Prompt Post 001
Part 1 is now closed. Please direct new prompts to Part 2.
Welcome to the Captain America: The First Avenger kink meme! The general rules are below, but can also be found in the Guidelines Post. Please try to follow them, and have fun!
General Rules
Welcome to the Captain America: The First Avenger kink meme! The general rules are below, but can also be found in the Guidelines Post. Please try to follow them, and have fun!
General Rules
- Please be civil and respectful towards each other.
- One prompt per comment. Feel free to post more ( Read more... )
Then one day (possibly a Wednesday---it feels like one), when the walls began to crawl closer around him, Steve went to the gym to go a few rounds with the punching bag. As soon as he walked in, he saw Wilson, hanging upside down from one of the rafters, waving at him.
"High-dee-ho, Cap!" he asked, his arms moving so rapidly that Steve was surprised he kept his balance. "Can I call you Cap or do you prefer Steve? Captain Rogers is probably more 'correct', but I'm not a formal guy. And definitely not 'Mister Rogers' 'cause now I have trolleys swirling around in my brain. But it's definitely a beautiful day in the neighborhood when you're here, Cap."
"I don't really have a preference," Steve told him as he began to pound the bag a little harder it was meant to be hit. "Deadpool, can I ask you a question?"
"Oh, my name sound so darn wonderful when you say it!" Wilson said dreamily, with a giant, affect sigh. "But yeah, shoot."
"What do you want from me?" His hand THUD-ed against the punching bag.
Wilson hoisted himself up and turned around to sit on the rafter facing Steve. "Nothing, dude, except maybe your company or the chance to whisk you off to a little island where we'd live on a farm raising mutated goats. Except that farming sucks. Anyway, why are you surprised? Everybody loves you. You're like Brad Pitt: the only people who genuinely hate you are snobby, socialist pseudo-intellectuals who still think that Woody Allen movies are original and that living in communes is productive."
"Who's Brad Pitt?"
"Oh, boy, I forgot about that. I am totally making you watch Fight Club. And Inglourious Basterds. And Cool World, just because it's trippy." Wilson kicked his feet happily.
"Hey, Wade! I brought you a sugar fix!" a female voice called out. It was that pretty dark-haired, blue-eyed girl Steve always saw wandering around the building, usually in a hurry, but now she was holding up a large white paper bag and smiling cheekily up at Wilson.
"Darcy! My very, very favorite beautiful intern!" Wilson hopped all the way down and landed perfectly on his feet, but did a somersault, probably just because he could. "Whatcha got today?"
"A whole crazy assortment. It was one of those wishy-washy days." She opened the bag and Wilson took out a ridiculously large cookie---in the old days, desserts that size only came out of state fairs. Then Darcy held out the bag in Steve's direction. "Want some, Captain Tightpants?"
"Uh..."
"Of course he does! Give him something, Darce!" Wilson said with a thumbs-up.
"Dude, if you don't pick something, me and Wade will eat all this and that'll be the Sugarpocalypse. Or Sugnarok." She shook the open bag and smiled at him. Steve took a strawberry danish that was about half the size of his face. "God, you two are cute together, you know that?"
"I, uh..." Steve racked his brain for the right response.
"Well, you know, Darce, we government experiments have to stick together!" Wilson clapped Steve on the shoulder. Steve could only guess that he was grinning.
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"Of course it's not a good idea, Cap. I only ever had one of those---June 23, 1997," Wilson said, pausing to spin the katana together like a sharp, silver wheel.
"What was it?"
"I don't know anymore." He tossed the swords and flipped backward onto the next beam.
"I once thought I had a good idea," Darcy said through a mouthful of brownie. "I took a lit class on Jane Austen for an elective and thought I could just watch the movies. It flopped when I based my final paper's thesis on Darcy's open-shirt rowing scene. Turns out that's not in the book."
"Aw, that's what I woulda done, Darce." Toss, flip. Toss, leap.
Steve took a cookie out of the bag this time, one covered in M&M's. "So, Darcy, you're a college girl?"
"Yup, I'm only doing the whole S.H.I.E.L.D. thing to finish up six credits. Political science. One day, I'll be a senator and you guys will totally be my security guards."
"'Cept I'll be your top aide!" Wilson shouted, swiping the swords against each other.
"So you'd be the first, then? Woman senator, I mean."
Darcy looked at him like he'd just grown two extra heads. Then she laughed, reached up, and patted him on the head. "You are such a cute little Martian! And no."
