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kat_lair***
Title: Goblinesque
Author:kat_lair
Fandom: Deadpool/Spider-Man
Pairing: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson or Peter Parker & Wade Wilson
Tags: Spooktober, Ficlet, Gen or Pre-Slash, Banter
Rating: G
Word count: 781
Summary: “Who the ever-loving fuck is that?”
Author notes: Spooktober 2024, Day 28/31. Prompt/theme: Goblin. Went with a literal use of the prompt :D
Goblinesque on AO3
“Spideyyy!” Wade calls from his vantage point behind a church steeple. He doesn’t have to call very loud because he knows that Peter is close enough to pick up Wade’s voice with his freaky arachnid senses. “I spy with my little eye, something starting with a phlegm-green-what-the-fuck.”
He counts to twenty-six before there is a familiar sticky swish-splat of web near his head and then Peter is swinging himself up and settling on a crouch next to him.
“You rang?” he asks, mild and unflappable. Normally, Wade would needle him until he flapped, but right now the need for intel overrides that base instinct.
“Yes,” he says. “Because I’m hoping you’ll help me with a question.”
“The answer is no,” Peter says, “sublimating your intimacy issues with incessant jokes and obsessive attachment to plush toys and small dogs is not healthy and you should seek therapy.”
“Not that question, though I would like to come back to the intimacy issues later,” Wade says. “What I want to know now is…He points toward the back of the office building, visible from their hiding spot. “Who the ever-loving fuck is that?” It’s late afternoon, full daylight, and yet this guy is breaking in without a care in the world. In fact, there is nothing about him that could be classed as subtle. And Wade would know, having divorced said concept himself a while back.
Peter follows the line of Wade’s less than discreetly extended arm, squints his eyes – Wade can tell, even from behind the mask – and then gasps like a maiden aunt at a porn flick.
“Aw crap,” Peter says. And then he proceeds to mutter a few more curse words, many of them the kind Wade hadn’t thought he even knew the meaning of. It’s his turn to gasp, partly in surprise and partly, he’s not even a little ashamed to admit, from good old-fashioned lust.
“Damn, Parker,” he says. “You should talk dirty to me more often.”
Predictably, Peter ignores him. “What the hell is he doing here?” he asks instead, one of those rhetorical questions Wade thinks. Unlike his.
“Who?” he repeats. “You know this freak? And before you start, I can use that word because I’m one too.”
“That’s now how it works,” Peter rebuts automatically. It’s not the first time they’ve had this discussion. And then he finally answer’s Wade’s question. “That’s Norman. Or could be Harry, I guess. But probably Norman.”
Norman. Wow. Wade sure is so very informed now.
“Okay, let me rephrase that,” he says. “What the ever-loving fuck is that?”
Peter sighs. “That is what happens when a chemist with a lot of smarts and a lot of resources self-medicates for their mental illness.”
Wade stares at him. Peter sighs again. “He calls himself the Green Goblin.”
Well, it fits. The man is very green indeed, a kind of strikingly lurid colour that Wade is pretty sure doesn’t actually exist in nature. And there is definitely something gobliny (goblinesque?) happening with the ears and the outfit and the general air of chaotic evil the man… the being? exudes. Presently, he has given up on fiddling with the lock and as Peter and Wade watch, the Green Goblin tosses something purple and smoking at the door which explodes on impact, resulting in a blare of alarm and cacophony of screams.
That’s their cue.
“I don’t have any goats,” Wade laments as they backflip (him) and gracefully swing (Peter) their way down from the church roof.
“One, I’m glad to hear that,” Peter says, already sprinting toward the smoking doorway. “But two, what the hell are you talking about?”
“You know? The three billy-goats crossing a bridge,” Wade shouts over the noise of people escaping, “fooling the goblin under it to think it—”
“That was a troll,” Peter hisses. He’s already climbing the side of the building and Wade struggles to keep up, not that he shows it. Not everyone here has molecular adhesivity.
“What?”
“Under the bridge, in the fable. It was a troll.”
“No!”
“Yes.”
“…do you know one of them as well?” They’ve reached a third storey window and Wade is balancing on the narrow edge as best as he can, trying to peer in. There’s definitely something green moving in the room. “Should I expect some kind of fairytale monster gathering to hit the town? Because we could get me a little red hood to go with my already red outfit and I would—”
Peter doesn’t have the courtesy to wait to hear about Wade’s outfit plans, already crashing through the window feet first. Oh well, Wade will just have to show him later. After they’ve bagged themselves a goblin.
