#mary jane earth 616
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So post Beyond the Spider-Verse. Miles and Gwen have things patched up, you know those two are EXHAUSTED and Peter B. is gonna turn around from whatever celebration they're having (they BETTER end this movie with a cookout if Miles' parents learn he's Spider-Man) and you've got Gwen curled into Miles passed out while Miles is snoring. Gwen's got her hood pulled up to keep the lights out of her eyes and Miles' jacket is spread across them.
I like this idea, mind if I write a bit about it with some variants?
Headcanon: Gwen when she is sleepy defaults to following people who she is close to; Miles may be closer to the top of the list that he may realize.
AO3 link
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In a liminal space, we still find ourselves reaching for each other
As much as Miles wanted to kiss his parents goodnight and hit the bed, Peter's proposition to stop by his house to recharge seemed like the best idea.
He still needed to tell his parents that he was Spiderman, and maybe would be better to do it when he is less beaten down and with some sleep. Miles isn't sure when was the last time he slept; dimension hoping made time very confusing.
As they stepped into the house in Queen's (Miles assumed it was the living room but he couldn't be too sure,) Mary Jane stepped in from another room. It was kind of weird knowing who she is without even being presented first.
"Hi, I'm-" He started, a bit slower than he would like to. Too many hits in the head for one day.
"Miles" She completed seamlessly, smiling brightly at him as she put her hands on his shoulders "I had heard so much about you," And out of nowhere, she hugged him "Thank you for bringing him back to me," she told her in a really low voice, one he wasn't sure if it was meant just for him or not.
As tired and beaten down as he felt, he couldn't help but smile fondly as he awkwardly hugged her back. It was a good reminder too, that some of the greatest things he did weren't for being Spider-man, just by being Miles.
"C'mon honey, let the kid breathe," Peter says as he walks up to them.
"And you-" Mary Janes puts a finger on his chest, she doesn't look especially pleased but not too angry "I imagined it was serious when you went back to leave Mayday with me, but what happened? All of you look like you were thrown into a blender."
"Is a loooong story," Peter said, putting his hands up as he is trying to placate her anger, "Speaking of which, I promised them they could crash here until they recharge, hope that's okay-"
"Hmph," Mary Jane crosses her arms, looking at her husband unimpressed "I prefer a little bit more of a warning when you invite people, but I guess this was an emergency. Help me out to get some stuff for our guest."
"On it ma'am," He said with a mocking salute, to which she rolled her eyes before going to what seemed to be the kitchen. Despite how tired Peter B should be, he smiled brightly at them and said "Relax guys, my house is your house."
"Don't need to tell me twice mate," Hobie said as he looked around for a place where to drop dead, which seemed to be everyone's idea. They were all beaten down.
Miles, despite being ready to sleep for an eternity, followed Peter B and Mary Jane because even half dead his upbringing was stronger than any tiredness could be, and he could hear his mom in the back of his head saying "Be polite, bring a gift, and ask if you can help with anything they may need when you are visiting someone!"
Sadly he couldn't bring anything after trying to defy fate and time itself, but at least he could still be nice.
Aparently the couple didn't realize he was following them, because when Mary Jane turned around with cups in her hands she said "Oh Miles! Do you need anything?"
The place was homey, almost in an old-timey way. Pictures everywhere, a floral wallpaper that reminded him of white old ladies, but the warmth he feel around wasn't exactly for the warm lighting.
The kitchen seemed to have the same vibe, kind of similar to the one the Aunt May of his universe had.
"Um, I was going to ask if you guys needed any help?"
"Oh you are sweetheart," She said cheerily, before softly shaking her head "But you don't need to do anything, you are our guest and you had done more for us than you can ever imagine; please go to rest."
"You hear the lady, sit this one out, we will handle it," Peter said as he patted his back, before looking behind Miles and saying "Hey Gwen, you want anything?"
Miles turned around once he saw Peter looking behind him. Gwen stood at the entrance to the kitchen, she has been so quiet Miles also didn’t hear her come.
At the sound of her name, Gwen straightened her back and blinked a bit, as if she has been falling asleep on her feet, yet somehow she has decided to follow them here for some reason.
As she looked on to the front, she seemed to have the faintest blush, before she groaned and scrubbed her eyes “No, I- sorry, I guess I need some sleep.”
“Oh you can say that for all of us,” Peter laughed gleefully, before leaning his head to the side for Miles “You guys go to the living room, we will see if we can whip something quick to eat and see what we can do about emergency sleep arrangements.”
As they went to the other room, Miles realized that everybody has somehow found an answer to that last issue.
The living room had two loveseats and one armchair, and everyone more or less had found a place. On the loveseat that closest to the entrance, Noir was sleeping with Peni and Ham in his arms, Peni’s robot was turned off in a corner, and on the arm closest to Peni’s and Noir’s head was a hologram that read “Say ‘Spider-byte’ to bring user’s attention. P.S: Don’t wake me up unless the dimensions are collapsing.”
Pavitr has decided to go on the armchair, and you would believe he has been sleeping there for a long time because his head was hanging on the side, one of his legs was on the arm of the couch and the other lying against where your back is supposed to go. If it wasn’t because he was breathing fine, Miles would have thought he lost conscience and someone drop his body from the ceiling.
Speaking of the ceiling, even with one more loveseat available, Hobie had opted to make a hammock out of webbing as close to the ceiling as possible, on a corner of the room. From his position, Miles thought Hobie was using his mask on; maybe he needed more darkness to sleep than he needed to breathe properly.
At least it meant his decision was easy.
Dragging his feet on the ground, he let himself fall onto the side of the loveseat, he would have rejoiced in glee at how soft the couch felt against his beaten body if he himself wasn’t so tired.
Yet he didn’t have time to even sigh before he felt someone else not only fall right beside him but had her head leaning towards him. Miles felt himself go still as he felt the warmth of Gwen right beside him.
Despite the loveseat being big enough to have space for both of them.
How rigid his body was must have alerted Gwen because her eyes fluttered open, and seemed to look a bit confused towards him before she almost jumped on her spot and moved away enough that their bodies weren’t touched anymore.
“Shoot,” She muttered to herself before she hit her forehead “Sorry, when I am sleepy I just- sorry.”
Perhaps is because he was tired and his mind was making stuff up, but somehow things were starting to click in his head. The sleepiness in Gwen seemed to make her follow someone, and for reasons beyond his understanding, Miles has been the person she has decided to attach herself to, even if subconsciously.
“That’s different” Gwen had said to him before in the Williamsburg Tower, saying it as if somehow what they had was different from what she had with anybody else. That conversation felt like a lifetime ago, and yet his heartbeat raced all the same.
There were still a lot of things to talk about, of the lies and the secrets that she has keep, and how he has been feeling about all of this. Even now he wasn’t sure what to say.
“Is fine, we are all tired,” He said casually, before raising the arm that was closest to her side, “Come here, we can catch some zzz together.”
And regardless of all of it, he felt himself wanting to reach out to her too, missing her warmth even if he only got to have it for a second.
In a way, that’s what had ended up happening to him, wasn’t it? She came for what should have been just a blink in his lifetime, and he still was unable to let her go.
Her eyes opened slightly, as if she was surprised he had actually said that; probably thinking all the same things that were still between them and neither of them had the brain to talk about. He saw the hesitation in her eyes, as if she herself wasn’t sure if it was okay to accept.
Maybe it was a bit of wishful thinking on his part to think that way, as he said “Is okay, you can lean on me Gwen.”
Miles has really meant that in a literal way, even if deep down, he knew he meant it all the way. As upset as he was, he couldn’t bring himself to be mad at her, not when they were like this.
That seemed to be all the encouragement that she needed, because she quickly went back to his side, in fact so quick he was a bit shocked.
“Thanks,” she whispered to him, bringing her knees up to her chest as she rested her head on his shoulder, one of her arms hugged Miles’ waist as her other hand was left between her knees.
As it was the most natural thing in the world, his arms went around her, holding onto her as he rested his head on top of hers, “No problem.”
Despite the pain, the couch and still being in his suit, it was the best sleep he had in months.
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This was supposed to be a drabble, oops?
I Will upload this to ao3, may as well. I like it more than I expected for something that I made on a whim.
Sorry for not having any analysis yet, I am kind of sick and I feel my brain is fried 80% of the time, HaShem knows how I managed work like this.
Hope you guys like it!
