you’re often around at spider society, you’re hard to miss. you wear baggy jorts and t shirts over your spider suit, along with whatever shoes you feel like wearing depending on the day. you’re not friends with hobie, or miles, or gwen, or pav, or any of that lot. you’re british, and so hobie resonates with you. the cool punk spider-man, who usually fears nothing, is too much of a wuss to talk to you. much like the feared leader of the spider society, miguel, you have some undiagnosed anger issues, and you’ll often scream and throw stuff at people if they piss you off. you especially have major beef with pav, because he tried to set you up with people and you had enough of it.

you’re sat on your own, your headphones on while you lay back with your eyes closed. gwen is the only one you’ve spoken to out of that friend group, she thinks you’re awesome. you’re the one who told her to hide stuff in her drum kit. she loves you for that. hobies stood watching you from afar, the punks trying not to draw any attention to himself, but everyone is aware of his little crush on you.