Goodwill Presents... Spider-Man!


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Good issue. Liked the DeWolff, Stark, and Chameleon intros. The letter was interesting, I was hoping it'd shown, instead of just read by the characters of the story. When I read it, I definitely wasn't thinking Chameleon, so hopefully you can write the character in a new light. I don't really like Dmitri ripping off Connors's arm, but it fit the story well enough. Overall, interesting and good. I think I'll wait untill the next chapter before I rate it though.


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Thanks for getting to my issue!

I was a bit apprehensive about this arc, only because it may be too big of a stretch for the characters at this point... We really don't know Connors yet and Peter is only a young Spider-Man... Either way, the end result was what mattered, so I hope you'll stick around for the end!


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Spider-Man #12
A Shadow Part Three of Four

“Ouch!” Peter snarled.

“Calm down,” Debra Whitman insisted as she injected a needle through two pieces of silky cloth. “You know, this would be a lot easier if you just stayed put.”

It was an awkward scene at best. Peter Parker stood in the midst of Deb’s cluttered apartment with his arms pointing outwards, his expression a marriage between stressfulness and fear. Meanwhile, Debra worked maniacally around Peter making improvements to the costume she had been asked to make. Tried as she might to avoid hurting Peter, Deb found it to be an impossible feat since Peter could not stand still for the life of him.

Peter shuffled ever so slightly to regain his balance on the soapbox on which he stood, earning him another needle in his side. “Man, if I get some kinda weird disease because of all this I’m comin’ after you.” Peter said, half annoyed, half sarcastic.

“Yeah, as if having the ability to shoot webs from your wrists aren’t enough,” Deb said, smirking at Peter seductively. She plucked the needle free from the thread and took a few steps back to see the costume as a whole.

Surprisingly, the costume was seamless. It fit around Peter’s now muscular body gracefully and stood out proudly in the bland apartment. It was primarily red and blue, with black lines defining the more intricate parts of the suit. Peter certainly looked the part of a super hero now.

“Done,” Deb said triumphantly.

Peter leapt from the soapbox and strutted around, scanning the costume for any error. “Perfect,” he muttered when he could not find any. “This doesn’t make me look like a ballerina, does it?” Peter was checking out his bottom and glancing at Deb, flirting.

“Kinda,” She approached him slowly. “But you’re the best-looking ballerina I’ve seen all day,” Deb said fluttering towards Peter’s face, hoping for a kiss. Peter returned the kiss with such feeling that they slowly backed away from each other.

“Thank you,” Peter said lightly. “I had a good time tonight.”

“Yeah, maybe next time we’ll find a better movie,” Deb said, pecking Peter on the lips again. “Are you leaving?”

“Yeah, I’ve gotta get going on that English paper,” Peter said. Peter strutted towards the door.

“Are you wearing that home?” Deb asked.

“I figure I should break it in first,” Peter said smiling. “Wouldn’t want to tear the crotch out of it when I’m out doing my thing.”

Debra laughed. “Goodnight, Peter.”

Peter couldn’t have left any happier. Now, whenever he was around Deb, the weight that had become so comfortable on his shoulders did not seem to exist. As he strolled along the campus under the moonlight, Peter could not help but feel like the luckiest man in the world. He thought he was maintaining his duel lives correctly and safely and, by now having a relationship with Deb, Peter thought he was moving along at the same pace everyone else was when he was drawn too much into his alter ego.

Unfortunately for Peter, Dr. Conners now only sought the help of Spider-Man.

He dashed along the campus towards Peter looking exhausted. Peter helped him, as Conners needed support to stay on his feet. It was lucky Peter was there or Curt would have likely passed out and been ignored for the rest of the night. It was late and certainly time for Peter to turn in for bed, but now that Conners had shown up, he could not.

“Peter,” Conners panted, practically into Peter’s shoulder. “So glad I found you… I came all the way from my sister-in-law’s house from Queens—Wait, what are you wearing? Are you a, uh, ballerina or something?”

Peter sighed in frustration. Here he was reminded that he had such a good night with Deb and, at the same time, ushered to help his friend. “What is it, Doc?”

Conners backed off of Peter, trembling; he found his own footing and was now able to support himself. “Look,” he said, unfolding a piece of parchment before Peter’s eyes. “This is the address of Jean DeWulf, a New York City cop who has been asked to help the FBI in their attempts to catch Mister Smerdyakov. Could you swing on up to her and ask to see the file on the investigation? It would probably help you out, you know.”

