#it is too bad it will probably be attacked or hit with something in order for it to Move out of the way /j /playful

[cosmic-dust-poltergeist]

Another Clone Danny au, but the twist is he's basically reincarnated. CW shoved his core into a soulless LoA Damian clone to keep the halfa from completely dying after his original human body was destroyed in his og dimension. Danny is currently mute, too. Be warned, this is long. [Pt 2 here]

Danny had become completely aware in his new body after about a month of barely processing what is happening. The trauma of everything that's gone wrong in his life putting him in a disassociative state while his body's creators train and test him for something. It takes a while for him to realize he's not their first clone, but is the first to not be a soulless husk. These people talk too freely around him, but rarely each other, confident in his inability to understand anything outside of orders. So he decides to play along, learning about this hell hole and what little of the outside world he can. He takes the latter with a grain of salt, he can smell how delusional his creators are.

"Hmm, something is defective with this clone." A tall, beautiful woman says while glaring at Danny's eyes, "Damian's eyes are Juniper. This thing's eyes have been fading to a bluer colour every time I see it. Someone has made a mistake.... no matter. Beloved and my son shouldn't notice it's eyes are pine if we send it now. It is ready?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Give it its instructions and get it out of my sight."

And this is how Danny learns he's been made to attempt to kill his template or die trying. He gets the full feeling that they expect him to die, like the, apparently, dozen before him. (He hides his amusement when realizing he can truly relate to Dani now.) Too bad for his creators, he's not like the rest and fully intends to not do any murder once he's out of this godforsaken lab.

Keeping himself from reacting gets a whole lot harder when he realizes they intend to put him in a crate to ship him to some place called Gotham, but he stays as blank and relaxed as possible. It's only once they unload him, inform him of his Template's whereabouts, and ditch him in the middle of what he assumes is Gotham, does he finally grimace and shake off the shitty shell persona he had going on. As he stretches out his limbs and thinks on how he wants to play this, he takes in how absolutely drenched in the smell of death the city is. It reminds him enough of Amity that he knows his ghost half would never go hungry here, but what to do with his human half? He wonders if his Template and his father would care for another sibling. He caught the tall lady and her father saying insulting things about how many strays, he assumes kids, his Template's father adopts, it's usually over how pissed they are that his Template isn't treated like God's gift for simply being blood related.

So with a bit of hesitant hope, Danny heads towards where he was told his Template was. He's hit with a wave of weariness when he finds a kid of the same colouring as him decked out in a hero costume and arguing with a giant man dressed as a.. bat? Danny has no idea what he's looking at and is a little scared of how aggressive his Template is. Aggression means he's probably going to have to at least dodge a lot.

Danny's awful luck strikes again when before he can even decide on how exactly he's going to approach this, he hears a light crunch that has him bolting several feet in the opposite direction before he whips around and into a defensive fighting stance.

"Shit, sorry, BB." A blonde woman dressed in a purple hero costume says to a small figure that looks like a creepier verson of the bat dude. Purple is standing where the crunching sound came from, and scarily, "BB" is almost exactly where Danny had been. "Shit. He looks like Demon Brat.."

"Calm.." "BB"'s voice is soft and feminine, and she(?) seems to be trying to project "we're not going to hurt you" and "let me near" with body language alone. Which Danny finds impressive but doesn't trust, Purple is too tense and is too ready to attack. So when his Template and his father climb onto the roof, apparently seeing a commotion, and they too look ready to fight, Danny just bolts. He's not dumb enough to test if he can fight 4 unknown trained fighters. He can see why all his predecessors instantly died if they just automatically started fighting and trying to kill people.

The fact he ran seems to surprise them and gives him a few seconds headstart. He ducks and weaves, avoiding everything they throw at him to the best of his ability without tapping into his ghost half. He REALLY doesn't want to out himself as a freak just yet.

"Kid! Get back here! I'm sorry for scaring you!" Purple yells, slightly out of breath and somewhere behind him to the left.

"I demand you stop running!" His Template sounds pissed and directly behind him, so Danny quickly rolls to his right, dodging a tackle. Which apparently BB was ready for, because she's right there and grabs ahold of him, taking them both to the ground. He's scared, trying not to hurt her, and absolutely stuck in her hold without his powers. He lets out an inhuman whine as he struggles. He hasn't spoken a single word in this body yet, he doesn't know if it has the ability yet, and something he hadn't realized would complicate this situation in the way it has.

"Safe" BB tries to soothe, but Danny can't be soothed, not when he can see and sense the rest of his pursuers closing in on them. BB seems to realize this and snaps at her people in annoyance. "Back!"

Danny flinches and trembles in her hold, not knowing if they'll ignore her and ... he's not sure what, but do something to him. But to his endless surprise, they listen and back up several feet. Close enough to help her if she needs it, but far enough Danny relaxes a fraction. It's not a lot, but it's enough to get his anxiety down to a more manageable level. And even though he thought she'd start questioning him now, she simply waits. He's still confused and scared, but slowly relaxes in her hold, an odd sort of trust forming against his will at her calm and "Please trust I won't hurt you" vibe she's yeeting at him.

"Safe." She says and releases her hold just enough to free one of her arms. She gently runs the hand through his hair and rubs his forehead and cheeks, just softly petting him. It's a gentle affection that reminds him of Jazz. He can't remember the last time he was touched kindly, and it's enough to make him tear up. She wipes away any tears that escape. "Safe."

Once he finally stops trembling and he's emotionally spent, she finally fully releases her hold and moves to sit by him so he can sit up. He feels so awkward when he realizes his Template's father and Purple are staring him down while his Template looks like he's trying to pretend to not be interested, but is glancing over too frequently to be believable.

Danny takes a shakey breath and gives a little wave, unconsciously trying to lean towards BB when he sees their body language all sharpen and focus harder on him.

"Who are you?" Bat dude demands, and Danny can see the resemblance between him and his Template, even while he's panicking to figure out how to communicate without his voice. He ends up pointing at his Template with a nervous energy. "Are you a clone?"

Danny is so relieved at the yes or no question, he almost forgets to be nervous about frantically nodding yes. Almost.

"Can you talk?" Purple asks next and he's trembling again as he gives a hesitant no. "Yes or no questions it is!"

He nearly jumps out of his skin when BB starts rubbing his shoulder in a soothing manage. He tries to subtly self-sooth by rubbing his thumb along the middle phalanx of the pointer finger on the hand hidden between him and BB. It's the first time he's done it while not completely alone. He's not sure what the LoA would have done if they'd seen, but he can't imagine it going well for him. He stops self-soothing at the thought. BB's vibes turn very sad next.

"Based on your outfit, the League of Assassins sent you, yes?" His Template growls menacingly at him and Danny winces for the guy's poor teeth the way he grides them at Danny's nod. "To kill me?"

Danny wants to bolt again, but BB is already pulling him into a hug, trapping him. The spike in anger at his nod sends him into a panic, but BB's hold is inescapable, so he ends up "hiding" in her arms. He curls up as small as he can while pressing his face into the front of her shoulder. He feels like a scared little kid.

"Geeze, kid..." Purple sounds sad.

"All of the LoA clones have been nothing but mindless shells. Why are you so different?" His Template doesn't actually sound like he's talking to Danny, but even if he was, Danny literally can't answer that with some sort of aid. Though, Danny doesn't trust these people enough to explain even if he could. "Father. I believe we should take him to the batcave."

Danny tucks himself deeper into BB. She's petting his hair and back the way you would a cat. "Safe."

"One more question." Bat dude says. "Are you planning on going through with your orders?"

Danny can feel BB get defensive on his behalf, even as Danny pulls away to look Bat dude in the face as he frantically shakes his head no.

"Honest. New brother?" Something seems to change in them when BB says this. Amusement and resignation are as easy to read as their weariness. He can't blame them. He's far from their first LoA clone, just the first to not be a mindless murder machine.

"Hn."

"Tt. Really, father?"

"Hn."

"Tt!" Danny blinks in fascination at the weird monosyllable conversation between his Template and his father. BB gets up before pulling Danny to his feet. She keeps a loose hand on his wrist, probably in case he tries to bolt again, but it's still nice. It does get awkward when she keeps her hold as they climb off the roof, and Danny needs a little help getting down with only one hand.

He tucks himself half behind BB when Purple decides to ask him a random assortment of questions while they wait for something called "the batmoble". He's a bit intimidated by her energy, it's so much like his parents'.

'Do you have a favourite food?' No. He hasn't actually eaten food yet in this body, just iv-ed nutrients. 'Favourite animal?' No. He doesn't know this dimension's animals. 'Flowers? Or plant?"No. Same problem. 'Are you hurt in any way?' Shrug. He's a little scratched and bruised, but it's not even in the top hundred of hurt he's been through. He's actually pretty happy this body doesn't have all his scars, his ghost half will have them, but his new human half is basically a blank canvas, and it's a glorious reprieve. 'Have you been anywhere besides the LoA and Gotham?" No. 'Did you at least stay somewhere nice in the LoA?' No? Does the lab count? It was a pretty nice lab all things considered.

Danny nearly jumps out of his skin when a black, sleek car shows up without a driver. He clings to BB when they climb in. He's nearly in her lap.

He can't help but wonder about how out of character he feels. He wonders if it's because this body is, at most, 2 months old, or if his time as only a ghost core kick started childish instincts, his ghost half IS only about a year old, or if the trauma of everything that happened caused a mental regression. He vaguely remembers Jazz talking about age regression as a coping mechanism, not enough to understand if that's what's happening right now, but it sort of feels like it. At least BB doesn't seem to mind having an overgrown toddler using her like a security blanket.

The drive is pretty smooth considering the speed bat dude is driving. Danny looks around "the batcave" in wonder when they pile out.

"Who's that?" A cheerful man in black and blue bounces over. Danny hides behind BB again and wishes he knew literally anybody's name. Currently, he just knows his Template's non-hero identity as Damian Al Gul. BB's hero identity of BB definitely means something, but all he has is what Purple called her.

"New brother!" BB chirps. Blue guy thankfully stops a few feet away while a tired guy about Purple's age wonders up.

"Why does he look like Demon Brat?" Tired guy sounds grumpy and on edge.

"The LoA apparently made a new clone of me. This one seems defective. Simply trying to run away and escape when Black Bat and Spoiler spotted him watching father and I." The new people tense, and Danny fully ducks behind BB, while Damian continues, "He did not throw a single punch and showed true panic at being caught. As you can see, he's been glued to Cassandra's side since she calmed him down."

"Likelihood of this one trying to kill me?" Tired guy asks. "I'm tired of new siblings trying to kill me."

"Unlikely. Kid ran like a scared deer the whole time we were chasing him." Purple, no, Spoiler? reasures tired guy.

"Well, if you weren't so stabbable." There's a teasing tilt to his Template's voice. Danny kind of wants to know what THAT means, so he peeks curiously at them. Tired guy just looks more tired when their eyes meet.

"Damian and Jason both tried to kill me, multiple times." Tired guy explains with a tone that'd be more fitting for a conversation about a sibling stealing a favoured toy in the past, not admitted homicide attempts on one's life. Danny's eyes dart at blue guy and Damian, wondering if they'll try to kill him too. Tired guy frowns before asking, "Do you actually know who any of us are?"

There's a whole lot of squawking when Danny shakes his head no and just points to Damian. Damian is complaining about how little sense it makes to only tell Danny a kill order. Spoiler is embarrassed and complaining about not realizing. Bat dude is giving off embarrassed vibes, even if literally nothing changed in his stance or face. Blue guy, tired guy, and Cassandra all seem very amused, but blue guy is also stressed and tired guy is just resigned.

"Okay, so introductions. I'm Timothy Drake-Wayne, just call me Tim or Drake. My vigilante name is Red Robin." Tired guy says before pointing to each of the other people. "Stephanie Brown is Spoiler, call her Steph. Dick Grayson is Nightwing. Cassandra Caine is Black Bat, call her Cass. Bruce Wayne is Batman. Dam-"

"I am Damian Al Gul Wayne. I am the current Robin and the only blood son of Batman." Danny's Template cuts off Tim.

"Can't say you're the only blood son if we keep the clone," Tim teases and gets a knife thrown at him for it. He easily dodges it and continues talking to Danny. "There's also Jason Todd, who's not here right now. He's Red Hood. Barbara Gordon is our eye in the sky, better known as Oracle. Duke Thomas is Signal, he's our Day shift so he's asleep upstairs currently. And Alfred Pennyworth is the real head of the house and pseudo grandfather, even if he says he's just the family butler. There's more, but they're who you'll most like to interact with anytime soon."

Danny must look as overwhelmed as he feels because Dick(? Why is he named that?) steps closer, hands where Danny can see them. "You okay, little buddy? Do you have a name or something you want us to call you?"

Danny gives Damian, Steph, and Mr. Wayne a panicked look. Steph comes to his rescue.

"He can't speak. We're unsure why he can't, but he hasn't even tried to say anything. Only made a whining noise when Cass pinned him. We'd think it was another Cass situation, but he can understand everything we say."

"Oh.. Maybe he just never learned?" Dick wonders aloud before asking Danny, "About how old are you?"

Danny points to Damian. He's pretty sure his body is the same age as his Template's, who is about as old as Danny's whole existence. Unlike Dani, who was made slightly younger than Danny in body, but is currently only a year old in spirit.

"No, I mean, how long have you been alive?" Dick corrects gently. Danny blinks and figures the correct answer is how long his clone body has been alive. He can explain later when he can communicate better, if he feels safe enough to do so. He holds up 2 fingers. "2 years?"

There's grimaces when he shakes his head.

"2 months?" Danny cautious nods and startles when Steph gasps loudly.

"A Baby!" Danny pouts at that, but can't exactly refute it. He does move so Cass is more between them.

Cass unexpectedly decides to remove her creepy mask, making Danny stare in wide-eyed surprise at her short dark hair.

"Oh! The baby hasn't seen our faces yet!" Steph is delighted and pulls her own mask down. The rest of the group unmask, minus Tim, who's already in civilian clothes. Danny looks at them before circling Cass so he can see her. She's very pretty, some sort of Asian, and giving off happy and calm vibes. It reminds him a little of Jazz when they could just exist, no parents, school, or ghosts to worry about. It's nice. He likes that his new big sister has that peacefulness.

"You see?" Cass smiles and clarifies, "Language of body?"

Danny brightly nods. He had to learn to read body language or die the rest of the way. It wasn't a failure to read it that nearly got him killed.

"I'll teach you to read it even better and to hide your own." Danny is startled by Cass speaking a full sentence before he excitedly indicates he wants to show her something. He can see how absolutely horrified they all get when he slams his body language into the soulless husk both labs of horror he got stuck in wanted. He turns lifelessly to each person, taking in their reacts to it, only breaking character only when he turns back to Cass. He beams excitedly at her, wanting her opinion. "That was very good. Almost no one would be able to tell."

"I can see how the LoA wouldn't know you weren't like the others if you just behaved like that the whole time." Tim hums, seemingly more fascinated than horrified, unlike the rest. They look ready to jump him, so he goes back to hiding behind Cass, deciding right now that he's staying with Tim and/or Cass, until he either runs away or they're all more comfortable with each other.

"Be nice." He can hear the scowl she's giving everyone, but Tim. Tim edges closer with a fancy piece of technically that Danny's never seen before. It almost looks like a clipboard at first glance, but is clearly a sci-fi computer thingy. Danny noticed technology is far more advanced in this dimension, but hasn't had a chance to figure it out.

"Do you know how to work an ipad?" Tim doesn't give him a judgmental look when he shakes his head, just steps closer with clear intent to teach. "Okay, I'll show you. You can read, correct?"

Danny nods and cautiously steps towards Tim so he can see the device better. The others start to wonder off and change into civilian clothes while Tim gives him a crash course on everything Danny can do on this iPad. He does explain there's basically a child lock on it to keep Danny from accidentally going on an unsafe website. It's more for his safety as he learns. Danny accepts that reason, despite knowing that's definitely not the only one, because the other reasons don't matter. He's probably only going to be using it to look up everything he doesn't understand in this dimension and communicating with whoever is in front of him, at least for now. He feels a lot like a toddler with how out of his depth he is, which is honestly a good thing right now. Really sells the "I'm a harmless baby, protect me!" thing he has going on.

"Now that you can answer." Tim smiles a little, "Is there any you want to be called? It's okay if there isn't just yet. Finding your name can be difficult."

[Danny] Danny excitedly shows Tim.

"Danny? Not what I was expecting, but it suits you." Tim's easy acceptance is wonderful, too bad his Template ruins the moment.

"Absolutely not. You need a proper name. How about Daniel? Or maybe the arabic version? Danyal?" Danny throws his most disgusted face he can pull.

"That's a no." Tim sounds like he's barely concealing laughter.

"He needs a proper name. How about Dante?"

[It's better than Daniel, but I still don't like it.]

"How about we come back to this later? We can look up names that Danny can be a nickname for and he can pick from those once he's settled in." Tim basically orders when Damian opens his mouth. "Danny should shower. I'll grab him som-"

Danny grabs his sleeve. Cass isn't here, so Tim is his current security person. He doesn't feel safe with his Template yet.

"Nevermind, I'll get him showered. Could you grab him some clothes?" Tim adjusts to the quiet demand easily, glancing to Danny to ask. "Any idea of preference?"

Danny glances at the stiff outfit he's currently in before writing [Comfy?]

Tim nods and tells Damian, "You should snag one of Dick's hoodies and one of my fluffy pj pants. Alfred probably has some unused underwear somewhere with how many times a guest needed some."

Damian doesn't look pleased, but seems to follow Tim's lead. He does quizzically eye Danny one last time before he leaves. Tim gently leads Danny to what looks like a locker room. No one else is currently in there.

"I know he seems abrasive, but that was his version of trying to bond." Tim explains, "He's trying his best. Just say something if it's too much."

Danny nods and strips. Uncaring of Tim looking at him as he hops in the shower, he only seems to be checking for injuries, then he only glances over every once in a while to make sure "the baby" is cleaning himself properly and doesn't need help. He doesn't get any creepy vibes from the man. He's awfully familiar with the vibes to look out for since some of the scientists would bad touch him, claiming it's for science. It wasn't. Needless to say, being a labrat kind of murders shyness over being naked in cold blood.

Damian shows up with the clothes Tim requested when Danny is drying off. Danny makes sure to scribble a [Thank you!] and show it to him before taking the clothes.

"You are welcome."

"Alfred will be happy his newest grandchild comes with manners pre-installed." Tim jokes, and adds at Danny's curious glance. "The rest of us were feral. You'd think that I'd be an exception since I'm from high society, but I literally blackmailed my way into being Robin and then made a fake uncle to keep myself from being adopted."

Danny gives Tim an alarmed look, and Damian looks curious.

"Okay, so I used to stalk Batman and Robin every night because I lacked adult supervision. I was just taking pictures because I was a huge fan and had figured out who they were when I was 9. Then when I was 12, Jason died for a little bit." This makes Danny more alarmed, so Tim quickly adds. "He's alive and as well as he can be now, but he was Robin at the time, and Bruce, Bruce was devastated. He was taking it out on everyone. Purse snatchers were ending up in the ICU. So I first tried to get Dick to come back to Gotham, when they didn't work, I showed up on the doorstep with photographic evidence I knew everything and demanded I be Robin to keep him safe. I.. It was a rough time. He hated me with every fiber of his being for a while, but I couldn't let Batman die. We were partners, but not family by any stretch of the word. Then.. my parents died and I couldn't let him adopt me. I wasn't his son. I hadn't had an adult keeping track of me in years, hell, B barely tracked me as Robin, thinking it would make me stop. Jokes on him, I'm too stubborn."

"That's unfortunately true." Damian sounds exasperated.

"I hired an actor to pretend to be my fake uncle to keep Bruce from questioning my living situation. Clearly, that didn't last." Tim chuckles, "Steph compared me to a feral cat a lot during that time."

Danny has to pull up his (Dick's?) sleeves to use the iPad. [Are all of your lives so weird?]

"Unfortunately." Damian sighs, "Every single one of us has a different tale of how we came to be with Father."

"Kid, you're a defective clone that just escaped from a cult of assassins and are actively being adopted by the family of your target." Tim teases. "You fit in perfectly."

Danny flusters at that, but has nothing to say against it.

"I apologize if this is a sensitive issue, but I have to ask." Damian does look sorry. "Why don't you talk? I know a few of the Clones were instructed in the past to say things, so I was wondering why you can't."

[Never talked before. Don't know how to. Wasn't taught before mission. Tall lady didn't like my eyes and wanted me gone.]

"Tall lady? Probably Talia. But she didn't like your eyes? Why?" Tim tilts his head.

[Wrong color. Fading slowly to bluer color. Wasn't perfect copy anymore and getting less perfect by the day. Needed to die faster.]

"She wanted you to die because your eye colour?" Tim and Damian look shocked as Danny nods.

[Imperfections die. Barely good enough to be sent out instead of killed in lab.] Danny lays it on thick, but it wasn't untrue. He ended up seeing other "Imperfect" clones be terminated near the end of his stay.

"Well... actually, what colour do you think they'll end up? Now that I'm paying attention, I can see the difference. You think it's a result of whatever made you different?" Tim seems excited by the idea. Damian just looks thoughtful.

[Unsure. Changed from Damian's color to current in a month. Tall lady was very unhappy by it. Don't know why change happened.]

Danny suddenly yawns. He didn't get much sleep in the crate. Too scared to.

"Alright. We can talk more after you get some sleep."

"Alfred told me to tell you you're cut off from caffeine until you sleep a minimum of 6 hours, Drake." Damian looks a little too amused by Tim's despair over that news, before turning to Danny. "Your new room is next to Cassandra's. She apparently requested it while we were otherwise engaged."

Danny is delighted by the news, hugging his iPad to his chest. Tim and Damian lead him to his new room, pointing out things and whose room is who's while they walk. Danny's dazed look and slowly making a list of things to look up really sells his new role. He's also scared to even breathe on anything. Everything is so fancy.

"Getting you your own clothes and room decor will have to wait until tomorrow." Damian informs him apologetically before the brothers bid him goodnight. And Danny doesn't know what to do with that. He doesn't feel safe in this too nice room. So he grabs one of the pillows and the thin extra blanket at the foot of the bed before cramming himself under the bed. He curls up in a ball under the head, the end tables blocking the sides, making him feel safer.

He wakes the first day to Cass laying on the floor nearby, but not under the bed. It's a very weird day for him, but Tim, Cass, and his Template are very helpful and mostly non judgemental to the mess he is. He does find a moment to naturally "discover" his obsession with space. Thankfully, it turns out this dimensions space is so different that he doesn't have to pretend to be clueless. Everything is so different and Danny kind of loves it. He's gifted so much space themed shit and books on space and alien culture throughout the week, he has to fight to keep from glowing in his excitement. He knows they noticed, but let him pretend to be normal for a bit. It's harder to hide his inhumanity in this body, but he does his best.

[ittybittyfanblog]

Only You, Darling (Only You, Babe)

Summary: There were orders for your abduction. You were made to be the bait by a rival gang to get to the elusive head of Onychinus. Sylus doesn’t take it too well. Word Count: 4.8k Tags: mc x sylus, fem!reader x sylus (use of she/her pronouns), depictions of violence (it gets a little graphic), reader gets abducted and injured, strong language, protective!sylus, he’s a little unhinged here, self-indulgent! A/N: I can’t believe this game pulled me out of a three-year creative rut LMAO. I’ve been doing fanarts, now I’m writing again?? The power these pixelated men hold over me, man.  Anyway, enjoy!  This version of Sylus is probably a little OOC idk idk ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

It's close to midnight, and you're being followed.

On your six, a stocky man in an unassuming dark suit has been tailing you since you left the dingy bodega, a little over a mile away from your apartment, for about, three? five minutes—no, maybe even longer.

Shit, you mouth silently. Sloppy. You should’ve noticed him sooner, and the two other lackeys now closing in from up ahead. They’re armed too, if the hands hidden inside their jackets are any indication.

As if things aren't looking bad enough, you’ve decided tonight would be the perfect night to go weaponless, deciding against bringing your handgun with you since it was supposed to just be a quick run to the store for supplies. Namely, the late-night cravings sort of supply.

You clutch the wrinkled paper bag containing your coveted jalapeño Cheetos tightly.

This is what greed does to you, a mocking voice echoes in your head. Since when did your inner voice of reason sound masculine and oh-so-familiar? 

Exhaling quietly, you try to calm the rising beat of your heart and appear to be clueless of your surroundings. Walk at a normal pace. Look unaware of the men with the intention to… What even is this? An ambush? Good, old, regular robbery? No, it doesn’t seem like they're in it for something that insignificant. They wouldn’t even bother to be this cautious if it were. 

