#a long fic that’s more just a collection of scenes/moments/shorter stories that covers the dark masters arc and 02 and time between the two

[holydramon]

honestly I’ve been thinking about fic projects I want to do for a while lately. like my digimon adventure au has been living in my head rent free for years now and it’s still something I’m really interested in doing one day even if it’d be very long and take a lot of work.

[stefciastark]

MJ ~ Webpril Day 10

A/N: So this was an older work of mine from years ago that inspired me to rework and rewrite it to fit the prompt fill. It's quite different from anything else I've done in this collection thus far, in that it's set in an AU where it puts Peter quite OOC compared to his MCU persona. The Peter I've portrayed in this short one-shot is quite jaded and pessimistic in his adult life, having been hurt in love before and instead has become a sort of tortured artist. Peter also doesn't have powers, Harrington is now an arts professor, and Ned is inexplicably clairvoyant. Peter somehow knows he's seen the woman he's painting before, and maybe he has, in another lifetime. This story is a bit darker in sub-tone and doesn't contain any IronDad, but what's a compilation without a bit of variety :) This is a project I've considered making into a full fic, but we'll see what happens with it.

~Read on AO3

~Read on FFN

Paintbrush in hand, he let each colour blend together in a unique dance of raw emotion, letting each stroke convey a secret that resided deep inside him, and he found that the strokes directed themselves once he began. Her face, though only seen ever so briefly, embedded itself into his memory.

The image was beginning to take place on what was once a blank sheet of white, and now a woman with olive skin took over the surface, framed by long and dark hair cascading down the figure’s shoulders. Hazel eyes stared back out at the artist, and the dimming light from the busy city below surrounded the piece of art with a haunting yet dauntingly beautiful quality.

What really caught the eye of the artist, however, was the dark necklace that hung just below her collarbone. It was a black dahlia flower made of glass, some petals cracked, and some completely missing. The memory of it stood out so clearly in his mind, just as her face had when they fleetingly passed each other on the metro during that midsummer afternoon.

An angel must have been looking down upon him and had granted him the opportunity to find love once more, but he couldn’t tell if it was an opportunity that could be defined as cruel, or a golden chance to redeem his heart that had begun to blacken as he got older.

Startled from his reverie, Peter turned around, paintbrush still in hand, palette now empty and canvas now full. The door had creaked open ever so silently and tentatively that he would have nearly missed it if it weren’t for his overindulged paranoia.

“Didn’t anyone teach you to knock?” His tone was laced with annoyance, and it was poorly covered up. This of course didn’t go unnoticed by Ned, but his urgency far surpassed his need to grace Peter’s biting comment with a response.

“Peter, there’s been an accident on Queens Boulevard, and I think this woman you drew may have been involved.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun had now completely set on New York as Peter turned right and onto where 71st Avenue met Queens Boulevard. Peter had come up to the scene first, the man he still called his best friend arriving moments later.

What met his eyes was an absolute catastrophe, and he wondered how anyone or anything could have survived what was the largest vehicle pileup he had ever seen in his twenty-eight years of existence.

A large semi-truck was keeled over sideways on top of a number of smaller cars. It was a mess that consisted of an assortment of wheels and metallic parts that once belonged to a whole. He could smell the acute tang of iron amongst the powerful odour of gasoline and burnt rubber. In a moment at the wrong place at the wrong time, the lives of ill-fated drivers and unfortunate bystanders alike had ended. Even if some had survived, there would be permanent scars, physical and mental, that would remain for the rest of their lives. It gave Peter a fleeting sense of sonder.

Quashing his initial surprise and his odd sense of apathy regarding what caused such an accident, he turned to Ned and frowned, indifference transforming into confusion and mild vexation. He sighed. “Why am I here, Ned?”

“So, you’re telling me that you’re not expressing an ounce of concern for these people? That’s cold, man.” Giving him a brief sidelong glance and pressing his lips together, Ned moved to be amongst the crowd and reached out to the first man he saw – a police officer – and swiftly made to gather all the information he could about the situation at hand.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The clock had ticked forward about thirty minutes since the two arrived at the scene of the accident. He returned around fifteen minutes later, having grown weary of (what was essentially) interrogating person after person. He shook his head slowly, communicating ‘nope, I got nothing’.

“Look, this is tragic and all, and I feel really bad, I do, but dude, did you really have to distract me from my artwork? I need to get this piece finished and handed in to Harrington by tomorrow, I don’t have time to be checking out depressing wreckages on the main road.” He paused, shifting his eyes away from the disaster zone and instead transferred his full attention to Ned. “Wait wait, why did you say the woman I drew might be here? And why did I believe you?”

“Because I’m usually right?”

Peter felt a small pang of unease dart across his mind despite himself. He trusted Ned’s intuition – it was rarely ever wrong. Most things that Ned had seen in his visions had come to pass, and Peter hoped that this mystery woman would be no different. He had to meet her, and not in a creepy way. He felt as if in another life or another timeline - should such a thing exist – they had been happy together. Unexpectedly, the image of himself giving the necklace to her featuring himself as a younger, less jaded version of himself, played through his mind. They were standing on a bridge in the night, in a place that was not their home yet was. He felt that anywhere she was became home. It was such an unexpected thought, and yet it was so strangely profound and vivid that it felt more like a memory.

He scanned the wreckage from afar once more, but most victims had long since been extricated from the pretzel made up of what was now just scrap metal. He knew who he was looking for. He was looking for that face he drew in his painting, the face that had been etched permanently into his mind for some time. Once more he recalled that figure silhouetted by long, dark curls that fell like a waterfall in the night. That necklace of a flower with a meaning he had yet to understand.

If she wasn’t there, he didn’t even know where to begin looking. New York was a massive city, full of seemingly infinite twists and turns he hadn’t discovered and probably never would.

He was taken aback by his own obsession with this strange girl. He’d never even truly met her.

His musings were broken by the sound of sirens echoing down the main boulevard, the final ambulances at last departing with the injured and deceased citizens of New York.

He wondered sadly if she was one of them.

A/N: SO, that was definitely different haha What'd you guys think? I enjoyed writing with a bit more of a 'serious' tone, but today's fill was a bit difficult for me, hence the shorter length as well. I also wanted to try something a bit different, so here we have it! See you back with another update tomorrow xx