There are a lot of problems with society today, and one of the big things is how people treat photographers.
You can laugh all you want, but it's true.
People treat photographers the way people treat photographs. Ever since the digital camera was invented, photographs lost most of their significance. They're just bits of thick paper with an image on it, no big deal. In fact, I would go so far as to say that digital cameras are more respected than photographers, because people have been conditioned to think that if they can successfully operate a digital camera, they are automatically good at photography. So they roll their eyes at photographers and think, "I could do the same job. I wouldn't even have to pay!"
Of course, if that were really the case, they would be doing the job themselves, wouldn't they?
I need to stop going off in different tangents. This is why I was never any good in my English classes. I'd start off on talking about Shakespeare or something and end the paper in an in-depth discussion of why schools should force kids to learn to play the harmonica instead of the recorder.
(Which they should, by the way.)
(Harmonicas are actually cool.)
(Recorders are used to seduce large tropical birds.)
All I'm saying is, it's a little tiring having to deal with people who treat me like a tool. "Hey, can you take a picture of this for me?" "Hey, take a picture of that for me."
You don't walk up to a painter and go, "Hey, can you draw me a little something?"
I actually do work for The Daily Bugle, when I'm seriously in need of money, and let me tell you there's nothing worse. I mean, most of the people there are nice, I guess, but the boss is a pain in the ass like no other. Not to mention the pay. I don't even know why I bother. I could make just as much money and more selling watches to people off the street.
One of these days…
Gwen Stacy was a nice girl. She was kind and friendly and sympathetic and just a little neurotic, which is why the issue of Peter Parker remained an issue for as long as it did.
Her lunch period was simple enough, usually; she would eat her food relatively quickly and go to the library to study, or go outside if the weather was nice enough and there weren't any strong breezes (nothing is as annoying as having pages flap around uncontrollably while you try to read). However, on this particular day, Gwen had been feeling rather… distracted. She told herself it was because of the way in which her day had started, which had ruined the equilibrium for what otherwise would have been a day just like any other. Of course, what she told herself differed from the truth.
The truth about the source of her distraction was more complex than she was willing to admit. As stated earlier, Gwen Stacy was a nice girl. She was friendly, sympathetic, kind, and, (this is important) somewhat neurotic. And here her mild neurosis came into play as she puzzled and wondered and scratched her head and contemplated the latest question on her mind:
"Why does Peter Parker dislike me?"
Everyone makes enemies, of course, and Gwen had had her fair share of encounters with less savory characters, but she'd never met anyone who didn't like her the moment she opened her mouth! He barely even knew her! She started drawing a spiral on the corner of her paper, doodling for the first time since the seventh grade, and her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. She tried to remember if she'd accidentally slighted him in some way, but nothing came to mind. Had he been in another class with her before? She thought and she thought, but she could not think of a plausible explanation for his behavior. Admittedly, it was very possible that she had done something after all, but had forgotten about him later on.
"Well, whatever." Gwen concluded after a frustratingly empty seven minutes of thought. "It's not as though it matters. I don't even know him."
With a shrug of her shoulders, a crick of her neck, and a deep breath, Gwen hunched over her papers and got right back to work, putting her impressive abilities of concentration at work and tuning out all external distractions.
And even if she hadn't been focusing quite so acutely, it is doubtful that she could ever have noticed the disheveled-looking boy constantly walking back and forth in front of the aisle on the left of the table where she sat, trying too hard to look casual and desperately pretending to look for something.
"Hi, Mom."
"Gwen! Hey! I hope your day went well?"
"It was alright, I guess." Gwen peered over her mother's shoulder into the oven, wrinkling her nose. "What are you making today?"
"Well, the boys didn't seem to like the naanwiches from before, so I spent the weekend trying to figure out where I went wrong."
"Well that's a promising start to this story."
Her mother continued talking, although whether she was unaware of Gwen's sarcasm or ignoring it was difficult to tell.
