GREAT POWER

ϟ for a drunk text + @gotwebbed·

( text ✉ → frosted mini petes ): whar the sh ( text ✉ → frosted mini petes ): no ( text ✉ → frosted mini petes ): where a re ths hoes I left your bird ( text ✉ → frosted mini petes ): borrow ( text ✉ → frosted mini petes ): where are the shoots i left your borrow ( text ✉ → frosted mini petes ): siri isn’t listening to me ( text ✉ → frosted mini petes ): she can’t silence me parker ( text ✉ → frosted mini petes ): i won’t be SILENCE

💀 an urgent text // @gotwebbed

(✉️ ➡️ Parker): Did you eat my leftovers?  (✉️ ➡️ Parker): Don’t you dare ignore my text messages.  (✉️ ➡️ Parker): I’ll make sure no one finds your body. (✉️ ➡️ Parker): No body, no crime.   

( 📩 → new pete (be cool gwen!) ): you are correct! it is my birthday, the big 2-4.  ( 📩 → new pete (be cool gwen!) ): i mean, not that there’s any really exciting songs about turning 24 to my knowledge.  ( 📩 → new pete (be cool gwen!) ): one more year closer to the big dirt nap ah shit wait too much for him [UNSENT] ( 📩 → new pete (be cool gwen!) ): a cheesecake preferably!! we he i did that every year practically tradition! but you don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to!  ( 📩 → new pete (be cool gwen!) ): how much longer are things going to feel like this? i know you’re not him but i don’t know how long this weirdness is gonna exist– [UNSENT]

‘ oh, am i talkin’ too loud? ‘ // @gotwebbed

Hangovers were something that Jess had grown accustomed to. She drank almost every night. A hangover was natural at this point. It didn’t mean that she’d gotten used to them, however. Sometimes it depended on how much she drank. There were times when she could avoid a hangover by pacing herself. There were other nights, however, when her demons got the best of her and she stopped counting how many drinks that she had. Nights when she longed for the bottom of the bottle and didn’t stop until she found it. 

The previous night had been one of those nights. She woke up with a raging hangover and a hatred for the world around her. Everything was too bright, too loud. Why couldn’t one of her super powers be immunity to hangovers? When Peter Parker barged into her apartment, Jessica groaned, putting a hand to her forehead. 

“I’ll give you ten seconds to shut the hell up,” she warned. “Or else I’m going to throw you out that window over there.” If she could move. She definitely couldn’t move. She hoped the warning was enough. 

&

If everyone else could barge into his apartment unannounced, he could steal the move for himself. It wasn’t subtle, and it definitely wasn’t polite, but it was effective, and the less time he spent in stairwells and hallways and public view, the better. Besides, it was well past two in the afternoon, Jessica wasn’t answering the door, and the place was unlocked. Peter was starting to think that she was the one in trouble.

“Hey, uh, Jones,” he called as he let himself in. “Jessica? Are you okay?” 

The door swung open, and Peter was immediately hit by a wave of darkness, stale air, and the lingering scent of day-old liquor. And there was Jessica Jones in the middle of it, looking hungover as all hell and even less pleased to see him than usual. Got it. These were pieces he could put together.

@gotwebbed

[📱to been there, done that ] this looks bad, this looks /so/ bad– [DELETED] [📱to been there, done that ] apparently a calm and happy Hanukkah was too much to ask for– [DELETED] [📱to been there, done that ] so we’re imploding over here– [DELETED] […] [📱to been there, done that ] this probably goes without saying, but Friday movie nights are off the table for a while [📱to been there, done that ] Happy Hanukkah? [📱to been there, done that ] also have to put a stopper on finding Dad, and that’s– [DELETED] [📱to been there, done that ] hey you’re an Avenger, what’s the chatter?

It wasn’t about that. It was never about that. Peter always thought he had the carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. Everything was on him. It was his burden. And that couldn’t be further from the truth. Just once, MJ wished she would let him shoulder that burden. The bags weren’t just bags. It wasn’t about them being heavy, because they weren’t. She knew he felt like this entire incident was on him, and it wasn’t. Nothing she could say would change his mind. 

If the roles were reversed and he had been in the hospital, she knew she’d be doing everything to help him. It wasn’t like she blamed him, she only wished he would let her help him help her. Peter was so bad at accepting help. It was difficult. 

