#weasel marvel

[itsdustee]

They made Weasel stop for food because of course they did🍔🍟

[puermiles03]

"I hate kids." Weasel remembers saying when he'd passed off another job to Wade, another child looking to get a stalker off their backs but unable to pay the reasonable price. His words echoing in his ears as he stares down at the papers on the table in front of him, a pen in his hands. His eyes flick to the tiny nine-year-old boy, who looks both nothing and everything like his sister. Soft brown hair and doe-brown Bambi eyes, wearing a blue shirt with 'What do you do with sick chemists? Helium.' In white print on the front. The boy looks devastated, understandably so.

Weasel wouldn't be in this situation if his stupid sister hadn't gone and died in the first place. He'd been so certain he'd wiped everything about Jack Hammer off the planet, but apparently he hadn't accounted for his brother-in-law and his wife naming him to take in their nephew, so now he has to or risk the government asking too many questions. Plus, if Weasel doesn't take him, his next closest family is Weasel's brother, Justin, who would be an even worse choice than Weasel himself.

Weasel rubbed his eyes, exhaustion rearing its angry head as he finished reading the papers for the third time before signing Jack Hammer along the lines. The kid seems to be a genius of some kind; he's the top of his school with notes about jumping ahead a few grades. Apparently his former guardians wanted him to have friends his own age.

The kid is silent until halfway through the drive towards his former address. "Mister Hammer?" Coming in a quiet, soft voice, cutting through Weasel's thoughts and the silence in the junker car.

"Christ, kid, call me Weasel. I don't like to go by Hammer, and I'm your uncle, I guess, so none of that mister shit."

I Don't Like Confrontation but I'm Staring at the sun.

Throwback Thursday! I don't wanna deal with queuing all my Soc! Curtis stuff rn so have some of my pre-Hintonverse stories

Series: And I’m Tangled up in Shadows, Chasing my own Fears.

[sheworminonmypsycho]

[itsdustee]

Try messing with Peter. I dare you

[puermiles03]

He's going to shoot.

Miles stalled- Peter had been teaching him how to not react on his spidey sense all week. ("Sometimes someone has to take the hit, and if it's not you, it's whoever is behind you.") Right now the nice old lady who was being mugged is a step behind Miles, and if he dodges it, it'll hit her, and she's far less durable than him. So he stalls, a second, then two GO LEFT his spidey sense screams as the echoing bang rings out, and a distinct red and blue suit hits the ground in front of Miles.

The mugger is already turning and running when Miles reacts, shooting webs to stick the man's hands to the wall and the gun to the ground where it landed when the man panicked. The old lady is calling the cops, and Miles is pulling Peter up onto a rooftop, and his ears are ringing because Peter hasn't moved, and there's a sticky red liquid leaking from a hole in the shoulder of the suit, and-

Breath.

He pauses, his hands shaking. He focuses on taking deep breaths the way Peter taught him- (Peter who is bleeding, Peter, who jumped in front of the bullet, Peter, who is dying-) He listens to the rhythmic thrum of Peter's hummingbird heartbeat; he can hear the sinews of his muscles already working to repair the damage. Miles needs to call someone; the bullet is still lodged in there, and if Miles doesn't get it out, it'll have to be reopened. (Miles can do that- he's got a spider phone. Peter told him what to do in an emergency)

He thumbs through the contacts on the phone until he finds one with a gold star marking it as a favorite; he'd never called it before. The contact name just says 'Weasel'. ("Here, see the one that says Weasel? He's my emergency contact; if something happens to me, you call and tell him.")

It rings twice before a click, and a man's sleazy voice calls out. "Who's this, and what do you want?"

Hidden in the Space Between the Hero and the Enemy.

Throwback thursday

[itsdustee]

💻Weasel working...💿

[puermiles03]

Wade hadn't thought much of the bartender at Hellhouse; it was just another bar full of mercenaries and money. Sure, the dead pool was a fun way to make some extra cash, and calling the bar Sister Margaret's was a sure way to annoy Weasel, who Wade later learned was the owner.

