Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Mistress, we're here."

Finally, at long last. As much as she liked flying at night, her wings were beginning to get a little sore. Coming through the window, she surveyed her surroundings, the room of the long abandoned building coated in dust, cobwebs around every corner. What little furniture there was had lost form and overall use long ago, it being little more than a formation of wood and cloth.

The long haired beauty hidden in the shadows wrinkled her nose in disgust. Despite whatever conceptions humans had of her kind, she did NOT simply sleep in whatever spooky place there was. Her living quarters were meant to be kept in order and looking splendid. In place of stone walls rested old, rotting wallpaper, in place of lavish furniture rested dirtied chairs and a broken vanity mirror, and in place of a bed adorned with fat, red roses was nothing more than a worn out mattress with several questionable stains on it.

She would not live like this for more than one night at most.

"Lucian." She spoke up. "Hand me your coat."

The two figures that were with her transformed from their bat form, one a hulking figure while the other was short and lumpy. Like she, they too were hidden by the shadows of the night, yet, like their mistress, were more than eager to get some sleep. "Ah, of course, mistress." The larger of the two said, removing his coat, yet he paused upon looking at the bed. "I'm, mistress? Are you sure-"

"Positive." His mistress said firmly. "I'm not sleeping on that thing's bare surface. Now cover it so we can all get some rest." She pointed to the stained bed. With a grown, the hulking figure laid his coat out on the bed. "Cleaning begins tomorrow." She then said. "This room is to be spotless and furnished when I return from my little job hunt tomorrow. Am I clear?"

"Yes, mistress." Both the large and little figure said.

"Good. Now, let's all get some sleep." the woman released an exhausted sigh. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, mistress." Both of her servants said, the large one finding a chair to recline in while the smaller one rested on his shoulders.

Her wings had long since retreated into her, she transitioning into a more comfortable sleeping position, her attire coming off of her in small strands of cloth, rearranging themselves into a soft, silky gown of light pink, her hair spreading like a veil as she lowered her head. This whole situation was awful. To think, there would be a time that she DIDN'T want to go to the human world. Still, there was no other choice for her or her two servants. Everything was gone now. Her home, her last remaining relative, everything. All taken from her at once. All into the void. She had no other choice but to come here. It was either that, or she could join the rest of the nobles and servants that perished alongside her family's chateau. She didn't wish to leave, far from it. She wanted nothing more than to stay and fight. Yet before she could even realize what had happened, she had been whisked away to this place, out of her realm and to the one she used as an escape from her home.

And escape that now would have to be her new home for some time. For how long, she didn't know, yet she could only hope that, ironically enough, that it wouldn't be permanent. Though...while she was here, perhaps she could find some sense of enjoyment. After all, this place was quite large and packed with several interesting sights. Sights that she could use as a means to move her mind away from what had just happened. This city...she would find what it held, both in its alleys and high in its skies.

Though...perhaps finding some work was in order, much to her dismay. And an actual place to rest her head. No way was she staying here. She had a good amount from the small 'surprise' that she had found courtesy of her late father, yet even she knew it wouldn't last forever. She could only hope that she could find something at least mildly interesting.

A Few Weeks Later

Daily Bugle

The brunette man watched in anticipation as the mustached head of the Bugle went through and took in every detail of every photo that was handed over. "Is there a problem, sir?" the photographer asked, though inwardly, he was rolling his eyes. What was he kidding? Of COURSE there was a problem. There always was. The photographer in question had a red shirt covered with a denim jacket, jeans, and simple, brown shoes on. His eyes were hazel and skin apricot. He was clearly younger than the man behind the desk, his hair greying and dressed in a suit of blue with a red tie.

"It's all the same, Parker!" J. Jonah Jameson proclaimed in frustration. "Every week, it's all the same thing!" He then held up a photo, pointing to the image of a red and blue clad 'menace' (Jameson's works, not Peter's) swinging by a couple of buildings. "Spider-Man seen swinging by in Times Square!" He then took out another photo. "Spider-Man's taken a stop down in Queens!" he then slammed the photos down on the desk. "Not one ounce of exposure for the renegade delinquent that he is!"

Peter had to keep himself cool, reminding himself over and over again that this guy was the head of the Daily Bugle (though that didn't make him any less of an ass). "Well...maybe he's feeling a little camera shy this week?"

"Or he's getting better at avoiding you, Parker." Jameson replied. He groaned, rubbing his sore temples. How was he going to make a headline out of these photos? As far as he was concerned, these would just be retreading the same ground over and over. What could he do? 'Spider-Man: Planning something big?' or 'Spider-Man: Menace on the move!'. Frankly, he was scrambling for ideas, yet found himself running dry. "Anyway, get yourself ready, Parker. I've got another job for you." Peter was somewhat surprised at this, yet at the moment, he was sort of wanting a bit of a break from having to take Spidey's photos. Perhaps a break in the routine would be what he needed. "American Museum of Natural History just opened up a new exhibit." Jameson explained. "Something Irish or Scottish, don't really know. Basically the same thing from what I remember from high school."

'Don't know which high school YOU went to, but they're totally different.' Peter thought, once again inwardly rolling his eyes.

"And those fine folks have chosen us to cover it!" Jameson declared with pride. "But you won't be going alone." he told Peter. "We've got ourselves a journalist going with you." he then furrowed his brows. "Speaking of, where IS she? She should've been-"

Suddenly, everyone heard the door to the office opening. "So sorry for the delay." a smooth, feminine voice said, immediately gaining everyone's attention. "Traffic was a killer."

The two turned to see a shapely, blonde woman standing in the doorway, one leg in front of the other and a hand on her hip, as if she were presenting herself off for the three men. She wore a black pencil skirt that came to her mid-thigh and a white, button top, a pink neck scarf tied to the side, and pointed, black heels. Her hair was long and smooth, parted to the left, and her eyes were a bright hazel. Her skin was somewhat pale, yet not to the point where she looked ghostly, and appeared to be somewhat chilled but smooth. She surveyed the men, smiling with her painted lips at the attention she was getting. She hadn't been here but a few moments, and already, she was being noticed for the beauty she was. The moment before she had opened the door, Peter felt his spider sense go off, though, to his surprise, it was somewhat subdued. As if alerting him that something was coming, yet it was unsure as to whether or not it was an active danger. It seemed to just register this woman as some sort of anomaly.

"Ah, there you are." Jameson said, acknowledging the woman. "About time too. First day on the job, and you're already late."

Wait, first day? Peter had never seen SEEN this woman before! "As I said, traffic was a killer." the woman answered Jameson. "So sorry, sir." she answered, though her voice was more of a cooing plea than a genuine sorry, as if she were trying to make herself sound 'cute'. Another thing that seemed off about her, Peter thought.

"Yeah, well, don't make me regret my decision on hiring you." the mustached man then turned his attention back to Peter. "Anyway, Parker, this is Kathleen Henderson. Our newest journalist and, for your next job, your partner."

The woman, Kathleen, turned her gaze towards the photographer. "So, THIS is Mr. Peter Parker?" again, his spider sense was going off, yet not entirely. She wasn't dangerous...at least not yet. "Well, I should've listened to what Betty said about you." she drew closer, studying each and every aspect about him, circling him like he was some sort of injured gazelle and she was a lioness on the prowl. It seemed she liked what she had seen. "You ARE quite the looker."

"Oh, uh...thank you?" Peter answered, somewhat put off by the woman's boldness. As well as her gaze.

"Kathleen here is our newest member here at the Bugle and New York as a whole, and I've appointed YOU to be her guide." Peter was about to turn around and protest, yet he didn't get a word in before Jameson began barking more commands. "Now, go on! Skedaddle! That exhibit is only going to be open for a few days, and those photos aren't going to take themselves!"

American Museum of Natural History

The towering structure of the T-Rex skeleton stood in a pose that made it look as if it were roaring and proclaiming its status as king to all that would hear its thundering cry. At least, that was the scenario Peter constructed in his mind. Though it wasn't what he was here for, he immediately took a shot of the display as they waited for the museum docet to come collect them.

"Such a large beast…" Peter heard Kathleen say, seeing her eyes grow wide as she studied the dinosaur bones, approaching it and reaching her hand out. "For such a thing to once reside in a world such as this…" Suddenly, she felt a hand seize her wrist, she looked to see the photographer had stopped her. He then gestured to a plaque on the display.

'DO NOT TOUCH'

"It's something, isn't it?" Peter asked, trying to act casual, yet inwardly, he was nothing short of confused. Just what the hell did she think she was doing? True, there were several tourists and even residents of the city that probably had no respect for the displays and put their hands all over it, yet this adult woman was acting like she had never even seen a dinosaur before, let alone a display of its bones.

"This creature…" Kathleen spoke, eyes taking in each and every detail. "It is a...theropod, yes?" she questioned. Peter was somewhat surprised to hear such a term come from her lips, seeing as he assumed she had no idea what it was. "It is a...Tyrannosaurus, yes?" Peter averted his eyes for a moment before nodding. This whole situation just felt awkward. Hell, just being around this woman felt awkward. His half and half spidey sense was about to drive him crazy! "Ah, good." Kathleen said. "I always get confused as to which is which. All of them look the same to me." it was faint, yet Peter swore he heard her say something else. "No distinctive horns or wings. Compared to the beasts at home, they lack much detail."

"What was that?" Peter asked.

"Oh, nothing!" Kathleen said, waving her hand dismissively.

"Ah, there you are!" another voice called out, Peter and Kathleen looking to see a young woman with her blonde hair tied back in a low ponytail with a pair of round glasses. She was dressed in a black outer and black skirt with black heels with a tag pinned on her that read 'Allison Cartwell'.

'Allison...from the way she looks, I would've thought that she would've been Debra Whitman's missing twin.' Peter thought, chuckling to himself. "Yeah, we're from the Bugle." he explained to the woman, presenting his camera and Kathleen presenting a clipboard and pencil.

"Excellent!" the decot clapped her hands together, bursting with glee at how she was the one to present this new exhibit early. If anything, this was good practice before she had to do the real thing. She just hoped that she wouldn't screw anything up. "Now that you're here, step this way, please…"

A short distance away

Immediately, Peter began snapping photos, impressed and intrigued by the displays before him. And while he hated to admit it, Jameson was sort of right on his description of what was being presented.

Stationed beneath glass containers were ancient, rusted articles of armor and wear, such as aged arrowheads of bronze, the head of an iron spear, bronze rings that were listed to be the ancient currency of the people this exhibit was presenting about, and several other displays had more articles of this peculiar sect that existed long before his time.

"Can I...start?" the decot, Allison, asked, clearly nervous. Peter and Kathleen nodded, the young woman clearing her throat. She only hoped she wouldn't make any mistakes. "Now, what you see here is some examples of the weapons the Celts used during their prime." she explained. "The Celts themselves were first recorded to exist in the seventh or eight century BC, and were essentially a collection of tribes with origins tracing back to that of central Europe." she paused for a moment. "Am I doing ok?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah!" Peter reassured her. "You're doing fine! Just fine!"

"Oh, good." Allison sighed. "I just got this job and, well, it's always sort of been my dream to work at a place like this. So be patient with me, ok?" she then noticed how Kathleen's eyes scanned and surveyed all of the articles before her. "Like what you see? I do too. I was psyched when I heard we were doing something about the Celts." She then led them to the next display, this one presenting stone statues, both busts and humanoid figures, all with partially missing limbs and thus, had to be supported with stands. "These here are some figures that were collected for this particular exhibit." Peter took a few shots. Allison then gestured to one particular set of figures. "These are believed to depict a rider and his steed." she then gestured to another set, these two seeming to be a male and female figure, and while the details were muddled and worn with age, they were clearly meant to be crafted in such a way where their full nudity would be presented for all to see. "Um...are you allowed to put this in the article or no?" Allison asked.

"Uh...maybe not." Peter admitted, not exactly sure how Jameson would react to him taking photos of what were essentially 'naked' statues.

"Yeah, probably not." the decot admitted. "We've got a field trip set up for Midtown Thursday, and, well, you know how high schools can be with things like this."

"Don't I ever." Peter confirmed. He remembered how sex-ed class was a nightmare for the teacher to get through due to there being snide comments every five seconds. He himself didn't make any, yet he'd be lying if he said he didn't chuckle at a good majority of them.

"But anyway," Allison got back on topic. "These are believed to be statues that relate to the worship of their gods and goddesses. Which ones they are is up for speculation, yet here," she grew excited, as if she were about to present to the class her own show and tell. The statue in question was what appeared to be a bird, the size of a crow or raven. "Yet this here, this one we can identify." the woman answered. "This one is believed to be an idol relating to the goddess, Morrigan."

Peter and Kathleen's eyes lit up. Now THAT name, Peter had heard before. Upon needing to fill an elective for his new semester as a senior, he took a course in European history. Though it was a generalized detailing on the history of each country, yet there was a particular section detailing Wales, the Celts being one of them. And while he didn't remember the exact details, there was a listing of some of their more well known gods and goddesses, one of which happened to be Morrigan. "So, why such a specific figure?" Peter asked, taking a snapshot of the bird figure.

"Oh, it's not just this." Allison replied. "There are marks of here everywhere the Celts were." she pointed to a map that had shown the general area in which the Celts inhabited. "And...yeah, I need to go over this part again because of the high schoolers, but there's so much that has been found on her." Allison began to grow excited. "There have been stone stelae with sculpted breasts found at Castelucio de Sauri in the Province of Foggia. Region Aqulia in Italy."

Peter smirked. "You've been reading up a lot, haven't you?"

Allison smiled sheepishly. "Heh, got me. I've been pouring hours into this." she then went on. She was on a roll, so there was no reason to stop now. "Anyway, those findings at Castelucio date back all the way to the Copper Age around three-thousand BC. And it's not just there, sits in Spain, France, Portugal and England has statues, menhirs, and stone slabs that depict her. They range from showing her as a woman to a bird to a combination of both." she then gestured to a picture of some Celtic ruins. "Her breasts were believed to form the hills in County Kerry, or as it's sometimes called, Da Chinch Annan. She is the goddess of war and death, the guardian of the dead. She's been connected to the birds, specifically crows, the Earth itself, and her breasts were believed to not only nourish the living, but also regenerate the dead." Allison stopped for a moment. "How was that?" she was pleased that the two members of her audience seemed attentive.

Suddenly, Kathleen spoke. "Tell me," the blonde, newly hired journalist spoke. "These people...are they still around today?"

Allison and Peter looked at each other. "Uh...what?" Allison was confused. "Well...if you mean people that follow and believe what they believed, then yes." that seemed to really get Kathleen's attention. "Truth is, I got the last part of that speech from a friend of a friend. She's into that New Age stuff. I think she calls herself a Druid or something. She's one of the modern pagans, I think. I don't really know anything about that stuff, so that's why I asked to make sure I got this bit about Morrigan right."

Kathleen bit her lip. 'Father did tell me my namesake came from the ancient peoples…' she thought. 'Well, it seems that he chose well. Unfortunately, I can't reveal myself now. Never been worshiped before. Sounds like fun.'

"Oh, and there's something else, though I'm a little unsure of whether or not to include this in the speech. Again, it's something the friend of my friend said. Something about me taking this job." Allison explained, growing silent for a moment. Seeing as Peter and Kathleen were quiet, she took this as silent permission to continue on. "She said that, when the Morrigan comes into your life, whether through dreams or the sense of feeling something looking over your shoulder, she is calling you. She is a powerful figure, and will be with you during adversity, yet taking her hand requires great commitment. You may be haunted and your life reshaped. You will have nowhere to run from your responsibilities and will be tested. Yet through that, she'll make a warrior out of you. She delves into you and finds the strength and heroic heart you didn't know you had."

