ใ there is a question in itachi's pronunciation of her name. gwen chooses not to hear it. delicately, she pulls her arm free. ใ
Cafeteria is on the first floor, library on the second. The science labs are between the second and third floors. Outside are the football and baseball fields and the running track. I throw a mean javelin, and that was before I got super-strength.
Aside from that there's the gym, the music room, art room, computer labs… Everything else is pretty much classroom.
ใ in contrast to before, her voice acquires a brighter tone. a note in it rings false, however. like she's putting on an act. (she is.) rather than let her thoughts catch up to her, gwen starts walking. she is not fully aware of what she is saying. (it doesn't really matter.) posters line the walls between students' lockers; again and again, the word "prom" is repeated. she ignores it as she tries to ignore the crawling sensation at her back removed from the symbiote. ใ
๏ผ warning thrums along the web of his awareness, and itachi is absolutely silent as he follows her. his brow is drawn down, jaw set. this has begun to feel like tsukuyomi, though he cannot divine exactly why. the dreamlike way, perhaps, she drifts through this place like a ghost.
he mentally tabulates what he knows of her history, and what this place is like to hold for her. some things are shadowed, grey, others as bright as a clarion bell.
she prompts him for a place, and he thinks of the drums she has webbed to the ceiling in her room aboard the ximilia. ๏ผ
ใ gwen leads the way up the stairs. they pass by vending machines flanked by water fountains. they pass by classrooms, more lockers, a forgotten backpack, a half-empty water bottle left on the fire extinguisher. they pass by the bulletin board outside the english lit class, decorated with poems. the one in the middle starts, "natureโs first green is goldโ"
school without the chatter and shouts of students, without the slamming of locker doors, without the stomping of hundreds of feet up and down the stairs proves unnerving. (there was a moment. a second of absolute silence.) the roof feels like it's dropping close to her head.
behind her, itachi makes no noise, and gwen finds herself talking just to provide a buffer between herself and the walls. ใ
—Em Jay wanted us to be famous rock stars, but we didn't get the band together until senior year when she and Glory got detention for punching a douchebag and bonded. Betty, we recruited after she hijacked the PA system to belt death metal songs. Back then, we called ourselves "Murderface" after Betty's cat. I'm still shocked the school agreed to let us play the prom with that name.
ใ when she laughs, a brittle note so faint it could well be imagined underlies it. ใ
We'd practice here after school. Midtown High: where the Mary Janes were born.
ใ pushing open the door to the music room, gwen invites itachi through. most of the space in the room is taken up by folding chairs and sheet music stands organized in an arc facing the board. a piano takes up the corner opposite the door. the walls are painted with musical notes and genres while the windows look out to the athletic fields. toward the back, a variety of drums are organized against the wall including a drum kit. it is here gwen heads. picking up the sticks, she plays a quick little improvised beat. the sticks twirl almost fluid in her hands. ใ
๏ผ about half of what she says is inferred through context — rockstars, not a meteor, douchebag, someone who is perhaps a bully. death metal - a genre of music? not a metal that is deadly.
gwen plays the drums, and he watches her. he is still silent, arms folded impassively.
no shinobi academy would ever have a room like this. there are genjutsu that operate via sound and music — but those tend to be passed down along family lines, instruments learned in the home, their melodies jealously guarded. but he is far more concerned with gwen than in unravelling the fated strings of her school. ๏ผ
ใ gwen smiles. ใ Because Em Jay is a force of nature.
ใ her expression turns far away; her playing does not miss a beat. ใ
We got attacked by ninja one time—long story. They were wielding katana, nunchucks, I'm pretty sure one of them had wire. Meanwhile, all we have are our instruments. Didn't faze Em Jay. Just a girl from Queens, and, ใ laughing, ใ she swung on a fucking ninja with a guitar.
ใ gwen wraps her hands around both sticks. she holds them in her lap. ใ
Whatever Em Jay wants, she just…goes for it. Usually drives me up a wall, but, ใ gwen clicks her tongue, ใ I love that girl. After graduation, she insisted we get the band back together. That was when we rebranded as the Mary Janes.
๏ผ at her description of ninjas, his eyebrows lift an incremental notch for his hairline. he knows, of course, that he cannot judge this world by the standards of his own, but it is still difficult to come up with more than a dozen reasons as to why a ninja cell was attacking a civilian school, unless it was a matter intended for ransom, or one of these girls was the child of an important politician or other social figure. if they were rogues, if they were paid, if the point was the fear from the chaos, if, if.
