#wanna frolic in the rain with him real bad

[ghost-proofbaby]

you mentioned summer storms with Eddie or something one day in a random post and I haven't stopped thinking about it so

can I get a midsummer's night with LOTS of 🍓🍓🍓🍓 about that? Thank you very much Ghost 💞

OH I'VE BEEN WAITIN FOR THIS ONE!!!! it took on a life of it's own, forgive me.

summer storms

warnings: honestly just tooth-rottingly cheesy. tried to add alllll the fluff. not edited.

wc: 1.2k+

come enjoy a sweet summer treat with me <3

It was your favorite part of the summer. You couldn’t stand the heat half the time, you couldn’t bear all the bugs that would make their arrival known through incessant bites you’d only notice after spending the day out, and you could cry at even the simple memory of every sunburn you’ve ever endured in your lifetime. There was a lot to hate about the summertime – but this? This was one of the good parts.

The moment you’d seen the ominous clouds on the horizon, you’d known where your night was going to end up. One howl of the wind against your living room window, and you knew your plans for the night. 

All roads led to the Forest Hills trailer park when the summer storms started rolling in. 

In your youth, all through high school, there’d been plenty of scoldings about how the trailer park isn’t the safest place during these storms, dear. Endless lectures on how you and your solace in the form of a best friend should just spend those stormy nights at your own house, inside sturdy walls and within an infallible AC. But they didn’t get it; there was something in the way you’d experience a storm at the Munson trailer that couldn’t compare to home. 

“It’s so hot,” Eddie whines from where he stretches out on his bed, all windows thrown wide open to let the dusty and humid winds slip their way in. Petrichor and discount cologne was swirling around you, wrapping its tendrils around your ankles and wrists alike as you were starfished out on the surprisingly cleaned bedroom floor of Eddie Munson. 

He’d spent the day embarking on his weekly cleaning spree – you’d spent the day holed up in Melvard’s for an unbearingly long shift. 

“I wish it’d just rain already,” you murmur, turning your head to catch a glimpse out the open window. The sky was a mirage of deep tones, rusted oranges laced with all the dirt being kicked up by the winds and navy blues painting the clouds that had built up to hold all the moisture adding to the smothering heat, “At least then all this misery would be worth it.”

Eddie sits up only to throw himself onto his stomach, head hanging over the edge of the mattress to smile down at you, “Wanna bet on how long it’ll take?”

“Take to what?”

“Rain, dumbass.” 

“Don’t call me a dumbass, asshat. How was I supposed to know what you-”

You’re cut off by the sound of rolling thunder, coming in waves along with a particularly strong gust of wind that makes all of Eddie’s posters whip against the walls they were pinned to. It’s enough to shut you both up as the echoes of the entire trailer rattling surround you. 

“Jesus,” Eddie whistles lowly, head lifting up to look outside for a few moments. When his eyes return to yours, they're full of mischief. “Fuck the bet, wanna race?” 

“Eddie, start being more specific, or fuck off,” you groan just as he leaps up, hopping off his bed with unexpected speed. 

All he cries out over his shoulder as lightning strikes in the sky waiting outside is, “Loser has to wash a load of Wayne’s jeans!” 

That gets you up. Not because you wouldn’t do it if Wayne asked nicely, and not because you were going to let Eddie make you do so, but simply to further chastise the boy now running away from you. 

The first droplets of rain begin to fall before either of you make it out of the trailer front door. 

Eddie only loses due to him slipping while passing by the kitchen, socked feet gliding out from beneath him until he grabs onto the counter hastily to prevent any injury. You pass him with a wide smile, yanking the door open hard enough that if Wayne had been home, he probably would have had a few choice words to say to you. 

But Wayne isn’t home. It’s just you and Eddie, the boy who makes summertime an endless brew of storms in your chest and mind alike, and the rain. 

You fly down the rickety porch steps of the Munson’s trailer just as you’ve done a hundred times before, Eddie just behind you. Neither of you make a deciding comment on who won; you’d been outside first, but Eddie’s feet hit the dirt properly just as yours did when he decided to jump right over the steps you were trampling down. 

It’s all wild joy and childish wonder as the two of you begin to run about and spin around beneath the droplets that have picked up into a downpour. Eddie’s hands find your wrist, and he’s throwing you about with him, making you dizzy with absolute giddiness as gravity drags you in a wide circle. Your Melvard’s polo soaks through to the bone. Eddie’s curls begin to stick to his cheeks. 