“I can still hold something,” she grumbled, squeezing his hand back. She gasped at that and glared at him. “I’m very graceful, I’ll have you know. I always have been.” She wasn’t here because of a lack of grace. That wasn’t what had landed her in this horrible building. Whether or not she was attacked because of who she was, or more specifically who he was, remained unanswered, but it certainly wasn’t her doing. 

They left the room behind, along with the white walls and smell of cleaner, and headed down to the familiarity of a car they’d both been in many times before. MJ was eager to get away from this. If she could leave this building behind, could eventually leave behind the cast, she could move past it. As if she could sprint from the trauma, pick up the speed and run until the entire thing was behind her. Like she could outrun the dreams and the haunting and the damage done to both of them. Maybe she could run so fast, her chest heaving, that she could pretend the entire thing hadn’t happened. 

What was going to become of them? She’d tried so hard to silence the worries and the pestering voice, but she saw the way he looked at her. She saw the look in his eyes, the fear behind his smile. He was so worried that she’d end up six feet under that he saw a ghost when he looked at her face instead of the very much alive woman who was just begging him to love her as Peter Parker and not Spider-Man. Just once, she wanted him to be Peter, to push aside the need to do something and hold her hand, kiss her cheek. be here. 

He had a great responsibility as Spider-Man, she knew that. But sometimes he got so caught up in that, in what he thought he had to do, that he forgot the other hats he wore. Sure, Peter was Spider-Man. But he was also Peter Parker, the love of her life, the only person who’d ever made her feel safe. And not because he was strong, not because he could kill anyone if he felt he needed to. He made her feel safe because she didn’t need to work so hard. She didn’t have to prove herself to him. She didn’t have to show him she was worth so much. She could be Mary Jane with him. She could be her most vulnerable self with him. And it was okay.

Maybe that was changing. Maybe she had to be careful not to let him see how upset she was. Maybe she needed to work harder to protect him. There was a lot of responsibility in being Spider-Man’s girlfriend, and she played it off, but maybe she shouldn’t. 

“You aren’t going to let me do anything, are you?” she asked, eyeing him as they reached the car. “I’m still perfectly capable, you know,” she said softly. 

&

Peter laughed. “No, I’m not,” he said.

On paper, they didn’t make sense. A world-class nerd, maybe the only person deserving of the term dweeb in the twenty-first century; the popular, outgoing would-be movie star next door. The first time he’d ever seen her, framed by the chipped paint of the doorframe, that smile he would come to know so well playing on her lips, he forgot how to speak. It was a whole teen movie cliche, his tongue-tied bumbling, spending years watching her in silhouette, hopelessly in love with the idea of her. The only explanation anyone could come up with (and the internet had sure tried) was that MJ wanted the thrill of dating a superhero. There was no allowance made for the fact that they’d known each other long before the Spider-Man of it all, or that they’d started dating before that particular secret was out.

On paper, they didn’t make sense. But in person, they fit perfectly. It wasn’t just the way her hand locked into his like it was made for it, or the way her heart beat in time with his. She was much better at hiding it, but Peter had seen the way MJ carried the weight of the world with her everywhere she went, hiding in her laughter and her flirting and her charm. For all he’d suffered, she’d endured worse, and she hadn’t had super strength to help her out. She definitely hadn’t had Ben and May, even though they’d done their best to look out for her.

Still, she’d come out of it dazzling.

And he was going to ruin her. Just by associating with him, there was a target on her back. This was the first to come of many, he could feel it. Not spider sense, just knowing. Patterns, history, experience. As long as he was Spider-Man, and she was with him, she was in danger. (All his attachments were, really. What a horrible web he’d woven.) Bad things came in threes; it was only a matter of time.

Uncle Ben. Gwen.

Mary Jane. 

He couldn’t carry the weight of her, but he could at least carry her bags. He could hold her hand and hold her tight and make sure this never happened again, no matter the cost. He wasn’t that dumbstruck teenage boy in Forest Hills anymore, but she was still the girl standing in his doorway, years of hurt tucked away behind a show-stopping facade. They shouldn’t have gotten here, but they had. So where did they go next?

