PS: Read the Author's thought. With Lust, Daddy Deadpool.
[SCENE: WATER PARK. MIDDAY. SUN'S OUT, BALLS OUT.]
MC POV:
"So… why are we in a water park?"
I asked the man in red leather who was currently drinking pool water like it was his mom's breast milk.
DEADPOOL (Stealing the Pov once more)
"Yeah, You'd also like to know why we're standing ankle-deep in chlorine soup surrounded by screaming children and suspicious foam."
DEADPOOL (gleeful, insane, already soaked head to toe not by water):
"SHUSH, my little blue-and-white author plug-in! I promised the internet a wet chapter. You think I'd disappoint the horny degenerates of AO3, Reddit, Webnovel and Scribblehub? NEVER."
(He cups a handful of pool water, sniffs it, then slurps it like a dog who's given up.)
DEADPOOL (smacking lips):
"Mmmm. That's the flavor. Notes of chlorine, regret, and just a whisper of pee. Sweet ammonia, how I missed thee."
(He points across the pool, grinning like a man who found his soulmate—or his next lawsuit.)
DEADPOOL:
"See that guy? That one right there with the SpongeBob trunks and suspicious facial guilt? He peed right here. Not even a full minute ago."
(Without waiting for a response, Deadpool scoops more water and splashes it directly into the MC's face.)
DEADPOOL:
"Here! Taste his shame! Share the pee-love! We're bonding! Like dogs at a fire hydrant!"
MC:
"JUST KILL ME—"
DEADPOOL:
"Don't thank me yet. I gotta go show that golden-boy over there what it means to commune through urine."
(He sprints off like a murder clown on bath salts. Screams erupt off-camera. Sounds of wet slapping. Someone yells "MY KID'S IN THERE!" Security whistles. A lifeguard jumps into the pool and swims the opposite direction. Deadpool rides a dolphin. A chicken fights a T-Rex. Deadpool bets money on the fight.)
MC just watches. In silence. In trauma. In chlorine-scented dread.
[CUT TO: DEADPOOL RETURNING TRIUMPHANTLY]
He's wearing a full disco ball as a necklace, dripping wet and now somehow carrying a complete DJ booth on his shoulder like it's a boom box from Hell.
DEADPOOL (panting, euphoric):
"UMP! UMP UMP! No talking! I don't want to hear your crap. Logan's off being a broody Australian in the woods or getting pegged by fanfiction tropes. YOU'RE here. I'M here. And we're gonna make this night wet in a way that would get this story banned in seventeen countries and two religious forums."
(He slaps a button on his DJ setup. Bass drops so hard the pool starts vibrating. A fog machine activates out of nowhere. Is it safe? No. Is it cool? Also no. Is it Deadpool? 1000%.)
DEADPOOL (to the camera, pointing at the sun):
"And you! AUTHOR! You stinky little keyboard gremlin. What kind of DUMBASS writes a DJ scene in the middle of the day?! Huh?! You think wet + sun equals sexy? NO! That's how you get sunburned nipples and disappointing lighting!"
(He glares up at the sun. Raises his fist. Punches the camera. Again. The lens cracks. Reality trembles.)
DEADPOOL (growling like the Aussie he wish he had.):
"If you don't make it night right now, I'm gonna do stuff so depraved—so narratively heinous—your story's gonna get exorcised by Catholic Reddit."
[INSTANTLY: SKY GOES DARK. STARS EXPLODE INTO PLACE. A NEON SIGN FLOATS IN THE AIR READING "WETPOOL NIGHTS."]
DEADPOOL (satisfied):
"That's more like it. Now let's get filthy."
(He slams the music. Lights spin. Bruno Mars "Phat, Juicy and Wet" starts to play. He starts dancing—violently. Sensually. Confusingly. Every move is either illegal or about to be invented. He does a split on a wet tile, hurls glow sticks into the sky, and somehow summons a backup squad of wet, screaming inflatable ducks.)
MC (yelling over the bass):
"I don't even know what genre this is!"
DEADPOOL (twerking on the water slide):
"It's called Chlorosexual Chaoscore, baby! Every drop's a war crime and every beat's a horny lawsuit!"
(He turns back to the audience, winded but gleaming with pool water and depravity.)
DEADPOOL (to camera):
"Kids, if you're still watching this, congrats. You've made it through the splash zone and into the Deadpool Rave Zone. This is where plots go to drown, characters go to get licked, and timelines get rewritten via interpretive dance."
(He pauses. Music cuts for dramatic effect.)
DEADPOOL (dead serious):
"And if Logan were here? Oh, he'd be bent over that diving board, and this would've turned into an R-rated Slip 'N Slide that'd make Hugh Jackman retire from X-men again."
(He slams the bass again. The disco ball glows. The pool becomes a light show. Somewhere, a dolphin screams.)
---------
[SCENE: SOMEWHERE IN THE WATER PARK – NIGHT. THE RAVE'S OVER. THE FOAM HAS SETTLED. TRAUMA LINGERS IN THE AIR LIKE AXE BODY SPRAY AND WET REGRET.]
