#and the wretched things that tangle his legs as he tries to wade through. but he will still say Yes and it will still be true

[sodrippy]

how many times do you think jiang cheng asks for yanli’s forgiveness? for failing her and zixuan, for failing their son over and over, every time he yells instead of comforts, spits harsh words instead of praise. how many times does he whisper a sorry for not giving his nephew the love he deserves? the love his parents would have showered upon him, the kind that maybe would have made him softer in the same way that yanli’s love smoothed out jiang cheng’s rough edges, and could have made it easier for jin ling to grow up in this world.

how often do you reckon he thinks about what he’s inflicted on jin ling, the same poisonous love that his mother injected into him, and how often does he worry that jin ling loves jiang cheng the way jiang cheng loves his own mother, in that twisted awful way that makes him cycle through hate and guilt and shame and desperate need for affection? how sick does that make him feel? does the guilt make him avoid the shrine, unable to face his sister’s horror and anguish at how badly he’s done, or does he go there daily as penance? how many shards of broken glass are glued together to make up jiang cheng?

#my brain is made of plum sauce<3 #mdzs #jiang cheng #ellian come baaaaack im dyingggggggg #oh jiang cheng............. #and its NOT the same u know jin ling LOVES jiang cheng so genuinely #he can be the most true version of himself around jiang cheng who doesnt tell him to be more diplomatic and sand down his edges #whos just as barbed as jin ling himself and ALLOWS jin ling to talk back to him and doesnt baby him or make him feel monstrous for his ange #he loves jiang cheng and looks up to him and values him but ofc jiang cheng wont ever Really know u know #bc if you ask jiang cheng if he loved his mother he will say yes. he will think about the murky waters of that love #and the wretched things that tangle his legs as he tries to wade through. but he will still say Yes and it will still be true #and so you could ask jin ling and he could say yes ofc i love my uncle! but jiang cheng would never Know exactly how he means it #and he doesnt want to be loved like that.he already sees too much of his mother in his reflection he couldnt bear for jin ling to see it to #goddddddd. anyway. i am BEAMING the vallian energies into everyones minds so they See

[ladyinbooks]

So on ao3 juiceboxoverlord mentioned ‘ And the way Hess is so enamoured with Dan's emotions and ideology like I bet that if they had never met Hess would still fall in love with Dan on the battlefield probably.’

We all know I have an absolute, terrible weakness for this kind of thing, so I really, really couldn’t resist.

So have a mini AU.

Title: Such Violent Delights Pairing: Hess/Daniel Summary: The Antichrist and the Righteous Man meet on a battlefield. Warning: Some minor descriptions of violence/death; dub-con kissing (I mean, it’s Hess...); Hess POV

These violent delights have violent ends.

And in their triumph die, like fire and powder.

Which, as they kiss, consume.

- 'Romeo and Juliet', William Shakespeare

Hess should have seen the ambush coming.

They have been doing so well recently, in their push against Heaven. More territory has fallen to them, more people persuaded by their promises, their ideas.

He should have known it would be too good to last.

The sharp crack as he twists his hand and snaps three necks, reminds him of nothing so much as the splintering of wet wood. Around him the sounds of the dead and the dying are a cacophony, topped by Abaddon's voice bellowing orders.

The bone-white of her hair is visible at the edge of his eyeline. In her suit she is still immaculate, barking at Raum and Asmodeus as she directs his troops like the General she is.

It makes him smile – makes him bare his teeth at the next angel that tries to rush him, as he extends a hand.

That terrible, tearing sensation down his arm; a light so bright that even he almost shields his eyes. He gets a hand on the angel's wrist and pulls.

There is the searing crackle of holy flesh; the unholy sound of an angelic voice raised in a scream. The noise is enough to make the humans around him flinch back, pressing hands to their ears, in a desperate attempt to block out the death of a small piece of the fabric of the universe.

Hess ignores the shriek, and the white hot pain cracking through his finger bones. He smiles, bloodied teeth and wicked intent, and drops the carcass to the floor.

He’s distracted, unfocused, and so it is instinct that saves him, nothing more.

The sharp prickle of intent at the nape of his neck, and he sidesteps just in time to avoid a blade to the back.

He pivots; lashes out and catches the next down-swing with a scrap of shadow.

For a moment, all he can focus on is the sharp steel of the blade centimetres from his throat. The line of it is bright, burning; the runes inscribed on it are holy enough they almost make his eyes water.

A blessed blade.

He only knows one person who would carry such a thing.

He sidesteps again in time to avoid the second blade aiming to bury itself in his gut. One, two, three heartbeats, and he draws in a deep breath.

Enough, he thinks, and the word is broadcast out.

Everything shudders to a halt.

Painfully, grinding and unnatural, the world stills around him.

He doesn't often do this – doesn't often have the inclination or the energy – but sometimes there is a need for it. An itch, just to walk in a frozen reality where there are no demands on him. No threats.

“Let me go,” someone says, harsh, and Hess smiles.

He knows who the Righteous Man is, of course. He's seen Daniel Waters in reports and later – when Heaven sank their perfect claws into him – on screen and in newspapers. Images of him plastered everywhere: saviour, hero, madman.

“A little lost lamb,” he says, and hears the sharp intake of breath.

When he turns to look, Daniel Waters is still too. He's not frozen though – not like every other wretched creature in this blood-soaked field. He's bound, arms strung out by Hess's power.

And in spite of that, he's still fighting.

Tall, strong; a sharp jawline and an undeniable presence. Eyes filled with the burning silver fire of heaven, smoking with purity and determination as he wades against Hess's darkness. A battered leather jacket and scuffed up jeans. Mankind's saviour.

Daniel manages a step, then another, muscles straining as he claws his way forward. His teeth are bared as he snarls, and for one moment Hess honestly wonders if he's about to break free.

“Let me go,” he repeats, and his voice is firm and clear.

It makes Hess want to ruin him.

Blood-soaked and perfect, this creature – this man – is the image of bitter triumph; a holy sacrament, born to suffer at the hands of those who would use him. Made to fight anyway, because he's good. Because he cares.

