#But one things clear. It was Gwen's fault

[noattentionsstuff]

In the marvel hero villain swap au Spiderman (Peter Parker) runs a criminal empire. Its main members are the outher spider people specifically ghost spider, Spiderman (miles morales) silk and spider women.

[cheynovak]

Lose Control - pt 3

Characters: Azriel x F/Reader Y/N     

Summary:  Azriel, struggling with the emotional aftermath of his fight with Rhysand over Elain and the fact that Gwen found out his gift for her was a returned gift for Elain made him seek out some company at the pleasure hall. Y/N an old... 'friend'

Warnings: 18+ - Pure SMUT - Sexual content, Dominance, Spice, jealousy

English is not my first language 

*This story is my own fanfiction, please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated* 

* Published September 21th 2024 *

It's a long story... brace yourself.

As I slowly gathered my things, trying to be as quiet as possible, Elain’s name echoed in my mind. Elain. The name carried an elegance to it, something sweet, soft, and undeniably sophisticated. She had to be beautiful, probably as stunning as Mor, with a grace and serenity that I couldn’t help but imagine.

I couldn’t stop wondering what she looked like as I pulled my clothes back on, stealing a final glance at Azriel as he lay asleep in his bed. My heart ached as I looked at him, remembering how he’d unknowingly stolen my heart the night we first met—decades ago. The connection we shared had always been undeniable to me, even when I hadn’t fully realized what he meant to me. But now, everything felt painfully clear.

I opened the door, not paying much attention as I stepped out, lost in my thoughts. Suddenly, I bumped into someone, startling us both. A young woman with soft, delicate features stood before me, her expression gentle but surprised.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” I blurted, trying to hide my embarrassment.

“No, it’s my fault,” she replied, her voice as soft as a summer breeze. “I didn’t expect someone to walk out.”

Her voice was so light, almost musical. It took me a second to process her presence, and before I could respond, she asked, “Who are you?”

Caught off guard, I quickly extended my hand, trying to appear composed. “I’m… Y/N.”

She smiled politely, shaking my hand. “I’m—”

“Elain?”

Azriel’s voice cut through the moment like a blade, making the air between us suddenly feel too thick, too heavy. I turned, seeing him standing in the doorway, his face betraying the mixture of surprise and tension that hung between all of us.

Elain. The woman in front of me, the one I had been wondering about—this was her. The realization hit me like a punch to the gut, and my world shrunk around me, the walls pressing in. I couldn’t breathe. My chest tightened as the weight of her presence and what she represented crushed me.

Elain glanced between us, her own confusion clear as her soft gaze flickered to Azriel, and then back to me. I felt like I was standing at the edge of a cliff, with no way to pull myself back.

This is her. The girl who had broken his heart. Or the girl who still held it. And here I was, standing between them.

“I—” I tried to speak, but the words caught in my throat. The look on Azriel’s face, the weight of everything unspoken, left me feeling like I didn’t belong in this moment, in this place, in his life.

I swallowed the lump in my throat as I turned to leave, catching a glimpse of Azriel still standing there, shirtless, his wings relaxed but imposing. I tried not to stare, not to let my heart ache at the sight of him, but it was impossible. My whispered “Bye” barely made it past my lips as I moved to slip past Elain, desperate to escape the suffocating weight of the situation.

I had just made it to the door when Azriel’s voice stopped me. “Y/N, wait!”

I froze, my back still to him. My heart thudded painfully in my chest as I heard him take a step toward me. “What… why are you leaving without saying goodbye?”

I clenched my jaw, my hands trembling slightly as I tried to keep it together. I could feel his presence, looming, concerned, and I knew that if I looked at him, the fragile composure I had would break.

“I just…” My voice wavered, betraying me. I kept my gaze firmly fixed on the floor. “I remembered I had to be somewhere. I’m sorry.”

Before he could say anything else, I brushed past him, my body tense and on the verge of fleeing. But just as I moved toward the exit, I walked straight into a room that was anything but empty.

Rhysand and Feyre were there, standing at the far end, their expressions poised but curious. Nesta stood beside them, her icy gaze sharp and calculating. Amren sat nearby, observing everything with her usual detached interest, while Mor stood with her arms crossed, glancing between me and Azriel. And then there was Cassian, his broad grin lighting up the room.

“Y/N!” he boomed, moving toward me like an excited puppy. “Long time no see!” Before I could even react, he swept me into a bone-crushing hug, lifting me off the ground and kissing my cheek in his usual affectionate way.

I forced a smile, trying to ignore the heat rising in my cheeks as I caught a glimpse of Azriel and Elain walking up behind me, clearly still part of whatever gathering was happening. The weight of it all—their stares, their presence, the sudden awkwardness—settled over me like a heavy cloak.

“I’m sorry,” Rhysand said, his tone smooth but amused as he looked from me to Azriel, a grin tugging at his lips. “If I’d known Azriel had a guest over, I would’ve set the meeting at the River House.”

The playful lilt in his voice made my stomach twist. He knew. They all knew. I could see it in the way Mor’s lips twitched, in the way Nesta’s eyes narrowed slightly in recognition.

Azriel stood behind me, his presence an anchor I wasn’t sure I wanted to lean on. The room felt impossibly full, the tension thick enough to cut through, and I suddenly felt like I was drowning.

Cassian, oblivious to the undercurrent, set me down but kept his arm around my shoulders. “Come on, you’re not leaving yet, right? We’ve barely said hello!”

I forced another smile, but my eyes darted to Azriel, who was watching me closely. I could see the concern, the confusion in his gaze. He hadn’t expected this. Neither had I.

But all I wanted was to escape. To get away from the mess I had just walked into.

“No, no, I should really leave,” I stammered, trying to back out, but Cassian waved me off with an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

“Bullshit,” he said, his voice booming. “You’re staying for breakfast.”

I opened my mouth to protest again, but the words died on my tongue. Cassian’s energy was infectious, and as much as I wanted to bolt, something in me gave in. “Well… at least let me make it,” I offered, mostly as an excuse to stay out of the way and avoid the tension swirling in the room. If I kept myself busy, maybe I wouldn’t have to think about the mess I had just stumbled into.

Cassian shrugged, all too happy to accept. “Works for me!”

I moved to the kitchen, grateful for the distraction. I could hear the others talking softly, but I wasn’t paying attention—wasn’t trying to pay attention. The meeting, whatever it was, didn’t involve me. And frankly, I didn’t want to get involved in anything more than I already was. I had enough to deal with, given the awkwardness of Azriel and Elain standing just feet away.

As I was preparing the food, I felt someone walk up behind me. I didn’t have to turn to know who it was—her soft, delicate presence was unmistakable.

“So you and…?” Elain’s voice was quiet, but the question hung heavily between us. Her finger moved over the kitchen counter, clearly afraid or shy to look at me.

I fumbled with the food, my heart racing. “Oh, uh, we’ve known each other for a while,” I said, my words tumbling out clumsily. “It was, um…” I trailed off, not sure how to explain what Azriel and I were. How could I, when even I didn’t fully understand it?

Elain gave me a polite nod, an awkward smile playing at the corners of her lips. “I get it,” she said softly, her eyes not quite meeting mine.

We exchanged uneasy smiles before I quickly turned back to the food, setting it on the table in hopes of avoiding any more awkward questions. The tension in the room was suffocating, but before it could settle too deeply, Cassian’s loud voice cut through again.

“Oh my gods, Y/N!” he exclaimed, his mouth full as he dug into the food. “You should open a restaurant! This is even better than the last time you made food.”

I couldn’t help but blush at his enthusiasm. Cassian’s praise was always so genuine, even if his timing could be a bit off.

Azriel, who had been conspicuously silent the entire time, finally spoke, his voice sharp. “You’ve had her food before?” The irritation in his tone wasn’t lost on anyone except Cass.

Cassian, oblivious to the tension that thickened the air, nodded enthusiastically, still chewing. “Yeah! A few times. Honestly, Y/N, you chose the wrong profession. You should try her pies" he said to Nesta.

I felt my face heat up even more, the attention making me uncomfortable. I could feel Azriel’s gaze on me, something unreadable in his expression as Cassian continued eating, completely unfazed by the awkwardness swirling around us.

I tried to smile, tried to act normal, but the weight of it all was too much. Elain’s lingering presence, Azriel’s sudden shift in mood—it was all pressing down on me. "So, eh... What do you do?" Elain asked with innocence in her voice.

The room was suddenly charged with a new wave of tension as Elain’s question hung in the air. Amren and Mor almost spilled their drinks, their reactions betraying their surprise. I glanced at them, feeling a sharp sting of embarrassment as Cassian answered for me.

“Y/N works in the flower shop in Velaris,” Cassian said, his tone matter-of-fact but somehow completely missing the undercurrent of discomfort in the room. His eyes met mine, knowing, telling he has my back.

Azriel’s face twisted in confusion. “You do?”

I nodded, trying to keep my voice steady. “Yes, I’ve been working there for a while now.” Azriel’s brows furrowed, and his eyes darted between Cassian and me. “I didn’t know. How do you even know?”

He turned to Cassian, his irritation palpable. “How do you even know her?”

Cassian, who had been in good spirits, suddenly felt the shift in the room’s atmosphere. His face fell as he realized the tension. “Dude, relax. I helped her move and find a job. She made food as a thank you.”

Azriel’s anger flared, his voice sharper than before. “Was that all she did to thank you?”

Mor’s voice cut through, firm and authoritative. “Azriel!”

The room fell into a tense silence as Azriel’s eyes softened when he turned back to me. I could feel the tears threatening to spill, the weight of the situation pressing down on me. I couldn’t handle the scrutiny, the judgment. I just wanted to escape.

“If you will excuse me,” I said, my voice trembling as I gave a respectful bow to Rhysand and Feyre. “I would like to go home now.”

Without waiting for a response, I turned on my heel and made my way toward the door. The weight of their stares was almost too much to bear.

Cassian, still visibly annoyed with Azriel, got up from his seat with determination. “I’ll take you home,” he said, his voice firm.

As I moved toward the door, Cassian followed closely behind, his presence a comforting contrast to the heavy atmosphere I left behind. I could hear the muffled conversation behind me, but I didn’t turn back.

All I wanted was to get out of there, away from the confusion and hurt, away from Azriel.

The flight home was quiet, the weight of the day hanging heavily between us. I was grateful for the silence, though it gave me too much time to think about everything that had happened.

Cassian dropped me off at my apartment and before he left, he placed a hand on my shoulder, his voice soft but firm. “Don’t hate Azriel. He’s clearly protective of you.”

I huffed, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice. “Or he just felt guilty about being caught with a whore in his bed.”

Cassian’s laughter was a rare, genuine sound in the tense air. “A florist, to be precise,” he teased gently, though the humor didn’t quite reach my eyes.

I rubbed my temples, feeling the weight of my own foolishness. “It was stupid to go home with him. I should have just left.”

Cassian’s hand stayed on my shoulder, his touch surprisingly comforting. “You care for him,” he said, his tone warm. “That’s beautiful. Azriel just has a twisted idea of not being worthy of someone’s love. He doesn’t see how much you care. You need to tell him.”

I looked away, shaking my head. “After seeing the look on his face when he saw Elain? I’m not telling him anything, Cass. I’m not Mor, I’m not Elain. I’m not the woman he wants a life with. I have to accept that.” I will not be loved

Cassian’s eyes softened with understanding, though a shadow of sadness lingered. “At least you two have one thing in common,” he said as he prepared to leave.

I looked at him, puzzled. He offered a small, knowing smile. “You both struggle with feeling unworthy.”

With that being said he kissed my cheek and took off into the night sky, leaving me alone at my door. The cool night air was a sharp contrast to the warmth and tension of the evening.

I entered my apartment, I tried to shake off the lingering feelings of hurt and confusion. Cassian’s words echoed in my mind, a bittersweet reminder of the complexities of love and self-worth.

--

The next day dragged on at a slow, almost torturous pace. I took a long, steamy shower, read a book, and made dinner for myself, trying to keep my mind off the chaos from the night before. My hair was pulled up in a messy bun, and I was dressed in just some comfy panties and an old shirt that had seen better days.

As I was tidying up the kitchen, there was a knock at the door. I was expecting it to be Cassian, perhaps checking in on me. But when I opened the door, my heart skipped a beat. It was Azriel.

I looked at him, confused. “How did you find me?”

“Cassian,” he replied simply, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. His eyes scanned the modest space, and he seemed to be taking in every detail.

“It’s not much,” I said quietly, trying to avoid his gaze. “But it’s more than I had before.”

Azriel’s eyes remained fixed on the room as he walked further inside. “Cassian helped you?”

“Yes,” I replied, my voice soft as I moved towards the kitchen. I attempted to shift the focus away from the uncomfortable situation. “I made some pie. Would you like a slice?”

I turned to face him, holding out a piece of pie. “I have one slice left, you’re lucky.”

Before I could fully register what was happening, Azriel had me cornered against the counter. His eyes locked onto mine for a split second before he took a piece of the pie from my hand. He took a bite, and as he did, a low, appreciative moan escaped his lips. His eyes closed, savoring the taste.

“Cassian was right,” he murmured, his voice a deep rumble that sent a shiver down my spine.

My cheeks flushed with a deep blush at his reaction. “I’m glad you like it,” I managed to say, trying to steady my breath as his proximity and the intensity of the moment overwhelmed me.

Azriel opened his eyes, and the heat in his gaze made me catch my breath. For a moment, the room felt charged, heavy with unspoken words and lingering tension. I could feel the warmth of his body so close to mine, and the closeness was both thrilling and terrifying.

He finally spoke, his tone softer, almost vulnerable. “I’m sorry for everything. For how things went last night. I didn’t handle it well.”

I swallowed, my heart racing. “I don’t know what to say.”

Azriel’s gaze softened as he stepped back slightly, giving me space. “I’ve been struggling with how to make things right. I just… I needed to see you.”

I looked at him, the confusion and hurt from the previous day still fresh but mingled with the undeniable relief of seeing him again. “You didn’t have to come here. I'm not mad, I’m just trying to move on.”

He nodded, his expression one of regret and understanding. “I know. I just wanted to tell you that… despite everything, I appreciate you and I'm sorry for what I said. I care about you more than I’ve allowed myself to admit. I know I shouldn't be jealous, but the idea of you and other males... Stupid I know.”

The words hung in the air between us, and I wasn’t sure how to respond. The mix of emotions, the remnants of our past interactions, and the reality of our current situation left me feeling torn.

Azriel seemed to sense my inner conflict. “I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you want. I just needed to make sure you knew how I felt.”

I panicked, the thought of him leaving so abruptly hitting me hard. “No! No, I don’t want you to leave. Please.” I grabbed his hand, my fingers trembling slightly as they wrapped around his. Azriel looked down at our intertwined hands, his gaze catching on the small burn mark on my finger.

His eyes moved back to mine, a mixture of concern and tenderness in his gaze. “You burned yourself?” he asked softly. I nodded, a lump forming in my throat. “Yes, this morning. It’s nothing major, just...” Before I could finish, Azriel’s lips moved to the burn, pressing a gentle kiss to the sting. The softness of his touch, the warmth of his lips, sent a shiver through me.

My breath caught, and my lips parted slightly at the unexpected intimacy of the gesture. Azriel looked up at me, his eyes filled with an intense, vulnerable emotion.

“I’m sorry for how things have been,” he said softly. “I just wanted to make things right.” I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. The tenderness of his kiss and his words broke through the walls I had built around my heart.

Azriel’s lips traveled up my arm, moving slowly and deliberately, their warmth and softness sending shivers across my skin. He traced a path to my shoulder, then up my neck, his breath warm against my ear. I leaned into his touch, the sensation both soothing and electrifying. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice low and husky. The words were a caress in themselves, and I felt a rush of emotions flood through me.

He nipped gently at the sensitive skin beneath my ear, his lips then moving to lick and soothe the spot. My breath came in heavy, uneven gasps. “Az… what are you doing?” He pulled back slightly, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that made my heart race. “I’m making it up to you,” he said softly, his hands cupping my cheeks.

His gaze was full of earnestness, as if he were pleading for a chance to right the wrongs. Before I could fully process his words, he leaned in, capturing my lips in a heated, passionate kiss. The kiss was deep and fervent, his lips melding with mine in a way that conveyed everything he was trying to say without words.

The world seemed to narrow down to just the sensation of his touch and the warmth of his embrace. His hands were gentle but firm as they held my face, and his kiss was a blend of regret and desire, a promise of something more if only I could let go of my fears. I responded to him, my arms instinctively wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer as I gave in to the intensity of the moment.

As the kiss deepened, the boundaries of our previous hurt seemed to dissolve, replaced by the raw, undeniable connection that had always existed between us.

Azriel’s touch was both tender and electrifying as he gently turned me around, his hands slipping up under my shirt, his hands made their way up to cup my breasts. His lips continued their trail of kisses along my neck, sending waves of warmth through me.

A deep, approving hum rumbled from his throat when his fingers made contact with my bare skin beneath the shirt. His touch was careful, almost reverent, as if he were savoring the moment, trying to make up for everything that had come between us.

His fingers played delicately over the exposed skin, tracing patterns that made my breath hitch and my body respond eagerly. His kisses on my neck became more insistent, his breath hot against my skin as he explored my body further.

The sensation of his fingers moving slowly and deliberately made my pulse quicken, my body arching slightly into his touch. I let out a soft moan, my head falling back as I lost myself in the intensity of his caress.

“Az,” I breathed, my voice trembling with the mix of emotions swirling inside me. The intensity of his touch was overwhelming, both comforting and intoxicating.

He paused for a moment, his lips brushing softly against my ear as he whispered, “I want to show you how much you mean to me. How sorry I am for everything.” His words were a soothing balm.

Azriel’s hand moved to my hip with deliberate, measured movements, his touch sending a shiver down my spine. His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of my panties, making contact with the sensitive skin there. The sensation of his touch was both intimate and intense, a mixture of warmth and anticipation.

He explored gently, his fingers finding the wetness that had accumulated in response to his touches and kisses. His breath hitched slightly at the contact, a soft, approving growl rumbling in his chest. His touch was careful and purposeful, seeking to both reassure and arouse.

The warmth of his fingers against me made my body tense and then melt into his touch, my breath coming in uneven gasps. I arched into his hand, unable to suppress the soft moans that escaped my lips. His touch was electric, sending waves of pleasure through me as he explored with a tenderness that contrasted with the raw need we both felt.