Deadpool stumbles into frame like a drunk toddler who just discovered sex and sorrow in the same sentence. He's soaked, emotional, and clutching a life-size poster of Hugh Jackman in what can only be described as leather string lingerie that defies physics, taste, and the Geneva Convention.
DEADPOOL (sobbing):
"My pumpkin pie… did you like it?"
(He clutches the poster to his face.)
"I gave you everything I had. Three minutes and eighteen seconds. That's long for me. That's, like, 5 business years in Deadpool time. Even with my regeneration, I couldn't last longer."
(He drops to his knees, eyes glossy, heart broken, crotch... debatable.)
DEADPOOL:
"Tell me you were satisfied. Tell me it wasn't just another scene to you. That you looked at me—half-naked, crying, emotionally raw—and thought, 'Wow, that is a man I'd let clean my claws with his tongue.'"
(He violently shoves a GoPro camera into the poster's glossy face.)
DEADPOOL:
"TELL ME, HUGH JACKMAN. That I was enough. That you'll remember me when you're in Australia filming musicals and pretending your wife is the one you really want to duet with."
(He lowers the camera, breathing heavy. His hand… oh god… his hand slowly glides down to a hole in the poster. A suspicious, slime-rimmed, anatomically questionable hole.)
DEADPOOL (serious):
"Don't judge the hole. The hole has a name. The hole is sacred. The hole and I have history that not even the Author was brave enough to write. You don't just make a hole like this. You earn it."
(He dips his fingers into the hole and licks them like a sick, broken Willy Wonka. Then he glares at the sky like it owes him money.)
DEADPOOL (screaming):
"I WOULD HAVE COME FOR YOU, MY CANADIAN BEAR—TO KRAKOA—if the comics hadn't cock-blocked me. If the Author's little baby boy OC didn't need his character development arc or some plot reason to pretend I don't exist! YOU THINK YOU CAN ERASE ME WITH PLOT?! YOU THINK YOU CAN KEEP ME OUT OF THE ISLAND OF POLY-MUTANT SEXUAL TENSION?!"
(He storms over to the pool, scoops up a handful of chlorine-tainted rave water, and chugs it like it's communion wine.)
DEADPOOL (gasping):
"And this Author! This greasy-fingered keyboard goblin! You think you can just ignore the most rabid, zealously moist fanbase on the internet? You think they don't want yaoi? They'd riot! They'd blush so hard their ovaries would develop biceps!"
(He licks his lips. His mouth froths with chlorine and desire.)
DEADPOOL (whispers, eyes glazed):
"Picture it. Logan's jacked-up physique. That grizzled daddy build. Sweat dripping down every perfect muscle like God's tears down a Marvel-licensed statue. And there I am… mouth open. Tongue out. Kneeling. Devoted."
(He gasps like he's in church with a vibrator and anal bead up his ass. Deadpool speeds up the vibration by clicking buttons.)
DEADPOOL:
"Every drop of sweat that hits the ground... I'll be there. I'll catch it. I'll sip it. I'll collect it in jars, label it 'Aussie Ambrosia,' and share it with Ryan Gosling offscreen."
(He takes another sip of pool water, sways like a sad disco ball on life support.)
DEADPOOL:
"Gosling would love it. Chat, You think he's too good for that? No. Gosling's a team player. Gosling gets it. Gosling wants it."
MC (finally breaking the silence, voice hollow):
"…Isn't Gosling a different actor?"
DEADPOOL (freezes mid-sip, slowly turns to him, face filled with betrayal):
"You… you dare insult Gosling? In this holy space of piss and children? Gosling is a treasure. Gosling is cinema incarnate. He's welcome in my fantasy. He enhances the fantasy."
(Suddenly, a beat of silence. Then—a lightbulb explodes above Deadpool's head, literally sparking, casting a holy glow across the cursed pool like Moses parting fanfiction tropes as he takes out the vibrator and the anal beads.)
DEADPOOL (possessed):
"…YES."
(He looks up, eyes wide, lips wet.)
DEADPOOL:
"Artist. Animator. Author. Rule34. MAKE IT HAPPEN."
Two Ryans. One Jackman.
A three-way so glorious it'll make Tumblr resurrect itself.
A scene so steamy it'll melt the Amazon servers and turn every Kindle into a dildo for the girlies and the diva boys.
(He drops to one knee, arms raised.)
DEADPOOL (chanting):
"Two Ryans and a Jackman. Two Ryans and a Jackman.
The Holy Thirst Trinity. The wettest crossover since Aquaman's OnlyFish."
(He collapses face-first into the pool, still chanting. A lifeguard screams. The camera zooms in slowly as he floats in slow motion, arms spread like a horny messiah.)
---
[TO BE CONTINUED IN: "DEADPOOL'S HOLY TRINITY – SWEAT, SONG, AND SEXUAL TENSION"
(Guest appearance by a very not so confused Ryan Reynolds, a legally-distant confused Ryan Gosling and a very, very illegal (and not kidnapped) appearance by Hugh Jackman)]