“Why should I?” he asks, and watches the way Daniel doesn't falter.

“So I can kill you.”

And it's –

Delightful. Wonderful. It makes Hess's heartbeat skip in a way it hasn't for a long, long time.

“Well aren't you a sweet thing,” he says, just to watch the way those eyes flare brighter.

It makes him smile; makes him lick the blood from his teeth as he thinks of war and ruination, and all he could wreak on this perfect, violent creature.

Another painful step, the footfall as heavy as the centre of the earth. Daniel is closer now, arms still bound, but near enough that Hess can see the scattered imperfections of him.

A small nick at the corner of his jaw, long since scarred. The tendons of his neck as he strains, desperate, against the ropes Hess has bound him with. Blond hair, so dark it's almost brown, cropped short enough that Hess probably couldn't get a good grip of it. A perfect, snarling mouth, and a dusting of days-old stubble.

For a moment Hess wonders what colour his eyes were, before he became this pawn. This holy weapon. Were they brown, or green, or blue? Would they look at him in the same way?

Movement, and Daniel's foot lashes out. The heel of it manages to catch Hess's shin. It hits hard enough to hurt, and for a moment he falters.

Nothing has come close enough to injure him since the Before, and his concentration shatters.

The roar Daniel lets loose is triumphant as he breaks free. He lunges forward, slamming into Hess. His swords clatter to the grass, but his momentum doesn't stop.

They fall to the ground in a tangle of limbs, calloused fingers wrapping hard around Hess's throat, squeezing.

The weight of him is perfect; the heat and strength of his body a paradise Hess hasn't felt in a long, long time.

It makes him laugh, breathless, and for a moment the grip of those hands on his neck fails.

He moves - fast and terrible enough that Daniel's lip is splitting under his knuckles before he can recover from the shock. The force of it snaps Daniel's head back, and the impact shudders up Hess's arm.

He twists and they roll, scrabbling against one another until Daniel is flat on his back, Hess gripping his wrists, pressing them above his head into the mud. His fingernails are digging in, and he watches the way something flares and dies in Daniel's eyes; in the way he tries to bring a leg up, to fight against the weight of Hess across his thighs.

“Stay still, sweet thing,” Hess says, and can't help the way he leans down, leans closer. “You don't want to make me angry.”

Daniel growls beneath him, dangerous and not at all subdued. “I don't give a fuck about making you angry.”

“You should.”

The softness of Daniel's lips is a shock; the sharp inhalation of his breath a symphony. The warmth of his mouth is a victory. The taste of his blood lingers on the back of Hess's tongue, as he smiles against the Righteous Man's mouth.

He wants this, and he wants this, and he wants this.

The perfect way to get back at Heaven. To tear them down, one sanctimonious, inane figurehead at a time.

Except –

Except –

A pulse, against the pad of his thumb, thundering in time with his own heartbeat. The sharp, vicious sensation of teeth sinking into his lower lip, and Hess sighs at the feel of it.

Daniel is solid heat beneath him, tangible and human. The way he moves, the strength of him – pressed but not contained – makes an ugliness stir in Hess's chest. The first, icy crack of something threatening to splinter wide.

When he pulls back, Daniel is watching him.

“What –” he begins, and his voice is breathless. “What was –”

And this is what Hess wants. This. Those hazel eyes wide – not silver, not silver, not silver – and Heaven's champion strung out beneath him.

It's not a victory, he realises. Not even close. It's a weakness. A terrible, vicious longing to carve his way deep into this man's chest; to work out all the ways he could be a sinner. To pull him down, because he can. Because he wants to.

Because he can't think of anything else.

Daniel is tense beneath him, watching, waiting. For a moment his gaze slides sideways, snagging on something in the grass less than a foot away, and Hess smiles because he knows exactly what's going on in that angry, clever mind.

“You won't reach them,” he says, low and sweet. “By the time you tried to pick up the first blade, I'd have you weighted down in so many chains that the earth would swallow you whole.”

Daniel sets his jaw. “And if it took me a lifetime to claw my way back up and kill you, I would.”

He means it utterly, and the sincerity of him is thrilling.

This is the only person who can come close to understanding what it is like to stand with a hand on both sides of the scale and weigh destiny. The only one who understands the need for sacrifice; to acknowledge that the old world needs tearing down for a new one to rise.

Blood-soaked and dangerous, and the moment Hess lets him go, he's going to try and tear them both apart.

“Daniel,” he says. Then, “Sweet thing. Angelic fury. Heaven's weapon. Duty and righteousness and honour.”

“Shut up.” The flex of Daniel's fingers, the push back against Hess's grip, and it's nearly enough to unseat him. “Don't you dare –”

He's a killer through and through. Hess can see it, writ deep in the core of his soul. He kills because he has to; because it's right. He protects, and saves, and bleeds for a million souls that will never thank him for it.

And he's perfect.

“I could do so much with you,” Hess says, wondering. “The things we could accomplish.” It's a dream, sweet and tempting. He looks down, sees the slide to silver and smiles.

“But I won't,” he adds. “Because that would ruin you.”

“When I get up,” Daniel says slowly, “I'm going to slit your throat.”

“You're going to try,” Hess says, and hears the terrible adoration in his own voice; the soft fondness he shouldn't have. “But at the moment you're at my mercy.”

He tilts down again; watches the way Daniel tips up a little, without even realising. Sees the way those lips part on a slow, measured inhalation and the dark cut of Daniel's lashes, as for a moment he lets himself be moulded to Hess's will.

What he could do. What he wants to do to this man. It would take decades. Millennia.

“Beg,” he says against the soft, vulnerable skin of Daniel's temple.

Teeth at his ear, and he can feel the slow, careful snarl of those lips. The barely contained rage and want beating through sanctified veins. It makes him shiver.

“Go on,” he adds quietly; a savage demand.