Peter’s stomach churned. This was beginning to sound like a bad idea. At what expense was Dr. Conner’s willing to exploit Peter’s reputation as Spider-Man? “Doctor, I don’t know about this… At first you didn’t even want me using my powers, now you’re asking me to knock on a police officer’s door to see if I can just peruse through a report?” Peter’s indignation was beginning to get the better of him.

“Peter,” Dr. Conners said, almost pleading. “I never doubted for a second you would use your powers appropriately… I only hope you can deem this situation severe enough to use what God’s given you to help. That’s all I’m asking.” Conners was wildly obsessed with redeeming his career, Peter was sure of it. Curt had driven himself mad over the fact that someone was out to kill him.

Peter’s head was spinning, a feeling that had become too comfortable, even for a college student. The enigmatic Vulture had once mentioned to Peter that there was a game going on and that he was merely taking his turn. Was this Peter being introduced to the game? If the game was a taxing trial on how far Peter could be stretched, he was not prepared for it, no matter what precautions he took. Now that he was in, though, it was not like he would back away and try to ignore the fact; it wasn’t something Uncle Ben would’ve approved of.

“I’ll see what I can do…” Peter said solemnly. He turned and walked away from Conners, unable to say anything more to him. He had no choice but to pay DeWulf a visit before turning in.

* * *

Jean DeWulf occupied a modest apartment in a facility owned by Wilson Fisk, a corporate juggernaut in New York. Since she was so involved with her position, DeWulf did not have time to decorate her dwelling. Her priorities showed how devoted she was to protecting the city of New York.

She was throwing the ingredients to a protein shake when a loud thump beckoned from the other room. DeWulf grew alert and grabbed her gun from the kitchen table and gradually approached the living room in her apartment. There, at the window, she saw who she thought was Spider-Man knocking harshly on the window and, periodically after the knocks, waving at her to get her attention.

“Hey,” Spider-Man beckoned in a muffled voice. “Can I have a word with you please?”

If it was possible, DeWulf could see through the mask and into Peter’s innocent expression. She could tell Spider-Man didn’t mean any harm since he was knocking as opposed to bursting through the window and violating her, only to run away soon after he was finished. For the life of her, she could not see how Spider-Man was as villainous as the papers were making him out to be.

So, she approached the window and opened it with the utmost courage given the situation. Jean sort of retreated as Spider-Man slinked in and took a seat on the windowsill. He was giving her such an odd look, even with the odd bug eye mask he wore.

“Ok,” DeWulf said sternly. “What do you need?”

“Your help, of course,” Peter said, almost sarcastically, however, he knew he had to watch his tone if he wanted to see the report.

DeWulf pondered slightly as she paced the room. “You want me to help you. Ok. Well, frankly, even if I wanted to, it would be suicide.” At this point she had her hands firmly to her waste impatiently.

Peter hung his head a bit. His reputation was as bad as he thought it was, which made it worse. “I-I know,” he said in desperation. “I’m just trying to do what you’re doing…”

“How so? By trashing city blocks? By running with a bunch of mercenaries?” DeWulf was gradually growing more and more frustrated as she spoke, which translated into harshness. “You’ve got--”


“Yeah, those guys you were running with were paid to trash Stromm’s lab. Wuh-wuh wait! You didn’t know that?” DeWulf lost her patience at that point. “Those criminals were paid off by whatever crime lord is in charge right now to foil Stromm’s success. There are all kinds of people like that and we can’t do anything to stop them. It would take a--” DeWulf had come up with a solution to these problems faster than she could finish her sentence. She was going to say that the police were unable to do anything about all of the criminals in New York since all of the legalities and restraints. Here was a person that wanted to help but, in a lot of ways, could bend the rules.

“A guy dressed as a ballerina?” Peter asked, his sense of humor apparent.

“I was thinking you looked more like a SCUBA diver,” Jean DeWulf noted. “You’re missing the tutu.” At last, Peter had cracked the statue-like DeWulf into smiling; he would have the file in no time. “I’m going out on a limb here, but I’m pretty confident I can trust you. After all, the guy you brought down first had a pretty good price on his head… You’ve gotta know what you’re doing right?” She laughed dryly, not completely confident it was all right to trust a man in a costume. “What do you need me to do for you?”

Finally. “I need to see the file on Dmitri Smerdyakov.”

Jean looked at the costumed man with searching eyes, hoping to get the reason why he needed the file. “Funny you should bring the guy up; I was just going to go over his information. The FBI want me to help, can you believe that?” She was becoming more comfortable with talking to Spider-Man after finding out that he wasn’t a threat. DeWulf sacrificed a lot of friends and, when someone wasn’t criminal, it was easy for her to trust a stranger. “Here you go, take a look.”

