THE SPIDER-WOMAN .

#WEAVIFY ;  SELECTIVE,  PRIVATE,  STORY-DRIVEN,  JESSICA DREW / SPIDER-WOMAN,  OF MARVEL COMICS.  FEATURING MODERN CRIME/HORROR ELEMENTS,  BY PAULINA.  (SHE/THEY, 25+).   HIGHLY LITERARY BLOG WITH A DEEP DIVE INTO GENERATIONAL TRAUMA,  MENTAL ILLNESS,  ISOLATION,  ORGANIZED CRIME,  IMPERIALISTIC BRAINWASHING,  MOTHERHOOD,  ETC.

while she does show more-than-average strength (considered superhuman by regular standards) she is nowhere near some of the other avengers/supers, and she knows it. and yes she also has her venom blasts but rarely uses them, it depends on the threat level. physically she excels at most kinds of hand-to-hand combat, as well as being and expert hacker & tech savy.

it’s important to mention she hasn’t used said ‘venom blasts’ or worked in costume in years. most of her work she does in the dark, she can fit in small tight spaces & she’s incredibly flexible which allows her to hide or escape.

strands of my hair acted as curtains,      somewhat of a veil in which i could only see so much into the night.     it moves,    the night.      it swings from left to right along with the branches  &  the leaves.       “ i know you’re out there   . . .   whatever you are, ”       was i too mean?     surely it had to be some ‘thing’    [   @thswampthing​   ]     ———    ‘someone’ couldn’t make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up like that.

something very particular about jessica is her overall physical uncanniness — her skin is one of the palest people have ever seen, she does not tan; she burns, while freckles and bruises adorn her face balancing the lack of color. her bone structure is tough, defined and somewhat aggressively outlined. her eyes seem fallen and chronically exhausted, her posture slouched making her lose a good two inches of height when standing.

@arachnai​ said:     i never should’ve dragged you into this.

two figures sit perched upon a rooftop,   enveloped by neon-polluted darkness  &  a starless inner-city sky.        up here the night is soundless,    save for the rustle of a bone-chilling breeze   –––   much harsher than it would be near the ground.        it is an eerie sort of calm.       the women occupying the rooftop in question,    one dark-tressed  &  one light,    regard the alleyway beneath with vested interest;       their legs casually dangling over the building’s edge.

jessica’s voice is an unseen blade cutting the air between them  &  carol’s grip on the cool cement tightens,   her knuckles blanching from the applied pressure.          ❝      jessica damn drew,    don’t start that with me.     ❞          her attention is torn from the happenings below  &  diverted towards her friend,   gaze narrowing.        as always,   her patience wears thin.           ❝     we’ve been cleaning up each other’s messes for  how  many years now  &  you think i’m suddenly afraid to get my hands dirty ?     ❞

her tantrum is a comet     –––    a bright burst  as it propels across space with a fiery momentum,   but just as quick to fizzle out.       the harsh lines of her mouth soften already,   giving way to a crooked smile.          ❝     besides,   i’m pretty good at dragging  MYSELF  into things,   in case ya hadn’t noticed.     ❞

𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚈  𝚃𝙴𝙻𝙻  𝚈𝙾𝚄  𝙻𝙸𝙵𝙴  𝙸𝚂𝙽'𝚃  𝚂𝚄𝙿𝙿𝙾𝚂𝙴𝙳  𝚃𝙾  𝙷𝚄𝚁𝚃,         they say it’s meant to be lived  &  experienced  &  enjoyed,       even at the sight of chaos around your four walls,      inside the littlelest corners of the field that surrounds you     . . .     but they are not you.          no living being has written the story of jessica drew but jessica drew herself,         she has acted alone even when she didn’t have to.          𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚐𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚞𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚗,          the need to avoid outside assistance is immature &  infantile at best  !         little does she know that she mess she’s made suddenly becomes other poeple’s too.

❝      you only say that ‘cause you don’t have a choice.     ❞        stern  &  ever so bitter,       she stands ashamed before the one person who has seen the worst of her.         the scale of jessica’s current affairs seem to parallel the size of a tick next to carol’s day to day shenanigans.           𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐟𝐟,       the sound meshing with countless car honks  &  the smell of the nearby deli store.          jessica’s feet dangle by the edge of the rooftop,          she swears she’s weighless.            ❝      i know you’re not afraid      ———      that’s what pisses me off more than anything,       you know.     ❞

𝙿𝙰𝙸𝚁  𝙾𝙵  𝚂𝙽𝙰𝙺𝙴  𝙴𝚈𝙴𝚂  𝚂𝙺𝙴𝚆  𝙻𝙴𝙵𝚃,        a brief calculation on whether or not her entire attention is shifted onto the emerged topic.        a concentration that’s unfathomably unmovable,        it would appear as if her pupils have dilated into twice their natural size the second the request is heard.         [    we need to talk     . . .     ]          that is never a good omen of sorts,       now is it  ?         the immediate response given is to lick her pair of lips       ———      lips that have become arid  &  dry,          then deliberately leaving a stack of files on the rusty,        unfortunately old wooden table she has been using for way too long.         a moment passes,         prominence of silence which lasts just the perfect amount of time beforea rock solid sigh exits her nostrils.         suddenly,        jessica remembers her skin is cold.       must be the lack of material inbetween her fingertips     ;     air runs freely through the inviting gap in her phalanges  &  her only choice is to acknowledge reality.

she’s preceded by the soft pulse of her footsteps,  velvet flats  (cherry red miu mius, she’d later point out,  a clot of haughtiness in her voice)  to aged linoleum.   she rounds the corner   &   lingers by her door,  keychain twined between her fingers    –    she isn’t alone.       ❝         .  .  .   i’ve seen you poking your nose around this building before.   are you a friend of my neighbor’s?      ❞        @arachnai​    ♡

𝙰  𝚂𝙻𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃  𝚀𝚄𝙸𝚁𝙺  𝙾𝙵  𝙷𝙴𝚁  𝙴𝚈𝙴𝙱𝚁𝙾𝚆,         she invites a particular half-grin into pale features,         knowing exactly how journalists nonchalantly insert themselves in the most opportune of circumstances.        blame is not placed upon the other woman,      no.          it would be nothing but a waste of time,        she has heard her own fair share of stories about one  lois lane.        on the contrary,        it propitiously sparks jessica’s interest.         as she finds herself cornered by the other’s right to inquisitiveness,         more questions arise in the clud of her psyche.        is this genuine thirst for knowledge,       or a subtle yearning for a flashy headline  ?            regardless of the answer,        the woman maintains a characteristic ambiguity in every inch of her face,          she becomes her own protection,        her own shield.        the moment those iridescent eyes of hers begin to fail her,         she better run  &  hide for her life.