#spiderman across the spiderverse

[quillyq]

I need more multiverse crossovers. It feeds me.

I love the idea of Ford being an absolute menace in the multiverse while trying to build his Quantum Destabilizer gun

[thequeenofthedisneyverse]

Ya'll.....YA'LL!!!

[pleaktale]

Why aren't we talking about this?

Edit: and also, a writer for the My Cosmic Circus (@MyCosmicCircus on X), kind of a pop culture blog, said that "[...] but I heard a rumor through the grapevine, that December’s gonna be a lovely time of year for fans. Still need to verify it with more certainty, so stay tuned ❤️" on a quote tweet of that same image (writer is @AlexFromCC)

I'm taking this with a big tea spoon of salt because I seriously do not doubt of it being like a christmas concert or something like that BUT we never know 🤷

[batasanart]

I'm back from the dead. I've been working on a lot of stuff lately, and this is a spoiler for some of it. Yep, the thing I do include comes back to drawing both Miguel and Peter B.

In case you want the original meme that I ref from

[zay-does-things]

Birbo

watched atsv again and blacked out and...wait how'd this happen

[libraryraccoon]

A Spiderman at the NRC ??

Imagine a Spiderman at the NRC, someone who just got bite, and then, like if it wasn't enough, is teleport in another world.

Now, Crowley and the professors have to deal with a human that don't know what they do with their spider powers.

Imagine someone that have been bite by a Black Widow, that can kill in 5min just by biting, and that like/feel the need of biting people...

"I know it's a tragedy that 28 are dead in that ceremony but-"

I'm sorry, some PNJ students are dead now-

Or, with any spiders, imagine someone (*cough* Savanaclaw students *cough*) decided to fight the Spider, and then, the next thing they know, they are stick to the floor/wall/ceiling with unbreakable/hard to break spider webs.

"You don't mess with the spider" - A rule that Crowley add after he was stuck on the ceiling with spider webs for 5 hours, just for having said/ask to the Spider to do his work.

The Spider punishing Grim and Adeuce by stucking them at the wall every time they cause problems-

During book 3, Spider will stuck them at the wall for 2 hours for being that dumb, before saving them, it's canon because I said it.

I need a Spiderman x Twst crossover so bad-

[biting-miguel-ohara]

omgie congrats on 300 followers!!!! could i perhaps get prompt #14 with miguel o'hara-? something fluffy please (ﾐ´ω`ﾐ)

- 🎀 anon

14. "You look cute wearing my clothes."

CW: fluff, clothes sharing, very mild miscommunication (?), kissing, gn!Reader

“Hey, Miguel.” You stroll into his laboratory, making yourself comfortable in a chair. You’re only here for a moment, on your way back home after a difficult mission.

He’d let you crash in his suite for a night, given how utterly exhausted you’d been. And given you a change of clothes after your spider-suit had been destroyed.

He was so nice. So perfect. It wasn’t any surprise you had a massive crush on him. There was no way it’d be reciprocated though. You were sure of it.

Miguel glances up. For a heart-stopping moment, his gaze wanders over your body. Then he smirks. “You look cute wearing my clothes.”

Your brain does an emergency reboot, leaving you staring at Miguel in bafflement. “What?”

He chuckles, low and smooth, leaving his workstation to move towards you. Even in his lab coat, he looks huge.

He reaches out with a clawed hand, gently titling up your head. Brushing his fingers along your cheek and smoothing his thumb over your bottom lip!

“I said,” he murmurs, “You look cute wearing my clothes.”

You just stare up at him, heart racing in your chest. He was— He just— Your poor crush has no chance against him.

You duck your head a little, suddenly bashful under his gaze. “Maybe… you should let me wear them more often, then…?”

You’re flirting with Miguel O’Hara! Well, technically, you’re flirting back, but you’re flirting with Miguel O’Hara. Only the handsomest, strongest, most deadly spider in the whole Spider Society.

He chuckles again and leans a little closer. “I’ll let you wear them as often as you like.” His thumb rubs along your lower lip again. “But I want something in return.”