Daily Bugle

"Although, be prepared to make such a commitment. For not many can make it through."

Those words echoed through Peter's mind as he handed the photos to Robbie Robertson, the African American man surveying the photos of the various displays the young photographer had taken. Kathleen had handed in her notes to him as well, the two sets needed for the article on the man's desk. "Mm hm. Mm hm…" Robbie hummed, dark eyes traveling over what he was given. "Ah, excellent!" he declared. "Once again, Pete, you deliver!"

"Thanks, Robbie." Peter thanked him. At least someone around here appreciated what he did.

"I'll send this over right away." Both Robbie and Peter noticed how Kathleen went away, they saw her conversing with Betty. "She just winged this, didn't she?" the dark skinned man asked Peter.

"Pretty much." Peter admitted. "Granted, from the bits I saw, she seemed to manage to get most of the important stuff down, but then there's stuff like this." he gestured towards the notes detailing Morrigan, of which were mostly accurate, yet some words had little notes written by them, phrases such as 'That's right!' and 'You better remember it', and they all mainly seemed to be around sections that described how revered the ancient deity was. Not to mention that there were several little hearts drawn everywhere too. It was like she was proud of something, like the article meant something personal to her. Peter looked back to Robbie, having had enough with being quiet about it. He had to ask. "Hey, Robbie, when did she come in for an interview?"

"Around a week ago." Robbie answered. "On your day off." his face then got somewhat suspicious. "Weird thing, that was."

"Weird? Why?" not that this woman wasn't already weird, yet still, Peter was dying to get some answers.

"Well, you know how we had a new position open ever since Carpenter left us?" Peter nodded, anxious to hear where this was going. "Well, as if on cue, the minute we sent out an ad for the position, in comes this Kathleen lady. She didn't call or schedule an interview or anything. She just waltzed right in like she owned the place. Of course, Betty began asking questions as to what she was doing here, and she said how she was here for the position of journalist. Then Jameson comes out wanting to know what's going on. She asks if he's the one in charge and just goes into his office."

'Either she's really brave or really stupid.' Peter thought. As much of a pain Jameson could be at the time, not even he dared to try and approach the head of the Bugle like that.

"Of course, he goes in ranting and raving about what she was doing here and how she couldn't just break in here, and well, I don't think I need to tell you what else. Jameson being Jameson." Robbie said.

"Of course." Peter chuckled, rolling his eyes.

"But this is where it gets weird." Robbie said, then again, it was weird the moment that woman entered the building probably. "They both go in, and then Jameson goes quiet. Like, dead quiet. And we, of course, are wondering what the hell's going on. After a few minutes, I finally get up and check up on him, and just before I knock, here she comes, strolling out like she doesn't have a care in the world. And I remember what she said too."

'Thank you for the job, Mr. Jameson! You won't regret this!'

"And then he comes out, and he looks all...strange."

Peter was looking out as to whether or not Kathleen was coming over. Thankfully, she was still conversing with Betty. "Strange how?"

Robbie rested his finger and thumb on his chin. "I don't know. He could talk and everything, but they way he did it and how he looked. He just didn't look all there, you know?" Peter continued to listen, absorbing each and every detail he was hearing. "All he says is that we got ourselves a new member of the Beugle, and then after a few minutes, he returns to normal like nothing happened."

"Nothing?" Peter inquired.

"Well, yeah, he said his head felt fuzzy and he lost some track of time, but aside from that, he was the good ol' Jameson we know. All that changed was that this Kathleen had been hired up on the spot."

Now even Peter was beginning to question the legitimacy of this story, despite Robbie being one of the most honest people he knew. "Really? No 'I'll call you back' contacting references on her resume? Nothing?"

"I don't know about all that, but from what I understand, she went in there with him fuming and came out with him seemingly wrapped around her finger." Robbie said. "I'm not saying I don't believe miracles, but things like that...they just don't happen. Not unless you've got some sort of magic on your side."

Magic...Peter pondered that. True, it sounded somewhat ridiculous, yet then again, men such as Dr. Strange existed. And his spider sense was still on and off about this woman as a whole. Robbie's tale about how she came to be employed at the Bugle just only added to the overall oddity that was Kathleen Henderson.

"And what are you boys up to?" they heard a feminine voice ask, Peter and Robbie collecting themselves and making themselves appear discrete.

"Nothing." Peter explained. "Just going over the photos from the museum."

"Yeah." Robbie added with a nod. "Got some good ones here."

"And I trust you'll be making use of my notes too, yes?" Kathleen asked, flirtatiously fluttering her lashes.

Suddenly, Robbie grew stiff. Peter's sense was going off, and though it was just for the briefest of seconds, he could've swore that Kathleen's eyes began to change color. A hue of magenta covered her iris, a glowing dot in the center of her pupil. But again, it was all but for a second or two. Robbie appeared transfixed for a moment, the glow and hue also appearing in his eyes, yet soon, they returned to normal. "Yes, of course, Kathleen." he said calmly. "Your notes are spectacular. Jameson made a good decision hiring you."

"Oh, Rob, you're too kind!" Kathleen said. Then, she turned her eyes to Peter. "Say," she began. "I'm kinda new here, and don't really know my way around. So...I was thinking that maybe, if you're up for it, you and me perhaps go get some coffee?"

Peter was taken aback by her forwardness. "Oh, well…" he then paused, noticing how her eyes began to change again. 'There it is again!' he saw the light emit from her pupil, he soon found the prospect of taking her out rather alluring. Again, his spider sense was debating on whether or not this was considered dangerous, yet he found even that was beginning to be subdued. He had to act fast, he felt his general line of thinking was being tampered with, and no one around him seemed to notice! Steeling himself, Peter cleared his throat. "Sure."

The glow disappeared from Kathleen's eyes, she was seemingly surprised by his answer. "You will? Oh, I mean, you will?" she asked.

"Yeah, sure." Peter answered. "I mean, you ARE new here, right? You'll need someone to show you around and all."

"Aw, you're wonderful, Peter!" the blonde woman said happily. "Ok, the moment we get off, it's a date!"

"Date? Uh, no. I just mean-"

"It's ok. No need to be shy." Kathleen winked. "I'll be waiting for it with bated breath." with that, she went off, leaving the photographer and Robbie alone.

'That woman…she needs to be watched.' Peter thought, watching her go. 'Looks like Spidey's got yet another thing to add to his list of things to do.'

Chapter Text

Despite the smile plastered across his face, Peter Parker felt a tautness in the air, an underlying tension that set him on edge. Kathleen's gaze was unyielding, piercing through the room like a predator eyeing its prey, a fiery glimmer of intrigue sparking in her eyes. “So,” he began, searching for the right words to divert her attention from him, “how do you like it?”

“Hm? Ah, the coffee.” Kathleen lifted her cup to take a dainty sip, her lips curling into a satisfied smile. “It’s grand,” she proclaimed, her voice smooth and melodic. “I wasn’t aware that pumpkin was a seasonal item, though. Shame, really.” She inhaled deeply, as if to dispel the warmth that lingered in her throat. “Anyway, thank you kindly for accepting my invitation. I’m flattered you’d give your attention to someone new to you.” Her tone was sweet, yet laced with an undertone that suggested there was more beneath the surface.

Yeah, I bet, Peter thought, skepticism gnawing at him. Her charm felt almost too polished, too deliberate. “Sure thing.” Tired of skirting around the bush, he decided it was time to get to the point. “We didn’t really get a chance to talk earlier, so I’ve sort of been wanting to ask you a few things.”

Kathleen tilted her head, curiosity glimmering in her eyes. “Such as?”

“Well, Robbie mentioned that you weren’t from around here, so are you, well, ‘new’ to New York, or do you come from out of state?” 

As soon as he posed the question, he noticed a subtle shift in her demeanor. She stiffened ever so slightly, her mind evidently racing to weave together a suitable response. “Ah, yes. Well... you could say that.” She paused, her fingers brushing through her hair with a graceful flick, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. “I’m... out of state, yes.”

“Oh really?” Peter pressed on, his curiosity piqued. “Where from?” The question hung in the air between them, charged with unspoken tension.

She paused for a moment, a flicker of panic racing through her thoughts. Curses, she mused. Should’ve paid more attention to Lucian’s geography lesson before we came here. She scrambled to conjure up a credible response, her mind racing. “Maine,” she finally said, confidence unsteady in her voice. “I’m from Maine.”

“Maine, huh?” Peter echoed, his tone casual yet probing, and she braced herself for the follow-up questions that she sensed were coming. 

“Yes,” she replied, catching the glimmer of curiosity in his eyes. Anticipating his inquiry about what life was like there, she seized an opportunity. “Although,” she added, grateful for the convenient truth, “it was somewhat of a rural part of Maine, so I didn’t really get to see many landmarks.” Her heart raced as she felt his scrutiny bearing down on her. He was grilling her, and she could almost hear the gears turning in his mind. Yet behind her seemingly evasive answers lay a resolute purpose; she was determined to steer the conversation toward the reason she wanted to meet Peter Parker in the first place, not to mention the true motive behind her visit to the Bugle. 

“Yet,” she continued, a slight smile gracing her lips, “I’m glad to be here in this city. Especially with all the unusual ‘activity’ happening nowadays.” Her tone was casual, but the underlying tension in her words was palpable, a hint at secrets lurking just beneath the surface.

Peter caught the diversion she had thrown, sensing he was inching closer to the truth, and he leaned in a bit more. “Well, I’ll give you that. This place has become quite interesting in the last few years.”

“Especially with this particular figure here.” With a flourish, she pulled out a newspaper—specifically, a Daily Bugle—and held it up, her eyes alight with intrigue. She pointed to a striking photograph that dominated the page, depicting a red and blue-clad figure effortlessly scaling a towering building, a sense of grace and power radiating from the image.

Peter’s eyes followed the line of her finger, his heart racing as he recognized the subject of her fascination—the superhero that had become a part of New York City’s fabric, the embodiment of its unpredictability. The atmosphere between them crackled with unspoken challenges and veiled intentions, as both were now bound by the shared thrill of the extraordinary life unfolding around them.

“Ah, Spider-Man,” Peter remarked, a knowing smile creeping onto his lips. I knew it, he thought, his instincts confirming the direction of their conversation. “So, you were on the ‘hunt,’ if you will, for our local menace.” The word “menace” left a bitter taste in his mouth—a title he despised, courtesy of Jameson. He felt a strong urge to maintain as much distance as humanly possible between himself and Spider-Man. But Kathleen’s eyes sparkled with a dangerously eager hunger, a glint that made him wary.

“Menace or not,” she countered, her voice smooth and teasing, “you must admit he’s quite a fascinating individual.” Kathleen’s gaze drifted back to the photograph, her fingers delicately tracing the contours of the web-slinger’s shoulder blades, an almost reverent gesture. “Mm hm...my, my, my,” she purred, her eyes shimmering with an undertone of intrigue and perhaps even lust. “Very, very fascinating.” With a sudden shift, she redirected her attention back to Peter, the playful intensity in her demeanor unmistakable. “Anyway, once I learned where his activities were reported, I knew I had to be here,” she explained, her enthusiasm palpable. “As luck would have it, your dear boss had an opening for a journalist.”

Peter felt a flicker of satisfaction; at least he was gleaning some information. It was teetering on a precarious edge he typically tried to avoid, but it did reveal her motivation for coming to the Daily Bugle. “And I take it you want to interview him, is that it?” he asked, probing a bit more.

Kathleen’s smile was disarming, a blend of charm and cunning. “Oh dear, you’ve caught me,” she admitted, feigning a pout. “Yes. Ever since I arrived, I’ve been searching for something captivating to immerse myself in, and once I heard about Spider-Man and all the ‘interesting’ characters in the area, I knew I had to pursue a story that would bring me closer to them. I’d like to meet them all, but so far, this ‘web-crawler,’ as they call him, is my favorite.”

Geez, lady, I don’t look THAT good in the suit, Peter thought, caught in a perplexing mix of accepting the flattering remarks and wanting to brush them aside. The woman exuded an air of eccentricity that he couldn’t quite place. Still, his spider-sense hummed with uncertainty, refusing to settle on a clear instinct. “Well, then I guess you’ve heard I’m the guy who gets an exclusive look at him,” he stated, trying to maintain an air of nonchalance.

“Of course,” Kathleen confirmed, her tone sincere and earnest. “Which is precisely why I had to meet you.” With a flourish, she produced a clipboard, her energetic demeanor radiating purpose. “And perhaps get a few questions of my own answered.” Her eyes sparkled with ambition, revealing a determination that left Peter both intrigued and on guard.

Peter sighed inwardly, realization dawning on him: this was Kathleen’s game—a mock interview crafted with an air of playful seriousness. ‘Well, it seems I’m cornered now,’ he thought, resigned to the situation. With a slight clearing of his throat, he braced himself for the inevitable query. “So, what would you like to know?” he asked, trying to sound more enthusiastic than he felt.

Kathleen’s grin widened, a sparkle of mischief dancing in her eyes. ‘Excellent,’ she thought, the wheels of her plan turning. This wouldn’t see the light of day under Jameson’s scrutiny, but it would serve her well in collecting insights. “Tell me, when did you first meet Spider-Man?” Her voice dripped with intrigue, each word laced with vibrant curiosity.

Peter blinked, taken aback by the simplicity of her question. It felt almost disarmingly elementary, yet there was something oddly refreshing about it. “Well, the truth is,” he began, allowing his mind to wander back to that pivotal moment, “I took my first photograph of him not long after I graduated high school. I was on the lookout for a job at the time, and the Daily Bugle had an opening for a photographer.” He paused, a hint of pride bubbling to the surface. “And, if I may be so bold, I’ve always had an affinity for capturing moments—steady hands, an eye for detail. You know, a bit of a shutterbug, if you will.” 

So far, so good, he reassured himself, now stepping deeper into the comfortable rhythm of storytelling. “Eventually, Spider-Man noticed my work. He said I had the eyes and precision of a hawk when it came to his photos. That remark sparked my career and led me to where I stand today.” He felt a twinge of guilt at embellishing the truth slightly, but could anyone fault him for wanting to set aside Jameson’s demeaning comments about him being a “dirty web-crawling menace”? Well, maybe just a little.

“Oh, so would you consider yourselves friends then?” Kathleen probed further, her interest palpable.

“More like... friendly acquaintances,” Peter replied cautiously, weighing each word. “Although, he did mention that he prefers to be known as the ‘neighborhood friendly’ Spider-Man rather than a ‘trouble-making menace’.” He chuckled lightly, hoping to convey the endearing sense he felt toward Spider-Man’s attempts to shake off the negativity that often clouded his reputation.

“I can only imagine the struggle,” Kathleen replied, her tone rich with empathy. “Poor thing, having to constantly navigate through such slanderous articles.” Her eyes reflected a genuine concern, a softness juxtaposed against the sharpness of an investigative journalist, which both intrigued and unnerved Peter.

Peter's inner voice cautioned him, stern yet clear: he couldn't allow himself to feel too at ease in Kathleen's presence. 

Oh please, you’ve been trying to butter me up this whole time. He mentally chided, wary of the probing nature of her questions.