#ghostflower#gwiles#miles morales#gwen stacy#atsv#across the spiderverse#fanfics#peter b parker#mary jane parker#mary jane earth 616
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MJ 🐯
#pixel art#mary jane watson#marvel#spiderman#mj#marvel comics#pixel animation#pinup art#earth 616#8bitskey’s art
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Fuck context. Look at the girlfriends
#THEYRE SOOOOOOO#AHHHH#LET THEM KISS MARVEL PLEASE#JUST GET RID OF PAUL ALREADY 😭😭😭#i am happy theyre showing mj's grief tho#that was so fucked up#y talks#mjfel#felicia hardy#mary jane watson#mj#black cat#jackpot#spiderman#earth 616#marvel
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So MJ and Gwen huh
Starting reading Spider-Gwen/Ghost Spider has been quite a ride, but I didn't expect how much MJ is into Gwen.
I know they are just friends in canon and all, but for fucks sake-
She really is on top of being her ride or die huh.
Honestly, I am half-convinced part of the reason she is so insistent in band practice is that she wants a way to keep Gwen put and complete her dreams of becoming famous- and making Gwen her wife.
Like she goes to crazy territories at times.
MJ, Peter, Harry- Gwen can really just charm everyone to fall for her huh.
I think the funniest part about discovering this, is that is not a fluke, MJ has apparently always been kind of crazy about Gwen. And this shows in other worlds.
I didn't even come to look for the ones with MJ being ADAMANT about getting her Gwen back, and unlike the other Gwen in the comics, this version is smart enough to get her redhead.
(No they aren't canon either, but c'mon look at them, they are clearly in love.)
Heck our MJ is not immune either!
You know I am more and more convinced MJ's dream scenario is a polythriad between Peter and Gwen.
#ghost-spider#gwen stacy#spider-gwen#earth 65#earth 616#comics#mary jane watson#what's their ship name?
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Christmas bean gang!
Sadly did finish this on Christmas but happy holidays with the favourite bunch of 5!
(MJ is Ms Claus, Harry is an Elf, Gwen is an Angel, Flash is Rudolph and Peter is a Tree)
#spiderman#harry osborn#peter parker#art#earth 616#flash thompson#gwen stacy#mary jane watson#digital art#christmas art#christmas
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Felicia Hardy/Mary Jane Watson/Peter Parker Throuple Moodboard
#comics#felicia hardy#black cat#spider-man#mary jane watson#peter parker#spidercat#earth-616#insomniac spider man
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petermj 🤭
#spider man#peter parker#mary jane watson#petermj#art#mephisto#bring peter and mary jane back together#peter mj#peter and mary jane#the parkers#peter x mj#peter and mj#mary jane#marvel#marvel spiderman#marvel comics#earth 616
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Bittersweet Devotion pt.2
Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader
Cw: angst, heartbreak, mention of cheating, mention of death, no happy ending, apology, tell me if I missed any. wc: 9.3k
Previous
Your universe, Earth-XXX, was a parallel one to Earth-616 in some sense. You had a Peter Parker, a Gwen Stacy and a Mary Jane Watson, it had everything down to the death of Ben Parker and the devastation it brought to your friend. It was the same year as Spider-Man 616’s world, it had the same political standing and same history. Your world, like many others, was a near carbon copy of 616, down to the smallest things; but like others in the spiderverse, you had differences. Some were minor changes in the course of its canon story, others were major changes in the characters and the era.
You - like Miguel, Miles, Jess, Hobart (he liked going by Hobie), Patrick and Patriv - were one of those major deviations in the original canon. You didn’t exist - or so you thought - in Peter B. or Peter’s universe even though you lived in the same year. The reason might be that in the reality, the sum of all potential universes that paralleled each other, created the multiverse - the Spiderverse.
The concept of it seemed strangely unlimited, the infinite possibilities to a different ending or a different start for its world. The multiverse was, in some sense, as old as time, a culmination of everything made imaginable by man. Found in ancient texts - the Puranas, ancient Hindu mythology - that expressed the infinite number of universes with their gods and principles. Whereas Persian literature - tales - touched the idea of learning about alternate universes that were similar, yet distinctly different from theirs.
Misconstrued by many, the strangeness of it was deemed a danger, the unknown possibilities were feared by people of older age, but venerated in the past as it was in the present for the unfathomable possibilities. It exists in fiction, where they borrowed the idea of many worlds within a reality from myths, legends and religion. Heaven, Hell, Olympus and Valhalla were all reflections of a familiar world, a material realm for the blessed, the sinful, the gods, and the worthy. The similarities sometimes frightened you, how close the people were to knowing of the reality you all lived in. The tangibility of crossing worlds and bringing about chaos to every string, every realm, every material form of the multiverse.
They, after all, were real, Hell as much as Heaven in your universe. Gods from every religion, either monotheistic or polytheistic, some you’d personally seen are Thor and Loki, brother and sons of Odin the Allfather, and the God of Thunder and Mischief respectively. Another was a big crocodile lady, Ammit, from what you’d heard from the all-knowing Dr. Strange. From God to Norse and Egyptian gods, from angels and demons, and from humans to mutants, your plane of existence was as wide as it could go without drifting off the edge and causing a mass domino effect within the multiverse.
You were curious, naturally so for a scientist, exploring the worlds that felt familiar to you but you hadn’t truly grasped - different, yet similar. You hadn’t given a second thought to exploring yours. After all, why explore yours when your horizon was as broad as you imagined it, unperturbed by any limits when it came to the multiverse? The eternal and unlimited growing number of realms in your expanding reality.
Perhaps that was the reason why you hadn’t known your universe had its own Miguel O’Hara. You rarely came back for anything, you had everything you’ve ever wanted in Nueva York, Earth-928. You have friends who could truly understand you, people who stood beside you when you fought, youngsters who looked up to you for mentoring and a dream- or it was a dream. Dreams, not dissimilar to wishes, were hopeful, naive in a way, they came and went. Some dreams would come true, while others fell, like the fallen stars that crossed the night sky.
Yours simply happened to be a fallen one, one not meant to happen and become greater. You let it go after he dropped you, after he turned his back and let his mouth run unperturbed. He brought her up, someone he swore he would remember but left in the past. A new chance to become something, to become whole again, and Miguel took it. He wanted to start anew, fresh with someone he never met, you wanted the same; you both had what you wished for, until he put his foot down, cutting the thin web that connected both your lives.
It broke your heart. Months of patience and anxiously stepping around each other, nervous about breaking the trust freshly built between you both, lost in a few weeks. You were brittle, heart fractured and threatening to fall further apart if someone was any crueller to you. The smallest glare, the tiniest scoff or the weakest remark would send you reeling into the abyss of heartbreak and the throes of anguish. Yet somehow, you found yourself being led away by a copy of the Miguel you loved.
He mumbled apologies as he held you tightly, his arm over your shoulder as he cradled you under his umbrella, hastily urging you to follow his guidance. If it were any other person, you would’ve been wary, cautious of any strangers that touched you so closely and chaperoned you so quickly; but this was Miguel, a man you trusted and that you still trusted wherever he came from. Earth-XXX’s Miguel O’Hara was still similar to the one you knew, someone you could trust. You did.
He led you to his flat, someplace near Alchemax’s building in Manhattan, a safe neighbourhood for the richer citizens of Manhattan. A cozy place of neutral tones and muted colours, yet warm as he welcomed you - a stranger as of yet - into his home. He had machinery strewn around, reports stacked on his coffee table and smaller things he had been tinkering about decorating his home. As a geneticist, he liked to play with machinery, having drawn his designs and models, built his creations from scratch and worked from the base programming to make something better. At least Miguel from Earth-928 did, and it seemed this one did as well.
You stood in his shower, where he left you in a frenzy to bring you dry clothes, drying out your hair with the towel he motioned you to use. You doubted that he had anything your size, his broad shoulders and his towering height, nothing he had in his draws - and the boxes he stowed away in his closet - would fit you. They would drag down your ankle and sit low on your collar. Granted, you were soaked down to your socks and had no temporary clothes to cover yourself with during your stay.
You had stripped from your soaked clothes and patted down your wet skin, shivering from the cold that clung to your bones even after Miguel had increased the heater in the small confines of the bathroom. It was small but big enough to move around and stretch your arms comfortably. You hadn’t felt the cold until he brought you to his bathroom, the numbness of the past months weighing heavily on your shoulders and the bleeding of your heart made everything seem so meaningless. The colours draining from the world around you, a once bright New York turned grey, the monochrome tones of black and white mixing and interlacing to form even more boring shades.
The vibrancy and life you once saw around you dulled and died suddenly, like the winters brought by Demeter’s devastation and sadness when her daughter was taken from her, stolen from the berth of flowers she liked frolicking about. How Demeter doomed the world to see her pain, to feel how she felt in the moments her daughter had to return to her husband than stay with Demeter. You felt laden by your faults and his actions. Doubtful of your relationship, of what led you both to such an ending. Had you been clearer or more forthcoming about your emotions, or had you confronted him for his behaviour, would you still be in his arms?
