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#spiderman
tgi-spideys · 2 days
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spndxjck · 16 hours
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why-i-love-comics · 2 days
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Peter Parker & Miles Morales: Spider-Man: Double Trouble #1 (2022)
written by Mariko Tamaki & Vita Ayala art by Gurihiru
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dotjpeg · 3 days
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june can’t come soon enough
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Amazing Spider-man #10(2022)
All of the art in this issue was bad, but the Norman Osborn stuff was particularly questionable.
submitted by @kryptidkhan
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scrapbunny-art · 3 days
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Just a little guy 🤏
Instagram | Twitter
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tvandfilm · 10 hours
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— Miles struggles down the street with the heavy bag, but he’s in his element. He walks by his old school, Brooklyn Middle—passes some old friends, who he loves and misses. — Miles walks down the street, high-fiving people. Everyone is so excited to see him. 
SPIDER-MAN: INTO THE SPIDER VERSE (2018) dir. Peter Ramsey, Robert Persichetti Jr., Rodney Rothman
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Prettiest One In The Room || Part 1/2
Pairing: Mob! (any) Peter Parker x Reader
Words: 4,678
Overview: Given your family's history, you should've expected judgment from those of higher wealth in whom you've unfortunately been more exposed to given your new 'position'. Luckily, while you may be hurt by the cruel remarks and snide laughter of others, Peter Parker will never stand for anyone insulting his new wife.
Warning: Bullying and suggestive content, but nothing too serious nor detailed (yet)
Is this one of my longest one-shots? Am I writing a smutty part 2? Yes, yes to both 😏
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You hate the color red.
You hate how much attention it draws to your eyes, acting as a glittery highlight that outshines the sharp black point painted over your eyelids. You hate the way it contrasts against your bare skin, parting mere inches down your thigh in a way that would expose your whole leg if you stand too widely. Most importantly of all, you hate its chill against your chest, sinking through what was once a bearable shade to create a darker stain dipping down from your breasts to nearly your stomach in a splotch that's impossible to hide nor fade no matter how much you scrub at it.
At this point, you've managed to ruin two innocent white towels whose only crimes were being folded into a pleasant stack in between each ceramic sink. The second proved just as useless as the first, somehow absorbing the stain without doing anything to actually rid of it from your dress. The soft fabric which is only comparable to the fur of a rabbit offers little comfort to your swirling nerves nor does it pacify your distressed sobs as you clench this towel in hand and bow your head in shame in front of the mocking mirror before you.
The once perfect makeup that Mary Jane had spent well over an hour applying to your face has long been smeared, the black eyeliner and mascara inseparable as it traces your tears down your cheeks which further creates damage to whatever blush and foundation your maid had picked out. The only makeup that has somehow remained intact throughout the night is your far too bright lipstick, although that's only because you've gone through extreme lengths to preserve it, refusing drinks or snacks for that purpose alone; not that it matters anymore...
Why is it that life loves to throw you off your feet the second everything's finally going well? You don't even use that word lightly or to any extreme. 'Well' as in you weren't dreading every second or breath. 'Well' since you genuinely smiled at some jokes thrown into the conversation. 'Well' because for once, you didn't feel any need to shy away from your husband's touch, instead letting his hand rest comfortably on your hip as he tugged your body against his.
Happy moments are a rare find; they always have been. Born into a poor family knee deep in debt thanks to your parents' gambling addictions, you've grown up fully aware that you could never ask for much. While other little girls dreamed of finding their prince or princess in shining armor, you had never been so foolish. Perhaps you always knew deep down where your life could possibly lead, however that didn't waiver the absolute shock you felt once those fears had actually been confirmed.
While your parents have always been cruel and selfish, you never imagined it going as far as to quite literally sell you off. Even that doesn't feel like a proper description for what exactly happened. Really, they could've sold you off to plenty of other men, ones with petty criminal records, sure, but nothing to the extent of what your husband holds in his own hands.
A mob boss. You almost laughed at the thought that that's actually a real job, although the sound quickly became bitter by the stone expressions your parents stared at you with. Your hand in marriage in exchange for paying off every loan shark with your parents on speed dial; a fair trade in their eyes, but not yours.