"So, I decided to replace the goat cheese spread with a sprinkle of paprika instead, and have oven-baked chicken inside the naanwich instead of having it completely vegetarian. It's kind of my own spin on the original, but I think it'll taste fine." Here, she dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper: "In fact, it may just taste better than the original."
Gwen gave her mom a pained smile before surreptitiously reaching for the Cocoa Puffs.
"Oh, don't ruin your appetite, honey."
"Wouldn't dream of it." She threw one into the air and caught it in her mouth. Chewing slowly, she asked, "Say, Mom… Could you be honest with me for a second?"
"Of course!"
"Do I seem… annoying?"
Her mother glanced at her, eyebrow cocked. "No. Why?"
"Be truthful. I won't mind. Really!"
This time she fully turned to stare at her daughter. "Gwen, honey, did something happen at school today?"
Gwen narrowed her eyes. "Are you avoiding my question? Am I annoying?"
Her mother sighed and turned back to the oven. "No, you are not annoying."
"You're positive?"
"Yes! I— Gwen, what happened?" She threw her hands up in exasperation.
"Nothing happened, per se! I was just wondering!" Gwen turned to go to her room, paused, and leaned over the counter to kiss her mother's cheek. "Don't worry about it."
And, still clutching the box of cereal, she walked out of the kitchen. Simon and Phil were watching a cartoon at an unnecessarily loud volume.
"Gwen?" said Phil as she entered the living room.
"Yeah?"
"I think you're annoying, if it means anything."
She scowled and threw a Cocoa Puff at his head. "Do you want a repeat of this morning, Phil?"
That effectively cut off the rest of his laughter, and with a satisfied smile Gwen retreated to her bedroom.
Q and A time!
"Why don't you ever write about things that make you happy instead of complaining all the time?"
From: henrybalefonte
Well, Henry, that's a good question! The better question is, is that your real name or is your username a horribly spelled attempt at making homage to Harry Belafonte? He's the guy who did that Banana song. You know, "Come Mr. Tallyman, tally me bananas?"
No?
Never mind then anyway
That is a very good question!
And I have some very good answers. Being as polite as I am, I'll give you options so that you can choose what to believe.
I suffer from simultaneous low self-esteem and depression stemming from reasons both personal and tragic and ranting about the things I dislike allow me to cope and prevent myself from descending into a slow downward spiral of utter despair
Because it's not funny when I talk about things I like. Think about all the big comedians. They're almost always talking about their grievances.
Answer "B"
Both "B" and "C"
Choose wisely.
"Are you going to be at Stark Expo this year?"
From cock-ler420
First off, love the username. It tells me quite a bit about who you are as a person. Your likes, your dislikes, your pains, your joys, the complexities of your character and the experiences that shaped who you are today.
Secondly, no. No, I will not. And trust me when I say that there is none more keenly disappointed than I. Last year was the third time in a row in which no deadly military-grade robots attacked the attendees, and I am starting to think that the Expo might actually be safe. This is horrible because now I actually want to go, which makes it all the more worse dealing with the knowledge that I have neither the time nor the means.
Like the masochist I am, I've been staring at the program list and looking at all the panels and generally trying really hard not to cry while stroking the computer screen.
"did you ask out that girl yet" and no less than 54 variations thereof.
From: Mostly Anonymous, and some usernames I will not name.
Yes! Yes I did. It was hard to decide at first because she was so clingy, but eventually I decided that I guess I could ignore the thirty other females begging to be my soulmate and ask her out anyway. We married last Wednesday and now live in a large suburban neighborhood and have 2.5 kids and a golden retriever named "Doug."
My wedding ring glints so beautifully in the light as I slowly move the mouse over to the "Disable Anonymous" box in the blog settings.
"What kind of camera do you use?"