— though the other possibility, of course, is that gwen herself was the target. daughter of a police chief, it is not impossible to imagine that there may be considerable clout behind that in a place of this size. or, perhaps it was done on her own merits, as spider-woman. especially possible if she was known to protect the school (and how public was her identity, then? she said she had been in jail, which presumably means whatever she had done to conceal it was stripped away.)
his sideways gaze turns speculative on her, and he takes it upon himself to drag his fingertips across the strings of a guitar. he only knows what they are from newt, and the source of that knowledge makes his expression sour faintly (less because he actively dislikes newt, and more because every single interaction he's had with the man has left him exasperated, confused and grudgingly tolerant of his intelligence.)
it is obvious with the telling that there is both deep love, and something else at its edges — a little sharper, a little darker, in gwen's feelings for this girl. he is not familiar enough with the nuance of such emotions to identify it with any certainty, he only knows that it is there. he does not think it is gwen's feelings, necessarily — her nature is to be forgiving, to be kind — but something caught in a fractal of friendship's reflection.
his gaze cuts away. he studies the sports field, visible through windows that are large to let in the light. ๏ผ
Are such aspirations common in your world? Playing music in that way.
If you're one of the few to make it big, it comes with money, fame, and prestige so…Yeah. Not easy, though. Takes skill, hard work, and a good deal of luck.
We have the skill. And Em Jay, Glory, and Betty are some of the hardest working people I know. Em Jay especially.
ใ when she returns the sticks to their spot, they are both covered in tiny black spiders. slipping her hands into the jacket's pockets, gwen shrugs further into it. her eyes follow itachi's out the windows though she does not look at anything, only through. ใ
She was the first one to put it together: that me and Spider-Woman are one and the same.
ใ only may parker figured it out sooner, though the old woman did not breathe a word except to reassure gwen of her love. even gwen's father never realized his daughter was the fugitive he was hunting until gwen took her mask off in front of him. may and the girls, her father—ben, in his own way—they all sought to protect her. (she knows, but sometimes, she still wonders why.) ใ
We can keep going, ใ she says, standing up. gwen clears her throat. ใ There's not much else here unless you want to pick up bass. Which you should, we need a bass player.
ใ not saying that the image of itachi on bass would be the greatest thing ever…except it absolutely would be. ใ
๏ผ it's a mild protest at best. gwen is one of the very few people who, if she asked, he would acquiesce. learning the instrument would not be difficult, it would simply be a matter of the sharingan. as with his approach to art, he doubts he would be very good at it on his own, but he would at least be able to mimic and emulate it.
You say that, but have you ever tried? ใ she starts responding to his comment at the same time as he makes his suggestion.
a ringing starts in her ear, and she might have wondered if she got knocked on the head—again—but for the cold that grips her by the chest, its fingers digging around her sternum and in between her ribs.
as if from far away, she hears herself say, ใ Um…sure.
ใ it's just a school gym. where they played volleyball and basketball, and did their physical fitness tests, and joked around on the bleachers. gwen has not seen it since prom. (the damage was so extensive, even after the police tape was removed, the gym remained closed. she heard from glory months later they had completed the repairs. she never saw them.)
her feet move without conscious command, following a familiar route. alarm bells ring in her head. she wonders why she isn't reacting until realizing…this is not her spider-sense. this warning comes from elsewhere in her brain, and it gets louder as she takes the stairs down. she can picture the gym's double doors perfectly; she never reaches them.
gwen stops at the start of a line of lockers. hunched into herself, the fall of her blonde hair obscuring her eyes, she motions to the break between the lockers. ใ
Gym's over there. ใ almost idly, she notes her voice is shaking. (she does not realize her entire body is shaking.) ใ
๏ผ his focus is not on the simulation as they walk. instead, it is on her. the way she walks like she's trying to be soundless to someone with far sharper senses than him. the hunch of her shoulders, as she tries to draw in on herself.
the tremble that seizes her body.
he comes to a stop beside her. his expression is set, there is a slight flex of a muscle in his jaw. and then, with the earpiece, he opens up the simulation room admin console. gwen had not set the permissions to private, so overriding it is easy, and then they are no longer in this place that does to her what going back to the uchiha compound in taeum had felt like for him.
the simulation shifts. they are now standing on a dock, beside a large lake. it is a perfect, cloudless day. warm, with a gentle breeze, and itachi touches her shoulder. ๏ผ
I cannot imagine a school gymnasium holds much interest for me after all.
