the drop factory

First Time’s The Charm

Shuichi is trying his best to broach the topic of sex to his girlfriend but his friends keep trying to ‘help’. Enjoy! - Mod Korekiyo


“I just shouldn’t have told you,” Shuichi lamented, putting a dish away. He often liked when Kaito hung around while he did his chores. It made him feel like they flew by faster. However, Kaito just make his chores longer today. “Please, do not tell anyone else.”
“You sure you don’t need any help?” The astronaut said, wiggling his eyebrows.”This would be your first time. It’s natural to be scared-”
“I’m not scared! I-I’ve been thinking about this for a while now and I know I can handle it! Please, do not interfere.”
“I can help set the mood-”
“Momota, please! Just don’t do ANYTHING.” The boy begged, putting away some silverware. “I can handle this.”


He picked you up at your house on time, taking you to one of the finest restaurants in town. Once seated, he made sure to have your hand in his, staring dreamily into your eyes from across the table.
“Saihara, this is beautiful,” You sighed lovingly, making the boy blush. “I feel so loved.”
“Speaking of which,” Shuichi started. “I-”
“Welcome! I will be your waiter this evening!” Shuichi’s entire face just dropped and he immediately looked to his waiter who was sporting a false mustache.
“Ouma!?”
“Sorry, Never heard of him,” The waiter who was totally not Ouma said. “What can I get you both to start with? A little wine?”
“This can’t be happening.” Shuichi panicked, wanting to curl up into a little ball.
“I’ll have water.” You said simply, flicking Ouma’s fake mustache. He giggled and when it fell of he just stuck it back on upside down.
“And for you sir?”
“Ouma? What are you doing here?”
“Trying to take your order but you’re being difficult about it.” The leader pouted. “Anyway, Y/N, would you be interested in hot chocolate?” 
“… But it’s the middle of the summer?”
“So? Chocolate is natures aphrodisiac-”
“That’s it,” Shuichi stood up, grabbing your hand and yanking you from your chair. “We’re not hungry. Come on, Y/n.”
“H-Hold on, Shuichi, What’s going on?”
“Do come back now!” Ouma yelled happily. As you left, the manager approached him.
“….Do you work here?”
“Nah,” He said, sticking his fake mustache to his forehead. “I quit.”


Shuichi didn’t say a word since leaving the restaurant. He was on his phone, begging for Kaito to pick up the phone but he never did. You shuffled on the side awkwardly, wondering what was going on. At this point, you were just walking down the street, listening to him threaten Kaito’s voicemail. You had enough and grabbed his arm, making him look at you.
“You want to tell me why we left? I skipped lunch because you said you were taking me to dinner-”
“I-I’m sorry.  I promise, I’ll take you to eat but I-”
“Flowers!” A passing street vendor yelled, cutting him off. “Flowers for that special someone!” He rolled his cart further down, stopping beside you and Shuichi. You smiled and Shuichi almost did…. until he noticed the vendor.
“Amami?!”
“Hello~” He said in a sing song voice. “Flower for the special lady?” He teased, twirling his fake mustache. Shuichi pinched the bridge of his nose while you smelled the roses on the cart. “Ah, Roses. Good choice.”
“That’s literally the only flower you have on that cart,” Shuichi pointed out.
“Irrelevant! You know,” He started, turning to you. “Roses stand for love and passion-”
“Amami, get out of here!” Shuichi yelled, attracting some unwanted attention from passersby. You were a little alarmed by Shuichi’s behavior but Rantarou eased your mind, putting a perfectly bloomed rose in your hair.
“Here you are my dear, free of charge. My your night be filled with love and passion-”
“Y/N, Come on, I know where I can take you!” Shuichi said frantically, grabbing your hand and leading you to the nearest park. You kept questioning him but he just continued to mumble curses to himself.


