#⋆·˚ 🌺 ༘ * — 𝙝𝙞𝙗𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙪𝙨𝙚𝙨!

[daydreaming-en-pointe]

the swan and her princess (part 1)

summary: Swan Lake isn’t all beauty and grace, contrary to popular belief. And you experience firsthand that as you wage a one-sided war with your “rival” for the role of the Swan Princess, Odette.

pairing: Gwen Stacy (Spider-Woman) x fem!Ballerina!Reader

word count: 842

warnings: uses of Y/N, lots of ballet terms and references, the teacher displaying blatant favouritism ig?, mildly petty reader 💀

a/n: I finally got around to doing it! yay :D academic rivals to lovers ftw honestly

gearing up for my first official chapter-based fanfic WHOOOOOOOOO

dividers by me btw! it’s my first time doing dividers so any feedback would be appreciated <3

part 1 // part 2 (pending)

glossary:

Swan Lake: Swan Lake, Op. 20, is a ballet composed by Russian composer Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky in 1875–76. It is now one of the most popular ballets of all time. The ballet is based on a German fairy tale, and tells the story of a prince named Siegfried who falls in love with Odette, a princess who has been turned into a swan by an evil sorcerer

Odette: Odette is the main female protagonist in the ballet "Swan Lake," which is composed by Pyotr Tchaikovsky. She is the White Swan, also known as the Swan Princess/Swan Queen.

Anna Pavlova: Anna Pavlovna Pavlova was a Russian prima ballerina of the late 19th and the early 20th centuries. She was a principal artist of the Imperial Russian Ballet and the Ballets Russes of Sergei Diaghilev. (basically, every ballerina’s idol)

first position: In the first position, the heels are together, with toes turned out until the feet are in a large, open V or a straight line.

relevé: Relevé is a French term meaning "raised up." It is one of the basic ballet moves. The dancer starts in a demi-plié (a move where the dancer bends their knees halfway while keeping their feet on the ground) and then rises up into demi-pointe (on the balls of the feet) or en pointe (on the toes), either on one foot or both feet.

“Let’s take it from the top, Y/N. More turned out this time. And your ‘wings’ aren’t flowy enough. You are the very Swan Princess, not a struggling cygnet. You die gracefully.”

You blew air threw your nose a little more forcefully than you usually would, trying your best to follow your ballet teacher’s instructions.

“Ah, Gwendolyn! So nice of you to join us.”

That statement was usually used sarcastically in most settings. So why did your teacher’s voice take on a note of adoration? You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, not even looking at the new arrival. All she ever did was drop into class half an hour late - without even doing her hair in a proper bun - and get showered with praises for everything she did. Always Gwen this, Gwen that. You were so sick of it.

“Gwen, if you decide to try out, you would be a perfect fit for the White Swan,” Your teacher eagerly told her, and your ‘flowy feathers’ tightened into fists. Just brilliant. In her eyes, you had no chance at Odette, did you? Once again, Gwendolyn Stacy would swoop in and snatch up something you had worked so hard for, spending hours upon hours on late nights at the studio practising alone, all because the teacher thought she was the next Anna Pavlova. But every time, you bit your tongue and kept your head down. One day, you would show them. You would show them all how good you were. And little Gwendolyn Stacy, the number one teacher’s pet, would watch and weep.

You cleared your throat to jolt your teacher out of her rambling. “Miss? My audition?”

She blinked as if she were just noticing you. “Ah, right. Yes, you may continue.”

You were ready to hurl your pointe shoes at both of their annoying faces, but you focused on making yourself extra turned out and extra graceful. Oh, how the tables would turn when you got this role.

You risked a glance out of the corner of your eye and noticed with a smug satisfaction that Gwen was staring at you, eyes wide. Completely enthralled.

Ha-ha, Gwendolyn Stacy. Look upon actual, hard-earned talent and despair.

You finished the Dying Swan - the Swan Lake piece you were doing for your audition - and bowed, standing in first position with your head held high.

“Thank you, Y/N. That was very nice. Everyone, let’s get started. Get your shoes on and get into your positions at the barre, please.”

Ugh, the barre positions. Your arch-nemesis, apart from a certain Gwen Stacy. Well, maybe not apart from her, since your barre position was right in front of her.

“One, two, three, four - hold, two, three four…”

You tuned out the voice of your ballet teacher; the exercise was purely muscle memory to you by now, and her voice was only distracting you at the moment.

“Hey, Y/N.”

You were pulled out of your intense focus by the voice behind you. Once you realised who it was, you had to resist the urge to scoff. “What is it?”

“I, uh… I just wanted to say that you did amazing. It was very graceful. You’ll make a good White Swan.” That almost made you lose your balance in a relevé and twist your ankle, because what?

Gwen Stacy thought that you’d get the role?

Oh. That was new.

Or maybe it wasn’t, and you were just imagining the whole ‘undeserving slacker’ thing and painting her as the bad guy…?

You almost giggled at that. Nah. This was definitely some ploy to get you to relax a little, to stop practising almost obsessively. Yeah, she was just trying to ensure you weren’t a threat. The moment you let down your guard, she would snatch up the role of Odette. You just knew it. Well, she could try all she wanted; you would not make it easy for her.

“Oh, I know,” You replied coolly, ending the exercise with everyone else and turning to offer her a politely bored smile. “But thank you.”

Gwen’s smile dropped a little and her eyebrows scrunched together slightly, her piercings glinting in the studio’s warm light. “Okay, well… I’ll see you around, I guess.”

She reached down and grabbed her duffel bag, unceremoniously dropping her teal pointe shoes into the mess of clothes and who knows what else she kept in it.

You kept your eyes on her until she disappeared out the studio’s door after a quick goodbye to the teacher. She was like a ghost, always appearing and flickering out just as quickly as one. And somehow always getting away with it, every single time. Not to mention… she was also somehow really good. Despite missing classes and coming late.

“Remember, class. Now that I’ve seen all your auditions, the roles will be up next week. Don’t be late,” your teacher called as you all left the building.

You kissed your teeth in annoyance. Yeah, don’t be late. Unless you’re Gwen Stacy.

Good grief, that girl would be the death of you.

Taglist: (reply to be added!)

@hobiebrownismygod @l0starl @therealloopylupin2099

[daydreaming-en-pointe]

˗ˏˋ street food date ´ˎ˗

(isn’t that just the most creative title :D)

requested by very a lovely person who wishes to remain anonymous <3

Pairing: Pavitr Prabhakar (Spider-Man India) x Fem!Pakistani!Reader

Type: Oneshot - Fluff

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: terms of endearment, mentions of food & eating, usage of Hindi (translations provided), I don’t speak Urdu so it’s google-translated 😭

A/N: Reader speaks Urdu and Pavi (canonically) speaks Hindi. Since both languages are pretty similar in terms of speaking, at least from what I’ve observed, let’s assume that they can understand each other fairly easily :)

I absolutely LOVED writing this omg it was such a cute request! Sorry it took me so long so do this, I was so busy that I completely forgot abt all my reqs for a while 😅

Btw this was barely proofread so if there are mistakes no there aren’t <3

“Meri jaan, you’re spilling it.”

You turned at the familiar voice, just barely managing to balance a paper plate in your hands with an absurd amount of dahi papadi chaat piled onto it.

“You’re late,” You noted, biting the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling like a lovestruck idiot as Pavitr approached you, flashing that dazzling, slightly crooked grin that had your heart stumbling and falling over your mind trying to make sense of it all. You dropped your gaze to the floor, trying your best to cross your arms without dropping the food on the plate.

“I know. And I’m sorry, I really am. But you know that juggling my… duties and timings are hard,” He dipped his head slightly to make you look at him, brushing a small piece of papdi off your kurta. God, he was so annoying sometimes. His eyes were so soft and irresistible and he knew it.

“Come on, look at me,” He said teasingly, stepping forward slightly and grinning as you glanced up at him, then immediately frowned at your lack of willpower when it came to him. “There she is.”

You felt a smile break through so you set down the paper plate on a nearby ledge, leaning forward to wrap him in a hug and bury your face in his clothes. “Arre, you’re insufferable,” You mumbled, to which he let out a small chuckle and effortlessly picked you up to spin you around despite your little yelp of surprise.

“Oh, yeah, definitely. I’m sure that’s why you came out here on a date with me to have street food, right? Let’s go, meri dhoop. No use of you being all sad right now, naa? Look, there’s even pani puri a few stalls down.”

You almost got whiplash from how fast you turned your head to look, your eyes widening in excitement as all previous thoughts were forgotten. “You should’ve mentioned that earlier!”

Pavitr laughed, the easy chuckle - as cliché as it sounded - practically music to your ears as you grabbed his hand and took off, leading him to the pani puri vendor. “I knew that’d cheer you up.”

One shared paper plate of (admittedly quite messy) pani puri and a whole skewer of seekh kebab later, you leaned against a ledge overlooking the Mumbattan bridge right next to a whole row of new vendors. Pavitr wrapped an arm a little too tightly around your shoulders, nervously measuring the distance you would fall if you tripped.

“Pavi, relax, I won’t fall,” You gave him a reassuring smile, and he breathed out slowly before giving you a slightly strained smile in return. “Yeah, sorry. Spider-Man stuff. Lots of, uh… bad things happen. Usually near large drops.”

Your eyes flicked to his hand, gripping the railing so hard his knuckles were starting to lose circulation. Sensing his discomfort, you moved away from the railing back into the middle of the cobblestones.

“I’m going to braid your hair,” You declared suddenly to ease the tension in the air, examining the smooth waves that framed his face, pushed back slightly with his blue headband. His eyes widened in horror at your statement. “Wait, what? No! I said I was sorry for coming late! I’ll do my absolute best to come on time, I promise!”

“I’m not that rough,” You protested, scrunching your eyebrows as he cupped his warm hands over your cheeks. “Of course not, meri jaan. You’re so gentle, my hair definitely doesn’t feel like it’s being sent to an early grave.”

“Aap drama baghair kisi wajah ke bana rahay hain.” (You are making drama for no reason) You frowned at him and he chuckled softly, shaking his head.

“Kabhi nahin! Mei achcha vajeh se drama karta hoon. …Uff, thik hai, tum mere baalon ko tod sakte hain. Lekin… pehle ise kha leh.” (Never! I do drama for good reasons. ..Okay, fine, you can tear my hair out. But first… eat this.)

He held up a plate of vada pav, his smile growing as your eyes lit up again, the familiar scent bringing back memories of sitting in your grandparents’ house and watching them cook, masala-infused aromas wafting through the kitchen from the large utensils.

“What did I do to deserve you?” You wondered aloud as you started stuffing your face with the nostalgic dish. Your tone was lighthearted and playful, but it had a few traces of the underlying truth. You were so, so lucky to have him, and you knew it.

You could see it every time he dramatically presented you with some knickknack or the other that he picked up along the way, handing it to you with a bashful ‘it made me think of you.’ You could see it every time he adjusted your dupatta, every time you caught him staring at you with round, loving, awestruck eyes as if you were the very centre of the cosmos itself.

And when he smiled at everyone it was usually genuine, sure, but you had a special kind of smile reserved for your eyes alone. One that made the small dimples at the corners of his mouth even more noticeable, one that made him scrunch his nose subconsciously with how wide he was smiling.

The kind of smile he was using right now. And oh, good grief, you were so far gone for him. He was so effortlessly gorgeous it actually hurt - wavy hair swept to one side behind his headband, brown eyes turning gold in the sun, the light dappling his face and flicking tiny spots of shadow onto his skin.

“Tum bohat khobsorat ho,” (You’re so beautiful) You whispered, completely spellbound. Pavitr blinked in surprise, his smile turning slightly shy. “Arrey, tum mujhe bahut zyaada phlait karte ho.” (You flatter me too much)

“No, really!” You insisted, tapping the tip of his nose with your pinky and laughing when he scrunched it instinctively. “You’re very pretty, you know that? Mera khobsorat ladka. Pretty, pretty boy.” (My beautiful boy)

“Aap adhik sundar hai.” (You’re more beautiful) Without warning, he gently grabbed your torso and pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your hair. You looped your arms around to meet behind his shoulder blades, resting your chin in the crook of his neck.

You were scared to move, to disturb the silent peacefulness of it all, but you wanted to tell him something that would hopefully put his worries to rest.

“You know I won’t leave you, right? I won’t be your… what is it, canon event? Whatever that is.”

At the words ‘canon event’, Pavitr flinched as if he had been burned, his eyes wide and searching as he looked at you. “What? Where did that come from? And how-”

“Okay, listen, so it’s kinda my fault,” You began, choosing your words so as to not agitate him any further. “But you know how you said I could read your journal, because basically every embarrassing thing you’ve written is you being lovesick for me?”

“I didn’t think you’d actually do it!” He covered his face with his hands in embarrassment, messing up his hair in the process.

“Anyway, uh… you left it open on your drawer and I maybe kind of accidentally looked through the last entry. But only because I was worried. You’d been acting stressed out the whole day, remember? I’m sorry!”

“I don’t… hmm, actually, that’s pretty sweet that you were worried. I appreciate it.” He lifted his head to meet your eyes, almost smiling before his face crumpled again. “Hang on, what else did you see? Oh, god, did you see the whole page of poems I wrote? No, wait, hear me out! In my defence, I was absolutely whipped for you. I still am, but-”

“Pavi?”

“Yeah?”

“Ai, meri mohabbat. Chup ho jao. Mujhe lagta hai ke yeh dilkash hai,” (My love. Shush. I think it’s adorable) You reassured him, leaning forward to kiss the tip of his nose before moving in to press a soft kiss to his lips, an attempt at putting his worries and ramblings to rest.

That shut him up pretty well.

Please know that I am not Pakistani! I tried my best to write this, but if there is anything I’ve gotten wrong, please let me know and I’ll be happy to change it. <3

Meri jaan - my life

Meri dhoop - My sunshine/my sun

A kurta is a loose, collarless type of shirt worn by people in South Asia. It usually extends up to or just past the knee.

A dupatta is a length of material worn arranged in two folds over the chest and thrown back around the shoulders, typically with a salwar kameez or a kurta, by women from South Asia.

Papdi chaat (or papri chaat) is crispy fried-dough wafers served with typical chaat ingredients such as chickpeas, boiled potatoes, yogurt sauce, and tamarind and coriander chutneys; it may also contain pomegranate seeds. Dahi papdi chaat is the same thing, but more yoghurt is used (dahi means yoghurt/curd).

Pani puri is a popular Indian snack consisting of fried puff-pastry balls filled with spiced mashed potato (the puri), spiced water, and tamarind juice (the pani).

Seekh kebab is a type of kebab made with Indian spices, spiced, minced or ground meat, usually lamb or chicken, formed into cylinders on skewers and grilled.

Tags: @hobiebrownismygod @l0starl @therealloopylupin2099

[daydreaming-en-pointe]

the swan and her princess (part 2)

summary: Swan Lake isn’t all beauty and grace, contrary to popular belief. And you experience firsthand that as you wage a one-sided war with your “rival” for the role of Odette.

chapter summary: A pleasant surprise turns out to be possibly not so pleasant after all.

pairing: Gwen Stacy (Spider-Woman) x fem!Ballerina!Reader [aka some sort of a messy Ballet!AU]

word count: 2695

warnings: cussing, ballet terms, creative liberties taken since I’ve never been to Lincoln Center and the research I’ve done may or may not be fully accurate

a/n: :D got a little carried away with this one whoops doing this is much harder than i expected this au is taking up my entire brain pls help

part 1 // part 2 // part 3 (pending)

glossary:

Barre: A handrail used by ballet dancers to maintain balance while exercising. One hand is placed on the barre at all times, and the dancer stands beside it.

Kitri: The feisty and wilful heroine of the ballet Don Quixote. When her father Lorenzo tries to marry her off for money, she doesn’t play the victim, but hatches a plan to marry Basilio, the charming barber who has won her heart, and pursue her own version of happiness. As a dancer’s role, Kitri is athletic and demanding. Kitri wears striking red costumes (look them up, they’re really beautiful) and gestures expressively with a fan in a nod to her Spanish heritage.

Don Quixote: Don Quixote is a ballet in three acts, based on episodes taken from the famous novel Don Quixote de la Mancha by Miguel de Cervantes.

Kurta: A loose collarless shirt/dress of a type worn by people in South Asia, usually with a salwar, churidars, or pyjama.

Dupatta: A length of material arranged in two folds over the chest and thrown back around the shoulders, typically with a salwar kameez. Usually worn by women from South Asia.

Right after you set foot in the studio and dropped your bag in the corner, you made a beeline for the cacophonous, eagerly buzzing crowd that had formed around the cast list.

You saw a familiar duffel bag and raised your eyebrows slightly. Surprisingly, Gwen had showed up on time. Miracles really did exist.

Murmurs of disappointment and cheers of satisfaction rippled through the dancers in the room as they dispersed one by one, either wearing an expression of genuine excitement or a mask of disguised regret that they hadn’t tried harder or trained longer.

You pushed your way to the front, your eyes immediately darting to the name next to Odette. Your heart sank as you traced over the curly loops and sharper lines of the handwritten letters.

White Swan/Princess Odette : Patricia Roberts.

Pat…?

Sure, she was good, but she was always a little bit too fast for the pieces. She was brilliant at lightning-quick steps in speedy variations, but couldn’t ‘dance like a flowy fairy’, as your ballet teacher said, to save her life.

And the White Swan was all about being slow and sad and graceful.

Your eyes travelled further down the list, going through the roles of Odile, the cygnets, the general swans, and the royals. Each time, you were disappointed. By the time you reached the end of the list, you couldn’t help but feel a little bit anxious. Your name just… wasn’t there.

