Gwen Stacy ITSV/ATSV (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thismaskismybadge) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
come_sailaway2023-09-12 02:23 am
thismaskismybadge) wrote in come_sailaway2023-09-12 02:23 am
You ask me "how are you?" [OPEN]
Who: Gwen Stacy & you!
What: Flowers and stuff
When: September
Where: Around the ship
Warnings: Likely superhero typical child endangerment talk, other stuff marked as we go.
Notes: Feel free to flip me to brackets I am comfortable with either style.
1. I don't wanna say what's on my mind [sundries]
Darcy warned Gwen about the packages pretty early on, so there's a healthy mix of apprehension and excitement when she gets her first summons to pick something up. New powers or other similar changes? No thank you, she would really rather not, but the more mundane things?
When the first package is blatantly her drums she almost squeals. Almost. She manages to rein it in to a single, excited bounce before shamelessly ripping the wrapping off then and there to confirm that yes, it is her drums. Blue-purple and with the Mary Janes logo stamped on the front.
The second package, though, that's... it can't be what it looks like, right? Except yes, yes it is what it looks like. It's an over 6ft wide white spider plush, bigger than she is and all gangly limbs. Gwen blinks at it.
"Okay you have got to be kidding me. This is twice now—" she mutters to herself, already trying to figure out how to pick the thing up. Weight isn't an issue, but the size is just unwieldy, and...
Shoot. How is she supposed to move this and her drums? Help?
2. I know if I tell you, you won't look at me the same [Redbud, homesickness]
The first time Gwen encounters the newly sprouting flowers, she doesn't know better. You don't get a lot of time to stop and smell the flowers in the life she'd led for the last few years and this place is so devoid of life that she can't resist giving some pretty little pink blooms a sniff. She even plucks some from where they're growing, even though she has no idea what she'd ever do with them.
When the homesickness hits, she... honestly just thinks it's her. That it's finally hitting her that home is even further out of reach than it already had been for months, since she left 65B for the Spider-Society.
She misses her world. She misses her dad. She misses it all and there's nothing she can do about it because she's never going to see them again. She's not even going to ever see 928B or 138B, her homes away from home, again. She's detached from everything she knows and if she hadn't so much practice dragging herself out of bed when she thought the guilt of killing Peter was gonna kill her, she wouldn't even make it out of bed on the days she's affected.
But even when she does, it's like she's going through the motions. And sometimes she just can't. Sometimes she ends up crying in a corner of the library, or behind a piece of equipment in the gym, or whilst floating in the pool staring up at the sky.
She hates it. She even tries to hide it when someone comes near, but it's not much use.
3. That's why it's bottled up inside [Dandelions, flight]
She blows her first dandelion on what feels like a childish whim. She blows the rest on purpose. There's something comforting about twisting through the air again, when she's been relatively grounded since getting here; it's not the same as swinging through the city, but she can twist and flip and propel herself along, so it's good enough.
Catch her floating around on any of the outside decks, waving at anyone below, or occasionally through the halls or parts of the ship like the atrium or promenade with high ceilings.
"You should give it a try," she might comment to anyone not floating, "this is fun."
4. I think I'm the worst, criticize everything 'til it hurts [Poppy, dreams]
She could be just about anywhere when the effect of a nearby poppy hits and she drifts into a heavy, dreamful sleep. The lounge, the theatre, anywhere on the promenade, out by the pool or up in the gym. It's the deepest sleep she's had in months, sometimes she even looks peaceful.
But find yourself affected by the same flower, and you might find yourself in the vibrant, watercolour dreams that fill her mind as she sleeps. You're in a city, towering buildings covered in warm-toned gradients of purples, oranges, pinks, surrounded by people that seem just a little blurry. Or you're in a theatre, the stage awash in vivid technicolour that changes with the beat of the music around you. Or you're in what must be a building, for the way it's filled with rubble, but you couldn't know what kind from looking; everything is painted a pinkish red.
Welcome to Gwen's world.
5. If you knew me better you'd like me worse [bellona's theatre]
One way or another, she gets her drums to the theatre. And so multiple times a week here she is, drumming away, no care for the volume. Even some days when the Redbud's effects linger, she manages to drag herself out there to beat away until she feels a little better. Like she's releasing all her grief through the rhythm.
You can get her attention, though she might look a little blankly at you for a moment before she catches up to reality.
6. It's T.M.I, T.M.I, T.M.I [wildcard]
Find me at![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
bluecitrine or at artisticblueteam/in the discord, or just throw something at her. Open to other flowers if you've got an idea.
What: Flowers and stuff
When: September
Where: Around the ship
Warnings: Likely superhero typical child endangerment talk, other stuff marked as we go.
Notes: Feel free to flip me to brackets I am comfortable with either style.
