#` ❍ ⤤ { queue. } ❝ 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘯.

[wrathbit]

[ shelter ] sender uses their body to shield receiver from danger

not even a haze of smoke & ash can stop the thread of tension that pulls at his soul. DANGER. the goddess-given sense thrums like a guitar string & echoes through his very bones. every day he wonders if this is it. if this is the day of his death, 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚎𝚋 / IF THE UNIVERSE HAS DECIDED IT'S BORED OF HIM. the building is coming down, thundering & cataclysmic. raging explosions tear through the air with a sound akin to shorn metal.

❛ we have to move ! ❜ he's not even sure his voice is heard through the cacophony. his other senses are in disarray. too much sound, too much smoke, too much bitterness in the air. ❛ wade ! where are you ? ❜ he knows he could leave. wade can survive anything. from being atomized to getting dropped in a volcano. nothing could keep the man in hell for too long. yet peter can't bear the thought of wade stuck under tons of rumble for who knows how long, suffering in the dark, perhaps dying over & over again until he's found. 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎.

his spider-sense screams. peter flings himself backwards, searching for footing just as another explosion shakes the world around him. this time it's closer. too close. a billowing wave of flame soars over his head, the heat a bright point of discomfort. any longer & he'll finally start to feel it burn.

the ceiling crashes down around him. another explosion. this time his ears ring with the sound of it until he feels like he must have fried his brain. he stumbles back, his instincts warring with logic. flee, his body urges. ❛ WADE ! ❜ his voice cuts out as smoke slips through his mask. he coughs, shoulders shuddering. DANGER. he's thrown forward by the force of another explosion no, it's another body. arms curl over him, a chest plastered to his back. the world goes blissfully dark for all of a minute.

he sucks in a breath, then holds it. he has eight minutes. the body on top of him doesn't move. peter twists his head & sees that the darkness isn't due to a hard thump on the head, but because they've been buried. ❛ oh great, my favorite thing ever. dark enclosed spaces. ❜ the words don't have a familiar bite to them. the fear is real. it hammers in his chest, reminding him of nightmares he's never quite forgotten. 𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎, 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚙 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚣𝚎, handled like a thing that was owned & discarded.

DO NOT THINK OF THAT. peter reaches back & feels the outline of pouches, a utility belt. he knows the shape over him, the body pressed along his back. the scent of iron & ash is thick & growing stronger. ❛ you . . . ❜ threw yourself on me. yeah, state the obvious. the stress increases. it doesn't matter if wade can heal, it always hurts. ❛ honey, are you awake ? regrowing anything important back there ? ❜

[wrathbit]

❛ shhh, you're gonna scare them away ! ❜ he remains frozen, caught in a rigid position by the arm of the couch. golden gaze is alight with smug radiance, the curve of his lips revealing a peeking fang. two cats sit in loafing positions at his side, another directly on the back cushion by his shoulder. ❛ @belayadeaths, get a picture before they remember i'm a giant spider & bite me or something. ❜

[wrathbit]

❛ @magnetic-regent-magneto when you say 'teaching', what exactly does that entail ? you know i'm not exactly . . . ❜ he searches for the right words, (ignoring the fact that they do not, in fact, know each other incredibly well). ❛ always able to work consistent hours. ❜ then again, if anyone would offer flexibility, it would be someone who understands the lifestyle. he feels woefully underdressed & small next to this man, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏-𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚖 𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚞𝚎𝚜. he'd like this job, honestly. teaching is the one part of his life he'd felt fit. yet he can't help the nerves. ❛ are you sure you want someone like me ? ❜

[wrathbit]

❛ i can't do thursday, i need to pick bailey up from school. ❜ he flips the menu over, lips pursed. the hole-in-the-wall italian diner is small enough that the din swells into ambience / the tables are comfortably clustered. he hears it all as a roar, the scent of herbs & tomato sauces tickling the back of his throat. ❛ but, uh, friday ? maybe ? ❜ he folds the napkin, fiddles uselessly with the ends of the plastic placemats. ❛ adulting. bleh. anything interesting happen to you recently, @grooveys ? & don't say something like '𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚠-𝟸 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚗', though i know that can be exciting. ❜

[wrathbit]

