#Tactical fighter competition

[nocternalrandomness]

YF-23 and YF-22 side-by-side during the Advanced Tactical Fighter competition flight demonstration phase - 1990

[gaddaboutgriffon]

Danny is a paladin in the Young Justice Team.

I have wanted to have the young justice kids have a video game or board game they can all play but they would have equal chance at winning. (My first thought was Pokémon tournaments bet robin gets way to intense on the competitive stats) and any video game that requires fast reflexes Kid flash/impulse dominates at unfairly. So doomed is out. This is something for them to bond over after missions and training. And they settle on DCs version of dnd.

As they are playing they notice that some of the ways the dnd classes are used matches pretty well with some tactics they use on missions. Superboy is the team barbarian, Robin is the rouge, wonder girl is a fighter, Danny recently learned how to use ectoplasm for healing but he is a heavy hitter too so he is a paladin. Maybe paladin? (You guys can figure out what the other members are.) Oh and this gets them wondering if some strategies in dnd can be applied in the field. Several of which do and the mentors happy at the increased team work. Though they are confused at some of the code phrases the kids are using. (It’s not code just dnd terminology.)

Really this is what gave me the idea.

[wkemeup]

The Bet

summary: The agents at SHIELD have not taken well to Bucky’s pardon. When he’s injured on a mission under suspicious circumstances, you take matters into your own hands.  

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 7.7k

warnings: canon level violence, bucky’s internalized self-punishing issues, shield agents being real pieces of shit, badass reader who would defend bucky to the death

a/n: I know I’ve been really inactive lately (life’s actually been going well so I’ve been busier but that leaves me less time to write unfortunately), but I’m still lurking here! This is a fic I wrote several months ago but finally got around to editing it. Hope you enjoy!

Bucky wasn’t sure how you managed it – the punch to his gut every time you walked in the room. You were dressed in your tactical suit; black fabric draped over every inch of your body, protective layers of Kevlar and technology beyond Bucky’s years, a weapon strapped to your thigh and knives hidden in your belt and at your ankle. Your hair was tugged out of place, sweat beaded on your temple from the sparring match in the gym moments before the two of you were called to service. In your right hand, you carried your combat boots, the laces hanging low enough to touch the ground.  

And still, Bucky held his breath as you approached. Stomach in knots, chest tightening until his heart threatened to stop entirely.

“My offer is fifty this time,” you announced, winking in his direction before you turned to head for the landing bay. “Take it or leave it, Barnes.”

It was a game you’d been playing since your first mission together. A running bet to determine the better combat fighter. You’d insisted on measuring it not by the number of Hydra agents taken down or the bullets left in the magazine at the end of the mission, but by who walked away with the least damage on their body. A competition in the lack of scars.  

He suspected it was your effort to distract him, to center his mind on something other than the crushing weight on his chest as he stepped into yet another Hydra stronghold. With his pardon only coming through the official channels three months prior and the nightly news still debating whether he should be locked in a psychiatric hospital or executed for his crimes, Bucky didn’t mind a little distraction.  

He wasn’t sure what to make of you at first – this woman who cared so little for the eggshells scattered around his wake. Thin, broken pieces shattered under your steps, sharp edges digging into the soles of your feet and you did not flinch. You never hesitated in your teasing, never withdrew a cautious touch from the hardened steel of his left arm, never treated him as though he were fragile or unhinged. Instead, you placed bets on the outcomes of your shared missions as if his lethality was something to respect, to admire.  

Part of him wondered whether it was your attempt to keep him unharmed. The winner would have the least number of cuts and bruises – the least physical pain endured. Bucky had no problem using his body as the weapon it was designed to be, even if it meant being reckless in his own skin. It was what he’d been trained to do for decades; constantly reminded that his body was not his own to command, not his own to protect and shield. The mission came first. The mission always came first. Above his safety. Above his comfort. Above his sanity. Hydra cared little for how damaged he walked away from a fight as long as he did as he was ordered. But not you.  

No, you never could seem to hide the subtle twitch of relief as he won bet after bet. How your shoulders seemed to lose the tension aching in your muscles as you handed over the winnings he did not want. Because it meant you’d lost – that you’d been injured more than he had – and Bucky wanted no part in celebrating such a win.  

“I don’t want your money, Y/n,” Bucky said as he did before each mission. He fell in line beside you as rookies parted down the hallway with each approaching step. Most kept their head down, eyes averted. But not all. Some openly stared at him as if they might bore holes into his tactical suit. 

“Who says I’m paying you shit?” you scoffed, a smirk edging at the corner of your mouth. “Fifty, Barnes. You on or what?”

Bucky chuckled. “Yeah, fine. I’m in.”

You walked with a slight bounce in your step after he agreed and Bucky could not stop the smile as it tugged on his cheeks.  

