The Violet Haze || Peter Parker
Disclaimer: GIF is NOT mine and I would like to give full credit to the owner.
Blurb: She’s the nemesis and he’s the hero.
Warnings: Lame sarcasm…Yeah, you’ve been warned.
Today I stand here at the Bank of Queens, where witnesses say they saw a ‘purple blur’ robbing the bank of all of its profits. Once again we see evidence that the notorious criminal known only as the ‘Violet Haze’ continues to wreak havoc on the innocent civilians of Queens. The villain’s malevolent crimes and ability to remain completely anonymous continues to confound the police department, leaving us with nothing further to report. The city’s only hope of stopping this nefarious criminal lies in our friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man.
“Aunt May, have you seen my Star Wars drawers?” Peter calls out from his room, clothes flying through the air as he sorts through them in a frantic search to find the certain piece of clothing.
“Have you looked in the laundry?” May replies from the kitchen.
Peter ran down the hallway and into the small washing room. A neat pile of folding lay in a basket on top of the washing machine. Peter tore through the piles, carefully placing each item back in its original place, not wanting to provoke the wrath of Aunt May.
Peter’s eyes went wide at the sight of the fabric. A small gasp escapes his lips at the sight of his favourite item of clothing.
“Aunt May, did you put my draws in with your washing again?” Peter groans, holding the material in his hands.
“Yes, honey, why?” May calls back, her tone cool and collected.
“Because…” Peter drawls out and holds up his drawers. “The last time I checked, I didn’t buy pink drawers.”
Aunty May stifles a small giggle, her hand shooting up to cover her evident smile. Tom releases a loud groan, clearly not seeing the same humour Aunt May does in this situation.
“I’m sorry, honey.” May apologises, her voice wavering from her recent fits of laughter. “But they’re actually purple.”
Tom groans once again before trudging back into his room to get dressed. His eyes wander up to the clock hanging above his bed, earning a loud curse to escape his lips. He is going to be late…again.
Pulling on his shamefully purple Empire Strikes Back drawers, he snatches up his backpack. Sprinting down the hallway, he manages to reach the door in record time, but it brought to a halt by Aunt May’s voice. He turns swiftly, to see her, hands on her hips and eyebrows raised.
Peter rolls his eyes and jogs over to her, giving her a light peck on her cheek before running out the door. He could hear Aunt May’s, ‘Have a good day!’ fading behind him as he ran down the staircase to the bus stop.
Peter tugs his sleeve back to reveal his watch. 8:13 A.M. Of course I missed the bus…Again.
He rolls his wrist over to reveal his web shooter. A small smirk plays on his wrists as he runs down the closest alley to change into the Spidey Suit. He scans the alley for any witnesses before stripping off his school clothes, leaving him in nothing but his drawers. He snatches up his Spider-Man suit and pulls on each leg, shimmying it up but struggling from the tightness of the fabric.
“Damn. Spandex.” Peter grunts as he reefs on the pants.
“Said every single hormonal female in Queens.” An unknown voice chimes, causing Peter to trip over his own feet, sending him flying head first into a dumpster. His head collides into it with a loud, ‘Bang’.
The girl winces and covers her mouth with her fist. “Ooh, that’s gotta hurt. But I’m not quite sure what would hurt more, your ego or your head, the line is rather thin between the two.”
“Who the hell are you?” Peter growls, keeping his face hidden from the stranger.
“Are you even allowed to say ‘hell’? Isn’t there some kind of blood pact you make not to say bad words like that? Aw, man, PMSing mums are going to have your tight, spandex wrapped butt on a platter.” The voice teases.
Peter manages to tug on the rest of his suit and yanks his mask over his face.
“Next thing you know they’ll be raising your drawers on a flagpole and saluting them.”
Peter spins around searching for the intruder. “Yoohoo! Up here.” Peter’s head snaps up.
A girl sits a few stories above him on a balcony railing, looking down at him. She wiggles her fingers at him. He studies her face, trying to recognise the strangely familiar features she carries.
The girl lets out a small scowl before smacking her head with the palm of her hand. “Right! I forgot to introduce myself.”
The girl stands and begins to walk confidently along the railing. When she reaches the end of the railing she continues to walk off the edges, twisting her body into a somersault. Peter’s finally comes to his senses, springing into action to save her.
He dives up the wall, his hand just grazing her waist, but just as he touches her she disappears. Peter falls back to the ground, poised into a crouching position, his mind still trying to process her disappearance. He spins around recklessly, looking for the mystery girl.
“My name is Robin, but you may know me as ‘Violet Haze’,” her voice breaks through his confusion. “And I’m your nemesis.”
He spins to see her. She leans with her back against the wall, arms crossed. She pushes herself off of the wall and walks towards him. Her suede black leather jacket appears to be worn, obviously appearing to be the only jacket she owns. Her deep purple strapless top is engraved with intricate patterns lacing the edges and is tied together with a belt at the waist. Her black jeans are torn and faded and her black leather boots look tattered and old.
