eat your heart out

for tony ( @avengerofiron ) ; a t-shirt she saw when she was walking in soho. she immediately thought of him and knew damn well there were few other people who would get him this sort of thing. it’s hard buying for rich people. like zee, he also gets a box of homemade treats. ‘hope you don’t get two of these terrible t-shirts. that’d be embarrassing.’

for both tony and zatanna ; a late wedding gift. matching his and hers coffee mugs and wine glasses. who doesn’t love cheesy stuff like that? ‘you’ll both get good use out of these.’

for natasha ( @nataliaromancvas ) ; crazy cat lady socks infused with aloe, a mug that says #1 on it and nothing else, because that’s really all it needs to say, a box of homemade treats, and an enthusiastic invitation to go dancing together. ‘what more does a person need other than socks and a mug?’

for peggy ( @legacycarter ) ; a cast iron skillet, because surely steve doesn’t have anything useful in his kitchen, a soft and comfortable blanket, and tickets to a few broadway shows, because she has missed a lot, and steve probably hasn’t seen them either, despite the fact that he’s been here for the past decade. ‘this is a strange mix of gifts, but i think you’ll find them all useful and enjoyable.’ 

for gwen ( @ghostthwip ) ; as a birthday gift, a record player and a few records to go with it. ‘i imagine when you travel through universes you don’t get to bring much with.’ for christmas, a book of neat science facts, because her gwen loved science, a pretty necklace that will complement her eyes, a nice, and very cute, jacket, tickets to the ballet, a pair of ballet slippers, again, unclear on what she has and doesn’t have, and a box of homemade treats. along with the christmas gifts is a box filled with things that belonged to mj’s gwen with a note. ‘these things might be useless to you, but they once brought the gwen i knew great joy. hopefully they’ll bring you joy, too.’ 

for harry ( @himbogoblin ) ; mj arrived at his doorstep to personally deliver his gifts. she brought with her a homemade and warm meal for the two of them to eat, and a box of homemade treats for him to enjoy. wrapped in boxes, she got him a sampling of speciality coffee beans, a fancy scarf, and tickets to go to the science museum. 

for teresa ( @ofsuperiorparker ) ; for night one of hanukkah, she gives teresa the same thing she gave peter and may, chocolate coins, a basket of sweets, and a bottle of wine. for night two, a box of legos that are supposed to make something cool. mj was never good at legos. on night three, she gets her a book from one of her favorite authors. on night four, a pair of pajamas and those nice, thick songs. for night five, there’s one of those cheap polaroid cameras. for night six, a very nice, and sharp, kitchen knife. on night seven, these strange red solo cup wine glasses. finally, on night eight, teresa gets homemade sufganiyot. for christmas, mj gets teresa a pair of earrings, and she, too, gets a box of treats. 

for miguel ( @twentyninetynines ) ; a little ornament with something about family written on it, because whether he likes it or not, he’s part of their family, tickets to a musical that she is sure will annoy him and can’t wait to attend with him, and a box of homemade treats. 

for jess ( @redarachnes ) ; a squishmallow for her kiddo, a collection of mj’s favorite cheap movies, as she’s a bit behind on modern film, tickets to go skydiving, and a box of homemade treats. 

for bart ( @fxstestkid ) ; an old video game she found in a thrift store, it might be useless, but she thought it looked cool, a weird collection of comic books, a vinyl record, and a box of homemade treats. 

(✉️ ➡️ aka good source): what’s up?  (✉️ ➡️ aka good source): now you have my attention.  (✉️ ➡️ aka good source): i’m listening 

(✉️ ➡️ Watson): Are you trying to butter me up?  (✉️ ➡️ Watson): What can I do for you?

@mcryjanewatson​

“I like to throw in I’m kidding at the end of jokes now”

“Oh trust me, not doing that caused me to get kicked out of one of my husband’s business parties. I could never show my face there again”

Not taking things seriously was the way MJ coped with the traumas in her life. It was easier to joke about everything. It wasn’t always obvious, though. “It went that poorly, huh? What kinda joke was it?”

&

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?”

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. 

With her ankle doing much better, but her arm still in the cast, she’d managed to find a lot of ways to still continue her ordinary work. Instead of using her computer as much, she was writing a lot by hand. Voice notes had become useful, as well. Now that she could travel much more easily, investigating and interviewing was becoming a possibility again.