Azriel’s eyes were focused on me, his expression a blend of concentration and desire. His fingers moved with a deliberate, rhythmic motion, adding to the mounting intensity between us. Each movement was measured, designed to build anticipation and pleasure, to make the moment as intense and meaningful as possible.

“Tell me what you need,” he whispered against my ear, his voice low and urgent. His fingers continued their slow, deliberate exploration, the pressure and rhythm building in a way that made it hard to think clearly.

I struggled to find words, my thoughts muddled by the overwhelming sensation and the raw vulnerability of the moment. “Azriel… just… don’t stop,” I managed to gasp, my voice barely audible over the sounds of our breathing and the quiet rustling of the room.

He responded with a soft, appreciative hum, his fingers continuing their exploration as he leaned in to press a tender kiss to my neck. The dual sensations of his touch and his kisses created a potent mix of pleasure and intimacy, making it hard to focus on anything but the way he made me feel.

Azriel’s hands moved with a mix of urgency and tenderness, pulling my panties down and letting them fall to the floor. As he guided me over the counter, his touch was both firm and gentle, guiding me into position. I felt a rush of anticipation and vulnerability as he helped me settle against the cool surface.

His lips brushed against my behind, the kiss a teasing promise of what was to come. The sensation of his warm breath and the light touch of his lips against my skin made me shiver, heightening the anticipation and making me acutely aware of every nerve in my body.

As he widened my stance, I heard the sound of his zipper, the soft rustling of fabric as he freed himself from his pants. The sound was both exciting and daunting, a tangible reminder of the passion and desire that we were about to indulge in. His hands moved to hold my hips, positioning me just right, and I felt the heat of his body close behind me. The tension in the air was palpable, a blend of desire and intimacy that made my heart race.

Azriel’s touch was both commanding and reassuring as he guided himself to my entrance, his breath warm against my skin. He paused for a moment, his fingers brushing along my hips as he prepared to enter me. The anticipation was almost overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and nervousness as we both braced for the intensity of the moment.

His entry was slow and deliberate, allowing me to adjust and savor the sensation as he filled me. Each movement was measured, his hands gripping my hips firmly as he began to move, his rhythm steady and purposeful. The connection between us was electric, the combination of his touch, his kisses, and the deep, rhythmic thrusts creating a potent mix of pleasure and intimacy.

As he continued, the counter beneath me felt solid and grounding, a stark contrast to the intensity of the feelings coursing through me. The sounds of our combined breaths and the rhythmic movement filled the space, a symphony of desire and connection.

Azriel’s hands moved to hold me closer, his grip on my hips firm and steady. His movements were both powerful and tender, each thrust a testament to his need and desire, as well as his care and consideration for me.

Azriel’s movements were deliberate and filled with a raw intensity as he gently turned me around to face him. I was now sitting on the counter, my legs spread apart, and his gaze was unwavering as he positioned himself between my thighs once more.

When he entered me again, it was with a deep, controlled motion that made me gasp. The sensation was both thrilling and intimate, the warmth of his body pressing against mine as he filled me completely. His eyes locked onto mine, a fiery intensity in his gaze that spoke of his longing and need.

The look he gave me was filled with a mix of desire and tenderness, his eyes dark with passion as he took me in. “Gods, I love that look on your face,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with emotion. His hands rested on my hips, his touch firm yet gentle, guiding me as we found our rhythm.

“I love how much you care,” he continued, his voice a rough whisper against my skin. “I love… I love… all of you.”

His words were a potent mix of adoration and desire, each declaration a testament to the depth of his feelings. As he spoke, he moved inside me with a steady, rhythmic thrust, each motion accentuated by the heat and urgency of the moment. His gaze never wavered, his eyes locked onto mine with a fierce intensity that made my heart race and my breath come in shallow gasps.

The connection between us was palpable, a powerful blend of passion and emotion that made every touch and movement feel significant. His hands caressed my hips, his fingers digging in slightly as he continued to thrust, his breath coming in uneven pants as he chased his release.

As the intensity built, I felt every part of him—the way he moved, the way he looked at me, the way his words and touches made me feel. Each thrust was a testament to his desire, each word a declaration of his love and longing.

The world outside seemed to disappear, leaving only the electric connection between us. The counter beneath us was a solid, grounding presence, a stark contrast to the intense emotions and sensations that enveloped us. In that moment, everything else faded away, leaving only the powerful, intimate connection we shared.

As we reached the peak of our desire, the culmination of our passion was a profound mix of pleasure and vulnerability, a reminder of the depth of our feelings and the complexity of our relationship.

Our breaths came in ragged, sharp, and heavy, the intensity of everything between us settling into the stillness. His forehead pressed gently against mine, and his eyes—soft, vulnerable, and full of regret—held mine like they were searching for answers. "I mean it," Azriel whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. "Every word. I was a fool. It wasn’t until I thought about you and Cassian… that it hit me. Will you forgive me?"

I didn't respond right away, still reeling from his words. “Me and Cassian?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, confusion spreading across my face. His gaze faltered for a moment, shame flickering in those eyes that were usually so steady.

“I—” Azriel hesitated, a pained expression overtaking him. “I never knew he was a… a client.”

The words struck me like a blow, and I instinctively pulled back, my heart sinking. "Az, no." I shook my head, my voice gaining strength. "He never was. Cassian and I… we met, we clicked as friends. He saw other girls, but that was years ago, when he was much younger. Never me. We’ve never slept together.”

Relief washed over his face, the tension in his body visibly loosening. “I didn’t know,” he murmured. “I let my jealousy and insecurity get the better of me, and I… I should have never.”

I could see the sincerity in his eyes, the weight of his words hanging in the space between us. Guilt, regret, and love all swirled together in his expression. He closed the gap between us again, his lips pressing softly against mine in a kiss that felt like both an apology and a plea for forgiveness.

When we pulled back, he cupped my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing gently across my skin. "I should have never dragged you through the mud like I did yesterday," he said, his voice thick with regret. "I'm so sorry, Y/N. You deserve better than that… better than me treating you like I did."

There was something raw in his confession, something that tugged at the tender places in my heart. For a moment, I didn’t know what to say, but seeing him like this—vulnerable and remorseful—reminded me of why I had fallen for him in the first place.

--

Please like, share or comment when you liked the story. If you liked this, please check out my masterlist for other stories.

Taglist:@lilah-asteria @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @mich0731

[oraclesblog]

🛑 Major SATSV Spoilers 🛑

I recently saw SpiderMan: Across the Spider-Verse, and it was amazing. I love all the hype the movie is getting, however, I’ve been seeing a lot of Gwiles (Gwen x Miles) slander for the dumbest reasons ever. So, I thought I would just debunk some of them because it’s clear you antis struggle with media literacy. Let’s go.

1. “Gwen and Miles should’ve just stayed friends; they were so much better platonic”

Saying this just makes me think you watched the first movie with your eyes closed. In what world were they ever “just friends”?

You can’t say they were better platonic when they were never even platonic to begin with. Both Miles and Gwen had a mutual crush on one another in the first film, so they were never “just friends.” The first film was literally building up their relationship.

2. “Gwen betrayed miles in SATSV; she’s fake”

No, she didn’t. Gwen didn’t invent the laws of the multiverse, and she doesn’t run the Spider Society. It’s not Gwen’s fault that Spider-Man becoming an orphan, or half an orphan, is a multiversal constant.   There’s nothing in her power she can do to change that. Miles being chased by the Spider Society wasn’t Gwen‘s fault either—that was Miguel’s. Saying things like, “she should have told Miles about what was going to happen to his dad,” again just makes me think you watched the movie with your eyes closed. Gwen wasn’t even allowed to interact with Miles. If she told Miles (a Spider-Man who isn’t even part of the Spider Society) about what was going to happen to his dad, Miguel would’ve kicked her out. She was almost kicked out in the first place just for talking to him; If that had happened, she’d be homeless, because—just in case you forgot—her dad disowned her after holding her at gun point. Gwen quite literally had no other choice but to comply with Miguel’s rules. She also states in the movie that she didn’t know how to tell him, which makes sense given that she hasn’t seen him in over a year. How would something that big and consequential even come up in a conversation? Not to mention, she’s young and inexperienced as a hero. She’s gonna screw up and make mistakes. She was put in a completely unfair situation by the adults around her and had an enormous amount of pressure put on her shoulders. Blaming the teenage girl for a situation like this, instead of Miguel, Jessica, or Peter B. is absolutely wild.

3. “They have No chemistry”

Now, this one is just completely biased. You know damn well…

these stills alone just prove you wrong. No way you watched the movie, saw the way they looked at each other and interacted, and actually said, “they don’t have chemistry.” 💀

4. Interracial Relationship Backlash

Lastly, I’ve seen people hate on Gwiles solely based on the fact that it’s an interracial relationship. The fact that this is a problem in 2023 is absolutely mind-boggling. Some of you are just racist bigoted people who need to learn how to stfu.

[spider-stark]

A DARK AGE pt.2

previous part -

series summary - it's been nine months since you watched your best friend, Gwen Stacy, plummet to her death; an event that ultimately caused new york's hero to abandon the city entirely. now that he's finally returned you find yourself being forced to confront the ugly truth you've been running from.

chapter summary - desperate to get Harry Osborn out of your head, you find yourself following a lead that sends you straight to Peter Parker.

series warnings - 18+, minors DNI, series will contain depictions of violence, sexual content, dark themes, and more. please read at your own risk.

word count - 12.8k

// a dark tasm!fan fiction // masterlist // send me your thoughts // newspaper headline //

YOU HAD been worried that the ice-cold stare of Harry Osborn would remain stuck in your brain for the entire cab ride back to New York City.  

Fortunately, by the time you’d made it to Yonkers, about thirty minutes out from Ravencroft’s facility, the distressing imagery in your head faded as your ears were suddenly blasted with a series of rushed ding-s from your cell phone.  

You welcomed the noisy distraction, even if it only further agitated the throbbing headache you felt coming on.  

All the messages were from Betty Brant and likely could’ve been summed up in one long message rather than a dozen short ones. And, for the most part, all the texts did were confirm your fears: her search for Peter’s whereabouts had been a fruitless effort.  

Well, almost fruitless.   

You couldn’t quite give Brant credit for the one lead she’d received given the fact that it had essentially just fallen in her lap, but you still typed back a simple—good job, nonetheless.  

While you were off pointlessly torturing yourself behind Ravencroft’s iron gates, a woman had called the Bugle and had the misfortune of being answered by Jameson himself.  

According to Brant, the lady asked for you by name, and when Jameson told her you were busy and she’d need to call back later, she turned frantic. He said she sounded as if she were on the verge of tears, begging him to get a message to you ASAP.  

Please tell her to stop by my house! Tomorrow afternoon! She knows the address already, I promise! Tell her it’s May Parker, okay? M-A-Y P-A-R-K-E-R!  

Of course Jameson knew who the crackpot (his words) was once she said her last name, having spoken to her once or twice during Peter’s limited time at the Bugle.  

What he hadn’t told Brant was that it took everything in him to bite his tongue, to not tell the woman every horrible opinion he held in regard to her nephew. Jameson knew that it would do no good. He also knew that it wasn’t her fault that Peter hadn’t shown up to the hospital that night.   

Still, he couldn’t help but find himself seething with rage, speaking through gritted teeth until he could finally hang up the phone. He had absolutely no interest in finding Peter Parker, even if he was the only one to ever get a clear shot of Spider-Man.  

Good riddance had become his motto when it came to both Peter and Harry. You were one of the few things in this world that mattered more to Jameson than a good lead, which was exactly the reason why he had no interest in Peter’s whereabouts when he first went awol and left the Bugle without notice—he didn’t care. Even if Peter had come back to work, he would’ve just been fired anyway. Jameson had no interest in keeping him around, regardless of the quality of his work. 

But despite his hatred for the boy, he knew you were looking for him. While Jameson was unaware of Peter’s secret identity, he knew for certain that Peter had connections to Spider-Man, given that it was the whole reason he had employed him in the first place. You figured there was likely no one in this world that Jameson wanted to keep you from more than Spider-Man. But in what was surely not an easy choice to make, he begrudgingly passed the message from May along to Brant, messily scrawled onto a Doughnuttery napkin that had been stained with chocolate frosting.   

He refused to withhold a lead from you.  

Of course, when first deciding to track Peter down, you had considered going to his aunt, but she was always meant to be a last-ditch choice. After all, rumor had it that Peter had abandoned her too, moving out shortly after Gwen’s death. You didn’t see a need to add to her grief unless it felt necessary, yet it seemed she wanted you to.  

A part of you hoped that the mystery surrounding why May was so adamant about speaking to you would serve as a distraction for the night. You didn’t want to think any more about Ravencroft, and certainly not about the boy they kept locked behind those iron gates.  

Deep down, though, you knew that wasn’t possible. Try as you might, there was nothing in this world capable of distracting you from the thoughts of Harry Osborn.  

He was a plague, one that you had been fighting off ever since that night; and seeing him in person seemed to have only granted him the opportunity to further sink his claws into you.  

You often found yourself reliving the moment you first saw him—the Green Goblin. A monster composed of distended veins and spindly bones, appearing so completely and utterly inhuman—so unlike the boy you knew that you didn’t even recognize him at first. At first, there had just been fear, a sense of pure unbridled terror.  

But then, once he spoke, you knew. You knew what he had done, recognized him in spite of the monster the serum had transformed him into. Bile instantly stung at your throat, threatening to spill past your lips and onto the asphalt beneath your feet. You couldn’t stop thinking of how much it had burned, swallowing it down over and over again, as many times as it took before your body finally stopped trying.  

You fought so hard against that visceral reaction, the sensible part of you that had seen this new form he’d taken on and screamed at you to run. You wouldn’t let yourself do that. You couldn’t bear the thought of turning your back on your friend, even after seeing what he’d turned himself into.  

But then he grabbed Gwen and once she was in his arms you realized that he wasn’t the same anymore. Then once he’d finally let her go, once you’d watched her take her very last breath, you swore you’d always hate him. Harry Osborn was not your friend; it was a simple fact that you still stood behind.  

But trauma was a peculiar thing.  

Usually when Harry haunted your thoughts, the Green Goblin was always the focal point. Flashes of Gwen’s lifeless body dangling from Spider-Man's web, the sounds of squelching flesh and cracking bones. You would remember the metallic taste that filled your mouth as you looked over at him that last time, just before everything went black.  

Tonight, though, you’d found yourself thinking not of the Goblin, but of your friend. The friend that had once been good as dead to you. Memories that had once been shoved aside in favor of sinking into the tragedy you’d experienced, only to be brought back to light after seeing his face today.  

You tossed and turned in your bed, your head pounding as thoughts of posh charity events, late-night talks, and inside jokes fought to keep you awake. It wasn’t until the next day when you’d finally arrived at Aunt May’s house that you received a much-needed break from him. 

The thick plastic covering on the couch crinkled loudly beneath your weight as you sat down. You used every ounce of effort in your body to try and appear calm as she moved past the coffee table, sitting across from you in a sage green armchair.  

It was new.  

“I’m so glad you came, y/n.” May offered you her sweetest smile, the gesture accentuating the thin lines around her eyes. She looked older somehow, even though it hadn’t even been a year since you last saw her. “I was worried that bitter man at the newspaper wouldn’t tell you I called.”  

You barely stifled your laughter, then immediately wondered if she could tell that even that sliver of emotion was fake. It was second nature to put on an act, especially when it came to work matters. To appear excessively friendly, using it as a tool to quickly build some sort of rapport with someone, hoping it would get them to spill whatever information they might have.  

It didn't seem necessary to put up an act around May, but you found it difficult to turn it off.  

“Jameson can be a little… testy, at times.”  

She immediately snorted at your words, believing them to be a drastic understatement.  

“But I’ve gotta say,” you continued, trying to steer the conversation, “I was a bit surprised when he said you called.”  

Guilt settled over her soft features, dusty pink lips settling into a thin line as she stared down at her lap, watching the steam rise from her cup. “I know. I meant to call sooner, more often, but I just...” she sucked in a breath, lifting the cup to the edge of her lips, “I didn’t want to make a big fuss of things.”  

She was drinking chamomile tea. You knew this because you were offered some as soon as she opened the front door, cheerfully telling you that she’d just boiled a fresh pot of water. While you didn’t consider yourself an expert on May Parker, you couldn’t help but make note of the fact that you’d never seen her enjoy herbal drinks before.  

You leaned forward a touch, your elbows resting just above your knees as you did so. “What would you make a fuss over?”  

This meeting was different than Ravencroft.  

At Ravencroft you were a sheep grazing among lions. Showing weakness would gain you nothing, save for failure and potential death. But in a place like Aunt May’s home, the roles immediately reversed.  

Here, you were the lion. And, to gain the trust of sheep, you needed to come off as if you were entirely transparent. Wear your heart on your sleeve, bare every emotion you had, and express as much concern as possible, fooling them into believing that you were truly on their side.  

But this time was different, you tried to remind yourself, working diligently to ensure your emotions didn’t come off as fake or exaggerated. You could be genuine. You really were on her side, right?  

“Peter’s been...” She hesitated as her wedding ring clinked against the porcelain cup in her hands as she nervously tapped her fingers. She never took it off, even after Ben died. “different.”  

Your chest tightened, elbows digging further into your thighs. “What do you mean?”  

“He changed after what happened to Gwendolyne.” she began to explain, though she remained hesitant. “It started off small. Quitting the newspaper, refusing to finish his college applications. And maybe that’s when I should’ve stepped in, tried to snap him out of it or something. But after what he’d gone through... what he had lost...”  

There was a knowing look in her eyes, a sense of understanding. It was then that it fully clicked for you, realizing that May had been through something similar to what Peter went through. She knew what it was like to have your entire world change in the blink of an eye. “I just hoped that with time it would pass.”  

“And it didn’t, did it?” You guessed, painfully aware of the answer.  

If it had changed, if he had gotten better, then you wouldn’t be sitting here right now.  

May shook her head. “No.” She uttered, her hooded gaze still avoiding yours, remaining fixed on her cup. “It got worse.”  

There was something in the way she spoke, the solemn tone you’d never heard her take before, that sent chills running down your spine.  

“How so?”  

"Little ways, at first.” Her voice broke, clearing her throat before taking another sip of tea. “He started acting out. Getting mean. Rageful.”  