By the time you reached the quinjet, the team of agents was huddled in the loading dock awaiting orders. Steve stood with a hand leaning against the pilot’s chair, the other hooked on the font of his belt. The rest of the team – a group of highly trained SHIELD agents dressed in full combat gear tensed as Bucky followed you onto the jet.  

“Thanks for joining us,” Steve welcomed sarcastically though there was humor in his grin. You rolled your eyes and held up your unlaced boots as if that would be answer enough that you were caught off guard for the unplanned mission.  

“Not all of us wait eagerly outside Fury’s door for scraps of adrenaline,” you teased and tossed a wink over your shoulder at Bucky.  

Steve bit his tongue to hold back a laugh. He turned to one of the agents lingering by the cockpit. “Get us in the air.”  

“Yes, sir,” the agent responded and quickly jumped into the pilot’s seat.  

Steve made his way to the table at the center of the jet where the building’s schematics were illuminated in three dimensional holographic lasers. Bucky exhaled a heavy breath as he followed, studying the lights as they detailed every inch of the building he would infiltrate in a matter of a few hours. He kept his right hand down by his side in an effort to not reach out and touch the floating blueprints.

“Y/n will lead Team B through the back entrance and up to the second floor,” Steve explained as he widened the schematics with a single swipe of his hand. The floor print zoomed into the level he was describing.

“Meanwhile, I’ll lead Team A through the main floor,” he continued and adjusted the visual to display the path he intended to take. “We’ll come in hot through the primary entrance. Draw as much attention as we can. That’ll give Bucky the time he needs to track down the Berlin files.”

Bucky swallowed as many of the agents turned to look at him. Steve had briefed him ahead of time on the mission so he knew he would be taking this one on his own. He knew the building better than anyone else, better than anyone who had studied the blueprints. He knew Hydra better than anyone else. Whether he was stored in this particular site was irrelevant. He understood how Hydra operated, enough to determine where they’d keep the sort of information that could bring the organization to its knees. It made the most sense.  

Clinical. Rational.  

“He’s going alone?” you questioned, your voice quieter than Bucky was expecting. Your focus was solely on Steve, brows knotted at the center. There was a soft waver of concern in your tone he was sure did not go unnoticed by the rest of the team. You’d seen Bucky’s right-hand curl to an aching fist enough times at the mention of his former captors. You knew the wounds were still fresh, the ink on his pardon barely dried.  

Steve nodded reluctantly. “We’re going to make a lot of noise, but don’t mistake me. This is a stealth op. Giving Bucky a team is only going to slow him down.”

“You could at least give him back up,” you argued, the gentle hesitancy dropped from your tone. Your hands planted firmly on your hips. Tension coated thick into the room.  

Bucky was about to step in, to put a careful hand on your shoulder and tell you he could handle himself just fine, that there was nothing to worry about. Maybe he’d crack a joke. Maybe then he could brush off your concerns and the knots in his stomach as simple worry for a reliable partner. But one of the senior agents – Hanning – cleared his throat first.  

“She’s right, Cap,” Hanning said. “It’s not a good idea to send him in alone.”

You exhaled a sigh of relief, looking to Steve with a challenging smirk, but Bucky knew Hanning’s words for what they were. His stomach bottomed as he started to reach for you, to pull you back from the room before you could hear the rest of what Hanning was surely about to say. Bucky could read it on each of the agents’ faces – how they all looked down their noses at him, how thier gazes flickered to the reflection of his left arm in disgust, how they tensed the moment he stepped on board the jet. Humiliation burned hot in his cheeks before Hanning even uttered another word.  

“See!” you hit Steve lightly on the arm. You grinned back in Bucky’s direction and did not see the dread weighing in his eyes. “Just give him two guys. Just enough to make sure he’s—”

“—watched. We all know the Winter Soldier can’t be trusted alone in a Hydra facility.”  

You stilled at Hanning’s words. Bucky watched the edge of your jaw flicker as you clenched the muscle, your hands gripping tight to the edge of the table. Bucky wondered if it might splinter under your hold.  

“Excuse me?” Venom dripped from your tongue on every syllable.  

“You said it yourself,” Hanning replied with a short shrug of his shoulders, as if you had simply misheard him. “The Winter Soldier shouldn’t be left on his own. No telling what he’d do unsupervised. Especially around his old buddies.”

You flinched – actually flinched.  

To Bucky, this wasn’t anything new. The serum has cursed him with heightened senses strong enough to overhear the quiet whispering when he entered the gym, the nervous murmuring of rookie agents who had grown up on ghost stories of his most prolific crimes. He noticed every frantic skip of a frightened heartbeat and every cold, seething glare of an agent whose loathing outweighed that of his fear. There was little room for anything else amongst the agents within SHEILD.  

You – and only a few others among the Avengers – were the exception.  