Were you at fault for missing something you had relied on as comfort and safety? Could you be blamed for his reaction to your meddling in his affairs in the Society? Could you blame him for dropping those words on you? After all, being reminded or compared to a past lover was anything but gentle, the gut-wrenching envy and betrayal you felt flash through you was nearly drowning. It made you feel lacking, to be reminded of his old flame, the one he was about to marry and the person he seemed to love before all. Could you even compare to what she was; what she did? (Dina had cheated on him, you knew that, but he was truly happy in their moments of pleasure and domesticity. They were a family until she died.)
You were drowning in your self-made sorrow when his voice called you, grounding you to the room. Standing before a door, naked and shivering, arms wrapping the damp towel around your shoulders. He called again, cracking the door open to pass you the - his - clothes he thought would fit you. He coughed as you took your temporary wear, your cool fingers brushing his warm ones. It was a sudden and jerking contact, you pulled back jerkingly, a shamble of an apology and a thank you flew from your tongue. His chuckle was a reassurance in the complete quietness of the flat, his low voice reminding you of better times.
The sweater hung loosely around you, dipping down your collar to expose your shoulder. It was warm, the cotton used to make it still soft after being stored away and the soothing scent of spice and pine deeply integrated into the fibres. The pants were stretched around your hips, the tight fabric thin and flexible under stress, hidden under the long shirt. The legs, however, swayed loosely around your limbs, too big for your calves, but tight enough to hug your thighs. He had certainly made sure to bring you clothes that would fit your frame. You hadn’t attempted to smell his pants, you thought it would’ve been too intrusive and disgusting to do so if only to smell a remnant of Miguel on his as you did on the sweater.
Miguel was waiting for you in the kitchen, his back turned to you as you ambled towards him. His shoulders loose and back relaxed in the presence of a stranger made you appreciate how good-natured he was in most universes you’d been to. He turned his head, gesturing you to sit on the chair facing him on the island as he returned to something he was making while you changed.
“I hope you don’t mind hot chocolate,” he started, voice light and hopeful as he turned to you, cup in each hand as he moved to stare at you. “I’m not one for tea.” He slid the warm mug into your hand, eyes watching your expression as he slowly sipped on the hot beverage.
His eyes squinted slightly when your lips curled upwards, a smile hidden by the steaming mug. You cupped the mug, feeling the warmth of the freshly brewed drink, the steam rising in soft curls and melting in the cooler atmosphere. Tentatively, you brought the rim to your lips, slowly tilting the cup. The powerful taste of chocolate hit you strongly, the sweet and dark liquid melting the tension in your muscles until you could curl over the table with an appreciative sigh.
“Thank you…” you knew his name, wanting to call him, but his reaction would be unwanted, the shock, fear and suspicion that would fill his beautiful, brown eyes. So you slurred your words, dragging out your voice until he could tell you his name himself.
“Miguel. Miguel O’Hara, ” he nodded, cocking his head upwards, pointing at you with his chin. “What’s your name? I can’t keep calling you Hey every time I want to call you.” His lips broke into a cheeky smile, teasing you when he saw that you’d comfortably melted into the drink and his island chair. He wanted to ease the tense atmosphere from before into something much calmer, to help the accumulated tension in your shoulders to fall like the rain that clouded the streets of New York.
You let out a hoarse chuckle, your throat still fresh from crying, and told him your name, trying to stabilise your shaking tone. His cheeky smirk tugged at your heartstrings, you hadn’t seen Miguel laugh or smile this freely in months. You missed it. The casual banter you shared and the on-and-off insults you’d hurl at one another, all good-natured insults meant to rile him.
“Thank you, Miguel,” you nearly choked when you uttered his name, the wound still so fresh and bleeding it slip from your tongue easily. It brought up so many memories, both painful and joyful. Your eyes glazed over, tears threatening to fall once again, to paint your cheeks with agony that you - him, or perhaps both of you - had brought on yourself. “Thank you…”
Miguel hummed sympathetically, eyes staring down at his drink, deep in thought. Perhaps he was thinking of a way to invite you to share your problems, to tell him why you broke down on the street in stormy weather. Or maybe he was thinking of the fastest way to kick you out, to get rid of the mess you became. The silence, however, was reassuring, calming the nerves that followed the eerie calmness of Miguel’s den or the loud, hectic atmosphere of the Society. His warm, worrying gaze grounded you, the softness behind his concerned stare was heartwarmingly nostalgic.
“Difficult breakup?” His words seemed hesitant, unsure of his conclusion to the cause of your appearance. Unknowingly, he had struck gold, pinning down the right problem in your life with a few observations. Of course, he was observant and aware of his surroundings, why else was he so willing to bring you into his home?
“How’d ya know?”
His sigh was telling, the deep, concerned and tired breath was only used when he knew that you wouldn’t tell him what ailed you, like the groan of a disappointed, yet worried father.
“Because I know how it feels,” he says slowly, pensive over his words, picking them carefully to not damage you further than your ex had. He knew the pain of a harsh breakup, the pain and sorrow that followed, like a dark cloud that hovered over you whenever you were awake.
“Why?” You croaked.
“Why?” he parroted, frowning at your question.
“Why did you invite me in? I’m a- a stranger to you, you don’t even know me. What if I’d been acting to mug you or potentially kill and steal from you? What’d you do then, Miguel?”
“I know the risks, but you didn’t, didn’t you? And wouldn’t, you don’t look like the person to harm another.”
You scoffed at his words. Didn’t and wouldn’t didn’t mean you would not do it later after gaining his trust, to stab him in the back after he helped you and nursed you. The simple, naïve idea that you didn’t look like a violent person was mind-blowing, it was stupid. How could he know if you didn’t mean harm later on? Like how Miguel never meant to harm you - he loved you - and yet in the end, he had.
“That’s naïve,” you muttered, eyes closed as you drank the cooling beverage, the sugary drink trickling down your throat.
“I’m confident in my ability to read people.”
He did seem confident in his ability, the straight back and the strong gaze in his eyes showed; and, maybe because you knew from experience that Miguel was observant and careful, he hadn’t gotten where he was by simply trusting people and following the herd. He tested and made mistakes, he learned from them each time and found a way to use it to his advantage. The Miguel you saw in every universe was similar in some ways, their good nature, their cunningness, their bravery and their intelligence. All aspects known to characterize Miguel O’Hara in all universes he existed in.
You conceded to his will, head bowed and shoulders slack. You breathed shallowly, swallowing the lump in your throat:
“Yeah, what gave it away?”
You thought it would be the last of him you’d see in your life, you wished it wouldn’t, that you’d see him over and over, to feel what the Miguel from your universe had to give, but you knew it was wishful thinking, a wish thrown to the stars. Logically, he had no reason to call or text you after exchanging numbers days prior. He promised to call you, and he made you promise to call him if anything ever resurfaced, be it pain, anger, heartbreak or hate. You, instinctively, believed his word.
You hated yourself for falling so easily to another Miguel, how you bent to his words and the sweet promises he uttered that night. There was no sign that he would keep his word, that he would see you again after your breakdown, except for his words and your belief in him. Then it wasn’t misplaced, all the trust and belief you had, since he called you, asking to meet up at a cafe. Miguel had set up a place and time for you when you replied with a croak, still feeling down. He had whispered reassuring words to you, urging you to meet him - he explicitly told you he’d feel offended to be stood up - and spend some time outside. The air was fresh and cool for an autumnal month, it wasn’t too cold that you were forced to wear a thick jacket, but it wasn’t warm enough for you to go out in a simple shirt.
You were hesitant to take him up on his offer, knowing how easily you could rebound. You’d crash into Miguel’s open arms, searching for the love and affection he fed you like a lovesick puppy, but, then again, Earth-XXX’s Miguel was similar, yet different from his variant. It would be a lie if you told yourself you didn’t miss him, the soft smiles, the gentle touches and the affectionate words. You had spent so much time as his right-hand Spider that it felt odd not seeing him the following morning. It was a routine you’d formed: waking up in his bed, kissing him good morning, getting to work together and eating together. Everything you’d done in the past years was with Miguel from Earth-928 the routine, the rigidity, it was grounding, it was the only semblance of normalcy in the world you lived in.
Now, you had to face the possibility that you were too broken to see another Miguel, to hold a casual conversation and form coherent and normal sentences. The purposefully slow steps you took to the cafe picked after having a moment outside the glass front were telling in itself. You swallowed the little amount of saliva in your throat to soothe its dryness and walked through the doors of the quaint establishment. It was painted in calm, brown tones, rustic in design with a warmth that rivalled the comfort of your bed. It lifted a bit of the tension you had, shoulders slumping slightly as your eyes searched for a familiar mop of brown hair.
