she’d ever seen brains.

Diane stood suddenly, tripping over her own feet as she stumbled her way to the bathroom. Her knees hit the tiles hard, and she knelt on all fours before the toilet, vomited up everything she had in her.

Hobie was at her heels for every step.

When they made it to the bathroom, he brushed her hair over her shoulders, keeping it all out the way and rubbed her back as it rumbled with sobs.

He didn’t know how long they laid there, in the darkness of her bathroom, yet it seemed like an eternity before her breathing slowed and her sobs subsided. Diane hung onto Hobie as if she’d slid off the edge of the Earth otherwise, and he held her, sandwiched in the cool place between her tub and her toilet. 

When it was just the two of them like this, there was no such thing as time. With the two of them, there were no boundaries in the cosmos - the two of them in their own little universe.

It was easier that way.

Hobie wondered where they’d be, if not together. If they let canon write their stories for them - would that be a life worth living at all?

“I’m so tired of this shit.” Diane whispered.

“So am I.” Hobie said.

Hobie turned on the shower, lifted Diane, and took her back to the couch.

That was the only thing he could think to do - clean her up and get her comfortable.

He didn’t know how long they had before the city was in a frenzy - how long they had before Disco-Spider would be identified and outed, her face shown to all of New York. Soon cops all over the city would no her as a cop-killer, the NYPD’s enemy #1. And there was only so much he could do to shield her. But he’d try.

Diane laid on the couch, her energy gone, her body grounded by exhaustion and crushing dread. Silently, she watched the TV play reruns of The Brady Bunch on mute. A family of smiling faces casting dancing lights across her blank face.

“You know,” Diane said, after a long time. “I’m afraid I won’t ever see my aunt again.”

It took Hobie a second to understand what she meant. Her head was sat in his lap, but she turned her eyes toward him, looking up at him.

“Never took you to be religious,” he said. 

Up until that moment, Diane had never spoken much about religion, or death. She simply wasn’t the type, too full of life to ever think about death. Not even when Diane’s Auntie May had died less than a year earlier - another canon event that was still a fresh wound.

“I didn’t either.” Diane said. “That’s what she use to say though. That I’d see my mama and dad in heaven. They went missing, and we ain’t ever find them. But Auntie used to say, even if we can’t find them here, if we were good - we’d find them there. Then we’d all be together. Now that I say it like that.. It sounds naive. But I still feel scared.”

It was crushing, that feeling. The fear that she was too far gone. Diane had never been religious. She’d sang at church when she was young, gotten all prettied up on Sundays. But she had been a child then.

Now, she couldn’t recognize herself. Back then, she could be her. Now, she had to be Disco.

Hobie ran his fingers along the side of Diane’s face, brushing her hair aside. Diane closed her eyes, trying to imagine that his touch was the only thing left in the world.

“If it makes you feel any better, wherever you end up. I’ll be there too.” he said.

For a second, Diane didn’t say anything, holding herself in that moment with his touch, the lights outside tangerine and crimson red.

When she opened her eyes, she said “It does make me feel a little better.”

After all this, a place with just the two of them did seem like heaven.

Diane got in the shower, running the water hot, as if she were trying to wash the trauma out.

Hobie stayed in the living room, in a silent argument with himself.

How long could they stay here? How long did she have?

Hours? Minutes? Moments?

How much would she have to endure, before canon decided she’d ‘had enough’? Why did it have to happen at all?

The image on the TV changed drastically. The mirage of a happy white family of sitcom smiles seemingly disappeared in an instant. Now there was breaking news, and the screen before him showed nothing but chaos.

Rioters forming a mod, a gathering on the steps of the NYPD Headquarters, the people’s faces contorted in anger and hatred. The headline accompanied the scene: ‘Rioters search for Disco-Spider in defense of Shoot-&-Slain Captain Stacy’.

Fellow officers stood amongst the crowd in support, armed with their assault rifles and riot gear. The ones that didn’t have that, had white hoods.

This was the reality of Diane’s universe.

This was why the Black Panthers fought as hard as they did, what her parents had fought all their lives for. A universe divided by racial injustice, homophobic extremism, and hatred. He could see it in their faces, both giddy and enraged. When he unmuted the TV, he could hear it in their voices, when they chanted ‘Kill the N!***r!’ with glee.

Diane had sacrificed her life to be Disco, when she had only wanted to be herself. Diane had given up dreams to be Disco, to defend those that simply wanted to be themselves too.

But could she die for Disco too? The question made Hobie sick.

Hobie had his answer. They didn’t have long.

Diane couldn’t tell how long she’d laid there, sitting in darkness at the bottom of her tub. Knees to her chest, she held herself there in a ball, under the cool running water. 

She knew she didn’t have much time.

The walls seemed like they were closing in, tighter and tighter. Like if she let go for only a second, canon would crush and kill her right there and then.

She had never wanted any of this.

There was nothing she wanted more than to take Hobie by the hand, to curl up with him in bed, and let the world implode around them - like nothing else mattered. Like there was no one else in the universe but them.

