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Softness was not something that came easy to Erika Brock, it wasn't something that flowed from her tongue to put people at ease like her mother once could, no, her attempts would always catch in her throat and leave her lips with something cruel. She'd always been too blunt, too difficult, too much in her attempts at closure, it was something she was familar with...and perhaps that was why she found it easier to not even attempt to leave her own isolation and instead take photos of her own desires as to not humiliate herself completely, because taking photos of people was far easier than doing anything else.

Maybe she had been soft once, able to not lose herself completely into her vile insecurities that grew as she did, long ago when she still had the looming presence of her parents behind her, before the accident that left her alone in the world with her mothers blood-stained camera held between her trembling fingers and her fathers rage blossoming inside her like a storming sea that washed out everything else that was once good. And perhaps then she didn't have that gunpowder shaped heart in her chest that made her every word curve through the air like a cruel bullet as to make sure that no one could ever brush the walls she'd built.

Because the truth was that soft people became dangerous when the things they hold dearest to their hearts were destroyed.

The ever haunting ghosts of her past, of what was once herself, planted dead flowers in the crevices of her spine until they'd blossomed with the bloodied petals of her mourning, reminding her of things she'd lost, reminding her of how hurtful and destructive grief could turn you into until your only comforts were photographs of people you'd never met but thought the world of because it was simply easier than allowing yourself to become close enough to feel for more than yourself and become soft until she had no choice but to listen.

But the worst part about being so self-destructive, about being so all consumed by grief, was that it becomes so intimate, that she'd become so close to her defences that the thought of leaving such things behind was like killing the part of herself that taught her how to survive in a world that had taken everything away from her.

And yet there was something about Peter Parker that made her...not softer no, perhaps kinder would be a better word for it, less wrathful in her need to guard her distance, her isolation from humanity? Less quick to hide and snap and shy away from being seen as it consumed her while the blood on her teeth began to taste like a poem, like a religion...like the way he looked in photos when he'd open up suns in her heart. Erica couldn't allow herself the luxury of being gentle in a world that was so cruel and quick to take, but maybe she'd soften her edges just a bit, just a little for the boy who'd stolen her heart like she stole moments without even having to say hello.

But how was she to know that her longing would be the end to her devastating ruin? And how was she to know that she hadn't needed to fear the awful grief of losing anyone else...because it would be her to be the one who'd finally fall into deaths cruel embrace as she closed her lonely eyes for the last time on a terrible storming night filled with betrayal, grief and pain...but something else opened them as emptiness turned to hunger and a smile that had once seemed so good became nothing short of venemous as she sat back and got ready to watch the world bleed.

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"WHAT ARE YOU?"

"I AM VENOM...AND YOU...ARE MINE."

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Dedications;

-hanlonss capmxrvel minzynari -firestar -SociopathGemini chloebelova Romanoffs_angel sukibenders lesbology moonysunflower custardatraxi- miloothegoat MariePetrichor and too all of my readers! Thank you so much for your support and friendship, you'll never know how much it means to me! I adore you all <33