#i just want to talk about Spider-Man

[movedtodykedvonte]

I got all the dialogue done for the last chapter of gifted apologies and thats all fine but the urge to just write my own version of Spider-Man is evilly strong and knocking on my door.

[demigod-of-the-agni]

The pishacha are manifestations of evil itself, locked within a cursed amulet. The wearer of the amulet is at the mercy of the demon, known for possessing humans and feeding off their host's chakra energy. However, if symbiosis is achieved, the pishacha can grant its host a myriad of powerful abilities.

I just needed to draw something cool okay. I needed to draw some cool goop and some cool looks okay. okay. if I didn't post this I would have exploded okay

[sciderman]

[spider-mand]

So, common misconception (both in fandom and in-universe) about Spider-Man/Peter Parker is that he's naive.

Spidey's young for a hero, he's a wise cracker with a no-kill policy, he's a ray of sunshine - he must just not know, right? He grabs purse-snatchers, he never sees the really evil crimes like human trafficking and stuff. If he knew how evil and horrible humans could really be, surely he'd be a depressed nihilistic bastard like me.

Except he does know. Spider-Man has seen and dealt with those horrible crimes, the ones the tourists and newspapers don't see. In the Marvel universe, NYC is a hub of mutant/alien/monster/interdimensional activity - of course he's seen the worst of the worst, been to literal hell, all while he carries the weight of everyone he's failed and everything he's lost.

Spider-Man is not naive, he's optimistic.

That's one of his superpowers. He knows exactly how bad humans can be, and he believes in them anyway.

And 95% of the time, he's correct. He's not blind to the fact that irredeemable evil exists, he's just aware of the fact that most of humanity is not that. Messy and complicated, sure -- but not evil.

So when he does face actual evil, he's not a naive, toothless, "we can all be friends, even war criminals!" Steven Universe hero -- he's an angry, stubborn as shit "If I give up, despair wins, and I'll be damned if I let you win" weaponized sunshine hero.

...he's also hilarious and I love him.

[milimeters-morales]

Hobie automatically taking snacks and hiding them in small crevices high up, so let’s say when someone brings some bread rolls to a hangout he’ll put one in his pocket without realizing because he’s just so used to not really having a stable source of food that when he does (kind of) he doesn’t act like it. It’s not something he goes out of his way to talk about either, so some people think it’s just Hobie stealing just to cause issues, some know it’s a food insecurity thing, and some think he’s trying to be funny by having weird stuff in his pockets and pulling snacks out of nearby wall panels. Sometimes it takes his friends a while to convince him to take the food out of the hiding spot even if he’s fully aware he can eat it all now and still be able to get more later (sometimes they can’t convince him at all)

[beaulesbian]

[somebluemelodies]

DAY TWO OF SPIDERBIT THEME WEEK STARTED BY @anonymous-dentist! :D SELECTED THEME: MURDER HUSBANDS (au slash something or other where purgatory happens later bc we were robbed of murder husbands plans) (i, uh… violence warning? murder husbands commit murder. i think this is one of the more interesting things i've ever written. you'll see why)

Their synergy is that of a well-oiled machine; quick yet eerily meticulous, like they’d done it together a thousand times already.

(Only one of them has. But the anger, the desire for blood and revenge from the other, is the perfect compensation.)

Their victims don’t stand a chance, one dropping to the floor right after the other with barely a chance to react.

The guard vaguely recognizes the man pinning him to the ground, whose arms are littered in scars new and old and whose clothes are stained with blood. A red and black dagger is held against its throat. They warned it, about this man. A potential threat, but not definitive.

Definitive, indeed.

The struggle only seems to make the man more pleased, laughing with a grin like the Cheshire Cat. The guard gets a few hits in with its baton, knocking him back, but he always comes right back, eager to fight. Eager to play. Eager to kill.

The other worker knows next to nothing about the other man dealing with it. But what’s more concerning is that they were wrong. There isn’t just one killer to be weary of. Since when was there two? Has it been two this whole time?

It’s this worker that’s the first of the two to go, the spider-hybrid above it playing no games with it, unlike his companion. The worker’s one and only attempt at self-defense is blocked with ease, and it watches as two extra sets of ruby red eyes open to stare at it, pupils as thin as needles.

