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stop earning advanced degrees i need you to finish your fanfiction

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Spider-man variants by Tom Reilly

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typical patrol conversation

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guess who rewatched across the spideverse🫡

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get up.

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#peak comedy 

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kissing the atsv character designers directly on the lips

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ghost rain

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Do you ever get reminded of that one really intense longfic that you had every intention of writing and had meticulous notes and complicated outlines for but then something happened and you aren't in the fandom anymore and you still have the desire to write the fic but it's slightly hollow now because it's a good idea and you think it would have been a great fic but you haven't been in the fandom for literally years and you don't have that bit of passion for it that you did when you were writing it and have just a weird moment of nostalgia where you want to reread it but it never existed

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i wish that i was homeward bound

chapter eighteen - and i want this more than life

Peter wakes up three times before he really, fully wakes up.

The first time, he doesn’t open his eyes. Awareness is a fleeting thing that stays trapped behind a brick wall in his mind, leaving the world a muffled, inconceivable thing that he doesn’t have full access to. He can tell he’s no longer laying on the floor, his mattress somewhat gentler than the carpet, and he can tell that he’s in pain, though it doesn’t fully register in his head—a dull ache coming from his abdomen.

He hears Harley’s voice, a low murmur that seems as calm as it does frantic. Peter tries to latch onto the sound—turns his head, he thinks, in the direction it’s coming from—but all he can catch is a warped version of his name before he sinks back into the ink.

When awareness teases him again, it’s with sharp sensation, a burning blast of pain that makes him gasp into consciousness. “Sorry,” he hears faintly. “Fuck. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

As quickly as he’s awoken, he falls back into nothingness again.

He manages to open his eyes the third time, though he only catches a blurry glimpse of Harley hovering by his side, the ceiling light illuminating him from behind, and Peter has never been any kind of religious but he finds himself thinking, Like an angel, and lets his eyes flutter shut once more, trusting his angel to take care of him.

Apparently, he sleeps for a while.

Time is not something he can follow. It could have been minutes, hours, or days between his brief waking moments, and there’s no way for him to know until he comes to once more—only this time, he stays awake. He frowns as reality pulls him to the surface, feeling a soreness in various parts of his body, but nothing stabbing or unbearable. There are fingers running through his hair softly, and he allows the peaceful touch to fully bring him back to the land of the living, brows pinching together as he squints his eyes open. The ceiling light is off and the curtains are closed—he can only see because the bathroom light is on and casting a soft illumination throughout the rest of his apartment, thanks to the cracked-open door.

He blinks once, slowly, and drags his gaze over and up, feeling the hand in his hair come to a slow stop as he moves, until he’s looking up at Harley.

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peter and his beloved aunt may

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Peter meeting Morgan but Tony is still allergic to feelings.

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Some Spideys I did for fun ✨

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Going through some rigamarole with my family right now that I don't want to get into, but I'd really love to know how common it is to be besties with your siblings. Pleeeeeeease reblog so I can see as many responses as possible.

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[guy who genuinely fucking loathes himself voice] well on account of my charming and endearing nature. Of course