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uchihacycs‌

“Hm?” The young ninja cocked a brow when Peter refused the cloth; if he didn’t know any better he would’ve assumed the stranger was trying to protect his pride by refusing help. Sasuke glanced down, and he couldn’t help but notice Peter’s large gash; if only because it was bleeding through the scarf he’d wrapped around himself. 

In situations like these a part of him wished he’d studied medical ninjutsu more thoroughly. However, despite that large gash, Peter insisted that it would just..’fix itself’ ?  Ah, yes. After a moment Sasuke began to witness what it was he’d been referring to. The visible wounds on the other’s skin began to slowly close; and as odd as that was, Sasuke decided not to question it. After all, he knew someone with the same ability.

“Fine, but I’ve got to ask–”  He commented while wrapping up the rest of his own wounds. “—if we were attacked again right now… could you handle it, or would you fall?” 

Seeing the blood seep through his scarf- he remembers someone telling him it was purple but he was damned sure it was red- makes him grimace. Blood was never the easiest to clean out, took a bit of extra effort. But Peter was nothing if not hardworking and he’d get it out eventually. It’s almost closed itself, just peeks of his muscle underneath, and his blood oxidises faster than normal. He doesn’t like that either.

“I’m not a house of cards, kid, I’m not gonna keel over just cause of, what, this?” Peter almost brandishes his wound like a point of pride; he knows he should be a twinge more pragmatic about it but he’s already known to be Spiderman in these parts of town and he has all he’s been working for back. “And so what if I can’t make it in the meat wagon? We come back, don’t we? Nobody fuckin’ dies anymore. Hell of a curse.”

“Didn’t have breakfast, though, so that might be a hitch in the wheel.” Experimentally, Peter shoots a web from his wrist to the ground. It’s viscous, black, fluid that solidifies when it’s in contact, completely drying up, and he notices he doesn’t feel any shortage like he had before. “Never mind, then. It’ll be just fine.”

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uchihacycs‌

It seemed as though there was finally a lull in the amount of enemies pouring out from the floating island above. So, Sasuke decided to take a chance and tend to his injures while he had the time. He took a seat on the ground next to a few other exhausted survivors.

And although he had no clean bandages on his person or healing abilities to speak of, he was able to tear off one of his cloak’s sleeves and create a make-shift bandage. “Here, I’ve got extra–” He handed the left-over pieces of cloth to the stranger next to him. “It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing.” And with that, he began to wrap up the nasty cut on his arm. 

It had been some time since Peter was exhausted after a fight, and rather comforting to feel his adrenaline take the place of his stamina. The spider’s curse worked in mysterious ways. He only sat down to take a break, finding comfort in company, lifting his hand and showing a gloved palm to reject the cloth. He had a nasty gash at the side of his midriff- something large and bleeding- but he had simply wrapped his scarf around himself and figured it’d be ten minutes before he was just fine.

“It’ll fix itself,” he said, shifting in his position to put the least strain on the wound. He didn’t exactly feel like leaving a large scar there; there was enough already. “You, though. You gotta leave it for yourself. You need it more than me.” And, sure enough, Peter could visibly see parts of his flesh begin to regrow. The gash hadn’t been deep, something Peter appreciated, but that just meant it was all the more disgusting to see it.

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[[ nothing is more in character for me than rushing out of my room to get my cat just to show everyone my cat in the group call ]]

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thwipsoniac‌:

@thwipptective​

“Okay, this can’t be one of Mysterio’s illusions after all.. then why is my Spidey Sense going haywire?” Spider-Man mused, rubbing his wrists for the nth time as if the web-shooters will suddenly appear. Just like before, no dice. He could even feel that he’s weaker. Not tired or exhausted– actually weaker. That wasn’t something his fish-bowl headed foe could do. 

Then a harsh spike in his Spidey-Sense made the walking arachnid stop dead, rubbing his temple as he was suddenly in high alert. No snipers, no masked assailants, and definitely nobody about to try chopping his head off. 

“Alright, alright, can we hurry up the butt-kicking? I’m going to miss my favorite show. I just have to see if Kirk Dangerman gets the girl!” 

Okay, not his best line. He’s panicking, sue him.