(As if to say, you shouldn’t have done that.)

He strikes, and there are fangs piercing its neck. Immediately, it feels something coursing through its veins, numbing as its limbs feel as heavy as lead. The fangs are torn out of its white fur with no remorse, and the last thing it feels through coughing and sputtering is a spider leg piercing right through his chest. Digging.

And that’s that.

The guard sees it happen. And that’s the last thing it sees. Because the dagger that’d been shoved through its chest is pulled out and slicing against its neck, quick and efficient as it slumps to the floor, unmoving…

Cellbit climbs to his feet, lifting the dagger and swiping his tongue along the flat side of the blade, licking the blood clean off.

He watches Roier - his love, his husband - hold a heart without so much as flinching. If anything, the spider-hybrid seems just as pleased as he is, even if his expression is stoic, borderline angry.

(He knows how to read that man better than most people.)

Roier’s black sweatshirt is stained even darker still with fresh blood, hands covered in it too as he drops the organ carelessly, standing as well.

(Cellbit’s heart jumps, and he resists the urge to walk over, pulling him into a smothering kiss.)

It’s Roier who walks over to him first, finally smiling and looking evidently satisfied. Roier slips behind him, chin hooking over his shoulder, arms circling his waist as they both admire their handiwork.

“Que lindo,” the spider-hybrid murmurs.

The tone nearly sends a pleasant shiver down Cellbit’s spine. “Sim.”

Cellbit finally wheels around after a few moments pass, shoving his dagger away momentarily to cup Roier’s face and pull him into a bruising kiss.

His husband makes a surprised sound but immediately reciprocates, arms wrapping tight around his neck and deepening the kiss.

It tastes like blood; metallic and bitter and addictive.

(Cellbit’s heart hammers in his chest, and he’s never felt more alive.)

(Roier starts to understand the thrill, too.)

…

Two new bodies show up, mutilated and massacred as ever. But there’s a catch, this time. They don’t show up days apart; they appear on the same exact day, and the exact same place.

(And one of them is missing a heart.)

The dead Federation workers have been morbidly displayed on the quartz floor in front of the train station. Bloody symbols paint the pristine white floor crimson with another message, another clue.

Find it before we do.

Far away from the train station, in a tall, brooding castle on a hill, the island’s head investigator sits, carefully cleaning red off of his wedding ring as he and his husband strategize and plan out their next little date.

[wulvert]

[theshadowrealmitself]

Au where Gwen gets extremely close to straight up becoming a mad scientist to keep Peter safe before finding out that he’s Spiderman and she doesn’t actually need to worry about him that much

The only person aware of how close she was to becoming another one of Spidey’s villains (same scenario that usually happens with Harry, keep Petey safe from bullies, fuck he’s getting injured while photographing Spidey, Spidey must be a bully, get his ass) is Harry, since she works for his dad’s company, he’s just been dropping in a lot and kinda,, seeing her descent into all of it

(This adds nothing really except an extra layer to Harry and Gwen’s friendship, and I just at all times think Gwen would make a great mad scientist, so I think there at least should be her almost becoming one)

[anxiously-sidequesting]

Sorry to be posting twice in one day but now I wanna talk about Sybil's last line of dialogue at the end of Wallaru. Bro says "The Spiral will always need its Scion." In terms of new villains always arising, new worlds to explore, etc.

Now of course in the real world this means something totally different than in narrative; for us it means yay Wizard101 will continue and it's not ending and shit and thats good!!! But in universe, I believe that fact would have brought different feelings. Like sadness. Or anger. Or maybe just numbness.

Like if you think about it. The implications. The Wizard will never, CAN never rest. It's an ongoing, neverending thing of always being needed. It's You and ONLY You. There will never NOT be evil. If not GF Spider, then the Schism. If not the Schism, then the Old One. If not the Old One, then someone else. Someone or Something will always come up as a Threat that only the Scion (for some reason. Gods exists here) is expected and able to defeat. When Sybil said that I was legit terrified because gotdamn I can't retire???? I will Always be The Legend who Always saves the day???

