Author's Note: Since this is primarily based on his more recent comics (Daniel Way, etc.) and the new game (buy it!), Deadpool's Voices will be included, as seen on the cover. Because this site doesn't allow font changes, his courier-font box Voice will be in italics, while the yellow box Voice will be in bold. Also, to clarify, I won't be trashing anybody's work. That would just be rude and nasty. All the sub-stories will be made up. Any similarities to actual fanfics are not intentional, blah blah blah. Thanks!

Yo, Reader! Yeah, you! Wanna see a trick?

Sit…

Staaaaay.

Read!

I know. Awesome, right?

That trick only works if they think our cover photo looks cool.

No sweat! We look like a boss. Skin-tight suit, ripped bod, katana…

Vague suggestion of criminal insanity…

They can read everything we think, dumbass. The suggestion isn't vague. It's pretty damn obvious.

Like a BOSS!

Why are we doing this, again?

[EARLIER…]

Flashback! Shit, I hate exposition. Okay, screw it. I guess this is technically part of my deal, so I'll fill you in.

Teehee! Innuendo!

Wink.

Shut up. Some of them might be dudes. We don't put our penis in dudes. Half the reason I'm even doing this is because 90% of all fanfiction readers are chicks. Some of them might even be hot! If not, that's totally okay. I got it covered. You see, I have to wear a mask because I'm hideously scarred from my tragic battle with cancer, and I—

That is the worst pickup line we have. It hasn't worked even once.

Yeah, what the hell, ladies! Ugly guys with badass healing factors that not only keep them from dying but also keep the CANCER regenerating need love, too! …Someone should put that on a bracelet.

Keep saying "cancer." Maybe they'll start feeling sorry for us. That will really help with the story. We can forge a bond.

I was gonna say, I have some spare masks. I mean, just if you're, you know, gross.

That is definitely not helping.

OKAY, voices in my head. Enough, already. Exposition-time. Here we go…Ahem. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…

Mostly the worst.

The best times have lots of tacos and money. Also, kickass explosions. And girls who love us for US.

And not just because we're great in bed.

I was sitting in my crappy apartment…

Why IS our apartment so crappy? We kill people for money!

Yes, but our financial decisions are horribly irresponsible.

I was sitting in my crappy apartment, just minding my own business.

Watching bad pornography.

It's so lonely, here…did we mention we're disfigured by cancer?

Suddenly, I was interrupted by an email notification. I only get emails from two kinds of people: the assholes who try to sell me male enhancement products—you know who you are!—and, every once in a while, the ones who need stuff done, by which I mean incredible, impossible feats which only a man of my particular skill set and genetic mutation can provide. For a not-so-modest fee, of course. I'm not that easy.

Don't overdo it.

Yeah, we sound like a total douche. Quit making us look bad!

I opened the email.

Dear Deadpool,

I'm writing to you for help because you're one of my favorite (anti-)heroes, and because you actually KNOW you're a Marvel Comics character. I need someone with that kind of awareness to do a job for me. How do you feel about hijacking other stories? I've got wrongs that need to be righted, and you've got bullets, regeneration, and the genius to put them to good use. It's…it's fanfiction, Deadpool. The awkward shipping, the terrible plots, the misrepresented characters…it's tearing me apart and I can't take it anymore. I need you. I'm desperate. I'm generous with my rewards. Will you do it?

-Marina

P.S. If you agree to do this, I will not only pay you—I will also write you a sweet dance party/orgiastic festival at the end. I'm an author. You know I can make it happen. All you have to do is let me put you in the story. Any details you need will be given to you by a contact in each new world.

She thinks we're a genius!

That's not a good sign.

"A damsel in distress!" I declared, stroking my chin thoughtfully—actually, the mask that covers my chin. Yes, I wear it even when I'm alone. Sometimes. Depends on the artist.

Marina? What is that, Russian? Greek?

Foreign chicks are so HOT!

"Alas! This is the internet. You can't trust anybody, these days," I said regretfully. "She could be a 50-year-old trucker with a smartphone, an ex-wife, a dead dog, and a lonely heart."

Statistically speaking, this IS actually probably a girl. She wants us to do fanfiction.

"A fair point. And if she is a he, we can always just gank him and take his wallet."

I see no downsides to this plan!

I typed my response:

Show me some numbers, sister.

Kisses,

Deadpool

Her answer was as swift and to the point as it was spectacular.

36-24-36

-Marina

I blinked. The girl had spunk. And possibly gozangas like grapefruits.

SOLD.

Don't fall for this again. We only end up embarrassed and alone.

"Can't hear you! Too busy getting my orgiastic money-dance festival. Click!"