You were a part of this, right?

The entire class was taking part in this production. It wouldn’t make any sense for you to not be there. Even if it was just as a regular background swan.

“Can’t find your name either, huh?”

You hadn’t noticed that everyone else had broken off into excitedly chattering groups to start warming up and take their places at the barre, leaving only you and Gwen standing and craning your necks up at the piece of paper that seemed to decide your fate in the studio for the next few months.

You shook your head no, earning a sigh from Gwen that lasted longer than it probably should have.

“Well, we could ask Miss Walker, but she’s not here yet. So…” She shifted awkwardly beside you. You tried to observe her from your peripheral vision without being too obvious. She sounded… tired. Exhausted, really, like she hadn’t slept in a few days and then had to run a marathon around the city. She had done a pretty shoddy job of concealing the heavy dark circles under her eyes — which truly was saying something, because her makeup was usually immaculate.

Fuck. You couldn’t believe it, but for a moment you almost felt sorry for her. Well, maybe not just almost.

“Hey, uh… you good?” You winced at your attempt at a nonchalant tone. Gwen turned to look at you like you had sprouted a third head, slight confusion reflecting in her eyes.

You had never noticed them before, but she had nice eyes, honestly. The expressive kind that could show every little shift in her emotions if she didn’t hide it. And right now she looked like she was about to grin or crack a joke, so you fixed a scowl on your face to ward off any amusing thing she might have been gearing up to say.

The smile in her eyes faded.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Time to poke the bee’s nest. “You don’t sound—”

You were cut off as the studio doors flew open, and Miss Walker, looking extremely hassled, practically sprinted in. Random strands of hair poked out of her unusually-untidy bun, and her glasses were perched precariously on the tip of her nose. She held her phone in one hand and a clipboard in the other.

“Class, pointes on and everyone to the barre right now, please! Finish your second warmup, I’ll be right with you. Gwendolyn, Y/N, may I have a word with the two of you?”

We’re in trouble, mouthed Gwen with a comically scared, wide-eyed, completely exaggerated expression that was very childish and definitely should not have made you want to laugh. You bit the inside of your cheek to clamp down on your smile.

Your ballet teacher led you both over to a corner of the studio, adjusting her glasses right as they were about to fall off. “Okay, so I have some very good news for both of you. You might have noticed that your names weren’t on the final cast list at all, correct?”

You both nodded.

“As it turns out, you’ve been selected by the School of American Ballet to feature in New York City Ballet’s version of Swan Lake! And not selected for just any role — you girls are playing both Swans!”

The words took a few seconds to register in your mind. The sheer improbability of it all was phenomenal — two mere teenagers chosen to perform by the most prestigious ballet company in the world, to dance alongside some of the best professional ballerinas-in-the-making? This was a dream come true; was any of this real?

“You’re joking,” you heard Gwen say beside you. You felt like you were about to lift off and float all the way to the sky when your teacher just gave a broad, proud smile.

Everything after that was surrounded by a hazy glow of euphoric shock — blurred by excitement and lightheadedness and disbelief. You might’ve blacked out at one point, bracing yourself against the wall while you waited for your vision to clear.

Gwen suddenly narrowed her eyes in a wince, squinting as if she had a headache. “I’m so sorry, I have to go,” She mumbled hastily, before grabbing her bag and slipping out of the studio. And just like that, she was gone. Again.

You and Miss Walker exchanged a look of slight confusion, but she shrugged. “Well, you’re dismissed for today, Y/N. They’re expecting you tomorrow. You know where the company is, right?”

“Yes, miss.” Of course you did, which ballerina didn’t? Of all the best aspiring ballet dancers’ dream companies, New York City Ballet was right up there with The Royal Ballet in London, Paris Opera Ballet in France, and the Australian Ballet in Melbourne. In other words: this was a giant fucking deal and a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

You’d have to be beyond idiotic to blow it off.

You arrived at Lincoln Center (which housed the New York City Ballet), fresh-faced and a few minutes early. Well, maybe not so fresh-faced, since you could barely sleep because of nerves. Throughout the night, what felt like a million thoughts that were all variations of what if I’m not good enough? and maybe I’m not cut out for this plagued you well into the early hours of the morning.

You felt a tap on your shoulder and turned to see Gwen, looking annoyingly (and most probably effortlessly) put-together and honestly quite fashionable. Did she have to have such perfect eyeliner? Even her hair tips seemed pinker than usual.

“Wow, you’re early for once,” You tried to load snark into your tone but failed miserably, earning you an insufferably relaxed chuckle from Gwen.

You shook your head and focused on trying to find the ballet company’s actual studio. Lincoln Center was comprised of a complex of buildings in a giant neighbourhood that you had never been in before, and the David H. Koch Theater which housed the New York City Ballet was just one of those many buildings spread over 16.3 acres.

You were lucky you two had arrived early, because it took you ten whole minutes trying to find the theater - because, as it turns out, you and Gwen had entered from a separate entrance from the main one. Finally you entered the studio, and for a while the only sounds were that of your shoes squeaking on the shiny wooden floors.

Something that struck you was just how big everything about it was.

The light fixtures that lined the walls cast yellow light all along the hallway, illuminating everything with a soft glow the colour of honeyed amber. Just walking that corridor made you feel like you were approaching a royal ballroom, floating around in a gown that could put Kitri’s costume from Don Quixote to shame.

You finally saw the door to the studio. Someone was waiting outside — a man in an all-black suit with close-cropped black hair and a salt-and-pepper beard. His face broke into a smile as he saw you and Gwen, and without waiting for you to fully make it to the door, he strode forward and clasped your hand.

“Welcome to New York City Ballet! I’m Carlos, the resident choreographer of this company. We’ve been expecting you! Your teacher has informed you of the production we are working on, yes?” He rattled all of this off at full speed in clipped, staccato pronunciations, so fast that it took you a second to register what he was saying.

“Swan Lake, right?” Gwen answered for you.

“Yes, yes. I assume you both know the combinations for both swans?” You nodded maybe a little too eagerly, eliciting a subtle eyebrow-raise from Carlos. “Very good. Come, I will introduce you to Shaoni. She is our support staff, and a former ballet mistress. She taught many young dancers who went on to become famous prima ballerinas. Don’t take her words too seriously; her bark is worse than her bite.”

He gave you a sympathetic smile and pushed open the double doors. Immediately the first thing you saw was a woman wearing a blue kurta with a gold-trimmed dupatta, her dark hair pinned into a bun at the nape of her neck. The thing that stood out most about her was her highly displeased scowl that had her looking like someone had insulted her entire bloodline three times over, spat in her face and then wrecked her favourite tutu.

Forget a simple resting bitch face, this was a prime, next-level display of an I’m-done-with-this-shit-and-I-need-a-vacation expression.

“Good morning, girls. My name is Shaoni Lahiri, you will address me as Miss Lahiri. You’re a bit early; please begin your warmup while we wait for the others. Also, our artistic director wanted to talk to you about your first day, so once he arrives meet him in his office.” Miss Lahiri had just finished her introductory monologue when her phone buzzed in her pocket with a notification.

Her eyes swiped over the lockscreen for a brief second before she tucked it away again, and you could’ve sworn you saw her roll her eyes slightly when she saw the name of the messager. “Mr. Osborn will see you now. The door to his office is in the far left corner of the studio. Try not to get lost, will you?” Even her sarcasm sounded effortlessly annoyed beyond relief.

And just like that, she abandoned you and went over to compare choreography notes with Carlos.

You turned and followed her directions, noticing a polished wooden door near the end wall of the studio. “Hey, wait for me!” Gwen had been busy gawking at the studio and, really, you couldn’t quite blame her. It truly was something else compared to the much smaller one you were used to.

You knocked once and pushed open the door once you heard a voice call out, “Come in!”

The moment the door swung open, you were immediately blinded by the brightest white light you had ever seen. The entire office looked like it had been bleached to within an inch of its life; there were no specks of dust to be seen and everything was neatly arranged in cupboards and on shelves.

“Oh, hello there!” Once your eyes had readjusted, you noticed a man with greying red-brown hair in a crisp suit with a green pinstripe jacket, an orange vest, and black pants. He sat with his hands clasped neatly on the lacquered teakwood desk in front of him, wearing a polite smile.

“You must be the new arrivals, yes? Let’s see, what are your names…” He opened a folder that had been pushed to one side of the desk, flicking through pages. “Gwen Stacy and Y/N Y/L/N?”

“Yes, that’s us,” You answered quickly, feeling slightly giddy with excitement as the truth sunk in properly. This wasn’t a dream, you had really been selected by the fucking New York City Ballet. You would be working alongside some of the best ballet dancers in the area. Better yet, you had more than a fair chance at dancing Odette. Of course, so did Gwen, but you were obviously the better choice… it wasn’t personal, really, just that she barely attended a full class and therefore should probably dance Odile instead.

“Excellent, excellent. Pleasure to meet you. I’m Norman Osborn, the artistic director of this company.” He stood up and shook your hand. He smiled at Gwen, but instead of smiling back, she just dropped her gaze, inhaling sharply as if she had been stung.

“Something’s not right with him,” She murmured to you the moment Mr. Osborn turned his back to retrieve a folder from his filing cabinet. “I can’t explain it, just… please trust me. I think he’s going to be a threat to us.”

You felt annoyance flare up inside you, white-hot maelstroms of anger expanding by the second. “Please excuse us, Mr. Osborn. Gwen and I need to discuss something.” You tried to sound as inconspicuous and well-mannered as you could. You grabbed Gwen’s shoulder and pulled her through the door, closing it behind you.

“Listen here,” You hissed, letting go of her. “I didn’t make it all this way and train for an extra four hours a day for three years just so you could blow this off. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re some sort of a package deal. So don’t you dare make up stuff and tell me this perfectly polite man is a threat. Is this some sort of scheme? You make me get cold feet, pretend like you’re dropping out, then when you convince me to leave the company you swoop in and snatch up the role of Odette? Is that what you’re playing at?”

Gwen stared at you in utter disbelief, rubbing her shoulder where your grip had tightened just a little too much. “What? No, of course not. I would never—”

“Okay, good. Now let’s get back in there and do whatever the hell he wants us to do, because this is the New York City Ballet and we are not leaving till we’re done with this production, got it?”

For a split second, intense desperation marred her features and she looked like she was about to cry. Then, just as quickly as it had come, all the vulnerability displayed on her face disappeared — but not from her eyes. Her mouth and eyebrows were relaxed, cool, but her eyes shone with a feverish light that made her look a bit manic. Finally she took a deep breath and glared levelly at you.

“Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Something about her tone would have sent a shiver down your spine if you hadn’t been so pumped up about this whole ordeal. You dismissed it easily, penning it, possibly, as the sullen disappointment of a plotter whose evil scheme hadn’t gone quite according to plan.

You entered the office again, Gwen trailing behind you reluctantly, and gave Mr. Osborn a big smile. “You were saying?”

He passed you and Gwen two sheets of paper and a pen. “Sign this. It’s a contract that officialises your stay at this company for the duration of this production.”

You signed it eagerly. Gwen, who was studying the words intently, noticed your impatience and signed it too.

“Perfect,” said Norman Osborn, giving you a big smile. Was it just you, or did it look more plastic this time…?

Nope, definitely just you. He carefully filed the sheets away and clasped your hand in a handshake once again. “Welcome to New York City Ballet. I’m sure this contract will prove to be beneficial to the both of us.”

Gwen dropped her eyes to the floor. Probably just her odd headaches acting up again.

Taglist:

@hobiebrownismygod @l0starl @therealloopylupin2099 @theprismyyy

[daydreaming-en-pointe]

╰┈➤ i won’t sleep till you’re safe inside.

Pairing: Pavitr Prabhakar x Sister!Reader (platonic obviously)

Type: Fanfic - Fluff -> Angst

Word count: 8.5k (🫢🤯)

Warnings: NOT CANON-COMPLIANT! (I’ll make a list of everything that’s probably not canon but is for this fic) colour-coordinated dialogues to make it easier to understand who’s talking, starts out fluffy but evolves into angst, cussing, reader is desi, usage of Hindi (translations given, except for the Sheila Ki Jawani song), hahaha culturedumping & projection go hand in hand 😭

Some Goldenmodel (is that their official ship name??) too! (pls they’re literally so cute 🫠🫠)

A/N: Basically where Pavi loses his sister instead of Gayathri :D

The numbers at the top of every section indicate Pavitr and the reader’s age respectively (reader is older than Pavi) :)

Andddd the Pavitr Bhim Prabhakar hc continues 😁

Probably (Definitely) Non-Canon List:

-reader’s existence basically since she’s the daughter of Maya Aunty and Uncle Bhim (so she’s not technically his sister she’s his cousin but close enough!)

-I actually have NO idea how Pavi’s parents died or anything abt them so I’m basically making stuff up hehe

-Reader also gets the scholarship to Mumbattan that Pavitr got, but for a different subject

-kinda waffling on Bhim’s death since I’ve never actually read the comic where he died so idk much of anything

-Reader helps Pavi make his webshooters (kinda)

-Pav may be a teensy bit ooc I apologize for that

-there’s probably a lot more but none I can pinpoint specifically right now

(this is the song that Pav sings btw)

title inspo:

Will you call me to tell me you’re alright?

Cause I worry about you the whole night

Don’t repeat my mistakes

I won’t sleep till you’re safe inside

(Safe Inside, James Arthur)

——— ———

4 & 6.

“Didi!”

You stifled a giggle, peeking out from behind the tree you were hiding behind to see the tiny boy scrambling over rocks and protruding tree roots, his eyes squinted in concentration as he searched for you.

“Come out, come out wherever you- ai!” He cut himself off with a sharp squeal of surprise, stumbling backwards as you leaped out and bared your teeth like the demonic rakshasas that seem to lunge right off the pages of your mother’s - Pavitr’s aunt’s - mythology books.

“Not fair,” Pavitr complained, glaring up at you and crossing his arms. His nose scrunched at the injustice and you laughed, sticking your tongue out at him and ruffling his hair.

“Totally fair.”

“Nahin! Pura cheating! Didi, tum hamesha dhokha deti ho!” (No! Fully cheating! You always cheat!)

“Oy, Pavi, main kaise dhokha de rahi hai? What nonsense you’re talking.” (How am I cheating?)

“I’m telling Maya Aunty that you’re being mean to me.”

“Wait-”

“Arrey, both of you stop squabbling and come up here,” Maya Aunty’s voice carried down into the lawn from the veranda as she poked her head out of the kitchen. “I made gajar ka halwa. Come eat before Bhim gets back and finishes everything.”

Pavitr’s eyes lit up at the mention of the carrot dessert, all earlier frustrations forgotten for the moment. “Race you!” He turned and darted across the lawn, his hair bobbing as he kicked up clouds of dirt under his shoes.

“Pavi, how is this fair?!”

——— ———

6 & 8.

“Didi! Checkmate! I win!”

“Ai, Pavi, that’s not… chess doesn’t work like…” He turned to you with big, shining eyes, grinning from ear to ear because he thought he had won. You trailed off with a resigned sigh, not having the heart to tell him that he had just got his own king killed.

“Wow, Pavi, you’re getting so good at this! You’re a natural!” You ruffled his hair affectionately, despite his protests and attempts to fight you off.

“Y/N! Yahaan aao!” (Come here)

You immediately perked up, eyebrows drawing together as you heard your mother’s voice, only… something was off. She sounded like she was holding back tears, the beginnings of a raw sob lingering in her throat.

“Haan, Amma? Kya hua?” (Yes? What happened?) (Amma/Maa just means mother)

She sat hunched next to the balcony, a phone in her slack grip. Your father - Pavitr’s Uncle Bhim - knelt with his back to you, holding her and rubbing her shoulders comfortingly. Tears fell from her eyes and the only sounds that split the air were her jagged heaves between soft sniffles.

“Amma? Papa, what happened to Amma?” Unease twisted in your stomach, knitting your eyebrows closer together as you moved forward and grasped your mother’s hand.

Your father turned to look at you and you inhaled sharply.

That was the first time you had ever seen your father cry.

“Pavitr’s parents were involved in an accident,” He struggled to keep his tone even for you.

“An accident? You mean…”

“Yes, beta. They’re… they’re gone.”

Your breath hitched and you backed away slightly, steadying yourself against the wall behind you.

You didn’t know much about what happened - and it would probably stay like that since you were ‘too young to bother yourself with the worries of the adult world - but you knew one thing for sure.

This is going to break Pavi.

I can’t let that happen.

You heard soft patters of bare feet on the marble floors and looked up just as Pavitr’s dark hair disappeared to the side of the doorframe.

Not trusting yourself to speak without breaking down mid-speech, you got up and left without a word, patting your mother’s hand sympathetically on the way.

You found Pavitr sitting against the tree you used to play hide and seek around. He pulled his knees to his chest, resting his forehead on his kneecaps and raising his head when you approached. “What happened, Didi?”

You grasped at words that would help convey it, but to no avail. How could you tell a 6 year old - one who was essentially a brother to you now - that his parents had died?

You had two ways out.

…I should tell him.

“Pavi… Maya Aunty will explain, but… basically, you’re going to be spending a lot more time with us - with me. How does that sound?”

Pavitr grinned, his eyes shining - and of course he had to look like a trusting puppy. Of course it had to make you feel guilty the moment those words, a romanticized version of the truth, left your lips.

“That sounds awesome,” He said happily, half-turning to wrap his arms snugly around your waist in a hug. “We’ll have so much fun! You can finally teach me how to play kancha and lagori like you’ve been wanting to! Right, Didi?”

“…yeah. You’re right.” You leaned down to kiss the top of his head as he nestled comfortably against your side, the strands of hair tickling your chin as you rested your head on his. You felt tears starting to well up as the depth of the situation hit you at full force.