There’s no mistaking it; he’s felt it at least five times, he is sure he knows what it is now, like a knife trailing down his spine. Not a threat, more like familiarity; he’s danced this dance, played this song, and here he is face to face with the radio show host, who’s visibly ( and has every right to be ) utterly confused, nervous, and other such things. He can recognise it- both in his past self and from having observed it before- the loss.

“Hey,” he says, casually, in hopes that it was one of the spider-people he had already met before rather than another one. He didn’t like forgetting people, it made him feel bad. But he can take note of the getup, can see it’s obviously not someone he’s seen before, and he almost laughs at how much it resembles a knock-off he saw once in Miles own world. “What’d the coppers give you?”

“They let you keep it, right? The senses? I’m gonna assume that you’re feeling what I’m feeling.” Peter doesn’t say it in a general emotional sense; he’s talking about the spider sense, that continues to buzz until he forces his head to recognise the person in front of him, to quiet down and take note of other threats, which are beginning to creep up on him. Like they do every day in a city such as this. “I’m not here for keister-kicking, just wanted to know why my senses were feeling a bit fried ‘n’ frazzled.”

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[[ i told myself this year to eat more than a nutella sandwich for ramadan and then i went and ate exactly JUST that and now it’s 6am so ]]

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His senses spark like a gunshot; quick, sudden, and familiar.

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ryuujiin‌

“They’re almost beautiful.”

He says apathetically as he stares up at the fireballs falling from the sky- yet never fully touching the ground. The only thing that could harm them was their heat, so he wasn’t afraid and he didn’t try to take cover.

He had always had a slight affinity for fire, even though he’d never say it. He did produce the Witch of Cremation and was able to raise flames brighter than Hell as part of his wrath, after all. His strongest abilities revolved around flames- even if it was painful, he admired them.

“Do you think it’s okay if I stay here?” He says, expecting to response from whoever may be there. “Just for a little bit longer. I want to watch this magic meteor shower for just a little bit longer… Then I’ll get back to cutting wires. Nobody will mind if I disappear for a bit, yeah?”

Every time one grazes past, Peter can feel the buzz of a warning, a potential threat that dissipates as the meteor- or whathaveyou- increases in distance from contact. The night would be cold, if he hadn’t a scarf and jacket on, and he’s taken to sitting knees-drawn on the ground. Just watching, just appreciating. The city is a death trap, a false sense of security that lulls him to sleep at night and punches his gut in the morning. It’s a never ending cycle of being told he’s loved and then being betrayed, with the exception of one Jon Kent.

“You’re not at fault. One of the nicest things that’s happened,” he replies, reminiscing of his time. He’d only been back for a short while, and in that time a new catastrophe had struck the city; the decision to lose all he’d worked hard for or to actively regain the freedom he had for such a brief moment. Because, in that void of nonexistence, he was relieved. Nothing hurt, nothing was ( or, perhaps, is if he had to look at it philosophically ).

“We either choose to do nothing and continue to live in perpetual hell or we have a chance at perishing and never reliving.” It’s a musing to himself for the most part; a deep and insightful look into the situation. “It’s like that. . . that saying. The death and taxes one. But here, there are no guarantees at all. Fuckin’ applesauce and all.”

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Keep reading

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wovensentinel‌

If there’s one decent thing to do in the daylight hours, it’s to go to the park. The sunlight, as harsh as it could be, did do the flowers justice. They almost glow in their own right, looking at them this way. Hornet’s fascination with them might last her well into her arrival back home. She stakes herself on a shady bench, deciding to just take in the atmosphere before returning back to Rung. It’s there that she notices the stranger, studying… something while laying under a tree. Hornet recalls that her escape efforts are in need of more brains to her brawn. She can do field work for Rung until the end of time if needed, but even her partner can only do so much research. He might enjoy it if she returned to him with another brain to help.

Not that she wants his approval or anything.

She looks over to the stranger again, finding that he’s fallen asleep in the time it took for her to consider him. Convincing him to help would be hard enough, but she’s at a disadvantage now that he’s asleep. Well, she’d just have to wake him up, then. Hornet stands from her bench and makes her way to where he rests. She stakes her weapon into the ground for added effect.

“Hey,” she says sternly, hoping it’s enough to wake him up. “Or– uh… Excuse me.”