The only comfort you’ve felt after your parents' betrayal isn't one they can claim. Instead, that prize belongs solely to your husband because despite his cruel reputation and ever crueler line of work, he is, very shockingly, a respectable gentleman at least towards you.
Peter Parker had only barely turned sixteen when he took over the family business from his late uncle. Wanting to respect a memory, he's worked hard to teach a lesson to anyone who laughed at the scrawny teenager living within a shadow and in no time at all, he rose out of that shadow, becoming arguably the most feared man in New York by utilizing the same strategies taught to him by his beloved uncle. Of course, how to run a successful mob wasn't the only lesson Benjamin Parker passed down to his nephew. Apparently, he had taught a great deal about how to respect women, too.
While sour about the marriage yourself, you must admit Peter has been nothing but sweet and understanding towards your discomfort (again, shocking given his job). By the time you first moved into his luxurious mansion, he already had a room set up specifically for you. Painted in your favorite color with the softest of bed covers, the room was more than anything you've ever owned with tons of books, art supplies, make-up, and about anything else a young woman might enjoy, but just in case he had guessed wrong or forgotten something, Peter made sure to provide an unlimited credit card for you to use at your disposal.
If the room hadn't been enough, Mary Jane had been hired since your husband figured you'd have better luck being comfortable around a woman your own age and from a similar background. Every morning, she greets you with a smile while bringing you breakfast accompanied by a freshly picked rose and handwritten letter she assures are gifts from Peter's hand alone.
Then for the rest of the day, you're allowed to go and do as you please in the mansion, Peter’s only request being that you don't leave without proper security and that you always share dinner with him at six thirty sharp every night. Sometimes you sit in silence, sometimes you tell him about your day, sometimes he tells you about his (outside of work matters, of course); never does he push you out of your comfort zone.
You respect Peter for all of that. He could easily do as he pleases with you at any point and, as arguably the most powerful man in New York City, who would ever stop him? Instead, he is, daresay, a model husband who dotes on his wife so much that despite all prior judgment, she actually started falling in love with him.
Peter has upheld his role flawlessly throughout the last seven months, thus you've felt bold in wanting to raise up to yours at last. Slowly yet surely, you've managed to open up to him: visiting him in his office when home, joking at the dinner table, and even requesting date nights (you swear he looked like a child on Christmas when you first shyly asked).
Tonight was meant to be the cherry on top. Peter had mentioned a dinner party off hand earlier in the week, not truly expecting you to willingly volunteer to go with him. Honestly, you actually surprised yourself with the request, too, not usually being one for fancy get-togethers especially those attended by hordes of rich socialites, politicians, and who knows what other criminals, but it’s worth a good date, isn’t it?
In preparation for said date, you had gone out with Mary Jane (and your ten security guards) to pick out the perfect outfit which ended up being a red slip dress that hugs your body flawlessly, stretching down to nearly the floor with a gap in fabric over your thigh. Although not a dress you'd normally be comfortable wearing, you felt excitement choosing it solely because of your desire to capture Peter's eye while wearing something sexy tailored to his favorite color. This paid off, too. All night, you've felt his eyes linger on you, often dropping a bit lower than appropriate, but you are his wife and his gaze is only fair. If only he knew what you're wearing underneath.
Tonight you didn't just want to tease your husband. No, your plan went deeper than that. You want him; dearly so. You wanted him to be enhanced by your beauty, barely able to keep his hands off of you on the car ride home where he would finally have freedom to ravish you for the first time. That's why you agreed to this date and went on that shopping trip with Mary Janes. It's why you've been so nervous yet giddy, replaying her advice in your head in hopes of finally utilizing it…Unfortunately, there's always a miscalculation to every plan.
Everything was going well at first. Despite your initial discomfort regarding your revealing outfit, you soon began to feel just as sexy as you looked thanks to Peter's praises which seemed constant throughout the night. Every time a businessman or friend turned their attention away, your husband's mouth was against your ear, whispering another compliment which, unknowingly to him, sent heat to more places than just your cheeks. He was perfectly within your grasp, hooked to your string and all you had to do was reel him in the second this stupid party finishes…Then trouble found its way to you.