Kaayar. Coward.

——— ———

9 & 11.

“Didi!”

You looked up from your schoolwork as Pavitr burst into your room. “What’s going on?”

“Maya Aunty said there’s some sort of… scholarship? They said we have to go to Mumbattan!” Your eyes shot wide open and you pushed your chair back from your desk to follow him into the kitchen. What scholarship? Mumbattan?

Maya Aunty had told you both that she had submitted samples of your writing and a few of Pavitr’s blueprints for futuristic designs he had come up with for various robotics competitions, but… you never thought the entry would ever amount to anything.

“Amma, Papa, yeh sach hai? Did we get a scholarship to Mumbattan?” (Is this true?)

“Haan, beta.” Your mother looked slightly tired, weary - but ultimately happy. The happiest you had seen her in quite a while. Your father patted your head affectionately, a large smile on his face. “Well done, both of you. Mere champions.” (My champions)

The moment dissipated like it was never there in the first place when Maya Aunty’s eyebrows scrunched together with worry once more as she turned to Uncle Bhim. “Arrey, Bhim. Hum kaise kharch uthayenge? Mumbattan mei, woh kiraaya-” (How will we afford this? The rent in Mumbattan-)

The moment you heard those words, you let out a soft exhale and took Pavitr’s hand, gently tugging on it and leading him away from the ‘adult’ conversation. By now, you were almost conditioned to do your best to avoid conversations that always got your parents stressed out and sometimes led to frustrated breakdowns which simmered into tearful apologies and doubtful plans.

“Let’s go play kancha, Pavi. I’ll even let you start this time.”

You ran out onto the lawn with him, your hand holding onto his smaller one tightly as if you could protect him from all the harm and sadness and worry that the world had to offer.

——— ———

11 & 13.

“Didi!”

“Don’t didi me. You agreed to this, remember? You brought this upon yourself,” You said between giggles that got increasingly louder at how ridiculous he looked.

Maya Aunty and Bhim Uncle were both out buying groceries, and Pavitr was so bored that he accepted your challenge to see who could balance more than five stones on their forehead. And if he lost, you would get to do his hair and makeup.

That was why he was currently sitting in front of you, bright pink eyeshadow on both his eyelids and wearing the brightest red lipstick you could find. He winced in pain, loudly protesting every two seconds as you tried to put his wavy hair into a Dutch braid. He had let it grow out over the past few months, and at the rate he was going, if he left it for even a little while more it’d be longer than yours.

“You need a haircut, Pavi. I think you might be getting split ends…” You couldn’t help but chuckle at the expression of pure horror that crossed his face at your words, which quickly turned to annoyance. “Shut up, you’re just saying that because you’re jealous- ow!”

“Whoops.”

“You did that on purpose.”

“Did not.” You looped a rubber band onto the ends of the braid, finally finishing and tilting your head to critically examine your handiwork. “There, you’re all done.”

Pavitr glanced at his reflection in the compact mirror you offered him. “Wait, I don’t look that bad. I can pull this off pretty well, actually.”

“Sure you can, sweetie. Let’s do your nails now.”

“You’re the absolute worst.”

——— ———

12 & 14.

“Didi! Rise and shine!”

You groaned softly, turning over onto your side. “Get out.”

“Aww, that’s so sweet and definitely not a prime example of you being mean to your younger brother. Seriously though, we have to get going soon for school.” He expertly dodged the spare pillow you threw at him, deciding to kneel by your bedside and stare you in the eyes like some psychotic cat.

“Not everyone’s a morning person, Pavi. Besides, it’s 6 in the damn morning. Come back in another hour.”

Pavitr didn’t respond, just started humming a tune and tapping out a familiar beat on your bedside table, using two pencils from your desk’s mug of stationery as makeshift drumsticks.

“I know you want it but you’re never gonna get it, tere haath kabhi na aani…”

Your eyes shot open as you recognized the song. “No, Pavi, I swear to God-”

“Maane na maane koi duniya yeh saari, mere ishq ki hai deewani…” Stifling laughter, he backed out of range before you could smack some sense into him with another pillow.

“Pavitr! Stop!” You chucked a pillow at him, sitting up and staring at him in utter astonishment at his song choices.

“Kisi aur ki mujhko zaroorat kya, main toh khud se pyaar jataun! What’s my name, what’s my name, what’s my name…?”

“Pavitr Bhim Prabhakar, if you don’t stop singing that song right now-” You lunged forward, trying to grab him and muffle the lyrics of the Bollywood song he was singing - granted, he wasn’t a terrible singer, and in fact he could sing in Hindi quite well, but out of every song he could’ve chosen… this? “By the way, you missed a few lines, but that’s not the point! Stop it!”

“My name is Sheila! Sheila ki jawani! I’m too sexy for you, mei tere hath na aani-”

Chaos ensued in the next few seconds. Pavitr, who had been running around your room doing whatever choreography he could remember from the scene with that particular song in the movie you had both watched, tripped on the fallen pillow and fell flat on his face.

You had been chasing him around and tripped over him, rolling over and landing beside him. Luckily, you managed to break your fall with your palms.

“How’d the ground taste, hmm?” You asked, offering a hand to help him up.

“You’re mean,” Pavitr complained, taking your hand and pulling himself up. You fixed his slightly ruffled hair, a little surprised at how soft it was. Was he already going through the phase of being obsessed with how he looked?

“Yeah, well. You’re in my room at 6 am singing one of the sluttiest Bollywood songs you know, so… you’ll live, buttercup.” You gave his head a rough pat, turning to reluctantly make your bed - might as well, since you were already awake - as he hovered over your shoulder with a grin.

“But hey, it did get you up, didn’t it?”

——— ———

13 & 15.

“Didi! Where are you? I need to tell you something!”

“…I don’t understand. What are you saying?” You felt so paralyzed that you didn’t even register your brother’s voice. Instead you stared at the person you thought was your boyfriend, dangerously quiet. The calm before the storm. He shifted uncomfortably, fiddling with his sleeve and clearing his throat.

“Um, I think we should break up. I’ve kind of been… seeing another girl. Shreya.”

You were careful to keep your expression neutral, crossing your arms to prevent you from worrying at your nails. “For how long?”

“Uh, I-”

“How. Long. It’s a simple question.”

“Five months.”

“Son of a bitch.” You kept your voice low, sweeping a hand towards the door. “The exit’s there. Leave.”

“Listen, I’m really-”

“Get out. I’m serious. Get the fuck out of here before I make you do so.”

He stopped and stared at you for a few seconds, realizing just how angry you were.

“Okay. Well, it was… good seeing you, I guess. I hope you-”

“Didi?”

This time you heard Pavitr call you, soft hesitancy in his voice that carried into the room from the other side of the door. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, Pavi, I’m fine. You can come in.” You covered the cracks in the screens of overly pleasant tones that you layered over your voice so as to make sure he didn’t worry.

He quickly entered your room, and from the way he glared daggers at your now-ex-boyfriend you assumed he had heard everything - or at least, a large chunk of the conversation.

“Hey there, buddy.”

He had the nerve to smile and hold his knuckles out for a fist bump. Truth be told, you felt a sort of bitter satisfaction when Pavitr just glared up at him and didn’t bother lifting his hand to return it.

“Fuck off.”

“What?”

His eyes widened slightly and traveled from the harsh scowl fixed on Pavitr’s face to your dangerously calm demeanour.

“You heard him, didn’t you?”

“I… yeah. I’m going. See you around.”

You followed him with your eyes as he inched toward the door, shutting it behind him.

The moment he left, your unbothered façade cracked and splintered into pieces. You moved yourself to sit on your bed, slipping the covers over your legs. “Thank you,” You murmured to Pavitr, closing your eyes so he wouldn’t see the tears threatening to spill. He came over to sit beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“Mat rouoh didi. Hum ek movie dekhenge?” (Don’t cry didi. Wanna watch a movie?)

“Haan, please. As long as it’s not Tees Maar Khan, I am not watching that again with you. I’ve had enough of that Sheila ki Jawani. Wait, Pavi, you said you wanted to tell me something?”

“…that’s not important right now, don’t worry about it.”

You didn’t notice him anxiously trying to peel off the edge of the blanket that was stubbornly sticking to the pads of fingers.

——— ———

A week later.

It had happened so suddenly. No one seemed to know anything.

Well, except the fact that your father had died somehow.

I know we fought a lot more in… in the end, but I love you. I always have and I always will, Papa. You made me who I am today, you taught me to know my own worth and accept no less. Believe me, I think about it every day. If you were here I’d tell you.

You wished you could say that out loud, to offer everyone present a window into your thoughts to prove you weren’t just an angsty teenager - or a family disappointment, which a few aunties seemed to believe by the way they were whispering and shooting overly sympathetic looks your way which were quickly followed up by hushed giggles.

But instead you kept your head down and used what little energy you could muster to give a nod of acknowledgement every time a distant relative - even ones you hadn’t seen since you were a baby - popped up in your face to console you.

“Where’s Pavitr? Did he come to the antyesti?” You jumped; you hadn’t noticed your mother hovering beside you until she laid a light hand on your shoulder. She seemed to move around like a spectre; dressed completely in a simple white salwaar kameez with a long white shawl wrapped around her in such a way that it obscured both her arms and her hair, along with part of her face.

“No, I don’t think so - at least, I haven’t seen him.” You looked over her shoulder at the priests starting to get everything prepared for the ceremony and searched the crowds of vaguely familiar people.

Where the hell is he?

Getting the priests to agree to Pavitr - who wasn’t exactly Bhim’s son but the closest thing to it - leading the rituals was hard enough. But then again, it wasn’t like they had much of a choice, did they? You couldn’t exactly do it - the rituals of an antyesti were to be performed by the eldest son. Or the priests themselves, if he couldn’t do it for any reason. Never a woman.

You and Maya Aunty weren’t allowed to do anything except watch and pray.

And now if Pavitr didn’t show up in time-

Thwip! Thwip!

You frowned and shook your head slightly, wondering what the source of that noise was. Oh, well, probably just a pesky mosquito buzzing in your ear.

“Didi, Maya Aunty, I am so, so sorry that I’m late. Did they start already?” You jumped again in surprise - what was it with people sneaking up behind you today? You took in Pavitr’s crisp white dhoti and neatly styled hair, and for a second you couldn’t decide whether to hug him or punch him in the face.

“I’ll tell you everything later, didi. Pinky promise,” Pavitr murmured to you, offering his pinky to you. You linked your little finger with his, looking into his eyes as concern bubbled up to mix with the hurricane of emotions already clamouring for attention in your brain.

He had horrible bags under his eyes, like he hadn’t slept properly in a week. And when you gently squeezed his pinky, his breath hitched as if he was in pain and he drew his hand back after a few seconds. You blinked in confusion, getting a brief glimpse of painful-looking faint purple splotches all along his hand and the underside of his arm. They looked like bruises that had been poorly covered up by foundation that was almost three shades too light for his skin, but before you could say anything he turned to make his way through the crowd.

“Pavi-” You started to ask what was going on, what happened, what was wrong, but he just shook his head, angling his chin toward the priests waiting patiently for him.

“Badh mein, didi. Antyesti ke badh.” (Later. After the antyesti)

——— ———

After the ceremony.

“Pavitr Prabhakar, if you don’t tell me what’s going on-” You came face-to-face with one of your more distant aunties, who immediately lit up excitedly in a way that was probably not suited for a cremation ceremony as soon as she recognized you.

“Arrey, beta! You’ve grown so much! How old are you now? You still sing, no? Kya aapne college ke bare socha hain?” (Have you thought/started thinking about college?)

“Haha… hi, aunty… no, aunty… no, I haven’t thought about college yet… have you seen Pavitr anywhere? I need to find him and it’s really urgent but… oh, uh… yes, of course, I would love to catch up over chai sometime. Sure, we should plan that - oh, sorry, bye! Tell my mother that I’ve gone to look for Pavitr, okay? Thank you!”

Seizing the opportunity that presented itself in the form of another aunty who came waddling over to greet the first one, you squeezed through the crowd of people in sarees and dupattas, some milling about and some dispersing, all accompanied by the almost suffocating smell of jasmine. God, did everyone use the same horrible perfume?

Luckily for you, the antyesti was held fairly close to your house - on a large terrace that was only about a 15 minute walk away.

You got to the front door and fumbled with the set of keys in your pocket for a second, your fingers shaking slightly as the shock and grief began to set in. Adrenaline could only take you so far, it seemed.

“Pavi? Pavi, I’m home, where-”

You opened the door to your room and inhaled sharply at the sight that lay before you. Pavitr leaned against your bed, sitting on the floor with his knees hugged close to his chest, chin resting on his kneecaps. His eyes were squeezed shut, eyelashes fluttering as tears slipped out one after another from underneath them.

“Pavi…? Oh, Pavi, mera chhoti bhai, kya hua? Kisi ne… tumhein chot pahunchaee?” (My little brother, what happened? Did… someone hurt you?) You scooted closer to Pavitr, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and drawing him into your side. He buried his face in your shoulder, tears soaking through the thin fabric of the kurta you were wearing.

“Shh. Sab theek ho jayega. Mujhe batao, Pavi. Kya hua?” (Everything’s okay. Tell me, what happened?)

“I’m Spider-Man.”

You blinked in surprise. Out of all the possible explanations he could have offered you, that was certainly not on your list. “Spider-Man? Matlab… the superhero?” (Matlab means meaning)

The hero had emerged only a week ago. Wearing an intricately patterned mask that left his wavy hair loose at the top, a blue-and-red spandex suit and blue dhoti pants on top of them, he was basically impossible to ignore. You had seen some key similarities between Spider-Man and Pav’s hair, but you had always just assumed it was related to how boys cut their hair like their idols sometimes.

“Chacha died because of Spider-Man. Because of me. He got caught in the crossfire and I couldn’t reach him in time and-” Pavitr’s words spilled together in a panicked haze, blurring each syllable and tripping over letters in an attempt to get them out before he could break again. (Chacha is another word for uncle)

You shifted to face him, wrapping him in a tight hug. “Shaant ho jao. Main yahaan hoon. Main kaheen nahin ja raha hoon.” (Calm down. I’m here, I’m not going anywhere)

“I can’t-” His breath quickened as his whole body started to heave with dry sobs. “Please just… just listen to me. This is what I wanted to tell you last week. I’m Spider-Man.”

He mistook your silence as a sign of disbelief and carried on speaking, trying to convince you. “There were these bullies I was running from, and I tripped and fell into a tree hollow and there was this yogi who said he’d give me the powers of a spider to fight the evil in this world, and I didn’t know it would turn out like this so I accepted and-”

“I believe you.”

That caught him off guard. He pulled back to look at you, his eyes wide. “You do?”

“Of course. You think I haven’t noticed you sticking to everything? You almost ripped the couch’s upholstery clean off because you weren’t paying attention.” You gently swiped your thumb near the corner of his eye, wiping away the tear that was at risk of spilling out. “It’s okay, Pavi. Let’s.. talk about something else for the moment.”

As much as you wanted answers - how exactly had your father died? Which sick, twisted, psychotic ‘villain’ killed him? - you knew when to stop pushing Pavitr and now was definitely that time. Tears still shone in the corners of his brown eyes, not quite ready to fall but not small enough to be blinked away.

“Spiderwebs!”

“What?”

“You need spiderwebs, naa? So you can swing like a spider instead of leaping around and relying on sticking to whatever surface you can reach. Ooh, it’d be so cool if you could shoot them from your hands and lasso bad guys and when they fight back you go dishoom dishoom.” (dishoom is basically just a sound effect for beating someone up 😭 usually punching someone)

“… you mean webshooters?” Pavitr watched your emphatic display of just what dishoom dishoom meant to you with a mildly concerned look on his face before he took a folded up piece of paper out of his pocket and smoothed it out. It was filled with designs for some sort of gadget, the sharp, jagged pencil lines highlighting every feature and listing possible building processes.

“I’ve done some research and I’ve got everything, so I know how to make it. But I need something that can contract if I wrap a web around it… kind of like a yo-yo? But it also has to fit on my wrist so that it’s easy for me to angle where I want the web to go.” He absentmindedly tapped the pencil against the silver bangle you were wearing. The soft clinks gave you an idea and you quickly got up, going to your dresser and rummaging around in the drawers.

“Wait, I think I might have something that’ll work…”

Your fingers closed around what you were looking for and you fished it out. You held two large golden cuffs in your hands, but they weren’t regular heavy cuffs. The top and bottom were actually two separate pieces, joined together in the middle by a stretchy piece of white nylon that went all the way around.

Just looking at it made your heart ache a little as all the memories associated with the simple accessory came flooding back.

Your father had given it to you a few Diwalis ago, when you were throwing a tantrum about having to wear the large bangles to go to with the itchy salwar you had on - against your wishes, of course. But your mother warned you that her mother was a stickler for traditions and insisted on everyone wearing the most colourful ethnic wear you all had, including Pavi.

Your father had slid one of the cuffs onto your right wrist, laughing gently at your surprise look when you discovered how light they were, a stark contrast to the gold bangles that weighed down your other wrist.

“Compromise paaya, hain na?” (We’ve found a compromise, right?)

“Haan, papa.”

Now, more than eight years later, you held one of the last things you had left to keep your father’s memory alive.

And what better way to honour him than to use his kaadas to fight evil and protect the city?

“Use these.”

Pavitr looked up and immediately shook his head, gently pushing away your outstretched hands. “No, didi, I can’t- this is what Uncle gave you-”

“I know. He gave them to me as a gift. And now I’m passing them down to you. Please, Pavi. Take them.” You took his hands, pressing the kaadas into his palms and closing his fingers over them.