But then, what are they here for? The dangers you're more familiar with are of the monstrous kind in the literal sense of the word; entities that you face on a daily basis as a Deepspace hunter. Not the regular threats posed by mankind – which in this particular situation, suddenly feels more foreboding.

While racking your brain for ideas on how to slip away from their sight without escalating the situation, you fail to notice a fourth person hidden behind the dumpster inside the narrow alleyway on your left until you feel the cold, hard edge of a pistol gun hit your temple.  

With a shout, your hand shoots up in an attempt to yank the gun away from the hand holding it but the sudden burst of pain from the impact has left you feeling dizzy and off-kilter. The moment you throw your fists up to block your face, heavy fists strike you directly in a flurry of hits, colliding with your forearm and your unguarded ribs.

You let out a pained grunt as you stagger backwards, trying your hardest to keep yourself from falling back on your ass and ward off the next incoming attack. 

A sinister laugh alerts you of the others, now surrounding you in a circle. Shit!

You hastily shift your legs into a crouching position, bracing yourself as you attempt to sidestep the one in front of you before making a run for it. You spring into action, but before you can even take another step, an arm shoots out and coils tightly around your neck like a noose. A cloth that reeks of something distinct is slapped over your mouth and nose, rendering you unable to do anything but struggle. 

“Now, now— the boss wants her in one piece, John,” The stocky man, who’s apparently larger and more jacked up-close, pipes up. John tightens the limb circling your throat, preventing you from breathing, before slightly loosening his grip. 

 “I’d advise you from struggling too much, sweetheart. But if you insist on making this harder for yourself,” the man talking suddenly grins, revealing rows of crooked, silver teeth. “He ain’t said nothin’ about a couple of bruises.” 

You give him your dirtiest glare, trying to pull away from the death grip the burly man called John had on you, but you feel your muscles slowly becoming heavier and your vision starting to blur. 

Ch-chloroform?

You make a muffled shout, a scurry that earns you a heavy hit on the stomach, one last futile move to free yourself, but the inevitable effect of the potent substance starts to overpower you. 

“After all, we need to make sure that the big bad boss of Onychinus actually comes for his bitch, don’t we?”

Rendered completely useless, the men start to make quick work to restrain your arms and legs in a hogtie before carrying you down the street, to a shaded corner where a large, gray van is parked.

The barn doors open, and you’re tossed in carelessly to the back, landing painfully on the cold, hard floor. An involuntary whimper escapes your lips, feeling like one big bruise; splotches of red and blue start to form like a violent watercolor on your skin. 

The engine revs. Before completely losing consciousness, you think you hear a faint caw.

The car drives off the beaten path, into the night, leaving not a trace of evidence of what transpired mere minutes ago aside from a discarded brown paper bag and a deflated bag of chips. 

-

-

-

From a distance, flying towards the hazy skyline, a mechanical bird crows a bad omen. 

_____

In the dead of the night, the head of Onychinus sits as a spectator; a towering presence at the head of a table inside a private room, obscured in plain sight, in an unremarkable establishment far east of Linkon City. 

Unassuming as it may be, the room’s occupants are men of great renown, both in influence and notoriety. The CEO of a chain business in Azure Square, a regional manager of a well-known bank in Linkon, the head of a weapons trade representing a faction in the N109 zone… All hold significant power, all hold ulterior motives.

A meeting of minds; the type held only in the secrecy of the night, gone in the break of dawn. 

Sylus has half the mind to listen in on the droning exchange of fake pleasantries and plastic smiles as the men deal trades in nature that of weapons and favors. A number of hungry, beady eyes cast him furtive glances, fearful yet devout. Some cautious in the hope of earning his approval. 

“–the package will be en route to the agreed-upon address by the end of the week,” a stout man in spectacles finishes off, clearing his throat. Beads of sweat start to form at the back of his neck as red eyes bore into his, assessing. Deliberating. “O-or if Richard’s able to give me the go-ahead in advance, I’ll make sure it arrives by Friday,” a gulp—then, “sir.” 

All in reverence. 

He hums, his switchblade dancing idly in his hand, deliberately stretching the tension that hangs heavy in the air. He delights in this power to unsettle, savoring the authority that his mere presence commands—a demand for absolute deference. 

“Make it half that time, will you, Raymond?” Sylus responds amicably, not as a question. The man, Raymond, sputters. 

“That won’t be pos–” Sylus tilts his head, eyes shifting into something more dangerous. “Please, I’ll try to cut the time shorter but there won’t be any assurances.” 

The pale-haired man sighs in acquiescence. “I suppose that will have to do.” Raymond lets out an exhale of relief, but catches his breath as Sylus continues, “Any later than Wednesday, and I’ll come to claim it personally.” 

Raymond, more nerves than man, starts to blabber something in response—but stops when something black suddenly appears in a blaze of dark energy, near the shoulder of the intimidating man he’s trying to appeal to. 

Sylus raises a hand, and a large crow lands on his pointer finger. 

He caws, once. Twice. And shows a projection. 

The inhospitably cold room suddenly went glacial. 

All conversation halts to a stop as an overwhelmingly suffocating aura starts to emanate from the man—no, the being at the head of the table, making all that are in the vicinity freeze in fear. 

The devil posing as the leader of Onychinus abruptly stands up, and Raymond thinks, Oh I’m going to die here.

Without a word, the man disappears in a Stygian haze.

_

Five minutes later, only after they felt like death was no longer looming over their heads, did anyone dare to move a muscle.

_____

Your head hurts, and your mouth tastes of rust. 

Having been awake for longer than your captors are aware of – two (?) of which bickering near a barred slate of metal that you assume is the door after taking a quick peek from beneath the mess of hair concealing your face – you try to get your bearings together without arousing the suspicion of your present audience. 

“–bet it’s gonna take a while ‘fore that guy arrives. You think she’s enough to get him to show his face?” 

“Damned if I know. In any case, we got a pretty, li’l plaything on our hands,” a snort. “Make her worth the effort.” 

Where were you? From what it looks like, you’ve been transported into a nondescript underground bunker of sorts, dank with a hint of mildew and rot in the air; a rumbling air vent on your left masking any noise that escaped your mouth when you woke up. The area is poorly lit, save for the flickering bulb hanging precariously above your head as your main source of light – good for casting shadows to hide your bruised face, bad for the pounding headache you’re pretty sure is a concussion. And with your back seemingly close to a wall, you arrive at the conclusion that there are no other entryways, no way to leave, but the guarded door in front of you. 

In short, you have no idea where you are. 

Fuck—this is bad, you swear to yourself internally, trying to control the rising panic swelling up your chest. You never thought your nightcap would lead to this mess. Nobody knows about your current predicament, and it’ll take more than a day before your absence raises any alarms, so right now, you’re on your own. 

Think, think! What can you do?

What can you do? You have nothing on you, nothing you can use as a makeshift weapon to defend yourself with, and your hands are tightly bound behind your back by a thick, heavily twined rope with no give. The situation is slowly turning bleaker by the second, and it isn’t even your fault that you’re here in the first place! You were made a pawn, a mere bait in this messed-up dick-measuring contest between a crazy, sadistic, self-proclaimed head honcho and Onychinus’s own crazy, sadistic—

Wait a minute. Sylus. 

You send a strong prayer to anyone above that’s listening, and an angry telepathic shout for good measure to the one who’s unaware of his involvement – but nonetheless the source of your ruined night – in this attempt at kidnapping a perfectly law-abiding citizen of Linkon.

Sylus, as much as I hate your unfortunate tendency to stalk me through means that, honestly? Eludes the hell out of me, I really, REALLY hope that you’ve been keeping tabs toni–

“Hey, boss! I think this one’s awake!”

Fuck. No use pretending anymore. 

You hear heavy footsteps from outside the room before the corroded metal door swings open to reveal a large man, easily standing above six feet, sporting a neatly trimmed beard and an unsettling smile. His arms are covered in tattoos– overlapping, almost undecipherable. A gnarly scar runs from the side of his mouth to just above his brow bone; his right eye a cloudy gray, most likely a morbid souvenir from the sustained injury.

His functional eye zeroes in on your pitiful form, and his smile widens into a hostile grin. 

“Well, well. It seems like our esteemed guest is finally ready to join in the fun,” His voice sounds like gravel, with a mocking intonation. “I hope my men weren't too rough with you on the way here.” 

You let out a breath through your teeth, blinking a few times to try and rid the blurring in your vision. You have to bide your time– “Why am I here? What do you want from me?” 

The man cocks his head to the side, smile still in place. “I assume you already know. But I’ll indulge you your little questions, why not?”

He crosses the space separating the two of you with just a few, languid steps before he’s in front of you. He leans forward, brushing the messy locks of hair – dried with blood – away from your face in a deceptively calm manner. “The devil needs to pay his dues, but it’s been rather difficult to get a hold of him, you see,” he sighs in exaggerated disappointment. ”I intend to collect, so I waited patiently for the right moment, for an opening. For an opportunity. 

And here, the opportunity presents herself.” 

You sneer, moving your head back to let your hair fall from his creepy hold. “I’ve no clue what you’re talking about, mister, but I’m pretty sure you’ve got the wrong idea.”

He barks out a laugh before gripping your chin tightly between his fingers. “You’ve got a smart mouth on you. Maybe we can find a better use for it.” 

You feel it before you hear it. 

“Perhaps not.” 

Something vicious saturates the air, something intense and terrifying and wrong. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and some sort of primordial response deep within your brain is telling you to get away from it.

But then, the paralyzing fear melts away to something akin to hope when you realize the source of this new disturbance.

Relief washes over you when familiar ink-and-red tendrils materialize behind the man in front of you. The dark wisps dissipate like smoke as soon as it comes and in place, your savior – sporting an expression that could only be described as downright murderous – stands before you, all six feet of unadulterated rage.

Several things happened so fast, it was almost simultaneous.

A cacophony of shouts came loudest from the two men who had been on guard duty but screams also echoed from outside the room. You saw flashes of red, twin laughter, and blood spurting from the necks of the now headless guards, and then a symphony of bullets and a lot of things breaking rang across the room. 

Suddenly— 

Deafening silence. As if something has put an abrupt stop to the noise. 

Amidst all the chaos, the scarred man in front of you had no time to make a move before savage whips of crackling energy engulfed him, leaving only his head free from the smothering darkness. 

His expression betrays something wild and manic as he tries twisting around to look at the figure behind him. “You—”

Sylus pays no mind to the breathing, dead fool—lower than dirt on his feet, with the nerve to harm what is most precious to him—as he keeps his gaze solely on you; his eyes darting up and down as if taking inventory of all the bruises and scrapes you sustained from the abduction. 

You meet his eyes. “You came.” 

An indecipherable look passes his face, gone as quickly as it came. “A little too late. I apologize.” 

You weakly huff out a chuckle, wanting to shake your head but decide against it lest it aggravates your concussion. A prickling sensation, then the rope around your wrists falls off with a quiet thud. 

“Luke. Kieran.” 

“Everything’s all accounted for, boss,” Kieran announces, suddenly appearing beside your right, along with Luke who’s on your left. Both look no worse for wear.

 The latter gives you a sympathetic look. “Oh, man. They got you good, little crow.” 

“Caught me off-guard, s’all,” you insist half-heartedly. 

A sigh. “Transport her directly back to base. Attend to her critical injuries once you arrive, and keep her awake. I’ll handle the rest once I get back,” Sylus instructs the twins in a tone that brooks no argument.

They nod in sync and start making a move to carry you out, but you protest.

“Wait, you’re staying behind?” For some reason, the thought of being separated from him, even for a short amount of time, makes you feel ill. Well, worse than your current state, at least. 

Sanguine eyes soften when he hears the tremble in your voice. The offending man in front of you, reduced into something less threatening than a cowering dog in comparison to your rescuer, is forcibly pushed aside to make room for Sylus as he steps closer. 

He crouches low so that you’re looking down on him instead of up. One large hand covers both of yours, mindfully avoiding the fresh rope burns on your wrists, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the unmarred part of your skin. 

“This will be quick, sweetie. I’ll be back by your side before you know it,” he exhales, closing his eyes for a moment. “I swear to you.”

You swallow, but nodded reluctantly. “Come home soon.” 

“I will.”

With that, you let yourself be carried out of the claustrophobic space you were confined to, into a larger room littered with unmoving bodies that you're frankly too tired to care about at the moment, up three (rickety) flights of stairs where you exit into what looks like the inside of an empty shipping container, before finally, finally getting out. 

A gust of salty wind hits you and you ask, “Are we near the docks?” 

“Yeah,” Kieran answers, carefully putting you down on the backseat of Sylus’ car. “Mephisto trailed after the van they stuffed you in before reporting back to the boss. We followed soon after.” 

Luke frowns as he inserts the key in the ignition. “We weren’t aware that they had eyes on you for a while now. An oversight on our part, won’t happen again,” he assures you. “Gotta give them props for that, at least.” 

Kieran, now getting in the passenger side of the vehicle, shoots him a look. 

“Anyway, we’re glad we got to you before they did anything… worse,” Kieran continues, then winces in a show of mock sympathy. “Can’t say the same to that fucker back inside. Haven’t felt Sylus’ bloodlust this strong in a long while.” 

You try to focus on their words, but you feel yourself nodding off as the remaining adrenaline slowly leaves your body. You know you should feel more worried about what the two were insinuating, but your mouth still tastes like you swallowed a bunch of coins and you just want a soft bed to sleep in for an entire day. Or three. 

“Oi, no sleeping. Doctor’s orders,” A snapping finger in front of your face forces you awake. 

You blink your tired eyes open in an attempt to stay lucid, the pulsing pain in your head becoming more prominent as soon as the threat of danger has passed. 

“This is gonna be a long night,” you sigh, wishing that Sylus will keep his word and be quick about… whatever he’s planning to do with your abductor. 

–––––

There hasn’t been much left of the man who proclaims to be the new head of an arms syndicate Sylus had dealt with in the past. He recalls the history of his relationship with the cartel being less than cordial, but nothing that would warrant his ire. Except for tonight.

He usually doesn’t leave a trace when doling out punishments; no, not anymore. Not in recent years. He prefers to be efficient about his killings, dissipating any evidence in thin air after reducing them into fine paste, rather than make a big show out of it. Quick and precise.

Except today… Someone had the arrogance, the absolute audacity to steal directly from the dragon’s nest.

The contents of which have always been kept in strict confidentiality. What is known, only chosen individuals bound to secrecy are privy to, and a lot of people would kill for. 

But unbeknownst to anyone else but its owner, only one thing in this hoard of secrets truly matters to the dragon. One solitary treasure alone he would burn planets for—and someone has tried to steal it.

Harm. the treasure. To get to him. 

It seems as if the new bloods needed a reminder of who, exactly, they’re stealing from. 

One who dwells deep within the underbelly of the cities both monster and men inhabit, that even the most heinous of sinners seeking solace in the dark, are afraid of. 

And what retribution tastes like to those who are foolish enough to bite more than what they can chew.

The poor soul unfortunate enough to be the first one to discover the carnage will witness that what was left of the man that had wronged the Onychinus kingpin is now stuck on the walls, the floor, and the ceiling of a basement where the treasure was held captive. They will find that the man’s innards are deliberately hung in a haphazard fashion, in all corners of the room like bloody, sinewy tinsel. 

And the centerpiece of this bloodbath is none other than the man’s decapitated head, forcibly attached to the hanging light in the middle of the room. A bulb crudely drilled past his cranium, while blood dripped down the floor in slow, ominous rivulets. 

They will understand in dawning horror that the one responsible for this... gross butchery, has left the head swinging. That the man’s mouth will forever remain agape in an eternal scream to immortalize the exact moment he realizes the gravity of his sin.   

Yes, Sylus is more than glad to remind them. 

_____

You arrive a quarter past four AM. 

Barely taking a step past the foyer, the twins immediately whisk you inside to perform an ‘emergency patch-up.’ Luke’s words, not yours.

“We’re your personal CNA while waiting for the head nurse to take over,” he explains cheerfully, wrapping another layer of gauze around your wrist. You hiss when Kieran dabs a cotton ball on the gash on your temple, peroxide fizzing as it comes in contact with the dried-up blood. Muttering out a “sorry!” Kieran does quick work in cleaning the injury and covering the affected area.

In no time at all, all visible wounds are bandaged and disinfected. The worst of your head wound had to be stitched up, but other than that, nothing seems to require immediate medical attention. There’s nothing left for you to do but to bear the aches that came along with the bruises – especially on your tender midriff – and to pop a tylenol for your throbbing headache.

You offer them a sincere, “Thanks. No, really.” before they leave you in Sylus’ room, after multiple reminders to “not sleep before the attending nurse arrives for the final diagnosis.” 

(You think they might have enjoyed playing caretaker a little too much.) 

With a lot more effort than you care to admit, you painstakingly remove your bloodstained clothes until you're down to your underwear, before draping yourself in a large, red, silk robe. A hot shower sounds heavenly to your sore muscles, but the soft mattress is calling to you more so you head straight to bed. 

With nothing else to occupy yourself with, you prop your head on a mountain of pillows – to keep yourself relatively upright – and let out a sigh. 

Tonight had been a shitshow. All you wanted was something to snack on while you binge through the last season of the show you were watching back at your apartment; you never thought a late-night run to the store just a few blocks away would result in… this. If not for Sylus’ intervention, you’re sure you'd be leaving with a lot more than a couple of scrapes. If not worse.

You're lost in your own thoughts when short, successive raps on the door catch your attention. It swings open before you have the chance to pipe out a, “come in!”

Speak of the devil.

Sylus enters the room, not a hair out of place. You notice that he’s changed into a casual, brown sweater and a pair of dark-washed jeans. His eyes meet yours, tightly-controlled expression relaxing as he crosses the room towards the side of your bed, wasting no time. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Still pretty sore, but Luke and Kieran already handled the worst of my injuries,” you answer, making a move to sit up. Sylus tuts disapprovingly, gentle as he puts a hand on your chest to prevent you from moving any further. He sits gingerly on the edge of the mattress, careful not to jostle you. Once fully settled, he let out a deep sigh.

“You had me worried for a moment there, kitten.” He admits, a slightly rough edge to his voice as emotion seeps into it. He regards you intently, like he’s trying to convince himself that you’re here, safe. 

Your hand reaches out towards his face. Without missing a beat, he leans in to nuzzle your palm, eyes closing shut. He reminds you of a big wolf, unbridled fire simmering beneath the surface, yet tame in the presence of his handler. 

“I’m fine now, thanks to you,” you assure him with a lopsided smile. “Give my thanks to Mephisto, as well. Tell him he gets a pass on the stalking this time.” 

Sylus opens his eyes, a hint of amusement and something else you can’t identify flickering through. “Oh, sweetie. You’ll be lucky if that bird gives you the privacy to bathe alone after tonight,” he jokes. 

He’s joking. Right?

You eye him for a moment before deciding to let it go. You're too tired to argue.

Instead, you cautiously ask a question you aren’t sure you even want the answer to. “What happened after we left?” 

Sylus expression doesn’t change except for the upward tick on the corner of his mouth; the same peculiar glint in his eyes coming across a little stronger. “They won’t be bothering you anymore. You don’t need to worry about anyone coming for you.”

“That’s not what I asked.” 

He hums. “Do you really want to know?”

You stare at him, and he stares back at you placidly. 

You purse your lips and look away. “Maybe not.” 

Sylus breathes out a laugh. He gently grasps your chin between his forefinger and thumb, guiding your head to meet his gaze once more. A softer look on his face, inching closer to yours.

Your heartbeat slightly picks up. In your vulnerable state, you feel a welling desire to bare your feelings to the man in front of you. You want to tell him how relieved you felt when you saw him in that cursed basement, how he was able to quell your fears with just his presence alone the moment he appeared in a familiar haze of black and red. Like your own, personal, vindictive guardian. 

Instead, you close the distance between the two of you, your lips meeting his. 

Sylus groans quietly, a hand cupping your face as he leans closer to deepen the kiss. Your eyes flutter shut, savoring the feeling of contentment from being this close to him. You feel, more than you see, how his taut body loses the remaining tension from the events that transpired just mere hours ago, how he finally relaxes as he loses himself in you.

Very carefully, he eases you further down, cradling your head with one hand until it rests on a pillow. His lips drift to the corner of your mouth, trailing soft kisses up to the apples of your cheeks, your forehead, then to your nose. 

He pulls back slightly, chuckling when you make a sound of discontent. When you open your eyes, you see him looking at you—half-lidded and tender. 

In a low voice, he instructs, “Rest. You need it.”

The feeling of exhaustion pulls you in, but before you surrender to it, you remind Sylus, “I’m not that fragile, you know. You don’t have to worry too much.” You poke his cheek and he catches the offending digit to bite it affectionately. “I’ll be up and running in no time.”

He doesn't speak for a minute, considering your words. His mouth sets into a thin line before letting out a sigh.

“And if you get hurt again? What then?" He whispers so quietly, seeming as if he's talking to himself.

"I'll get hurt again, that's for sure," You tell him, matter-of-factly. "But really, that’s just an occupational hazard. I’m sure you realize."

“Love — what a terrible, little thing,” he muses, half-forlornly, half in jest. "I’d rip this cold heart out and throw it in flames if I could.”

While speaking, his hand finds its way into the tangles of your hair, gently running his fingers through the strands in a lulling manner. His lips landing on the crown of your head softly. Reverently.

You hum sleepily.

“Of course you would, Sy.”

_____

“You’ll be glad to know that the artifact you had your eye on back at the auction will be arriving this Wednesday.” 

“Huh? But I thought it was already sold to someone else?”

Sylus shrugs. “I made a counteroffer.” 

“You didn’t have to. I told you it was fine.” 

“I know. But I also recall a certain someone telling me how much they wished they had placed a bid on it on our way back,” he pinches your cheek fondly. “Don’t worry about it, kitten. It’s yours.”

“Oh. Well– thank you,” you yawn in response, leaning your head to rest against his palm.

His thumb strokes your cheek. “Anything for you.”

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

night alarm. l Joel Miller

Summary: the danger has come

Warnings: angst, fluff, hiding pregnancy, Jackson is attacked. guns, shooting, fire, one dead,

A/N:

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

short stories from life. [masterlist]

The next few days passed with palpable tension. Joel had been assigned to guard one of the entrance gates, and patrols left Jackson much more often. Despite your desire, you knew that no one would let you do anything really important. No watches, no patrols, nothing that would tire you out or require much effort. You didn’t fight with Joel or anyone else.

“You’re already doing the most important work, honey,” he said one evening as he went on watch. “Stay home. I’ll feel better knowing you’re here.”

So you stayed. Sometimes you’d visit him on watch, bringing him warm coffee, but the weather was so bad that Joel never let you stay there longer than that.

When the magic date of your second trimester passed, you both breathed a sigh of relief. “We should tell Ellie. She’ll start guessing soon.” You said, looking at the calendar full of crossed-out days.

“We will. When she finally shows up at home.” Joel responded, putting on his jacket.

It was getting dark outside and snow was slowly falling. Joel finally gathered his things and, getting ready to leave, he gave you one more look. The corner of his mouth lifted. "You know... I knew we'd make it this time, but I'm still very happy."

"Me too." You gently touched your belly, which was barely visible for now, but to you it was the center of the world. "Be careful, Joel."

One last kiss and he was gone.

Something suddenly tore you from your sleep. An indescribable explosion, and then another one. You jumped out of bed and ran to the window. What you saw seemed terrifying to you - the fence visible from your window was burning in one place, the sound of the bell echoed throughout the neighborhood, and people ran out into the street. You didn't wait long.

In the darkness, you ran out into the hallway and into Ellie's room.

"Ellie!"

But when you reached the bed, when you grabbed the blanket, you understood immediately - the bed was empty. Ellie probably didn't come back for the night. You fell asleep waiting for her.

Shit.

The sound of the bell pounded in your ears, and you felt your heart doing the same in your chest. Joel had to be alert, you didn't know what was going on there. Ellie left the house, and you promised not to move from there.

"Fuck!" you hissed, throwing yourself around the room, but finally made a decision.

You ran back to the bedroom and quickly started getting dressed. After you zipped up your pants, you went to the closet and took down the box that was lying on the back of the top shelf. Joel kept his revolver there. You started loading it when you heard the front door slam.

"Ellie?!" you screamed, grabbing the extra bullets and quickly leaving the room. You ran down the stairs. "Ellie! Thank God you're here! Joel said we should stay here and..." You looked around and saw someone standing in the middle of the living room. It wasn't Ellie.

It all started so suddenly that Joel didn't immediately realize what was happening. First the sound of the doorbell tore through the darkness of the night, then he heard an explosion and saw fire. At the same time, shots rang out at the side gate. Adrenaline immediately rushed through his blood. People were running, shouting orders, passing weapons to each other.

