MR. POOL

“No to both,” Scott shot back, and he had to admit, this was preferable. Being annoyed with Wade was better than being sucked in by grief, better than the inescapable chasm of despair that had come with Erik’s death and his part in it. “I’m not pouting.” And the only voice in his head remained his own. Some days, he thought it might be preferable to change that.

Wade was still speaking, but Scott could no longer tell if the conversation was for him or for one of the voices the other man had mentioned. He shifted, uncertain what to do. Any other day, he might just walk away. He didn’t tend to have much patience for this sort of thing, but… It was a distraction. It was a distraction that was actually managing to get him out of his head if only through the sheer ridiculousness of it all. “I don’t know how to skate. Do you even know how to skate?” He couldn’t decide which answer would be more Wade - yes or no.

🍍 𝐴 𝑉𝐸𝑅𝑇𝐼𝐶𝐴𝐿 𝐻𝑂𝑅𝐼𝑍𝑂𝑁 𝑆𝑂𝑁𝐺 𝐿𝑌𝑅𝐼𝐶 𝐻𝐸𝑅𝐸,

Wade’s lips turned into a pout now. “Well you’re no fun.” Maybe his, uh, tastes are way too different. Tequila and hookers was just an average Tuesday for Wade. “Oh if you’re not pouting your face just looks like that everyday.” He’s not psychic, nor sure how he knows this, but the guy’s smiled before. Wade’s just a poor excuse of a person to try to make him feel better.

[I COULD HAVE TOLD YOU THAT.] “I didn’t ask you.” Wade points out, literally pointing at his temple as if to poke Thing One. His attention falls back to Scott and his eyes narrow suspiciously, “I’m one hundred percent pure Canadian bacon, baby! I came out of the womb wearing skates.” No, no he didn’t, but it’s hysterical to imagine a little Deadpool baby skating around in his head. “My first word was Zamboni.” Also not true but Wade never guarantees the truth. He also never guarantees money back. “Listen Chicken Little,” Blah, blah, blah, “I don’t know what you’re going through but if it makes you happy, I’ll do whatever you want. Wanna blast me to space? Alright, yeehaw Cowboy I’m in. Besides, knowing how crazy I am, you can just say I imagined it all in the end... cause I probably did.”

What’s the point in all of this? Well, Wade wasn’t sure how to help the little guy out of this weird little ( AND PROBABLY NORMAL ) funk he’s in. Despite that, Wade’s also the only one who didn’t just walk by him and leave him to rot in the feeling that’s plaguing him. He did, in some weird little way, care.

“ 𝐰𝐨𝐰. 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐤. ” || for @mrxces​

“Funny” he said holding back a laugh but letting out a half smile “I’d say that’s a pretty accurate description”. Although the abbreviation of his name amused him, from time to time Dick wondered why it had to be that word.

🍍 𝐴 𝑉𝐸𝑅𝑇𝐼𝐶𝐴𝐿 𝐻𝑂𝑅𝐼𝑍𝑂𝑁 𝑆𝑂𝑁𝐺 𝐿𝑌𝑅𝐼𝐶 𝐻𝐸𝑅𝐸,

Even though it’s not all that noticeable, Wade stares at the guy incredulously. He didn’t know who he was but something told Wade he shouldn’t be here. “Yeah?” Most of the time he figured there would be some witty comeback or choked annoyance to what he said to fill the silence most enjoyed. The guy actually agreed, more or less, and it stunned him for just a second. “Whatever weirdo,” Wade flicks his wrists and slides his katanas into their sheaths. “Since you got the bad guys, I’m getting Timmies.”

{OH COME ON!} Thing Two exclaims with annoyance.

[ …  L O A D I N G … ]

Bruce freezes for just a moment, eyes wide, measuring. Missed him? People don’t miss Bruce. Well, they miss him like a tick: they lose a little weight while he’s there and feel a little lighter after he’s gone. Still, he swallows thickly, because he’s been trying to be more honest with himself and the people in his life. He told Natasha that he missed her - the woman who could break his neck just by looking at him funny - and has maybe alluded to missing the whole team a few times.

He misses Wade when he’s not around too, oddly enough. Even though the man is a chatterbox with no personal boundaries, Bruce finds that it’s a decent complement to himself; someone who is always too quiet, always too distant. He wonders if Wade thinks it’s nice to have someone who is actually willing to listen to him.