Something in your tone made him search your gaze for a few seconds before giving in and bringing the cuffs up to his eyes, testing out the nylon middle. “Wait, this is perfect. If I can just…”

He reached into the depths of one of your drawers and pulled out a small device that looked like it had some sort of fluid sloshing around in its… fuel container, maybe? You furrowed your brow in surprise. “Has that always been there? In my cupboard?”

“Well, yeah. Can’t have Maya Aunty accidentally pulling it out of mine, can we?” He gave you a grin. “Besides, you have so many things stuffed into that one drawer that it’s basically impossible to find.”

He attached the device to the inside of the cuff with a small click and slipped it onto his wrist.

Thwip! Thwip!

With two tiny flicks of his wrist, he had shot two webs to the ceiling and was now hanging upside down, a satisfied grin on his face.

“Well, this is working pretty well-”

Thud.

“Don’t you dare,” Pavitr warned you as he winced and rubbed the spot where he had fallen on his backside.

“I will not laugh. I will not laugh. I will not-”

You couldn’t help but burst into giggles at his mildly pathetic sad-puppy expression as he sat dejectedly on the floor after falling from the ceiling.

“So, uh… the web strength may need some work.”

“Everybody, this is Pavitr Bhim Prabhakar, Mumbattan’s Spider-Man.” You pretend to speak into an imaginary microphone, gesturing animatedly towards Pav as he lay on the floor.

“Oh, sure, announce it to the whole world, why don’t you,” He grumbled, reluctantly pulling himself to his feet.

You gave him an overly sweet smile, leaning over to mess up his hair. “Never. I’m gonna take this secret with me to my grave.”

——— ———

14 & 16.

6 months really went by quickly.

6 months of monthly poojas to honour your deceased father. 6 months of Pavitr being Spider-Man. And also…

“Didi! Why isn’t my hair staying down?!”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because that bad guy threw you into an electricity tower? Pavi, why are you dressing up all of a sudden anyway?” You sat on the floor of your room as you skeptically watched him brush out his hair. He had insisted that your mirror was big enough and ‘had the best lighting’.

He stayed silent, though you could see him scrunch his nose a little in embarrassment. The realization hit you and you let out a loud - maybe overly dramatic - gasp.

“Oh my god! You have a date!”

“…maybe. So?”

“So that means I get to meet and terrorize them! You know, sibling stuff!”

Pavitr froze for a split second, a small smile starting to form in the corner of his mouth at the last part. Siblings. In all honesty, didn’t that word describe the bond you both shared almost perfectly? Siblings - not by blood, but by something so much bigger than either of you could’ve imagined.

“Absolutely not. Gayatri’s-”

“Gayatri? Is she Punjabi? Ooh, is she pretty? Is she really badass and cool and-”

“She’s a model,” Pavitr interrupted, smoothing down his hair and glaring at you. “And this isn’t my first date with her. Just for the record.”

“Wow, and she’s your age? Damn, Pavi, you managed to pull a model! I’m so proud of you right now.”

“I will strangle you if you don’t stop talking,” Pavitr grumbled, punching the bridge of his nose.

“I’m not saying anything bad!”

“Sure you ar-” Pavitr stopped mid-sentence and stiffened, craning his neck and glancing out the window over his shoulder like a cat that had heard something strange. “Wait, someone’s here. Gotta go!”

He dashed into the bathroom and came out two seconds later, fully decked out in his spider suit and mask.

“Don’t get your ass kicked!” You called out as he nose-dived out the window.

“Ha, ha! Very funny!”

——— ———

10 minutes later.

“Pavitr, what the hell?!” You leaped backwards as a strange sort of alien materialized in your room for a split second before they disappeared into a black hole-like void, followed by a… Spider-Man? Not Pav. This one was taller and his suit was red and black, and oh God, was he bleeding from his armpits?

You were tempted to offer him a few cotton wipes and something to clean the wound but he disappeared in after the weird teleporting alien before you could ask.

Pavitr came crashing in through your window, landing on the floor and glancing around. “What? I thought they came here-”

“Really?! Now you show up? I’ve just had some sort of cow-man and a new Spider-Man teleport into my room through a pit and-” You stopped short as another Spider-Man landed on the floor. Except… Spider-Woman? She wore a suit in the shape of a white-and-black ballet leotard and had a hood with web designs on the inside.

“Pavitr, is… this Gayatri?” You tried to wrap your head around the fact that there were three different types of Spider-People and a cow on the wrong side of evolution who had just phased through your house. “Oh, hi, Gayatri, I’ve heard so much about you. Pavi thinks you’re really classy and cool and you’re the prettiest girl alive and-”

Pavitr webbed a pillow and swung it into your face before you could finish, temporarily shutting you up. “Didi, this… this isn’t Gayatri.” Despite his face being covered by his mask, you could tell from his tone that he was embarrassed out of his wits. “This is, uh… this is Gwen. She’s a Spider-Woman. Look, it’s hard to explain, but they’re all from different universes and I think the New Guy’s in love with Gwen, so we gotta go save their romance before it shatters. Bye!”

He leaped out the window again, followed by Gwen - who was stuttering and tripping over her words trying to form a plausible denial for his last statement.

Never a dull day in Mumbattan, I guess.

——— ———

5 minutes after that ordeal.

“Arrey, your chai is getting cold. Drink fast, no?”

“Haan, Amma. Ek second.” (One second) You moved away from where you were hovering near the window. As much as Pavitr reassured you that he was okay, that being Spider-Man was easy now - you still remembered having to disinfect wounds and ice bruises and watch him hiss and crinkle his face up in pain every time you wiped a tissue soaked in Dettol along his cuts.

Maybe those were only fairly harmless flesh wounds, but what kept you up at night was the worry that one day it might turn into something worse.

“I’m drinking it,” You said defensively and sat down as Maya Aunty lifted an eyebrow at you over her own mug. Just as you sat down the whole ground seemed to shake, a horrible din filling the air, screams and the sound of rubble falling mingling together in the cacophony.

“Oh, someone blew down Alchemax,” said Maya Aunty once the noise died down. With a small shake of her head, she casually returned to her chai as if this sort of thing happened almost every day.

“What an idiot.” You glanced out the window, squinting into the distance and widening your eyes as your eyes snagged on a flash of vibrant fabric flying through the air, just barely visible through the pieces of flying rubble.

Oh, fuck, that’s my idiot.

——— ———

You figured the easiest and fastest way to get near Alchemax was to take the bus. After all, those bus drivers had basically decided long ago that they were above the rules of the traffic. They honestly didn’t give a damn about the speed limits and you respected that.

“Hi, Y/N!” You turned at your name, tilting your head curiously because you didn’t recognise the voice.

You found yourself looking at someone who looked oddly familiar, you just couldn’t place it - until you glanced briefly out the window and saw a Zomato billboard. Of course if had to be her, how else would she know your name?

“Oh, are you Gayatri? Hi! It’s so nice to meet you, I’ve heard so much about you from Pavi.”

“Aww, that’s sweet, and likewi-“

The bus swerved sharply and you, Gayatri and more than half of the people who weren’t holding onto the railings were slammed against the back window before the bus started to tilt forward. You blinked away stars for a few seconds as the wind was knocked out of you.

When you regained your vision you let out a yelp of surprise. Someone yelled “Fuck!” right next to you, followed by a string of unrepeatable Marathi cusswords - while also listing out gods and praying to them that they’d make it out alive - and you could understand why.

Some dumbass - or maybe a large piece of rubble - had ripped a hole in the middle of the fucking Mumbattan Bridge. The whole bus was falling right into that hole, and unfortunately the bus driver’s magical ability to fly straight over potholes seemed to have evaded him right now, judging by the fact that he was currently contributing to the chorus of terrified screams.

“Hold on!” Gayatri caught your forearm right as your grip on the flimsy side railing was loosening and pulled you up to latch onto the railing at the back. Good lord, was this girl strong. You decided right then and there that you definitely liked her.

You saw Pavitr stop mid-swing and turn around, his mask’s eyes widening as he saw both of you pounding relentlessly on the back bus window in the hopes that it would break in time.

He shot a web that stuck to the back of the bus, tipping it almost vertically as he held onto one of the bridge supports. His eyes narrowed with effort as he struggled to hold onto the deceptively delicate-looking silky tendrils.

You silently thanked whatever higher power existed for the time when Pavitr fell from the ceiling 6 months ago. If that hadn’t happened, you and the other people on this bus would’ve been flattened on the ground by now. Don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t look down.

Pavitr glanced behind him, his shoulders falling slightly in shock. The web holding onto the bus stretched and dipped, threatening to snap any second. He wrapped the silken web around the support, trying to bring it up.

You and Gayatri were just barely hanging on, your entire bodies dangling down with gravity as you held onto the railing for dear life.

Suddenly something changed. Another web attached itself to the bus and pulled you onto the bridge. Another Spider-Man, possibly?

You let out the breath you hadn’t realized you had been holding as the bus levelled itself on solid ground again. Gayatri gave you a weak smile, grasping your hand and pulling you straight into the throng of people rushing to exit the bus.

The moment she stepped outside Pavitr wrapped her in a hug, eliciting a surprised squeak from Gayatri.

“Are you okay? I was so worried-” He realized his mistake mid-sentence, drawing back from her and patting her shoulders with both hands, unsure whether to cross his arms or rest them on his hips. “Uh, you seem like a nice young woman who I do not know…”

Gayatri chuckled softly and looked past him. “Papa!”

“Gayatri!”

She ran at him and he wrapped his arms around her tightly. Seeing their bond warmed your heart but also made it ache slightly with the acceptance that that could never happen to you with your own father.

“Real smooth, Pavi,” You grinned at your brother, who grumbled something under his breath and closed the distance to crush you in a hug.

“Shush, didi. I just saved your ass.”

“Yeah, I suppose you did.” You ruffled his hair affectionately and pulled back, smiling at the growing shouts of ‘dhanyavadh, makhdi-bhaiya!’. (Thank you, Spider-Guy!)

“Amma’s going to kill you, by the way. She thinks you snuck out to go to some p-”

You let out a soft mmph as you collided with possibly the boniest person you had ever had the misfortune of bumping into. You were pretty sure you had just got stabbed in seven different places by various joints.

“Sorry, I didn’t-” You paused as you looked up, taking in spikes, a leather vest, pins, a guitar, and mask eyes which looked like running mascara.

“Holy shit, you’re really cool.”

The Spider-Man variant blinked in surprise and let out a laugh. “Why, thank you, poppet. I try. Pisses the fascists off so much that they call me Spider-Punk.”

You heard the twang of a well-known (almost infamous, at least in Mumbattan) accent and glanced at Pavitr. “He’s British,” He confirmed, giving Hobie a high-five.

“Well, I don’t care. He looks awesome.”

“Oi, Pav, I like this one.” He gave you an appreciative fist-bump, and you lifted your eyebrows at the sheer size difference between both of your hands.

“That’s my sister.”

“Makes sense. But you know I didn’t mean it like that. She seems cool is all.”

“Wait. If you’re British, can you do us a favour and steal back the Kohinoor? Please?”

“I’ll try my best, but I can’t make any promises. Fuckin’ Sweeney*, I doubt they even know where it’s kept.” (*Sweeney/Sweeney Todd - Cockney rhyming slang for Flying Squad [the police])

You nodded along politely with a smile like you actually understood even one word of that sentence. “Well, okay, in that case-”

You turned and almost burst out laughing. Pavitr looked like he was on the losing end of a staring contest, his hand almost engulfed in Inspector Singh’s much bigger one. Gayatri stood behind him, looking between them in awe. “I’ve never seen him so emotional.”

“Excellent job.”

Your bother just gave a nod, but knowing Pavitr he was internally over the moon and would hold that simple statement close to his heart, insisting that his girlfriend’s dad “loved him”.

“Man-like Miles, my guy!” Hobie grabbed the red and black Spider-Man - Miles’ - shoulders and shook him excitedly, punching him lightly as the people of Mumbattan started cheering.

You were about to join in when something happened. Well, not happened, really, but… something felt off somehow. You had read something once that said a person’s hair stands on end as a warning when lightning’s about to strike. You imagined that’d feel like you you were feeling right now. And you could hear whistling… was that sound just your ears being weird?

The cheers died down suddenly and you turned around too late. One of those portal-holes, slicing through the air like a deadly frisbee, slammed into you and knocked you inside in such a way that you got teleported straight off the side of the bridge. You scrabbled for the supports, but to no avail as you sailed right past them.

You heard Pavitr’s panicked yell, the sounds of confused and worried chatter bubbling among the ground, and the air rushing around in your ears as you free-fell.

You can’t save me, you realized as you saw Pavitr dive off the bridge, reaching out his wrist in preparation of shooting a web. You won’t get here in time. You focused on mouthing the next few words that came to your mind, because if you were going to die and leave your brother you would do so by reminding him that he was - and always would be - loved. Pavi, I’m sorry. I love you. I always will.

Your stomach dropped and your head spun - but by some mercy you didn’t feel the final impact.

——— ———

Pavitr’s POV.

“No, no no no- please, please no-”

Pavi, I’m sorry.

I love you.

Six words. Six words which shouldn’t be used in the same sentence. Those two sets separately, sure, but in very different scenarios.

Those would not be the last words you said to him. They couldn’t be.

Time seemed to slow down, making his movements sluggish and hazy. He stretched his wrist out till it ached, silk erupting from his - no, your - kaada. Come on, come on…

The silk shot toward you and for a second he thought it would reach in time.

Then he heard a crash and watched you fall straight through the flimsy tin roof of an abandoned warehouse. “No!”

He landed after you, shooting a web at a street lamp and pulling up to break the built-up momentum at the last second. Kicking down the warehouse door, he rushed over to your limp form, sprawled across a few empty crates in the dimly lit space.

“Nonono you have to stay with me, please don’t go, I can’t-” Pavitr swallowed hard as he picked you up and set you down with your back against the wall, holding up your jaw so your head didn’t fall forward. He snapped his fingers in front of your face two, three times - no response.

He could feel his vision starting to blur, heart practically causing an earthquake as he shakily put his finger to the pulse point on your neck.

Nothing.

“No,” He whispered into the still air, as if that would be able to revive someone who was so much more than just a cousin. You were his sister, his closest and most annoying friend, his anchor. You were supposed to be a constant in his life. If you were gone… what would go next?

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, cradling your lifeless body in his arms. But after a little while Hobie dropped in through the hole in the ceiling, and Miles and Gwen came in through the door. He didn’t understand anything they were saying. Pavitr felt like he was underwater, the cold, murky silence filling his ears and bleeding into his brain.

Someone else, much bigger than him tried to drag him away. Someone wearing a beige police uniform and a turban. He kicked and fought, screaming at them that they didn’t understand, he couldn’t leave you, this wasn’t how it was supposed to end. That you were going to wake up soon. You were only unconscious, after all. You had to wake up sometime.

You had to, right?

Pavitr watched as you were placed on a stretcher, a white cloth laid over your body. He slumped in the hands of whoever was struggling to drag him away as all his hopes of you waking up splintered into a million pieces. Pieces that he would step on and trip over and they would cut his skin a billion times. Little tiny paper cuts. Paper cut after paper cut, till he bled out.

Through whatever shocked haze his brain was forcing itself into, he knew that something inside him had broken. Duct tape could fix it. Duct tape could fix anything. Was this metaphor for something? His brain really needed to slow down, he couldn’t keep up with what was and what wasn’t fixable with a single roll of duct tape.

He pictured his heart, the muscles and blood vessels torn clean through in the centre, forming a hole in the shape of you. Did it stop beating? It felt like it stopped beating. Was there a way to check if he was still alive? He hoped he was. Though there didn’t feel like much reason to be. Not anymore, at least.

Oh. Maya Aunty. Someone would have to tell Maya Aunty. No, he would have to tell Maya Aunty.

Two funerals in the span of 6 months. Two core members of the family gone.

Twin flames burning warm and bright, always lighting up the entire place with their own unique luminosities, until they couldn’t anymore. The wicks were extinguished and the candles melted into stumps before their time.

The Spot knew exactly what he was doing, Pavitr realized. Because he might as well have set fire to his entire home.

——— ———

15 & still 16.

Pavitr Bhim Prabhakar was many things.

He was Mumbattan’s Spider-Man. He was Maya Aunty’s nephew. He was Gayatri’s boyfriend. He honoured his dead parents with his last name. He carried the legacy of his dead uncle with his middle name alone.

Most of all, he carried the memory of his sister in every scar that he got that day.

Suddenly every moment you had spent with him seemed too little. Even just one of your hugs would take away some of the pain.

Keep them in your heart, they’re watching over you. Recall the memories you made with them.

What did that even mean in this case? You had gone too soon. Dead, cremated at 16. You weren’t even an adult. And what hurt the most was that everything - from your room to your belongings - was exactly how you left it.

It had been almost 3 months and he still hadn’t let anyone change anything in your room. The messy duvet could stay messy. And the pillow that was thrown at the foot of the bed had taken up permanent residence there.

The room smelled like vanilla and honeycomb. And it would stay that way for as long as he could help it. If someone rearranged anything, would that part of you disappear from this house? He didn’t want to find out.

Everything that made this room yours would stay there, it had to. The way you meticulously arranged every makeup and hair product by height, colour and serial order on your chest of drawers. The way your cupboards always smelled of cotton candy because of an essence diffuser your friend had given you.

Gayatri, Miles, Gwen and Hobie had all tried their best to help him, and Margo had even dropped in a few times and offered to play video games with him. And admittedly, he was in a much better frame of mind than how he was only a little while ago.

