#the giant helmet is sending me

[fairylando]

i literally just came back home from watching venom 3 (gayest shit ever) AND ALL OF THIS HAPPENED??? and brasil house got kind of confirmed too?????👀

also im begging give me this photo in hd my 555 rights 😭😭 the two eras of me loving f1... 5 numbered guys

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Multiverse Police

I've seen the idea that GIW is actually SCP foundation somewhere, and lately, I've been thinking a lot about Fenton Happy Ending, so I bring you this. Behold, GIW/SCP, Team Phantom, and Fentons are working all together, and the whole wide multiverse fears them.

So, a giant green Lazarus Pit that looks more like a vortex than an actual Pit randomly opens in, say, Ohio. Because I heard a lot of weird shit happens in Ohio. The world is worried, JL gets sent there, but they are not exactly sure of what to do with it. Nothing comes out of it, and, well, no one is volunteering to just jump inside it - Batman made everyone read his files on Lazarus Waters, and they are reasonably wary.

But then a thing appears literally out of thin air on top of it. It looks like a spaceship, kind of, but more sci-fi than what real spaceships look like. And before anyone says anything, a large green - Lazarus green - dome appears, effectively covering both the ship and the Pit and cutting the heroes off.

The heroes are Confused (tm). And worried. And no one has an idea of what the fuck is going on, for all they know it could be some kind of yet another alien invasion.

Then, two figures on the hoverboards - one read and one teal - come out of the ship, flying over the Pit. They are followed by drones, and they all look like they are... scanning the Pit? A few more people, wearing black visors and shiny white suits that look like they are packed with all kinds of tech, slide down on the ropes straight inside the Pit. It sure looks like they are very familiar with it and have a good idea of what they are doing, working as a team.

One of the figures on the hoverboard, the one in a teal suit, notices the heroes on the other side of the green dome. She - because both of them look feminine enough - slows down and flies down to the ground, landing in front of Superman and taking off her helmet. It reveals a rather young, no older than twenty years old girl with fiery red hair tied in a bun, with eyes the same color as her suit. She smiles at them.

"Hi, you must be the Justice League?" She asks politely, and as Superman gives her a nod just out of surprise at her friendly attitude, she touches her ear, "Mom, this is DC sector universe. Pretty sure it's not a dimension we've been before, though." She turns back to Superman, "You don't recognize any of this, do you?"

Batman intervenes before Supes has the time to answer, "Who are you?"

The girl nods and taps her ear again, "Yeah, they definitely don't know us. So mark it as either an unfamiliar dimension or an unfamiliar timeline." Then she turns to Batman and smiles.

"You can call us interdimensional police. And since all the Batmans we ever encountered never believed us, I'm going to send you a copy of the files your other versions complied all together, so you can read and add more if you feel like it."

She touches her wrist computer, and, a few moments later, Batman's comm comes online with Oracle's voice:

"B, I'm getting a shit ton of files on... Multiverse Law Enforcement?.. out of nowhere. What's going on?"

Now, JL is baffled. Some of them - Flashes and Bats, for example - knew there was a whole wide multiverse going on, but to learn the multiverse has police? That's new.

Meanwhile, the redhead continues:

"The green thing behind me is a natural portal to the Infinite Realms, the dimension between dimensions. Which is really not what is supposed to be happening, so we are in the process of fixing it. It will take from ten minutes to a few hours, depending on what's on the other side, but the portal will be gone soon, and then I'll have to ask you some questions."

"Questions about what?" Asks Flash, and the girl waves her hand in the air.

"Oh, well, about the portals? If one so big is opening up, it means a few smaller ones had to exist in this dimension already. Our tech is not picking them up if they are smaller than a certain size, but you must have seen them before. I believe in the DC sector, you call them Lazarus Pits? We can take care of them later, too."

The second hoverboarder flies closer to them and revs her engine.

"Jazz, talk to them later, Tucker and Agents are done. Fentons are about to get Dannies down, so you need to either come up or leave the shield."

The girl - Jazz - looks surprised.

"Dan, too?"

"Yeah, it's the Toothy Jungle on the other side. They wanted to ask Ember, but, eh, what's her guitar gonna do to plants, even if they are sentient?" The red hoverboarder shrugs, and Jazz tilts her head, looking back to the heroes.

"I think I'll stay with them. You know it gets violent when Dan goes down, so people get antsy about us. I don't want to give the wrong impression."

The other girl huffs, but doesn't argue.

"Okay. Get out of the shield, then, and for Ancients sake, keep your comm open. Danny has an aneurysm every time you turn it off." With that, she flies away, back to the ship, and Jazz taps her hoverboard so it folds down into a hexagon shape no bigger than a backpack. Then, she steps through the shield, joining the JL on the other side of it.

"Are you not scared we might take you hostage?" Asks Wonder Woman just out of curiosity, and Jazz smiles pleasantly at her.

"Don't judge a girl by her looks. I don't want to brag, but I did fist fight Superman once and won."

----------

So basically, after Amity Park got sucked into Infinite Realms, the whole town just kind of collectively decided they like it there. And somehow they reached a happily ever after with both Danny's reveal to his parents and GIW, and then Clockwork showed up and was like, you guys want human food supply, running water and electricity, right? Well, I can do that, and so much more, you can be the ultimate perfect town. And for the price? You gonna go on adventures from time to time and fix the multiverse when shit hits the fan in various dimensions and universes. Doesn't that sound like fun?

And Amity Park, who's seen so much weird stuff over the years that it greatly affected their idea of common sense, goes yeah, that does sound fun! Let's go, people!

So here they are, appearing in different universes and doing damage control. They are, like, the superheroes for superheroes.

I'm probably going to write a part 2 to it, I want to show off Danny and Dan and Dani too. Halfas on the loose, JL is mildly concerned and kind of scared, and Jazz is just like yeah, that's just another regular Tuesday :)

I love Jazz being a badass, yes. Also, if you didn't get it, the other one on the hoverboard is Val, the drones are controlled by Tucker, and the people on the ropes are GIW agents.

| next -> |

[jymwahuwu]

anon who got beaten by covid coming through with more Capitano thoughts.. (no thirsts..yet. I need to coach myself with scenario building..Capitano talks you through every climax. There. That is the most I can write 😭)

Capitano tried to be patient, he truly tried. But he only sighs softly when communication cannot work but force must.

He is a very broad man and it's quite easy for you to spot his looming shadow over you when you had fallen onto the ground, having tried to escape the cabin with only the moonlight as your guide.

"S- Sir.." You look up, tears welled up in your eyes as you try your best to calm your racing heart. You've seen how he has dealt with..most unsavory soldiers. What will he do to you? A lone soldier who has deserted their post?

The man doesn't say anything for a moment, the darkness of his helmet staring holes into you.

"Have I done wrong with you?" He finally speaks, crouching down to speak with you. Despite him trying to match your height..it only makes it more threatening. "I don't believe.. I've mistreated you?"

He's genuinely confused, he can't..register the fact that he's feared by a soldier that he has treated so gently and nicely. "I apologize if I have harmed you.." He tried to make amends anyways.

But then you go and ruin it by trying to run..tsk, tsk, and of course, he only needs to grab your wrist and you're completely immobile. You are a deserted soldier..and unfortunately it seems like you must treat you as the soldier you are.

Even if he wishes you were more than just a soldier.

Bingo. All he has to do is make your punishment..become his bride. He doesn't like phrasing it as a punishment but..perhaps a training session would be better?

You're still training..just..training to be his wife. (Also training to take his very impressive size that he always sighs as he coaxes you into taking every inch of..)

cw: dub-con, forced marriage, yandere, size kink, female reader

Thank you for sending me a story, I really enjoyed it😽💖 You posted it in two parts, and I replied to both here!! (part 1 of the story is here)

Like gentle giant and skittish darling trope! Frightened, awkward you.

Be informed that you have been chosen as a warrior, and that you have given it your all…but, maybe you don't have the talent here. The combat movements are a bit clunky and don't flow smoothly. The vision tied around your waist shines with the light of the elements, but your skills… (such as flowing out a small amount of water, like a spring spring, or just condensing some cheap gems, or electricity like a kitten claws, etc…). Those skills are just not suitable for fighting, you know? Will you use gentleness against Heavenly Principles, against enemies?

After training, failure and frustration have overwhelmed you, and the physical pain and exhaustion cannot be ignored. Not to mention that Capitano in his cape looks down at you like an unshakable mountain. You rubbed your cheek against his palm and couldn't help biting your lip, shedding tears like a little kitten. He pats your head gently and tells you how to improve your movements and use elemental powers. Easier said than done. You nodded, but there was still no way to improve next time.

He's not biased, really. In Capitano's eyes, everyone can fight, but you… may be able to put your talents in other areas, such as cooking and knitting. Your elements are just as gentle as yours. Maybe you can keep that water and food warm. His confession to you is formal and prepared. He asks you in serious terms if you can marry him and spend the rest of your life together.

You… look terrified, hyperventilating from shock. "Me-me?" You pointed at yourself, shaking. Captain wants to marry you? That first of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers? He was just joking, right? You refused and distanced yourself from him like he was a flood.

I like drama🫣😹 so I added some wind and snow. On a moonlit night, you planned an escape, only to fall on the snow and almost be washed away and submerged by the wind and snow. Looking back, I saw that familiar huge figure walking out of the falling snow. He grabbed your wrist a little too roughly, "Sir- Sir?" As always, you looked at him with tears, but fear gnawed at your heart even more.

"You might be dead." There was ice in his voice. He knelt down on one leg and looked down at you. "What are you doing? Did I… hurt you? If you feel that way, then I apologize."

"I-I'm sorry!" You cried, even the tears froze. You know he's right. He is worried about your safety. How is he going to treat you? Will he put you in jail? Capitano carries you in his arms and takes you back to his home. It's there to restore your body temperature and keep you warm. He immerses you in the warm water and towels you off.

If you don't plan an escape, you can still enjoy your options. Since you ran away… you can't return to Fatui, but as his wife stay with him and receive training. Starting from looking directly at his mask, you panicked, but now you can't. You have to look directly into his dark blue eyes, from the depths of your soul. A huge cock stood erect in the middle of his pubic hair and was leaking pre-cum. You stammered, placing your hands on his heated belly as you looked directly at the impressive size of his cock for the first time, "W-What is this? How does this work…!? Can you- can you be a little smaller…"

That's why you need to be trained to accommodate his size. Capitano knew it was unlikely to work the first time. His cock swells against your belly and rubs against your clit, or pushes deeper into you, opening up the tight folds of flesh. The pounding of pulses sends pleasure through your limbs, into your brain as flesh slaps and pops, until the warm cream spurts and rushes into you.

There will be another training next time.

[catdemondez]

So my autistic ass was OBSESSED with The Titanic as a kid and one thing I keep thinking about with this whole lost submarine incident is the “name curse”.

White Star Line, the company that produced the Titanic, made three Olympic class ocean liners: The Olympic, The Titanic, and The Britannic.

(Seen in order top to bottom. Picture stolen from reddit. X )

The Olympic is the only of those three that did not sink.

Now, the “name curse” that comes in to play here is related to greek mytholoical races from which each ship has supposedly taken its name: The Olympic Gods (also just called Olympians), The Titans, and The Giants. The giants are involved due to a claim that The Britannic was originally called The Gigantic, based on an unofficial poster featuring the ship with the supposed name above it, as well as a contemporary newspaper stating that the company announced a ship with said name three years before The Britannic was launched.

Both The Giants and The Titans were races that were vanquished by The Olympic Gods in what are called the Titanomachy and Gigantomachy, with the latter event being less well know.

Another race of gigantic beings seen in greek mythology is The Cyclopes. The Cyclops were never vanquished by The Olympic Gods as they were never at odds with the gods, even crafting artifacts for the gods themselves, namely: Zeus’s thunderbolts, Poseidon’s trident, and Hades’s helmet of invisibility. 

The submarine that went missing is part of the Cyclops class submarine line produced by OceanGate Inc., probably called such due to the design. Two vessels of the class have been produced with two more planned following a naming scheme of Cyclops I, Cyclops II, and so on. Cyclops II however was renamed to Titan specifically for its use in touristic viewing expeditions of The Titanic.

Now, more about the submarine itself;

Cyclops I performed well for its intended depth, Titan however has not, with OceanGate having lost track of it before. This is due to the vessel lacking a tracking beacon, as well as navigation controls and communication devices, relying on a support ship to text Titan’s captain its directions, as revealed by Journalist David Progue, who also said that they “turned off the ship’s internet to prevent tweeting.” Also, due to the lack of these features, Titan was denied official certification by ship classification societies for not meeting safety standards of ANY society. Problems started long before this, though.

During the testing of Titan’s design, OceanGate claimed that the dimensions and structure were partly designed and tested by NASA, Boeing (the plane company) and The University of Washington. All three of which have denied this. In fact, when Titan was first built, it was handed over to the company’s operations department with no testing whatsoever as well as an insufficient monitoring system. The Director of Operations, however, saw this and submitted a negative quality report, for which he was promptly fired. When they DID finally test it over a year later, the vessel resurfaced with signs of cyclic fatigue, which is the near microscopic bending of metal that happens before cracks appear. Instead of changing the design to prevent this from happening in future expeditions, the company simply replaced the damaged parts and called it good.

All in all, its just so funny to me that OceanGate used the same supposedly cursed naming pattern for its ONE safety violation riddled submarine only to send it to a lethal depth its not equipped to handle AND SOMEHOW not expect it to eventually crush like a soda can under a semi.

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

Hun something else I want to ask is if you would do a hybrid dragon Yan..? Forgot to mention it in the last ask because I forget ideas a lot <3

-from the one anon who said to use 3 names you like :)!

P.s I’ll probably refer to myself as this forever now hun

I'm sorry this took so long!! Here it is:

CW: mild violence, video game logic

Yandere!Dragon x GN!Reader

The winds in the mountains were cold enough to slice open skin and leave blisters.

Traveling up towards the sky was (Reader), a warrior known throughout the lands for their incredible feats, climbing up the snowy pass towards the dark splotch on their map.

The dragon's lair.

Only human in appearance, (Reader) had slaughtered almost every type of monster and fiend in the continent, sending fear through all living beings. They were rumored to be immortal, since they seemed to be capable of recovering from any wound they received, no matter how critical. Whatever life threatening hit they took, and no matter how certain their death seemed to be, (Reader) would only black out, waking a few hours later. A warrior without a past, without a home, who only lived to kill.

Slaying a dragon would be the last creature on the killer's list, having already defeated deities and apocalypse level threats. It wasn't that a dragon would be harder than killing a god; they just hadn't gotten around to it.

In the grand scheme of life, dragon slaying would be a side quest.

(Reader) doubted that the battle would be difficult in any sort of sense; aside from their incredible physical attributes they also had legendary gear such as "the Ring of Absolution" which was forged from the tears of a Golden Warrior. That ring alone made it impossible for enemies to block their attacks or use "break out" to parry.

Upon finding the cave and entering recklessly, (Reader) wished that someone had told them sooner:

That "when you're at the top, the only place to go is down.."

A blast of fire knocked their helmet off their head as the heat pushed them back. Shocked (and a little excited) the warrior raised their vampiric sword. Inside the cave, a giant red and golden dragon sat posed, muscles tense and eyeing the invader with intrigue.

"Who are you, to enter my home?" His deep voice sounded more confused than offended. And when (Reader) pointed their weapon at him in response, he chuckled. "Adorable little human, if you wish to live a long life, leave this cave now, and I shall spare you."

(Reader) shouted, igniting a glowing light around their body, then lunged, slashing at the beast.

To the dragon's surprise it hurt.

"Foul little thing!" He snarled, attempting to blast the human with another bolt of flames (this time not as a warning) but the fighter rolled out of the way, effectively dodging the attack. (Reader) thrust again, angering the dragon when he found that he could not block the sword, the blade passing his harder scales and hitting his soft flesh despite his guarding.