❛ @mercred, i'm not sayin' no, ❜ he says, quickly, because it feels like his words aren't reaching the other man fast enough. ❛ i'm just . . . i don't . . . ❜ the embarrassment grows hot, scorching the skin under his mask. he knows if he takes it off now, he'd be just as red as the fabric. but the longer he stalls the worse it sounds, & the last thing he wants is for wade to lose some of that hard-earned & tenuous self-esteem because peter can't spider-up. he sighs, defeated. ❛ i can't go out this week because i can't afford it. i don't have enough money for rent, so i'm not saying no to a date because i don't want a date. i do want a date. with you. okay ? ❜

[wrathbit]

" We should do a team up where I spin you really fast on a web and launch you at our enemies. "

❛ unfortunately i didn't get ' steel stomach ' as part of the super-power package, i'd upchuck all over before i could get my fists on 'em. i'm sure it would be a devastating attack if we're attempting to emotionally scar our adversaries, handsome. ❜

[wrathbit]

i won't let anything happen to you.

there is a hand in his hair, carding through errant curls & stray strands that can't decide if they want to follow the curve or stick straight out. he thinks the time got away from him. the clock is a different number than his eyes recall. sweat cools on his skin & isn't that a odd concept ? the gentle tremors of his folded limbs are covered by a blanket of feathers. his words, when he tries to speak, are slurred. ❛ wh...wh....a..r... ❜

A NIGHTMARE ? he hasn't had one this bad in a while. his jaw is clenched so tightly he fears cracking a tooth. not even half-wheezed, deep breathing have his limbs unfurling. he stays curled into a tight ball, shivering despite not being cold. the numbness is a ghost, haunting him. the inability to move, as if his body isn't his own. as if he's a watcher. 𝚜𝚞𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚝. crushed, crushed, crushed, into fine powder / to be scattered in the wind, until he cannot remember who he is.

humiliating. that's over with. HE'S OVER IT ! yet his breathing stutters, harsh & wet. something guttural rises from his chest. it's all so heavy, ballooning out of him in one harsh sob. BUT HIS ANGEL IS HERE, warm & solid. a stark reminder that peter is present & aware, not locked within his mind as he dies, & dies, & DIES.

so he gasps out a painful cry, & his face is wet as he pours that anger & humiliation into the air. exhaling it like the poison it is. he doesn't know how long it takes before his limbs are loose once more. the clock has surely changed again. but his partner hasn't moved, has stayed. warren soothes him with careful presence, the barest touch. peter's next breath is a sigh. 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚞𝚗𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎. he could do with a bit of lightness.

❛ sorry . . . you had to see that. not my finest look. ❜ he says once he finds his voice. then, ❛ & thank you for being here. ❜ it takes a lot of effort to turn his body, but he does, so he can face his partner & all their night-lit glory. peter is sure to be a wreck, with his bloodshot eyes & dripping nose, but he's given up on caring. he just wants to feel safe. he wants to believe warren's words, even if just for a moment.

[wrathbit]

breaking into buildings is easy work. if it weren't for his mouth, he'd make a pretty terrifying spy. ( he's pretty sure he could give widow a run for her money if he really put his mind to it. 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚑𝚎'𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚊��𝚖𝚒𝚝 𝚑𝚎'𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚛 ! ) as for stealth, he's pretty sure the best two heroes are on the job. him, obviously. & then the cat that isn't a burglar in skin-tight latex.

one / two / three / a succession of mechanical beeps preludes a bright BUZZ of his senses. his skitters up the wall in swift movements, head tilting in unnerving directions. there it is. the grate of an air vent crumples like tissue paper under the casual force of his fingers. he discards the wad of metal carelessly. ❛ someone was lookin' for a close-up. ❜ from the slim, hollow space he pulls out a camera, red light flaring at the corner. ❛ think they're on to us yet, @ujima ? ❜

[wrathbit]

❛ anyone can tell that you're bored. ❜ hell, he's bored. usually he's right behind reed when it comes to tangents, but damn. it's like the man forgot anyone else was in the room. peter nudges @boyimpossible with his elbow & jerks his head in the direction of the window. ❛ wanna blow this popsicle stand & get some burgers ? ❜

[wrathbit]

they don't get crickets in the city. not like they do out in the woody parts of new york, the places no one thinks of, their minds too captivated with images of the 'big apple'. in the suburban parts of forest hills he'd heard his first, but the apartment he lives in is only home to the occasional spider. ( HEH. ) he's grown accustomed to looming buildings & a concrete jungle, where he can crawl & swing & hold some measure of power within the air. an escape.

