#doom fandom

How big do you think his hands are?

Hello hungry anon, I hope I managed to capture what you described well enough - my brain heard size difference and uh... 😅

(Gender neutral reader)

He is a big man. Even before being put in the Divinity Machine, he's always been tall, Blazkowicz genes or something was the explanation he was given by his father - but he stood nearly at 7 feet. No wonder his high-school fought tooth and nail over him to be on their football team or why he had absolutely no trouble being accepted into the marines. He was big, an outlier, always stood out in a crowd, every single person he met had to crank their head up to even look at him.

In those days in a way he wouldn't admit out loud it was an insecurity for him, having to awkwardly duck in doorframes not to bump his head, his knees hurt like hell whenever he can to get down on the ground then get back up, overlooking obvious in clear sight things just because they so far out of view from him, people looking at him weird... now? He wasn't that man anymore, that man has been dead for more than millenia. Now, combined with the godlike engery flowing through his veins, being big was his advantage. He was a moving wall of death. With his size he can kill more efficiently, he was more built to handle the hordes of Hell more than anyone else could. With one hand he can crunch the life out of a demon with one flex of his fist around it's skull. So much violence he can do with his power and being this size. And he's been used to that for so long that the act of holding you terrifies him.

You're small - correction, smaller than him, you are completely normal human height. When you look at him you have to do what his family, friends, squad mates, and acquaintances of the past had to by having to crank back your neck or you'd just be staring at his stomach. And in turn he has to dip his head down just to look at you, sometimes when walking around the Doom Fortress he has to be extra careful of his surroundings just to make sure he doesn't accidentally step on you just by not seeing you in his line of vision, which thankfully given he is trained to be very spacially aware of his surroundings at all things hasn't happened yet and he'd feel awful if it ever did.

After knowing you for a comfortable amount of time he is okay with you touching him, just be sure to let him know beforehand so he doesn't flinch and by instinct try to attack you. Your touch is small, small palms gently rubbing down his thick heavy arms, you can't even fit his whole arm in your hand there's too much of him. But it feels nice, so kind, so gentle, yet firm and grounded like you were reaffirming your presence and comfort which he appreciates. And sometimes you touch him like you're truly fascinated with him, if he knew better he'd guess in a way you actually like the difference in size between you two... but lingering on it makes his face hot that he has to shake off.

Sometimes mornings are hard, sometimes due to poor quality sleep or cruel and bloody lingering thoughts or a mix of both, or sometime and the more preferred option him not wanting to get out of bed due to you once you're together long enough. He has work, an endless task of a crusade to set off on, but sometimes in pure self indulged moments he really does consider staying in bed with you all day. He watches you sleep, being awoken himself only barely ten minutes before, brushes your hair out of your eyes when they fall, one hand on your side feeling each breath you take, the other acting as a pillow for yours resting in his palm - fingers lazily twined together, his thumb gently rubs across your skin in delicate pattern.

His hands are calloused, rough, worn, scarred and leather-like from all his time he's spent fighting. They had a layer of death on them, blood now invisible he could never wash off. Yours was the opposite; soft and smooth - clean. Kind. He's going to do everything in his power that they stay this way.

It's when suddenly your grip in your intwined hands firms that he even realizes you've woke up, (color) eyes looking softly back at him from under still sleepy eyelids.

"Morning, Flynn." You mumble, soft smile on your lips.

He can't help but find it contagious. "...mornin', Doll."

It's a lazy morning, neither of you even move to go attempt breakfast even when VEGA's voice greets you two over coms to announce it being prepared in the other room. Instead you just lull around and talk about whatever - however, it is more of a one sided conversation as you talk and he nods along, but he is listening as you know he always is. You still hold hands, even as you move to rest your head on his naked hairy chest, your face beside the scarred tissue of the remains of the Argent implant.

With how you lay, him on his back and you on your stomach with your face on his chest, he holds your joined hands together up at the side of his head. His hand is so large it nearly covers the entirety of your own just by embracing his with yours. He looks at them - he can't help but look at them - and you tighten your hold as you notice him stare. You hum out his name to further comment but he draws your hands together to his lips to kiss interrupts your train of thought. He likes kissing your hands like this, finds it the most sincerely intimate, is that strange? He isn't sure and really doesn't care. You were here with him, is all that matters, kissing each one of yours knuckles locked together with his cemented it as more real.

