( The Next Iron Man | Verse ) - Tumblr Posts

@getlostsqdwrd​ said: “ it’s okay to be angry, you’re allowed to be upset about what happened to you. ” ( natasha )

and all too suddenly—the crying just stops. 

swollen eyes get fixed on a point on the floor, and—every sound nearby gets muffled under the rhythm of his own frantic heart. everything becomes quiet, peaceful. safe in a way he hasn’t experienced in months now, and it’s all too strange for him. too weird, too unexpected. 

what—he wonders, what happened right there? why now? why, and how long will that sensation stay with him?

peter turns to the agent that addressed him just a moment before, not a sound nor a movement coming out of his body while thoughts tried to reach him with every caution. “ i’m… ” he stops, static in his head and a tremor in his throat. “ i… it’s—it’s not that… ” but he can’t brush it off now, can he? he can’t act like nothing’s happening as he learned to do with everybody else now, with everyone he knows. he’s angry. yes, he’s sad. he has been for a long while now but at the same time he has fought to repress that sentiment to the best of his abilities. quiet it, forget it. hope that the less he thought about it the faster it would disappear in time ( so far, nothing like that has happened to him ).

“ i shouldn’t though. ” and it’s not with the intention to fight her for no reason. it’s not, he promises. “ nothing—nothing wrong really happened to me. i… i—i didn’t have to live five years missing the people i loved, i didn’t lose an arm or anything! i—i— ”

i didn’t die, like tony did.

“ i shouldn’t be angry, i should be alright. i—came out fine, should be happy, and i—keep waiting and waiting for that moment to arrive but it never comes. ” it never happens.

@getlostsqdwrd​ said: promises are always made, and they are always broken. always. ( gamora post-endgame?? )

if it came to knowing how long he had been there, or—how long it would be until anyone was ready to go, he wouldn’t, for the life of him, be able to give you another answer that wasn’t an empty stare, or an even emptier silence.

peter could associate the void he could feel ( everywhere, and—somehow, nowhere at all ) to a crying that had to come from him. that had wet his cheeks with salty streams, and left him tired like he has never been in his life. in a way, of course, he could tell he was the source of all that emotion, all while at the same time he felt like everything he had seen and felt belonged to another person. another human, at another time. a blessing, you might well say, or an oddity of a symptom about to come to an end.

to finish in her unexpected words. 

his eyes reach her figure and he wonders, although briefly, about the question of who that woman is. her identity something he cannot place, but the steadiness of her tone so distracting, that for a moment there, he forgets about himself and every bit of his growing pain. “ miss? ” he tries to clean off the tears interfering with his sight; stands up, stumbling at first, more confident in the following motions. reaches for her with one careful hand and the genuine intention to help, in whichever way that can be.

“ i’m—i’m sorry, miss. do you need any help? ” she might, isn’t it? such a phrase, he thinks, can only be talked by someone in sorrow. someone—quite hurted, now or in the past.

(   mysterio   )

Quentin rose a brow at the boy’s words. That certainly wasn’t what he was expecting. “Peter…” he began, fighting the amusement that wanted to peek through at his condition. “This isn’t a hostage situation. I’m not barricading you in. The two of you can leave. I’m not going to stop you.” But it would certainly be a mistake for Peter to make. Because if Peter didn’t play his part yet again, him and his friends were going to have to pay the price.

To prove his good intentions, he stepped to the side slightly. Giving the girl enough room to leave if she so chose to. Anything to make him seem less threatening in this moment. A predator eyeing up its prey the way a wolf hides in sheep’s clothing. He needed Peter to trust him. Everything would go so much smoother if Peter trusted him. Believed in him the way he believed in Tony fucking Stark. After all, if he was going to be the next Iron Man, it was almost too fitting if he took his protege under his wing as well.

“You probably think terribly of me. I don’t blame you, but nothing is without reason. The world has been a little messed up since the blip. Everyone trying to makeup for all those lost years. They’re scared and unsure. People need something to believe in.”

everything—every single bit in him fights to remain as focused as he is right now. tense, aggravated. moved and forged by the findings he and mj made just a moment ago and that could mean so many things—so many DARK, DIFFICULT, bad things. and if he had been any other ! one is tempted to think, if any other had been the man standing in front of him it would have been so much easier to distrust and remain enraged by the situation. so much easier to not give in to the niceness of his words and the way he moves—steps aside and assures them of the freedom they still have. but—at the same time, there’s something about him that starts to bring down his walls. something… so civil, so concerned, so genuine. he states that she can go and there’s not a threat he can perceive, not a lie he ought to anticipate, and although he wouldn’t want to ! he is distracted by that. he is distracted now, and even more when she grasps his forearm and he turns to her with a silent exchange of stares. she doesn’t want to go and she begs her to leave; she asks if he’s really sure and he is ( but you are not, i am, you are not, i am ! go, please, go ) he thinks she doesn’t buy it in the end but she agrees all the same, she’s smart like that. smarter than everyone he knows really, and he only hopes she’s smart enough not to do something that could compromise the safety of everyone here.

hopefully, that is.

michelle leaves and he quickly shoots the door so his webs are there to interfere with anyone who’d want to enter his room. all of his attention completely now on the man waiting for him, just a few steps ahead. “ maybe. okay ! maybe. but—if that’s what they need, they—they have heroes already. thor, and the falcon, and that—that one king guy with ladies soldiers and all his armies and everything. and i—i know there’s a lot of talking about who—” but he has to stop himself right there. a memory, one coming too soon and too sharply for his still scarring self. almost too fast for him to completely stop before saying it. “ about who—who’ll be the next... iron man and—everything, but— ” he forces—pushes himself to say, but he can’t. 

he wants to but he can’t—say it, verbalize it. even thinking about him becomes too hard to even try for too long right now.

“ please, can’t we stop this? it’s—it’s not right, and you know what? if we talk to fury maybe he’ll understand—i’ll help you make him understand—we just— ”