DeWulf handed Peter the folder. Finally, he had been successful in looking at evidence and making amends with the police, who were responsible for turning him into the criminal he was publicly known as. He was proud of himself for being able to convince Jean so easily, too, but did not make it obvious.

“Is it ok if I borrow this?” Peter asked.

“I can’t do that, no,” Jean shrugged. “I would never be able to just hand over the actual folder to just some guy in a costume.”

“You could make copies, though, right?” Peter said, optimistic.

“That could work,” Jean smiled. “Come by tomorrow morning.”

“It’s a date,” Peter said and, on that note, he left without saying another word to Jean DeWulf. He was far too tired to keep up the conversation. His work was done and he had accomplished what Dr. Conners had asked him.

* * *

Peter opted to stroll through the door casually as opposed to showing up in his apartment through the window to avoid complications with Harry; however, even though he wasn’t there he would soon find something was the matter.

The moment he opened the door he saw his Aunt May standing with her palm to her forehead, fighting back tears. It was a struggle, too, since her veins in her neck were too obvious to be natural and her hair was strewn everywhere, something that she never let happen.

Peter approached her casually. “Aunt May?” he intrigued.

“Oh, Peter.”

“What is it?” Peter rubbed her back assuring her tranquility. “What’s wrong?”

“I-it’s Harry,” Aunt May said, now staring into Peter’s eyes. There was a maddening look between the two of them. “He’s been shot.”


Well-Known Member
Goodwill said:
Are you waiting until I wrap up this arc, too?
Yeah, that's what I meant, when you finish the arc, I'll reread the first two and read the last two issues.


Well-Known Member
Ah, damn. My boy Pandrio is losing faith! :) I better pull this one up nicely, huh?

Next issue? Out this coming Wednesday!


Well-Known Member
Spider-Man #13
A Shadow Part Four of Four

Peter felt as if he was shot, too. It was alarming to see how fast his life was moving even without his involvement. Perhaps things changed so rapidly because Peter removed himself to become Spider-Man, but whatever the case, he was drawn back in when tragedy struck. Supposedly, Harry Osborn was walking home from some remedial studies and a person ran up to him totting a gun and shot him for the fifty-three dollars he pocketed. Peter couldn’t help but feel frustrated, if he had these abilities to sense danger, why couldn’t he have done something to prevent this crime? Dr. Conners, he convinced himself, was to blame for not allowing him to go home immediately after visiting Debra.

After Norman Osborn, his father, and Gwen Stacy, Harry’s girlfriend, visited with him, it was Peter’s turn. It was a tense situation for everyone – even Norman looked exhausted from having to deal with the anxiety of his son being shot. Peter, in all his life, could not remember a time when Mr. Osborn looked more pathetic. At least he was human. Also, Peter was pleased Gwen cared enough to show up and support her new boyfriend, despite how difficult it may be for her. May stood outside clutching one of the nurse’s hands as Peter approached Harry in the room.

“How are you?” Peter asked Harry.

His condition was not spectacular, but for a bullet wound, Harry was in good shape. He looked like a person would at a retirement home when they were struggling for air from a respirator. Pale skin as white as the sheets he was draped in and sweating as profusely a cloud would. When he saw Peter he brightened a little, but the warm gleam in his eye soon subsided immediately after he breathed.

“I’m alive,” Harry finally responded. “Just lucky to be alive…” His voice sounded distant; reasonably so, though, since he had been through so much.

“I wish I could have been here sooner, dude,” Peter said. “I was over Deb’s and--”

“Pete, you’re good,” Harry said. He breathed heavily, having an extreme amount of difficulty. “You do what you gotta do, ok? There’s no possible way you could have been two places at once…”

At that point, Peter was so tempted to tell Harry he was Spider-Man, but did not. Harry was openly against Mutancy and would probably think of Peter differently if he did. Besides, Peter didn’t want to attract more people like Beetle and Vulture towards him; he may endanger Harry, too.

“Y-you don’t understand,” Peter gasped. “I know I could’ve done something… Seriously, I--”

Harry snorted, but Peter recognized it as a chuckle. “Dude, it’s ok. Don’t blame yourself for this, seriously. You had nothing to do with it.”

“Well, that’s the problem, Harry!” Peter grew so animated it looked as if he bursted from the pages of a comic book. “I haven’t been around to help you at all. What are best friends for, right? I’ve been nothing but a let down the entire time we’ve roomed together and now look at this! Look!”