He sat on the floor, hugging his legs loosely to his chest and clutching a mug of chai in one hand. Pavitr couldn’t say anything even if he wanted to; the altogether lack of the owner of this room made the silence even more oppressive and suffocating.

He stretched his legs out slowly, refusing to let his mind wander. Focus on the wallpaper. Focus on the sound of traffic. Focus on the chai. Focus on anything except the posters, the pillows, the way that it felt like time itself was holding its breath inside this room.

Pavitr’s leg brushed something hidden underneath the rug in front of him. Frowning slightly in confusion, he leaned forward to peer underneath the fuzzy square of fabric - finding nothing but a small notebook and a pen.

He pulled it out and, upon recognizing it, drew in a surprised inhale. The leather-bound cover was dusty and worn out. The label that read Bhim Prabhakar in neatly printed handwriting had been scratched out, jagged words cutting across the paper like tiny knife strokes. His heart squeezed when he read the word written in the second handwriting.

Y/N.

Of course he remembered this book, how could he not? On days when you had noticed he felt sad, you tore out two lined pages of paper and made him write down what was bothering him in a letter.

“Here, Pavi. Write it to anyone you want, and fill it out with everything bad that happened today. You don’t have to send it to them, don’t worry. I’ll even do it with you.”

He still remembered the first time he had done that activity with you. You both sat back-to-back, scribbling down all the ‘yucky feelings’, as you had put it once. Pavitr had finished his letter and surprised you by addressing it to you, twisting around to hand you the folded piece of paper.

You hadn’t addressed your letter yet, so you wrote his name on the top in big block letters.

To: Pavitr Prabhakar.

Because it was a very official document, you had explained solemnly.

And when you took a look at how he had mentioned you, you had lunged forward and trapped him in a bone-crushing hug.

To: The Best Didi In The World.

He felt tears well up slightly as he recalled the amount of times he went and wordlessly sat at the edge of your bed, pointing to the leather journal. And you would pull out two pages, hand him a pen, and sit back-to-back on the floor. Every time, without fail.

Pavitr opened the book, running a hand along the pages of handwritten letters that were unevenly glued or stapled in. Some were tearing at the edges, others had chai-stains or ink splotches.

He carefully pulled out a page - only one this time - and picked up a pen from the mug of stationery on your bedside table.

Pausing to think for a second, he tested the pen on the bottom of the page. Then moved the tip to the first line.

Dear Y/N,

Pavitr stopped and narrowed his eyes at that. It felt strange, almost alien for some reason. A foreign word on these pages.

He tapped his pen on the page as he got an idea. He scratched out the two words he had written, addressing it to someone with a different yet more familiar title, at least to him.

To: The Best Didi In The World.

I know very little about the antyesti process so if anything’s wrong don’t hesitate to correct me! <3

Glossary:

Antyesti - Antyesti literally means "last sacrifice" or "final auspicious ceremony", and refers to the funeral rites for the dead in Hinduism, which usually involves cremation of the body. This rite of passage is the last samskara in a series of traditional life cycle samskaras that start from conception in Hindu tradition.

Saree/Sari - A saree is a garment consisting of a length of cotton or silk elaborately draped around the body, traditionally worn by women from South Asia. It is usually worn with a blouse that exposes part of the midriff, but blouse styles can vary.

Dupatta - A length of material worn arranged in one or two folds over the chest and thrown back around the shoulders, typically with a salwar kameez or a kurta, worn by women from South Asia. (Srry guys u have to look up those two definitions if ur curious,, it’s better to see how it looks rather than read a description anyway)

Kancha - Kancha is played by using marbles. It is popular in small Indian cities and villages, among small boys only as a gully sport. It is rarely played by girls. The participant has to hit the marble kept in a circle. If he hits the target properly, he wins. The winner gets the kancha (maybe kanche is the plural form? idk) of the other participant boys.

Lagori/Pithoo/Seven Stones - Lagori is a traditional game from the Indian subcontinent. It involves a pile of stones and a ball.

A member of one team (the seekers) throws a ball at a pile of stones to knock them over. The seekers then try to restore the pile of stones while staying safe from the opposing team's (the hitters’) throws. The hitters' objective is to hit the seekers with the ball before they can reconstruct the stone pile. If the ball touches a seeker, that seeker is out and the team which the seeker came from continues, without the seeker. A seeker can always safeguard themselves by touching an opposite team member before the ball hits the seeker.

@hobiebrownismygod @l0starl @therealloopylupin2099 @vhstown

[daydreaming-en-pointe]

A very Spidey Christmas - 42!Miles

Pairing: e42!Miles Morales x fem!Spider!Reader hehehe green and purple aesthetic (Hobie, 1610!Miles, and Margo are here too) (1610!Miles will be highlighted to avoid confusion)

Word count: 632

Warnings: Spider-Man kiss! Hobie and Miles walk in on reader and 42!Miles kissing, awkwardness, Hobie being a bit of a prick?, 42!Miles’ nickname is Milo :) (inspired by @kyngjaice ‘s Mylo! <3)

A/N: guys this is my first time writing for 42 miles 😭 i have no idea how to write for him i’m just bumbling along fr 😞

“¿Cómo diablos…?” (How the hell)

You froze at the familiar voice coming from below you, embarrassment flooding the corners of your brain that weren’t occupied with finding a way out of this mess.

“Hey, Miles,” You tried to greet him by clumsily twisting around to give him a little wave. “This is actually very therapeutic. Wanna join me?”

“Look, ma, you know I love you, but this seems like a next-level dumbass move. How did you manage to get stuck tangled in tinsel on the damn ceiling?” Miles stood with his hands on his hips, eyebrows scrunched together in confusion as he craned his neck up to study the way your limbs were tangled together in the itchy silver decoration.

“It’s not just tinsel. My webs are up here too,” You chuckled awkwardly, watching Miles’ eyebrows skeptically sail up toward his hairline. “And don’t worry. This is, uh… a clever ploy to lull you into a false sense of security and get you to… show affection and loving concern. Yeah, that’s what this is. Stop looking at me like that!”

Miles held his palms up in surrender, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I assume you don’t need my help, then? I’ll leave you to… whatever you’re doing. Have fun-”

“Nonono wait, please - my arms are starting to hurt,” You gave him a pout and he sighed, already reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket. “Okay, hold still.”

You saw a flash of silver, heard a small ripping noise as the tinsel around your limbs loosened, and blinked in surprise when Miles reached out and caught the blade calmly, the tinsel falling down with it.

You half-dropped down, shooting a web and hanging upside down from the ceiling so your face hovered only inches away from his. Before he could move back, you grabbed the sides of his face, pulling him into a kiss. It barely took a few milliseconds for him to melt completely into it, you noticed with a grin.

The sound of clapping split the still, silent moment wide open. Miles pulled back, his reflexes for loud sounds from being the Prowler kicking in. You turned to glare at the intruders, softening your gaze once you saw who it was.

“Sorry, mate, did we interrupt somethin’?” Hobie, to his credit, was trying his best to squash the broad grin on his face but wasn’t making any progress. Miles - the other Miles - looked mortified, trying in vain to tug at Hobie’s arm to drag him somewhere else.

Miles mouthed I’m so sorry at you, giving up and hiding his face in his hands like he wanted to disappear into the ground. “Not so ‘eartless after all, eh Milo?”

Margo suddenly appeared with a small flash of neon purple light. “Hey, guys, have you seen Gwen? She said she’d come Christmas shopping with me but I can’t find-”

The virtual spider-girl paused to take in the scene in front of her. The moment she made eye contact with (your) Miles, some telepathic message seemed to have passed between them.

“Okay, Hobie, Miles, who’s up for some Gwen-hunting?” At Miles’ exasperated expression, Margo quickly caught herself. “Er, Christmas shopping. But we need to find Gwen first and… you know what I mean. Let’s get going, shall we?”

She shooed both of them past your Miles, practically pushing them out of the room. “Simp.” She whispered to Miles as she passed him, giving him a smug little wave. “You owe me now!”

Miles glowered in her direction, subconsciously fiddling with the end of one of his braids. “Assholes,” He mumbled grumpily under his breath, though the traces of a smile hovered over his lips.

“He says while smiling,” You teased, detaching yourself from the ceiling and dropping onto your feet.

“Should’ve just left you up there.”

@vhstown @l0starl @tatumis-a @deritosmi @therealloopylupin2099 @hobiebrownismygod

[daydreaming-en-pointe]

•·.· anywhere i want, just not home ·.·•

Pairing: Gwen Stacy x fem!Reader

Type: Angst (no comfort)

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: ‘Gwen’s universe dissolves’ AU (may not make much sense but anyway), reader is dead (dissolved along with her universe), use of Y/N (sparingly), some cussing, mentions of blood, descriptions of grief(?)

A/N: hehe I think I’m starting to enjoy killing off the reader in angsty stuff 😌 hey i may not be very good at writing angst but it’s fun to write :D

I think this is set before the events of ATSV or sometime during except there’s no Miles? Idek anymore 🤷‍♀️ whatever feels right to u ig!

So I just realised I didn’t mention her dad at all 😭 just uh pretend that she’s grieving for him too

Look at how my tears ricochet

And I can go anywhere I want

Anywhere I want, just not home

(my tears ricochet by Taylor Swift)

“It’ll only be for a few weeks, at the maximum.”

You were pacing in your bedroom, occasionally pausing to make sure that the girl sitting on your bed in her spider-suit still had enough ice to soothe the sting of her injuries.

“Gwen, I…” You shook your head, throwing your hands up in the air as words failed you - a result of the maelstrom of conflicting emotions whirling around in your head at the speed of light. “I don’t know what to say. Why? Why do you need to do this? You’re putting yourself in even more danger than usual!”

Gwen set the ice pack down on your bedside table, reaching her hand out silently toward you. You sighed and took it, squeezing her fingers gently as you sat across from her and felt the mattress dip slightly under you as you got comfortable.

“Trust me, sweetheart, I don’t like this any more than you do. But Miguel said that this mission’s important and he needs all the help he can get. This anomaly is one of the most dangerous ones so we’ve ever seen so far, we can’t let it run rampant. You understand what I’m saying, right?”

You bit your lip in thought, feeling small tears prick at the corners of your eyes as she leaned over to gently tug your lip away from your teeth to stop you worrying at the skin. Your mind seemed to be spinning in lopsided circles like a broken ballet dancer; like the music box Gwen used to have before she accidentally shattered it one day while sneaking back into her room as Spider-Woman.

“I’m going to be honest with you. I’m terrified. I don’t want you to…” You vaguely gestured with your hands in front of you, catching yourself before you could say the word ‘die’ as if it could somehow jinx it and make it come true. Gwen gave you a small, reassuring smile and leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to your lips.

“I know. I know, sweets. I won’t. I’ll be fine.”

“You can’t promise that,” You mumbled under your breath, folding into her and burying your face in the junction between her neck and shoulder.

Gwen exhaled softly, rubbing your back in the most soothing way she could so that her own uncertainty couldn’t slip through the cracks of her calm façade.

“Hey, don’t think like that. Tell you what, take this. It’ll remind you of me while I’m gone, and then when I come back we’ll order in whatever junk food we want and we’ll cuddle and watch movies, okay?” She reached down into her backpack that lay sideways on the floor and took out two bracelets. Your eyes flitted toward the bracelets and you took in a surprised inhale.

“You kept them?”

“Of course I did. They’re beautiful, like everything you make for me.”

She gave you a grin as she slipped one of the bracelets over your wrist. You examined it - smooth, round crystal beads with your name spelled out in mismatched word beads of different colours.

You remembered the day you had made them, sitting on the ground in the park with your legs crossed and Gwen’s head resting comfortably in your lap as she watched you string together the beads. Giggling and talking and just enjoying each other’s company.

Now that could possibly be the last time that happened. Because despite Gwen’s well-meaning promises and reassurances, you knew. You knew she was struggling to keep herself together, and all you wanted to do was pull her close and never let her go - hell, you would gladly go beat up whoever this Miguel O’Hara was if it meant your girl could stay with you, stay out of harm’s way.

But that wasn’t possible. And she wouldn’t want it either. She didn’t ask to get bitten by a radioactive spider and become a superhero; she just had to make the most of the cards she was dealt.

“Y/N?”

You blinked, bringing yourself out of your thoughts. “Yeah, sorry. What were you saying?”

Gwen tilted her head to the side, resting her eyes on your wrist before reaching out to slip the bracelet off. You watched her curiously as she slipped the bracelet that had her own name onto your wrist, taking the bracelet with your name and nestling it right next to her multidimensional watch.

“There. Now whenever you miss me, just look at that.” She leaned forward to press a kiss to your forehead, clinking your bracelets together with a smile. “Goodbye, my love. I’ll see you soon.”

“Bye, sweetheart.” You watched her zip up her backpack and put on her mask, leaping onto your windowsill and pushing the window open. Right before she tensed herself to leap out, she paused, turning to look at you. Her mask was on, but you could read her expression behind the fabric easily. She gave you a smile, the corners of the mask’s eyes scrunching slightly.

“This isn’t a permanent goodbye, not by a long shot. I love you. I’ll see you again, I promise. And when I do I’m going to give you the biggest bear hug you’ve ever had in your life.”

——————

She never did.

Never got the chance to fulfill that promise.

She had gotten the news right after finally capturing the anomaly they had been chasing for more than three weeks. She was lying utterly exhausted on a park bench, Pav leaning on her with his eyes closed as they both waited for Hobie to punch in the coordinates for the Spider-Society HQ.

She remembered hearing the little ping that usually accompanied a message from HQ, the way he had momentarily frozen in shock, his border going black and white. She remembered sitting up, ignoring Pav’s grumbles and asking what had happened, because Hobie’s ever-changing border pausing in a monochrome filter was never a good sign.

She remembered him visibly struggling to grasp at words that would soften the blow, finally realizing that he couldn’t, in any way, sugarcoat it.

“I don’t know ‘ow to say this, but uh… another ultra-powerful anomaly fell into the city an’ managed to glitch itself so badly in the process tha’ it caused a dimensional tear in the multiverse an’… your universe dissolved, Gwendy. ‘M so sorry... listen, if you need anyth-”

She didn’t hear anything more after that, didn’t hear or feel Pav’s sharp inhale and Hobie gently squeezing her shoulder; instead she focused her gaze on the bracelet on her wrist, trying to push back against the dark spots threatening to bleed into the corners of her vision like pesky, taunting watercolours.

Bullshit. That had to be false, right? There was no way…

——————

Gwen would’ve given anything for Hobie to have gotten it wrong.

But, in some strange way, she could sense that he was right. Something missing, like a family photo which had been accidentally ripped in half. A rose with half its petals missing.

Red roses, red blood. Blood that was on no one’s hands, really, but felt like it had dried on hers. Her fault, even though the causes were so much bigger than her.

She had been cleaning out her stuff, trying her best to organize her somehow even messier side of Hobie’s canal boat when a small bracelet, nestled under pins and papers and god knows what else, had fallen onto the ground with a soft clink.

It was a miracle it didn’t break, honestly, which would have been cruel but oddly fitting.

She knelt to pick it up, freezing the moment her gaze passed over it. She picked it up gingerly, smoothing her fingers over the beads, her lips forming the word spelled out in beads on the bracelet.

“Y/N.”

At that one word, a dam burst and brought forth months of stubborn denial, steady grief, and then slow acceptance. Gwen braced her back against the wall, silent sobs wracking her body and making her shoulders heave with the force of them.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I… I should’ve been there, I might have been able to do something, or at the very least… I could’ve been there with you.”

She let her forehead drop to rest on her knees, drawing into herself. “I miss you. So, so much… nothing’s the same. Hobie’s looking out for me, but… there’s only so much he can help with. Nothing seems all that happy anymore… everyday I get up and ask myself ‘why doesn’t the sun shine as bright anymore?’ ‘Why aren’t the flowers as beautiful as they used to be?’ ‘Where did all the colour go?’ And then I remember that you’re not here with me.”

Gwen held the bracelet up to the light, letting its colours - so carefully picked out by a loving hand all those months ago - shine as tears blurred her vision and fell like crystals slipping from a shaky chandelier that should’ve broken a while ago, for its own sake.

“I want to go home,” She confessed to the bracelet quietly; the empathetic ear of someone she wished - no, hoped - was listening from the other side of the fragile border between life and death. “I miss the café we used to go to, right after I had band practise. I miss our little dates in the park. I miss seeing you in the front row of all our band’s shows. You were so supportive, weren’t you? Always showing up early, cheering your lungs out, then staying late so you could be the first to hug me. Without fail.”

God, how she missed your hugs. They were ones that she could melt into; surrender herself completely without having to offer anything in return. Ones she could fold herself into while your arms wrapped around her shoulders and squeezed gently, soothing enough for her to relax and sink into the comfort of your presence. You felt like a pair of noise-cancelling headphones and a warm blanket to her - somewhere where she could let down any walls she had built around herself, tune out the world and just listen to your voice.

To her, you felt like home.

And oh, how she wanted to go home.

@l0starl @therealloopylupin2099 @hobiebrownismygod

[daydreaming-en-pointe]

A very Spidey Christmas - Gwen

Pairing: Gwen Stacy x fem!Reader

Word count: 644

Warnings: Use of nicknames (sweets, my love), reader keeps falling but I think that’s it?

A/N: I have never ice-skated in my life, so if anything’s incorrect please don’t hesitate to correct me! <3

MY FAVOURITE GIRL I LOVE HER SO MUCH 💗

quite short bc all my inspiration went into the oneshot of my other gf 😞 (hobie)

“I don’t get how you do this so easily,” You huffed in frustration after falling yet again on the hard surface of the ice skating rink.

“It just takes practise, sweets. You’ll get it with time.” Gwen effortlessly glided along the ice in circles around you, her skates drawing deliberate, almost perfectly symmetrical shapes.