Amidst the rage and frustration a new emotion began forming within the centuries young being; respect.

There were no dragons he wished to associate with, there were no creatures that approached him of their own free will. He was alone. For a very, very long time. For he was not just a dragon..

He was Targov the Malicious.

A dragon of legend, ender of nations, killer of kings..

And his health was slowly being chipped away by the steel of a mortal.

(Reader) did not know who the dragon was, only that this was the closest location for a dragon nest.

"Small human.. I have a proposition for you."

The warrior paused, tilting their head as they waited for the dragon to continue.

"You have impressed me, and you have earned my admiration. So I offer you a chance at life eternal: become my mate, and ascend to a higher state of being.

You shall never want nor need for anything. I will be your willing servant for all of eternity."

It wasn't the first proposal (Reader) had received, yet it was certainly the first from a beast. They stepped back a fraction as though his words caused them to stumble. His request sounded so genuine that it almost killed their blood lust.

Almost.

Disappointment and betrayal filled the dragon's eyes as (Reader) suddenly threw their sword like a spear, lodging it into Targov's chest, a feather's distance shy of his heart. But even that only further fueled the growing need he had for the mortal. And the obvious solution to the warrior's resistance was to make the choice easier for them.

Targov flew forward, but instead of attacking like (Reader) had predicted, he grappled the human in his talons and continued faster, propelling them both out of the cave and into the sky as he built speed.

The wind jostled the surprised human about like a rag doll as they rose higher into the atmosphere. Their ears popped painfully, but they could still hear the roaring laughter of the dragon.

"HA! Now what do you say, human?! Shall you be mine? Or shall I drop you?!" He held the adventurer loosely by the fabric visible under their armor in an attempt to frighten them. But what he saw next made his heart falter.

His eyes widened as (Reader) smiled triumphantly, raising a dagger while maintaining eye contact, and sliced off the part of their outfit Targov held onto, willingly allowing themselves to fall.

It was just a fall.

Yeah, it would hurt. It would hurt like a son of a bitch, but (Reader) knew they wouldn't die. They never did.

However, their near immortality was something that Targov didn't know about.

Before his emotions could fully form into separate feelings, Targov dove, recatching the little human, now with a more secure grip, and flew back to his home, his heart beating a billion beats per second once it restarted.

(Reader) was thrown to the floor by the dragon seconds before being blinded by a bright flash. The dragon was consumed in a bright white glow that illuminated the cave, morphing into a more human appearance, with deep golden skin and red hair. His horns and claws still remained, but as (Reader) could see clearly from his lack of clothes, was now mostly human. He charged towards (Reader), face twisted in his confusing mix of emotions. Anger, shock, hurt, feelings his adrenaline wouldn't give him time to categorize as he closed in on the confused human.

He hoisted (Reader) up by their neck.

"You'd really rather die than be mine?!" The enraged dragon screamed.

Struggling to breathe, the warrior grabbed one of his scaly hands while trying to smack his face with their dominant hand.

The glint of their ring caught Targov's attention, who recognized it instantly. He had been alive for a very long time, and killed many a god during his rebellious years. Sharp teeth sunk into (Reader's) fingers, the dragon biting their hand lightly, suddenly, earning a shocked cry from the struggling human. Targov dropped (Reader), pulling the ring off their finger with his fangs as he did so.

The warrior didn't notice their missing ring until they regained their composure and attempted to attack the humanoid dragon, who blocked their attack perfectly fine.

Targov wore the ring on his smallest claw.

"I see I was right about you.." His deep voice chuckled, but (Reader) couldn't tell if it was out of amusement or fury. "A fellow God killer.. who better suited to be my mate?"

He grabbed (Reader's) wrist, and despite it's low speed, the ring prevented (Reader) from dodging.

"Welcome home, my mate."

"Even if I have to break you, I will have you. And you will learn to love me."

[mimimarvelingmarvel]

time bound part ten

pairing: worst wolverine!logan howlett x f!mutant!reader

Part Ten - Masterlist

summary: Y/n’s life takes a dramatic turn when the Time Variance Authority intervenes, pulling her from a critical moment in her timeline. The TVA sends her to the void where she eventually meets with Deadpool and a very familiar face. With Deadpool's universe in the balance, alongside his reluctant would-be pal, Wolverine, and the enigmatic time-bending mutant known as the Veil, the trio must complete the mission and save Deadpool’s world from an existential threat.

overall warnings: 18+, Fem!Reader, AFAB Reader, Use of Y/N, Her X-Men name is Veil, She/her pronouns, Swearing, Angst, Heavy Violence, Character Death, Deadpool (he’s his own warning), Hurt, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, TVA

word count: 2.3k

"Look at that, yeah. See them big old hands coming through? Is there not a one-hundred-nothing inside that?" Or at least that’s what I think he said. It’s hard to tell over the roar of the wind whipping through the open windows, his thick accent muddling the words, and the cramped space in the backseat where Logan and I are squeezed together. My focus is elsewhere, drawn to Logan, who stares out the window with that familiar, distant expression, like he's carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He always seems to have something on his mind, and I can’t help but wonder what it is this time.

The car ride to Cassandra’s lair is pure chaos. Elektra grips the steering wheel with a white-knuckled intensity, her eyes sharp as she navigates the treacherous terrain. The engine growls in protest as we barrel down the uneven road, jostling everyone inside. Laura, Blade, and Gambit are crammed into the backseat with us, their bodies pressed against one another, while Wade rides shotgun, his usual irreverence barely contained.

Up ahead, Johnny flies through the sky, a streak of flame cutting across the clouds as he scouts for any signs of trouble. His flames cast flickering shadows on the ground below, illuminating the path as we race toward our destination.

Deadpool breaks the tense silence, his voice cutting through the wind. “What Gambit’s trying to say is getting Juggernaut’s helmet ain’t gonna be easy. I’m just making stuff up with this.”

Blade doesn’t miss a beat. “Gun.”

Deadpool glances back, spotting the massive firearm Blade has in his hands. “Where do you get that little beauty?”

Elektra’s voice is cold and steady. “That’s the Punisher’s ’84.”

A split second later, the car jolts violently as Blade fires the gun out the window. The force of the shot nearly deafens me, and I flinch as the blast tears through the giant, skeletal hands of Ant-Man, shredding them into a shower of bone fragments. The car skids to a stop, screeching to a halt within the crook of his shattered arms, which now lay lifeless and splintered around us.

We all clamber out of the car, the scent of gunpowder and burnt metal lingering in the air. As we gather ourselves, my eyes are drawn upward to the horde of mutant variants that have gathered to protect Cassandra. They stand like an army ready to defend their queen. High above, Cassandra watches from the eye of a massive skull, her silhouette dark and menacing.

Blade’s grin is feral, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

Gambit cracks his knuckles, a wild gleam in his purple eyes. “You know how long I’ve been waiting for this? Whoo, I’m about to make a name for myself here.”

Logan’s expression darkens, and he looks at me out of the corner of his eye, his knuckles brushing against my elbow. I return his gaze with a sad smile.

“I don’t think you guys walk away from this,” Logan mutters, his voice low and filled with a grim certainty.

Gambit grins, unperturbed. “You just make sure people know what happened here today. When you get out of here, you have a drink for me, yeah?”

Blade steps forward, his tone commanding. “You guys stay on our six, get inside. We’ll make sure you get the package.”

Elektra nods, her gaze steely. “Then we’ll get our ending.”

As if on cue, Johnny lands beside me, his flames flickering out as he touches down. “They’re toast,” he says with a smirk.

I cringe at his words. “You did not just say that.”

He just laughs, but the laughter is cut short as the shouting begins. The battlefield erupts into chaos, a cacophony of clashing blades and explosive gunfire. I charge into the fray, my blade slicing through the air with deadly precision. I sweep my legs over an opponent, feeling the satisfying crunch of bone as I drive my blade into their chest. The adrenaline pumps through my veins as I move with deadly grace, each strike calculated, each move precise.

A vision flashes in my mind, warning me of an enemy approaching from behind. I pivot on my heel, spinning just in time to deflect their attack and drive my blade into their heart. The battle rages on for what feels like an eternity, my body moving on instinct as I cut down one foe after another. Azrael appears before me, his eyes burning with a malevolent fire. We clash again and again, the power of our strikes sending shockwaves through the ground. But I’m faster, and after a brutal exchange, I manage to land a few hits, weakening him just enough to create an opening.

Wade, Logan, and I sprint through the chaos, slipping past the front lines and into the mouth of the skull, where Cassandra awaits. The interior of the skull is dimly lit, the air thick with the stench of decay. Cassandra reclines in a chair, her posture relaxed, a delicate cup of tea in her hand. She looks every bit the picture of calm amid the storm raging outside.

“You three escaping I could live with,” Cassandra says, her voice dripping with condescension. “But coming back, willingly. You’re so silly.”

Deadpool’s voice is strained, his usual bravado tempered by exhaustion. “I just need to get home.”

Cassandra’s smile is cold and devoid of warmth. “Well, that’s not on the menu, I’m afraid. It’s death or enslavement, a la carte, of course. Up!” With a flick of her wrist, Wade is flung into the air, his body slamming into the ceiling with a sickening crunch. He crashes to the floor, groaning in pain as Cassandra turns her gaze on me.

“I think you may be of use,” she muses, her eyes narrowing as she studies me.

Before I can react, she flicks her wrist again, sending a searing pain through my skull. I fall to my knees, clutching my head as the agony intensifies, my vision blurring to white. My mind feels like it’s being torn apart, but just as quickly as it started, the pain stops, leaving me gasping for breath.

“Stay,” Cassandra commands, and I feel my muscles lock into place, immobilizing me where I kneel. My head and neck the only thing I can move.

“It’s nice to give someone else a chance to talk,” she says, motioning towards Wade, who is still groaning in pain on the floor.

Logan’s eyes blaze with fury as he charges at her, claws extended. “Not my strong suit,” he growls.

But Cassandra is faster. With a wave of her hand, she redirects his attack, forcing him to stab his own legs. Logan collapses, blood seeping through his jeans as he gasps in pain. I flinch, unable to bear the sight, and turn away.

Cassandra circles Logan, her curiosity piqued. “You are an interesting one, aren’t you? I do feel like you get lost behind all of this,” she says, gesturing vaguely around her. “Deadpools are a dime a dozen here in The Void. But you, what’s going on in here?” She taps his forehead lightly, her fingers pressing into his skull.

Logan’s pained screams echo through the chamber as she delves into his mind. I close my eyes, trying to block out the sound, but it’s impossible. The anguish in his voice cuts through me, and I grit my teeth, fighting against the hold she has on me.

“Not what I expected back here,” Cassandra murmurs, her tone almost gentle. “You’re hiding from them, from all the ones you let down. So much pain. My little animal.”

Her words ignite a fury deep within me. Logan has spent his whole life being treated like an animal, caged and forced to fight for survival. The anger surges through me, and I struggle against the invisible bonds holding me in place.

I catch sight of Laura throwing down a bag, and Wade, now healed, slowly approaches it. My heart races as I realize what he’s about to do. I stop resisting, instead focusing on keeping Cassandra’s attention on Logan as Wade retrieves Juggernaut’s helmet. I hold my breath as he steps closer and slams the helmet onto her head, gripping her arms tightly as she screams in rage, recoiling from Logan.

Wade’s voice is a deadly whisper. “You’re gonna send us home, then I’m gonna twist your fucking head off.”

Cassandra laughs, the sound sharp and grating. “Why are you laughing?” I ask, a cold dread settling in my stomach.

“I can’t send you unless you get this thing off my head,” Cassandra explains, her voice dripping with malice. “And as soon as you do that, I’m going to boil your brains on an atomic level whilst flicking my bean. Either you kill me, or I kill you. Both wonderful options.”

Deadpool tightens his grip. “You want me to do it?”

Logan shakes his head. “No, I’ll do it.”

Deadpool scoffs. “I have her neck right here, it’s really no problem.”

Logan’s voice cuts through the tension like a blade, his words sharp and unyielding. “You’ll screw it up.”

Deadpool rolls his eyes, exasperation lacing his tone. “Oh, come on, Mr. PG-13, it’s the last one.” His usual bravado feels almost forced, like he’s trying to break through the thick atmosphere hanging over the group.

Suddenly, a gunshot rips through the air, loud and jarring. My heart lurches in my chest, skipping a beat as the sound reverberates around us. 

“No, no, no,” I whisper, my voice trembling with panic. The horror of what’s just happened begins to sink in.

Pyro stands there, his hand still clutching the smoking gun, his expression a mix of defiance and desperation. He’s shot Cassandra. The blood spreads quickly across her clothes, a stark contrast to her pale skin.

“You have no idea what it’s like,” Pyro stammers, his voice shaking as he tries to justify his actions. “Day after day, ‘shovel the shit,’ ‘fetch the meats.’ I have spent my entire exist—”

But Logan doesn’t let him finish. With a brutal efficiency, he silences Pyro with a single, powerful punch. The force of it sends Pyro crumpling to the ground, his words cut off as his body hits the floor.

Logan’s eyes are cold, almost detached, as he looks down at Pyro. “Not everyone gets a speech,” he says flatly, his tone devoid of any sympathy. “She’s gonna die.”

Deadpool, trying to diffuse the situation, steps forward, his voice taking on a slightly desperate edge. “Okay, hey, if I take this helmet off, you promise you won’t kill us?”

Cassandra, even as she bleeds out, doesn’t miss a beat. Her voice, though weaker, is still laced with that same venomous edge. “I promise I will kill her first.”

Logan’s growl is low, menacing, a sound that sends shivers down my spine. 

Deadpool throws up his hands in frustration. “Why are you like this?”

Cassandra sighs, the sound almost wistful. “I wish I knew.”

“Take it off,” Logan orders, his voice brooking no argument.

Deadpool looks at him, confused. “What?”

My eyes dart between Cassandra and Logan, anxiety gnawing at my insides. “Logan, she said she’ll kill me. I don’t like that idea.”

But Logan remains calm, his gaze steady as he meets mine. “Trust me. Take it off.”

Deadpool presses, his voice tinged with doubt. “Why?”

I take a deep breath, the tension in the air almost suffocating. After a moment, I nod, my voice barely above a whisper. “Take it off.”

Deadpool hesitates, his usual confidence faltering. “This is our only chance to fix our shit.”

Logan snaps, his patience fraying. “Take it off! I am wearing this suit. And that means a lot of things, but most of all, it means I’m an X-Man. I am the X-Man. And I know your brother. As much as I want to fucking kill you—every bone in my body wants to fucking kill you—he would not let me stand here and watch you die. Take your hands off. This is for him. This is for Charles.”

With deliberate movements, Logan removes the helmet, the gesture heavy with significance.

Cassandra’s expression softens, her voice losing some of its harshness. “My brother loved you.”

Logan nods, his voice quiet, filled with a deep, unspoken emotion. “He loved all of us.”

Cassandra sighs, a bittersweet smile playing on her lips. “Hmm. Must be nice.”

Logan’s voice is steady, filled with quiet conviction. “He would have loved you too. If he knew about you, if he knew where you were, he would have torn a hole in the fucking universe to bring you home.”

Cassandra’s smile turns bitter, her eyes darkening. “This is home.”

Logan’s gaze is intense, almost pleading. “Then at least let us save his.”

Cassandra’s eyes flicker with something almost like understanding. “You wanna hear something crazy?” she says, her tone shifting. “An amateur magician roamed through here a while back. I killed him, of course, wore his skin around for four days. But I found this little trinket on his lovely fingers.”

With a flourish, she begins to open a portal, the swirling energy forming a glowing circle.

Deadpool’s eyes widen in amazement. “Strange. Marvel’s sparkle circle.”

Logan eyes the portal warily. “What is that?”

Cassandra smirks, the glint of mischief returning to her gaze. “This is your way home. I do owe you for saving my life, but let’s keep things interesting. I’d say you have about four seconds before your life’s through.”