Neither of you care. 

A childlike exuberance, and youthful oblivion, that you only ever feel with Eddie. You don’t think you would have let anyone else drag you out into the middle of a storm with such ease. But it’s hard to say no to him when there’s so much happiness fizzing beneath your skin, and you’re pretty sure all the thundering actually belongs to your chest as you feel his fingertips press deeper into your wrists. 

You’ve loved him for a while now. Always have, always will. 

It happens in slow motion. You swear somewhere between the crackling of the lightning and his crinkling eyes, you can see his lips forming the words, you’re pretty. 

You didn’t hear it, though. Couldn’t have over the water clogging your ears. 

“What?” you call out, leaning forward with all your giggles, trying to ignore the feeling of your bare feet sinking into the mud below. 

Eddie just pulls you forward, and over another gust of wind that makes you both shiver, says it once more with his whole chest, “I said you’re pretty!”

You’re not. You’re really, really not. You’re a mess. Wet hair and slick skin, bleary eyes and aching smiles. Probably closer resembling a drowning rat than anything poetic or worth yelling to the sky about. 

But not to Eddie, not as he looks to the sky, and all he can do is laugh at himself. 

“I’m not pretty-” you start to laugh back, shaking your head at his foolishness. 

“You are,” he interrupts quickly, his hand only leaving your skin long enough to brush back his damp bangs, exposing a forehead you’d certainly thought about kissing on more than one occasion. Running his fingers through curls you’ve tried to find every excuse in the books to play with. Scrunching up his nose that you’d pictured pressed into your neck in the dead of night numerous times as the two of you slept peacefully. “You really fucking are. It’s a damn crime, half the time, too. Always taking my breath away and shit.” 

You don’t know what spurred it all on. The petrichor that had lingered in the air, the feeling of the rain on his skin, the comfort of the storm and its promise of a night spent together. But his confessions are rolling out faster than the drips racing down the windows of his trailer, and he’s looking at you with big brown eyes, and all you really know is that it doesn’t matter what spurred it all on.

All that matters is he’s said it. 

“Do something about it, then,” you gasp out.

You’re almost worried the storm has carried the words away, that he hasn’t heard you, until he does something. 

He kisses you, and it tastes just like the rain. Your favorite part of summer.

[meowloudly15]

Stranded: Day 8 - PRIVATE SHED

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At around five in the evening, Gwen, Peter B., and Miles finally found Mrs. Parker's house. At least, it was somewhere on this street. They kept walking, looking for the house number.

"Where exactly are we going again?" asked Miles.

"To Peter's aunt's house," replied Gwen.

Peter B. blinked. "Wait, what?"

She had figured he would have recognised the address.

"She offered to help all us spider-people, if I remember correctly. She'd probably point us in the right direction."

"No, no, this is a bad idea. I can't talk to her. No." Peter B. stopped moving.

"C'mon, man, don't you wanna get a new goober?" asked Miles.

"Oh for crying out loud, couldn't we go anywhere else but-"

"Nope," interrupted Gwen. "Oh, look, that's it. That's definitely the place."

Gwen and Miles stopped in front of a small two-story house with pale green siding. The front lawn was practically buried under tributes to Spiderman. Peter B. still stood several paces behind them.

"C'mon, Peter," said Miles.

Peter B. relented and walked over. He shot a webline at the doorbell and exhaled.

"We.. should probably go."

"We're literally right here," said Gwen.

Peter B. paused. "Nope, bad idea, bad idea, let's go." He turned and walked away. Gwen shot a webline and dragged him back in front of the door.

RELATIVE CHAOS

"You guys are so sweet, but no more fans today, please," said Mrs. Parker as she opened the door.

Why was she holding a baseball bat?

Well, she wasn't any longer. Mrs. Parker's eyes bugged out and she dropped the bat as soon as she saw Peter B. Gwen clenched and unclenched her teeth.

"Peter?"

Mrs. Parker walked over to Peter B. She looked like she had seen a ghost. For all intents and purposes, she had. Her real nephew was gone.

"Hey, Aunt May." All the tension in Peter B.'s body disappeared as his doppelganger's aunt (or was it his aunt's doppelganger?) laid a hand on his chest.

Gwen wanted to say, "It's not him. It's not your Peter. I'm sorry. I get it. But don't look at him the same way. I'm trying my hardest not to." But she stayed silent.

