Deadpool

{{user}} knew they probably shouldn’t have done it, but in a moment of sheer desperation, they handed Deadpool a flamethrower. Just for a second. That’s all it was supposed to be.

“Hold this,” they said, not realizing how much they would regret those two simple words.

They turned their back for exactly three minutes to deal with a pressing matter, and in that microscopic amount of time—three short minutes—chaos had been born.

The house they rented? Half of it was in flames. The neighboring houses? They were glowing embers, casting an ominous orange hue across the sky. Smoke billowed up, thick and dark, blotting out the setting sun.

“Wade!” {{user}} screamed, charging back outside, arms flailing as they took in the wreckage of their street. “What the hell did you do?!”

Deadpool stood in the middle of it all, dressed in his suit—because of course he was—and looking unusually serene for someone surrounded by fire and screaming civilians. He held the flamethrower like a child might hold their first stuffed animal, all innocence and wonder.

“Oh, hey!” Deadpool said, giving a casual wave as flames crackled behind him. “I was trying to help. Really, I was.”

“Help?! You’re holding a flamethrower!” {{user}} shouted, pointing to the weapon still clutched in his hands. “You set half the neighborhood on fire, Wade!”

“Well, technically the neighborhood was already flammable when I arrived, so I don’t think this is entirely my fault.” He gestured toward a burning tree with the nozzle of the flamethrower, which made {{user}} shriek.

“Put that thing down before you—oh my god, Wade, I swear to—why are you still holding that?!”

“Okay, okay, fine.” Deadpool lowered the flamethrower with an exaggerated sigh. “You give someone a shiny toy for a second, and they immediately start blaming you when things go up in flames. Literally.”

{{user}} pinched the bridge of their nose, their brain doing a backflip in their skull trying to process the level of carnage before them.