A sharp twist, and he lets one of Daniel's wrists go; feels fingers sink into his hair and pull, twining them closer. The pain of it is a thing of beauty, and he smiles at the way he is going to be pulled apart, one atom at a time, for want of this man.

And Daniel draws back; turns his head a little until they are increments from a kiss, breathing the same air.

“You first,” he says.

#Path to Paradise #Hespherus Jones #Daniel Waters #Ficlet Fridays

[not-close-to-straight]

Of Mermaids and Men (Spideypool)

***************************

The man drinking at the back of the waterside bar was a man that no one messed with. 

He sat slumped in the same table night after night, the same ragged Captain’s hat pulled low over his eyes, drinking a bottle of the same piss-poor ale, staring at the same spot on the same dirty wall, and never saying a word. 

Almost a year now he had been coming to this bar, almost a year since he had snapped his bonds and stolen a long boat from a British prison ship, somehow getting himself to shore. No one knew what he had been imprisoned for, no one knew why the Navy had ever come looking for him, and more than that, no one knew why he was so scarred. 

Some sailors said it was because his last ship, The Mercenary, had burned around him and the Captain had refused to jump away from it. Others said the scars were from his time served on the prison ship. The more superstitious sailors decided that they weren’t so much scars as it were brands from a dark spirit, the beings of the deep punishing the Captain for some horrible deed. 

“Perhaps he fought a Kraken.” one whispered. 

“Tangled with a selkie.” another suggested. 

“Mermaids.” One old timer cut in. “He pissed of a mermaid, probably promised love and then left her. Vicious folk, those mermaids. If one curses you, only one can save you, but no mermaid will come close to a cursed man.”

The rumours swirled, the stories grew wilder and wilder, and every night the Captain drank until the bottle was empty and then stumbled his way down the pier to his little shack near the water and no one knew why.

Wade was well aware of the rumours and whispered and general layer of distrust that followed him everywhere he went, and he didn’t give a flying fornication about it. 

They could talk all they wanted, as long as they left him alone. They could whisper and imagine as long as they didn’t get into his business. They could send him dirty looks and judge him for his habits as long as they didn’t mess with his ale. 

Wade just wanted to drink, and sleep, and listen to the ocean. 

It wasn’t as if he would ever sail again anyway.

***************

***************

Tonight a thick fog rolled in across the harbor, shrouding the pier, the bar and all the surrounding buildings in a mist thick enough to cut. 

Wade turned up his collar against the damp cold, and made his way down to the falling-down cabin he called home these days, not looking forward to another night in his rickety bed. The ale hadn’t been enough to get him drunk tonight, which meant he wasn’t numb to the wind like he usually was, and he knew the noises from the bar would keep him awake. 

It was fine. He deserved every bit of wretched hell this life threw at him. 

He was almost home, not more than a few yards away from the crooked-hanging door, when he heard a noise, a whisper, something of a chirp, and it stopped him in his tracks. 

“No no no.” he whispered. “No. Not tonight.” 

There it was again, a chirp followed by a little trill that pitched high at the end as if asking a question. 

“No!” Wade said louder. “I don’t want anything to do with your kind!” 

“I know who you are.” A whisper and a giggle, haunting and sweet and horrifying in it’s innocence. “We all know who you are.” 

Against his better judgment, against everything in his body, against every shred of self-preservation he had--Wade turned towards the water and just like he knew it would, the fog cleared in front of him as if waved away by a hand, and in the clearing was--

“Shit.” Wade dropped to his knees, and then rocked back to sit on his rear. “I knew it was one of you. It’s always one of you.” 

“Who else comes on the fog to rest on the shore?” the creature whispered and Wade hated that he leaned in, drawn towards the too sweet to be real voice. “Who else brings the mists to cover the seas and whisper your name?” A giggle and Wade closed his eyes. “I know your name, you know. We all know your name.” 

“Mermaids.” Wade said flatly. “Always the mermaids.” 

“You sound sad.” The creature pushed itself up on the rocks and Wade looked away immediately, not about to let himself be snared by it’s otherwordly beauty. They were always so beautiful, mermaids. Beautiful right up until they tried to eat your heart. 

“Why are you sad?” The voice was echoing, rippling like water, sounding as if it came from a great distance. “You smell of drink, which means your evening was filled with cheer. You wear your Captain’s hat which much garner you respect. And you have your own home, which means you must be well off. Why are you sad?” 

“I don’t know if you’re making fun of me or if you’re just a young enough thing to really not understand what all these things mean.” Wade shouldn’t even be talking to the water demon, but who was he kidding? No man alive could resist the call of a mermaid, much less one that had been with them before. 

“I’m older than some and youner than others.” The thing lifted itself higher on the rocks, peering at Wade through the near dark. “But not so young that I don’t know you, or know why you are the way you are.” 

“Then stop wasting my time by asking.” Wade retorted. “Get to the part where you try and seduce me into the water like all the others do, try to talk me into stepping foot in a wave so you can drag me down and fulfill my curse.” 

“Look at me.” It was a plea, a whisper, a command and Wade couldn’t resist it, so he looked. 

And once he looked, he couldn’t stop. 

They were all beautiful, all the mermaids were. Sirens, water nymphs, selkies, demons, whatever the sailors called them-- they were all beautiful. Every last one of them. 

But this one was breathtaking. 

It certainly wasn’t traditionally female, whatever gender it was. Gender was a weird thing with mermaids, you never knew what they were until you got close and by then it was too late and it didn’t matter. 

It--he?-- was all lean muscles and long limbs, his waist tapering before it melded into scales that disappeared beneath the water. Dark hair highlighted through with gold strands was long enough to curl around his ears, perfectly tousled with droplets of water on the edges, and the color was reflected in dark eyes with gold centers, and Wade knew from experience that the tail and fins would match. 

Full red lips-- all mermaids had such perfect mouths, Wade hated it-- and when they parted in a smile at finally having gotten Wade’s attention, sharply hooked fangs glinted in the moonlight. 