“But tell me, just what is it that gets him into so much trouble?” she pressed, her tone a blend of genuine curiosity and a hint of mischief.

Peter sighed inwardly, bracing himself for the question that had become almost too familiar to him. “It’s not so much that he actively seeks out trouble; rather, it seems to find him all on its own,” he explained, rubbing the back of his neck in thought. “I hate to say it, but that vibrant costume of his seems to attract a plethora of enemies like moths to a flame.”

Kathleen nodded, her expression attentive and engaged, as if she were cataloging every word he spoke. “Speaking of enemies, it appears there’s quite a cavalcade of villains in this city—Rhinos, scorpions, even vultures. Quite a dangerous assortment, I must say.”

With a slight arch of his brow, Peter replied, “Well, New York isn't exactly the safest city on the map, even with Spider-Man keeping watch during those late-night patrols. It can be a rough place for heroes and civilians alike.” He couldn’t shake the fatigue from last night’s escapades; a late vigil always called for a strong cup of coffee, especially with another grueling day ahead.

“Really? One would think that the residents here would express gratitude for such a dedicated protector,” Kathleen mused, her gaze drifting thoughtfully down to the photo of the web-slinger that adorned her desk. “It’s a pity, really. I, for one, would love the opportunity to meet him.”

Peter felt a tightness in his throat, a mix of concern and anxiety bubbling to the surface. ‘Let’s hope that encounter doesn’t happen anytime soon,’ he thought, tugging at his collar, feeling the heat of the moment intensify. The tension was almost palpable, and he could sense the suspense weighing upon him like a heavy cloak.

“But, given your closer association with him than most,” she continued, leaning forward slightly, her amber eyes narrowing as if honing in on a target, “are there any doubts you may have about his true identity?”

“What do you mean?” Peter replied, a hint of feigned ignorance lacing his question. But deep down, he was fully aware of what she was driving at.

“What has he confided in you?” Kathleen clarified, her voice dropping to a nearly conspiratorial whisper. “Has he ever shared anything on a more personal level—some secret, perhaps, that reveals who he really is beneath the mask?”

Peter’s heart raced as he considered her question. The notion of unveiling the man behind the web-slinger was both tantalizing and terrifying.

Even though Peter tried to steel himself for Kathleen’s probing questions, he found himself floundering when it came time to respond. It was a classic damned-if-you-do, damned-if-you-don’t scenario. Revealing too much could unearth secrets best kept buried, while saying too little would only prompt his inquisitive ‘interviewer’ to dig deeper. “Well,” he started, choosing his words with caution, “honestly, he’s the kind of guy who struggles to know who to trust, so he mostly keeps things close to his chest.”

Kathleen raised an inquisitive brow, skepticism simmering beneath her composed exterior. “Is that so? Nothing at all?”

There it was again— that spark of curiosity in her vibrant purple eyes, almost mesmerizing but decidedly dangerous. “Nope. Not a thing,” he replied, forcing a casual tone despite the rising tension.

“Are you sure?” she pressed, her gaze sharpening with a growing intensity. “It’s admirable that you’re covering for a friend, but you can trust me. This is strictly confidential.”

Peter felt a strong urge to look away, his instincts tingling like an electric current. If they were anywhere else, he definitely would have turned his gaze, but to do so now might betray his awareness of her intentions. He knew very little about this enigmatic woman—if she even was who she claimed to be—but he needed to maintain his composure, even as the pressure mounted. Keeping his focus on her eyes was becoming increasingly difficult; the magnetic pull of her interrogation was wreaking havoc on his defenses. The urge to comply with her request gnawed at him, creating a sense of dread that clawed at his resolve. He needed a distraction, and fast.

“Whoa, really?!” 

Bingo! 

“Shh! Not so loud!” Peter urged, a sense of urgency injecting his voice as he noticed Kathleen’s eyes darting toward the source of commotion. Following her gaze, he couldn’t help but glance over as well.

At a nearby table, two high school girls were animatedly conversing, dressed in distinct navy long-sleeved tops paired with plaid skirts that swayed gently as they leaned forward. Their brown shoes, polished to a shine, complemented the stark whiteness of their knee-high socks that rose to mid-calf. The girl on the left sported a playful ponytail that bobbed with her eager movements, while the other, her blonde locks framing her face in a sleek bob, leaned in with an expression of excitement. They certainly weren’t from Midtown; their uniforms suggested they attended one of the more prestigious private schools in the area, yet they brought a vibrant energy that momentarily distracted Peter from Kathleen’s scrutiny.

“But is it true?” the blonde, Chelsea, asked, her voice laced with a mixture of excitement and skepticism.

“Hey, I'm just a beginner in this,” the brunette, Sharon, replied, her cheeks flushing slightly. “Besides, it’s just for fun.”

“Still, do you think it could happen?” Chelsea pressed, leaning in closer, her curiosity etched across her face.

“Eh, maybe,” Sharon shrugged, her expression a blend of uncertainty and amusement.

On the table between them, a small, ornate spread of cards lay haphazardly, three of them face down, revealing glimpses of intricate designs. Chelsea glanced at the cards, her fingers twitching with anticipation. “Well... I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, her tone teasingly mysterious.

Peter, standing a short distance away, was preparing to pivot back to his conversation with Kathleen, but to his surprise, she rose from her chair with grace and purpose, gliding over to the two girls. Both girls jumped slightly at her sudden presence, eyes wide in surprise. 

“Pardon me,” Kathleen said, her voice smooth yet firm. “But what exactly are you doing?”

For a brief moment, the two girls exchanged nervous glances, the air thick with a mix of excitement and apprehension. Chelsea, the bolder of the two, pointed an excited finger at Sharon. “Sharon here is doing a tarot reading!”

“Chelsea!” Sharon exclaimed, her tone a flurry of embarrassment as she rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell them that!”

“Oh no, I won’t judge you for it,” Kathleen said, her expression warm and inviting. “Actually, I came over because I’ve never heard of it before.” She then turned her gaze toward Peter, who still stood awkwardly by the table. “Peter, come see what these girls are doing.”

As if you couldn’t make this any more awkward, he thought, somewhat bemused yet curious about this sudden development. Nevertheless, he obliged, rising from his seat and joining Kathleen at her side. “Ah yeah. I remember this game,” he said, aiming to keep the woman’s newfound interest alive. 

She cast him a glance, her eyes shimmering with curiosity. “What is it exactly? A card game, right? I’ve never played before either.”

“Eh, sort of,” Sharon shrugged, a hint of playfulness mingled with her bashfulness. “It’s supposed to be a form of divination, but I don't know anyone who actually believes in that anymore. I’m mainly just practicing so I can make a little cash on the side during lunch hour.” 

Sharon then turned her gaze to Peter and Kathleen, her eyes alight with a spark of mischief. “You know, since you’re here, I could use some practice.” She looked at Kathleen, her tone shifting to a conspiratorial whisper. “Hey, lady,” she said, “I can give you a reading if you want.” 

The invitation hung in the air like a tantalizing secret, inviting curiosity and hesitation in equal measure.

Kathleen’s intrigue was palpable, her eyes glimmering with curiosity, while Peter, standing off to the side, bit his lip, wrestling with a mixture of disbelief and concern. Haven’t either of you girls been taught about stranger danger? he mused to himself. Yet, he reflected, he was hardly a stranger to these two. Though somehow, even familiarity failed to eliminate the awkwardness he felt watching the unfolding scene.

“Oh, are you sure you want to do this?” Kathleen asked, her voice a soft blend of hesitance and excitement.

 With a knowing nod, Sharon replied, “Absolutely! I’m ready to give it a shot.” Chelsea, sensing the shift, relinquished her seat with a dramatic flair, allowing Kathleen to settle into place, her curiosity overtaking any remnants of shyness.

“So, how does this whole tarot thing work?” Kathleen questioned, tilting her head slightly, a playful smile forming on her lips.

“It’s actually quite simple,” Sharon said, exuding a sense of confidence that belied her initially shy demeanor. She smoothly gathered the deck, each card adorned with intricate illustrations that hinted at mysteries untold. With a careful yet fluid motion, she combined the cards she’d previously drawn for Chelsea with the main deck, her fingers deftly moving through the colorful illustrations. “First, I’ll ask what you seek to know. The cards I draw will reveal insights about your past, present, and future,” she explained, a hint of seriousness creeping into her tone.

To Peter’s surprise, instead of a lighthearted chuckle, he observed Kathleen’s expression shift. The warmth in her eyes was overshadowed by a contemplative gaze, her brow furrowing as if she were unearthing buried memories, perhaps even some deep-seated regrets. In that fleeting moment, Peter felt a tug of empathy for her; whatever thoughts haunted her seemed to cast a shadow over the room.

With a quiet breath, Kathleen finally spoke, her voice steady yet laced with vulnerability. “I wish to know what direction I must go.” She hesitated, a shadow of uncertainty crossing her face. “I...heh. I guess you could say I need guidance.” The gravity of her words caught everyone off guard, creating a brief silence as the weight of her request settled in.

Sharon, though taken aback, quickly gathered her composure as the seriousness of the moment enveloped them. She began shuffling the cards with a practiced grace, her hands moving rhythmically, the cards whispering softly against one another. With an air of concentration, she cut the deck into several smaller piles before reassembling them into one cohesive unit. “Alright,” she said, a hint of determination in her tone as she divided the deck into three distinct stacks. “Choose three cards, one from each pile,” she instructed, her eyes focused intently on Kathleen.

With a flicker of determination, Kathleen reached out, carefully selecting a card from each pile. One by one, she laid the cards in front of her, their backs adorned with intricate designs that hinted at the stories waiting to be told. “Okay,” Sharon said, her voice steady with anticipation. “This one represents your past. Now, turn it over.” 

The moment drew near, filled with an electric blend of excitement and tension as all eyes turned to the first card, eager to uncover the secrets it held.

What lay before them was a haunting illustration: a demonic figure perched on an imposing throne, its grotesque visage dominated by a goat’s head, eyes gleaming with an otherworldly hunger. Entwined in the creature’s grasp were two naked human figures, a man and a woman, their expressions a blend of vulnerability and despair, as they appeared to be ensnared by the very essence of the dark entity. A sharp intake of breath from Chelsea echoed behind the older woman—a soft yet piercing gasp of disbelief. “It’s the Devil…” she whispered, her voice trembling with a lingering awe.

Peter's brow furrowed in confusion. “The what?” he queried, his tone laced with disbelief.

Sharon met his gaze, her demeanor steady despite the card's foreboding imagery. “The Devil,” she clarified, her voice imbued with a soothing calmness. “But don’t let it frighten you. This doesn’t mean you’re destined to meet the figure knocking at your door or that possession is looming on the horizon.” With a careful hand, she lifted the card, letting its dark symbolism linger in the air. “It signifies that you’ve been enticed by material desires and the allure of physical pleasure.”

A half-smile formed on Kathleen’s lips, a glimmer of mischief dancing in her eyes. “Well...I won’t confirm or deny that,” she teased, her voice carrying a lightness that cut through the heaviness of the moment.

Sharon chuckled, a sound warm and infectious. “A little self-indulgence can always be good,” she replied, her eyes twinkling with understanding.

Yet beneath the lighthearted banter lay a more somber truth. “But this card also symbolizes a life lived in fear, weighed down by the suffocating grip of luxury and excess,” Sharon continued, her tone shifting subtly as the gravity of the message unfolded.

Peter observed Kathleen intently, a sense of empathy stirring within him as he watched her expression shift, resonating deeply with the revelations laid bare before her. Her features reflected a poignant mix of recognition and contemplation, suggesting that perhaps the shadows of that dark imagery mirrored her own struggles, as if she were caught in a silent reflection of her soul’s turmoil.

With deliberate care, Sharon turned over the second card, revealing a chilling yet striking image: a menacing skeleton clad in dark, gleaming armor, fiercely poised atop a black stallion. In one bony hand, it wielded a sickle, an emblem of death that glinted ominously in the dim light. Surrounding this grim figure lay a tableau of despair; numerous souls seemed to hover in oblivion, some draped in tattered robes that fluttered in the ether, while others wore ragged clothing, their expressions etched with suffering and resignation.

“This is the Death card,” Sharon announced, her voice steady yet tinged with gravity. “It represents your present,” she added, her gaze keenly fixed on Kathleen. The intensity of the imagery forced Kathleen to scrutinize the card with a penetrating focus. “But like the Devil, it’s not meant to be taken literally. Instead, it signifies that something significant in your life is on the verge of change and will inevitably come to an end.”

Silence enveloped the room as Kathleen absorbed these words, a veil of contemplation drawn over her features. In a way...something already has, she thought, a heavy weight settling in her heart, as if the realization of her unfolding journey lay intricately intertwined with the skeletal figure. The stark symbol of transformation resonated deeply within her, reflecting the silent battles she had faced, each change echoing through her existence like a haunting refrain.

“Alright, now for the last card,” Sharon declared, her voice holding a note of anticipation as she carefully flipped over the final card. Before them unfolded a mesmerizing scene: a graceful woman, completely unadorned, danced ethereally above the earth, her movements an enchanting blend of freedom and vitality. In each hand, she held a staff, symbols of empowerment, while a vibrant green wreath encircled her, flourishing with lushness and life. Surrounding her, a menagerie of animals added an element of wildness to the tableau, their varied forms a celebration of nature.

“Ah, the World,” Sharon mused, her eyes sparkling with intrigue as she displayed the card to Kathleen. “This card embodies your future. Generally speaking, it heralds the dawn of a new cycle. You’re on the cusp of beginning—or perhaps have already ignited—a fresh lease on life that you hadn’t realized was possible. This shift, in turn, will usher in a profound sense of fulfillment.”

Kathleen peered at the triad of cards spread before her, her gaze sweeping over the captivating images as she pondered the weight of Sharon’s words. “So...how exactly is this supposed to guide me?” she queried, curiosity lacing her voice.

Sharon, gathering the cards with a deliberate grace, replied, “Well, it presents a generalized glimpse of what may lie ahead for you.” A soft chuckle escaped her lips. “But don’t take it too seriously. I certainly don’t place my faith in it. I believe in crafting your own future, free from the constraints of superstition.” As she spoke, the shades of dusk began to deepen around them, casting a soft glow over the room. “Oh no! It’s gotten dark!” she exclaimed, her voice tinged with urgency as she hastily tucked the cards back into their deck and stowed them in her bag. “Mom’s going to be furious with me!”

“Oh geez, it IS late!” Chelsea interjected, hurrying to join her friend as they both made their way out of the shop, the bell overhead jingling softly with their exit.

Peter glanced around, noting the shadows that had settled over the streets. “Hm. That’s a shame,” Kathleen noted, her voice a gentle sigh. “I had so much more I wanted to ask you. Oh well.” Rising from her seat, she turned to Peter, her eyes bright with a hint of mischief. “Would you like to walk me home?”

Peter was momentarily taken aback by her invitation, though he realized he should have anticipated it by now. “Yeah, sure,” he replied, his voice warm with enthusiasm.

“Oh, you’re such a gentleman,” she giggled, taking his hand with a lightness that sent a flutter through him. “Well, off we go then! I’ll lead the way!” 

Inwardly, Peter chuckled, thinking, You’ve BEEN leading the way since you arrived here. As they stepped into the night, a sense of unanticipated adventure hummed in the air, blending their fates anew under the canvas of the starlit sky.