“You too, buddy.” Bruce finally squeezes out, feeling his heart start to pound, pulse increasing rapidly with the silent anxiety that follows just a moment after. Vulnerability seems to be the thing that will eventually kill him, he thinks. “Your uh, watch?”

Slowly making his way around the countertop, Bruce eyes Wade’s wrist, confused as to how the watch really adds or subtracts to his appearance, but then the familiarity of the style pokes him like a pinprick to his cerebral cortex. Oh. “They’re not probes,” He comments idly, reaching for Wade’s arm and slowly dragging him toward a small, steel table in the corner of the room, the teapot bubbling contentedly where they came from. He settles the mercenary down with a hand and pulls out a small toolkit from his lab coat pocket hanging over the chair behind Wade.

Bruce promptly ignores Wade shouting at himself, focusing on what tools he thinks he’ll need in order to accomplish what he needs to. His fingers twitch when he grabs for a mini screwdriver from the pouch and holds Wade’s wrist in his own, their mutual heat sliding against one another. “You’re…sure you want me to play with it?” He smiles despite himself at the wording, “The watch, Wade. The watch.” Most people hid behind these appearance changers on purpose. It was a lot of trust, to bring it down.

🍍 𝐴 𝑉𝐸𝑅𝑇𝐼𝐶𝐴𝐿 𝐻𝑂𝑅𝐼𝑍𝑂𝑁 𝑆𝑂𝑁𝐺 𝐿𝑌𝑅𝐼𝐶 𝐻𝐸𝑅𝐸,

{THIS IS GETTING WEIRD. CALL ME WHEN IT GETS INTERESTING.} Thing Two said before looking over at Thing One. There’s this weird feeling that everyone can feel; almost like everyone knows what INTERESTING is to Thing Two. Sure, they all share a mind and yet the word is ever changing to the guy. 

Thing One rolled his eyes before looking to the screen. [I’M GONNA GO TOO JUST SO I DON’T HAVE TO CALL HIM.]

This only results in Thing One and Thing Two arguing as they walked out of the control room and Wade pauses for a moment. He can hear them disappearing down the hallway and for a rare moment his head is quiet. There are plenty of weird things about Wade Wilson but the biggest thing is probably the fact that he can’t hear his own voice in his head like others can. There’s always a voice but it’s never his own. 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄  𝐈𝐒𝐍❜𝐓  𝐈𝐓? It’s pretty strange to Wade too if he stops to consider it. Sometimes he thinks he could hear it... but maybe it’s a hallucination too. When he has a memory, he’s got a voice at least.

Wade’s eyes look up at Bruce and he smiles a toothy grin. “Huh,” but he doesn’t stop to tease the other. His attention is already elsewhere. “Whatever you say.” There’s a laugh but it’s almost nervous. Sure, he could go to the school but then they’d figure out he stole it. Who just has altering reality watches laying around anyway? It’s like it was begging to be stolen. Wade doesn’t object when he’s more or less pulled along to what looks like a work station. At least this one doesn’t look completely terrifying. If there’s anything he remembers about his childhood was the twelve cavities he had before the age of eighteen because the thought of a dentist’s chair was terrifying to him. Having someone in his mouth? Well, that way anyway. No thank you! He’s nervous, that much is sure, but he still trusts Bruce.

There’s a small hum that escapes tense lips and he clicks his tongue. “Oh I want you to play with it.” Wade told him before chuckling, “Oh that. I knew that.” There’s a stirring in his mind for a moment before he uses a hand to start undoing it. “I mean,” he pauses his movements, “if you can tolerate burns. It’s not really a pretty sight. It’s worse than Australia in a fire tornado if you know what I’m saying?”

Gabby had never flinched away from Wade’s scars. The first time he’d taken his mask off, it had seemed like he expected her to, but Gabby wasn’t phased. She had scarring on her face–far less than him to be sure, but more deliberate–and she didn’t think Wade’s or her scars were gross or whatever it was people seemed to think. If anything, it was more weird for her to see him without them than with them, because they were just part of him. She sat next to him on the bench, cookie in one hand and Twinkie stabbed through her claw on the other. “Is it? I mean, Jonathan’s not gonna go with anyone but Laura. Maybe Livvy. But no one’s gonna be able to tell him where to go. And I don’t have much else.”