"You tell 'im, Darcy!" Toss, jump. Toss, twirl.
Steve's cheeks grew hot. "Just wondering: do you and Wilson...are you two..."
"Me and Wade?" She laughed again, more giggly this time. "Nah, he's just my new BFF---he's the only guy around who's not a lame suit. Except for that guy in the file room who's got those dreamy green eyes---his name's Luke, I think. And Wade's got a much bigger crush on you anyway."
"You mean he's a---"
"He likes everything."
"Jesus, Cap, with your smooth moves, you're making me look like George Clooney." Wilson threw the katana against and jumped. Or at least Ryan Reynoooooooh!!!"
Wilson fell in slow motion with his arms and legs wiggling helplessly right before the swords pierced him onto the floor. At least, that's how Steve would remember it. He wouldn't remember running to his side (or Darcy following him), only the sight of Wilson splayed out a copy of the Vetruvian Man he'd once seen in an art book, only with more blades.
"Hi, Steve. What did you think of that landing?"
"You're still...does this place have a hospital wing?" Steve wondered why he still didn't know that.
"Don't sweat it, just pull these things out already!" Wilson reached over towards one of the katana with his unpierced arm, but quickly gave up. Steve yanked out the one in his side, then the one in his left arm. Wilson sprang up immediately. "Thanks for that, Cap! All good now!"
"Uh, how do you feel?" He heard Wilson's bones snap back into place. Not possible. Not even for Steve.
"Christlike, as always."
"As gross as it is, I kind of love it when he does that," Darcy remarked. They both ignored her.
"How did you---? You can't really---?"
Wilson punched him in the arm. "Like I said, Cap, we government experiments gotta stick together."
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Now I totally wanna see Wolverine and X23 and anyone else who's an experiment to get in on this. It would be a party: a very crazy, very violent, very *fun* party.
Anyway, can't wait to read the rest; Deadpool always makes for a good story. More soon please!
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"Director Fury." He saluted, though his eyes wandered to the too many screens littered around the control room. "Permission to speak freely sir?"
"Granted." Fury nodded and Steve felt that one good eye examining every inch of him. Maybe the patch was studying him, too. "Tell me, to what do I owe this rare visit?"
"Was the Super-Soldier Project ever re-opened?"
"The government attempted to improve upon the project several times over the years, with less-than-desirable results." The eye (and the patch) zoomed in. "Why the sudden curiosity?"
Steve took deliberate steps as he walked onto the raised platform. "Dr. Erskine told me right before the operation that the serum enhances someone's perosnality, like turning goodness into greatness. Would it turn oddness into complete insanity?"
"Wade Wilson is not one of the attempted relaunches' failures."
"He's one of its successes?"
Fury began to pace back and forth. "Wilson was never part of that project. He was a test subject in the Weapon X Program, an attempt to graft mutant abilities onto humans."
"Mutants?"
"The next step in evolution---a new type of human with seemingly supernatural abilities: flight, telepathy, telekinesis, cryokinesis, pyrokinesis, and any other 'kinesis' you could imagine. But that's another briefing session."
Steve ran his hand through his hair. "What in hell did you folks give him?"
"It was not a S.H.I.E.L.D. project and only a few files remain. The rest were destroyed." Fury tapped a few computer buttons and brought up a picture of a man with wild dark hair and metal claws coming out of his hands. "As far as we can tell, Wilson was dying when he enter the program, so he received DNA from this mutant, Wolverine. It contained a healing factor as well as superstrength and heightened agility, but you've already seen that, haven't you?"
"Yes, sir. It was...a bit disgusting." Steve nearly shivered imagining that snaping sound.
"Has he told you why he's here, Captain?"
"You want information on something, but he has no idea what. Or can't remember."
"We've been running tests. We've learned that his body has both embraced and rejected the healing factor, which is why his mind is in constant flux."
Steve tried not to roll his eyes at the words. "He's mad as a hatter. Are you using him to catch this Wolverine?"
"Wolverine is not a threat, for the time being, at least."
"So he's just a lab rat? A frog in biology class?"
Fury glared at him.
"Director, what does he look like under that mask."
"No one knows. He refuses to take the suit off---we just poke the needles through." Fury stroked his chin. "But he trusts you, Captain. And wouldn't you like to know?"
"I'm not an informant, sir."
