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Sometimes it’s best to just ignore canon or you will never know peace.
Minhas irmãs e eu... E ainda faltou gente! Meus irmãos Cláudio e Alex e minha irmã Cristina! Eita família grande... Podem não serem os melhores irmãos por conta de seus defeitos e problemas, mas são aqueles que eu tenho por perto, longe, na memória e no coração! #family #brother #sister #dayofbrother #togheter #happy #smile #missyou #luv #you #friends #way #next #thanks #cool #pic #instapic #instancool #Instagram
✨MASTERPOST✨
© sparklysung – all rights reserved. prohibited the reposting, modifying and/or translations of any writing posted on this blog, either partially or completely.
note – lower case intended. the masterlists under this masterpost will contain works with mature content. please, read the warnings and genre of each piece of writing. i do not take responsibility if you decide to continue anyway.
requests – currently open.
ASTRO MASTERLIST
under construction…
ATEEZ MASTERLIST
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BTS MASTERLIST
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DAY6 MASTERLIST
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EXO MASTERLIST
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NEXT (NEX7) MASTERLIST
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WANNA ONE MASTERLIST
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[as in 08/03/2021, will update later.]
–lia:)
me when i want to buy a cd but then i realize i can burn one myself using my moms computer 😝😝
My how times have changed…
So here’s a lil story time, the guy in the pic, that guy was MY LOVE…
When I tell you, that when I thought about having a family of my own, I could picture it fully with him being the father of my children and him as my husband…
I would have literally went to the end of the world with this one here.
I not only loved him, I was in love with him… like real real bad
When I got that notification of what was sent in that pic 2 years ago, yall my heart did a flip flop, I was all geeked and happy… I didn’t think that feeling would ever go away…
Today when that picture popped up on my Timehop, I looked at it and said “hmmmm”
Lol.
It’s just not the same anymore.
Don’t get me wrong and definitely don’t start me lying, I still love him, but it’s just different now. I don’t get the same feeling that I once did. My heart doesn’t do that flip flop that it used to do.
It was amazing while it lasted, but whatevz!
✌🏾🫶🏾
1312 ACAB - [2/4] - Hobie Brown x Punk!Reader
![1312 ACAB - [2/4] - Hobie Brown X Punk!Reader](https://64.media.tumblr.com/f9ec414b4e3cc3498bf8be9d5630b94c/4b79204c8088489a-54/s500x750/b5f631306b67977b384a2eab5fdff91e60f14fe2.gif)
Chapter 2/4: Hobie takes you on an anarchists’ first date. [FLUFF] [chap-1]
words: 3.8k
scenario: when you're cornered by cops after a protest, you find a familiar face in an unlikely place - in the form of one Hobie Brown.
tw: no trigger warnings needs for this chapter
The full series will contain descriptions of facism, as well as depictions of police brutality, violence, and a healthy amount of cop-bashing.
_______________________________________________
Hobie's heavy boots echoed on the floor, and as you followed him into the darkness, the metal door closed itself behind you with a heavy and metallic 'thunk'. It seemed like you wouldn't be making it back home anytime soon.
But at the very least, there was 'something in it' for you.
Hobie’s words, not yours.
"Alright. So what is it then?" you asked, following the sound of him and his boots. "Or was that just some excuse so you can murder me like some 'Hellraiser' freak?"
Beside you Hobie chuckled, and in the dark you realize he's standing a bit closer than you’d thought, leading the two of you down a narrow hallway.
"You're an impatient one, aren't you?" he asked.
"I'm pretty sure you're just stalling."
"No, I'm not." Hobie said. "..Is it working?"
"No, it isn't."
"Shame."
The timbre of Hobie's voice so close at your side raises goosebumps along your arms. "Just trust me, yeah?" Hobie asks, leading you forward in the darkness to who knows where.
Within steps you fumbled, your spiked combat boots snagging on something in the dark. You recovered quickly, albeit cursing under your breath.
And in the dark, you couldn't see the moment when Hobie reached out to take your hand. His fingers grazing yours and on instinct you jumped, only barely, at the unanticipated touch.
"Relax," Hobie said, beside you. "I only bite when asked, if you know what I mean."
And after a moment, his voice came from the darkness, just a touch softer. "Can I?"
It took you a moment to register that this time, he was asking for permission. For a second, it stunned you into hesitation and now, your heart seemed to be picking up the pace for an entirely different reason.