“Christ.” Wade swallowed hard and looked away. Even after all this time, after all these years, his blood still stirred in the presence of the creature. His heart still raced just hearing the voice. His body still reacted to the promise that lurked deep in gold centered eyes. 

But it wasn’t so much a promise the mermaids eyes held as it was an inevitable curse, and Wade looked away determinedly. 

“Wade.” The thing crooned, trilled, curling its wicked tongue around the word. “Wa-a-a-a-a-de.” 

“Don’t!” he snapped. “Don’t say my  name, that is not your right!” 

“Isn’t it though?” The question sounded so innocent from the beautiful creature. “It’s my right as one of the mer-folk to know the name of the man so cursed by my queen.” 

“Your queen is a plague.” Wade’s eyes blazed in anger. “She sinks ships for the thrill of it. She kills sailors without a care for their families or the ones who love them. She tears peoples worlds apart and laughs over it.” 

“We cannot be held to your standard of morality.” A bare shoulder rose and fell in a careless shrug, and Wade’s gaze went hopelessly to the glitter dusted across the skin. He never understood how a creature who spent its life in the depths could look so flawless, sprinkled with glitter, when they should be wrinkled and gray like fish. 

“Our standard of morality.” he dragged his attention away from the merman’s skin and back to the conversation. “Murder should be unacceptable for any standard of morality!” 

“Murder.” The merman frowned, and Wade heard a splash as it’s tail flipped in the water. “But, we have to eat. Do you call it murder when you hunt and kill?” 

“I--”

“Is it murder when you round up the fish and kill them en masse?” 

“It’s not--”

“What about when you chase the beasts of the deep, the whales, shove your harpoons into their backs and harvest them for their oil?” 

“No--”

“You are nothing more than fish to us.” Those fangs again, bright against a pink tongue. “Except you have legs. There is no difference.” 

“No difference.” Wade nodded. “I’m talking to a mermaid about whether or not us eating fish is the same as them eating humans. I’m going to bed.” 

“Wa-a-a-a-a-de.” Sing-songy and lethal. “Don’t you want to come in the water?” 

“No.” He struggled to his feet, slipping on the slick rocks. “I’ll never go in the water again.” 

“But the water misses you.” Teasing now. “Can’t you hear it calling to you?” 

The mermaid opened his mouth and a song came as if from the very depths of the ocean, haunting and melancholy and enticing, calling Wade to the water, coaxing him to just dip his toes into the waves, just to remember the way it felt splashing against his feet. 

“Listen to it calling to you.” A sailor was helpless against the call of the ocean, leaving friends and family and even their partners to chase the waves, always looking for another adventure, always looking for the edge of the horizon and yet hoping they never found it. 

Wade was no different, lost to the siren call of water, and he didn’t realize he was standing at the very edge of the shore until a cold hand curled around his ankle, tugging him closer. 

He startled, looking down at his feet, and bright gold eyes were staring back up at him, webbed fingers cold on his skin, fangs shining dimly when the mermaid licked his lips. 

“Listen to it calling to you.” he sang again and Wade was one step from the water, one step from his doom, when a crash down the pier brought him back to himself, a drunk from the bar stumbling over crates and sending them onto the rocks below. 

Wade jerked away from the mermaids grasp, and gold eyes narrowed back to brown as the creature slid away into the water. 

“Another time.” he was breathing hard, trembling, shaking from being so close to certain death. “Tell your Queen she will have to have her revenge another time.” 

The mermaid hissed at him, and Wade laughed back at it. 

“Another time.” he said again, and ran from the water’s edge to the relative safety of his shack. “She isn’t getting me today.”

********************

********************

Wade had been a Captain once, back before the curse. 

He had stood at the helm of his ship The Mercenary and knew beyond a doubt that his was the fastest in the seas, outrunning the British privateers sent to capture him, out maneuvering the British Navy if it ever got close, snatching his loot and fleeing into the waves to split it among his pirates and hoard the rest away. 

He had known every inch of the sea, every inch of the shoreline, every secret harbor and hidden port and shelter for pirates with enough drink and food and pleasurable distractions to keep a sailor satisfied for weeks on end. 

Deadpool was what they called him. Deadpool the Pirate, Deadpool the Unkillable because no matter the injury he survived, no matter the blood loss, he commanded his ship, and no matter the personal cost, he stood at his wheel and turned The Mercenary towards the horizon and let the winds fill his sails. 

That who he had been, a far cry from who he was now, and it was all that fucking sea hag’s fault. 

Alright, not sea hag. Sea Nymph. Sea Witch. Queen of the Merfolk and all the others. 

Shiklah, they called her, but she was Death as far as sailors were concerned. Her siren song could bring an entire crew down, sailors literally throwing themselves over the sides to get to her, devoured by grasping hands and cutting fangs by the merfolk below. She could prop herself on the rocks and lure a man-o-war to crash, could summon the sharks to cut through the survivors, and sometimes she killed just for the thrill of it, finding a beach and singing her song and not caring if it were men or women or children that came running to the waves. 

Sailors feared her, and those left on land hated her, but nothing could be done. 

What could be done?

When the Mercenary sailed through Shiklah’s waters, Wade had stuffed his ears with cotton so he wouldn’t hear her song. Had worn a mask that dimmed his eye sight so he wouldn’t be distracted by her beauty. Had lashed himself to the prow of his ship with a harpoon in hand, and when that horrifying sea witch had perched on a rock and crooned her song to his men, he had flung the harpoon with all his strength and sent it right through her chest. 

Funny thing, about sea witches though. Apparently a harpoon to the chest wasn’t enough to kill the bitch, though she had screamed terribly, an ear splitting sound that sent the other merfolk darting away in fright, his sailors falling to their knees and shouting as their ear drums burst and blood dripped down their face. 

Shiklah screamed and screamed and then she snapped the harpoon off as if it were no more than a twig, and one moment Wade had been fine, and the next he was choking, scrabbling at his throat because it felt like nails were biting into his neck, squeezing the very life from him, and a voice in his ear--

You will pay for this, Wade Wilson. Came the words, and from the rocks, the sea witches pale purple eyes burned into him. You will pay for this. You wil be in pain every moment you stay on dry land, and the moment you dip even your toe into the water, I will be there to drag you to my depths.