Wade grins. “Race you!”

Without hesitation, the three of us bolt toward the rapidly closing portal, the adrenaline surging through my veins. We leap through it just in time, the sensation of free-falling overwhelming as the portal closes behind me, leaving us to face whatever awaits on the other side.

Next Part

A/N: Boring chapter imo but i have big plans tehe

taglist: @oscarissac2099 @somiaw @100percentlazybonez @obsessedwthdilfs @sun7lowxr @corvid007

[aayakashii]

The plushie headcanons are so cute! Mind if I send in a request for part 3 with Subaru, Alan, Sho, and Kaito? (I know damn well Kaito's gonna burst into tears at such a cute gift)

Thank you so much for enjoying them!! ｡ﾟ(*´□`)ﾟ｡ ♡ Hope you guys like this one!!

How Tokyo Debunker boys react after receiving a cute little plushie from MC – Subaru, Alan, Sho and Kaito 

Kagami Subaru – red crowned crane plushie

He apologizes for the fact that you went out of your way to make such a delicate and cute plushie for him

Then he apologizes because he doesn't have a gift to give you yet

Then he apologizes again because you told him he doesn't need to apologize

Please be a little patient with him! He's a bundle of nerves, and it makes it hard for him to express himself properly

He absolutely loved the little crane though!!!!

He is wondering how are you so creative, how did you make such a majestic animal become so cute and round as a plushie

Subaru manages to makeshift a little cushion for the plushie, and now it has its own spot at the tea table

Being such an anxiety-ridden guy, your gift to him also became a huge source of relief – he doesn't bring it with him anywhere, but it's like all his problems magically fade away once he sees it, it quickly became a source of comfort and emotional support

He doesn't really tell that to you or anyone, for that purpose, because he feels a little silly, but he absolutely cherishes his new friend and hopes to give you a gift that might mean as much to you as his little crane means to him!

Alan Mido – doberman plushie

Contrary to what people might think of him, Alan is a gentle giant

He's all soft eyes and little smiles to his underclassmen and Vagastrom students

Even if he's strict with them sometimes, it's all just his own form of tough love

So when you give him a doberman plushie, he can't help but smile and pat your head affectionately

The thought of you working so hard to make such a cute little thing for someone like him makes his chest all warm and fuzzy

He treats the plushie like a delicate trophy that could crumble into dust at any given moment

So he doesn't snuggle, nor squeeze it at all

He mostly just... Holds it. And stares at it, admiring your handiwork and thinking that it looks adorable.

And he also asks your opinion about everything plushie-related

"Do you think I should keep him in my room or at The Pit?"

"Why would you put him in The Pit?!"

"Maybe he could become a mascot..."

One day, he can't keep his curiosity at bay any longer and decides to finally ask you

"Why did you give me a doberman plushie? Specifically a doberman, I mean."

"Well, you are strong but also very gentle, just like a doberman can be protective and dangerous, but also sweet when it comes to its family"

Alan smiles and pats your head for the millionth time that day

He surely hopes he can keep being that to you.

Haizono Sho – raccoon plushie:

"I made this for you, an animal that reminds me of my cute kouhai"

"... senpai are you telling me I look like someone that eats trash"

"How the hell did you jump to this conclusion"

Don't worry about his reaction though, Sho absolutely loves it but he can't let any of his cuteness aggression show, to keep his bad boy image intact

Leo teases him over this gift, but every acid word just goes through one ear and out the other because Sho is over the moon, feeling like the most spoiled guy in the entire world

You see him through his rough image and have enough courage to give him such an adorable gift, you're truly something...

Oh, and the fact that you gave the raccoon a little apron to match his when he's working totally caused extreme mental damage over how cute it is

What if he also bought a leather jacket and a helmet to take him on his rides with Bonnie...

But will it be safe for it to ride Bonnie when it is so small and rotund and easy to slip away...

Please don't judge him, he's just a kid, he wasn't ready for parenthood

But since it has an apron, Sho will most definitely let it keep him company at the food truck

Maybe the little raccoon can be the cashier?

Sho will probably settle for this though

Fuji Kaito – penguin plushie:

Immediately screaming and gross sobbing

Cannot form a single coherent word once you give him his little chubby penguin

It looks so cute! It's so round and fluffy even though now it's a bit damp because of all his tears

A HUNDRED PERCENT takes this plushie everywhere

Kaito gives it a name, clothes, and accessories and creates an instagram account just to post photos of the penguin around the nicest spots jn Darkwick

Suddenly, Kaito becomes a photography pro since he just won't stop taking pictures of the little guy

Shows off to anyone that even points it out, ESPECIALLY if it's Luca

"MC made this FOR ME, which CLEARLY means I am their knight in shining armor and will protect both them and our child I mean our plushie with MY LIFE"

Totally misses the fact that Luca doesn't care

MC has to come to him and ask him pretty please to tone it down a bit because he is scaring the hoes everyone away

But how!!! He just loves (you) the plushie so much!! Let him show off, please? He's just a very excitable person!

He promises he'll chill out though, but before that, just one more photo for the plushie's instagram page...

[eluxcastar]

The One and Only

── ୨୧：arlecchino x reader

୨୧﹑synopsis :: a collection of moments from Arlecchino's recollections of the former Harbinger

୨୧﹑genre :: Idk actually

୨୧﹑content :: fem reader, reader is a harbinger, not proofread

୨୧﹑words :: 2.8k

threw this together on a whim because I missed these two I realised it's been like nine months since I wrote one of repetition I was like I wanna play around with these people in their dynamic. you don't have to necessarily have read one of repetition for it to make sense I don't think but I have a bad habit of assuming people know things they don't so take that with a grain of salt

one of repetition

Snezhnaya has never been immune to the curse of rumours that run rampant among its people. Some spread like wildfire and others die out before they gain enough traction to matter. When they somehow manage to make their way to the House of the Hearth, it matters—Mother is liable to find out, and that's when it's revealed whether or not she spread them herself.

There have never been more rumours about anyone but the first Harbinger. Arlecchino realised that when she was young.

They tell the daring tales of a tyrant decorated in well-worn armour able to bring the nation to its knees at their feet with nothing more than a pyro vision and a claymore.

Many of the kids at the House share the same sentiment. Brighella is terrifying, and though they'd like their approval, they never want to meet them. The few who have met them say they're weird.

Supposedly the child of the Tsaritsa, you have been tainted by the ever-waining loveless God of Snezhnaya and become little more than a heartless warmonger seeking absolution. You have not even removed your helmet in three centuries nor shown your face. You are fussy, childish, impulsive and arrogant like your whole reign of tyranny is a giant temper tantrum, and you'll only stop once you've realised the nation that has been dwindling ever so gradually will one day be reduced to a wasteland.

Maybe then, the ashes left behind by the fire you let tear apart this icy world will be your single lesson.

Arlecchino meets you for the first time at the celebrations for her ascendance to her Mother's position. Every Harbinger gathers at the behest of the Tsaritsa, an important event demanding their presence. All nine others and the Director are called to return, and along with them, you appear clad in armour, even on a formal occasion. You are feared, yes, but undoubtedly lavished in praise and feigned respect meant only to appease you. People seek to impress you because you are the first, an immortal Harbinger with the nation under their thumb.

Though foolish, she finds she cannot help but be swept up in the glory of it all, the appeal of having a warmonger's approval if only because it feels like the only good sign she'd ever get. Her ascendence is not born of admiration, merely convenience, a way to escape her Father and gain power. She is young and inexperienced and fills the shoes of her Mother with the grace of a newborn fawn. For just a moment, she could revel in receiving your praise, then go right back to indulging the bitterness she associates so heavily with your name. Whatever you have that sends shivers to the very core of grown men, she wants it, and having you pay some attention to her feels right. It cannot keep her from detesting you for possessing it.

You touched her shoulder once with an unnaturally warm gloved hand—a silent congratulations, she tells herself—it is the only way to justify her racing heart as you lean down and speak barely above a whisper. "Do no disappoint me, Arlecchino."

Everything takes a backseat as a fire is lit in the pit of her stomach, the drive to wipe that infuriating smirk she knows is hidden beneath your mask off your face. If she didn't know better, she could almost convince herself you thought you owned her.

For all her staring, however, she can't recall another moment of that night you spared her more than a single glance in her direction before turning away. It was Pierro who pinned Arlecchino's delusion to her chest and welcomed her, the Director, not the Tsaritsa's child. You merely took it upon yourself to congratulate her— professionally— as any colleague would.

The first time Arlecchino saw your face, she could not believe her eyes. You lack the odd companion she has long grown used to seeing by your side. She does not even recognise you at first, sitting in a chair in Pierro's quarters in plain clothes, your helmet discarded at your feet. In your hand is a glass, the liquid inside sloshing as you motion with your hand in some general direction amid your conversation.

It almost makes her uncomfortable to see, like staring down at your severed head pathetically rolling back and forth under the sole of your boot as you entertain yourself with it. It does not roll far before the adornments resist, and you don't fight them, instead rolling it back. Your only response to her gawking is to quirk your eyebrow at her.

You regard her with curiosity, though she would be remiss not to notice the glint in your eyes. "Arlecchino," you say, perhaps some mockery of greeting her.

Since she met you, her poker face has only gotten better, though her short pause is a dead giveaway that she has to think to recall your title. She still does not quite believe the woman she sees is you. "Brighella."

A smile tugs at your lips, and another sip of the drink in your glass marks your second pause. "Are you lost, or did I interrupt something?" you ask, though you turn to Pierro for the answer to the question.

Arlecchino takes a breath, determined not to let you get away with speaking to her that way without seeing any bite— "I called her," Pierro interrupts her before she can even say a word, and your eyes flicker back to her.

"I'll take my leave then," you say, gathering your things. You hook your fingers under your helmet and pick it up like nothing is wrong, as if you don't notice how Arlecchino stares and tries to remind herself that it should be obvious someone was under there. 

The only thing that helps her remind herself nobody else could sport that cocky smirk in Pierro's office without receiving a cold glare. He merely watches as you down the rest of your drink in one mouthful and leave the glass for him on his desk before stalking off. You stop only to put your helmet back on.

There's a sigh once you leave the room, and Pierro silently collects the glass.

The second time Arlecchino meets you, it is more arranged: a trip down the halls leads her to a stray fatuu bearing a message for her. You want to see Arlecchino in your chambers. There's no indication of why, and the man delivering the message had no inclination to ask before scurrying off. She cannot even say she blames him. She's seen the way you speak to the lesser fatuus before.

Arlecchino arrives in the corridor to hear the unusual noises in your room. It is like someone is rummaging through your belongings with reckless abandon and tossing whatever is in their way aside. 

She eyes the door with particularly harsh scrutiny. If there is an intruder, rifling through your room is the most effective way to get things they might want, and she can't allow them an opportunity to escape.

That is until Arlecchino hears your voice from inside, and you exaggerate a frustrated groan. You sound on the verge of tearing your hair out.

Then she braces herself to knock, and the room falls starkly silent as you register someone is standing outside.

"Who's there?" You pose the question like an accusation despite having to know you would have guests. You invited her, after all— demanded her, really.

Through gritting teeth, she finds the will to bite her tongue and say nothing about your attitude rearing its ugly head again. You find a way to always be like this. The moment she gains some semblance of understanding of your motives, you screw it up by acting superior again, like you genuinely believe the world should fall helplessly at the mercy of your whims and run as you will it to. 

"It's Arlecchino," she responds, the animosity she wishes to show neatly tucked away beneath a layer of barely cordial stoicism.

"Oh," is the only sound from inside, followed by footsteps and a light thud as if you place something down, perhaps one of the things it sounded like you were moving. "Are you alone?" 

For a moment, she almost began to wonder if you had forgotten her.

The question confuses her. "Yes."

"You may enter. The door is unlocked."

Arlecchino does not waste another moment before she opens the door to greet your unmasked face. This time, she recognises you from the pattern of your scars to the odd look on your face, though the off feeling staring into your eyes gives her strikes immediately with the same confusing force. 

It should be less jarring the second time, and yet, as she slowly closes the door behind her, she cannot help but scan the room in search of your helmet.

Your room is a damn mess, probably because you just tore it apart for reasons beyond her. She spies your helmet discarded by the bed on its side, hollow and lifeless and so unlike she usually sees it perched atop a suit of armour brimming with self-assured grandiose.

"I was worried he'd followed you all the way here."

She grasps at who you're implying almost immediately, yet can't say she understands why. It can't be anyone but the man in armour you brought back from the abyss who follows you around like a stray puppy. 

"Are you referring to the—" she also realises she has no idea what it is that follows you around— "man you took in...?"

"Yes." You answer without notice for her apprehension, or perhaps so used to it that it no longer seems worth commenting on. "He has a habit of stealing faces, and though I already told him he can't have mine, he's determined to get it."

Stealing...faces...?

"You're probably wondering why I wanted to speak with you." All too quickly, you change the subject, jumping from whatever you just said to a completely different train of thought as you turn away from her to find something amidst the clutter on your dresser. Your body obscures her view, unable to see what you're doing.

She saves you the discomfort of having a hole burned into your back from her gaze, instead taking the opportunity to look around. Do you always live in this dump? In a way, it's not hard to believe; your behaviour is reminiscent of a spoiled child who never learned to clean up their messes, yet she expected you would treat your living space with the same methodical attention as your subordinates.

"It wasn't included alongside your message," she responds absently, merely engaging because she must. Her mind is occupied, overlooking the pile of armour dumped on the floor like junk metal.

You place a glass down behind her as you speak, the sound unmistakable to her ears, compounded by the sound of something pouring. "Intentionally. You would never have come if you knew why I wanted to see you."

She cannot help but glare at the back of your head. "Is that so?"

"Indeed."

When you turn to her, she cannot help the way her attention draws to the two glasses in your hands—glasses you have no doubt filled with alcohol. Pantalone taught her such a trick not long after he became a Harbinger, and she has not a single doubt that you learned it from him as well.

While your company isn't paying attention, fill a glass and offer it to them. It's rude to refuse once it's been poured. It'll keep them put.

It didn't occur to her until after you extended the glass in your left hand to her that she realised you had trapped her in the conversation should she strive to maintain her pleasant façade. Her fist clenches tightly at her side, nails digging into her palm with a sharp pain.

Arlecchino takes the glass with a tight smile, a wordless exchange. The look in your eyes tells her you know it, too.

"I hope you didn't bring me here for a frivolous venture." Her own warning, one she feels she has earned over the past few minutes.

"No," you say, swirling the liquid in your glass as a means of entertaining yourself. "I simply wanted to observe you."

"How forward." She cannot help it by the time she realises she's said it. There is obviously disapproval in her voice.

Despite her venom, you only smile at her dumbly as if you don't notice the tone of her voice or the furrow of her brows. "Isn't it?" a rhetorical question. You let out a light chuckle at yourself. "It's strange, I thought the one to overtake the Knave would be a little more like that old hag, but it turns out you couldn't be more different if you tried."

This is what you wanted to say?

Arlecchino's eyes narrow. "What do you mean by that?" 

"Oh, come on, are you blind?" Your penchant for mockery shines through your words whether you meant it to or not. "Surely you've noticed by now."

"I don't aspire to become my mother," she retorts just a touch more harshly than she meant to.

"I meant it as a compliment, don't you realise?" you question, "The House has run this way for years because she made it that way. I'm sure many of the children she bought are itching to go home." Your musings lead somewhere—they must—and yet you insist on meandering your way there at a leisurely pace to draw it out. It's as if you wait and watch with eyes filled with curiosity for her to guess, but she makes no attempt to. "Will you return them to their families?"

Arlecchino considered it many times. The thought is appealing. It would be like setting her siblings—now her children—free. She grew up alongside them, played with them as a child and now presides over them.

Wanting to stall, Arlecchino takes a sip from the glass before speaking.

"No," she answers. 