. . . there's no where to run here. just open space & trees. there must be something wrong with him. he's thinking of places to hide when he's practically here on vacation ! fancy airbnb & all. ( he really hopes no telepaths pick up that stray thought. but if so . . . stay outta his head ! ) ❛ @astonishee, did this place get bigger ? i could'a sworn i wasn't this lost last time i visited. ❜ all the halls in the manor begin to blur in his head. who decorated the interior, anyway ? ❛ sooo . . . what'cha cooking, good lookin' ? ❜

[wrathbit]

in the morning his love is still asleep, gray light of dawn slipping over the sheets. peter is not usually the first to rise. when he's able to sleep it's typically deep & exhaustive, the fumes finally running out. even now, a pulsing headache slowly recedes, his waking not as painless as he'd hoped. & yet it's still a soft morning, one of the better days. he rolls slowly to his side, following the curves and lines of his bed partner from the visible skin to the shapes under draped blankets, & 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚗𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚟𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜.

peter brushes his nose against the curve of @arkhengel's shoulder, the heat of the other's body sinking into the sheets / into peter's skin. ❛ i heard your breathing change, honeybun. can we eat pancakes ? ❜

[wrathbit]

❛ so . . . new plan ? ❜ the smoldering remains of the outpost is a stark smudge of charcoal against an ocean of white. infiltration seems moot when there is no longer a place to infiltrate. ❛ is there a second secret evil lair ? seems a bit silly to only have one. i mean this one clearly didn't match the rest of the mountain. honestly, it was kind of asking to be discovered. ❜ he crosses his arms. it does nothing to help preserve what limited body heat he has. ( 𝚐𝚘𝚍, 𝚑𝚎'𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚢 𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜. ) ❛ if there's a second lair, can it be somewhere warm ? ❜ / @psybl4de

[wrathbit]

the streets are loud / crunching gravel, murmured conversation, hissing steam. as familiar as a heartbeat. a casted glance to the man beside him has peter wondering just how different has the passage of time affected these buildings ? these shops ? these roads that cars veer down ? he stuffs his hands in his pockets, wiggling his freezing digits & huffing out a cloud of breath.

❛ alright, buck ! time to get us some grub. what're ya craving ? something new ? i know a few holes-in-the-wall, been meanin' to show you them, actually. gotta get you back in the streets, man. re-take new york. ❜ as far as he can tell, @readapt is a man who feels solemn in isolation; HOLLOW. the dark ocean that peter braves as the lighthouse / 𝚍𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚞𝚝𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎. something in him has decided that bucky deserves this. ( & peter would be remiss to pass up a chance to offer a hand to someone in need. )

[wrathbit]

he can hear the cars on the street below, the slow drag of tires as they creep along the tight streets. a heater rattles in another room, but there's a slight draft by the door. he tips his head into the open air, leaning back on his chair & exhaling so heavily it echoes off the walls. ❛ every once in a while i start thinkin' about faith. it's hard t' consider, since, well, the things we've seen out there... what is belief ? ❜ he huffs softly, tipping the chair back to rest on the floor. the scent of tea wafts through the air. a cat makes a noise to his left. ❛ what makes him like that ? ❜ 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚑𝚎'𝚜 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝. ❛ how's he keep doing the same thing ? ❜

it's as though he's peeling from the inside. frantically pressing his hands to the wallpaper collapsing on his head, hoping he can push it back into place. ❛ i dunno if i'm mad, @nguyetvan. i dunno what i am. ❜

[wrathbit]

gray skies herald an oncoming storm; the buzz of static prickling the hairs at the back of his neck. lightning on the horizon. an hour out. soon the heavens will crack open & pour into the concrete jungle, giving rise to the wet scent of steel & concrete / 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝.

he sees her in the window, white-blonde hair a halo under florescent lights. the chime of the cafe's doorbell follows him inside. it smells of coffee beans & rising dough. he tries to smile as he slides into the empty seat across from her, a compliment already on his lips. ❛ ever get tired of catching everyone's attention, @loveologie ? ❜

[wrathbit]

❛ uh, whoa. take a bit of inspiration from the thriller music video ? ❜ shutting up has never been an easy subject for peter to master. he's received a failing grade every year. as his eyes catch on the jacket, then the face, then the swaggering steps, it just . . . slips out. ❛ no, actually, is it MCR ? you ever listen to 'welcome to the black parade ' ? ❜ ( @kissbanged )