#Basile having like burns around his eyes and maybe being a bit more muscle-y since he was a carpenter

[trans-simon-jarrett]

i know it's old but i'll always say i wish the suitors in Justine had sep. models with specific details on their characters

[bowieandqueen11]

Afraid/ Barry Berkman Angst

Request: hello i love ur barry stories and I was wondering if I could request one where the reader finds out of Barry’s true job and barry tries to get her to stay by saying that he’s a good person and some angst ensues ��� thank u keep up the good work 

Hey lovely anon, why you got to make me cry like this??

If Barry Berkman were to tell you when he was ten years old how his life would turn out, he would have guessed he’s be riding a dragon before he guessed this.

Standing in the cold kitchen, he couldn’t fault it for its sleek, methodically planned design; every detail was intricate, every granite counter spotless and stainless with its steel appliances. A clean folded tea towel swished against his hip, nearly falling out of the back pocket of his jeans as his shoes tapped against the tiled floor, enjoying the slight heat that radiated with each movement. His mind was far away, allowing himself to relax for a moment and hum a gentle tune as his fingers went on autopilot with the knife, expertly dicing the garlic cloves, hoping you’d be hungry on this fine evening once you woke up from your nap. 

He smiles softly to himself, imagining the soft snores of you on your pillow, the way your face smooshes down like a marshmallow, the way he wanted to kiss every inch of your cheek but decided instead you needed the rest, and he really needed to make dinner. Turning his back away from the counter to stir the tomato sauce, he doesn’t hear you patter into the kitchen.

He doesn’t see what’s in your hand.

‘B-Barry...why is there a gun under our mattress?’

He nearly freezes for a second, placing his hand down without thinking onto the stove only to pull it away with a yelp when it burns his fingers. He’s almost afraid to turn around, shaking his hand out with a grimace and pretend shock on his face. But Barry had never seen you look this way before as your eyes met his and they dipped; your eyes had a deadness, a stillness. With one look the verdict was told. 

But it was more than that. There was a tenseness you weren’t even trying to mask. He backed away slowly until his hip bumped into the fridge, nothing about this making sense. Not your curling fists or the anger that radiated from your skin. This wasn’t supposed to happen, he was too careful for this, he couldn’t let his defences slip.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. And it broke his heart.

‘Y/n-I-I promise, I promise you, ever since I met you I just- I just.... Shit! I am not good at this-’

‘At what, being a normal, functioning person?!’

‘At feelings! Look, starting from now-’

‘No! No now, Barry! This is it! This. Is. Over. I have to- I have to call the police, Barry, this is FUCKING INSANE!’

You felt emotionally bankrupt. The was nothing left to feel, nothing left to say, nothing left but the void that enveloped your mind in swirling blackness as you dropped your arm, and the gun it held to your side, staring at Barry with a slack mouth and tears beginning to spring up in the corner of your eyes as you tried to figure out how the hell to get out of this situation. He was much broader, and taller, and stronger than you, but you still have the element of surprise, and agility in your hands. You make as if to reach for the carving knife on the counter, its glare harsh and bright in Barry’s eyes as he moves forward to stop you.

‘No, no, hey don’t do that, don’t do that. We can figure this out.’

Reaching over to you, he took the gun from your grasp, trying to ignore the familiar burn of anger that rumbled in the pit of his stomach like a wound as he gazed down at you. But the worst part, the worst bit was the fear. The colour drained from his face, unable to speak, wide eyed, the blood running into his ears as he raised his palms flat against your shoulders, as gently as possible squeezing his fingers into your muscles, trying to get you to look at him.

He kept his eyes steady, resting on your face like they were home, but just briefly, the sorrow already building.

‘I promise, y/n...I’m a good person. I’m a good person- you MADE me a good person, and look, I’m trying, okay, I’m trying to be better, but I need you to trust me, and I need you to forget-to forget, well, about that.’ He threw his head towards the gun he placed in his belt, but you just stayed rooted to the spot, your features buckling just slightly before you spoke.

‘You say that like it means anything. What is love to you? Lying? Who the hell are you, Barry Block?’

Barry had known that to love deeply meant to risk great pain, but the tears that dripped down his cheeks now were proof of how much worse the pain was than he ever expected; they were not quiet and controlled, they fell as fast as the fall rain and he sobbed to draw breath. His lungs heaved and he knew there was no cure for his heart. He slowly bowed his head, crumpling down onto his knees and nearly knocking you over by wrapping his arms around your waist. His grip was as tight as a viper’s, his thumb stroking into your skin as you felt his tears stain your shirt from where his head nestled into your stomach, his stubble itchy from where it rubbed into you. His shoulders fall from where you gingerly place your hands on them, your fingers slowly stroking patterns over their broad expanse as you feel them wobble and shake, his lips falling as he buries them further into you.

‘I love you, y/n, I love you I love you I love you I-I love you. I swear.’