ใ the weight of his hand is light, the touch more assurance of his presence. she notes it all distantly, become an observer outside her own body.
when she blinks, back to herself, gwen finds she is seated on the dock, her legs crossed. she holds her phone on her lap. mary jane belts, "gotta wrap your head around it, it was bad, but you made it, made it feel so good—" without looking at the screen, gwen knows it is halfway through paperdoll. that's a minute she has no memory of.
her finger finds the volume button and takes it down until the song is a buzz against her palm. she raises her head. despite the clarity of the simulated day, her pupils threaten to consume her irises. around her neck, the symbiote extends protectively away from her, drifting on the sweet breeze. gwen finds itachi, and drops her head again. ใ
instead, he sits down beside her, gently nudging his shoulder into hers. he knows exactly when his own predilection towards physical touch was broken with her, and he was... surprised, to realize he had missed such casual contact with those he cares for. ๏ผ
ใ the big picture stuff, anyway. her thumb taps the screen, pausing the music. her eyes trace from her lap across the wood to the water. she listens as it laps gently at the pilings.
when she speaks, her voice is strangely detached. like she is repeating a story once told to her. ใ
It was prom night. Big party for the graduating seniors. Everybody was in the gym. ใ like fish in a barrel, she thinks, and hates herself for it. ใ One of our classmates injected himself with a serum. Turned himself into a monstrous, humanoid lizard. Attacked the prom.
I fought him. He begged— ใ here, her voice breaks. breathing feels like rubbing her lungs against a knife slipped between her ribs, but she continues, ใ He begged me to stop. But I was so angry. These were my friends. My classmates. This was my prom.
ใ one night. that was what she had wanted. one night without the craziness. without masks. one night kicking back with her friends. ใ
He died. Before he died, he shifted back, and…there was Peter.
ใ peter, her best friend. peter, whose death launched a manhunt for spider-woman. peter, whom she sees in dreams and hallucinations alike. no matter how often she tells herself to let go… ใ
๏ผ whether he put it together or not is irrelevant. he listens — still and silent as a statue beside her. he does not look at her, giving her that slight vestige of privacy as he gazes out across the placid lake.
(what she does not know, what he will not tell her, is that this is a replica of nakano lake, at the edges of the uchiha compound. the simulation does not extend beyond the gentle hill that rises to the footpath at the edge of their clan territory.) ๏ผ
I'm sorry. That is an awful circumstance under which to lose a friend.
๏ผ but it also wasn't her fault. however — he is cautious about saying that now. gwen is... insistent about her responsibilities. ๏ผ
ใ awful, and traumatizing, and not her fault, she knows. what peter did, he did alone. he synthesized the serum. he went to school. he pushed the plunger. he did not—or maybe, could not—discriminate; when she engaged him, he had cornered harry between the lockers.
yet—
that night, she saw the boy she loved at the very end: half his face covered in green scales, looking at her with one eye reptilian yellow, one human brown. her memories are chaos. parts of the night are vague, blurred, confusedโothers clear as a photograph. his confession that he only wanted to be like her, like spider-womanโฆthat plays in her head in 4k resolution. the sound of his voice, his sigh, his hand reaching for her maskโ
she covers her face with her hands. black filaments drape from her fingers. ใ
I'm so tired of feeling this way, ใ she admits. ใ I'd love one day, just one day, where a reminder doesn't wreck my entire existence.
๏ผ very slowly, with hesitance borne more of unfamiliarity than uncertainty, he lifts an arm and puts it gently around her shoulders. the contact he makes is nominal, and he does not rest the weight of his arm upon her. ๏ผ
I have a technique, unique to me in my world, that permits me to control one's perceptions so absolutely I can make you believe such an event never occurred, or that you have had years to come to terms with it, or that the outcome of the night was different.
๏ผ tsukuyomi is, in this fashion, innately horrifying.
wry: ๏ผ
It is something I do not announce freely, for what I assume you would understand as obvious reasons.
ใ oh. oh, of course. her friend has a terrifying power to alter one's whole person. why not.
she makes a little moue. ใ Just a bit, yeah.