1. I don't wanna say what's on my mind [sundries]
Darcy warned Gwen about the packages pretty early on, so there's a healthy mix of apprehension and excitement when she gets her first summons to pick something up. New powers or other similar changes? No thank you, she would really rather not, but the more mundane things?
When the first package is blatantly her drums she almost squeals. Almost. She manages to rein it in to a single, excited bounce before shamelessly ripping the wrapping off then and there to confirm that yes, it is her drums. Blue-purple and with the Mary Janes logo stamped on the front.
The second package, though, that's... it can't be what it looks like, right? Except yes, yes it is what it looks like. It's an over 6ft wide white spider plush, bigger than she is and all gangly limbs. Gwen blinks at it.
"Okay you have got to be kidding me. This is twice now—" she mutters to herself, already trying to figure out how to pick the thing up. Weight isn't an issue, but the size is just unwieldy, and...
Shoot. How is she supposed to move this and her drums? Help?
2. I know if I tell you, you won't look at me the same [Redbud, homesickness]
The first time Gwen encounters the newly sprouting flowers, she doesn't know better. You don't get a lot of time to stop and smell the flowers in the life she'd led for the last few years and this place is so devoid of life that she can't resist giving some pretty little pink blooms a sniff. She even plucks some from where they're growing, even though she has no idea what she'd ever do with them.
When the homesickness hits, she... honestly just thinks it's her. That it's finally hitting her that home is even further out of reach than it already had been for months, since she left 65B for the Spider-Society.
She misses her world. She misses her dad. She misses it all and there's nothing she can do about it because she's never going to see them again. She's not even going to ever see 928B or 138B, her homes away from home, again. She's detached from everything she knows and if she hadn't so much practice dragging herself out of bed when she thought the guilt of killing Peter was gonna kill her, she wouldn't even make it out of bed on the days she's affected.
But even when she does, it's like she's going through the motions. And sometimes she just can't. Sometimes she ends up crying in a corner of the library, or behind a piece of equipment in the gym, or whilst floating in the pool staring up at the sky.
She hates it. She even tries to hide it when someone comes near, but it's not much use.
3. That's why it's bottled up inside [Dandelions, flight]
She blows her first dandelion on what feels like a childish whim. She blows the rest on purpose. There's something comforting about twisting through the air again, when she's been relatively grounded since getting here; it's not the same as swinging through the city, but she can twist and flip and propel herself along, so it's good enough.
Catch her floating around on any of the outside decks, waving at anyone below, or occasionally through the halls or parts of the ship like the atrium or promenade with high ceilings.
"You should give it a try," she might comment to anyone not floating, "this is fun."
4. I think I'm the worst, criticize everything 'til it hurts [Poppy, dreams]
She could be just about anywhere when the effect of a nearby poppy hits and she drifts into a heavy, dreamful sleep. The lounge, the theatre, anywhere on the promenade, out by the pool or up in the gym. It's the deepest sleep she's had in months, sometimes she even looks peaceful.
But find yourself affected by the same flower, and you might find yourself in the vibrant, watercolour dreams that fill her mind as she sleeps. You're in a city, towering buildings covered in warm-toned gradients of purples, oranges, pinks, surrounded by people that seem just a little blurry. Or you're in a theatre, the stage awash in vivid technicolour that changes with the beat of the music around you. Or you're in what must be a building, for the way it's filled with rubble, but you couldn't know what kind from looking; everything is painted a pinkish red.
Welcome to Gwen's world.
5. If you knew me better you'd like me worse [bellona's theatre]
One way or another, she gets her drums to the theatre. And so multiple times a week here she is, drumming away, no care for the volume. Even some days when the Redbud's effects linger, she manages to drag herself out there to beat away until she feels a little better. Like she's releasing all her grief through the rhythm.
You can get her attention, though she might look a little blankly at you for a moment before she catches up to reality.
6. It's T.M.I, T.M.I, T.M.I [wildcard]
Find me at
no subject
Darcy squints upwards, light filtering through the sky in dappling rippling rays. Then he finally looks at Gwen properly, head tilting to the side. There's something in his hand that he keeps gripping past the point of pain.
"You can prove them right and they'll shut up. They only talk shit because they think you won't do anything about it."
no subject
There is might enough within her to prove them right a hundred times over. It is, and has always been, a deliberate choice to hold back. But sometimes it is so very tempting to show them just how dangerous she could be, if she really wanted. To show them just how much restraint she's displayed, these last two years.
She glances back over her shoulder, then back at Darcy. Her hair is in an even bob.
"...yeah. Yeah, you're right."
no subject
One of the ringleaders is clutching her face in open terror. Blood. Not as much as there could be. Most of it in Darcy's hand is his own, palm pressed against the knife.