His pardon was conditional. He couldn’t afford the kind of trouble these agents were egging him into. One step out of line and he’d find himself with a lifetime sentence on the raft. Maybe that was what he deserved, but he couldn’t risk retaliating against the agents, couldn’t so much as chance a bitter word thrown back in their faces. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to admit that it was only in fear of not seeing you again that held his tongue.  

Bucky had grown numb to the taunts and the stares long before he stepped foot in the tower. He knew how to keep his head down, how to swallow back his pride at the expense of his dignity. He learned how to endure the humiliation, the shame. Hydra had taught him well.  

You, however, did not tolerate it.  

“He can’t be trusted, Cap,” Hanning went on, turning to meet Steve’s warning stare. “We’ve lost too many guys to his friends at Hydra. I don’t care what papers the President signed. You can’t let the Winter Soldier—”

“Stop calling him that,” you hissed, pounding a fist against the table. The holographic blueprints flared in response. “I said Bucky should have support in the field. Not a fucking parole officer!”

Hanning rolled his eyes; a dangerous choice to make to mock a superior agent in front of her own team. Steam billowed from your ears as several of the agents behind him began to laugh. Hanning wiped his thumb over his bottom lip, his gaze slipping down the length of your body as if to size you up, but he lingered too long. A power move, Bucky deciphered. A means to belittle you. Bucky gritted his teeth.  

“He’s a war criminal,” Hanning challenged, ignoring Bucky’s calculated step in your direction.  

“He was a prisoner of war!” you shot back, voice raising on every word. “Who was pardoned, by the way!”

“You think that changes anything? A piece of paper doesn’t erase the shit he’s done. Doesn’t bring back any of the SHIELD agents he murdered. Doesn’t make him any less of fuckin’ monster and we shouldn’t have to put up with his—”

“Enough!” Steve ordered, slamming a hand down on the table. The blueprints flickered out until the table powered down. “Hanning, get your men in order. I don’t want to hear another goddamn word out of you until we’re back in New York. Y/n, walk it off. We land in an hour.”

Betrayal seethed in your eyes as your gaze whipped to Steve. You expected him to defend Bucky as fiercely as you did, but Bucky knew better, as did Steve. Steve’s involvement would only worsen the division between Bucky and the rest of the team. They’d turn themselves into martyrs; jump on their high horse and twist Steve’s defense to align with what they already believed – that the Winter Soldier was dangerous, untrustworthy, and corrupted everything he touched. Including the Avengers and SHIELD itself.  

And maybe they were right, but it wasn’t a fight you had to be a part of. He worked very hard to ensure you knew little of it at all.  

You clamped your jaw shut to keep yourself from handing Captain America his ass next and quickly turned on your heels. Your hand slid around Bucky’s wrist and without much resistance, you dragged him along with you to the other side of the jet. There, you sank against the bench along the frame of the cargo hold and began sliding your hands along your thighs. As he watched you, Bucky wondered if you might tear the fabric of your suit with how intensely you were digging your palms into the muscle.  

“Hanning’s an asshole,” you grumbled. “Don’t listen to him. He doesn’t know shit.”

You spoke as if you believed it was an isolated incident – a single, rare occurrence he should brush off his shoulders – and perhaps you did. Perhaps you truly believed that no agent would be as brazen as to mock the former Winter Soldier to his face, but you would be wrong. Their confidence grew each time he kept his head down, each time he swallowed back the rage and humiliation at their taunts.  

Bucky sighed, sinking down on the bench beside you. Your hands were still raking against your thighs, your pointed glare still finding its way to the agents huddled on the opposite end of the jet. He figured if he didn’t say something soon, you might lose the battle for your better judgements and take a swing at Hanning before the jet so much as crossed Hydra airspace.  

“Make it a hundred.”

You furrowed your brow, your gaze shifting to him. Already, your features began to soften. Your hands stilled against your knees. “What?”

“The bet,” Bucky clarified, forcing a smile. It didn’t touch his eyes and it ached, but it was all he could muster. “Make it a hundred this time.”

A smirk slowly lifted the corners of your mouth and Bucky felt a weight slip off his chest.  

“You’re on.”

***

“Do you want know what I’m going to do with your money when I win?”

Bucky dug his teeth into his bottom lip to repress a determined smile as your labored voice crackled through his coms. He could hear the static of the radio waves and the frequent draw of your breath as you led your team in combat on the second level. You’d learned early on to switch your coms to an off-channel frequency while you were separated. Steve was the only one who was aware of the isolated channel, but he knew better than to listen in unannounced.  

“Huh, Barnes?” you challenged. He could practically see your smile edging up your cheeks. “Should I tell you how I’m going to spend your hard-earned cash?”

“You do remember you’re the one engaged in combat right now and I’m on an abandoned floor alone, right? Do you hear those odds?” Bucky smirked to himself, imagining the hard roll of your eyes as you scoffed into the coms.  

