[M] Snatched from Marvel

[Deadpool]

”I miss the Earth so much
I miss my wife
It’s lonely out in space
On such a ti-i-imless flight”


Deadpool burst into song, attempting his best impersonation of Elton John (and failing miserably), as he continued cruising through the white realm. In an ironic way, the merc’ felt more comfortable in this place than he ever did in the Marvel universe. Here, at least he could be himself, even if he was alone.

“And I think it’s gonna be a long, long time
Till touch down brings me round again to find
I’m not the man they think I am at home

Oh no, no, no

I’m a rocket man

Rocket man
Burning out his fuse, up here alone

And I think it’s gonna be a long, long time
Till touch down brings me round again to find
I’m not the man they think I am at home

Oh no, no , no

I’m a rocket ma—“


“Fuck out the way!” a high-pitched voice yelled from behind the mercenary. Deadpool stopped one of his feet, sending himself into a pivot, and turned around to see what the hell just interrupted his wonderful singing. All that greeted him was a mild gust of wind, which blew past one of his legs.

Weird, he thought. The mercenary knew that wind did not occur in this realm—at least not from a natural source. Nor did it talk. Before he could contemplate any further, a pair of levitating motorbikes zipped around him, screeching as they went along. Deadpool flinched a bit, and leaned back faintly. Whoah, more drama in me thread, he said to himself, with a snicker. It was his favorite type of drama—the type he could intervene.

As fast as he could, the mercenary whipped back around, shouting ”Rocket-blades, go!” The flames from his rollerblades reignited, propelling him forward with great speed, towards the two motorbikes.

It did not take long for Deadpool to catch up to the two bikes, and as he did he could feel the heat generated from their thrusters. The mercenary reached back for one of his katana, and clenched it fiercely. As he pulled his metal from its sheath, he stretched his arm out, cutting through the air. He gradually cocked back his weapon, and even though both of the persons riding bikes were cladded in the same outfit (something that reminded Deadpool of a Star Wars stormtrooper—pearly-white armor that covered head to toe, only receding to joint areas, where black underclothing was exposed), he focused in on the biker to the left.

”Random onomatopoeia!” the mercenary roared, lunging forward, unleashing the terror of his katana. The unknowing trooper’s head parted from the rest of him, and juggled into the air. Blood shot up from his neck, as if he were a human Coca-Cola bottle shaken too harshly, and the cap finally popped.

Baron, stop. We do not give senseless plugs to major corporations. Not without some type of sponsorship, or other monetary benefits.

Not long after the trooper had been decapitated, the bike he sat upon must have realized it was now uncontrolled; tt quickly began to rock side-to-side—first gently, then violently—as if it were a boat caught in a strong storm.

The other trooper then noticed he was riding alongside a dead man, and a rogue bike that was bound to collide into him. Without hesitation, the trooper threw a leg out and kicked his lifeless comrade—and his bike—into his new resting place, against the hard surface of the white realm. The decapitated trooper soared off his bike and toppled over a few times as he skidded against the ground, soon accompanied by the bike, which crashed and went up into flames a few meters away.

The lone trooper looked back, bewildered, wanting to know what the fuck just happened. He took a hand off of one of the bike’s handles to reach for a pistol strapped to his hip, but quickly noticed what the fuck was, that was going on. That fuck was a stranger in a red and black spandex outfit, sitting directly behind him.

”Hola, como estas?” Deadpool asked, and before he could get a response, he bitch-slapped the trooper off of his bike. The trooper cried out some as he flew off into the distance, but the mercenary could care less. He took control of the bike and continued forward.

These guys went right by me. They must have been after something, and something fast. Deadpool thought, jerking back one of the handles of the bike, accelerating its speed. I bet they were after whatever the hell blew past me.

* * *

“I think I lost them,” the small gingerbread man said between his heavy panting. “Bout fucking time.” Those motorbikes were getting faster and faster with every update of technology—Coruscant never disappointed in that department.

The gingerbread finally began to come to a halt, in front of an archway structured out of grey stone that appeared weathered, quite a bit—deep-green moss sprouted out from any space that it could, also giving way to baby vines that started to get their fingers around the archway’s edges. There was no sign of the ginerbread’s chasers for the first time in the last twenty minutes, and at his current fatigue, he did not even think to question where they went. As soon as he stopped completely, his back became noodle, and slouched forward. He palmed his legs where the bent and drew a few more heavy breaths before he forced himself upright, pressing his ginger hands against the small of his back, under the candy-impaled staff tied to his back. “I’m surprised I didn’t crumb off a piece of my foot against this hard-ass Nexus floor,” he said, with a groan, gazing into the liquid, rippling center of the archway . “I need to work out more often, or something. Gotta keep these old, crusty ginger limbs of mine fresh, and tender!”

”Cool story, bro.”

The gingerbread’s icing eyes widened into large circles. He thought about grabbing his lollipop staff on the sly, from its bottom.


”Don’t even try it, lil’ guy,” Deadpool said, bluntly. ”You owe me a thank you. I saved your life, like a true hero.”

Gingy went over his options. He could stay and brawl whatever stood behind him, or he could leap into the liquid-like center of the eerie archway that faced him. That archway was a portal, and it led to the Pale Moors—a place clouded with the fog of despair. It was a place that Gingy had not yet been, and the mysteries of such a verse was not something he ever intended to investigate, either. Slowly, he turned around to face the stranger behind him, wanting to at least get a picture of what the fighting option entailed.

”Oh shit!” Deadpool exclaimed. The small creature before him was a neatly decorated gingerbread man, with the breath of life in his lungs. His multiple outlines and patterns of icing made up everything from his facial features to his attire (which were mostly just squiggly lines covering his naked, ginger body), along with two purple gumdrops as buttons. ”You’re the gingerbread dude from Shrek, Gingy,” the mercenary said, with delight. ”You’re as adorable as a—“

The gingerbread man took the brief opportunity he had to retreat, and spit a glob of sweet saliva into the eye of the stranger. With that, his choice was made to jump into the portal.

”Ah! You little bitch!” Deadpool took his hands and began to pull away the heavy spit shot into his eye, mucus stretching between the spaces of his fingers.

“fuck you!” Gingy squealed, turning away from the stranger and running towards the portal. His sore legs, though, would not go with the same haste they displayed earlier; the stranger pounced and tackled the little gingerbread into Pale Moors.

The liquid center of the archway swallowed both of them whole.