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brooklynislandgirl · 2 years

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@tangleweave {{xx}}

The second he speaks, Beth knows that she’s both caused him some embarrassment and maybe called him out a little. Of course there’s a large part of her that finds this so funny that she can’t help but to laugh softly, hold up her hands in apologetic fashion, and blush all at the same time. She can all but hear him choking on himself and that hadn’t been her intent at all. They’re all adults here, or at least she thinks so. She would bet money that they are both about the same age, and she remembers first hearing about him right around the time she began her first semester at Columbia. When he gathers himself, though, she scoots forward on the deck chair she’s been occupying, taking a sip of the wine she’d been nursing all evening. For him, she had a bottle of water ~ethically plant-based ‘plastic’, and ready to be recycled when he’s done with it~ and a purple travel cup of coffee, clearly the one she uses herself every day. She never offers him a drink whether it’s a wine night, a vodka night, or cocoa for her. She also doesn’t seem to realise that her face is open, expressive, and that he can see the emotions crossing her face like time-lapse photography. The euphemism about his webs makes her giggle, but that sobers quickly and something else passes when he mentions Spider-Fam. It seems to take her a minute for her to realise he is indeed talking about relatives and not the fandom cult of personality that has grown up around him. Then she cocks her head and whispers, cryptically, “Probably don’ wanna say dat too loud, City Maddah might hear you.” But she doesn’t explain that any further.

“Lots of people,” she replies, a touch despondent over that. Even her brother had done it a time or twelve. “But it’s kind of refreshing dat you don’t. Even if you could.You got tons of people willin’ to... well. You know.” An uneven shrug before she is shaking her head and trying to laugh again. “Jus’ f’ educational purposes, I am not one of dem, ‘case ya curious.” The second part of his answer though earns him a small choke on her behalf and as she tries to keep the wine in her mouth and not spread out in a spit take, her eyes water and her nose scrunches, and she waves a hand in front of her face. It takes her more than half a second to swallow and when she does, the laugh is genuine, full throated and not quiet. “You are bad! Bad Bad Spidah Man!” She playfully swats at his knee. The scandal dies down, and then she leans toward him conspiratorially. “You know for sure-sure? Like, you’ve actually you know...” her lips press mostly closed and she murmurs, “done da deed in small kine place? Did you have ya costume alla way off...or....?”

#tangleweave #Ku'uku'u|Spiderman #Webs and Fins|Spidey and Beth #Testaments They Told|Spider-Verse #Brooklyn Stories|New York

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brooklynislandgirl · 2 years

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Beth, how do you feel about the tabloids labelling Spider-Man as a 'menace'?

@tangleweave for reference

Happy Anons! || Always Accepting

While checking her messages mid charting, a mental health break for her, she spies the anonymous one amidst cluster. She ignores some of the words at first to allow a slow and admiring smile to curve her lips, drawing new lines. Etched there by the softness, the sweetness she feels for her Ku'uku'u, the friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man. A handful of stolen rooftop moments where they both feed into their own fears and insecurities; his spawning from cheating on the city by giving her his sometimes divided attention, hers coming to light by braving heights and nightfall just to share them with him.

But those other words, the question and intent of the message soon comes trickling back in at the edges. They come as tinder-twigs, and then as logs, building up in layers before they catch fire and begin to burn in the pit of her belly. Mostly because she knows that the tabloids that are mentioned aren't really that. The National Inquisitor, the Weekly World Enquiry, not even the Midnight Star ~three of the biggest tabloids~ they don't care. They don't lambaste him almost on the daily with their publishing. They don't post ridiculous headlines above larger than life images, some of them taken ~and sold, like pieces of tattered bits of soul ~by their dear, mutual friend Peter.

More respectable news papers such as the NY Bulletin, the Times, the Post, even the Wall Street Journal, do not go out of their way to be cruel to any of the number of street-level and even the galactic level heroes that flood the boroughs. They report when there are world changing disasters, but they do so with the impartiality one expects from vetted reporters whose duty, like modern day disciples of Diogenes, is to hold up the lantern of truth, and shine it in the darkest of places.

And what is the truth?