Much to your dismay, your husband isn't the only one here who knows your story. When the Big Bad Peter Parker got married, news spread fast within his social circle. Even if someone managed to miss it then, they would’ve learned it by now since it's rather difficult to miss the way he hugs a random girl to his side all night, not to mention his hand is absent of all his normal, extravagant rings because ever since the wedding, only the single golden band around his finger has truly mattered.
Now, it would be one thing for Peter Parker to get married, however the reaction changes depending on the bride. No one could comprehend how someone like him would 'settle' for a poor girl with a last name known by practically every loan shark in New York, therefore your existence at this party has made quite a strong appearance in party gossip.
Originally, you didn't hear any of it, only feeling the burning stares behind your head yet choosing to dismiss them as your imagination, after all, Peter hadn’t shown any sign of hearing or seeing anything, thus it must not have actually occurred, right? You’re just a little uneasy given the crowd is all.
Then Peter left. It wasn’t meant to be long, only a quick chat with a man who begged for his time to finish an urgent business deal. Although Peter refused at first, you stupidly convinced him to reconsider.
“It seems important, so you should go.”
“Don’t worry about me, I can manage on my own just fine”.
You assured him that you’d wait patiently in place for his return, a promise sealed by the quick peck he gave to your cheek before going off. It should’ve been an easy wait from there. As the party’s natural outcast, you didn’t think anyone would care to approach you then, but it proved to be quite the contrary, unfortunately.
Four women took the golden opportunity to stroll over, presenting themselves as friendly while asking about your dress and wondering about your husband. You answered each as if being quizzed, doing your best to awkwardly laugh at their ‘jokes’ which held poorly hidden jabs towards you. Needless to say, it didn’t take you long to realize this group’s true intentions, but too cowardly to disappear into the sea of people to escape them, you remained as their punching bag, fruitlessly ignoring the pain of their insults which only grew more direct.
“A poor, ugly slut who managed to blackmail Parker into marrying her so that he could be her sugar daddy! How pathetic!”
That's one of things they said about you anyways. How they managed to make such a mean spirited sentence roll of their tongues like it’s just friendly banter is beyond you, however it still brought a sting to your eyes.
“What do you have on him, huh? Did you dig up dirt on him and threaten to hand it over to the police?”
“Did your family trick him? Make you wear a veil until the vows were done? Oh, I bet he was pissed!”
“She’s probably one of his hookers who decided to fake a pregnancy or something!”
Each woman listed the many rumors they've heard throughout the night, making sure you understand the bottomline of what everyone else has been thinking: you don't belong with Peter. Whatever reason he had for marrying you, it wasn't for you because who in their right mind would do that?
"How foolish are you to think Parker would actually be attracted to an ugly slut like you?" That was the last of it which came as a literal splash when the woman threw her red wine over the front of your dress followed by a chorus of her peers’ wicked laughter.
You were understandably horrified and embarrassed by the situation. It felt like every soul in the room was staring and laughing with them, mocking you for having such a childish dream of actually believing your husband might love you. Now how will he be enhanced by your beauty or even think of touching you on the car ride home? Why would he feel an ounce of desire in ravishing you ever let alone tonight? He can barely stand looking at you as it is!
Your violent sobbing halts quickly when you hear the door of the bathroom open. A chilled panic runs down your spine, worrying that the women have returned to bully you further. The difference would be the lack of witnesses. In theory, they could do whatever they wish while you have zero protection.
Instead of hearing their snickering, you hear your name whispered breathlessly yet somehow, that's worse to hear, causing your grip to tighten over the towel as you fight unsuccessfully to stop your tears.
"Princess, what happened? Who did this to you?" Peter shows no regard towards this being the women's bathroom, his only concern being to rush to your side and immediately begin examining the damage. A red wine stain drenching the front of your body, your make-up having encountered a tsunami of tears, your breathing uneven...This was not how he left you fifteen minutes ago.
