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Oh golly I've missed a lot, huh? The server is gone and most folks have moved onto another franchise. I hope everyone is okay!

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⸻ *. A WILD NOIR APPEARS! What do you do?

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Going on a hiatus. Not a fan of drama even if it's just happening around me. Take care guys.

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Began rewatching Vox Machina and got distracted sorry for disappearing!

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"Stole from you? You have no proof."

There's no audible groan. Just the negative energy that blossoms momentarily that only someone with the ability to empathize would recognize, and somedays, he really can't pin point if Miguel is or isn't that sort of person. The man literally feels everything or nothing at all. Trying to figure the man out was... frustrating.

❛ 𝙾𝚑 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚒𝚝, 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜. 𝙶𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝙼𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚞𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚛. 𝙾𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚍𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚝 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏: 𝚝𝚘 𝙴𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚑-𝟷𝟼𝟷𝟶. 𝚈𝚊' 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍'𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚍. ❜

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❛ 𝙸 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝, 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚍𝚢! 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚝. 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎'𝚜 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚐𝚒𝚣𝚖𝚘𝚜 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚋𝚒𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚖𝚎. ❜ giving his head a few taps and a little shake of his wrist, the cuff of his trench coat slips and reveals the oddly futuristic build of his new and improved web shooter.

The materials were all from his era and gray tone, no doubt, but anyone with a keen eye would see that perhaps Aunt May from the more present eras may have shared her schematics.

@novaragno !

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Just finished season one of The Wheel of Time. I can participate in the shenanigans for real now.

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if noir is from the 1930s does that mean Miguel stole from a senior???? That's a crime right????

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@novaragno got noir's back holy sh-

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"It's ok, MJ..." he tries to get rid of the fear and agitation in her voice. A part of him longing for her touch. To have her dainty fingers running through his hair to soothe the pain away a lot like his mother used to do when he had a stomach ache or the occasional flu. He never thought of himself as strong but when that terrible plane crash happened and his parents didn't return home, well, nothing makes a child step up more than the cruel reality of death and ever since... he's had to be strong for Uncle Ben and Aunt May. And Mary Jane. When the events of him being bit by the cursed spider of Ereshkigal and then the happenings of the multiverse pandemonium much later he thought there must be some hope left in the world, that his perseverance meant something in the grand scheme of things.

Of course normality would be the one thing that rears its head to remind him that sometimes people just die from blood loss and not an act of any heroism at all. The mundane would be the end of him. And so he didn't hope. He just tried to help MJ cope as a last ditch effort that he might not wake up after tonight. That the reaper would be coming for his soul tonight. He was already damned anyway. To make promises that might not fall through? That was worse than being a coward.

But he didn't expect or even think to use his web shooter when he felt the chill of the midnight air finally hit his skin. Everything goes dark. A flash of white and voices... of not the tortured and the damned but the masses of the typical New York citizens fill his ears. Headache. His head hurts. There's another flash and he feels himself groan as his throat rumbles. A voice shouting over the crowd belonging to the sheriff yelling an order for another office to chase down a man with a camera.

Everything goes dark. The roar of the ambulance muffled through the four walls of what he can glean as the vehicle itself as fewer voices talk amongst themselves. A sense of urgency. Something about stabilising him. There's demand from someone that they cover his eyes to protect his identity.

And then the void finally overtakes him and brings him to a place that's dark and endless. Where he comes face to face with his Gwen and the terror in her eyes. He sees the blood on her dress after her stare and he remembers the gunshot and the light leaving her eyes. She's still wearing Swan Lake and walking in her ballet flats. And there's so much blood. Seeing her again is just about the most terrifying thing because she was supposed to be dead, and not a walking corpse. ' Peter, what are you doing here? It's not safe here. You need to leave. Wake up, Peter. Wake up! '

And he does.

The first thing he reaches for after sitting up is the gauze over his eyes after quickly making the connection from the pieces of events he remembers earlier... yesterday? He feels the fabric and hesitates, knowing what he was about to do should he take the moment to unveil his vision. He was injured as Spider-Man, not Peter Parker. He decides against making any risky decisions and he speaks out instead over the beeping of the heart monitor beside his bed and the noticeable hum of a hospital's air conditioner he knows all too well from interviewing previous survivors in his line of work. "I'd ask for a cigarette but I don't think smoking is an option right now. Is there water? ...If anyone is here, that is."