Your heart ached for the woman, fighting the urge to reach out and hug her as you watched her hazel eyes turn glossy.  

“He was almost never home anymore, and then one day he just... didn’t come back.”  

She wiped away the unshed tears, lightly shaking her head and muttering an apology.  

“Where is he?” You asked her, instinctively looking towards the old staircase that led to his bedroom.  

Years had been wasted in there, sitting cross-legged on his worn-out rug and exchanging complaints about Flash Thompson or Miss. Ritter. On good days, the two of you would build Lego sets and eat your fill of junk food. On bad days you’d both tuck yourselves away in his bed, hidden underneath a stack of blankets as old movies played from his laptop.  

It had been a while since you’d let yourself think of those memories, and you hadn’t quite expected it to hurt as much as it did to acknowledge that those days were gone. 

“Columbia.” She spoke.  

Your eyes widened as your head cocked to the side. “University?”  

Warmth spread across your cheeks as embarrassment settled in, feeling a bit silly for speaking the thought aloud. Of course she had meant Columbia University. Still, it shocked you a little when she nodded, confirming your thoughts. Given the way she spoke of Peter’s decline, you hadn’t expected him to be attending college.  

“So, you still talk to him?” You quickly followed up with another question, this one less painstakingly dumb than the last.  

May scoffed, the loose hair framing her face swaying about as she shook her head. “I don’t know if I’d call it talking. But he checks in on occasion, just often enough to keep me from having a heart attack.”  

You glanced down at her cup of tea, willing to reason that maybe Peter had been the reason for her sudden interest in herbal drinks. After all, they were known to reduce stress, and Peter seemed to be causing a great deal of it.  

There was another sound of disapproval, a click of her tongue as her voice went low again. “You raise a boy for over ten years,” she started, the smallest spark of anger burning within her, “only to end up getting a postcard in the mail every month.”  

“A postcard?” You wondered aloud, likely looking as puzzled as you felt. “You don’t have his phone number?”  

She snorted. “I don’t know if he even has a phone anymore.”  

For a moment neither of you spoke, and you found yourself studying her features, looking for any sign that she might be lying. You knew that there was no point in it, that May had no reason to lie to you. There would be nothing for her to gain, plus she had reached out to you for help. Still, it was second nature for you to remain apprehensive.  

It was hard to believe that Peter had all but completely cut ties with his aunt. May had raised him, practically given her entire life just to ensure that he had everything he could ever need, only to up and abandon her out of the blue—just as he had done to you.  

Nothing about it made any sense to you, and the thought alone was enough to fill you with not only rage, but also fear. Was Peter that far gone?  

You didn’t want to think about that right now, instead focusing on the sharp pain sneaking up your left side from sitting hunched over for so long. Forcibly relaxing your muscles, you leaned back against the couch cushions, listening to the way the plastic squelched as you shifted.  

“Is that why you called?” You finally asked, pressing a hand to your ribs and rubbing over the sore area. “To see if I could help Peter?”  

May took another long and thoughtful sip of her tea. Then, once she was finished, she leaned forwards and placed it on the coffee table that stood between you both. “No.” She stated firmly, only for her eyes to narrow and then go back on the declaration, “Not entirely, at least.” 

You frowned at her, confused.  

“I wanted to call because I realized that you needed someone, too.” You froze instantly, suddenly feeling as if the air had been knocked from your lungs. “I’ve been so caught up with Peter and trying to find a way to help him that I nearly forgot he wasn’t the only one who lost someone.”  

May glanced up for perhaps the first time in this whole conversation. You couldn’t help but feel as if the roles had changed, sinking further into the cushion behind you. She took note of everything, your stiff posture, the subtle bouncing of your leg, the timid look in your eye. You had become the sheep, being carefully discerned by the lion.  

“I never got a chance to tell you how sorry I was—still am, for your loss, y/n. You didn’t just lose Gwen that night, you lost all three of them.”  

Her heedful words landed the final blow, feeling like a piercing knife against your throat.  

Suck it up, you kept repeating to yourself, change the subject.  

Scrambling to compose yourself, nearly choking on your own tongue, you tried to ignore the look of concern she gave you. You didn’t need sympathy. “I’m managing.” You told her roughly, only able to conjure a barely believable smile. “It could be worse.”  

“Sure,” May tentatively agreed, “but it could also be better.”  

You decided it was best to not acknowledge her words.  

“You said not entirely.” You reminded her, working hard to ensure that your voice didn’t shake. You weren’t sure why it was shaking in the first place, torn between naming anxiety or anger as the culprit. “When I asked if you wanted me to help Peter, that’s what you said. What makes you think I can help him?” 

May’s face screwed up, staring at you as if it were obvious. “Because no one else can. The three of you—you, Harry, and Gwen—were the only ones that could ever get through to him.” She paused, considering her next words. “And you’re the only one left.”  

There was a weight that settled on your shoulders, shoving you further into the couch. You didn’t like the way that it sounded, for more reasons than one. There was too much responsibility that came with it.   

“Columbia’s campus is big.” You told her, void of any emotion. “Do you know where he’s staying? Anything that might help me find him?”  

This time it was May’s turn to sink back into her seat, shoulders slouching forward as she turned apologetic. “I know he’s living on campus, but I don’t know which building. Whenever he writes he always keeps the details to a minimum.”  

As much as you appreciated any information she offered, it wouldn’t help you much. You had been right in your earlier statement; Columbia was a big school with at least two dozen residence halls. Finding Peter amongst those students was comparable to finding a needle in a haystack.  

You knew that you could enlist Betty Brant’s help, but even then, it could take days before one of you happened to find him.  

Finally, a bit exasperated, you dared to ask. “Anything else?”  

May smiled, weary and filled with regret. “Just be careful, y/n. I’m not sure what Peter had gotten himself into, but I’ve seen the news.” Her hands trembled as she spoke. “I know what they think he did. What Spider-Man might have done.”  

She spoke the vigilante’s name like a forbidden word, as if it were one she had sworn she’d never speak aloud, and your eyes grew wide as you just barely breathed out, “You know?”  

May’s smile remained despite the somber gleam in her eyes as she told you simply, “No one washes the flag.”  

You found the students at Columbia University nauseating.  

Most of them were pretentious assholes that stunk of cigarette smoke, not because they actually smoked them, but instead because letting them lazily hang from their fingers matched their desired aesthetic.  

They were all desperate to give off the same vibe as a fifteen-year-olds dark academia Pinterest board, leaning against a wall with a copy of Allan Ginsberg’s Howl tucked beneath their arm. You wondered if any of them had ever read it, snorting to yourself when you thought of how they’d likely dogeared a few pages to make the book look worn.  

“This place is huge.” Betty Brant marveled from beside you, spinning in a circle as she took in its vastness. When she was done making herself dizzy, she looked at you. “This is gonna be impossible.”  

You smiled at her inept observation, challenging her. “Why?”  

Her brows snapped together, a single hand incredulously waving around the two of you. “Have you looked around?” She quipped. “There are literally thousands of people here! If we find him today, then it’ll just be dumb luck.”  

You didn’t judge her for her innate pessimism. After all, you felt just as overwhelmed as Betty Brant did currently when sitting on Aunt May’s couch, listening as she told you that she had essentially nothing to offer in terms of helping to find Peter. It was easy to assume the worst in a field where you’re so often dealt the shittiest of hands—but Jameson and the other seasoned reporters at the Bugle had taught you well. There was always a way to turn things around.  

“Know your target, Brant.” You lightly chastised, a teasing smile that Brant felt looked out of place on you. While she still didn’t know you well, she’d seen you around the office a lot, and she struggled to remember a time when you didn’t have a permanent grimace etched on your face.  

Your fingers delved into your bag and reached for a few papers that you’d printed off at the Bugle, just moments before you’d snagged Brant up by her arm without warning and forced her to come with you to Columbia University. You held one of the papers out to her, which she swiftly took and began reading.  

"There are only two programs offered at Columbia that Peter would care about: photography or biochemistry.” You explained to her. “I went on their website and got an idea of a mock schedule for both and copied down the names of the buildings they’re in. It’s still not a sure shot-”  

“But it gives us somewhere to start.” Brant finished your sentence, her big eyes flickering back up to yours as she lowered the page you’d given her.  

You grinned. “Exactly.”  

“So, we’re splitting up?”  

She was nervous about that idea, clear by the way she started to tug at the edge of her royal blue cardigan. If it were someone other than Brant you might be concerned, but Brant always came off a little antsy, making it easy to brush it off; although it did leave you wondering why the girl stayed so high strung. One day you’d ask her about it, you thought, but not right now.  

"It’s better that way. We'll cover more ground.” You told her, your pitiless statement doing little to quell her nerves as she gave another sharp tug to her garment, anxiously looking around at the swarm of students passing around you both.  

You did your best to look sympathetic, “Just call me if you need me, alright?” Brant stared back at you, resembling a small child whose mother was dropping them off on their first day of school. It was pitiful, and you nearly groaned as you forced yourself to say, “If you call, I’ll answer. Promise.”  

Brant hesitated for a second before nodding, still uneasy but far more willing now to leave your side. As you turned away from her you reminded yourself to never have children, desperately hoping and praying to any God who might listen that Brant would not call you.  

As you started to meld into the crowd, falling into step with a group of girls around your age, the thoughts of Brant and her child-like anxiety were replaced with something far more juvenile. You had just barely glanced at the girls walking next to you, at first only giving them a quick glance. Soon, though, as you continued towards your destination, you found yourself fixating on them.  

They smelled like cloves and bergamot, probably the scent of some over-priced perfume you’d never even dream of taking off the shelf and their clothes were nicer than anything hanging up in your closet. One had a Tiffany’s necklace dangling around her throat like a collar and another had pin straight platinum hair. In short, they looked expensive. But, at the same time, they looked incredibly beautiful.  

It made you hyper aware of yourself, of how different you looked in comparison. You weren’t wearing any nice jewelry, and your hair was messily tied back, making you feel as if you were the opposite of both the girls that had caught your attention. Realizing this, you looked around at the other girls surrounding you, noticing that all of them looked that way. Posh, put-together, and completely and utterly gorgeous.  

A strange feeling crept up your spine, one you hadn’t felt since you were in high school. Self-loathing.    

There was a time when you prioritized your appearance, or at least more than you do now. You could still remember what it was like to stroll into an Oscorp charity event, dozens of eyes glued to you. Men would watch with bated breath as you passed them, silently dreaming of a day where you’d actually notice them.  

That would never happen, of course.  

You always went to those events with either Harry or Peter, and they often left you with little reason to acknowledge anyone else in attendance. Even so, you remembered the power you held. Remembered what it was like to feel desired by someone, even if it wasn’t by who you wanted.  

After the accident, though, you’d stopped caring about how you looked. It felt so trivial to put any more effort than necessary into your looks, often throwing on the same outfit several days in a row to save time in the mornings. But in this moment, you found yourself feeling differently, insecurity slipping into your mind. Had you let yourself go? Surely not...  

It didn’t matter! You suddenly shouted at yourself, fists balling up at your sides as you tried to silence the thoughts that were fueled by foolish insecurity. Despite believing every word of the statement, it didn’t help to make you feel any less self-conscious.  

Passing by the mirrored windows of the mess hall, you found yourself slowing down, falling behind the group of girls as you hesitantly turned to catch a glimpse of yourself. You cursed yourself for looking, hating that you even cared about this sort of thing right now. But once you looked into the reflection you froze, realizing that it wasn’t yourself that you saw in the reflection. It was Gwen.  

“It’s not that bad!” She would lie to you, her voice jumping several octaves as she did. A hand would reach out, sage green fingernails combing through the frizzy mess that framed your face, trying to flatten it. “It just needs a little...” her head cocked to the side, teeth exposed as she sucked in a breath, “work.”  

Gwen was always a terrible liar. She wasn’t like you; she never had been. She was completely incapable of hiding her hand, always living with her cards exposed for the world to see—for them to take advantage of. It was what you’d always admired most about her, her willingness to trust in everyone, to see the good in anyone. It was also what you despised the most about her, and you tried not to dwell on the complexity of that.  

“You know what? It doesn’t even matter!” Gwen’s shoulders lifted exponentially, a mess of blonde curls violently swaying as she shook her head about. “You still look hotter than half the girls here, alright?” She grinned at you, the same sweet smile that you missed more than anything. “I promise!”  

And she meant it every word of it, but rather than offering you any comfort, the words just filled you with envy. You envied Gwen far more than you liked to admit. You wanted to be like her, even now, to be able to see the good in every situation, to be even half as lovely as she was.  

You tried to swallow your guilt, though it only made your stomach hurt. You had promised yourself that you were done envying Gwen.  

But you weren’t done missing her.  

Still entranced by her doe eyed stare, you felt your phone begin to buzz in your pocket, distracting you enough that you turned your gaze to your bag, instinctively going to dig for the device. By the time you thought to look back up, the vision of her was gone and you were looking at only a reflection of yourself.  

You wasted no time in looking away.  

When you sobered up enough to read the caller ID, you groaned loud enough to turn a few heads of students passing by. Now, in an interesting turn of events, you wished that Brant was the one calling you, staring down at Director Samson’s name flashing across the screen. You silenced it.  

Not today. You started walking again, effectively trading your thoughts of Gwen for ones of Ravencroft and Harry Osborn. Or ever again.  

Dodge Hall was the first stop on your list.  

You were willing to bet that of the two programs you listed to Brant that Peter likely picked photography, which was precisely why you had delegated the biochemistry labs to Brant.  

There was a chance that you were wrong and that he’d decided to major in biochemistry, maybe in some desperate attempt to be like the father he swore he hated, but you held out hope anyway. You wanted to believe that even in whatever odd stage of life Peter was in he was working to forge his own path, rather than following the one he’d once considered his birthright.  

Stopping in front of the building that housed most of the University’s photography classes, you grimaced. It significantly lacked character, offering nothing more than a bunch of lifeless bricks with boring cement pillars on either side. You had yet to see anything about this school that made it seem worth the astronomical tuition students paid to attend.  

“I know that look-” a high-pitched voice filled the air, the grating sound intensifying your already sour expression, “Dodge might not have the most intricate architecture on campus, but for what it lacks in appearance it makes up for in its rich and extraordinary history!” 

You didn't want to turn around, fully recognizing the chirpy she-devil by diction alone. Still, you forced yourself to do it anyway, realizing that there was no possible escape route. “Mary Jane!” The vile taste of her name in your mouth left you feeling queasy, “what’re you doing here?”  

No, seriously, what the fuck was she doing here?  

A perfectly manicured hand flew to her overly plump lips, packed full of filler and overlined with a red lip pencil. An exaggerated gasp somehow managed to slip past them. “Oh my gosh!” The copper-haired beauty squealed, sounding as if she had inhaled at least a few liters of helium. You forgot how much you hated her voice. “y/n! I didn’t even recognize you!”  

“Yeah, it’s been a while.” You droned, likely appearing just as displeased as you sounded. It was difficult for you to sound pleasant around Mary Jane.  

Mary Jane had always been a thorn in your side. For the most part she was entirely harmless, but her ever-so-perky attitude always left a bad taste in both your mouth and Gwen’s. On top of that, she lacked morals, made clear by the last time you’d seen her.  

It was immediately after Gwen’s funeral, and you’d just happened to find Mary Jane and a few other reporters from the Daily Globe swarming the Stacy family, pining for an interview. It was disgusting, and if you’d been in better shape, you swore that you would’ve knocked her square in the face that day.  

Mary Jane reached out and touched your forearm, giving it a firm squeeze. “You look so good!”  

You didn’t even bother thanking her, instead deciding to brace yourself for what might be coming next. You had known her long enough to know that all her compliments were a double-edged sword, an insult waiting just around the corner.  

“After Genna’s funeral you looked so thin and sickly,” her button nose scrunched up as she looked you up and down, “it’s so nice to see you look far more...” a slight tilt of her head, accompanied by a sickeningly sweet smile as she squeezed your arm again, “plump!”  

The smile you gave in return was far less pleasurable than hers, bearing a closer resemblance to a snarl. “Gwen.” You pointedly corrected, choosing to ignore her weak attempt at insulting you. “Her name is Gwen.”  

She only waved her hand, dismissing your correction. The simple act made your blood boil, teeth grinding together as you fought to stay silent. You didn’t have time to start a fight with her.  

“Ugh, silly me! I’m so bad with names!” She pretended to laugh it off, playing it as an innocent slip of the tongue. You could see the malice behind it, though, her emerald eyes glistening with spite. Mary Jane was a journalist, which meant that remembering facts was quite literally her job. Pretending to forget Gwen’s name was just another idle attempt at getting under your skin.  

It worked.  

“Did you check out the Globe yesterday?” She started right back up, trapping you in another conversation and preventing you from finding an excuse to slip into Dodge Hall and start your search for Peter. “Who am I kidding! Of course you did!” Mary Jane twirled a strand of red hair around her finger, her egotism on full display as she beamed. “Dozens of newsstands sold out within the hour! Amazing, right? To sell out physical copies in this digital age!”  

You only hummed in response, aware that she only wanted to hear herself talk. But God, you hated the way she spoke. Her constant need to enunciate every other word, her squeaky voice filled with false sincerity, always searching for validation in every conversation.  

”Bushkin agreed that we only sold out because of my story on the front page! He said my talent for writing could be enough to revive print entirely!” Her chest swelled with pride; hands clasped over her heart as nonsense continued to spew from her.  

Barney Bushkin was the publisher for the Globe, which made him Mary Jane’s boss. He also had a reputation for being a sick old pervert with an affinity for girls that were far too young for him. His opinion meant nothing to you since you knew that he would say absolutely anything if he thought it would increase his odds of getting a quick look up one of Mary Jane’s too-short skirts.  

”I’m not surprised you sold so many copies,” you egged her on, taking immense pleasure in the way her smug smile grew at what she mistook for praise, “fear mongering has always been a useful tactic for sales.”  

For a moment you could’ve sworn you saw her eyes turn as red as her hair, fiery rage coursing through her veins at your comment. But it was gone nearly as soon as it had appeared.  

”Well,” she cleared her throat, smoothing the wrinkles out of her white blouse, “I’d hardly call my article fear mongering. I just presented the facts.”  

You couldn’t deny that Mary Jane was a pro at composing herself, remaining collected even when you knew she wanted to explode. Image was important to her, meaning she couldn’t ever afford to let her nice girl act falter.  

”You called Spider-Man a murderer.”  