"Of course you're not. But you could make yourself useful---"
"That's not a mission; that's betrayal."
"You grow loyal pretty quickly, you know that?"
"I think I can afford to be picky with the directives I accept now that there's not a war on."
"Not the kind you're used to," Fury said with an icy stare.
Steve turned to leave and heard one set of footsteps hurrying away in the corridor.
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OP.
FUCKING.
LOVES.
YOU.
I am dying of laughter and I love poor confused Steve and absolutely nuts!Deadpool and I love how IC this is and how much sense it makes and OH MY GOD I need to go read it again. :DDDDDD
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This part makes me want more Cap/Fury. I think I shall go post a prompt now. Love it.
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"Like I already told Miss Lewis, you should avoid Wade Wilson," he said in his usual, almost icy way.
"Because he's nuts, right?" Steve sighed.
"Because he is one of the most unpredictable and strangely competent assassins I have ever seen."
"I think he prefers the term 'mercenary.'"
Coulson sneered slightly. "Regardless of terminology, we have footage of Wilson weaponizing a pair of water wings."
Steve blinked. "What does that have to do with me?"
"Men like him do not have friends or buddies. In my professional opinion, it's only a matter of time before we have a dead icon on our hands if you continue to associate with him."
Steve looked pointedly down at Coulson. "Let me worry about that." He left Coulson in his corner and continued down the hall.
This time, Darcy popped out of nowhere. "So did you get the 'stay away from that boy because he's trouble and we'll have no dancing in this town, missy' speech yet?"
"I think so."
"You think he's right?"
"I'd like to find out from the source."
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Wilson had been right about S.H.I.E.L.D.'s "mooks," as he'd called them---Steve got five radically different answers when he asked around. The last one told him he should try the roof, so he camped out there at sunset with his sketchbook, on the off-chance that the mook was right or Wilson just showed up because he found the whole thing funny. He would.
Steve took a charcoal pencil from the set the gave him and began tracing small lines on the paper and sketched until the became Puppy Deadpool. He ripped out the page and tossed it aside, and then flipped back through his sketchbook and saw a theme running through his recent drawings. Deadpool. Darcy and Deadpool. Lion Deadpool. Wolf Deadpool. Darcy holding kitten Deadpool (she'd asked very nicely). Ballerina Deadpool (Wilson commissioned that one). He slammed the book shut and turned to leave.
"It's a shame you don't like this one. It's rather good, really," said an accented stranger who must have jumped out of a plane because Steve didn't hear the anyone come up.
"How long have you---"
"Not too long. I didn't mean to frighten you, Captain Rogers. I'm just a little sneaky." His big, green eyes blinked. "Bad habit."
"What do you want from me?" The hair on Steve's arms stood on end, like he'd just received a static shock.
"He wants to see you," the man said serenely. Something about him wasn't quite right---Steve could just tell. Maybe it was his slicked-back hair, maybe it was his pale, gaunt features, or maybe it was those large green eyes with the strange gleam in them; whatever it was, it was just off.
"You mean Wilson?"
"Of course." The black-haired stranger smiled. Steve's stomach did a flip.
"And who the heck are you?"
"Luke. A friend of Darcy's."
Steve remembered the name. "From the file room."
"Yes. She was supposed to retrieve, but Coulson sent her on an errand, so Deadpool sent me." Luke turned to leave, but looked back. "Aren't you coming?"
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"The basement?" Steve furrowed his brow. "Wouldn't that just be storage?"
"Oh, yes. They have to keep him somewhere." Luke said briefly as the elevator plummeted downward. He didn't seem quite so off-putting indoors, though Steve had no idea why. In the artificial lighting, his features were still sharp, but looked...prettier. Steve never thought he'd call a guy that, but it was true. As he looked at Luke, the silence became weirdly oppressive.
"So, uh, are you and Darcy---"
"She told me you'd ask that. Honestly, Captain, you're not what I expected when I heard you were blond and brawny," Luke remarked with a sideways glance.
"What did you expect?"
"Someone louder. More brash. A bit reckless. Like my older brother." He smiled slyly. "And he's bigger, actually."
"Oh."
The elevator THUDed to a halt. They stepped into a slightly dim hallway with bland, cracked concrete walls and lights nearly swinging from the ceiling. As Luke led him down the hall, a familiar voice echoed against the walls and shaking lights.