From: Anonymous
I have several cameras, and it all really depends on the situation. I use a Canon New F-1 SLR for school and yearbook-related things, but my personal camera (the one I use for things that I actually like) is a Yashica Electro 35 GSN. It has my name plastered all over it and everything. It's old-fashioned as hell but here's a secret: the thing is tough. I could drop it off the top of a building and it'd leave a crater in the ground. It's the Nokia of cameras.
Before any of you accuse me of being an irresponsible photographer, I'd like to make a disclaimer: I treat my cameras very well. Cameras wish they could be under my ownership so that they could undergo the same luxuries. However, accidents happen, and I'm just stating facts that I have observed once or twice.
"I disagree with your opinion on [science debate/article name/certain issue]"
From: Multiple people, but less in number than those of you who ask me about my relationship status. I can't tell whether that's relieving or incredibly sad.
Opinions are wonderful, and I would love to have a discussion with you all sometime if you just send me a message. Except for those of you whose idea of intellectual discourse involves yelling loudly about how stupid I am for disagreeing with your vaguely-worded arguments and calling me a "failtroll" when I don't take you seriously. To you people, I ask of you to think about your life and the choices you are making that led you to use the word "troll" without a trace of irony. I also remind you that watching the Big Bang theory every other Thursday does not make you well-versed in the topics in question.
"I'm a big fan of your stuff. Will you promote my blog?"
From: writingonmywall
I'm touched by your sincerity. Everyone go check this person out.
Well, it's one in the morning and I'm about to collapse in front of the computer, so I'll just wrap this up. I'll answer more questions later.
I'm kidding. I'm not going to do that.
If you asked me something important, or something you thought was more interesting than the questions I did answer, feel free to privately message me and I'll be sure to answer within 3 to 4 business days.
"Gwen, give these files to Ms. Woods in the lobby, and when you return check on the temperature of the bromadiolone on beaker six over there."
"Yes, Dr. Connors."
She fought hard to smother her grin as she accepted a thick manila folder from the older gentleman. It gave her such a thrill to say that. As she walked briskly through the sliding glass doors and down the brightly-lit hallways of Oscorp, Gwen even found herself struggling not to skip. She reached the crowded elevators and, uttering a polite "excuse me," squeezed her way inside.
She couldn't help it, though! There were so few people who were lucky enough to intern at such a prestigious laboratory, and to be promoted to Chief Intern out of all the others was a blessing that, despite being nearly two months old, never failed to send her in paroxysms of bliss. The internship was the best thing that had ever happened to her. Here in Oscorp she could rant about chemical bonding and molecular nesting with others and have people understand. Better yet, people would continue the conversation, segueing into the complexities of genome repair using chromosomal splicing.
But the best part definitely had to be her close quarters with Dr. Curt Connors himself. No one else her age could boast the exquisite privilege of interning under the great man himself, and every time she saw him she was overwhelmed at the fervor with which he worked. The internship brought her closer to her ideals of using science to help humanity, and what pursuit better matched that ideal than the regeneration of limbs via DNA splicing?
Gwen reached the bottom floor and carefully pushed her way out of the elevator. The place was always crowded around this time, with tour groups, visiting scientists, and potential investors. Even as she and several others left, the elevator was filled again almost immediately. Making sure that she didn't drop anything, Gwen walked briskly to the front desk.
"Ms. Woods? Dr. Connors asked me to give this to you."
The receptionist looked up and smiled. "Ah, I'd been expecting these! Did you get a good look?"
Gwen cocked her head as she handed over the file. "What do you mean?"
"These are the profiles for the incoming interns. Didn't you know?"
"No, I didn't!"
"Oh. Well, you're technically not allowed to look through them, anyway. We don't want the Chief Intern getting any biases." Ms. Woods gave a small shrug. "Usually they go through the file on the way here."
"I wasn't aware of any tradition of that sort, actually."
"Too late now!" the older woman gave a prim smile and placed the folder on a stack of papers next to her computer before turning back to Gwen. "Are you excited about giving the interns the tour?"