You didn’t always share her skillset, willing to let yourself come off as brash and plain-spoken.  

”And last I checked there’s an active warrant for his arrest.” Mary Jane retorted sharply, the only sign she was willing to give that you were annoying her. “So, like I said, I presented the facts.”  

You sucked in a breath, holding back your argument. You wanted to tell her that her facts were skewed, that she was reporting with only one source and effectively trying to demonize a man who had saved the city countless times. But you didn’t. Fighting with her would be a waste of time, and you had better things to do.  

"Yeah, well, I should really get going.” You gave a curt smile, nodding in the direction of Dodge Hall. “Always good to see you, MJ.” You took care to place extra emphasis on the nickname, fully aware of just how much she hated it.  

Still, she barely let it get to her, hiding her own scowl as you started to edge towards the building. You noticed the way her left eye twitched, though, showing that she was nearing a breaking point. If you had more time, you’d likely try and push her over the edge.  

“Why are you here?” Mary Jane suddenly mimicked the question you had first asked her, the one she had never actually gave an answer to.  

You paused, only having made it less than a few feet away from her. “Visiting a friend.”  

If all went to plan, that wouldn’t technically be a lie.  

“Peter?” She blurted his name out in a way that left you feeling strange. There was a hesitant look on her face, almost as if she were afraid that you’d say yes. You didn’t like it.  

“Yeah, actually.” You frowned, watching her face drop at the confirmation. “Why?”  

She refused to meet your stare, staring past your shoulder at the entrance of the Hall. “He’s not in there.”  

In all the years you’d known Mary Jane, you’d never heard her sound so uncharacteristically dispirited. Her perky persona seemed to vanish in thin air, leaving behind someone that was entirely unfamiliar to you.  

It was incredibly uncomfortable.  

“Wait, do you know where he is?” You asked.  

“Of course I do.” She quickly answered, cutting her eyes at you. “But if you’re the one meeting him then shouldn’t you know where he is?”  

Jealousy settled in. Why did she know where Peter was? Mary Jane and Peter had never been particularly close, likely due to the lifelong rivalry that you and Gwen had held with her. The idea of him even interacting with Mary Jane left you feeling unsettled.  

“Well, we were supposed to meet here.” You lied, turning a tad defensive as you shrugged a shoulder in the direction of the building. “But it’s been a busy morning. He might’ve forgot.”  

You paused, debating whether you wanted to continue. There was a good chance that you didn’t want to hear the answer to the question resting on the tip of your tongue, and yet you made yourself ask it anyway. “Were you just with him?”  

Please say no-  

“Yes.” Her answer came quickly. “We had plans to get dinner but-um,” she suddenly became extremely focused on her own feet, awkwardly kicking at the sidewalk, “he had to... cancel. Said he was gonna be too busy developing photos all night.”  

Her too-perfect face screwed up in an unsightly sort of way. You almost thought that you should feel guilty for accidentally making it seem as if Peter had ditched her for you. But you didn’t. Instead, you felt sickly satisfied, taking pleasure in her sorrow. You reveled in it, finding it easier to focus on that than the idea of why she and Peter were going to get dinner together in the first place.  

”Mm, that sucks.” You let out a disinterested hum, taking a page from her book as you continued without waiting for a reply, “Is that what he’s doing now? Developing photos?”  

Mary Jane gave a stiff nod.  

”Great.”  

Despite how painful it had been to sit through what felt like a never-ending conversation with her, Mary Jane had ended up being of vital importance. If Peter was developing images today, then that meant he had to be in the darkrooms. And, thanks to your Google research, you knew exactly where they were—Watson Hall, just a brief walk from where you were now.  

You wasted no time with stepping around Mary Jane, having no intention of even wasting a goodbye on her as you started towards your destination. But, as you moved around her body, she reached for you, her thin fingers once again wrapping around your forearm. She squeezed harder than last time, your head snapping in her direction, eyes narrowing in a threatening stare as she held you there.  

Surprisingly, she gave you a threatening look of her own.  

“Before you go,” you found it eerie the way her voice remained syrupy sweet, a sharp contrast to the menacing expression she wore, “I just wanted to tell you how much I adored that little sympathy piece you wrote for your friend in the looney bin.” 

You pulled your arm from her grip, your body going tense at the mention of the article you’d written to try and sway the public during Harry’s trial. Jameson hadn’t allowed it to go to print, reminding you that your judgment was still clouded by grief. He didn’t understand why you were so desperate to keep Harry out of Ryker’s Island, but he had hoped that by letting you at least post the article on the Bugle’s website that it would offer you some sort of closure.  

It hadn’t. It was shortly after publishing the piece that you had went straight to Harry’s lawyers, giving them all the information they would need to plead insanity.  

Mary Jane stepped closer, ignoring your effort to create distance from her. She was close enough that you could nearly feel the heat radiating off her body. You didn’t like it, but you refused to let yourself back away from her.  

“I can’t say that Peter agreed.” Her lips curled into a cynical smirk. “I mean, honestly, after the reaction he had to it I’m shocked that he can even stand to be in the same room as you!” The sound of her laughter infuriated you. “I suppose it’s true what they say about time, yeah? That it heals all wounds—even a knife in the back.”  

You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t blink, couldn’t think.  

All you could do was stare at the devilish woman in front of you, seething with a type of hatred that you were certain could eat you alive. Your nails sunk into the heel of your palm, an effort to refrain yourself from using them to claw that nasty complacent look right off her face.  

Mary Jane noticed this and decided to take your silence as a sign of her victory.  

“It really was great seeing you, y/n.” She gushed, the false tender statement only fueling your anger. As she turned to walk away, she glanced over her shoulder, winking at you. “Don’t be a stranger.”  

One day, you swore to yourself with a particularly loud huff, spinning on your heel and stomping in the direction of the darkrooms, you would kick Mary Jane’s ass.  

When you posted the article—the one you hoped would sway the public’s opinion of Harry—you knew Peter would see it. More than that, you knew that he would be adamantly against it. 

Unlike you, Harry hadn’t given Peter a reason to care whether he lived or died.  

If anything, he had done nothing but give Peter motive to kill Harry himself. You hated that thought. While you didn’t believe that Peter had murdered Sytsevich, you worried that if given the chance he would have killed Harry that night. You wanted to believe that he wouldn’t have been capable of following through with it, though. Just as you weren’t capable of sitting idly by as Harry was sentenced to Ryker’s Island, knowing that he would be as good as dead in there.  

Maybe you’d been stupid not to consider that the article was one of the reasons why Peter had never bothered to reach out to you, even once things had settled down. Maybe it was your own fault that he’d abandoned you, that the article had been the final nail in the coffin of your friendship.  

Your stomach ached, your mind still reeling as you shoved open the large doors of Watson Hall. A rush of frigid air washed over you, goosebumps erupting against your skin.  

Was it possible that Peter hated you as much as he hated Harry?  

No. It couldn’t be. What Harry had done was beyond abominable, something that could never be forgiven. You hadn’t done anything nearly as bad as him.  

Yet, on the other hand… is the one who comes to a monster's defense just as bad as the monster? You weren’t sure of the answer to that question, though you started to rationalize it to yourself anyway—you weren’t defending him, you just didn’t want to watch him die if there was something you could do to stop it! 

But why not? Gwen wasn’t a monster, yet you still watched her die, standing on the sidelines and doing nothing to try and stop it.  

There was nothing I could’ve done! Your mind screamed in defense of itself as you approached the staircase leading to the second floor, roughly gripping the rail as you started climbing up.  

Why had Peter talked to Mary Jane about the article in the first place? That question was easier to think about than the others, infuriating but still less emotionally taxing, so you let yourself fixate on it. As far as you knew, Peter hadn’t liked Mary Jane any more than you and Gwen did, always keeping his distance from the she-devil.  

When did that change?  

At the top of the stairs, nestled in a corner of the left, there was a single door with a large black sign hanging off of it. The words DARKROOM IN USE were written in bold letters. You stared at it for a moment, your mind finally going blank as you did.  

Peter was behind that door—your best friend, Peter.  

Your palms started to sweat as memories started flooding back. Instantly, you bit your cheek, trying to ignore them. Now wasn’t the time for a trip down memory lane, especially not when you could still recall the bloody way that road ends.  

A knock echoed through the somewhat barren Hall as your first collided with the door, your nerves growing with every passing millisecond. All you could do was focus on the different feelings fighting to consume you, the thudding of your heart, the slickness of your hands, the churning of your stomach.  

“Peter?”  

Saying his name felt wrong, but you said it anyway as you knocked again, a bit harder this time. “It’s y/n,” you told him, as if it were even possible for him to forget the sound of your voice, “can I come in?”  

Once again you were met with silence.  

You considered turning around. Maybe Jameson had been right in thinking that you shouldn’t chase this story. After all, it wasn’t your job to prove Spider-Man's innocence, and if Peter wanted your help, then he knew how to find you. You could call Brant right now and tell her that today was a bust, or even lie and say that Peter didn’t want to help with the story. You could walk away.  

But you didn’t let yourself do that, once again feeling that weight of responsibility that May had unintentionally placed on your shoulders. There was no one left in Peter’s corner, no one that would be willing to dig him out of whatever dark hole he’d landed himself in.  

You had fought to save Harry’s life, and so it only felt right that you tried to do the same for Peter.  

Without bothering to knock again, you reached for the knob and twisted, hastily slipping inside the room, trying to limit the amount of light the leaked in behind you. You didn’t know a lot about developing photos, but you’d never forgotten the way Peter would groan whenever you’d come in unannounced, accidentally letting the light ruin his work.  

The door clicked shut behind you as you looked around. It wasn’t a big room, just large enough for two or three people to comfortably fit inside. Any more than that, though, and they’d likely be bumping elbows the entire time. There was a table in the center of it, lined with tubs holding various chemicals that you’d never learned the names of. A clothesline hung around the perimeter of the room, a few newly developed photos lazily dangling from it. On the far wall there were two desks, various images and tools scattered across them.  

Everything in the room looked sinister, courtesy of the red tinted light that hung overhead.  

”Fucking creepy.” You muttered to yourself, crossing your arms over your chest as a chill inched down your back. This room felt significantly colder than the rest of Watson Hall, only adding to its unsettling vibe.  

The darkroom was empty, despite the sign on the door saying it was in use. The realization nearly made you breathe a sigh of relief, a part of you finding comfort in the thought that you wouldn’t actually have to confront Peter right now. But as you stepped further into the room and towards the twin desks, all your newfound relief dissipated.  

Resting against the leg of the desk was a fluorescent yellow bookbag, decorated with a variety of cheap pins ranging from local bands to images of outdated memes. You remembered the first time you ever saw that bag, lying on the floor of Peter’s bedroom just a week or so before the start of Junior year. He threw a fit when Aunt May had come in, tossing the ugly bag on his bed and raving about how she had gotten it on sale just in time for back-to-school.  

You made fun of him for months, always making note of the way its vibrancy clashed with his darker style. Secretly you had loved that bag, silently appreciative for how easy it made it to find Peter in the crowded halls of Midtown High. He would always beg Aunt May to get a different bag, but she refused, saying that they shouldn’t buy another until he had worn the yellow one out.  

Looking at it now, it seemed that he had finally achieved that goal. The yellow fabric was a touch duller now, though not by much, and there was a noticeable tear in the seam of the front pocket. Kneeling beside it, you traced your finger over a trail of blue thread, having been carefully used to stitch the fabric back together.  

You wondered why he had decided to fix it instead of just replacing it like he had always wanted.  

Straightening back up, you scanned over the rest of the desk. There was a black reusable water bottle perched on the edge, a set of keys attached to a Deftones lanyard lying beside it. A bit of sweat trickled down the edge of the bottle, collecting on the surface of the desk. You reached for it, shifting it just enough to hear ice knocking against the metal walls. It had barely melted, meaning that it hadn’t been long since Peter had gotten here. Still, you had no clue where he was now.  

Closer to the center of the desk was a neat stack of already developed photos. A girl graced the top of the stack—pale skin with bleach blonde hair, neatly pushed back by a black headband. You reached for it without hesitation, a single digit tracing along her grinning face.  

Peter took pictures of a lot of people, you included, but it was undeniable that Gwen had always been his favorite subject. Looking at this photo, you couldn’t help but understand why. She was effortlessly beautiful, capable of taking your breath away without even trying.  

You could never blame Peter for always trying to capture that beauty, fully aware that if you were him, she would’ve been your favorite too.  

Without much thought you decided to slip the image into your bag. Peter had dozens of pictures of Gwen, while you only had a measly few. He could spare one.  

The other images were far more recent than the first, with only one or two others featuring Gwen. There were snapshots of random Columbia students, a few cityscapes, and even one of the devil herself—Mary Jane, posed in front of the same mess hall that had ensnared you earlier. In the reflection you could see Peter, smiling from behind his camera.  

You gritted your teeth and rolled your eyes at the image. Were they really friends? The picture seemed to serve as enough of an answer, but you still couldn’t help but hope that you were wrong. Had Peter truly traded you in for Mary-fucking-Jane?  

You roughly shoved that photo to the back of the stack, doing your best not to think about it as you continued to snoop through the rest of them. None were particularly interesting, save for the last two. Their dark composition offered a stark difference from the rest, while simultaneously making it difficult to tell what Peter was even photographing.  

Taking one in each hand, your eyes darted back and forth between them, squinting as you tried to make out the subject, a task that was made all the more difficult by the rooms dim red lighting. You brought one closer to your face, making out a few trivial details. At the far edge, there seemed to be a street sign's corner, and in the middle a few streaks of dim light reflecting off a rain puddle.  

Moving it away from yourself, you shifted your focus to the other one, thinking it appeared to be just a close-up of the first image. Then, slowly, you realized your mistake. It hadn’t been just a zoomed-in shot, as the reflection in the puddle made it something else entirely—a self-portrait.  

But it wasn’t the warmth of Peter’s familiar brown eyes being reflected in the hazy liquid. Rather there was an outline of the two lifeless white lenses that belonged to his other self, the version of him you sometimes wished to forget.  

The sight made you feel sick, sweat starting to form along your neck as you hastily flipped the photo over, desperate to avoid his sickening stare. However, what you saw on the back of the image was almost as bad as being forced to stare at Spider-Man's reflection. Scrawled in Peter’s barely legible handwriting was the date APRIL 2ND.  

A new panic quickly trickled into your veins, fully replacing the one that had been born from the lifeless gaze of his mask. You read yesterday’s date over and over again, as if it would suddenly change. It never did, and a sizable knot formed in your throat as you slowly began to look up, shifting your focus to the forgotten photos pinned to the clothesline.  

Your jaw fell slack, the photos in your hands following suit and landing on the desk below them. When you first entered the darkroom, you hadn’t paid much mind to the photographs hanging up, assuming they weren’t of much importance. Now, though, you recognized them for what they truly were—the sister images of the ones you’d been holding. Flashes of 102nd Avenue, Aleksei Sytsevich lying lifeless on the ground, milky white shards of bone peeking through his flesh. And there were photos of his mask, and those goddamn white lenses, spattered with Aleksei’s blood.  

Peter hadn’t just been at the crime scene; he had documented it.  

Your palm pressed roughly to your mouth, fingers digging into your cheek as you made yourself swallow the vomit fighting its way up your throat. Your own trauma fought desperately to rear its head as you analyzed the gory images, but you refused to let it take hold, scrambling to keep control as you forced yourself to snap into action.  

After grabbing your phone, you wasted no time snapping pictures of the photographs hanging from the line, of the ones sprawled on the desk, of everything you could find. You didn’t know yet what you would do with them, but you refused to leave this room without collecting every bit of evidence you could find.  

Once you were certain you had gotten it all, you worked to straighten the stack of pictures you’d gone through, adjusting them so they appeared as if they’d never been touched in the first place. Then, with your heart hammering inside your chest, you darted for the door without a second thought, paying absolutely no mind to the strange looks given to you by passing students as you rushed for the stairs.  

You couldn’t stop moving, only slowing your frantic pace once you’d nearly made it to the exit doors. You rounded the corner as you tried to pull up Brant’s contact with shaky hands, wanting nothing more than to call her and get the fuck away from this campus. But, as soon as you went to press her name, your phone went flying from your hand and slid across the linoleum, your body pressing smack against another.  

Sugary notes of vanilla flooded your senses, making your thoughts turn hazy. Your palms were flush against the soft cotton of someone’s shirt, and you could feel their fingers wrapping firmly around your shoulders, trying to steady you enough that you wouldn’t stumble back from the impact.  

”Oh-shit!, sorry! I didn’t even see you-”  

Their voice wasn’t the first thing you recognized, instead you found yourself caught up in the material beneath your hands. They were wearing a black Ramones t-shirt, a barely noticeable tear on the edge of the collar. But you noticed the tear instantly because you were the one who had bought the shirt. You got it at the record store on 6th Avenue—Rough Trade, was the name of it—and the man behind the counter gave it to you for half off all because of that tear.  

You only ever got to wear it once before Peter nabbed it off your bedroom floor, never to return it. 

”y/n?”  

Your body betrayed you, immediately melting as the familiar sound of your name falling from his lips rang through your ears. Your heart had still been pounding in your chest this entire time, yet as your eyes met his for the first time in months, it fell still.  

Peter didn’t fully share in your reaction. Instead of appearing as if he were lost in the same nostalgic haze you were caught in, he looked as if he had seen a ghost. His skin blanched, eyes growing unnaturally wide. For a moment you thought he was going to say something else, his lips parting, yet nothing came out.  

In your lifetime, you had only known of a few things that could render Peter Parker speechless. You had now become one of them.  

”Hi.” You squeaked out, a single hand lifting from his chest and offering an awkward wave that filled you with humility.  

This wasn’t easy.  

You weren’t sure how to act around him, how to behave. For nine months you had envisioned this moment, conjuring up countless things to say to him, all the insults you wanted to hurl his way. But now that it was happening, you found yourself torn between wanting to hug and choke him.  

It seemed best to do neither.  

”Um, hi?” Peter’s grip on your shoulders tightened, just for a second, as if he were trying to prove to himself that you were really standing in front of him. Once he seemed satisfied with your physicality, he stepped back and released his grip on you entirely, subsequently making your other hand fall from his chest.  

”You’re not-I mean-you don’t go here.” He rasped, laughing awkwardly as he ran a hand through his hair, trying to ground himself.  