New York City Streets

Though Peter had traversed this bustling city countless times, he couldn’t help but notice how Kathleen seemed to regard it with fresh eyes, as if she were witnessing a marvel for the first time. Her gaze flitted from neon signs to brightly lit headlamps, and from vendors hawking their wares to street performers showcasing their talents; she absorbed every detail with an infectious enthusiasm. “By father’s horns…” she murmured under her breath, clearly overwhelmed, her awe spilling over as she turned to him. “This city is amazing!”

Peter chuckled softly, finding her excitement both charming and a little amusing. “Heh, you should see it during the tourist boost,” he replied with a wry smile. He couldn't shake the feeling that she must have come from some secluded corner of the world where such energy was a rarity. Either the part of Maine she claimed to inhabit was a sleepy hamlet or she truly felt out of place here, a notion that stirred his curiosity even more. “So, where exactly is your place?”

Her expression shifted subtly, a flicker of disappointment flashing across her face when it became clear he wasn’t planning to give her an impromptu tour. It was late, though; he couldn’t linger as much as he wished he could. ‘Honestly, it would be easier to just stick to my usual routine tomorrow,’ he mused. “It’s not too far from here. I live in a…” She hesitated, her brow creasing slightly as she searched for the right words. “It’s...it’s like a house, but smaller, and it’s high up. Really high up.” 

Peter bit back a grin, sensing her discomfort. She was trying to navigate what must have felt like a foreign world, and yet, her clarification felt a tad befuddled, making him wonder if she thought he’d take her for some kind of bimbo. “An apartment?” he supplied gently.

“Right! An apartment!” Kathleen exclaimed, her voice brightening as if he had just unlocked a hidden door of understanding. “But it IS a bit away. And, as much as I’d like to keep you here, I assume you have places you need to be too.” He noticed how genuine her regret felt, and somewhere deeper inside, he wrestled with his thoughts. Despite his better judgment—for he had noticed the domestic side of her personality—he couldn’t ignore the fact that Kathleen was genuinely attractive. Yet, buried beneath the surface of that attractive veneer, he felt the nagging certainty that she was completely out of his league, much like Mary Jane Watson, with her effortless charm and captivating beauty. 

“Yeah, I gotta get home too,” Peter admitted, the weight of that thought pressing in on him. Last thing I need is Aunt May trying to set me up with this woman. It was a thought that sent a shiver of uncertainty down his spine, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that perhaps he wouldn’t mind seeing Kathleen again—a thought that both excited and bewildered him as they continued their walk through the electric vibrance of the night. 

“Oooh, someone’s excited.” The teasing tone made Peter stiffen. “Who are you thinking about?”

“Uh, nobody!” the brunette photographer stammered, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. If only his spider-sense could keep him from embarrassing himself in front of people, supervillains included! 

Kathleen’s eyes sparkled with curiosity for a fleeting moment, their glow brightening as if she had glimpsed a secret, but just as quickly, the light faded. She seemed to sense that there would be ample time to pry into Peter’s secrets tomorrow. After all, it didn’t take much to recognize that someone as oblivious and unassuming as he appeared likely had more than a few skeletons hidden away in his closet… or perhaps a Spider-Man or two. 

“Well, since it’s a bit far off,” Kathleen remarked, her gaze drifting toward a dimly lit alleyway. “You can let me off here.”

Peter furrowed his brow, somewhat taken aback. One moment she was clinging onto him like a lifeline; now she was ready to part ways? “Are you sure?” he asked, unable to hide the concern lacing his voice.

“Absolutely,” Kathleen replied, her confidence like a cloak shielding her from the shadows of the alley. “I’ll just cut through here.”

“Through there?” Peter’s eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the narrow passageway, the darkness enveloping it like an ominous shroud. “Uh, I don’t think that’s the best way to go.”

“Oh no, it’s fine!” she insisted, her voice brightening with defiance. “I’ll be careful!”

“Kathleen—”

“Ciao!” With a sudden burst of energy, she dashed off with surprising speed for someone teetering on stilettos, her silhouette blending into the encroaching night.

“H-Hey! Wait!” Peter's voice trailed off as Kathleen vanished around the corner, her presence dissipating like a wisp of smoke. He looked around the alley, reality crashing down on him as he noticed the sparse crowd surrounding him, few paying any mind to his growing anxiety. 

With a resigned sigh, Peter slipped into the alleyway, the prickly sensation of concern swirling inside him. He took a moment to orient himself, squinting into the darkness as he tried to recall which direction the woman had sprinted off in. The shadows felt alive, whispering secrets, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that his protective instinct had been unceremoniously triggered.

Alleyway

She hurried down the narrow, dimly lit alleyway, her heart pounding in her chest as she tried to outpace the voice that echoed behind her. "Great," she sighed, her breath ragged. "He's still on my tail." She had anticipated this possibility, but that didn't make it any less infuriating. Her “apartment” was within reach, but with her pursuer hot on her heels, she couldn't risk taking her preferred route. She needed to lose him, and fast.

The alley was a cramped, twisted path, offering few opportunities to shake her tail, but she was determined to make the most of what little space she had. Once she was in the clear, she could scale the balcony and have Lucian and Mudo let her in through the window. It would be a breeze, if only she could lose this unwelcome shadow.

"Well, well, well, look what we have here."

Her hopes of a quick escape were dashed as another figure stepped out from the deep shadows, blocking her path. She braced herself, knowing exactly what kind of trouble she was in. These weren't the kind of men you could reason with, and they certainly weren't going to let her pass without a fight or a... negotiation.

"Hey there, sweet thing," the man drawled, his voice a slimy, insincere purr. "What's a pretty girl like you doing out here all by your lonesome?"

Kathleen's eyes darted around, taking in the surroundings, the dark corners, the high walls, the scattered debris. She itched to rip off her disguise and show these lowlifes what she was made of, but she held back, playing the part of a helpless woman instead.

If only to draw out who she had been searching for.

"Oh, not much," she replied, her voice steady and calm despite the storm raging inside her. "Just trying to get home. I've got work in the morning, you see. New job and all."

The men exchanged glances, their intentions clear as day. "A working girl, huh?" one of them leered. "You sure do have the looks for it." He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a murmur. "We could show you a good time, make sure you don't get lost on your way home."

Kathleen's blood boiled, but she kept her cool. She was no stranger to this game, but usually, she could end it with a well-placed punch or kick. Tonight, however, she had to play by their rules, for now. "Oh, you boys are too kind," she said, stalling for time as she racked her brain for an excuse. "But I wouldn't want to keep you from your... business."

The men chuckled, taking her response as an invitation. They began to close in, their eyes gleaming with anticipation. Kathleen's heart pounded, but her mind was made up. She would play along, for now, but the moment they let their guard down, she would strike.

“Kathleen?!”

Just my luck, Kathleen thought, her eyes narrowing as she saw Peter rush into the alley, oblivious to the tense situation he was interrupting. Couldn't have timed it worse, could you, Petey?

Peter skidded to a halt, his eyes wide as he took in the scene before him. "Uh, hey there, fellows," he stammered, trying to hide his nervousness with a forced smile. "What's going on here?"

One of the men, a burly brute with a scar across his cheek, sneered at Peter. "And who's this pretty boy? Your boyfriend, doll?" he asked Kathleen, a cruel glint in his eye.

Kathleen shot Peter a withering glance, shaking her head. "He's no one," she said dismissively. "He's not part of this, so leave him out of it. This is between you and me."

The man took a step closer, his eyes roaming over Kathleen's body, making her skin crawl. "Well, well, if it isn't a feisty one," he drawled. "We can make this easy or we can make this hard. Your choice, sweetheart."

Kathleen's voice was like ice as she responded, "If you're looking for company, go find some women who are willing. I'm not one of your common whores."

The man's grin turned wicked as he pulled out a switchblade, the metal glinting menacingly in the dim light. "You sure about that, sweetheart?" he purred, his eyes locked onto her chest, his intent clear.

Peter's mind raced, and he could see the agreement in Kathleen's eyes. This is bad,' he thought, his heart sinking as he realized what was about to go down.

"C'mon, doll," the thug cooed, his voice sending shivers down Kathleen's spine. "We just want some company. You're out here all alone, looking for trouble."

"Yeah, and dressed like that, you're asking for it," another man chimed in, his voice a low growl. The circle of men tightened around Kathleen, each of them brandishing an array of weapons: gleaming knives, heavy hammers, and rusty crowbars. The alley seemed to close in on her, the walls pressing in as the men advanced, their intentions clear and brutal.

Peter, desperate to turn the tables, saw an opportunity to transform into his suit. He knew it might require a bit of rough handling, but Kathleen needed his help, and he was ready to take a few hits to make it happen. "Alright, listen up, gentlemen," he said, his voice steady despite the nervous energy coursing through him. "Back off and find your fun elsewhere. This isn't your night."

One of the thugs, a grizzled man with a missing tooth, sneered and stepped forward. "And who's gonna make us? You, pretty boy?" he jeered. "The lady said she wants nothing to do with you, so scram."

Peter nodded, knowing this was his cue. He charged forward, throwing a punch that connected with one of the men's jaws, but his reckless bravery was met with a swift blow from a crowbar to his chest. The force of the impact sent him crashing to the ground, the wind knocked out of him. Another thug grabbed him by the collar, hoisting him up and tossing him into a nearby pile of trash cans with a clatter. Peter's head hit the ground with a thud, and he lay still, unconscious.

"Peter!" Kathleen cried out, her heart pounding as she saw him fall. She started to move towards him, but a rough hand seized her arm, pinning her against the cold, unforgiving brick wall of the alley. The thug leaned in, his breath hot and foul on her face as he pressed a switchblade to her cheek, drawing a thin line of blood.

"Now, now, sweetheart," he drawled, a sickening grin spreading across his face. "Let's have some real fun."

Kathleen's mind raced, her options flashing before her eyes. She could feel the blade slicing through her blouse, the cool metal pressing against her skin as he tore the fabric open. The men's eyes gleamed with a hungry, predatory light, and she knew she had to act fast. Her disguise was in tatters, both literally and figuratively, and her secret was on the verge of being exposed.

But where was Peter? She glanced around, her heart sinking as she realized he was nowhere to be seen. Had he...?

"Hey, look at this!" one of the men in the back shouted, his voice tinged with confusion and fear. "He's gone!"

"Gone? What do you mean, gone?" another thug barked, turning to look in the direction his companion was pointing.

"He's just... vanished!" the man stammered, his eyes wide with disbelief.

Before anyone could react, another thug was yanked off his feet, his screams cutting short as he was dragged up and over the side of the building, disappearing from sight. Panic set in as the remaining men looked around, their eyes wide with terror.

Kathleen watched in astonishment as thin, strong strands of a web-like substance appeared, snatching the men one by one and pulling them off the ground. It was as if an invisible spider was reeling them in, their struggles futile against the unyielding silk.

A familiar voice echoed through the alley, accompanied by the sight of a red and blue suit adorned with black web patterns and large, white eyes. "Hey there, fellows! I might not be an expert on the ladies, but I'm pretty sure this isn't what she had in mind for a good time!"

The thugs froze, their eyes locked on the figure above them. "It's him!" one of them shouted, his voice trembling with fear. "It's Spider-Man!"

Kathleen's heart swelled with a mix of relief and excitement. This was what she had been hoping for, what she had even taken that journalist job for—a chance encounter with the legendary wall-crawler. Her mood shifted from fear to exhilaration as she took in the sight of Spider-Man, swinging effortlessly above the alley, his eyes sparkling with mischief and heroism.

At last, she thought, a spark of triumph igniting within her. Her hazel eyes, which held a depth of secrets, momentarily flickered with an otherworldly green hue, a telltale sign of the power simmering just beneath her surface. I've found you! 

The words echoed in her mind, a thrill of anticipation coursing through her veins. This was the moment she had been waiting for, the encounter that would either solidify her new path or plunge her into a world of chaos and exposure. 

Either way, she was ready.

I just hope you are when the time comes, dear Peter. 

Chapter Text

No wonder the red-haired woman from his memories had called him ‘tiger.’ 

The moniker suddenly made sense, given the feral intensity and raw power on display. Kathleen's heart pounded in her chest as she watched, her breath catching in her throat as she realized the truth. The woman with the fiery, ruby-red hair had been referring to the seemingly mild-mannered photographer, the one her elderly aunt had set her up with on that blind date. If Mary Jane Watson had been privy to this spectacle, if she had witnessed the primal, untamed force that was Peter Parker, she might have put the pieces together much sooner. Kathleen's eyes widened, her fascination growing with each passing second as she took in the astonishing display of agility, strength, and sheer determination.

As Peter, or perhaps she should say, Spider-Man, fueled by a mix of adrenaline and protective instinct, sprang into action, Kathleen's breath hitched even tighter. The first thug, a burly man with a crooked nose, charged at Spider-Man, wielding a baseball bat. Spider-Man sidestepped the swing with ease, his reflexes honed to perfection. He grabbed the bat mid-swing, twisting it from the thug's grip and clattering it to the ground. With a swift, fluid motion, Spider-Man delivered a swift kick to the man's chest, sending him crashing into a nearby dumpster.

Another thug, this one brandishing a knife, lunged at the red and blue vigilante from the side. Spider-Man spun around his spider-sense tingling and caught the man's wrist mid-air. He applied pressure to the nerve, forcing the thug to drop the knife. A quick jab to the jaw and the man was down, joining his accomplice in an unconscious heap.

A third assailant, armed with a pistol, emerged from the shadows, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and determination. He raised the gun, his hand shaking slightly as he tried to line up a shot. Spider-Man, with his back turned, seemed oblivious to the new threat. Kathleen's heart leaped into her throat as she watched, her hands clenched into fists, nails digging into her palms.

Just as the thug was about to pull the trigger, Spider-Man moved with lightning speed, cartwheeling through the air and kicking the gun out of the man's hand. The pistol skidded across the pavement, disappearing into a grate. Spider-Man landed gracefully on his feet, turning to face the disarmed thug with a determined look in his eyes. A swift punch to the gut and an uppercut to the chin sent the final thug crashing to the ground, unconscious and defeated.

Kathleen let out a shaky breath, her heart still pounding wildly in her chest. She watched as Spider-Man stood tall and confident, his chest heaving with exertion, his eyes scanning the area for any more threats. The display of power and agility had left her breathless, her mind racing with a mix of awe and admiration. This was the man Watson’s aunt had set her up with? The seemingly mild-mannered photographer was a force to be reckoned with, and Kathleen found herself more intrigued than ever. 

Then, one of the fallen assailants, groaning and disoriented, managed to fumble a crowbar from his belt, his intent clear as day: to deliver a devastating blow to Peter's skull. The weapon glinted menacingly in the dim light, a sinister promise of pain. 

Kathleen, despite her newfound faith in Peter's abilities, couldn't help but let out a startled cry, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "Watch out!" she shouted, her words laced with a frightened yelp, her hands flying to her mouth in a desperate, futile attempt to hold back her alarm. 

Her eyes widened as she took in the brutal scene, her heart pounding like a drum in her chest, every fiber of her being tense with anticipation. Spider-Man, however, was already in motion, his spider sense tingling like a warning bell, urging him to action.

Kathleen's breath hitched in her throat as a thrill of excitement coursed through her veins, her pulse quickening with a heady mix of adrenaline and newfound desire.  