On the other side of the park was a nice little cafe. You were a little overdressed for it but at least the walk was nice. As you both walked through the park, excited for the cafe, you stopped on a bridge and looked down at the racing creek.
“Oh, Shuichi look!” You said happily. “Baby ducks!” He smiled softly and joined you at the edge of the bridge, seeing the family of ducks waddling alone the edge of the water. “They’re so cute.”
“You’re cuter.”
“Oh Shuichi-”
“Gondola rides!” You gasped, hearing that someone was offering gondola rides. Shuichi groaned, already hating whoever was rowing towards the bridge and yelling up to you. As he suspected, it was another one of his friends. “Gondola rides! Free of charge to men with beautiful girlfriends.” Shinguuji Korekiyo said sweetly, joining the trend of wearing a false mustache. Shuichi smacked his hand on his face, tired of these shenanigans 
“Oh that sounds lovely!” You said, tugging Shuichi’s arm. “Can we go on a ride?”
“Why are you wearing a mustache on your mask?” Shuichi asked, Annoyed. The anthropologist shrugged and the detective groaned, grabbing your hand and leading you away.


Shuichi was beginning to annoy you. He’d been rude to his friends all night, who from your point of view only wanted to help him. It was making you a little sick. You finally got to eat dinner and Shuichi offered to get you a cab, guessing that you were tired of walking for tonight. As you got in the cab, you cuddled up to him and he gave the driver your address.
“Shuichi, why were you so mean to everyone?” He bit his lip and let out a deep breath before he spoke.
“Because… I just want to be alone with you…” He cupped your face in his hands. He didn’t even notice that the music in the cab changed to something romantic and slow. “I love you Y/N….and I wanted tonight to be special-” Shuichi was broken from his confession when he noticed the LED fake candles all over the taxi. He held his breath, realizing he walked into another trap.
“Shui-”
“Stop the taxi.” He said darkly. the driver obliged, pulling to the side and leaning into the back seat to check on you both. You almost lost it, seeing who the driver was… also sporting a false mustache.
“Something wrong buddy?”
“Kaito! You’re ruining my date!”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about sir-” Shuichi reached forward suddenly, ripping the mustache off Momota’s face.
“Ow You jerk! WHAT IF THAT WAS REAL!?”
‘IT’S NOT EVEN THE SAME COLOR AS YOUR HAIR YOU ASSHOLE!”
“What the hell is going on tonight?” You finally asked, Shuichi didn’t even care about tact anymore.
“I’ve been trying to talk about you and I taking our relationship a little…further and I made the mistake of telling Momota about it!”
“I’ve only been trying to help! He wants to fuck you, really bad-”
“I DON’T NEED YOUR HELP TO FUCK HER-” Shuichi slapped both hands over his mouth, immediately regretting speaking about you like that. “I Didn’t mean-”
“You could have just told me,” You giggled poking his nose. Sensing the situation mending itself, Kaito continued driving. “Shuichi. I love you… to be honest I’ve been thinking about it, too.”
“…I-I’m sorry about tonight.. I was just so worried that I was rushing things and I wanted to do this as…romantic as possible.” He took your hands in his, pressing his forehead against yours. “This is all my fault…I should have just relaxed and-”
“We’re here!” Kaito said, rolling down the window to reveal he was in front of your house. You smirked opening the car door and giving Shuichi a kiss on the cheek.
“…Would you… like to come inside?”
“You or the house?”
“Kaito!” 
“I’m just joking!” He defend, “Pretend I’m not here.” Shuichi rolled his eyes and looked back at you, a light blush staining his house.
“I’d love to.”

Kaito watched you and Shuichi walk into the house, walking close and giggling. He dug into the center console, picking up a walkie talkie and grinning ear to ear.
“This is Space Dandy, Just dropped Angst Factory and Leading lady off at the house, Over.”
“Yeah, Drop the code names,” Korekiyo said flatly. “Rantarou has been arrested for selling flowers without a permit, Over.”
“Yeah, I need help over here…. over.”
“Space dandy is on the way, Where’s ouma, Over?”
“I’m getting a gondola ride…. over. So were we a success? Did he get inside?”
“Her or the house?” Rantarou asked. Kaito scratched his chin, seeing a bedroom light turn on upstairs.
“…I’m thinking both.”


-Mod Korekiyo just wanted to write something dumb

·         [ DAY 6 ] LIFESAVER / RECOVERY

 Genji wondered how it would have played out if things had been different. If he had been different. If he had paid attention to the whispers about his father’s unexpected death, would he be lying in a hospital bed, staring at the same ceiling day after day? If he had heeded the warnings (threats?) of the clan elders, would he be listening to the steady beep of a monitor, reminding him that his every heartbeat was only possible due to a machine? If he had listened, just once to his brother, would he be here, a thousand miles away from home, drowning in the knowledge that his clan, his family thought he was so worthless, so shameful, that it would be more honorable for him to die than to be himself?