”You’re right, I don’t go here!” You pointlessly confirmed, voice raising several octaves as anxiety took over. “Very observant.”  

You cringed at the statement. Very observant?-you thought to yourself, biting down on the edge of your tongue as you watched Peter’s brows knit together-could've said anything, and that’s what you picked?  

He didn’t even acknowledge the useless comment, only letting it hang in the air between you as he continued to wait for a true answer.  

“I came to see you.” You choked out an honest answer, starting to shrink beneath his heavy gaze. You tried to step back, instinctively wanting to create distance between the two of you, but all you achieved was pressing yourself against the wall.  

There was no escaping him.  

He was quick to respond, making it clear just how high-strung he was. ”How did you find me?”  

”I’m a reporter.” You reminded him, offering it up as a vague answer to his question. He’d likely expected the response, given the way his eyes narrowed in frustration. “Finding people is part of my job description.”  

Peter always said that getting an answer out of you was like playing a game of charades, one that others very rarely won. You were a pro at dancing around the facts, only ever revealing them when they served to benefit you.

It was one of the many reasons you were so good at your job. 

“Is that why you’re here?” His question carried a sharp edge, his irritation growing stronger now as his jaw tightened. “For the Bugle?”  

Your body became tense, your shoulders squaring off as anxiety once again tried to shove to the surface. As you thought of the images you’d seen, the ones that were hanging just upstairs, your blood ran cold. You did your best not to let it show, instead trying to hide your fear behind a look of confusion. “Why would I be here for the Bugle?”  

At first, he only stared at you, his brows raising in an incredulous manner. You forced yourself to stare back despite the discomfort it brought you. Then, finally, he answered. “You wanna talk about Spider-Man, right?”  

Your heart sank into your stomach, lips turning dry as they parted. There was nothing good about the way the vigilante’s name rolled off his tongue, and you didn’t like it one bit. The semi-hushed tone he’d spoken in, laced with an essence of bitterness that one wouldn’t expect from the person that donned the mask.  

Hesitantly running your tongue along your now chapped lips, you responded in a shaky voice. “Why would I wanna talk about Spider-Man?”  

Harry’s advice rang through your mind—the same advice that had been mirrored by Aunt May, to remain wary of Peter—and you suddenly felt lightheaded. There was no way he could know that you found out about his identity that night, right?  

No, of course not. It was impossible. 

Peter appeared far more relaxed than you, his shoulders lazily lifting into a shrug. He didn’t seem to notice the sweat forming along your brow, making you think that you were doing an alright job at hiding your emotions. “Jameson wants new pictures of him, doesn’t he?” He threw out a guess.  

Your shoulders instantly sagged with relief, your lungs aching as you lightly blew out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Given what you’d seen upstairs, you decided it would be best to stick to Harry and May’s advice. Peter didn’t need to know that you were aware of who wore Spider-Man's mask. Not right now, at least.  

“I'm right, aren’t I?” Peter insisted impatiently, interrupting your racing thoughts and snapping you back into reality.  

“Do you have new pictures of him?” You hastily snapped back.  

“No. I don’t.” He lied straight through his teeth, once again running a hand through his already messy hair as he squeezed his eyes shut. It was obvious that he wasn’t planning to share any details of Spidey’s newly developed photoshoot hanging in the darkroom, and it would be against your best interest to press further, so you stayed quiet. When he opened his eyes again, he stared directly into yours. “And I don’t plan on taking any, so if that’s why you’re here then you’re wasting your time.”  

You couldn’t recall ever hearing Peter sound so exhausted before. His recent lack of sleep was made painfully evident by the varying shades of purple painting the skin around his eyes. How long had he looked this way? Has it been since Gwen? In some sick way you hoped that you were right, knowing that grief being the cause was better than the alternative—the idea that his lack of sleep related to his involvement with Aleksei.  

A part of you still refused to consider the images you’d seen as damning evidence that Peter had been the one to kill Aleksei Sytsevich. You couldn’t let yourself think that, refusing to believe that Peter Parker was anything even close to a murderer. It wasn’t possible.  

But, as much as you hated to admit it, they proved that he was in some way involved. An accessory, at least. For some reason, hopefully a good one, he hadn’t stopped Aleksei’s murder from happening.  

That came with its own dangerous implications.  

You clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth, trying to decide what direction you wanted to steer the conversation in, which angle would serve you best. With a deep breath, you made your choice. “Well, it’s good that that’s not why I’m here then.”  

He looked surprised. “Wait,” he laughed awkwardly, “you’re not writing a piece on him?”  

There was a thin line creasing the space between his brows, a strange expression on his face. His reaction wasn’t entirely unexpected, especially because you were known for your articles on Spider-Man. But this wasn’t a look that showed he was shocked to hear you were passing up on a story, it was a look of pure offense.  

You fought the urge to ask him why he cared so much, curious to find out if he had been expecting you to rush to Spider-Man's defense in the media. The only reason you held yourself back was the fear that maybe you were wrong, that maybe he hadn’t wanted you to defend him at all; perhaps he just wanted more press for his potential crimes.  

”Seems like the Globe has it covered.” You told him, trying to sound disinterested. You hoped that he would buy your act. “No need to waste anymore ink on a story that’s already been told, right?”  

Peter knew you well enough to know that there was more to it than that. Fortunately, he was willing to reason that your potential avoidance of Spider-Man related to that night, the last night all of you were together, and the events that neither of you wanted to talk about. Besides, even if he did want to mention it, he couldn’t do so without exposing his identity to you, an identity he wasn’t aware you already knew about.  

So, as much as he didn’t want to let it go, he had no other choice.  

”O-kay.” He stretched the word out, shaking his head lightly as he worked to regain his bearings in the conversation. As he did so, a few strands of hair fell against his forehead. He was quick to push them back. “Well, if that’s not it, then why are you here?”  

There was only a second of hesitation, air hissing between your teeth as you sucked in a breath, crossing your fingers behind your back. You hoped Gwen would forgive you for the lie you were about to tell.  

”Helen Stacy.”  

The first emotion to wash over Peter was pain. It was obvious, showing in the way his shoulders slumped forwards and his bottom lip trembled, wincing as the surname of his dead lover echoed through his ears. It was the second emotion that was harder to detect, having been more cleverly concealed than the first. Anger.  

You could see it in his eyes, his pupils dilating as he started to see red. Your own gaze flickered to his sides, stopping on his clenched fists, knuckles turning a pale shade of white. It made you feel uncomfortable, especially since you were the one on the receiving end of that look. You nervously cleared your throat, starting to fiddle with the strap of your bag.  

“She called the other day and asked about running a memorial piece for Gwen’s anniversary. Obviously, she thought it would be best if Gwen’s friends put it together—you know, do it how we used to for the school paper. I’ll do the writing; you take care of the pictures.”  

It was hard to sound confident as you elaborated upon the fabricated situation, too busy trying to focus on anything other than his heavy gaze. You focused on the floor, mostly, staring over at where your phone still laid on the ground. Still, even without looking at him, you could feel the weight of his attention. The air around you began to grow thin, every breath turning into a battle. You felt like you were being slowly suffocated by his fury, your lungs burning within your chest.  

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea-”  

“You can’t say no, Pete.” You cut him off, forcibly lowering the walls surrounding your own trauma, using it to manipulate him. You didn’t feel bad about it, either. “We both lost our best friend that night, and that sucked. But Helen lost her kid. This is the least we can do for her.”  

As the last word fell from your mouth, you forcefully pried your gaze off the ground and begrudgingly met his once again. Terror slid into your veins as you did, your body already preparing itself for that seething look of his—but it vanished. There was no trace of anger on his face. All that remained was the slightest glimmer of remorse.  

His fists unclenched, mindlessly cracking his knuckles. Then he sighed, followed by a reluctant nod. “You’re right. She’s been through a lot, and if this will help bring her some sort of... I don’t know-” he waved his hands slightly, looking troubled by his own choice of words, “closure, then I’ll do what I can to help.”  

Your mouth curved into a smile.  

It seemed like a good sign, you figured, that he was willing to help. It reignited whatever hope you had left that despite whatever mess he had gotten into as Spider-Man, that he was still the same selfless Peter Parker you’d always known. He could still be saved. And, fortunately, you had now crafted the excuse you needed to get closer to him and figure out how to save him.  

”Great!” You spoke a little too loud, your excitement coming off a touch too strong. You tried to lessen it, though the uncharacteristic reaction certainly hadn’t gone unnoticed by Peter. “Meet me at Sylvia’s tomorrow at six, okay? We can start going over everything and make a rough outline for the memorial!”  

Peter immediately went still when he heard the name of the restaurant the four of you used to frequent. He hadn’t set foot in Sylvia’s since Gwen’s death, too afraid to face the memories hiding within its walls. He tried to speak, tried to tell you no, but he didn’t have the chance as you interrupted him again.  

“Here,” You pulled a business card from your bag, thrusting it towards him with a pointed look, “in case you forgot my number.”  

You didn’t hide the animosity behind the statement, using it as another tool to play on whatever guilt he might harbor for what he’d done to you. It seemed to work, given the fact that he promptly shut his mouth and chose not to argue. Instead, he cautiously reached out, plucking the cards from your fingers.  

“Try not to ghost me for another nine months.” You playfully added on, the words joined by a smile that resembled something of a threat as you reminded him, “After all, I know where to find you now.”  

Peter just returned the smile, tight lipped and far less ferocious than the one you’d given him. He knew that eventually you’d want an answer as to why he’d been avoiding you, but not right now. Now wasn’t the time for it.  

So, he stuffed the card in his pocket as you skillfully skirted around him, going to grab your phone off the floor. Once you had it in your hand, you started towards the exit, already starting to dial Brant’s number. “I’ll see you tomorrow, y/n.” Peter called after you, watching as you pushed the door open and stepped over the threshold.  

There was an eerie sense of familiarity accompanying his goodbye, one that left your heart swelling as the words sought to soothe any of the still-bleeding wounds that remained from that night. The comforting feeling was almost enough to make you forget about the images you’d seen in the darkroom, the ones that now also lived within the camera roll on your phone.  

Almost—but not quite.  

Brant answered on the first ring, seemingly overjoyed as another lie easily fell from your lips, confirming with her that Peter agreed to help take photos of Spider-Man so you could try and plead his case to the public—the reason she thought the two of you were searching for Peter. She was just as eager as you were to leave Columbia’s posh campus, swiftly agreeing when you asked her to meet you outside of the mess hall so the two of you could head back to the Bugle.  

Now, waiting alone in front of the mirrored windows, you stared silently at the reflection in front of you. A girl with platinum hair, neatly tucked back by a black headband, stared back at you with her familiar bright green eyes. They were filled with enough dismay to make your chest ache, ridding you of any comfort that Peter’s familiarity had given you.  

”You’re gonna have to see him again.” The somber tone she used was unbefitting of someone that you could only think to describe as sunshine personified; everything you ever wished you could be. “You’ll need his help.” Gwen told you. “You know that don’t you?”  

You knew she wasn’t talking about Peter.  

When you didn’t reply, she decided she needed to convince you further, tailoring her approach so it had the best chance of swaying you. She reached a handout, and you knew that if you had closed your eyes, you would be able to feel her fingertips brush against your palm as she squeezed your hand.  

God, you missed that feeling. You missed her.  

And it was because you missed her that you refused to close your eyes. Refused to let your brain mimic something that was no longer real.  

Gwen’s doe eyes turned glossy, her rosy lips puckering into a pout that could make even the most unyielding man fold. ”He’s gonna need your help, too, y/n.” 

You bit your cheek, thinking of the bottle of pills laying in the bottom of your bag, the ones you hadn’t had to take in so long now. You were getting better.  

"You can’t save one without saving the other.” Gwen tried to tell you, although it only served to make you angry at her, unable to figure out why she would feel that way. She shouldn’t want you to save Harry, not when he was the reason she wasn’t here right now!  

If she were here, really here, then maybe you would tell her that. Remind her of how well her altruistic lifestyle had ended.  

But she wasn’t. So, you didn’t.  

Instead, you turned on your heel, forcing yourself to turn away from the reflection. You immediately saw a flash of royal blue in the sea of students as Brant forced her way through the crowd. Fine—you thought to yourself, offering Gwen a silent answer as you started to make your way towards Brant.  

”This place is a goddamn maze!” You heard Brant huff noisily once you were in earshot of each other, her bobbed hair swaying manically. She clearly hadn’t had a good time, but you weren’t really interested in hearing about it, either. Instead, you found yourself distracted by her appearance. Her neatly styled hairstyle, sharp winged liner, and stylish outfit. It made you think of the girls from earlier, the ones who had made you so self-conscious, and it gave you an idea.  

If you were going to do this—follow Gwen’s advice and save both of your boys—then you needed to try and save yourself, too. And, luckily, you and Brant seemed to be about the same size.  

“Do you wanna go shopping?” You asked bluntly, watching as Brant doubled-back, clearly not expecting your question.  

She blinked, thinking it over before hesitantly replying, “Um, sure?”  

Ravencroft could wait until tomorrow morning. 

tag list - @pompeygirl89 @pockyandme

a/n - hi anyone who's bothering to read this! i'm super excited about this chapter for a variety of reasons and i hope that you enjoyed it! feel free to leave any comments or tips, i always appreciate them and can't wait to write more harry & dark!peter content in the next part <3

[electraslight]

Gwen Tennyson is one of my favorite characters in anything ever but there's this pervasiveness in this fandom that shes. Well. A nice, good person. And I don't really like that, especially when shes absolved of her very clear faults to the detriment of other characters. Basically all of Gwen and Kevin's relationship is Gwen doing things to Kevin that, in a normal show, she would be made to apologize for, like rushing him into a relationship when he has made it clear he is not interested at that moment, trying to make him jealous and putting their whole team in danger (which is entirely put on bens shoulders and not hers), hitting him as a punchline for a joke when all Kevin's done is make a silly comment, calling him ugly, blah blah blah you get my point I've been over this a billion times. There are other characters who get the short stick too. In the episode where Elena pretends to be Julie and puts the alien trio under the impression that she ditched nationals to hang out with ben, sure as a friend you'd be worried, but Gwen keeps saying over and over that it's not like julie, she shouldn't put a boy over herself, telling her she made a bad decision, even when julie tells her no, I've made my decision, I don't want to talk about this. Gwen does not respect anyone's boundaries even people like Kevin, Julie, and Ben, who are supposed to be her friends. But people in the fandom characterize Gwen as sweet, kind, helpful, never in the wrong ever even when she is doing something horrible. Remember when people used to say that "Gwen didn't deserve kevin" not because of the constant belittling of his interests, lack of appreciation of his boundaries (see also: those scenes in Trade Off where Kevin repeatedly takes her hand off of him and she keeps trying to touch him anyway), and general nastiness, but because Kevin, who was at the time under the impression that Gwen was getting tired of him (wonder why he'd think that what with her calling him hideous every other episode) got groomed, assaulted, and enslaved. And that's his fault I guess because he's a guy and guys can't get abused. Gwevin is so good you guys the only problem is Kevin,the guy who left his entire support system to go live with his girlfriend, the guy who carries her bags and nonstop talks about how much he lives her when she can never muster up a word to say about him besides "He's nice" and "he's changed". Gwen is always in the right because shes a girl boss character who is not allowed to have flaws besides being stuck up or whatever, and it's totally OK if she needlessly suspects everyone around her and crosses the boundaries of basically everyone she talks to. Read me this: if you think female characters should be strong, why shouldn't you acknowledge Gwen's flaws? Why is it better to have a character who's kind, sweet, motherly, badass but only in ways that won't upstage the male main character, than an awkward, horrible teenage girl who loves people so strongly she strangles them, who's overly paranoid based on her own biases, who views her friends as projects she can fix, but God she is trying so hard. God, I'm begging you, please factor this in to your Gwen fanworks, I'm so tired of her being portrayed as a good person. Shes not a good person. Shes a 16 year old girl.

(Also sorry I talked so much about gwevin its just that Gwen isn't allowed to be her own person outside of men in this show)

[paintbrushnebula]

I was initially indifferent to the "Miles is the Gwen Stacy to Spider-Gwen's Peter Parker" theory I've seen a few times, but after giving it two minutes of thought I actually realize that that would be a very interesting route for the story to take

Because the thing with Spider-Gwen is that the only way Gwen Stacy lives is if she's the one with the powers. This also means she's the one who suffers the great loss instead. Which as the movie has made clear, is something she fears repeating more than anything; this fear is her main motivation behind all of her actions towards Miles in ATSV. And the last moment the two have before the Nueva York train fight is them repeating the iconic "Peter catching Gwen" moment, but the roles are reversed, like the tables have been turned on who is going to have to save who in the end.

Also, sidebar, me just rambling here, but the lyrics of "Calling" by Metro Boomin at the end of the movie seem to be from Gwen's POV post the events of the movie. I keep thinking back to the lyric "it's my fault, I made you fall for me," which obviously is meant to be Gwen feeling responsible for what happened to Miles, because if he hadn't become so attached to her then he wouldn't have followed her across dimensions (which was not actually her fault). But I also kinda see this lyric having another meaning; it's Gwen expressing regret for siding with the society instead of standing with Miles. Her actions were understandable ofc, since siding with Miguel's orders was the only way to avoid being expelled from the Society and sent back to her dimension and facing her dad and thus risking her actual life. But this meant letting Miles take the fall instead of her. So this lyric is like Gwen saying to Miles, it's my fault, I let you take the fall for me.

So now the roles the two were playing have been reversed.

If this theory ends up being the case, then you essentially have a Gwen Stacy who's been dealt an arguably worse fate than all the other Gwen Stacys; one that maybe Gwen herself would consider a fate worse than death (something she already fears greatly), which is being the one who suffers the loss and has to keep getting up, who always manages to save everyone except the people that actually matter most to her, who's doomed to watch all her weak, fragile loved ones die while her durable, enhanced superhuman body stubbornly keeps living.

[vqrtualheartss]

"I'm sure you're taller in another dimension" Miles cooed to himself

He hadn't found one yet, and there was no chance you'd ever grow, or do anything else— because you were dead.

"October 7th, 14:38" Miles had the date and time engraved into his brain. The feel of your now cold skin. Your voice, eyes, and lips, the heart-shaped mole under your right eye. it. was. all. engraved. into. his. brain.

His coping mechanism came to be one similar to Miguel's, admiring from afar. He jumped from dimension to dimension, just to see you, even if it wasn't technically you. Everything he observed regarding you in other dimensions reminded him of your last living moments in his.

