Everything usually went well for Peter when he was fighting crime.
He stood on top of a building in New York city, overlooking the bustling people and the many lights of the skyline. It must’ve been around eleven o’clock at night. The city was still bustling with life.
Crime fighting had eased a little since Peter discovered his abilities. It’s only been petty crimes this week. People stealing from stores, or from other people. The most major crime he’s had this week was a gang attempting to mug an old lady.
“I better get home,” Peter mumbled to himself. “It’s a school night.”
He walked towards the edge of the building, preparing to web onto the opposite building on the other side of the street, wanting to get home.
“Holy chimichangas, it’s SPIDERMAN!” A voice exclaimed behind him.
Peter sighed, knowing exactly who the voice belonged to. I mean, who wouldn’t? The guy wouldn’t shut up if it meant saving his life.
Peter reluctantly turned around, looking at a certain mercenary wearing a god awful Spiderman shirt over his costume, and a hat that read ‘I LOVE SPIDERMAN’ in big bold letters.
“Hello, Wade.” Peter sighed. “What do you want this time?”
“Your autograph, of course.” The mercenary replied, taking out a pen and picture of Spiderman from behind him and pushing them towards Peter. The picture was a bit blurry, and it was of Peter in full costume, trying to block the lens with his hand, but Wade was very persistent that night.
[Where’d we get those?]
“We have pouches.” Deadpool replied.
(Pouches do come in handy.)
“Well said, yellow box … er … ‘parentheses’. I liked you better when you were a box. Maybe it just makes sense to the story line.” Deadpool chided.
Peter frowned. “Who’re you talking to?”
Wade waved his hand dismissively. “It’s nothing, Pete. So can I have your autograph now?”
(Didn’t we already do that?)
“Oh yeah!” Wade suddenly yelled, startling Peter. “We already asked for his autograph in the Amazing Spiderman #611!”
[He never finished signing it, though.]
“Don’t worry, brackets.” Wade assured. “We’ll get it.”
Peter was confused. “I don’t underst-“
Wade shushed him. “Brackets wants your autograph, baby boy.”
[I missed it when I was a white box.]
“Please don’t call me that.” Peter whined.
(He likes it.)
“Sign it, Petey-pie.” Wade gestured to the pen and picture. It wasn’t much of a better nickname, but Peter knew he wasn’t going to convince Wade to call him something else.
[Tell him to make it out to, ‘To Brackets, by your old pal, Spiderman.’]
(Too late, he already signed it out to Deadpool.)
Wade clutched the picture over his heart and sighed dreamily. “My poor fanboy heart. Hey, Pete, why don’t you say I take you out for some hotdogs?”
“You know, parentheses, I wonder what baby boy looks like under the mask.” Wade said, approaching the edge of the building and looking at Peter swinging away.
[I hope he’s hot.]
“Me too, brackets.”
(He’s got a nice ass.)
[He’s totally a twink.]
“I have a good idea.” Wade grinned. “Let’s see where Petey lives!”
(This is probably not going to end well.)
Should I finish it? EH. It’s my first writing-thing don’t get mad, I know it’s bad. UGHHHH.