Dr. Ziegler had saved his life, even though at the time he wasn’t sure he had wanted anyone to save him. The agony of betrayal was worse than pain in his chest or the sight of his severed arm lying across the room, and death would have been, ironically, a Mercy. He was listless, without purpose, numb, empty but for the pain and regret in his body and his soul.

That was how Commander Reyes had found him when he walked into his hospital room and made him the offer.

Keep reading

For @thekingandthelionheart and @stevetopsbuckysbottom (because I promised), and @yensasha, who seemed interested.

- The list is divided into Canon and AU. All the fics are Stucky unless otherwise stated.
- ✩ for my personal favorites.
- New additions and updates will be marked with ϟ.

- Heed the tags and warnings before reading the fics because I’m infamously un-squickable and always a slut for angst.

Updated: 17.06.2016

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If you're in Cleveland and find a building with three red doors, there may still be time to save them

Three people are dead.

Countless more are patiently, helplessly awaiting a fate far worse.

I can’t go to the police. The police are a part of this. The police are the ones who killed Darcy. They’re the ones who have Theo – locked in a cell somewhere or dead, I can’t be sure – but either way I know I’ll never see him again.

I can’t go to anyone. The implant, whatever it is they put inside of me, reminds me of this. It bulges, perverting the surface of my skin, moving. It’s alive, it can feel and think, and it won’t let me anywhere near it to try and get it out.

It’s too late for me, but it may not be too late for the others.

There’s a certain sense of sacrifice that you learn to give into when you start caring about more than yourself. I’ve always been a self-absorbed person; I’ll be the first to admit that. I used to say “better them than me”. I was the kind of girl who never really thought that anything bad could happen to her so long as I kept my mouth shut, head down, and eyes averted.

Well, so long to that idea.

Here’s to the sacrament for the selfish, that final acceptance of reality.

I guess I should start somewhere, and the cliche “beginning” usually works.

It was just another day. Another shitty, wasted day in the soggy taint of Cleveland, Ohio. My neighborhood has a playground. A Target. A few parks. I lived just down the street from Lakewood High at Chesterland and Madison. My parents always told me to be careful about giving out my personal information, especially online. That doesn’t matter anymore.

Lakewood is a pusher’s paradise. The parks and alleys may as well have big flashing signs, the kind you see outside casinos or carnivals, saying hey: get your heroin right here buddy, step right up and pump that vein full of pleasure. It’s not like the cops do anything except ruin your life if they dare catch you with a dimebag of bud. And if it’s not H, it’s fentanyl. Beggar’s choice, right here. Between the two, we’re on pace to hit over 500 deaths this year in Cuyahoga county alone and we still have two and a half months left in the year. We’re overachievers of the worst variety.

The problem is, there’s nothing to do. And I mean nothing. My friends and I all graduated highschool, puttered around in college, and most of us dropped out to pursue big dreams of doing nothing.

I landed a job working the register at Tower City cinema, shoveling hulking tubs of fake buttered popcorn for the larded masses. It depresses me to think that the last movie I’ll have seen will’ve been The Girl on the Train. Should’ve gone for Deepwater Horizon like Theo wanted. I will never not think Wahlberg is a hunk.

People will always tell you that your home, your friends, your surroundings, your life; they’re only what you make them. That you have the power to be your own person and forge ahead and not look back, that you have the ability to change the world around you.

What a load of shit. The only thing we’ve managed to change for ourselves is how short the rest of our lives are.

I woke up yesterday morning with an itch, and not my usual one. I didn’t need a fix. I didn’t need a drink. I just needed to get out and do something. I didn’t have work, and neither did Theo or Darcy. One phonecall later and we’re all sitting outside Darcy’s apartment in Kamm’s Corners chainsmoking butts. I’m down to my last three.

“Where do you wanna go?”

I look at Darcy; wearing her sister’s torn croptop, jean shorts, faded black docs, and draped in plastic dollarbin jewelry, she’s got the usual half pound of eyeliner smeared across ever-tired eyes and the red wound of her mouth sneers around a clove. She’s the type of girl you’d drop a trailer on instead of a house and she’d start painting the walls black and call it home.