It's not possible. 

If not a monetary figure or tangible reason, it quickly became a stark impossibility when she considered that someone would have to explain why the orphans the Knave had acquired carefully raised were being returned. 

Many would live in harsh conditions, some would die or merely be sold again, and some were too broken down by motherly love to find their peace in the common world again. 

It's not worth the pain of trying.

Something in her answer piques your interest, and she notices your hardly disguised intrigue almost immediately. Years of wearing a helmet to hide your emotions have certainly done a number on how much you are able to hide them naturally. 

"I thought for certain you would say yes."

"You were incorrect."

You quirk an eyebrow at her as if to challenge that idea. "Was I?" you question.

Were you?

"Yes," she says before she can think of anything to disprove that. Time made her aware of the many impossibilities she had spent years fantasising about, but she would not share that with you.

"You're certainly gentler than her," you remark, almost a passing comment as it's quickly overshadowed, "Less of a pain in the ass to talk to as well. I'd have to chase her for days to get her to come talk to me."

Arlecchino suddenly understands why the room is in such a state of disarray—you hadn't expected her. Instead, you were tearing your room apart under the impression you would have days to clean it up before she found her way to you. It seems that punctuality is a burden to you. If nothing else, it's motivation to never be late.

She finds herself aimlessly staring into the glass in her hand, a lesser part of her mind trying to determine what's in it, though too clouded by conflict to place an answer anytime soon. Instead, she stands and listens to whatever you insist on saying, lost in your words and the musings of the past, your unique knowledge of what came before her.

The observations of now the piercing gaze that threatens to spill her soul out before the two of you and dissect it as you please while she watches at the mercy of your rank, the lingering respect that refuses to leave her from years of seeing you as an ideal.

Talking to you is something quite bizarre; knowing you is something even stranger. 

She may never forget the time you spent intrigued by the young orphan who overthrew her mother to take her place at your side as your colleague.

CROSSPOSTED ON AO3

[jobean12-blog]

Crazy Little Thing Called Love

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader (Biker!Joel AU)

Word Count: 2,228

Summary: Joel’s been away on a trip and when he returns you’re the only thing on his mind (just like you were the whole time he was gone). 

Author’s Note: He’s baaaaaaack because I’m in love and while this is related to my other two Biker!Joel stories you can find on his Masterlist HERE you don’t need to read them for this one. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the sweet @firefly-graphics thank you love! 

Warnings: lots of fun, flirty fun and soft fluffy fluff 

Thank you to Esquire for these amazing photo! 🥰

Joel Miller Masterlist

“Are you ever going to give that back to him?” your friend Dan asks as you shrug on the soft leather jacket.

You press your nose to the collar and inhale, lifting your shoulders with a contented sigh before replying, “nope!” with a pop of the p.

“He’s already outside” your other friend and coworker, Jade exclaims excitedly.

It had been a long and boring week of work at the bar and no Joel. He had been away on a trip and had only just returned today.

His first stop was you.

You grab your small bag and rush out the door of the backroom, waving goodbye before nearly running to the front door of the bar.

You can already hear the rev of engines and when you step into the afternoon sunshine you immediately look for him.

When at first you don’t spot him your eyes move to the row of bikes and you scope them out, certain you’ll be able to find his quickly.

Then your eyes land on the black and sleek bike, big, but not overly decorated and with giant shiny tailpipes off the back.

“Hi sunshine.”

You spin around and meet his eyes.

A week was too long.

His broad shoulders and muscular arms are on full display and his thick thighs are straining against his tight dark wash jeans.

His eyes hold you hostage and you feel a rush of warmth all over your body before you launch yourself into his arms. He catches you easily and buries his face in your neck.

“Joel,” you whisper, finally releasing your tight grip and sliding down his body.

He wastes no time kissing you and you hear the loud whistles and whoops of the rest of the guys behind you.

Your fingertips slip into his vest and you brush them over his warm skin, toying with his chain. You give it a light tug and he moans against your lips, sliding his hands down to your ass.

The hollers get louder.

“As much as these fuckers would love a show, I ain’t givin’ it to ‘em darlin’,” he grumbles, but his expression is warm. “Been waiting to see you all week. Let’s go.”

You wave at the guys over his shoulder and get nods and winks in return before Joel grabs your helmet.

“Thank fuck we’re back,” one of the guys yells in Joel’s direction. “We’ve had to deal with his grumpy ass for a week!”

You barely contain your giggle but try to hide your face in Joel’s chest.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up fuckers,” he scoffs and then dips his head to kiss your smiling lips.

When you lift your head he plops his helmet on top and throws you a lopsided smirk.

You ignore the guys and the rest of their playful jabs and ask, “how come you never wear one?”

“I do,” he says, “for longer rides.”

“Then how come I have to?” you pout.

“Because if anything happened to his beautiful face I’d never forgive myself,” he simpers before grabbing your chin and kissing you again.

“And we need to zip this up, the wind is chilly.”

He pulls his jacket more tightly around your body and takes the zipper between his fingers, slowly dragging it up.

“Dan asked if I was ever going to give his back to you…I’ve been wearing it all week and I plan on keeping it.”

You smile with feigned innocence and he tugs you closer until his lips are brushing yours and whispers, “good, this way everyone knows you belong to me.”

His words send a shiver down your spine and you press yourself against him with a kiss.

When you break apart he gives your waist a squeeze and chases your lips before throwing his leg over his bike.

He adjusts himself and revs the engine, your breath hitching at how good he looks straddling it.

“Darlin’” he warns, throwing you a no-nonsense look. “Get on.”  

You get on behind him and wrap your arms around his stomach.

You’ve gotten used to riding with him but even so nothing compares to when the bike first roars to life and he gets out onto the road to really open the throttle.

You don’t even know where you’re going but it doesn’t matter as you press yourself against his back and enjoy the ride.

He slows when you reach a familiar spot off road and when he pulls down the dirt path and kills the engine your whole face lights up in a smile.

“Are we having another picnic?” you ask when he takes off your helmet.

“Yea we are sunshine,” he answers as he opens one of the saddlebags and pulls out a blanket and a small cooler bag.

You follow him to a spot behind the trees, shady but still sprinkled with the sun’s rays that filter through the leaves. Rolling hills lay in front of you, the pale yellows, vivid greens, and colorful flowers giving them texture and depth.

“It’s so beautiful,” you whisper. “I’ll never get tired of looking at it.”

“It is darlin’,” he replies softly, “and neither will I.”

Feeling the heat of his eyes on your face, you turn to look at him and feel the breath leave your body at the intensity of his stare and when you realize the implication of his words it almost makes you sway on your feet.

He tears his eyes away and lays out the blanket, unloading the bag of goodies.

The moment he settles on the blanket you sit and crawl over to him until he has you in his lap, his arms circling you and his hands smoothing along your back.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you,” he groans against your lips.

Your fingertips comb through his hair and you wiggle in his lap, feeling just how true his words are.

“Actually I do,” you answer with a grin.

He growls playfully and grabs you around the waist, making a smooth move to flip you over and lay you on your back.

“Mm but now I’m gonna show you just how much darlin’.”

And with desperation you match, he kisses you, hungry and with intention as his fingers dance along your inner thigh.

The late afternoon sun is still warm but your bare skin pebbles in the cool breeze. Joel grabs his jacket and drapes it over you, cradling you closer to his chest.

“I need to feed you,” he whispers but doesn’t move.

His free hand is resting behind his head and his other is wrapped around you, his features soft and his eyes closed.

You stare and reach out to stroke his cheek, feeling the welcome soft bristle of his beard against your fingertips.

He catches your hand and brings it to his lips, pressing a sweet kiss to the back of it. When he releases you, you can’t resist the urge to brush your fingers over his mouth.

Drawing your thumb down his lower lip, you ask, “what’s your favorite color?”

“What?” he asks, bemused.

“Your favorite color? What is it?”

“Hmm,” he muses, looking up at the sky.

Then he lifts a finger and points. “That color.”

“Sky blue,” you say. “Good choice.”

“Yours sunshine?”

“The color of the ocean…turquoise I guess you would call it.”

“I love being by the ocean,” he says softly.

Your fingers move down to his chest and you trace his tattoo before curling them around his chain.

“Favorite book?”

This time he doesn’t wait a moment in answering and says, “The Count of Monte Cristo. I love a good adventure book.”

“That’s one of the best,” you agree, mulling over your answer as he waits to hear it.

“This is a hard one for me,” you explain. “I love books.”

He tucks you closer and ghosts his fingers over your skin, not seeming to care if you take all afternoon to decide.

“The Princess Bride,” you finally say.

“Another adventure and a love story” he adds.

“You’ve read it?” you ask excitedly.

“Definitely. It’s on my top ten list,” he answers.

You settle into him and think of another question as you fingers continue to move over his bare skin.

“Do you want another tattoo?”

He quirks a brow and silently watches your fingers as they smooth over the outline of the ink on his skin.

“I’m sure I’ll get another,” he says, “’specially since you seem to like ‘em so much.”

He grins at you before he winks and gives you a soft kiss.

“What’s the best trip you’ve ever taken on your bike?”

He considers the question for a few seconds and then turns to study your face.

“This trip. This is the best.”

“Joel,” you whisper, your lips parting to say more but he silences any further words with his mouth, the kiss soft and tender before he pulls away and asks, “favorite food?”

Your lips turn up into a smile and you tap your chin.

“Probably pizza…no! Pancakes! Well, maybe waffles? Chicken wings!”

He starts to laugh and rolls you over so he’s settled between your legs and has you pinned to the blanket.

“I think you’re hungry sunshine. Time to eat.”

“But what about you? What’s yours?” you ask as you start to get yourself dressed.

He watches you, his lips twitching with a grin.

“Dessert.”

Once your stomach is full and Joel’s had his dessert, you stretch out on the blanket with a happy sigh.

“You ready for a riding lesson darlin’,” Joel drawls as he absentmindedly runs his calloused fingertips along your arm.

You sit up with widened eyes.

“ME? Ride…your bike?”

“You want to learn right?” he teases. “And I have one more place I want to take you before the sun sets.”

“Maybe you should just ride…it’s probably safer.”

“Nah, come on darlin,’ you can do it.”

He packs up your things and secures them in the saddlebags before helping you into your helmet. His leather jacket is already cocooning you in his warmth and smell but you don’t budge from the spot next to his bike.

“You know how to get on,” he says lightly.

You let out an exhale and look down at your feet.

Strong fingers grip your chin and he lifts your eyes. “Sunshine, you’re gonna be fine and I’m going to be right there with you. I wouldn’t let you ride if I thought it wasn’t ok.”

You nod with renewed determination and swing a leg over the bike. It’s harder to get situated without Joel’s body and it takes you a minute to find your balance.

“Ok, so now what?” you ask, staring at the handlebars.

No answer.

“Joel?”

You turn to catch him staring at you, his eyes dark.

“Sorry darlin,’ but fuck if that isn’t hot as hell…hang on.”

He pulls out his phone and snaps a picture before he drinks you in one last time and saunters over to help.

He explains what all the necessary buttons and levers are and shows you how to start the engine and walk the bike around a bit.

It’s much too big and heavy for you but he’s at your side the whole time and he’s patient and sweet.

“You’re doing so well darlin.’ Gonna have to get you your own bike soon.”

You beam under his praise and he slides on behind you, cradling you between his thighs and resting his arms on either side of yours.

“This isn’t the safest,” he starts, “in fact it’s illegal to ride this way, but it’s just a short trip to where we’re going and it’ll give you a feel of what it’s like to be in the front seat.”

He kisses your neck and holds you securely between his muscular thighs before starting the engine and taking off at a slow speed. You squeal in delight and put your face to the wind.

The short trip takes you uphill until you hit a secluded and narrow road that leads to a dead end.

You don’t hear it until Joel shuts the engine and you take off your helmet.

The smell of the salty sea air and the crash of the waves takes over and you walk to the edge of the small cliff to look down.

The ocean sweeps out to the horizon, it’s blue color dotted with sparkling diamonds every time the sun catches a wave’s crest. Rugged rocks line the shore below and the pink and orange hues of the setting sun glow brightly against the darkening sky.

“It’s not quite turquoise,” Joel whispers as he slides up behind you and wraps you in his arms, holding you against his chest.

“But it’s so beautiful,” you finish as you snuggle closer.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says as he turns you in his arms and draws you closer.

“I don’t know why all the guys say you’re so grumpy,” you tease lightly. “You’re such a softie.”

He leans in close, his nose bumping yours before he catches your mouth in a long, slow kiss that leaves you breathless and shaky.

When he pulls away he holds your gaze and it’s like a warm caress that sweeps over your skin. Something sparkles in his eyes, something familiar and his voice is rough with emotion when he murmurs, “I love you sunshine.’”

@sstan-hoe @blackwidownat2814​ @justkinsey​ @laineyreads​ @beccablogsthings​ 

[emceevoices]

Happy birthday, @e-vay!

Hey E-Vay! I just wanted to wish you a very happy birthday today! It's an honor to dub your amazing comics, and I believe today is the first day of the best year of your life, so far!

Anyway, while I don't have any dubs ready (yet), I wanted to give you a little peak at something I've been writing. (Keep in mind this is still a WIP.) I hope you enjoy it!

---

A large figure stood at a small computer monitor. Flooding the screen was a giant cliffside manor, the residence of the retired mad scientist, Dr Eggman. Once known as his evil lair, the location of his schemes and plans for world domination, the building was now simply the resting place of an aging man. Merely a shell and museum of days long gone by. Of hundreds of plans gone awry.

The figure glared at the screen, eyes piercing from his helmet with malice. “Today,” he growled, “It all happens today!”

—-

It was another beautiful day on Bygone Island. Sonic the Hedgehog was relaxing outside on a lawn chair. His wife, Amy Rose, was inside making lunch, and their six-year-old daughter Aurora was playing nearby with her best friend Sage the AI, and her nanny bots, Orbot and Cubot. Things had gotten quiet in the years since Dr Eggman had retired from villainy, and the village had been incident-free for quite some time.

Sonic enjoyed this quiet life. While he enjoyed kicking Eggman’s butt in his younger years, he now found satisfaction and fulfillment in his new life as a husband and father. Still, he had a sinking feeling something wasn’t right. It was like the calm before the storm.

Suddenly, Sage looked concerned. “Please excuse me, Rory,” she stated, “Father requests my assistance urgently.”

“Okay, bye, Sage!” shouted Aurora as Sage disappeared into thin air.

“What does the boss want so suddenly?” Orbot wondered out loud.

“Probably ran out of prune juice again,” Cubot mused. “But he usually has me be his juicer! Did he replace me?!”

“Given that you served him plum juice last time, more than likely,” Orbot observed.

“But they’re the same thing!” Cubot groaned.

It was at that time that Sonic’s wrist communicator buzzed. It was Sage, who had sent him a message. The message read,

“Father is in peril! Send help STAT!”

Sonic’s eyes narrowed. He called inside the house, “Amy dear? Put lunch on hold! We’ve got a poached egg to deal with!”

---

Well, that's all for now. Hope you enjoyed it, and once again, happy birthday!

[mads-nixon]

See the Good

Eugene Sledge x Medic!Reader

Masterlist

A/N: Merry Christmas @iceman-kazansky!! I literally squealed when I saw I got you as my giftee! I loved your prompts, and I hope you like what I did with them!! I'm going to post one gift per day so that they'll be a little spaced out! hbo owns the rights, and this is about the fictional portrayal of k company on the show. nothing but love and respect for veterans on this blog!

Prompt: “You always see the good in people. Even me.”

Word Count: 5.7k

Summary: When Gene can only see himself as the terrible things he's done in the war, (y/n) is right there to remind him who he really is.