"I don't know about excited, but I'm definitely looking forward to it." Gwen smiled. "I just don't want anything to go wrong."
"It's only a tour, Miss Stacy." The receptionist rolled her eyes (affectionately, Gwen thought) and turned back to whatever it was that she had been doing. "I doubt anything will go wrong."
The phone at the desk rang, and Gwen took that as a cue to head back to the lab upstairs.
Recipient: Jane Foster
Sent: 8:34
That's fantastic! I'm really glad that you're getting so far with your research. I'll admit that some of your theories sail right over my head, but if your work proves fruitful I want to be the first to hear, got it? Make sure you don't get your stuff taken again (that was really weird). Darcy sounds like a hilarious person, I'm sure I'd like to meet her no matter what you say. :)
Interning at OsCorp is great, as usual. I get to play around with all the toys, you know? Aside from that, not much is happening. Can't exactly say I've been having my own breakthroughs, yet, but I'm sure that once I graduate and get a steady job instead of an internship, I'll be making some great progress! I'd absolutely love to help my boss, Dr. Connors, with his work. He says the greatest obstacle in the riddle of regenerative theory is the decay algorithm, or lack thereof. Now, I'm not saying I'll be the one to solve the algorithm, but there are ways to work around it~ ;)
… Do I sound full of it? I sound full of it, don't I?
Hubris is my one true weakness. That, and chocolate truffles.
(hint, hint)
Your wonderful penpal,
Gwen Stacy
The next day, Tuesday, Gwen encountered Peter Parker a record number of twice in one day. Was it that he was becoming more ubiquitous, she wondered, or was it just that she was noticing him with more ease? The important thing either way was that both times, she found that her previous idea that he had found her off-putting was probably incorrect.
The first time was during their shared bio class. She walked through the door and saw him sitting at the usual spot, staring out the window. As Gwen came closer, though, Peter turned and gave a small, hopeful smile and, after some hesitation, jerked his hand upwards in what was quite possibly the most unsure wave she had ever seen in her life. Nevertheless it more than she had expected from him; after deciding that she didn't need to worry about what he thought of her, it was disconcerting to see him greet her.
She realized that she'd just been standing still and quickly began moving forward again.
"Hi!" Gwen sat down, but made no move to take out her notes. "You seem to be in a cheerful mood."
"Do I?" He smiled again, more widely this time.
"Better mood than you were in the last time we talked, anyway."
"Just glad to be in class, I guess."
He had a nice smile, she decided. A very friendly smile.
"I just realized… I never really got to introduce myself properly. Hi," she held out her hand. "I'm Gwen Stacy."
"Peter Parker." His eyes crinkled at the corners as he shook her hand. "Do you, uh—"
She never found what he was going to say, as Professor Walton chose that very moment to enter the classroom, his voice booming as he announced the itinerary for the rest of the period. With an apologetic smile, Gwen turned to face the teacher.
"You were talking to Parker!"
"Hello to you, too, Hannah. Why yes, I have been having a good day. How about you?"
Standing in front of Gwen's desk and bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet was a short girl with long black hair tied high up on her head. Her ponytail was whipping back and forth as she continued to bob impatiently, threatening to hit anyone who came too close behind her.
"Oh my God, no, shut up. You were talking to Parker at the beginning of class!"
Hannah's stage-whisper was so loud that Gwen couldn't help but glance at the front of the room; luckily for her, the boy in question was preoccupied, speaking to the teacher about something or another. Hannah gasped.
"You just looked at him! Are you guys friends now?"
"Will you be quiet? He is literally right there!" she whispered furiously. Glancing at him once more, she said hurriedly, "How about we actually leave the classroom before continuing this conversation?"
Surprisingly, Hannah did manage to stay silent during the whole thirteen seconds it took them to walk out the door, chewing her lip furiously and looking as though she would burst. Gwen had hesitated in the doorway, wondering if she should say bye to Peter, but Hannah had shoved her out and around the corner before she could so much as blink.