“They hit the side wall! A few got through!” Jesse shouted.

“Tell Tommy!” Joel shouted back, and pointed to a few men standing next to him. “Come with me! We could use some backup!”

He didn’t have to say it twice. They got into the car and headed toward the burning fence. It wasn’t until they were in the car that Joel realized something that hit him so hard his heart almost stopped—your house was close to where the attackers had broken through.

The lights of another car behind them flashed in the side mirror. No one knew how many had gotten through, but there was no way to risk it. When they stopped at the fence, Joel tightened his grip on his rifle and got out.

“We need to secure this place!” Tommy shouted as he climbed out of the other car. “Move! Move!”

“Do you think there could be more of them?”

“I have no idea. We should check every house, every closet.” He watched the group of men put out the fire, but a moment later someone ran up to them. An older man who lived nearby was wearing a jacket over his pajamas and holding a baseball bat.

“Seven or ten,” he gasped. “They ran between the houses. People barricaded themselves inside, but you never know.”

Tommy looked at the graying man. “Are you sure?”

"Yeah, I saw them from the window. I have trouble sleeping, and the noise was really loud," he confirmed.

Tommy looked at Joel. "We'll have to look around the area. We need more men. It's still a few hours until dawn." Something in his brother's gaze suddenly made him uneasy. He'd seen something like that in his brother's eyes before. He wanted to say something, but then he heard Jesse.

"Ellie?! What the hell are you doing here?"

"I was at Dina's, we were watching some movies and... What the fuck happened?" she said, "Joel?"

Joel stared at her, speechless. If Ellie was here, that meant you were home alone. He turned, looking in the direction where your house stood, a few streets apart. An icy chill ran down his spine.

"We caught two of them! The third one is dead!" someone called out from the darkness.

Tommy was saying something, but he couldn't hear him anymore. The blood was rushing in his ears and his legs were moving on their own. Then he remembered running down the street where people were coming out, where there was constant traffic. But he had to know, had to know that you were safe, that his fears were unfounded. After all, your house wasn't that close to the fence, the chance that someone would reach you, that they would choose this house.

When Joel ran onto your street, he saw the house in darkness. He almost calmed down. He heard Ellie and Dina screaming, trying to catch up with him. Behind them, one of the cars was approaching him.

He took a deep breath, filling his aching lungs with air, it only took a few seconds, and then, as he took a few steps, he heard a shot. And another one, and another.

He didn't remember how he got to the porch. The door almost fell off its hinges when he hit it with his shoulder, breaking the lock. Silence. The darkness and silence were terrifying.

He shouted your name. He saw an overturned chair, some junk scattered on the floor. He heard a noise in the hallway, and went in that direction. In the light of the car headlights that came through the window, he saw you sitting against the wall, still clutching his revolver in your hand.

"Baby!"

In the blink of an eye, he was by your side, kneeling and taking your face in his hands. You were terrified, but you were alive. It took him a moment to see the body of a man lying nearby.

"I thought it was Ellie..." you said quietly, "He surprised me..."

"Did he do something to you?" Joel asked, brushing your hair away from your face, "Are you hurt?"

You shook your head. "He wanted to, but... I had your gun."

"My girl."

Tears welled up in your eyes. Joel hugged you without hesitation, feeling your hands tighten around his jacket. You were safe, you were alive.

Footsteps on the porch signaled that others had arrived at the house as well. Ellie looked like she was on the verge of despair as she fell into your arms.

"You're a fucking badass!" she sobbed. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry you were alone."

You hugged her tightly. "You're safe, that's the most important thing." You kissed her on the head. Joel's gaze met yours. The question he wanted to ask you was clear in his eyes. "I'm really okay."

"You should go to the clinic. Morris will check if you and the baby..."

"Baby?!" Ellie sat up and looked at Joel as if he had gone crazy. Her gaze shifted to your face. "Are you... Again? Really?!"

"This is not how you should find out, I'm sorry." You sighed, but Ellie didn't let you finish.

"I'll take you to the clinic. Me and Dina."

Joel nodded. "You'll stay there until I come get you." Seeing your look, he quickly added, "You'll wait for me there. We have to make sure we catch them all."

You knew there was no point in arguing with Joel and you didn't even want to. So you let them take you to the clinic, and Ellie and Dina didn't leave your side for a moment. When Morris examined you and did the ultrasound, both girls were absolutely thrilled when they saw the faint shape on the screen.

"A baby..." Ellie whispered, her eyes widening, "How can someone be so fucking small?"

"You know the baby can hear you too?" Morris asked, still staring intently at the screen.

"Shit! Sorry."

“Don’t worry.” He smiled at Ellie before turning to you. “Everything seems fine. The baby’s growing. How are you feeling?”

“Good. I’m a little more sleepy, but I don’t have any nausea or other discomfort.”

“You almost threw up your stomach last time.” Ellie noticed, and Dina nudged her in the side. “What? That’s true!”

Morris turned off the equipment and handed you some tissues to wipe your stomach. “I think you’re fine. Stay here until the situation in the city clears up. Will Joel come get you?” You nodded. “Good. You’ll get a room and you can rest.”

One of the nurses led you to a room. The clinic was quiet, and the dawn was slowly breaking outside. You weren't sure how long it would take to catch everyone who attacked Jackson. But here you were safe, although your heart was still with Joel and the others.

"So, a baby, huh?" Ellie sat down on the bed.

Dina went to look for something warm to drink and eat, and for the first time you were truly alone. You turned to the girl and smiled slightly.

"What do you think, Ellie?" you asked in a quiet voice.

"That's good, right? I mean, it's like a second chance. Are you afraid?"

"So fucking much." you laughed. "But I guess there's no other way. I just hope that this time..."

"This time everything will be fine, you'll see." the girl interrupted you. You could see the concern in her eyes, but also the certainty of what she was saying: “Joel will take care of you, and I… won’t let anything happen to you or that kid.”

You felt tears well up in your eyes, and your throat tightened painfully. But she noticed, stood up, and came over to hug you.

“You’re going to be fat,” she mumbled, and you giggled. “And Joel will still be crazy about you. You’ll be great parents. You already are.”

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist, i think: @picketniffler @orcasoul @bbyanarchist @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @somedayheaven @underneath-the-sky-again @callmebyyournick-name @hiroikegawa @mandaloriankait @mmmunson @grace-928 @umadirectioner

[majestyeverlasting]

Nello! I have a request/suggestion for a Bucky drabble-y something if you'd like it. Maybe he's on a mission or there's an attack and it's going *very* poorly for him but he gets saved by a sweet civilian who's probably hopped up on a LOT of adrenaline

𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐲 | 𝐛.𝐛.

A/N Thank you so much for this request, anon! Bucky isn’t on a mission, per se, more like he ends up making a certain situation his “mission.” 

Pairing Bucky Barnes x Reader 

Summary After an unexpected and intense fight, you’re the kind stranger who comes to Bucky’s aid. Except, you can’t shake the pressing feeling that you’ve seen each other once before. [fluff, angst, firing of a weapon, 2.6k]

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Darkness hangs over Hell’s Kitchen as the heavy beat of Bucky’s heart drums on. The high-pitched ringing in his ears nearly drowns out the trudge of his boots against the sidewalk. Each labored step sends another wave of pain radiating through his ribcage. By now, he’s far enough away from Nicolo’s Bistro to be seen, where police and ambulances are finally pulling up with glaring halos of red and blue, sirens wailing. 

As Bucky turns into a dingy alleyway, he finally allows himself to release the pathetic grunts that have been attempting to claw out of throat since the moment he left the establishment. The pungent smell of garbage rides on the breeze as he presses his back up against the cool brick wall, sliding down until he hits the pebbled ground. 

He can’t remember the last time being off his feet felt so good. That’s all he’d wanted upon entering the bistro earlier. To sit down and have a meal before venturing back to Brooklyn. 

𝟷 𝙷𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙿𝚁𝙸𝙾𝚁

The table he’s given along the front windows gives sight to the evening bustle outside. There’s a dim ambience to that place that’s homey and charming. Basil and garlic linger in the air. A waitress with a long jet-black ponytail takes his order of carbonara and the house red. Just as she leaves, three men in fedoras enter, with hard eyes and strong noses. 

A wary feeling flutters in his gut. 

Rather than being seated in the main dining room, they’re escorted into the back by a worker. Nicolo, the broad-shouldered owner of the restaurant, is no sooner notified of their arrival. The look of dread that washes over his face is Bucky’s second clue that something is amiss. But there’s an eerie calm that follows.

Halfway into his meal, hushed, angry voices finally emit from the back room. The only reason Bucky can hear them is the serum’s heightening of his senses: 

Nicolo’s voice registers first, “Sobrini, please, there’s been a misunderstanding.”

“No, it’s well past time,” comes a gruff, thickly accented voice. “I invested in this shithole and haven’t seen anywhere near what I’m owed.” 

“It’s coming—please, there has to be a better way,” Nicolo reasons. “There are customers out there.”

“Too bad I don’t give a fuck.” 

That’s when a lone warning shot rings out. 

A few patrons jolt in shock, heads whipping around. You startle as you take a sip from your bubbling glass of champagne, sending the liquid running down your chin.

Bucky's on his feet in an instant, “Everybody out!” 

The moment you slip out of your booth, the confrontation spills out into the main dining area as Nicolo backs out of the room with his hands held up in surrender. All three men are stalking towards him, and the bulkier one—undeniably Sobrini—has a revolver drawn. 

“Now they all get to see your brains being blown out,” he quips.

 Bucky wastes no time rushing to the owner's defense, sprinting over to Sobrini, and using his vibranium hand to block a bullet when he pulls the trigger. Nicolo's face flushes with relief as he gratefully runs for the door, steering other frantic patrons out along the way. 

With Nicolo gone, the group of mobsters redirect their anger to Bucky and his daring boldness. 

“And who the hell are you?” Before Sobrini can pull the trigger again, Bucky disarms him with a few swift swipes and blows, bending the gun out of shape before letting it clink to the ground. 

“Mikey, Vinny!” Sobrini growls. 

Like two mad dogs given attack orders, the other men launch forward to gang up on Bucky. They’re stronger than he’s expecting—too strong. Super soldiers. Glasses and plates crash from the tables as Vinny, the taller of the two, kicks Bucky square in the stomach, sending him staggering backwards. He’s quick to recover, promptly delivering his own series of strikes in retaliation. 

Heart hammering in your ears, you help usher the last of the patrons and employees outside. When you dare to look back in, Mikey has managed to get Bucky in a chokehold from behind. Only then do you notice the glint of his vibranium hand as he pries at the man’s thick forearm.

As Bucky coughs for air, realization dawns on you like a rushing tide. For a flicker of a second, he catches your eyes in the doorway before managing to free himself from the hold.

A second wind finds him as the brawl becomes a fierce three-on-one ordeal.

Nicolo pulls you away from the door for your own safety.

It’d been two years since Bucky’s last fight, and he hated that this made a part of him feel alive again. 

𝙱𝙰𝙲𝙺 𝚃𝙾 𝙿𝚁𝙴𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃

Just as his eyes begin to flutter closed with exertion, he hears a soft, urgent voice that he thinks he’s imagining. It prompts him to remember that he’s seated in a dirty alleyway, propped against a wall. 

“Are you alright?” Your eyes dart over his bruised face, split lip, and bloodied knuckles. “Don’t close your eyes, stay with me.” You gently pat your hand against his stubbled cheek. Some of his long, dark hair is matted to the sweat on his face.

The only reason you knew where to find him is because you’d watched him stagger from the scene after neutralizing the three intruders in a feat of athleticism if you ever saw one. Your own hands are still buzzing with adrenaline. 

He manages to meet your gaze, but his bloodshot blue eyes never focus. You can see that he’s trying, which only makes concern swell in your chest all the more. 

“You need to go to the ER,” you say, brows furrowing. That seems to shake him a bit. 

“No…” he trails off, then coughs, wincing. “No doctors. Please.” 

You pull your lower lip in between your teeth as if debating to heed his request. Looking out to the street, you see that nobody has taken notice of the two of you.

You then say, “Can you walk? My place isn’t far.”

•••

Climbing the stairs is the hardest part. Despite your offer to lean his weight on you, Bucky stubbornly relies on the railing for all four floors. By the time you unlock your apartment door and usher him inside, he realizes he’s made a mistake. He should’ve insisted he’d be fine, that after the initial shock wore off, his body would begin to mend itself back to wholeness.

Except, he can’t remember the last time someone had spoken to him so sweetly. 

As selfish as it was, it felt good to be on the receiving end of genuine concern. Nowadays, people just assumed he was okay because he was the Winter Soldier, and that’s what the Winter Soldier was supposed to do—dust himself off and get back up. Yet here you were acting like he was someone worth being taken care of.

He all but collapses onto the couch once you lead him over to it. In the back of his mind, he worries about getting it dirty, but you don’t seem to care as you flutter out of the living room.

The air smells faintly of cinnamon and vanilla, and small decorative pumpkins sit on the windowsill. Pain pulses in his neck as he takes a better look around, but he does it anyway. The entire space is modest and cozy, clearly lived-in and well-loved. 

By the time you come back, he’s dozed off, thick thighs spread and chin tucked down to his chest. This happens sometimes—his body crashes into sleep to facilitate healing. It only occurs when he feels safe. Otherwise, the rush of adrenaline keeps him wide awake. 

He can just barely register the gentleness of your movements as you tilt his head up to dab away the blood with a cool towel. You continue on like that, cleaning up the wounds that broke the skin, which thankfully aren’t too plentiful. Occasionally, his eyes flutter open, but you never ask him any questions or force him to talk. A comfortable silence settles between you until all the dried blood is gone.  

An hour later, he wakes up, finding that he’s stretched along the entirety of the couch with a blanket draped over his frame. His pain has subsided immensely. As he sits upright, he notices that you’re curled up in the accent chair. A special news report drones low on the TV.

“All the men have been taken into custody,” you tell him. Bucky eyes flitter over your face as you speak, realizing that his mind is finally clear enough to welcome the whispers of recognition. 

He’d seen many people over the course of his long life, and your face was among those he’d never be able to forget. 

You continue as his heart rises into his throat, “They don’t know it was you who saved everyone,” you say, toying with the hem of your sweater. “If they do, they haven’t said your name.” 

The air goes dead silent for a fleeting moment.

“You know my name?” It’s a question he already knows the answer to. 

You study his face, handsome even with the bruises. “James Buchanan Barnes, the Asset, the Winter Soldier…” 

He swallows thickly, abruptly standing to his feet as guilt and shame churn in his stomach. “Thank you for your help, but—” 

“Please don’t go,” you insist. It feels like you’re staring straight through him.  

“I have to. I’m sorry.” He weaves towards the door, heat rising to his cheeks. 

The events of an afternoon from many moons ago come rushing into the forefront of his mind. First, a group of suited men barking orders as he listened with emotionless eyes. Then the glint of his metal arm wrapped around the neck of a S.H.I.E.L.D. contractor on Park Avenue. As the man strangled out pleas, your cries joined in, begging for the life of your friend to be spared—

Bucky thinks back to earlier when he was being choked, the sense of helplessness.

You stand from the chair but don’t follow after him. “Did you want to take a shower at least?” you offer, hope infused into your words. It only made sense considering the sweat and grime still lingering on his skin. 

The thought of a shower sounds too good. But not here, not now. He never should’ve come. 

—As the contractor had gripped at his Bucky’s arm for mercy, he remembered glaring over at you. The mask concealing the lower half of his face hid his snarl, but his glare could cut stone. Except, you weren’t made of stone. You were skin, and bone, and desperation. It ended up being your fear-ridden eyes that did all the cutting.

It was as if you were wordlessly pleading, please, you don’t have to do this. Like you could see that he was trapped inside the prison of his own being. 

But by the time his hold went slack around the man’s neck, it was already too late. His body slumped lifelessly to the ground. 

“I forgive you," you call out right as Bucky steps into the hallway and is seconds away from closing the door.

That stops him in his tracks and sends a chill through his bones.

“Please don’t go,” you say, much softer. 

•••

Tucked away in an old journal, was a list of amends Bucky was supposed to make. He’d managed to cross off all those names. But there’s no way he’d ever be able to account for every life he changed, every friend and family member he snatched away from people he would never even come to know.

This reality weighs heavy on him as he stands in the steamy bathroom, a towel wrapped low around his hips. Sometimes he didn’t recognize himself when he looked in the mirror. Faint knocking sounds at the door.

He clears the thickness from his throat, “Yes?”

“Special delivery,” you say lightly. “My neighbor had some clothes to spare.”

When he opens the door, your eyes flick to his torso, the bruising along his ribcage. There’s a dusting of hair on his chest, and a line of it that leads down from his bellybutton. It takes a second for you to register that he isn’t wearing his vibranium arm. Maybe it's because of the steady, broad way he’s standing there as if the limb isn’t gone at all.

He accepts the clothes, “Thank you.”

Bucky doesn’t close the door as he turns to set them on the sink. In the process, you notice there are old scars on his back with dark new bruises mixed amongst them. Before you can stop yourself, you step forward, brushing over his shoulder blades with tentative fingers. He straightens, briefly closing his eyes at the tenderness. 

“Sorry. I’m sorry.” You begin to back out of the room. “I have painkillers if they’d help.”

Bucky shakes his head. “I’m alright.”

“I’ll let you get dressed then.”

Moments later, Bucky finds you in your room seated on the side of your bed. Your startle, swiping at the tears beneath your eyes before turning to look at him. When he sees that you’ve been crying, he feels like the worst person in the world again, an awful feeling resettling in his gut. 

“I can go,” he says. 

You shake your head and pat the space beside you. 

Bucky lingers in the doorway until giving in. The mattress dips as he sits, making sure to leave ample space between you. Even then you can feel the warmth of his proximity, smell your body wash on his skin. Neither of you say anything for a while. 

“Why are you doing all this?” For such an imposing man, his voice comes out small. 

“Because I see you.” Bucky swallows at your words, gaze remaining on the floor. “I saw you eight years ago, and I see you now.” 

He realizes then, that if he truly wanted to, he would’ve left already. He didn’t know what he wanted, what more he was expecting. He’d already taken enough—your friend, your resources, your time. 

“You know what I believe?” Bucky waits for you to continue. “That you’re a good person,” you say solemnly. 

“You didn’t even hesitate back at Nicolo’s. You stepped right up.”

“It was nothing,” he lightly dismisses.

“Nothing?” 

Bucky looks over at you, and you raise your brows. “It was the right thing to do,” he finally says. 

“And you easily could’ve just walked away.” 

He gets your point then. The plates of his arm whir softly. 

“I was angry at you for a long time,” you admit. “Even though I knew who you were, the control you were under.”

“I’m sorry—”

“And the more time that passed, the more I realized my anger wasn’t entirely fair,” you say. “Life’s not fair. But staying rooted to the same spot doesn’t do anyone any good.” 

Bucky doesn’t pull away when you reach over and take his hand in yours, gently running your fingers over his bruised knuckles in a mix of sympathy and wonder. He watches as you flip his palm face-up, tracing the lines with a delicate touch. He feels it all the way up his arm, the gesture painfully intimate. Having seen each other at your lowest, most vulnerable moments has a way of knocking down walls. 

“Ask me why I’m doing all this again,” you say.

Bucky meets your gaze. “Why?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.”

Outside, distant sirens wail into the Manhattan night.

-

Thank you so much for reading! Feel free to let me know what you think. 

MORE 

[discotitsposts]

meant to be

Spencer trying and failing to flirt with you because you are oblivious to his attempts.

spencer reid x reader

i picture this as later seasons spencer maybe sometime around 12-14?

some mature themes mentions of sex at the end so 18+

writing this because i saw something about people who are bad at flirting and that’s literally me. (i hope ppl get the reference w the nickname)

Spencer had tried every day to get your attention romantically. It didn’t work. Nothing did. You were so oblivious to all of his flirting attempts. He figured maybe you had trouble understanding so he worked harder to make you think of him as more than a friend. He tried everything his genius brain could come up with.

He even made up a nickname for you, Bean, because you always had a coffee in your hand, and because he was taller than you.

Today you were getting coffee with him as usual. At your favorite coffee shop and library. You didn’t work at the BAU so you would eventually have to go to your own job so Spencer decided to try again.

Since you lived in the same building, neighbors in the same hall, he picked you up every morning. Drove you to get coffee and you each picked a book for each other and then he drove you to work.

He knocks on your door awaiting anxiously. You come out in your outfit, just a t shirt and jeans. you didn’t have a dress code at your job, you were an author and usually went into a nice office that the publishing company provided to write since you had a hard time focusing in your apartment. Too many distractions.

In Spencer’s car you make small talk as he tries to think of a way to flirt with you. Normally he’d call Morgan but his son was a toddler now so he was busy. He gets so lost in his head he doesn’t realize he just ran a stop sign on accident and almost hit someone.

He hears you yell “Spencer what the fuck!” and slams the brakes. The other car honks and his heart is pounding in his brain. He pulls to the side of the road and stops.

“Spencer. Breathe. It’s ok.” You worry tracing your face at the sight of his extremely fast breathing and you rub his back reassuringly.

“Holy shit.” He barely chokes out. His face is beet red and he looks like he’s about to have a panic attack.

“Switch.” You tell him. He looks at you and feels comforted immediately by your face. “Let’s go, switch.” You get out of the car and switch sides.

‘So much for flirting’ he thinks. Then it hits him. When he picks your book for the day, he’ll give you a romantic story. Something that says ‘I really like you but I’m an idiot so I don’t know how to tell you but i’m not actually an idiot because im technically a genius but my fucked up life has ruined romance for me but i’d love to try it with you if you are okay with that.’

When you take over driving you don’t talk. You just focus on the road. You had even turned the music off. He hopes you’re not upset with him. That thought quickly dissipates when you pull into the parking lot and your face is beaming. You both race to the entrance and he gets there first and opens the door for you. You stick your tongue out at him and he smirks.

You order your usual drinks and he gets himself a breakfast bagel and you get a croissant. He puts the food at a table and you both get up to grab each other a book. You had yours picked since last night, The Godfather. It’s only a little over 400 pages so he’ll probably finish it by lunch time but at least it will be fun for him since it will make him think of you. At least you hope it does.

You have a habit of making funny commentary during movie nights. When you watched ‘The Godfather’ trilogy with Spencer he had laughed so hard he cried.

Meanwhile Spencer is searching rows of books looking for the right one. He moves to poetry but nothing feels right. He feels slightly frustrated so he moves back to classics and picks ‘A Little Princess’ instead. A favorite of yours you had read in elementary school. Not romantic but shows he knows you well.

When he makes his way back to the register to check the book out, you’re already seated munching your croissant. He makes his way to you and hides the book behind his back. You discreetly pull yours out of your bag and hide it the same way.

“1,2,3!” You both count at the same time and then reveal your books. Spencer cracks up when he sees the book you had picked. He had read this before but he enjoyed it because it reminded him of you. You both eat and finish your coffees. You look at each other.

“More?” Spencer asks.

“Obviously.” You answer. You both stand up and order more coffee.

Back in Spencer’s car you open the book and start reading. He’s about to put the key in the ignition when sudden confidence hits him. He doesn’t know if it’s the caffeine but he doesn’t care. He should kiss you right now. He stares at you until you look up.

“You’re going to be late for work if you don’t start that engine up soon Mr. Chauffeur.” You tease him.

He leans closer and puckers his lips slightly. He’s so filled with lust he just can’t wait anymore.

You look at him strangely. Was he trying to kiss you right now? Probably not. Truth was you were always so filled with doubt whenever you liked someone. Especially Spencer. He was just too handsome and sweet and perfect.

He leans in even closer to you and tilts his head. You, however, had gone back to your book and weren’t even looking at him.

“Does this make you uncomfortable” Spencer leans in closer. He closes his eyes and you lean down to reach for something from your bag. He doesn’t feel your soft lips on his and thinks he may have missed your face. He opens his eyes.

“Everything does. I have anxiety Spencer. All the time anywhere day and night. ” You reply while eating a yogurt you had found in your tote.

Spencer pulls away and smacks his forehead. He starts the car and drops you at your work and drives to the BAU feeling defeated. What would it take for you to realize how bad he wants you.

That night he decides to drop by your apartment. You had gotten a ride home from work by a friend tonight. He opens his door and walks the short distance to yours.

When his hand knocks on your door he feels nervous. You open the door and greet him.

“Hi!” You cheer.

“Hey, I was gonna order a pizza. You want?” He lies. He actually wasn’t the biggest fan of pizza. He didn’t eat it too often but it was your favorite food so why not.

“That would be great. I’m starving.” You clutch your belly dramatically. Which makes Spencer laugh.