Was he actually flirting? Or once again being painstakingly cryptic?
"You're asking whether you can hold my hand? We in primary?" You asked, just to take the piss out of him, before you slipped your hand in his, lacing your fingers together. "What? You gonna ask me for a play date next?"
Hobie's hand was warmer and larger than yours, and even in the darkness, you could practically hear the amusement in his voice next time he. "Depends," he said, and finally the two of you stopped walking.
"Would you rather the play, or the date?"
Even in the dark, the words felt electric. He was absolutely flirting, and without meaning to, your grip on his hand tightened.
The end of the hall was quiet - no other footsteps, no loud, bassy music, no chatter from anywhere else. Wherever he was taking you, you figured it'd be just the two of you. You didn't know if the feeling in your chest was nerves or excitement.
Beside you, Hobie fetched something from his pocket, and you could hear the soft jingle of what could only be keys. You could hear him unlock something, a heavy padlock opening a door with a metallic 'pang'.
Hobie opened the door, stepping inside as he flipped on the lights. "Welcome to my 'Hellraiser' lair." he chaffed. "Make yourself at home."
Your eyes needed a second to adjust to the assault of florescent light. You blinked, rubbing your eyes with a groan, and when you opened them you found yourself even more confused than you'd been in the hall.
This wasn’t exactly what you were expecting.
"Hobie," you said. "This is a kebab shop."
"Right you are." Hobie congratulated you, offering no further explanation as he collapsed into a chair of the shoody, wooden tables pushed in the corner. Hobie made himself comfortable, kicking his long legs onto the table and tilting back as his eyes slipped closed.
He had turned on only the kitchen lights, leaving the lights in the storefront off - a simple but necessary precaution. You leaned against the white tiled wall, and as he rocked back and forth, you watched the shadows dance along his face.
As he stretched, Hobie could feel your eyes on him. Almost like a sixth sense. But then again - what was the fun in letting you know that?
If anything, he enjoyed the undivided attention.
Finally, you asked "Care to explain why you have the keys to a kebab shop in Hackney? Not that I'm complaining."
How could you? A part of you found it hard to relax when a place so quiet and safe was so rare in London these days. And yet across from you, Hobie seemed completely at ease as he slowly rocked back and forth. As if there was nothing at all to worry about. It soothed your nerves if only a little.
By the looks of it, the shop wasn't all that fancy. It was far from abandoned - and well taken care of. If anything, it looked exactly like every other kebab and burger shop in London - even down to the yellowing, glowing menu above the counter.
You sat down across from Hobie, dropping your worn and patch-covered rucksack to your feet. Resting your elbows on the table, you watched him tilt back and forth, his balance seemingly perfect.
"I'm guessing you knicked them off someone?"
Hobie peeked open one eye, raising a finger at you. "Oi," he said, pausing his rocking for a moment. "Not a thief, love. I only steal from the state."
"As you should." you said. And at your words, a smirk spread across Hobie's lips. He closed his eyes again.
"Gottem off my mate. His parents own the place - blokes apart of this circle I run with, yeah?" he said, and the more relaxed he got, the thicker his accent became. "We've got an arrangement in order. 'Lets me crash here when I'm out after curfew, leaves me food." he said.
"And in return?" you asked, and a part of you could almost anticipate his answer.
"Wouldn't you like to know?"
At this point, you couldn't help but laugh.
Hobie opened his eyes, and his smirk only grew as he watched you. It was rare that he had good company on nights like this.
"You're cryptic," You told him. "- but at the very least you're consistent." Finally, Hobie stopped rocking. And you watched him as he lazily leaned on the table, propping himself on his elbows to mirror you.
"Nah, don't say that, love. I don't believe in consistency." he said, and now you were even closer than before.
You raised an eyebrow at him, fighting back your laughter. "Is that right?" you asked.
And proudly, Hobie told you "It is."
It was another chance for you to challenge him, for no reason other than sharing the spirit of rebellion. Hobie always spoke like this, like every word was another chance for anarchy and incitement. And this time, you took it.
"Alright, fine. Be inconsistent. Answer one of my questions straight then." you challenged, and across from you, Hobie shrugged - but he couldn't help but smile. He always loved a challenge.
"On one condition though." Hobie said. "I get to ask you one back."
You raised your eyebrows, sitting back in your seat to consider it. Hobie mirrored you again, and as he stretched his long legs out under the table, they intertwined with yours.