Wade’s skin felt like it caught fire then, and he couldn’t do anything but try to cry out against the unrelenting pressure at his neck as he hurt from the bottom of his feet to the top of his head, growing sharper and sharper until he finally, mercifully, passed out. 

He had come to in chains, tossed into the bottom of a British prison ship. He was scarred like he had walked through fire, his hair gone, his voice coming ragged from a scream-torn throat. 

He didn’t know what happened, or how it happened, but he knew he had to get to dry land. 

Jumping the prison ship had been difficult enough, but the terror that came with rowing the longboat across the open waves had kept him going, and Wade hadn’t stopped until he’d reached land, collapsing on to the sand with a sob. 

He hurt clear across his body every second of every day, his skin itching, his muscles aching, head pounding. It only eased when he was close to the water, the same pull that every sailor felt to the ocean amplified by the knowledge that the pain would stop if he just walked into the waves. 

But he knew-- he knew-- that Shiklah would have him then. Anytime the fog rolled in, a mermaid would come to visit him, beautiful and terrifying and reminding him that they knew. They knew his real name, they knew of his curse, and then they would open their mouths and sing that wretched song, drawing him to the water so they could snatch him. 

He had tried living inland, really he had, lasting most of a year in a little land locked town where he worked as a black smiths assistant, but eventually the call was too strong, and Wade had come back to the water. 

And here he was now. Living as close to the water as he could without actually being on it. Listening to the ocean and hurting to his core with the desire to sail again. Feeling his skin burn and cursing that he hadn’t killed that witch-- or that she hadn’t killed him. 

But he wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of giving in, of letting one of her minions drag him down to a watery grave, so here at the waterside he sat, and drank and wasted his days. 

And no golden eyed, spooky voiced merman was going to change that. 

*****************

*****************

Another night, another fog bank and this time Wade didn’t bother staying at the bar to drink, he carried it home and sat on the shoreline just far enough away that a sticky fingering merman couldn’t reach him, close enough that he could feel the spray on his face and remember how it had felt to ride the waves in the Mercenary.

“Wade.” there was a sudden puff in the air and the fog parted, revealing brown and gold eyes and a wicked smile. “Wa-a-a-a-a-d-e.” 

“Mermaid.” Wade said shortly, and took a long swig from his bottle. “Don’t have anything better to do than haunt me?” 

“Oh.” a giggle and Wade tried not to react to it. It wasn’t fair that something so monstrous could be so tempting. “Oh Wade. No no no. I’m not haunting you! Why would you say that?” 

“Only terrible things come with the fog.” he replied shortly. “Leave me to drink in peace.” 

“I can’t do that.” The creature purred and hauled itself onto the sand, leaving it’s tail in the water. “My Queen has tasked us with bringing you to the water so she can have her revenge. It’s my duty.” 

“I’m not stepping in the water.” He shook his head. “I don’t miss it that badly.” 

“No?” The merman swept his fingers through his thick hair, raining droplets down on his shoulders. “You don’t miss the wind in your hair? The way the water looks after a storm?”

“...No.” 

“What about the clear nights?” He lowered his voice, trilling coaxingly. “When its just you between the stars and the waves, the sound of a harmonica from one of your sailors coasting on the breeze. What about the hot, lazy days when the sails don’t fill and the ship just drifts and you can lean against the sun warmed mast and get sleepy?” 

Damn it. Wade took another long drink. The little demon was good. 

“Tell me--” the thing inched closer, scales clicking lightly against the pebbles. “Tell me your favorite memory from when you captained the Mercenary. Will you share that with me?” 

“No.” 

“What harm could it do?” An absent minded shrug, as if the creature honestly didn’t know that sharing memories with a mermaid was akin to giving a fairy your name-- it just wasn’t done. They owned a piece of you after that. “Your soul is Shiklah’s already.” it whispered and Wade shivered. “What’s the worst that could happen?” 

“My favorite memory--” Wade was speaking before he realized it. “My favorite memory was my time taking the Mercenary out. It stormed beautifully, all wild lightning and rolling thunder and the sea was out of control. The ship was creaking and groaning and I was very afraid that she would break apart beneath me.” 

“You were scared.” The gold-centered eyes glowed. “Afraid to die.” 

“No.” he shook his head. “No, not afraid to die. I’ve never been afraid to die on the water, that’s how a sailor should go, surrendering to the same waves that carry us where we want to go.” 

“Oh.” The mermaid’s mouth opened in a perfect ‘O’. “You-- you mean it. You aren’t afraid to die in the water.” 

“Of course not.” Wade took a deep breath and continued, “The storm nearly took the Mercenary apart, but when morning came she was still riding true, her sails un torn and wood un cracked and she was beautiful.” 

“And?” 

“And I knew that I had made the best decision of my life.” Wade finished. “That moment more than all the others. I belonged to the sea, and when given the chance to take me, she let me live to see that sunrise and hundreds more instead.” 

“Oh.” Softer this time, the mermaid’s eyebrows furrowing. “If you are not afraid to die in the waves, why do you resist when Shiklah sends us for you? So many times we’ve come for you, and every time you turn us down. If you aren’t afraid to die--” 

“It would be one thing to drown because I took on a storm and lost against the ocean gods.” Wade finished his bottle and set it aside. “Quite another to be given to a sea witch because she is carrying a grudge.” 

He left the mermaid there at the shore as he went to bed, somehow knowing that those peculiar eyes watched his house the entire time. 

*******************

(TW: very brief mention of suicide)

“You hurt, don’t you?” the lyrical voice came to Wade the next night, the fog predictably clearing so he could see the merman waiting for him at the end of the pier. “Every moment you are on dry land.” 

“Yes.” 

“And you know the water would soothe you, but spiting Shiklah and depriving her of her vengeance is worth the pain.”

“Yes.” 