"Who did this?" He repeats his question when you don't answer the first time, cupping your cheeks in his large hands and forcing you gently to look into his eyes. There's a hateful glimmer in them, one that promises trouble the second you mumble a name, but you refuse to.
"I-It's nothing-"
"-I return to the party to find my wife gone, hidden in the bathroom clearly distraught with wine spilled all over her-"
"-I spilled it myself-"
"-Bullshit," Peter curses with narrowed eyes which silences you instantly," you haven't had a single drink all night. I refuse to believe you conveniently retrieved one and spilled it over yourself within the short time that I was away. I'm smarter than to believe that. Damn it, I only left your side for ten minutes."
Peter's furious, but not towards you. He’s furious with himself if anything. Given his line of work, the number one rule he lives by is to never trust even those working alongside you. Anyone can hold a knife behind their back, preparing for the opportunity to strike the second it’s presented, thus Peter's always sure to never provide that change be it regarding his business or his personal affairs. It's what Ben always warned him about. Ben never left May out of his sight when attending social gatherings or going out in public because it would be too easy for someone to target her to get to him.
Peter should've been like Ben. He shouldn't have left your side especially when you're so new to all of this. You aren't May. You haven't spent decades by Peter's side yet, learning the ins and outs of his work along the way to form your own thick skin and survival instincts. You've only been married for seven months. Hell, you hadn’t even begun seeing Peter as a husband until last month and he's already fucked it up!
"...It doesn't matter what happened, Peter, so...let's not start a fuss," your words are sweet, attempting to makehim feel better in this situation instead of yourself. Your thoughtfulness would make him smile if not for how much his blood boils right now.
With a sigh, Peter runs his thumb against your mascara stained cheek softly," a fuss? I don't cause 'fusses', sweetheart, although that's what whoever did this to you can hope for once I find them out...and I will find them out whether you're the one to tell me or not, so out with it. I'll ask this one last time before I run my own investigation: Who. Did. This. To. You?"
Biting your lip, you want to deny it further, however you give into Peter's intense stare by directing your own to the tile floor," just a group of women...I don't know their names…”
"What were they wearing?"
"Peter-"
"Describe them to me," he lifts your chin with his ring finger, staring into your eyes with a whisper," I won't hurt them. I'll even forgive them for you if you ask nicely, but they still need to understand what they did wrong. 'just a friendly little warning for what happens when they upset my beloved."
Briefly, you wonder what ‘friendly’ might mean to Peter. His knuckles are rough, scarred from all the beatings he’s delivered over the years. While you’d like to think he’d show a bit more restraint than to physically harm anyone over something so silly as hurt feelings and a wine stain, even a ‘friendly’ car ride to the docks doesn’t seem outside the realm of possibilities for your husband.
Nevertheless, you have observed his habits well enough to understand one thing for certain: Peter’s too persistent and stubborn for his own good. Since he’s clearly already set his mind to it, you aren’t going to win this argument, therefore you must give in, telling him the descriptions of the four women from earlier.
Once you begin talking, Peter steps away from you and pulls out his phone, promptly texting someone who you assume to be one of his security guards scouting the ballroom outside. All the while you wait patiently, hugging your bare arms which are beginning to feel cold. Actually, they’ve been cold for a while, however you had elected to ignore it until now for the sake of making this dress work.
Peter speaks your name again, letting it roll off his tongue like sugar. This beckons you to lift your gaze, meeting his eyes when he looks away from his phone," is that all they did to you?"
"Um..." You toy with the idea of nodding and allowing this situation to end on an early note, but seeing as you’ve already hesitated aloud, Peter will no doubt notice the lie," they...said some cruel things, too.”
"Like what?" He steps closer to you, but stops immediately when you step back into the counter as a response,"...like what, sweetheart?"
"They, um..." you swallow, cursing yourself for that returned feeling of needles pricking your eyes. You can’t cry again, not in front of Peter. What would he possibly think of a wife who can’t handle simple words? You must be stronger than this!
"They just couldn't believe that you married me. They thought my family might've blackmailed you or something because...because I'm not fit for you."
