SUNDAYS WITH SPIDEYPOOL MASTERLIST
(TW: Mentions of depressions, tattoos as substitutes for self harm, Peter is in a bad place mentally. This is a darker fic, but it turns around in the end)
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Peter Parker got his first tattoo seventeen days after Uncle Ben died.
It was his fault after all, that Uncle Ben was gone. Some weird cosmic retaliation for being foolish enough to enjoy having his spider powers maybe. Karma getting back at him for being a stubborn snarky teenager who should have just listened and not been a brat, perhaps. Or maybe the universe just had it out for him, just like it had since his parents had disappeared.
Either way, Uncle Ben died and it was Peter’s fault and seventeen days later he was in a sketchy tattoo shop getting inked by a guy who had looked him up and down, muttered something about “underage kid probably wanting a stupid ass tattoo” and had directed him towards a chair anyway.
“I want a spider.” Peter said softly, clearly. “Right here.” He pointed to the spider-bite that had never really gone away, still a visible bump against his skin. “Nothing fancy. A black body, eight legs, call it good.”
“A spider.” the artist repeated. “What for?”
“Does it matter?” Peter slumped in his chair and closed his eyes when the needle started buzzing. “Just give me a spider.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
It barely hurt, or at least the pain barely registered, and with such a small tattoo, Peter was inked and done and out the door in less than an hour, the spider harsh and black against his skin.
It was his first tattoo, a silent reminder of what he had caused, a silent acknowledgment of his guilt.
It was his first tattoo, but it wasn’t the last, not even close.
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Inked (SWS #58)
Published
themusechronicles 