“You’re not as stealthy as you think, Barnes. Maybe you’ll stub your toe on a desk. Don’t underestimate my skill against these... amateurs,” you spat the last word as if to make a point to the man you were currently barreling a fist into. “Now let me tell you how I’m going to waste your money.”

“Go on,” Bucky chuckled. He stalked through the empty hallway, passing by old offices and labs as he scanned in search of the vault in question. Hydra was rather predictable that way.  

“Well,” you exhaled and clearly threw a punch at your opponent by the grunt that followed, “Sam’s birthday is coming up."

Bucky froze in his tracks; any trace of a grin wiped from his features. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Your laugh echoed in his ears and damn, if it wasn’t the sweetest sound he’d ever heard – took him right out of the Hydra facility he wandered through, out of the memories attached to the lifeless, concrete rooms, and brought levity back to his chest. How you managed to do that while fighting your way through a hoard of Hydra agents was beyond him.  

He turned into a promising office at the end of the hallway. Lavish enough to be one of the higher officer’s, with priceless stolen art on the walls and a desk chair that resembled a small throne. He rolled his eyes.  

“Six ahead! Erikson, McKinley! Go now!” You shot an order at one of your men before returning focus back to your side conversation with Bucky. He smiled at the sharpness of your tone – the authority, the respect you commanded. Just as easily, your tone shifted to the gentle teasing reserved only for him. “Maybe I’ll replace the side camera on Redwing you shattered in Guatamala last month.”

Bucky groaned and drew out your name in a long, exasperated tone as he began fumbling through a pile of stray papers on the messy desk.  You started to laugh again and Bucky couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the ends of his mouth. It was damn near infectious.  

“Fine, fine.” Your voice was breathless; either from the fight or the laughter, Bucky wasn’t sure. “I might venture a trip out to Coney Island. I hear they have life changing soft serve.”

Bucky chuckled just as he tore open a locked drawer, shifting through the contents. “You’d have a hell of a lot of cash left over.”

“Well let’s see,” you began, a short pause followed as you knocked out another combatant. Bucky could hear the thud of the body at your feet. “Two tickets on the train, two world-renown ice cream cones. It adds up, Barnes.”

Bucky furrowed his brow. A sudden unwelcomed pit formed in his stomach as he straightened his back, his hands slipping from their task at the desk. He swallowed, though his throat was dry.  

“Two? Who would you—”

“Are you really telling me you don’t want to show me around your old stomping grounds?” you teased, as if he should have assumed you’d only ever been talking about him. “I can be generous with your money, Buck. I’ll even treat you to a funnel cake if you want.”

Butterflies swarmed in his stomach, his teeth gnawing at his lips to suppress the grin and the flush in his cheeks. He didn’t dare look up at the Hydra symbol painted on the wall ahead of him, but he wondered then if the memory of it might have any effect at all in the wake of your laughter through the coms.

“That so?” he managed to reply, trying to find a piece of himself from the forties that could talk to a woman without stumbling over his words. His heart was pounding. Thundering. His hands gripped the edge of the desk in effort to stop the shaking of adrenaline, but it was such a lovely feeling.  

“I might even win you a stuffed animal.”  

Bucky exhaled as if it might relieve the pleasant aching in his cheeks. “Those games are rigged, you know.”

“I have my tricks.”

A throat cleared at the doorway.  

Bucky jolted, his hand on the trigger and safety unlatched before he got a good look at the face of the man watching him from the hallway. His smile fell as he froze – the sound of your voice calling to him through the coms went unanswered. You must have heard the sudden hitch in his breath, noticed just by the short gasp of air that something was wrong.  

Hanning didn’t so much as flinch as he stared down the barrel of Bucky’s gun. His arms were folded over his chest, his shoulder leaning against the doorframe. Bucky didn’t dare wonder how long he’d been there watching. He was losing his edge. Distracted in the one place he was supposed to be clinical above all else.  

Slowly, Bucky lowered the gun and latched the safety. Hanning cracked his neck to the side as six of his men emerged from the hall behind him. Bucky gritted his teeth and raised a hand to his coms.  

“I’m going dark.”

No time at all passed before you argued, “don’t you dare! Not while you’re out there alone.”

Bucky kept clear watch of Hanning and the six agents slowly making their way into the room, knuckles cracking against their hips, stretching their arms. A quiet anger simmered under the surface – boiling in his veins though no steam would release him from the rage it carried.  

“I found the vault,” he said, the lie slipping too easily off his tongue. “It’s heavily armored. It’ll cause interference. I’ll meet you on the jet.”

He didn’t like the short clinical statements he was giving you, as if you were little more than a handler requesting report. It wasn’t like him and you knew it.  

“No. Tell me where you are. I’ll come to you.” Desperation clouded into your voice.  

“I said I’ll meet you on the jet,” he replied sharply; harsher than he ever intended to be with you, but Hanning’s patience was wearing thin and Bucky would not stomach you being able to hear what was about to happen.  