The truth is that the only real crusade undertaken is that of J. Jonah Jameson. Editor and owner of the Daily Bugle, a paper which Beth wouldn't use to line a bird cage any more, Jameson has to know in his heart that he's been printing sheer rubbish for as long as Spider-Man has been swinging himself across the city trying to save it, for little credit and no discernable reward she can see.

At worst, Spider-Man is a vigilante. An unlicensed fighter of crime and unusual violence, but is certainly not a menace. Those who parrot Jameson do so because they are afraid of what they don't understand, and what causes harm. A thing natural to all human beings. Spider-Man fights villains all over the boroughs with no accountability but what if he didn't? The death tolls, the destruction would be unfathomable.

But these people, who decry every act of selfless heroism, are the same reason that the Accords and the Superhuman Registration Act are now matters of law. He is always at the scene where an incident would take place. Jameson paints him in hues of menace no matter who or what is saved due to Spidey's courage. He does so to bolster the purchase of his paper, and his magazines, even his podcasts. People have paranoia about super-powered individuals, and they bask in being proven 'right' for feeling so, even when they have evidence proving contrary truth. She truly believes Jameson doesn't only hate Spider-Man, but fears him, is so jealous of him that he can do nothing but try to mould reality to support his own failings as a man.

Even if she were to play the devil's advocate, she would still have to say Spider-Man tries so hard.

He is terrified of killing his enemies. She knows this. She's had it from his own lips. And while most superheroes figure out how to pull their punches just enough for a given enemy, Spidey always errs on the side of caution. And a secret that she will never share is the fact that his fists likely couldn't take the kind of punishment he might otherwise dish out. He has remarkable strength, stamina, agility. All the physical attributes that might decimate perfectly ordinary people. But his own body is no tougher than any other. He is not bulletproof, and if he were to punch a wall with the force he is capable of, he'd shatter his knuckles, his hands, likely even his radius or ulna.

Most of his opponents tend to wearing armoured suits or have animal-based armored hides. It isn't fair.

So Ku'uku'u has the ability to heft cars or trucks or statuary. And while any of those may be a suitable weapon toward the likes of Rhino or that Kraven guy, it would require Spidey to hold still instead of using his superior speed and dexterity to protect himself. What's more is that he created his webs in place of weapons such as laser guns, or archaic swords or hammers. Tools of warriors. His webs allow him to capture and detain. To leave his enemies alive. She can't name someone else who has that sort of presence of mind.

Whatever else Spider-Man might be, he certainly isn't a menace.

And that has to be where Jameson's loathing comes from, his need to tear down someone with Captain America's heart, her brother's bravery, Tony Stark's intelligence, Thor's sweetness. So many other traits that she sees in part in other people, but not one of them have them in a single package like Spider-Man.

She clicks on the reply button and begins to type her thoughts up more concisely, but with no less the amount of admiration for Spidey, and no less spite for J. Jonah Jameson.

“Dear Nonnymouse....”

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brooklynislandgirl · 2 years