"Hannah, what is the matter with you?"
"Okay, okay, so, I was volunteering with Sally Avril afterschool and Sally knows everyone on the Student E-Board and she told me about this girl named Missy Kallenback who's been doing advertisements and stuff for the events since freshman year and it turns out although I didn't know it at the time that Missy was the same girl who was one of the math tutors in the library afterschool that helped me get through pre-calc and she totally saved my life so I talked to her a little because I mean she saved my life you know and then I found out she's really super nice which was cool but then Sally told me that Missy has like, this gigantic crush on Peter Parker because you know Sally knows everything about everyone and I was like that's so crazy I think there's a Peter Parker is in my Bio class and she didn't even believe me at first so I—"
Hannah, like most of Gwen's friends, really was a very bright individual; her defining trait, unfortunately for her, happened to be her mouth. Hannah spoke very, very quickly, always flapping her hands in wild gesticulations whenever she got worked up about something. She was very clearly excited now, considering the interesting shade of puce her face was slowly turning.
Gwen, using a carefully honed skill gained from years of dealing with two hyperactive brothers, calmly and quietly cut through her friend's blathering. "What does this have anything to do with me, though?" She glanced at the watch at her wrist. "And try to hurry."
"I'm getting there! So I told Sally that's so crazy because I think there's a Peter Parker in my Bio class and she didn't even believe me at first so I said to her I said 'No, I really think he is!' and then she said I was probably thinking of someone else so she tried to test me, can you believe her, she was like 'Oh yeah well what does he look like' so I'm like well shit I don't know I don't look at him and stuff, like what am I supposed to say, so I said well he has brown hair and then she's like 'Everyone has brown hair' so I said I can totally prove that he's in my class and then she's like 'Fine whatever I believe you' but then I said 'No you don't believe me at all, do you?' and Sally was like 'I believe you I just don't care anymore' so I—"
Gwen, who throughout this entire tirade had been glancing more and more often at her watch, finally lost her patience and interrupted her friend once more. "Look, I'm sorry Hannah, but I really need to get going if I don't want to be late to class. We can talk later, alright?"
She turned and began running lightly through the teeming crowd of people, as Hannah sputtered indignantly, rooted to the spot.
"I-! You can't just-! You-!"
"I really am sorry!" Gwen called out, looking behind her.
"But! But! Peter! He likes you! Like, for real! Gwen!" Hannah yelled, but it was too late. Gwen was nothing more than a bob of yellow hair in the distance, and even Hannah's impressive voice couldn't reach her through all the commotion in the hallways. With a frustrated sigh, she turned around…
… and saw Peter Parker standing right behind her, his mouth hanging open in horror.
Mortified, Hannah dropped her binder.
The second instance in which Gwen Stacy spoke to Peter Parker that day took place after school.
The bell rang, abruptly concluding the lecture, and Gwen carefully closed her notes (AP Statistics, currently on the chapter about the Central Limit Theorem) and placed them neatly into her bag. Another day was done, she thought, feeling pleased about how things had gone. Classes had, like every other day, run smoothly. After debate, she would go home and treat herself to a box of Oreos.
(Gwen often kept sweets hidden away in her room, so that she could chip away at her appetite when her mother was making something less-than-appetizing for dinner.)
(She just would not give up with those damn naanwiches.)
"Come on, Gwen!"
She looked up to see her friend and fellow member of the debate team leaning on the desk adjacent to hers and tapping his foot impatiently.
"We're going to be late for Debate."
"Kyle? How'd you get here so fast?"
"I told Mr. Whitman that I needed to go to the nurse. Will you hurry up?"
Gwen began to her bag around her shoulders with exceptional slowness, if only to irk her friend even further. "Why are you in such a rush? And why'd you dye your hair again?"
Kyle, who had been about to make an acerbic comment upon seeing the speed at which Gwen was moving, stopped to pet his bangs down proudly.