Like even setting aside the social consequences of this (the whole people suspecting us/fearing us Thing) imagine what that does to your emotional and mental health. Fuck even physical health. Going through all that strenuous trauma and exercise and magical ordeals and shit???? The pressure of knowing it's the universe at stake, not just you or the world? I actually would have died just in arc 2 personally how the fuck are we supposed to carry this. For the REST. OF OUR LIVES. FOR HOWEVER LONG WE LIVE

✨ Anyways here's hoping the Schism Soldier is arc 5's new big baddie haha #enemiestolovers101 😘✌️💕💕💕

[demigod-of-the-agni]

thinking about her again. my new wife. tossing her into the mumbattan au washing machine

in my mind, she is mysterio- or at least, proto-mysterio? the precursor of mysterio? whatever. the point is she can control others, and MAYBE— get this— MAYBE she can control reality to some extent, if she values authenticity over special effects

"but agni that's... a very anti-climactic claim" I KNOW but i'm making her a magical girl. that makes it a very climactic claim!!!! have her be very attuned to maya (lit. "illusion", very potent magic wielded by gods, monsters, etc) and have her be obsessed with wanting to. control reality, i suppose

when i mean "control reality" i actually just mean "she can control what you experience". she controls YOUR reality, not the physical reality. she needs to bring her vision to life, and even if it is a little fake on a quasi-mystical/technical level, the fact you responded to it is all she's looking for. kinda freaky but hey, she's now my wife, let her be a little freaky

i WOULD add something about her backstory and while i do have an inkling of an idea it is far too late (3pm) for me to write about it in full. so. another day!!!

oh but i KNOW her name should be keerthi bhatt. do i know why i picked that name, other than the fact "quentin" has a 'k-' sound and "beck" has a 'b-' sound? no idea. something something extravagance and she's destined for producing great things.

(i came very close to naming her keerthi bachchan but then remembered amitabh bachchan is literally on tumblr. if you TAG him i will HUNT YOU DOWN and i will NEVER draw pavitr again)

[sciderman]

how does one befriend a sciderman u seem really cool and interesting to talk to :]

bless you anon! bless you bless you!! i'm always looking for friends, it's kind of why i do what i do! i know a lot of people are afraid to talk to me, (stinks) but i love talking to people about spider-man. that's why i'm here and why i live and breathe

unfortunately i'm chronically bad with DMs - they fire me up with such an inexplicable anxiety that makes me freeze up. i can't explain it and i wish i was better at it, but DMs are awful for me. i think maybe because it takes me so much time to form a reply and they wind up piling up because of it, and seeing all those messages makes me want to cry and hide underneath my bed. so please no DMs! it's the executive dysfunction.

i'm much much more comfortable in social spaces because i feel less cornered there - i've always functioned better as part of a group because it feels like less pressure on me to know what to say (as much as i love writing dialogue, i'm really very nervous in conversation when i don't know people well enough). in more open spaces i can vibe and just contribute when it feels comfy to do so.

so if you'd like me to get to know you better and to get to know me better then please don't be shy to interact with me more in my replies here on tumblr or on twitter! or i have a discord server that i've met such a great deal of wonderful people through - some i've even wound up meeting in person (insane), and we're bffs for lyfe now! tied our dicks together and everything. i love the gay people in my phone.

[movedtodykedvonte]

Spider-Man “fan club” that consists of all the people that have accidently found out his identity or seen his face and decided they would keep his secret but be total freaks about it.

They want to know everything about his civilian life and sort of idolize the person Peter is as it takes a true kind and courageous soul to take the mantle of a hero as Spider-Man and never run from it. They see him as the best person alive and aim to serve him as discreetly as possible...

[symbiotic-slime]

“having a special interest can’t be that bad” I had to convince myself not to get a blond mullet because it was “Eddie Brock core”

[spider-man-2o99]

“why are you always only ever talking about, like, spider-man 2099’s childhood and mental health issues instead of posting panels of him Biting People” uh. because... spider-man 2099 the comic book... also does this.?

[lonelysucker7]

Cigarettes out the Window

Pairing: Kaine Parker/Louise Kennedy

Summary: Based on the comic “Spider-Man: The Lost Years” (Specifically issue #3). Kaine Parker remembers his intimate time with detective Louise Kennedy and those cigarettes she never stopped smoking.