"Not fit for me?" Peter echoes only the last part, moving his shoe against the ground yet suppressing his desire to step towards you again. It wouldn’t be a wise move given how uncomfortable you already are," why wouldn't you be fit for me? I mean - I suppose if anything - a devil shouldn't be married to an angel...but that isn't what they meant, was it?"
Your lip tugs slightly, wanting so desperately to believe he sees you as an angel. Alas, you shake your head,"...Peter, just look at me."
"I am looking at you. I've been looking at you all night, my princess - if you haven't noticed."
"I'm not pretty or anything-”
"-Now that's bullshit," Peter tilts his head with a crooked smile, attempting to gain a better view of your face despite how much you avoid him at every angle," because the way I see it, you've been the prettiest one in that room all night. As I said, I've barely been able to take my eyes off of you…That dress; it’s gorgeous on you. ‘fits like a glove, not to mention red is my favorite color; even more so when it’s on you."
"...So, you like it?" You dare to ask, looking up at him fully with a hint of a hopeful smile. You're pleased to see him nod eagerly.
"Of course! In fact, I’m buying you a new one first thing tomorrow; one that isn’t stained in wine so that you may wear it more often. Hell! I wouldn’t be against the idea of you casually wearing something like that just around the house," Peter smirks when adding," you look sexy, if I may say."
"That was the goal."
"Was it now?"
You nod shyly,"...I knew you like red and I wanted to look good for you tonight."
"Then count me as the luckiest man alive," at last, Peter steps forward, watching your reaction to ensure you’re comfortable with the movement. It only takes him two steps to be directly in front of you, his hand brushing your arm as he takes this quiet moment to think,"...I did marry you as a business deal."
You frown at his sudden confession, your heart skipping a beat, however before you can let it crack, Peter continues.
"But it was a deal set up on my own accord with my own terms. No, you weren't given to me nor was I backed into a corner by your family and forced to marry you. I chose you. I saw your picture by chance yet it was love at first sight; I wanted you to be mine. My only problem was your parents.
“You know, believe it or not but despite all their dull-witted habits, your folks can apparently grow brain cells once they realize they actually have the one up on someone for once and that’s exactly what they had on me. I wanted you, their daughter, thus they suggested a deal: I could be with you so long as I settle all their debts while I am. As long as they controlled you, they could keep us both under their thumb. ‘guess they thought they were pretty clever with that logic. ‘didn’t notice the small writing at the end of their own pen till it was too late to revise.”
“And what was that?” You gulp, feeling small under Peter’s stare. Have you ever gotten this close to him before; close enough to see every change in shade to his eyes where his irises get lighter closer to his pupils? They’re beautiful…
“The deal only worked in their favor as long as you were theirs to control - their property. Now, I simply refuse to sit around as anyone’s puppet let alone theirs which is why I jumped right to the vows instead of a more formal relationship to start. Once you became my wife, you became mine, not theirs; according to the contract at least.
“…I know it’s fucked up. I was selfish and I apologize for that. I also apologize for your treatment as an object in this case. I promise, I intended no harm to you, my love; not an ounce. I had only hoped that we could let our relationship grow while never feeling the stress of them holding the strings…I want us to be happy, owing them absolutely nothing; not money, not obedience, not even communication if we desire it.”
"Is that why they looked so upset at the wedding?" You remember the bitterness your family clearly held that day, not that you cared to ask them about it then. Instead, you felt satisfied seeing it, figuring it was very much deserved. Even now, you feel the same; let them be bitter for treating you as a bargaining tool.
Peter trails his touch up your arm, fixing the strap of your dress onto your shoulder with a chuckle,"...none were pleased, but I’ll have it be known that I did at least settle the debts that they had at the time, thus I wasn’t as much of an asshole as I could’ve been.”
“A part of me wishes you had been.”
Peter’s eyes glimmer at your harsh remark, although he decides to move along with his point rather than gush over your attractive feistiness,” you’re my wife based on choice, regardless of what others have tried to tell you. I love you, princess.
