I actually got into photography because of Peter Parker, so he's always been one of my favorites.


She found them completely by accident one day, while looking for something else in the photo album. She had pulled all her albums down, spread them out around her on the floor, chairs, and coffee table, losing herself in the memories they showed her. Her family had never been big on photos, for one reason or another… The film was too expensive, they didn't have time, or there was no reason to bother. But she had always loved the photographs. They proved she had been there, done that, seen this. They reminded her of all her wonderful exploits, and the good times she had had.

Some were from trips she had taken, her camera never out of her hands or away from her eye for long. Some were special occasions, birthdays and celebrations she had wanted to remember. Others, of course, were of her friends and family, nights out and fun times, memories that kept her warm when the cold of solitude settled into her bones and threatened to never leave.

She was part way through a black album held together with thick leather straps when she saw the pictures. The first was just the two of them, the angle of the brunette's arm telling plainly he was the one holding the camera. He had a bright, goofy grin on his face, his other arm slung about her shoulders as he pulled her into the frame. She was laughing along with him, pink on her cheeks as she looked up at the camera.

The second, he was hanging upside down into the top of the frame, and she was the one with the camera this time. Even under the red of his mask, she could tell he was smiling. The alley that provided the backdrop of the photo was grimy and dimly lit, but she thought it made a nice shift from the bright red and blue of his costume.

The next was one he had taken of her while she wasn't looking, her face aglow from street lights far below them. Her hair was being tossed about by the wind as she stood atop the building and looked out over the city, a laugh on her lips as he took her picture.

There was another one of the two of them, each behind their own camera as they snapped the photo in a mirror, massive grins on their faces at the ingenuity of the idea. She hadn't noticed at the time, but his arm was around her waist, pulling her in close enough to fit in the frame.

The last one was of the pair of them again, but this one had been taken by a third party. They were dancing at her birthday party, both laughing as they swayed to the music and felt silly in their nice clothes. She remembered he had made a comment about feeling weird in that suit, instead of his usual one, and she had laughed.

He had always had that ability, to cheer her up when she was feeling bad, to coax her back into cheer. She loved that about him, along with a multitude of other things as well. She pulled the first photo out of its slot and held it closer, trying to remember where they had been when it had been taken.

"Isn't that from my first visit?" His voice broke into her thoughts, making her snap her head up to look at him. He was wearing the same grin he had on in the picture, craning his neck to catch sight of it as he leaned over the back of the sofa. "It is! How did you end up with it? I thought I kept that one to myself…"

"I tend to not ask questions about how I get the pictures I have." She replied, smiling as she slipped it back into its protective slot. "Anyway, what're you doing here?"

"Heard you had a bit of trouble." He replied evasively, sitting on the couch properly, looking at the photos instead of her. "Thought you might want to drown your sorrows in photos taken with a real photographer."

She smacked his leg, flipping the album's page instead of replying.

"Not that you're not a real photographer!" He hurried on when he realized his verbal blunder. "But I meant with real film and chemicals and dark-room antics. That kind of photography."

"Are you calling my kind of photography fake?" She asked, still not looking at him as she bit back a giggle. She loved messing with him like this.

"I never said that." He pointed out, poking the back of her head. "Stop putting words in my mouth or I'll be forced to do something drastic."

She did look at him then, an eyebrow arched. "Drastic like what?"

"Like make you my model." He grinned. "On second thought, I might do that anyway. C'mon, the snow's still pretty and I know you love it." He plucked the album from her hands, closing it and setting it on the coffee table. "Please?"

"No! It's cold out there, and the last time you asked me to model, I ended up soaked to the skin!"

"That was an accident!" He pulled her to her feet, chuckling. "No snowball fights, I promise, just a couple dozen frames of you in the snow and then we can come back in and drink cocoa to our hearts content. I promise."

She gave him a questioning look, a frown beginning to form on her lips. "I'm still not convinced." She said finally, an eyebrow arched at him.

"It'll be worth it, I promise!" He coaxed, pulling her towards the door gently.

"Worth what, exactly?" She asked, eyebrows arching in question.

"Worth a thousand words." He replied, giving her a soft smile.

She remembered the phrase from the first time they had discussed their common hobby, his insistence that every photo should hold that same worth.

She grinned, finally giving in to him. "I'll hold you to that."


Also, Spidey is super fun to write for. And although he's not technically an Avenger yet (in the Marvel Cinematic Universe), he does become one, so this still counts.