“I’ve fallen on my ass more times than I can count today. I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m the worst out of everyone at this.”

“Well… I never said it would be easy,” She chuckled softly, pausing and reaching down to grasp your hand and help you up. “And come on, you’re definitely not the worst - look at everyone else.”

You spared a glance around for the first time, since you didn’t have to concentrate on keeping your eyes up and focused on one point.

Miles was tumbling everywhere, falling flat on his face at least three times every five minutes. Pavitr was using his yo-yo webshooters to lasso various railings on the opposite end of the rink and pull himself carefully toward them. Hobie had somehow attached the blades - sole and all - of the skates to his giant boots and was happily clomping around in his own world, lifting his feet and not even bothering to attempt skating. Honestly, it was a miracle he hadn’t tripped up and fallen yet.

Margo had dropped out at the last minute and was sitting on one of the benches off to the side, sharing a packet of skittles with (the other) Miles and scrolling on her phone.

“Coward!” You called over to her, and she just chuckled. “Just so you know, I’m filming every time you fall! I’ve already got eleven shots for the compilation I’m gonna make!”

You rolled your eyes at her and pointedly tried to turn your back but just ended up rotating slowly on the ice. “You have a point,” You admitted to Gwen, and she tilted her head as if she was considering something.

“Let’s try something new, yeah? Here,” She moved behind you, gently resting her hands on either sides of your waist. “I taught you how to glide, didn’t I? Stroking is similar, just… you extend the movements more so it’s faster, but more difficult. Try gliding, and make it longer this time. I’m right here with you; you won’t fall. Don’t worry.”

You shifted your weight onto your right leg, tentatively placing your left blade on the ice a few inches ahead of the tip of your right skate, then slid your right leg to align with your left. You repeated the motion a few more times, getting used to gliding consistently before lengthening your strides and getting bolder with your speed.

Throughout everything Gwen was right there behind you, faithfully holding onto your waist to steady you, occasionally murmuring words of encouragement whenever you faltered and cheering you on as you sped ahead so she had to rush to keep up with you.

“I’m going to let go, sweets. I think you can do it. Do you still want me to hold you?”

“I think I can do it now…” At your words, she gave a hum of approval and let go of your waist. You flew forward, managing to catch yourself and turn away before you could hit the railing. Gwen smiled fondly, watching your movements carefully.

“See, my love? You’re doing it! Next I’ll teach you how to swizzle, it’ll be easy now that you’ve learnt how to-”

Thud.

She was immediately kneeling at your side, her eyebrows scrunched together in concern. “What happened? You okay?”

Your single look must have been enough to convey the pain you were feeling in your already-sore behind, because her eyes softened and she leaned forward to press a kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll get the ice packs from Margo… how about we take a break for a little bit?”

A swizzle (from what I understand) is the hourglass thing ice skaters keep doing which looks so cool!

@vhstown @l0starl @tatumis-a @deritosmi @therealloopylupin2099 @hobiebrownismygod

[daydreaming-en-pointe]

A very Spidey Christmas - Hobie

Pairing: Hobie Brown x GN!Reader (1610!Miles, Gwen, 42!Miles, Margo, and Pavitr are here too)

Word count: 992

Warnings: One cuss word, usage of nicknames (peng, dove, my love) Hobie calls Miles ‘Peter Pan’ (not a warning per se but I just thought ppl might now understand it bc it might be a lil obscure or smth idk) slightly ooc Gwen, mild ghostflower/gwiles and some (subtle) prowlerbyte stuff <3

A/N: Can you tell I put the most effort into this 💔

VEE I USED YOUR GUIDE 😁 very helpful 10/10 would recommend so everyone go give it a read!

The sun was slowly sinking on the horizon, lighting up the frozen patterns inside the icicles hanging on the branches of trees as you finished determinedly constructing your snowman. Or rather, snow-building.

You had been hard at work for almost an hour now, and with the first traces of the evening starting to graze the darkening sky you stepped back to admire your handiwork, then decided to go over to everyone one by one to see their creations.

You had made an elaborately-designed snow-igloo, complete with miniature city built from snow surrounding it. You had painstakingly replicated the Brooklyn Bridge, the Statue of Liberty, and the Empire State Building out of small sticks and carefully-placed blankets of snow.

Your pride and joy of your entire display, however, was the diverse cast of tiny snow-people that sat on the ceiling dome of the igloo in various candid poses.

Snow-Hobie was distinguished by giant boots and a leather vest, the spikes on his mask and shoulders - made from twigs that were meticulously selected - sticking out at random angles as he played his little guitar for his audience. Which was, of course, namely the snow version of you - sitting cross-legged in front of him, every bit as supportive of him as you were in real life.

Ballet slippers and a hood set Gwen apart from the others as she danced en-pointe on the edge of the igloo, the perfect muse for an artist’s sketches. You had managed to replicate Miles’ hairstyle to a tee on his snow doppelgänger as he sat with his sketchbook in front of him, drawing Gwen as she posed for him.

Snow-Pavitr hung off one of the lower levels of the igloo’s walls, a thin web connecting him to the ceiling as his hair - and the fabric of his dhoti pants - all flopped to one side. Snow-Margo with her Afro puffs and the tiny version of the other Miles with his Prowler suit and braids were engaged in a conversation on the other side of the igloo dome, random parts of machinery scattered around them as they compared notes on everything they knew about technology and tinkering.

You wandered over to where Miles was working away at his snow sculpture, looking over his shoulder at the sharp edges and added flair of various leaves, stems and flowers which made his unique art style all the more recognizable even off the paper.

“What’re you making, Miles?”

“Oh, hi, Y/N! I’m actually trying to build Gwen… I’m not sure if it’s coming out well though.” He sat back and rubbed the back of his neck as he critically examined his creation. You took in the petals forming her hood, the leaves wrapped over each other to form her chucks, and the stems woven together to imitate a web shooting out from her wrist. “Well, I think it’s really cool.”

“Wait, really? Miles, that’s so sweet! I’m trying to make you too!” Gwen, who was sitting only a few feet away, gave him a warm smile and Miles just about lit up brighter than a Christmas tree. You chuckled under your breath at his reaction.

“I made a dog!” Pavitr piped up, proudly gesturing to his snow-dog. “His name’s Gulab Jamun!”

He was unfortunately sitting right in one of the sun’s last dying rays, so the dog’s face looked a little bit like a melted candle, but everything else had turned out pretty well.

“Pavi, I think now might not be the best time,” Margo murmured with a soft laugh, crouching to look at his sculpture. “It’s a good dog though.”

“They’re so in love it makes me sick,” Miles remarked, standing and looking at Gwen and Miles skeptically with his arms crossed. Margo lifted her head to glare up at him and he raised his palms in mock surrender. Though the small, fond smile that tugged at his lips as he looked at the purple spidergirl didn’t quite escape your watchful gaze.

“Don’t worry about ‘im, Peter Pan! ‘E’s just taking the mick,” Hobie called out reassuringly to Miles, who was now frowning slightly at the version of himself from another universe. “Lay off him, bruv! Man’s trying his best, innit?”

You joined Hobie a few metres away from everyone, where he appeared to be taking a break. “‘Ey, dove!” He called, his eyes lighting up with a grin when he saw you. You went to sit next to him and he wrapped a long arm around you. “‘Ow’s it goin’?”

“It’s good! I just about finished.” You turned to angle your gaze down at his… sculpture? Was that the right word for it? Maybe the term abstract art piece fit better? “Hobie, love, what’s yours supposed to be?”

“Oh, it’s a me’aphor for capi’alism.”

“Did it… fall apart?” You asked carefully, not wanting to come off as rude but also trying your best to understand what was in front of you.

“What d’you mean, peng ting? I actually patterned up and made it as thought-provokin’ as I could,” He sounded so genuinely puzzled by your questions that you decided to stop beating around the bush.

“Okay, I’ll bite. Hobie, that’s a pile of snow throwing up a middle finger.” You leaned forward slightly to see his masterpiece - a deliberately messy pile of snow flipping the world off, complete with a Norman Osborne figurine drowning in the snow in the centre, it’s eyes scratched out in Sharpie with bold X’s. “And is that… an Osborne action figure? Is this supposed to be something about him drowning in money he doesn’t deserve or even need? And the snow is supposed to symbolize the money saying, ‘fuck the world’?”

“See, now ya got it!” Hobie said proudly, not at all offended by your confusion and slight skepticism. “Now let’s go inside, shall we? My fingers are startin’ to freeze.”

“Your fingers are always freezing. Honestly, you’re somehow always so cold it’s a wonder that you’re not perpetually an ice cube.”

“All I’m ‘earin’ is that you think ‘m cool.”

@vhstown @l0starl @tatumis-a @deritosmi @hobiebrownismygod @therealloopylupin2099

[daydreaming-en-pointe]

˚ ༘♡ ·˚꒰ carnival games ꒱ ₊˚ˑ༄

Pairing: 1610!Miles Morales x Reader

Type: Oneshot - Fluff

Warnings: Reader is implied to be female (princesa), use of Spanish pet names (princesa, mi corazón)

Word count: 670

A/N: Requested by the lovely @l0starl !! 🫶

“That’s two times already, princesa. Want me to try?”

You let out a small huff of frustration, lowering the toy gun and turning to Miles, who was faithfully clutching two sticks of - albeit a little windswept - cotton candy. He looked so pretty in the glow of the fairy lights illuminating the carnival tent, only adding to the almost magical night atmosphere of the place. The ferris wheel, fully lit up with flashing neon lights, turned lazily in the distance behind masses of tired parents, excited children and enthusiastic couples.

“You don’t think I can do this?” You raised your eyebrows at him, giving him a pout while trying to mimic his doe eyes that he could pull off so naturally.

“Of course I do. I just think… okay, be my guest,” He raised his palms in surrender with an encouraging smile.

You turned back to the game which was supposed to be fairly simple but had stumped you twice in a row. You thought you had pretty good aim; but armed with a toy gun that shot a suction cup on a string of elastic at a neat row of balloons you were supposed to bring back with the rebound of said elastic, you weren’t so sure.

You lined up the muzzle with your eye level as best as you can as you raised it in front of you, trying to make out where the suction cup would go.

You shot again and missed, hitting the space in between the balloons rather than finding purchase on the rubber sides.

“Damn it.” You set the gun down, glaring reproachfully at the balloons, which only reflected the light off of their shiny surfaces like a taunting wink.

“We have one try left, mi corazón. One turn, four shots, right? How about I try with this last one?” Miles reached out and gently smoothed his thumb over the crease in between your furrowed brows. You sighed and gestured for him to go ahead, taking the cotton candy from him and standing back.

He took the gun and aimed it at a small blue balloon in the centre, one of the harder targets to hit. You focused your eyes on Miles, your gaze flicking from the balloon to the gun.

Faster than you could blink, a small tendril of a white silk-like strand shot out and latched onto the balloon. It was so quick and so subtle you thought you’d imagined it as the suction cup - which looked like it had been fired barely a millisecond after the silk - drew back the balloon.

Miles turned to look at you with a shit-eating grin and you narrowed your eyes at him, scrunching your nose for good measure.

“Cheating,” You whispered with a dramatic but silent gasp as you got closer to him, standing beside him as he picked out a stuffed toy as a prize.

“Never,” Miles outdid your gasp with an even more melodramatic one, placing a hand on his heart with a wounded look. You raised your eyebrows at him, replicating his mom’s ‘you and I both know that you did something wrong so for your sake own up’ look perfectly.

He pushed a giant stuffed panda into your arms, blocking his face from your vision before he could cave in. “You got a stuffed toy, princesa. Now shush and be grateful for my hard work and incredible aim.”

You gave him a sulky look as you cradled your panda in one arm, allowing him to take your hand and lead you out of the tent.

“You know, the only reason I didn’t aim right was because you were distracting me because of how pretty you are,” You gave him an innocent smile as he snorted in disbelief and amusement.

“Mm-hmm. Sure, I definitely believe you.”

“I’m serious!” You protested, starting to chuckle softly. “You’re so pretty, Miles. Gorgeous. My pretty pink princess.”

The look of pure confusion on his face was enough to make you burst into a fit of almost hysterical giggles.

@l0starl @hobiebrownismygod @therealloopylupin2099

[daydreaming-en-pointe]

⌦ .｡ guys, the desis are at it again… .:*♡

Pairing: Pavitr Prabhakar x fem!Indian!Reader (Platonic!!) (Gwen, Miles and Hobie are there too)

Type: Oneshot - Fluff

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: Usage of Hindi ig? (It’s all translated dw) Some cussing, Indian-British jokes and I think that’s it

A/N: I had this in my drafts for a while and only finished it now after eating the spiciest samosa I have ever had in my life so yay :D

I know it makes more sense for Pavi to be a strictly vegetarian Hindu considering how he got his powers, but here he eats chicken and mutton because some of the spiciest Indian dishes I’ve ever tried have meat in them (COUGH COUGH LAAL MAAS)

Also uh I hc that Pavitr’s middle name is Bhim after his uncle bc yk Peter has Benjamin so he has Bhim

“How the hell are you doing this?!”

Gwen forfeited by chugging a glass of water after a bite of the biriyani, joining Miles on the couch where he was still wheezing slightly, his eyes watering and throat burning from the spice.

“They’re bloody insane, Gwendy. They’re Indian and they ‘ave a spice tolerance that could put dragons to shame. Wha’ d’ya expect?” Hobie, sprawled precariously on the edge of the sofa arm, stole a piece from the bowl of butter chicken that lay forgotten on the side, gleefully watching you two. He had done the smart thing and quit fairly early into the round, before the food actually got spicy.

You faced off from Pavitr across the coffee table, sitting cross-legged and eating a bowl of the spiciest biriyani you both had ever tasted. You could see small tears pricking the corner of his eyes. You were almost tempted to call him a coward, but you figured that wouldn’t go so well since you could feel your eyes watering too.

See, if he hadn’t challenged you to a spice-tolerance taste test contest then this wouldn’t be happening. He could’ve kept quiet while you accidentally choked on a samosa and not assumed it was from the spice level (which wasn’t even that high), but noooo. He had to make a comment about how he could take more spice than you could.

So, technically, this whole thing was his fault.

And that was why you both were kneeling at a coffee table in Maya Aunty’s house, stuffing your faces with the spiciest foods you could find. So far, you had gotten through Maya Aunty’s saag paneer and dal makhani without any rice, which would have been a feat in itself… to anyone less competitive.

Hell, you had even gotten through dhansak and vindaloo without batting an eyelid, much less reaching for a glass of water. But for some reason a single bowl of this damn mutton biriyani was making both of you sniffle like sick kittens.

“Didi, I’m going chutney you,” Pavitr gritted his teeth and forced down another bite of the biriyani. You copied his movements, feeling the masala burn in your throat as you swallowed. (Didi means sister, usually a term of respect for someone you consider a sister and they’re older than you)

“Hei bhaghvaan, apni chachi ne ismain kya rakha?” (Oh God, what did your aunt put in this?) You coughed slightly and Pavitr dropped his forehead onto the table, groaning slightly like he was dying. Which, in all honesty, didn’t feel that far from the truth.

“I don’t know! All I know is that biriyani isn’t supposed to be this spicy!”

“‘Ey, Miles. ‘Ow much you wanna bet that Pavitr folds first? ‘E’s practically turnin’ red, isn’t ‘e - y’alright, bruv?” Hobie smirked down at you both, his border flickering. You snorted in amusent then immediately regretted it since some of the masala was now caught in your nose and oh, good grief, you could feel it burning.

Pavitr glared up at him. “You’re one to talk, Hobes. Didn’t you quit when we just started off? Arre, poor little Britisher couldn’t take the heat? Angrezi log ham jaise masale nahi kha sakhte.” (English/British people can’t eat spices like we can)

Hobie raised an eyebrow as Pavitr bit down on a green chilli that had been mixed into the rice and doubled over, tears streaming out of his eyes.

“Maybe it’s best if you call it a draw? I mean-” Miles shut his mouth quickly when you turned to glare at him.

“I’m not stopping till Pavitr Bhim Prabhakar admits that I can eat more spice than him.” You emphasised his middle and last name, narrowing your eyes as Pavitr weakly flipped you off without lifting his head.

Hobie chuckled softly. “Fuckin’ ‘ell, Pavi, she’s bringin’ in the full name. Take it from me, mate, you’re screwed when she does tha’.”

“Shut up before I use your full name,” You warned, turning your wrathful gaze on him. “We both know you wouldn’t want me to do that.”

His eyes widened and he mimed zipping his lips and tossing the key away. Miles looked at you curiously, tilting his head to the side. “Wait, what’s Hobie’s full name?”

“Funny you should ask, Kilometer Morality,” Pavitr muttered under his breath, his forehead still resting on the table. You had learnt about half an hour ago that when Pavitr got a spice overload he tended to make random “snarky” quips which usually didn’t make any sense.

“Yeah, I’m gonna go get some ice cream for when this thing blows up,” Gwen got up from the couch, giving Pavitr a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and moving to the kitchen.

“Wimp,” You muttered to Pavitr as a tear rolled down your cheek. Forget burning, your tongue was almost going numb from the sheer amount of masala that you were trying to ingest.

“Weakling,” He countered as a bead of sweat trailed down the side of his forehead. You shovelled another spoon of the biriyani into your mouth, relief flooding you as the spoon hit the bottom of the bowl. Good, you had almost finished. But would you make it that far?

Pavitr tentatively took a bite and immediately choked, giving in and reaching for one of the two bowls of curd sitting appetisingly in the centre of the table. He was essentially tapping out.