When Wade paused, Gabby frowned, concerned. Until she heard his accusation. Bursting out laughing, she nodded, taking a big bite of her improvised Twinkie-kebab. “Oh! I forgot about those. But I don’t need a will to tell you that you… can’t have them because if I die I’ll be giving them to my girlfriend. They’ll fit her better anyway. And you have yours.” Alternating to the cookie, she spoke through her full mouth. “Besides, I can’t even die anyway! I’m indestructible!”

🍍 𝐴 𝑉𝐸𝑅𝑇𝐼𝐶𝐴𝐿 𝐻𝑂𝑅𝐼𝑍𝑂𝑁 𝑆𝑂𝑁𝐺 𝐿𝑌𝑅𝐼𝐶 𝐻𝐸𝑅𝐸,

His eyes squinted almost suspiciously. “I would never want Jonathan,” Wade admitted, “though no fault of his own.” It’s something else entirely. Something like... not wanting to be responsible for another person or thing. Wade isn’t something that keeps nice things or takes care of them often unless it’s his suit or weapons. Truth is, he hasn’t found much to care about other than Laura and Gabby, and even Bruce, but those are different cases. It doesn’t matter that they’re clones of Logan; it just means they share something of his together. “He’d probably bite the shit out of me.”

[HE WOULD INDEED.] Thing Two grumbled under his breath. {NOT THE GOOD BITING EITHER.}

[WHY WOULD IT MATTER? IT’S NOT LIKE THE BITES WOULDN’T HEAL.]

“It’s called the principle of it all.” Wade told them, told all of them. By this point he doesn’t even blink at the twinkie kabob of a claw (THOUGH HE WISHES HE COULD DO A COOL TRICK LIKE THAT). He doesn’t need to point out the fact that Logan thought he’d live forever too. Laura figured that out once, that those who think they won’t, do. Maybe he worries about the girls even though he knows by this point, they’re young women and can do whatever their jolly hearts will them to. Should he worry? Eh, probably not. Wade smiles anyway, amused by her outburst. “Yeah you are, kiddo. I still hope I live to the age of 102 and die like the city of Detroit.” 

[YOU KNOW THAT WON’T HAPPEN.]

“Yeah I know.” he mumbles, looking down before standing up. His back cracks and his toes pop. “I wanna go to Fantasy Forrest,” and you’d think that’s some kind of slang for get fucked! but it’s an actual amusement park in New York. “You wanna come? They got indoor roller-coasters.”

[ … L O A D I N G … ]

Bruce huffs, leading the man to his small kitchen. It’s somewhat humble, since the Avenger doesn’t do a whole hell of a lot of cooking, but it serves its purpose, which is really just boiling tea and warming up any scraps of leftovers he can scrounge from Tony that Zee has made for him. It makes him feel a little less alone, eating food that someone has made with care in mind.

“I’m honestly surprised you like wormseed. Most people think it’s aroma is off-putting, since it resembled anise.” Bruce prattles off, opening cupboards and gathering the materials he needs to make the man exactly what he’d asked for.

He tries not to think about Wade trusting him enough to take off his mask, nor the fact that the guy seems to stick to him despite how off-putting he is. Bruce wonders if maybe that same pattern follows him around his day-to-day, if Bruce is just some statistic in another set of bad choices.

Still, he laughs, pointing to the empty seat at the kitchen bar-top, and settles himself standing, leaning against the other side of it. It puts a few feet of distance between them still, but it’s much more open and intimate than Bruce cares to be with most people. He trusts Wade too, for all of his crazy.

“There a particular reason I’m on your visitation list today? Or am I just that lucky?” Bruce’s large fingers poke at the teacups below him, noting the difference in size. How his human hands can do more than just destroy and break - how the matching green ones of Hulk can do little but. “Not that I mind. I’m in good company,” Bruce smiles, realizing a moment too late how flirty it sounds, after it already leaves his mouth.

Wade is a handsome guy. Too handsome. Bruce knows there’s something flawed beneath the facade, and if Wade isn’t able to trust him with that yet, he can be patient. After all, he lets SD roam around with his mask on too. Sometimes it’s important, to feel like there’s something between you and the rest of the world, he thinks, Bruce is just lucky enough that his is a giant, green gamma monster.