"I'm the one who’s hit the jackpot tonight," she thought, her mind racing with a flurry of sensations, her cheeks flushing with a rush of heat. 

Her eyes widened, taking in the sight of Peter's powerful form, his movements fluid and graceful as he dispatched his enemies with effortless ease. Her interest, already piqued, skyrocketed, transforming into a burning inferno of attraction that left her breathless and eager for more. Every fiber of her being was alive, tingling with anticipation, as she watched the man she had once thought mild-mannered reveal his true, powerful self.

A shame she couldn't do the same for him. 

As Peter, aka Spider-Man, sensed the shift in the dynamics, he spun around, his spider sense tingling with the impending danger. The thug with the crowbar lunged at him, swinging the makeshift weapon with brutal force. Peter swiftly sidestepped the attack, the crowbar missing him by inches. With a quick, fluid motion, he grabbed the thug's arm, using his momentum against him. A swift kick to the back sent the crowbar-wielding assailant crashing into the nearest wall, where he slumped, defeated.

The other thugs, seeing their comrade fall so easily, began to hesitate. Peter didn't give them a moment to regroup. He launched himself at the closest one, a flurry of fists and kicks that left the man reeling. A well-placed roundhouse kick sent another thug flying into a stack of crates, sending them crashing down. The remaining thugs, now fully aware of the spider's deadly capabilities, started to back away, their eyes wide with fear.

Peter, sensing their retreat, decided to end this quickly. He web-slinged across the room, taking down one of the fleeing thugs with a well-placed web shot that wrapped around his ankles, sending him crashing to the ground. Another thug tried to escape through a nearby window, but Peter was quicker. He web-slinged up to the window, blocking the thug's escape with his body. A swift punch to the jaw sent the thug crashing down to the ground, unconscious.

With all the thugs either defeated or fleeing, Peter turned his attention back to the woman who had been watching him with such intense fascination. He offered her a smirk, a hint of his playful side peeking through the fierce warrior he had just revealed. "You okay?" he asked, his voice laced with concern despite the adrenaline still coursing through his veins.

Kathleen found herself momentarily paralyzed, her breath hitched in her throat as she watched Peter dispatch his foes with such effortless grace. It was a sight that both exhilarated and terrified her, drawing her back to a time when she too, felt that alive. The superhero, sensing her distress, turned to her, his concern etched deeply into his features, his eyes searching hers with an intensity that made her heart flutter.

"Huh, a-ah! Oh! Y-Yes! Of course! I-I'm fine!" she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper as she tried to regain her composure. She followed her assurance with a nervous laugh, but it fell flat, a hollow echo of the carefree laughter she used to share with her friends during their wild escapades. She could feel the weight of her past pressing down on her, the memories of a time when she was fearless and free, a stark contrast to the cautious, guarded woman she had become. Still, at that moment, watching this hero fight, she felt a spark of that old excitement, a longing for the days when she too, was a force to be reckoned with. "Just fine," she repeated, more to convince herself than him, her eyes never leaving his as she remembered the thrill of battle, the rush of adrenaline, and the sense of purpose that came with it.

"Well, that's one silver lining in this messy situation," Spider-Man remarked, his voice a low rumble as he surveyed the fallen thugs with a mix of satisfaction and caution. He turned his masked gaze toward Kathleen, his eyes sparkling with a blend of mischief and concern. "But remember, these guys are like weeds—they might pop right back up if you're not careful. You should probably skedaddle to a more open area, just in case any of their buddies decide to join the party." He offered her a playful smirk, his tone lightening as he added, "Trust me, you don't want to be caught in the middle of a spider-web mess." 

She met his gaze with a smile, seemingly unfazed by everything that had just unfolded, as if she hadn’t just screamed her lungs out in worry for the web-slinger. It was as though fear had never truly touched her at all. Peter pondered this from beneath his mask but chose to keep his growing suspicions to himself. 

“Besides,” he continued, his voice taking on a more persuasive tone as he gauged her reaction, “Even if I'm not entirely sure this will pan out, I know one thing for certain—emotions are a powerful force. And I think I spotted Parker back there. You two have a history, don't you, Kathleen? Even if it’s just a brief one?” he added, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied her.

Kathleen's hazel eyes flickered with a mix of suspicion and concern as she turned her gaze from Spider-Man to the shadowy alleyway he had indicated. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, she seemed to silently challenge him, her body language tense and guarded. The air between them crackled with an unspoken debate as she considered his words, her eyes searching his for any sign of deceit. After what felt like an eternity, her expression softened ever so slightly, and with a barely perceptible nod, she relented. "Fine," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper as she began to move towards the alleyway, her steps hesitant but determined.

As Kathleen melted into the inky darkness of the alleyway, Spider-Man pivoted towards the unconscious criminals strewn about the ground, a mischievous glint in his eye. He produced a sleek, handheld camera from a hidden compartment in his suit, his lips curling into a roguish smile. "Alright, you lovely rascals," he drawled, his voice laced with amusement and a touch of mischief. "You're all looking so peaceful, I could almost forget you were causing chaos just moments ago. Now, let's get a nice memory for the landlord, shall we? Rent's due sooner than I'd like to admit!" He snapped a few photos, his laughter echoing through the otherwise quiet night.

Meanwhile, Kathleen's mind was a whirlwind of thoughts as she made her way deeper into the alley. It was becoming increasingly obvious to her that Peter Parker and Spider-Man were the same—his mannerisms, his quick wit, and that familiar spark in his eyes gave him away. But as she pieced together the truth, a gnawing fear began to take root in her stomach. She couldn't shake the feeling that Spider-Man was beginning to see through her own facade, that he suspected she wasn't quite the ordinary civilian she pretended to be. The thought sent a shiver down her spine, and she found herself questioning just how much he knew and how deeply he had been playing her all along. Her hazel eyes narrowed as she scanned the alley, her senses heightened, ready to confront whatever truths lay hidden in the shadows. 

The play of shadows on the weathered bricks caught her eye, a dark figure moving with a grace that was both powerful and fluid. The silhouette vanished, and a rustling sound erupted from a nearby pile of trash cans, startling a lone black cat, which darted away, its tail puffed up in annoyance. A low, pained moan followed, and Kathleen's lips curled into a smirk. "Really, Parker? Laying it on a bit thick, aren't you?" she murmured, her voice laced with amusement. "But I'll play along. After all, you've been quite the trouper today."

She took a few steps forward, her heels clicking softly on the pavement, and rounded the corner of a dilapidated crate. There, conveniently placed just a few steps away, was Peter, propped up against a wall, his expression a mix of pain and relief. "Well, well, well," Kathleen said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "If it isn't my favorite photobomb. You know, for a moment there, I thought you were serious. But I should have known better—you're too much of a showman for that." She crossed her arms, her grin widening as she took in the sight of him, clearly enjoying the turn of events.

Peter shook his head vigorously, as if trying to dislodge the remnants of a foggy brain, a result of his earlier tussle with the thugs. He rubbed his temple dramatically, observing Kathleen's reaction with a mix of amusement and wariness. "Showman?" he echoed, a hint of a smile playing on his lips as he pushed himself up from his makeshift resting place among the trash. "Kathleen, if you think that was a show, you should see me try to parallel park. Now that's a spectacle!" He straightened up, wincing slightly as he put weight on his foot, feigning a limp for her benefit. "You know, compared to Spider-Man, I'm about as graceful as a toddler learning to walk," he continued, his voice laced with self-deprecating humor. "I mean, have you seen the way he swings through the city? It's like watching a ballet—all grace and precision. Me? I'm lucky if I can walk in a straight line after one of his adventures."

Kathleen's gaze was intense, her eyes scanning him as if he were a puzzle she was trying to solve. Peter, noticing her unwavering attention, decided to up the ante. He hunched over slightly, gripping his side with a dramatic flourish. "Ow," he groaned, his voice a mix of pain and exaggeration. "That throw really did a number on me. I think I might have a few broken ribs." He winced again, this time adding a slight tremble to his voice. "But hey, at least I'm not a showman, right? Just your average, everyday, slightly battered photographer!"

A tense silence stretched between them, the air thick with unspoken words and hidden agendas. Peter's gaze locked onto Kathleen's, neither of them blinking, each daring the other to make the first move. The standoff was electric, a silent battle of wills played out in the dimly lit alley.

The sudden wail of sirens shattered the stalemate, their familiar inner-city howl cutting through the night. Peter and Kathleen both turned their heads towards the source of the noise, the alternating red and blue lights casting an eerie, pulsating glow on the weathered bricks of the alley. The lights danced and reflected, creating a macabre spectacle that seemed to echo the turmoil within Peter's mind.

As the sirens grew louder, Kathleen's body tensed, and without a moment's hesitation, she took off. She didn't just run; she sprinted with a burst of speed that was almost inhuman, her long legs eating up the ground as she disappeared into the night.  Peter watched her go, a mix of awe and confusion swirling in his mind. There was something off about her, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Her reaction to the sirens, her intense gaze, her almost preternatural speed—it all added up to a woman who was far from ordinary. 

A woman who, perhaps, had secrets of her own.

Later

"Well, isn't that something?" Peter, or rather, Spider-Man, remarked to himself as he soared through the vertical jungle of downtown New York City. The metropolis stretched out beneath him, a dazzling tapestry of neon lights and steel giants that pierced the night sky. The hum of the city was a symphony of honking cabs, distant sirens, and the muffled thump of bass from nearby nightclubs, all of it creating a pulsating heartbeat that never slept.  The air was a mix of exhaust fumes and the sweet scent of street food, a unique blend that was uniquely New York. Spider-Man swung effortlessly from building to building, his web-slinging creating a graceful arc against the backdrop of towering skyscrapers. His keen eyes, enhanced by his spider senses, zeroed in on the tiny blonde figure darting through the crowds below. She moved with a speed and agility that was impressive, even for someone in heels. "Pretty swift for a gal in heels," he mused, his voice a low rumble against the wind. "But then again, that's just one of the many peculiar things about the Bugle’s newest employee."

The cityscape was a blur of light and motion as Spider-Man kept pace with Kathleen from above. The reflections of neon signs danced on the wet streets, creating a kaleidoscope of colors that shifted and changed with every swing. The energy of the city was palpable, a living, breathing entity that pulsed with life and mystery. And somewhere in the heart of it all, Kathleen ran, her figure a fleeting phantom amidst the sea of nighttime revelers. Spider-Man's spider-sense tingled, not just with the thrill of the chase, but with the undeniable feeling that there was more to this woman than met the eye.

Below

"Blast it all!" Kathleen hissed through gritted teeth, her breath coming in quick, furious pants. She shoved aside a burly man dressed in a sharp suit, standing guard in front of an opulent, high-class establishment. Despite being half his size, she moved him with ease, her strength betraying her slender frame. The guard and a few well-dressed patrons who caught a glimpse of the encounter stared at her, their eyes wide with surprise and a touch of alarm.

Kathleen's heart pounded in her chest as she wove through the crowd, her mind a whirl of memories and Lucian's words echoing like a ghostly whisper.  "Before you go out, Mistress, remember what your father always told you," his voice resonated, deep and grave, in her mind's eye. She saw him then, tall and gaunt, his figure a stark silhouette against the backdrop of her memories. "The composition and bodily anatomy of humans and our kind can’t be masked by appearance alone. You must fully become one with the populace here. Adapt, Mistress. Blend in, or you will forever be an outcast."

She could feel the weight of his words, a burden she carried with her as she ran. The city lights blurred around her, the neon signs and towering buildings becoming a kaleidoscope of color as she pushed herself faster, her heels clicking sharply against the pavement. The pursuit from above was relentless, the sense of being hunted tingling at the back of her neck a constant reminder that she was not alone.  She could feel the eyes of the city on her, the gaze of the spider above, and the memory of her father's advice, all pressing down on her as she fought to maintain her cover and her temper.

The urge to simply unfurl her wings and take to the skies was almost overwhelming. Kathleen could imagine the feeling of the wind rushing past her, the freedom of uninhibited flight, and the sheer relief of leaving her pursuer far below. She glanced up briefly, her eyes narrowing as she caught a glimpse of Spider-Man's agile form swinging effortlessly between the skyscrapers. A pang of envy shot through her; despite her initial fascination with him, she now found herself both irritated by and envious of his effortless aerial prowess, all without the aid of wings.

"If you ever find yourself in trouble, Mistress," Lucian's voice echoed in her mind, "Make your way to the apartment building. Do so discreetly, and do not draw attention to yourself." The memory of his instruction was as clear as day, a beacon of guidance amidst the chaos of her current situation. She knew the building well, a tall, unassuming structure tucked away in the heart of the city, its unmarked entrance a secret to those who didn't know where to look.

Kathleen's mind raced as she wove through the crowded streets, her heart pounding in time with her swift footsteps. She could feel the weight of Spider-Man's gaze on her, his persistent pursuit a constant reminder of the danger she was in. The apartment building was her sanctuary, a place where she could hide and regroup, but getting there unnoticed would be a challenge. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was to come. She would have to be clever, using the crowds and the city's layout to her advantage if she hoped to lose her red and blue shadow and make it to safety.

Above

"Where on earth is she headed?" Peter mused, his voice a low murmur carried away by the wind as he swung through the labyrinth of downtown skyscrapers. His keen eyes tracked the blonde figure below, her path taking a sudden and curious turn towards a part of the city that was far from the usual hotspots of nightlife and activity. The area was a maze of narrow alleys and aging buildings, their once-proud facades now marred by time and neglect, casting long, ominous shadows in the flickering streetlight.

A sense of intrigue and caution washed over him as he followed her, his spider-sense tingling with a mix of excitement and warning. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, a sure sign that something unusual was afoot. He could feel it in his gut, that same instinct that had served him well on countless adventures—there was more to this woman than met the eye, and he was determined to uncover her secrets.  The cityscape blurred around him as he moved with practiced ease, his agile form darting between buildings, always keeping her in his sights. The night was alive with possibility, and Peter Parker, as Spider-Man, was ready to face whatever mysteries it held. 

Finally, after a swift and agile descent, Spider-Man touched down in a more open, less crowded part of the city, where the towering skyscrapers began to thin out, giving way to a more forsaken and neglected landscape. The air here was different, heavy with the scent of decay and the weight of time forgotten. The apartment complex before him was a relic of a bygone era, its once-white facade now a grimy shade of grey, stained by the elements and the passage of years. The windows, many of which were shattered or boarded up, stared out like empty eye sockets, giving the building an eerie, haunted appearance.

A chain-link fence surrounded the complex, its links rusted and sagging in places, and overgrown with ivy that crept up the walls like a green, creeping cancer. The nearby park, a small oasis of green amidst the urban jungle, was a stark contrast to the decaying apartment building. At night, it became a makeshift shelter for the less fortunate, their tents and blankets a sad testament to the city's growing inequality. The area was mostly abandoned, left to rot as newer, shinier complexes sprang up elsewhere, stealing the life and vitality that once filled these streets.

Spider-Man's eyes scanned the area, taking in the peeling paint, the crumbling masonry, and the overgrown vegetation that seemed to be reclaiming the land. There was an eerie silence here, a stark contrast to the bustling heart of the city he had just left behind. The only sounds were the distant hum of traffic and the occasional rustle of leaves as a stray cat or rat scurried through the underbrush. He could feel the weight of the building's history, the stories of the people who had once called it home, now lost to time and neglect. And somewhere in this forsaken place, Kathleen had disappeared, adding another layer of mystery to the night's events. 

