#puclclin

[ziischeln]

❝ you here to finish me off , sweetheart ? ❞ [puclclin]

“Regrettably, no. Xavier wouldn’t approve, even though you took a baseball bat to my face. You’re lucky I know a good healer.”

[ziischeln]

❝ where’s loverboy ? ❞

“If you’re referring to Xavier, I haven’t seen him.

 He doesn’t... We don’t... 

 He hasn’t reached out to me.”

[punishmercy-blog]

He'd been quick to leave her behind as soon as the hailstorm of bullets began to rain down on them. She'd screamed after him, but he was already gone. This isn't the first time Joker's abandoned her when shit went south. When the bullets stop, she's curled behind a desk, bodies surrounding her, and she looks up to see that infamous symbol on his chest. "Well?" Harley starts, tears in her eyes, cheek swollen from the last time she mouthed off. "You gonna shoot me, Punisher? Get on with it, then!"

“Nah,” he growls, disgust curling his upper lip. His voice is like gravel. “Nah, I got better use for you.” 

Punisher strides forwards, grabbing Quinn by the upper arm to haul her upright. He isn’t gentle about it. As soon as she’s up, there’s a handgun trained on her, heavier weaponry strapped to his back. She’s not the same kind of monster as the Joker, not by a long shot - but that doesn’t absolve her. Doesn’t make her any less deserving of punishment.

“You’re gonna take me to your boyfriend. You don’t? I start tearin’ things off, and you get to bleed out in this hellhole with my face as the last thing you see.

 Tell me where he’s headed. You lie to me, I’ll rip out your fingernails.”

[ziischeln]

Harley rolls her eyes and huffs. "Of course he is." She adores Charles, really, but he's /such/ a goody-two-shoes. She shrugs with a sigh and swings her bat up to rest on her shoulder. (She notes the metal in the room humming and it makes her smirk.) "Just a little 'chantaje'," she says as she casually saunters past Erik. "That means 'blackmail', but it sounds prettier in Spanish," she grins. Then her face lights up with an idea. "Oh! What if /you/ asked him? Everyone knows he likes you best!"

Erik makes a noise of disgust. "I know what it means.” What does she think he is? American? His body turns to face hers, always keeping her in his direct line of sight. “Ah, yes, that should go well,” he snorts, ignoring the little thrum of pleasure that runs through him at the acknowledgment that Charles likes him best, because yes he does. “’Charles, would you be so kind as to acquire the codes to America’s nuclear arsenal for me? Danke’. Somehow, I doubt he’d comply. He doesn’t like violence. Or blackmail.”

Not that he’s above using it himself, obviously. That’s so often the case with Xavier, Erik’s found.

[ziischeln]

"Ain't a girl allowed to miss her favorite magnet?" Harley asks, all sickly sweet. She snickers a bit as he wipes away her lipstick. "Actually, I came to ask you somethin' about Chuck." She leans her weight on the end of her baseball bat and cocks her head at Erik. "You think if I asked him real nice-like, he'd give me and puddin' the codes to America's nukes? I'm sure it wouldn't be hard for him to read Mistah President's mind and get 'em, y'know?"

The bat is never far from his mind; he keeps it in the corner of his vision at all times, tension curling through him, waiting for the slightest twitch of fingers to give her away. She seems... sweet, for now, at least. Unlikely to take a swing at him. Maybe.

“I doubt it. He’s rather fond of keeping the world intact,” he replies, raising an eyebrow. Talk of nuclear weapons leaves a bad taste in his mouth and an itch under his skin. Part of him remembers a surge of energy unlike any other. The rest of him shoves the memory down until his mouth tastes less like rust and ozone.

“I dread the answer, but what were you thinking of doing with them?”

[toiveikkain]

"Ya know, I'd kill anyone that ever tried to hurt ya, Prof," Harley sighs, her tone honeyed as she runs her fingers through his hair, playing with it. "I'd bash their skulls in with my hammer," she promises as she presses a bright red kiss to his temple. "Nothin' left but their brain mattah." It's meant to be sweet. Maybe even a little romantic. Love her, Charles. ♥

He can’t help wondering what it is about himself that makes people want to kill to protect him. Does he give off a ‘please kill someone for me’ vibe? He’s been trying so hard not to.

“That’s er, well, I appreciate the...” 

Don’t encourage her, Charles. He clears his throat, lifting a hand to try and smooth his hair back down.

“Thankyou. But you know I don’t condone murder.”

[ziischeln]

Harley knows her way around the Brotherhood's lair. Something Erik can blame only himself for as he's the one who invited her. Charles had told her not to go after Erik, but she made him a promise. She doesn't go back on her word. With no metal on her, she stands on Erik's bed astride his sleeping body. Her face is a strange mix of furious and playful as she nudges the magnetist's head with her bat (her hammer is near, waiting.) "Wakey wakey, Mags!" Guess who found out how Xavier was paralyzed.

Note to self: never trust anyone with the lair’s location. Especially not unhinged women with a fetish for beating people with blunt objects. He finally feels safe enough to sleep deeply in this place, and this is the price he pays. Typical.

“Harley--what are you--”

He’s not fast enough to evade the first blow to his head, and it all goes downhill from there. Magnetism is only useful when he’s coherent enough to use it, and as it turns out, Magneto reacts to a head injury the same way most people do: with swearing, staggering, and toppling to the floor. There’s metal all over his quarters, of course, but he’s too dizzy and disoriented to do much more than throw them blindly at Harley in the hopes that something stabs her. 

“--what's gotten into you?!”

[ziischeln]

puclclin replied to your post:puclclin replied to your post:IT’S A MANLY...

Harley squints at Erik, staring up at him doubtfully. Then she squints a little harder. “…But y'all have had your dicks in each other, yeah? Because, sorry to break it to ya pal, but that’s queer. Any way ya swing it.” She would know, trust her.

Erik’s hands twitch abruptly into fists, like he’s barely restraining himself from lashing out. He can feel his heart pulsing harder, palms cold and clammy. Be calm. Be calm. Nothing’s happening. “You don’t understand,” he insists, “and I’d prefer it if you’d mind your own business. So if you’re done making unwelcome comments...”