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@tangleweave {{xx}}

A little part of her wonders if Ku’uku’u understands just how deeply connected she is to music. She’d been dancing for as long as she remembers, both traditional and modern and each according to their chants or songs. Her brother had mastered six different instruments before he left high school, and had a range that spanned across eight decades. Then her mentor had come along and expanded on the gaps that her brother had either forgotten or hadn’t known about. Opened new vistas and new favourites for her. She couldn’t think of a genre that she couldn’t find at least a song or two that spoke to her, that filled wild spaces inside, even if she didn’t get all the lyrics all the time. And while she would never be as good a musician or singer as her brother had been, she can’t help but delight over nights spent carousing through the karaoke bars, wandering through the parks and beaches singing quietly to herself. Her question had been an impulsive one, the first wrested from a tangle of thousands. She doesn’t realise that she’s seeking ways to perhaps prepare for future stolen moments: and that is exactly what these are. They both know it. Every second with him is hoarded, curated, made to be as full as it can. When it comes time that he slips the mask back on, and takes that positively heart-stopping leap off the less exposed side of her building, she’ll think back to this quiet little bliss and wear the smile of it for him. She turns her head just a touch when he comes across it after deliberations are carefully weighed. She almost wonders which one, like a .72 playing jukebox, he discards and if she would like any of the options. Or if he’d stumble on one that would make her cringe. If he did, she’d be impressed but then she'd use that to rib him a little in the future. She also really hopes that he doesn’t purposefully choose an Eddie Vedder song just to score a few points. He isn’t very grunge as far as she can tell. Her eyes widen, her nose crinkles, and her smile takes a crooked little turn that brings out one of her dimples when he gives her his final answer. She makes a little sound that could have been a mystified “huh”. Of all the things she might imagine him listening to, the two furthest away if she didn’t count some tribal trap or painfully distorted black metal, would be classical or punk. Especially old school, original punk. What turns surprise into joy, though, is when he flails a bit, creating the backbeat she’s so familiar with. “Mebbe…dat wouldn’ always be so bad, right?” She doesn’t honestly know how he gets by, seeing his suited self on social media, with all the attended obsession and criticism that goes along with it, to the point that he can’t even share himself with the one person guaranteed never to spill his secrets. “But I’m totally on-board wi’ you gettin’ a t’eme song.” Beth likes Radiohead, and she could sing Creep in her sleep, eyes closed, underwater. But she can see what he’s saying, and maybe even why. It’s a perfectly valid choice and when she nods? Her brow rubs against his. Then, like a cat she leans in the direction of his fingertips. Ah, there it is. The Pearl Jam reference, she knew it had to get thrown in there somewhere. Her choices are so incredibly vast, it’s hard to single out just one, maybe even harder than it had been for him. She discounts instrumentals. She carefully sets aside her second favourite Chilli Peppers. She knows every Stones, every Beatles, Zeppelin, and Creedence song ever sung. She even likes REM, U2, Aqua’s terrible, disgusting song Barbie girl. And when she chooses the winner, Beth blushes, the warmth rushing to her face and lingering in her eyes. “Okay an’ I mean…full acceptance dat ya reserve da right t’ make fun of me, but it would have t’ be eiddah B-52’s Roam, or Love Shack….” She hitches herself up to her feet and leans toward him, shaking her shoulders and her hips. “The love shack is a little old place where…We can get together…Love shack, baby.” She slicks her lower lip with her tongue then bites down on its tip while smiling at him. She sits back down once it’s out of her system, this time arranging herself in a lotus position, one hand on that nebulous space between the bottom of his chest but not quite his stomach. “An’ da song I would consign t’ hell from da BB? Hands down, no question? John Lennon’s Imagine.” Never has she sounded so venomous, not even when referring to his ex, or Tony Stark. “...or Freebird by Lynnah Skynnah...ooh, ooh, or More’n Words by Extreme. Or dat one Christmas song...”

#tangleweave #Ku'uku'u|Spiderman #Webs and Fins|Spidey and Beth #Testaments They Told|Spider-verse #Brooklyn Stories|New York #{{Muse =/= Mun}}#{{Except for Imagine and Baby It's Cold Outside}}

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brooklynislandgirl · 2 years

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What do you find romantically appealing about Spider-Man?

Anon-aholics || Accepting {{tagging @wxr-zxne for reference, tagging @tangleweave for relevance}}

Beth is used to interviews derailing at a certain point, it's all old hat. She knew that unless the Bulletin had sent Karen Page to her home to talk about the new animal shelter she was opening up, that sooner or later talk would boil down to glorified gossip. At least the question was mild by journalistic standards, though the interviewer, whose name she already forgot, was neither as poised, as pretty, or as well-spoken as Karen. She makes a mental note to make lunch plans with her soon.

But as she ruminates over the question, Beth can't help the start of a smile. Just thinking about him lifts the sourness in the back of her throat over the question, and she realises it's likely not as titillating as the reporter wants. How do you explain why you love someone when the truth is there’s nothing you don’t, and none of it’s based around his physical presence?

"Off the record? People often say 'oh, there's just something about' and here you can fill in anyone's name, proverbially. Most of the time it's the chemical release of dopamine, serotonin, and oxytocin that produces feelings of desire as related to mating instincts, and of course they don't usually recognise it as such. With Spiderman, I suppose it's true, though. There just....is....something about him.