There are a few specific feelings that are exclusive to Peter. Not that he prided to have them, of course, but rather it was better to keep track of them. He still had his senses, the ones that sharpened at the awareness of company, and he had both his wall-crawling and web-shooting back. But to only have a portion of what he had overdosed on, what the spider’s curse had given him, it made him uneasy in the presence.

Another sharp jab, like a headache, when her weapon hits the dirt, and the sound reverberates in his skull. His senses are wary of potential danger but Peter deduces it to the locals; there’s more potential danger than there is actual danger, at least in comparison to the scientists. He opens an eye, pupil travelling upwards, propping his body on his side with his elbow as he fully addressed who had, unfortunately, though of him as any good company. “Hey”

“Is this your dog?” He could only assume, as the pug continues to make the dog equivalent to snoring sounds, still tucked in its position despite how uncomfortable it seemed to have a screen for a head. Peter would hate to wake it up, it looked so peaceful, even if it didn’t have a face. “Sorry. Little guy just came up while I was catching a wink and didn’t have the heart to just push him away.”

He shuffles back, picking his suit jacket up from his legs for some sense of formality, combing his hair back with his fingers. Peter picks his glasses from the stack of textbooks, tucking the frame of it behind his ears and pushing on the bridge that rested above his nose to adjust. “Though, I don’t think you’re allowed to take him home if he’s from. . . here. Kind of an unspoken rule.”

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smallblueboyscout‌

Jon had finally worked up the courage to go by Peter’s house, if only to pick up some of his clothes. He’d been more or less crashing at Battler’s mansion for the last few months, and it showed. The house looked like it hadn’t been lived in for a while, the electricity and such were off, the food in the fridge had long since expired, and all the blankets and pillows were in a pile on the floor. He would feel bad, if it weren’t for the fact he wasn’t staying for very long. 

Until he noticed Peter. He gasped softly, tears immediately filling his eyes. He was back. “P-PETER!” Jon yelled, tackling him to the floor and crying loudly. Everyone had gone. Superman. Kon. Travis. And Peter had gone too. But Peter was back. 

“PETER!! PETER!!!” He couldn’t stop sobbing, clinging to him and burying his face in Peter’s chest. He didn’t even answer Peter’s question, he just kept blubbering and crying pathetic tears. 

“Woah!” There’s a specific playfulness in Peter’s heart when he’s around Jon. And though he had learned to ‘loosen up’ over the years here, he hadn’t ever known anything like caring for Jon. It was a specific kind of responsibility that he’d grown into, that he’d chosen, and he was happy for it. His back hit the floor with an oof, Jon gripping to him, and he wrapped his arms around the boy.

“Hey, hey. Breathe, kiddo, I haven’t gone anywhere,” he says, laughing, the gravity of the situation not having settled. And that was the thing with Jon; he felt safe, he felt like he could drop his guard down around the kid, he didn’t have to stay the strong one every morning and every night. He could just be Peter Parker.

“How’d the city do without the gumshoe?” One hand presses at the back of Jon’s head, the other rubs a thumb in circles on the boy’s back, knowing well that if he broke into hysterics too that neither of them would stop. And it took a lot; there was a heavy brick that sat at the base of his throat, and his eyes burned to shed tears, but he didn’t want to alarm Jon. The boy had been through enough. “Listen, listen, your old man is fine. Right here with you. It’ll all be just fine.”

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@wovensentinel​

He hadn’t realised how long he’d been gone. Peter knew he missed out on some time, knew he had left home unattended, something similar to whatever had happened to Daryl. And, to his chagrin, many others; while there were more inhabitants, there were more that had left, and he noticed the shift significantly. The city itself hadn’t changed; that was to be expected. But the contacts on his phone, he noticed the names. Most of them fresh, he’d never seen those there before, and there were some missing from the list.

Fortunately, he was still a registered student at the university. And though it didn’t serve much help, with a whole other universe dictating the logistics of physics and biochemistry, he found the distraction helpful. He sits under one of the many trees in the park, a pile of textbooks to one side of himself, reading through his notebook. He’d put off the investigating; it was no use. Crimes happened, or they didn’t, and everything would continue as it had before.