“Take a seat Peter,” Harry said. “I’m too tired to be yelled at right now…”

“I-I’m sorry, Harry, you know, I--”

“The real world’s got us by the balls, Peter,” Harry began. His heavy breathing continued, but still he continued to talk. “We’re going in all sorts of different directions now. It’s not like you and I were going to end up doing the same thing, right?” Harry snorted again, once again attempting a laugh. “Remember that time you tried to play bass? Terrible… Yeah, but it’s like both of us are doing are on thing, but we’re there for each other when the other guy’s gonna head down a path leading to a dead end. Right? Pete, don’t blame yourself; keep doing what you’re doing.”
Peter was glad his friendship with Harry was so profound that either of them would have sacrificed their life for the other. They were brothers and it seemed nothing could divide them. It was rare to have such intimacy, however, Peter and Harry achieved it with ease.

Peter hung his head. “You’re right,” he said. Now that Peter knew that Harry was going to be all right, he had to continue his search for Conners’ stalker. “Ok, big guy, I gotta get going. Hang in there.” Peter clasped his hand to Harry’s and sealed his friendship once again before leaving. He was glad Harry was going to survive.

* * *

Captain Jean DeWulf was practically waiting at her windowsill for Spider-Man’s arrival since he left the night before. She had the photocopy for him to examine and could not wait to see what the mutant could make of the information. In truth, Spider-Man, though enigmatic and untrustworthy, marveled DeWulf purely because his reputation did not capture the person she met at the window. Perhaps it was just her investigative habit, but she was drawn to Spider-Man unlike anyone she had met before.

At long last, Spider-Man did arrive, but not in the condition that Jean had anticipated. Although the costume pronounced his rigor and masculinity, DeWulf detected a fatigue and exhaustion throughout his body language and how his head was cocked.

“Long night?” She asked thoughtfully.

Peter couldn’t help but smirk. There was Harry who would not know about Spider-Man and Jean who would not know about Peter. How he would love to tell either of them what was really going on, but the mask served as a shield as well as a fashion statement. “You could say that,” Peter replied. “Have you got the information for me?”

“Right here,” Jean said, handing him the folder. The moment he was given the information, Peter consumed each and every bit of the file. He would do his homework this time to avoid mistakes. “There are a number of identities we’ve seen him use before. It seems the device he uses is constrained a bit; it responds to his thoughts, but his thoughts have not changed dramatically. You see, although these people are different, they still have some of the same physical features. Notice the trail of scars on each of the identities face.”

It was true; the identities were all similar. The primitiveness of the device Conners made for the international criminal worked to his own disadvantage, although it served it’s purpose. Peter figured this was because Conners never actually got to refine the device so that it would not leave such noticeable features. Now, Peter was sure he would find the culprit within days.

As he perused the folder, he noticed many things. “Hey, check this out,” Peter said, fingering a line that read ‘occupation’ in bold. “Julius Casper here works temps. The science wing at ESU takes temps all the time to get new shipments and stuff delivered. Could you look into that?”

Jean gave Spider-Man a look. It was obvious the police had never considered putting that together. “I’m sure it’s something we could check out, but it’s a stretch. Yeah, so I’ll run it by the director of the FBI and see what we can come up with.”

Peter left without saying another word to her. He just remembered Dr. Conners telling him a shipment of supplies was arriving today.

* * *

Doctor Curt Conners met the deliverymen inside of the science facility, named after Reed Richards. He told the authorities that he could not hide from his predator in fear that he may exhibit some sort of weakness that he could feed off of. Despite Conners’ apparent fear, he was a very strong man in the given situation.

Julius Casper approached Curt with a clipboard and a forced smile. “Sir, all we need you to do is sign off on these boxes and we’ll be out of your way.” He was a very slender man with peculiar facial hair concealing a collection of scars.

Curt Conners looked at the clipboard in horror. Instead of a notice in which he was supposed to sign, it was a paper that read, “You’re not too good at listening are you?” It was a cryptic message in itself, however, what made it worse was that it appeared to be written in blood. Conners dropped the clipboard in shock and found it difficult to catch his breath as he starred coldly into Casper’s eyes.

Just as soon as Casper returned the cold stare, he began his transformation into the brutal, yet feeble, man known as Dmitri Smerdyakov. His thick black hair was still greased back as it was years ago and wore a similar white suit the day Conners remembered so vividly. The only difference now was that he wasn’t speaking and he wielded a seven-inch carving knife in front of Curt Conners. How threatening he was just by standing there was beyond Curt’s comprehension at that point.

