#redactedidentity

There was something strangely freeing about having killed the man that had nearly ruined his entire life. Sure, he wasn't going to be invited into any superhero clubhouses for it, but it wasn't like he gave a shit. He had plenty of friends. He had Weasle, Al, Bob...he guessed Vanessa counted as a friend. Okay he had four friends, but who needed that many friends?

He made his way down the street wearing his red and black suit, simply enjoying a walk...and maybe sort of on a mercenary job, but it wasn't like he wasn't used to that. He was just a lot scarier than he used to be, in more ways than one. Still, he had to make money somehow, and it wasn't like he had a degree to fall back on or a rich daddy to mooch off of.

He stopped I'm his tracks and looked up, seeing what looked like a man swinging by on a rope or something.

              Walking, talking, humming, bumming. All perfect words to desribe a schizophrenic idiot scarred beyond belief, with nothing better to do than bother those with even a minute’s connection to him. So far, down the long list of people he could no longer pester and prod for enjoyment and attention, the Avengers, the Justice League--

oops, are we crossing universes again?  and now we are breaking the fourth wall. kinky!

              --and tons of other groups were all crossed off in bright pink sharpie, leaving only names of heroes and descriptions of those he had spoken to once or twice left. Stop numero uno on his growing short list of friends? The one and only Spiderbuns, obviously!

              And what better way to give a heads up than to shoot a text FULL of inuendos!

[ SMS: 04:33AM ] hey spiderbug! before you freak out about how i got your cell number, thought i’d be a good friend and let’cha know i’m outside your window! and before you freak out about how i know where you live, you should cereally clean your room, like dam! ha! get it? like a beaver?

    “Now that’s how you fill spandex!”

            shit, how old is this one?

For all of its flaws, New York was still the best in Wade’s mind. He’d skipped down half the streets, narrowly avoiding people as he went, and snatched up whatever loose flowers were on the way. 

They should really guard their flowers better. Like they could have predicted this asshole just up and grabbing them! So? Put them in a box or something. Flowers need to breathe!

“And so do I!” Wade grinned behind the mask and started up a fire escape. In his bag of holding (thanks for the term, Hermione), Wade had more than enough fresh Taco Bell to offer Spider-Man as he grunted and lifted himself over the ledge to plop down near the spandex-clad hero. 

He dug around in the endless bag and put down four different greasy paper bags, obviously proud of himself.