What she wouldn’t give, to be anyone else. To be a footnote in someone else's story, to live - and just live, with Hobie. She’d give anything.

The universe wouldn’t allow it. Canon needed a character worthy of tragedy. But if she closed her eyes, when she thought about it hard enough, she could see a life with him that felt all too real.

Backstage at shitty venues, stolen kisses in alleyways. Weed smoke and lipstick stains, morning after morning on a canal boat. No universes to keep them apart and not ever having to say goodbye.

A life where she was just Diane. And he was just Hobie. And they could just be together.

What she wouldn’t give for a life like that.

When Diane got out of the shower, the tile floor felt ice cold.

Whatever was at the top of the hamper was what she put on, something faded and worn - a bandtee of Hobie’s band ‘Wicked Webs’ - and she left her hair as is, kinky coils still wet from the water.

On the other side of the door, the apartment seemed dark and cold.

“Hobie?”

No response.

She could hear the sounds of chaos - sirens and shrieks from the streets. Blue and red lights flickered across the city, dozens of patrol cars to start the search. Soon, the whole city would be in lockdown.

There was no time left to run, there had never been any other place to go. And the thought terrified her to her core.

Diane could feel the panic setting in again. She could tell in the way her chest tightened and heaved.

Diane felt Hobie before she saw him, lean arms wrapping around her middle to pull her close. Diane turned into his embrace, pressing her face into his shoulder, taking him in if only for a moment. 

It was a second before she asked “Where’d you go?”

“Had to grab something,” he said.

Hobie held something between them. An item, wrapped in his signature scrap-wrapping-paper - a gift. Diane hesitated, trying to even her breathing and soothe the shake in her hands. She took the box from him, turning it over to undo the tape.

“Was gonna wait til your birthday for this one, but I figured I’d give it to you a bit Liz Hurley*. Just this one time.” (rs: ‘early’)

Diane opened the box.

Inside was a watch.

Diane froze, the shock of it enough to wipe her mind clear.

It was sparkly and holographic, rigged with a neon pink screen, and girly keychains. It was a multiverse watch - but it wasn’t Miguel’s.

It was his.

And now, it was hers.

 “Hobie, I-” Diane shook her head in disbelief, trying to find her words. All she could say was “You’re amazing.”

Hobie pressed a kiss to her forehead, pulling her closer when he said “I want you to come with me, Di.”

“What?”

“Miguel and Jess won’t tell you this - but you don’t have to live like this. If this ain’t what you want, if you aren’t happy, then fuck canon.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Could be.” Hobie said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I made this watch so Miguel couldn’t track us whenever you came over. But if you want to leave, actually leave - Diane, you don’t have to be Disco if you don’t want to. You could be just Diane. Screw Miguel and screw canon. I’d love you the same.”

Diane looked down at the watch in her hands. The key to escaping, to leaving, to just being. Being with Hobie, being just Diane.

What more could she ask for? What did she have left to lose?

It only took twenty minutes to pack her bags, two duffels she’d gotten on their last tour.

Diane slipped on the watch. When it clicked into place, it was a perfect fit. She’d left her blood-stained suit in the hamper. She figured she wouldn’t need it.

The portal in front of them was entirely Hobie, rough on its edges and loud in its colors. When she passed through it, she left to Disco behind.

She left to be Just Diane.

_________________________________________________

:) I HAVE NOTHING TO ADD. I'm happy to be done and I'm happt with how this came out but atp I'm not even sure if its enough comfort to count lol

If you made it this far, thank you SO SO SO much for reading. I love you!! Here's Hobie.

BYE.

[michelleart8]

Posting my Octobie Anarchy tomorrow I PROMISE

[the-kr8tor]

You imagine R so elegantly in these scenarios while I imagined police R shooting the other cop like this part of the video (20:40-20:46) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O8lZcoMEMrg Daily Hobie HC! Week two, day five With a yawn, Hobie watches you stumble out out bed with a drowsy expression, his shirt hanging off your shoulder casually with your comfy shorts underneath. Hobie is sat on the ground, cross-legged with Mayday happily scribbling all over what looked to be a sign that would be held at a protest. His gaze softens at your 'I love you but what is this?' smirk. He beckons you closer, avoiding cupping your face with the gel on his hands to shape Mayday's hair into a spiked mohawk. You give him a kiss on his forehead, standing behind him with your hands massaging at his shoulders while Hobie gels the few stray strands peeling off of the spikes as a final touch up. As Hobie announces that Mayday will be protesting in the peaceful protest with you both, he could immediately sense your concern as your eyes blink awake in a fraction of a second. He quickly assured you that if the cops were to get violent, that Mayday will be taken away within the second. You had trust in him to protect Mayday with all he could. After all, you could see he practically adored her, although he was labelled as 'Babysitter #5' in PeterB's contacts. Hobie gave you time to get ready and freshen up for the peaceful protest, watching as you brought out his and your signs, which had actual English words, but Hobie couldn't let Mayday realize it. Hobie settled Mayday on top of his shoulders, not wearing his iconic spiked leather vest so that she had space to put her legs on his shoulders, holding up her gibberish sign enthusiastically. Hobie held a banner, while you were standing beside holding up your own sign high, with Mayday quickly copying, even overdramatically mimicking your furrowed brows and small frown. While you both moved with the growing crowd, with Hobie making to take extra care of Mayday and keep a watch on the cops blocking the way, Hobie couldn't help but tease you slightly, wanting to get that absentminded frown off your face. He leant down slightly, murmuring something about how when you both have kids, he'll be doing this with them. Hobie chuckled as your furrowed brows rose to a flustered expression, suppressing a loud laugh as you stomp on his foot playfully in retaliation, a silent way of telling him to shut up. If only you knew that, despite his teases, Hobie was serious, as one day you walked out to see Hobie applying hair gel to Billie and Ramona's hair, shaping them into spikes and giving them their own signs to hold up in the peaceful protest. -🐦‍⬛

