for @maegicks; peter parker.
Superheroes were a thing for your comics. Something Miles used to plunge his head deep into, a puerile smile flourishing upon his lips as he angled that flashlight underneath his bed covers, hoping not to get pulled up for staying up far beyond his bedtime. He used to feel his heart aflutter, and childishly, he used to hope that one day, a hero would crop up in his Brooklyn.
No one ever did. Not now, not before. Not even when he witnessed his father’s death. It was a gruesome thing, watching his father’s body disappear underneath rubble. The panic that spurred tendrils of strength into his thin arms, as he pulled back piece by piece.
What he saw what his father’s … remains were, he almost disclosed his lunch.
Instead of letting bile spill forth, he wailed. A violent, angry wail.
That anger formed the frame for many things to come.
A velvet chuckle tumbled forth. He’d spied something unusual, something strange, a kaleidoscope of colours forming an inward spiral into a wall in a murky alleyway. Out of it, a figure emerged. The colours became muted, remnant spheres, cubes petering the moment that the tornado snapped out of existence.
He’d been watching. Waiting. Eventually, he leapt down from his perch atop the building, heavy boots slamming into the asphalt in front of them. He flexed his fingers, claws retracted—for now.
“Why you wearing that funny mask, man?” came the deep voice, tone strung up by the weave of electronics circling his jaw, his mouth. He was wearing a mask as well, yes, but this one was simpler, more defined. What the man wore before him looked like it’d jumped out of your 90s comic bookstore. “Comic Con ain’t for a few more months.”