🍍 𝐴 𝑉𝐸𝑅𝑇𝐼𝐶𝐴𝐿 𝐻𝑂𝑅𝐼𝑍𝑂𝑁 𝑆𝑂𝑁𝐺 𝐿𝑌𝑅𝐼𝐶 𝐻𝐸𝑅𝐸,

Is it weird that he likes the small kitchen? But he also knows he’d whip up a storm if he was unleashed in it. It also comes with the knowledge that he’d skip around as much as he could, singing as he did it. He only knows a few recipes outside of toaster strudel art and hot pockets but he considers that to be just another perk of being Wade W. Winston, world extraordinaire. (HIS RECIPES ALL CONSIST OF THINGS HE LEARNED WHILE IN THE MILITARY BUT WHATEVER.) Maybe he’s forgotten most of them by now; he orders takeout a lot these days. Who needs cooking when you can get the five food groups (MEXICAN, THAI, ITALIAN, GREEK AND SUBS) delivered for a small fee with just a few clicks of buttons.

Wade grins, “I like to try everything at least thirty times just in case I like it the last time and a half.” It’s madness but a method none the less. “Besides, it helps with tummy troubles.” His voice seems a little... childish, but he laughs. There’s no way to tell the other just everything he’s done, healthy or not. He once asked what the most dangerous thing Wade had ever done was and he was torn between jumping out of a plane without a parachute or trying to walk on the bottom of the ocean floor without protection. Shit, when you regrow limbs, what’s a few broken bones and blown lungs in the process?

[THAT’S NOT EVEN TELLING --] {SHUT YOUR FACE.}

He sits down on the stool as instructed but Wade knows he won’t remain there for too long. “Isn’t today poke and prod day?” Otherwise known as the day he gives blood, and other bodily fluids, in the name of science? He wasn’t honestly a fan of doctors, needles and the word science itself, but he liked Bruce. He liked that he didn’t get annoyed by his actions or the fact that he ran his mouth insensibly as if maybe he feared going deaf through the silence most enjoyed between speaking. His lips curl into a twitching smile before drawing a breath. Only when he speaks again does he let it out, “Maybe I missed you. It’s hard to watch part two of Titanic without you.” And truth is, Bruce is the only friend he hasn’t tried to kill or get him to hate him somehow. HE LIKES BOTH SIDES OF HIM; this version and the green guy.

[COME ON, JUST SAY IT ALREADY.]

“And I... might be having a problem.” Not the kind of take me out back and put me down kind of problem, but more of a I got my watch wet and I might turn into an ugly old man’s testicle with legs kind of problem. “I don’t usually look like People’s sexiest man alive, circa 2010, and I’m wondering if maybe... you can fix my watch? You got all the shiny probing stuff,” Almost straight out of some science fiction movie and yet he seems to imagine FIRE IN THE SKY the most. “and you’re super duper smart so.”

{WE KNEW A GUY BUT YOU BLEW HIM UP.}

“Only because you told me to!”

[IT’S YOUR FAULT FOR LISTENING.]

It wasn’t rare for Scott to be accused of being… a little stuck up. In fact, it was a claim made often by most people who knew him. Even Jean, when pressed, might reply with something like well, dear, you can be a little intense. It was something Scott knew was probably true.

But it still offended him just a little when someone said it as unapologetically as Wade was now.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Scott raised a brow. “I’m sorry, tequila and what? I’m not doing that.” Okay, so maybe he was proving Wade’s point. He was nothing if not predictable. 

🍍 𝐴 𝑉𝐸𝑅𝑇𝐼𝐶𝐴𝐿 𝐻𝑂𝑅𝐼𝑍𝑂𝑁 𝑆𝑂𝑁𝐺 𝐿𝑌𝑅𝐼𝐶 𝐻𝐸𝑅𝐸,

{CAN WE GO? HE’S BORING.} Thing Two questioned with a whine.

Thing One turned to Thing Two with a huff. [HE’S...]

{BORING. HE’S BORING.}

“No to the tequila or no to the hookers?” Because honestly, Wade wasn’t sure if it was that or no in general. “Are you just gonna stay here and pout? Cause that’s how you get voices in your head.” 

