#queue schmueue

[somewherebetweenrage]

plotted starter for @itsybitsypeterparker 

   As the day, spent watching the city from the high-rises, went on it had become clear to Erik that the kid he’d somehow assumed parental babysitting duties for was extremely tired. Whether it was the needs of a growing boy or the result of swinging from rooftops the mutant couldn’t quite say, but when Peter had started to drop off next to him, hanging upside down like some kind of bat, Erik couldn’t keep his mouth shut about it any longer.

   Which is how they had ended up here, Peter crouched on the edge of the sink in his pyjamas ( – Erik has given up telling him not to climb on furniture – ), toothbrush in hand, spraying toothpaste across the room while he attempts to talk a mile a minute. The mutant-leader leans against the doorframe, listening as best he can, making sure Peter actually brushes his teeth and doesn’t completely distract himself. He’ll put the boy to bed and then head out once he’s fallen asleep— at least, that was the plan, right up until now, when he can hear the key turning in the front door.

[yowzariversong]

@winterbranded​ continued from here

   The buzzing stops, and the silence that follows feels like a blessing straight from heaven to her aching head. She’s completely buried in her hair but the sunlight filters through in spite of that and she rolls over, away from the window and towards the warmth of the other body in the bed.

   Arm slung over his chest, warm skin resting on even warmer skin, she smiles as well. “Depends how hard I throw it, surely?” A small shuffle and her head is on his chest, his heartbeat in her ear. “Please don’t tell me that alarm meant you have to get up?”

[somewherebetweenrage]

surprise starter for @defectivexfragmented (inspired by a few memes you sent a few weeks ago <3)

   Erik takes the roof entrance today. He would draw far too much attention walking through the street entrance and complex corridors like this. And he would leave a conspicuous trail of blood in his wake.

   Some of the still-warm liquid is his own, coating grazed knuckles and split lip, sluggishly trickling down his temple, seeping from a wound on his side to dye his shirt a darker colour than it already is. Some of the blood belongs to his opponent: the spray across his face and shirt from where his knife had caught an artery, the wet sheen on his forearm from where he’d held the man against cold brick, the red tint to his boots – hopefully he’s no longer leaving bloodied footprints, at least.

   Door swings shut behind the mutant as he takes one, two steps down the stairs. “Matthew?” It’s an attempt to be considerate that makes him call out; the lawyer will have known he was here since his feet touched down on the roof, but Erik has no idea if he has company that might appreciate warning (and maybe even shielding). The next step he takes is a little shaky ( – blood loss will do that to a person). “Before you say anything, I’m fine.”

[somewherebetweenrage]

for @samhlaiocht continued from here

   Erik lets out a snort of amusement in spite of himself; it’s not often people speak to him with such a devil-may-care attitude. While he usually appreciates the way people so clearly fear him, Frank’s tone is refreshing. His ability to build explosives, not quite so much.

   “If you want my help, you can listen to my ‘fucking opinion’ every now and then.” Tone laced with exasperation, Erik reaches out his mutation to make a couple of small (but audible) improvements to the ramshackle construction. Encountering Frank Castle during this mission had not been part of the plan, and the mutant hasn’t yet come to a conclusion about whether the vigilante is an asset or a liability.

   Silently, the ferrokinetic’s powers spread outwards, into the room on the other side of the door, sweeping through every pistol and rifle and semi-automatic he can find and disabling their firing mechanism. He makes the deliberate decision not to tell the Punisher he’s just disabled forty-six guns (just to see the look on Frank’s face when he realises). “Let’s go.”

[yowzariversong]

closed thread with @valorxus​

   Rough cardboard weighs heavily on her hands, probably leaving red indents where the corners are, and she sighs in annoyance. Hands occupied with everything she could salvage from her office, she does the only thing she can think of, and reaches out a booted foot to tap leather against wood in lieu of knocking.

   Outside this door - in the empty corridor smelling of something that makes her wrinkle her nose, though she can’t quite place it - is the last place she wants to be. A glare is directed at the nameplate on the door in front of her, as if the fault lies entirely with the name’s owner. She wouldn’t put it past him.

   It was a few weeks ago that their paths had first crossed; his introduction had been vain, egotistical even, and a thorough abusing of her subject of choice had swiftly followed. Anger, outrage, annoyance had all followed in quick succession, and she’d given back as good as she got. 

   That day had heralded the start of an unspoken rivalry between them; any opportunity to embarrass, belittle, insult or one-up one was mercilessly taken by the other. It was silly, downright childish at times, but she was far too proud to back down now, and there was something about him that irritated her beyond what she’d previously thought possible.

   Panelled door swings inwards, and the words are spat out of her mouth before he has so much as a chance to breathe. “Structural damage to the archaeology building. They want us to share an office.”