spiderkour

[spiderkour]

mysterio’s the truth mysterio’s a little bitch

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f in the chat for how many times peter says im sorry in ffh

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#just immediately crushed his dreams

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This is really important to you.

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Peter tingle at its finest

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emo noises abt peter saying he’s nothing without the suit (=spiderman) and that it’s all he has in hoco

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illuseroe‌:

“Get another party trick, Beck, that one’s getting old.”

A rumbling laugh fills the dead space around them as Quentin drops them into darkness. Then the curtains pull aside, putting Peter on stage. It’s his high school auditorium–Quentin has done his research on Parker since London. “What play were you going to put on this fall?” Mysterio’s voice asks quizzically. “Oh, right, it was Pippin, wasn’t it?”

The audience gasps at nothing in particular; Quentin peppers in some of Peter’s classmates amongst the crowd. Ned here. Betty there. And of course, right up front and center, MJ. “She was pretty excited, wasn’t she? She’s got a dark sense of humor, huh?”

MJ’s face peels back grotesquely. A TV screen replaces it, then becomes the world of the delusion. “HIS NAME IS PETER PARKER,” a panicked Mysterio babbles on-screen, and then he steps through the large television and flies towards Peter.

“Too bad you’ll never be able to go back home. Too bad you had to GET IN MY WAY.” The taunting facade dips into anger as it latches onto his words. Stupid kid.

“I told you to turn back, Peter,” Mysterio says, and they’re in Prague again. His eyes become genuine, focused, kindly. “I wanted you to turn back.”

From the thickness of the illusion, Quentin continues: “Sure, it’s fun to be in the spotlight, but more importantly, I don’t want to watch the world cheer for a kid who can’t even tell what’s real. They deserve better, Peter.” He lets the darkness around him dissipate as he steps forward. No Mysterio here; just Quentin.

“You want to know why I framed you? So you’d have to take a step back and let someone more qualified handle the risk.” Also, he was on the brink of death and wanted to get back at Peter in case he died. But he doesn’t need to say that part aloud.

     The thought ‘he knows too much’ immediately holds him, frozen in place after he whips around and he hears his steps echo against wood. He knows this is fake, keeps spinning that record in his head, but fake or real or whatever he knows entirely too much. The specificity, the little details-- of the gym, of the play, of the faces he can put names to in the crowd, the picture-perfect accuracy of MJ’s eyes crinkling ever so slightly-- she doesn’t smile a lot in front of people, she has a reputation to maintain, and Peter knows that, just as Peter knows this is fake, but the fondness and fear in his heart isn’t a logical thing. Peter Parker’s an individual of science, but outside of numbers and equations he’s led by his heart, tugging on his sleeve. Peter Parker knows that’s a fake MJ, can see the emptiness in her eyes if he focuses enough (you can’t trick me anymore), but he knows too much. However fake that MJ is, however fake that gruesome face-melting thing is, his loved ones being equally as vulnerable as he is now is anything but fake, and the growing dread-- that isn’t fake either. 

     Beck knows too much, and he’s right-- he can’t go home. He’s at least right there, and Peter has to remind himself his nerves lighting on brief fire at the reminder were not his spidey senses.

     But when he goes out as Spider-man, that’s a constant threat. He may never be able to go home; he knew that when he gave chase to the Vulture at homecoming, he knew that when he didn’t try to go back to the bus when he realized the Iron Spider suit was responding to his conflict over following Tony or turning a blind eye. He wasn’t home for five years. He wasn’t anywhere for five years. Maybe this exact situation isn’t what he would have ever expected (though it is just his luck), and maybe, definitely, it’s worse than he would like it to be, but he’ll fix it. He messed up, and he can fix it. He’s done it before, he reminds himself over the anxiety in his chest. 

     He meets the fabricated genuineness with a glare, and though he flinches (”I’m glad you’re here.” “Me too.”) Peter doesn’t cave into the familiarity of it this time. (You can’t trick me anymore.)

     “What you wanted was for me to give you the glasses!” he throws back, despite the hurt that he can’t help in his voice. “You just wanted me to get out of your way, but framed or not, you aren’t getting rid of me!”

     He can’t tell if Mysterio legitimately believes he has an altruistic motive here, that his supposed ‘better for everyone’ goal justifies the means-- and at this point, Peter trusts just about nothing out of Quentin Beck’s mouth (is that even his name?). Tony wouldn’t have wanted the world to fall at his inexperienced feet, either, but where Mysterio frames him for mass terrorism, Tony taught him and guided him in his own sort of way.

     They do deserve better, and he’s going to work to become what they deserve. 

     ...But he really needs to stop comparing Beck to Tony. 

     “Maybe they deserve better than what I am right now, but they sure don’t deserve a conman who’s willing to risk their safety for the sake of-- belief, or whatever! The point of having EDITH is to use it to save as many people as you can, not put a whole city in danger! You don’t need to do that to get people to believe!”