Laying against the brown sofa, he stared out of the wide window from his booth. The warm, morning lights caressed his cheeks, lighting up the sharp edges of his jaw and nose. He was sculpted in perfection, like the youthful beauty of Adonis, crafted with the meticulous and attention-catching hands of an artist that created what was thought to be a god’s beauty. You could spend your days watching him, catching every little detail of Miguel’s face under the changing lighting, but you were standing near the entrance and he was waiting for you. His words echoed in your mind: “Don’t forget about next week, I miss seeing you.”
His eyes flickered to you, blinking as he turned to you, flashing a smile. You returned the sentiment, a shaky smile lifting the corners of your lips. You sat across from him, eyes wandering the cafe to stare at anything but him, lest you wouldn’t be able to stop the rush of emotions that would light your face in a flush. He uttered your name, greeting you in a friendly manner. You nodded back, muttering his name, pushing down the wince whenever you said it.
“Chocolate.”
The still-warm cup stared at you, light steam wafting over the reflective liquid. It was full, unlike Miguel’s cup, and drank down to the middle of the container.
“Thank you.”
He probably wouldn’t let you repay him for the hot chocolate he bought you, the smile he gave you told you as much when your eyes flickered between his and your cup. The hot chocolate was a reminder of your night in his flat, where he lent you his shoulder to cry and his ears to listen. Embarrassment seemed to flash whenever you recalled the memory, how vulnerable you were to him, your walls broken down and your heart open. Though, Miguel didn’t seem to mind your fragility, giving you as much time as you needed.
“How are you? I wanted to give you a few days to think before meeting again, I thought you might’ve needed the time alone.”
You nodded lamely, fingers curling around the warm porcelain, back slumped into the booth to hide from his knowing eyes. He was right, you had needed the time alone to clean yourself up, scour through your memories and tend to whatever mess you made of yourself. You were thankful. The last few days had brought revelations, how - both of - you had ignored the signs of a rupture in the relationship and continued to push on, like crossing a crumbling bridge.
“‘M doing better. How- and how are you?”
He smiled at your attempt, you were trying on your own after a few - forced - encouraging words from Miguel. Maybe you’d learn to live with the pain, coexisting with the numbness that filled you until it dulled to a point where it would be barely acknowledged by you or anyone in your vicinity - where it wasn’t painted on your face with bright colours. Or the pursuit to forget it, pushing it into the farthest corner of your mind and heart, painting over the crack with glue. As long as you wouldn’t drown in your sorrows, ending up playing with dangerous substances to stay afloat while your mind sunk deeper into addiction and denial.
He wouldn’t let you get that far, Miguel understood you and he lived through it as you did. Although his was a more violent breakup - she had cheated on him, his explosive reaction was natural - than yours, he hadn’t relied on anything but self-meditation and a lot of thinking. Like a friend - you were one by his standards, he’d invited you to his flat, you’d seen his organized chaos and ranted about your life while he comforted you with his shoulder and a cup of hot chocolate - he would stay by your side, hoping his support would be enough to help you.
“Great so far.”
His grin - somehow - grew even larger, enthusiasm gleaming in his eyes.
Oftentimes, Miguel would be the one to call you, your phone ringing in the afternoon of the day prior with his soothing voice on the other end of the line. He spoke easily, finding the time to invite you out for the simplest reason, to talk, to make a drink, to have fun, and - your favourite by far - to see you. His initiative had you trying to double your efforts to heal, reaching outside of your boundaries and texting Miguel whenever you had a moment to yourself. You felt guilty that he was always the one to plan these outings, so you promised yourself that you’d become a better friend than you currently were. You even remembered his teasing tone when you called him for the first time:
”Aye, finally. I thought you’d never call me, chica. I felt neglected, thought you had forgotten about me for a second there.”
It started with the first coffee date, bickering about who would pay, pushing your card before the other while still seated at your table, frowning stubbornly and throwing promises about letting the other pay next time. Either way, Miguel rarely let you pay, coming atop as the winner of your little fight with his strength and height (you couldn’t exactly put all your force into your push, it could break bone and bruise the skin.).
Then it would be random meetings on the streets that would lead you to a random bench at the park, basking in the other’s presence, retelling your day and him nitpicking anything he could with a ridiculously criticising frown. He was playing, you knew he was. You did the same after you’d gotten more comfortable talking to him, it became easier to see him as a different - as his own - person. A few hits on the shoulder left and right, but it was mostly laughter at ridiculous expressions made to emphasize your disdain for a certain event.
The months that followed were a blur to you. Rather than going to a cafe or the park, you went to restaurants and crashed at one of your flats, yours if he wanted to play games and lounge about with food and drinks, and his if you wanted to watch movies (he had the best television you’d ever seen, such high definition and speed.) and tinker away at his inventions and theories. He was certainly happy that his new friend was another scholar in the field of genes and engineering (you were mostly into engineering than genes, but you knew a few things that you’d found interesting.). You could both gush - scientifically - about the possibility of gene splicing and lab-generated mutations in humans, like the mutant superheroes.
You’d taken some liberties and went drinking, meeting at the same bar biweekly to relax after a few hard days at work. It served to loosen your nerves until either of you felt comfortable to chat up a storm about the most random subject. It’d been about the odd dent on the rim of his glass; then it’d be about how the sky was grey this week, there weren’t any warm, yellow rays blaring down on you when you went out; or it’d be about the distasteful cut of a man’s moustache. Drinking loosened your tongues, some words were said and some sentiments were shared, but none were truly taken seriously knowing you were tipsy - nearing drunk - those nights.
Every time you saw Miguel, you felt like you were rediscovering a part of yourself as well as him, the thing that made him so distinct and loveable. Miguel was expressive and honest, he slowly and gently let you down from whatever high you were, the pillar you needed to stand again after falling. He was so much different. It used to pain you how much they looked alike, but character-wise, they were like the two sides of a coin. It made you appreciate the delicate intricacies that made the multiverse.
You won’t - can’t - deny that you’ve grown fond of this Miguel as you did with the other one, but you couldn’t let yourself love him. He didn’t deserve someone broken and hashed into many lives: the masks you wore, the things you did, the secrets you hid, and the things you could do. He didn’t deserve someone who could bring him to his death; dying simply because he was connected to Spider-Woman; beaten simply because he knew Spider-Woman; kidnapped simply because they deemed him useful as leverage. All things that could go wrong haunt you. Miguel was human, he wasn’t a Spider, he wasn’t a superhero, and he wasn’t a vigilante. He was Miguel O’Hara, the geneticist working at Alchemax, with a brilliant mind and a kind heart.
You cherished every part of him. That’s why you can’t let your heart lead, dedicate how you’d react to Miguel after the months you spent together. He was so close, yet so far; he was touchable, you could hold him, kiss him and hug him, but he was unattainable, you couldn’t tell him how much you loved him. You watched him with hidden love, showing your affection as platonic, a friend watching another. You had hardened yourself to your heart’s cries, for loving Miguel was a dangerous game-
“I- what?” you gawked at Miguel, wide eyes and mouth agape. You were shocked at the words that left his mouth, his soft, wet lips moving as he repeated the words.
“I love you.”
His cheeks were flushed, burning a soft red, it trailed to his ears and nape. His open collar - his jacket hung on the back of his chair and his shirt clung below his collar, a skin-tight shirt that hugged his sculpted chest sinfully, it hid little to the seeing eyes of the crowd and your drunk self. His sudden words had all but sobered you, shaking you into clear lucidity of his confession.
“You… love me?”
He blinked dumbly at you for a second, as if taking the time to absorb what he told you and what you repeated. Miguel was tipsy, not drunk. He smiled and nodded, a bashfully affectionate grin on his beautiful lips.
“Yes, is it so hard to believe, chica?”
He often called you chica, you thought it was a friendly term of endearment between friends (truthfully and regretfully, you knew little of Spanish, even with being in a committed relationship with an Irish-Mexican.). You just realised it was his pet name for you. All this time, he had given you his heart, and yet, you had denied him of yours. He was more playful and less burdened by life, it made him more teasing and smiling. The term chica somewhat made sense, a cuter and more playful way of calling someone you loved than the deep-meaning ones like mi cielo and mi vida, a play of words like a small secret between you. This secret hid behind names given between friends, a well-kept one, close to his chest but gifted to you.
It might’ve once been - started - as friends, but it grew and festered in his heart until he found the time to express himself, to tell you how he truly felt for you - how he grew to care for you. He deemed this moment fine, bordering tipsy and nearing drunk, he’d be open, brutally honest but still aware of the words that left him. He wasn’t a lightweight anyway.
You wanted to tell him you also loved him, but you couldn’t do it, mouth slightly open and eyes glazed with heartbreak, you simply stared at him in hesitancy. You opened your mouth once to reply and closed it, open and close, again and again until all you could do was stare at him. How were you supposed to answer him after the bomb he dropped?
”Yes! I love you too!”