🤣🤣🤣

Daily Hobie HC ‼️‼️‼️

I love it in fics when r is mentioned to be wearing their partner's clothes 🤭

The image of mayday sitting on Hobie's lap while she does finger painting like its her job has me all 😍😍🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰 that's the most adorable thing ever

THE MOHAWK!!!!!! QIXJJWXNKWNX

Phew I'm glad you mentioned the dangers of bringing a kid to a protest

LMAOOOO not the babysitter #5!!! I wonder who is 1-4 🤔 poor Hobie he's just a babysitter to peter when mayday sees him as her uncle (her favourite btw)

AWWWWWW MAYDAY HOLDING UP HER SIGN!!!! I bet they look like doctor's notes lol

I was abt to say that billie and mona might appear in this one and I was right!!! B and R in a mohawk tho while they're still in their diapers 🤣🤣🤣

[pinksugarscrub]

Menace

Hobie Brown x Black Cat 2099! Reader

Initial draft for Octobie's Anarchy segment Ruby

Word count: 500+

Warnings: none

~

Hobie has never forgotten a face. Call it his photographic memory, his spider sense, or his overall nosiness. He never forgets a face.

Although…maybe it’s more so the fact that he can identify the out of the ordinary in his routine.

Through the sea of red and blue it’s easy to spot outsiders. Especially if they lack the oh so popular spider emblem everyone wears with their suit.

The other day—a Tuesday no less—he caught sight of a girl. Nothing about her was particularly unordinary except for the silver of her hair. Hobie just chalks it up to a black cat variant. He’s met Felicia, she’s great at poker.

But what was peculiar was the fact she was standing in Miguel’s office being chewed out by said man and seeming unfazed by it all.

Hobie searched everywhere, every universe because why not? He was curious and bored but he came up pretty empty handed.

All he gathered was that she was a pain in Miguel’s ass and Lyla kept tabs on her at all hours of the day. He really wanted to meet you.

His big break came during a debriefing about an anomaly in a Shakespeare-esque dimension.

“Miguel.”

“I will not tolerate anymore mass destruction-” Miguel droned. Images of one of Hobie’s previous missions on display. Technically that was Kraven’s fault, not his.

“Miguel,” Lyla persisted. Popping up around him like a pixie with alarm bells around her head, literally.

“It takes less than one mistake to-”

“Miguel!”

“Coño, what?” Miguel hissed.

Lyla’s megaphone dissipated as she pointed to a set of footage that replaced the previous images of Hobie. “You might want to see this.”

With clenched teeth and tense shoulders Lyla streamed live footage from- was that five cop cars?

“Oh-”

That is correct Gwen. [censored].

Hobie’s eyes went wide as he watched a sleek sports car glide through a highway like it was nothing. His boredom quickly made way for excitement.

“When did this happen!?”

“Twenty minutes ago sir.”

“What do you mean? She did it by herself?” Miguel looked flabbergasted. It wasn’t a poor look.

Lyla shrugged, giving an almost deadpanned look to Hobie then Gwen. At this point they were the only ones who would listen to her. “She made the heist early.”

Miguel rubbed at his face so hard Hobie was sure his skin would peel. Cursing and rubbing the bridge of his nose. Hobie and Gwen were forgotten as you took precedence.

“Call her, now.”

“Calling!” Lyla answered cheerfully.

Click click click

“Oh, hey boss!” Your voice rang out. The sound of the engine roaring as you pressed harder on the gas pedal.

You hum and move your head from side to side. Carefree as you hear Miguel yell on the line. “Uh huh, yeah, I see where this is going. Let me just say-ah, well, I don’t have a good excuse.”

“This was not what we discussed- this was not the plan!”

Shrugging your shoulders you brush off the anger in Miguel’s voice. Taking a sharp turn to exit off of the highway. “Plans are more like guidelines. Plus, your way was boring.”

Hobie is pretty sure he's in love.