He picks up the phone, “What would you like on the pizza m’lady.”

You tap your chin and think. “Sausage.” You reply. Spencer thinks of a way to flirt. Kind of.

“How much sausage would you like?” He asks smirking.

“Uhh, 5? I don’t know dude. The normal amount that goes on a pizza?” You answer sarcastically, going to your dvd rack to pick a movie. Spencer sighs. He calls and places the order and helps you pick a movie.

“How about ‘How To Be A Serial Killer?’ That’s a good one. I love Matthew Gray Gubler in this one so much.” You fan girl a little.

“Who the fuck is Matthew Gray Gubler? Also, no, not with my line of work. I need a break from that.” Spencer asks with a hint of jealousy in his voice. You clasp your hand over your heart dramatically.

“Ok, fine. how about a Disney Classic? Sleeping Beauty is my favorite.” You ask. Spencer nods. You put the movie on and grab two root beers from your fridge. Spencer thanks you when you hand him one and you lay a big fluffy blanket over you both. Not far into the movie the pizza arrives and you cheers Spencer with your pizza slice.

After you both eat and are full the movie is still on. You’re starting to feel sleepier by the second. Spencer offers you to lay with him and you take him up on it. He’s basically a giant teddy bear. He’s so warm and comfortable.

“I’ve got a real life sleeping beauty right here.” He whispers to you. You smile with your eyes closed. Too sleepy to open. He gets out from under you, to your dismay. He cleans up the trash from eating. He even washes some dishes you had left sitting. When he comes back, you’re still half awake. He sees you sneak an eye open to look at him and your smile after.

“It seems there’s a fair maiden who has fallen asleep. However can we wake her? What if she sleeps for a hundred years?!” He exclaims. You start giggling softly. He leans closer to observe you.

“I don’t believe it! She’s laughing in her sleep! Must be quite a funny dream. Wonder what it is. Only one way to find out.” He gently leans down and kisses your lips softly. This action puts you in shock and you’re blushing. He starts to pull away because doubts fill his mind. You grab his hair and pull him back in.

You both pull back and he starts to ask you,

“Were you ok with that?”

You cut him off, “Yes.” Then you rip your shirt off. Spencer’s in shock. He follows your lead and starts undressing. He picks you up and carries you to your bedroom. The kiss you’re sharing is deepening by the second.

“Fuck why is it so hot in here.” You complain.

“I can think of a few reasons.” Spencer had been kissing you on your neck sucking the skin softly. He lays you back on the bed. He makes you comfortable. He goes down on you and then fucks you like you’ve never been fucked before.

The next morning you woke up naked next to him flashes of last night replaying. You couldn’t believe it. Spencer was so passionate! You didn’t even imagine he liked you like that.

He groans next to you and turns over. You get up and put on some coffee. When you come back into the bedroom he’s awake and looking for you.

“Hey, coffee’s ready.” You lean over and kiss him. He groans too tired to give an answer. He pulls you into the bed and holds you longer.

With him, this felt so easy and realistic.

Then you realize something.

This was meant to be.

the end ♡

to anyone who read this far: hope u enjoyed reading!! please let me know if u enjoyed! xoxo

[that-house]

The Tarrasque Can Blow Me or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Make 5e Bosses That Don't Suck

HI, I'm Catherine that-house, and I play Dungeons and Dragons Fifth Edition almost as much as I hate it. I do this because I am a sicko pervert who likes to tinker with abysmal dogshit, not because it's a good game. This screed is dedicated to everyone trapped in the same mine as me.

D&D 5e combat sucks! Here's the flow chart for your melee champion fighter's turn:

IF BAD GUY: smack bad guy

IF BAD GUY WITHIN 30 FT: move to bad guy, smack bad guy

IF LOW ON HP: second wind

IF NO BAD GUY WITHIN 30 FT: dash towards nearest bad guy

action surge, take it from the top

IF YOU'RE FEELING DARING TODAY: maybe a grapple or an item interaction

And pretty much any non-caster monster has a pretty similar flowchart: there's no real back and forth, just the same set of actions over and over and the only time you have to pay attention on someone else's turn is for an attack of opportunity maybe. Finally one side reduces the other side's number to 0, and you can get back to roleplaying in your roleplaying game.

In general, I strive to make my boss fights hard and interesting, with interesting being the more important of the two. For some reason the wicked clowns working at WOTC got it into their heads that the only ways to make a fight hard are Bigger Number and Less Counterplay. I don't have any data on how they sought to make fights interesting because as far as I can tell they were too busy siccing the Pinkertons on people like it's the fucking 1800s.

Probably not all 5e combat is like this. But, like, look at the statblock for the Tarrasque, the CR 30 "strongest monster in the game" and try to tell me that that thing looks INTERESTING to fight. Difficult? Maybe, if your stats are bad. But INTERESTING? It walks at someone and murders the shit out of them, then rinses and repeats. The fetid dog turd that is the Tarraque is the perfect example of the Bigger Number, and even its meme status as the DM's "fuck you" monster is eclipsed by later additions to the game.

The other end of the "strongest 5e statblock" spectrum is shit like Sul Khatesh from Eberron, who earns the title of "most bullshit" by being immune to nonmagic attacks and creating antimagic fields. This is progress, because you might force someone to grapple it out of the field or something so everyone can deal damage! But this is still ultimately a pretty linear fight, not unlike fighting any other caster in the game, but with Less Counterplay.

My DMing style is pretty character goal-oriented, with the occasional bullshit superboss. We sit around for a few sessions while people pursue side projects and gather information, and then I subject them to the Horrors of a 5e fight that requires things like "positioning" and "planning" from turn to turn.

When playing a high level D&D campaign with insanely bullshit homebrew magic items and character-specific custom mechanics, it becomes necessary to pull out the big guns. The biggest guns. I'm talking a gun like my boy Hierarch Ozyas, undead demigod, father of monsters and heart of a living city, who had a meaty 2000 hit points and took somewhere in the vicinity of thirteen rounds of combat to bring down. Building bosses is an arms race and it's my job to lose in style. Here's Ozyas' statblock:

The bitch himself

Anyways I've been talking for a bit without actually saying anything of substance besides making fun of the Tarrasque. Which I will do one more time:

...deep breath...

D&D 5e is a pretty widely-disdained game by pretty much anyone who's ever played more than one RPG system. I myself only play it because I enjoy game design, and the thoroughly-beaten dead horse that WOTC calls a game serves as a decent foundation to do a lot of heavy tinkering. The Tarrasque is perfectly emblematic of all of the trash I have to wade through in order to get to the stuff worth keeping: it is an uninspired, anticlimactic relic of the past that didn't even manage to cling to a shred of its old glory and is instead content to wallow in the filth of what it once was, never once providing a challenge to any character with a flying speed. I would probably attempt to beat it to death with my hands (and fail, because it checks your character's stats rather than challenging you as a player in any way), but Jim the 1st level aaracokra with a save-forcing damage cantrip already solo'd it for me, so I'll settle for chewing through the throat of whichever game designer forgot they were making a "game" and submitted a three step flowchart for D&D's ultimate boss monster.

But anyways, I promised you a guide to how I design boss fights these days, so let's get to that.

Actually, first here's a quick aside about action economy that I didn't bother finding a place to fit in elsewhere: legendary actions are basically a necessity for any boss past level five or so. One big action is going to be a lot more polarizing than several small ones (i.e. one big crit on a large attack could completely flip the course of the fight, whereas multiple smaller attacks offer the same amount of damage output in a more consistent fashion). If you don't want to give your boss a bunch of HP to make it live long enough to take a few turns, you could consider giving it two turns in the initiative order (reducing the damage per turn to keep the damage per round constant). Low health minions are also a good way to pad out action economy, and even if they're easy to kill they tend to buy the boss another turn or two just from the actions it costs to take them down.

ANYWAYS, here's the core ideas I like to focus on in my boss design:

Keep them moving

Keep them working

Keep things changing

Reward good play

Punish mistakes

Make it a game

Along the way I'll be using snippets of the boss I mentioned above to illustrate examples of these principles and how they affected play. Let's begin.

KEEP THEM MOVING Positioning doesn't really matter in 5e. AoEs and movement values are both so large that you can easily get away with not having a battle map and sorta just tracking "in melee" or "not in melee." I run most fights without a battle map and just kinda track that, but for a good boss you need a map.

But how do we keep the game from just falling back into "move into range and hurt people," you ask? Simple: the Zone of Nasty. The Zone of Nasty is something on the map that is going to hurt the PCs if they're in it, and the Zone of Nasty moves. Depending on the boss, it could grow, shrink, follow a player, follow the boss, alternate between areas of the map, whatever. Some bosses might have multiple different Zones of Nasty that move in different ways and do different things.

There are other ways to force movement besides a moving AoE, such as punishing players for being too close or too far from each other or the boss.

The general principle here is that a boss should at times force suboptimal play: optimal play involves simply standing around, spending all your actions on damaging the boss, and it's incredibly boring from a strategic standpoint. There should be turns in which your players have to spend their action economy on protecting themselves or helping their allies. If they find themselves in a Zone of Nasty, it should force a decision between suffering the consequences to continue optimal play, or spending resources to get out of it.

Our boy Ozyas had a Cancer Field that he could move slowly around the arena that damaged and debuffed PCs inside it, and Pretender-God-Piercing Strike, a telegraphed line attack that oneshot anything that stayed in its area too long (more on this one later).

KEEP THEM WORKING Everyone needs a job to do! This job is probably just going to be based on what their class and abilities encourage them to do, but it sucks for someone to not be able to meaningfully participate in a boss fight.

Let the DPS players kick the boss's teeth in, obviously, but make sure the person who focused on AoE effects has some extra enemies that they can deal with. Bonus points if the extra enemies have something that forces them to be dealt with instead of just rushing the boss' HP bar.

Worst case scenario, throw in a secondary objective like completing a ritual, controlling a point on the map, or fighting the boss' soul on a higher plane to give someone who isn't immediately needed for DPS to still have something to do.

Ozyas spawned a bunch of extra monsters from these gross Birthing Pillars around the map, and killing the monsters and destroying the pillars provided a nice secondary course of action for people either not equipped to slug it out with the boss or not currently positioned right to fight him.

KEEP THINGS CHANGING The tarrasque sucks because it does one thing over and over until it works or it dies. The Theros splatbook improved on this marginally: Mythic Traits are fucking baller! Combats should change over the course of the fight, or this could have been a fucking autobattler. But we can go further.

In addition to occasionally shaking things up based on health thresholds, here's a few ways I like to do it:

Rotating list of effects that change every round

Huge list of options the boss can choose from for one of their effects with no repeats

Some sort of meter that increases and decreases based on what's happening in the fight and modifies the boss' abilities

Ozyas summoned new monsters every round and could customize the statblocks with a bunch of quick templates I whipped together, and in his second phase he started alternating between scaling the to hit/damage of his tentacle attack, the reach of his spear attack, and applying extra buffs to his summons.

REWARD GOOD PLAY These next two kind of tie together but the core idea here is that it's okay if a boss is a bit easy, as long as it makes your players work for it.

This can include things like ways to trivialize certain parts of the encounter as long as the players utilize them, typically at the cost of advancing other parts of the fight.

I knew that Ozyas was going to be a long fight, so I gave my players the ability to heal to full health, as an action, whenever they wanted. They were fighting inside Ozyas' body, and he was a generous host. However, any time they healed, he would be healed for the same amount. They got around this restriction by hitting him with Chill Touch to disable his own healing whenever people needed to heal, but that obviously had the cost of losing two actions' worth of damage output.

Towards the end of the fight, everyone was still standing thanks to that healing, but as he began to infinitely scale his stats once he reached his second phase and started taking them seriously, they couldn't afford to waste turns healing anymore and the safety net they built up by healing earlier in the fight kept anyone in the party from dying.

PUNISH MISTAKES The range on D&D characters' HP pools and general survivability can be pretty broad. I like to give my bosses a reasonably-heavy hitting melee and some sort of light ranged attack to remind the backliners that they too can die. But there's a third kind of attack.

The great equalizer.

The One Hit Knock Out move.

These need to be telegraphed. There needs to be copious time to get out of the area, or to stop the boss from using it, or whatever the case may be. But any superboss should have a way to threaten any player on equal standing: a move that will always hit if its conditions are met, and puts them clean to 0.

Ozyas' OHKO was Pretender-God-Piercing Strike, where at the end of each turn he would wind up a spear thrust with enough range to hit across the entire map, targeting a 15-foot line through the nearest player. Neither he nor the line could move after that, and if you were still in that line at the start of his next turn, you were done.

It wasn't hard to avoid: just walk like 10 feet and don't get pushed back in by another enemy. They even lined it up to target some of his own allies sometimes. But it forced them to think about positioning and stay moving, and there were a few times where it aaaaalmost caught someone in the line. The prospect of Instant Death really does wonders to ratchet up the tension.

And now, finally, we come to the most important part:

MAKE IT A GAME D&D 5e likes to jerk off while fantasizing about being real. "Catherine what the fuck are you talking about?" What I mean to say is that D&D makes a fumbling attempt towards a more simulationist style of game, trying to distance itself from the fact that it is, in fact, a game. It tries to comport itself like reality, such that every part of its combat makes sense in-universe, and then immediately falls short because it can't be assed to indulge in actual simulationism.

It is my belief that if you're going to spend 4 hours fighting a boss, and one of the boss mechanics doesn't really make much sense as an in-universe concept but does make the boss more interesting and fun to fight, then that's a perfectly fine mechanic. Obviously finding some way to justify it is preferable, but my bosses prioritize good gameplay over verisimilitude.

The upcoming boss in my campaign has a feature which puts the fight on a ten-round time limit before he begins kicking substantially more ass than he was before (and the prior ass-kickery was indeed already substantial). If this is a desperate fight with his life and his dreams on the line, why doesn't he open with that? If this were a WOTC statblock, barring a mythic trait, that's exactly how it would work. But fuck that, because it would make the fight way less interesting! Now there's time pressure! And sure, the post-round-ten version of the boss is meant to be fled from, not fought, but if he's at a low enough HP it could instead make for an insane climactic finish!

I let my players see the whole statblock before the fight. We talk through all of its abilities, and I'll even point out some of the potential points of complexity and the big risks to watch out for. There's no in-universe justification for why the characters would know this (beyond, perhaps "you're exceptional adventurers and are good at evaluating your foes"): in fact, one of the quintessential examples of classical 5e metagaming is the Guy Who's Read the Monster Manual. I think that's fucking stupid, though. With open statblocks:

Features can be game-warpingly deadly without instantly incurring a TPK born of ignorance. OHKO moves don't feel fair unless the counterplay is known

The players can strategize around the ways in which the boss is going to change throughout the fight

It's fundamentally fair. Some GMs just wait X turns and then let the boss go down when it takes a big, impressive hit (and I fully respect people who do that! That's still more compelling boss design than 5e's normal schlock), but I personally like when numbers have meanings.

You can still hide some information (I like to black out the boss' Mythic Trait, and then only use it if the players stomp the fight too easily), and you can still tweak it to adjust the difficulty, with the difference being that your players know it's being adjusted and how so (which again comes back to my feelings of fairness).

A few other fun mechanics to toss in include stacking debuffs that trigger something horrible at some certain threshold, additional win conditions or lose conditions, and silly little minigames. One trick I particularly enjoy is having my players secretly vote between two or more bad outcomes, and punishing them even more if the vote is tied.

CONCLUSION Your mileage may vary, but I'm hoping at least some of the insights here were useful to you! I have a particular strain of undiagnosed mental illnesses that make me especially predisposed towards piloting huge convoluted intricate bosses with 1k+ word statblocks, and I'm lucky enough to have players who know their shit well enough to play around this bullshit. Find something that works for you and your players.

If you hate 5e combat and think this sounds like way too much work to be worth doing, go play something else, like Pathfinder or Lancer or (heaven forbid) a game that actually struggles to trace its lineage of inspiration back to D&D. Go to itch.io and find some game no one's ever played before, and toss the creator a bit of money. The only way we're making it out of these goddamn Mines of Phandelver is if people try something new from time to time.

On the subject of cool games with cool combat, bear with me as I shill for a friend real quick. If you want a game that cares less about combat as an abstract dick measuring contest and more about combat as a facet of violence and all that that entails, check out [BXLLET> by @rathayibacter.

And, finally, from the bottom of my heart, fuck WOTC. Your books aren't even worth pirating, and the Tarrasque can blow me.

[sheepispink]

A LIGHT THAT NEVER GOES OUT

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Masterlist AO3

pairings: Simon Ghost Riley/ Reader (platonic or romantic, up to you)

tags: probably loads of military inaccuracies, anxiety attacks (possibly?), heavy angst, angst and comfort, paranoia, bad mental health, cuddling and literal sleeping together (up to you romantic or platonic)

A/N: I’d appreciate if no one complained abt the accuract/realistic of the story (ofc if its the characterisation of ghost that’s perfectly ok!) i’m open for criticisation for how i write etc etc but this is a sensitive topic and.. based off personal experiences 😅😅 so it’s very realistic to me even if its not to you!

This technically takes place after this fic but it’s not a big deal in which the order you read it

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You’re an introvert, even if you do get excited really quickly, loud around people you’ve known for a while and love meeting new people. Yet still, you call yourself an introvert, even if that technically still makes you an extroverted introvert. You don't like the sound of an extrovert— someone who thrives off of others' attention and loves to be the center of it, who brightens their days with their friends and always wants to make plans with anyone and everyone. You like the attention sometimes; when Price mentions your name in a conversation, praising your skills, your heart thumps a little louder. Being at the limelight of the party isn't always the worst thing either, especially when everyone laughs at your jokes so hard they double over, grinning so wide you can't help it either. You love your friends, your teammates, even the random soldiers you’ve only exchanged small greetings with. The love for others is held tight in your heart’s vessels, bursting each and every time they make you smile or you just see their presence. You feel so warm and alive when you give them a grin in the mornings, even more so when they seek out your presence throughout the day.

Though, that only applies sometimes— never always.

A familiar soldier could ask you out to lunch and yet your chest begins to twist uncomfortably, like someone is wringing your intestines with their hands. Something screams at you when they say those words, like an invisible line had just been crossed that had been clear in everyone's heads. You had only ever spoken to those soldiers in the gym or around base, there was nowhere else even remotely personal you’d think to take them to. One on one conversations were not common either, since it wasnt that often. It’s not that you don't like them, it’s just.. not right. You’d shake your head apologetically as you force an excuse between your teeth. The regret you then express is a lie, along with the love you felt before— only reduced to a being who could never hold any of those things.

The truth is, you have a sick little parasite in you, it claws at that heart muscle, tearing away the flesh and devouring any love you feel for the people you care about and replacing it with an empty feeling which is always followed by an unreasonable hatred. Your mind grows dark, headaches permanent, as you live through the day as a skeleton of yourself— no longer able to hold any love within you as it slips past your bones in seconds. You don't like the boundaries you’ve mentally set for each person to be crossed, even if it’s a perfectly normal task. In fact, some may even say you’re scared of change. You don’t like to put a label on these things, hell you don't even like to think too hard on these things. It begins to make sense when you sit and reflect, piecing all the reasons for your behaviour together until you hit the final point. Soon you’re done, finally aware of the most significant reasoning behind your antics. The only issue is, being self aware doesn't mean you get any better; no matter how many nights you sit and stare at that mirror, nothing changes.

The only thing you gained was the ability to squash down the parasite from prying eyes. Excuses fall from your lips quickly, no matter how bad you feel when they give you that look of disappointment. It’s not your fault— you know you won't be able to handle an outing like that, you’d get too worked up. Why? You don't need to dwell on it, not right now. This continues for multiple people, multiple soldiers for two weeks, until you're ‘normal’ and you hang around others again. People begin to subconsciously catch on and so your little routine continues to carry on moving so well, staying right on track.

“Sarge? You aint comin’ to team night? Why?”

Ghost stands at the door of your quarters, dressed in his typical training attire whilst you’re sitting in something cozy, made for home wear. You have to fight the urge to cover yourself up. “Oh right.. i, uh..yknow, lot of paperwork to do. Thought i’d stay in.”

You say with a small smile, attempting to ease any concerns he had before but little did you know, he was already growing aware of your little issue, or at least the fact there was one within you. “Paperwork? On a Friday? You should be relaxin’.” You grit your teeth a little, the burning urge inside of your chest returning just like the sick pit in your stomach. It felt so awful fearing just a simple team night out, but it was just so late and you were so tired— you didnt have the energy to be rational the whole time, to think of your next move constantly.

“It’s not a big deal. I’ll come to the next one.” You shrug, turning back to your small desk as you pull another small stack of papers in front of you. His boots thump loudly against the floorboards, sounding like the heavy thump of your heart in your ears. It stops, suddenly, behind your back and your body stiffens as he leans down, looking at the paperwork you’re going through. It’s a lie— naturally, you finished it all. He doesn't even have to stare at you first nor visibly raise a brow; you’re already waiting for him to call out your bluff just as quickly.

“You can just say you want some time alone, yknow.” That catches you off guard, half expecting him to just tell you to stop whining and grab some drinks. His words were still difficult though, how could you easily just say that? Of course, the words itself aren't the hard part, nor speaking it—it’s the implications behind said words. An excuse means you have other things to occupy you, so no one dares to disturb you much after that, however explaining you want some alone time gives way to more questions. Specifically the first being: why? Then they begin to wonder if you’ve been doing okay recently or if you’re struggling with something. You dont like the idea of that at all— people thinking about you in that way. It feels weird, almost like it’s wrong. Sometimes you wished people would just not care, and leave you alone to wallow with yourself.

“Sarge?” You snap out of it, sheepishly scratching the back of your head as he still stands behind you and you turn in your chair, putting the best meek face you can on for the night. “What? No, that’s not why I declined. I’m not really feeling any alcohol today and a new episode of a series I previously binged on the weekend just came out. Sorry.. didn't want to make it seem i was ditching anyone for a show.” Perfect, an awkward grin had tied it all off into a well constructed excuse. Even if it was partially true and this really wasn't fake, it sure felt like everything you did was an act. After all, you really didn't want them to think you were ditching anyone, and you didn't feel like having any alcohol tonight. “A new series” He says gruffly, and you nod with a tight smile, teeth gritting so hard you’re sure they’ll break in a few seconds. “I’ll join you then.”

You blink once, twice, three times in pure utter confusion. Ghost—The Ghost, whose name is rumoured across the battlefield and known for never giving into idle small talk—wants to watch the series you lied about, with you.

You’ve never felt more guilty in your entire life, practically fumbling for a solution. You could just tell the truth, say no and admit you needed to be alone. But this is the first time he’s ever expressed wanting to hang around you, actually together and alone— and miss out on a team night?! He may just want an excuse out of it, but still, you can't just say no now. “Well yeah, i just..” You hate how there’s no easy way out of this in the slightest, torn between saving your own mental health or finally getting close to the teammate who you’ve been on eggshells around for nearly a year now. “My room’s not exactly clean--“

He cuts you off with a gruff, shake of his head, a scoff resounding in his next words, promptly embarrassing you too. “There ya go— knew you wanted to be alone.”

You fumble, not understanding how he managed to pry it out of you so fast, just a simple lie blowing your cover. “I said it wasn't like-“

“See you tomorrow.” He’s gone just as fast as he silenced you, heavy footsteps disappearing out of your door and down the corridors. What you couldn't wrap your head around is how fast he had figured it out and made you confess to your lies that fast— it was a real problem, something you couldn't just let slide. If he knew, did others too?

Unfortunately for you, the very much needed alone time didn’t help as well as it usually did considering this new information has threatened everything that made up the core of your very being—specifically everything keeping you glued together. You just couldn't sit there and possibly relax like you usually did when alone (more specifically think over everything you’ve done wrong until you quite literally fell asleep mid thought)— not when Ghost could clearly read everything you had ever thought about in your life.

That being said, you’ve been a nervous wreck all week, concentrating so hard on looking sane that you’ve barely paid a second of attention to things you should’ve listened to. It’s not like you slipped up regularly, but before that day you were already feeling pretty uneasy and now with still no relief and the added stress, you feel like you really might lose it any second now. Every time you see him, every word exchanged with your teammates—with another person—it eats at you, tugging further on the ropes you’re hanging onto. They’re already been pulled thin, especially since you’ve been put in charge of a group of rookies for the past few weeks now. Of course, you had pulled the short straw when assignments went round because not only did your group love to talk back, but they loved to test every limit by asking the most stupid of questions possible. It’s the second time now you’ve had to lecture one of the rookies about why you can’t just ‘throw a grenade at the enemies’. It’s only temporary, just basic training exercises and medical procedures they need to know until the Officer, who usually oversees them, returns from their sick leave.