“If my Queen wasn’t after you, if you could sail again like a normal man, would you?’ 

“Yes.” 

“And if it could soothe your pain, would you walk into the waves and end it all?” 

“...yes.” 

“But you won’t, because Shiklah won’t let you drown like that, she would send one of us to drag you to her so she could see it happen.” 

“Yes.” 

“I think you are a stronger human than we thought.” 

“I don’t care what you and the other creatures think of me.” 

*********************

“How long were you a sailor?” 

“I ran away when I was eleven, stowed away on a ship to get away from home.”

“Why did you leave home?” 

“I wouldn’t have survived if I had stayed.” 

*********************

“Tell me about the ocean.” Wade asked one night. “Tell me what it’s like under the waves.” 

“Calm.” he answered dreamily. “Its wonderful. Calm and dark. I’m never sure if everything moves slower through the water or if I move so fast they only seem slow.”

“Can you see color?” 

“More than you can.” the mermaid wasn’t bragging, simply stating a fact. “Brilliant colors. Shades of blue that you can’t imagine. Reds and oranges and hues that you don’t even have words for.” 

“Is it cold?” 

“I don’t know what cold is.” It turned curious eyes towards Wade. “It just feels right to be in the water. Comfortable. I belong there.” 

“That’s how I felt on my ship.” Wade said wistfully. “Like it was right. Like I belonged there.” 

“You miss it.” He murmured. “You miss the sea.” 

“Every day.” Wade swallowed back the tears. “I’m meant to be out there, and yet I’m forced to be here. Your Queen gave me both a curse and a prison. I either die on the water I love, or suffer through a life on land.” 

“Why don’t you choose the water, then?” 

“If I’m to die, it will be on my terms, not at the whim of some bitchy mermaid.” he snarled, and in the water, the creature grinned. 

“You are wonderfully ornery. They all say you are a fighter, that you fought against Shiklah’s hold on you even though she could have killed you in an instant.” 

“They called me Deadpool the Unkillable.” Wade said with something like pride. “Nothing could keep me from captaining my ship.” 

“Nothing but Shiklah.” he whispered. 

“Yeah.” Wade closed his eyes. “Nothing but Shiklah.”

*********************

A whistle from the fog and Wade gritted his teeth against the shiver that went through him. 

Three weeks now, every few days, sometimes two or three days in a row, the mermaid had come for him, and every time it became harder and harder to leave and go to bed afterwards. 

Sometimes the wicked thing sang, splashing at the water and twitching it’s tail and luring Wade closer and closer until he broke free of the spell and ran for his very life. 

Other times they talked, the beautiful creature lifting itself nearly out of the water and watching Wade with gold centered eyes as he talked about sailing on the Mercenary, his time brief time aboard the prison ship, how much he had hated being inland. 

“Is it Shiklah’s curse?” the mermaid asked one night. “Is it her curse that draws you so strongly to the water?” 

“No.” Wade shook his head. “It’s always been like this. I’ve always wanted to be out there. It’s probably worse with her curse, but it’s always been bad. I’ve always been drawn to the water. It’s in my blood.” 

“Hm.” had been the only answer, and then a quiet splash as he had swam away. 

Tonight though, the mermaid whistled and whistled for him, the notes hanging in the air longer than a human’s would, drawing him to the shoreline. 

“Wade.” For the first time, the mermaid wasn’t mocking him with his name, throwing the knowledge in his face. “Wade, come here.” 

“Not even going to try to be cunning tonight?” Wade sat on one of the rocks wearily, emotionally wrung out from night after night with the water demon, his body hurting more the more time he spent with it. “Just going to call to me?” 

“Come here.” It said again, and crooked sharp claws in his direction. “Please.” 

Wade kept looking at it suspiciously, and finally the mermaid sighed. “Come this way, where the rocks are too sharp for me to climb, hide there and give me your hand only. You have my word I won’t pull you into the water.” 

“What good is the word of a mermaid?” he retorted. “It’s as if a shark promised not to bite me.” 

“My name--” the creature hesitated and Wade’s head shot up, his eyes narrowing. Surely the thing wasn’t going to give Wade his name, that would give Wade some sway over it and then- “My name is Peter.” it said all in a rush. “My name is Peter and with the all the gravity of giving you my name, I swear not to pull you into the water.” 

“I--” Wade stared at the thing at Peter in shock. “Why?” 

“Please.” Another crook of clawed fingers. “Come here.” 

It was a terrible idea, but Wade went anyway, sliding and shuffling down the rocks until he was close enough for Peter to reach for him and Wade tensed for a cold touch, for clammy skin and the ick of webbing. 

But then he gasped, dropped his head back and cried out out loud as pure warmth flowed up his arm from where the merman held his wrist clear to his neck. “Oh shit-- oh shit-- what are you doing? What are you doing to me?” 

Peter blinked up at him, the gold nearly overtaking his eyes, and before Wade could pull away, ran his hand up to Wade’s elbow before throwing himself back into the water and out of reach. 

“Fuck.” Wade could barely catch his breath, the warmth in his arm turning fire hot for several minutes before it started to cool again. 

“Damn it damn it damn it. That hurt, you little--” Wade rucked his sleeve up and stared down at his arm. “Wait. What--?” 

The scars on his arm were gone. There was nothing but clear skin from his fingertips to his shoulder, no pain, no itching, no anything. 

“Nothing but a mermaid’s touch can heal a mermaid’s curse.” Peter murmured in that eerie, watery tone. “I just wanted to see if I could.” 

“You-- you healed me?” Wade kept staring. “Or at least part of me? How? Why?” 

“Shiklah has told the story of the man that hurt her as if you were--” Peter shrugged at him. “As if you were sailing into her waters to over take them, as if you were only there to rid the sea of her. But it wasn’t that, was it? You are a man who loves the water as much as I do, as much as my kind does. You need it to breathe, to exist, to soothe your soul. And for that, you shouldn’t be so harshly punished. Killing you for trying to kill her would be fair, condemning you to this life was nothing more than vindictive.” 