{HAHAHAHAHAHA! WRONG.}

“My point exactly.” This is his very, very point. Although... His excuse is a little more 🎆 PTSD INDUCED TRAUMA 🎆 in a sort of sense. Literal torture can both break you and help you survive something like being blown up and come out looking like a freakshow. Wade looked at Scott and rolled his eyes. “Or we can go to a skating rink and eat cotton candy? At least I can say I tried, Pouty McGee.”

@mrxces​

The club was popping tonight, and everything seemed to be running smoothly. Just what River liked to hear. The man’s eyes surveyed the area one more time before he decided that it was time for him to take his leave. The youthful looking male made his way down the dark streets innocently before turning into a dark corner. There…There the man decided to wait for his next prey. 

It had been awhile since River had absorbed some blood…Almost a full 48 hours. Completely unacceptable in his eyes. The glorious and blissful high that it gave him was something that he hated going without. But maintaining a club to his standards takes quite a bit of time. But tonight…He wasn’t hunting for an average prey. No…He wanted something with a little more fight in it. 

Thankfully, Rivers has noticed that there seems to be quite a bit of those roaming the streets lately. And sure enough, about ten minutes after roaming the dark allies, he came across a scene that looked quite promising. 

“My oh my…Is that swords I see?” River purred with a cheeky grin on his boyish face. He grinned as he looked at the scene that the other had left. “And bodies? My…You’ve been a pretty busy, haven’t you?” 

🍍 𝐴 𝑉𝐸𝑅𝑇𝐼𝐶𝐴𝐿 𝐻𝑂𝑅𝐼𝑍𝑂𝑁 𝑆𝑂𝑁𝐺 𝐿𝑌𝑅𝐼𝐶 𝐻𝐸𝑅𝐸,

Wade quickly turned on his heels to look at the voice. It’s not like he had ever seen the... man child? before but in Wade’s defense, when you look like most white people around these parts, it’s easy to get a sense of deja vu. “They’re katanas, Boy Scout.” If there’s anything he’s annoyed more by, it’s the decision katanas should be swords. “Nice to slice and dice if you know what I’m sayin’.” And if the kid decided to argue, he’d argue it even further. 

[WHY MUST YOU BE SO ANNOYING?] “I call it having a personality you boring Patrick Stewart wannabe.” he replied, stopping for a moment to look up as if he’s somehow looking into his own brain. {I DON’T KNOW ABOUT YOU BUT I’M BORED.} “AND YOU? YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP I SWEAR TO GOD!” he yelled before he twirled the katanas and placed them back in their sheaths. Wade then looked to the kid and his body posture became a little... childish. “You don’t just cruise badly let alleys on purpose do you?”

[ … L O A D I N G … ]

Bruce nearly jumps out of his seat at the sudden voice above him, flinging his book halfway across the room, before turning a glare on the mercenary. He’s always been…fidgety. Tony pokes at him for having such extreme anxiety when he could destroy the entire city of New York in no time at all if he really felt like it, but Bruce thinks its a healthy fear of all of the surprises in life.

Especially surprises like a grown man falling out of your 28ft ceiling and onto your dining room table. 

It takes a few seconds of ‘did that really just happen?’ before Bruce is out of his seat and going to his friend’s aid. Large hands don’t really know where to grab. God only knows if Wade has broken his neck, but he does know that it won’t take long for his healing factor to kick in and do some of the hard work, so Bruce tries not to let himself worry about it.

“You could have just messaged me, you know.” Bruce huffs, helping the man to his feet, flushing when he realizes his hand is still on Wade’s arm once he’s situated, and promptly yanks it away like he’s been burned. His touch has never done anything but hurt, he thinks, shoving his hand into khaki pants-pockets. “You are allowed in here. I think. FRIDAY hasn’t shot you on sight, so I’m assuming Tony took the ban off.”

Their friendship was an odd one. Well, unexpected more than anything. Bruce wonders if maybe that’s why it actually worked - neither of them had to pretend to be sane around one another, and instead, they just willingly ebb and flow around normalcy, melting into their individual oddities.

“Want tea?” Bruce finds himself smiling despite himself, knowing that Tony’s bots have enough experience with Hulk that they can work on repairs relatively quickly.