Currently, she was working on a few different articles, juggling the workload she had decidedly given herself with the advice column articles she was still assigned to. Getting her regular column back was her only priority right now, but she had to still have a regular income. With all her free time, she had gotten far enough ahead on her scheduled work and had set off to find the one and only Peggy Carter. 

It was easy enough to hear through the grapevine that the spectacular woman was alive once again. She knew a few people and had a few contacts. The news only had to pass through a few people for her to hear it. She’d managed to track her down pretty easily. MJ pushed open the door to the coffee shop she’d heard Peggy frequented, grinning to herself when she saw the woman. “Agent Carter,” she greeted, taking the seat in front of her. “I hoped I would find you here. Mary Jane Watson. Pleasure to meet you,” she said, jutting her hand out for a handshake. @legacycarter​

/

Rictor snorted at the mental image, shaking his head. “If I’m gonna get kicked out, I’m gonna earn it,” he agreed. “If they go to kick me out for the cheeseballs, I’ll just… start a fist fight or something. Keep ‘em on their toes, right?” It’d certainly piss Erik off, which would make it all the more worth it. Ric had always been at his happiest when he was making someone angry, and lately Magneto had been as good a target as any. “Good. Stay away from the cheeseballs. But, here.” He grabbed the plate of sandwiches off the table and held it out, motioning for her to open her purse so he could dump the whole thing inside.

That was something she could absolutely get on board with. A fight was a good reason to get kicked out, and it would be pretty amusing to see. Was that immature? Maybe. But MJ had never said she couldn’t be immature at times. In fact, she thought it was one of her selling points. “Oh, please do. I would pay money to see you start a fist fight and get dragged out. What a visual,” she said with a laugh. When he picked up the plate, she had a brief moment of worry that she’d ruin something in her purse. But this was her event purse, which meant two things; it was empty, and it was pretty small. She could manage though. She opened her purse, letting him dump the sandwiches in, and picked one up to take a bite before closing her purse again. “That’s gonna look really strange when I get home.” 

@mcryjanewatson​ said:  [ nightmare ] for your muse to wake mine from a nightmare

Nightmares weren’t something Klara experienced much in the facility. She was always exhausted by lights out, and the horrors of her days were… too normal to her. Occasionally, she would dream after a particularly awful day, but it wasn’t regular. She accepted her life, now knowing any better. But now, she had much more to fear. Now, she had escaped, and Klara didn’t want to give this new life up. Her mind had turned that to nightmares. Dreams of being caught, of being taken back.

She tried not sleeping for a few days, but sleep caught up with her eventually. On Genosha one afternoon, she had fallen asleep in the sun, curled up like a cat, when the nightmare hit. It gripped her tight until she was awoken by a hand on her shoulder. Klara shot up, ready to fight off an attacker. But no one was attacking. Instead, her wide eyed panic was met with a young woman she hadn’t met before. 

Visiting Genosha had become a thing MJ did semi-regularly since getting discharged. She knew this country wasn’t here for her, she wasn’t kidding herself or anything, but she felt a certain comfort when she was here. And on a more serious note, she had been working on a pretty big article she wanted to publish when she was put on a more serious column again. She was very pro-mutant, and she still thought it was pretty messed up that anyone wasn’t. While she may not have been given the chance to further her career with that fellowship, she was going to do it on her own regardless. 

Between the safety she felt here and the research she was doing, she’d found herself in the country for most of the day. The sun was getting lower, less intense - her favorite time of day - and she’d been strolling through a park when she noticed a woman who seemed to be upset by something. She approached her cautiously, touching her shoulder gently when it dawned on her that she was having a nightmare. When she raised her hands, MJ backed up, putting her own hands out in a calming manner. “Hey, no, it’s okay. You were just dreaming,” she said. “Are you alright?” 

/

Smiling faintly, Rictor nodded. Life was so, so short. He’d seen it end more than once, for people far better than he was. At her question, he paused for a moment before shaking his head. “He always said he was too busy.” His father spent his time shelling out guns, holding a city hostage with the threat that he might use them if they failed to keep him happy. No one stayed the top gun runner in Mexico without a healthy dose of intimidation, and Louis had been firm in the idea that no one would be intimidated by a man who spent the evenings dancing salsa with his wife. Rictor wondered if he’d regretted it, in the end. “That sounds nice,” he said quietly, imagining a house full of dancing and music, imagining someone who supported your dreams even when they didn’t align with what was expected of you. He hadn’t had that, growing up. It was almost strange to think on the fact that that wasn’t true for everyone. “What are your dreams, then?”