MJ had seen too many people die over the last few years not to recognize the SIGNS. The way she could tell his body temperature was cooling, even through his mask and gloves. His normally sharp intellect getting SLUGGISH, every thought a noticeable effort for him to pull to the surface. How GRAVITY seemed to be the greatest foe he'd ever faced, pulling him to the Earth as if trying to lower him six feet under. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise that she COULDN'T see his face, because if MJ had to face the reality of light beginning to fade from those warm brown eyes that filled her daydreams?

She might lose the NERVE she needed to wrestle him back from the Underworld.

MJ's stomach turned dangerously when she felt the sticky substance coat her cheek, knowing without looking that it wasn't WATER he'd inadvertently wiped on her. She was painted, BRANDED with the evidence that Peter was not so slowly dying right in front of her. Hell, at this rate it might be the LAST warmth she ever felt from him. The reality of it all crashed over her in concussive waves, shortening her breath and narrowing her vision until there was little else she saw besides the man who had been by her side practically her ENTIRE life slipping through her fingers. She heard his instructions, knew they were good ones, but something about actually FOLLOWING them felt like giving up - like he'd told her to call a hearse, not for help.

I love you, okay?

"NO." MJ bit back sharply, shaking her head and sending wild red curls flying every direction. The confession was INFURIATING, snapping her out of her panic and back into a much more helpful emotion - rage. "No, you don't get to do that. You don't get to take the COWARD'S way out and say that without having to follow through on what it means. You LOVE me? Prove it. Shut up and SURVIVE to make an honest woman outta me." she barked as she roughly tugged one of his gloves off to remove the webshooter from his wrist.

This was either the GREATEST idea she'd ever had or the WORST - didn't really matter since they were out of time to try anything else.

Wincing, MJ pressed down on the device to SPRAY webbing all over the dark red wound at the center of his chest. Stopping the bleeding, at least temporarily. "HELP! SOMEONE HELP!" she cried out into the night, exhaling relief when she heard footsteps rushing towards them from the direction of the police station.

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He's forgotten how blinding it is to set foot in Nueva York but that's why the added shades within his goggles came in handy. After his recent incident he made sure to install the tinted lenses right away. Being out of commission for nearly a month or two makes a person sensitive to a lot of things when adjusting back into society but, there was an order from a certain redhead that he stay in bed and rest up after being riddled with bullets. The doctors mentioned that he was extremely lucky that no vital organs were damaged otherwise he probably wouldn't be standing on one of the many bridges of futuristic New York right now.

Recognition comes easy though, he'd prefer it didn't. His palette always gave him away in a sea of red and blue. Or was it purple? He was still unsure between those two colours. There was mention once that he should just settle to calling the colour indigo but he isn't given much of a moment to himself to reevaluate his surroundings prior to the 'good morning's and 'hey brother' from his spider brethren. Not much time to fully settle his feet on the ground until there's a beep! from the intercoms and LYLA's voice greeting him. He notices two things: that she mentions he's gone dark and that she's surprised to see him which means there's been some check up in his apartment and he hasn't been found. That's good, because he didn't want to be disturbed.

And the second thing: is that he needed to report to the big man himself. There's a literal slap on his wrist when his arm is taken and a day pass is snapped around it via the kiddy looking bracelet, and Jessica dismisses him with a wave of 'you're welcome' over the crowd as she disappears into it. Noir would roll his eyes at the fact that he still needed to report in but he's still a bit groggy from the antibiotics and he should really take it easy. So why did he jump into the portal when it appeared in his apartment? Boredom, really. And a rubix cube that has gone missing from his desk back at home. MJ is going to kill him.

"No offence but unless you're returning what you took from me I'd rather be sitting at the cafe reading the daily paper." Noir shoots as he enters the office.

@iobartach !

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There’s curtains. Curtains drawing open and close before his eyes. The fight to stay awake from MJ’s demands and the need to succumb to what could be an endless slumber. He’s so cold that his teeth begin to chatter. Hell sounds like the place to settle for the night right about now. A warm patch just for Peter Parker to lay in and not be so cold. The only person to coax him out of one of the cosy crevices within the infernal landscape is a woman with equally fiery red hair. He makes a noise at the statement MJ makes and waves a weak hand that quickly finds itself on the pavement again.

“Kicking and screaming…? Pretty sure I’d go willingly… hey… hey, it’s okay.” He reaches up to cup her face, not taking note of the blood that has latched onto the skin of his gloves until his fingers slip out of touch under the invisible weight of exhaustion trying to take hold of his person. Smearing over the side of her cheek as he rests his hand on her shoulder after the realisation is his blood. That explains the warm puddle soaking his back now. “Oh, sorry…”

Damn. She looks angry. Worried? Scared. All of the above. He can’t clearly make out the freckled expression above him with the moonlight being so unbearably bright at the moment — one big spotlight as if the moon has taken direct interest in him or, the more possible explanation is that he’s just exaggerating what he’s seeing due to his want to just sleep. “...Don’t worry about it… call Aunt May. He and I don’t get along much but… the sheriff too? He's a good guy...and closer.”