I take another drag and say, “I don’t know. Somewhere. Anywhere besides here. Let’s drive up to Toledo?”

Theo, from his perch on the back of Darcy’s rusted out Mazda, brays with laughter, “Toledo? Yeah, sure, let’s just trade our plate of dog shit for a platter of slightly more watery dog shit.”

Exasperated, I flick my butt at him, sending a spray of sparks up his pant leg. He brushes them off with a yelp and glares at me. I shrug. Pushing his floppy brown hair aside, he hops down. In torn blue jeans, a studded black bracelet, and too-large flannel shirt resting over a ratty band tee, he’s the angtsy portrait of post-grunge perfection.

“Let’s go break into the Newburgh temple in Miles Park.”

“The masonic place?”

“Yep.”

Darcy and I exchange looks and she nods her head. “Sure, why not.”

The drive should only take a half hour but Darcy drives like a blind grandmother on xanax. On the way, we listen to a cassette, a mixtape an ex-girlfriend made her; its trip through the speakers is belabored and scratchy, the sounds of dying relationships and dead mediums.

Anyone who’s ever been urban exploring before knows that you scope the area in your getaway car once, maybe twice, park as far away from your mark as possible without it being too far to run to, and memorize your route back. That’s where we make our first mistake; we forgot where we parked.

By this time, it’s dark out. Dusk is just about 7 PM, and my watch is blinking 7:13. We probably should’ve waited a little longer to head out, but we’re excited and high on the notion that we’re finally doing something other than watching TV and burning glass or shooting dope. I can see the reflection of my pumping heartbeat in my friend’s faces, lit up for the first time in a long time.

Darcy stumbles over an uprooted piece of plaster and Theo catches her. They laugh. I laugh. We all hush each other; this area isn’t usually patrolled too heavily, but the idea of running from pigs doesn’t sound overly appealing. The temple sits tall and foreboding against the darkened sky and we make our way around the edges, looking for a good way in. Between a set of broken slats in a boarded-up door, we find it.

Footing our way around piles of rubble and trash left by squatters, we find just the right amount of refuse to sate an explorer’s lust. Darcy comes across an upright piano coated in what looks like ten pounds of dust and runs her fingers across a few keys. The sound is dead and hollow, but still rings out through the heart of the empty building, faintly tinkling in the darkness.

Suddenly, as if on cue with the music, a spotlight hits us head on and it feels like the sun is exploding in my face. I shout, but am quickly drowned out as the sound of a deep, booming voice fills the room with authority and my heart with terror, seizing in the cage of my chest.

“Police!” it shouts, “This is private property. Stop where you are.”

We do stop, but only for a moment before Theo comes to his senses for the three of us, and yells, “RUN!”

As fast as our smoker’s lungs and addict’s legs can take us, we bolt for our makeshift entrance, which is thankfully in the opposite direction of the cops. Out the door, past the fence, in between alleys and through yards, we run and run and run. Whether from excitement or fear or a mixture of both, we don’t stop running for at least 10 minutes. Out of nowhere, we all stop as a group, collapsing against a wall, chests heaving, and find ourselves surrounded by unfamiliarity.

Coughing, Darcy looks around and kicks at the crumbling brick, “Fuck. Where are we? Where is the car?”

Abandoned areas all look the same. You could drop me in a factory wharf line somewhere I’d never been before and I would probably easily get lost for hours.

“I have no idea,” I sigh, “But at least we didn’t get caught.”

Theo glances at me, smirking, “Ya gotta admit, that was kinda fun.”

I hold up my hands, palms out, “You don’t see me complaining.”

“Let’s start walking.”

Ten minutes later, dipping in and out of shadows at the slightest noise, we finally come across something that looks familiar, but in a way none of us could place.

A mile-long, short building, tucked away from the rest, hidden far, far away from the street. Brown brick facade, black metal roof, it looks like a million other buildings in this wasted city. No discernible marks, except for the doors.

In the middle of the side of the building sits three red doors. Faded, peeling, the color is reminiscent of the sky right before the nights sips away its last few breaths.

After a moment of sneaking and prodding, curiosity gets the better of us; Theo, a makeshift criminal when he needs to be, was able to pick the lock on the first door. I don’t know what drove us to even look in the first place, but that’s not important now.