“I love how beautiful you look without even trying- even after just rolling out of bed with your hair a mess. I love how you keep standing, never letting the world beat you too low because deep down, I think you know your own worth. That's why you kept me fighting for you in the first place, right? You kept your distance until I gained your respect. A lot of girls try falling into my arms, you know? They don't get it, but you do: love is something to be earned and shared.”
Pausing momentarily, Peter's hand brushes against yours blindly until it runs against your diamond ring- one worth a dizzying amount to you yet to him, it's only a small fraction of what he believes you're truly deserving of. If he could have it his way, he'd have a literal star built into that gem on your finger.
"This is a commitment," his breath is gentle, blowing against the crook of your neck as he hovers there. Ever so softly, his hands grasp both of yours," you are my wife; my greatest treasure not for just your body or looks, but for you as a person. 'doesn't matter how anyone else sees it…and I'm willing to prove that to you in any way, too.”
Honestly, Peter only says this as a means to tease you. His laughter is held right on the tip of his tongue, prepared to announce he's only joking around to lighten the mood, however he's ill-prepared for the shock that is you giving a nervous smile. It's small, barely noticeable to the eye, especially given the way you stare at the floor in embarrassment while providing your own reply.
"I would like you to," you curse yourself for such a pathetic response. Based on your husband's wide eyes as he stares at you in amazement, he clearly meant the question as rhetorical and not at all in the way you decided to imply, but unfortunately, the words have already left your mouth along with the damage.
"...I'm sorry. I-"
"-Do you really want me to?" Peter sounds so childish, looking the part, too. He practically glows, so eager to hear your answer yet watching you carefully to study your reaction more closely this time because apparently, as it's just now come to his attention, he doesn't know his wife as well as he had previously thought.
"I mean...I, um..." You, as a great contrast, stumble over your words, needing time to create this answer he so desperately waits for.
While shy to admit such an embarrassing thing, you’ve worked so hard preparing for this moment. Okay, admittedly this isn’t entirely loyal to the perfect image you’ve been holding mentally. You had expected to be sinking into the fluffy covers of either Peter’s or your bed, pushed down by the man in question as he showers in love while blanked in the darkness of a room deprived from any possible distractions.
A bright, public women’s bathroom where anyone could walk in at any given moment to destroy your private and intimate deeds wasn’t originally within your realm of possibilities nor is it ideal…but wouldn’t it be a shame to deny Peter when he’s quite literally inches away from you, happy to accept that precious thing you’ve been saving just for him? If anything, you’ve earned it after all you’ve been put through tonight!
Taking in a breath, you look at your husband confidently with a quick nod despite the unwanted quiver in your voice," w-well, if you're offering, I would like that very much..."
PART 2 {coming next week 😉}
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shokuto · 2 days
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Holy shit the trailer's ready holy shit holy SHIT
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giorno-plays-piano · 3 days
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What the Forest Gave Me
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Pairing: fae!Peter Parker x reader
Warnings: threat of noncon, some very soft yandere vibes, allusion to kidnapping, minor violence, sort of fluff.
Words: 1.8k
Summary: When you are making a wish by the silver pond, the fairy wood answers to you and sends a fae your way. But why aren't you welcoming him with open arms?
P.S. Just a short drabble with an angry insecure fae boy 👀
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He hates the chase. Hates seeing your back as you run away from him like a wounded animal when he didn't as much as touch you. Why do you run? He did nothing to hurt you. You asked him to come, to embrace you, and he came.
And you ran.
His long, pointed fingers elongate further as he growls in frustration, leaving angry marks on the trees he clutches not to fall: the forest is his abode, but it loves innocent human women and guards those who ask for help like some sort of a fairytale dragon. Why are you doing this? Why making his home his enemy? He only did what you've asked of him. You called him, and he came, and you abandoned him that very minute.
Heartless human. They say fae are treacherous, but you are hardly different. You lied, didn't you? You didn't want a lover. You asked the forest to send you one, to give you a mate, but when the young fae stepped out of the woods in his shiny flower crown, his hands full of fruits and berries to appease you, you screamed and ran away. You want a lover, but you don't want him.
It makes him mad.