Warnings: descriptions of dead bodies (non-graphic)

OKINAWA, JAPAN: MAY, 1945:

The ground beneath their boots trembled, and the deafening whistles of mortars filled the air as (y/n) and the rest of K Company ran for cover. They sunk into the muddy sludge below them, turning each step into a battle against the sucking earth. Gripping her corpsman pack with white knuckles, (y/n) followed Gene, not daring to stop in the barrage.

“They have us targeted!” Burgie yelled, hurdling over a giant boulder in his path. “Get to cover!”

Just as (y/n) ran past the remnants of a demolished shed, a sudden blast threw her violently to the ground, sending a cascade of mud in all directions. Her ears rang with disorientation as she blinked slowly, struggling to regain her senses. The ringing faded into a muffled whine and a face appeared in (y/n)‘s vision. Although the figure’s face was blurred, she knew it was Eugene. His mouth moved rapidly, but she couldn’t understand a word he said. Realizing this, he quickly grasped the front of her uniform and hoisted her to her feet, throwing an arm around her waist to keep her upright as they bolted for cover.

Reaching the rocks, (y/n)‘s hearing slowly faded back, and the sounds of booming artillery reached her ears.

Sledge pulled on her arm, helping her over the rugged terrain. “Come on. We’re almost there!”

Finally reaching the safety of cover, the company continued farther into the rocks to escape the barrage. Snafu was in front of them and on the verge of a panicked breakdown.

“This is bullshit!” he cried, plopping down on a rock. “If I ever find the FO that called that arty, I’ll shoot him!”

Gene maintained his hold on (y/n) as he led them toward a big rock, his frustration evident. “They’ll just do it again,” he huffed, gritting his teeth. “All because some asshole officer read a map wrong and nobody gives a shit about us!”

After he sat (y/n) on the boulder beside Snafu, Eugene took a deep breath and sank beside her. He turned to the dazed woman beside him, her once white corpsman armband a brown and muddy mess. “You alright?” he asked her, knowing even he himself wasn’t alright after what happened before the shelling.

The woman and her baby…

(Y/n) nodded slowly, her eyes rising from the ground to meet his. ”Yeah. Just got my bell rung. I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?” Sledge persisted.

“Yes, Gene. I’m okay,” she murmured wearily, rubbing her eyes. “Really.”

Removing her helmet, she threaded her fingers through her (y/h/c) hair, wincing at the dried mud that pulled at the roots. Over their time on the dreadful island, they all discovered that the jungle was just as much an enemy as the Japs.

Snafu stared wide-eyed at the ground below him, hands on his head as his chest heaved. His expression was the same one that each marine wore as they grappled with the massacre they’d just witnessed.

What country uses its own civilians as shields for a surprise attack?

As a corpsman, (y/n) had seen more death than the average marine, and after the fierce fighting on the islands of Peleliu and Pavuvu, she was struggling to remain afloat in the vast ocean of numbness that threatened to drown her. The only thing keeping her above water were her boys, the men of K Company: Sledge, Snafu, Burgin, and De L’eau, although Jay had been transferred to intelligence. They’d lost so many good men, and it made her even more thankful for the guys who had always been there for her.

“Corpsman up front!”

The call snapped (y/n) from her thoughts, and she quickly rose, momentarily losing her balance until a strong hand grasped her upper arm, holding her steady. She felt the warmth of his hand through her thin ODs as he held her in place, accompanied by a blush creeping up her neck.

“(Y/n)-” Gene started.

Shrugging him off gently, she turned toward the call. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Be careful,” he whispered after her, watching her form disappear into a sea of olive-green uniforms. With another deep breath, Sledge sat back down, trying to calm his still-racing heart. She had been right behind him…until she wasn’t. Panic had gripped him when he saw her motionless figure in the mud as the artillery rained down around them. When she opened her eyes, he felt a weight lift off his chest.

Rain drenched the marines through the night as they held their position looking up to the ridge. Around 2000HRS the next day, (y/n) trudged back to her squad, eyelids heavy with exhaustion. Dried blood clung to her cracked hands, refusing to wash away, no matter how many times she’d scrubbed them raw. The casualties were unending like the rain that constantly poured on them. Luckily, the downpour had come to a stop in the early morning.

She’d been at the BAS since the previous afternoon treating and evacuating wounded marines from the already bloody battle. Continued artillery and fire throughout the day brought a steady stream of bleeding men through the tent’s entrance. One of these men had been Bill Leyden. He wasn’t in good shape, and when (y/n) saw the damage on her friend’s body, the air rushed from her lungs. After pushing away the panic, she quickly helped other corpsmen stabilize him, before sending him off to a hospital ship. As she watched him go, her heart sank at the realization the company had lost another man…another friend.

“Hey Doc,” Snafu called out gently as she approached.

She looked up from her feet at the man with a tired smile. “Hey, Snaf,” she whispered. “You seen Gene?”

Motioning over his shoulder, Snafu replied, “He’s right over there. But, Bill…“

“Yeah,” she sighed, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We got him stabilized. He should make a full recovery. Lost a few fingers, though.”

In a trance-like state, Snafu nodded, his gaze fixed ahead. It was something they all did. A way to escape the horrors they lived through. With a gentle squeeze of his shoulder, (y/n) moved to find Sledge, but the Cajun’s voice stopped her.

“Eugene. He got a letter…his dog died.”

She turned to face him with raised brows. “Deacon?”

“I guess,” the man nodded. “I think he’s bothered more than he’s letting on. You know how Eugene is.”

“Yeah. I’ll talk to him.”

She found him staring into space ahead of him as he sat up against one of the island’s many rocks. Before she approached, (y/n) simply watched the man before her. She could see his growing stubble and the mud that splattered his cheeks, but what worried her was the blank expression on his face. She longed to see the lopsided smile that used to hang from his lips. (Y/n) didn’t know how long it had been since she’d seen that smile…too long.

Pulling her satchel off her shoulder, she quietly approached him and slouched down beside him. They sat silently for a moment, the warmth of their touching shoulders spreading through them. Gene was the first to break the silence.

“Did you see Bill?” he asked quietly, his eyes still glued on the rocks in front of him.

(Y/n) nodded, looking up at him with a small smile. “Yeah, he’s gonna be okay.”

Gene leaned his head back against the ground with a thud, his eyes closed as a shuttering sigh escaped his lips. She sat up off the rock and turned toward him, gently taking his hand.

“I’m sorry about Deacon.”

The second her fingers intertwined with his, Sledge’s heartbeat accelerated, and the man felt heat spread through his body. He took a moment to compose himself before he opened his eyes. He looked down at their intertwined hands before meeting her concerned gaze.

In that moment, Eugene could have sworn she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. It didn’t matter that she was coated in blood, mud, and sweat. She was there for him like nobody else had ever been in his whole life. Sure, he was close with his parents, but he felt they never completely understood him.

Who’d have thought that he’d have to travel almost eight thousand miles to find someone who could do so?

Eugene’s eyes flashed down to her lips, unable to control himself as their closeness made him suddenly bold. He always wondered what they’d taste like. How they’d feel against his. They were chapped, just like everyone else's, but that didn’t matter. The young man wanted a way to show her how much she meant to him. Sure, there had been moments where he told himself he was going to kiss her, but the moment ended before he had the opportunity. Something in the moment felt wrong, though, and he decided to wait once more.

“Thank you,” he whispered, swallowing thickly as he tried to regain his composure and keep the memories of his beloved dog at bay. “He was a good dog.”

“How old was he? 10? 11?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “10.”

The woman’s eyes searched his face, trying to get a read of what he needed from her. She saw pain in his hazel eyes. Pain from the loss of Bill. Pain from the loss of Deacon. Pain caused by the war.

She decided he needed some hope. Some laughter.

“Did I tell you about the time Snaf and I almost got caught stealing from an Army captain?”

Later that day, Gene and the rest of his squad sat among the rocks, each lost in their mind. (Y/n) was beside him, writing in her journal, and they were doing the same…all except Peck, who was attempting to dig a foxhole in the soaked ground. Since the day they arrived on the wretched island, Sledge kept up with how many days they spent there with tallies in the back of his Bible. With the days running together, they rarely knew what day it was or how long they’d been there.

“What’s the date?” Burgie asked, putting down his small journal.

The group turned to Gene, who took a deep breath. “June 5th, maybe. Might be the 6th.” He turned to (y/n). “(Y/n/n), which one you got?”

“I have no idea,” she sighed. “I gave up keeping track a while ago.”

Peck decided to chime in as he dug. “We’re never getting off this island.”

Everyone was thinking it, but he was the one person who dared to speak it aloud.

(Y/n) rolled her eyes, glancing over at Gene with an annoyed expression. If looks could kill, Peck would be six feet deep from the redhead’s glare. His jaw clenched tightly, and his chest began to heave as he stared at the replacement.

Sensing his rising anger, (y/n) reached over and placed a hand on his thigh. His eyes moved to meet hers, and her (y/e/c) irises seemed to whisper, ”He’s not worth it,” and, “It’s okay. I’m here.”

Gene took a deep breath in an attempt to calm down. Beating the crap out of Peck wouldn’t bring Bill back, and letting anger consume you was a dangerous game. Every time he was tempted to let it in, (y/n) was right there, a soft presence telling him that hate was not the answer. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted daily. Sledge had seen what men could do to each other. He had seen what the Japs did to his friends.

Looking away from Gene, she was met with a strange stare from Snafu, who was smoking a cigarette and sitting on their makeshift toilet. His gaze was questioning, but not criticizing. When the man’s eyes drifted down to her hand, her stomach dropped, and she felt like she was caught red-handed. (Y/n) quickly removed her hand from Gene’s leg and shot to her feet.

“I’m gonna go-uh-do some rounds,” she announced, not daring to look at Gene or Snafu.

A few seconds later, she went treading through the sludge, her corpsman satchel pressed tightly to her side. The men all watched in confusion as she left, unsure what had made her so jumpy all of a sudden.

“She alright?” Hamm asked once she’d disappeared from view.

Burgie, always an observer, glanced over at Sledge to watch his reaction. He looked somewhat like a kicked puppy. Wrapping up his Bible, Gene began to tuck it into his pocket without a word.

“Don’t worry about (y/n), Hamm,” Burgie replied with a nod.

Hamm raised an eyebrow at his sergeant. “But did you see her-”

“She’s fine,” Snafu interrupted, pulling up his pants and rejoining the group. “Besides, she’s already got someone to worry about her.”

At the statement, Eugene froze, a cold chill running through him despite the heat. A million thoughts ran rampant in his mind.

Is there someone else in her life?

Does he know something I don’t?

Does he know how I feel?

Groaning, Burgie smacked the Cajun’s shoulder. “Shut up, Snaf. Don’t go starting crap.”

The sergeant first noticed the bond between Sledge and (y/n) back in training, but especially when the company landed on Peleliu. They always stuck by one another when they could, and she seemed to help calm the Marine amid his anxiety. As time went on and their relationship changed, Romus knew they had feelings for one another, even if they didn’t admit it. He’d never spoken about it to anyone, fearing it could become a rumor that would possibly get the pair in trouble if they ever acted on their feelings. Hearing Snafu insinuate something between them sent a pang of panic through him.

“We all worry about (y/n),” he continued. “But she’s a great corpsman. She can hold her own.”

Before he could finish his sentence, Eugene rose to his feet and went to take a leak. He did have to relieve himself, but he also wanted to get away from the conversation. If Snafu knew about how he felt, the man would never stop tormenting him. Even if it was in a joking way, Gene didn’t want to be the subject of Shelton’s teasing.

Just as he made it to a somewhat secluded spot, he heard Mac’s voice ring out from above him.

“I need a stovepipe boy up top!” he yelled, coming down from the ridge.

Gene slightly ducked his head behind a rock, hoping the lieutenant would miss him. To his dismay, Mac caught his movement in the corner of his eye.

“Sledge, that’s you. Bring some comm wire.”

Sighing when his superior disappeared over the ridge, he muttered, “Yes, sir,” and went to follow his orders.

The stench of excrement and death permeated the air as (y/n) walked through their temporary camp checking on the men. Her eyes watered from the smell, and it took all her willpower not to gag. Even though she’d built a great tolerance to gruesome sights and smells over her time as a corpsman, sometimes it all got to her.

Snafu’s stare replayed in her mind, and she hoped that she didn’t accidentally give herself away to the group. Worry buzzed in her stomach like the disgusting flies that seemed to be ever-present among the mud and filth of Okinawa. (Y/n) tried to busy her mind with the long list of men to check on, but she couldn’t focus more than a few moments before getting lost in her head again.

Spotting a man on her list, she called out to him.

“Hey, James,” she greeted, approaching his muddy foxhole. “How’s the ankle?”

He groaned and shook his head. “As good as it’s gonna be, Doc.”

In the barrage the day prior, the private slipped and rolled his ankle in the mud trying to get to cover. He insisted he was fine, but some of his squadmates sent (y/n) to check on him. Henry James was a stubborn young man who wasn’t even old enough to drink, yet he was on a foreign island in Southeast Asia fighting for his country…fighting to survive. She crouched beside his hole, inspecting the ankle that was elevated above the entrance.

“Were you able to stay off it much?” (y/n) asked, gently prodding the bruised skin.

“A buddy of mine took my OP shift so I didn’t have to walk around on it. It’s more stiff than anything.”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “That’s how ankles are. They’re tough-”

Her voice came to a stop as yelling filled the air. It wasn’t cheers of victory or anything of that nature. They were cries of attack…of desperation…of death. The second the sound registered in her mind, she was darting toward the ridge, hoping to get there before the shooting started in case someone got hit. The rapid beating of her heart filled her ears as she ran through the mud and past battle-weary marines. A few of them called out to her, but she didn’t hear them.

The first ping of an M-1 being fired echoed through the air as she made it to the base of the rocky ridge. Cursing under her breath, she quickly began her ascent. Finding the most solid footing, she climbed the hill, using the jagged rocks as handholds. Gunfire filled the air, silencing the screams of the enemy. (Y/n) was out of breath when she made it to the top, but she didn’t stop. Most of the fire had stopped, but a few shots still rang out.

At the moment the corpsman reached the other marines at the top of the ridge, her heart sank at the sight of Eugene unholstering his revolver and aiming at a wounded Jap.

“Cease fire!” Mac cried from the other side of the ridge. “Cease fire!”

Gene didn’t care.

“Damn, Sledge. Leave him,” Hamm muttered to the redhead.

Whipping around to face him, Eugene scowled. “What for? He’s a Jap, ain’t he?”

(Y/n) watched in horror as Gene opened fire on the man already wallowing in the mud. He missed the first two shots, but the third hit its mark, hitting the Jap just above his hip. The soldier sunk into the mud face down, his writhing coming to an end.

“Cease fire!” The Lieutenant repeated as he neared them. “Cease fire, damn it!”

Satisfied with his work, Sledge grabbed his rifle from beside Hamm and turned to descend the ridge. When he noticed (y/n) a few yards away, he froze for a moment, his eyes resembling a dark storm cloud that could start down pouring any second. Guilt seemed to cloud his usual hazel eyes, and he looked away, unable to stay steady beneath her gaze after what he’d just done. He then continued down the ridge.

Mac was quick to confront him, gripping his carbine in one hand with white knuckles.

“I told you to cease fire. What are you doing?”

The private spun to face Mac with gritted teeth.“Killing Japs,” he seethed, turning to go down the hill again.

Before he could get far, the lieutenant spoke again. “You just gave away our position!”

“I think they’ve got a pretty good idea of where we are,” Gene chuckled bitterly.

Mac pointed toward the dead Japs. “I told you to cease fire. You’re supposed to be observing, and then I see you with a damn sidearm!

“We were all sent here to kill Japs, weren’t we?” Sledge screamed, climbing back up to be nose-to-nose with his lieutenant. “So what the hell difference does it make what weapon we use?”

(Y/n) couldn’t help but flinch at Gene’s sudden outburst. She’d never seen him like this before, and she wondered what made him finally break. What was the straw that broke the camel’s back? What had happened in the five minutes she was gone?