They started with the car. Slowly, carefully, Peter released her hand to heft open the trunk and slide her bags inside. Before the spider, it had been sticky, and getting the lid to stay shut had taken a full-body slam. Now, he could do it one-handed. May jumped out of the front seat and grabbed the door for MJ, and they all slid inside, ensconced in the pilling seats and time-worn smell of the thing. Safe. Normal. Heading home. For now.

He took her hand in his again, wrapped an arm around her tightly, straining against the old ribbony seatbelts, and kissed her forehead. “Just because you can do it doesn’t mean you have to.”

It was probably - no, definitely - stupid that MJ had spent more time worrying about Peter than she had spent worrying about herself. The healing process would be long and drawn out and don’t get her wrong, she hated that this was happening. There was going to be physical therapy, and emotional therapy, and lots of check-ups, and not only did she not want any of it, wanted to just go home and go back to normal, she also knew damn well she couldn’t afford any of this fancy stuff. Her insurance was not going to cover a lot of this, and she couldn’t help but worry. But Peter. Peter was different. MJ had been there through a lot, but she’d never seen Peter quite like this. It scared her. What she was scared of, she couldn’t quite say. More than anything, she was scared that she’d lose him. Some days it felt like he was slipping away, like he wasn’t there even when he was. She knew he left frequently, but he was almost always by her side. And when he wasn’t, someone else was. It was staggering how lonely a person could feel without ever been alone. 

Her memory of the entire night was still fuzzy. Try as she might, she couldn’t pull anymore details than the ones she already had much to both the officers’ and Peter’s dismay. The cops wanted her to have something. It made her case stronger if they caught the guy. It made it easier to find him in the first place. She knew Peter wanted her to have something to give him, but she didn’t. Whether her memory was damaged or her mind was protecting her, the incident was barely there. And it didn’t really make a different. She was still attacked. She’d still spent days in the hospital. She’d still had to watch Peter unravel. She’d still lost her chance at the fellowship. Nothing in her life changed if they caught the person behind this. Maybe that was narrow-minded, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. 

While she wished she was going to her own home, she was thrilled to regain some freedom, even if the boot and the cast did limit her. Aunt Anna felt more comfortable knowing she’d be in her home. ‘What if something happens? What if you have internal bleeding they didn’t catch?’ What if, what if, what if. MJ couldn’t argue with it. As much as she wanted to, she not only didn’t have it in her to push, but she had to admit she was right. Still, she’d managed to convince her to let Peter bring her home and give her some space, even if only some. 

“I can carry that, you know,” she said as he picked up her bag. There wasn’t a ton to get, after all she’d only been here a few days. But she had needed clothes, some items from home, her purse, and her laptop. It made more sense for them to both carry things, but she wasn’t surprised that he was grabbing more. “How are you gonna hold my hand if you carry everything?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at him. @ptrparkcrs·

&

He’d never helped anyone home from the hospital before. Every ambulance had been a death sentence, too little, too late. Every siren had ended with him standing at a graveside, the cemetery slowly filling with the people who had once made up his life. There, under the oak tree--Mary and Richard Parker, with their twinned expiry dates, piles of small stones snaking across their bases. There, next to them--Ben Parker, his grave only just beginning to weather, the pile of rocks smaller, the flowers fresher. And there, in another corner, far away but close enough, the shiniest of them all--Gwen Stacy. Bit by bit, Peter would be responsible for selling every cemetery plot in Queens.

He couldn’t handle another funeral.

But this time, there wasn’t one. He’d been too slow, too arrogant, he hadn’t saved her, but there wasn’t a hearse, just a boot and his aunt’s station wagon. The doctors had called her lucky over and over again, but Peter didn’t believe in luck. He didn’t get lucky. (He’d used up all his luck on her, the day she’d leaned in his doorway and told him he’d hit the jackpot, and he had, but you didn’t get that twice.) No, this wasn’t luck. This was a warning.

He’d spent the days at her bedside, head in his hands, pacing the floor, the hallway, the city block. He couldn’t sit still--he never could--and he couldn’t leave her alone and he couldn’t just stay there while whoever had done this was out free, probably preparing to finish the job. So he replayed the scene endlessly. The alley, her face, cradled in his arms, her blood tracing the steps to the vending machine, the cafeteria, the overpriced and poorly-stocked gift shop. He needed clues, he needed answers, he needed her to be okay. 