You let out a long breath as you enter the small break room, also known as taskforce 141’s meeting room but they’ve let you lounge in here too many times to count. It’s quiet in here, Soap and Gaz both on missions and you assume Ghost must be too. It’s the first time you’ve been able to relax all week, knowing damn well Price is down in London with Gaz. Your shoulders sag, the miserable look returning to cover your features now that you don't need to pull that tight smile anymore. Your chest physically aches from how anxious you’ve been all day, the weight of the day’s mistakes and fears of the future swelling deep in your gut. You know it’s a Friday, know you should just take a long sleep but you can’t help but think about all you have to do for the days to follow. You’re busy the whole day tomorrow, a team outing you can’t deny no matter how much you really do not want to go. Just thinking of all the final work you’ll have to cram in on Sunday makes a splitting pain run along the bumps in your brain. Even your breaths begin to feel shorter, an uncomfortable feeling that you just still cant rid of no matter how long you take deep breaths. Your eyes are weighed down with exhaustion and yet your brain refuses to let you sleep yet. No, you cannot. If you sleep the night away then you’ll only have Sunday left for yourself, and that won't work out, will it?

You pick up the mug you had just stirred, hoping the drink would soothe at least something if not your dehydrated body. Taking a small sip, the hot liquid spills down your throat, leaving a warm feeling in your ribs. “Alone by choice or force?” A gruff voice rings out behind you, along with an arm reaching around to supposedly grab a teabag as well, is enough to make you flinch. Stumbling on your own feet, your mug jolts and the steaming water splashes against your shoulder. If you were worried about someone catching you so vulnerable before, you were certainly terrified now, especially since your skin was burning from a small startle.

“Fuck— sorry—“

Ghost’s gloved hand settle on one side of your waist while the other quickly takes the mug from your hands and places it upon the counter. You cant respond, barely processing the situation and everything just feels like too much and your skin feels so hot, you know he’s seeing you fall apart and still there’s nothing you can do—

Your thoughts snap to a blank when he presses the cold rag against your burning skin. Thankfully the layers of the training uniform stops any severe marks from forming. His other hand rubs your cheek, his mask so close it could brush your face, and you can actually see every speck of brown in his irises. You can't look at him for long though, moving your gaze away quickly, not when you know what you’ve done. For the past week or two you’ve hated him, painting the most horrible picture in your mind. It wasnt even on purpose, you’ve just started seeing everything wrong about him. He doesnt give the rookies much mercy, nor does he particularly entertain any of Soap’s antics even when the situation is pretty lax. He’s boring, he seems to care about nothing but himself somedays, he refuses to let you do something stupid and he never takes that damn mask off even when you’re all supposed to trust one another. You’ve lied to him, yes, forgetting about your hatred when he made you laugh with those gruff remarks. But he’s not the only one— no, you’ve began to hate everyone in this task force, picking at them and every little thing. It’s weird, you don't want to victimize yourself, because you know you’ve done just as much wrong too. But still, somedays you really can't look past the list of things you dislike about your own friends.

“Are you alright? I havent seen you all week.”

Of course he hasn't, you’ve been avoiding them all. It’s nearly impossible to think straight these days and you knew you wouldn’t be able to fake it so naturally, you just stayed away. The more you did it, the better it began to feel. Avoiding them was the solution— you were just the thorn in their side with your tricky mood swings and anxiety always painting them to be the villain. You couldnt just allow this to happen, to destroy them with your issues even if they had no idea about it.

But now, face to face with him, all you feel is unexplainable guilt for everything you’ve done to them— how could you even hate them for a second? His hand is still rubbing at your skin, nudging your face gently upwards just so you’d at least look at him for a second. “Really? The silent treatment now?.” He sighs and you hate yourself, how did you let this spiral to this point— to where he’s apologising to you and yet you wish you could just disappear. Isnt this what you wanted? For everyone to be kind to you? So why are you running— why do you refuse care?

Your lips press together as your teeth bite down on the soft flesh, torn from how much you’ve picked at the skin the whole week. It aches with anxiety, and your teeth hurt from how often you’ve clenched them so hard they scraped against eachother. The only thing you can do is stand there as Ghost fusses over you, trying to get you to move a damn muscle instead of falling apart silently like some kind of broken watch, unable to move forward or backwards. Just still.

“Sarge— snap out of it, look, I'm sorry. Okay?”

His hands are still on you, and you’ve begged for a day where someone would care this much about you and still, you step back, almost afraid. “I’m sorry, Ghost.” You croak out, your hands reaching up to your eyes as you wipe at your skin obsessively, trying to hide and stop anything from leaking. “Why’re you apologising?” He says gruffly, confused by all of this, this sudden onslaught of emotion.

He’s not stupid, he had a feeling you weren't quite yourself this week. Stupidly, he figured you’d just deal with it on your own. That's what everyone did, right? He knows he just takes a breather when he feels a little rough— even Price had his own battles. Comfort isn't a strong point for Ghost, not even when he was Simon Riley, never has and he never thinks it will be. He’s born and bred on violence and the coldness that comes after it, the lack of warmth even as hot blood trickles and emptiness consumes the space where his fellow soldiers should be. So watching you crumble right before him, apologising profusely while your body wracks with shaken breaths, makes something stop in him too. He doesn't know how he’ll do it, but he knows damn well no one fights alone anymore.

“Look at me.”

He says firmly, both his hands landing firmly on your shoulders, one hand even tempted to just force your chin up but you shake your head profusely. “Why not?” He stays patient for you, even if he knows he may have to force you soon— its the least he can do for you. “I cant look at you. Not after everything i did.” He pauses, hands now settling on your jaw in confusion, he knows this is moving towards an interrogation but he has to know. “What are you talking about?! What did you do?”

“I hated all of you! I avoided you all and destroyed our relationship, i fucked it all up.”

With that he cant stand to see this continue, a gloved hand firmly planted over your mouth as the other wraps around your back. He leads you to the couch even as you squirm, not caring in the slightest. He knows he has strength and not comfort, so he’ll use it to shut you up whilst the truth comforts you instead.

“Look at me.” He says sternly and you do, eyes snapping up with wide fear as you look at him. “That’s not true— okay? None of us consider our relationship with you ruined, not one of us has even mentioned you in a bad light at all.” He makes sure your whole body is pressed against the back of the couch, considering that you didnt particularly look as if you could hold yourself up right now.

“Soap has only talked to me about you once recently— he told me you helped him organize the training schedules for the rookies. Told me to thank you for it because he felt he did not express his gratitude enough. Do you understand now? No one’s mad at you– not one of us have even considered anything to have gone wrong.”

His hand grabs your own, settling it on the center of his chest so you can feel the pattern of his breathing, silently praying you’d try and match it. You can only blink at him though, slowly processing his words with each passing second until his hand leaves your mouth and your lips part, breath hitched before you swallow a sharp breath. “I’ve avoided all of you– i’ve been hating all of you.” You choke out, chest clenching with regret and the weight of unreasonable guilt and his other hand moves to hold your face again, his brown eyes piercing into yours with his silence.

“What is like to hate someone?”

“What?”?

“What is it like to hate someone?” He repeats, his thumb pressing gently into the curve of your cheek.

“I-...” You falter, thinking for a moment before your lips part again. “I dont like things that they do— the way they act and everything about them.”

“You’d avoid them too, right? Like that general you hated. Remember when he touched you and you pushed his hand away?

You nod along in agreement, breathing a bit slower to hopefully ease the pressure on your chest at the moment.

“Y-yeah.. i’d express my dislike clearly..”

“So why did you never push me away the past few weeks? You said you avoided us, but you would always speak to us if we needed to. You still helped Soap too.”

You pause, blinking at him in confusion now, you had convinced yourself that you hated them so why did you never.. actually express it?

“You’re also letting me touch you now and last week you didn't want to hang out with us, but you didnt want to hurt our feelings by saying that.”

You’re left silent, baffled and confused because in your head, you were being horrible to them, hating their guts like it was nothing.

“I think… whatever is going on in that head of yours.” He says slowly, tapping at your forehead gently as you look up at him with widened eyes. “You’ve held it in for too long. You’ve dwelled on those thoughts, so self aware of your own anxieties that you’ve distorted reality. You think you’ve done something bad, because you can't understand why you always feel so bad.” His voice is softer than usual, even if his words are still gruff and holds his thick Manchester accent.

Somehow that alone reminds you that Simon has never lied, not even once, to you. That stern voice of his is straightforward, doesnt mess around and forces his way through any problem. Just like he had just pushed himself to the root of your mind and destroyed your seeds of doubt.

“You’re allowed to talk to us you know. I have a funny feeling you’re scared o’ somethin’. Not sure what just yet.”

He doesnt force you to respond, just speaking his thoughts even if that’s what you usually do when you’re together. The couch creaks as he stand up, pulling you to get up aswell beside him. He places a hand on the crook of your back, gently encouraging you to begin walking towards the door. “Cmon, back to my room. Lets get you cleaned up properly.”

Before you know it, you’re sitting against the headboard of his bed, something you had only felt months ago when you first came here, scared and confused over a stupid hornet. You trusted him to help you then, but you dont understand why you suddenly felt that fear again. Meanwhile, your shirt is half off, Ghost sat on the bed beside you as he inspects the burns on your chest from the tea. It’s harsh, the skin reddened but not enough to be something serious thankfully. He presses a cool towel against it, soothing the stinging skin but he knows it’ll fade out soon enough. You’re wearing his old shirt, and he gave you some comfortable sweatpants too for good measure. You just watch all his moves so quietly, feeling like a ghost yourself in this moment from how detached you are. It’s weird, feeling so much yet nothing at the same time.

“Nothing too bad, should be alright by the morning.” He hums, lifting the fresh mug of tea he brewed for you and brings it to your lips for you to sip before he steals some for himself. “Is your chest still tight?” You blink, not expecting him to ask that of all things because you hadnt exactly mentioned that part and yes, it was. “How did you know..?” Your hand reaches out, silently asking for more of the tea he graciously lets you sip, unable to fathom how he brews it so perfectly each time. “You were clutching at your chest before and your breaths are a little shorter than they should be.” He’s seen straight through you again so you slump your shoulders and just nod quietly. “Yeah, it’s really tight. It’s always like this and i dont know how to make it stop.”

His gloved hand reaches out, gently rubbing at your chest thus making you sink a little back into the pillows. Before he can respond, you speak up with a quiet confession. “That day, when you came ‘round, I was upset. You said you wanted to watch the series with me and I felt so bad. I didn't want to give up my only chance of spending time with you, but I knew my head couldn't take it.”

He nods along quietly, letting you reveal it all to him. “T-then you figured me all out and i got scared— i didnt want someone to know everything about me because i didnt want to be a problem. I want someone to listen but i dont want to be seen as something different. I just.. i dont know how to handle all of this. I dont feel like the person i am when i look in the mirror.”

The strangest thing of all is that it didnt actually take you long to figure it out. You knew all along, of course, but when you’re fighting against yourself, you’re supporting both sides and so a part of you decided not to dwell on a certain bit of information too much. The reason for that to be pushed aside is no part of you wanted to face it.

Your heart always secretly wished someone would find out— that someone would push past the walls you’ve banged so hard against even if they were crafted by the webs of your brain. You prayed and prayed that they’d read through it all, express their concern and one day, one day you’d be saved from this hellish feeling. It was a common daydream for you and yet you were terrified of it. If someone knew, there was no guarantee they’d follow the fantasy. They could ridicule you, or they couldnt be able to comfort you at all, maybe they’d try and it wouldnt even do anything or maybe, just maybe— they wouldnt give a damn about it. What happened then? If that daydream was real, and that was the final outcome, there was no turning back in time. It seemed like only one person would ever figure you out, after all, no one had up until this point.

But then Simon became aware, and you got terrified. You hid away because you were too scared to know his reaction to your problems, even more so his reaction to you. You wanted someone to help, you really did, and yet your brain feared to know the uncertain future of it.

His ungloved hands card through your hair, the callouses gentle against your scalp as he slowly scratches at it. “You need to speak with us, and the others. Your feelings are real— hell, we all have our doubts. I used to feel it before every mission. Soap began to tell me his, then Gaz joined too. Price always looks for a way to solve it, and i give my two pence when i feel i want to. Just cause you feel different, doesnt mean you are. Plenty o’ people felt the same way you did before.”

“Really..? I’m not like.. crazy?”

“No, never. Even if you do some stupid shit sometimes.”

That makes you finally crack a real smile, even if its small and you’re unable to stifle the small chuckle that bubbles in your throat and although he’s the epitome of stoicism, he smiles beneath the mask. “Everyone’s out on a mission, ya can't leave me alone tonight. C’mere.”

You settle yourself in the crook of arm as he lays back against the bed with you, propping up his laptop on his lap as he searches for a good movie.

“You better report back to me everyday this week, alright? I want you here at nine pm sharp, dressed in your pajamas. That’s an order.”

Thinking over all your previous daydreams of how this would eventually go, this was far from how you expected it to be. Firstly, you never expected Ghost, nor it to happen in the military at all. Perhaps you thought maybe later in life it’d occur or maybe Soap or Price would figure it out. Either way, you arent actually upset over it. No one would be your fairy tale saviour in life, coming forward to fight the demons that plagued your head all the time. Even so, the way Ghost had shut you up and calmed you down makes you think he’s pretty damn close to being one, even if knights usually dont scoff at their princess.

He doesnt even look like he’d be willing to give a little kid a hug, but still, you couldnt be happier with how this turned out in the end. Compared to fairytale princes and men in the movies, you knew Ghost and you knew he was serious— so if he wanted to help you, he would. And no, he wouldnt ridicule you throughout the process, nor ever feel like you’ve been misheard. You know that if you spoke to Ghost, he’d listen earnesty and never forget, carrying that around with him even if those anxieties eventually died out.

You knew he’d always linger around, never forgetting you or leaving you behind. Just like a Ghost.

“Okay, i promise i will.”

You say softly, pressing your cheek against the curve of his chest, the faint thump of his heartbeat drowning out any lost thoughts. He was your support, and no matter how bad it got for you, no matter how many times you get overwhelmed and lash out, not even when you avoid everyone— he’d never break away. No, he would always be beside you.

[kcdarchives]

so i've been doing some thinking on the opening section of kcd2 and hans. sorry huuuuuge analysis text post incoming

thinking soooooo much about hans dragging a delirious and distraught henry through the woods at night and trying his best to reassure him. like, henry is probably not carrying a ton of his own weight while he's walking here, probably made even worse with him looking around and reacting wildly to the various hallucinations he's seeing around. and despite this, hans with all his strength manages to drag henry to bozhena's hut, and then overcomes some incredible odds to beat a man wielding a sword with just his fists. not only would this be really hard in actual real life, if you have played the game, you know beating a guy with a sword with only your fists and no armor is also like. an incredible feat. it's insane. (i do remember hans saying something about the guy taking a bad fall and hitting his head or something like that, which helped, but STILL) hans did something which, as a player, I think is almost impossible and he did it to save henry. but he still ends up really injured, which is to be expected in that kind of scenario because that's what would happen to literally anyone including henry. but hans is bedridden with fever, and he eventually wakes up just to find that once again, henry has saved the day by getting the stuff for his medicine and fending off some more of those outlaws that attacked their camp. hans expended so much energy and effort trying to save henry and he DID, but for him, it seems like at the end of the day, henry ended up having to clean up after the mess he made. i think this is a feeling hans really starts incubating at this moment.

when he is rejected at the gates of trosky and all his noble manners and bearing get him nothing but a bucket of shit splashed onto his head, this is when he really starts to mentally freak out. they came here for ONE thing and they can't do it. there's no solution in sight.

when they go down to the tavern, my little headcanon is that part of the reason hans refused to help carry sacks is because he was still sore from hauling henry's heavy ass through the forest and also from being cut up by a sword but he has too much pride to admit this to henry, especially since henry seems to have no issue with it even after receiving a recent arrow to his shoulder/back. henry's working to bail them out of another mess with the tavern tab and hans can't even contribute. i think leaning on his status as noble is a good excuse, and also a great way of convincing himself, especially after the rejection at the gates of trosky. hans probably feels like he doesn't really have much going for him, besides his status as a noble. he doesn't even have control over his own inheritance right now, it's in the care of his guardian, hanush. when he's lecturing henry on the divine order, he's also trying to remind himself of his own status and worth. for us as henry and the player, it's frustrating. "why can't this guy just carry some sacks like the rest of us?" but for hans, he NEEDS to cling to this distinction in this moment. if he's not a noble, if he's just like everyone else, then does he really have anything? if he's too sore to actually help carry the sacks, then he really IS useless. he insists on henry treating him like a noble, because he knows literally NO ONE else around him will. and his title as a noble is worthless if no one actually treats him like a noble. and henry, eventually, relents because he's henry and perhaps can sense something in hans during this discussion.

later on, we can see that it's a few things pushing hans over the edge when he gets into the fight with that guy. the argument really starts with the guy saying "its those guys' own fault that they got killed for camping out in the open by the pond" because I just KNOW that was like a stab in the heart for hans. these were guys he knew for years and trusted to lead them, and the idea that it was his decision that got them all killed must eat him up inside. it's a kneejerk reaction to argue back, only for the guy to follow up with doubting his identity. having his status doubted not only hurts his pride, but its especially because it's that lack of belief in his identity that caused them to be turned away at the gates of trosky. when the guy tauntingly parrots his title back at him, it's just another reminder of the mockery at trosky castle, of his noble status being worthless in this moment when no on believes him. that's when he throws the first punch. and once again, henry ends up getting dragged into it when the brawl breaks out.

when the two of them land in the stocks, hans' frustration is through the roof. when he and henry fight, hans is upset that henry joined in the fight not because he felt like henry overreacted or that its really henry's fault somehow, but because it feels like henry was bailing him out of yet another mess. hans is wrestling with the idea that it's his own fault that they're in this situation. not just the fight at the tavern, but also the attack by the outlaws, and maybe even the rejection of the gates at trosky. was he lacking in some way? if he had conducted himself differently, said something else, would the guards have believed him? hans pushes henry away not because he truly feels like its henry's fault, but because he feels like he needs time away from him. hans needs to prove to himself that he's capable, that he doesn't need henry to achieve something and that he's not a failure. he's literally been sent on this task by hanush, and whether it's a test by his uncle or a sign of trust, he doesn't want to fail. and from a player standpoint and henry's as well, when you don't really understand what's going through hans' mind as he spits unwarranted vitriol in a moment of frustration, it truly does feel like "hey, at least some of this IS his fault? he's yelling at me for helping out in a fight HE started?" when even the player/henry feels this way, there's no doubt that hans is the person struggling the most with guilt and anger directed at himself.

when he leaves, you accept it. if he's going to be so stubborn and emotional for reasons that henry can't understand BECAUSE he doesn't bear the same expectations and pressure of status that hans is under, then fine. there's a little bit of a feeling of relief in that moment when henry separates from hans. hans was putting himself under a LOT of pressure, and in turn, a lot of that pressure was spilling over to henry as well. of course henry is still going to do the task they set out to do, but there's a palpable feeling of FREEDOM when you separate from hans here, because you're no longer chained under the expectations and restrictions of a noble's status that hans is constantly tied down by, even if some of it is self-imposed by his own need to prove himself as a worthy noble.

if henry runs into hans at his camp before the semine wedding, you can see hans in his element. he's much happier and more confident, feeling like he's found some measure of success here. he's hunting, something he's GOOD at, something special he's allowed to do because of his noble status (even if no one in this region recognizes it). i love that when he speaks, it's obvious that he had no intention of truly leaving henry behind. if hans succeeded in getting into the wedding and delivering his message, he would have found henry again, and proudly announced his accomplishments to him.

i think the things that make henry and hans' relationship so compelling is the complexity that arises from this constant wrestling with status and expectation. the main driver of the plot in kcd2 is hans, and his desire to prove himself. to his uncle, to henry, and maybe most of all, to himself. he's constantly pushing himself, and he's met with hardship at every turn, but he has both an impressive amount of perseverance (and perhaps also an incredible stubborn streak). henry, loyal and true, helps him throughout all of this. yes, henry is constantly getting hans out of messes, and hans has realized this early on. he struggles with it so much, not just because it makes him feel helpless or useless, but because he's stuck in a constant cycle of trying to prove himself, only to face some sort of setback where henry once again comes to his rescue. when hans is told that he's getting married, he doesn't raise as much of a fuss as we know he's capable of, because it's something he knows he needs to accept if he truly wants to meet the expectation of both his uncle and the other nobles around him. as a noble, an identity we know he places a lot of value it, this is the kind of thing they do. but it's still something he doesn't feel good about. whatever feelings he may have for henry aside, the small amount of freedom he previously had is getting restricted even further by this social contract of marriage. so much of hans character struggle is wanting to prove himself as a worthy noble, yet desiring the sort of freedom that he sees henry enjoying and wishing he could have both.

meanwhile, henry is hugely important in his life not just because he helps him out all the time, but because Henry doesn't have the same kinds of expectations and ideas about him that everyone else does. Henry, growing up as a peasant in a village and mostly having little contact with nobles up until the events of kcd1, really only knows the broad general knowledge about nobles that most other people do. with hans, someone he's grown to spend a lot of time with and seen many of his best and worst moments, he treats hans simply as the person as he is, first and foremost. he respects hans as a noble because he knows hans cares a lot about it but he doesn't let that create a sense of distance between them. henry's always very good about referring to him has sir hans and lord capon when talking to other people, but he most often just addresses him as "hans" when speaking to him. hans has never had someone like this around his own age, surrounded by servants and fellow nobles who were very cognizant of his noble status. henry, not a noble himself, doesn't place these heavy or strict expectations on hans, and he develops a caring and genuine relationship with him with little regard for their difference in status. i think a huge part of their relationship development lies in hans growing to accept henry's help as just being something that's a result of their strong relationship, and not an indicator of his own personal failings. henry is an anchor for him and often (if the player chooses to) touts hans' positive traits and capability, reassuring hans of his own worth.

in the romance culmination scene, hans' struggle with not being able to help henry is made more complex by the fact that the reason he can't help is BECAUSE he's a noble. when you recall hans' early refusal to carry sacks with his nobility as an excuse, you can really see the development of their relationship and hans' understanding of his own status as a noble as not only a privilege but a restriction.

when henry and hans talk after the siege of suchdol, it's really interesting to see this sort of...acceptance of everything. hans' status is something the two of them have always been aware of, but they developed a relationship regardless. a wedding is completely in line with what is expected of hans as a noble, so it's not unexpected, nor would it invalidate the bond hans and henry have built up over the course of the two games.

for hans, henry is a person with whom he can be honest, show vulnerability, and find moments of freedom with when he's finding he increasingly has less and less. and for henry, hans is someone who lets him have access to a world that would normally be untouchable for him. yes, he's a noble's bastard son, but it's his association with hans that's let him be in all these places where he normally would never be allowed to go, like trosky castle, noble meetings, wartime discussions. he's treated with so much more authority than he would usually have as a peasant not just because he's capable, but because hans is there to vouch for him (almost) every step of the way. hans has helped to give henry real power to avenge his village and family by taking henry with him, but (and i could be wrong, i only played kcd2) i can't think of a single time when hans has ever held this over henry's head. and while he might jokingly complain about henry talking about it all the time (when they do a tiny bit of catch-up exposition during the opening pond camp conversation), hans has only shown unconditional support for henry during the moments when it seriously comes up. hans takes henry's loss seriously, even if it's not something he can personally relate to with his relatively cushy noble upbringing and not having lost anyone in his life who he was close to in the way henry was with his parents.

anyways this sort of turned into an essay when i did not intend it to be, but anyways i hope this conveys why i find hans to be such an interesting and compelling character and why i find his relationship with henry to be so interesting.

[laylasopinion]

Chapter 1 Part 1

MINORS DNI !!!!

//Tags: Softmaledom!Omniman x reader

(Tags will change in part 2 if there is smut)

Sorry for bad english, I know this sucks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It all started when you were walking down the street and a car came flying towards you.

Chicago was under attack by supervillains (again) and sooner or later everyone would end up dead or so you thought.

Well this was the end, you estimated that there were 0.5 second before that car hit you and crushed you to death so you did what any person would do in this situation, pray. 0.5 seconds passed and you didn’t die, were you prayers answered by a god?

I mean you could consider him a god….

You slowly opened your eyes to see the new superhero in town who was holding the heavy car with his pinky.

It was love at first sight.

You and him got very close over time and started to date. He brought you trees instead of flowers because he thought that it symbolized something much stronger. You went drinking together, walked together on rainy nights. As the time you spent with him increased the tension between you and him skyrocketed too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tonight y/n and Nolan had a date.

“Come on, you gotta tell me who you keep seeing!” Said Allen. He was y/n’s bestfriend.