A tear streaked down her cheek seeing the man she cared about more than anything giving in to the war. Seeing a man be reduced to a shell of who he once was was always heartbreaking, and (y/n) didn’t realize just how much until she witnessed him finally crack.

“I’d use my damn hands if I had to,” he whispered to a frozen Mac, who clenched his jaw and slowly walked past him. (Y/n) was quick to try and follow Gene once he stormed down the hill, but a gentle hand on her shoulder held her back.

It was Burgin, his face scrunched with concern. “Let ‘em cool off, (y/n/n).”

“Romus, he-”

“I know what he means to you,” he interrupted in a whisper as he glanced around them for any eavesdroppers. “But trust me. You need to leave him be for a little bit. Let him think.”

(Y/n) swallowed thickly. “Please don’t tell anyone, Burgie. I could be-”

“Your secret’s safe with me…He needs you, (y/l/n), but give him a few hours.”

Releasing a shuddering breath, her gaze dropped to the ground. “He was fine when I left. What happened?”

“I don’t know. But we did hear him hollering about something right before he went up top.”

“Thanks for everything, Burg,” she sighed, patting his shoulder softly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you and the guys.”

A sheepish smile grew on his face, and he chuckled under his breath. “You’d be a lot more ladylike, that’s for sure. The other day, I’m pretty sure I saw you smoking Sledge’s pipe.”

“Whatever,” she groaned, rubbing a hand down her dirty face. “A lot of women actually smoke, ya know?”

The rest of the afternoon did not go according to (y/n)‘s plan, and she was unable to check on Gene after he cooled down. Within an hour of his outburst, she was called back to the field hospital to assist in an all-hands-on-deck emergency following a Jap ambush. The corpsman was up to her elbows in blood, bowels, and every other bodily fluid from vomit to urine. It was a hard night, and it got even worse when a terrible rainstorm moved in, trapping her from returning to her company due to poor visibility.

(Y/n) spent the night, and most of the next day, helping around the hospital. She dressed wounds, administered pain meds, and helped transport men to the hospital ships on a Jeep. A radio call was received that told of the 1st Marine’s plans to take the ridge, and (y/n) knew she needed to be there.

She caught a ride to the ridge just in time for the assault. The men were checking their weapons and quietly conversing with each other as she walked through the various companies. When she reached her squad, however, silence filled the air. They all had thousand-yard stares, and the group was missing two guys who had been there the day before. Her pace slowed as she approached them.

“Hey, guys,” (y/n) said softly, her eyes flicking from man to man. When none of them acknowledged her, she knew something bad had happened. “Where’s Hamm and Peck?”

Silence.

She took a deep breath, trying not to imagine the worst. “Please, guys, whe-”

“Gone,” Gene interrupted harshly, his gaze snapping to hers. “Hamm's dead and Peck’s gone. He cracked.”

(Y/n) felt the all-too-familiar punch of grief knock the air from her lungs. Eugene’s hazel eyes were dark and stormy, even more so than the previous day. She swallowed thickly, attempting to push down the emotion that clogged her throat.

“What happened?” she asked shakily, her eyes never leaving Gene’s.

Before he could respond, Snafu spoke. “Doesn’t matter. They’re gone.”

“Shelton’s right,” Burgin added. “It’s hard, but we’ve got other things to focus on.”

(Y/n) nodded once and dropped her gaze to the group, blinking away the tears that burned her eyes. Two more of their group were gone. Sure, Peck wasn’t her favorite person by any means, but he was still part of their company….on their side. And Hamm…he was a kid. A kid who deserved better than to die in the mud on some foreign island.

They all deserved better.

“Let’s move out!” Mac announced, waving for them to follow.

Each man followed suit, but Eugene hung back to wait on (y/n). Seeing her tear-filled eyes, he instantly regretted opening his mouth. The anger within him seemed to dissipate momentarily as he joined her side.

“Remember, you’ve got a bullseye on your arm,” he murmured, gesturing to the red and white medic brassard on her arm. “Please be careful.”

“I will.” (Y/n) lifted her helmet to look up at him through her lashes. “You take care of yourself, too, alright?”

“Yes ma’am,” he whispered, admiring her features. His eyes trailed from her eyes down to her nose, and then to her lips before flicking back to her (y/e/c) eyes. They stayed locked in each other’s gaze for a few moments, their eyes seeming to have a silent conversation communicating everything that was left unsaid. Gene slowly reached up to cup her cheek, rubbing his thumb over her cheekbone. The racing of (y/n)‘s heart wasn’t from the artillery that had begun hammering the ridge, but Eugene’s warm caress against her cheek. Her eyes fluttered closed at the gentle touch.

They both wished the moment could last forever.

Another yell from Mac shattered the moment, leaving (y/n) missing the tenderness of his hand in its absence.

“I’ll find you after,” he said, turning around and backpedaling to catch up with his squad. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

The corner of her lips quirked into a smirk. “I’ll leave that to you.”

Once the battle had died down and all the remaining Japanese were either killed or taken prisoner, (y/n) went searching for Gene. When the bullets began to fly, she couldn’t get the boy from Mobile off her mind, and anxiety churned in her stomach as she looked for him. The stench of gasoline, blood, and burnt flesh filled the air along her ascent to the ridge. Bodies of both marines and the enemy lined the narrow path up the hill, and her eyes scanned each one, praying that none of them were the men she’d come to love dearly.

“Burgie, you seen Sledgehammer? He was just over here.”

Hearing the familiar Cajun accent, she spun toward the voice and sighed in relief when she saw Snafu atop an old bunker, his legs swinging as he sat on the edge with a cigarette hanging from his lip. Romus was talking to another sergeant a few feet away, his rifle swung around his shoulder.

“There you are!” (Y/n) called out, reaching up and slapping Snafu’s foot. It was all she could reach from his elevated position on the concrete bunker. “You alright?”

He smiled and raised an eyebrow, blowing a puff of smoke into the humid air. “Not a scratch on me,” he mused. “I don’t know where Eugene is, but don’t worry, I just saw him. He’s okay, too.”

With this news, a wave of calm washed over her, and she let out the breath she’d been holding since they parted. “Thanks, Snaf. I’ll find him.”

“Have fun,” he laughed, waving his cigarette around in front of him. “And do me a favor and fuc-”

This caught Burgie's attention. “Hey!” He interrupted, scolding Snafu like he was a parent whose child was acting up in public. “Cut it out.”

Busting out laughing, Snafu winked at (y/n), who could feel the embarrassment creeping up her cheeks at his intended comment. She raised a hand and flipped him off with a grin before continuing her search for Gene.

It took her a few minutes of wandering to spot his familiar frame among the sea of dirty green uniforms, but when she did, a huge smile painted her face. (Y/n) almost called out to him, but something stopped her.

He was sitting alone on the busted remains of a bunker with his helmeted head in his hands, his weapon lying idle in the dirt beside him. She continued toward him slowly, observing the gentle shake of his shoulders that told her he was crying.

“Hey, Gene,” (y/n) murmured with a softness that matched the gravity of the moment, lowering herself onto the earth beside him. He reacted quickly, averting his gaze and hiding his face as he wiped the tears from his dirt-covered cheeks.

Reaching over, she softly turned his face toward her. After a moment of resistance, he gave in to her gentle touch. His eyes, glistening with unshed tears, met hers. (Y/n)‘s fingertips traced the dirt-streaked paths on his cheeks, her touch a soothing escape from the horror they lived in.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, ducking to meet his eyes. “I’m here.”

Gene’s lip began to quiver, and a stifled sob escaped him as he covered his face with trembling hands. “I’m a monster, (y/n). The things I’ve done…” he strained, moving away from her comforting touch.

(Y/n) watched the play of emotions on his face as he stood up abruptly, throwing an arm out to point to a bombed-out building. The skeletal remains of what once was a home loomed in the smoky haze. “There was a family in there. Now a baby with grow up without a family! I called in the mortars up there! I did that! I’m a monster!”

“No,” she shot up, her voice cutting him off. “You are not a monster, Eugene Sledge. We are at war. We’ve all done terrible things here, but it does not make you a monster. The fact that you’re feeling like you are proves you’re not. It means you’re human, Gene.”

Another tear streaked down his cheek as he clenched his teeth. “After Bill and everyone we’ve lost, I wanted to get them back. I wanted to. You saw me yesterday!”

“Eugene! Look at me!” she ordered, cupping his cheeks as she implored his attention. His gaze wandered everywhere but her face until she spoke again, her tone much softer this time. “Hon, please look at me.”

Tear-filled hazel eyes met hers, and she tugged him a little closer, they’re faces only inches apart. “We all want to get them back. You are not a monster.”

“I don’t know who I am anymore,” he croaked, more tears spilling down his cheeks. “What if this is who I am now?”

“I know exactly who you are. You are Eugene Bondurant Sledge. You’re still that same boy from Mobile, Alabama who loved his dog more than anything, the same one who loved to fish with his father, and the very same one who I fell in love with before we even stepped foot on foreign soil.”

A sob escaped his lips, and his eyes squeezed shut, overwhelmed by her words. “There’s no way you can love me like this. You deserve someone else who-”

“I don’t love anyone else, Gene!” she urged, tears stinging her eyes. “I love you, and I’ll say it over and over, every single day, for as long as it takes to make you believe me.”

Shaking his head, he tried to break free from her touch, but she held on. “I’m not a good man.”

“You are good, Eugene. You are a good man. We’ve all done things we’re not proud of, but it’s how we respond to them that makes us who we are. This right here? It proves you’re a good man.”

Her words seemed to break through in his mind, and he froze for a moment. Pulling off his helmet, he moved (y/n)‘s hands from his face and cupped her cheeks, his red eyes still glossy. “I love you,” he murmured, voice wavering. “And I will spend the rest of my life working to be worthy of you if you’ll let me.”

The tears (y/n) had been holding back filled her eyes, a few of them trickling from her waterline. She nodded in his gentle hold. “You already are.”

He wiped a few tears away softly, a lopsided smile forming on his lips. “You’re too good for this world, darlin’,” Gene cooed. “You always see the good in people. Even me.”

With utmost care, Gene reached up and removed (y/n)‘s helmet, her tousled (y/h/c) spilling out. The fading sun added a soft glow to their faces, emphasizing the exhaustion etched in their features. As he delicately held the helmet aside, Eugene’s eyes met (y/n)‘s, a silent understanding passing between them. He closed the gap, his breath mixing with hers as his eyes lingered on her face, taking in every detail-the mud smudges, the fatigue-as if memorizing each nuance.

With a gentle touch, he pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was a tender blend of longing and comfort, a quiet promise to stay by the other’s side. In that moment, the world around them ceased to exist. Time slowed as they embraced, finding solace in the simple act of being together at last. The sounds of war faded into the background, replaced by the gentle symphony of two hearts seeking refuge in the warmth of each other’s touch.

[a-court-of-fics-and-errors]

Hold Still

Hey everyone! I’m excited to share a new *possibly* multi-part fic with you all. Not sure how long it’ll be or how many parts, but I’m using this as a chance to sharpen my skills, especially with fight scenes and coordination. I’d love to hear your thoughts and feedback!

Content Warning: Descriptions of violence

Summary: Set against the backdrop of brutal war, Azriel and the OC are faced with death, destruction, and decay. As the final horn signals victory for the Illyrians and surrender of the Autumn Court, the tension between the two of them is undeniable. But with every swing of the sword, every life taken, the real battle is waged within their hearts. Will they find the courage to face the truths they've buried, or will the war inside consume them both?

“That’s fourteen!” I shout, watching as another soldier crumples to the ground, his last breath rattling out.

Azriel whips around, shoving an attacker away with the flat side of his sword. A grunt escaping him. “How are you at fourteen already?” He calls back a slight whine of disbelief.

I barely have time to shrug before another soldier barrels toward me, sword raised high. I duck just in time, the blade whistling over my head. In one swift motion, I kick out, sending him sprawling into the muck. Before he can recover, I drive my sword through his torso. “Make that fifteen!”

All around us, chaos reigns. Screams and groans blend with the relentless clash of steel. Bodies fall, splattering the mud with blood as boots churn the ground, desperate to flee. The rain lashes down, turning the battlefield into a mire — of all the days for a storm, this one was the worst.

I take a moment, catching by breath to take in the scene. Carnage and brutality everywhere, and here I stood in the thick of it, utterly enthralled.

Azriel finally manages to bring down his opponent with a vicious swing, the male’s body hitting the ground with a wet thud. Chest heaving, Azriel wipes his muddy face with a forearm, caked in someone’s blood, though it’s impossible to tell if it’s his or his enemies, smearing the grime together. His black hair, soaked and plastered to his forehead, makes him look more beast than male.

I gesture to the corpse at our feet with me sword, “What’s that one?”

Azriel glanced down at him too, panting, as he squints at me through the downpour of rain. “Seven.” He gowls, venom lacing the word.

A smirk tugs at my lips. “Bummer,” I quip. “You’ve got a long way to catch up.”

Azriel’s eyes widen and I barely have time to react before I spin around, raising my broadsword just in time to block a descending battle axe. The force of the blow sends me crashing to the ground. The male wielding it is a giant, towering over me by at least a foot, his muscles ripping and glistening with rain under his armor.

Before he can strike again, I roll through the mud, feeling it cake onto my armor and hair. I spring to my feet just as his axe swings down again, barely missing me. I thrust my sword towards his midsection, but despite his bulk, he dodges with surprising speed. He swings the axe around, gaining momentum and I leap back, avoiding the blow — only to hear the sickening crunch as it buries into an Illyrian soldier beside me. The soldier crumples, and the giant glares at me, seemingly frustrated by the wasted swing.

He lets out a guttural roar, his mouth visible through the slit of his helmet, and the surrounding fighters seem to back away to give us space.

I almost laugh at the dramatics. As he charges, his feet sloshing in the mud, I sidestep, narrowly avoiding his swing. What he has in brute strength, I counter with speed. In a flash, I’m behind him, seizing the opportunity set before me. I leap onto his back, wrapping my arms around his thick neck as he lets out a furious growl. I pull my knife from its sheath, slicing through the soft flesh of his throat. Blood spurts out, and he drops his axe, clawing at his neck as he gurgles for breath. I shove him forward with a well placed kick, sending him crashing face-first into the muck. The crowd parts as his lifeless body hits the ground.

I turn back to Azriel, flashing him a grin. “Sixteen.”

The battle waged on for hours. Wave after wave of soldiers from both sides coming to aid the ones who had fallen. The rain continued to pour down in sloshes, turning the mud more into just dirty, brown water that caused us all to slip and slide our way across the battlefield. Azriel and I split up after a time, seeming to find a rhythm amongst the slaughter. As the sun began to dip behind the mountain, a loud horn echoed across the field. The fighting ceased, all eyes turning toward a rider on a ridge. Beside him, a bloodied man blew through an ox horn, while the rider waved a white flag with desperate urgency. Illyrian chants of victory erupted, and the enemy began a hasty, disorganized retreat, scrambling up the mountain to their side.

A smile is plastered on my face as I looked around at the celebration. We were all nearly unrecognizable, caked in mud, exhaustion etched into every line of our faces. Some soldiers collapsed to their knees, utterly spent, while others began the grim task of searching for comrades—some finding only lifeless bodies.

A few soldiers clapped me on the shoulder, congratulating me on a hard-fought battle. I returned their smiles, sharing in the camaraderie. As we turned to cross back into our territory, I sheathed my sword and made my way across the carnage, offering what aid I could to the wounded lying in the muck, their moans for mercy cutting through the still air. The killing field is no place for the faint of heart, but it’s all I’ve known. Sometimes, the best mercy is a quick end to suffering.

Another hour passed before I finally crested our hill, the Illyrian encampment sprawled out below. Tents dotted the horizon, fires already flickering against the darkening sky.