And she would be, physically, but she’d lost the fellowship, she couldn’t dance, and he knew what the bills would do to her and Aunt Anna. And it was all his fucking fault. If she hadn’t been Spider-Man’s girlfriend--if the world hadn’t known, MJ would probably be halfway to a staff job at the New York Times. Instead, she was refusing to let him carry her bags, even though she was injured and he had yet to find the upper limits of his arm strength.

“Superpowers, remember?” he said, easily hefting her bags with one arm, and squeezing her hand with the other. “I’m very strong. I’ve got this. You just focus on not falling down the stairs, okay?”

@ptrparkcrs·

“Before you say anything, I got regular pizza just for you, so you bet– what are you wearing?”

It wasn’t a fair question for someone wearing retro shades and a pink sweater with white pom-poms all over, black leggings and a messy knot of curls completing the look. But Kitty had an excuse. Their movie of choice for the night was an eighties, b-rated action flick, and however unwittingly, she’d dressed the part. It wasn’t Pan’s Labyrinth. Coraline was tucked away, she hadn’t seen Sweeney Todd since she’d made the official move to Genosha and her apartment still hadn’t quite made it out of the boxes.

Peter decidedly was not dressing the part.

Past the down-swoop she’d very clearly warned him against, she thought to wonder why. Peter’s brand of light-hearted had always been just the right amount of refreshing. It was part of what made them work so well in the first place; jokes made a nice veneer over darker things. Worry curled in her chest, but she swallowed it back. “What did I say about the emo look?”

&

He frowned. She was one to talk. She always had been; it had been a sticking point throughout their entire relationship. Every oversized hoodie or third blue flannel, worn soft and poorly cuffed, was grounds for disappointment, an eye roll, a that again? Even though they’d proven that overalls were not his look, and that Kitty’s taste in jackets ran a little Day-Glo. Even though, he explained, he dressed like this because it hid him. Because Peter Parker wasn’t supposed to be built the way he was built, and baggy sweaters helped to keep his secret identity intact. (It was only sort of because his fashion sense was limited at best. Besides, MJ didn’t mind.)

Not that it mattered much anymore.

They all knew who he was anyway, so why did he bother hiding? He was surprised the consequences had taken as long to catch up with him as they did, but they had. They were. They would. They’d gotten lucky this time--but had they? Maybe this was a warning. Maybe whoever had hurt MJ would be back to finish the job. Maybe. Maybe. 

So, yeah. Maybe his hair had grown a little shaggy in the time he’d spent beside MJ’s hospital bed. Maybe the bright colors, the punny science shirts weren’t appealing right now. Maybe he was tired of hiding. Doing this--trekking out to Genosha for a cheesy movie night, pizza, friends, something resembling normalcy, felt like he was playacting at a life that wasn’t his to live. It had stopped being his the moment the mask came off.

“It’s a black t-shirt, Kitty,” he said, pushing the hair out of his face. “What are you wearing? Was I supposed to come in eighties cosplay, or...?”

[📱to been there, done that ] what Peter thing? there is no Peter thing! [📱to been there, done that ] you’re wrong and you should be held accountable [📱to been there, done that ] and I’ve just remembered I have important business elsewhere I must attend posthaste […]

[…] [📱to been there, done that ] it’s not so great, the ghost thing [📱to been there, done that ] you still feel everything, just not always physicall– [DELETED] [📱to been there, done that ] now, the confetti emoji? they know how to have a good time […] [📱to been there, done that ] you feeling okay, Pete?

( 📩 → other cat 😬 ): hmmmm i seem to remember you mentioning something about your exes when we were dating? ( 📩 → other cat 😬 ): patterns? trends? nothing to be ashamed of ( 📩 → other cat 😬 ): are you ashamed of [unsent] ( 📩 → other cat 😬 ): i’d be ashamed of dating me [unsent]

[ ... ]

( 📩 → other cat 😬 ): oh right you [unsent] ( 📩 → other cat 😬 ): god pete get your head out of your ass for just one time in your life ever at all please [unsent] ( 📩 → other cat 😬 ): idk all party all the time? seems like a lot of pressure

[ ... ]

[ ... ]

[ 💌 → tiger ]: that doesn’t even make sense, pete [ 💌 → tiger ]: i love you most  [ 💌 → tiger ]: peter i don’t need you to make this right. ugh i’m so frustrated that i can’t get you to listen to me