“You know i cant, i don’t want you to scare him off Allen.”

“Atleast help me a little with choosing what to wear. Here, should I wear the black tight dress or the red one?” Asked y/n.

“Uuuhh wear the black one and also put in that lingerie over there peeking out of your drawer, it might excite him. Not me tho ew you 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 girl!” Said Allen with a sarcastic tone in his voice.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The tension was too strong for y/n. Nolan never tried anything on her, he never made a move or even initiated something sexual. Y/n was hoping to break that tension tonight. She waited patiently for Nolan at the restaurant.

“Hey sweetie, did you order yet?” Nolan asked.

Nolan had a ralph lauren sweater on with light brown pants. He was holding a bouquet of pink tulips.

Y/n gets up and kisses Nolan. Nolan melts into the kiss and things start to get more heated. He pulls away.

“You silly girl, why did you wait for me. You were probably hungry.”

Nolan quickly orders them food.

Y/n needed a way to seduce Nolan, FAST. She lifted up the table cloth and slowly trailed her feet along his leg. Nolan flinched.

“W-what are you doing.?” He shivered. Y/n looks him in the eyes.

“Please Nolan I need you.” Nolan chokes on his water.

He gets up. “Im sorry I need to go to the bathroom.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nolan’s POV:

“Fuck what is she trying to do, she isn’t normally like this.” He thinks.

“If this goes on I won’t be able to control myself, I need to refreshen up in the bathroom.”

He heads to the bathroom.

“Fuckfuckfu- why do I need to have a hard on right now. I just want to have a nice dinner with her. Why won’t it go away ngh, I need a solution for this.”

He unbuckles his pants and lowers his pants down.

*to be continued*

[firestorm09890]

really unfortunate for Lexaeus's character that he ended up being the one assigned to teach Roxas about Limit Breaks because you have to be low health to access it so here's a ranking of how well I think everyone else in the group would do based on their behaviors when on a mission with Roxas in canon

1: Zexion. look. he only wins by default because everyone else would be worse at it. the thing about him is he’s only an asshole when Roxas acts like he doesn’t want to do “necessary” work, otherwise he’s the king of detailed explanations. he's going to explain everything about the mechanics of Limit Breaks and the situations in which they are useful to the point where Roxas is the one getting impatient and then Zexion goes "oh yeah" and casts a spell that instantly eats a ton of Roxas's health

2: Luxord. It’s a very close second, he also explains what's going to happen and is probably the most pleasant about it in the whole group, but he uses gambling metaphors that are too esoteric for Roxas to parse, and I feel like he views the Limit Break less as a tool to get you out of a dangerous low-health situation and more of a trade-off you would willingly take for temporary power, which is an… interesting mindset to teach someone extremely important to your cause. But at this point I’m just making stuff up. I’m not entirely sure how his time powers work but we can say he also instantly cuts Roxas down to critical hp by stealing some time

3: Lexaeus. We saw it canonically but I’ll describe why he’s third: he gives a very brief explanation, preferring to demonstrate through action, and the hit comes very suddenly with no room to think about it, which you could consider a small kindness. I’m not sure Roxas has existed long enough to actively worry about pain yet, though…

4: Marluxia. He probably says something really flowery that gives Roxas a vague sense of what’s going on and then makes Roxas fight with him to lower his health, making strangely ravenous comments about the power of the keyblade while he does it which is just sort of uncomfortable. at least Lexaeus didn’t look at the keyblade like a juicy ham steak

5. Xaldin. Very gruff, no nonsense, but he has a way of speaking that makes Roxas feel weak and small. Forces Roxas to spar in order to get his health down and makes Roxas feel even weaker

6: Xigbar. Zero hesitation he shoots Roxas as soon as they get out on the field, BEFORE explaining what they're doing (which is why he's down so far in the rankings) and then goes "okay kid we're learning about limit breaks today!" I guess Roxas comes away knowing what a Limit Break is at least

7: Vexen. Explains what's going to happen but in such an obnoxious condescending way that I think Roxas would prefer people just attacking him. Vexen also challenges Roxas to go get his health low on his own, saying “surely you have enough consciousness in that brain of yours to figure out what hurts and what doesn’t.” Thank you Vexen

8: Larxene. She throws knives at Roxas while laughing and shouting "come on! fight back!" with the “goal” of getting him to figure out limit breaks himself (she's actually just having fun throwing knives and doesn't care if he figures it out)

N/A: Xemnas and Saïx. They are not teaching the new baby member

Disqualified: Axel and Demyx. they both feel like they'd go "ehh... well... I'm sure you'll figure it out" which I guess is sort of nice because they're not hurting Roxas but also really bad because the point is to learn how to do it in a (relatively) safe place! not in an actual emergency! what if Roxas fucks up and just dies out there because you didn't teach him! Now either Roxas has to figure it out on his own or they’re just going to get one of the others to teach him instead. Axel is slightly better than Demyx because Axel is friendly and Demyx simply does not care enough to teach

[amber-sekio]

Relationship Headcanons

Fandom: BSD -Bungo Stray Dogs

TW: none? I think? 

DAZAI 

I said it in my Soukoku fic, Dazai wouldn’t know affection if it slapped him in the face ten times 

Like he might realize when someone is showing interest in a sexual kind 

And he would probably notice if someone is crushing on him 

But like, if he likes them back? 

No 

Man is blind 

He’s too busy panicking over read denying his own thoughts and feelings over you to analyze your actions 

He’s busy trying to think of anything but how pretty you are when he sees you -thank you very much 

No joke though, this can be applied to pretty much anyone he cares about 

I mean he practically had a heart attack when Atsushi gave him flowers 

Anyways if he finally admits to himself that he likes you then I could see him trying to push you away if I’m being brutally honest 

He doesn’t want to lose you and he believes that anything he wants that he obtains, will be striped from him sooner or later 

But…, in a perfect world he would eventually work up the courage to ask you out 

He would probably avoid directly asking you but this is Dazai so he could defiantly figure out some round-about way to ask 

As for the relationship? 

He would still be his teasing self 

But he would tone it down 

Not because he doesn’t want to annoy you but more so because he actually lets some of his masks down when alone with you 

He defiantly is very clingy to you 

Man has been touch starved for a long time and he fears attachment too much to be touchy with the ADA members 

But now he has you, who not only tolerates him but has decided to stay with him? 

Of course he’s not going to let this chance slip from his grasp before all this inevitably ends (he’s still in denial) 

He never cared much for holidays like Christmas or Valentines 

But now he wants to experience them, with you 

He’s always thinking, plans and outcomes racing through his mind, what ifs and regrets  

But like, if you ruffle his hair, his brain just stops. 

Like no thoughts, he short circuits 

When his brain returned to him the first time it happened he panicked 

Like, who gave you that amount of control? 

After that first time he continued to try and get you to do it without asking 

He needed his brain to shut up every now and then, and now he has a reliable source 

Anyways, he likes to be a spoiled princess 

No one can change my mind 

For all his predictions he will never be able to predict your love and kindness for him 

CHUUYA 

Someone give this poor man a hug 

Ugh, my heart 

I can‘t imagine him wanting to date a normal citizen, too much of a risk 

So you’d probably have to work in the Mafia 

Even then, dating you would still be placing a huge target on you 

He would actually take you out on dates before asking you out 

Dates with him would be romantic 

Like dinner by candle light vibes 

He’d be strategic on where you guys sit 

No need to be precarious on what you order, it’s all on him 

When he does ask you out he would be slightly flustered but it just makes him adorable 

Say yes, he doesn’t deserve to be hurt any more 

He would spoil you to no end 

If you want it, you can have it 

You’re the only one allowed to call him short 

He might get flustered from PDA in the start but will gradually warm up to it 

Nothing clingy, just hand holding, a hand around your waist, a quick kiss here or there 

But if he sees some guy hitting on you? 

Down right possessive, arm snug around your waist, shoulder to shoulder 

And if he’s drunk? Even worse 

Like he’s pulling you onto his lap just to make sure that asshole knows your taken 

If you do work in the mafia with him, he likes going on easier missions with you 

And while he knows that you can handle yourself just fine, he can’t help but imagine something bad happening to you when he isn’t there to save you 

He’s lost too many people in his life, please, don’t leave him as well 

He loves when you rest your head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat 

And while you do that he’ll run his fingers through your hair 

Chuuya loves to spoil you rotten as I stated, it’s his love language 

So sometimes he’ll just hand you his black card and let you go shopping with friends or something 

In fact, he encourages you to buy what you want 

FYODOR 

Honestly? Where do I start with him? 

Like congratulations if you meet him and make it out alive 

I don’t know if I should congratulate him taking an interest in you though 

I feel like he believe that the interest he had in you was purely innocent curiosity 

But I also don’t think he would try to delude himself for as long as Dazai does 

Eventually he would notice that something was different about his interest for you than usual 

And while he would hesitate to put a name to it so quickly he would eventually give in after realizing there was no stoping this feeling from festering in him 

After coming to terms with his romantic? Feelings and interest in you he would definitely begin to manipulate you into feeling the same way for him 

If you don’t already that is 

If you don’t confess then he’ll definitely do the same thing Dazai did 

And when you agree, he of course knew you would, he makes you move in with him 

He can’t let his dearest other slip from his finger now can he? 

I feel like before ever getting into a relationship, you would have been made aware of his ‘work’  

Please, make sure the man eats 

And takes his iron pill 

Nikolai is getting a little tired of that daily routine despite how much he loves to be around Fyodor 

Anyways, dates aren’t a very common thing in fact, very, very rare 

I mean… what did you expect? 

Man’s a literal terrorist 

That being said, from time to time he’ll leave his ‘lair’ to spend time with you 

If you ask, he’ll gladly play the cello for you 

If he snaps at you for ‘bothering him with pointless things’ when you bring him his iron pill or food just listen 

Don’t bother him with such things 

And then same thing the next day 

And after some 4 or 5 days he’ll stumble from his room 

Staggering as he tries not to collapse or faint from both his lack of energy and his iron deficiency 

And when he walks into the kitchen trying to get the iron pill bottle open? 

Let him stumble his way over to you and ask for help before you finally do as such 

And he realizes just how dependent on you he’s become 

It’ll happen again eventually 

But as of that moment, it’ll at least be awhile before the cycle repeats 

(That last part of Fyodor’s was based upon some fanfic I read for him. I'm not sure who it was by, but I’ll tag it if and when I do find it.) 

A/N: anyways, believe it or not, I love Chuuya just as much as I do Fyodor and Dazai 

I’m just not as confident in his character. Since I’m a lot like Dazai, he comes easy to me and by substitute, Fyodor does as well 

But Chuuya? Despite him being one of my 5 favorites along with Dazai and Fyodor, I just don’t resonate personally enough with him to write him really well

[arctic-space-penguin]

First Bad Things Happen Bingo Post!! - Gave Up Too Soon - 2772 words

---

What was supposed to be just a normal pizza run became so much more dangerous than it should have been. Raph defended his brothers as best he could, but in the end it wasn't enough. There were just too many of them. The snapper could only watch as his brothers were picked off.

One.

By.

One.

Until it was just him.

They had turned their guns on him the second Donnie was forced unconscious for struggling the most. Leo and Mikey stared up at him with panic-striken looks in their eyes. He couldn't look at them back. He had failed. They were all going to die or be put through hell. He dropped his hands to his sides and glared at the roof like this was all its fault. He flinched when Leo's attempt to scream was cut off. Mikey sobbed.

Raph had failed.

His mind offered him memories of times when he hadn't failed, but it didn't help.

He looked back up.

Leo, Donnie, and Mikey were thrown into cages. Raph didn't move. The darkly-dressed humans fired their guns, hitting him in multiple places. He didn't flinch that time. He didn't have the strength to do anything but wait for the tranquilizers to set in. Right before he passed out, one single thought flashed through his head:

You gave up too soon. You still could have saved them...

He pushed it away.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Raph woke up and couldn't breath. Couldn't move. And all he could see was feet. His large tail twitched.

"It's awake, sir," someone high above said.

Raph faintly remembered he should be high above them. Not the other way around. Where were his brothers? They had to be in here, right? Surely these people wouldn't separate them?

"Good," a different someone said. "Everyone leave for a minute."

He heard shuffling. The feet retreated. He turned his head up as much as he could -- a few inches -- and glared. The human smirked down at him confidently.

"Chained down and you still fight?" they sounded genuinely curious.

Raph growled, a low and guttural thing. They tilted their head and began circling him. He moved the barest amount he could to try and keep them in his sight. When they arrived back in front of him, they leaned down.

You have so much power, so much potential. You could protect us all...

"You seem very strong," they whispered, tsking. "What could we use you for...? Collection missions, perhaps? How about--"

He interrupted with a jerk of his head side to side in a confident 'No, I won't do anything for you', or might he say over-confident from what happened next? They gave a soft hum he could barely hear before raising their foot and slamming his head down. The metal thing around his beak dug into his chin. It hurt. He tried pushing up, but he was still too weak from the sedatives.

They didn't move for three minutes. Or maybe it was more? Less? Why wasn't there a clock in here? The second they took their foot off, he lunged. They stumbled back with a quick flash of nervousness crossing their face.

Heh. Good.

"You don't have a choice," they reminded him, turning to the others he had kicked out and nodding.

One brave soul stepped back through the door. They stood ramrod straight when the first human murmured something -- probably an order -- to them. Raph couldn't hear what they were saying, and, frankly, didn't want to.

The younger one nodded. The older one left. Raph spiraled.

"I have to, um..." the young guy gulped, trailing off. "... transport you to a new room..."

The snapper showed no acknowledgement. Only following the poor guy with his eyes as best he could.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Leo woke and was surrounded. He blearily glanced around at all the humans. Something in his mind snapped right then and he remembered:

These people had kidnapped him and his brothers.

He snarled, attacking whoever was closest. Some screamed. Some ran. He didn't hear any of it. The person in his grip was staring up at him with utterly terrified eyes.

Heh. Good.

"Back-up in room G-24 immediately!"

Leo snapped his head around to where the voice had come from. He threw the person under him and launched himself at the one that had sent the warning. They whimpered.

Before the slider could drop them and run, something blunt was pressed against his neck and he screamed. Hands were grabbing in the same instant, shoving him down to the cold floor.

If you would just listen. If you would just cooperate... We could help each other.

Something even colder was put around his neck. It kinda felt like a collar, however that sounded. The chains clipped to it were pulled to keep him place. His hands were bound as well. He squeezed out hisses and curses before they were cut off with a muzzle forced over his beak. A thick one with an even thicker steel holder(???) laid over the top and two pinching things on either side of his face to hold it all together.

"That's better," someone sighed with relief. "Which one do you think is going to be the most violent?"

Someone else hummed in thought. "My money's on that purple one."

Wait.

Purple one?

Donnie...?

Leo maneuvered himself to make it easier for him to scooch backward into a corner. His brothers were here, but not with him. This wasn't good at all. The slider curled his legs closer to his plastron and tried to remember what had happened. It wasn't hard.

Raph had just frozen. He couldn't understand why. There had still been a chance when he had stopped. He growled and narrowed his eyes, coming up with the truth behind this whole thing:

Raph, their big brother, had frozen when there was still a chance. It was his fault they had all been captured and separated.

Leo would get out and force Raph to explain the second they all got home.

All this was his fault.

A hand entered his peripheral vision, extended like the human behind it wanted him to take it. He huffed and ignored it.

So they spoke. "We just need to get you to a new room then leave you alone. Okay?"

He still refused to take the hand. They sighed. He was grabbed roughly, hauled up, and dragged away to Pizza Supreme knows where.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Donnie woke up and immediately registered the metal things keeping him bound to the chair. He squirmed against them, but couldn't do much. They were on his legs, his wrists, his plastron, and even his head. His ankles were bound and chained separately.

He made the mistake of glancing upwards.

He had to do a double-take.

A very, very (that's two verys) big needle was pointed straight at his head at a point he could barely see it.

It was too big.

Lend us your mind, give us your strength... don't be so selfish...

He whimpered, trying in vain to squirm again.

"Stop!" he cried. "Please!"

Whatever machine the needle was connected to started to buzz. The needle only got closer.

"No!" he squeezed his eyes shut and tears leaked out. "Please, just stop!"

They or it didn't. He felt it pierce his skin and he shivered. Then a second, smaller needle entered. Then the third smallest did. He could practically feel them messing around with his brain now. It was not a good feeling.

He let out a wail, hoping one of his brothers would hear and come for him. Take him out of this horrid place.

None of them showed up.

More tears spilled from his eyes and landed in his lap and in-between his legs. 

The needles retracted themselves a second later.

Donnie let the relief pass through him even as blood from the hole dripped down his face. At least the needles were gone.

He wondered what his brothers were going through... Hopefully nothing worse than that hell.

The blood was wiped away suddenly. He gasped at the cold of whatever was being used. The thing around his head was removed and a bandage replaced it. He silently thanked whoever was doing this. He heard a light laugh.

"Shh," someone murmured. "Relax yourself, you're too tense."

He sighed and obeyed, reopening his eyes. The woman in front of him had a kind enough face. He swallowed the churr building in his throat anyway. She might've been among the group to kidnap him and his brothers in the first place after all.

The woman vanished from his line of sight and the -- cushioned, he just now realized -- metal binds released hisses of air before coming undone. He was free! Unfortunately, when he tried to stand, the woman came back and pushed him back down.

"Not yet, little mutant," she practically cooed. "Wait for your transporters to get here."

Transporters?

He didn't like the sound of that.

As if on cue, four men entered the room and lifted him up to carry him off.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mikey woke up and had never felt more uncomfortable in his entire life. He felt the cold floor against his face as his consciousness came back. He couldn't move his arms. Jerking his head to try and raise it was worse with whatever was around it, and his ankles were heavy.

He couldn't remember how he got here. Didn't it have something to do with Raph? No... maybe Leo? Was he here because Leo did something stupid again?

Wait.

Where were his brothers? Were they okay?

He didn't dare try moving again.

Seriously, where were his brothers?

Pressure on his shell broke him from the thoughts. He really wished he could see what was on him.

You will save so many lives... If we work together...

This situation was hopeless, he knew that much. He was bound to the floor, something on his shell, and most importantly, he couldn't move. He closed his eyes for a second and let the tears come before daring to open them again.

He wanted to go home.

Fortunately, he would get to. Soon. But not soon enough.

Time seemed to vanish after just a few minutes in this damn position. His arms had never hurt more in his entire life. The door opened and he didn't hear it, absorbed in his own thoughts. He only realized when whatever had been on his ankles fell away with a clang.

The thing keeping his arms above his head loosened. The tubes buried underneath his skin slid out and he felt such overwhelming relief. His neck was freed next and sucked in a raspy breath. Oh thank Pizza Supreme.

He tried to voice his thanks, but all that came out was a weak cough.

"Don't try to speak," the human commanded, voice much more gravely than he expected. "After I remove these tubes from your shell, you are to be moved elsewhere."

Mikey let that register. Slowly, over many minutes, he felt the pressure previously over his entire shell receded until it was gone. At least he had time to think. Wonder where his brothers were again. Would the new room be with them? He sure hoped so... If he had to go any longer without seeing his brothers, he might just explode.

Before he knew it, he was being hauled up and out the door elsewhere.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Raph didn't know how long he had been here. It could have been five minutes or five hours before the door opened and a familiar shape was unceremoniously pushed in. They scrambled to their feet despite hands being bound as well and tried to sprint out the door before it closed, but it didn't work and they were kicked backwards. Raph caught a glimpse of their face when it happened. It was the red stripes that made him realize who this was.

It was Leo.

Raph widened his eyes and let out a rumble from deep in his throat to get his brother's attention.

It worked.

Leo spun around and widened his eyes right back. They both noticed each other's muzzles at the same time and narrowed their eyes. Then Leo went over and dropped down right next to Raph. The slider leaned his head against Raph's arm and let out a sound resembling a sigh.

Raph watched Leo close his eyes before feeling a tug in the recesses of his mind. Smart.

He closed his eyes too and tugged back. The mind meld connected as soon as he did, letting him and his brother meet halfway. Leo's glowing form took in shaky breaths and faced him with a smirk.

"Welcome to the only place we can talk because of those assholes!" he quipped.

Raph would have reprimanded him on language had it not been for how glad he was. "At least."

"Now before I ask my less important question, do you happen to know where Donnie and Mikey are?" Leo asked.

Raph hesitated. Admitting it felt like a betrayal. "...No. I-I didn't seem them."

Leo looked away for a second, squeezing his eyes shut, then reopening them and looking back up at his big brother. "Why'd you freeze?"

Raph startled. Weird question... "What are you talking about?"

"Why'd you freeze?" Leo repeated. "There was still a chance to escape from that, Raphael."

Oh.

That's what this is about.

Raph hung his head. "I don't know."

"Why?" Leo repeated much more fiercely.

"Because it already felt like I had failed, I don't know!" Raph threw his hands up.

"You don't normally give up that soon," Leo commented.

Raph didn't want to be interrogated right now. That thought clearly didn't get past Leo, because he got right in front of him and put his hands on the older's shoulders. Raph sank down into a sort of halfhearted sitting position and Leo followed him down. Then the connection broke and the two were brought back into their bodies. Neither expected the scene before them: Donnie curled up in the oldest's lap with Mikey tucked into his shell.

Donnie seemed to notice Raph was staring at him, since he cracked an eye open. "H-hey."

Raph wanted to tear the muzzle off so he could speak so badly. But he couldn't.

Donnie curled closer and lifted his hands to sign.

'Mind meld?'

Raph nodded.

'Can Mikey and I join?'

Donnie shrunk in on himself timidly. Raph did his best to smile with his eyes and nodded again.

But they wouldn't get to try.

Mikey poked his head out of his shell right as the door opened. Raph let out a warning growl.

"This is it," the man who had talked with Raph earlier said. "Now put me down."

"No," a rough, familiar, sent-from-heaven voice huffed.

Mikey popped completely from his shell. "Barry!"

Two thuds echoed from the door, probably from the man hitting the wall and falling to floor unconscious. Mikey scrambled to get up and to reach their crazy, ex-villain half-dad. Leo's displeasure was clear on his face, but Raph knew he wouldn't complain about being rescued.

Donnie used the snapper to get himself to his feet and helped Mikey up too. The goatman finally came further into the room. Mikey practically squealed and launched himself into Draxum's arms with happy sobs.

Raph and Leo exchanged a glance. Now would be a really good time to be able to get up. Raph's tail moved subconsciously. Right, it had been unbound as well. Mikey's smaller one was wagging faster than a dog's would at seeing their owners back home after a long, boring day.

Draxum eventually eased Mikey away from him and turned his focus onto the two brothers who couldn't get up.

"Purple! Orange!"

Donnie basically melted to the floor when Splinter came running in. The rat immediately wrapped his arms around his son and Donnie sobbed openly into his robe. Splinter tried to get Mikey to join, but the box turtle didn't move.

"Dad," Leo rasped the second the muzzle fell away from his face. "How'd you find us so soon?"

Splinter hesitated. "Donatello offered me a device that keeps track of where you four have been that he had connected to trackers," he paused. "I found it...hard to say no."

"He put--"

Splinter gave Leo a look and the slider broke off. Draxum freed Raph of his muzzle and it clattered to the floor in pieces. Splinter glanced at each of his sons in turn, Donnie still clinging to him, with confidence drawn over his face. They were safe. They were all safe and wouldn't get hurt again while he was alive.

"Let us go home," he whispered. "my family."

---

Based on these drawings

The card:

The tags:

@boxfullaturtles - for the drawings; hopefully i did a good enough job of describing what they were going through in those drawings lol; and I know Donnie's might be a bit fast paced too

@badthingshappenbingo

AO3 Link

[rafeandonlyrafe]

the compound part two

words: 2.6k

warnings: very brief illusion to sex (still sfw), alien apocalypse au!, violence, guns/shooting, little bit of angst

part one / part two

you let out a groan as you wake up, stretching before realizing you aren't laying atop your usual bedroll laid over grass and soil, but rather a real bed.

“shh, it's okay.” rafe presses a kiss to your forehead. 

“oh my god, it was real.” you open your eyes to rafe hovering over you, a look of slight concern in his eyes.

“it's real, im here.” he says softly. you look down at your body. rafe had partially undressed you to make your sleep more comfortable, as well as bandaged the cut on your leg.

“was it bad?” you ask, tilting your knee to see your calf. the gauze is completely clean and sterile white, not something you've seen since the aliens came.

“it wasn't too deep. you won't need stitches but will have to stay off it for a bit.” rafe moves to lay down next to you, letting you snuggle into his chest. you block it out for a minute. block out the pain, the fear, the death and destruction. in this moment, it's just you and rafe.