You threw your arms in the air triumphantly, almost giddy with victory. Actually, maybe that was from the spice. Yep, definitely the spice.

You downed the bowl of curd, letting out a long sigh of relief as the cold, thick liquid dowsed your tongue and took the initial edge of the buildup of spice away. Gwen returned just in time to see Pavitr and you lapping at the curd as if you were a pair of stray cats, like the ones you both faithfully fed and played with.

“I take it you won?” She asked you, her eyes sparkling a little bit in amusement as she saw Pavitr drop his head down onto the table the moment he properly realised that he had lost. She slid two cups of vanilla ice cream to you. A little basic, maybe, but still good and definitely a relief to your mouth.

“Barely,” You admitted, taking a small spoon from her. “Arre, Pavi. Don’t feel bad. Hum donon ne apana sarvashreshth prayaas kiya, naa? C’mon, sit up.” (We both tried our best, right?)

“Haan, Didi,” He grumbled sulkily, lifting his chin as you fed him the ice cream from his bowl. (Haan just means yes)

“Let’s do something else. Should we get Hobie to pronounce the names of these foods?”

“Oh, sure, throw the British guy under the bus,” Hobie protested, but a fond smile was tugging at the corner of his mouth as Pavitr chuckled softly.

“To be fair, you are in Mumbattan right now,” You pointed out, and Hobie heaved an exaggerated sigh, a grin already forming on his mouth as he prepared to butcher the pronunciations on purpose to get a reaction out of you and cheer up Pavitr.

“Fair enough. Alrigh’… That’s, uh… that’s sag panner, and that’s…”

@l0starl @hobiebrownismygod @therealloopylupin2099

[daydreaming-en-pointe]

A very Spidey Christmas - Pavitr

CMON THAT FIRST PHOTO IS LITERALLY HIM

Pairing: Pavitr Prabhakar x fem!Spider!Reader (Margo, 1610!Miles, Gwen and 42!Miles are here too [not coloured means no lines, just mentions])

Word count: 742

Warnings: CHEESY AS HELL! Nickname used (meri jaan), Pavitr kinda falls off a building, Mariah Carey lyrics (those deserve a warning don’t they 💀), lil bit of desi coded reader if you squint??

A/N: I know I included lyrics in this but now if I have to hear Mariah Carey crooning about Christmas one more time I will scream 😞

“Pass me those scissors, please?” You managed to mumble around the roll of tape in your mouth, your hands occupied with holding down the corners of wrapping paper which were stubbornly refusing to sit flat and cover the gift properly.

Margo glanced up and shot a web, grabbing the scissors and handing them to you. “Here. Watch out, they’re really sharp.”

“Got it, thanks.” You shifted your elbow onto the layers of paper where the corners met, snipping albeit uneven pieces of tape to secure the haphazard folds. “Wait, where’s Pav? Didn’t he say he would get the ribbons-”

“Meri jaan!”

The familiar nickname drew your attention to the terrace of a building just opposite the balcony. You squinted at the shape of a person, all characteristics hidden by the sun’s glare except for the fact that they were waving their arms hysterically at you and seemed to be holding a megaphone of some sort.

“Pavi…?”

You shared a glance with Margo, who was nervously studying the way that Pavitr was rather precariously standing at the edge of the right corner of the terrace, right next to the safety railing — which didn’t even reach past his knee. Some safety railing.

“This one’s for you!” He yelled, bringing the megaphone to his mouth. “I don’t want a lot for Christmas, there is just one thing I need…. I don’t care about the presents, underneath the Christmas tree — I don't need to hang my stocking there upon the fireplace…”

Look, you adored that boy, you really did - everyone knew it. And you knew that he could sing Bollywood songs beautifully if he wanted to. English pop songs, though… specifically Mariah Carey… not so much.

The megaphone crackled and slowly faded out for the next few lines, until Pavitr stopped and bashed it against his palm thrice and it fizzled back to life in time for the most iconic line. “All I want for Christmas… is y-”

Before he could finish his onslaught of mildly terrible singing, too many things happened at once — Pavitr, who had been unknowingly inching toward the edge during his spectacle, toppled off the side of the building, Margo dropped the scissors with a sharp clack, and both variants of Miles leaped through the kitchen window and crashed into the dining table, followed by Gwen gracefully sticking the landing in a crouch before stumbling over the rolls of decorative tape you and Margo had left on the floor and almost falling flat on her face.

Whoops. But then again, you probably had bigger problems.

Namely looking out for the absolute dumbass you had fallen in love with.

You leaped out the window that Miles and Gwen had dived through, shooting a web to the side of the building and using it to pull yourself toward it, then lever yourself down into the small alley on the ground beside it.

“Pavitr, where are you? Wh- Pavi!” You were almost frantic as you spotted the familiar blue-and-red fabric of his suit. You knelt beside him, rolling him over onto his back, your heart in your mouth. His shoulder were shaking, maybe spasming…. was he…

…laughing?

“What the hell, Pavitr,” You complained, watching him get up easily by himself, now in peals of laughter, and pull you in by the waist. “I was worried!”

“I know you were. I’m fine, meri jaan. And I had to profess my love for you in a dramatic, Christmas-like fashion, right? After all, aap sabse achchhe tareekon ke hakadaar hain. (You deserve the fanciest/best stuff) Even if it means belting out Mariah Carey on a random rooftop.”

“Uh-huh. Did Hobie say something that inspired you to do this?” You asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically and biting the inside of your cheek to prevent a smile from breaking through.

“Nope. All my own idea. It had that certain flair, didn’t it? Did you like it?” He widened his eyes in that way that made him look like a sad puppy, still holding onto you.

“…of course I did, my love. But, good grief, you’re such an idiot sometimes,” You sighed, puffing out your cheeks as you blew air through your mouth in exasperation. You gave into his hold, wrapping your arms around his neck while he dipped his head to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Well, I prefer the term hopeless romantic,” Pavitr corrected, giving you one of those sunshiny, I’m-here-with-you-don’t-worry-everything-is-fine grins that, for some reason, could reassure you every time without fail.

“Of course you do. Come inside and help with the presents. No more dangerous stuff, you hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Meri jaan - my light/my life 😁

@vhstown @l0starl @tatumis-a @deritosmi @hobiebrownismygod @therealloopylupin2099

[daydreaming-en-pointe]

A very Spidey Christmas - Margo

Pairing: Margo Kess x Reader (written with fem!reader in mind, but I don’t think there’s anything that restricts it to that?? idk) (Hobie, 1610!Miles, 42!Miles, Gwen and Pavitr are here too!)

Word count: 759

Warnings: Both Miles squabbling like a pair of toddlers, pet names (sweetheart, sweetie, love) mistletoe, descriptions of a kiss! idk if I’m any good at it 😔

A/N: first time writing for Margo! Idk exactly how to write for her but I do hc that she’d be the best at calming ppl down and tries to avoid/de-escalate conflict as much as she can because it reminds her of her parents fighting 💔

In hindsight, maybe providing 5 spider-teenagers (and one Prowler) with an oven, baking ingredients, and your favourite sugar cookie recipe wasn’t the greatest idea.

Miles and the other Miles had “accidentally” thrown flour at each other more times than you could count, Gwen almost burnt butter (how on earth do you manage to burn butter?) and was in the bathroom nursing a small cut she had gotten while handling a knife, Pavitr somehow got baking powder in his nose and sneezed for 7 minutes straight, and you realized you didn’t have any icing sugar so you sent Hobie and Margo out on a quick trip to the grocery store.

Pavitr patted your shoulder gently, noticing your growing stress as you made sure the oven was off. A fire was the last thing you needed right now. “Don’t worry, they’ll be back soon- Miles, for the love of god! Aata phekna band karo! (Stop throwing flour)”

“Sorry!” “He started it. It’s not my fault he can’t take what he’s trying to give out!” “I started it?! Wh-”

“The cavalry ‘as arrived!” You looked up and sighed in relief as Hobie kicked open the door like someone straight out of an action movie, Margo close behind, her arms filled with grocery bags.

“You okay, sweetheart?” She asked as you went over to her, taking the grocery bags and kissing her cheek. “You look stressed.”

“I mean…” You vaguely gestured around the crowded kitchen, and everyone paused whatever they were doing to wave at the new arrivals. “But I know they’re all trying their best. Well, maybe not the other Miles.”

“Miles, knock it off,” Margo called out sternly, giving the one from earth-42 a death glare. “Both of you. I don’t care who started it. I’m ending it. Okay, sweetie, what’s first?”

You got out your recipe, laying the paper on the counter and standing between both versions of Miles. Gwen got back from the bathroom at that moment, wrapping a sparkly band-aid around her ring finger. You must’ve looked really concerned for her, because she held out her hand to soothe your worries. “I’m fine, don’t worry. Just a flesh wound.”

“Okay, uh… Margo, could you get the baking powder, please? Don’t let Pav get anywhere near it. No, Pav, it’s not because you’re clumsy, it’s just… I just don’t want you to sneeze so hard that your nose starts bleeding. Gwen, can you handle the mixing bowl? See, Pav, you can find the spoons and help her with the mixing. Hobie, could you find the baking trays? Thank you!”

The next few minutes were filled with the sound of the baking spoon scraping the bowl with all the ingredients, Gwen’s occasional tapping with the wooden utensils (drummer’s instincts, she explained), and your instructions.

“Pavi, that’s not enough sugar. Miles - sorry, not you, the other Miles-”

“Milo,” Hobie helpfully added, sitting cross-legged on the kitchen island as he helped (1610) Miles make the icing.

“Okay, Milo - the heat’s too high. Gwen you’re not adding enough flour… Margo the recipe needs more baking powder or it’ll fall flat-”

“Hey, hey, look at me.” Margo gently took your face in her hands, splaying her fingers across your cheeks and making you focus on her. She brought her thumb up to smoothie out the crease in between your eyebrows. “Shh. We got this, okay? You don’t need to worry. You’re stressing yourself out, love.”

“But I-”

“Look, mistletoe!” Margo webbed a sprig of mistletoe from the living room and pulled it toward her, attaching it to the ceiling above you before practically lunging forward and pressing her lips against yours, her arms coming to loop around your waist.

You allowed yourself to relax in her warm embrace, inhaling slowly. She smelled like a blend of buttery popcorn and car air freshener, and her lips were soft against yours and tasted vaguely of vanilla and oranges - a combination that felt all too familiar, for some reason…

“Feeling better now?”

“Yeah, slightly. Hang on, is that my lip balm?” You asked once she broke away to get some air. She gave a sheepish chuckle, fiddling with the hem of your shirt.

“Noooo, it’s our lip balm now.”

“Listen, you two are very sweet, but if ya could go snog somewhere else that’d be great, yeah? I don’t know any first aid if ya catch on fire, and you’re very close to the oven,” Hobie interrupted, gently nudging you and Margo to one side and putting the tray of flattened cookie dough balls into the oven.

“British people are all so rude,” Margo stuck her tongue out at Hobie, whose eyebrows raised so high you thought they might reach his hair if he kept going.

“She’s got a point,” Pav chimed in through a mouthful of the first experimental batch of cookies - they had been burnt slightly around the edges, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“Pav, my guy, you too?!”

@vhstown (dw u are a lovely britisher who is a wonderful writer and not at all rude 🙏 still on the fence abt absent father dearest tho 😞 /j no he is a very lovely and talented britisher too) @l0starl @therealloopylupin2099 @hobiebrownismygod @deritosmi @tatumis-a

[daydreaming-en-pointe]

“running home to your sweet nothings”

A Gwen oneshot

this was written while listening to this song :3

——————

Pairing: Gwen Stacy (Spider-Woman/Ghost Spider) x fem!Reader

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: Use of Y/N (just once), use of pet names (buttercup, sweets, sweetheart, darling), the rest is just fluffy stuff! :D

A/N: My first time writing for Gwen! <3

——————

It had been a relatively quiet evening for you. A glance at the clock on your bedside table told you that it was just past 11 in the night.

You lay sprawled on your bed, reading a book and occasionally checking your phone to see if you had any new texts. You had a plate of grilled cheese sandwiches on your beside table, along with a cup of hot cocoa with three marshmallows bobbing along the surface, but you weren’t hungry just then.

No sooner had you started wondering whether you should attempt to go to sleep than a familiar click diverted your attention to the window.

You were on your feet in record time as you saw the masked figure of Spider-Woman somersault gracefully into your room. She had just about stuck the landing when she tripped over her feet, landing in a heap with a small, disgruntled groan.

“You‘ve gotta start giving me a little more of a warning when you do that falling-through-my-window thing,” You scolded her, being careful to keep your voice low so as to not disturb your sleeping parents in the next room as you knelt to wrap her in a hug. “You okay? Need me to patch you up?”

Gwen shook her head, allowing you to hook your fingers under the fabric of her mask and pull it off. “I’m fine, buttercup. Just really, really tired.” She buried her face in your neck, a few strands of her hair tickling the underside of your jaw as you looped your arms around her to rub soothing circles into the tense muscles of her back.

“Did you eat anything?” She shook her head no again and you breathed out disapprovingly through your nose. “Well, we need to fix that. Have my grilled cheese.”

You pressed a finger to her lips the moment you saw her pull away, preparing to protest. “Nope. You’re eating the sandwich and that’s final. Come on, lie down, sweetheart. You need to rest now.”

You gently scooped her into your arms, carrying her princess-style and dropping her quite gracelessly onto the bed before reaching over to the plate of grilled cheese sandwiches on your bedside table as well as the still-warm cup of hot chocolate.

You sat next to her, wrapping a blanket around both of your shoulders. “You’re shivering, sweets. Want me to get you a sweater?”

Gwen gave you a big smile, resting her head on your shoulder. “I’m good, thanks. Besides, you being here is enough to warm me up any day. It’s because you’re so sizzling hot, darling~”

She gave you a playful little wink, a quiet giggle bubbling in her throat that was so adorable it brought a smile to your face instantly. “Damn right I am,” You agreed, leaning over to steal a bite of the sandwich she was holding in her hand. “Now finish eating so we can cuddle. I missed you.”

“You’re like a needy little puppy,” Gwen gave you a shit-eating grin, pretending to shake her head disapprovingly but leaning over to kiss your cheek. “Always looking for attention. That’s one of the things I love most about you.”

“My little charm-talker, making an appearance again. Eat your sandwich before I do.” You gently nudged her cheek with your nose, watching her cram the whole thing in her mouth in one go and hold up her hands to show you that she had finished. “Good grief, Gwen. When I said I’d eat it I didn’t actually mean it! It’s not going anywhere. You’re going to choke.”

“No ‘m not,” She spoke with her mouth full, managing to swallow all of the sandwich without gagging. “See? Told you. I’m a big girl, I can handle myself. I can take care of stuff so well, it’s scary. You should be scared of me.”

You raised an eyebrow at her, nestled so cozily against your side underneath the blanket like a puppy seeking warmth. “Sure, sweetheart. I believe you.”

“I am!” She protested, reaching over to tap the tip of your nose. Her expression turned more serious, her smile fading as she opened her mouth to ask something else. “Can I sleep here? Please?”

Your lips parted slightly as you glanced toward your closed bedroom door. Though one look at her told you that she was completely exhausted and stressed, maybe a few minutes away from just passing out there itself, and it warmed your heart that she felt so safe around you.

“Of course you can, Gwen. I’ll get you some sweatpants and a sweater, okay?”

Gwen nodded, relief and gratitude evident in her eyes. “Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you too. I’ll be right back, I gotta go put the plate away. But first, take your clothes.” You lightly kissed the top of her head before moving off the bed to get her a fresh set of clothes. You had a drawer in your closet dedicated to her own spare clothes for whenever she crashed at your place after a long day of being Spider-Woman, which happened a lot more often than not. You chucked a pair of grey sweatpants and a fuzzy nightshirt at her, taking the plate and mug and going to the kitchen.

You returned to see Gwen - dressed in the fresh set of clothes - curled under your duvet covers like a tiny kitten, eyes half-closed with how tired she was. Still, she perked up the moment she heard you come in and close the door behind you. “Hang on, is that my hoodie?”

You glanced down in surprise and yes, she was right. “It’s comfy,” You defended yourself, giving her a sheepish smile as you tucked yourself beside her under the covers. “And it smells like your perfume.”

“It looks better on you, buttercup,” She murmured softly, opening her arms for a hug. You instinctively reached forward to pull her against your chest, her head finding its familiar place in the space between your neck and shoulder while her arms slotted under yours to wrap around you and meet at your back. You traced gentle patterns along the nape of her neck, drawing little invisible stars and hearts around the scars, birthmarks and bruises that was scattered on her skin.

“Sleep, Gwen. You need it.”

She gave a soft, incomprehensible mumble of affirmation, her eyelashes fluttering shut. After a few minutes her breathing evened out, her side rising and falling steadily, and you assumed she had fallen asleep. You shut your eyes too, gratefully basking in the peaceful quality time you got to spend with her right now, enjoying it as much as you could since times like these were rarities.

“Y/N… have you ever thought about the fact that bean bags are basically boneless sofas?”

“Gwendolyn Maxine Stacy, go to sleep right now or so help me...”

“Okay, okay. Good night, sweetheart.”

“…Wait, oh my goodness, you’re right”

“Right?!”

——————

[daydreaming-en-pointe]

*ೃ༄ ready, set, spin! ˚◞♡ ⃗

Pairing: Gwen Stacy x fem!Indian!Reader

Type: Oneshot - Fluff

Word count: 923

Warnings: Use of Y/N, use of nicknames (sweetheart, my love) and lots of culture infodumping but everything’s just fluffy stuff! :D

A/N: Wrote this while waiting for a ballet performance which I’m in to start so not proofread at all :’)

(also shoutout to @hobiebrownismygod for hyping my up tHAT WAS LITERALLY SO SWEET THANK U SO MUCH MY LOVE 💕)

“Gwen? Gwen! What-”

You cut yourself off with a soft grunt as the girl in front of you tackled you into a hug, squeezing you tight against her. You dropped your kathak bag onto the floor to hug her back. “Hi, Y/N. I had some free time and thought I’d come visit you. You just got back from kathak?”