”Oh, Miguel, I love you too.”
”I- I love you as well.”
There were so many ways to express your feelings to the man who confessed, but none seemed to convey the true emotions that lay in your heart. You wanted to tell him you learned to love again thanks to him, that the time spent with him had made you open your eyes to the beauty that you were blinded by the pain and you slowly grew to care for - love - him as much as you did with Spider-Man 2099. He had the same smile, the same mind, the same heart, but he was more innocent, less burdened by disaster and happier.
So you simply nodded. It made his smirk grow.
“Aye- would it be better if I called you ‘mi tesoro’ instead? It’s more straightforward, no?”
Even now, his words were light and playful, his tone affectionate as he leaned closer to you. You could see the mischievous glint in his warm, chocolate eyes (you thought that was why he liked serving you hot chocolate, it reminded you of his eyes.) and the curve of his lips as they moved to form words. You were transfixed by his beauty, mesmerised by the comforting hues and the sharpness of his cheeks, missing how close he was to you.
“Or maybe-”
Softness caressed your lips, a plush, warm feeling that made you flush. He was kissing you, those pretty lips on yours. Your breath stuttered and you froze, but it didn’t stop Miguel’s initiative, a hand cradled your nape, holding you in place as he pushed himself closer to you. He moved against you, tongue slipping from his mouth and tentatively laving over your bottom lip, asking for something.
He was so warm, so caring. You could just close your eyes and follow his lead - you did. He pushed harder, yet the kiss stayed soft and passionate, he lightly nipped your lip and soothed the stinging with his warm tongue, beckoning you to open your mouth for him. Your lips parted, opening up for Miguel to dive in, muscle meeting yours halfway and curling over yours. He still cradled your head, fingers running through your loose hair and tilting your head backwards, giving him more space to show you how much he loved you. Your arms, somehow, found themselves wrapped around his neck, pulling him as close to you as he was pushing himself against you.
His kiss was loving, his hold was careful and his touch heartwarming. You almost regretted having to pull away, but you had to breathe, your lungs starving for air after having been devoured by Miguel’s adoring kiss. The moment you opened your eyes (you didn’t know you had closed them while you kissed), his smile greeted you, a lovesick one bubbling with unending joy. You almost choked from how it fit so well on him.
“That’s- that’s one way…” you spoke between breaths, chest swelling with every erratic pant, matching his similarly worn-out breathing.
That was all he needed from you. Your kiss was enough for him to know you loved him the same, a patient and gentle love he was willing to give you. Your heart pulsed strongly, lips curving and eyes squinting, you pushed yourself closer to his heat, his all-encompassing warmth that wrapped around you when you wanted to feel safe and loved. Your world couldn’t be any brighter, like the vibrant colours of blooming flowers when Persephone was given to her mother, where the snow melted and colours washed over the lands once more, painting the blank white and dead grey in joyous tones. It glowed brightly and warmed you like the summers that followed the melting ice, the clear, blue skies of Olympus and as freeing as the soaring hawks and skipping elks.
Letting go was far harder than loving. To let the person who you let in leave felt emptying, it left a gaping hole in his heart. Where it was once calm, struck a raging storm of rejection and regret, crashing waves the size of Poseidon’s rage and violent storms the strength of Zeus’ retribution. It hurt watching you walk beside a variant of himself, a happier and lighter version of him without his mutations or duty. You were the Spider-Woman of your universe so there wouldn’t be a second one unless there was a catastrophic canon divergence.
He hadn’t followed you at first, respecting your wishes of being left alone. He had to give you that much, at least, after those months spent beside his ignorant ass. He hadn’t seen it until it was too late, lost under the weight of his duty and fears that he’d forgotten he had people who cared, who felt, who loved. It was too late, it was always too late with him. If he couldn’t fix his first mistake, who’s to say he could fix this? He couldn’t save his first daughter or his second’s universe because it was falling apart. He couldn’t save anyone because he hadn’t realised his mistake in interfering in canon events, and he lost you because he couldn’t stop his vitriol, his violent temperament that had pushed you away. He always took things for granted until they were lost to him.
Was it two or three weeks before he decided to check up on you? He didn’t know anymore, the weeks blurred until he finally amassed the courage to go against everyone’s words. Through the flat hologram of his orange screen, he watched you lament on your own, body curled into itself and shoulders shaking. Your sobs were heart-wrenching to watch while he had no means of contacting you; you would’ve reacted more strongly and aggressively if he’d contacted you after leaving.
So he watched.
You stared vacantly from your window and left only for the bare necessities or to act as Spider-Woman. Crime never slept so you couldn’t stop even in your time of need. You swung from building to building so gracefully that Miguel was hypnotised by your grace. He watched these moments as a reminder of the missions he took by your side, webbing and catching anomalies all across the multiverse with fearsome speed and accuracy. You both had made a fearsome team, but that time was over, it was a memory long forgotten.
So he watched.
Your flat was cold and empty, the space filled with spectres of memories, the cool rooms vacant of life that used to fill them with warmth and happiness. It was saddening from his perspective - the observer, the watcher and the reader of your story - of your time spent alone. He wanted to tell you that you weren’t alone, that he was watching you from afar, a silent protector that would only act if you were in imminent danger - as long as it wasn’t part of the canon.
So he watched-
Besides you was Miguel - not him, another one - and he looked much too comfortable by your side for his liking. His variant seemed much too close for a friend, moving from sitting before you to beside you, arm slung over your shoulders and leaning back and, sometimes, towards you at a breath’s distance. He turned green with envy, a vicious monster brewing inside his body with the threat of bursting out, clawing at his chest. The other was too close to you for his liking.
He watched as his variant bought you drinks - always, however long and loud you’d complained and fought, he never let you pay in the end - and paid for your dates. He abhorred it. How happy you looked with the other him. How calm and satisfied your smile was. How close his variant was to you. He wished he was at the other’s place, taking his rightful place beside you. He would kiss you, smother you in love and give you whatever you wanted, whether it be a hug, a kiss or his time, he would’ve given them to you. He wouldn’t dance around the edge of your affection and his love like he was doing, like a man unsure of his feelings and anxious to act on it.
He thought the other Miguel was a coward - though he knew he wasn’t. He wanted to blame his variant and find fault for anything he did, but they were still the same person. He was Miguel O’Hara as much as he was. He wanted, but couldn’t, especially after seeing how both loved you the same, having a similar type. They were so much alike that he could’ve replaced his variant, yet so vastly different in other manners that he would’ve stood out. His history, his trauma, his curse, the other had none of them. He was normal while he was Spider-Man, a stronger, more brutal version of Spider-Man.
Granted, he loved you with every fibre of his being, but he had never showered you with as much love and affection as the other, having his character muddled through long hours of work and long-lasting tragedy. You were another of his tragedies, where he found love again and lost it by his own making. He would have left too if the Society didn’t depend on him, leaning towards him for support and help in protecting the multiverse. It was something he couldn’t sacrifice for his whims.
So he kept watching and let his heart crack and envy fester.
He watched you grow even closer to him, shoulders and hands occasionally touching, making you jump and blush. He watched you move from simple coffee dates to full-blown restaurants and bar dates, drinking and eating at your leisure - something he could’ve never provided you. He watched you wobble around when you were drunk, your arm over his shoulder and his around your waist, supporting your drunk weight. He watched you kiss, the other pressing your bodies together and you reciprocating the loving embrace you had once given to him.
He felt like crying. He was crying, silent tears rolling down his sharp cheeks in slow, thundering waves of his heartbreak. He clung to the desk, claws unintentionally popping out and bending the metal under his fist. The sound ripped through the silent room like the image that ripped through his heart. He was alone in his grief, shoulders slumping and arms shaking with the intensity of his emotions. He had locked the door, barricading it with a busy, do not disturb sign, warning the others that he was occupied and wouldn’t be reached unless there was an emergency.
“Miguel…”
He’d forgotten Lyla was here - she was everywhere and nowhere at the same time, with your help he had given Lyla an upgrade in her system that gave her access to every Spider that had the watch. She had access to every file in the database and his secrets. Lyla was loyal to him as much as she was to you, respecting your words with a promise of her own to leave you alone. That, however, didn’t mean that she wasn’t privy to his pains, watching him while his eyes were stuck to your universe’s screen, giving him some comforting words that were meant to lift his spirit. It never worked but the intention was there.
He couldn’t look at her, still facing the hologram of you kissing. He felt the surge of too many emotions to be able to think clearly, his self-control tethering on a thin line of fragile web. If he turned, he would explode on Lyla, giving her the brunt of his suffering even though she didn’t deserve it, she felt and laughed as much as any other human. He remembered programming in emotion with you, laughing about how much she would be as teasing and annoying as you. Lyla was another gift to him by you, so it would hurt him more.