1 (I was supposed to put smth here but I got lazy so until tmrw)

2

3

4

5

Still after your death, you caused him to experience emotions more than guilt and remorse. He wasn't ashamed or hid that he felt

Bitter everytime he saw you with another boy or girl

Sad each time he saw you by yourself, hurt yourself, progress in life without him by your side

Angry when he saw you getting nursed by someone in even the slightest way, knowing that he wasn't able to protect you

"It's not your fault Miles" Gwen would tell him

"It's wasn't your fault Miles" Pavitr soothed

"It's not your scum man" Hobie would reassure

Truth be told, he grew inconsolable knowing he was aging without you, times were changing without you. He grew inconsolable because you were comfort. were

"Thing happen Miles" Margo consoled

It was hard to ignore how Miles changed for the worst. Constantly it felt like barbed wire was wrapped around his throat, his voice broke off into fractions. Since the death of his uncle, Aaron, it was the most his family had seen him cry. There wasn't need for Rio or Jeff to scold him about coming in late because he never left his room, except for the infrequent trips to patrol and save Brooklyn.

There wasn't much of that left though, using footage from fight analyses it became clear than he would purposely put himself in harm and take hits more than necessary. His reason being that he wanted to feel 'something'. Following, the other spiders kept eye on Brooklyn.

His misery became contagious, more dangerous the more nights Rio heard Miles begging to be taken in his sleep.

— "Mama, I can hear you crying"

The words made her sob harder, she couldn't tell if she was happy to have grown such a selfless young man or sad that he didn't ever want to ask for help. She walked in to find Miles standing on the other side of the door, his hand in motion to turn the doorknob. He embraced her, resting his head horizontal on hers. Tears streamed down both their faces.

"I'll be fine, I'll be fine"

It wasn't evident who Miles was trying to convince— himself or his mother. Because he knew that deep down, always and forever, you would have a tug on his heart.

BOW BOW BOW!!

[witchinatree]

making a list of my favorite quote/ones that stuck with me from each season 1 episode because i feel like it

(i'm starting this after episode 4 but it will be a WHILE before i post it)

episode 1: "bones are a lie peddled by Big Milk" - alice

i love this one because it's a great introduction to alice i think. also it radiates spiral so i hope we get avatar alice not dead alice (isnt there a podcast called alice isnt dead?)

episode 2: "If I wanted to clear the canvas, I would have used turpentine." - statement

this one was just fucking powerful and caught me so off guard like 😶

episode 3: "What would I do without her?" - statement

the norris statement <3 it feels like martin asking what he would do without jon which makes mag200 a lot sadder and i love them

episode 4: "Perhaps you shall prove a stronger will than I, and will yet find it within yourself to destroy this hungry thing of wood and cat-gut." - statement

augustus sighting #1 and we immediately get jonah magnus expressing that it may be possible for gwen bouchard unknown family member to overcome the eye's hunger spooky violin

episode 5: "Voyeur needs to be seen to be believed." - statement

i feel like this one is pretty reflective of how the seasons gonna go? like if you explain the events of tma (mag200 specifically) no one's gonna believe you, it must be seen to be believed!! and also seen!! like the eye!!!

episode 6: "Not sca- This isn’t some poxy blood test, some little pinprick, this is hundreds, thousands of razor sharp points pushing into your flesh." - needles

i love needles so much and i thought this was really funny because it was like "you dont find me scary!! what the fuck!!!" just kind of toddler michael energy

episode 7: "It’s not like we’re wrestling with tape recorders and manila folders." - celia

STOP IT. celia you can't say that you just cannot!!!!!! you Know™ too much maam i cant with you

episode 8: "Pleasure to meet you both. I’m Gerry!"

RAGHHHHH OH MY GOD GERRY!!!! i love him so much and idk how to handle him being alive in the tmagp universe!! gertrude too but idk we got so much of her in tma and not nearly enough of gerry

episode 9: "And honestly, it’s kind of compelling by this point." - sam

they got him 😔😔 the horrors got sam 😔😔 also i found this to be an interesting contrast to jon's heavy resistance in season 1 like he was being compelled but he wasn't going to let anyone know that vs sam "its kinda compelling to trauma dump on this paperwork :]" how is he somehow even more victim material

episode 10: "Gosh you’re sexy, here’s a twenty for your trouble.” - alice

does this count as a quote if shes also quoting what she thinks sam should say? idk anyway i love her i would say that to her if given the chance and it was very silly. i will not be addressing bonzo i am scared.

episode 11: "...Thank you, Alice" - gwen

dyhard dyhard dyhard dyhard dyhard. okay also, the way she CRUMBLED at the idea of anyone doing anything nice for her please someone give her a hug and let it be ME. this series is tossing me back and forth between sam & alice (what is their ship name) and dyhard but this put me back to dyhard

episode 12: "You know it's rude to have absolutely no game?" - alice

she's so fucking funny i need her to be okay so badly!!!! i don't think even tim made me laugh as much as she makes me chuckle and this one really got me. it's hard to write such a comedic character in a podcast since you only have the voice but they really nailed it i adore her

episode 13: "Is it my fault?" - gwen

each of these episodes just reveal a little bit more about how loving and soft gwen is and idk i love her so unbelievably much so seeing that she felt guilt about the bonzo stuff just made her so much more real :(

episode 14: "Christ, they’re in the walls…" - statement

theyre in the walls!!! theyre in the goddamn walls!!!!! anyway that got me because i realized the hole before the statement said it. made more sad than scared tbh

episode 15: "Babies are cool!" - alice this entire interaction between her and sam & celia was so awkward, she is so obvious and i love her anyway

episode 16: "It’s not like I was holding doors open for Mr Bonzo or anything." - gwen my wife is so so so stupid but i adore her AND this gives room for character development. i wish she did not do that though. i love when characters are flawed and have depth but i struggled to get past THIS flaw of hers

episode 17: "Thanks, I guess. Not exactly the same, though, is it?" - celia shes talking TO JON IN THE COMPUTER. SHE KNOWS. i lost my damn mind i love her i love her. get the gay people out of the puter please queen

episode 18: "Why would I need to talk to you? Your work is satisfactory. Unless you have a work-related issue I could assist you with?" - lena solidified my opinion that lena is the best boss to ever have, i adore her and i would want to work for her if she wasn't the boss of Creepy Establishment #1

episode 19: "You’re going to throw it in the fishtank, aren’t you?" - alice colin's behavior is like really worrying BUT i'm glad he's back. i was not convinced he was still alive

episode 20: "I suppose it’s too late for remorse, isn’t it? And why should I be sorry? This is what I deserve!" - ink5oul/statement they reminded me of jon a lot, like especially his season 3/4 transformation when he doesn't quite know everything but he knows he isn't who he was in season 1 anymore, i hope we see more of their life and they can be helped :(

episode 21: [Tape Recorder Bites Ink5oul] - audio description i know it's not technically a quote but this is just so fucking funny. why does it have teeth. what does this mean for the lore. holy shit.

episode 22: "Jonathan Sims and Martin Blackwood" - celia. knawing at the walls of my enclosure i am so not okay. i'm not okay. wtf. wtf. wtf. they're real. wtf.

episode 23: "I had a favorite mug. It said “love you, bitch” and had a picture of a drunk dog on it." - alice. okay i just love this entire interaction because gwen got to open up a little bit and my dyhard heart is so full

episode 24: "I am told that children like me, and I’ve always held the opinion that the world would be a better place if everyone just thought more." - basira. once again this whole interaction was so fun but like idk i loved hearing basira somewhat happy and in a safe place :] my wife <3

episode 25: " I am trying to help, to save us from this goddamned fucking nightmare machine!" - colin. MAN I REALLY WAS ROOTING FOR YOU!!! I WAS SO CONFIDENT YOU WEREN'T GONNA DIE!!!! it's over

episode 26: "I was worrying for a moment that you were Magnussing." - alice. MAGNUSSING BEING CANON MADE ME SAY IT EVEN MORE I'VE SAID IT LIKE TWICE ALREADY

episode 27: "You didn’t tell me the room was labelled, “Archivist.”" - celia. oooooh somebody's got TRAUMAAAAA LMAO

episode 28: "So you’re telling me you know nothing about an OIAR external contract being found with the bodies of two tattooed thugs who met rather grisly ends?" - TREVOR HERBERT???? anyway. ink5oul mention!!!!! i hope they stop killing people it's really rude

episode 29: "Alice, er… we’ve got to talk. It’s important." - teddy. i knew it was over for him but i didn't think it was gonna be THIS bad??? bye babe i guess??? 😭

episode 30: how do i even pick. the whole fucking episode. i can't. i am in a state of shock. i need to lay down for 30 years.

[ghostflowerhotpotch]

You considered what happened at the tower as her shutting him down? Even with all that, Miles isn't phased and that reassurance from Miles brings a smile to her face and she affectionately leans on him

Honestly? That's a good point, because there is merit to this part of the conversation as well.

As always, I think we need to examine the context from the bit that happened before, because the set up really speaks a lot of about the rest of the experience.

So let's start with this interaction of Miles and Gwen, because the first time I saw it hit me hard.

This situation hit me because by knowing Gwen's background, you can understand exactly where is coming, and it makes it hurt even more.

Miles is conflicted about his secret identity, specially with his parents, who are understandably pissed off (I may do an analysis on that, is not ghostflower, but I think there is some stuff worth pointing out.) And let me be clear here, I do think Rio and Jeff should know, I think while they could freak out, it can work out.

But honestly Gwen's reaction is so natural having her said anything else would be weird.

We don't know how long has been since she saw her dad, but considering she confirmed months, and how her hair as grew since the beginning scene to this moment, it has indeed been awhile. And I don't fault for refusing to come back even after all this time.

Her dad tried to point a gun at her, even after she took her mask away; after everything she has been through, after begging him to listen, there is no words to describe how much that must had hurt. How this society, with all the spiders they have, with Jessica Drew, Hobie and Miguel, still cannot fix that.

So is natural that she quickly tells no to Miles, she doesn't want to him to live that, and she may not know them, but she never thought her dad would truly be afraid of her and look at what happened. I can't blame her for it.

What caught my attention, however, was what she did next.

She decides to sit upside down.

Now, you probably had hear before that a lot of things there is a second meaning behind certain shots in movies. In animation that goes even harder considering how you need to work things from scratch, and as wonderful as it is the shot of Gwen going upside down, I think they were going for something more than beauty.

By Gwen doing something like this, is going to somewhere a regular person could never go, what a regular person couldn't attempt to do without risking their life.

I think this choice is very deliberately because at this point, being spiderwoman is all she has.

She needed to leave the life of Gwen Stacy when she left that night, her school life, her old band mates (who in the comics are her friends and we can see saying hello in the flash back of the dance), her dad, is all gone.

Yes she is learning so much, she is happy to have Jessica as her mentor, she really things she is doing something good here. But I also thing she is clinging to this all the harder because she doesn't have much else in her life.

Yes she is happy with Hobie as her friend and plays in his dimension, but you can see that isn't enough. We can see proof of this later.

This also means getting away from Miles' sight, almost like hiding, and yet not far enough he cannot come to get her.

Maybe I am getting a bit too sentimental here, but this is a good example of the rest of the scene, push and pull, she thinking they can't, but wanting so much to do so.

I am not sure how much Miles meant that, since I think he still looks conflicted earlier. Regardless, something that I like about this, is that he listens to her.

He knows Gwen is in a very painful position, and while he has good reasons to believe his parents are different, he doesn't try to fight it. And more than that, I think he actually takes into consideration her words and tries to see it in a different light. A softer one.

I had seen some people say Miles is the sunshine of the relationship while Gwen is gloom and doom, and while I still think that is oversimplifying their situation too much, this moment shows a bit of that, and also, another reason why Gwen likes talking to him.

I really like this detail, I think Miles being able to make a situation less grim is something that I think Gwen feels is like Miles place in her life, to make things that used to hurt her (being spiderwoman, since she liked it but it has made such damage to her life,) actually made her happy again.

Also, look at the space between them; I think this shows even more than Miles is conscious of the type of pain Gwen was when she decided to climb here, and he gets back to her, but gives her space just in case.

Of course Miles cannot help but boost himself, though you can see that he is trying to make it sound almost like a joke. I wonder if his uncle would be proud at his attempts of being smooth, because while not perfect hey, they are working for Gwen.

Because regardless if she thinks is a good joke or not, she did laugh.

And I think after Gwen having her cool for most of the time, seeing Miles get a bit more confident is sweet, and also some progress showing that he has indeed feeling surer of himself.

I think Gwen knows she is kind of encouraging him to continue.

I like to point out that Gwen looks back him while saying this, almost like indicating that hey, we are still talking dummy, you don't need to stay back.

Back again, Gwen wants her distance, wants to use the mantle spiderwoman and the powers that come with them to not face the rest of the world; but she also makes sure that Miles can get to her still.

Miles obviously, doesn't know Gwen's feelings, and I don't think he realized how much her time with him has meant for her; and in this scene shows.

Including how he asks again, if she really means it.

And decides to get closer to her when she repeats it.

Once more, maybe is me looking for things where there aren't any, but I think is a nice touch that Miles gives Gwen his space, and she still reminds her she is here for him, and is all he needs to close some of the distance between each other.

It's funny, at first I thought I didn't have anything to say about this particular exchange, except that now that I see it in slow-motion and after analyzing the other scenes, it does feel that it carries more meaning.

Because in this scene, Gwen attributes that part of the reason she likes to talk to him, is because there isn't a lot of people they can talk about being super heroes, and Miles agrees.

Which if you think about it, it has a point, the reason why they met, and also got along so well, was for being spiders. We can see it in the bus, of how Gwen is having fun talking with Miles and actually wanting to preserve that moment with him.

Yet, that isn't the entire story, now is isn't?

Man I wish I could get the entire clip, there is so many little things. The looks Miles gives to Gwen, how Gwen tries to not look at her but she continues smiling and briefly looking at his direction.

But it does bring an important point, that is not the entire reason they get along so well.

Gwen had the opportunity to met other spider people, including teens. Peni is in the society, Pavitr, Margo, Hobie, a lot of Peters- unlike Miles, who has been on his own for this year and few months, Gwen had the chance to met other spider people, to get other friendships with people who understood.

And yet she is still here, having this conversation, claiming how is different with him.

Even after having so many possibilities to met other people, to have other people to talk about this, she still wanted Miles.

Just like us, he caught onto that; and we know why he is asking, he knows why he is asking, and Gwen probably too.

The conversation is still pretty light in tone, Miles is throwing away a piece of debris that he picked from his suit (huh wonder if he was just taking dirt out because he nervously was picking his suit,) Gwen is still smiling. We all knows what they are truly hinting here, but no one is saying it.

Sure hun.

But seriously, I do wonder if Gwen is also thinking about that. Like I doubt she isn't aware of her feelings for Miles, she certainly is aware of his, and the way they interact is layered by their crush in every interaction.

What I am curious of, if she wonders why is Miles the person she is still thinking about, how not a band was enough, how the spider society isn't enough, that she is still here having this conversation even when knowing she should be doing a mission.

This last panel certainly makes me think in that direction, that she is still wondering, what Miles has that she can't get out of her mind.

Gwen is still thinking, trying to get the words, but Miles seems pretty sure of his choice.

And I think she likes her explanation too.

Miles says that they are the same in the important ways, and what Gwen says next almost seems to make it believe she agrees.

Because her next words are a confession, or as close as we get in this conversation full of metaphors and second meanings.

Sorry, I try to not go crazy with so many images, but I think every frame is important here.

First the subtle happiness of Miles hearing that, of knowing what it must mean if Gwen is telling this to him, here and now.

How she looks back at her, almost like he needs to confirm what he heard, and when he realizes she is still looking at the horizon, he looks down at their hands.

And he tries to get closer.

Once again, slowly, letting the chance to go away; as always, Miles tries to respect Gwen's space and let her dictate the tone.

And she doesn't miss in what he is trying to do.

AAAAAND I realized I got to the maximun number of images on a post (oops.)

Sorry anon for basically not answering your question, but I got too deep into this ramble for me to delete some of it now.

PART 2

[themindcrowave]

recurring jing yuan thoughts #2... a spiderverse AU

so i've been thinking about spiderverse jing yuan lately..... trying to decide whether he's a spider or a gwen/MJ

- if he was a spider he'd be able to travel dimensions,,, he'd definitely have a backstory similar to miguel o'hara's about trying to find a reality where everyone he loved was back together again, but unlike miguel, once that reality inevitably goes wrong he either:

- decides to really focus on his emotional healing and grief processing or

- becomes a compartmentalization master like he is in the game

because either way he knows he can't properly help others and be a leading figure if he can't move past his own grief first. he would rather gnaw through his own arm than push his old emotional scars onto the young spiders he's met and formed family with along his journey. he might have lost his first found family but he'll be damned if he loses his chance at another.

- and then just like in-game, jing yuan will meet the people of his past again... i'm thinking dan heng is a spider from a parallel universe where dan feng's weakened consciousness ended up after he was completely wiped from jing yuan's dimension, so basically dan heng was always his own person of course but then he started having visions of a lifetime parallel to his own lived by someone who looked exactly like him (insert my gwen stacy theory bc WOW does it fit him)

- blade would be kinda like the usual spiderman villain setup where his undying situation is all because of a terrible science accident and his main motivation is to find the ones involved in what happened to him (the og high cloud quintet friend group) and exact vengeance so that maybe he can finally disappear in peace (basically the same as in-game)

- baiheng's death was probably jing yuan's first devastating "canon event". i think he wasn't around to save her when she died (and he couldn't have been, he didn't even know where she was or what happened to her until he heard the news) and that guilt will forever eat away at him... i'm thinking she died in an aircraft accident but i haven't decided what kind yet

- dan feng was a genius scientist. he experimented with a lot of things that he probably shouldn't have and always pushed the boundaries of scientific possibility,, especially after baiheng died. he started secluding himself in his lab and only yingxing ever had any success at visiting him there for any substantial period of time... which is exactly how yingxing got caught up in dan feng's plan to bring baiheng back (think kingpin bringing his family back with the alchemax super-collider) and subsequently cue the horrible accident which turned him into the immortal blade

- oh and then of course jing yuan, being spiderman, has to track down and apprehend dan feng for what he did and decide his sentence (life imprisonment) but dan feng's family clan had him assassinated in prison for reasons jing yuan was never able to completely uncover (and a nagging little part of him will always feel like dan feng's fate was his fault)

- i think jingliu was jing yuan's superhero mentor... not sure if she was a spider too, or just another masked hero in the area who took him under her wing when he was new to his powers. just like in-game, she was the one who introduced him to the rest of the group, and just like in-game she will go completely berserk and become a vigilante with no clear morals or objectives after baiheng dies. like with dan feng, jing yuan has to track her down and try to get her back. unlike with dan feng, jingliu decides that given her shattered mental state the safest option for society as a whole would be for jing yuan to defeat her then and there, once and for all, simultaneously saving the day and proving his graduation from her mentorship. and, well. he did.