ใ looking away again, gwen is quiet a long moment. her fingers drum against her thigh. ใ
I don't want to forget. Contradictions ahoy, considering I typically avoid reminders like the plague.
ใ there are moments she would love to reach into her own head, and pick out all the ruined sections of her brain. they are passing whims, however. thoughts she would never act upon. to do so…
she killed him in life. she cannot kill him in memory too. ใ
Peter was the person I loved most in the world. And he scared me…like nothing ever has. So much of what happened since, what I am, it all traces back to that night.
That does not mean I could not give you a day when you are older. When it hurts less.
( he could shape a future for her at fifty, when the sharp edge of grief is less likely to tighten in a snarl of thorns around your throat and cut off all oxygen. )
๏ผ it is remarkable, how little strain it puts on his body now to activate tsukuyomi. he does not use the sharingan around her now, so his eyes flicker to red, and then the blades of the mangekyล sharpen to their fine points.
he reaches out and tips her chin so she faces him more fully, and meets her eyes.
the simulation falls away around them, and they're standing in one of the temple sanctuaries of the guardian monks. the great hall is silent save the warm crackle of ever-burning fire, and itachi is standing off to one side in the shadows of a giant buddha statue, dressed in kimono with the uchiha crest emblazoned on its chest panels and back. he looks older as well — streaks of grey at his temples to accentuate the deepening lines on his face. it will be easier for her subconscious to process her own age being more advanced if he appears so as well.
gently, he fills in her mind's perception of history. the details are fuzzy — ultimately, they do not matter and he does it only as a kindness. there is a sense of having succeeded at the ximilia's mission, but no details. only the vindication of having hoped for something better at the end of it.
what he gives her, then, is an amorphous sense of peace. something gentle and soft and absolute. a day without the insistent, pressing pain of a broken heart, but the slow and steady warmth of an ache long laid to rest. she does not wish to change who she is, nor to remove peter from her mind, but he makes the memories softer. farther away. something she can reach for if she chooses to, but they do not clamour at the edges of her conscious mind.
finally — ๏ผ
This is Konoha's largest Fire Temple. The great fire at its heart has burned now for nearly three hundred years.
ใ there is a tilt. like something pinching her around her belly. then she can hardly remember it at all.
venom not only heals, but also helps stave off proof of time. gwen's face is older, no longer twenty-one; ageless, otherwise. her hair has gone fully platinum. it falls against her shoulders in a long, even bob. she runs her fingers through the ends. her hands are gloved—not gloved. her entire body is encased in a black bodysuit, a lilac, partially see-through trench coat over it. the suit continues down her legs, her calves patterned in spider-webs, and wraps around her feet in elevated high-tops, the soles the same color as her coat. all of her clothing lacks buttons, zippers, clasps.
she is aware of itachi's presence, but her attention is on the building. the walls and roof, the carvings, the burning brazier in the middle.
as she steps closer to the fire, her clothing seems to melt. the coat lengthens and wraps around her fully. the color lightens. a cherry blossom tree blooms across her back, the weight of the flowers draping along the sleeve of her kimono. ใ
I was feeling a little underdressed. ใ her voice is subtly different. deeper, more mature. ใ Is this okay?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Cafeteria is on the first floor, library on the second. The science labs are between the second and third floors. Outside are the football and baseball fields and the running track. I throw a mean javelin, and that was before I got super-strength.
Aside from that there's the gym, the music room, art room, computer labs… Everything else is pretty much classroom.
ใ in contrast to before, her voice acquires a brighter tone. a note in it rings false, however. like she's putting on an act. (she is.) rather than let her thoughts catch up to her, gwen starts walking. she is not fully aware of what she is saying. (it doesn't really matter.) posters line the walls between students' lockers; again and again, the word "prom" is repeated. she ignores it as she tries to ignore the crawling sensation at her back removed from the symbiote. ใ
Up to you where you wanna go.
no subject
he mentally tabulates what he knows of her history, and what this place is like to hold for her. some things are shadowed, grey, others as bright as a clarion bell.
she prompts him for a place, and he thinks of the drums she has webbed to the ceiling in her room aboard the ximilia. ๏ผ
The music room.
no subject
ใ gwen leads the way up the stairs. they pass by vending machines flanked by water fountains. they pass by classrooms, more lockers, a forgotten backpack, a half-empty water bottle left on the fire extinguisher. they pass by the bulletin board outside the english lit class, decorated with poems. the one in the middle starts, "natureโs first green is goldโ"
school without the chatter and shouts of students, without the slamming of locker doors, without the stomping of hundreds of feet up and down the stairs proves unnerving. (there was a moment. a second of absolute silence.) the roof feels like it's dropping close to her head.