“I--I just-- I just--” Wade couldn’t even put a sentence together, too stunned by at least some small part of him feeling good again that he couldn't even think. “So you healed me?”  

“Would you like me to do it again?” 

“I--I--I--” Wade stumbled to his feet and ran for his little house, and Peter watched him go, eyes glowing in the dark, then disappearing as the fog rolled back in. 

********************

Wade was back the next night, his jaw set stubbornly as he held a hand out for the mermaid. 

Peter trilled in pleasure and trailed his fingers up and down Wade’s left arm until it was just as clear and pain free as his right. 

A few nights later, it was Wade’s leg, the mermaids hands hot on his bare foot, pressing hard until the scars cleared up to his thigh. Then the other leg, burning the scars away and leaving nothing in its wake, soothing to something wonderful and calm until Wade was crying tears of relief. 

But it wasn’t all relief though, just like it wasn’t just healing. 

Every time the mermaid touched him, Wade fell a little more under his spell, hearing the siren call in his dreams and as he walked through his day. 

He started zoning out in the middle of simple tasks, his eyes trained on the water like he was searching for.. something. 

The nights Peter didn’t call out for him, Wade tossed and turned and walked the piers up and down until the sun rose. 

The healing came at the cost of losing his mind, and Wade cried because he was terrified, and he cried because he wanted more.  

He wanted more.

*******************

******************* “I’m losing my mind.” he told the mermaid, the night of the full moon when he could see all of Peter’s tail shimmering beneath the shallow water, staring at the glitter on the beautiful shoulders, sighing when the gold and brown eyes caught his gaze and held it. “I’m losing my mind every time you heal me. Every scar that fades takes a piece of my sanity with it.” 

“I’m sorry.” Peter frowned as he thought. “A mer as powerful as Shiklah would never let her curse be reversed without some sort of side affect. I’ll stop.” 

“No.” Wade took a deep breath and stripped his shirt off, baring the last of his ruined flesh to the mermaid’s view. “Losing my mind can’t be as bad as my existence has been the last few years. Please don’t stop.” 

“This will be harder.” Peter was still frowning. “You will have to be close enough for me to lay against you, to be skin to skin. It will take time too. Your arms and legs-- extremities are easier to heal. But your chest-- the curse has taken root in your heart, in your veins. It will be difficult to remove.” 

“What do I have to do?” Wade asked, stepping closer. “Tell me.” 

“You’re sure?” 

“I’m sure.” 

Peter flicked his tail through the water for a long moment, watching Wade with narrowed eyes, then finally-- “Lie down on the sand. Not so close that your feet touch the water, but close enough. I am taller than you, so my tail will still be in the water, even if you are completely dry.” 

“I’ll be safe?” 

“As long as you aren’t touching the water, no other mer can snatch you from me.” Peter promised. “I can’t promise it will work though, it’s a powerful curse and--”

“I want to try.” Wade stretched out on the sand lengthwise to the water, careful to keep his feet and hands out of the water. “Please?” 

“It might very well cost you the last of your sanity.”

“Better to go this way, then wasting away on shore wishing I was in the water.” 

“Alright then.” Peter slipped away long enough to get his entire body wet, and then heaved himself out of the water and into the sand. “Here we go.” 

*******************

*******************

Peter was heavier than Wade expected, but this close he was beautiful enough to make Wade’s heart skip a beat, and when the mermaid felt it stutter beneath his palm, he smiled, flashing those wicked fangs at the sailor. 

“Breathe.” he murmured, and fit their bodies together as best he could, chest to chest and hip to hip and legs to-- well, legs to tail anyway. “Just breathe for me, Deadpool the Pirate.” 

“How do you know my real name?” Wade gasped over the first sensation at his scalp, Peter’s webbed fingers light but purposeful as they tracked across his skin. “Not even my crew knew my real name, but Shiklah knew my full name and so has every mermaid that has come to visit me. Why? How?” 

“My Queen knows the name of all those who roam her seas.” Peter pressed their foreheads together, a hum that seemed far too deep for his frame vibrating in his chest. “Especially those who have been hurt and yet come back every time. You have come back every time. No matter how badly you hurt, you were always at the wheel again, and she always thought you would be a danger to her.” 

“Oh.” Wade was started to feel light headed and the merman lay even heavier against him, driving the breath from his lungs. “But-- But--”

“Shhh.” Lips on his own, cold at first and then warming until Wade was melting beneath the kiss, something in the back of his head telling him that it was wrong to kiss a merman, but the heat coursing through his veins keeping him from caring. “Shhh, just breathe for me.” 

“I--I--” Wade groaned when Peter shifted on top of him, his body reacting under the spell of the merman. “Peter--” 

“Mmmm.” Hands at his chest, flattening over his heart and Wade cried out in shock when every nerve in his body lit up, a pleasure so sharp it was nearly painful. 

“Settle.” Peter was rubbing against him now, undulating his hips over Wade’s cock until the sailor was painfully hard, grasping at the sand for something to hold on to. “This will go easier if you settle.” 

Wade tried to protest, or maybe not so much protest as he wanted to beg for more, his cock plumping thick and heavy in response to the weight of the mermaid on him, having gone so long without even his own hand that it wouldn’t take much more than this to bring him. 

“Settle.” Peter said again, pressing harder against him, and this time the thought of speaking only flitted idly through Wade’s mind before it was gone again, a peaceful blank descending over him. 

“Breathe.” Peter’s voice came to him as if through water, echoing through his head and Wade’s eyes were suddenly heavy, heavy heavy, so he closed them. That--that was the right thing to do, right?

Right?

“Soon.” A whisper, Peter’s mouth at his ear, and in some dim part of his mind, Wade thought he came, pushed over the edge by the merman’s movements, spilling between their bodies, coaxed through the orgasm by soothing words and nimble fingers. 

“So close.” Water was lapping at his feet, and Wade was too far gone to remember why that was a problem. 

“Almost there, Wade.” The water was up to his chest, cold and crushing and Wade tried to struggle, he wanted to struggle, but Peter wrapped his arms around him and held him still. 