“Okay.” You were quieter now, your breaths more labored. Bucky’s stomach wrung in knots. “Just be careful.”

He turned off the coms before regret could sink in.  

“No more Avenger in your ear now, huh?” Hanning jeered, a cockeyed smirk hanging on the left edge of his mouth. He shook his head, a darkness sinking into his features when Bucky refused to answer. “Christ. She’s just as pathetic as the groupie sluts camping outside the tower.”

“Leave her out of this,” Bucky growled. He knew full well of the crowd who chanted his name, holding picket signs in support of an innocence he wasn’t sure belonged to him. Bucky wasn’t convinced they knew much of anything about his crimes. He often wondered if they would still draw hearts around his name if they knew the volume of blood on his hands.  

Hanning scoffed. “She used to be a damn good agent before you started fucking with her head, you know that? Maybe if I take her to bed next, she’ll start defending my honor, too.”

The desk cracked under Bucky’s grip; splintered under his palms. It didn’t matter that he’d never touched you in that way. Didn’t matter that he hadn’t so much as whispered a breath to the torch he carried for you. But reputation and rumor weighed stronger than truth. And Hanning didn’t seem to mind which served him best.

“We both know why you’re here, Hanning,” Bucky said, his voice taunt in the effort. “Stop beating around the bush.”

A vicious smirk warped Hanning’s features as he signaled to his men. Bucky steeled himself – an agonizing, familiar feeling – and he waited for the first blow to land.  

***

Bucky took his time returning to the jet. He didn’t bother turning his coms back on after he begrudgingly tore open the vault door at the back of the office and obtained the files SHIELD was after. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to stomach the onset of questions you’d throw his way, the inevitable concern in your voice, or the lies that would slip too easily from his tongue.  

You and Steve would have already returned to the quinjet by now and he was certain you were wearing a tread into the floor of the debrief room. If he closed his eyes, he might have been able to picture your arms folded tightly across your chest, the scowl creating lines down your forehead, and the hushed grumble as you muttered under your breath, eyes constantly darting back to the door in search of him.

Bucky took no pleasure in his lies. He did not enjoy the slight hitch of concern in your voice as you begged him to stay on coms. No— it tore into his chest in such a way he was left wondering if there would be anything left at all if he continued this way.  

But you couldn’t know.  

You couldn’t know the truth of how far men like Hanning would go to appease their fragile egos. How agents of an organization you dedicated your life to abused their power and a loophole in the system to ensure they could pull one over on the Winter Soldier in favor of bragging rights and a misguided sense of justice. You couldn’t know it wasn’t Hydra that left him bruised and battered after these missions, but instead the agents under your watch.  

Bucky paused as he came up on the ramp to the back of the jet. In the vague reflection of the charcoal surface was a trail of welts and bruising covering most of his face. Red had seeped into the white of his left eye. The center of his bottom lip was split open; blood dripped down his chin and left stray droplets against the chest of his jacket. He quickly brushed his wrist against his mouth, smearing the blood onto his hand instead and made his way inside.  

Hanning was standing at the edge of the debrief room as his team passed behind him. He raised his hand to you in what appeared to be a mocking salute. You did not react; your arms folded over your chest just as Bucky had imagined and an irritable glare compressed most of your features. But your eyes shifted to the bloody and broken skin on Hanning’s knuckles as his lowered his hand back to his side. You turned and watched him as he joined the rest of the agents.  

Bucky swallowed and pressed the button at the mouth of the jet to retract the ramp. While you were distracted by Hanning, Bucky shook his hair into his face, keeping his head down, and made his way to the debrief room as he was required to do. He would not be able to hide the damage to his face for long, but if he could at least conceal your reaction from Hanning and the rest of the team, it might be enough to preserve what remained of his dignity.  

You turned and walked back inside the debrief room and Bucky exhaled a heavy breath. As he followed shortly in behind you, he wasn’t surprised to find you had quickly resumed pacing along the back wall of the room. The carpet was slightly discolored under your path.  

Only when Bucky closed the door behind him did you notice his presence.  

You froze, eyes darting across the room. The relief that sank your shoulders was instant, but brief, because the moment you took in more than just his physical body safe inside the jet, a wash of anger and panic absorbed any traces of solace.  

You rushed across the room to him, hands hovering over his shoulders, his forearms, his torso – as if you were seeking to touch him but would not dare to lay a hand upon his body in fear of shattering him whole. Your eyes frantically scanned the open scarring and bruising on his face, searching for more wounds you could not see.  

“What the hell happened to you?” You made no effort to obscure the panic trembling in your voice.  

“Hydra,” he replied shortly, the lie tasting bitter on his tongue. He looked across the room to Steve, who was standing with his back leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. Reluctance clouded the blues of his eyes but he did not contradict Bucky’s story.

