#w/hobie brown

[angel-selfshipper]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ꒰꒰ 🧷 ┊“𝙃𝙊𝘽𝙄𝙀” ꒱꒱

The bouquet trembled in Doll’s grasp, delicate fingers curling around the stems with a gentleness that betrayed the storm brewing beneath it's skin. Doubt coiled tight, thorned vines wrapping around its chest, making it harder to breathe with each passing second.

The lilies—once pristine, their white petals a symbol of untouched beauty—had withered at the edges, curling inward as decay kissed their rounded tips with a soft brown hue. Four hours. That’s how long Doll had spent agonizing over whether it should give them to him.

They weren’t beautiful. Not in the way of lavish bouquets wrapped in silk ribbons, the kind that lovers gifted one another in grand, sweeping gestures. Not like the vibrant red roses sitting pretty in overpriced florists’ windows, waiting for someone to mistake their cost for meaning.

These lilies were different. Stolen—traded for a handful of polished stones, if you asked Doll—from an abandoned cemetery near its home. Their stems were still damp from the fog that lingered like ghosts, the scent of rain intricately laced with the rich earth they had once called home.

They weren’t enough...

And yet, when the door swung open, Hobie stood there, his sharp, breathtaking gaze landing on the bouquet. In an instant, his entire face lit up—like the sun cresting the horizon, warm and golden, chasing away the cold. His smile sent a sharp ache through Doll’s chest, so deeply lovestruck it could hardly stand it.

“What’s all this, then?” His voice, to anyone else, might have sounded like lazy amusement, but Doll heard something deeper beneath it—something that made its heart stutter against the sharpness of it's ribs.

Doll ducked its head, that eerily haunting voice slipping from its lips like the first few notes of a music box playing in an abandoned house. “I just… wanted to give you flowers.” A pause. Fingers flexing against the withered stem. “They aren’t—they aren’t perfect. Or even good, really. They’re just…” The words crumbled before they could fully form, the weight of its own self doubt pressing heavy against its tongue.

Hobie scoffed—not cruel, but warm, like he thought the very idea of Doll doubting itself was absurd. He plucked the bouquet from its grasp with a tenderness that made its breath hitch, holding the wilted lilies up to his eyes and looking at them like they were made from the idea of love itself. His expression softened slightly, something so painfully tender settling in his deep brown eyes that it made Doll’s stomach twist.

“Are you completely mad?” he teased, flashing that sharp, wolfish grin, smile bright against the darkness of the hallways dim lighting. “These are beautiful!”

Doll blinked, eyes wide, as if he had just told it the sky was neon green. “But they’re wilted...”

“So?” Hobie arched a brow, as if the very thought of him caring about such a thing was ridiculous. “They ain’t some store bought rubbish. That alone makes ‘em better than any of that overpriced nonsense.”

He brought the bouquet to his nose, inhaling deeply. And then he speaks in a much softer ton, more intimate than before—“They smell like you.”

Doll’s breath caught in it's throat at hus words “Like you“. It always smelled of thick fog and freshly dug earth, like a cemetery after the rain.

Hobie tilted his head, looking down at it like it had just handed him the world. “Can’t believe you thought I’d want some soulless, factory-made nonsense over these.”

Doll’s fingers curled into the intricate lace of its sleeves, gaze flickering down to the bouquet now cradled in Hobie’s hands. He held it like something precious, something treasured, not just a bundle of wilted flowers stolen from an old graveyard.

“You really like them?”

Hobie stepped closer, the scent of old leather and worn cloth mixing with Doll’s much softer one. He reached up, calloused fingers brushing along the curve of its cheek, his touch as reverent as if he were tracing the delicate porcelain of a cherished antique. “Luv” he murmured, thumb ghosting over its skin. “I love them just as much as I love you.”

Something in Doll cracked wide open, the weight of its shame dissolving like mist under the morning sun. Hobie loved them? Hobie loved them!

“T-Thank Y—” The words barely had time to escape before Hobie was pulling it into his arms, laughter rumbling against Doll’s chest.

Maybe, just maybe, Doll would have to bring him flowers more often.

[visikonn]

[kellysketches]

hobie brown!!!! the man that you are!!!!