- there's yanqing (young spider, official mentee, and unofficial son of jing yuan) thoughts rattling around in here too, but words are difficult so unfortunately you'll have to put your full imagination to work here and just try to feel the "i'm-putting-this-character-in-a-jar-and-shaking-it-like-a-mixed-drink" vibes for yourself! cheers

[starlightazriel]

a court of love & scars

18+

other parts

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part 8, Gwen

I peered out on either side of the hallway, poking my head out of Azriels room. All clear. I ran to my own, shutting the door behind me and leaning my back against it. I almost collapsed into the door, melting against it but I held strong.

The way he kissed me lastnight... Yes, he had left me hanging when I was slick with need, melting into him, inviting him for more... But he still kissed me this time, kissed me like I was the only one in the entire world. And then let me stay there, in his bed, though, I didn't even know if he had even slept next to me, he was gone in the morning and I had been asleep before he ever even got into bed. I quickly dressed, and brushed my hair out, leaving it down as I didn't really know how to do my hair and Nuala and Cerridwen were no where to be found. It wasn't like I had to do anything with my hair when I had been in a dungeon for hundreds of years. The bodice of my blue dress was tight, flowing out at the hips and reaching the floor. One more glance in the mirror and I took a big deep breath, I can do this I can face him.

I stopped short at the bottom of the stairs, the heated conversation stopping me in my tracks.

"They know she's here, thanks to your damned party," I heard Azriels voice first, he sounded angry, almost a growl. Was this something to do with why he had been gone for so long?

"They won't come here," Mor chimed in, "not again, they know better now," she says in a calming tone, trying to bring Azriel back down to a normal level. The she they were talking about, was it me?

"You don't know that," Azriel shot back, I crept a step closer, holding my breath. I didn't want them to catch me eavesdropping.

"Well has she seen anything? Or she still can't find her sight?" Mor asks, definitely talking about me. My cheeks burn in embarrassment, my stomach also twisting with nerves, who is looking for me?

"She's working on it," Azriel mumbles, I bite my lip, well that was generous of him. I had basically given up on my powers.

"She needs training," Rhys chimes in now, "I know she wasn't expecting it for a couple more months but..." there is a long pause of silence. "I think you should take her up to the cabin," he finally says. I swallow hard, what cabin? "It will be safer there, if they do come looking, here is where they will come. And we will be ready. And in the meantime, you can take her up to train, we will all take turns, through out the week." I could hear Rhys drumming his fingers on the table. "Hush," Feyre says, her voice dropping to a whisper. "We have company," I realize she means me and my cheeks furiously burn as I finally come from around the corner, awkwardly smoothing my dress over.

"Good morning everyone," I say quickly, pretending that I hadn't just been listening in on their conversation. I slid into my chair, anxiously glancing around between them, all eyes on me, My breakfast appears in front of me, I feel sick though. Who could be looking for me? My eyes drift down to my plate.

The silence was thick after the quiet awkward good mornings. Did they think I was too fragile to know that someone was looking for me? After everything they knew I had been through and endured... They didn't think I could handle this? I felt far away all of a sudden, like I was alone again, like they truly didn't know me or understand me, like no one ever would. I picked at my food, staring down at my plate, the conversation had shifted to politics, things I didn't understand after being in the dark for so long, and I again, felt alone. Too alone. I quietly excused myself, only a few bites of my breakfast gone. I felt Azriels eyes on me, burning into me, but he said nothing, as he often did when in the presence of others. Was he embarrassed about the now two kisses we shared? If that was the case, lastnight was not my fault, it was his.

I ended up in the library, running a finger over the spines of books on a long book shelf. I needed to escape, I couldn't just keep thinking about Azriel, and now about who or what might be after me.... It didn't take me long to find one I decided I wanted to read. A romance, a love story. It was rather scandalous, - story about a love triangle, and it was filled with sex.

I had found the quietest corner in the library and I was curled up in the chair, legs tightly together, lips parted, cheeks flushed, I read and read and read. It was the most wonderful escape from my thoughts, and I threw myself into the world of the characters, only stopping to use the library rest room a few times throughout the day.

The clock chimed again, and as if in response, my stomach growled again, I ignored it, for what felt like 50th time today. I just couldn't stop, I was too invested in finding out what happened to the main characters, not to mention, I wasn't exactly thrilled to dine with everyone. I would ask Nuala and Cerridwen for some scraps later on.

"You missed lunch," I peel my eyes off of the pages to find Azriel standing there. No leathers, wings relaxed, leaning against the side of a book case, his hair slightly messed, the image of relaxed and casual. No matter how unbothered he appeared, I could see a glimmer of worry in his hazel eyes. "And dinner," he adds and then he takes a step closer, seeming to stop in his tracks, my eyes flicker, just now noticing the tray of food in his free hand, his nostrils flaring. His eyes darkened about three shades, his eyes traveling up and down me now, studying me. My cheeks blazed, could he smell me? Could he smell my arousal?

"What are you reading?" His voice had changed, low and husky, his jaw flexing. The sight of him alone, had my legs squeezing together tightly, shifting, searching for any kind of friction I could possibly get. "Gwen?" He asked, and it was like I had just now realized that this was real, he was here and I was just sitting there gaping like a damned idiot. "Oh! Hello Az, nothing actually, just a silly book," I slammed the book shut quickly, putting it to the side, he followed my hands, trying to get a look at the title but gave up quickly, his eyes snapping back up to mine. What else could I really do here besides play it cool? Pretend like I hadn't gone dizzy and weak in the knees both times he had kissed me?

"You must be starving," he studies my face intently, as if he was searching for something, why did he always look at me like that? What was behind that look? Walls, I thought to myself. I supposed those were behind any of his looks, no matter how sweet and sensual.

"I could eat," I admit, watching him slide the tray across the small table, I straighten on the arm chair, leaning all the way forward to eat.

"We could go to the dining room," he offers, I simply shake my head. "I'm fine," I continued to eat, rather quickly since I had been so starving, Azriel didn't take his eyes off. "Thank you," I add, slamming down a small cup of water before returning to my plate.

"'Course," he mumbles, I glance up at him, he's scratching the back of his head, I drop my fork, leaning back, worry settling in the pit of my stomach.

"Just spit it out already," I mumble, tired of the games, tired of everyone being too afraid to tell me what was going on. Tired of feeling all alone. His eyes glow with challenge as if he was imagining punishing me, for speaking to him like that. He takes a breath, and recomposes.

"There's been an issue," he leans back in his chair now, looking anywhere but me, the paintings, the book cases, the table... Just not me. "We think it's a good idea to bump your training up, what with.. Some recent developments I've discovered and.. Well it couldn't hurt anyway..." he trails off carefully, watching me closely as if he was just waiting for me to explode.

"What recent developments?!" I ask, leaning back in my seat now, getting a good look at him. He winces, finally meeting my gaze.

"There's a male," he says slowly, calmly, carefully as if he was trying not to let anger bubble up inside of him, as if he was trying to keep his feelings contained, shadows flared about, my lips parted at the sensual sight of him. "They call him the prince of bones, he is cursed, and the only way to break his curse, is if he bares a babe with a fine, high fae princess, one with royal blood.." he continues slowly, I see his eyes dancing, like they were hungry for blood, like he wanted to find this male. "Then and only then when he presents the babe to the dark lord who cursed him, will his curse be lifted," Azriels eyes were dark, but this time, it wasn't lust. My stomach twisted in knots, my face paling as i put the pieces together, Azriel sees the realization on my face, he only nods darkly.

"Yes Gwen and you, you are from Spring, you are fertility, and abundance and new life, he heard of your safe return.. and he thinks you are his chance," he scoffs, knuckles going white on the table, I stared back, feeling bile rise in my throat but I swallowed it down.

"And.. And what is the lord who cursed him going to do with a babe? If he got one?" I whisper, feeling heat prick at my eyes but I didn't let a tear fall.

"You don't want to know," he groans, and the is was the first time I'd seen him stressed, not angry or cool indifference, or that unreadable expression he liked to wear. "But that's why, we are going to move up training and we are going to go stay in the cabin... And we're going-" he rambles on again. This must be serious. How strong is this prince of bones? I shuddered, what was his curse? Why was he called that? "It's going to be okay Gwen, I would die before I let someone take you away again," the intensity of Azriels words has my heart pounding against my ribcage.

"We're all going?" I manage to squeak out, I felt like everything was closing on me, just when things were starting to almost get normal.

"Ah, well, me and you, the others will be in and out.. But we, will be staying there.." He trails off, and my eyes snap back to his face, the rosy color on his cheeks warming my very bones.

"Oh," I said, my eyes widening just in the slightest, heat pooled in my core again, just at the thought, just me and Azriel... His nostrils flare up again, he bites his lip hard.

"Did I tell you, that you smell absolutely delicious today?" his eyes were dark with lust again, lids heavy as he stared and stared. "What did you say you were reading?" he leaned in closer, making my breath hitch. My cheeks flamed when I recalled all the sex I had been reading about today.

"Just a book," I breath out, looking up at him through heavy lidded eyes. His smile told me that he knew exactly what kind of book I had been reading.

"You know Gwen," he reaches out, tucking a lock of golden hair behind my ear, "I can teach you a lot more, than just how to fight," suggestion laces his words and I was frozen, I felt like I could melt into a puddle and die right there...

"We'll see, shadowsinger," I manage to choke, my cheeks blazing, hands balled up into fists in my lap. Azriel just laughs, rising up to his feet and he outstretched his hand to me. How could he just act normal? So confident?! It just wasn't fair, while I was over here hot and bothered, arousal leaking from me, face red as a beet, Azriel was just there, cool calm and collected. I frowned a little, earning another laugh.

"Come on Rabbit, it's time for dessert," he pulls me to my feet, I pale completely, feeling my knees going weak at the thought, am I dessert? Is he dessert? It must have been written all over my face.

He laughs again, his eyes sparkling, something I hadn't seen since before the party. "Filthy mind," he croons shaking his head at me. "It's chocolate cake."

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the tension is killing me nbs 9 will be up soon ;) xoxo still need to read this through

[kaylinalexanderbooks]

Find the word

Thanks to @writingsfromspace for the tag!

My words: find, water, star, fly

Your words: ground, copy, thought, bottom

Tagging @awritingcaitlin @writernopal @winterandwords @sarandipitywrites @mjjune @dyrewrites @sarahlizziewrites @i-can-even-burn-salad @sleepywriter00 @sunset-a-story @stesierra @imsoveryveryconfusedatlife @finickyfelix

TSP intro

TSP tag list (ask to be +/-): @thepeculiarbird @illarian-rambling @televisionjester @finchwrites

Keep reading for:

Ash nearly faints

Take a shot of water every time I say water in this excerpt

Argument between Rose and Maddie

Gwen meets Akash

Find - from The Secret Portal Part One (Ash POV)

I felt like collapsing in a cluster of red ferns by the time I reached the trees. Soon, I was using the trunks to hold myself up. A sudden ringing in my ears made my head feel like it split open. I let out a cry as I pressed my fingers to my forehead. I heard a little girl screaming. I tried to find the origin of the sound, but I found no one. The screaming didn’t stop. I kept going forward, covering my ears, trying to make it go away. I collapsed on the ground in a patch of violet-colored flowers, curling into a ball. My head spun as I stared at the petals. They weren’t like any other flower I’d seen. Their purple color was so vibrant, I debated its existence. There were three layers of tear-shaped petals swirling around the center, creating a dizzying spiral. I closed my eyes; the petals were making me sicker. Slowly, the screaming stopped. My vision cleared. I shook my head and pulled myself up and rested my body on the nearest tree trunk. I closed and opened my eyes slowly as the world slowly came back into focus. What just happened? Who was that?

Water - from The Secret Portal Part One (Ash POV)

I entered the kitchen, pushing off the wall so I could rummage through the cabinet. I pulled out a glass and filled it with water from the fridge. I guzzled the water but almost spit it out. As soon as the water graced my lips, a sudden blue light flashed in front of me. Shaking it off as an effect of the devices, I refilled the glass to the brim. The blue lights happened again. During the third refill, my eyes rested on the time, a small light on the fridge. It was six am. There was no way I used the devices before even two. And there was no way that vision took more than five minutes. “Shit!” I hissed as my shock caused the water to spill over the glass. I guzzled the water again before grabbing a towel to clean up my mess. Once I did, I stood back up, tossed the towel on the counter, and looked at the clock again. I sighed. I wasn't sure what I was going to do in the remaining time that I had before everyone else awoke.

Did you take the shots of water? Do you have to pee yet?

Star - from The Secret Portal Part One (Maddie POV)

“What’s happening?” Rose murmured. “You lead us through a death portal,” I muttered, joking slightly. Rose swiveled her head toward me. “Excuse me? You were the one who had a mental breakdown when Lexi didn’t answer her damn phone!” “Well, Lexi and Ash ended up here, so I had the right idea,” I said, not sure why she was mad. “Fine. You were right. Gold star.” Rose glared down at me. “And don’t blame me for what happened to Noelle.” “It’s partially my fault,” I said, lightly pushing her away from my face. “I suggested Lexi's disappearance, but you led us here, so a bit of yours, too.” Rose stepped toward me again. “This. Is not. My fault.” “I said it’s partially my fault,” I insisted, pushing her away again. She pushed me back this time, which irritated me. I only pushed her because she was in my face. “Why don’t you admit you’re partially responsible for Noelle’s injury?” I pushed in retaliation this time. “We’re gonna get her to a hospital, and then we’re gonna look for my sister, who you seem to have forgotten about because you’re too wrapped in yourself to care if Lexi’s okay.” I bit my tongue. That wasn't a good thing to say. I wasn't sure where it came from. Rose’s jaw clenched. She lifted her fist—I thought she would push me again, but she just jabbed me with her finger on every word— “Don’t. Ever. Say. I don’t care about Lexi. She means more to me than you could imagine.” “I’m her sister,” I pointed out. “How could you—” I poked her back— “imagine how much she means to me?” Rose took a step back. She looked down at her feet for a second. I did the same. Gwen pointed out I was arguing earlier when I didn’t mean to, which sometimes happened to me. Arguing wasn’t gonna get Lexi—or Ash—back, and it wasn't gonna get Noelle to a hospital either. I wondered if Rose would hate me forever after this.

Fly - from The Secret Portal Part One (Gwen POV)

My left foot slammed into a vent cover, knocking me off balance and causing my butt to slam against the cover, knocking it off. I fell through the hole and somehow managed to grab the edges of the vent. I heard the cover crash onto the floor below me as I dangled from the ceiling. “Hey, who’re you?” a voice said. I looked around, trying to find the owner of the voice when my eyes finally rested on a boy. He was probably a year or so older than me with dark brown skin. He had short and spiky hair and his ears stuck out a little. He wore a yellow polo t-shit over a long-sleeved white shirt and dark-blue jeans. It took a moment to realize the boy was at eye level while I hung from the ceiling. I looked down and saw the boy’s feet were a good ten feet from the ground. He was floating. “Who are you?” the boy repeated. I looked back up. I realized he was kinda cute. Even with the messy bedhead. “Um, Gwen.” “Akash,” he said. Actually, especially with the messy bedhead. I realized I was staring when Akash smiled. “You’re new around here, aren’t you?” When I didn’t answer, he added, “You want me to help you down?” I nodded, and Akash wrapped his arm around me. I flinched slightly—a cute boy was touching me!—but allowed him to do so. I let go of the vent and let him fly me to the floor. I suddenly realized I had wrapped my arms around him. I quickly pushed away from him. “Thanks,” I muttered. I glanced off to the side and panic ran through me when I noticed a bed. I could feel my cheeks turning red. I just fell into a cute boy’s room! As if I wasn’t embarrassed enough.

[gaybananabread]

Congrats on the follower milestone! If you're still taking orders, may I please have switches Gwen and Hobie (Gwen as the original lee) with pears and/or oranges?? They've become somewhat of a comfort duo for me, hehe :)<

Fruit(s): Pears, Oranges

Love these two! Writing for them is always fun, though all the spider scrimblos have a vice grip on my brain. Hobie gives off such asshole switch vibes, I can’t even- Went a little overboard with this one, but I have no regrets. (UvU) Back on topic, thank you for ordering your fruits, and I hope you Enjoy!

Switches: Gwen, Hobie

Summary: Gwen is struggling with her self-image, the negative thoughts creeping in as she stresses out. Hobie has the perfect way to help, and while it cheers her up, things don’t exactly go how he expects them to.

Warnings: poor self-image/esteem topic! This is a tickle fic, so if you don’t like that, scroll away!

Gwen stared up at the ceiling of Hobie’s inner houseboat, letting her thoughts drift. They weren’t going anywhere good.

She had failed so much as-of-late. Her dad discovering her secret identity, the anomalies getting out of control, the Spot’s wave of leftover destruction, everything with Miles… Even though none of those were truly her fault, it really felt that way; her mind took those feelings as grim, guilty facts. Growing tired of his bedroom ceiling, Gwen grabbed a pillow, burying her teary face in it. Maybe smothering herself in her sorrows would help…

Hobie slunk into the room, his cheeky smile falling the moment he saw Gwen’s sulking form. The punk sat on the edge of his bed, the old mattress sinking in with his weight. He poked the pillow, making Gwen huff. “Hey…what’s goin’ on, Gwendy?”

The girl groaned into the soft object, shrugging. “‘M fine…” The muffled lie was barely audible, but Hobie’s keen hearing caught it clear as day. So, so much was running through her mind, but she couldn’t burden her friend with those thoughts. Best to figure it out herself…probably.

Damn it, Gwen… A large, calloused hand rested on her stomach, one finger drawing small circles around the thin fabric of her t-shirt. “Not buyin’ that, sweetheart. You need some cheerin’ up?”