“There shouldn’t have been anyone on that floor. You said it was abandoned! That was the whole point of drawing them all to us. You should have been clear!” you tried to reason and shot a glance at Steve to confirm, but his gaze lowered to the floor. You pinched the bridge of your nose as you turned your attention back to Bucky. “Did you get the files at least? Since you insisted on turning off your damn coms to get them?”

Your anger was a mask. Bucky could tell that much for certain by how your eyes shifted consistently to the blood in his left eye and the split on his lip. Fear was not an emotion you took kindly to, especially a fear you had no means of controlling.  

Bucky steeled his features the best he could and pulled the rolled file from the inside pocket of his jacket. Blood stained the corners of the crumpled folder and he set it on the table behind you. You did not seem even remotely satisfied by its presence.  

“Why wouldn’t you just tell us you’d been compromised?” you argued, shoving the folder further down the table. “I could have sent back up to you! Dammit Bucky, I would have come to you myself! You know I would have!”

Steve cleared his throat as he stepped away from the wall, a pleading heaviness filling his eyes as his head shifted towards you – a means of begging Bucky to come forward with the truth. You deserved as much, didn’t you? You cared for him for reasons beyond what Bucky could comprehend. But there would always be that sliver of doubt; that sickening voice in the back of his mind that questioned whether you might think he deserved the retaliation he got. Bucky only shook his head at Steve to warn him into silence.  

Your eyes narrowed on him, gaze following his path to Steve and back. Your instincts were not something Bucky should tread lightly around if he was intent on keeping this from you, and yet – there was some ache of relief to see the questions spinning behind your eyes, the stubbornness drawn to the surface to simply accept his ruse and pretend as though he wasn’t beaten into submission.  

Just as you parted your lips, you paused; your attention caught on the monitors just beyond Bucky’s shoulder. Upon one of the screens, Hanning was dramatically mimicking a fight scene to the entertainment of the surrounding agents. The video carried no sound but it was not easy to mistake the arrogant grin upon Hanning’s face as he showed off the bloodied cuts on his knuckles. Bucky resisted touching the bruise along his jawline.  

Bucky watched as you slowly moved closer to the monitor, studying every muscle in your body as you deciphered what you were seeing. Perhaps he might have been able to play it off as another one of Hanning’s pathetic attempts at boosting his ego by dramatizing a basic combat training move against a weak-willed Hydra agent, but while some of the agents looked to Hanning as if he were a god among men, some carefully – fearfully – looked over their shoulders to the debrief room. As if they were awaiting retaliation. Or punishment.  

Bucky swallowed bile as your spine suddenly went taunt. A gasp drew in a sharp breath to your lungs as you quickly turned to Bucky for confirmation. Suddenly he couldn’t speak – not with the way your eyes were pleading with him to deny it. You turned to Steve next and it only took a second before you saw the weight in his eyes, the truth he’d been hiding at the will of his best friend – how it ate away at him until there was little left. Your hand clasped over your mouth.  

“I’ll be outside,” Steve said quietly, sending an apologetic look in Bucky’s direction.

When the door closed behind him, you turned back to Bucky, waiting for him to say something – anything – to help you understand what happened. Hanning was an asshole, but to do something like this was unheard of. To attack a member of their own team under the ruse of a mission...

And maybe he should have confessed everything then and there, but his own fears were too strong – the possibility you might laugh in his face and side with Hanning, that you might believe him to be as vile and violent as the rest of them, undeserving of a second chance.  

So instead of an explanation, he reached into his back pocket and watched as your face contorted into something akin to horror and grief as he handed you a crumbled hundred-dollar bill. His hand trembled as he extended it to you.  

“What are you doing?” Your voice was barely a whisper; gaze fixated on the speckles of blood on the corners and under his nails.  

Bucky released a breath, though it burned on his exhale. “You won.”

You looked as though you might suffocate under the silence that sank into the room. Tears blurred into your eyes as you slowly took the bill from him, your fingertips lingering against his hand, and tossed it onto the table behind you as if the paper had burned you.  

“I don’t care about the stupid bet, Bucky! I don’t... I don’t want your money! I never wanted your money. Not ever,” you told him, voice shaking. You clenched your right hand into a fist as if it might quell the lump building in the back of your throat. “How long has this been happening?”

Bucky’s own throat was coated in gravel. “It doesn’t matter.”

“So, it has happened before.”

His stomach bottomed as he realized he’d given himself up. You were always too smart for him, too smart to fall for this pathetic ruse. He should have known better than to think he could keep this from you. He prepared himself for your anger, for your disappointment, for your mockery, but instead something akin to guilt sank into your features and Bucky swore his knees might give out entirely.  

“Our own men have gone after you like this... they’ve beaten you on these missions, reported it off as field injuries, and I... I just didn’t know?”  

You brushed at your tears. Bucky suddenly felt nauseous.  