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: Heavy angst, mentions of death, mentions of violence, drug references

Not proofread. Wanted to make this after I got inspired by a song. Is it a song fic? Not really, but you could feel the references in here. The fic no one asked but the one I needed haha.

Enjoy!

………………………………………………………………………….

Kaine grew accustomed to the smell of cigarette smoke over the years.

Everywhere he walked, his nose caught the scent of burn wafting in the air from someone smoking in a dark corner. Or someone dangling their hand mindlessly out the window with the stick in their fingers as he swinged through the city.

But every once and then on the top of a rooftop, the highest there could be in Houston he would stare up in the night sky watching the stars glow. And its beauty becomes interrupted by the smell of smoke.

Even at the highest peak, it was always there.

She was there. Louise Kennedy.

A blur of memories that came back to him even in his sleep, startled him awake and he gasped her name out. His mind raced and his eyes searched the darkness of the hotel room and found nothing. Heard nothing.

Kaine would check on the sleeping Aracely, making sure she was alright and unharmed. Then he would leave to hang out on the balcony, taking an overview of the city lights go on and off like little flames in the night.

Nothing would beat their glow except the moon, the stars, the sun and a lighter.

In his own silence he thinks back to those many years ago…

………………………………………………………………………….

“Louise, why do you smoke?”

The half dressed blonde woman looks back over her shoulder towards the man on the couch who called for her attention. Her pink lips stretched to a friendly smile.

“They calm me down from my high. Or at least, feed more pleasure to it.”

The man nods a little, processing her words carefully. He thinks back to their shared kisses of intimacy and the tongue in his mouth swirls a little inside, tasting the faint flavor of smoke. It was sweet and sour.

His mind snaps back to reality as the couch sinks a little and the weight of Louise’s body acknowledges her presence. He can feel himself starting to smile as her head rests on his shoulder. He watches the way her lips move around the stick adjusting it to comfort, and her nose exhaling the smoke from there.

The way she does these things, it’s strange and amusing to him almost. But he can’t help but wrinkle his nose a little and lift a hand to rub the smell away. This action catches Louise’s attention and she leans away from him slightly.

“Oh, sorry about that Kaine.” Her hand comes up to remove and burn out the cigarette on the tray, but her wrist is grabbed gently by him. Kaine shakes his head and assures her.

“Don’t mind me ruining your moment. I’ll get used to it in time.” He offers a faint smile to her. Louise smirks a little in return and she nods, feeling his hand carefully pull away from hers. She drags another bit of the cigarette in her mouth and exhales slowly, letting out a soft giggle.

Louise reaches again for her cigarette and she turns to Kaine, raising it up to him. He eyes it curiously, the smoke following its swift trail behind it. Kaine gets the hint she wants him to try it out. With the back of his hand, he pushes it away from him and says,

“No thank you. I… I don’t like it.”

Louise raises an eyebrow, making a face that she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“How could you not like it?”

“Don’t really like the essence of it.”

“So you’ve never tasted it?”

“Never.” Kaine raises an eyebrow as she scoffs in response. She inhaled the smoke again and exhales it with a sigh. She says,

“Everyone smokes here. Am I supposed to believe that easily you don’t?”

Kaine snorts lightly. “I’m not like anyone else.”

Louise rolls her eyes a bit, and she waves him dismissively. She shifts in her seat and amusingly says, “How many times will you go on saying that?”

Kaine shrugs, pushing some of his curls closer to his face almost creating a curtain between him and Louise. He mumbled, “As much as I need to remind… myself.”

Louise sighs a little bit more loudly, and she gets on the couch to sit up on her knees. Her hands trail up to his arm and she leans closer to him. Kaine could smell her perfumed scent mixed in with the smoke, as he closed his eyes when he heard her soft honeyed voice near his ear.

“You're right. Remind yourself that. But let me add that it’s because you’re unique. Much more than anyone else here. You’re my one in a million.”

