The air was sharp and brimming with winter's bite, but Spider-Man hardly noticed. He swung through the towering labyrinth of New York City with the grace of a dancer, his red-and-blue suit standing out against the monochrome backdrop of snow-draped buildings and overcast skies. Each leap was effortless, each arc of his web carrying him higher into the chilled air.

A contented hum escaped his lips, muffled slightly by his mask. Days like this-when the city seemed quieter and the chaos of his life took a momentary pause-were rare. The rhythm of his swinging was almost meditative, a reminder of why he loved being Spider-Man. The city sprawled below, its streets bustling with bundled-up pedestrians, cars crawling cautiously over icy roads.

He zipped past the Empire State Building, pausing briefly to perch on a gargoyle. The stone beneath him was cold, but the view of the city bathed in the soft light of a winter afternoon made it worth the chill. Peter Parker let out a breath, the mist of his exhale quickly swallowed by the wind.

"Not bad, New York. Not bad at all," he murmured to himself, the words carried away by the breeze.

But he couldn't linger. There was always something to do, even on the slow days. With a flick of his wrist, another web shot out, catching a nearby flagpole. He launched himself into the air, twisting with practiced ease before continuing his path downtown.

As he swung, his humming turned into a quiet rendition of a familiar tune, the kind of thing he might've heard Aunt May singing around the house. The melody gave his movements an extra bounce, a lightheartedness he hadn't felt in a while. Even Spider-Man deserved a good mood now and then.

Down below, a group of kids playing in the snow spotted him.

"Look! It's Spider-Man!" one of them shouted, pointing skyward with a mitten-clad hand.

Peter couldn't help but grin beneath his mask. "That's right, folks," he called out, twisting into a playful flip mid-swing. "Your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, in the flesh! Well...spandex!"

The kids erupted in cheers as he continued on, the sound bringing a warmth to his chest that even the winter air couldn't chase away. It was moments like these that reminded him why he did what he did-not for the applause, but for the simple joy he could bring to others.

He angled his swing toward a quieter part of town, where a certain deli awaited. The thought of a warm sandwich and maybe a quick chat with Mr. Alvarez brought another hum to his throat. Sure, Spider-Man might be the hero of the city, but even heroes needed a break for lunch.

The faint hum of the symbiote reverberated in the back of his mind, a soft, almost soothing murmur that had become as familiar to him as his own thoughts. It was neither intrusive nor demanding this time, but there was a knowing undertone to it-a subtle nudge, like a friend reminding you of something you already knew.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, buddy," the hero muttered under his breath, his voice tinged with mild exasperation as his stomach let out a low, prolonged growl. The sound echoed embarrassingly loud in the quiet of the rooftop he was perched on.

The symbiote's presence shifted slightly, almost teasingly, as if to say, You're the one ignoring your body, not me.

Peter-or rather, Spider-Man-sighed. "We'll grab something soon, I promise. But first-patrol." His voice took on a mock-stern tone, the kind he used when trying to convince himself more than anyone else. "Can't let crime take a lunch break, can we?"

The symbiote hummed again, this time with a faintly skeptical edge. It wasn't outright defiance, but it clearly didn't share his enthusiasm for self-sacrifice at the expense of a hot meal.

He adjusted his grip on the edge of the building, his fingers lightly brushing against the chilled surface of the stone ledge. Below him, the city hummed with its usual winter rhythm. Snow crunched under hurried footsteps, and warm halos of light spilled from storefronts and lampposts, piercing the cold, gray afternoon. His stomach grumbled again, louder this time, as if trying to remind him that no amount of heroism could fill the void left by skipping breakfast.

"Seriously?" Peter groaned, dropping his head into one hand for a moment. "You'd think enhanced metabolism would come with enhanced patience."

The symbiote shifted again, its tone less teasing and more insistent now. He could almost feel its amusement-an alien sort of humor that danced along the edges of his consciousness. It was like having a roommate who wouldn't stop pointing out your bad habits, but who also happened to save your life on a regular basis.

"Okay, okay! I'll make it quick!" he relented, standing up and brushing off the light dusting of snow that had settled on his suit. He fired a web at a nearby rooftop and swung into the air, the cold wind immediately biting at him through the fabric.

"Happy now?" he quipped, glancing in the direction where he felt the symbiote's presence stir within him.

It didn't reply in words-it rarely did-but he could sense its satisfaction, a faint pulse of approval that felt oddly reassuring.

"Good," Peter muttered, his tone softening as he soared over the snow-dappled streets. "Because I'm getting extra cheese fries when we're done. And you don't get to complain this time."

The symbiote warbled softly within Peter's mind, a sound that reminded him of a happy, purring cat-or at least, the alien equivalent of one. Its contentment was palpable, a warm hum that felt almost like a pat on the back. Peter chuckled softly at the sensation as his feet touched the cold pavement of a secluded alleyway.

"Alright, alright, don't get too excited," he muttered, glancing around to make sure the coast was clear. The alley was quiet, just the occasional clatter of a trash can lid and the distant murmur of city life.