[citruslllad]

friends who beat the shit out of cops together

[unipacas]

wake up babe new best friends dropped

[jokingmaiden]

nah bc “miles is the center of the love triangle!!” is cute and all but inherently incorrect by definition

what y’all are thinking of is a love VECTOR. two people after one person who has to choose between them.

i want a love TRIANGLE babey. miles loves gwen, gwen feels safe around hobie, hobie’s got the biggest crush on miles. it ends in them all realizing they’re best off being poly bc they all fall in love and it’s adorable

then pavitr’s like “but what abt me 🥺” and they’re like “you have a girlfriend?????” and he’s like “yeah but we’re open 🥺🥺🥺🥺” and they’re all like “well shit i guess there are four of us now”

[jasmancer]

I KNOWWWW comic Hobie and movie Hobie would be besties I KNOW it

[likelimeonade]

HI TUMBLR

Its been a while. Thats on me my bad friends :3

Anyway wouldn’t scene hobie be absolutely fire? Would him and gwen sharing kandi and stuff be so cool????????

[visions--of--collisions]

thinking abt punkflower + "don't watch the mouth, watch the hands" and going bananas okay Look:

it's crazy that we don't invoke it more bc aside from it being this iconic, overarching theme, it is so so insanely applicable???? for one, it's the perfect encapsulation of their relationship so far, such as it is: miles spending so much of atsv watching hobie's mouth, figuratively - for the damning proof of his relationship with gwen, for the disregard he expected, for all the references and slang and talk in general going over his head - when hobie actually showed him his hand almost as soon as they met. when he kept on doing it; when he was shaking miles' shoulders in mumbattan, when hobie was doing magic tricks for him and filching parts from hq to make his own watch, when he showed him he could break free. when miles wasn't even there to watch hobie throw off his ties to the society and walk out rather than join the hunt for him

and idk maybe other ppl disagree, but as far as i'm concerned: of course miles didn't see it. bc he's been taught to distrust the hands, from the get-go. from itsv to atsv - from kingpin's fists beating peter parker to death right in front of him to the prowler's gauntlets to miguel's claws tearing holes in his suit and the go-home machine's forcefield alike to the prowler's gauntlets--

(the prowler's gauntlets that another hobie brown wears in another universe. that connect them even when they represent the opposite of connection, for miles)

with all that in mind, is it any wonder he wouldn't see what hobie was showing him, at first? with all that in mind, isn't it amazing that hobie says "palms" and miles trusts him enough to listen? to try?

[angel-selfshipper]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ꒰꒰ 🧷 ┊“𝙃𝙊𝘽𝙄𝙀” ꒱꒱

The fog clung to the damp earth like a ghost’s embrace, curling between moss laden tombstones and the twisted roots of ancient trees. This cemetery, long forsaken by time, lay far from the hum of the city, untouched by the living, save for the whisper of wind and the distant cries of crows. Silence stretched thick as mist, an eerie, haunting beauty that no soul dared disturb—no soul except Doll.

And now, by extension, Hobie Brown.

“You’ve got wicked taste, love,” Hobie mused, voice a lazy drawl as he took in the quiet splendor around him. The abandoned graveyard, all shadowed elegance and forgotten sorrow, suited his Doll perfectly. “A date in a place like this? Proper romantic.”

Doll, already kneeling before a crumbling headstone, placed a delicate porcelain heart in front od the moss covered grave—a quiet offering to the long forgotten soul that rested beneath the earth.

“They don’t get many visitors,” it murmured, two gloved fingers tracing the worn away name as if breathing life into its fading memory. “It’s the very least I can do.”

Hobie crouched beside it, watching with the kind of reverence he reserved only for Doll. Its kindness, unshaken by the eerie and the macabre, never failed to leave him breathless.

Most would find its presence unsettling—the scent of damp earth and fog clinging to its very bones, the way its voice carried the ghostly cadence of a forgotten lullaby. But Hobie? Hobie adored every bit of it.

“They’re lucky to have you lookin’ after ‘em,” he said, leaning in to press a feather light kiss to Doll’s plump cheek before standing, stretching like a cat just roused from slumber. “Now, ‘bout that picnic? You got me all excited the way you keep talkin’ ‘bout it.”

Doll let out a quiet, ethereal laugh, a sound so delicate it made Hobie want to shield it from the world. It took his calloused hand in its gloved one and led him deeper into the cemetery.

They walked in silence until they reached the perfect spot—a hidden clearing where the fog parted just enough to reveal a patch of wild, overgrown grass. A black lace cloth had already been spread over the ground, held in place by smooth river stones. Atop it rested a woven basket, and beside it, a single wilted lily—a silent welcome ment just for them.