behind her, itachi makes no noise, and gwen finds herself talking just to provide a buffer between herself and the walls. ใ
—Em Jay wanted us to be famous rock stars, but we didn't get the band together until senior year when she and Glory got detention for punching a douchebag and bonded. Betty, we recruited after she hijacked the PA system to belt death metal songs. Back then, we called ourselves "Murderface" after Betty's cat. I'm still shocked the school agreed to let us play the prom with that name.
ใ when she laughs, a brittle note so faint it could well be imagined underlies it. ใ
We'd practice here after school. Midtown High: where the Mary Janes were born.
ใ pushing open the door to the music room, gwen invites itachi through. most of the space in the room is taken up by folding chairs and sheet music stands organized in an arc facing the board. a piano takes up the corner opposite the door. the walls are painted with musical notes and genres while the windows look out to the athletic fields. toward the back, a variety of drums are organized against the wall including a drum kit. it is here gwen heads. picking up the sticks, she plays a quick little improvised beat. the sticks twirl almost fluid in her hands. ใ
no subject
gwen plays the drums, and he watches her. he is still silent, arms folded impassively.
no shinobi academy would ever have a room like this. there are genjutsu that operate via sound and music — but those tend to be passed down along family lines, instruments learned in the home, their melodies jealously guarded. but he is far more concerned with gwen than in unravelling the fated strings of her school. ๏ผ
Why 'Mary Janes'?
no subject
ใ her expression turns far away; her playing does not miss a beat. ใ
We got attacked by ninja one time—long story. They were wielding katana, nunchucks, I'm pretty sure one of them had wire. Meanwhile, all we have are our instruments. Didn't faze Em Jay. Just a girl from Queens, and, ใ laughing, ใ she swung on a fucking ninja with a guitar.
ใ gwen wraps her hands around both sticks. she holds them in her lap. ใ
Whatever Em Jay wants, she just…goes for it. Usually drives me up a wall, but, ใ gwen clicks her tongue, ใ I love that girl. After graduation, she insisted we get the band back together. That was when we rebranded as the Mary Janes.
no subject
— though the other possibility, of course, is that gwen herself was the target. daughter of a police chief, it is not impossible to imagine that there may be considerable clout behind that in a place of this size. or, perhaps it was done on her own merits, as spider-woman. especially possible if she was known to protect the school (and how public was her identity, then? she said she had been in jail, which presumably means whatever she had done to conceal it was stripped away.)
his sideways gaze turns speculative on her, and he takes it upon himself to drag his fingertips across the strings of a guitar. he only knows what they are from newt, and the source of that knowledge makes his expression sour faintly (less because he actively dislikes newt, and more because every single interaction he's had with the man has left him exasperated, confused and grudgingly tolerant of his intelligence.)
it is obvious with the telling that there is both deep love, and something else at its edges — a little sharper, a little darker, in gwen's feelings for this girl. he is not familiar enough with the nuance of such emotions to identify it with any certainty, he only knows that it is there. he does not think it is gwen's feelings, necessarily — her nature is to be forgiving, to be kind — but something caught in a fractal of friendship's reflection.
his gaze cuts away. he studies the sports field, visible through windows that are large to let in the light. ๏ผ
Are such aspirations common in your world? Playing music in that way.
no subject
We have the skill. And Em Jay, Glory, and Betty are some of the hardest working people I know. Em Jay especially.
ใ when she returns the sticks to their spot, they are both covered in tiny black spiders. slipping her hands into the jacket's pockets, gwen shrugs further into it. her eyes follow itachi's out the windows though she does not look at anything, only through. ใ
She was the first one to put it together: that me and Spider-Woman are one and the same.
ใ only may parker figured it out sooner, though the old woman did not breathe a word except to reassure gwen of her love. even gwen's father never realized his daughter was the fugitive he was hunting until gwen took her mask off in front of him. may and the girls, her father—ben, in his own way—they all sought to protect her. (she knows, but sometimes, she still wonders why.) ใ
We can keep going, ใ she says, standing up. gwen clears her throat. ใ There's not much else here unless you want to pick up bass. Which you should, we need a bass player.
