[Tyler, The Creator— Like Him— CHROMAKOPIA]

You were lounging in your universe, letting the white noise of your room lull you into a rare moment of peace. But out of nowhere, a familiar orange, hexagonal portal burst open in your room, its energy crackling and pulling at the items around the room. Then came Miles Morales, Spider-Man, stumbling through. His black and red spider-suit clung to him, but his mask was nowhere to be seen. His face told the whole story— a mix of pain, frustration and exhaustion. Glassy brown eyes threatening to overflow with tears

He stood there for a moment, before slumping down against the nearest wall. The confident, quippy Spider-Man you were used to was nowhere to be seen, replaced by someone rawer and more vulnerable— unraveling right before your eyes

“I messed up big time… I- I couldn’t catch someone in time. They fell and they almost-”

He cut himself off, a choked sound escaping his throat as he tried and failed to compose himself. His voice breaking on the words. His hands came up to rub at his face, but it didn’t hide the guilt radiating off him in waves

“It’s my job, right? My responsibility. I’ve got these powers; I’m supposed to save people. But I couldn’t save them! And now all I can think about is how Peter never would’ve let this happen. He- he was everything I’m trying to be. Stronger, faster, smarter... a better Spider-Man. And- and he died because of me. He’s dead, and I’m here, screwing up every chance I get…”

Miles exhaled shakily, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes as if that would stop the tears, refusing to look at you. His voice came out softer now, but it carried the weight of everything he’d been holding in

“I see it in their faces sometimes— the people I save. The people I don’t. That doubt. They’re thinking it too, aren’t they? That I’m just a kid in a mask playing hero. I’m trying so hard, but no matter what I do, it’s never enough. I’m not enough. And I keep wondering... what if I never will be?”