Your heart sinks for a moment. Of course he wants something in return. You nod slowly, still gazing up at him. At his mesmerizing brown eyes. And gorgeous lips. “What… do you want?”

He quirks a brow in amusement, gently tugging on your lower lip. It takes you a moment to get it and your eyes widen when you do. “Oh! Oh! Yes! I accept! Or agree! Or whatever—“

He cuts you off with a soft press of his lips to yours. You melt into the kiss, lost in the plush feeling. It’s sending tingles down your spine, your heart pounding in your ears.

He pulls back and you chase after him. Catching him in another kiss. You can’t help it. Who would, really?

He’s smirking when he finally does pull away. “Took you long enough, little Spider.”

Your cheeks heat, but you ignore the bait. Instead, half breathless, you murmur, “Talk less, kiss more.”

He’s more than happy to oblige.

[radi0activelob1ani]

Spot is so silly

[greensagephase]

"... and all the marigolds have gone extinct."

My honest reaction:

This was SO GREAT to read! It's past Día de Los Muertos, but I enjoyed it so much, even though my heart is hurting for Miguel. 😭 I want to give him a hug and reassure him that he did his best for his little girl! Also, I absolutely loved how you included him forgetting how to do something so close to his culture - something that he feels he should be highly familiar with, such as breathing.

I found myself having similar moments like that in the past both because of my youth and naivety (I was going to say stupidity, but I'm trying to be kinder to my younger self, who did what she could with what she knew and felt), and also due to being born and raised in a country where partaking in our traditions and culture is not always received well along with struggling to discover my identity when the feelings of 'being too Mexican' for those who aren't and 'too Americanized' for my own people exist. Thankfully, I'm older now and I'm lucky to still have a grandparent and parents to look up to and learn more from regarding my own culture and background, something our Miguel unfortunately doesn't have anymore.

Anyway, I appreciate that point so much! Thank you for including it and writing this lovely and angsty work. Your writing is amazing! 🥰💖 Also, I will not take marigolds for granted anymore - the fact they went extinct in your work made me SO SAD!! 😭

Día De Muertos is supposed to be a celebration. When the dead return home, the day is filled with festivals, family, home-cooked food, and the bright smell of marigolds.

But Miguel O’Hara has no family, is too miserable to leave the apartment, and all the marigolds have gone extinct.

They’ve been extinct since 2095, actually. How hadn’t he known? That should've been something he'd figured out sooner, right? But no, he finds out a week before the day itself while he’s trying to make Gabriella’s ofrenda.

What does his beloved baby girl, who he would’ve given the world a thousand times over, get instead? Paper flowers.

Paper flowers instead of real ones, possessions that represented her instead of properly being hers, a half-done altar that was done in a manic, grief-fueled haze.

It’s paltry. Miguel knows it is. But it’s all he can give, and by God, he hates it. He tried to make it up in home-made pan de muerto and fresh fruit and her favorite dinners, in the carefully arranged papel picado garlands, in finding actual copal to burn… but it’s not enough. It could never be enough.

It’s been a long time since he’d last made an ofrenda, actually. He fell out of the tradition sometime when he was in college, when he was young and unburdened and selfish and so, so stupid, and had convinced himself he had much more important things to do with his time than honor traditions.

Sometimes, he wants to reach out to that little twerp and beat him senseless.

No, he wants to laugh, or scream, or pull his hair out. It’s a sick joke; a cruel jab at his expense, that he only started giving a shit about his own cultural holidays again after Gabi died, when he could no longer share the homemade food with her, help her learn about the significance.

It feels so wrong, being unable to share this with his daughter. Having the altar be dedicated to her, instead of her helping him set it up; teaching her how to make the banners and arrange flowers and bake bread, entertaining whatever thousands of questions she’d have about the holiday and her great-great-whoever’s they’d be celebrating. What would she have thought of the chicken and chile rellenos? Of the Calaveritas? The toys he left out?

