#morethanascrawnynerdd

[missmaryjanewatson-blog]

☎

"Is this the booty call I've been waiting for or have you gotten yourself into trouble?"

[easybugbcyy]

Oh, Hell || Gwen, Peter, MJ & Flash

Gwen couldn’t help but smile when she glanced over at Peter. She tried not to make it obvious that she was watching him while he prattled on about some disaster he’d prevented earlier that day. She’d heard all of that before. But it was the way he spoke about it, the excited tone and the obvious passion, that made her want to listen, even if she couldn’t keep her thoughts straight at that moment. Her hand was entwined with his as they walked slowly towards their apartment. Half of her hoped that MJ was out so they could have the place to themselves for a while. After a great date night, all Gwen wanted to do was have a great night with the man she loved. “So,” she began, “what do you say we continue this inside?” She gave him a smile that she hoped was somewhat seductive. She’d never been much of a temptress though; that’d always been MJ’s area of expertise.

She pulled the key out of her purse to unlock the door, hoping they could continue the night inside without much interference. Almost immediately, she stepped on a shirt,  almost slipping on the hardwood floor. Her hand reached out instinctively for Peter’s arm as she tried to right herself. She glanced down at the floor confused. Peter rarely left his clothes laying about and it clearly belonged to a male. “Peter, did you…” she trailed off, taking a closer look at the shirt. It wasn’t his. Her eyes looked a few feet away and saw a shirt that she knew was MJ’s followed by a skirt closer to her door. “Oh, hell,” she blurted out. “Not again.” Though this wasn’t exactly an every night thing, Gwen couldn’t say it was the first time she’d come back to random clothes strewn throughout the apartment, especially ones that belonged to one of MJ’s male friends. And she knew it wouldn’t be the last.

While she fought the urge to roll her eyes, she turned back to Peter. “So, what do we do now?” she asked. “Pretend we saw nothing and go back out, make enough noise to scare the guy out, or just go bed ourselves?” Gwen didn’t even know which one she wanted to do at the moment. Mainly, she was just hoping she wouldn’t have to deal with another overnight guest who didn’t know when to leave. Hopefully, she wouldn’t have to be the one to kick him out again.

[lightningthree]

flashback para: breathe underwater

The grass crunched under Flash’s sneakers as he crossed the park, a basketball held loosely in one arm, his breath pluming in the winter air. Looking ahead across the field, he could see that the basketball court was empty. Just as he’d hoped it would be. Forest Hills had plenty of nicer places to play ball - blacktops that weren’t so sunken and riddled with cracks - but right now, Flash was looking for somewhere to have some space.

The teenager ditched his school bag on the field and stepped onto the asphalt. After circling the court he went for a couple jump shots, trying not to wince on the landings. His body was still aching from the last time his dad had taken a crack at him, a couple days before. The old man had slammed him into the wall a couple times, thrown him down on the hardwood. The bruises had started to show. As always, he’d just started wearing long sleeves. The lies came pretty easily, these days, but he didn’t like having to tell them. Didn’t like people seeing, asking. Better to just hide it, as much as he could. He took a few layups, then, gritting his teeth, sore, figured he’d go for long shots for a bit. As he turned around, heading back to the center line, Flash saw somebody passing by the chainlink fence. It was hard to tell who it was, for a second - but then he recognized the tall, lanky shape of Peter Parker, walking with his eyes down, looking like he was tuning the world out. Go figure. Flash’s throat tightened. He’d been avoiding Parker since the day after his uncle had been shot, the time Flash had tried to... be there? That had been stupid - why would Peter want him to come by? Flash had picked on the kid for years. He was a scrawny brainiac, quiet, awkward. Easy to tease, easy to push around. Flash had kicked the crap out of Peter only a few days earlier. As he did it, all of it, every day - the snide jokes, the elbows in the hall, the beat-downs - he could feel the anger bleeding off, pooling into something that weighed cold and heavy in his chest. It wasn’t better. But it was easier to drink away, and there was always a party happening somewhere. Peter Parker had taken the brunt of Flash’s bullying since they’d met, back in middle school. But then there’d been all that, in the gym, and suddenly, Parker had been the one making the jokes. The hell had even happened, there? The nerd had schooled the star forward, then dunked the ball, shattered the backboard. Out of nowhere. Flash had still been blown away by that development when the news had got round about Peter’s uncle.

The next time he’d seen him, Parker had been at his locker, head down, shoulders slumped. The jock had paused in the hallway, watching people slide around the grieving, exhausted teenager. He knew that Peter didn’t have much in the way of friends - probably due, at least in some part, to the way Flash constantly screwed with him. That cold weight sunk a little deeper as he remembered all the shit he’d brought into Peter’s life. Just because he’d been choking on anger, on his own pain, and hadn’t known what else to do about it. Because Parker was there, because he could. He’d taken his dad’s way - meanness and violence - with barely a thought. Was that all he was, his father’s son? The idea clawed at his guts, and, standing there in the hallway, he’d suddenly felt sick to his stomach. That was when Flash had figured that he should say something. Because he could. Because he had to believe he wasn’t that. Because Peter had never done anything to deserve being alone, especially now, after something so incredibly shitty had happened. “Not today, Flash.” “Hey, man, I just wanna talk -” And then he’d been against the lockers, Peter’s hands twisted in his hoodie. The guy was shaking, his eyes red, bright with tears. Flash had heard that Peter had been there, when it happened. When his uncle was dying. Right there, helpless to do anything, to make it stop. The varsity champ had never lost somebody like that, but helplessness, furious helplessness? That he knew pretty well. “Feels better, right? Look, your uncle died. I’m sorry. I get it.” And Parker’s grip had loosened, his shoulders trembling. Flash had stood there, rattled, wordless, as Peter took off. Then he’d done all he could to stay out of his face. Since then, crazy shit had gone down: the whole mutant lizard thing, and Spider-man. The newspapers and tabloids were already freaking out, calling the hero some kind of “menace to society” - and that, Flash honestly didn’t get. So far as he could tell, Spider-man had saved the whole city from whatever the hell that monster had been doing. Plus, he was freaking awesome. But Parker. The more Flash thought about it, the worse he felt. What he’d done to Peter, to other kids, it had been a choice. Didn’t matter that it hadn’t felt like one. It had been. And all he’d done was spread pain, given himself something else to be ashamed of. But if it had been a choice, and if he wasn’t his father - he wasn’t - then... Couldn’t he choose differently? It wouldn’t take anything back. Still. He could at least try to say that he was sorry, for all that was worth. He could try. “Hey!” He called out, then hesitated, suddenly, painfully certain that he was making a mistake. Another mistake. There was no reason at all for Peter to listen. Too late to backtrack now, dumbass. Play it through. Flash took a steadying breath, and a step towards the chainlink. “Hey - Parker.”

[csborns-blog]

[text:] So you finally make it into town and have yet to come say hey to me? That's cold, Harry. That's cold.

[text]Haven't seen you around here much either, dude, this is a two way street. You want to make this relationship work? Pull some weight of your own.