“This isn’t your fault,” he said quickly, giving up on any attempts at concealing his lies further. He could not stand for you to think that you played a single role in this mess. This was on him. Only him. You were only ever the light in his darkest days. You could not hold an ounce of blame for what happened. He wouldn’t allow it.  

“You were in the med bay last month,” you realized suddenly, an awful mix of remorse and agony coating your features. “You were separated from the team when you were jumped. You said... You said it was Kingpin’s men but... it wasn’t, was it? SHIELD agents put you there. They were the ones who attacked you.”

Bucky clenched his jaw, his hand curling tightly to a fist as if that might stop the trembling. “This isn’t your burden to carry. I can take care of myself.”

“Not my burden?” you scoffed. “Look at you! Jesus, Buck. How is this even possible? You should be able to take these assholes on without breaking a sweat! I’ve seen you spar. I’ve fought alongside you. I know what you can do! Hanning barely has a scratch on him. You should have been able to knock him on his ass without—”

You froze and slowly, your shoulders sank.  

“God,” you exhaled, the realization shattering every inch inside your chest as you met his eyes. “You don’t fight back. You can’t, can you? Your pardon. It’s—”

“—conditional,” Bucky sighed and ran a hand through his matted hair. “One word to the council that I’ve stepped out of line and they could revoke it. I could end up on the raft for the rest of my life. And maybe... maybe I belong there anyway but I’m trying to better. To right the wrongs I’ve done. To... to be on the right side of things again. I can’t do that from behind bars. And if word got out I’m throwing punches at the good guys, that’s exactly where I’ll end up.”

“I won’t let that happen,” you swore, wasting no time in your promise. Before he realized it, you were standing only inches from him, your fingertips gently tracing the golden lines on his left hand. He wondered then how he could have ever feared mockery and disgust from a woman who touched him so tenderly.  

A tired smile tugged at his broken lip. “Steve doesn’t even have the power to intervene if it came to that. Let this go, Y/n. I can take a few punches if it means getting a chance to start over.”  

You winced at his words, clenching your jaw as if to choke back a sob. “You can’t keep letting them do this to you. I won’t let you.”

“What would you have me do?” Bucky asked, his voice absent of anger or challenge. It simply carried the heaviness of defeat, of acceptance. “You know what would happen if I gave the council a single reason to doubt which side I’m on. My hands are tied.”  

He realized his mistake the moment a deadly calm swept over you. Clarity, like standing under the eye of storm. Your gaze darted to the monitor where Hanning was still mimicking his fight with Bucky.

“Y/n, wait!”

But you were already halfway out of the room. You did not turn back at Bucky’s plea as you stormed around the corner of the short stretch of hall and into the primary deck of the quinjet. Steve straightened from his position leaning against the wall, his eyes darting behind you where Bucky was quickly following behind. But it was not Steve you’d come in search of.  

Hanning was laughing with a hoard of his men, gathered around the holograph table worth more than any of their miserable lives combined. He rolled his eyes at the sight of you, making a mockery of the fury raging into every line upon your face as you sought him out as he swatted his buddy on the arm.  

The bastard even had the unearned arrogance to smirk as he foolishly turned his attention to Bucky. “Enlisting your girlfriend to fight your battles for you, huh?”

You did not so much as slow your pace, did not draw in a full breath or acknowledge the slight furrow in Hanning’s brow before you threw a punch directly to his left cheekbone. He cursed as he jolted away from you, hands flying to his face as blood began to gush down his nose.  

“What the fuck is wrong with—”

You didn’t give him time to finish before you grabbed a firm hold of his collar and tossed him to the floor. Agents scrambled out of your warpath as you stalked after him.

Hanning looked up at Steve, holding onto his broken nose. Blood seeped from between his fingers. “Do something!”

Steve did not avert his gaze as he replied, “I didn’t see anything.”

Hanning’s eyes widened as you dropped to your knees beside him and fisted his collar. “Sergeant Barnes may not be able to fight back without breaking his pardon, but I sure as hell can. And unlike you, I don’t need my fights rigged to win. Lay a hand on him again and I’ll ensure you walk away from your next mission on a fucking stretcher!”

Hanning clawed at your grip, fear seeping through every line upon his face. “You can’t threaten me!”  

“Wanna bet?” Your nails nearly tore through the Kevlar fabric of Hanning’s shirt. “I’m an Avenger, asshole. You’re no one. I can make sure you’re transferred to the furthest corner of this planet. You’ll wish you were in space with the tree and the goddamn racoon!”

Hanning’s panicked eyes darted back to Steve who only shrugged and turned his attention to the passing of clouds outside the cockpit windows.

Bucky couldn’t help the smirk as it tugged at his mouth. He folded his arms firmly over his chest, sinking back into his stance. This image of you – baring your teeth, vicious in every muscle, seething in defense of him – was one he would commit to memory. He’d return to it in his darkest hours when he could find no answer for the cruel voices in the back of his mind – to draw upon this moment to chase away his demons with your anger and protection.  