***
Title: Goblinesque
Author:
kat_lair Fandom: Deadpool/Spider-Man
Pairing: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson or Peter Parker & Wade Wilson
Tags: Spooktober, Ficlet, Gen or Pre-Slash, Banter
Rating: G
Word count: 781
Summary: “Who the ever-loving fuck is that?”
Author notes: Spooktober 2024, Day 28/31. Prompt/theme: Goblin. Went with a literal use of the prompt :D
Goblinesque on AO3
“Spideyyy!” Wade calls from his vantage point behind a church steeple. He doesn’t have to call very loud because he knows that Peter is close enough to pick up Wade’s voice with his freaky arachnid senses. “I spy with my little eye, something starting with a phlegm-green-what-the-fuck.”
He counts to twenty-six before there is a familiar sticky swish-splat of web near his head and then Peter is swinging himself up and settling on a crouch next to him.
“You rang?” he asks, mild and unflappable. Normally, Wade would needle him until he flapped, but right now the need for intel overrides that base instinct.
“Yes,” he says. “Because I’m hoping you’ll help me with a question.”
“The answer is no,” Peter says, “sublimating your intimacy issues with incessant jokes and obsessive attachment to plush toys and small dogs is not healthy and you should seek therapy.”
“Not that question, though I would like to come back to the intimacy issues later,” Wade says. “What I want to know now is…He points toward the back of the office building, visible from their hiding spot. “Who the ever-loving fuck is that?” It’s late afternoon, full daylight, and yet this guy is breaking in without a care in the world. In fact, there is nothing about him that could be classed as subtle. And Wade would know, having divorced said concept himself a while back.
Peter follows the line of Wade’s less than discreetly extended arm, squints his eyes – Wade can tell, even from behind the mask – and then gasps like a maiden aunt at a porn flick.
“Aw crap,” Peter says. And then he proceeds to mutter a few more curse words, many of them the kind Wade hadn’t thought he even knew the meaning of. It’s his turn to gasp, partly in surprise and partly, he’s not even a little ashamed to admit, from good old-fashioned lust.
“Damn, Parker,” he says. “You should talk dirty to me more often.”
Predictably, Peter ignores him. “What the hell is he doing here?” he asks instead, one of those rhetorical questions Wade thinks. Unlike his.
“Who?” he repeats. “You know this freak? And before you start, I can use that word because I’m one too.”
“That’s now how it works,” Peter rebuts automatically. It’s not the first time they’ve had this discussion. And then he finally answer’s Wade’s question. “That’s Norman. Or could be Harry, I guess. But probably Norman.”
Norman. Wow. Wade sure is so very informed now.
“Okay, let me rephrase that,” he says. “What the ever-loving fuck is that?”
Peter sighs. “That is what happens when a chemist with a lot of smarts and a lot of resources self-medicates for their mental illness.”
Wade stares at him. Peter sighs again. “He calls himself the Green Goblin.”
Well, it fits. The man is very green indeed, a kind of strikingly lurid colour that Wade is pretty sure doesn’t actually exist in nature. And there is definitely something gobliny (goblinesque?) happening with the ears and the outfit and the general air of chaotic evil the man… the being? exudes. Presently, he has given up on fiddling with the lock and as Peter and Wade watch, the Green Goblin tosses something purple and smoking at the door which explodes on impact, resulting in a blare of alarm and cacophony of screams.
That’s their cue.
“I don’t have any goats,” Wade laments as they backflip (him) and gracefully swing (Peter) their way down from the church roof.
“One, I’m glad to hear that,” Peter says, already sprinting toward the smoking doorway. “But two, what the hell are you talking about?”
“You know? The three billy-goats crossing a bridge,” Wade shouts over the noise of people escaping, “fooling the goblin under it to think it—”
“That was a troll,” Peter hisses. He’s already climbing the side of the building and Wade struggles to keep up, not that he shows it. Not everyone here has molecular adhesivity.
“What?”
“Under the bridge, in the fable. It was a troll.”
“No!”
“Yes.”
“…do you know one of them as well?” They’ve reached a third storey window and Wade is balancing on the narrow edge as best as he can, trying to peer in. There’s definitely something green moving in the room. “Should I expect some kind of fairytale monster gathering to hit the town? Because we could get me a little red hood to go with my already red outfit and I would—”
Peter doesn’t have the courtesy to wait to hear about Wade’s outfit plans, already crashing through the window feet first. Oh well, Wade will just have to show him later. After they’ve bagged themselves a goblin.
***