You couldn't imagine what he'd want to ask you, or anything he’d want to know. If anything, you could hardly think with him sitting across for you, looking at you that way.
"You want to ask me something?" you asked, and lazily, Hobie nodded. "Hm, crack on then."
Hobie chuckled, and he sat forward once more. His legs were still laced with yours, and you didn't pull away even as his dark eyes studied your face.
"Right." Hobie said. "What are you having?"
You had no idea what that meant.
For a moment, you blinked at him. "I beg your pardon?" You asked, and Hobie chuckled, shoulders shaking with the sound. With how close he was leaned in, your goosebumps returned.
Hobie pointed down at the table, and it took you a second to realize what he was pointing at: a worn halal menu between the two of you.
"What's your order?"
It was 4 am. You were sitting with Hobie in a darkened kebab shop, alone in the middle of Hackney. And at his question, you could only ask "Are you joking?"
"No." he said, and lazily he stood.
"Why?" you asked hesitantly, turning in your chair to watch as Hobie stretched. And then he strolled behind the counter, as if he worked there.
"'Cause." he said, and he answered your question with one of his own. "When was the last time you've eaten?"
The question gave you pause.
It had merit - The protests earlier had started at noon, and went on late into the night. It was 4 now, and it occurred to you that you'd been marching and shouting for nearly 16 or 17 hours straight. And you hadn't eaten.
But he'd thought of that, of course.
"Exactly." Hobie said, and before you hadn't noticed that he'd snagged one of the toothpicks from the table. He chewed on the end idly, leaning his hands on the counter and now he was watching you, eyes lidded and smirk amused. “Figured you’d gone to the protest.”
"Wow," you scoffed, even as a smile came to your face, and for a moment, you didn't know what to say. "Who knew the bloke who punches nazis for sport could be such a gentleman." you said, and Hobie chuckled, leaning over the counter.
"Told you. Don't believe in consistency."
You stood, joining him across the counter. The longer you were around him, the more he surprised you. And the more you spoke to him, the less he seemed like the grandiose rockstar you'd seen at the pub, getting plastered on free drinks after the shows.
"You saved my arse from the pigs, gave me a place to crash, and now you're wanting to cooking me dinner?" you asked. "Hobie, I'd feel like shite making you do that."
Hobie toyed with the toothpick at his lips, shrugging his shoulders as if it were nothing. As if you'd been mates forever, even if it had just been tonight.
"I'm sure there's a lot of things you could make me do - if you ask nice." Hobie winked, and with how close he was, you swore he could hear your heart race. The two of you kept closing the gap more and more, and you wondered what it'd feel like if there wasn't one at all.
Hobie went on. "Besides, Curfew ends at 5:30. My mate leaves me leftovers. Got to eat myself, too." he shrugged. "And I like cooking."
The fact seemed to surprised you, if only a little. And from your reaction, Hobie snickered. "What? I only punch nazis part-time."
You shoved his shoulder, a grin coming to your face. And Hobie watched you, as if pleased he could make you laugh. "If that's the case.” you said, and a part of you believed he wouldn't do it. “I could kill for some lamb over rice right now."
But to your surprise, he did. Hobie nodded, pushing off the counter as he headed to the kitchen, and as he walked backwards, he waved you to follow.
At the look on your face, he said "How else was I suppose to get you out to dinner, you know what I mean?"
He clicked on nearly every appliance as he passed, the kitchen coming alive around you. Hobie clicked on the fryer, the grill, and then the stove. Setting a pot of water on the burner, Hobie heading to the fridge, leading you along with him.
And at his words, you scoffed, crossing your arms. "Are you telling me I just got pulled into a date?" you asked, as Hobie pulled open the fridge doors.
"Sauve, innit?" he chuckled.
"Well, don't say that. Your groupies would bloody draw and quarter me." You said, leaning against one of the shiny metal counters beside him. "They'd literally rip me limb from limb."
Hobie peeked his head from around the fridge door, the look on his face clearly amused. "Groupies?" he questioned, eyeing you sceptically. "You seriously think I have groupies? Come off it, man."
Your jaw nearly dropped in shock, and now you fought off the urge to laugh. "You're asking me if you have groupies?" you said in disbelief.
"Hobie, You're 2 meters tall and the guitarist in the biggest punk band in East End, and you’re asking me if you have groupies? Of course you have bloody groupies."