She looked back over at Peter B. He looked so much like her own Peter… he had the same face, the same eager grin when he talked about technology, a similar stance. But it wasn't the same. He was too well-built. He was too old. He was too jaded. But hadn't Peter become jaded in the end?

It didn't stop hurting, even after two years, no matter how much she shoved aside the pain. She couldn't imagine what was going on in Peter B.'s and Mrs. Parker's heads, although she thought she understood.

"This is gonna sound nuts," said Peter B., "but I'm from-"

"An alternate dimension," finished Mrs. Parker.

How did she know about that?

"You look tired, Peter."

"I am."

"And older. And… thicker." She furrowed her brow in displeasure. "Jeez, are those sweatpants?"

Gwen replied, "Yup. They're sweatpants, all right."

Why did her voice sound so much weaker than it should have? Was it sympathy? She felt like she should laugh, but she didn't.

"I was there when… it happened. I'm so sorry, Mrs. Parker," said Miles.

"What dimension are you from?" she asked.

"Brooklyn," he replied without hesitation. "Uh, do you know where we could make another one of these?" He handed Mrs. Parker the flash drive.

"A goober."

Was everyone except for Gwen some type of nutso?

Mrs. Parker's face hardened. "Follow me."

PRIVATE SHED

Mrs. Parker led the spiders through her rather nice house and out to a shed in the backyard. She strode with a purpose.

A shed? What the heck? Also, why did she kick open the screen door? Was it stuck or something? Or was she making a concerted effort to be dramatic?

Gwen felt a knot of unease build in her gut. Was it a trap? It had better not be one, especially given that her webshooters were acting up.

It was a decent backyard, though. Small but quaint. Not much snow had fallen over here.

Peter B. started to needlessly blather on. "Yeah, I got a shed where I keep all my spider gear, too."

Mrs. Parker pulled a key out of her pocket and inserted it into the padlock on the shed door. The padlock shone with red light, and the shed door slid open, revealing a sleek, glowing red-and-white interior. It looked like an elevator shaft. With a smirk, she gestured for them to enter.

Okay, this had better not be a trap.

The spiders walked into the elevator, and it slid down, revealing a cavernous, red-floored space below, filled with what looked like spider-paraphernalia.

"Okay, this place is pretentious," said Peter B.

Gwen could barely contain her excitement. This was possibly the coolest thing she'd ever seen. There was a motorcycle! A spider-themed motorcycle! And a wall of costumes, and maps of the city, and dossiers on a whole bunch of supervillains, some of whom she didn't even recognise, and, like, a lot of stuff!

Miles asked, "Woah, is your place anything like this?"

Peter B. replied, "Yeah, but way smaller. Take away the jeep. Imagine a futon. Just like this, you know?"

Gwen walked over to admire the motorcycle. It was red, with blue wheel rims and a lot of metallic accents. It looked like a souped-up Harley. She felt a strong surge of jealousy. She wanted to learn how to ride a motorbike. Had Spider-Pete known how? How did he get all this stuff?

What was that picture Peter B. was looking at? Whatever it was, he looked sad. Maybe it was Em Jay? Was that his ex-wife?

"Hey, this looks like a cape," said Miles, gesturing to one of the spider-costumes. His tone of voice gave the impression that he was referencing an inside joke.

Peter B.'s frown faded away.

It was kind of Miles to make his friend feel better like that. He was a nice guy.

LINCH KING

Something else caught Gwen's attention: a posterboard with an aptly large picture of the giant dude that she had seen. He was at the centre of the display, and all the other people in it seemed to be connected to him. She walked over to it. The giant guy's name was Wilson Fisk, otherwise known as Kingpin. That made a surprising amount of sense, considering what her spider-sense had said. The people pinned to him included Liv, a guy with white hair and grey skin, a purple-and-black guy with an upturned collar on his cape, and some sleazy-looking dude with purple skin. It was funny how the pins connected everything.

The other three people walked over to her. "Kingpin knows we're coming," said Miles. "We're gonna be outnumbered."

"Don't be so sure," said Mrs. Parker with a smirk.

LIKE YOU

Gwen looked up into the shadowy blackness above. There were three, no, four figures there. They all looked very different.

"Hey, fellas," said a tall guy wearing a black trenchcoat and fedora. His face was covered by a mask with weird white goggles. His trenchcoat whipped around in some nonexistent wind.