"People only ever do what they think they can get away with."
no subject
Glass shatters. Metal creaks and tears. When the panicked voices and cries erupt, the youngest painted-blobs-that-are-children are gone; there are only teenagers and adults left to be crushed beneath the debris that comes from... somewhere. Out in the city, across the river and behind them, panic erupts.
Gwen's knuckles are bruised, stained with warm, swirling colour. She is in a plain leotard and pointe shoes. She is in her prom dress.
"Then they won't be prepared for the consequences catching up to them."
no subject
"Forgive them, father, they know not what they do," he grumbles to himself, kicking quickly into motion. Darcy wears no mask, he holds the sword at his belt in place while he shifts debris, bleeding red heart a mirror to the blood on the ground. There has to be survivors. If there aren't, he'll attend to the dead.
no subject
For a long moment, Gwen doesn't move. Colour seeps out of her blot by blot, bleeding out across the ground to leave her in stark blacks and whites. All except the startlingly bright blue of her eyes.
From the outside, that moment stretches. Because when Gwen moves, the girl is still right there, rooted to the spot, but the giant white spider with startlingly blue eyes that appears from behind the debris skitters across the disaster zone, pushing debris aside to let Darcy get at the people beneath.
It's another one-minute-two-minute-three before Gwen-the-girl snaps out of it and joins them.
no subject
(In the same way you trace over a missing tooth, three other half-remembered figures clear away debris too. Someone sturdy as foundation stone and mountain rock, someone who thrums like telephone wire and surveillance cameras, a congress of the rats and pigeons, all picking away debris and helping survivors, just at their periphery.)
The more they pick out, there more there are to save. And when the blood gets under his nails, he knows it won't come out again.
no subject
(There is Gwen, and there is the Spider, and no one else comes from the recesses of her dream-addled mind. There is no one. There is only one spider, until there are thousands.)
The Spider never stops moving, maybe can't stop moving, eight legs in constant motion, somehow never heavy enough to dislodge rubble by accident.
Gwen tries to keep up. She really does. There is blood on her hands and so many people to save and never enough time to do everything that needs to be done and there is always more that needs to be done and there comes a point where she can hardly take it any longer. Where her knees tremble and her hands stutter and where every motion to free a body feels a thousand times harder than it should be.
But it's not that which makes her stumble and stop, no. It's pulling out the form of a teenage boy, face familiar and yet always just a little different every time she blinks, that makes her legs give out beneath her.
The Spider never stops moving.
no subject
He'd felt like if only he could act, could fight, could strike first, that all his loved ones would be safe. Now, what can he do? The grave is occupied, the pinprick of light inside doesn't fill it all the way, and Darcy wraps himself around-
And wakes up.
no subject
The last thing she feels is the weight in her arms, far too heavy for such a small and broken frame, like the weight of the entire world dragging her down to Earth—
And then it's gone. And there's light shining in her face from above. Gwen groans, eyes fluttering open only to scrunch shut again immediately when she stares directly into the bulb from the gym's ceiling. She doesn't try again until she's already sat up, rubbing her head as the haze from the poppy's deep sleep wears off.
"Ugh, what..." That was... vivid.
no subject
What indeed.
"What the fuck," he asks to nobody in particular, reaching up to massage a knot out of his shoulder.
no subject
Sometimes Gwen really wishes her spider-sense would do non-threats, it'd be nice not to jump even a little at harmless things like an unexpected voice. She blinks over at Darcy for a few moments, before snapping out of it as a petal drifts down her face and it scrunches up.
"—oh, shoot, that was you. You were— what kind of dream was that?"
no subject
Obviously.
After his face is appropriately cleaned off, he sits in silence for a few moments.
"You didn't see anything."
God what he wouldn't give to stop being fucking haunted.
no subject
"Not exactly what I meant." Gwen groans, dragging her hands down her face. Thank god she wasn't Spider-Woman in her dreams, this time... that could've been... "...I don't go around talking about people's personal stuff, Darcy. I can't forget, but I'll keep my mouth shut if you do the same."
no subject
Maybe it was better when he first arrived, when he didn't say shit and people didn't know his business. Maybe it's not Gwen's fault, but most of his loved ones haven't seen his Krewe- why does she get to? Why does she get to be in his head.
He stalks off, hoping that he'll cool down before he has to sleep in the same room as her again tonight.
no subject
Gwen slams a fist against the ground hard enough to crack tile, then flops back with her arms over her face. How much did her stupid brain give away? What impression did the gossiped words she was so scared of create? Does Darcy think she's dangerous now, too, even with only snippets of context?
The urge to avoid going back to the room entirely for a day or two is strong, but that's only going to make her look like she has something to be worried about. So, get your crap together and just... act normal, Gwen, you went three years without dad figuring you out...
She'll be there. Being normal. She just has to be dramatic about it first.