“i also cleaned you up a bit. still sleep just as deep.” rafe smirks. you examine your body closer, arms and legs gently washed clean from the dirt and grime built up that felt inevitable.

“how did you get here?” you question. “how did you become in charge of all of… this?”

“my uncle, the one in the military. he was stationed here. i figured since he was high ranking, he would be kept in charge of the base while the other soldiers went to fight the aliens…” rafe continues to explain his story. how as soon as he arrived, his uncle made him his right hand man until the base was attacked by aliens. rafe managed to survive along with a few others who looked to him for leadership. they reinforced the base and expanded ever since.

“how much food do you have?” you ask. 

“enough.” rafe simply says, which makes you frown and pick your head up to look at him.

“is it true you don't help anyone? even those who beg?”

rafe sighs. he knew this topic would inevitably come up. you have a soft heart, sure you've built up walls after being burnt too many times trying to help others, but your nature is still gentle and sweet compared to rafes.

“i gotta put my men first. i can't just give handouts to anyone who wants them. we'd have nothing left for ourselves.” rafe hopes the explanation is enough to dissuade you. “but you're first now, baby. the men here will protect you. you don't have to fight anymore.”

you allow rafe to turn you onto your back, to kiss you while hovering over you, relaxing his body into yours as you reconnect, trying desperately to make up for lost time.

--

“when is the next hunting party going out?” you ask rafe, scratching your fingers over his head, rubbing through his hair as he looks at the various papers scattered on his desk. maps of nearby areas, lists upon lists of ingredients, even a guide to native plants.

“probably dawn tomorrow. we are hoping for deer.” rafe says, glancing at the schedule that he has planned out. more detailed for upcoming days, while far off plans are just jotted in.

“can i go with them? im pretty good with a bow.”

rafes hands stop shuffling through the papers, air in the room suddenly going stale. “y/n… it's not safe outside the fence.” 

“i lived outside the fence for months. i can hold my own. plus, your guys will have guns.” guns can be hit or miss after the aliens shut down a lot of technology, but thankfully the military ones kept in the base were in pretty good working order. still, everyone prefers their deer to be taken down with arrows.

rafe pushes away from the desk, turning to pull you down onto his lap. “no. im sorry. just… no.”

“rafe, im going to go fucking crazy just staying inside the fence. you barely even let me outside.” it's been two months of adjusting to compound life, two months of reconnecting with rafe, watching him lead with confidence and authority. two months of the itching feeling to move growing.

“i know the alien attacks have lessened. a lot of people think they've pulled out, but we still have occasional sightings. you know how quickly things happen. if you're outside, you're vulnerable.”

you sigh, seeing the look in rafes eye. so much pain and hurt. “okay.” you nod. “okay, not tomorrow. but at some point, i need to do… something, anything.”

“we'll figure it out.” rafe nods. “i promise.”

“thank you.” you nod. so many things have changed about your dynamic since the end of the world, but it still feels familiar at moments, you sitting on his lap, leaning forward and pressing your lips against his.

“i need you.” you whisper against rafes lips, hands moving down his chest.

“i should keep working.” rafe hums, even as his hands move underneath your shirt.

“but you won't.” you giggle.

--

you stand behind rafe as he hands out assignments. compound life is a lot different than anything you expected. they focus much more internally, whether it's reinforcing the base or making things more comfortable for the men and few women there.

“klaus, tim and fiona…” rafe reads off the names, the three stepping forward. you know tim a little bit, with him being one of the closest men to rafe, but you haven't interacted with most of the people, rafes orders keeping everyone busy.

“we are turning the central courtyard into a garden. fruits, vegetables, whatever you can get to grow.” rafe explains. he's taken you past the central courtyard before, completely surrounded by compound buildings. it'll be a lot of work, it's completely overgrown, no big trees but years of brush build up.

“y/n.” rafe calls you forward next. you blink at your boyfriend before stepping forward. “you'll be project lead.”

“yes- yes, sir.” you've never called rafe sir before, but it seems right considering the environment, everyone else addressing him as such. rafe didn't mention this assignment to you, but you're glad he did as he hands you a packet of papers, nodding to you to head off with the three compound crew.

you glance back at rafe as you head out of the auditorium. he's already assigning new orders, but catches your eye, nodding to you for encouragement.

you go through the papers with everyone, finding the three people rafe chose an easy mesh. you should have known, they're likely hand picked for you rather than for the actual project.

“i was a botanist before…” klaus says, pausing when your eyes widen, clearly surprised. you never would have guessed a man with such a hard exterior had a job like that before the aliens came.

“a lot has changed since.” klaus grunts out. “everyone is different.”

“i know.” you frown, breaking eye contact. “i didn't mean any offense.”

silence stretches out until fiona clears it with a clearing of her throat. “well, as a botanist or whatever, what plants or shit do we… well, plant.”

you like fiona already. it makes sense that she has been thriving at the compound, her personality being even tougher than most of the men.

klaus begins to explain, and before long the day is over, parting ways as you head back to rafes chambers.

“sorry i sprung that on you.” rafe says when you enter the room, clearly holding back to see if you're upset. “i just wanted to give you something to do.”

“it's okay, i understand.” you nod. springing it on you also deprives you of the chance to say no, which you can't blame rafe for. “it's also good that the rest of the compound sees me contributing.”

“it is.” rafe nods. “can i kiss you then?”

“yes, im not mad.” you smile at your boyfriend, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as his lips meet yours.

“our canned food is running low. barely, but it is. this garden is really important, baby.” rafe says softly. “whatever plants grow best, we will be planting more.”

“it's a good plan.” you nod. “sustainable.”

--

“i guess it makes sense.” you shrug as you fill out your reports. it seems silly to hand in papers stating to rafe what you tell him every night, but it's important to document the progress of the garden.

“what does?” tim questions, also charting his own responsibilities, having split up the work between the four of you to make it easier.

“that the native plants are the ones growing best.”

“i didn't even realize that.” tim laughs, his southern accent thick. he's one of the few at the compound who were stationed here before the attack, originally from louisiana, but claimed he has no interest in going back, knowing there's no one out there waiting for him.

“i think your boy toy is thinking about expanding the garden.” fiona smirks, always coming up with creative names for rafe, especially after seeing the way he hovers over you, even shooting daggers into klaus when he got just a little too close while planting seeds.

“that'd be great. i know we have canned food still and the deer but having fresh food is so needed.” you look up to the courtyard, having chosen to work in an office with a view of the garden. the fresh air is also great for you. you know it's the real reason rafe gave you the job. it allowed you to be outside while still being surrounded by four walls.

“let's call it for tonight.” tim says, setting down his pen. “we have all of tomorrow to work on the reports too.”

“sounds good.” you nod, waving goodbye to everyone until you're the only one in the room. you look out onto the flourishing garden once more before heading out. you know you're not truly alone as two men shadow you, armed to the teeth with guns and knives. your protection, sanctioned by rafe. you turn the corner of the compound, hearing their footsteps speed up to keep visual of you.

instead of turning down the hallway leading towards rafes bedroom, you turn the opposite way towards the exit. you take a deep breath upon pushing open the doors, allowing yourself to breathe in the fresh air, the smell of trees and nature thick instead of the musty smell inside the compounds old walls.

“ma’am.” a harsh voice rings out from the shadows, making you jump. “rafe said to keep you inside.”

“oh please.” you roll your eyes. “the compound hasn't been attacked in months. ill be fine.”

at the capping of your words, a gunshot sounds from further down the fenceline. “get back inside, now!” the man yells at you, sprinting to see what was shot at. maybe it's just a misfire, or someone got lucky and saw a deer.

your detail finally realizes where you've gone, the doors opening behind you as shouts sound out from where the gunfire was heard. you look back at the men, sworn to protect you. they usher you back inside, but instead you turn the other way, towards the noise and action.

you just want to see what's going on as they creep behind you. you get closer, having to squint through the darkening sky to see that the fence has been torn down in one section, flattened like a stampede has rolled through. that's when you hear it. the familiar clicking and rattling associated with the aliens. you hold in your gasp, knowing noise will just attract them towards you as you press your back into the brick wall, hoping that you're camouflaged as you peek around the corner of the building, seeing the alien, a grotesque mix of bloody flesh and robotic gears and metal.

“y/n!” a familiar voice whisper-screams at you. “i need to get you back inside, now.”

you turn away from the corner as the alien bends down over a man who is clearly already long gone to see tim, a gun in hand. 

“kill that thing.” you gesture your head around the corner, wanting it gone before it can do any further harm.

“my orders are to keep you safe. ill get you inside first and then we will take it out.” tim explains in a quiet voice. you both realize far too late that it wasn't quiet enough as the clicking gets closer.

“run!” tim shouts, throwing himself around the corner, gun spraying bullets as you sprint, the two guards pull you back, pushing you across the opening towards the closest doors.

you scramble when you hear a scream from tim. “no!” you shout, grabbing one of their guns. one you barely know how to use, but you need to save your friend.

you rush back around the corner when you see the alien over top of tim, one of his arms in its disgusting mouth. you let out a war cry, hoping the bullets previously sprayed into him will be enough for your shots to be the final straw and kill it as you raise your gun, firing at least enough to distract the monster, head turning towards you. 

you back up but continue shooting, joined by your guards who quickly flank you. it must be a mature alien, with how many bullets its taking to take it down. you back up, allowing the men to shoot as you back towards the entrance, ready to take cover if needed.

“y/n!” rafe shouts, bursting through the doors. “get inside, now!” your gun clicks, out of bullets. you drop it and run to rafe, letting him pull you inside. you look through the windows on the door, through the thick bulletproof glass as the alien finally falls.

“tims hurt, he needs help.” you tell rafe, but he doesn’t seem to hear you as his face is one of anger.

“you disobey me? i told you to stay inside, and look what happens when you don’t listen!” 

“disobey?” you rip yourself out of rafes hold, taking a step back as men rush out the doors between the two of you, to help tim, get rid of the aliens nasty carcass, and most importantly to the compound, repair and reinforce the fence, the alien obviously able to exploit a weak spot.

you press your back against the wall until the stream of men stop. “in case you forgot, i’m not one of your soldiers. im your fucking girlfriend.” you stomp away from rafe, knowing he can’t follow as he has to lead the men outside.

--

“tims fine.” its the first thing rafe says to you as he enters into your bedroom. you’re changed into your pajamas, but are sat on the edge of the bed, feet dangling as your toes touch along the soft rug.

“his arm from the elbow down wasn’t saveable, but he’ll live.” rafe undoes his weapons before moving to kneel in front of you. you should speak, reply, but you can’t force your mouth to open.

“i’m sorry. sorry for treating you like that.” rafe places his hands on your knees, glad that you don’t push him away. “i love you. i love you so fucking much and i don’t want to lose you. i’ll give you what freedom i can but- but i need you to keep yourself safe too. if you wanted to leave the building that badly, you could have told me.” “i know.” your voice is hoarse. “i love you too.” “im just so fucking scared all the time. i think about you constantly. whenever i can’t see you, im just fucking anxious.” rafe places his head into your lap, relieved when your fingers rub over his scalp, his hair cropped short in the same fashion as most of the men.

“you’re not gonna lose me, rafe.” you promise him. “we found each other. here, at the end of the world, we made our way back to each other.”

taglist: @winterrrnight @bejeweledreverie @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart @pradabambie @tobesolovelysstuff @alexiskirkland @rafestar @brioffthegrid @juniebugg @magicalyoura @cokepewpsii @mysticallystilinski @luvdella @aerangi @folklorsweet @yourenogoodforme @auryyz @mayhem-72 @thestarlithideout @marvelfanfics1recs @rafesgiirl

[vertical-tacos]

oh yeah finally it's this fucking guy

just like elliots page I felt I needed to explain more about em than i did with the others so he gets the canvas page too

keep in mind he's swapped with mafioso in this AU- simply bc I didn't know who Itrapped (is that the guy's name? I can't remember) was when I was writing his killer page.

as per usual info under cut

CHANCE - KILLER CONCEPT

INFO

BACKSTORY: "99% of gamblers quit before they hit big"! And this gambler NEVER QUITS. You up for a game? might be your only odds of escaping. :)

PASSIVE: “ROLL OR DIE”. When stunned, there is a 50/50 roll that determines whether Chance’s stun-time is twice as short. If stunned multiple times in one go, the odds stack in his favor.

ABILITIES

LMB: Chance pulls out a tanto sword and slashes. Arc hitbox. 5s cooldown.

ABILITY ONE: “Lucky Roll”. Chance throws a die into the air, before grabbing it and putting it away. He then receives Blindness II and a random Level III buff for 7s. 35s cooldown.

ABILITY TWO: “Chamber Spin”. Chance pulls out his revolver, before aiming and taking a shot. It has a ⅓ chance of

Firing successfully, dealing 33 damage if it hits a survivor

Not firing- The animation ends and Chance receives Slowness II for 2s.

Blowing up, stunning Chance for 6s and dealing 60 damage.

45s cooldown.

DIFFICULTY:★★★☆☆

STATS

DAMAGE: 20

HEALTH: 777 (you already know its a gambling reference LMAO)

REGULAR SPEED: 13

SPRINT SPEED: 26

STAMINA: 100

STAMINA-LOSS: 16

STAMINA-GAIN: 24

VOICE LINES

Idle

- humming

Attacking

- "Heads or tails..mhm.."

- "HA!"

- "Take THAT!"

When "Roll or Die" is activated

- "THINK FAST!"

- "Just what the doctor ORDERED!"

- "Can't knock me out just like THAT!"

When using "Lucky Roll"

- "Think I was just gonna TAKE THAT?"

- "What'll it be, What'll it be..."

- "Something... anything.."

When using "Chamber Spin"

- "WHEW! Got some KICK to it, these dice!"

Successful shot:

- "Looks like lady luck is on MY side today!"

Unsuccessful shot:

- "Sucks to be you!"

- "Uhh.."

- "it is NOT supposed to do that."

explosion:

- "the thing's jammed..!"

- "OWW!! FUCKKK..."

- "STUPID FLINTLOCK!!"

- "GREAT, JUST GREAT!!"

When Stunned

- "UGH... YOU BRAT.."

- "OH COME ON!"

- "NOBODY TOLD YOU TO COUNT MY CARDS, ASSHOLE!!"

KILL LINES

When killing Jason

When killing John Doe

- "Probably wish you could call for help, ey?"

- "Just pray they bring you back in a sequel."

- "THIS is the guy ███ won't stop TALKING about?"

- "You are one SAD little man."

When killing 1x1x1x1

- "What kind of luck do you HAVE?!"

- "First you're banished, and now THIS."

When killing C00lk1dd

- "What're YOU doing out here?"

- "Should've stayed home."

When killing Guest 666

- ".. So you're the imp."

- "..Underwhelming."

When killing Azure

- "..All that defense, just to die to the wrong guy."

- "I almost feel bad for you."

A.N:

BONUS

Kill animation would probably be a short windup, before he laughs and decapitates the survivor

He's an asshole. too many lucky rounds (and his support) led to him having a bit of an ego

He doesn't feel bad for C00lk1dd or Azure in reality, but that's because that emotion got erased from him entirely. boowomp

this is a tanto sword (I believe).

[pinstripe-wings]

I’ve been in the mood for Jazz/Prowl, so I wrote this:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65281249

I also put it under the read more, cause why not:

Title: The Vent Incident

Rating: T

Tags: Jazz is going stir crazy, Prowl is bad at feelings, downtime equals more energon, Prowl discovering things about himself, fluff and humor, a bit of, nonverbal communication.

Summary:

“Why have you not left?” Prowl asked. “Or entered my office properly?”

“…I’m stuck.” Jazz flashed a tight smile. “Help a mech out?”

-

A perfectly ordinary start to his morning ought to have been a blatant warning sign that such a peace was too good to be true and would soon be interrupted.

Prowl didn’t even have to calculate how high a percentage on whether or not he’d be disturbed; the mere fact that today marked a whole Earth year of no fighting against the Decepticons.

It wasn’t the end of a the long running war, but it was a very much welcome break to get things into order before a resurgence in battles.

Between today’s continued lack of enemies to engage with and an equally quiet base, Prowl’s anticipation of receiving an early break from his otherwise productive start to the day grew.

But until this expected interruption, there were more reports to be filed, forwarded to appropriate addressee, or be stored.

Prowl went through recent reports quickly and efficiently, mostly dull and uninteresting, considering the lack of Decepticon movement. There were a few incident reports than was usual, but unsurprising when there was a base full of restless mechs and femmes looking for something to pass the time.

Ratchet was displeased with the amount of damage he and First Aid were repairing due to reckless driving or aggressive sparring.

Prowl checked his chronometer.

Ah.

In approximately two Earth hours, he was to go retrieve a cube of energon to fuel himself with.

This was plenty of time to finish up the newer reports, and with a less cluttered office, Prowl could later move on to the backlog of old reports and records.

The time passed in a peaceful silence.

Prowl allowed his tacnet to churr some data, based off of other times that the base had been so pleasantly quiet, then added in the probabilities of what might or could happen based off those calculations.

There was a (24%) chance of some mech getting into Wheeljack’s workshop; never a good thing, as one never knew what that mech was up to at any given moment. There was a (62%) chance that someone was in the medbay being scolded by Ratchet. There is less than a (2%) chance that the Decepticons might attack the Autobot base; perhaps (6%), if any new scout reports came in, but unlikely to be of any substance.

Prowl ran another calculation to do with the inaction in particular, weighing it against the mechs and femmes in the base.

A (96%) chance that he will be subjected to the presence of one mech in particular was unwavering.

Almost as soon as he dismissed other results, Prowl’s doorwings lifted and tilted. The tactician had just alerted to a telltale vibration that was currently headed toward his office from the left. Prowl consulted the time, then nodded absently to himself as he gathered data pads within reach.

There was his incoming visitor.

Said visitor was not quiet in the least bit, on purpose (83%) as the vent grate overhead was removed. The grate cover was unnecessarily dropped with a loud ‘clag’ as it hit the floor. 

“Heya, Prowler.” A cheery voice greeted the tactician.

”Jazz.” Prowl greeted as he picked up one of the data pads before him. He tracked the saboteur through vibrations with his doorwings. Prowl noted that Jazz remained within the vent.

Not unheard of, when Jazz wandered through the base’s vents, but it was somewhat less expected.

Prowl knew well that Jazz’s ultimate goal in sneaking into his office was to either snoop, or sprawl his entire frame over Prowl’s own as closely and affectionately as possible.

Currently, Jazz tapped his digits against the wall in a beat none but Jazz himself heard. 

“May I assist you with anything?” Prowl questioned, once he deemed enough time had passed to allow Jazz the opportunity to worm out of the vent, yet the mech hadn’t emerged.

“I was just checkin’ on ya to make sure you’re gonna join me fer some energon in ‘bout an hour.” Jazz began to use his other hand’s digits to tap, which created a more elaborate beat. 

”I plan to.” Prowl’s helm tilted as he mused over why Jazz might believe he needed to ask. Prowl turned over a few numbers, then dismissed them. He had failed to turn up in the past, so it made sense for Jazz to clarify. “Wouldn’t a comm have sufficed for that query?” 

”They’re off, my mech.” Jazz’s voice lilted upward.

Prowl checked, confirming the other mech’s words.

So they were.

“My apologies. I wasn’t aware of this. An oversight, on my part.” Prowl reactivated the temporarily muted comms from emergency-only pings. “Was there anything else you needed from me?”

“Other than you, Prowler?” Jazz’s tone shifted, the rhythmic tapping ceasing.   

Tac net struggled to make sense of that tone, eventually settling on fondness (57%) and teasing (79%) within Jazz’s vocals.

“Let me rephrase.” A hint of fond exasperation welled within Prowl. “Is there anything you need from me while I’m on shift, or do you have plans for after we get our energon?”

”Nah, was just checking’ on you.” Jazz sounded happy, digits drumming against the wall. “As fer after refueling? Might have somethin’ for the end of your shift. I got plans you’ll like.”

Prowl considered Jazz’s words, and after figuring that was all, he refocused on the backlog of old reports. The tactician was able to focus for all of about fifteen minutes, during which Jazz could be heard wiggling, his claws digging into metal, and the mech’s armor being audibly scraped against the vent’s entrance. Prowl assumed this meant Jazz had finally decided to join him in the office until the break, so he didn’t need to fully pay attention to Jazz’s antics. At least until Prowl’s wings picked up on the vibration of a slow vent of frustration.

Interesting.

Had Jazz not been done conversing with him? Why hadn’t he said anything, if that was the case?

“Why have you not left?” Prowl asked. “Or entered my office properly?” He finally turned in his seat, helm tilting back to observe the black and white mech.

“…I’m stuck.” Jazz flashed a tight smile. “Help a mech out?”

“There is a 24% chance that you cannot fit through some of the smaller vent shafts within this base.” Prowl studied Jazz, a frown present across his derma as he puzzled this out. “You’ve had a 95% success rate of exiting into my office without scraping your armor or causing yourself any duress.” Prowl tracked Jazz’s helm motion, visor vibrancy, and his servos. “Usually falling out to land on your pedes after a flip to place yourself onto my frame. Oftentimes directly onto my lap.”

“I guess I finally packed enough mass into my protoform to be noticeable. Y’know, with no missions to run, no one to seriously spar with, and lotsa extra energon to go around.” Jazz’s helm and arms were currently out of the vent, as were his shoulders, likely after some skillful twists. But most of Jazz’s chassis is, as he stated, stuck.

It’s obvious even from where Prowl is seated that Jazz’s armor is pressed outward around his protoform. Prowl’s doorwings flare out as he focused. The other mech’s field was held tight to his frame, so Prowl focused on Jazz himself.  Prowl soon picked up on the minute shift of pedes, the louder spin of his spark, and the sound of various struts flexing and straining. “You are unable to go back out the way you came?”

”Nope.” Jazz lifted his arms out to Prowl beseechingly as he flashed another smile. “C’mere and help me, Prowler.” Hands stretched out toward the Praxian who was otherwise (outwardly) watching the scene indifferently.

”When I could use this to my advantage and get more of my work done?” Prowl asked dryly. He saw Jazz’s smile become fixed, but still, the saboteur held his servos out steadily. “Being stuck there means you cannot interfere until I assist you out.”

A new tactic was pursued, much to Prowl’s faint amusement.

“You wound me.” Jazz grinned despite this as he lifted one hand to press over what little of his chassis poked out of the vent. “I thought we were tight, Prowler.” Jazz, for whatever reason, chose to lightly twist two digits together, as if n emphasis of his words. “I thought we’d spend time outta of the base and watch the sunset together.” The hand splayed wider over armor. “I wanna get private time with my boo.” Jazz’s derma were twisted with mischief as he attempted to heave a dramatic ex-vent. This was somewhat lessened in intended effect, as Jazz merely scraped his armor into the vent itself.

Prowl’s own derma twitch up as he rose from his seat and approached the vent.

Jazz immediately perked up, both hands rising to…point at the tactician.

Prowl stared.

”Aw, c’mon Prowl, you gotta recognize the finger guns.” Jazz gestured again, only to have the other mech’s confusion deepen. With a light groan of exasperation (good-natured fondness, 89%) Jazz spread his larger servos out to make grabby hands at Prowl.

Prowl stepped forward and lightly grasped Jazz’s hands, which slowly curved over Prowl’s in return to gently squeeze them.

”Prowler?”

Prowl stood there holding hands with Jazz, quiet, before he leaned up on his pedes to reach the vent, and brushed his derma to one of Jazz’s audial horns. 

“You’re killin’ me here, babe.” Jazz bemoaned as he insistently tugged on Prowl’s hands. “At least gimme a lil smooch if you’re not gonna help me outta this vent.”

Smooch.

Another human term, like ‘finger guns’.

”I did.” Prowl murmured, even pressing another ‘smooch’ to Jazz’s other audial horn. He hid a smile over the ex-vent, even as Jazz leaned into Prowl’s derma.

“Didn’t peg ya for teasin’. Guess yer learnin’ some stuff while we’re on Earth.” Jazz managed to nuzzle on of Prowl’s cheeks as the tactician twisted his hands out of Jazz’s grip.

“Hold still.”

With an interested hum, Jazz froze in place.

Prowl moved to grip the upper and lower part of the vent, and heaved.  The metal crumpled under his hands. Prowl stepped back one done, and braced himself, as he was correct in the assumption that Jazz would be upon him in seconds.

And he was.

Jazz was out of the vent, happily wrapping himself around Prowl’s shoulders and waist.

“I thought we were waiting until after shift to do something.” Prowl stated, even as he wrapped his arms around the smaller mech.

“Aft.” Jazz said without heat as he angled his helm while he leaned up to capture Prowl in a kiss. 