The smell hits me first. That sort of heavy, rotten perfume people get when they’ve been sitting for too long. It’s more than sweat, more than shit or piss or anything else that we produce. It’s fear. Fear of the unknown is a real thing, but fear of the present and the real and the right-in-front-of-your-eyes can turn the human body into a sickening kiln of toxicity. Fear filled that room, to the brim, and we walked straight into it without a second thought.

Rows of steel cages with needles sticking into them like thorns from some massive connected vine sit against both walls of a long, narrow room.

Hidden machines beep in a chorus of monotony from behind the cages, which are wrapped in a two layers of interlaced bars.

Each cage holds a girl.

With shock bubbling in my throat and bursting in my stomach, I rush forward to the nearest cage, gripping the outer lattice with trembling hands. Inside is a girl who can’t be a day over thirteen, but her state makes her look years younger. She’s wearing a thin white dress, a hospital gown, and her skin is perforated by a half dozen needles hooked into bags holding liquids of various colors. She sleeps, a deep fretful sleep, and I can see a trickle of dried blood spilled from both her mouth and nose, joined in a deep v down the side of her face.

Behind me, Darcy screams I can hear her retching, breathing hard, trying to not vomit. She loses the battle, spilling her guts against the wall. Theo just stands and stares.

“WHAT THE FUCK?” she shouts, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, “WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?”

The girl in the cage stirs; her eyes flutter open, and I can see that they’re bloodshot, the veins brought harsh and red to the surface of the membrane with repeated strain. She sees me, sees Theo and Darcy, and she tries to grasp for me through the inner lattice, but her wrists rebound on the steel shackles binding her to the wall. A number is burned into her left forearm, #1. Her mouth twists open in a scream, but nothing comes out.

Behind me, all around, there’s more shuffling, more rustling noises as the rest of the girls come to. More clinking of metal restraints, more mouths hanging open in muted pleas for help.

I slam my open palm on the wall above the cage, my skin burning with anger. The girl looks up, startled, and that’s when I see the jagged, fresh scar across the base of her throat.

The sound of silent screaming is something I have never heard, but can still hear all too well in my head.

Darcy runs to the wall opposite me, grasping at bars, and tries to pull them apart to no avail. I scream for Theo to help us, and he rushes forward. He can’t pick any of these locks. The deadbolts stare back, malicious, hungry, unyielding.

My eyes flit up. The plaque above the girl’s cage reads:

#1 – A. Lange, Saxony, DE – E. 10/08/16 – C. 10/10/16 – S. 10/16/16

I look around, eyes trailing helplessly on the ten cages lining the walls of the room, and they all share a similar plaque. Each has a number. Each has a location and three dates.

I don’t know where the realization comes from, but it hits me like a freight train. Each cage has a name, but not the name of the person inside. The buyer. Entry date. Shipping date. Some date in the middle.

A fire of rage tears through my body and spills out of me in a furious stream. I look around for something, anything I can use to break apart the cells. There’s nothing.

Then, the door bursts open and spotlights hit us once again. This time, there’s nowhere to run.

As the cops pour through the door, slamming Theo into one of the cages and pinning me against #1, the girls rise up in a seething wave around us, straining their bodies against their cuffs until the metal bites straight through their skin. Darcy is screaming, screaming for the cops to look, look around them, but one of them just rushes her and tears her arms behind her back.

She wriggles free and manages to grab his gun. My cry gets caught in my throat as I watch her raise her arm, pointing at the cop nearest me, and she fires off a round, the move catching him by surprise and the round catching him clear in the throat. The force of the shot pirouettes him, turning his last moments into that of a twisted ballerina, and blood sprays across my face in an almost beautiful arc.

As she turns to fire again, a blast goes off next to my ear, deafening me, sounding like the last shot at of the world, and a gaping wound appears in the center of Darcy’s forehead. She falls forward, and for just a moment, everything slows down and I can see the wall behind her, speckled with blood and bits of bone and grey matter, clear as day through the new hole in her face.

The last thing I see before the blow to the base of my skull steals my consciousness is girl #1’s eyes; they’re a soft brown, and they’re full of tears, full of fear. They’re full of emptiness.