"Do you like it?"
"I dunno," she replied as she stood and began walking towards the door. "I kind of liked it better when it was purple."
"Ugh, shows what you know," Kyle scoffed before following her. "I can't have weird hair in any of my senior photos! I don't want potential colleges thinking I'm a punk or something."
They slowly began making their way to the classroom where Debate was held, Kyle having to run every ten feet in order to keep up with Gwen's suddenly brisk pace.
"What makes you anyone cares about your hair?" Here he made a loud offended noise, "And you always just dye it back afterwards, anyway. What's the point?"
"Just stop talking. I know what I'm doing, and once I get accepted into an Ivy League university, I'll be the one laughing." He gave her a quick once-over. "I see this year you're going for the Catholic Schoolgirl look?"
Gwen looked down at her outfit as she walked. "I— what? Catholic schoolgirl?"
"You totally picked it out on purpose. It's too perfect. I almost think you were baiting me, just waiting for me to make that joke."
"I think it looks nice!" She glared at Kyle, who was snickering to himself. "I don't think you're the one to be making fun of my outfit."
He rolled his eyes and gestured to his clothing. "I'm wearing standard business attire, Gwen. I even ironed it last night. You can't say shit about me."
"I'm talking about your hair, you idiot. Your roots are still purple."
"What?"
Gwen opened the door to the Debate room, ignoring Kyle's anguished cry, and saw (to her great surprise) Peter Parker standing there.
The desks and chairs had all been moved to one side of the room, and a large grey backdrop had been installed on one of the walls. Most of her teammates were lingering near their respective seats in front of the backdrop, and many of them greeted her. However, Gwen's focus was mostly on Peter.
"What are you doing here?" she exclaimed, hand still on the doorknob.
"I'm the, uh…" The ease with which he had spoken during Bio that day had disappeared without a trace. "The— the photographer. For this. I mean."
Gwen belatedly noticed the camera on a tripod in front of him and the strap around his neck, and bit her tongue in embarrassment.
"That was obvious, wasn't it. I'm not sure how I didn't guess that," she chuckled. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound rude. I just didn't expect to see you here."
"Oh, it's fine! I, er," He fumbled with his camera strap and looked down at his feet. "I didn't expect to see you here either."
So it wasn't that he didn't like her. He was just shy! Painfully shy, from the looks of it. Gwen couldn't help but feel relieved.
"So you're a photographer! That's really cool! What kind of camera's that?" she gestured with one hand at the tripod.
Peter turned around and glanced at it as though he'd never seen it before, stopped, and turned back to face Gwen sheepishly.
"Right. My camera. Uh, it's, well… just a camera." He coughed loudly.
"It's fine!" she said, feeling a bit sorry for him. "I asked to keep the conversation going. I don't actually know anything about cameras."
A pause, and then,
"So do you—"
"How long have—"
Gwen laughed, and, to her surprise and pleasure, he laughed along (albeit more quietly).
"You first," she said.
"No, go ahead!"
"I insist."
"I wasn't saying anything important, anyway."
"See, I know you're just saying that."
"I'll say it and you'll think to yourself, 'I should have gone first.'"
"So say it!"
"Guys!" Both of them turned around. Justin, the head of the debate team, tapped his foot impatiently. "Can we get this picture done?"
"Oh. Yeah, sorry." Peter rubbed the back of his neck, his voice soft once more.
Gwen bit her lip and, feeling properly abashed, made her way to the grey backdrop. Peter, after some embarrassed coughing, directed everyone to their proper positions.
"Alright, could— could you stand over there? Right at the end? Thanks. And, uh, could you move a little to the right please, thank you. Oh, no, over there, you sit up front. Right there, that's right. And, uh, Gwen?"
"Yeah?"
"Can you stand in the back? Second space from the right."
She straightened her hair and her skirt one last time before squeezing in between Justin and Daniel.
"Looks good. And now… Is there someone missing?"