I descended into the village of tents, sniffling as I tried to wipe away the grime that seemed to have settled deep into my sinuses. Soldiers lined up outside the healers’ tent, many with minor wounds, watching as others were carted in with missing limbs or exposed guts. Those waiting for treatment turned their gazes away, silently praying for the Mother to be merciful to their fallen brothers.

I headed toward my tent in the center of camp, eager to shed the armor that clung to my skin beneath layers of mud. Some soldiers were more interested in a hot meal than getting clean, gathering around campfires with bowls of stew, the only clean part of them the whites of their eyes.

The time after battle is always strange. On one hand, there’s the celebration of victory and glory, Illyrian soldiers basking in honor, blinded by their own egos as they drink and boast about their feats. On the other, there’s the mourning for lost brothers and the groans of the wounded, their pain filling the night air. In truth, everyone hopes to be on the former side of the party.

I trudge through the muddy ground, my boots heavy with water and mud. I finally make my way back to my tent, raised up on a small platform. As I approach, I notice that the boots I left out this morning are filled to the brim with rain. Annoyed, I sneer at them before picking one up and turning it over, watching as water cascades out of it. With a huff, I give it a good shaking to get the droplets out before discarding the shoe entirely. Not for right now, I can deal with it later.

I duck under the flap of the tent, squinting against the sudden brightness of fae light inside. A sigh escapes my lips as I take in my surroundings. "Tired?" Azriel's voice startles me, and I jump, feeling my heart leap into my throat.

"Gods, Azriel. What the fuck?" I gasp, hand instinctively flying to my chest where my heart is still pounding wildly.

Azriel chuckles from his spot on my cot, sprawled out comfortably with his armor already removed and his face freshly cleaned. His feet are crossed at the ankles and he leans against the wall of the tent, wearing a mischievous grin.

Rolling my eyes, I begin unstrapping my chest plate with practiced ease. "Don't you have somewhere else to be?" I ask pointedly as the heavy metal piece falls to the floor with a dull thud. Moving onto my shoulder plates, I continue, "A meeting or some kind of briefing?"

Azriel watches me closely, shadows looming and snaking under the cot and near the ceiling. "Already done," he notes casually.

I tie my shoulder plates together as I carefully pull them off and then bend down to work on my thighs and calves. "What? Were you the first one off the field?" I inquire, trying not to wince as my left leg gives way under the weight of my armor. The only injury I'd received during the battle was a deep slash to the back of my leg, but it had mostly healed by now. Still, as the blood rushes back into it after releasing the bindings, it begins to throb slightly.

"I was close to the edge," he remarks back "Total count?"

With some effort, I manage to get off my other leg and finally kick off my soaked boots, letting out a disgusted groan as I peel off the wet wool socks that are caked in mud and debris. "Eighty six," I answer, tossing the socks into a forgotten corner of the tent before working on removing my undershirt. It sticks to my skin uncomfortably, and I grimace as I struggle to peel it off.

Azriel discreetly looks away, even though we have known each other for over two centuries and have fought in countless battles together. We've tended to each other's wounds and have had our fair share of near-death experiences, yet he still feels uncomfortable seeing me change. It's silly, really. And I can't resist teasing him about being such a prude. As I continue getting changed, Azriel pulls out a knife that I had left on my cot this morning and starts spinning it on his finger, pretending to inspect it although I know he has no real interest in it.

I grasp the washbasin from its place in the corner of the tent, bracing myself for the frigid water that awaits me. Despite the chill, it feels refreshing against my skin as I use the cloth inside to scrub away the grim remains of the battlefield. "You?" I ask casually, sloshing the brownish water around.

Azriel doesn't even bother turning to face me. "Seventy-five," he replies flatly.

I let out a snort of disbelief. "That's all?"

Azriel doesn't even bother turning to face me. "Seventy-five," he replies flatly.

I let out a snort of disbelief. "That's all?"

His brow furrows in irritation and for a moment, he forgets that I'm standing here completely naked. His gaze shifts to mine, ready to challenge my teasing, but his face turns red and he quickly looks back at the knife, feigning interest. "It's ten less than you," he retorts.

"Eleven," I correct him, ringing out the now filthy rag. Despite my efforts, there's no way this rag will fully cleanse me. But I refuse to go to the communal baths where Illyrian males take the opportunity to compare their bodies like trophies.

Azriel rolls his eyes. "Cassian got ninety-one," he notes.

I scoff in annoyance. "Of course he did." I continue scrubbing at my skin until it begins to resemble its usual cream color rather than the rusted hue of dried blood. "Well now that you've told me, should I go piss him off and tell him I got ninety-two?" I raise an eyebrow in amusement.

Azriel lets out a chuckle. "I think he'd know."

"Yeah," I agree with a grin. "But imagine the look on his face when I tell him." Another laugh escapes Azriel as I finish cleaning myself off as best as I can. Despite shivering from the cold water, I feel relieved to no longer smell like death. I quickly dress myself in a black long-sleeved shirt and loose-fitting tan trousers, sliding on clean wool socks and I almost purr over their warmth.

Another chuckle escapes Azriel's lips as he finally faces me fully. I bring over the washbasin and sit on the cot in front of him, brush in hand. "Here," I say, handing him the brush.

He shifts his legs slightly to make room for me to slide between them, my wings lying limp on his thighs. Placing the bowl between us, he dips the brush into the water as I work on undoing the tight braid I had put my hair in before battle. Once freed, I shake out my hair, still stiff and matted from the mud and blood that coated it.

Azriel runs the brush through the water again before gently working it through my hair, untangling the knots and snarls with a practiced hand. We have done this countless times, a ritual born out of necessity but now feels like second nature. He combs out my hair from our battlefield, silently ridding it of any reminders of death and destruction that we had witnessed today.

Despite our joking, there is a heaviness that settles between us after each battle. The weight of loss and pain hardens our souls a little more each time. But in moments like this, when Azriel's touch is gentle and soothing and we both find solace in the simple act of sitting in silence together, it eases some of that burden off our shoulders.

We sit there in silence for what feels like hours, the only sounds in the tent being the occasional soft splash of the brush in the water bowl and the faint sniffles that I can’t seem to hold back as the dampness of the battlefield settles into my lungs. Azriel’s fingers move methodically through the tangles in my hair, each stroke careful and gentle, as if he’s trying to untangle more than just knots. Finally, he runs his hand down the length of my hair one final time, and I shudder slightly at the lingering warmth in his touch as his arm barely grazes my wing.

“There,” he murmurs, barely above a whisper as he hands the brush to me over my shoulder.

I feel him shifting behind me, the warmth of his legs disappearing from around my hips as he slips off the cot. I pull my hair over my shoulders, running my own fingers through it, searching for any lasting tangles or knots he might have missed. Azriel stands and picks up the bowl of now soiled water. He carries it to the entrance of the tent, dumping it outside before placing it on the small table that stands above my haphazardly piled armor.

He lingers for a moment, his back to me, before turning with a small, almost wistful smile. “You should get some sleep,” he remarks softly.

I manage a smile in return, but it feels fragile. “You should too.”

Azriel sighs and kneels to slide his foot into his boot, methodically lacing it up. His focus on the task seems deliberate and I watch him. I knows he feels my stare but he seems to be unwilling to meet it.

“What’s the plan for tomorrow?” I ask, pulling my knees up to my chest. The dampness of the rag and my now wet hair sends a chill through me

Azriel doesn’t look up, his fingers moving with practiced precision as he laces his other boot. “They surrendered,” he says, his voice flat, “so I imagine some of the battalion will head home, and others will stay to finalize things.”

“And you?” My voice comes out softer than I intend, the sadness seeping into the edges of my words despite my best efforts to contain it.

He glances up at me from beneath his lashes, the faintest hint of regret in his eyes. “I’ll probably have to stay. At least until everything is settled.”

I nod, feeling a hollow ache in my chest that I know all too well. This always happens—the battle ends, and we part ways, yet the emptiness it leaves behind is as sharp as ever. I wonder if he feels it too, if that same hollow ache gnaws at him. Maybe I even hope he does.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” He asks, his voice softer now, as if he’s unsure of the answer.

I force a small smile and nod. He returns the smile with one of his own. He reaches out, his scarred hand brushing through my damp hair in a gesture that feels both comforting and final. “Get some sleep,” he instructs, his tone gentle yet firm.

“You do the same,” I reply, trying to inject some sarcasm into my voice, though we both know the truth. He never sleeps well—especially not when battle looms or still rings in his ears.

He turns, ducking under the flaps of the tent that scrape over the tips of his wings, and then he’s gone.

I scoot down, burrowing under the warm comfort of the woolen blankets on my cot, trying to capture the lingering warmth Azriel left behind. Stupid, I think to myself, cursing the hollow ache that settles in my chest. The battle is won. Lives have been saved. Soldiers have lost comrade, and families will be mourning those who won’t return. And yet here I am, wallowing in the thought that I won’t see Azriel for a while. It feels wrong, even selfish to yearn for more time on the battlefield — where death is a constant companion — just to be near him. But there’s a twisted logic to it, one that I’ve never been able to shake.

Here, amidst the chaos of war, I feel closest to who I truly am. There’s a strange comfort in the clang of steel, the rush of adrenaline, the clarity that comes when you’re fighting to keep yourself alive. I belong here, more than I ever did anywhere else. But it’s more than jus the thrill of battle that keeps me tethered to this life. It’s him. It’s always been him.

When I close my eyes, memories of our childhood flood back with startling clarity. I can still see that little boy, covered in mud, his newly scarred hands clutching his practice sword with a determination that seemed far to heavy for someone so young. I remember the way he’d trudge back through the woods after long days of training, his brothers flanking him.

We were just children, barely old enough to hold a blade, let alone wield one. But in those early days at the training camp, we found an understanding in one another that I’ve never found with anyone else. I was a girl who refused to be confined to the laundry tent, who fought tooth and nail to be allowed to train alongside the boys. But it was Azriel who recognized the fire in me that refused to be doused.

I can still picture him standing across from me in the training ring, his face smeared with dirt and a gleam of challenge in his eyes. “You’re not going to go easy on me, are you?” I taunted, though we both knew the answer. He never did. And that’s why I respected him, why I fought harder, pushed myself further. Because he never treated my like I was fragile. He treated me like an equal, and that made all the difference.

Azriel kept me safe, not in the way that others might have — shielding me from the dangers of the battlefield — but ensuring I had a chance to prove myself in the first place. He kept the other males at bay, those who would have preferred to see me tucked away in some corner, doing the “proper” work for a female. But I wasn’t meant for that life. I earned my place in the battalion, fought for it with every ounce of strength I had, but I know without Azriel’s advocation for me in the background, I would have never been given the chance.

He didn’t just protect me; he believed in me. And that belief—his belief—has carried me through the darkest moments, through the bloodshed and the loss, through the countless battles we’ve fought side by side. It’s why the thought of him leaving, of us going our separate ways once more, feels like a wound that won’t heal. Because when I’m with Azriel, I’m not just a soldier. I’m the girl who survived, who fought against the odds, who found her place in a world that tried to reject her. And I can’t help but wonder, without him, would I still feel like that girl? Or would I lose myself in the quiet, in the peace that I’ve never known how to embrace?

I sigh, forcing myself to push the thoughts away, but they cling to me like the dampness in the air. The emptiness of the tent seems to grow, pressing in on me as I curl deeper into the blankets, trying to chase away the cold that’s seeped into my bones. But it’s not the chill of the night that haunts me. It’s the fear that without Azriel, without the battles that keep us together, I’ll lose the only part of myself that’s ever felt truly alive.

Sill to think about all of this now. Azriel was always destined for more — more than just battles and training camps. He was meant to stand beside the High Lord, to be something greater than either of us could have imagined when we were just children, scraping through the mud and swinging wooden swords. But that knowledge doesn’t make the memories any less sharp, the pain any less real.

I can still see the way his eyes avoided mine as we sat on that mountain ridge, the sun setting behind us and casting long shadows over the valley. He told me he was leaving to go serve in Velaris, to take up the role he was always meant for, and I wish I had let myself cry. I wish I had let that anger I felt seething beneath my skin boil over, wish I had let him see the betrayal that twisted in my gut. But instead, I swallowed it all down, letting the pride I had for him overshadow everything else.

He was going to Velaris, to serve the High Lord, to be part of something bigger than us. And in that moment, he offered me a place by his side—not as an equal in battle, but as a companion, someone who could be there with him through the long meetings, the endless discussions, the political maneuvering that I had never cared for. He wanted me there, wanted me close. But when I looked into his eyes, I knew it would never be enough for me.

How could I sit in those meetings, wasting away in some grand hall while the world outside still raged? How could I let all I had worked for, all I had bled for, be reduced to a mere presence in the room? I was meant to fight, to wield steel, to make a difference on the battlefield, not to fade into the background of someone else's story. And I knew that if I went with him, if I followed him to Velaris, I would lose the part of myself that mattered most—the part that fought tooth and nail to be recognized, to be respected, to be more than just another girl who didn't belong.

So I let him go. I forced a smile, told him I was proud, told him he was meant for greater things. But deep down, I wished I had screamed at him, wished I had told him that I needed him just as much as Velaris did, that I wasn’t ready to let him go. I wish I had fought for him the way I had fought for everything else in my life. But instead, I let the moment pass, let him walk away with the belief that I was fine with it. That I could be content with what little I had left.

But the truth is, I wasn’t. And I never will be.

It wasn’t worth reminiscing on what could have been, daydreaming about a world where I saw him every day, where his presence alone would make everything brighter. How much more I would laugh, how much stronger I might be with him by my side. But I knew those thoughts were nothing more than illusions, comforting lies I told myself in the dark hours of the night. It wasn’t real, it couldn’t be.

Even though I sometimes let myself wonder—what if he would drop everything to come back to me? What if he would choose me over duty, over the weight of the world that he carries on his scarred shoulders? But even as those thoughts flickered to life, I knew the truth: asking that of him would be too selfish, too unfair. He was meant for greater things, things that went beyond the confines of my own desires.

I couldn’t let my longing become a chain around his neck, dragging him down when he was meant to soar. The idea of him giving up everything—his purpose, his honor—just to be with me was a fantasy, one that would only lead to resentment and regret. And I couldn’t bear to be the reason he fell short of his potential, couldn’t bear to be the one who held him back from the destiny he was meant to fulfill.

So, I pushed those thoughts away, buried them deep where they couldn’t hurt me—or him. It was better this way, I told myself, even if it left me feeling hollow and alone. Better to let him go, to let him be the warrior, the hero, the shadow in the night, even if it meant I had to face the darkness alone. I closed my eyes, pushing my face into my pillow and let sleep come to me, in it’s slow sluggish pursuit.

[maiko-san]

Pitaya Dragon Cookie x MH! Reader

Note : Basically Reader is a Monster Hunter from the Monster Hunter Universe. Imagine MH exists on Earthbread. The Reader is far more durable than any other cookies since they are a monster hunter.

Pitaya Dragon Cookie is always hungry for a fight, it seems the fight with Hollyberry Cookie wasn't enough to quench this dragon's thirst for battles.

Then, they meet you!

A cookie called as a 'Monster Hunter' that came from a distant land. Clad in dragon armour and wields (w/o/c).

Pitaya Dragon Cookie instantly challenges you into a fight the moment he sets his eyes on your form.

The moment their giant claws hits your body and sends you flying, any cookie would have crumbled by the attack but you stand right back up like you weren't affected by it at all.

This was the moment that Pitaya Dragon Cookie sees you as a worthy opponent.

"Finally! A cookie that doesn't crumble under my claws!" cackled Pitaya Dragon Cookie, their flames burn even hotter than before. "Sshow me what you got, monster hunter!"

The fight would last for hours!

You attack, dodge, block and take all the hits that the dragon has given to you. Pitaya Dragon Cookie could see that you have experience in fighting a dragon.

The way you zip around swiftly and dodging his attacks. Pitaya Dragon Cookies hits you and you hit them back harder. It was to a point that it dented/broke off their scales/spikes!