Abandoning sweet fairy fruit on the meadow, he bolted after you, confused, ashamed, and unhappy. What did he do wrong? Did he look hideous in that flower crown of his? Did you dislike the fruits he brought? Did you think him ugly, unlikable because of his face? His scrawny body? His too-long limbs? Perhaps he wasn't a beauty, but he was a fae. They all looked somewhat alike. Surely, you knew that! You came to a fairy forest and asked for a lover, clearly knowing it would be someone of his kind. If you wanted a human lover, you would choose one in a village nearby. No human lived in his abode.
So why the chase? Why the horrified expression? What was it that made him so unwanted in your eyes? Why did you need to hurt him when he only sought to make your wish come true?
Unfair. You are unfair. Wicked. Unworthy of the forest protection. You deserve to be punished for hurting him.
The moment he thinks of it, you cry out, falling and rolling down a hill: it's in fae's nature to create magic anywhere they go, and if they aren't careful, magic seeps out of their thoughts seamlessly. Your cries are muffled as you collapse under an old oak tree, your back hitting its mighty trunk with a thud, and you curl up into a ball, wailing from pain. Your arms and legs are bruised by branches and thorns, twigs in your hair, and you are trembling like a beaten dog, shielding yourself from him with your arms.
"Please don't hurt me", you plead in a weak voice, crying, blood slowly seeping out of the little cuts along your leg the way magic drips from the pointed tips of his fingers.
He didn't want to do it. He didn't, he swears in his head as if it matters. Yes, he thought you were cruel, but he didn't want to hurt you.
Or did he?
No, no, not like that, he didn't want you hurt and crying on the cold ground. He wants you to say you were wrong when you abandoned him the moment he stepped on a meadow, but he doesn't want to hear your moans of pain or see you trembling at the sight of him, afraid he would break you.
"Please, please don't hurt me", you shake badly, your face puffy from tears, hands still up to prevent him from hurting you more.
He feels rotten. He's not a vicious fae. He doesn't hunt human women for sport. Abusing you for abandoning him was a heartless thing to do, nonetheless.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, raising his hands up so you'd see he isn't going to struck you.
You shiver when you look at him through your fingers, still crying from pain, and he swears silently at himself. Nasty creature. Why did he do it to you? You are defenseless, almost bare in front of him.
"I'm sorry I hurt you," he whispers, the sight of you, miserable, forcing a lump in his throat.
When his hands start to shine, you let out a scream, afraid he would harm you again, but the soft glow he emits gently spreads to your cuts and bruises, and your body gets warm as he works his magic, closing broken skin. He isn't the vicious sort, no. He finds no pleasure in cries and pleading. He is just a forest fae, a creature born under the moonlight to nurture the soil and everything that grows out of it, a shepherd of the fairy woods. Perhaps he is a little tricky like all fae are, but he isn't malicious. It hurts him to see you cry.
Minutes pass, and soon your body looks flawless again, your skin smooth and unmarked, your tears drying out as you stare at him, unsure to either thank him or run out of fear. He wouldn't blame you if you preferred the latter, feeling sorry one careless thought brought you so much pain. Maybe you hurt him first, but he shouldn't have held it against you.
"I'm sorry," he repeats again, careful not to make any sudden movements. "You asked me to come, and I came. And you ran."
He hates the way it sounds. Like it is your fault you fell. Why did he say it? It didn't sound like that in his head.
"But I..." you struggle to find the right words, looking at him from the ground, still a little afraid, and the fae lowers himself right onto the pile of dry leaves. "I didn't call for anyone."
"But you made a wish."
Yes, you did. You wished for a lover. A mate. You asked the forest send him to you, and it did.
He watches you slowly assembling pieces of a puzzle, dumbstruck your wish was granted in a matter of seconds. But aren't you one of a fair folk, you ask, choosing your words carefully not to upset him, but he gets frustrated, nonetheless.
"So what?" He grunts, shaking his head, and his disheveled flower wreath, finally knocked over, is falling on his lap. "Didn't you want a fae lover? No human lives in the fairy wood."