As Hellhouse started to pick up popularity, it started to draw new lines in the sand and hold higher expectations for its patrons. Stopped accepting or handing out jobs involving hurting kids; higher rewards for jobs with a good sob story attached.

Hellhouse grew more in popularity as Weasel started dealing anything he could get his hands on. Wade started pressuring the more volatile mercenaries out of town. If Weasel got killed, Wade would have to find a new reliable arms dealer, so he might as well help keep the riffraff out.

Weasel tolerated Wade more than any other bar did, letting him go weeks without paying his tab and not kicking him out for it. Wade liked to test these boundaries, ordering blowjobs and starting fights that destroyed furniture.

Weasel compared him to a toddler sometimes, holding eye contact while he sowed the seeds of chaos and property damage. Sometimes Wade was feeling extra pissy and found himself seconds away from cutting his losses and killing the bartender before deciding he could deal with the snarky remarks and barbed comments if he didn't have to track down a new dealer, putting his weapon away, or just changing targets as Weasel backpedaled an acceptable amount.

Things changed the day that fuckstain "Skip" had strutted in like he owned the place. Wade didn't like how he looked or how Weasel's whole attention snapped to him the moment he'd walked in. Wade's fingers itched with the want to blow the trespassers brains out, but he held back, curious about what a man had to do to get kicked out of Hellhouse before he'd ever entered- because Wade would know if he'd been active here before.

"Wade." Wade's attention snaps away from the interloper and to the bartender at the sound of his name. The bar was silent as everyone held their breath waiting. "I'll clear your tab completely at the end of the shift tonight if you kill this fuck-" he doesn't have to finish the sentence; that was all the permission Wade needed. (Something inside of him crowed at the chance to paint Hellhouse with blood and still get a drink afterward.)

He didn't drink himself into a coma with the promise of free information at the end of the night. He doesn't care why the man, "Skip," needed to die, but if someone had done something to piss off a reliable dealer like Weasel- who doesn't usually throw his weight around like he could- then Wade wants to know what it was.

I've Pushed This man as far as he Could go but he Lacked the Words to let me Know.

Throwback Thursday!

Series: And I’m Tangled up in Shadows, Chasing my own Fears.

[puermiles03]

Things had been going well for the Hellhouse-hold, as Wade had taken to calling the uncle and nephew duo.

After nearly a year, they'd finally fallen into a rhythm that worked for them. Sister Margaret's was open from 10pm to 7am, so he'd still be up to send Peter to school with bar food leftovers for breakfast and lunch. Where he'd sleep until around 4pm, Peter would get out of school around the same time but would usually spend some time doing extracurriculars or hanging out with his friend Ned Leeds (who Weasel had background-checked everyone even remotely related to), and Weasel would do whatever illegal thing he needed to work on.

Peter would usually get home around 5 or 6 pm, where he'd eat whatever food was on hand and easy, and Weasel would (begrudgingly) show him whatever he wanted to learn about, from disassembling guns to check their condition to mixing drinks to eyeballing drugs. Sometimes Wade showed up (Hey, you said I'm your best friend; that makes us family, so I'm going to be the weird drunk uncle.) and threw a wrench into whatever they were doing. (No, Wade, you can't teach Peter how to shoot!)

Weasel would be down in the bar by 8 or 9 pm, and Peter would be doing homework or working on whatever project caught his eye, sometimes sending complicated bits to Weasel over text or email to act as a rubber duck.

On weekends Peter would usually be out in the city scrounging for tech scraps or hanging out with his friend, sending updates every hour or so to Weasel (not because he asked him to; it just makes Peter feel a little safer. Especially when Weasel sent the occasional response on where to avoid when he gets too close to somewhere.)

Weasel spent most of his time between Sister Margaret's and their apartment, as he usually did, but now his phone buzzed every hour or so, and the regulars had set up a betting pot on how long until Weasel's new girlfriend ditched him and on who exactly was texting him if not a girlfriend. (Wade put $200 on a boyfriend, even though he already knew it was Peter.)

When Does a man Become a Monster?

Throwback Thursday!

Series: And I’m Tangled up in Shadows, Chasing my own Fears.