He doesn’t even want to think about how good ‘ol Aunt May will react. He’s suddenly uncertain if she should be given the news due to her age and temper. He’ll get a talking to regardless of whether she found out sooner or later but he knows that she will eventually find out what’s happened and she won’t be happy with anyone. Anyone but MJ that is and that’s what he’s really worried about: someone to take care of MJ when he’s gone.

“...Hey, hey… you’ll be okay. I love you, okay?” Just in case he doesn't make it.

Hadn't they learned their lesson by now that things that appeared too good to be true usually WERE? That almost nothing in this world of theirs came easily, not anymore, and if the Almighty was doling out any BREAKS? Peter and MJ hadn't made his list. A fate worse than damnation, really - at least in hell they'd know where they STOOD with fate, rather than dancing in limbo. Fuck, they knew better than to have BLINDLY trusted the anonymous lead that had fallen onto her desk earlier in the week, and yet here they were. Maybe they were just too hopeful deep down, despite all the evidence they had that their belief in a BETTER tomorrow might just be a futile pipe dream.

Fine, maybe it was. But MJ would be DAMNED if she ever stopped dreaming. Not when the very best reason to was holding her in his arms as they fell...

"NO! No no no no no, PETER! Peter, hey, look at me." MJ pleaded, dropping onto her knees at his side and lovingly cupping his masked face in her palms. Her fingers ITCHED with the urge to rip that stupid thing off of him, make sure there was still light in his eyes. But she COULDN'T - if he lived through this like she planned on fucking forcing him to, then she couldn't risk exposing his identity and complicating things further. It was already BAD enough that they'd been lured into an ambush, that someone had clearly drawn the connection between the redhead and the webslinger and USED her to draw him into a fight.

"You are NOT going to sleep, do you hear me Tiger? Or so help me god I will drag you out of hell kicking and screaming by your short hairs just to KILL you myself." MJ threatened darkly, giving his cheek a firm pat to help JOLT his consciousness before letting her shaking hands roam his body in search of the gunshot wound to try and staunch the bleeding.

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Wanted to get back to writing some drafts out after D&D tonight but I got a headache and :'( don't want to make it worse. I'll try to be on tomorrow after work folks!

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The other spider-verse team

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me: i return noir, holding a smoothie and leading an angst ostrich: hey fellas

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TW . G*N VIOLENCE, BLOOD MENTION

There's no hesitation, just all instincts. Autopilot. Rifles being turned to the last person standing out in the open after a deal gone wrong. The precinct should've listened to the warning signs but inexperienced authority rarely did until the byproduct of their ignorance results in two dead cops and Mary Jane — a target of several rifles being pointed in her direction. He doesn't hesitate. He never did when her life was on the line.

Noir knows now why he’s been so anxious since he followed after the others from above. Whoever they were dealing with knew Spider-Man would be present. Whoever they were knew the twists and turns of this goddamn facility wouldn’t give him any chance to scope out the building’s weak spots: why there were such an abundance of spotlights pointed in no particular direction but everywhere all at once. No dark corners for a spider to hide and wait. The urgency from the enemy calling to meet up hadn’t been so an exchange between opposing forces could happen and the missing victims would be retrieved. This was all a setup. And he’s been literally blindsided.

Once the first shot rings out he’s screaming in retaliation. Once the second officer falls limp in a spray of blood Noir had already swooped in despite the blinding lights. He grabs the only living person left in that dangerous situation and he swings away with only the drumming of his heartbeat penetrating his ears. The panic sets in and he just keeps swinging from one building to the next, holding Mary Jane close and praying that she doesn’t go cold in his arms. That he doesn’t feel blood seeping through his clothes but… he does.

And it’s not Mary Jane’s because she feels warm but — he… feels cold despite being covered head to toe. His web snaps and they’re falling higher than they should. But he blinks away the double vision and focuses, catching another ledge with his web and swinging to safer ground until he sees the Police Station and Noir can’t help but feel his eyes grow heavy beneath the goggles. He uses himself to cushion their fall and when he’s lying on the pavement he calls to Mary Jane softly. “... You okay? I’m just… going to take a nap — for a little bit.” It’s midnight anyway and the moon reflecting over the rain soaked pavement of New York looks enticing.

@redhead-reporter !

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all this man wants is angst.