I awake, I don’t know how much later, unable to move. My eyes shoot open and I’m temporarily blinded. Everything is freezing cold, smells sterile, and the taste of copper fills the air like it’s got something to prove. I can’t move my head, can’t budge my body. My fingers and toes are the only thing that seem to respond to direction.

As my eyes adjust and the white light begins to fade, I realize I’m looking up into the rude face of a halogen. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see a grey metal edge, the piece that’s holding my head in place. My throat is burning and my lips are cracked and dry. I run my tongue over them, and realize my mouth isn’t bound. I open my it to scream for help, but no sound comes out.

Straining my head up as far as it can go, pushing my chin out without moving my head, I feel the fresh stitches pull taut against the skin above my collarbone.

Like a hellish angel, a face appears above me, blocking out some of the light. Goggles, a surgical mask, white apron and light blue scrubs. Another figure appears next to it, its appearance mirrored. One of them makes a gesture towards the other side of me, and its partner goes to fiddle with a knob on a machine. I feel a strange euphoric sensation rush my body, and darkness comes, blissfully, once again.
_________________________________________

I woke up just past four this morning next to a dumpster outside of the UHAUL near Berea and W. 114th in Cleveland. My body is different. They did things to me, put something under my skin. I assume it’s a tracking device, but every time I get anywhere near it, something inside of my brain stops me. I can no longer speak; I try, but no sound comes out. There is a number branded into my left forearm. I am number 7. Lucky.

It took a little while for me to figure it out, but I think the third date in the sequence, between the entry and the shipment, was the date of recapture. If I’m right, I only have one day left.

My name is Theresa Bell. I’m twenty-three years old. My friend, Darcy Wilson, 22, is dead. My other friend, Theodore Albright, 27, is either missing or dead.

I will not let myself end up in one of those steel cages, strapped to a wall with mystery liquids pumping through my veins, patiently awaiting my shipment off to god knows where. There is no hope for me. I’ve lived my life a selfish person, a wasted person, ready to give into anything that brought me the most minute, instantaneous amount of pleasure.

However, before I take my own life, I can make one final decision; to make this plea in the hopes that the right person will see it, and do something.

If you’re in Cleveland and find a building with three red doors, there may still be time to save them.

Data Plague

North America went dark twenty-two hours ago. The first we knew was when the American stock exchanges started lagging out while processing transactions. Then the big data centers timed out - the old majors, Google, Yubei and Amazon. 

The social nets went down. News went down. But we’ve been networked for over a century - this isn’t just about bits, it’s matter now! 

Three hundred million networked vehicles dropped off the grid. Factories, railways, delivery drones, heating systems - a whole country of city blocks shot through and encrusted with microprocessors reverted to dumb matter.

Look at this video recording from one of our satellites: a wave of darkness spreading east from California, fast as fiber-optics can carry it. 

We had no choice but to cut them off; sever the suboceanic cables and hope it wouldn’t touch us, whatever it was. 

So far, we’ve contained it. But we can see the air growing dim with the smoke rising above American cities.

That’s why we have to send you in blind. There will be no data feed, and no satellite link on this mission. Your team will stay in touch through shortwave radio. We can’t take the risk of broadband contamination. 

The situation on the ground is likely to be dangerous. Some parts of the Americans’ MILNET may still be working - meet up with them if you can.

The epicenter appears to be somewhere near Stanford. 

Find out what happened out there.

Good luck, Captain. Our hopes fly with you.

Do As I Say, Not As I Do

Wade didn’t like the phrase ‘Off Limits’ and rarely did he actually heed the warning those two words represented. When they come from the avengers its a fifty fifty gamble he will listen. When those words come from his hero Captain America after he went on a twenty minute gush fest over spiderman’s ass, well you listen even if your deadpool. Captain can get all kinds of scary when your talking anal sex with the avengers new little baby brother hero.

Wade now knew better. So did his arm, jaw and left foot. He was a ninja super assassin mercenary after all it was easy peasy dodging the kid when he came to the tower or was out patrolling. Since he had been doing such a good job heeding the Captain’s warnings he was even allowed to eavesdrop on the meeting about little spidey-poos ‘punishment’ for his own good. 

Last Wade checked punishing someone for saving a crap ton of people was a little misguided but hell he wasn’t a proper hero or a proper human being for that matter he could be wrong. So he kept his mouth shut even though he thought every single one of the heroes suggestions were unreasonably harsh. Before the final vote went down though he bailed because the voices were screaming too loud for him to pay attention anyhow.