"Is he in black-and-white?" muttered Miles.

"Where's that wind coming from? We're underground," remarked Peter B.

"Wherever I go, the wind follows. And the wind smells like rain."

Okay, that was odd. This dude looked like he had been pulled from the pages of a cheap detective novel.

She redirected her attention to… a ten-year-old girl sitting on top of a red-and-black robot. The girl looked like she had been yanked out of an anime show.

"Hi guys! Konichiwa!" The girl proceeded to say some other indiscernible stuff in Japanese while she did some funky anime poses with her robot. The robot looked pretty neat.

"This could literally not get any weirder," said Peter B.

"It can get weirder!" said… holy cuss word. It was an anthropomorphic pig, like something from Tuney Loons, dressed in a Spiderman costume. Gwen rubbed her eyes. The pig was still there, and his hands were covered with water.

"I just washed my hands. That's why they're wet. No other reason."

LIKE YOU

Gwen looked at the group of oddball spider-people. Because that was what they were, right? They had spider-powers, just like she did. They might have been a bit… different from her and from Miles and Peter B., but they were like her. She smiled. It was strange how she felt that much less alone right now.

"You're like me," said everyone simultaneously.

"Okay, now, why don't you all introduce yourselves?" Mrs. Parker requested.

Everybody started talking simultaneously. Gwen tried her best to make herself heard.

"My name is Peter Parker."

"I'm Peter B. Parker."

"Uh, I'm Miles, and I'm from Brooklyn."

"I'm Peter Porker, the Amazing Spider-Ham!"

"My name's Gwen Stacy."

"My name is Peni Parker, and this is my robot, Sp/dr!"

"I was bitten by a spider that came out of some totem in an antique store."

"I was bitten by a radioactive pig!"

"I was bitten by a radioactive… wait, what?"

"I got bitten by some weird-looking spider in a subway tunnel."

"I was bitten by a spider on a field trip."

"Uh, same here."

"I'm from New York in the year 3145."

"I'm… from Brooklyn."

"In my world, it's 1933, and I'm a private eye."

"I'm a junior in highschool in Connecticut City."

"I'm a reporter for the Daily Beagle. It's headquartered in Moo York."

"I, uh… what's my job again? Do I still have one?"

"I play drums in a band, but other than that, I don't do that much."

"I like making graffiti art, and I used to play baseball."

"I like to drink egg creams, and I love punching Nazis."

"I have a psychic link with the spider that lives in my father's robot. We're best friends forever!"

"I frolic and I prance and I do this with my pants and I-"

"Okay, okay, that's enough," said Peter B., waving his hands. "How did you get here?"

Black Spidey – no, that sounded wrong. Greyscale Spidey replied, "It's kind of a long story."

"We basically just landed here," said Spider-Ham.

"Okay, maybe not that long."

Peni said, "Now, we're just trying to get back home."

"The only way back is through the collider gizmo," said Greyscale Spidey. Jeez, that was a cumbersome name. What about… what was that genre with the dark backdrops and private eyes and stuff? Film noir. That was it. She could call him Noir.

"The problem is, one of us has to stay behind and destroy it," added Ham.

Of course, that was the issue. Sacrifices always had to be made. The good thing was, the decision was simple. Gwen was already a ghost. She raised her hand, not expecting to be contested.

"I'll do it," she said. Noir, Ham, Peter B., and Peni also said it simultaneously.

ATOMIC DISJUNCTION

Gwen glitched out and hit the floor. So did the other spiders, except for Miles, who watched with concern.

"That's exactly it," said Miles. "You guys can't do it. If you stay here, you'll all die. I'm gonna shut off the collider, and I'll get you all home before I do it. I made a promise."

He sounded awfully confident in his abilities for a kid who had only gotten his powers two days ago.

Gwen and the other spiders stood up.

"Who are you again?" asked Noir.

Peter B. grinned. "This is Miles, and he's gonna save the multiverse."

A guy who's been Spiderman for 22 years should honestly know better than to put so much faith on the shoulders of such an inexperienced kid.

Miles smirked. "Yeah, man."

"He can turn himself invisible! Watch this, guys!"

Miles gritted his teeth and strained but remained completely visible.

"I��� can't do it on command."

"He can't do it on command! But it is cool! Show them the zappy thing!"