He was pushing forty, laying in the grass, a few leaves laying atop himself. And he gave his utmost effort not to move, to avoid awaking himself, after a few long minutes of studying to catch up with the lessons he had lost. One of the screen dogs- a little pug with a laptop screen- cuddled into the crook of his neck as he idly snored. Suspenders aren’t the most comfortable things to sleep in, but he was trying his best to catch up on sleep too.

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[[ watching movies made in like 2009 about books published in the 60′s or 70′s makes me realise that peter’s vibe is a 2009 gay film based off of a book published in the 60′s and that’s a very specific vibe ]]

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@praevii​

He figured it didn’t matter that she could see his face. He wasn’t from this world, not much she could do with it,  brows furrowed in anger and frustration, arms bound. Usually he’d be strong enough to fight back but, since he’s caught a cold, he can only lift so much. He really wishes that getting sick wasn’t a factor in being able to kick someone’s keister. “What do you even want me for? You’ll find out something about my genes, case closed, what good is it going to do for you?”

He had a mouth on him, like most other spiders did, but witty jokes and commentary wasn’t his forte. At least, not appropriate to the time he was stuck in; no quips could quite do the twentieth century justice. All he could hope now, wriggling his legs side to side, was that he could buy enough time to get out of the situation. “You can’t publicise your findings, you can’t use it for future research. Just a waste of time.”

Perhaps if he struck an understanding? Some form of compromise, a split of the deal. “Why go through the trouble of taking me too? Plenty of other people in my universe.”

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@galaxyguarded​

When it came down to it, he had always been fascinated in science. It was his original dream, what he really wanted to do before more important things got in the way, so he took every opportunity to study it. Which was hard, because there weren’t many for a spider like him.

Fortunately for him, his dimension-hopping had made a mishap and sent him to the wrong kind of Peter; a Peter Quill. The system wasn’t perfect, he figured, there was probably no way for it to tell. A Peter is a Peter, not necessarily always a spider. “What exactly do you do?” 

“What’s your thing, you know, your gimmick. Everyone has a gimmick.” Peter has both hands shadow up and down his own body, like a display. “I’m supposed to be dark and brooding. Good scare tactic.”

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@smallblueboyscout​

His head felt dizzying, distracting. Oversensitivity flooded his senses, the sharp buzz of what he used to have, before it all mutes. Like switching the radio off, hearing all the static cut, and it irritates him down to his skull. It’s giving him a headache, a familiar one he can remember having but not quite the details of why.

He notices where he is now. Where he was in a dark void five seconds ago, he was now in a living room- his- and his eyes traced along the decor. A menorah sat undisturbed on a drawer, which had only some dust on it, and a pack of familiar matches set beside it. He recognised it as his, but he wasn’t sure why. Padded feet alarmed his senses, a buzz of activity that was slowly approaching the- his- living room.

When he turned to see who it was, he smiled. Peter hadn’t exactly noticed how long he was gone, simply that he was, but he was back now. And though the city was a crumbling mess, he held the boy dear to his heart. Seeing him was a good thing, it meant there was still good in the world. Still, he couldn’t notice the complete passage of time, just that the weather suggested he had slept through December. “Hey, kid. Did you have a good Christmas?”

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STARTER CALL! Both indies & Isola. Uncapped for now, multi-para. I miss him so much ahhhh

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There wasn’t exactly much Peter could say. Most of his room was out of order, exactly as he had left it, but cobwebs had already formed in unmanaged corners and dust had settled atop bookshelves, not to mention he had to sweep the floors. He’s sure a raccoon got in here, at some point. He needed to tidy up, but first, he needed a drink.

Alcohol would not do him any good at this hour of the day. Coffee sufficed, as he started making a mug of it in his kitchenette. It was bland- stale, and he took a moment to debate throwing it out but ultimately couldn’t afford it- yet continued to sip on it. It served its purpose; it woke him up enough to start cleaning the flat.

Every pass by his bathroom mirror, he noticed that his face was disheveled and unshaven. Not unusual, for someone like Peter, but he’d prefer some sort of formality if he wanted to show up at Felicia’s house the next morning to placate her, in the event that she was worried about his whereabouts. Chances are, she wasn’t, but it was more for him than her.