“Miguel-”
“Don’t- Do not say another word.”
For a man in tears and pain, his voice was curt and stoic, playing the leading figure he’d taken for so long. It betrayed his shaky figure, fingers crushing the metal loudly and shoulders jerking with ever-wrenching choked sob. His world was crumbling around him, rippling and cracking from the seams and folding into itself. The control of his state was failing miserably as he kept staring at your mirthful smile after the kiss. It tore him apart knowing he pushed you further away and into the arms of another. It hurt him deeply.
Through everything, he heard Lyla whisper a small sorry before she popped out of existence, her small holographic body vanishing along with her orange light. Gone was her familiar light, gone was the nostalgic memory of programming her, and along her, was the support of another person. He was truly alone in this moment, to fall on his knees and let himself drown under the weight of everything.
If your love was a tangible thing, he would’ve cradled it between his warm palms, holding it tightly to his chest to feel the soothing effects you had on him. Like a balm to burns, you cooled the searing pains that the world inflicted upon him, the warm blanket that covered him when he needed rest and the pillar that held him when he fell. He’d lost something he couldn’t gain a second time, clutching his head in his misery, drowning and howling.
It felt surreal until it wasn’t until it all sunk in. He truly couldn’t grasp the utter loss and betrayal he felt. The realisation that he truly lost you to none other than himself. The irony of it all slashed deeper, how he drove you closer to another him by his own doing, making you love a Miguel with more gentleness, more kindness and time than him, Miguel O’Hara, the Spider-Man from Nueva York, Earth-928. Everything he had was lost in time, his spiralling thoughts of loss and misery clouded his vision, bringing tears forward in bigger waves.
Was he doomed to lose everything he cared about? Was he bound to love and lose? Why couldn’t he have a happy ending like everyone else? Was it because he was different? Perhaps it was, there were other O’Hara Spider-Man, but none were mutated like him, a product of self-infliction and sabotage - none had their DNA spliced and mixed with a spider’s. He was simply too different from the others, they were lean but still had a strong musculature, muscles tightened to create more strength and defence; none were big and broad as he was, with rough edges and mean streaks. They were nice and happy, faced losses of their own, but always came out on top (there were some minor - sometimes major - variants of Spider-Man here and there, but they all had some similarities in their stories of becoming.). He saw the devastation and grasped onto the thinnest silver lining he could find, holding onto it to stay afloat while others thrived where they were.
Maybe it was truly because of him. He was realistic - near cynic - he couldn’t see things optimistically, life had made him that way. The silver lining he saw in things was small, nearly extinguished by his near-pessimistic way of life. Did that have an impact as well? It most likely did, at least partly. Fate had given him a bad hand in things, he couldn’t be completely blamed for how things turned - or so he thought, hoped. A man wasn’t only the result of what he’d done, but also of what he was given. When push comes to shove, Miguel acted in a way he thought meant well for him and the others even if it didn’t seem like the right decision at first. He rarely doubted his actions while he did them, only after, could he let himself face the consequences of what he’d done. Miguel simply didn’t have the pleasure of waiting. He needed to act when it was called.
If he had waited, if he had been patient and sought out others for support, if he had spent time thinking before acting, would he still have his little girl beside him? Would he still have you in his arms? If he had shown you more affection, would you have still loved him?
Did you still love him?
Miguel didn’t know what he was doing. Standing before your apartment door in civilian clothing and a bouquet of twelve, beautiful white tulips - the meaning not lost to him. It was an attempt at apologizing for his mistakes, a desperate one led by heartache. He brushed his hair back, trying to look as kept as he could in his situation: dark bags and sickly skin, tense muscles and sore back. This was a daring move from him, it would end up catastrophic if the Miguel from your universe saw him at your front door; but he checked, making sure his variant was elsewhere before opening a portal to your place.
He hadn’t moved in a while, listening to you move around your flat, the sound of your soft steps shuffling from behind the door, a wall between you and him, reminding him that he wouldn’t be able to cross it unless you welcomed him. He held the bouquet in one hand and knocked with the other, his knuckles hitting the wood softly and hesitantly. There was a pause between every knock, drawn by his nerves and the anxiety that gripped him.
You moved and closed in on the sound at the door. He saw your shadow dance under the small gap on the floor and pause. You knew. You knew it was him even without peeking through the peephole, your spider-sense aiding you in recognizing the unknown. Although your hand rested reluctantly at the knob - perhaps still too raw from your break as he was - you opened the door for him, figure small and apprehensive.
“Miguel,” you muttered his name, greeting him with a slow nod. You stepped back and opened the door wider for him, he took it as a good sign that you let him in rather than shut the door in his face.
He nodded back, saying your name. He took a step forward, foot breaking the barrier to your flat. The second one ensured he was fully invited, both feet strongly rooted on your side of the door. He wanted to make himself smaller, to appease you, but he knew you wouldn’t have liked that. He squirmed under your stare, a mix of curiosity and concern.
He nearly sighed audibly when you gestured at him to sit and he moved to the sofa he remembered sleeping on with you, cuddling under a warm blanket while you watched a movie. He knew your home by heart like you knew his, the memory washed over him with melancholy. You sat on the armchair to his left, your back to the kitchen. He swallowed thickly and handed you the bouquet, freshly cut tulips glistening with pearly drops under your lights.
Your shoulders shook as you leaned in to take the bouquet, jolting back when your fingers grazed him. Feeling your skin felt invigorating, it breathed back life into him, even slightly. You thanked him with a slow nod, seemingly unsure of what to make of it. Was it a gift? Was it an apology? Was it a farewell sign? He figured your mind was running in circles trying to understand the meaning of the pretty bouquet he handed you. You were always an overthinker, but your mind worked brutally well. That’s something he always appreciated about you.
“I-” Miguel started, seemingly stopped by something that he couldn’t get out of his throat. Maybe a ball of dread or needles of anxiety, but it held him from giving you the words he spent nights thinking over, to give you the message he built from the deepest crevice of his heart. “I’m sorry, (Name).”
You stared at him, understanding that he needed a moment of silence to truly convey his feelings. You hadn’t uttered a word since he first started, expression neutral, not betraying whatever brewing storm you locked inside of you. He was grateful, truly.
“I know- I know it doesn’t mean much now, but I’m really, really sorry, mi vida.”
He sensed you tense, the muscles of your back contracting and rippling under your shirt. Every unseen fibre moving was bare to him, he could see and feel better than most, if not, everyone else.
“I acted out of anger and lack of sleep, but that doesn’t mean you deserved that- never. I just, my mutation makes me more animalistic, more… aggressive than the other, and I hurt you. You didn’t deserve any of that and I can’t always blame it on my mutations. I should’ve been able to control myself. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you in those ways.”
He lowered his gaze to his hands, the calloused pads of his fingers rubbing his palm, trying to coax himself into relaxation. Although your breathing softened, a calm breeze in an atmosphere thick with tension, he didn’t dare look up and see the face you were making.
“I was a bad boyfriend and a horrible friend. I’m- I’m not asking you to forgive me, I don’t want you to forgive me, but- I just needed to tell you how much I regret hurting you. I want to apologise, I don’t know what else to do, I don’t know how to fix this.” He breathed deeply, collecting every ounce of confidence and honesty to brave your reaction. “I’m sorry, mi cielo.”
He shuddered, body rippling with his pained breath. He hadn’t realised how painful it would be to face you with his fears and confession, with the threat of abandonment and rejection fresh in his mind. He was a man of pride and strength, rarely facing anything with trepidation and hesitance.
“I’m really sorry, mi cielo. I’m so, so sorry.”
He sat in silence, letting it hang over him like the blade of a guillotine, silent and brunt. Perceiving the flash of the sharp blade before it fell on his neck, sentencing him to a quick downfall with a long, lasting agony that would sting his neck as long as it would hurt his heart. The French used it for executions, the thing that spelled people’s end. At its height, it was used as an apparatus to behead traitors or people who were deemed dangerous to the people of the new republic. Down the blame went and off the head popped, like it would happen to Miguel if he wasn’t prepared for it. He truly didn’t know whether he had prepared for his rejection, for the death of his heart, to watch the flickering sparks of his flame wither out.
“I’m sorry too, Miguel-”
The rope strained, knots twisting and rippling in the tightness of the pull. It shook, whipping in the air as it straightened completely, held closely by the hand of the executioner. The wind blew but it was sturdy, withstanding the violent gales that slammed against the body of it.
“-it means a lot that you came here to apologise- ”
The crowd was filled with silence, the emptiness of the area a mock of a ghost town. Abandoned to be sentenced to death without anyone to witness. They deemed him not fit for their acknowledgment before his death, before the sparks of his life extinguished. His fate wasn’t worth their time, unlike the poorest criminals who stole for money, unlike the richest pigs who fed from the poor with their silver spoons and golden crowns, unlike the cruellest killers who gutted and left men, women and children to bleed out, and unlike the guiltless innocents cursed for something they hadn’t committed.