"Oh, YES! I'm the GREAT! PRETEEEEENDERRRR!!! Adrift in a WORLD! Of my OOOOOOOWN!!! I PLAY the GAME! But to MY REAL SHAAAAAAME!! You've left me to DREAM ALL ALOOOOOOOONE!!!!!"
The words pounded in his ears as he turned about a dozen corners, until he and Luke finally reached Wilson's room, where he was hanging upside down on a bar that protruded from the wall and singing at the tops of his lungs.
"...Just laughing and GAAAAAYYYY like a CLOOOOOOOOWN!!!!!!! Oh, hi there, Lukey-Luke."
"Guess what I brought you?" Luke pulled Steve into the small room by the arm.
"STEVE!!!!" Wilson squealed. His right leg slipped and he crashed to the floor. "Nice job, Young Skywalker! I owe you like...I don't even know, but I'll definitely think of it later."
"Alright then. Have fun." Luke grinned and waved before he headed down the corridor.
Wilson stood up and spread his arms out wildly. "So, Captain America, protector of all that is shiny and patriotic, welcome to my humble (and hopefully temporary) abode. What do you think?"
"It's...nice." It was a dim, dank cell about ten feet wide with no windows and one threadbear cot.
"I'm glad you like it. I tried to spruce it up with some paint," he nodded towards the red splatter on the walls, "but they took it away because they thought I'd get ideas, whatever that means."
"You did a good job with what you had." Steve bit his lip.
"I always do! Now come on, sit down or something! You're way too tense!" Wilson began to massage Steve's shoulders. Steve didn't stop him.
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Love the addition of Loki to the plot. ^__^
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"You're not forgettable, believe me." Steve sat down on the cot to get away from Wilson's crawling fingers, which felt a little nicer than they should have once he lightened his touch.
"I probably am if you try hard enough. I'll just turn into some red-and-black talking blur in the back of your mind that only rears its head when you're dreaming. It's probably 'healthier' that way, at least that's how all the shrinks in this place would put it." Wilson took on a high, nasal voice. "'Wade, you know that you'll never improve if you continue to indulge your own fantasies of having a constantly present audience.' 'Mr. Wilson, you will never change unless you stop blaming your behavior on your condition. The moment you begin to take responsibility for your actions is when you will finally stop taking pleasure in violence.' Yeah, let them wrestle with cancer and a healing factor reenacting every major Civil War battle in their bodies and we'll see how they handle it. I think I'm on the Battle of Shiloh right now..."
Steve's ears perked up at the last couple of sentences. "Cancer?"
"Yeah. Why, what did they tell you?"
"Just that you were dying. Fury didn't go into details. It sounded like you were mortally wounded."
Wilson plopped down next to Steve on the cot. "If that were true, dude, d'you think this would've happened?" He peeled his mask off slowly.
Numbness crept into Steve's face as he stared at Wilson's. Veiny lines of skin wandered across once decent-looking features, forming now-pitted cheeks, a somewhat lumpy nose, and a bald head with more craters than the moon.
"Aren't we g-boys handsome? They just love churning out an army of GQ models." The face formed a wry smile and two brown eyes twinkled. They were still nice eyes.
Steve opened his mouth, but only air streamed out. His arm reached out toward Wilson almost involuntarily.
"Alright, here." Wilson grabbed his hand and passed his fingers over the vein-like skin, pressing them into the small pits. Steve took several deep breaths. He thought Wilson's face would feel hard, maybe coarse, but it really only felt like plain old skin. Just a face. "You know, Steve, I'm pretty surprised that you haven't run out screaming yet. Hell, I'm surprised that you've been nice to me at all. I mean, every TV episode dealing with hero worship can't be wrong, right? I used to imagine that if they ever found you, you'd turn out to be this giant jerk and we'd all learn a lesson about propaganda and believing in heroes, but I'm really, really glad you're not because when I'm around you, I feel like less of a psycho because you're the first person I met in here who doesn't treat me like I'm a whackjob, which I am, and I probably wouldn't have run into Darcy and Luke if it weren't for you, and dear Jesus, this is the stuff I'm not supposed to say out loud, but dammit---"
Steve smashed his lips against Wilson's---Wade's. It was rash, it was sloppy, and Steve didn't care because he got Wade to stop talking before he blushed anymore. Then he pulled back. "Well, Wade, you're the only person in this crazy future who actually thinks I still matter."
Wade rested his forehead against Steve's and ran gloved fingers underneath his T-shirt. "You do, Cap. You do."
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