“If you spent any time getting to know him, you’d understand that he has the biggest heart of anyone I know. He worries about hurting other people, including those who would kill someone without a thought. That comes from a place of deep respect for the fundamental right of Life and community. As someone of Pacific Island decent, and a nurse-practitioner, that’s very important to me. “And still, he’s got an amazing sense of humour. I know very few people who could keep up with him, the way a quip can just roll off his tongue but he’s never mean about it. The words he chooses, the kinds of private conversation we tend to have, he lets me see this city and maybe even the world in a different light. To see what is truly good there, what is worth saving, because he sees it that way. That capacity for love is truly humbling. “Even when we might disagree with one another, he never makes it personal and he’s always someone I can listen to, hear out, and I look forward to that. His opinions matter. And sometimes, I just...whenever he’s talking, it makes me smile, even for no reason. When he talks about dreams and hopes, I want him to succeed, and I think he wants the same thing for me. He always knows the right way to encourage me. Our ideals are often well-matched.”

She pauses to take a sip of her coffee. “Still off the record, of course, I’m sure you’re asking for the racier stuff, so I can tell you...it isn’t a sexual attraction but I want to be physically close to him all the time. I like sitting next to him. I like holding his hand while we’re discussing radical politics or what he’s been up to. I like the way his throat bobs when he laughs and it’s the best laugh, or how he sometimes sounds uncertain when he’s doing so. He gets this little nasal tone too. But I suppose you’re not asking about that. Uhm. Oh. His hair, it’s so soft. And a little floppy. It’s entirely possible too that I have a thing for strong jaws and long necks. And believe me when I say from where I’m standing? Everything’s long.” She smiles now and one that is as predatory as it is full. “So that’s what you’re getting. And I did say it’s off the record so if I see a single word of it printed on paper or posted online, I will make it my life’s goal to sue you into non-existence. I have the money, the connections, and my retainer is with Pearson Specter Litt, and Harvey Specter is for all intents and purposes, my god-father. So...Bet.”

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brooklynislandgirl · 2 years

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Close to the Wind

@tangleweave

The air had been so stiflingly hot, the ballroom so full of people that she couldn’t risk any of the means available to her to seek relief, she found herself taking the stairs ~step by agonizing step in three inch heels~ up to the rooftop. She knew the museum’s attempt to raise money for inner city school art programs was one of the best events to throw money after, and the trustees had agreed to it, but only on the condition that she made an appearance for the publicity. Beth almost had second thoughts but ended up going anyway. The unfortunate cost of doing business. The second was that she had had no chance to have fittings done for a gown and had to make due with the hasty adjustments on the spot. And whatever she’d done to the universe she was instantly regretful when she realised the sadistic dresser had pulled the stays too tight, and had pinned the fabric in just the wrong way. The black fabric looked stunning on her but left no room to move, to breathe. Or maybe it was the pair of champagne cocktails she’d imbibed to make the evening bearable. Events like this require a great deal of mental and emotional labour on her part; filtering out the sounds and smells that she doesn’t make an idiot of herself or the family. All of the heavy scents of perfumes wrestling with one another, chemical and artificial that they, en masse, create a tension headache near about her sinuses.

The rooftop though is quiet and the chill in the air soothes her flushed cheeks, giving a respite from the stifling atmosphere below. She can still hear the music pounding through the walls; lively orchestra big band. Normally in a quieter dose she’d enjoy the feel of it. But flashing lights and holding her face in a death-rictus of a smile that never reaches her eyes steals some of the elation. And all of it seems to go to her head which is swimming, and her hands grasp the edge of the building’s crown, leaving her white knuckled and gasping for air. She almost misses the faint thwipping sound behind her, the softer thud of feet landing with an unspeakable grace. But when she does become aware? When something of a scent-memory rises up and stirs the muddy waters of her awareness? Beth can’t help the faint purse lipped smile that comes to her lips. “Was...hopin’...you...come.” Clipped words, not quite pidgin bitten in an odd cadence but because there’s a panting breath between each word. “Dea’f by taffeta. How good are ya on ya ches’ compressions? Or by chance you got a knife? T’ink ya gonna need f’ cut me out of dis dress.” As if to punctuate her queries, she starts to turn toward him and only manages to sway a little in her place.

#tangleweave #Ku'uku'u|Spiderman #Webs and Fins|Spidey and Beth #Testaments They Told|Spider-verse #Brooklyn Stories|New York

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