🍍 𝐴 𝑉𝐸𝑅𝑇𝐼𝐶𝐴𝐿 𝐻𝑂𝑅𝐼𝑍𝑂𝑁 𝑆𝑂𝑁𝐺 𝐿𝑌𝑅𝐼𝐶 𝐻𝐸𝑅𝐸,

It would be adorable... except for the fact that Wade actually feels kind of bad about it (AND SOME KIND OF CHILDISH GLEE FOR GETTING PAST THE SENSERS). This place is like the Death Star and he found the single hole that could blow it up. OOPS! Despite this, it was a happy jolly little accident that was most likely never to happen again seeing as this building practically breathed 𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐆𝐎𝐃. Now that there was a breach, there wouldn’t be one later... in the spot anyway. Fuck, fuckity, fuck.

[TOLD YOU, YOU SHOULD USE THE FRONT DOOR.] {BUT WHERE’S THE FUN IN THAT?}

Wade gave a wheeze, small but there, just to let everyone in the room know he was okay. Maybe he had some bruised lungs but they’d heal. He’s more surprised he doesn’t have a completely broken spine. There’s something moving deep in his chest and he assumes it’s his healing factor doing his thing. His head whips up to the footsteps coming his way and he smiles through his mask, “Brucey,” His voice is singsongy, like he’s about to skip through the office. It only serves to cause the stars and spots he saw to spin around him and make his head droop for just a minute. “I missed you buddy.” At most, he’d describe this feeling as being close to drunk. Wade cackled as he pulled his mask off to reveal the pretty face he gave when he didn’t want anyone to throw up in his sight. He’s still not one hundred percent convinced Bruce wouldn’t do the same which is why he suffers through the poking and prodding, and maybe, just maybe he likes the guy’s presence.

[COME ON, WADE. JUST SAY IT ALREADY.] He’s quiet for a moment. His head throbs but the stars are already dissipating. This isn’t some throb from an injury but it’s a reason to shut him the hell up. {I THINK YOU BROKE HIM.}

We’re friends, he thinks. “If I knock, I loss the spontaneity of dropping in.” He flashes a toothy smile before pulling back. “I’d love tea. You got any of that Dysphania ambrosioides left?” he wondered, rolling his tongue with a skilled ease. Don’t ask him how he learned Spanish, or when and where he was for the particular reason, he probably wouldn’t answer. “Or... whatever you got is good.”

Wade starred at Peter with such vigor that could only be equated to burning holes into his skull. “I’ve told you before, Petey,” His voice is sing-song and if he were walking, he’d be skipping with glee, “kill them or put all your kinks out in the open otherwise it’ll be worse if they decide to do it for you.” Of course his first option is murder but when you’re good at something, why even try to deny it?  [HE’LL NEVER LISTEN TO YOU IF MURDER’S THE ONLY CHOICE.] “I gave him two choices this time, for your information. Clean your old man ears out, would you?” Wade rattled off, stopping just short of cursing him out in the process.

{I THINK HE’S JUST SURPRISED YOU DIDN’T SAY ITCHING POWDER IN THEIR PANTS,} Thing Two points out, pointing a finger to the sky. {I VOTE ITCHING POWDER.} “Of course you do.”

Wade had been waiting expectantly near the stage. He had tricks up his sleeve of course. He always did; and in this case, the guy owed him a favor for not completely taking his baby gravy away from him. When the announcer finally did what Wade convinced him to do, it went something like, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, NORMOUS PEEN!” which only sent Wade into hysterics. The crowd themselves gasped and some went into roaring laughter which spoke wonders about the men who found it funny. Wade’s laughter only magnified when the poor waitress came over with a cake reading the same thing, sliding it in front of the other. [YOU ABSOLUTE IDIOT.]

Thing Two, however, found it just as funny as Wade had. He didn’t have anything to say, just wheezed laughed so hard on the ground with his feet up on the desk kicking. “Oh buddy, it’s absolutely a callout.”

Diana just shook her head, another little smile on her face. Wade was an interesting character, to say the least, but there was something so endearing about him. When they had fought side by side he fought with honour, and Diana respected that more than anything. 

“How can you be hungry when you have such a luscious pineapple?” She joked, chuckling when he stood taller. In a hundred years, she’d probably still fail to understand the inner-workings of the man’s head, and yet she tried her best. Pulling a sad face as she reached out to squeeze the top of his arm in comfort. “Being hungry is one thing, but why are we sad?”