Louise's warm hands moved around his body, snaking her arms around him. In the gentle embrace Kaine leaned more into her and let himself be comforted. The tension in his body became relaxed and both him and Louise leaned back on the couch together. He rested his head on her chest, listening to the calm heartbeat and breathing of her smoking.

The dark room is silent for a moment as he breaks it with a soft monotone voice.

“I think I’ll try it out sometime these days. Smoking.”

He feels Louise’s hand pat him lovingly on his back. A soft chuckle rumbles from her.

“Whatever you say sweetheart. I’ll be here for your first.”

………………………………………………………………………….

On the night of her funeral, Kaine did everything in his power to avoid attending. But after everything, after murdering her it was hard not to go back. A final goodbye at least.

For the night he crashed (literally) in her apartment. Kaine remembered how he slept on the couch that night, afraid to go to her room and not find her there despite knowing she was gone.

Everywhere the lingering smell of cigarettes and Louise’s sweet perfume held him on a chokehold. The room illuminated with the glow of the moon, keeping him both awake and asleep.

Eventually he walked to the curtains and closed them completely, leaving him and the darkness in each other's company.

Kaine stared at nothing in the darkness as his tears streamed down the sides of his face. No sound was uttered as he cried and he could feel himself falling apart by the minute. So much for being one in a million. At this moment he had wished Louise pulled the trigger of the gun on him.

The weight of her betrayal was still fresh in his mind as her facade fell and became the monster he overlooked. Her twisted heart capable of fooling a love to a monster left him so blind and vulnerable. And yet in his mind he still insisted he was something, anything to her. She did spare him. She really did…And both paid the price for their faults.

Her screams couldn’t leave his mind as she struggled violently to be let go of his hold, her back pushing against his chest. He recalled his nose burying near her hair as he smelled her one more time. And the feeling of her delicate neck breaking and burning in his hands was a brutal reminder of the horrible joy he got from relieving the burden Louise had become to him. The many times he kissed that neck and face he never saw what the outcome would be in the end for those parts.

Now he knew.

………………………………………………………………………….

He left her place the moment the funeral had passed, bothering to clean up whatever mess he left. Underneath the couch he picked out the pack of cigarettes that she must have dropped and become lost.

Mindlessly he shoved those in his back pocket. And checked the place once again. And left.

Atop the buildings he ran and jumped, the rain crashing down to hit him in the face like a whip. Remembering when he first arrived in Utah, the first thing he saw was the graveyard. Not like it mattered to him at the time, only imagining what he would be like dead in one of those places.

For Louise to make it her final resting place was no surprise. How she died could have ended up differently.

He would have preferred her death to be the hand of her own smoking addiction. Get lung cancer once she aged. One where she’d be a dead woman walking.

Living, but dying.

At last he arrived at the graveyard, and he wasted no time walking around each place to find her name. He could have laughed if he realized it should have been obvious which one was hers. Everyone had their own set of flowers, dead and alive.

Louise Kennedy, had none.

Stopping in front of her, he slowly felt his chest swell up with the bubbling feeling of guilt and anger. It was pathetic and almost pitiful to see how her area was completely empty. Maybe she had no family close to her mourning for her. He didn’t sit down on the ground, instead squatting and hunched over as the rain poured down on his head. Kaine didn’t say a word, and just lowered his eyes feeling incapable of reading her name carved on the headstone.

His legs and body began to hurt from the position he was on and he decided to sit in the moist ground. He felt everything soak him up. His face was becoming wet and he couldn’t tell which of the wetness between the rain and his tears were.

Oddly, it was warm.

In his seat he shifted a little as his eyebrow raised when he felt something discomforting from behind his pants. Pulling it out, a shaky breath exhaled from his mouth. His chest hurt even more now that he was holding something very close to the person that once lived: Her pack of cigarettes.

The box was warm in the grip of his hand. Maybe he didn’t bring flowers but he brought her favorite thing. His silence and the soft trickle of rain hitting the ground were present in the background as he kept staring at the box. The edge of his thoughts kept insisting him to do something right now. In that instant an idea popped in his mind. He stared at the ground of her grave and back at the small pack and a startling giggle escaped his lips.