"Bullocks." he said, shaking his head as he set the leftover lamb on the counter beside you. And clearly, he was enjoying himself.
Hobie leaned forward, bringing a hand to either side of your hips and he simply told you ."You're bullshiting." Now he had you all but pinned, somehow not even touching you at all. And up this close, he could see the tiny 'ACAB' pin on the lapel of your vest.
The both of you knew this was a challenge for him - a challenge for you to prove him wrong, for you to slip up and touch him.
For a second you'd forgotten the topic, watching as he watched you. Sometimes you forgot how tall he was compared to you.
"Are you joking?" you said. "For fucks sake, Hobie. ‘Should've seen them after you got your arse thrown out." And he was so close that you didn't need to speak up much at all. "The lot of them nearly soaked through their knickers."
"And you?"
The question had caught you so off guard that for a moment you were stunned into silence, every nerve in your body feeling electric.
And before you could recover, Hobie leaned closer, his voice at your ear. "Been told I have that effect."
The water on the stove boiled over, the lid chattering loudly against the steaming pot.
The sound was enough to startle you out of your trance, and you jumped, the motion enough for your hand to land on Hobie's.
Hobie chuckled, and he let the touch linger before he turned away to attend to the pot.
As he pulled away, you realized you'd been holding your breath.
"You know," you said. "You're the reason guitarists have the reputation they do." And even now, you couldn't shake the feeling.
Snickering, Hobie said "I don't pay attention to the groupies." And you followed, watching as Hobie set the rice to boil, putting the lamb on the grill before starting a set of fries in the fryer.
"But you pay attention to randoms you meet in alleyways?" you asked, an eyebrow raised.
"I pay attention to people who need help."
Hobie's answer hadn't been one you were expecting. Beside you, Hobie continued, idly reheating the lamb with a spatula. "That's what you're suppose to do, yeah? You know, what else was I to do? Look the other way, and just let those fucking pigs beat you senseless?" he said, and his voice didn't sound so amused anymore. "I couldn't just leave you out there."
And now you were beginning to understand why he'd done all of this, any of this. Saving you, helping you, feeding you. Simply because he'd wanted to help. Simply because you'd needed help and he was there.
"I never got to thank you, by the way." you said.
"You don't have to." Hobie told you. And he sounded serious. "What I'm doing - it's normal. Everything else out there isn't, you know. It's not fucking normal to be afraid of walking home at night. It's not normal to fucking die for saying you hate that bastard of a PM. Besides," he said. "You'd do the same for me."
And even though you had technically met tonight, he trusted you. He'd been your ally from the start, because you’d needed one.
"Still." you said. "Thanks, Hobie. For reminding me that at the very least, there's still people willing to fight."
Hobie looked at you. He didn’t say it, but it was the same feeling for him.
He couldn’t say it, but people like you were the reason he fought, they were the reason he woke up and put on the mask every day. You reminded him why he did it - for the people he didn't have superpowers, but fought anyway.
"And I'll be fighting every fucking day until it's over." Hobie assured you. And he wouldn't rest until then.
"Fight's never over, innit?" you asked, and Hobie smiled, your first words to him echoing in his head. "We'll win." you told him. "And I'll still be fighting until my last bloody day on this Earth."
And that at the very least brought a smile to your triumphant face, no matter all the wear-and-tear you'd taken at the protest. "Never let the bastards rest again. We can't ever stop being punk - until the day we die." you said and you held out your pinky to Hobie. "Deal?"
For a moment Hobie paused, watching you before a smile spread across his face. And he hooked his pinky in yours.
"Deal." he told you. And the way he looked at you was softer than before. "Until the day we die." And maybe he was going to hold you to that.
"Christ," you snickered. "First you trick me into dinner and now we sound like we're saying vows." you said.
Hobie pulled away, going to fetch the chips before plating all the food, and you watched, your stomach rumbling at only the smell.
Hobie winked at you, drenching the takeout box with white sauce before pushing it your way.
"Don't tell the groupies."
___
The clock on the tiled wall read 5:04am. Soon, the sun would be rising and the curfew would be over. Soon the city would wake up, you'd have to go home, back to your shitty flat to get ready for your shitty job.
Your body still ached from the protest, from the running and the stress. The sting in your eyes was dull, but still there.
But for now, you didn't have to think about that. For the next thirty minutes, all you had to think about was him.
You and Hobie sat on the floor of the kebab shop, backs pressed to the front counter. And the two of you ate, watching the sun rise over London through the glass storefront.