Peter's keen eyes spotted Kathleen's fleeting form darting up the decaying staircase of the abandoned apartment complex. Her speed was impressive, especially for someone navigating a flight of stairs in heels. He paused, his senses heightened, scanning the area to ensure they were alone. As he did, he felt her gaze lock onto his, even from the distance that separated them. There was a moment of tension, a silent acknowledgment, before she turned the knob and slipped inside the crumbling building, the door closing behind her with a finality that echoed through the desolate street.

"All right, Kathy," Peter murmured, his voice a low rumble as he began to make his way towards the structure. "You've got some explaining to do." His eyes took in the dilapidated state of the building, the crumbling façade, and the precarious angle of the roof, which seemed to defy gravity, threatening to collapse at any moment. "This place looks like it's one strong gust away from turning into a pile of rubble," he remarked, his voice laced with a mix of awe and disbelief. "I can't imagine anyone wanting to live here, except maybe the most desperate of the desperate."

The complex loomed before him, a stark contrast to the vibrant, living city he had just left behind. The air was thick with dust and the scent of decay, and the silence was almost deafening, broken only by the distant hum of the city and the occasional scuttle of unseen creatures within the walls. He could feel the weight of the building's neglect, the sense that it had been forgotten by time and by the people who once called it home. With a deep breath, he stepped closer, his spider-sense tingling with a mix of excitement and caution. Whatever secrets Kathleen was hiding, he was determined to uncover them.

Seeing no reason to bother with the rickety stairs, Spider-Man effortlessly scaled the side of the abandoned complex, his fingers and toes finding purchase in the smallest cracks and crevices. He moved with the grace and speed of a spider, his red and blue suit a stark contrast against the grimy, decaying façade. As he ascended, he noticed the floor numbers, faded and chipped, and ironically enough, the top floor was labeled '14', despite the building appearing to have only thirteen stories. He shook his head, a half-joke forming on his lips. "Hope my luck doesn't run out on me today," he muttered, his voice a low rumble. "Last thing I need is to get stuck on a phantom floor."

Reaching the coveted floor, he approached the door Kathleen had entered, its once-white paint now a chipped and faded mess. He turned the knob, half-expecting it to be locked, but it gave way easily, the door creaking open with a protesting groan. Spider-Man raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Well, well, well," he murmured, stepping inside. "Looks like someone wants to be found."

The apartment, shrouded in darkness, held an air of abandonment, the thick dust and scent of decaying wood permeating every corner. Spider-Man's footsteps echoed ominously as he ventured deeper, his spider-sense tingling with a mix of caution and curiosity. He fell along the wall until his fingers brushed against a light switch, and with a click, the room was bathed in a warm, inviting glow.

The stark contrast to the dilapidated exterior was immediate and jarring. The den was a sanctuary of elegance and comfort, a stark contrast to the decaying complex. Plush, velvet sofas in a deep, rich burgundy sat atop a plush, cream-colored rug, their surfaces adorned with an array of throw pillows in varying shades of gold and ivory. A mahogany coffee table, its surface polished to a mirror sheen, sat in the center of the room, flanked by intricate, gilded lamps that cast a soft, ambient light. The walls were adorned with an eclectic mix of art, each piece a testament to the owner's refined taste and appreciation for the finer things in life. A grand piano sat in the corner, its black lacquer finish reflecting the warm light, and a crystal decanter filled with an amber liquid rested on a silver tray, beckoning him to pour a drink.

Spider-Man's eyes widened in surprise as he took in the opulent surroundings. "Well, would you look at that," he murmured, his voice a low whistle of appreciation. "Someone's been living large in this rundown place." The den exuded an air of luxury and sophistication, a secret oasis hidden within the crumbling walls of the forgotten complex. He could feel the weight of the room's history, the stories of the people who had called it home, and the secrets that lingered in its elegant confines. And somewhere in this web of deceit and refinement, Kathleen was waiting, her true intentions as elusive as ever.

"Heh, web," Peter chuckled softly, his eyes continuing to scan the lavish den, taking in every intricate detail. "Although, it looks like you're insisting on being the spider this time around." His gaze drifted to the ornate artwork adorning the walls, his mind a whirl of thoughts and memories. The tarot reading from earlier that day flashed into his mind, the vivid image of the Devil Card standing out in stark relief. The card's meaning echoed in his thoughts—bondage, materialism, and being trapped by one's desires.

He could almost see the card's ominous image superimposed over the room: the chained lovers at the devil's feet, their eyes filled with longing and despair. The room, with its opulent furnishings and air of decadence, seemed to embody the card's meaning, a testament to the power of material wealth and the desires it could ensnare. "Seems like I'm not the only one who's been tangled up in some webs tonight," he murmured, his voice a low rumble of amusement and intrigue.

Peter felt his spider-sense tingle, not just with the thrill of the chase, but with a growing sense of unease. The room was a puzzle, a secret waiting to be uncovered, and he was determined to solve it. Whatever truths lay hidden within these walls, he was ready to face them, one web at a time. 

Just as Peter's thoughts were consumed by the enigma of the Devil Card and the opulent den, a beam of light suddenly pierced the darkness at the end of a long, shadowy hallway. The light spilled from a partially closed door, casting an inviting yet ominous glow on the worn wooden floor. The crack in the door was just wide enough to allow a tantalizing sliver of illumination to escape, beckoning him forward with an almost hypnotic allure.

Peter's instincts kicked in, his spider-sense tingling with a mix of excitement and warning. He knew he was being lured, drawn into a trap as delicate and deadly as a spider's web. Yet, despite the obvious danger, he found himself unable to turn back. His curiosity was piqued, and his sense of duty compelled him to face whatever lay ahead. If he didn't, who would? Someone weaker might not be able to fight back, and he couldn't leave an innocent person to face potential danger alone.

With a deep breath, Peter stepped forward, his movements fluid and silent as a ghost. He approached the door, his heart pounding in his chest, a symphony of anticipation and caution. The light from the crack seemed to pulse, inviting and foreboding, a silent promise of revelations to come. As he reached out to push the door open, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was stepping into the unknown, a world where the lines between friend and foe were blurred, and the true nature of his quarry remained shrouded in mystery. 

"What the...?" Peter's exclamation hung in the air as he pushed the door open, revealing a scene that was as disorienting as it was intriguing. The opulent den gave way to a dark, gothic hallway that seemed to belong to a different world entirely. The once-warm and inviting atmosphere was replaced by a cold, foreboding energy that sent a shiver down his spine.

The hallway was narrow, its walls adorned with dark, velvet wallpaper that seemed to absorb what little light managed to penetrate the gloom. Elaborate, antique candelabras lined the walls, their flickering flames casting eerie, dancing shadows that seemed to twist and contort in a macabre ballet. The floor was a checkered pattern of black and white tiles, worn smooth by the passage of time, and a thick, plush runner stretched the length of the hall, its deep red color a stark contrast to the otherwise monochromatic scheme.

Peter's eyes widened in surprise as he took in the stark contrast between the den and this new, eerie environment. "This place is like a maze," he murmured, his voice a low rumble of confusion and awe. "And it's like something straight out of a gothic novel. I half expect to see Dracula himself come crawling out of the woodwork." He couldn't help but wonder if Kathleen had some secret relation to the legendary vampire, her taste for the dramatic and the macabre seemingly knowing no bounds.

The air was thick with the scent of old wood, dust, and something else—something sweet and intoxicating, like the fragrance of exotic flowers. It was a heady, disorienting aroma that seemed to cloud his senses, making it hard to focus on the task at hand. He could feel the weight of the building's history pressing down on him, the ghosts of its past inhabitants whispering secrets in the shadows. And somewhere in this labyrinth of darkness and mystery, Kathleen awaited her true intentions as elusive and enigmatic as ever. 

As Peter ventured deeper into the gothic hallway, the eerie atmosphere was amplified by the macabre works of art that lined the walls, each one a chilling testament to the theme of death and decay. The paintings were a stark contrast to the opulent den, their dark and haunting images seeming to leap out at him from the shadows.

There were depictions of grim reapers, their skeletal forms cloaked in tattered black robes, scythes held high as they bore down on their unsuspecting prey. Another painting showed a lone figure standing atop a crumbling cliff, the stormy sea churning below, a clear allusion to the inevitability of death and the futility of resistance. A third piece was a gruesome still life, a decaying corpse laid out on a table, surrounded by the tools of some dark, unseen trade—knives, saws, and other instruments of dissection, their blades glinting ominously in the candlelight.

Each painting sent a shiver down Peter's spine, the images burning into his mind's eye, a stark reminder of the fragility of life and the inescapable grasp of death. The tarot card from the reading flashed into his mind once more, the second that came after the Devil Card. Unlike the former’s meaning echoing through his thoughts—bondage, materialism, and the chains that ensnared living creatures to their desires, these paintings seemed to be a physical manifestation of the card that represented a finality or end, a visual representation of the dark forces that seemed to hold Kathleen in their thrall. 

Or perhaps it was the other way around. 

He could feel the weight of their gazes, the unseen eyes of the subjects within the paintings seeming to follow him as he moved, their silent judgment a constant presence. The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, the end lost in a shroud of darkness, and with each step, Peter felt himself drawing closer to the heart of the mystery, to the truth that Kathleen so desperately sought to hide.

The ever-present gaze of the Reaper and his ominous counterpart in the tarot seemed to follow Peter as he moved, their silent judgment a palpable force. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched, not just by the paintings, but by something-or—or someone else, something far more sinister and aware. "Don't think I could bargain for you to visit me some other time, can I?" he inquired, his voice a low, dry murmur as he addressed one of the grim paintings. He knew he wouldn't receive an answer, but the question hung in the air nonetheless, a testament to the surreal nature of his surroundings.

As he continued down the hallway, his heightened senses picked up a sound that was as unexpected as it was incongruous with his surroundings: the gentle, soothing sound of running water. He paused, his head cocked to the side, his ears straining to pinpoint the source of the noise. The sound was faint, almost ethereal, but unmistakable—a soft, rhythmic babble that seemed to beckon him forward, a siren's call in the heart of the gothic maze.

Following the sound of running water, Peter rounded a bend in the hallway and found himself standing at the entrance of a hidden sanctuary, a lush, verdant oasis tucked away within the heart of the condemned building. The space was a stark contrast to the dark, oppressive hallway, a vibrant burst of life and color that seemed to defy the very laws of nature. Towering pillars stretched towards the ceiling, their surfaces adorned with thick, coiled vines of emerald green, while large, velvety roses of deep, luxurious red bloomed abundantly, their petals soft and inviting, as if they had just reached the peak of their beauty.

As he stepped further into the grove, the sound of water grew louder, and he soon found himself standing before a crystal-clear pool, its surface shimmering like a mirror under the dappled light filtering through the canopy above. The pool was contained within a basin of pristine white marble, its edges carved with intricate Greek key patterns and adorned with statues of mythical creatures and gods. The water flowed gently, its soothing rhythm a symphony of tranquility, and the air was filled with the scent of jasmine and honeysuckle, their sweet perfume a heady, intoxicating aroma.

Peter's eyes widened as he took in the sight before him, the realization dawning that he had stumbled upon a private bathing area, a secret sanctuary designed for relaxation and rejuvenation. The space was a fusion of nature and architecture, a harmonious blend of the wild and the cultivated, the ancient and the modern. He could almost imagine the figures of Greek goddesses and nymphs moving gracefully through the mist, their laughter echoing through the trees, their presence a living, breathing part of the grove.

Peter's eyes widened in disbelief as he took in the sight before him. "This can't be right," he murmured, his voice a low whisper of awe and confusion. "There's no way this place could fit inside a building this size. It's like a secret world, hidden within the walls of this crumbling complex." The air was cool and damp, the scent of earth and growing things a stark contrast to the musty, decaying smell of the hallway. He could feel the energy of the place, a pulse of life and vitality that seemed to throb in time with his heartbeat.

The pool beckoned him, its clear waters inviting and enticing, promising a respite from the chaos and danger that had led him to this hidden haven. But as he stood there, taking in the beauty and serenity of the scene, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was intruding on a deeply personal and private moment, that the grove was more than just a place of relaxation—a sanctuary, a refuge, a secret world hidden within the walls of the forgotten complex. And somewhere in this enchanting oasis, Kathleen was waiting, her true intentions as elusive and mysterious as the grove itself.

As he stepped closer to the grove, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being drawn into a trap, a web of deceit and illusion that would ensnare him, body and soul. But despite the warning signs, despite the knowledge that he was venturing into the unknown, he found himself unable to resist the call of the grove, the siren's song of the running water, and the promise of answers that lay hidden within its verdant depths. 

"Maybe it wouldn't have been such a bad idea to give Dr. Strange a ring," Spider-Man mused, his voice a low rumble of amusement and a touch of trepidation. "Inter-dimensional spaces and magical realms are more his cup of tea. I'll stick to the regular crooks and the occasional supervillain, thanks very much."

As he stood there, taking in the surreal beauty of the hidden grove, his eyes were drawn to a peculiar plant growing at the head of the pool. The plant was unlike anything he had ever seen, a strange and exotic specimen that seemed to defy classification. It resembled a cross between a tropical flower and a carnivorous plant, its large, fleshy leaves a deep, iridescent green, veined with threads of gold that seemed to pulse with an otherworldly energy. The flower itself was a vibrant, almost fluorescent, shade of pink, its petals curling inward like a trumpet, beckoning him with a silent, seductive call.

The plant was both beautiful and slightly unnerving, its exotic allure a testament to the magical and the strange. Peter couldn't help but feel a sense of awe and wonder as he beheld the creature, its very existence a mystery that added to the enigma of the grove and the building that housed it. He leaned in closer, his eyes narrowing as he examined the plant, its intoxicating scent filling his nostrils, its energy seeming to pulsate in time with his heartbeat.

"Now that's something you don't see every day," he murmured, his voice a low whisper of fascination and curiosity. "I wonder what else is hiding in this place. Maybe some magical creature or an ancient artifact. Who knows?” With a final, lingering look at the peculiar plant, he straightened up, his senses heightened, his mind racing with the possibilities that lay hidden within the depths of the grove. “But one thing's for sure, Jameson’s newest cog in the Bugle’s machine isn’t made from the same material as the rest of us.” 

As Peter leaned in to examine the plant, one of its flowers suddenly released a cloud of unusual and exotic pollen, sending it directly into his face. The pollen was unlike anything he had ever encountered—shimmering with iridescent hues that danced and shifted in the dim light of the grove. He tried to pull back, but the scent was overpowering, and his senses reeled as the pollen invaded his nostrils and lungs. His vision began to swim, and he reached out instinctively, grabbing at the air as if to steady himself. His heart pounded in his ears, and the world around him started to spin.

"Wh-what is...?" he managed to stammer out, his voice slurring as darkness crept into the edges of his vision. He tried to fight it, to stay awake and alert, but the pollen's effects were too potent. His knees buckled, and he crumpled to the ground, his body going limp as unconsciousness claimed him.

When he came to, his first sensation was a dull throb in his head, as if he'd been drinking all night. He blinked his eyes open, trying to focus on his surroundings. Above him, a tall female figure stood, her form silhouetted against the dappled light filtering through the small area. He squinted, trying to make out her features, and noticed that her hair was an unnatural, vibrant green, unlike anything he had seen before. It cascaded down her back in waves, shimmering with the same iridescent quality as the pollen that had threatened to rob him entirely of his senses.