The debate team looked collectively at the empty seat in the first row, and up to Kyle, who was standing near the doorway and tugging at his lip nervously.
"Buckley!" Justin snapped, his patience having run out about half an hour ago. "What the hell are you doing? Get your ass over here!"
"I'm not taking it!"
"The hell does that mean, you're not taking it?"
"It means I'm not taking it!"
"And why not?"
Peter seemed to be at a loss for what to do, glancing back and forth with the others in witness of the exchange between Kyle and Justin (who looked as though he would jump over the row of chairs in front of him and go for the other's throat). Gwen, who was always the one moderating between the two, couldn't find her voice at that particular moment, undergoing for the very first time the keen and peculiar feeling of secondhand embarrassment. Justin was about to suggest Kyle's forcible ejection from the debate team "forever" when Peter, surprising everyone by actually making himself heard, interrupted the argument.
"Hey! Buckley, was it?"
Kyle looked at him, looking as though (and this probably was the case) he hadn't noticed him before.
"It's Kyle."
"Is there, um, any particular reason you don't want to be in the photo?"
Kyle mumbled something about roots, and Gwen's secondhand embarrassment spiked. Her face turned red and she suddenly found the cracks in the ceiling tiles extraordinarily impressive.
"I— I'm sorry, did you just say your roots?"
Kyle nodded, and Peter (much to Gwen's relief) did not press the subject. She guessed that, being what appeared to be the school's photographer, he had probably dealt with stranger subjects. She listened carefully, even as she looked at everything but them. Justin stammered furiously that anyone with eyes could clearly see that there was nothing wrong with his roots, but Gwen carefully stepped on his foot with her heel before any damage could be done.
"Well, I always do touch-ups. On the computer. If you want, I can fix your roots?"
"Can… you actually do that?"
Peter nodded, and Kyle, after straightening his suit and smoothing out his hair (which, as everyone in the room noted, was dyed impeccably), sat in his respective chair in the front row.
"I swear to God, just what the hell put it into his tiny head that his roots—" Gwen coughed and looked at her shoes, tuning out the rest of Justin's words.
Peter stepped lightly behind the camera and peered through the viewfinder.
"Everyone ready?" He glanced up at Gwen, who was finding it difficult to look up. "Gwen?"
"Yeah!" she said too loudly. She coughed and spoke again, softer this time. "Yeah. I'm fine. I mean, I'm ready."
He didn't look as though he believed her, so she grinned and straightened up, ignoring Justin's grumbling.
"Try not to make me look too ugly, alright?"
Peter smiled as he looked back at the viewfinder. His face was obscured by the camera, but she saw his ears turn pink as he responded.
"That's impossible."
When the flash of the camera went off, Gwen found herself genuinely smiling.
Life is beautiful.
Have any of you ever just thought about that?
Just sat down and thought about how wonderful everything is?
Life is fantastic.
End notes: EDIT: someone was very kind enough to tell me Gwen's brother's name! :D I have gone back and fixed it. Thank you very much, unnamed Guest! Howard Stacy (the eldest brother) will appear later on.
The Canon New F-1 SLR is the camera used by Tobey Maguire's Peter Parker in the original Spiderman movies, whereas the Yashica Electro 35 GSN is the one used by Andrew Garfield's Peter.
The pseudoscience nonsense about molecular nesting and whatnot is basically a giant reference to the online web campaign for the Amazing Spiderman movie, in which you play a series of games while pretending to be an intern at Oscorp.
I made up the name for the receptionist at Oscorp.
Sally Avril and Missy Kallenback are actual students in the Amazing Spiderman. Justin and Kyle were, too, except I actually made up their names. Hannah does not exist.
The last line about it being impossible to make her look ugly was basically ripped off from the first Spiderman movie with Tobey Maguire, I'll admit it. Except instead of "rip off" I am going to call it a "callback" or "reference."
... That's all I can think of at the moment.