Hijo de puta. A parent isn’t supposed to outlive their child.

It’s a pathetic altar too, as far as he’s concerned. Miguel hadn't done this in so long that he'd nearly forgotten how to; having to go on the internet just to remember the guidelines. Even then, there were so many conflicting answers that it left him confused and flying blind the whole damn time.

Did he do enough as a father to honor her? Did the ofrenda do her memory justice? Did he do anything right? Is there enough salt to purify her body? Enough water and food to provide for her long journey? Was the copal actually supposed to be incense, or did it have a different meaning? Are the purple candles placed correctly? Would tissue paper marigolds, devoid of scent and life, be enough guide her safely back home?

These worries swarm like vultures to a carcass, picking at and tormenting him to the point where he can barely stand to look at the stupid, thrown-together thing any longer. He should know how to do this— today is much more than just a holiday; Día de Muerto and all of its rich traditions should be a part of who he is, steeped in his identity, his culture. It should be more familiar than breathing.

But now it just makes him ache, seeing how he couldn’t even properly commemorate his own little girl.

In a brief moment of clarity, Miguel realizes he really just should’ve just taken more time to research and plan it out better. If only it weren’t for the constant high-stakes responsibilities, the needs of far too many all on his shoulders, the people, people, people.

Not like he didn’t try; Halloween and all day yesterday, Miguel had been rushing uncharacteristically through work, trying to get caught up enough to take time off. But of course, God had it out for him and practically half the damn Society wanted to barge into his office to badger him about something. He ended up with a shock-ton of random gifts and baked goods on his desk that he’d unceremoniously pawned off to Peter B. (save for a bottle of Don Julio, but the other man didn’t need to know that), enough sanguine well-wishes to last him a lifetime, and high blood pressure.

And the time and effort he scraped up still wasn’t enough to get it done right. It could never be good enough. He could never be good enough.

Miguel can’t stop second-guessing himself, can’t stop that all too familiar spiral of guilt and self-loathing that rots away at his insides like necrosis. He’s a scientist and an engineer, for shocksake— logic and reason should override his emotions, should stop them from clouding him at all. But all he can do is sit there, staring at the sorry excuse for an ofrenda with a lump in his throat and a throbbing headache that won’t go away.

Today couldn’t have gone any worse.

His joints pop viciously as he gets up from the floor just to prove him wrong. Cristo en el cielo.

The only bright side to this whole thing is that… well, no one is here. No one to see his embarrassment, or his failure; no one to question him, or ask him how he’s feeling, or try to give a hug, or any more goddamn food. It’s just him and his ever-spiraling thoughts and the grief that threatens to consume him whole.

Carefully, with a trembling hand, he lights the incense, then the candles, the golden glow dancing around his otherwise dark apartment. It… almost makes it look better. Less like a broken down man’s sorry attempt at repentance and more like a proper ofrenda.

Almost.

Día De Muertos is supposed to be a celebration, filled with festivals, family, home-cooked food, and the bright smell of marigolds.

But Miguel O’Hara has no family, is too miserable to leave the apartment, and all the marigolds have gone extinct.

[syds-house]

sketch and doodles for 18+ friends. im not fond of that genshin shouta...

[parasiticstars]

I missed traditional art augh

[zkyeline]

a couple of eepies

[iolaussharpe-24]

I keep staring at his mouth. They absolutely did NOT have to make this man that hot.

I’m jus so obsessed with him it’s not even funny

[spiderman2-99]

What’s with all of the… ah, unholy fanarts of me as a priest? Disgustingly inaccurate portrayal of the position aside, I’d make a terrible Father. Don’t have the patience for that even if I did believe in God.

And confession booths are stuffy; sex there would be atrocious.

[thequeenofthedisneyverse]

To the people who had your art style get better because of ATSV/Arcane

What did you study when it came to the art styles? I want to study them but I'm not sure where to start.

[drenched-in-sunlight]

He was a punk she did ballet: ❌

He and she are both punks and have a crush on a same art baby: ✅