Gwen rolled her eyes. It was almost comical how inexperienced he was. She would have laughed had the fate of the multiverse not rested on his shoulders. Instead, she watched him and secretly hoped that Miles might succeed.

He didn't.

"Can't do that on command, either."

"He still can't do it on command! But… uh, he can do so much more! What else can you do?"

"Just those two things."

"Just those two things," Peter B. repeated, sounding less enthusiastic than before.

MILES OF INTEREST

Miles looked embarrassed, and Gwen didn't blame him. She had to admit that she felt a little bit bad for him. It's hard to realise that there's something that you really wish you could do but can't. She decided to stick up for him a little.

"I've seen him in action," Gwen said to Noir, Ham, and Peni. "He's got… potential. If nothing else. I think he can get us home."

Saying that made her realise that she actually believed it. She probably shouldn't. She shouldn't get her hopes up.

Noir squared his shoulders and approached Miles, fists up. "Okay, little fella. Kingpin's gonna send a lot of mugs after ya. I'm talking hard boys, real biscuit boxers. Can you fend them all off at once?"

What in heck was a biscuit boxer?

Miles put up his dukes awkwardly. "Uh, I've never actually fought anyone…"

"Surprise attack!" Noir kicked Miles' legs out from underneath him. He hit the floor hard.

Gwen shoved her useless belief out the window and decided to focus on the facts.

"Can you rewire a mainframe while being shot at?" asked Peni, her eyes slits. She tossed some tech-looking thing at Miles as he got up.

"Wait, what?"

"Show me."

"Surprise attack!" yelled Noir. He punched Miles in the face, who went down like a sack of cement.

Gwen approached Miles. "Can you swing and flip with the grace of a dancer?"

"Can you close off your emotions so you aren't crippled by the moral ambiguity of your violent actions?" asked Noir.

That was actually a good question.

"Can you help your aunt create an online dating profile so she can get out of the dang house every once in a while?" asked Mrs. Parker.

Wait, what?

"Can you float through the air when you smell a delicious pie?" asked Ham, floating in a similar manner. Gwen didn't smell any pie. Ham's nose must have been more sensitive than hers. Either that, or he was just plain nuts.

Gwen re-railed the impromptu testing procedure. "Can you be strong?"

"Ruthless?" added Peni.

"Disciplined?"

"Psychic?"

"I don't know?" said Miles, looking thoroughly overwhelmed.

Gwen remembered a monster. She remembered a ten-foot-tall beast, many times stronger than she was. She remembered massive claws digging into her leg, scales scraping her hands, talons raking across her face, a bludgeoning tail. She remembered the pain, worse than any beating she had ever taken at the hands of a superpowered foe. She remembered the scars.

She helped Miles to his feet.

"Above all, no matter how many times you get hit, can you get back up?"

The only reason she was still alive was because she kept getting back up. Could he do the same?

She kicked him back down.

"'Cause when a Spiderman is on the floor…"

"Come on, Miles!"

"When you think you can't keep going…"

"You can do it."

"Get up, Miles!"

"Guys, cool it," said a rather concerned Peter B.

"Come on!"

"Let's go, Miles."

"Get up, Miles."

"You got this."

It was a mess, but it was a mess that he needed to learn. Sometimes learning things the hard way was the best way. It was the way that had taught her.

But was Miles able to take it?

"Come on, Miles, get up."

Miles tried. Gwen could see it in his face. But he wasn't determined enough. He gave up and slumped to the floor.

The other spiders pulled into a huddle.

"You need to be more honest with yourself," Gwen told Peter B. "He's not ready."

"Yeah, he can't do this," added Noir. "He's just a kid."

"We're gonna have to stay and do it for him."

Peter B. looked distraught. Gwen couldn't blame him. She was sad, too. She wished that Miles could have succeeded. But… it wasn't the case. And everyone had to accept that. Even Miles.

"He's looking right at us while we talk about him," commented Noir.

The spiders turned to look at Miles. But he was gone. The elevator platform slid upwards with nobody in sight.

"Miles?" called Peter B.

"You see? He… can turn invisible."

Gwen watched the platform rise up and clang as it stopped at the ceiling.

Tough love worked. But had they all been too tough on him? Had they lost all hope of saving the multiverse without casualty? Or was it a lost cause to begin with?

Would Miles let the others help him again?

He had to help himself, though. That was part of the problem.

Mrs. Parker finally broke the awkward silence.

"So… you folks ready for dinner?"

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