❛❛ now, let's make it snappy— i'm in new york on my own business. ❜❜

𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙰𝚄𝙳𝙰𝙲𝙸𝚃𝚈 𝙾𝙵 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚃𝙷 𝙽𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁 𝙲𝙴𝙰𝚂𝙴𝚂 𝚃𝙾 𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳. terribly bold of @arkhengel, but then the x-men were known to be so. a.lfred hums, hands clasped behind him with all the airs of the aloof and unflappable officer. the man before him cuts a rather striking figure, HIS MOTHER WOULD WEEP AT THE SIGHT OF SUCH AN ANGEL. ❝ i'm sure i don't know what you mean. and, if i did - what about me gives the impression that i might tell you ?? ❞ [ * 𝗦𝗖 : 𝙽𝙾𝚃 𝙰𝙲𝙲𝙴𝙿𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶. ]

― such  a  dance  has  always  given  him  ignition  ;  an  inspiration  by  every  stroke  and  slash  of  his  blades,  challenging  each  spar  to  its  absolute  limits.  Kurt  learned  from  training  with  Logan  long  ago  that  an  enemy  would  not  step  back  just  because  you  are  tired  and  show  the  signs  of  wearing  down.  No  ease  into  the  battle,  only  strict  intensity  from  the  jump.

even with her enhanced senses it's impossible for andie to tell up from down as she tumbles through the sky, the city's skyline spinning in a blur in her vision. she gets a hand on her webshooters. click. click click. empty. damn.

it's only seconds before she crashes into the building that she's even aware it's going to happen. her spider-sense screams at her of danger, but all she can do is brace for it: she can't phase like this.

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.