Or at least that was the excuse his subconscious provided when he bailed. Really he just couldn’t handle it a second longer. Their over protective nature was going to crush spiderman and he couldn’t do anything to help the poor kid because of the ‘Off Limits’ still bouncing around in his head.

{Stupid Captain America!!!}

[All the heroes are pretty dumb if you ask me.]

{I miss dat ass!!!*sobbing sounds*}

“Me too yellow, me too…”

Guys… seriously let me get back to setting the thread up… I promise to reunite you with ‘dat ass’

“Says the mun… so shut it guys!”

{OOHHH do we get to see dat ass like right now?!!}

[obviously this is a spideypool thread. We’d have to break the rule cap laid out for us eventually…]

{YAYYY!!}

-so back to it… somewhere in the chilly wilderness of Canada- 

Wade was off enjoying a quick easy job when a flash of blue and red catches his eye. He’d been stealthy for this job because HYDRA was kinda like a hornets nest when you kick it. Messy and stingy. So he had snuck his way in, silenced the stupid head scientist as per his contract and was slowly crawling his way out through the vents when he’d first spotted it. The not so familiar yet very familiar costume. 

{yeah in our wank fantasies we know that costume well…}

Wade grunts out a quiet ‘fuck off’ to yellow before opening the vent in front of him. That’s where he’d seen the colours and recognized the younger hero slinging shooting himself through the hallway with no regard to his safety. Spiderman was on full display for all the cameras and probably heading straight for a barrage of bullets. He leaps down from his hidey hole and looks directly at the camera and grins big so it shows through the fabric of his suit. He waves playfully and heads off in the direction he’d seen spidey go.

He was moving fast. No time to stroll and whistle he can already hear shots being fired. He turns a corner just in time to see the kid toss his wrist and point in the far right corner shooting off a web. Spiderman was planing to swing right over top of the people with semi automatic guns pointed at him. 

[uh… I thought he was supposed to be smart?]

{this is like our levels of reckless…}

Wade agrees with the voices which is a clear sign things were about to go form bad to worse. The distance between him and spiderman wasn’t much and if his timing was perfect he could probably pull off a rescue. The world slows down as it does when wade focuses intensely on the task at hand, his reflexes become sharper and clearer. Wade was utilizing every ounce of his abilities. He draws, spins, slashes, and wraps a strong arm around the kid’s stomach. 

With barely enough time for any of the attackers to blink Wade had cut the web,  scooped the young hero up spun around so his back was to the bullets and the slighter figure of spiderman was securely guarded by his broad chest and arms.  Then time sped up with that annoying fast forward sound vcr’s had, and the bullets hit a target. Not their intended target but hey, bullets weren’t picky. 

So much for his quick, easy, no healing required job. His suit was gunna have so many holes. He tightened his grip of the youth’s stomach and between gurgled breaths managed to talk like he wasn’t choking on his own blood. “I’m not usually so handsy on first dates but if my info is correct on your abilities you aren’t bullet proof… Hang on, let’s go somewhere more romantic to continue this…” Wade declares in a chirper voice already sounding better. He tosses a happy face grenade over his shoulder hefts the kid up off of his feet and tosses spiderman like a bag of potatoes over his shoulder. Then runs.

As he runs the bullets which had riddled his whole backside with holes were slowly being pushed out by his healing factor. One by one dropping to the cold factory floors with a ping, ping, ping. 

@heyxeveryone

Bernie Sanders on equal access to education:

Moderator: “As a follow up…if the Supreme Court were to end affirmative action, what would you do to ensure that minority students have access to higher education?”

Bernie Sanders: “Everything that I can. Look, it is no great secret that many of the public schools- elementary schools, high schools- in the country, in minority areas, are just not working. Many of them are drop-out factories. So we have got to do everything we can to make certain that all of our kids get a quality education and pay especial attention to those schools that are not doing well. Now one of the things that I have always believed is that in terms of education we have to break our dependency on the property tax because what happens is the wealthiest suburbs can in fact have great schools but poor, inner-city schools cannot. So I think we need equality in terms of how we fund education and make sure the federal government plays an active role to make sure that those schools we need it the most get the funds that they deserve.”