You are perplexed: you didn't think the forest would listen to your plea. It was just a silly wish, a few careless words dropped in a wrong place, you say, embarrassed he heard you. You wanted a lover, but it was a wish in a well of sorts. You didn't think the forest would hear and send you your betrothed. You thought he was a fae guardian who came to punish a mortal for breaking the fairy grounds.
"Are you... him?" You whisper, hugging your knees, staring at him so intently he suddenly blushes, his eyes on his feet.
"Yes," he says quietly when just mere minutes ago he was ready to scream it into your face. But how could he now? You were innocent. You didn't hurt him on purpose, not even thinking he was your fated lover. Surely, if he were in a strange place, meeting a strange creature out of nowhere, he would be scared, too. How could he hold it against you?
But he would if you rejected him. And he was afraid to ask you again. He hurt you badly, didn't he? He hurt and scared you. Would you take him now? No fae law prohibited him from whisking you away from mortal realm, but he thought of you, curled up under the mighty oak like a wounded animal, pleading him not to hurt you, and he couldn't make himself go with it. He dreamed of making flower wreaths and swimming in the silver pond and collecting wolfberries together, not coming home to you terrified of the sight of him, scared of his touch.
You clear your throat, abashed, your gaze directed at your feet, "Isn't it prohibited? A human and a fairy?"
His cheeks heat up as he mumbles, "After a High Lord married a human girl ages ago, nobody cares anymore."
He tries not to get his hopes up too much, but he already dreams of kissing your hands when you feed him wolfberries, making you a dress from sirenspider's web and moonlight, and teaching you how to make a wreath for every season and occasion. Bluebells for witching hours in spring, bramble and violets for early summer nights, parsley and cowslip when sleeping on the meadows...
"You asked me to come, and I came," he whispers, looking up to find you watching him. "Will you take me?"
Your silence is suffocating, and it hurts, it hurts him so much to look at you and see you twisting the fabric of your dress in your hands as if you want to refuse him but don't know how.
"Promise not to hurt me," you say, tiny droplets of sweat forming on your forehead from fear.
"I swear to never hurt you again," the fae proclaims obediently, his eyes on his feet again.
Oh, it hurts, it hurts so much to hear the hesitation in your voice. It feels like there is a burning hole in his chest, and you are adding oil to fire.
You take so long to say more. He knows he shouldn't blame you, not when he made you a prey to his anger, chasing you like a rabbit he was going to put on a skewer, but he is angry and frustrated and spiteful again, rejected by his fated lover. If you don't take him, nobody would.
When he hears your voice, he almost jumps. "I... uh... you- you scare me a little. I know you didn't mean to, but... and you're a fae. And I... uh... can I think a little more?.." your voice quivers a little as you stare at the heap of old red and brownish leaves on the ground. "What does it even mean to be a fae's lover? Would it only last a season? Or would you... well... take me to be your own?"
Unlike you, it doesn't take him long to give you an answer.
He scoops you up in his arms fervently, his almost black hair a lovely chesnut brown again, the wreath shining back on his head, his pointed fingers no longer clawed. "I take you to be mine own!" He screams at the top of his voice as you tremble in his arms, bewildered, when he lifts you up in the air above his head. "I SWEAR I TAKE YOU TO BE MINE OWN!"
His chant makes his flower crown glow, and so does the autumn foliage of an old aok. You can't see your own body starting to emit the same golden glow, but you feel warm and light, staring at the orange sunset sky as the fae holds you for the whole forest to see.
You don't know it accepts young fairy's claim.
______________
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avetavet · 1 day
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im sorry guys
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anxiouspineapples · 11 hours
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* spider guy *
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ghostplasmas · 24 hours
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I LOVE THIS SHIP SO MUCH THEYRES SO CUTE
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why-i-love-comics · 2 days
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Peter Parker & Miles Morales: Spider-Man: Double Trouble #1 (2022)
written by Mariko Tamaki & Vita Ayala art by Gurihiru
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bad-comic-art · 1 day
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From Amazing Spider-Man (2022) #10
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submitted by @gentlemangeek​
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fan-art-810 · 2 days
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Medieval Spider-Man characters made by Mid journey AI, v4. Created by u/neotic_reaper on Reddit
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