ใ not saying that the image of itachi on bass would be the greatest thing ever…except it absolutely would be. ใ
no subject
๏ผ it's a mild protest at best. gwen is one of the very few people who, if she asked, he would acquiesce. learning the instrument would not be difficult, it would simply be a matter of the sharingan. as with his approach to art, he doubts he would be very good at it on his own, but he would at least be able to mimic and emulate it.
but he does not do the rest. ๏ผ
The gymnasium, then?
no subject
a ringing starts in her ear, and she might have wondered if she got knocked on the head—again—but for the cold that grips her by the chest, its fingers digging around her sternum and in between her ribs.
as if from far away, she hears herself say, ใ Um…sure.
ใ it's just a school gym. where they played volleyball and basketball, and did their physical fitness tests, and joked around on the bleachers. gwen has not seen it since prom. (the damage was so extensive, even after the police tape was removed, the gym remained closed. she heard from glory months later they had completed the repairs. she never saw them.)
her feet move without conscious command, following a familiar route. alarm bells ring in her head. she wonders why she isn't reacting until realizing…this is not her spider-sense. this warning comes from elsewhere in her brain, and it gets louder as she takes the stairs down. she can picture the gym's double doors perfectly; she never reaches them.
gwen stops at the start of a line of lockers. hunched into herself, the fall of her blonde hair obscuring her eyes, she motions to the break between the lockers. ใ
Gym's over there. ใ almost idly, she notes her voice is shaking. (she does not realize her entire body is shaking.) ใ
no subject
the tremble that seizes her body.
he comes to a stop beside her. his expression is set, there is a slight flex of a muscle in his jaw. and then, with the earpiece, he opens up the simulation room admin console. gwen had not set the permissions to private, so overriding it is easy, and then they are no longer in this place that does to her what going back to the uchiha compound in taeum had felt like for him.
the simulation shifts. they are now standing on a dock, beside a large lake. it is a perfect, cloudless day. warm, with a gentle breeze, and itachi touches her shoulder. ๏ผ
I cannot imagine a school gymnasium holds much interest for me after all.
no subject
when she blinks, back to herself, gwen finds she is seated on the dock, her legs crossed. she holds her phone on her lap. mary jane belts, "gotta wrap your head around it, it was bad, but you made it, made it feel so good—" without looking at the screen, gwen knows it is halfway through paperdoll. that's a minute she has no memory of.
her finger finds the volume button and takes it down until the song is a buzz against her palm. she raises her head. despite the clarity of the simulated day, her pupils threaten to consume her irises. around her neck, the symbiote extends protectively away from her, drifting on the sweet breeze. gwen finds itachi, and drops her head again. ใ
Sorry.
no subject
๏ผ he recognizes those symptoms, after all.
it is so much like sasuke.
instead, he sits down beside her, gently nudging his shoulder into hers. he knows exactly when his own predilection towards physical touch was broken with her, and he was... surprised, to realize he had missed such casual contact with those he cares for. ๏ผ
Do you wish to speak on it?
no subject
ใ the big picture stuff, anyway. her thumb taps the screen, pausing the music. her eyes trace from her lap across the wood to the water. she listens as it laps gently at the pilings.
when she speaks, her voice is strangely detached. like she is repeating a story once told to her. ใ
It was prom night. Big party for the graduating seniors. Everybody was in the gym. ใ like fish in a barrel, she thinks, and hates herself for it. ใ One of our classmates injected himself with a serum. Turned himself into a monstrous, humanoid lizard. Attacked the prom.
I fought him. He begged— ใ here, her voice breaks. breathing feels like rubbing her lungs against a knife slipped between her ribs, but she continues, ใ He begged me to stop. But I was so angry. These were my friends. My classmates. This was my prom.
ใ one night. that was what she had wanted. one night without the craziness. without masks. one night kicking back with her friends. ใ
He died. Before he died, he shifted back, and…there was Peter.
ใ peter, her best friend. peter, whose death launched a manhunt for spider-woman. peter, whom she sees in dreams and hallucinations alike. no matter how often she tells herself to let go… ใ
no subject
(what she does not know, what he will not tell her, is that this is a replica of nakano lake, at the edges of the uchiha compound. the simulation does not extend beyond the gentle hill that rises to the footpath at the edge of their clan territory.) ๏ผ
I'm sorry. That is an awful circumstance under which to lose a friend.