“-but, I can’t.”
The rope was let loose, its tail flying and whipping in the air as the blade descended with its weight. The wood chafed against its support beams, yet it flew gracefully and rapidly, singing the doom of its prisoner. The blade gleamed under the moon’s bright light, the silver whispers of peace and sleep deaf to his ears.
“I can’t love you anymore.”
It cracked down on him, his life flashing before him as it cut into him. Severing his control over his body, putting out the dying embers of hope. He clung to desperation in his last moments, wishing to relive the moments of happiness, bright oblivion and cherished love.
He wished that he could’ve seen your shadowed figure hidden in the darkness, tears lining your cheeks as you watched him take his last breath. The only person who came to see him leave, the one who he would’ve burned the world for. In the end, after everything he’d done, you still gave him a small moment of your time to witness his fall, you deemed him worthy of such an act. You offered him your kindness.
My extensive tag list of extremely patient people pt1.:
@iseizeyourmom @raynerainyday @etherealton @sciencethot @coffee-obsessed-freak @thesecretwriter @beepboopcowboy@bontensh0e @aikoiya @allysunny @fandoms-run-my-life @brittney69 @aranachan @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @konniebon @starlightaura @redwolfxx @aniya7 @alicefallsintotherabbithole @bvbdudette @wwwelilovesyou @wwwellacom @akiras-key @bobafettbutifhewasgay @opiplover @rinieloliver @uniquecroissant @yas-v @xrusitax @blkmystery @darherwings @ariparri @notivie @vr00m-vr00m @battinsonwhore05 @irishbl0ss0mz @mivanda @saint-chlorine @livelaughluvmen @battinsonwhore05 @notivie @lililouvre @giasjourneyblog @ykyouluvme @skullywullypully
#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara imagine#miguel ohara#miguel o hara#miguel o'hara#atsv miguel#miguel spiderverse#spiderman 2099#miguel x reader#miguel o’hara x fem!reader#miguel o’hara#miguel o’hara angst#across the spiderverse#atsv x reader#spiderman atsv#atsv#atvs spoilers#spiderman 2099 x reader#accross the spiderverse#spiderman 2099 x you#x reader#angst
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Gerudo Conquest Spider-Verse Saga Chapter 6
The Bride Of The Web
Closed RP with @the-blackbird-roleplays
A few days after the attempted rebellion, the attempted attack form the (failed) Spider-Rebellion. And now, finally... Dune was on Earth-616. The main Earth, the centre of the web of life... Not in a literal way, I mean... We are not going over this again!
As to avoid the eyes of people such as Doctor Strange and others who would notice a large number of beings crossing over from another universe, Annie could only send a few soldiers over once every few days. All of whome where staying within an abandoned warehouse that Mary-Jane had used her money to purchase
And Dune? Dune had an important job to do....
As the Astounding, the Thrilling, the Limitless.... Spider-Man!
His three girls (MJ, Annie and Mayday) having helped Dune create some new titles for himself as the web-slinging hero as... Well from they could tell, he seemed to hold some respect for Peter Parker and did not wish to copy him as he was
Even if he was trying to trick the world into thinking the same old Spidey was swinging around the streets, while his army was gathering in secret.
And this is how we begin the next chapter of Dune's conquest, the hero wearing the red and blue Spandex as he swung through New York City during sunset
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Was watching Multiverse of Madness with my dad last night and we got into a discussion about Marvel multiverse theories... and I actually came up with one that I think is pretty neat?? Not that I genuinely believe this is the direction they're going with things... But it would be cool.
Gwen Stacy and Kate Bishop are the same person.
Explanation for this idea under the cut.
Now I'm trying to figure out how best to articulate this thought, so bear with me if this sounds a little funny.
First of all, the obvious point is that they're both played by Hailee Steinfeld - Gwen in Spiderverse, Kate in Hawkeye. Now, the MCU is kind of inconsistent when it comes to actors playing characters across the multiverse (Benedict Cumberbatch is always Doctor Strange, but there are three different Spider-Men, things like that), and I know most of this media-wise is just fan service for the audience, but I think I've uncovered a little bit of logic behind it.
Characters with innate powers are always the same actor, characters who develop powers are not. AKA, Wong and Mordo and Strange are consistent because they have a natural affinity towards magic, Professor X is consistently Patrick Stewart because he's always a mutant (assuming the James McAvoy version is meant to "age into" Patrick Stewart), and Wanda falls alternatively into either of those camps depending on what version of her we're referring to (she's either a witch or a mutant, but has natural abilities either way). However, Spider-Man is given powers by the spider, not born with them, so it can be a different person/actor. Same thing with Mr. Fantastic (cosmic radiation), Captain Carter (supersoldier serum), Captain Marvel/Binary (more cosmic energy), and the others we see in MoM that already have variants in different movies. Different actors, since logically those powers could be given to anyone in the right circumstance. Black Bolt is an Inhuman, but doesn't have another film version we've seen, so he's not a problem.
Now, Hailee Steinfeld plays both Gwen and Kate - neither of which have innate abilities. Kate is a skilled archer but doesn't have superpowers, and Gwen was bitten by a radioactive spider like any other Spider-person. So her being played by the same actor makes things... interesting.
There is the hitch that these characters have completely different names, but the MCU has already changed up some characters' names while maintaining the same character (i.e. Mary Jane Watson becomes Michelle Jones), so I'm not particularly concerned about that little discrepancy. So what if Kate Bishop is the version of Gwen that could have become Spider-Woman, but didn't?
Now let's think about things age-wise: Kate Bishop and Tom Holland's Peter could have been the same age. Kate is 23 in Hawkeye, and Peter is meant to be roughly 18 at the end of No Way Home - but Peter Blipped and Kate didn't, which explains how she's five years older.
Two superheroes, who pre-Blip were the same age, who both live in New York... what if they were on the same school trip?
You know the one I'm meaning. We don't see it in the MCU's Peter Parker, but the story is always that he goes on a school trip, gets bitten by the spider, becomes Spider-Man. But if Kate was with him on the same trip... that means there are two versions of how this could go:
The MCU version: Peter gets bitten and becomes Spidey, while Kate/Gwen takes an interest in archery and becomes Hawkeye.
The Spiderverse version: Kate/Gwen is the one to get bitten, and Peter ends up becoming that universe's Lizard instead (notice that the MCU/Earth-616 doesn't have a Lizard of its own either...)
But they're the same person. Genetically, multiversally, the same. Kate Bishop could have become Spider-Woman, but she missed her opportunity and Peter was bitten instead. Kate Bishop is the MCU's equivalent of Gwen Stacy.
(disclaimer that yes I know they're completely different characters and the comics are nothing like the film/TV versions, I know that Gwen and Kate have different backstories and family lives and all that, I know that Hailee Steinfeld was just cast bc she's a talented and popular actor right now, this theory is just for fun and I'm not trying to claim it's actually something Marvel is planning)
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Spiderverse meets Symbiotes (aka Miguel's coupon for Anger Management)
So, we all know that every "Peter Parker", "Gwen Stacy", and "Mary Jane" gets bitten by a spider, gets powers, and becomes Spiderman the moment they put on the suit; All of that is canon...
Does that mean the people from the Venomverse are canon, too?
Imagine if they merged universes! (of course, Miguel would find ways to blame it on Miles)
2018!Eddie Brock: So, all of you are Spiderman? Earth-65B!Gwen: Well, not all of us are "Spiderman". But, yeah. Pretty much. Earth-50101B!Pavitr: Hey, new guy! Where's your suit? 2018!Eddie: *chuckling a bit* Well, I don't know about this "suit", but... *holds his arms out* Come on out, babe. But, don't eat anyone.
And before Pavi could say "Wait, what?", we see Venom oozing out of Eddie to reveal his full-body form and giving a friendly "HI, WE ARE VENOM AND WE LOVE BRAINS AND CHOCOLATE!"
Meanwhile, Miguel is over here like: "Voy a clavar a Miles en el suelo tan profundo que chocará los cinco con su tío muerto, lo juro por el jodido Dios Araña…" [Have fun translating that! LOL] and Earth-616!Peter is like, "Miguel, we don't even know that Miles did this! Miles' mother taught me a little Spanish and you are so lucky that Mayday's with her mother, otherwise you'll have to put a Spider-Quarter in a swear jar!"