Not far from him, the enticing aroma of grilled meat and warm bread wafted through the air, carried by the winter breeze. His stomach growled in anticipation, and he couldn't help but grin. The hotdog vendor's cart was just a few steps away, its cheerful red-and-white umbrella standing out against the muted grays of the snow-covered street.

"Guess we both know where this is going," Peter quipped, earning a playful rumble from the symbiote.

The black tendrils of the alien material began to shift and slither over his body, moving with an otherworldly grace. The red and blue of his costume melted away like watercolors in the rain, replaced by more mundane streetwear. A dark hoodie took shape, paired with a simple pair of jeans and sneakers that looked worn but comfortable. The transformation was seamless, the symbiote's work so precise that even the stitching on the hoodie looked natural.

Peter glanced down at himself, running a hand over the fabric. "Not bad," he said, nodding in approval. "You're getting pretty good at this, buddy. I might have to hire you as my personal stylist."

The symbiote's response was a low, amused hum, as if it were rolling its metaphorical eyes at him.

Satisfied with his new look, Peter took a moment to adjust the hoodie's hood, pulling it up against the cold. He stepped out of the alley and into the bustling street, blending effortlessly with the crowd. The vendor's cart was close now, the scent of sizzling hotdogs growing stronger with each step.

"Okay, time to eat," Peter mumbled under his breath, his voice carrying a mix of teenage impatience and relief.

The symbiote hummed back, a low, almost playful vibration that Peter could feel in the back of his mind. It was like having a hungry friend constantly poking at him, except this friend lived in his head-and could turn into a super-suit.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," Peter muttered, rolling his eyes as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. The thing was on its last legs, with the edges frayed and a faint tear near the fold. He opened it and stared at the contents-two crumpled bills, some coins, and an old movie ticket stub from last summer.

"Ugh," Peter sighed, doing some quick math in his head. "Okay, we're not exactly rolling in dough here, but we've got enough for a hotdog... maybe." His stomach growled, and the symbiote gave another insistent nudge.

"Patience is a virtue," Peter muttered to it with a smirk. The symbiote, naturally, didn't respond with words, but he could sense its amused, almost exasperated energy.

Peter's eyes flicked to the hotdog cart a few steps away, the smells of grilled meat and sizzling onions wafting through the air like a siren's call. The vendor, a wiry man with salt-and-pepper hair and a big puffy jacket, was chatting with another customer as he slapped together a hotdog loaded with chili.

Peter's mouth watered just looking at it. "Chili cheese?" he mumbled, eyeing the sign on the cart. "Oof, extra fifty cents. Guess we're sticking to the basics today."

He pulled out a five-dollar bill and some loose change, squinting at the coins in his palm like he was trying to make them multiply through sheer willpower.

"Come on, buddy," he said quietly, patting his stomach as if that could keep the symbiote in check. "Just give me, like, thirty more seconds. You can wait that long, right?"

The symbiote warbled softly, a sound that was half agreement, half teasing impatience. Peter couldn't help but grin.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm moving." He stepped toward the cart, shoving the rest of his cash back into his pocket as he took his place in line. The vendor looked up and gave him a nod, and Peter's stomach gave another loud growl.

"Just a little longer," Peter muttered to himself-and the very hungry, very vocal alien companion sharing his head-as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

The symbiote let out another low, warbling sound, one that Peter could only describe as sulking. It wasn't like it could go anywhere or raid the hotdog cart on its own, but it still managed to convey its impatience in a way that made Peter roll his eyes.

"Dude, I know you're hungry, okay? So am I," he whispered under his breath, keeping his voice low enough that the other customers in line wouldn't think he was completely losing it. "But let's not freak out the nice hotdog guy, alright? Pretty sure 'kid with alien goo friend' isn't gonna go over well."

The line moved forward, and Peter craned his neck to get a better look at the cart. The vendor was still working quickly, flipping buns open with a practiced hand while scooping relish and onions onto steaming hot dogs. The smell hit Peter like a freight train, and his stomach let out another audible growl.

The woman in front of him glanced back with a faint smile, and Peter gave her an awkward wave. "Guess I skipped lunch," he said sheepishly. She chuckled and turned back, leaving Peter to glare at his midsection.

"Traitor," he muttered, poking his stomach lightly. The symbiote's soft chuckle echoed in his mind, and he could almost feel it smirking.

Peter's fingers drummed against the edge of his wallet as he glanced up at the overcast sky. Stark had reminded him earlier that he could've just ordered something through the Tower's catering system, but Peter hated doing that. Fancy meals were nice and all, but there was something about grabbing a hotdog off the street-standing in the cold like everyone else, fumbling with loose change-that made him feel connected to the city.

Eventually, the line finally shuffled forward, leaving Peter face-to-face with the vendor, who greeted him with a friendly nod. "What'll it be, kid?"

Peter glanced at the menu taped to the side of the cart, then back at the cash in his hand. "Just a plain hotdog, please. Mustard and ketchup."

"You got it." The vendor moved quickly, grabbing a bun and sliding a steaming hotdog into place. Peter handed over his crumpled five and counted out the coins he'd need for change.

As the vendor handed him his food, Peter couldn't help but grin, his stomach growling in anticipation. "Thanks a lot, sir."

