Sweet Hibiscus Tea [DISCONTINUED]

Peter has always been selfless. How could he not be with the out-of-school gig he had? But . . . ‘The Great Forgetting,’ as he’d been calling it, changed him. Hell, May’s murder by someone both of them trusted changed him. 

A month ago, he was relieved that Peter two had stopped him from killing Norman.

Now, though? He can see why Peter two killed the Goblin in the first place.

Hell, he can even see why The Punisher went on a murder rampage across New York.

Peter’s not selfless anymore. He’s angry now. Full of aimless rage and hate, breaking anything he so much as touches with his uncontrolled super-strength.

But he tries to stay selfless. To stay kind.

God, does he try.

It’s never enough, though.

He takes a break from Spider-man. He trains himself, watching videos, hacking into pay-only online tutorials - he even checks out that worn-down gym that’s surprisingly close to his flat that Uncle Ben had mentioned once. 

Ben always thought it was hilarious how annoyed Brett Mahoney got whenever anything vigilante-related came up.

Peter went to the 15th Precinct once, when he was still naive enough to think that somebody had remembered.

All he got were suspicious and pitiful stares once he mentioned Ben Parker. He had almost become a detective before he bled out in Peter’s arms.

Peter doesn't introduce himself as a Parker anymore. Not after May’s death was splattered all across the news like some minorly unfortunate incident instead of a human, a person, not breathing anymore.

Guess Parker's luck isnt as much of a myth as he thought it was.

He buys some obsidian and amethyst and some spider lilies to plant at May’s grave.

. . .

His apartment is a mess. And it’s easy to see why it's such a low price when he looks out the window and sees a billboard glowing from a dozen stories up. 

If he listens close enough, he can hear the buzzing of the neon sign.

His hearing has gotten better over the three to four years since he’d been bit. He’s gained other things too. Advanced course correction when swinging and the growth of what he assumes are natural spinnerets budding in his wrists. 

Guess Peter two won't be the only one with natural webbing soon.

All of his other senses have become sharper too. He can smell the bakery and the flower shop three blocks over, the smell of fresh bread and roses filling his mind and calming him after a bad sensory overload. He can taste the gunpowder and alcohol when he enters the bar he’s been working at.

Some days, he’ll close his eyes, wear dark sunglasses and go about his day blind.

Hearing sound bounce around is tricky, but he’s been tricked by an illusionist once, and he’s not too keen on it happening again, so he’ll practice for as long as it takes for him to distinguish reality from fiction.

. . .

He’s picked up a few new hobbies now that he’s taken a break from Spider-manning and he’s no longer trapped in school.

He’s also immensely grateful that The Avengers don't care where they put their dead tech. Sure, that was what created the whole Vulture problem two years (six years, his mind silently betrays) back, but now it makes dumpster diving a lot more satisfying when he finds half-finished projects tossed into the trash behind The Tower.

. . .

Researching other vigilantes is a lot harder than he thought. For one, half of the so-called ‘vigilantes’ are powered people who are painfully easy to gain information from.

Hell, he could just walk over to their neighborhood and find them.

The ones that aren't in the open are a whole other can of worms.

There’s Daredevil in Hell’s Kitchen who only comes out at night, the one weirdo in Chinatown with an eye-searing yellow glowing fist, The Hawkeyes - mainly just the younger one, and The Punisher, AKA Frank Castle, who is constantly presumed dead before reappearing a month later like a cockroach.

Rumors are being thrown around that Spider-man is dead.

He ignores them.

There’s a new suit being made. He’s not planning on going out as Spider-man until his suit has all the upgrades and tech necessary for him to not die on the job. Then again, it's not like he needs to worry about revealing his identity when he doesn't exist.

It takes two months for him to finish his suit.

It's different - though not by much - from his old one and more closely resembles his pre-Stark suit, if that ‘suit’ had better armor and no goggles.

It's a mix of faux leather and softer fabric around the joints. The spider emblem on his chest is larger and can detach, becoming a drone with a minor AI that he can use to either spy or deliver things. His legs and arms have a twisting blue web design, almost like he had painted them on instead of carefully making them with a little bit of stolen kevlar.

His mask is padded with large tear-drop-shaped lenses that widen and narrow based on his eyes and facial expressions.

The darker blue web patterns can open up and be used as pockets.

. . .

 Reinforced converse and a soft red hoodie for the cold easily slip onto his newly-made suit. And for the first time in three months, Spider-man leaps into the polluted New York air.