You nodded and squeezed her hand as she pulled away to press a kiss to your lips and look at you, dressed in a ghagra choli and churidars covered from head-to-toe in mirror-like sequins stitched barely inches apart onto the midnight blue fabric.

“You look like a disco ball,” Gwen noted, giving you a smile. “Yeah, I noticed.” You linked pinkies with her, dragging her over to sit beside you on the couch while you caught your breath. “We had to do so many chakkars today, I’m absolutely exhausted.”

“Chakkars? What are- oh, are they those spins? Are you spotting enough?” Gwen pulled your legs over her lap, examining the ghungroo bells tied around your ankles with fascination. You held out your hand to her and she untied the strings of bells for you, dropping it into your palm and starting to massage small circles into your sore calf muscles.

“Yeah, I’m spotting enough. It’s just really tiring, y’know?”

Gwen smoothed down a wrinkle in your ghagra. “Yep, that happens. Same thing with pirouettes.”

“Noooo, pirouettes are so different! They’re all graceful and elegant and your legs are in weird positions and a chakkar is more speed than grace. I bet you can’t do a chakkar,” You grinned at her from across the couch, a friendly challenge in your tone at the last part.

“Oh, you are on. And I bet you can’t do a pirouette.”

“Deal. Prepare to lose, Gwendolyn Maxine Stacy.” You couldn’t help but giggle softly at the death-glare she gave you once you mentioned her full name. Fortunately, you knew her well enough to know you had to squirm out of range so she couldn’t tickle you ruthlessly.

“Okay, pirouettes, right? Is it like…” You placed your left foot a few inches behind your right one, angled out so your ankles were lined up. Gwen winced at how you were mercilessly butchering the fourth position in ballet.

“Shush, I’m trying my best. I’d like to see you try to do a chakkar on your first try.” You gave her a little glare, unable to squash the smile tugging at your mouth.

Gwen stuck her tongue out at you and joined you on the floor, standing a few feet away and joining her heels. “How do I do it again…?”

“Wait, you gotta use the ghungroo!” You grabbed the strings and tied them around her ankles, the bells jingling with every move she made. Gwen scrunched her nose as she looked down at it. “This is so different from ballet. Lemme guess, next you’re going to tell me to not point my toes.”

“Well… yeah, actually. See, you’re catching on already!” You gave her a kiss on the cheek before retaking your place and trying your best to figure out how you had aligned your heels. “Okay, you go first. Do a four-step chakkar. I’ll count tha, thei, thei, thut. On each syllable you move your feet into the turn.”

“Wait, wh-”

“Tha, thei, thei, thut” You watched Gwen fumble her way through the turn. Surprisingly, she was a natural at it, although her technique could be perfected a little. “Whoa, you’re actually really good at this. It took me weeks to learn how to do a chakkar.”

Gwen gave you a big smile and reached out to squeeze your hand in thanks before coming to stand beside you. “Okay, now do a pirouette. I know you can do it, sweetheart. C’mon, feel the fire, reach into your heart to find the answer or whatever those mentors in your serials say.”

You feigned a dramatic gasp. “Don’t insult Bollywood serials, they’re awesome!”

“I never said they weren’t. Now shush and focus on the turn or you might end up on the floor with a twisted ankle.” You angled your gaze at a point on the wall to spot through your turn, then brought your hands to curve and meet a little in front of your belly button. You pushed your back leg off the ground into the turn, but lost your spotting point somewhere along the way and ended up losing your balance.

Gwen lunged to catch you before you could hit the ground, steadying you and bringing you back onto your feet. “Yeah, I think that’s enough for today. Come on, let’s go get something to eat.”

“Pani puri,” You immediately suggested. Gwen’s eyes widened and she flushed a little as she remembered an incident that happened when you first tried to teach her to crack open the sphere part of the snack.

“You know I keep breaking those little sphere things,” She complained, giving you puppy eyes in hopes that they’d change your mind. “I spilled the pani part of it all over you last time too, remember? And I don’t wanna ruin your kathak clothes, they’re so pretty.”

“That’s fine, my love. I’ll go change and I’ll teach you how to do it again, properly this time. Besides, pani puri isn’t supposed to be eaten neatly, the whole point of it is that it’s messy and you need to somehow stuff the whole thing in your mouth before it leaks and makes too big of a mess to clean up.”

“Fine, I’ll do it. But only because you asked me to. And I’m going to hold the puri this time.”

I don’t do Kathak and I never have, so pls lmk if anything’s incorrect! <3

Kathak is a type of northern Indian classical dance, with alternate passages of mime and dancing.

A ghagra is a long full skirt, often decorated with embroidery, mirrors, or bells.

A choli is a blouse or a bodice-like upper garment that is commonly cut short leaving the midriff bare (but it’s not always cropped that short). It is usually worn along with a sari or ghagra in the Indian subcontinent.

A ghungroo, also known as ghunghru or ghungur or ghungura, is one of many small metallic bells strung together to form ghungroos, a musical anklet tied to the feet of classical Indian dancers.

Spotting is just a technique used by dancers when they’re spinning as a way to not lose their balance - basically you just focus on a point and every time you spin you have to look at that particular point as quickly as you can and for as long as you can.

[daydreaming-en-pointe]

⇢ ˗ˏˋ you know the greatest loves of all time are over now. ࿐ྂ

Pairing: Hobie Brown (Spider-Punk) x GN!Reader

Type: Oneshot - Angst

Warnings: Angst, Reader is dead (died before the events of ATSV), Hobie visits their grave, mentions of death (and grief), use of nicknames (sunshine, my love), inconsistent-ish Hobie accent (I’m trying my best but this man’s accent is so confusing 😭)

Word count: 930

A/N: This is my first proper attempt at angst with Hobie, and I’m still getting the hang of it so any constructive criticism or feedback is welcome! 💜

I might’ve gotten a bit carried away lmao

We never painted by the numbers, baby

But we were making it count

You know the greatest loves of all time are over now

I guess you never know, never know

And it’s another day waking up alone

(the 1 by Taylor Swift)

Inky tendrils of darkness curled into the atmosphere, chasing away any traces of light remaining. Cruelly fitting, he had to admit, considering the reason for his visit.

Everyone was probably either asleep or trying to get there, but he couldn’t sleep. How could he? It wasn’t like his thoughts were occupied by anything else. The incident had happened a few months ago, yet it was all he could remember during the darkest hours of the night when he didn’t have it in him to push it away, to bury it under a false sense of happiness like trying to hold a sheet of glass together while it was cracking. Glue could only do so much to hold the fragile shards together.

Your voice, your laugh, the way your eyes scrunched when you smiled, how you would dance around to your favourite song, the way you could soothe his worries that would spiral into despair without you and calm him with a simple embrace.

He remembered everything clearly, which only added to the pain of it all. Jokes which were so bad that they got you giggling almost hysterically, spinning around on rooftops, tending to his wounds, making him food when he was exhausted, loyally coming to every one of his shows, painting his nails, waking up practically wrapped around him like a koala, cuddling after long, tiring days, holding him close and whispering sweet reassurances that he so easily believed as they fell from your lips.

“Wha’ would I ever do without ya, sunshine?”

Those words so innocently chuckled out on a park bench, his head on your lap while he looked up at you like you were the most gorgeous thing he had ever seen — which, of course, you were in his eyes.

Now he didn’t have to imagine.

It was truly twisted how fate could snatch someone so suddenly, right after they’d promised that they’d be there forever. Twisted that he had just enough time to start believing that out of all the inconsistencies in his life, you might be an exception, one for the better.

Hobie stood in the bitter cold, the light dusting of snow mingling with mud crunching under his boots. The thin material of his leather vest and trousers on top of his spider suit was definitely not enough to keep him warm, but he was barely registering the chill creeping in through his clothes as he pulled off his mask.

His eyes ghosted over your tombstone, reading the all-too-familiar words etched into the stone. He let a shaky exhale and leaned down to drop a bundle of flowers in front of the unforgiving marble, displaying that name - carrying so much gravity because of the person it once belonged to - with a ruthless, twisted sort of pride.

The birthday - no, birth anniversary - of the love of his life. Those two words sounded hollow and meaningless, yet carried the weight of an impossibly heavy truth behind them. You were gone. You were never coming back. You would never be able to come running and leap into his arms again, never be able to fall into that familiar rhythm that belonged to you two alone.

“‘Ey, sunshine. It’s me again. Happy birthday, my love.” He still called you that, even months after your passing. It wasn’t like he didn’t notice the pitying glances and sad little sighs at the nickname. Oh, he noticed them alright. That just made him stubbornly insist on calling you that even more.

He sat down on the ground, tucking his legs underneath him to get down to the headstone’s level. As if someone hidden behind the invisible veil of life and death could meet his eyes and give him that smile that used to make his heart flare every time without fail. As if said someone could make the hurt go away with a gentle kiss, get him thinking about something else like changing the channel on a radio station.

“I miss you. A lot. I wish you were ‘ere. And I’m sorry I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t protect you. I know you wouldn’t want me to beat myself up about it, but…” Hobie trailed off, trying to swallow the lump in his throat that made his voice sound thick to his own ears. “Anyway. There’s this kid who got recruited into the Spider Society. Remember, I told you about it before… yeah. ‘Er name’s Gwen, ‘er dad - ‘e’s a cop - threa’ened to arrest ‘er so I took ‘er in. Spider-Woman’s viewed as criminal in their universe, so obviously that doesn’t work well for ‘er. She’s a wicked drummer. I wish you two could meet, you’d love ‘er.”

He cut himself off as his voice broke at the end, closing his eyes as he allowed a few tears to well up. “I got you somethin’, by the way.”

He reached into his pocket and brought out a tiny clay tabby cat that he had made himself. He was so proud of it because its eyes reminded him of you, sparkly and crinkled with amusement in some ways but mostly kind. Kind eyes that held enough understanding behind them for anyone to feel safe.

He set it down amongst the flowers in front of your gravestone, nestling it in the comfort of a curtain of petals. “I didn’t tell you this since I wanted it to be a surprise, but… I was gonna get you a kitten for your birthday. We could’ve taken care of it together. Your constant pesterin’ would’ve finally paid off.“

I guess it’s too late now.

Hobie slowly got to his feet, trying to force a smile for you before giving up and just pulling his mask on again, feeling his tears sink into the fabric as it brushed against his eyelids.

“I’ll come visit you again soon, sunshine. I’ll bring my guitar too, maybe play you a song or two. Promise. I love you.” He brushed his fingers against the top of the gravestone, where a thin carpet comprised of tiny flecks of snow had gathered. The knowledge that you’d never be able to echo that sentiment back to him again pierced a hole through his heart for the umpteenth time.

I miss you more than I ever thought was possible.

@hobiebrownismygod @l0starl @therealloopylupin2099

[daydreaming-en-pointe]

Spider-Woman always does both… right?

A Hobie oneshot

Pairing: Hobie Brown (Spider-Punk) x fem!Spider!Reader

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: Angst, mentions of two civilians’ death by falling, reader blames herself for their deaths, descriptions of grief(?), attempts at Hobie’s accents (trust me that does deserve a warning 😭)

A/N: I wanted to write smth about reader comforting Hobie but I got sad and decided to write this instead ☺️

——————

I can do both. Spider-Woman always does both.

That was true. That had to be true. It would all work out somehow.

You could see them. A man and his daughter. Falling. Falling. You could catch them, right? You could do it?

Right. You could do it. You had just beaten the Vulture of your dimension mostly by being quick, after all. You could do it. There was time.

Except there wasn’t.

And now they had white sheets draped over their faces and lifeless bodies because of you.

The young girl’s Spider-Woman plushie seemed to glare at you from where it had been placed, forgotten on the ground after wrenching it from her cold grasp. You could have done more. You could have been faster. Why weren’t you faster? This is on you. Their blood on your hands. You’re not fit to be Spider-Woman, are you?

All my fault. You didn’t know how or when you had gotten to your apartment, but you sat on your bed, staring off into space. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do it, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

Broken, listless apologies escaped your lips, whispered into the darkness of your room. You wanted to scream. You wanted to break something against a wall, to cry, to show some emotion so that you could tell yourself you could get it all out and you would feel okay afterwards.

Instead you just sat there, feeling hollow and numb from the inside out. Tears blurred your vision but didn’t grant you the little relief of falling. You could still hear the little girl’s scared cries echoing in your ears. You could still see the fear in the man’s eyes the moment he realized you wouldn’t be able to catch them in time. How he twisted himself in a way that he would land first, shielding his daughter from the impact as best he could.

You closed your eyes, allowing yourself to flop back and hit the pillows. Drag the blanket over your head and shut the world out for a while.

You didn’t hear the sound of a multidimensional portal opening in your living room, or the sharp clicks of combat boots on your wooden floors, pausing beside your bed as the wearer took them off.

You only felt the slender arms snake around you from behind, turning you over to pull you flush against his chest. You didn’t even bother stirring; you had recognised him immediately, although you don’t know what gave it away.

“‘Ello, love. ‘Ow you doin’? You alrigh’?” Hobie’s voice was quiet and soft as he moved back slightly, taking your chin between his thumb and index finger to have you meet his gaze. “What ‘appened?”

Your head spun slightly as you were forced to relive that moment all over again. Letting out a soft sniffle, you buried your face in the soft fabric of Hobie’s spider-suit, nestling as close to him as you could. “I couldn’t save them. It’s my fault.”

You could feel his chest rise a little as he inhaled slightly. He didn’t say anything, just held you a little tighter against him. And just like that, your tears started to fall, running down your face in little rivulets as they were absorbed by Hobie’s clothes. He pulled back slightly to swipe his thumb across your tear-stained cheeks, his heart practically breaking at seeing you fall apart like this.

“I shouldn’t be Spider-Woman. I… if I can’t save two innocent civilians from a death they didn’t deserve, then what happens to the city? Carnage, that’s what. More lives taken before their time. More blood. Blood that’s on my hands, Hobie.” Your voice sounded hoarse and raw with emotion your own ears, making him tighten his embrace in an attempt to console you.

“‘Ey, look at me. You tried, okay? You tried.” He exhaled slowly, his hand finding yours and interlocking your pinkies. The size difference between your digits would be almost comical if you weren’t so upset. “Love, it ‘appens. You think I ‘aven’t lost people too? We can’t always save everyone. And I know it ‘urts. I won’t lie to you - I know for a fact that guilt will stay with you for a while. Yeah, you’ll blame yourself for not being fast enough, for taking too long. But in the end…”

Hobie leaned in to press a soft kiss to the top of your head, letting out a soft sigh. You could tell it was hard for him to talk about as well, that he’d gone through something similar. “In the end, it jus’ fuels you. It nags at you for a while, but that urges you to be a better Spider-Woman. You can’t allow yourself to sink into blamin’ yourself and wallow in that grief because then it’ll blind you to the livin’, breathin’ people who need you in this city. Trust me, love, it’ll get be’er with time. Don’t beat yourself up too much.”

His arms hooked under yours, wrapping around you tighter as he rubbed soothing circles into the tensed muscles of your back. “Okay,” You murmured, mostly to yourself as you melted into his touch. “Okay, I won’t.”

A few beats of silence passed, Hobie still holding you against him. “‘Bie…?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you just… stay here with me for a while?”

“‘Course, love. Jus’ relax, okay? ‘m here for you, always. Y’know that.”

Hobie’s watch beeped suddenly, right next to your ear. The sharp noise startled you and you jerked backwards away from him, wincing slightly. Hobie grumbled under his breath and, in one fluid movement, pulled the watch off his wrist and chucked it into the far corner of the room. It sailed through the air and landed gracelessly with a noisy, metallic thud.

“Hobie! You’re going to break it!”

“Doesn’t matter. I could always make another one, right?”

You let out a soft chuckle, and a broad, relieved grin spread across his face. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah, but I’m your idiot.”

“Damn right you are,” You murmured, nestling under your covers again. Hobie slipped the blanket over your legs, moving closer to pull you against his side.

“Hey, how did you know to come here?” You glanced up, blinking your eyes. They were sore and hurt a little from your crying, but you didn’t mind too much right now.

“LYLA told me you hadn’t reported in after this morning and your watch’s signal had been offline for a few hours. Pav thought you might’ve died or something. He was wondering whether you’d like a blue or an orange coffin.”

“And what did you say?”

“I said that there’s no way my girl could’ve died because she’s the bravest person I know and if there’s anything I’ve learnt by now, it’s to never bet against ‘er.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes playfully at his words, delivered in such a sweet, innocent tone. “Bullshit.”

“No, really!” Hobie protested, but one eyebrow-raise from you was all it took to break his composure. “…fine. I told him to get a bright pink one with lots o’ sparkles and spray paint your tombstone with every bright colour he could find.”

“I mean… I would say you deserve an A for effort but that sounds as though it would look like a unicorn threw up on my final resting place, Hobes.”

“That ‘urts my soul, love.” He widened his eyes with fake hurt, knowing that his large brown puppy eyes would go straight to your heart. “Are you questioning my deep, lovingly constructed knowledge o’ you?”

You couldn’t help but smile at his expression, leaning forward to plant a kiss on the top of his nose in silent thanks for him just generally being there, not just now but but every time you needed him.

“You’re such a drama queen.”

——————

@hobiebrownismygod @l0starl @therealloopylupin2099