Whatever you were going to say it seems you gave up on as you rest your head back with a dreamy sigh. On the other hand he still looks at your hand that a subconscious thought slowly burns its way to the surface the longer he stares. Staring at a particular finger.

It's a thought that genuinely terrifies him, a thought, a desire he's had for quite some time now. It being back on the forefront of his mind forms a knot that's hard to swallow in his throat. But from the corner of his eye he sees you, eyes closed and apparently drifting back to sleep. The fear vanishes.

"(Name)," You lazily hum. "-marry me?"

I give you Stranger Doom! The Stranger Things/Doom crossover! The bloody ultraviolence of Doom with the supernatural mystery of Stranger Things...I think it would be badass! Imagine Vecna with the demons, Doom Slayer fighting alongside El, Doom Slayer playing D&D, Doom Slayer going toe to toe with the Mindflayer and Vecna. It’d be bizarre yet cool!

Some story elements it would include:

- Doom Slayer gets sent by Dr. Hayden to the Stranger Things world

- Hell invading Hawkins

- Doom Slayer saves Chrissy from Vecna

- Eddie and Chrissy live

- Demons in the Upside Down

- Flayed and Possesed return

- Vecna working with demons. Also fights Doom Slayer

- It would take place after Doom 2016

- It would be set during S4, 1986

- Chrissy shoots Doom Slayer's guns

- Doom Slayer plays D&D

- Pairings: Hellcheer, Mileven, Jancy, Lumax, Robin x Vickie

- Lot of character deaths. Canon and adaptational deaths

- Possessed Demogorgons and other demobeasts

Boba: So, you really listen to metal while killing demons?

Doomguy: *signing back* Yes, it's very therapeutic.

Boba: That's convenient.

Doomguy: *nodding*

Boba: *casually* You know, I do know of one demon... Want to go do something therapeutic?

Doomguy: *cocking shotgun* Lead the way

Anonymous asked: Hi, will you do Doom Slayer X gender neutral s/o getting sick (the s/o gets sick), please

Disclaimer: I got both these requests around the same time of each other and given subject matter is basically the same I decided to combine them into one request, I hope that's okay with you guys 😅

(Gender neutral reader)

Frankly, he doesn't remember the last time he's gotten human sick. Even in his ancient life before it wasn't something that happened too often, he took care of himself, washed his hands, his seasonal shots were covered by the military, all the basic stuff was about enough for him to get by without falling ill. But on the rare occasion it did hit? Hell.

One time a flu had manage catch him by surprise and he couldn't even get out of bed, only doing so by force to go into the other room to feed Daisy but he remembers immediately passing right back out once his head returned to the pillow. The hours he was awake were hot and feverish, so dizzy and nauseous constantly on the brink of feeling his head or throat explode from the migraines and constant coughing, without hindsight to how his life is now back then he thought that was the actual worst experience to live through. But he did pull through - back on his feet and back to work in no time.

Now? Thanks to either his overexposure to Hell or the Divinity Machine making it impossible for any to stick he can't catch human illnesses anymore. He hasn't had even little as a cold in thousands of years.

But the key word there was human illnesses.

Hell has its own fucked up ecosystem, with it occasional came it's own aliments, diseases, every gross thing that could come from demonic... liquids... hitting you the wrong way - such that would kill an ordinary person in a matter a minutes. To him? It's like the flu.

Over his thousands of years wondering Hell's lands he's faced quite his share of these illness, the first time he suffered from it had nearly scared him to death - the flu he once had back on Earth that had caused him so much trouble was no where near as comparable; here after accidentally having Cacodemon spew vile acidic slobber on his exposed skin from its dying breath he had felt that quite literally he was going to die. He didn't obviously - but it lead him to be more careful in the future, and as uncountable years went by similar cases would occur and he'd take them all as lessons in how to either avoid or how to properly treat if it were to happen again. He can't fight properly if he's sick after all - and there's one thing is that no matter what he wants to remain in the fight.

But accidents do happen, even if it's arguable if he can truly be considered one he himself does keep calling himself human at the end of the day. And humans make mistakes. And here he is, suffering today because of his latest one.

His joints hurt. His face hurts. Everything hurts. It either hurts or he feels numb, limping forth through the portal back into the Fortress. He could barely keep his eyes open. He could barely raise his hand to return VEGA's greeting.

"If you'd like I can prepare the infirmary to get an official diagnosis." No. No he just... needed to lay down.