He remembered how he never really tried his first cigarette. She said she would be witness. And here they were: together again. Such a perfect final goodbye for them both. Shaking the box to his ear to listen if there was enough, he gritted his teeth in satisfaction. He turns to her grave and a rough mock in his tone rings out.

“Share a final smoke with me, Louise. You said you were gonna see me. Now watch.”

Staring at the pack he turned it in his hand noting the wrinkles on the surface. He paused when he noticed a faint pink smudge, and dented teeth on the side. The pad of his thumb traced there a little, feeling the small bumps underneath his fingertip. The pink smudge spread slightly to the right.

Lipstick.

Perhaps her hands were busy at the time and must have held the box in between her teeth. Well no more of that now. Shaking the box, two cigarettes dropped out onto his palm and he pulled out a lighter he had found on a nearby counter.

He ignited the lighter to life with a shaky thumb, taking a couple tries to make the spark. The open flame flickered in and out from the rain that crossed its way. Nearing both cigarette tips, they gently began to burn red and smoke emitted from them.

He closed the cap and tossed it aside on the ground near her headstone. With both sticks in his fingers, he shifted in his seat on the ground. He raised one towards his lips, muttering,

“One for me…”

His chapped lips wrapped around the stick, adjusting them comfortably with a small roll.

“…And one for you.”

He stretched forward and jabbed the cigarette in the middle of the dirt as it stared upwards. Sad quiet eyes watched it fight, keeping itself burning, but the weight of the rain was too much. The stick slowly shrunk down in the dirt, unable to keep its shape intact. The faint sizzle of the stick began to wane, the smoke whipping in the wind.

In an instant… The burn was gone.

Too bad.

Now it was his turn.

Carefully he took a slow drag of the cigarette with a pucker, closing his eyes as the smoke of nicotine settled in his lungs. The rich and nasty flavor settled on his tongue like nothing. The familiar taste of her kiss instantly coming back to him and his eyes watered. The rain pattered on his hair heavily, matting down his curls and they stuck on his breaking skin. His breathing ragged a little, already feeling the pinch on his throat and lungs at the same time, and his hands dug the soft earth beneath him.

A haze moved in his mind, almost leaving him in a trance like state. He lolls his head to the side and his eyes read the letters on the headstone.

R…I…P…L…O…U…I..—

“ARGH—!”

Kaine’s body aggressively recoils forward as the cellular degeneration kicks in, and his mouth drops the cigarette onto the ground. His hands reached up to his face, gripping his cheeks as he felt the skin stretch and rip a little apart. He lets out a bloodcurdling scream as the pain of smoke in his lungs and throat adds to his trigger. It burned and cooled, like chewing a mint gum and drinking water. He chokes out his tears, coughing out and huffing as much fresh air he can to ease his pain. His sight keeps being blurred by a mix of his tears and the rain.

His eyes keep darting at her headstone, and he shuffles desperately forward quickly pressing his face on the surface of it. He felt the coldness sink calmly onto his skin, wishing for her warm arms to wrap around him. Just like she always did.

Please… please Louise…

The rain kept on and the rumble of thunder came and went from time to time.

The pain eventually left, and he was left in a mess of grime, dirt, blood, and the taste of smoke. Gently he pulls himself away from the headstone and moves back, gritting his teeth feeling his bones shake inside him.

The feeling of wanting to go home ached immensely. But what home? After this what now? Questions he would soon have to respond on his own with any hope he had left. And that was the problem. He hoped too much.

Kaine pushed himself up from the ground, staggering back with a groan. His eye catches the box of cigarettes on the ground, sticks spilled and stained with dirt from his thrashing.

He didn’t know what to do except push the box near her grave and with the heel of his foot, started grinding it down. And he kept doing it and doing it and doing it, a new found rage burning again. He never liked them anyway. He probably never will. His mind rushed in an angry thrill,

I hate you I hate you I hate you—!

“…I-I love you.”

Hurriedly he pushes the dirt and grass onto the cigarettes, burying them and flats it out as if nothing had happened. And he turned away from Louise’s grave, not wanting to look at her again. He walks away with the bitter taste of her cigarette on his tongue. The rain settled down to a quiet drizzle, the peppered stars on the night sky twinkling.

She will never leave his mind. If there was smoke, she would be there.

Always.