#ATSV#pavitr prabhakar#spider gwen#miguel o'hara#peter b parker#Venom#symbiote#Eddie Brock#Eddie x Venom#Poor Pavi being accidentally scared by Venom
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The Amazing Jian Mei
Earth 616. Mary Jane Watson. Earth 199999. Michelle Jones-Watson. Earth 50101. Meera Jain. Some things are constants across the infinite multiverse. Some souls will always find one another, no matter where they come from. It is their destiny to meet one another, across space and time. There is always a Peter. There is always an MJ. Now, across the multiverse, we come across a small universe. Similar to the ones we are already so familiar with, yet, with a few differences. Earth 88888. 蕳美, phoneticized Jian Mei. This is her story.
Read here!
#spider man#petermj#asians in lit#asian mj watson#chinese mj watson#taiwanese mj watson#chou tzuyu#tzuyu#twice tzuyu#tzuyu moodboard
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Shes so cute 😭
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Two crazy theories I thought of after reading "Doctor Strange (2023) #5":
Warning: You're probably going to question my sanity after reading this.
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2 - Clea's new sister is Sofia Strange.
Okay, let's start, for those who don't know who "Sofia Strange" is, she is the daughter of Doctor Strange and Clea in the comics. Well, she was, because she never came back after a single appearance in "Epic Anthology" and we can assume that Marvel "forgot" about her and she never existed on Earth-616. It never happened, no one mentions her (not even Clea), wiped out of existence. BUT... An alternate version of her appeared in "Wastelanders: Doom" last year and was already an adult. That means Marvel hasn't forgotten about her and they still know she was left out on Earth-616.
As for the theory, I started to think it would be "funny" if Umar's new daughter was revealed to be the new Sofia Strange on Earth-616. Yes, you might think I'm hallucinating, but like, if Umar really dies and Clea has to take care of her new sister, then what are the chances of Clea and Stephen naming her "Sofia"? Besides, it looks like this child is going to be Tiboro and Umar's successor, so Clea and Stephen are going to have to teach her magic. And let's face it, Clea and Stephen would be MUCH better parents than Tiboro and Umar, I would give the child 1 year to live, until Tiboro and Umar start killing each other after General Strange is eliminated. Another reason I created this theory, is that I think it's time for Marvel to bring Sofia back and expand this family even further, how can they disappear with her for over a decade? It has so much potential and this is a new chance. And of course, with this new child being created by Clea and Stephen, the bond between them will be stronger than it already is, I will NOT risk the possibility of Marvel ruining this couple again and turning them into "Mary Jane and Peter 2.0". Enough of the love drama, make these two stick together forever and have a child to take care of. If even Dormammu has a son who was born on Earth, then Clea and Stephen will take care of a child, even if it is not their biological daughter.
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1 - Dormammu will kill General Strange.
What? I have to give hope to my favorite villain to do something new in comics, the guy is hungry to kill some mystical being. Anyway, this theory probably isn't "crazy", it's just unlikely, but I'm going to put it here because I want to know what you guys think of the idea.
Look, we know that Stephen and Dormammu are in the middle of a "Cold War", they are not killing each other like they used to and they are in the most possible "peace" they can have. However, one of Dormammu's most interesting lines in the third chapter of "Doctor Strange (2023)" was this:
"When I kill you, you will stay dead."
It went something like that, I don't remember the whole sentence, because I'm too lazy to remember now. Continuing the theory, we already know that Dormammu wants to kill Stephen with all the Flames of the Faltines he has, but he can't, because they are in a Cold War. BUT... Now there's a new version of Stephen Strange who is threatening to kill all the rulers of other dimensions and Umar is one of the targets. Yes, Dormammu said "I'm Out" after the attack started in the last comic, but if there's one target General Strange is going to focus on in the future, it's definitely going to be Dormammu. Even if General Strange couldn't get to him, Dormammu has to know that he might be on General Strange's hit list. So, assuming Stephen and Clea fail to defeat General Strange, who could they ask for help? Dormammu is one of those, because despite the rivalry, Dormammu has to realize what a threat this crazy guy is. Furthermore, I think it would be interesting for Dormammu to "feel something" with Umar's (possible) death, if it happens. I know, Dormammu doesn't seem to care about the rest of the family these days, but anyone who's read "Defenders (2005)" knows that Dormammu still seemed to love his sister. Yes, she betrayed him at the end (again), but I think it's possible there's still a certain "concern" within the character, something that might affect him to go after General Strange. Unlikely, I know, because Marvel... is Marvel, but Jed MacKay has already proven himself to be one of the best writers at Marvel and he is one of the best in the Doctor Strange comics. So I think it's possible for this to happen, just because of Jed MacKay and the line Dormammu said in the third chapter. Dormammu could still say something like this after killing General Strange:
"I told you... When I kill you, you will stay dead."
This would be a moment to remember for Stephen and the readers, because Dormammu is still a threat in Stephen's life. It would be a moment of "relief" for the villain too, because he managed to satisfy (a little) his desire to kill his rival, even though it was an alternative version.
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Okay, no more theories and sorry if my english seems strange, because english is not my main language.
What do you think of the theories? Crazy? Impossible? What did I eat to create them? Did you like it? Comment if you want.
#Marvel#Marvel Comics#Comics#Comic Books#Doctor Strange#Stephen Strange#General Strange#Clea#Clea Strange#Dormammu#The Dread Dormammu#Umar#Sofia Strange#Marvel Heroes#Marvel Villains#Heroes And Villains#Marvel Characters#Comic Characters#Faltine#Sorcerer Supreme#Sorceress Supreme#Master Of The Mystic Arts#Lord Of Chaos#Lord Of Darkness#Earth 616#Doctor Strange 2023#Theories#Marvel Theories#Jed MacKay#Pasqual Ferry
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Uhhhhhhhh
Drew my version of the Coffee Bean Gang because why not tbh
I may add colour to then or draw the Spectacular vers of them idk im just tired
#spiderman#coffee bean gang#mary jane watson#Mj#gwen stacy#harry osborn#flash thompson#peter parker#earth 616
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Most of the spider people in the Across the Spiderverse
Miles Morals
Gwen Stacy
Peni Parker
Peter B. Parker
Mayday “May” Parker aka Spider-girl
Spider Noir
Miguel O’Hara aka Spider-Man 2099
Pavitr Prabhakar
Jessica Drew aka Spider-women
Hobie Brown aka Spider-Punk
Ben Reilly, aka the Scarlet Spider (he’s a clone)
PlayStation Spider-Man
Spider-Man Unlimited
Spider from The Spectacular Spider-Man
Takuya Yamashiro Spider-Man from the live action 1978 japan show
Tobey Maguire's Spider-Man
Andrew Garfield's Spider-Man
Insomniac PlayStation Spider-Man video games. (There 3 different version of re-color skins)
Spider-Armor MK 1, MK II. And MK III
Mary Jane Watson-Parker aka Spinnerette
Annie May Parker aka Spiderling
Maybelle Reilly aka Steampunk Lady Spider
Werewolf Spider-Man
Spider cop
Mangaverse Spider-Man
Superior Spider-Man, (who is actually Doctor Octopus possessing Peter)
Anya Corazon aka Spider-Girl aka spider bitch
Julia Carpenter aka Madam Web
Armored Spider-Man.
Kaine Parker aka Tarantula aka Scarlet Spider (he’s also a clone like Ben)
Earth-X Spider-Man (??? Not 100% sure)
Spider monkey
Spider cat
Spider t-Rex
Bombastic Bag-Man (it’s Peter Parker who in a different outfit because an issue with the venom suit left him without a outfit)
Cyborg Spider-Woman
Doppelganger (another mother freaking clone)
Iron Spider (outfit made by Tony Stark)
Margo Kess aka Spider-Byte
Captain Spider aka Flash Thompson
Spidercide (you freaking guess it; another clone)
Spider-Man 2211, aka Dr. Max Borne
Spider-Therapist
Patrick O’Hara aka Web-Slinger and Spider-Horse
LEGO Spidey
Malala Windsor aka Spider UK
Peter Parkedcar
1967 Spider-Man (aka that one Spider-Man point meme is from)
Charlotte Webber aka Sun-Spider
The Last Stand spider-man from Earth-616 (alternate universe were he’s bad)
Web-Man (mirrored duplicate of Spider-Man created by Doctor Doom)
Peter Porker aka Spider-Ham
Peter Parker From Earth-199999
A Spider-Man in the Tron costume
Metro Spider-Man ( Metro Boomin’s sona. He is the production of the Spider-Man: Across The Spider-Verse soundtrack)
Future Foundation Spider-Man
Bullet Points Bruce Banner (from a what if comic were Bruce and Peter swap roles)
Ultimate Tarantula (clone)
Spyder-Knight
Spider-Mechanic
Dormammu-Verse Spider-Man
Prince of Arachne
That’s all the one I could find! I mostly likely miss a lot…
#fandom#long post#spiderman#marvel#into the spider verse#spider man miguel o’hara#miles morales#gwen stacy#spider verse#spider man
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