#ptrparkcrs

He was alive. He was alive. Gwen, of course, he seen that his identity was known. Peter Parker was Spider-Man and he was alive. Sitting on the windowsill of her apartment with her legs swinging back and forth absently she had watched the lights of the New York, breath hitching in her chest as she watched a blur of red and blue swing past. She couldn’t even count all the times she had desperately searched up Spider-Man, image after image popping up, from the blurry to the crystal clear ones. The hesitant type of ‘Peter Parker’ had came next.

The bumpy bridge of his name was the same. The wispy brown hair that would constantly fall into his eyes when he let it grow too long was the same. The glasses were just missing and the headphones that he was constantly offer to share with Gwen when she slipped out of her home to go to his next door to try to ignore how many high expectations her father had for him but she kept failing to meet. Peter was alive.

He wasn’t her Peter, but he was still alive. 

It had been a split second decision to pull her own suit on and follow. Gwen wasn’t sure what she wanted out of this, especially considering how she had been laying low up until now. She tried to come up with some sort of game plan on approaching him, but Gwen had never been good at a structured plan. She would wing it and hope for the best. If that was possible.

Gwen landed on the roof Spider-Man—Peter—had seemed to finally stop on and was hesitant in saying anything. “...Peter?” Gwen finally called out, voice catching. “Shit. I mean—I don’t know what I’m doing. This totally isn’t a great start to introducing myself, but you always told me I jumped into stuff without thinking far too much—I mean not you, but...” Gwen sighed and reached up to tug down her hood, hesitating for a beat before finally pulling the mask off.

“Hi, Peter.”

@ptrparkcrs​ 

(✉️ ➡️ angry leather jacket pete with an r depending ): so i have never had this problem before (✉️ ➡️ pete with an r depending ): and i’m sure YOU’VE never had this problem before because you’re like, sculpted like the rest of the avengers in an unfair sort of way  (✉️ ➡️ pete with an r depending ): but how do you know when you stop being like. a work wife. or a best friend? (✉️ ➡️ pete with an r depending ): dating people i don’t know is really simple and i’ve heard the spiel about how it’s different bc they don’t matter and i don’t have this deep emotional connection to them (✉️ ➡️ pete with an r depending ): and maybe those people are right!  (✉️ ➡️ pete with an r depending ): maybe i’m just an idiot who is filling an emotional emptiness with meaningless bullshit!  (✉️ ➡️ pete with an r depending ): nat i am begging you i need some real advice more than the eyebrow wiggles from my friends and everyone who thinks it’s so easy because it isn’t and tali stole my scream pillow so i have no way of working this out like i normally would! 

“I don’t care what’s in your hair, I just wanna know what’s on your mind.” // SPIDEYPOOL

He had a commanding officer who once said that it was every man’s right to drink a cup of coffee uninterrupted. It was an intricate, god-given thing, he’d claimed, something even the lowest on the chain of command were entitled to. And Sam had never liked the guy much (he was always a little too full of himself, the way many commanding officers tended to be), but he’d liked that concept. He’d enjoyed the idea of everyone deserving that moment of peace, that quiet tranquility. 

He’d also found it was rare to actually get it.

The coffee shop was packed, and he was on edge. After Afghanistan, Sam had been cagey in crowds. He’d gotten better, gotten more comfortable, but then Thanos happened and so much of that progress dripped down the drain. Sam was gripping his cup so hard the plastic was creaking, like it might break if he added more strength. He needed someplace to set it down before that happened, but every table was occupied by strangers... except one.

Technically, the kid was still a stranger. In his world, they were acquaintances at best. In this one? Sam didn’t even know if they’d met. He didn’t know this version of Peter Parker at all, but the idea of sitting with him was still mildly less nauseating than the idea of sitting with a stranger. He slid into the chair across from the kid without saying a word, settling into the seat and setting his coffee on the table. “Just because I’m not kicking your ass in an airport anymore doesn’t mean we’re friends now,” he said in way of greeting. “I haven’t decided if I like you or not yet.”

[MSG:] Why does every bad decision I make end up with at least 100 likes on YouTube?