Small giggles slipped past her guarded lips, muffled by the pillow. As much as she wanted to deal with everything herself, some comfort would be nice. Especially the kind Hobie was suggesting… Gwen mumbled an “mm-hm” into the fabric, not pushing him away. That was all the lanky teen needed to get started.

Hobie lightly tickled her stomach, his fingers doing figure-eights against her shirt. The other teen’s feet started to drum on the bed, muffled giggles making their way to his ears. It was adorable, the way she let him cheer her up with the silly touch. It was clear the tickles were helping. “Aww, Gwenny, all ya had to do was ask.”

To anyone outside their inner circle, this might’ve seemed strange. She just let him tickle her like that? Yeah, she did; that girl was practically melting. In the midst of her bleak thoughts, a little fluff and silliness was like heaven. Tickling in general made her happy, but the gentle stuff from someone she cared about to cheer her up? Immediate serotonin release.

As much as he loved her muffled giggles, he was after a bigger reaction. The punk climbed further onto her bed, sitting on her thighs so she couldn’t kick him. Hobie grabbed the pillow, tugging it away from her face. The bright red cheeks and wobbly smile he was greeted with made him snicker. “Hey, girlie. No hidin’ those giggles; they’re too cute for jus’ the pillow ta hear.”

She whined through the adorable sound, half-heartedly batting at his hands. “H-Hohohobie! Quhihit teheasing!” To be honest, she loved the teases, but her cheeks were red enough without the cheeky words. “Sorry, but ya too cute to not tease. ‘M sure you’ll survive.” He slipped a finger under her shirt, scratching at her navel with a smug grin.

Gwen squealed, shooting upwards and shoving at his hand. “H-HOHOhohobiehe! You prihihick! Dohon’t do thahat!” 

So, of course, he kept doing that.

Pushing her shoulder back down to the mattress, Hobie slid her shirt up, scribbling all around her poor belly button. Gwen practically screeched, her feet kicking out behind the anarchist as she frantically shoved at him. “G-KYAAAH! YOUHUHU DIHIHICK! NAHAHAHA!” 

That got a snort out of the older spider, his cool rings sending goosebumps across her skin as he “tormented” her. “Heard of a giggle button, but I never knew ya could have a “lose your damn mind” button. I’ll be sure to remember that one.”

The rougher tickles, while unexpected, were still helping, They helped to drown out the rest of her sour thoughts, replacing the sticky guilt with bright, raucous laughter and giddy glee. Gwen was about at her limit though, his evil fingers pulling squeak after squeal from her wobbly lips. “H-HOBS! IHI CAHAHAN’T- QUIT!”

He huffed, not wanting to go too far. The punk switched from pokes to rubs, patting and massaging her buzzing tum to try and dull the ticklish aftershocks. The girl huffed and giggled, recovering from the brief, yet effective goofiness. “Th-thahanks Hobs. I needed thahat.” 

The punk laid down beside her, grabbing the pillow from earlier and smacking her with it. “Any time, Gwendy. Just gotta ask.” 

Gwen yelped when the fluffy thing smacked her face, her spider sense warning her just a second too late; her subconscious apparently didn’t deem pillows a threat. She was about to hit him back when she realized she had a great opportunity to be a shit. Even though she loved it, payback could be given…heheh. 

Pouncing out of nowhere, she wrestled with her friend, eventually managing to pin him to the bed. While he was a bit stronger, she had caught him by surprise, throwing him off his game. Gwen playfully wiggled her fingers in front of him, smirking. “TIme for a taste of your own medicine, Hobie~”

Before he could protest, five nimble fingers dug into his belly while the other pinned his arms above his head. Hobie didn’t care to hold anything in, just letting the giggles flow as he squirmed. It was apparently the wrong day for him to wear a crop top. “B-buhut yohou liked ihihit!”

She snickered, letting her acrylic nails drag across his midsection. “Maybe. Doesn’t mean I can’t get you back.” Gwen gave his hips a squeeze, giggling as the punk snorted. “Besides, you like it just as much.” 

Hobie took the extra effort to flip her off, making the other teen squawk. She was right, of course; he was barely fighting back, enjoying the turnabout. Scorned and feeling brave, Gwen leaned her head down, blowing a sudden raspberry on his navel. That did it.

“G-GWEHEHEN! WHAHA’ THE FAHAHACK?!” She snorted at his words, sitting back up with a smirk. “You flipped me off, you jerk! Totally deserved.” She went back to his hips, appreciating his low-waisted jeans as she traced little shapes onto his upper hips. “Loving your outfit, by the way. Very ler-friendly.”

He groaned, bucking his hips as more little snorts decorated his laugh. His hips always had him sounding like a piglet. “Sh- snrk shuhuhut uhup! Thaha’ wahahasn’t on puhuhurpose!” 

She was about to tease him again, but a low whirr sounded in the room, a few knick-knacks slowly floating up in the room; one of their friends was visiting Hobie’s dimension.

“Damn it. You’re lucky, Hobs.” She pinched his side one last time before climbing off him, going to greet whoever just arrived. It was probably Pav, coming over for one of their unprompted game nights. 

Hobie giggled off the rest of the adrenaline, rubbing his exposed belly and staring up at the ceiling. He had trained those shits too well…

Taking a deep breath, the punk hauled himself out of the bed, grabbing his guitar from the corner before leaving the bedroom. Hobie hadn’t planned on getting tickled, though he was glad he helped Gwen cheer up. Even if it was a bit unconventional. Then again, what was normal about any of them? He greeted Pav, a smile still on his face as he grabbed out Clue for their game night.

[coverghouls]

spidey and sprinkles - peter b. parker x gen!reader

this is part one to a multiple chapter series that i have posted on ao3 as well.

summary: While settling into your new apartment in New York, you find yourself enamored with Peter B. Parker, as he spices up your daily life.

You gleamed at the setup of your apartment. Everything was aesthetically pleasing, from the color coordination of the furniture to the pictures and artwork you had managed to stick to the wall. Although it had taken you weeks after your actual move-in date to achieve, it finally paid off, and pride echoed in your chest as you admired the home you made for yourself.

Rome wasn’t built in a day, which was made crystal clear to you as the light of your phone demanded your attention. The decorating that brought itself late into the night displayed itself in the form of the clock on your phone, and now all that was left was to settle into your bed.

You began to slip into your pajamas when a familiar sound erupted from your stomach—a grumble. Once the soft fabric of your pajama pants collides with your skin, it dawns on you that you haven’t eaten at all, being so preoccupied with decorating your new apartment. You slip on a jacket and some slides, grab your keys, and hop into your car.

The car stops at a 24-hour grocery store nearby. The parking lot is empty, safe for a few cars that you only can assume are majorly from staff, with a few customers looking to get a late-night snack like yourself. Slightly spooked by the darkness outside, you quickly enter the glowing market to find yourself wandering down the aisles, pushing a primarily empty cart. Pizza dough, shredded cheese, and some pepperoni make their way into said cart, the idea of a homemade pizza teasing itself for tomorrow's lunch. Grabbing a few more essentials, you get down to the ice cream aisle. Your hand grabs the last bin of vanilla bean as a treat for your hard work. As you reach for it, your hand comes into contact with a slightly warmer and softer one.

You look up and are met with the brown eyes of a man who can’t be any older than his late 30s. You shyly retract your hand while he does the same. The older man awkwardly rubbed his hand behind his neck.

“Sorry, I didn’t know vanilla bean was that popular option.” You smiled at him.

He chuckled, gesturing towards you to take it. “I insist you have it. I can grab a different flavor.”

You frowned, shaking your head and pointing to the container. “No, it’s okay. I can grab something else.”

The exchange goes back and forth until you both coincidentally reach for it and touch your hands again.

The two of you both let out a light laugh, catching the attention of two teens. One is a blonde girl with her head half-shaven, and the other is a brown skin boy with a visually unique jacket. The blonde girl smiled at the older man while walking up to him.

“Did you find the ice cream, or were you busy flirting over here?” She laughed.

This caused the boy next to her to punch her shoulder gently. “C'mon, leave him alone, Gwen!”

The older male rolled his eyes at her as she grabbed the container and placed it into her smaller handheld basket. You couldn’t tell if you wanted to laugh at his obvious annoyance or the red tint that crept across his face at the girl’s blunt description of the situation.

The male pulled out his wallet and handed a couple of bills to the younger boy. “You and Miles go up and pay, and I will catch up in a sec.”

The two teens giggled, walking off and whispering things to each other that you could only assume were pretenses about you two.

The guy turned his attention back to you, a slight smirk on his face. “Well, since it’s my fault your ice cream is gone, I feel responsible for helping you find something else to eat.”

You smiled at his apparent gesture to spend more time with you, but you couldn’t help but accept. “What about your kids?”

He raised his eyebrow, “My..kids?”

“The two kids that you just gave money to?” You stared at him questionably; how can someone forget about their kids?

His confused face turned into one of realization as he shook his head quickly. “No, no, those aren’t my kids. They’re just my friends.”

“Your friends are..two kids?” You questioned jokingly.

Embarrassment was written on his face as he covered it, “No! No! They just come around, and I’ve known them for a bit, so I let them stay! And-“

You cut him off before he over-explained himself. “I know what you mean; I’m just messing with you.” Your eyes wandered around the shelves of the aisles that you two traveled before stopping next to some cookies.

He grabbed the box and observed them. “You can’t go wrong with cookies.”

You nodded, taking the box he handed you and placing it in your cart. The two of you made your way up to the checkout line in silence as the two teens that presumably came with him were finishing their payment.

You rang up your items as he handed the kids the keys to place their purchase in his car. He waited for you to finish before grabbing the bags for you.

“Allow me to walk you to your car. It is pretty dark, after all.”

You agreed and took one of the bags from him.

“By the way, I never asked for your name.” He grinned as he walked you to your car.

“It’s Y/N, and what’s yours?” You took the bag from his hand and placed it into your car with the other.

“It’s Peter.” He handed you his cell phone awkwardly, trying to find the right words. “Will you…if you-“

“Are you asking me for my number?” A curious grin was forming on your lips.

“Yes..” He admitted sheepishly.

You entered your number and handed it back to him. “Thank you, Peter. Call me whenever. I’m always free.”

You got in your car and drove off, leaving him dumbstruck in the parking lot that his charm worked. He walked by to his car, only to be met with questions upon questions from Miles and Gwen.

“Did you get their name?” Miles asked immediately.

“Yeah! It’s Y/N.”

[paintbrushnebula]

Gwen Stacy: Fire Arms and Father-In-Laws

‼️⚠️tw/cw - g^n mention

I think guns end up being an obvious trigger for Gwen; it's always the first thing she disarms during villain fights (and she disarms it with such a distaste, too), whenever she visits the Morales' home she instinctively peaks at Jeff's holster to see if he's armed. I 100% see Gwen becoming anti-gun after she's come to grips with everything. Gwen never really gets over that instant fear that spikes in her whenever she sees a gun in someone's hands.

I thought too hard on Jeff and Gwen and guns and angst and oop, lookie lookie. i just had to go and write a quick lil one-shot/character introspection. See how I tricked you into reading my post with a mildly angsty headcanon. and now I got you. gotchu reading my self-indulgent angsty one-shot ahhauhghhh

I mean this is really the fandom's collective fault for there not being more Gwen and Jeff content. when it's free real estate right dere

~•~

Jefferson Davis really did like Gwen, as bad as he was at showing it. She was.. fascinating! And despite her being a bit rough around the edges, he actually missed her when she wasn't around for more than a day (although that didn't happen often). That much was sure. Oh but God forbid she finds out that he misses her when she's gone for a while. He didn't need her trying harder than she already has been. Ahh, she really does try with him, doesn't she? She tries striking up conversations with him when Miles and Rio aren't in the room, and she LOVED gifting him nicknames he didn't like, and an overly complicated handshake she herself designed for the two of them that he never intended to learn, and she carried this aura of comradery every time she interacted with him, as if they were lifelong pals. He appreciated that she tried to impress him. He liked that that mattered to her that he liked her. There had been times where he found himself chuckling to himself in private when he thought back to the that lame joke she told him. Oh, get this, recently he's had to suppress real, unfabricated laughter at her openers as of late. They still weren't funny, oh God no, but it's just that...he could've sworn that for a moment, it was no longer Gwen standing there before Miles' overbearing father's judgement, but 17 year old Jeff standing before Rio's father. Ughh, it almost ached how much she reminded him of himself at her age. Someone who's seen the worst of the world at such a young age, who wound up in the wrong crowd and fought their way out, motivated by a Morales' love. Someone who grew up too fast, now trying to impress a father who isn't letting his child grow up fast enough. He appreciated her more than he liked her, and he already did like her a lot, honest. Maybe more than he'd like to admit to himself.

Now you got Jeff, who clocks whenever her eyes dart to his side in search of a gun, seeing the way she tenses up when he's got it on him when he's in uniform, and he goes to Miles about it. Miles doesn't give away too many details of the situation (i.e. the George incident) out of respect for Gwen's privacy, but he makes it clear that Gwen tenses up at the mere sight of people armed with guns. It's enough for him to get the picture, and even with whatever pet peeves he and Gwen have with each other, and even though Miles didn't directly ask him to, Jeff immediately stops casually carrying his gun when Gwen is around. If he's on his way to work he doesn't let her see it on him. He waits to arm himself when he's out the door.

Sometimes Miles goes on stake outs as Spider-Man with Captain Morales, and sometimes Spider-Gwen tags along. When she does, Jeff never uses his gun. It may seem stupid to go into the field unarmed, but he'll have to trust the two Spiders to keep him safe (or his trusty taser and baton). Now Gwen has taken notice to the sudden persistent lack of gun on his person whenever she's at their house, but never thought much of it, she's just happy not to see it on a cop who she has to see every day. But now she's seeing him out on patrols unarmed and she's thinking "is he stupid?"

Now she'd almost rather have to keep an eye out for whether or not Jeff is pointing a gun at her instead of having to pay extra attention to her boyfriend's dad's safety while they're beating up criminals.

And it's when he effortlessly disarms this one thug a little too roughly for pointing a gun at Gwen that she gets really suspicious... all of this 'avoiding' using the gun.. was it because of her?? It warms her up inside and she's full of hope for their awkward relationship that up till now has only been more or less a mutual respect and tolerance of each other, bound by the unrecoverable debt of her saving his son and her mildly amusing witticisms doing a decent enough job that he actually does seem to enjoy her company even when Miles isn't around (or maybe she was kidding herself, she didn't know).

The next day he's sitting at the table drinking coffee in uniform before his patrol. Gun in holster. It's not like Gwen's here right n-and here's when he sees the door blast open wide and in she comes through the door. She gets a hug and a kiss on the head from Rio, a hug and a kiss from Miles (he totally didn't avert his eyes when their lips met). Then Jeff rose from his seat with an almost apologetic energy--he was armed with his gun. He would've removed it from his holster and put it away, but he feared that she'd get scared at the sight of him pulling it out, so that'd make things worse. But interestingly, her eyes didn't even dart to his holster, and she practically beamed at Jeff when her gaze met his.

she greeted him her usual way. She saunters over to him with a knowing smirk, he extends his hand to her with a formal "Ms. Stacy" to which she *smacks* her hand right into his at full force and wraps her slender fingers around his comparably massive palm with a powerful squeeze, and calls him "Cap" (her *favorite* nickname for him). But then she *tackles* him into a hug. Well, he could've gone without being wrestled into an embrace (I mean she nearly lifted him off the ground), but he does not hesitate to wrap his big arms around her form nonetheless.

I mean how could he hesitate? She was honestly irresistible with how tone deaf her behavior could be sometimes, trying to please while also missing the mark on what makes for formal behavior, and yeah, watching her made him cringe oh so hard at the memory of himself trying to rake up whatever formalities he could in front of Rio's parents in his youth.

But hey, it worked out for him in the end, hadn't it? Rio had always sworn to him that it didn't take long for her father to give in to Jeff's charms. And now he was witnessing it work out for Gwen Stacy in real time.

He had to guess that the two of them have been doing something right.

[shefanispeculator]

Album review: Gwen Stefani - Bouquet

Fans have been begging for a new Gwen Stefani album, and lo and behold us, we can finally say we have one. Bouquet, the singer’s first proper studio album in eight years (seven if you include her Christmas album, You Make It Feel Like Christmas) arrives after a few false starts. After initially teasing what many assumed was going to be a reggae-pop album in homage to her early No Doubt career, Stefani got married to country-singing husband Blake Shelton and felt inspired to pivot in another direction. Taking a more ‘70s, yacht rock approach with hints of country, Stefani takes influence from the music from her childhood while documenting where she’s at in her life right now.   

Kicking things off with the anthemic pop-rock single “Somebody Else’s,” Stefani makes it clear that she’s never looking back again after realising she deserved better during a previous relationship. “I don’t know what a heart like mine / Was doin’ in a love like that” she opens the song. Continuing to recognise her self-worth, Stefani sings, “If I could go back in time / I would erase you, ooh / But I could never go back there / I might be wild, but I ain’t that crazy,” in the second verse.

With her ex-lover out the way, the majority of Bouquet hears Stefani gushing about one thing and one thing only: her relationship with Shelton. Telling the story of how the pair blossomed and fell in love, the wholesome title track stands out as one of the album’s key moments. Boasting Shelton’s ability to make her feel as if she’s the most beautiful woman in the world, Stefani has never been happier on sweet ballad “Pretty,” while on the uptempo “Late To Bloom,” she proclaims that “good things come to those who wait” after having to hang on until she was well into her 40s to meet the man of her dreams. 

For an album that could alienate a lot of long-time listeners of Stefani, she appears slightly more on brand for the record’s latest single “Swallow My Tears.” The Queen of Emotive Songwriting, fans might argue that the song feels like an accidental ode to some of Stefani’s previous heartfelt material. The same could be said for another standout, “All Your Fault,” which features an irresistible chorus that wouldn’t sound out of place on 2016’s This Is What The Truth Feels Like. Rounding off the release with her duet with Shelton, “Purple Irises,” the choice feels rather fitting. After all, the evident case is that this album wouldn’t exist without his influence. 

Just like a bouquet of flowers, Gwen Stefani’s most recent offering, Bouquet, is a pretty album packaged with 10 tracks. Is it her most exciting? No. Does it further demonstrate her ability to be a musical chameleon and a top songwriter, however? Yes. Do we secretly deserve the album she intended to release a few years back? Most definitely.