Convulsing. Muscles tighten —- almost without repair. Skin torn and healing, trying to at least. Mutated black covering over blood and exposed meat. “Fu —-“ He can’t get it out, but he’ll 𝙂𝙍𝙊𝙒𝙇 and 𝙎𝙌𝙐𝙄𝙍𝙈. Rage. Rage on. But it doesn’t work.

Fuckin’ —- 𝙖𝙜𝙝.

It feels like he can’t 𝘽𝙍𝙀𝘼𝙏𝙃𝙀. Insides turning out, sap that he can’t clean off. He’d fall from her claws, knees hitting the floor with a 𝙏𝙃𝙐𝙈𝙋. His own retract back to the spaces between his knuckles.

𝙎𝙃𝙐𝙉𝙆. Blood carves down her own claws —- ribs separate and crack as they slither into his abdomen. 𝙎𝙃𝙄𝙏 —- that hurts. He coughs, a puff of blood stains his lips and stubble. “Geh —-. . .GRAAGH!” Logan howls, beginning to stab relentlessly to his mark upon her shoulder.

Y’er impossible.

Does it ever end with you?

𝙁𝙐𝘾𝙆. He thought. 𝙁𝙐𝘾𝙆 me runnin. He thought again. A snarl, then, a leap 𝙁𝙊𝙍𝙒𝘼𝙍𝘿. Heels push off dirt and into the air, a skyrocket across open space with hands above head —- aimed to 𝙎𝙏𝘼𝘽 the other. “𝙍𝘼𝘼𝘼𝘼𝘼𝙂𝙃!”

I’m gettin’ my 𝘼𝙎𝙎 𝘽𝙀𝘼𝙏 and they’re 𝙃𝙐𝙂𝙂𝙄𝙉𝙂 it out!

I see where she gets that attitude. Holy shit, two peas in a pod.

Parker gets cloned to 𝙃𝙄𝙂𝙃 𝙃𝙀𝙇𝙇 and the rest of us unlucky dogs gotta 𝘿𝙀𝘼𝙇 with it.

“Get —-“ Struggling, driving a knee into the others chest —- he’d drive with all his 𝙎𝙏𝙍𝙀𝙉𝙂𝙏𝙃. Separating the two, and finally back to his feet. Flannel rippled, a hole at the knee of his jeans, cut lip. Little shithead 𝙂𝙊𝙏 him.

“Ooo, scary —-“ 𝙎𝙇𝘼𝙈. And 𝙊𝙊𝙁. A shoulder that feels like a 𝙏𝙍𝙐𝘾𝙆. Or like years of anger at someone who dared to call themselves 𝙇𝙊𝙂𝘼𝙉 being let out. He’s onto his back, wrestling with the creature upon the ground —- only one set of 𝘾𝙇𝘼𝙒𝙎 out of his left knuckle.

Yea, fuck all this 𝙏𝘼𝙇𝙆. * 𝙎𝙉𝙄𝙆𝙏. * C’mon then, 𝘽𝙐𝘽.

That explains all the damn 𝘿𝙍𝘼𝙈𝘼.

I’m your problem? 𝙄'𝙈 your problem? It seems to me you’ve got more problems than just 𝙈𝙀. You and every little dark yearner wrapped in daddy issues —- I 𝘼𝙄𝙉𝙏 your father, quit bitchin’ at me like I 𝘼𝙈.

WHAT THE HELL IS Y’ER PROBLEM?!

There’s that mouth again. Fine, kiddo, have it y’er way.

What y’want me to say? Therapy sessions?

| grammar mistake

I’m not preachin’ to no one. Just think if a few of you had more beers than you’d be alright.

Y’er all too damn much.

Hm.

Damn things ruined.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍ ‍ ‍ ‍ ‍ ‍ ‍ ‍ ‍ ‍ ‍ ‍ ‍ ‍ ‍ ‍ ‍ ‍ ‍ ‍ ‍ ‍ ‍PETER PARKER / SPIDER-MAN. ‍ ‍ ‍ ‍ ‍ ‍ ‍ ‍ ‍ ‍ ‍ ‍ ‍ ‍ ‍ ‍ ‍ ‍ ‍ ‍https://guiltrldden.carrd.co ‍ ‍ ‍ ‍ ‍ ‍

Ain’t you peaches and cream.

Old suit still fits.

Blood. Spit out —- you should see the other guys.

| have this weird thing with Logan where if I write him in costume I have the change my whole ass layout to show he’s in costume why am I like that

Just trying to cut through all this bullshit bravado you got.

Yea, right.

Fuck me.

Cigar smoke filters into the air, a cloud forms above —- rain now falls to the city streets. Should get a move on.

𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵 𝓜𝐚𝐱 𝐄𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐭 𓊖 𝐄𝐫𝐢𝐤 𝐋𝐞𝐡𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫 𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵 “𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘦𝘦, 𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘺𝘮𝘣𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘮, 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶--𝘐 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝘺𝘰𝘶--𝘵𝘰 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥...”

You got something to get off your chest?

Uh huh. Passed down bein’ an ass, did I?

Agh.

“You hate baskin’ in my presence.” Shifting in his seat.

‘Course not.

There’s no need to.

Why’re you yellin.

Riled up again?

Relax.

Ain’t dead.