"Kathleen?" he murmured, his voice hoarse and dry. But even as he said it, he knew it wasn't her. This woman was taller, her features more pronounced, and there was an otherworldly aura about her that Kathleen lacked. She looked down at him, her expression inscrutable, and he felt a mix of awe and trepidation wash over him. "Who…what…are you?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. The woman said nothing, only continued to regard him with that same unreadable expression. Peter's mind raced, trying to piece together what was happening. 

Then, just as realization was about to come, his world went black.

Chapter Text

The rustling of leaves and the gentle kiss of a breeze against his skin stirred Peter from his unconscious state. His nerves, still very much intact, sent a wave of sensation across his body, a reassuring reminder that he was, in fact, alive. At least, he assumed so; the world around him was shrouded in a deep, inky blackness, the kind that makes it impossible to discern even the most basic details of one's surroundings.

As his eyes fluttered open, he stared up at a canopy of towering trees, their gnarled branches stretching out like skeletal fingers against a star-studded sky. The air was cool and damp, filled with the scent of earth and pine, a far cry from the concrete jungle of New York City. He took a deep breath, his lungs expanding with the fresh, clean air, and felt a sense of peace wash over him —a stark contrast to the adrenaline-fueled chaos he was accustomed to.

"Well, this is different," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to blend seamlessly with the night sounds of the forest. He pushed himself up, his body aching from the impact of whatever had caused him to black out. His spider-sense tingled, but not with the usual warning of impending danger. Instead, it was a soft, gentle pulse, a reassuring hum that told him he was safe, at least for the moment.

Looking around, he took in the sheer scale of the trees, their trunks like ancient pillars supporting the vast, star-strewn sky. The forest floor was a carpet of moss and leaves, soft and yielding beneath his touch. He could hear the distant hoot of an owl, the rustle of small animals moving through the underbrush, and the soothing sound of a nearby stream, its water babbling gently over smooth stones.

"Okay, so not New York," he stated, a note of amusement in his voice. "But where am I? And how did I get here?" He stood up, brushing the dirt and leaves from his suit, his mind racing with questions. Whatever had brought him to this place, he knew one thing for certain: he was far from home, and the adventure was beginning.

Along with the realization he was no longer in costume.

Indeed, upon realizing that he could not only feel the wind but also the moisture of morning dew lightly kissing his skin without any sense of cloth for protection (albeit his prowess and defense more or less came from the bite of the radioactive spider itself), Peter looked down to see that he had been nearly stripped of all save for a sparse amount of clothing in the form of what seemed to be some sort of fur pelt bearing the skin that once belonged to the red-striped cat he had been referred to on more than one occasion. While his body was completely bare except for that article of clothing, the photographer found that in place of armor, his very skin had transformed into a sort of tapestry. 

Seeing a nearby source of water in the form of a conveniently placed river, Peter dashed over to take a closer look at his reflection, his puzzlement growing as he beheld the transformative art that had been etched onto his body. With ink seemingly infecting and coloring every pore, he stood in awe, taking in the intricate design that adorned his flesh. His limbs, torso, chest, neck, back, hands, feet, and even his face had been colored with a contrasting array of dark lines and sections of blue and red, reminiscent of the ancient Britons and their intricate body art.

The design was a mesmerizing fusion of his Spider-Man costume and the traditional tattoos of ancient Celtic warriors. Swirling patterns and complex knots adorned his skin, the lines thick and bold, the colors vibrant and stark against his pale flesh. Spiders and webs were intricately woven into the design, their legs and bodies flowing seamlessly with the Celtic knots, creating a living, breathing tapestry of ink and flesh.

He turned his arms over, examining the detailed work, the lines flowing like rivers, the colors a stark contrast to his natural skin tone. The tattoos were not just surface decor; they seemed to pulse with an energy of their own, a living extension of his being. He could feel the power in the designs, a primal, ancient force that resonated deep within him, awakening something wild and untamed.

"Well, this is something else," he murmured, his voice a low rumble of awe and confusion. "It's like my costume has become a part of me, a living, breathing extension of my being." He flexed his muscles, watching as the tattoos seemed to shift and move with him, the spiders and webs seeming to come alive, their eyes glinting with an otherworldly light.

The puzzlement in his eyes grew as he wondered what this meant, how it had come to be, and who—or what—had done this to him. But despite the questions swirling in his mind, he couldn't deny the raw, primal power that coursed through his veins, the feeling of being connected to something ancient and profound. Whatever lay ahead, he knew that he was ready to face it, his newfound strength and the mysteries of his transformation guiding him on this unexpected journey.

"Wait..." Peter murmured to himself, his hazel eyes scanning the dense woodland that surrounded him, taking in the symphony of scents and sounds that filled the air. The earthy aroma of damp soil and the crisp, clean smell of pine needled his nostrils, while the cacophony of bird songs and the rustling of leaves above created a soothing, natural melody. He recognized the trees, their shapes, and sizes etched into his memory from countless adventures and studies. This place... he knew it, or at least, his spider sense tingled with a familiar recognition.

His eyes roved over the varied flora, from the towering giants that stretched towards the heavens to the delicate underbrush that carpeted the forest floor. He identified well-maintained pine trees, their needles a deep, vibrant green, and the slender, papery bark of both downy and silver birch trees, their white trunks a stark contrast to the darker hues of the forest. Alder, oak, ash, hazel, willow, and rowan trees dotted the landscape, each one a familiar sight, yet foreign in this context. But it was the presence of a particular tree that sent a jolt of confirmation through him—a tree with blueish-green leaves and reddish-brown bark, its needles a unique shape that he knew all too well.

"Pinus sylvestris," he whispered, the scientific name rolling off his tongue as he finally placed it. "Scots Pine, or Scotch Pine," he added, his voice barely above a whisper. He paused, taking a deep breath as he surveyed his environment once more, the reality of his situation sinking in. "Native to Eurasia," he concluded, his heart pounding with a mix of excitement and trepidation. “Guess it was worth taking that botany class for some extra credit in high school.” 

A Short Time Later

“Granted, it’s been a while since then, so I could potentially have a tree or two mixed up,” the mostly undressed and tattooed Peter mused as he continued his trek through the unfamiliar environment, noting how the details were rather precise for a section of the world he had never seen nor been to thus far. “Maybe taking a trip or two with the Avengers when they’re globe-trotting would help out in the long run.” 

The forest around him was a vibrant, living tapestry, a stark contrast to the concrete jungle of New York. The trees stood tall and proud, their roots deeply embedded in the earth, a testament to the passage of time and the endurance of nature. And there, amidst the familiar yet foreign landscape, Peter knew that he had been taken to a place far from home, a place where the rules were different, and the dangers were unknown. But with his newfound strength and the mysteries of his transformation, he was ready to face whatever lay ahead, his spider sense guiding him through the uncharted territory of this ancient, enchanting forest.

"If I had to guess, and it certainly seems that way," Peter thought aloud, his voice a low rumble that blended with the natural symphony of the forest. His senses remained heightened, scanning for any potential dangers, but his spider sense was quiet, offering no warnings of imminent threats. "I'd say I've been teleported to a Celtic rainforest."

He paused, his brow furrowing as he delved into the depths of his memory, sifting through the information he had absorbed from a class he had taken more for the GPA boost than out of genuine interest. "Somewhere in Wales, maybe Scotland?" he mused, his voice trailing off as he tried to piece together the fragments of knowledge. The dense brush around him seemed to respond to his words, the rustling of leaves and the distant knock of a woodpecker creating an ambiance that only served to emphasize his isolation and solitude.

"Still, wherever this place is, I think it would've taken me longer than a few minutes to get here," he continued his voice a mix of awe and confusion. "So, the only conclusion I can reach is that I was brought here. But by whom? And for what purpose?"

The forest seemed to hold its breath, the usual cacophony of sounds fading to a hushed whisper, as if the very trees were leaning in to listen to his thoughts. The air was thick with anticipation, the scent of pine and earth a grounding presence amidst the swirl of questions in his mind. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever lay ahead, his newfound strength and the mysteries of his transformation a beacon of courage in the face of the unknown.

Amid the constant, soothing rhythm of the nearby river, a new sound caught Peter's attention—a deep, resonant roar that hinted at a water source far more massive than the stream he had been following. His ears perked up, and he tilted his head, trying to pinpoint the direction of the noise. The sound was unfamiliar yet beckoning, a primal call that stirred something within him.

With a burst of speed, he dashed through the forest, his tattooed limbs moving with the grace and agility of a wild animal. Trees blurred past him, their gnarled roots and low-hanging branches barely registering as he leaped and weaved his way toward the source of the sound. The forest floor shook slightly with each of his strides, the impact of his feet kicking up leaves and debris in his wake.

As he ran, the roar grew louder and more insistent, and the scent of saltwater filled his nostrils, a stark contrast to the fresh, earthy aroma of the forest. He could feel the pull of the unknown, the promise of something vast and powerful, and he found himself eager to reach its source.

Breaking through the final line of trees, Peter found himself standing on a cliff overlooking a vast, sprawling ocean. The tide was rising, the water churning, foaming mass of power and might as it crashed against the rocks below. The sight was breathtaking, the sheer scale of the ocean a humbling reminder of the force of nature and the smallness of man.

"Whoa," he breathed, his voice barely audible over the roar of the waves. "This is... incredible." He took a step closer to the edge, his toes curling over the crumbling earth as he marveled at the sight before him. The ocean stretched out endlessly, its surface a shimmering expanse of blue and grey, the horizon a thin line where the sea met the sky. “Still…” he continued, his brow furrowing as he took in the stark contrast to the familiar landscapes of his hometown, “Cape Cod or Coney Island, this is not.”

He turned his gaze from the majestic sea to the landscape behind him, and his eyes widened in astonishment. The area was completely barren of any hint of civilization or human touch. No buildings, no roads, no signs of modern life—nothing but untouched, pristine nature as far as the eye could see. It was as if he had been transported to a time when civilization was just beginning, a world untouched by human hands.

The forest behind him was dense and wild, the trees growing in a chaotic, untamed manner, their branches intertwining to form a natural cathedral. The underbrush was thick, a tangled mass of ferns, moss, and wildflowers, their colors a vibrant contrast to the dark, gnarled trunks of the trees. The air was fresh and clean, free from the smog and pollution of the city, and the only sounds were the natural symphony of the forest and the relentless roar of the ocean.

Peter took a deep breath, the scent of pine and saltwater filling his lungs, and he felt a sense of awe and wonder wash over him. He was standing in a place untouched by time, a sanctuary of nature and wildness, and he couldn't help but feel small and insignificant in the face of its vast, untamed beauty. "This place is... incredible," he whispered, his voice a reverent murmur. "I've never seen anything like it." With a final, lingering look at the ocean, he turned and made his way back into the forest, his mind racing with questions and his senses heightened, ready to explore the mysteries of this ancient, enchanting land.

And then, he felt it.

Spidey Sense is tingling…?!

The thunderous roar of a particularly massive and powerful wave crashing against the shore captured Peter's attention, drawing him toward a cluster of jagged rocks jutting out a short distance into the ocean. At the center of this rocky outcrop stood an imposing structure—an elongated stake or towering wooden post that loomed above the frothy surf, weathered and worn by relentless tides. The salty breeze carried with it the scent of brine and seaweed, invigorating his senses as he approached. Yet what truly set his heart racing was the eerie realization that, despite this seemingly untouched wilderness, he was no longer alone. Shadows danced at the periphery of his vision, hinting at the presence of something—or someone—hidden within the wild, stirring his curiosity and trepidation alike.

Secured to the weathered pole was a striking humanoid figure, their arms firmly bound behind them and ropes tightly cinching their form to the sturdy post. Despite Peter’s keen senses absorbing the myriad of details surrounding him—especially the potent aroma of fresh, briny salt wafting in from the sea—their appearance remained shrouded in mystery. They wore a simple yet elegant tunic, or perhaps a kirtle, its fabric flowing gently in the breeze, while long, silken strands of hair cascaded down, enveloping their face in a curtain of shadow.

“Shame the ocean water couldn't take cues from its buddy, the ocean air,” Peter remarked, his voice carrying softly over the rhythmic crash of waves against the shoreline. The cool breeze was refreshing, a momentary respite from the relentless heat of the sun, yet the relentless surf roared with an unyielding force, a reminder of the powerful depths just beyond the shore. “Still, if someone’s been tied up there, it’s probably so the tide can take care of them.”

Simply put, even with caution still at the forefront of his mind, leaving the stranger to drown was simply not an option. 

With a burst of speed, Peter launched into a sprint that carried him down the shore, his footsteps leaving deep impressions in the soft, yielding sand. The terrain, though beautiful, provided a challenge to his speed, the grains shifting beneath his feet, slowing his pace compared to the solid pavement of New York's streets. The relentless waves crashed against his legs, their foamy embrace a hindrance to his progress, but not enough to deter him.

With a determined effort, he pushed forward, the power of his limbs propelling him through the surf until he was fully immersed in the sea. The water was cold and invigorating, a stark contrast to the warm, humid air of the forest. He swam with powerful, efficient strokes, his body cutting through the waves with the grace of a dolphin.

Reaching the outcrop of rocks, he pulled himself up, his fingers and toes finding purchase in the crevices despite the slick, moisture-laden surface. His body's natural "stickiness," a result of the microscopic fibers that coated his skin, allowed him to cling to the stone with ease, even as the waves crashed against him, trying to dislodge his grip.

Perched atop the rocks, Peter took a moment to catch his breath, the salt spray stinging his eyes and the taste of the sea on his lips. He knew that while his abilities were extraordinary, no spider or Spider-Man was immune to the dangers of drowning. The ocean was a powerful, unpredictable force, and he was but a small speck in its vast, watery realm.

Taking in the sight before him, he marveled at the raw, untamed beauty of it all. The waves rolled in, one after another, their ceaseless rhythm a testament to the enduring power of nature. The sun, a golden orb in the sky, cast shimmering rays upon the water, creating a dazzling display of light and color that danced and sparkled across the surface. It was a sight unlike any other, a symphony of nature's forces that left him in awe and wonder. 

His eyes fixed on the figure tied to a wooden pole further ahead. As he drew closer, he could make out the details of the woman—her clothing, her position, and the determined set of her jaw. He swam with renewed vigor, his heart pounding with a mix of adrenaline and curiosity.

Just as he was about to reach her, he stopped in his uneven trek across the rocks, his body still as a memory surfaced in his mind. The trees of Eurasia weren't the only subject he had signed up to take in his last years of high school; he had also taken a class on Scottish history, and with it, the tales of the Killing Times and the martyrdom of Margaret Wilson came flooding back.

The Killing Times, a period of brutal persecution in Scotland, where those who refused to conform to the established church were often subjected to horrific punishments and public executions. Margaret Wilson, a young woman who had been tied to a stake and left to drown in the rising tide as a result of her refusal to renounce her Presbyterian faith. The image of her brave stance and ultimate sacrifice flashed before his eyes, a chilling reminder of the historical atrocities that had taken place in this very region.

Peter's eyes widened as he took in the woman before him, her situation eerily reminiscent of Margaret Wilson's final moments. The pole, the rising tide, the remote location—it all pointed to a similar fate. And yet…and yet, there was something off. 

Tingles are still going off…I’m missing something here. 