Prowl indulged this for approximately one minute, before leaning back. “I should finish my current work before we retrieve our energon.”

“You always have some kind of unending work.” Jazz said lightly as he dropped off of Prowl to land lightly on the floor.

Prowl had a very distracting end to his current shift, which Jazz lingering just in his periphery being a distracting, if attractive, nuisance. Jazz continued to be very distracting, so much so that ending his shift and retrieving their energon became a distant memory the moment the two of them left the base for a drive.

Jazz said he had plans for them, and one of those plans was to be as much a menace on the road as he could be, goading Prowl into chasing him by having the tactician’s Enforcer past stir at the sight.

This was acceptable, since there were no humans around in the area to see two cars racing about.

Prowl’s entire focus was on Jazz in his alt mode; sleek, teasing and inviting as Jazz revved his engine while driving alongside  Prowl.

Then, Jazz sped off.

A thrill of the chase dashed away anything else that Prowl may have been contemplating in the moment. He spent most of his processing power on keeping up with Jazz, around the curves in the road and sharp turns, with only a small part of his processor keeping alert for danger. Prowl wasn’t sure where Jazz was headed, but the two of them were driving far away from the base, no doubt as far out as they could to not have any bored mech follow them.

Prowl caught up with Jazz as the two of them drove up to the edge of a cliff. As they went back to alt mode, Prowl noted that there was an overhang above them to block out possible weather.  Prowl looked back to Jazz, and in the moonlight that was at the edge of the overhand, Prowl got a proper look at Jazz. He’d been wondering why Jazz had become stuck in the vents. Prowls answer was right before him, visible to his own optics.

There was a faint bulge of protoform showing beneath Jazz’s endure chassis to either side, which pressed his armor out just a tad. It’s enough of a change that it accounted for Jazz becoming stuck within one of the larger vents that were on base.

Jazz noted the way Prowl studied him; with a smile, Jazz leaned back to better show off his armored front, and the peeks of protoform. Jazz’s visor brightened as he shuffled across the rocky ledge he was standing on to press into Prowl’s side.

Prowl realized with a jolt that the sight he was seeing meant that Jazz was healthier than was usual. Prowl’s right doorwing curved back, allowing which Jazz closer. Prowl felt a hand slide up take his own.

Jazz held Prowl‘s hand to the protoform in the saboteur’s side when he fluffed his armor up a little to allow access.

Prowl brushed digits lightly along old scars that came from either battle, or torture, during times that Jazz was held captive by the Decepticons when caught in a spec ops mission. At present, Jazz’s field was alive and vibrant.

There was also a sneaky hand slinking up along Prowl’s side in a ‘finger-walk’, until the digits dipped down under armor to trade protoform.

Prowl hadn’t been aware that he’d gained some bulk since energon hadn’t needed to be rationed as closely.

Jazz’s light, playful touch settled on the tactician’s wrist port, tracing lightly along.

”Do ya wanna let me know just how much you like ta see me like this? I can tell, just do y’know. Yer makin’ those optics light up in that way y’do when you like somethin’.” A digit pressed down on Prowl’s wrist port, then released the pressure to pet it. “We’re alone. You interested in this, or do y’just wanna hold me close tonight?”

Prowl considered the offer, his helm tilted down to meet the visor and the soft, relaxed smile beneath it. He turned over what he was up for, what he wanted to do, and thought about the way Jazz was not as jittery as he had been earlier in the day. A longer pause as decisions were made, before Prowl’s wrist port all but snapped open to reveal curious cables that began to twitch through the air.

~

Jazz woke up with his helm and shoulders resting comfortably on Prowl’s lap. He laughed, amused by the way he’d been unexpectedly knocked out. As soon as he was able to use his words, Jazz reached for Prowl.  “Guess you missed me a whole lot before we gotta year of no fighting, yeah?”

Prowl’s hands wordlessly clasped Jazz’s. 

“S’okay, I heard ya loud and clear here.” Jazz clumsily tapped a digit to Prowl‘s now-closed wrist port. There was a sense of satisfaction in the saboteur as he stared up at Prowl, admiring what he saw. “You look good too, y’know, without that tac net drivin’ you to the edge of your processor with dozens of possible outcomes for a battle plaguing ya.”

Prowl moved one of his hands to rest on Jazz’s helm, palm heavy even as his digits were light as he carefully traced the sensitive audial horns. Prowl lifted his doorwings up in order to pick up Jazz’s EM field. It only amplified the sensation, of Jazz giving off a large, strong field of happy/content/affection. Prowl could sense Jazz’s vents, and used that, as well as Jazz’s field, to see what the other enjoyed right now.

”S’nice.” Jazz said, apropros of nothing.

Prowl’s wings settled into a comfortable position as he was assured that Jazz was well, despite inaction. Jazz was even able to drift back off to recharge with Prowl keeping careful watch, while Jazz hugged one of the tactician‘s arms close over his spark.

This was something of a rarity.

Jazz falling into recharge outside of base, or recharging without his team around him to keep watch. Jazz was usually on guard, more so than Prowl himself.

This was different.

Prowl found he approved of Jazz relaxing around him, outside of the safety of the base.

The lack of conflict with the Decepticons was doing wonders for Jazz’s physical health, if not entirely great for mental, given the stir-crazy energy and need to move and do something. Perhaps Prowl could discuss options with Optimus Prime at some point, as Prowl was certain (92%) that other mechs and femmes were in the same position as Jazz was.

…though Prowl did have enough free time to spend with Jazz in peace and quiet, as they were now.

Prowl’s hands roved down from Jazz’s helm to slowly, gingerly rest over neck cables. He marveled that Jazz does not immediately rouse and try to stab him. Jazz didn’t even leave recharge when Prowl settled his palm over the med port on the back of his neck. Prowl’s doorwings twitch as he moved his trapped arm to trace his digits along protoform, which peeked out from under Jazz’s armor in certain places. Jazz’s grip loosened, intentionally or not, to allow Prowl to better linger along the seams of armor.

Jazz’s field was muted; calm, content. It meshed with Prowl’s own alert, if equally calm, field.

Perhaps soon, the two of them will be able to continue their pursuit of one another, if the peace they were unexpectedly experiencing stretched on.

It’s quiet.

There’s no incoming fight.

Maybe there’s hope for the war to end.

”Don’t think s’much Prowler.” Jazz sighed out as he snuggled in, still half on Prowl’s lap. “I can hear your processor workin’ from down here.” A short pause. “You good?”

Prowl said nothing in return, but he communicated his current unexpectedly relaxed mood. Prowl leaned over, free hand moving to cup one of Jazz’s cheeks upside down, his digits lightly caressing. Prowl lifted Jazz up at an angle with one leg, careful to not upend him. Then, Prowl pressed his chevron to Jazz’s helm crest, where he lingered for a time.

A hand eventually reached up to rest on Prowl’s cheek in return, a digit gently tweaking the armor of his helm.

”Love ya too, Prowler.” 

[cherlawa-panna]

Barney Barton META: Childhood

▶The next post: Leaving the circus

This isn't exactly the META, more like a big note with my thoughts about Barney's personality during his childhood. Given that Clint's past, and Barney's past as well, is changed too often in the comics and it's confusing to understand what's going on, I'm going to take the bits that I think are important and squeeze it together. Because if I wanted to put everything in order logically, it would be impossible - his agenda changes too often.

I'll only talk about their lives before their parents' deaths and their first years in the circus. Barney's personality changes dramatically as he gets older and I don't want to write too much in one post.

Dedicated to @carcrash429 and @hawkzeyes. I love you <3

TW: Mentions of child abuse, violence, underage drinking

1. What kind of child was Barney?

The first thing worth noting is that despite the constant changes in Barney's personality, the authors always try to emphasize his role in Clint's story — as one who is "the worse brother," the "rotten" one who causes problems and is a schemer. The bad brother who is the opposite of the good brother. Two sides of the same coin — you know the deal.

Honestly, only Hawkeye Vol.3 showed Barney in some way as "morally better" than his brother. Everywhere else, it's emphasized that he's the worse version of Clint. You know the deal, Clint is the good-shoe guy, and Barney is the worst thing that ever existed. But why?

As we know, childhood plays a crucial role in shaping a person. To truly understand Barney, we need to delve into his early years and explore what kind of child he was. So let's start it, shall we?

- VIOLENT

A recurring trope we see in Clint's childhood memories is Barney teaching him something. I'll mention about this later in the post, but for now, let's focus on the most significant skill he taught Clint, which reveals a lot about Barney himself: he taught Clint how to fight.

(Hawkeye 2012 #12)

Not the self-defense way where you hit someone and run away. Not the stereotypical superhero kind where you fight to defeat someone because you're the good guy and they're the bad guy. No, Barney taught him how to fight in a way that would hurt, how to knock someone down so that they wouldn't be able to stand on their feet anymore.

(Hawkeye 2012 #15 & #21) [rip photo limit]

If someone attacks you, you show no mercy. An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth. Beat them so they won't want to hurt you anymore.

(Hawkeye 2012 #19)

If there’s no one to defend you, you have to defend yourself. Barney started teaching Clint how to fight after Clint attempted to attack their father. It’s clear that Barney is the reason why his brother even knows how to hurt people. However, it was never explained why Bernard knows how to fight or where he learned this skill. And that's understandable; this flashback is about our golden boy, not about his problematic brother.

To understand why Barney might know how to fight, we need to explore his relationship with violence as a child.

He is an example of how trauma can make you angry—at what happened and what continues to happen. As a child still living with his parents, Barney is filled with hatred towards their father. This contrasts with Clint, who, for a long time, was the "good child" trying his best to earn his father's affection and better treatment.

(Solo Avengers 1988 #2)

Bernard was a "smart-mouth brat" who didn’t hesitate to speak back, even though he knew the consequences of doing so. Even better, this little guy wanted to beat his dad up so badly. Clint would never consider acting this way (until the events of Hawkeye Vol. 4, but I'll discuss that later). And it also seems that this wasn’t the first time Barney had behaved like this.

I have a theory that Barney likely had conflicts with other adults as well, mostly because of his statement in Solo Avengers 1988 #2 panel, where he says, "I'll show them all." This implies that he probably didn't want to take revenge against JUST his father. The way I interpret it is that his father wasn't the only person who treated him badly. We can interpret this in different ways: maybe he was talking about his bullies, maybe teachers or anybody who ever treated him badly. Who knows?

Avengers: Roll Call highlights how different their approach to their father was. Barney is explicitly described as being cynical and resentful as a child. In fact, he is described as a bitter kidwho took of his frustation on Clint by bullying him.

And his different approach to Harold is visible. Barney he has never been shown to say anything positive about their father. True, Clint also hated Harold, but as shown earlier, Clint for some time hoped he'd change, whereas Barney never believed in it. He always saw their father as a scumbag.

(Hawkeye: Blindspot #1)

His hatred for his father and how he was treated, naturally influenced his behavior in childhood, which you could see before. And we know he wasn't a "good boy" in any ways. Like for example, in Blindspot, Clint mentions that Barney was never the smarter of the two and believed that sometimes you need to fight dirty.

This panel illustrates that Bernard believed that the best way to resolve conflicts wasn't through calm, peaceful ways but by fighting dirty. It paints him as someone who often relied more on brute force. Because, in his eyes, it is an easier and more proven way to deal with problems. He saw it from his father and most likely from others that it was the best way; it always worked on him and Clint after all. 

Barney is depicted as a child who has no problem with being aggressive or violent, as shown in Hawkeye (2012) even towards his brother. Yes, while his intent was to provoke Clint, stir him up, and push him to act, the fact remains that Barney still resorted to violence.

Additionally, Barney used violence against Clint because he knew that this was the most effective way to provoke a reaction from him. By mimicking their father, he wanted to trigger Clint's deep-seated rage and bitterness—emotions that were already boiling beneath the surface.

Barney knew that Clint, fueled by anger and resentment towards their father at this moment, would respond to this. It’s likely that Barney didn’t spend much time thinking what he should do; he simply resorted to the method he knew best.

Despite his hatred for his father, he still copy him in some ways, and this behavior pattern stayed with him. Barney struggles to express his emotions or wants verbally, something that continues into his adult life. He rarely communicates his thoughts directly, instead, his feelings are often showed through his actions. This tendency is mostly evident in how he expresses his anger, which is often in violence.

He never fully learned healthier ways. While joining the army may have helped him develop some emotional control, his involvement in the Trickshot "business" clearly ruined it lmao.

Before I expand further on Barney's ability to fight, I want to finish the subject about their father (because I started it and I want to finish it. I know it makes this post very chaotic, but I can't help it).

-AFRAID

In Hawkeye (2012) there is a noticeable shift in the Bartons brothers. Barney becomes more calm, while Clint got increasingly bitter. It’s almost as if they’ve swapped their attitudes.

This is particularly evident in a scene where Clint attacks their father.

Initially, I thought Clint was solely focused on his father during this scene. However, it wasn’t until I noticed Barney’s eyes—fixed on Clint—that I realized he was also looking at him. He would first glance at Barney and then shift his focus to their father. Remember this, because it will be important later.

So let's focus on Barney in this moment (because this is a post about him, duh). Specifically when he says "Clint."

While we might interpret this as a warning to prevent Clint from doing something stupid, because Barney might have known it would upset him and make him do something reckless. But based on Barney's reaction afterwards, you can get the impression that it was the first time when Clint did something like that.

At that moment during dinner, Barney probably shouldn’t have know that Clint would react this way. So this "Clint" warning doesn't make any sense. Given that Clint was known to be a well-behaved child and Barney was his polar opposite, we have to look elsewhere for an explanation. And I'll rush you with my theory.

Since we know from All-New-Hawkeye, Barney was the one who always stood up for his brother (for example: Barney took the blame when they were suppose to work, but they sneaked in to see a perfomance)-

-then Clint might have been looking at Barney, hoping he would speak up against their father. Since he has been "obedient" so far, it’s reasonable to think that Barney might have developed a habit of standing up for him. After all, Barney didn't care about their father's opinions and hated his guts, so he could also speak on Clint's behalf just to piss their father off.

But when Clint realized that Barney had no intention of that, he reacted himself, which, as I mentioned earlier, was something he had never done before.

That's why I think the "Clint" could be interpreted as "Clint, not this time." Especially since Barney appears resigned to me.

Now you might be wondering: Why didn't Barney react? Why did Barney change his attitude? The answer is simple! This whole situation happened after Clint lost his hearing.

Let's take a closer look at this: Barney in Hawkeye (2012) is much calmer than in earlier comics showing him as a child. Here, we see that he's trying to take care of his brother (like when he came to Clint's room after the whole incident and brought an ice pack for the bruises). I think he stopped being so "rebellious" at home to not upset their father. Probably out of fear; if their father was capable to beat Clint so badly that he lost his hearing, what else might he be capable of?

So it's only logical for Barney to temper his normal behavior.

-A Troublemaker

Let's return to the topic of fighting: We can see that he learned how to fight so he could defend himself from his father. And due to his previously mentioned behavior, we can get the impression that he engaged in fights very often as a child.

He must have learned these skills from somewhere, so it’s clear he picked them up outside the home.

How did he learn? Who did he learn from? I don't know! It was never shown or mentioned where he learned all this, but I have theories.

Personally, I think Barney got himself in the wrong crowd during his childhood. Why?

Barney's main 'thing' in the comics is that he was in his brother's shadow and wanted to outshine him. And seriously, this is one of the main reasons why Barney hated his brother when he was in Dark Avengers lol. I honestly believe that their parents, especially after Clint lost his hearing, focused more on the good behaved younger brother, which may have led Barney to seek attention elsewhere. As a troublemaker, Barney likely engaged in stupid and dangerous behavior to gain the approval of others—behavior that fits his character trope. And I'm talking about drinking alcohol and stealing candy from the store.

Barney was shown twice drinking alcohol without flinching. While it’s possible he started drinking occasionally because their father did the same, I believe it’s likely that he also picked up this habit from other kids.

Adult Barney in the comics is portrayed as a charismatic guy with notable leadership skills. That's why I think that he definitely had a lot of childhood friends and wasn't a loner. However, he probably was not as popular as he wanted and due to his difficult personality (his bad temper), he certainly did not have stable friendships. This means there’s a good chance Barney fell in with the wrong crowd and because out of desperation to be liked, he would definitely do stupid things.

This kid was good with people. He was a fast-talker and had the ability to easily persuade people. Like, he successfully convinced Carson to take in two orphans from an orphanage. C'mon, he clearly had skills.

Barney is a manipulative bastard, who had a natural knack for playing people like a fiddle. I don't think I need to provide much evidence for that; after all he was in the mafia and held a high position there as an undercover FBI agent. That says it all.

The beginnings of his manipulating and persuading tactics began in childhood. We see in that infamous panel how he used his brother to do his chores. Of course, Clint started it on his own, hoping it would prompt Barney to stop being such an asshole. But you can bet that Barney did everything in his power to ensure Clint continued to do his chores. You can see it in his smirk.

(Solo Avengers 1988 #2)

From Avengers: Roll Call, we also know that Barney was bored and unloaded his anger on Clint by bullying him. Does this make Barney a villain evil brother? No. Based on other Clint's memories, he wasn't abusive, he was simply an asshole. And Clint, desperate for any form of affection, ended up in a this mix with Barney. It's a recipe for disaster.

Another intriguing detail worth mentioning is that Barney clearly had a thing or two on his conscience. We can see from the interaction between him and Jacques when the old man tried to persuade him into stealing.

"But you, you're a scrapper, Barney. Something tells me you know what it takes to survive"

So we know he wasn't an innocent child then. And Jacques was aware of this and knew that Barney would not refuse such offer. Of course, it can be said that he knew survival techniques from the orphanage, since as we know, the life in there was not sunshine and rainbows. But as we know from their life, their hardest lessons in survival came from their father. For years, Barney has learned how to play dirty to survive, even more than Clint. As Barney himself reflected in Hawkeye: Blindspot, he was the "Tricky One."

Did he steal before? Possible. Maybe he stole things in the orphanage. Or maybe candies from the store like I said before. No matter what, we know that he wasn't a good child.

-ENVIOUS

Since we’re discussing Barney’s involvement with stealing for circus, it’s worth noting that his agreement was fueled by jealousy. Because Clint got more attention and could do something better than him. This jealousy was never about wanting to be a performer/archer himself—contrary to what some people in fandom might think, Barney never showed any desire to be a circus attraction like his brother. In fact, when Swordsman offered them the chance to be his assistants, Bernard immediately refused.

He was simply envious of the attention Clint received and didn’t care about the circus itself. This jealousy made him more willing to engage in thefts—he was driven by a desire to be better than his brother in something. And well, being a tricky was one of the few things Barney excelled at.

2. What kind of brother was Barney?

-A TEACHER

The fact that Barney took care of his brother is already known from the post. He taught him everything from silly things like tossing a coin into a bottle, to more practical skills such as driving a car (possibly even a motorcycle) and how to talk with women. This shows that Barney genuinely cared for Clint and didn't want him to be a loser in life. Which makes sense since Bernard was in some way his caretaker after their parents deaths.

-A PROTECTOR

But more of him being "a caring big brother" was shown in All-New Hawkeye. While I don't like Hawkeye All-New, I do appreciate how it delves into Clint and Barney’s past.

Barney is the one who goes to their foster father and took the blame, because he did not want this bastard to hurt Clint.

He was also the one who offered to earn money for Clint so his brother could focus on learning archery instead and wouldn't be kicked out of the circus.

He repeatedly shouldered every responsibility and tried to protect him.

As previously mentioned, when Barney first got involved in "work" for Carson, his initial motivation was jealousy of the attention Clint was receiving and a desire to prove his own worth. However, as time went on, Barney became less enthusiastic about the thefts but felt compelled to continue. He knew that stopping could lead to them being throwed out from the circus—the only place where they could call a "home". And despite everything, he was determined not to drag Clint into this mess too.

In Hawkeye Vol. 3, it’s noted that Barney encouraged Clint to pursue his education ever since they escaped from the orphanage. I interpret this as Barney recognizing that life in the circus was neither secure nor ideal. He was not emotionally attached to this place, viewing it merely as a temporary situation. Barney wanted Clint to have more opportunities beyond the circus, which contrasted sharply with his brother belief that the future was bound there.

(That’s why I dislike the trope in fanfics where Barney is portrayed as someone who would let Clint to die because of circus. NO. While joining the circus was initially Barney’s idea, they stayed because it was their only option at the time. Barney would always choose his brother over the circus. He only left because he was fed up with living that way and saw no way to get Clint out, since Clint was too stubborn.)

What’s interesting to me is that Barney seems to have stopped stealing for the circus once he became an adult, considering their conversation after Clint was offered the chance to join to the "business".

(I KNOW that this comic was made before All-New Hawkeye and that’s why Barney reacted this way. BUT I’ll interpret it however I want, and there's nothing you can do about it.)

I don’t know why Barney stopped, but perhaps when he became an adult, he was able to take on more demanding jobs in the circus and no longer had to steal to pay for their upkeep (plus, Clint started performing and earning money). And as we can see, Barney doesn’t want Clint to steal. Even though Barney had do the same thing as a child to keep them in the circus, he didn't want Clint to fall into that same trap.

-A CARETAKER

FINALLY, I’d like to shift the focus to Barney’s role as a caretaker for his brother, particularly during their childhood, even before they ended up in the orphanage and Barney had to fully assume the role of guardian. Specifically, I want to delve into Barney’s responsibilities a caretaker when Clint lost his hearing.

I don’t have comic panels to back up my words because the comics don’t delve deeply into Clint’s past as a deaf child. However, I’ll draw on real-life knowledge to support my points. Although I’m not a sibling of a deaf person, but I have deaf friends and have read a lot of psychological studies to better write the dynamics of Clint in his family lol.

Sometimes a hearing sibling, often under parental influence, takes on the roles of caregiver, rehabilitator, or translator for their deaf sibling. They're often actively involved in therapeutic processes, taking on numerous responsibilities related to helping their deaf sibling in their everyday life.

Why do I believe Barney had such a role? The answer is simple: Barney knows ASL since he was a child.

I know it doesn't immediately meant that he had this kind of resposibility. But hear me out. We don’t know if their parents learned ASL and how Clint learned it, but one thing is certain: Barney learned it with him. Depending on how we imagine the situation, Barney could have acted as a communicator between Clint and their parents, as well as with the outside world. I've read about cases where deaf kids learn sign language, and hearing siblings often pick up the language better than their parents. This often leads to the siblings acting as translators between parents and deaf child.

Another evidence is that he was also present during Clint's visit to the doctor.

Barney probably really wanted to be present during this, but why did his parents let him? I find this strange. Maybe they just expected Barney to help take care of his brother?

This certainly made Clint more dependent on his brother.

Clint clearly was dependent on him, since he always consistently influenced Clint's life decisions. Why did Clint run away from the orphanage? Because it was Barney's idea. Why did Clint join the circus? Because it was Barney's idea. Why didn't Clint leave the circus when he discovered its true nature? Because Barney said it was the only way they would survive.

Why did Clint later want to leave the circus despite his reluctance? Because Barney wanted to leave.

As Barney put it in All-New Hawkeye, "Where I go, Clint goes." Clint's life revolved around his older brother for many years. Mainly because after their parents' death, he only had Barney. But even before that, we can feel that Barney had a significant role in his life.

For instance, we see this during the moment they received the news of their parents' passing.

Barney only needed a few seconds to comprehend what happened before he immediately focused his attention on Clint, ignoring his own feelings at the moment. Maybe he wasn't fully aware at the time, but he felt from that moment on he would have to take care of Clint completely.

We need to be aware that Barney wasn't an ideal brother for such a role. He was full of anger, bitterness and of his own problems that he couldn't fully address due to their situation. He was just a kid himself. Barney was thrust into the role of a parent and teacher when he himself needed a parent and teacher. His attempt at "raising" Clint was a series of trial and error because he had no idea what he was doing.

But despite being a troubled child, Barney did a good job taking care of Clint, at least considering what Clint says about him in Blindspot.

I know many fans are angry at Barney for leaving Clint, but I see it as a moment when he finally did something for himself. He accepted that Clint was mature enough to decide for himself. Besides, him leaving Clint's life was good for Clint because if he had stayed, his brother probably would have never left Carson (or he would have joined the military with him) and never found himself. Clint relied on his brother for so long and he needed to be on his own for a while to find his place in the world.

3. The summary

Barney was hot-headed, extremely bitter, and was the most angry kid ever. But he also adapted well to the situation imposed on him and tried to help Clint adapt as well. We know anger often stems from fear, and to me, Barney is a scared child who doesn't know what to do but still wanted to do something.

And that's all I wanted to write about his childhood. Was Barney an angel? No. Was he the worst brother in the world? Also no. Does he need therapy? Absolutely.