#ofspidvrs

of all the spider people, miles was one of her favorites. he was different than the others. he respected boundaries better, and was chill, and appreciated art the way she did. she really enjoyed spending time with him. it wasn’t that michelle didn’t love her other friends, it was just that there was so much history, and sometimes it was exhausting. but it wasn’t like that with miles. they just got to be friends without the drama. 

she’s not a morning person. and she’s not a DELIGHTFUL person until she’s had her coffee ( not that she’s considered a delightful person after her coffee ). but instead of having her coffee in the sanctity of her home, her coffee machine has broken so while she waits for the new one to ship, she’s forced to get up earlier than she wants, get herself dressed ( which, she doesn’t mind but again COFFEE ) and wait in line at one of the various starbucks dotted around the city. thankfully it’s a short wait and 10 minutes later, she’s walking along central park with coffee in one hand, phone in another. but the consequence of not looking up from her phone soon hits her - quite literally as she finds herself bumping into someone else. 

❝ i am so sorry. ❞ she’s genuinely apologetic, her fault for not looking. ❝ are you okay ? ❞ thankfully her coffee hasn’t spilled otherwise it would have been a disaster. ❝ i can pay for any damages. ❞

For so much of his life, he had been Spider-Man. The Spider-Man. The one and only. He was a solo hero with a solo burden and a well-worn no one else could ever understand what I’m going through shtick. It was just him, alone, and the suit. Even when he’d been with the Avengers, those few brief, fleeting moments he’d thought it would be alright, it had still been just him. Everything he’d done, he’d done for himself and by himself, and no one was coming to help him.

But Peter wasn’t the only Spider-Man now. Not by a long shot. There was a whole bunch of them now, a cluster. (Was that what you called a group of spiders? Or was it a clutter?) One Spider-Man crumbles into dust, a half-dozen more pop up in his place. And when he’d returned, his city wasn’t his anymore, and it only took one bad press release for them to turn on him. New York belonged to them now: the other spiders, the ones who could go outside to get a bagel without fearing for their lives.

(If the city no longer needed Spider-Man, and it had ripped Peter Parker from his hands, then who was he?)

He didn’t know how to sit back and let them handle it. He didn’t know how to work with a team. He didn’t know how not to be Spider-Man, or at least not the only Spider-Man--though he guessed “friendly neighborhood” implied one per neighborhood, so maybe he should revisit that branding. But he did like having the company.

Joint patrol was fun and new, a privilege allowed only by a glut of Spider-People in the city, and he liked working with Miles, confusing the passersby with yeah, that’s right, two Spider-Men on the scene! It was also good for post-patrol snack breaks, dangling legs off the roof of a building, eating the best hot dogs New York’s street vendors had to offer. Yeah, the company was nice.

what your muse’s name is in mine’s phone

spider-bro 🤘

what your muse’s picture is in mine’s phone

not even gonna try to unpack this

what your muse’s ringtone is in mine’s phone

The default. To be honest, Pete’s not convinced Miles knows how to place a phone call (and he lives in fear of being called a boomer). It’s text and text only.  (In case of emergency, his phone’s on vibrate.)

my muse’s last text to your muse

It still felt wrong to him that Miles was grown up, that he had his act more or less together, that he was the one with the apartment and Peter was the one crashing on the couch. For all the tragedy of the Blip, this was one of the weirdest: Miles Morales was the better Spider-Man, and Peter was barely hanging on by a thread (pun intended). But god bless Miles. Without him, Peter would be--he didn’t want to think about it. This wasn’t a permanent arrangement; he wouldn’t be leaving his hoodies strewn across the living room, his suit draped haphazardly on a shelf, his empty takeout containers on the counter forever. He’d get a new place soon, as soon as he could afford it, as soon as someone would take a risk on a vigilante and hire him.