"No problem, kid," the vendor said with a chuckle, wiping his hands on his apron. "Stay warm out there."

Peter stepped to the side, unwrapping his hotdog with practiced ease as the tantalizing aroma of mustard and ketchup wafted into the cold air. His first bite was pure bliss-warm, salty, and bursting with flavor. He let out a muffled groan of satisfaction, savoring the moment. After hours of swinging through the city, skipping breakfast and lunch, this was exactly what he needed.

"Finally," he muttered between bites, his voice carrying a mix of triumph and relief. Even the symbiote seemed unusually quiet, content to share in Peter's enjoyment without the usual snarky commentary.

But the moment didn't last.

A faint rumble passed beneath Peter's feet, so subtle at first that he thought it was just the subway below. Then it grew stronger, turning into a vibration that rattled the windows of nearby buildings. The hotdog in his hand wobbled precariously, and Peter quickly steadied it with his other hand.

"What the-?!?"

Before he could finish, the sky overhead flashed with a burst of light. A low, otherworldly boom followed, reverberating through the air and drowning out the usual hum of New York's streets. Peter's head snapped up, his spider-sense prickling like static electricity racing up his spine.

"Not good," he muttered, his voice low and tense. The symbiote stirred within him, its presence suddenly sharp and alert.

'Something's coming', it whispered, its tone carrying a rare hint of unease.

Peter's gaze darted to the source of the disturbance. High above, cutting through the atmosphere, was a streak of fire and smoke-a massive object plummeting from the sky. His heart skipped a beat as he tracked its descent, the blazing streak slicing through the clouds like a comet.

The object grew larger as it fell, its outline becoming clearer. It wasn't a meteor or debris. It was a spaceship, massive and angular, its hull trailing flames and smoke as it careened toward Earth.

Peter barely had time to process what he was seeing before the ship slammed into the water with a thunderous crash. The impact sent a towering plume of seawater into the air, the force of it so powerful that waves rippled outward, battering the base of the Statue of Liberty not far from the crash site.

The ground shook violently, and Peter staggered, instinctively gripping a nearby lamppost for support. His half-eaten hotdog slipped from his fingers and landed on the sidewalk with a sad splat.

"Aw, come on!" he groaned, his voice filled with equal parts frustration and disbelief.

But there was no time to mourn his lost meal. The air was thick with tension now, the symbiote humming in his mind like a warning alarm. People around him were frozen, some staring at the plume of water in awe, others scrambling to pull out their phones to record.

Peter let out a huff of annoyance, his breath fogging in the chilly winter air as he glanced back toward the commotion near the harbor. The situation demanded action, and as much as he hated leaving yet another meal unfinished, the city always came first.

"Figures," he muttered under his breath, brushing a gloved hand through his hair. "Can't even enjoy a hotdog in peace."

He didn't waste any more time. With an inhuman burst of speed, Peter bolted toward the alley he'd emerged from earlier, his movements precise and purposeful. His boots barely seemed to touch the ground as he weaved through the scattering crowd, his heightened agility making the sprint effortless.

As soon as he slipped into the alley's shadows, the symbiote stirred, reacting instantly to his thoughts. A faint ripple spread across his chest, like liquid fire coursing under his skin.

The symbiote poured out from beneath Peter's clothes, an organic cascade of red and blue tendrils spreading across his body. The red webbing patterns flowed into place with surgical precision, overlaying the deep blue fabric. In mere seconds, his casual streetwear was gone, replaced by the familiar design of his iconic Spider-Man suit.

The mask came last, forming over his face with a satisfying snap. The symbiote adjusted its fit automatically, the lenses narrowing slightly as Peter's focus sharpened.

"Thanks, buddy," he muttered, his voice muffled but filled with determination.

The symbiote hummed in reply, an eager energy pulsing through its bond with him. It wasn't just reacting to the urgency of the situation-it was feeding off it, amplifying Peter's adrenaline and readiness.

He flexed his gloved fingers and rolled his shoulders, feeling the suit's seamless comfort settle around him. The familiar weight of responsibility pressed down, but so did the confidence that came with it. Whatever had crashed into the harbor wasn't going to wait for someone else to deal with it.

With a flick of his wrist, Peter shot a webline to the rooftop above. "Alright, let's see what's going on."

The symbiote gave a low growl of approval as Peter launched himself into the air, swinging upward with practiced ease.

The alley fell behind him in an instant, and with each swing, he drew closer to the rising column of smoke and steam in the distance. The city might've interrupted his lunch again, but at least it was never boring.
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It's not the best update but I think it's a good one. The next story I'm going to update is Aliens of justice and then Earth's Mightiest Aliens. After that, I'm thinking of redoing one of my older stories and then uploading it to AO3 Devil May Cry: An Arcs Rebirth. I might drop the Devil May Cry aspect and making it an Alucard Jaune with aspects of the OG and Abridged versions and powers from all other media so Jaune can have powers like the Sin Devil Trigger or take the form of Ifrit or the other Eikons from FF16. Like contractual servants. I'll be drawing from all forms of anime media for powers as well as other media like Sonic x Shadow Generations - Shadow's Doom powers.