What name do you think will work for the symbiote? Comment down below? If you don't like any of the choices or have a better name in mind, then comment down below. The name with the most likes or comments will be the winner.
Logos (Meaning: Reason/Nickname: Lo)
Vitra (Meaning: Transparent life/Nickname: Vit)
Endrua (Meaning: To endure/Nickname: End or Dura)
Progenis (Meaning: Origin/Nickname: Pro or Genis)
Nexis (Meaning: Connection or link/Nickname: Nex)
Pandemonium (Meaning: Connection or link/Nickname: Pan)
Vaeris (Meaning: Cold truth/Nickname: Vaer or Ris)
Survivor (Meaning: To continue/Nickname: Sur or Vi)
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The door to their Manhattan apartment clicked shut quietly behind Peter, sealing off the noise and chaos of the outside world. Inside, the soft hum of evening life settled around him. It was calm, comforting, but his mind remained miles away, tangled in the complicated offer Ethan had laid before him.
Mary Jane stood at the stove, humming softly as she stirred a simmering pot, the kitchen filled with the familiar aroma of her cooking. It grounded him, if only briefly, as he stepped into their shared space, hanging his coat on the hook by the door.
"Welcome home, Tiger," MJ called warmly over her shoulder, a small smile playing at her lips as she caught his reflection in the nearby mirror. She paused, eyes softening with concern. "You okay? You look like you're carrying the weight of the city tonight."
Peter mustered a faint smile, crossing the room to press a gentle kiss to her temple. "Just a long day," he murmured. "And a lot to think about."
She turned to him, brushing flour-covered fingers against his cheek, leaving a pale smear behind. "Want to talk about it?"
He hesitated, knowing he should share Ethan's offer—but the enormity of it was too heavy, too raw to unpack immediately. Not yet. Instead, he shook his head gently. "Maybe later. Mind if I take a quick shower first?"
MJ nodded, understanding and patient as always. "Of course, dinner can wait. Take your time."
He squeezed her hand gratefully and retreated to the bathroom, closing the door softly behind him. The moment he stepped under the hot spray of water, the tension in his shoulders seemed to melt away. But the relief was fleeting. His thoughts raced back to the coffee shop, Ethan's intense gaze, Felicia's casual ease, and the almost unreal offer Ethan had laid out for him.
He closed his eyes, the steam around him thickening, wrapping him in temporary solitude. The idea of running a newspaper—a legitimate front, a stable platform to truly help the city—was enticing. He'd always struggled balancing his lives as Spider-Man and Peter Parker. Ethan had seemed to grasp that, offering him something substantial to hold onto. A way to balance these two parts of himself.
Security. The thought made his chest tighten painfully. Ethan had promised safety—not just for Peter, but explicitly for MJ and Aunt May. The latter promise burned bitterly in Peter's throat, a cruel reminder of his greatest failure.
He pressed a hand against the cold tile, memories flooding in. The funeral had been a blur of grief and guilt, the weight of responsibility nearly crushing him. He remembered MJ's quiet strength, her hand tight in his as they watched Aunt May lowered into the earth. Peter had never felt more powerless, never more like a failure than that day.
He clenched his fists, jaw tightening. Ethan had been convincing, but he was young. Brilliant, yes, but not too knowledgeable, it seemed. There were things even Ethan couldn't know, couldn't control—like Aunt May's death. It had been Norman Osborn's fault, and Peter's own inability to protect her.
The pain of that memory was still fresh, raw, and unending. His heart felt heavy, each beat a dull ache.
Peter finally shut off the water, standing in silence for a long moment, water dripping slowly from his hair. He wrapped a towel around himself and moved to dry off, shoulders hunched with lingering tension.
A sudden jingle from his phone shattered the silence. He reached for it almost absently, but the moment his eyes scanned the message, everything froze.
It was Ethan.
Peter's pulse quickened, eyes narrowing suspiciously at first, but as he read the words carefully, disbelief and hope collided violently within him.
[Oops, almost forgot to mention. During my investigation, I found something interesting. Aunt May's death wasn't real. The woman you buried wasn't May Parker—it was an actress. Norman Osborn staged everything as an elaborate deception.]