A small tattoo is engraved into the flesh on her collarbone, the word ‘reborn’ inscribed in Russian inked into her skin. Her hair wisps behind her, a deep shade of purple weaving its way through her unkempt locks. Each step causes another strand to loosen only to be whipped over her shoulders following each change of direction and gust of the wind.
“Like what you see, Spiderling?” Violet smirks at him, crossing her arms and jutting her hip out, clearly revelling in her ability to make him uncomfortable.
“I-I wasn’t stare-I mean-It’s Spider-Man-wait, y-you’re a villain?” Peter winces at his own inability to remain calm around the girl.
“I suppose in everyone else’s eyes I am…” Violet begins, her eyes roaming over the small alley’s grungey brick walls. “But everything’s not always what it seems.”
“How did you disappear? Is that even possible?” Peter steps forwards cautiously.
“Oh, you mean this?” Violet transports to behind Peter and taps him on the shoulder.
Peter yelps at her touch and stumbles away.
“Tada.” She shrugs, an unimpressed look on her face.
“That’s…incredible. You can…teleport…anywhere?” Peter takes a step towards her once more, admiring her skin and the way it glows with a purple haze.
“Sure, I guess,” she shrugs once again. “Let’s just say I take mooning to a whole new level.”
“You’re incredible! I mean, you could go anywhere! Your skin must have a stronger cell composition than most other people in this population! That’s incredible!” Peter circles around her, rambling clearly dumbfounded by her abilities. Peter scrutinises her purple aura, clearly dumbfounded by the scientific impossibilities withheld in her skin. “Why purple?”
“I could ask the same about your Star Wars drawers.”
Although Violet couldn’t see it, Peter cringed, his face flushing at the thought of her seeing him in nothing but his drawers.
“Don’t worry, Webster, your junk is safe in the perve vial trunk.” Violet says, throwing him a casual wink.
“Wait, back up, you’re my nemesis?” Peter pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers.
Violet shrugs nonchalantly. “Apparently.”
“Wow, that’s a first.”
“Don’t take it personally, Web-head, a lot of people regard me as such.”
“Because most of them have the intellectual capacity of a peanut.”
A siren wails in the distance, the sound increasing as it approaches their location.
“Well! That’s my cue.” Violet claps her hands together and begins to saunter away from Peter.
“Wait! Why are they after you? What did you do?” Peter jogs after her, still confused as to why she was being saught after.
“I may or may not have robbed a bank, but trust me, they have it all wrong. I don’t just steal for the hell of it.”
“Then why do you?”
She shoots Peter a sideways glance. “I have my reasons.”
“Look, I’m really sorry about this, but I gotta take you in.” Peter swiftly shoots a web at her wrists, securing them together in a sticky bind.
“Well, that certainly escalated quickly.” Violet stares at her bound wrists in fascination. “Wow, is this carbon fibre?” She says in fascination, trying to distract Peter with his own bait.
“No, it’s actually-wait, no. I’m arresting you, stop interrupting.” Peter scowls, leading her by the arm onto the bustling street.
“Right, sorry, my bad, proceed oh man of upright morals and extremely tight pants.” Violet raises her hands and salutes him mockingly. “Wait, you forgot to read me my rights. As an American born and bred, I enjoy to flaunt my ability to have rights, ‘Oh say can you see?’ yada yada, red, white and blue. Peace.”
Peter glances at his watch once more and lets out a loud groan. “I’m late.”
“Seeing as though that isn’t a pregnancy test, I’m guessing the dread in your voice is… School?”
“Yes-I mean-no-I mean-How did you?”
“Your secret is safe with me, Parker.” Violet accentuates his name and winks at him. “Oh, and don’t forget to breathe.”
Peter’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Why would I forget to-“
Peter’s breath is stolen from his lungs, the words failing to complete his sentence. In a flash of violet haze, he stands in a small toilet cubicle which just so happens to belong to his school, Violet standing beside him.
“That. Was. Awesome!” Peter pants out, unable to contain his excitement.
“Glad I could help a fellow vigilante out,” Violet straightens herself out. “Catch you later, Parker. Oh, and before I forget, bicarb soda soak for 5 minutes then cold wash.”
“What’s that for?” Peter asks in a state of flustered disarray.
“Your drawers, Peter.” She says, a small smile forming on her lips.
And with that she was gone. Peter stands in the small cubicle, a small cloud of purple mist being Violet’s only trace of existence. The very girl he was meant to protect the city from may be the only reason he’ll keep saving it.
Voices broke into Peter’s world, snapping out of his trance.
“Did you hear about the orphanage?” one says.
“No, what happened?” his friend replies.
“Someone left a stack of cash right on their doorstep, the exact amount stolen from the bank. All the kids said that there was a purple cloud around the money when they found it. Weird, huh?”
“Huh, like Robin Hood or something?”
Peter zoned out once again to their voices. Robin. Peter repeats the name she told him when the first met. A small smile tugs on Peter’s lips. I guess she was right. Not everything is as it seems.Peter pulls off his mask and holds the fabric in between his fingers, a violet haze misting over the lenses.