"Gragh!" one of Pitaya Dragon Cookies horns has been broken off by your special attack. They couldn't help but burst out laughing, "Hahahahaha! Hollyberry Cookie or that Knight Cookie couldn't even do thiss! You are the firsst cookie to land ssssuch damage on thiss Greenisssh Red Dragon!" they said. "I mussst say, you got my ressspect! I like you! You're now my favourite!" they grinned. Pitaya Dragon Cookie feels satisfied ....well for today!

"That's the reason why I am called a 'Monster Hunter'!" you smirked at the dragon. "I broke off dragon horns countless times back at my place!" you grinned. Pitaya Dragon Cookie shifts to his cookie form, you could see that his scaly armours chipped here and there. A part of his helmet has broken off.

Pitaya Dragon could only smirk as their tail swish excitedly, "Sssay~ May this Pitaya Dragon Cookie know your name!" said Pitaya Dragon. "My name is (C/n) Cookie, a hunter apart of the Ecological Research Team!" you said proudly.

"Sssince you have defeated me! I can grant you a wissh. Tell me, (C/n) Cookie, what is your wisssh?" Pitaya Dragon asked. You let out a hum, fighting this legendary greenish red dragon is so much fun and you wish to do research on them. "I wish to do research on you, Pitaya Dragon Cookie!" you told them your wish. "I sseee" hums Pitaya Dragon as they put their hands on their hips, "Alright! You can do your little ressearch on me, little tough cookie!" they said.

"And I want to fight you again! It was fun!" you declared.

Pitaya Dragon couldn't get even more excited than ever, a cookie wishes to fight them again? Oh, bring it on! Their eyes glow brightly as Pitaya Dragon smiles widely, "Oh yesss~ I will accept your requessts any time!" they smirked. "But don't let your guard down, my little hunter. Thisss dragon will attack you at any time they want~".

Well, Pitaya Dragon wasn't lying at all. They would attack the moment you let your guard down. Especially when you're doing research in the Berry Forest, Pitaya Dragon would dive bomb you out of the blue when you were picking up herbs or mining (the ores) your own business.

A vicious fight that slowly turns into a friendly spar. During those times, you and Pitaya Dragon have grown closer. Pitaya Dragon sees you as a friend and a rival!

The dragon was interested in your home land that has all kinds of monsters especially dragons! You've told Pitaya Dragon Cookie that your home land has dragons that are called Elder Dragons. The most dangerous out of all Elders were the black dragon named Fatalis.

"Fataliss huh....I want to fight him!" grinned Pitaya Dragon. "Hahaha! Make sure not to let him melt you or he would use you as his own armour!" you said. Pitaya Dragon blinks, "What do you mean by that?" he questioned. "Fatalis has habits using melted corpse of a cookie as his own armour" you chirped. Pitaya Dragon couldn't help but feel horrified, disturbed and slightly disgusted?

"That'ss jussst....disssturbing...." they said. "Yup!" you agree with them.

Both of you are sitting on a grassy field after a spar. You have noticed that Pitaya Dragon's armour has completely regrown and returns normal but what catches your attention was they were missing the tip of their tail. "Pitaya Dragon Cookie, may I ask you something?" you asked the dragon who let's out a hum.

"What happened to your tail?"

"Huh? Thisss? Hm, I never noticed that it wass chopped off" they said. "Did you chop it off?" they turn to you for answers.

"No, I didn't" you said.

"Huh, weird..."

You sweat drop, "So, you don't remember how you lost it?". Pitaya Dragon shrugs their shoulders, "Yup!" they simply said.

[jordisblogg]

shuri x spidergirl!reader hcs

warnings: fluff, tchalla and ramonda are alive.. for a little, major character deaths, flirty!reader

it was weird how you and shuri first met. she was on a mission in new york, encountering a villain, when suddenly a string of web came into view snatching her up before she could get pounded by the giant fist that was coming down and smashing into the pavement.

“aren’t you supposed to have some kind of danger sense? you ain’t see that big ass fist coming?”

shuri looked up and saw what was keeping her from falling 15ft from the air. you.

you looked so beautiful, mask bunched up at your forehead, showing off your gorgeous brown eyes and long curly lashes. the setting sun gleaming so perfectly off your caramel brown skin. and your curls not being able to be covered by the mask so they stayed down on your shoulders.

“no, but thank bast you caught me before it did”

you smiled.

“..nice accent.”

shuri let her helmet disintegrate, revealing a small smirk that was held on her lips.

“thank you”

and from that moment on it was nothing but bliss for the two of you.

it was awhile after you and shuri started dating and the public was starting to catch on rather quickly.

it would be during interviews after you had just caught a criminal. paparazzi were left and right of you, sticking microphones in your face trying to get you to answer questions.

“spider-girl, are you currently in a relationship with the black panther?”

“spider-girl, over here!”

“we’ve seen you and the princess of wakanda hanging out around the city, are you both dating?”

you would never give them a straight forward answer. simply shrugging your shoulders, pulling your mask over you face and leaving the scene.

you can’t say that you blame them with all the constant back and forth flirting between you two. what may have started the rumors is that you’ve started to develop a new nickname for your girlfriend. kitty.

shuri will never tell you, but she likes the nickname.

“easy kitty, wouldn’t want you to hurt that pretty face, would we?”

“aw, you care about me kitty?”

“like i’d ever let them come near you, kitty”

when you both did eventually go public, nobody was surprised but they were ecstatic! you both were trending all over social media.

you smiled in amusement as you scrolled down the comment section.

user37292: “not both my wives getting tg😮‍💨”

user2904: “yea we knew y’all wasn’t slick with alla that flirting😒!”

user01607: “AHHH cuties!!!”

shuri would always send you reassuring texts if she knows you’re about to go on a mission. doesn’t matter how big it is. she always makes you put your safety as a priority, knowing your desire to save and protect surpasses your need to save yourself.

“be safe my love, please don’t get yourself into any trouble and don’t get yourself killed.”

“no promises🤭! love uuuuu💗💗”

“i love you too❤️”

…

“y/n i’m serious!!!”

you love to bug shuri. it’s your favorite pass time. even though she lives all the way in wakanda. you make sure you call her at least 8 times a day. yes.. 8. not that she minds. she loves talking to you.

“hi baby!!”

“hi my love”

“whatchu doin?”

“in the lab, are you alright?”

“yea.. you wanna see my challenge?”

“..what?”

shuri loves to say your the light of her life. you constantly make her smile with your crazy antics even thought some of them make her genuinely worry for you. but she learned that was just how you were.

“y/n?! what the hell happened to your face?!”

“this guy rocked my shit!”

“..are you okay?”

“yea.. i think it makes me look bad ass not gonna lie”

you and shuri give each other pet names like most couples do. hers for you are: my love, usana, sithandwa sam, and princess. and yours for her are: kitty (JOKINGLY), mami, baby, and when you had finally learned some xhosa, you started calling her wam yedwa (my one and only)

once shuri had decided you both were deep enough in your relationship for you to meet her family, she called you to tell you to pack a bag and that a talon fighter was coming to get you in the morning.

you made sure you dressed appropriately, seeming as you were going to be in front of royalty. you didn’t feel like you would make a bad impression, but that didn’t stop you from being nervous, shuri having to constantly reassure you during the flight.

“i’m royalty? it’s the same as talking to me”

“girl you don’t count”

“ah.”

they both loved you though! tchalla was the most pleased, constantly picking on shuri.

“it’s about time my baby sister found herself a person!”

“please be quiet”

during your stay, she had took you into her lab to show you some of the new inventions she was working on. most of them were for you. you loved the way she talked about her work, the way her face would light up or how she would stay on one topic for hours. god she was so cute.

shuri would always love taking you to events as her plus one, and vis versa. the way the slick black dress would compliment your curves just right and have you showing a bit of cleavage would leave her drooling.

and you loved to see her in a suit, you’ve told her that. seeing her in a suit matching with you always brought “unholy thoughts” as shuri would say. seeing her gold adornment piece underneath the blazer and with the gold grills to match! wheww.. that combo would leave you a mess.

despite you making a lot of money from your hero work. shuri still spends a whole lot on you. constantly sending shit tons of flowers to your doorstep, buying you everything that you look at for longer than 2 seconds, taking you to expensive restaurants. it did not matter. there was no limit to what she would get or do for you.

“shuri, baby, i think i’ve got enough”

“just this necklace and then we’ll leave”

you love taking shuri on nightly outings after a mission. you both could be chilling at your apartment and you’ll look down at her laying in your lap, tinkering with her kemoyo beads, and just stare.

“..what?

“you wanna to go web-slinging with me?”

you would have her hold onto you extra tight as you both were standing on top of a very high building.. a little too high for shuri. the entire time you swung all that could be heard in the air were shuri’s high-pitched screams or her fussing that you nearly hit a building but wouldn’t have time to finish once you would start swinging again. we’ll say that was the night that started shuri’s fear of heights.

i like to think it’s canon that shuri had started to have panic attacks after the death of her brother and mother so you would always help her when she was having one or if she was and you weren’t there she would call you. the soothing sound of your voice, the constant kisses on her forehead and your soft hand rubbing circles on her back helped calm her down.

“it’s okay baby, i’m right here. deep breaths”

you were a cuddle bug and shuri loved it. she loved when you ran your fingers through her curls or traced the tattoo down her shoulder while she laid her face in the crook of your neck .when she would always ask you why you liked to spoon her so much you would say:

“you already top me in bed, shit- i can’t have this?!”

shuri stays touching you 25/8. whether it’s holding your hand or having an arm around your waist. it keeps her calm when she’s around you. she feels safe. it’s gotten so bad that she’s started to follow you around like a lost puppy sometimes and she doesn’t even notice it.

you could be in the kitchen making you both lunch and she’s right behind you, both arms wrapped around your waist as she nuzzles her face in your hair.

“i think i’ve spoiled you too much..”

shuri spends so much time around you that she’s started picking up on your lingo. you find it funny but adorable when she uses it.

“then the bitch threw me into a building!”

“into a building is wild”

when she’s not fighting for her country, shuri loves to take you out on dates. there will be things that she had asked you wayyy before you two were even a thing.

“what would be your ideal date?”

“fair or arcade date!”

and she would still remember after all this time. she had asked because she knew she was going to end up with you and she wanted to you to be happy. she had never been in a relationship before you so she wanted to make this one count. to make sure you were the one.

when shuri had finally gifted you your own custom set of kemoyo beads you finally felt like you two were official. she had waited because she knew you did a lot of crime fighting and didn’t want them to break but once she modified them she knew it was time.

“I GOT MY OWN PAIR?!??!”

“yes, i wanted to make sure you were ready first.”

you love giving shuri spidey kisses.

“why do you always hang upside down to give me kisses?”

“it’s like a reward”

you love to ask shuri stupid questions in the middle of the night just to piss her off.

“baby?”

“hm”

“when did you realize you were gay?”

“since i was born. go to sleep”

shuri’s tender headed. so when it was wash day for her you’ll need to prepare yourself for her whining.

“ow! usana, stop tugging!”

“i barely even pulled..”

you love buying your merch for her to keep when your away on missions. so her room is basically filled with a bunch of spider-girl plushies, cards and action figures.

“..really?”

“can’t help it that i’m famous baby”

shuri loves to say that your powers get on her nerves when you aren’t using them for hero purposes. when your with her in her lab and she hasn’t given you that much attention you’ll use your webs to pull her backwards having her set right between your legs while you sit on the table.

“will you stop that? i have to finish!”

“can i get a kiss first?”

people know that you and shuri are dating and they’re full aware of who you are. but that doesn’t mean they won’t try anything. girls will constantly come up to her, giving her compliments and asking her questions. one was even so brave as to trace one of her hand tattoos (she snatched her hand away quickly) . she says nothing and glances at you giving her the deadliest look, daring her to say something back to them. not wanting challenge you authority she stays quiet.

it doesn’t matter when or where shuri calls you, you always answer.

“sithandwa sam, are you busy?”

*literally in the middle of fighting a monster*: of course not, what’s up mami?”

a/n: ok going to bed. bye

[yandere-toons]

Someone: *says something rude about the reader*

Yandere: You talk a lot of shit for someone who's house is so flamable.

Characters that have this vibe:

Patrick Hockstetter

Kai (Ninjago)

Tom Lucitor

Bridgit Pike | Firefly

Iblis (Blue Exorcist)

Smaug

Matthew Patel

Deadpool | Wade Wilson

Godzilla

Hades (Hercules 1997)

Snotlout Jorgenson + His Monstrous Nightmare Hookfang

Ruffnut & Tuffnut Thorston

Zuko

Jesse Gemstone

Lili Zanotto

Red Son (Monkie Kid)

Eric Cartman

Mr Piranha

Vaas Montenegro

Coriolanus Snow

Lord Garmadon

Roger the Alien

Stewie Griffin

Negaduck | Jim Starling

Bender Bending Rodríguez

Rocket Raccoon

Cherri Bomb (Hazbin Hotel)

Blitzo

Rin Okumura

Five Hargreeves

The Joker

Shelby Brothers

Rob (The Amazing World of Gumball)

Lili Zanotto

Judge Claude Frollo

Mushu

Daemon Targaryen

Joffrey "for someone whose head is so cuttable" Baratheon

Sheldon J. Plankton

Bowser

Emperor Zurg

Emperor Nefarious

Handsome Jack

Trevor Philips

Gremlins

Bakugou Katsuki (early on)

Dabi

Duncan (Total Drama)

Heather (Total Drama)

Honourable Mentions:

Gru + Minions, Vector (Despicable Me), Megamind (when he was villainous), Doctor Nefarious, Gyro Gearloose and Technical Boy would consider arson too lowbrow. In their tech-savvy minds, shrink rays, piranha guns, dehydration guns, atomisation, robot and clone armies and breaking every bone in the person's body all send the correct message.

"Why settle for a house?" wonders most iterations of the Doctor (Doctor Who). "Why not drop them on some desolate planet or in some hostile universe where they die over and over again?" Bill Cipher seconds this notion.

Jack Frost (Rise of the Guardians) would freeze the doors and ice the floors and windows, effectively creating a giant icebox as fires cannot stay burning in his presence.

Dark Helmet, Kylo Ren, Armitage Hux and Darth Vader would vaporise the person's house (and planet to boot) from space. If the person was off-world at the time, those who are Force or Schwartz users will proceed to Force-choke or laser the person even after they have lost everything.

Scar (The Lion King) would arrange an accident that is tragically and unavoidably fatal while Shenzi, Banzai and Ed would maul the person in full view of a crowd.

Gaz Membrane is constantly rude to anyone who dares to be her obsession, but if anyone else tries the same rudeness, they will pay. Zim and the two main Tallest also have shades of this.

Albert Wesker (Resident Evil 5 era): Look, another test subject for Uroboros has presented itself.

Urdnot Wrex, Grunt (Mass Effect 2) and Wolverine are not the burn-your-house-down types. It would be too easy for the person to learn nothing from the experience, such as how much they should be afraid of running their mouth to the wrong stranger in the future. These three will knock the person out before they even finish the sentence.

Yzma has exactly the right potion for this human flea, except that she adds an extra four or so steps to the plan.

Lord Hater invades the scoundrel's home planet with the support of Commander Peepers and his army of Watchdogs, or he may blast the world to smithereens with a laser.

Lord Dominator delights in crushing this pest's home world with her drill and making them watch every life on it come to an end.

Marvin the Martian said it best: "Be polite, or I'll vaporise you."

[pettyprocrastination]

okay learning that König really is just wearing a tshirt on his head is sending me. Imagine being apart of KorTac and seeing him without his helmet on for the first time. This literal giant of a man who hardly talks on base but out in the field is a fucking beast so of course you think he’s fucking terrifying and then he takes off his helmet and you see his fucking tuft of hair poking out from the top and realize this motherfucker is just wearing an XL t-shirt on his head. I would never be the same again