Fastball Special

Ankles cross as he tries to get comfortable, tries to let himself relax. He hadn’t gone inside the mansion since he was still living in it. There’s no comfort to be found within it’s walls. With a long suffering sigh, he shifts, boots flat on the floor. He leans forward, elbows against his knees, head held between his hands. 

“Aye, aye, sir.” He’s impatient. He needs to know what Piotr pulled him aside to say. Or he needs to never hear it and run away at full speed. The signals were rather mixed. “And here I thought I was supposed to make myself at home.”

“Make yourself at home does not mean be inconsiderate of where people eat,” Piotr scolds. Rather than sitting down at the table across from Wade as he had planned to do, he redirects his focus to the counter. A couple sheets of paper towel are torn from the roll, the sink turned on only long enough to dampen them, and only then does Piotr return to the table to wipe down the surface where boots had been resting. He doesn’t want to think about the kinds of things Wade may have walked through. Or how long it has been since his shoes have been cleaned. 

For a few seconds, all he does is scrub at the table. It’s an easy distraction, something to fill the space while he tries to gather his thoughts again. Planning out what he wanted to say is so much easier than actually saying it. 

“Wade.”

The deep voice carries a tired sort of exasperation; a tone that anyone close to Colossus had gotten to know very well over the past few years. A tone that - while originally reserved for the more rambunctious students who couldn’t be bothered to pay attention in class - quickly became the go-to when dealing with the self-imposed headache that was Deadpool. 

dandelion

You grew up too fast and all you know is the calluses on your fists and the thousand invisible scars that you pretend don't ache. Your anger burns so bright, so hot or maybe not at all, so deep you could never tell it was there. You are yours and you will defend that to the death after so many years of being ripped apart and denied your own agency and maybe you are still facing the bastards who stole your innocence but you will survive because that's the only thing you know how to do without breaking, the only thing you know besides protect, protect, protect, protect, yourself or sometimes those few others you claim as yours. You are a thousand sharp edges but impenetrable, a traumatized child so covered by thorny armor that you promised yourself you're grown now, you're stronger than anyone who has ever hurt you. You're safe. Nothing will ever hurt you again. You're so alone though sometimes, in a world that sees you as too much or too broken or too angry or too hurt, and you want to scream with the too-much of it, prove that you're okay, that you're self-reliant, that you are strong enough to stake your claim on your body, on your mind, on your heart, on your people, and protect it from any who dare take it away from you. You are the sea in tempest, a howling sky, a tsunami in motion, a force of nature, no matter how much you sometimes yearn to be still, to be safe, to be small. You are a dandelion, stubborn and determined to grow in the rockiest of soil, and bloom again in spring.

tagged by:  @killypool​