“P--P--” he tried to say something, forced the words to his lips, but Peter stole them with a kiss, and it went on and on and on and on until Wade couldn’t breathe, Peter taking the very air from his lungs, and still it went on and on and on until Wade wanted to scream, but he didn’t have the breath for it. 

The water covered his head, and Wade was suddenly aware of everything-- Peter’s arms around his neck, the full lips against his own, the thick tail beating in the water beneath them, bubbles rising towards the surface.

It was terrifying and peaceful, dreamlike and horrible, desperately cold and warm in a way that cradled him close and made it hard for him to care. 

The last thing Wade saw before he knew it was over was pure gold eyes, and the flash of wicked fangs. 

It was fine. 

He always knew he would die in the water, but somehow this didn’t feel like dying. 

It felt like coming home. 

**********************

**********************

Wade woke to the sun on his face, sand between his toes, and warm hands on his face.

“You’re awake.” Dark brown eyes with flecks of gold stared down at him. “I thought I’d failed.” 

“P-Pete.” Wade licked his lips and coughed away the dryness. “What--how? I thought I died.” 

“I had to take you into the water to heal you.” Peter’s hand flattened on Wade’s chest. “But I knew you wouldn’t like it, so I had to lure you first. I’m sure it felt like dying, but you were always safe.” 

“I’m not--” a hand at his head. “I’m not crazy? You said it would cost me my sanity.” 

“No.” Peter looked a little sad. “Shiklah restored your mind, she thought it would be too easy for you to no longer be aware of the curse.” 

“My curse.” Wade stared down at his body, at the clear skin. “But it’s gone. You healed me.” 

“A curse like Shiklah’s always has a rebound effect.” Peter pulled away, running his fingers through his hair. “You aren’t cursed anymore. You are free to roam the seas as you wish, to come and go as you please, to step back on the Mercenary and chase the horizon.” 

“So what--” Wade coughed again and shook his head to try and orient himself. “I don’t understand. What’s the rebound effect?” 

Peter didn’t say anything but the brown eyes filled with tears and it was only then that Wade noticed that his fingers weren’t webbed, that the glitter was gone from Peter’s shoulders. His hair that always so perfectly tousled looked limp and soaked, plastered to his forehead. And where his unmarked skin should have melded into beautiful brown and gold scales, there was only more skin, marred by a jagged scar that cut across Peter’s hips where his tail had once began, replaced now by two long legs and delicately arched feet. 

“...Peter?” 

“She decided that you could come back to the sea but someone had to be bound to land.” Tears slipped down Peter’s cheeks. “So here I am.” 

“You gave up--” Wade swallowed. “When you healed me, did you know--” 

“I thought something might happen to me.” he admitted. “But I didn’t know it would be this.” 

“You took my curse away and gave up your entire life.” Wade still couldn’t believe. “Why?” 

“It won’t be all bad.” Peter ignored his question. “I’m not banned from the water, I just am limited just like a man is. It feels too cold on my skin and the salt dries my skin out and I can’t see all the things I used to.” he looked around forlornly. “There’s so much less color, now.” 

“Peter...” 

“And my legs are entirely useless.” He pointed to them in distaste. “I haven’t really figured out how to walk so--”

“You’re voice is different.” Wade blurted, feeling foolish for fixating on the one thing while so many other things were wrong. “It doesn’t sound the same.” 

“No.” A quick shake of his head. “No. I’m human now. No magic, no fins and scales...no ocean.” 

“You gave it up for me.” 

“It never should have been taken from you in the first place.” 

Silence between them then, Peter not wanting to talk, Wade not knowing what to say. 

But then-- “Would you like to see the Mercenary? I pay to keep her docked and maintained. I always hoped one day I could sail again, and if I couldn’t I was going to take her out one last time when I’d had enough of the pain and wanted to end it.” 

“You want to take me to see your ship?” Peter glanced at him curiously. “Why?” 

“...why not?” 

********************

********************

They were a curious pair, Captain Deadpool of the Mercenary, and the boy he kept with him. 

Not that Peter was a boy, no, not at all. You only had to look into his eyes to know that Wade’s lover had seen centuries of life, that he had learned the secrets of the depths, that he was a man who directed his own path. 

But there was something fragile about him all the same, the way he tilted his head to mimic others behavior as if he’d never done it before, the way he was fascinated by music, his complete lack of bashfulness over anything that almost made him seem innocent. 

They were a curious pair. 

No one knew why Wade’s scars had disappeared, just like they didn’t know about the wicked scar that cut across Peter’s abdomen, but no one ever asked. 

The Mercenary was very rarely in port these days, sailing with nothing more than a skeleton crew, island hopping and exploring, spending weeks in beautiful places simply because they could, avoiding the waters where the mermaids played, and steering far from the rocks where Shiklah sang.

All the usual stories followed the pair-- that Wade’s curse had been lifted by a mermaid, maybe Peter was that mermaid. That he had found Peter washed up on shore one day. That Wade had lost his mind and sailed the oceans so no one would know and that Peter was just as mad as he was, and that’s why they made such a good pair. 

Rumours, stories, some wildly off base, other’s frighteningly close to the truth. 

But it was on clear nights when they sailed below miles of stars and across black water, and in the early morning when the sun rose over a beautifully blue sea, it was during those times that the crew of the Mercenary thought they might have known the actual truth. 

It was those times that Peter would climb the mast as if he had no fear of heights just to feel the wind on his face, or clamber along the prow until he was stretched out over the water, and Wade would follow him to whichever spot it was. 

There they would kiss, and Peter would sing something haunting, something that had the sailors gathering a little closer, eyeing the water as if they wanted to take a swim. Wade would close his eyes and let the salt water spray into his face as if he would never get tired of it and if the crew members looked very very closely and caught the light in just the right way--

--they all swore they saw fangs when Peter smiled.

Fangs and perhaps a hint of glitter at his shoulders. 

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#ncts fics #spideypool #mermaid au