[spiderkour]

You say that (sorry) a lot. What are you sorry for this time?

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typical day

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he’s sticky

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illuseroe‌:

Continued from here. || @spiderkour​

“Yeah, I can’t even take you seriously with the mask on,” Quentin comments, barely even regarding Peter’s words. “You think you deserve to wear that thing? Oh, Peter…” his voice trails off into a tut-tutting sound; Quentin shakes his head dismally. Brown hair falls low over his eyes.

Mysterio raises his hands and a hundred Tonys fall down before the teenager, their blank eyes staring up at him from behind a cracked mask. “You weren’t good enough, Peter,” Mysterio reminds him, from the thickness of the illusion.

Fake-Tony’s mouth opens to tell Spider-Man himself: “You weren’t good enough.”

And then the illusion is gone. Quentin’s a little angry–well, more than a little. Mysterio didn’t exist for his personal pleasure. “It’s not about looking good,” the words are dripping with fake patience. Fingers interlace and then come apart; Quentin gives Peter a theatrical shrug. The cape slides off of his shoulders, draping around him. A little extra flare, if you will.

“It’s about making sure people have something to cheer for. You’re all dropping like flies–” an image of Natasha. Then Tony. Then Steve. He uses them to punctuate each word, their lifeless bodies suspended in air, eyes glassed over and fingertips stiffened with rigor mortis. “And people don’t believe in you anymore.” The still photos are gone.

Quentin’s hands fly to his chest. “All they have left is the TRUTH. They have MYSTERIO.” He’s not the bad guy here. People have to die to ensure safety sometimes. What about that was so hard to understand!?

     “Since it pisses you off that much, yeah, actually, I think I do deserve to wear it.”

     The tutting is enough to make indignation rage in his gut, something childish but something he has a right to feel, he thinks, after wiping the floor with Beck on that bridge. 

     Peter knows what to expect this time, knows that he can’t trust most of anything that Mysterio does or says. The burning in his stomach falls into an endless pit, the echoing, harrowing feeling of a now familiar dread. The hair on the back of his neck lifts, hackles along with as he jumps back, closes his eyes behind the vague comfort of his mask. It isn’t real, it isn’t real, it isn’t real, it isn’t real!

     The mantra plays circles around his head. A broken, cryptic record, playing in the background of an army of Tony’s, because of course it’s Tony, and of course these Tony’s are fake, and of course he knows it, he knows it, they’re fake, but Peter can’t help the breath he sucks in through gritted teeth. They may be fake, but the real Tony’s dead, and the real Tony died when he was nearby, and he’s tried to rationalize through the fog of guilt that there was little he could have done, but it’s the little that keeps nagging at him-- and hearing it from Tony’s voice makes his heart curl into itself worse.

     “Get another party trick, Beck, that one’s getting old.”

     Bites his cheek, watching the illusion fade, keeping the mantra going in his head. Tony wouldn’t want him to let his guard down and get his ass kicked because of him. He keeps his eyes steadfast on Mysterio, blocking out his peripherals and the pictures he acknowledges. The faces blur past, and he shakes his head and the daring curiosity of who they are away. It’s fake, it’s fake, it’s fake, it doesn’t matter. 

     “If you really wanted to give everyone something to believe in you wouldn’t have framed me! What do you think I was working on the whole time?” he stands a little straighter, throwing an accusatory finger. “You just want it to be you they cheer for.”

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"Look, kid. You made it too easy. What was I supposed to do; watch Stark blow up the planet by giving the world's most powerful A.I. to a high school kid? Please." [can be post-FFH or like during-FFH idk BE FREE]

     “It doesn’t matter if I made it too easy!”

     And he did, he knows– trust him, he knows. The fact he lost half the point of wearing his mask won’t let him forget, the police sirens that always manage to tail him won’t let him forget. The niggling memory of the deceptively warm bar, the friendly banter (he’d worn his old glasses around Tony once, and he’d also said they didn’t look right on him), the relief untangling knots in his tense muscles when he’d thought he’d cracked it, thought he’d found a way to be able to be with his friends again and not have to keep lifting Tony’s legacy on his shoulders. He hadn’t thought too different to what Beck is saying at the time. He should have known it was too easy, too convenient of an escape. 

     Stupid or not, though, no gullible optimism is enough to excuse the attack in London, to excuse having the power EDITH comes with and using it in the world’s deadliest stage play. 

     “You were going to throw who knows how many people’s lives away for the sake of looking good in front of everybody! I may not be old like you but I at least have the common sense to not kill innocent people.”

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now for the only reason i made this blog: peter likes hannah montana music

he and ned used to listen to it ironically and then it became Not Ironic

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The word “nun” is just the letter “n” doing a cartwheel.

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Think I'm having an exit stencil crisis :/

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illuseroe replied to your post “ffh spoilers ahoy btw also crossover friendly bc multiverse”

Our City Now ))

our city now!!

[spiderkour]

ffh spoilers ahoy btw

also crossover friendly bc multiverse