🍍 𝐴 𝑉𝐸𝑅𝑇𝐼𝐶𝐴𝐿 𝐻𝑂𝑅𝐼𝑍𝑂𝑁 𝑆𝑂𝑁𝐺 𝐿𝑌𝑅𝐼𝐶 𝐻𝐸𝑅𝐸,

As much as one could claim Wade was only in it for the money, he did have principles. You’d never find him harming a kid or an old lady -- just ask Blind Al, even if he did taunt her with cocaine. He almost got a knock on the head for that one. No, he’s a big softie for old ladies and the kiddos. When he finds a cause to be worth it, he’s the best guy to kill the bad guys. Merc with a Mouth? HAHAHAHA! Yeah right. Only a few people see past it all.

{YOU MUSHY BASTARD!} Thing Two yelled, throwing the popcorn that came out of nowhere. “Where did you find that?!” Wade wondered, wishing he had that ability.

[PROBABLY HIS PRISON WALLET.]

“I’m stealing that.” Wade declared before his expression turned thoughtful. “Oh, you mean Jenny Tayla? I’m not gonna eat her. I’m a better man than that.” Never eat a fruit that eats you, after all! “Thing Two popped the Spiderman bouncy house. I waited in line for FOUR HOURS FOR IT!” Wade yelled just slightly before calming down. It’s a lie but it’s better than admitting the truth. He was just a walking old man’s testicle but at least he knew that. “Where ya been D? Last time I saw you was... God, I don’t even remember.”

Billy couldn’t help but be completely and utterly flabbergasted by the words that seemed to spill so effortlessly out of the other man’s mouth. Did he not hear how crazy and psychotic those words sounded? Or did he just not care? Billy really hoped that it was the latter. Although he supposed that wouldn’t be to much better itself.

Billy watched as the other man knocked one of them out. Wiccan had gotten worried when the other brought out his katana, but then he saw that he was using it to knock the other man out…Not to decapitate him like he had been worried that he was going to do for a second. Billy couldn’t help but to shake his head, having never seen the weapon used in such a way.

At least he knows what he’s doing with it…Hopefully, Billy thought to himself as he looked at the other man. Hearing the other man’s words, Billy couldn’t help but to shrug his shoulders. “I was brought here because I overheard someone say that they heard on the police scanner that there were gunshots in the area.” Wiccan explained.

Noticing another man trying to sneak up behind him, Billy’s eyes narrowed as he raised a hand. A second later, the man was crying out as he flew backwards and painfully banging his head into one of the nearby buildings. “You really think you could take so many people by yourself?” Billy asked with a look that clearly screamed just how crazy he thought the man was.

🍍 𝐴 𝑉𝐸𝑅𝑇𝐼𝐶𝐴𝐿 𝐻𝑂𝑅𝐼𝑍𝑂𝑁 𝑆𝑂𝑁𝐺 𝐿𝑌𝑅𝐼𝐶 𝐻𝐸𝑅𝐸,

[SO HE’S ONE OF THOSE.] Thing One rolled his eyes. A damn child vigilante! Thing Two spun in circles in the provided office chair. Wade’s not a total moron. {POOR KID.} But was he? Probably not. {IF HE’S GONNA DIE FOR SOMETHING, IT’S GOTTA BE FUCK HEADS.}

“No, you’re a fuckhead.” Wade pointed out to Thing Two. It’s a constant argument whether it’s Thing One and Thing Two bickering or Wade’s cutting back and forth between his mind and speaking out loud. “That’s you with an apostrophe so don’t even try it you grammar Nazi.”

That’s the thing about Thing One. He can see speech bubbles just like Wade could. In some weird and fucked up way, he’s living in a comic and everyone else is living in the real-ish world. [WOULD YOU BE QUIET FOR ONE DAMN MINUTE?] Silly question! It’s impossible for Wade to be quiet unless he’s dead, and even then he’s chattering as pieces grew back.

Wade jumped in surprise when he saw the kid blast one of the fuck faces back into a wall. He gasped with a bit of joy; and for a moment he wondered if his father, Elvis Presley himself, was ever proud of him before he kicked it on a toilet. “I’m a mercenary for hire, Punk-in. I was putting bad guys in graves before you were even a blip of a though.” Wade pointed out before waving a finger. “If you make an old joke, the next face being smashed is yours.” But before the kid could react, Wade turned and flung his katana into someone’s spleen.