It was the safest you'd felt in a long time.
You'd been a lot hungrier than you'd thought, more exhausted too, and you lazily spooned at the lamb over rice as beside you, Hobie finished his chips.
The fatigue weighed heavy on you, and you were so tired that you'd nearly missed Hobie's words.
They were soft, softer than you'd heard him speak before, and it surprised you coming from the bloke who screamed lyrics on stage until his throat was raw.
Quietly he’d asked "You ever get tired of fighting?"
You chuckled without meaning to. And with a shake of your head and a sigh, you said "All the bloody time."
And Hobie chuckled right along with you.
Because even if you didn’t know it, he had been there at that protest. He had seen what had happened. Except he hadn't, Spider-man had. And Spider-man had fought, because Spider-man never got tired.
But Hobie did. He got tired of it all the time. He was tired of all the suffering, and all the brutality. All the death. "Yeah," he said. "Me too."
"Then I meet people like you, Hobie. Good people. And it makes me want to keep going."
Hobie didn't know what to say. It was hardly every day that someone called him a good person. Not cool, or fit, or a rockstar. But a good person. That was all he ever wanted to be in life - a good person.
Hobie turned to look at you, head resting back on the counter as he pulled his knees to his chest. "I'm not a hero." he said.
"Yeah, well good people are better than heroes." you told him.
For a minute, Hobie was quiet as the two of you watched the sun peek it head above the horizon, bathing the shop in the glow of golden hour.
For a minute, he was content on just hearing you breathe. And then, as the clock hit 5:25, Hobie said
"You know, you never asked me the question."
And at first, you had no idea what he meant.
"Earlier," he said. "You asked me if I'd answer one of your questions straight. And I told you I would if you answered mine. You never asked yours, though."
You realize he's right, that in the end, you hadn't asked him anything. And beside you, Hobie said "I owe you an answer. Ask me."
Watching him, in the glow of the sunrise, eyes lidded and on you, you could hardly think of a question. Your mind was empty. So you asked the only think you could think of.
No matter how much it scared you.
"Where you being serious earlier? About the date thing?"
Hobie smirked, and it was obvious he was just as exhausted as you were. "If I say yes, will you let me see you again?"
You laughed, even despite the exhaustion. That was as straight-forward as Hobie got. "Do you want to?" you asked him.
"I'd love to."
You couldn't fight back the smile on your face. And watching you, Hobie couldn't help but smile himself.
Instead of answer you fetched your bag, and from it you pulled a crumpled, folded flier. You unfolded it for Hobie to see.
"This freedom fighter co-operative I've been running with is having a meeting tomorrow night. After curfew. I'll be there. You should come. Consider it a second date." you said, pushing the flier his way. "We could use people like you."
"Which is?" Hobie asked.
You shrugged, finally standing. "I don't know. Good people, I guess."
You stretched, and as the clock struck 5:30, chimes outside alerted the masses that the curfew had finally ended. You could finally go home. You grabbed your bag from your feet, as beside you, Hobie stood. Stretching himself, he tucked the flier into his back pocket, before walking you to the door.
"Thanks again, Hobie." you said, as he unlocked the front door, because you couldn't help but repeat it. And Hobie leaned on the doorframe, same smug smile as ever, as he held the shop door open for you.
"You don't have to thank me." Hobie said. "But aren't you forgetting something, love?"
The two of you stepped out onto the doorstep, and even though you should've left, even though you should’ve headed home, you turned to face him. A part of you didn't want to go, not yet.
And you had a feeling of what you were forgetting.
"Kissing on the door step at the end of the first date?" you asked. "Seems a bit cliche, innit?"
Hobie chuckled, even as he leaned down to press his lips to yours - the kiss soft and gentle, as if he was trying to tease you even then.
"I don't believe in cliches, love."
And then he was off, leaving you there at the shop, the feeling of him lingering on your lips.
💙❤️ —————— 💙❤️
If you made it this far THANK YOU SO MUCH i know this chapter was LONG
Pls let me know what you think of Hobie’s characterization and the British slang (im not a brit i just watch a LOT of British youtubers lol)
Hope you enjoyed the fluff!
kk stay safe bye bye
I mean I'm available tho #fml #thirstyashell #areyouseriousbro #wtf #isthisreallyhappening #block #keepitmoving #next
You make me weak in the wrists and limp in the pants...