“If it’s one thing I don’t like it’s someone that crosses me.” Dmitri said, slinking towards Conners with the edge of the knife cutting through the space between himself and the Professor. “If it’s one thing that I do like it’s seeing those who cross me get what they had comin’ to ‘um…” Dmitri slipped the knife into Conners’ stomach with ease. Blood spouted from the opening in Curt’s abdomen and Smerdyakov kept the knife their, almost as if he was not convinced the knife broke his skin.

“Woah!” A voice rang out from above. “Did I just stumble into a cheap slasher movie or something? That was about the cheesiest line ever… And here I thought you international serial killers were smart!” It was Spider-Man perched on the roof above them; he must have snuck in through one of the ceiling panels since there was one tipped off its holster. Peter cradled himself down to the ground so he could gain his footing and size himself up to Smerdyakov. Surprisingly, Peter looked significantly more masculine than him. Peter looked back at Conners who was practically spouting blood and said, “Ah, great… Could you hold on a sec, Doc? I just need time…”

Perhaps it was Peter’s realization that the opportunity to save both his and Conners’ reputations that made him nervous. Regardless, as he stood between the Professor and the international criminal, who was shrinking more and more as Spider-Man stood there indifferently by his presence, the power to strike boiled into his fists. When he first threw a punch, Dmitri flew into the glass door feet away from where Peter anticipated he would land.

It was obvious Dmitri had been in a situation like this before because, although odds were against him, he was still convinced he had the advantage – the cloaking device. Struggling to amass enough strength to get to his knees, Dmitri found that it was hard to stand, although it was possible. At long last he finally did so and began for the door to the street, blending into the crowd spontaneously.

Peter had a difficult time catching his breath. He had made another mistake; this time, though, he would not allow himself to go uncorrected. He did not recognize that he was wearing his costume, but he sprinted out into the crowd, as if to blend in enough to find the Chameleon, as Peter had named him as he made his exit.

The crowd created a circle around Spider-Man, goggling at the odd appearance, much to Peter’s dismay. Peter looked around frenetically, hoping to catch a glimpse of something that would lead him in the right direction for catching Dmitri. Then, Peter, in the moment that he turned his head thought he saw a ponytail grow onto a man’s head in mere seconds. It was the cloaking device still in progress. Peter dashed through the people, not minding who he knocked over, and shot a web at the ponytail.

The man fell flat, revealing the trail of scars that lead from the man’s cheek to his forehead. Peter was overwhelmed with success. He had captured an international terrorist and in front of a large group of people, no less. Now, all he would have to do is let the rest of the world know he accomplished something spectacular. But how?

* * *

Jean DeWulf struggled to get through the crowd to the streetlight she had heard so much about. In all her years as a police officer for New York, although few, she had never seen such an amazing sight. On the streetlight there was a spider’s web large enough for her to crawl on and as intricate as a Faberge egg. Wound in the center was Dmitri Smerdyakov unconscious. She was so excited to see that she had a hand in capturing the villain, however, no one would ever know. Spider-Man was still deemed a vigilante, but with a straightened edge. It was odd; people seemingly recognized Spider-Man as a hero now, but they could not seem to let go of the concept of hiding behind a mask. DeWulf did not care; at least someone was doing something.

As she examined the web more there was a paper lodged in between Dmitri and the web. Jean yanked it out with ease and read, “Your welcome from your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.” Jean couldn’t help but laugh.

Things were beginning to look bright for Spider-Man; however, Peter Parker seemed to have a lot on his plate.

Victor Von Doom

Fist of teh Internets.
So I jut finished reading all of these......really good job. Probably one of my favorite fanfics on the site.

I know this isn't the most descriptive review...but it's 3:45 in the morning and it's all I got in me right now.


Well-Known Member
Thank you, thank you, thank you! :) I don't mind that it was only a sentence-long review, I just respect that you got around to reading my stuff... Good stuff, man.

Honestly, I'm trying to work out an arc or two where I can wrap up the loose ends that I've set up. For instance, the identity of the Green Goblin and who shot Harry are two things that I've been playing around with... And, if I was a reader, I'd wanna know what was going on. Right? Well, with the help of Gwen Stacy, I think Peter will be able to crack all of these mysteries. :) I'm preparing for... SPIDER-MAN: THE END.


Face-Punching As Foreign Policy
^ note that was not a plug but was ment only as a joke.

But seriously Goodwill I love spider--man and i think you're fan fic is great. I love it. I'll admit I dont read much fan fic on here as I write some and down want to get other peoples ideas.

but i read yours and have to say i loved it dude. I already bookmarked it so I can re-read it when I want.

thanks for posting it.