Hobie flopped onto the cloth with effortless grace, propping himself up on his elbows as he watched Doll settle beside him with its usual haunting poise. “You’re gonna spoil me rotten, y’know that?”

Doll tilted its head, offering a soft smile. “You deserve nice things, Hobie.”

Hobie huffed out a warm laugh, reaching into the basket to rummage through its contents. “You’re really tryna make me soft huh?”

“You already are,” Doll countered, voice as delicate as the mist curling around them. Its head tilted in that unnerving, doll-like way that never failed to make Hobie’s heart stutter.

Warmth crept up the back of his neck despite himself. He’d never get used to how devastatingly endearing Doll could be. “Don’t go spreadin’ that around, yeah? Got a reputation.”

Doll only smiled, reaching into the basket to arrange the food onto the blanket with meticulous care—dark berries, freshly baked bread, golden squares of cheese, ect, each choice made with the kind of thoughtfulness that made his chest ache.

The scene was something out of a gothic romance book—the two of them draped in fog, wrapped in the hush of the graveyard, time itself bending to hold them still in this fleeting eternity.

They ate in comfortable silence, Hobie occasionally slipping a berry past Doll’s lips just to see the way it flushed embersadly at how his thumb brushed idly against its lower lip.

At some point, he found himself lying back, hands folded behind his head, watching skeletal branches sway against the endless black sky. “You ever wonder what it’d be like? To be one of ‘em?” He nodded toward the worn-down graves. “Just a name no one remembers?”

Doll sat still, gloved fingers tracing idle patterns into the lace cloth. “That’s why I leave them gifts,” it whispered, voice carrying like a breath on the wind. “So they know they’re not fully forgotten.”

Hobie turned his head, dark eyes unbearably soft as they found Doll’s face. “I think you’re one of the kindest souls I’ve ever met, Doll.”

Doll tilted its head, the motion eliciting a faint, delicate creak. To most, its expression would be unreadable—but Hobie saw the pure adoration in its gaze. “And you are the most beautiful thing to ever step foot in this cemetery.”

A breathless chuckle escaped Hobie, the corners of his mouth quirking up slightly. “Flatterer.”

Doll only leaned closer, its presence intoxicating, its breath ghosting over his skin. The fog thickened around them as if the world itself wished to cocoon them in eerie intimacy.

Hobie reached up, his fingers grazing the rounded corners of Doll’s jaw, his calloused touch a stark contrast to its flawless porcelain skin.

“I mean it,” Doll murmured, its voice like an old music box playing in an abandoned house—haunting, enchanting, eternal.

Hobie’s grin softened into something quieter, something deeper. And there, in the hush of the graveyard, where time stood still, he closed the space between them.

The kiss was slow, unrushed by time—soft yet intense, fleeting yet infinite. Doll tasted like the very fog that curled around them, like something just beyond reach even though it was right there, something eternal.

When they finally parted, Hobie rested his forehead against Doll’s, breath shallow, grin lazy but utterly genuine. “You really know how to set the mood, huh?”

Doll’s laugh rang out, that hauntingly beautiful sound that made his heart clench. It cradled his face in its gloved hands, touch impossibly gentle. “I merely exist in their world. Fate does the rest.”

Hobie chuckled, pulling Doll down beside him as the cemetery’s fog curled around them like a lover’s embrace. “Guess that’s why I love you...”

And in that long since forgotten graveyard, untouched by the living world for centuries, the dead bore witness to something so undeniably alive.

[whaliiwatching]

gradual closing of the gap

[radiantrice7]

he’snaturallybuffbuthedoesntwanttogettoobigyoukno?

[skaianetsystemsincorporated]

Hobie Brown my beloved 💘💘 Best part of the movie fr!!

[awzominator]

I am Hobie Brown fan first and human being second

I have a storm of Spider-Man doodles locked and loaded for this week. I’m seeing the movie today and I am vibrating out of my skin

MY BABY IS GOING TO BE ON THE BIG SCREEN LETS GOOOOOO

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

Me, a person with 4c hair everytime artists redo Hobies hair to make his freeform locs more manicured:

Me and my black OC watching as they only do this to Hobie in specific:

[nibeul]

my favorite theory rn is that hobie killed the cop captain that was a part of his "canon event".