๏ผ but it also wasn't her fault. however — he is cautious about saying that now. gwen is... insistent about her responsibilities. ๏ผ
no subject
ใ awful, and traumatizing, and not her fault, she knows. what peter did, he did alone. he synthesized the serum. he went to school. he pushed the plunger. he did not—or maybe, could not—discriminate; when she engaged him, he had cornered harry between the lockers.
yet—
that night, she saw the boy she loved at the very end: half his face covered in green scales, looking at her with one eye reptilian yellow, one human brown. her memories are chaos. parts of the night are vague, blurred, confusedโothers clear as a photograph. his confession that he only wanted to be like her, like spider-womanโฆthat plays in her head in 4k resolution. the sound of his voice, his sigh, his hand reaching for her maskโ
she covers her face with her hands. black filaments drape from her fingers. ใ
I'm so tired of feeling this way, ใ she admits. ใ I'd love one day, just one day, where a reminder doesn't wreck my entire existence.
no subject
I could do that for you. If you wish.
no subject
How?
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๏ผ tsukuyomi is, in this fashion, innately horrifying.
wry: ๏ผ
It is something I do not announce freely, for what I assume you would understand as obvious reasons.
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she makes a little moue. ใ Just a bit, yeah.
ใ looking away again, gwen is quiet a long moment. her fingers drum against her thigh. ใ
I don't want to forget. Contradictions ahoy, considering I typically avoid reminders like the plague.
ใ there are moments she would love to reach into her own head, and pick out all the ruined sections of her brain. they are passing whims, however. thoughts she would never act upon. to do so…
she killed him in life. she cannot kill him in memory too. ใ
Peter was the person I loved most in the world. And he scared me…like nothing ever has. So much of what happened since, what I am, it all traces back to that night.
ใ gwen smiles wanly at itachi. ใ
To erase Peter, you'd erase me too.
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( he could shape a future for her at fifty, when the sharp edge of grief is less likely to tighten in a snarl of thorns around your throat and cut off all oxygen. )
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her stomach is flipping like she is in free-fall. her heart squeezes tight. ใ
What do I have to do?
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( it feels... strange, to use it for this purpose. but he had given blue months in paradise, and this is small by comparison. )
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Okay. I trust you.
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he reaches out and tips her chin so she faces him more fully, and meets her eyes.
the simulation falls away around them, and they're standing in one of the temple sanctuaries of the guardian monks. the great hall is silent save the warm crackle of ever-burning fire, and itachi is standing off to one side in the shadows of a giant buddha statue, dressed in kimono with the uchiha crest emblazoned on its chest panels and back. he looks older as well — streaks of grey at his temples to accentuate the deepening lines on his face. it will be easier for her subconscious to process her own age being more advanced if he appears so as well.
gently, he fills in her mind's perception of history. the details are fuzzy — ultimately, they do not matter and he does it only as a kindness. there is a sense of having succeeded at the ximilia's mission, but no details. only the vindication of having hoped for something better at the end of it.
what he gives her, then, is an amorphous sense of peace. something gentle and soft and absolute. a day without the insistent, pressing pain of a broken heart, but the slow and steady warmth of an ache long laid to rest. she does not wish to change who she is, nor to remove peter from her mind, but he makes the memories softer. farther away. something she can reach for if she chooses to, but they do not clamour at the edges of her conscious mind.
finally — ๏ผ
This is Konoha's largest Fire Temple. The great fire at its heart has burned now for nearly three hundred years.
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venom not only heals, but also helps stave off proof of time. gwen's face is older, no longer twenty-one; ageless, otherwise. her hair has gone fully platinum. it falls against her shoulders in a long, even bob. she runs her fingers through the ends. her hands are gloved—not gloved. her entire body is encased in a black bodysuit, a lilac, partially see-through trench coat over it. the suit continues down her legs, her calves patterned in spider-webs, and wraps around her feet in elevated high-tops, the soles the same color as her coat. all of her clothing lacks buttons, zippers, clasps.
she is aware of itachi's presence, but her attention is on the building. the walls and roof, the carvings, the burning brazier in the middle.
as she steps closer to the fire, her clothing seems to melt. the coat lengthens and wraps around her fully. the color lightens. a cherry blossom tree blooms across her back, the weight of the flowers draping along the sleeve of her kimono. ใ
I was feeling a little underdressed. ใ her voice is subtly different. deeper, more mature. ใ Is this okay?
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