Peter's breath caught, heart pounding violently against his ribcage. Hands trembling, he stared numbly at the glowing screen. Impossible—yet, Ethan had no reason to lie. He wouldn't dare joke about something so brutally personal. Another message arrived, just an address. Nothing more.
Peter sank heavily onto the edge of the bathtub, feeling dizzy. Could it be true? Could Aunt May really still be alive? He clenched the phone so tightly his knuckles turned white, desperate to believe but terrified it was another twisted trick.
"Peter?" MJ's concerned voice called gently from outside the door. "Everything okay in there?"
Peter opened his mouth to answer, but his throat felt closed, strangling any sound he might've made. He didn't respond immediately, and a moment later, MJ cautiously pushed open the door, worry evident in her gaze.
"Pete? Tiger?" she asked softly, stepping closer, eyes searching his face. She knelt before him, hands gently grasping his knees. "Hey. Talk to me."
He blinked rapidly, moisture gathering in his eyes—not from the shower, but from the overwhelming tidal wave of emotions now flooding through him. He handed MJ the phone wordlessly, letting her read Ethan's message.
MJ's eyes widened slowly as she absorbed the information. Her initial skepticism softened quickly into empathy as she saw the raw hope on Peter's face.
"Oh, Peter," she whispered, gently cupping his face, forcing him to meet her steady gaze. "Do you think it's true?"
"I… I don't know," Peter admitted hoarsely, voice shaking with uncertainty. "Ethan's not one to lie about something like this, but—"
"But we've been tricked before," MJ finished quietly, nodding in understanding. She paused, taking a slow breath. "Still, what if he's right? What if Aunt May really is alive?"
The possibility felt both miraculous and cruelly dangerous. Could he handle another disappointment? Another loss?
"MJ, if it's true…" Peter's voice broke, and she pulled him into a tight embrace, offering him her strength.
"Then we'll handle it," MJ said fiercely, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. "Together. Like we always have."
Her certainty steadied him, anchoring him against the swirling storm of emotion. Peter closed his eyes, drawing strength from her presence, her unwavering support. It was moments like these he realized how much he needed her. She was his rock, his constant amidst chaos.
Peter opened his eyes, decision hardening in his gaze. "I have to find out."
MJ nodded without hesitation, standing up and offering her hand. "Then let's go. Now. Dinner can wait."
"You want to come?" Peter asked, surprised, even though he shouldn't have been. MJ's courage had always matched his own.
"Of course I do," she replied firmly. "I'm not letting you face this alone."
Peter dressed quickly, movements sharper now, fueled by the urgency of what lay ahead. MJ stood patiently by the door, grabbing her jacket, calm and resolute as ever. She held out her hand again, smiling softly.
Peter paused briefly, holding her gaze. "MJ… thank you."
Her smile deepened, full of warmth. "For what?"
"For everything. For always being there," he said earnestly, stepping closer and cupping her cheek gently. "I wouldn't survive any of this without you."
She leaned into his touch, eyes filled with quiet devotion. "You never have to."
Together, they stepped out into the cool Manhattan night, hearts heavy with anticipation and hope, walking toward answers that might change everything.
As they hailed a cab, Peter held MJ's hand tightly, his other hand gripping the phone, Ethan's text glowing faintly in the darkness.
He whispered quietly, mostly to himself but loud enough for MJ to hear, "Please… let this be real."
MJ squeezed his hand reassuringly, voice steady and sure, offering him the hope he desperately needed. "Whatever happens, we'll face it together."
Peter nodded silently, heart pounding as he stared out the window at the city lights blurring by. They were speeding toward answers—toward closure or heartbreak. Either way, Peter knew he wasn't alone. MJ was beside him, unshakable, and that was enough to give him courage.
And somewhere deep within him, beyond fear and doubt, hope flickered stubbornly.
Maybe, just maybe, this was real. Maybe Ethan was right, and Aunt May had somehow survived.
Maybe tonight, against every law of reason and grief, he'd get a second chance.