For a brief moment, she couldn’t help but wonder if any fathers lived up to expectations. Hers certainly hadn’t. Were men predisposed to being absent or was it just a coincidence? She never wanted to be with someone who was too busy to find time to dance with her. Her time and affection had more value than that. “Sounds like his loss,” MJ said with a small smile. It was nice. Her childhood was hard to look back on. Moments like that made it easier. “It was,” she agreed. What a loaded question. It shouldn’t be. Her dreams had been so clear cut before. She wanted to be an actress, her name in lights, on the front of every magazine. She wanted to star in films and on stage and she wanted to be a household name. Now it was less clear. She wanted to help people. She wanted her work to make a difference. She wanted her friends, her boyfriend, to not feel so on edge all the time. She wanted some level of peace for herself and those around her. Could she do it all? Maybe. But it wasn’t as easy. “Back then I wanted to be an actress. I still do, really, but it’s different now.”

/

Ward was gonna kill him. He’d only had this suit for a day, and he’d already spilled an impressive amount of sauce on it. It was looking dire, and Danny was pretty sure he was doomed. He was scrubbing at the stain with a napkin and muttering to himself when someone came to join him, bottle of vorka in hand. He turned to look at her, raising a brow as she began to use th alcohol to scrub at his shirt. She sounded so sure of herself that Danny couldn’t help but believe her, and he offered her a smile. “You might have just saved my life,” he told her seriously. “Thank you.”

Being quick on her feet and fixing things was something MJ had always been good at. She was smart and clever, and through years of experiences had learned how to get herself out of nearly any situation. A stain was small potatoes. She’d learned how to get stains out years ago. The smile he gave her was all the thanks she needed. It was nice to help people, honestly. It was one of those things she really did enjoy, even if she couldn’t do it on a big scale like others. “What can I say? It’s what I do best,” she said with a grin. “You’re welcome. You should probably try to be more careful.”

“Show me a hero, and I’ll write you a tragedy.” @mcryjanewatson​

Kon scoffed, his lips twisting into an ironic smirk as he flicked away the butt of his cigarette. It was a bad habit, not one that could hurt him, but one that could hurt the people around him. Fitting for a man like him. It seemed that all he did was hurt the people around him these days but like his cigarette, he was already lit and all he could do now was let it burn. 

“Poetic.” He laughed, his eyes drifting toward the ferries that were bringing people to and fro from the island. Being stuck here had been humiliating but it had given him time to think, time to just be Kon. He had spent most of it out here, watching the ships in the bay, at least, whenever Cassie wasn’t trying to take his mind off of things. Krypto whined from his spot next to Kon, his head lulling from its place on Kon’s lap to look pointedly at MJ. 

The traitor. 

“Fine, jerk.” he huffed, letting the dog go who bounded off with a wagging tail to say hello to the girl. “What are you doing on Genosha anyway, huh? Wanted to get away from the city before this place becomes a metropolitan hellhole?”

Her eyes moved from the smirk on his lips to the flick of his cigarette. She’d never seen the appeal in cigarettes, but a part of her wondered if maybe it was what she needed. No. There was nothing in it for her, she knew that. She was just feeling down. A pity party for one. The feelings had only grown inside her as she got further and further away from her hospital stay.

MJ wouldn’t call it poetic. Maybe it was. She was always good with words, after all. Even before she’d become a writer, it was her words and the smile on her face that wooed so many. It was who she was. In her experience, this wasn’t pretty words, it was the truth. Her life was filled with wonderful people who would do anything to help others, and their lives were filled with chaos and misfortune. She didn’t think she knew a single hero who was happy. Not really. If that wasn’t one of the greatest tragedies, giving up everything so others could be happy without the chance at happiness, she didn’t know what was. 

Life was making her a cynic. If she wasn’t careful, she’d end up like Miguel.

A smile spread on her face when the dog ran over to her. Who could deny a dog? She bent over carefully, trying not to put too much weight on her bad foot, and pet him with her free hand. “Hi, cutie,” she said in her signature dog voice. “What a sweetheart. You’re such a good puppy. Yes you are,” she said, still petting the excited pup. Her head snapped up, focusing on Kon and not his dog. “The city doesn’t feel the way it used to,” she said honestly. “And I’ve heard a lot about this place. Figured it was about time I stop by. If that’s alright, of course.”