#[coming soon...]

:J

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my favorite journalist.” “Jesus Christ,” you breathe, slamming your laptop shut as you turn to the window, and there he is. Spider-Man, in the flesh, perched on the railing of your fire escape.  “Actually, it’s just your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man,” he says, swinging his feet back and forth like a kid on the playground. “Though I appreciate the upgrade.” You clamber out onto the fire escape, bare feet on cool metal. You’ve seen him hundreds of times by now — shaky phone footage, Oscar’s photos, even in person at the fire rescue — but none of it prepared you for the reality of him a foot away from you. He’s bigger than you expected, more solid, with the kind of confidence that feels like the whole city is rearranging itself around him. The suit, though, is more worn than it looks on screen, webbing pattern fraying at the seams, scuffed at the knees and elbows and a tear that’s been messily repaired on the neck. It’s a suit that’s been lived in, fought in, bled in. When he turns his head, the white eyes of the mask catch the streetlight and throw it back at you. You realize with a jolt that you have no idea what expression is underneath the mask. But weirdly, his easy, loose-limbed posture reads like a smile. You clear your throat, hoping your voice comes out steadier than you feel. “What are you doing here?” “Word on the street is you want an interview.” His voice is casual, but when he tilts his head you get the sense he’s studying you carefully through those white lenses. “Thought I’d come see what all the fuss is about.” You shake your head, grinning. “I can’t believe Piastri actually pulled through.” “He was very insistent,” Spider-Man says, and there’s something guarded in his voice, like he’s set up a web he’s waiting for you to walk into. “Wouldn’t shut up about you, actually. It was sort of cute. What’s the deal with you two? Are you, like, a thing?” “What? No,” you blurt, the words coming out high-pitched and unsteady and far faster than you intended them to. “We’re friends. He’s my — he’s my photographer.”

bare fortæl mig hvor du er

I didn't have something to post for Halloween so will this do? The storybeat will teach you what happens when you mess with the wrong people.