Before Peter could fully grasp the anomaly before him, the woman turned her head upward, the slow, deliberate motion revealing more of her features to his eager eyes. The young adult found himself staring at a face that was at once familiar and utterly foreign. The woman's eyes held a depth of emotion and a spark of something wild and untamed, yet there was an undeniable resemblance to the enigmatic blonde he had been pursuing.

"Kathleen?!" he exclaimed, his voice a mix of confusion and disbelief. As he drew closer, he took in the finer details of her face, the shape of her eyes, the curve of her lips, and the proud set of her jaw. There was no denying the similarity, and yet, this woman was different—her hair a cascade of vibrant green, her features more angular, and her eyes holding a depth of something ancient, remembrance of a time that Kathleen couldn’t have ever experienced.

Peter's mind raced as he compared the two women, trying to reconcile the similarities and the stark differences. He thought of the green-haired woman he had seen briefly before he lost consciousness, her ethereal beauty and otherworldly grace etched into his memory. Could there be a connection between them? Were they somehow related, or was this merely a cruel trick of fate, a coincidence that defied all logic?

The woman before him held his gaze, her expression unreadable, and Peter found himself drawn into the depths of her eyes, a vortex of mystery and intrigue. He knew, in that moment, that he was standing on the precipice of a great revelation, a truth that would shake the very foundations of his understanding and plunge him into a world far more complex and dangerous than he could have ever imagined. With a deep breath, he steeled himself, ready to face whatever lay ahead, his curiosity and determination burning brighter than ever.

"Thank you for the save, Tiger," the green-haired woman purred, her voice a smooth, silky melody that seemed to caress Peter's senses. It was rich and thick, like the slow drip of honey on a warm summer's day, evoking mental images of rose petals floating gently through the air. Her words wrapped around him, a seductive embrace that sent a shiver down his spine. Yet, despite the pleasurable sensations, his spider-sense continued to activate cautionary neurons in his brain, a persistent warning that all was not as it seemed. She leaned in closer, her breath hot on his cheek, and whispered, "Since you went through all that trouble, what do you say I leave you with a little reward?" 

Before he could respond, her lips met his, soft and gentle at first, then growing more insistent and passionate. Peter was shocked initially, his eyes widening in surprise, but as the kiss deepened, he felt a wave of contentment and pleasure wash over him. It was as if every nerve in his body was alight with sensation, the taste of her lips intoxicating, the feel of her body pressed against his electric. He found himself kissing her back with equal fervor, his arms wrapping around her, pulling her closer. The world around them faded away, leaving only the two of them, lost in the intensity of the moment. The roar of the ocean, the cry of the gulls, the once overpowering scent of salt—all of it faded into a distant hum, drowned out by the pounding of their hearts and the symphony of their shared breath. Peter had never experienced anything like it, a kiss that consumed his body and soul, leaving him craving more, desperate for the connection to last forever. 

So engulfed in the haze of heat and lust, Peter was barely aware of his surroundings, his senses heightened yet narrowly focused on the intoxicating connection between them. The urgency to free the bound woman from her watery grave had all but faded from his mind, pushed aside by the overwhelming tide of passion that threatened to consume him whole.

He was only vaguely conscious of her arms wrapping around his lower back, the sensation of her touch sending pleasurable shivers cascading up his spine. Her nails, long and smooth, gently clawed their way up his back, lightly marking his flesh amidst the prominent tattoos that adorned his skin. Each delicate scratch sent a jolt of sensation through him, a bittersweet mix of pleasure and pain that only served to deepen his desire.

Peter's hands roamed her body, exploring the curves and contours hidden beneath her clothing, his touch hungry and eager. He could feel the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the heat of her body pressing against his, and the way her breath hitched in her throat as he trailed kisses down her neck, tasting her sweet, intoxicating scent.

The world around them seemed to fade into a blur, the only reality the two of them lost in their embrace, their bodies moving in sync as if guided by an ancient, primal rhythm. The danger of the rising tide, the mystery of her appearance, and the enigma of her identity were all but forgotten, pushed aside by the all-consuming fire of their passion. In that moment, there were only the two of them, their bodies entwined, their souls intertwined, and their breaths mingling as one.

Then, in a brief, fleeting moment of clarity, Peter remembered that he was indeed a creature of flesh and blood, and not just a being of pure sensation and desire. He drew away from the green-haired woman, his lungs craving the salty, refreshing air of the sea. As he took a deep breath, his hazel eyes, wide with newfound awareness, caught a shape out of the corner of his vision.

A humanoid shape. A woman.

"...huh?" he murmured, his brow furrowing in confusion as he turned his head to get a better look. The woman he had been embracing, "Margaret," appeared equally confused, her eyes searching his face for an explanation as to why he had suddenly pulled away.

Peter's gaze was drawn to the other side of the wooden pole, and his eyes widened in astonishment as he spotted another figure tied to the rock, her form destined for a watery grave. This woman, however, was significantly different from the one before him. Her shape was semi-transparent, ethereal, almost ghostly, as if she were a spirit from another realm. She seemed to shimmer in the sunlight, her edges blurring and shifting like a mirage.

Her hair was short, cropped neatly at the nape of her neck, and unlike the vibrant sea-green of "Margaret," this woman's hair was a striking, unnatural purple, like the deepest, richest amethyst. Her features were delicate, almost elfin, with high cheekbones and large, expressive eyes that seemed to hold a universe of knowledge and secrets. She was dressed in a simple, flowing garment that billowed gently in the sea breeze, her form barely substantial, as if she were made of smoke and memory.

Peter's heart pounded in his chest as he took in the sight of the ethereal woman, her presence a stark contrast to the passionate, fiery embrace he had just shared with "Margaret." He could feel the weight of her gaze, her purpose for being there, and her drive that seemed to radiate from her very being. 

"Wait…" Peter muttered, his brow furrowing as the pieces began to click into place. "Margaret… she wasn’t the only one."

The green-haired woman appeared puzzled, her head tilting to the side as she regarded him with confusion. "What do you mean, love?" she asked, her voice a soft, melodic purr.

Peter's mind raced as he recalled the history lesson from his high school days, the tales of the Killing Times, and the brave women who had sacrificed their lives for their beliefs. "Margaret, or rather, Margaret Wilson, she was sentenced to drown at sea," he mused aloud, his voice barely above a whisper. "But she wasn’t the only one. She had a fellow martyr in Margaret McLachlan."

As he spoke, the ethereal, purple-haired woman seemed to take notice of him, her gaze locking onto his with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. He could feel the weight of her stare, the ancient power that radiated from her very being, and he knew, in that moment, that he was in the presence of something truly otherworldly.

Before he could react, a massive wave crashed down upon them, its foamy crest towering overhead like a monumental wall of water. Peter was caught in its relentless force, the wave pulling him under, the world around him becoming a chaotic symphony of bubbles and churning sea. He kicked and thrashed, trying to swim against the current, but the power of the ocean was overwhelming, dragging him deeper and deeper into its watery embrace.

As he was pulled under, he caught a final glimpse of the two Margarets, their forms merging and shifting, their eyes locked onto his, a mixture of sadness and determination etched onto their faces. And then, the sea claimed him, the cold, dark depths enveloping him in a crushing, inexorable embrace.

The melodic symphony of birdsong, a harmonious chorus that managed to overpower the relentless crashing of the waves and the deafening roar of the water, gently coaxed Peter Parker from the depths of his unconscious state. His eyes fluttered open, and he shot upward, his body convulsing as he gasped for air, heavy breaths raging in and out of his lungs as he desperately tried to convince his body that he was no longer mere moments from drowning in the icy embrace of the sea.

His chest heaved with the effort, each breath a ragged, desperate pull of air, as if his lungs were starved for oxygen. The taste of saltwater lingered on his lips, a bitter reminder of his near-death experience, and the memory of the crushing wave that had pulled him under sent a shiver down his spine. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest, a primal rhythm that echoed the raw, untamed power of the ocean.

As his vision cleared, he took in his surroundings, the stark beauty of the coastline gone before him, and in its place, a more familiar yet alien setting awaited him. The sun was a brilliant orb in the sky, its golden rays casting a warm, inviting glow through the window, a stark contrast to the cold, foreboding depths that had threatened to claim him. The birds continued their song, a soothing melody that seemed to wash away the remnants of his terror, replacing it with a sense of awe and wonder at the power and beauty of nature. 

"Whoa..." Peter exhaled, his breath shuddering as he brought a hand to his forehead, feeling the sheen of sweat that coated his skin. "I think that's one trip I don't plan on taking again anytime soon," he remarked, his voice a low, raspy murmur. The memory of the wave crashing over him, the relentless pull of the current, and the icy grip of the sea still lingered, a chilling reminder of his brush with supposed death. He took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to steady his nerves and calm his racing heart. "Still, that felt a little too 'real' to be just a dream," he continued, his brows furrowing as he turned his attention to his surroundings. The landscape was a far cry from the familiar comforts of his room or Aunt May's cozy home. "This is definitely NOT my room, let alone Aunt May’s," he said, his voice filled with a mix of awe and disbelief.

As he stood up, he noticed that he was no longer on the shore but in a bedroom that was as fancy as it was eerie. The room was adorned in a gothic style, with dark, rich colors and ornate details that gave it an almost oppressive atmosphere. The walls were draped in deep purple velvet, the fabric a lush, luxurious contrast to the cold, hard stone that lay beneath. The ceiling was a vaulted masterpiece, the arches and ribbing a testament to the craftsmanship of a bygone era, the dark wood stained a glossy black, the intricate carvings a swirling, chaotic dance of shadows and light.

The furniture was equally impressive, a grand four-poster bed dominating the room, its frame a twisted, gnarled affair of dark wood, the curtains a heavy, opulent brocade that pooled on the floor like a pool of spilled wine. The rest of the furniture matched the bed in style and opulence, each piece a work of art, a testament to the skill and craftsmanship of the artisans who had created them.

Candelabras lined the walls, their tall, twisted candlesticks holding a forest of tapering candles, the flames casting a warm, flickering glow that danced and shimmered on the surfaces, creating a living, breathing tapestry of light and shadow. The air was thick with the scent of beeswax and something else, something sweet and intoxicating, like the fragrance of exotic flowers.

Peter took it all in, his eyes wide with amazement and a touch of unease. This room was a world away from the modern, comfortable surroundings of his own home, a step back in time to an era of darkness, mystery, and decadence. And as he stood there, taking in the gothic splendor, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was a guest in a place that was both beautiful and dangerous, a place where the lines between reality and dream were blurred, and the rules of his world no longer applied.

As the last notes of the birds' songs faded into silence, Peter's curiosity peaked at the sudden quiet. The distant hum of the city echoed in his ears, and he was left pondering the avian vocalists' abrupt departure. A sense of anticipation stirred within him; they wouldn’t leave without a reason, and he could almost feel that something significant was on the horizon, waiting to unfold. 

Then, he felt the first shake.

As the initial shake intensified, another followed, then another and another. The entire room began to tremble violently. Books toppled from their shelves, and picture frames crashed to the floor, glass shattering into countless pieces. Peter's heart pounded in his chest as he grasped the magnitude of what was happening. He knew he had to act fast.

The shaking grew more ferocious, and Peter could hear the ominous creaking of the building's structure groaning under the force. Furniture skidded across the room, and the lights flickered before plunging the space into darkness. Peter's instincts kicked in, and he rushed towards the window, his only escape route.

With a swift movement, he threw open the window and clambered onto the windowsill. Just as he pushed himself out, he felt the building lurch violently beneath him. The sound of crumbling concrete and splintering wood filled the air as the structure began to collapse. Peter leaped clear of the window just as the building gave way, sending a cloud of dust and debris billowing into the air.

He hit the ground hard, rolling to absorb the impact, and quickly scrambled to his feet. Turning back, he watched in disbelief as his home crumbled to the ground, reduced to a pile of rubble in a matter of seconds. The earthquake had been swift and brutal, leaving him shaken but alive.

Peter stood there, catching his breath, as the aftershocks rumbled beneath his feet. The city, once a distant hum, was now a chaotic symphony of sirens, screams, and the crashing of falling structures. He knew he had to move, to find safety and assess the damage, but for a moment, he stood in stunned silence, grateful to have escaped the clutches of the earth's fury.

Peter's relief at his narrow escape was short-lived as he spotted a wrecking crew in the distance, their bright vests and hard hats stark against the backdrop of destruction. He realized with a jolt of surprise that the building had been set for demolition. The crew was already moving in, their machinery rumbling to life, ready to tear down what they had already brought into ruin.

“Those guys were responsible for that?!” Peter reflected from behind a few luckily placed trees, steadily dressing into his costume. “Heh, Jameson would probably get a kick out of that: Spider-Man, Squished by the Everyday Working Man!” A small chuckle escaped him as he slipped on his mask. “Believe it or not, JJ, they wouldn't have been the first. Let alone by pure accident.”

Still, despite his small expression of humor, Peter felt a mix of emotions wash over him—relief that he had escaped, yet anger that he had been caught off guard so suddenly and easily, both now and the night before.

And still, no sign of Kathleen, let alone…her. 

New York City

Spider-Man, his body a blur of red and blue, swung effortlessly through the bustling morning streets of New York, the city's skyline a backdrop of towering steel and concrete. The multicultural metropolis was alive, its energy pulsing through the air as he soared over the heads of hurried pedestrians and honking taxis. Peter Parker, beneath the mask, mused aloud, his voice a low rumble against the city's symphony, "Margaret... no, that can't be right." He swung from one skyscraper to the next, the wind rushing past his ears as he contemplated his thoughts. "A martyr for Presbyterian Scots, perhaps, with an affinity for the emerald isle's namesake color, but I can't imagine her dyeing her hair that shade of green. Unless, of course, she was a specter haunting the Scottish Greens, those eco-warriors who got their head start in the early nineties." His body arched and twisted, performing a graceful dance with the city's web of steel and glass as he continued his internal monologue, the city's chaos below him a stark contrast to the clarity of his thoughts. 

With a sudden jolt, Peter realized he was cutting it dangerously close to being late for work, and he hadn't even taken a moment to freshen up for the day. Yet, the masked web-slinger found himself engrossed in the puzzle of the previous night's events, his mind racing as he swung through the city. What had started as another routine patrol as the Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man had quickly spiraled into a surreal adventure through a haunted house nestled within a dilapidated apartment building. He recalled the eerie atmosphere, the creaking floors, and the whispers that seemed to echo through the abandoned halls. Then, he woke up in a bedroom that was most definitely not his own, the decor unfamiliar and the air thick with a sense of foreboding.

As he swung lower, drawing closer to his home, memories of jolting awake to the floor giving way underneath him had confirmed Peter's initial suspicion that the building had already been condemned, a relic of a bygone era, its windows broken and walls already crumbling before the demolition crew arrived. 

All save for the space Kathleen entered. 

The building's once-grand facade, marred by time and neglect, now served as a ghostly reminder of a past long forgotten, manifesting in the form of rubble. Yet, this knowledge only deepened the mystery. If the building was indeed abandoned, what could explain the vivid and terrifying encounters he had experienced within its walls? The haunted house, the eerie apparitions, and the sense of being watched—all of it pointed to something more sinister and supernatural than a simple case of squatters or urban decay. Peter's curiosity was piqued, and he knew he wouldn't rest until he unraveled the enigma of that haunted apartment. 

Then again, perhaps the city’s new arrival was the one that was truly haunted.