“Are we clear?” you ordered when Hanning was too stunned to respond. He nodded frantically, as did the rest of the crew. You released Hanning’s collar and he fell to the ground with a heavy thud. He stayed still as stone as you slowly rose to your feet and brushed off his blood on the thighs of your pants.  

Your chest heavy and steady – each breath longer than the last. You did not tear your eyes away from Hanning for even a second, ensuring he felt every ounce of the rage burning inside of you.  

Bucky took a step forward, unbothered by the stares of the agents as he approached you. He set a hand on your shoulder, instantly noting the rigid tension in your muscles.  

“Come with me,” he requested, his voice quiet enough only you could have heard him. You expelled a breath as if it were made of fire and slowly followed him from the room.  

Bucky stepped inside the debriefing room first. He looked to the windows where clouds were passing by below the jetstream. Steady. Even. He took as much of their calm as he could manage and picked up the crumpled hundred dollar bill from the table. When he turned to face you again, he attempted to hand you the money but you held your hands up defensively and took a cautious step backward.  

“Bucky, no. Please, I don’t want it,” you resisted, your voice hollow and pained. “I only made the stupid bet to get you to stop being so reckless. I don’t want your money.”

He smiled at your stubbornness, at your scheming means to keep him safe. Bucky inched closer to you, extending his left palm up until you cautiously set your hand in his. His thumb drew a careful line along your palm and you watched him with such startling precision, he wondered if you might have been committing the feeling to memory.  

“What happened to our plans for Coney Island?” he asked softly.

Tears spilled over your cheekbones as a tired laugh escaped you. He pressed the bill into your palm and closed your grip around it – holding it tight at the center of your hand as gently as you might his own heart.  

“I should have said something the first time it happened,” Bucky said quietly, his gaze still fixated on your closed fist resting on his palm. “I’m sorry I didn’t.”

You shook your head. “You don’t need to apologize for anything.”

“No, I do.” He sighed, concentrating on the smooth skin of your hand. He skimmed his thumb along the tender skin on your knuckles, his heart suddenly heavy in his chest. “You didn’t even hesitate to defend me. Didn’t even second guess why they might have gone after me. You... you didn't question if I deserved it.”

Your face slacked at his admission. “Bucky...”

“I should have told you,” he repeated despite the burden of grief in your voice. He knew now that if he’d offered you a share of this weight from the start, that maybe it wouldn’t have gotten this far. Hanning wouldn’t have planned each mission to ensure he cornered Bucky on his own and got in enough swings to fuel his pathetic, sheltered ego. Maybe Bucky wouldn’t have spent so long believing this was his penance.  

You lifted your free hand to the side of his face, gently settling against the bruising to cup his cheek. He closed his eyes, sinking into the feeling. Your thumb brushed along a tender ache on his cheekbone but there was no pain under your touch.  

“I know now,” you told him softly, “and it won’t ever happen again.”

Bucky smiled though it tugged at the split on his lip. “I know.”

You lowered your hand from his face and gently pushed the hundred-dollar bill back towards him. “Take this back, Buck. Take it back and promise we’ll still go to Coney Island.”

Bucky closed his fist around the crumpled bill and slowly nodded. You did not release his hand. You did not pull away. You only held him – touched him as though you could not stand to pull away from him.  

“I swear it,” he exhaled, his gaze still fixated on your hands.  

You sighed, relief slipping through your body as you smiled at him. “Think you can win me a giant bear?”

Bucky chuckled and he didn’t mind when the split on his lip ached as he smiled. “Should we bet on it?”  

---

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Ok so, before the indigo disk released I heard there was going to be people with competitive movesets, so before it released I literally made myself an entire competitive team. IM A CASUAL PLAYER 😭😭 and I just think it’d be really funny that carmine and kieran would probably think i’m just gonna stroll up with my usual team but nope swords dance + scale shot 💃 if you could write their reactions to the new squad I just think it’d be funny lmao

(If you want the team I made for reference, it was koraidon, ogerpon, chien-pao, blood moon ursaluna, armarouge, and a shiny slither wing because I felt like having a shiny so I hunted one lol)

- 🪑🥚

Bro I went into the Indigo Disk 100% blind so you can imagine my shock when I realized double battles were gonna be everywhere </3

I mostly had a "fuck it we ball" mentality going through it (which made some battles go on for WAY too long), but later I taught my Ceruledge Poltergeist when I realized almost every NPC in the dlc uses held items.

Funny enough Ogerpon (with Spiky Shield) and BM Ursaluna were on my team. He was an absolute TANK with the assault vest and he knocked out Hydrapple with a Moonblast

Anyways enough rambling and onto the request!

......

Kieran

He was expecting your usual team when you started challenging the BB Elite Four, rolling his eyes at the thought of you trying to use the same old tactics to defeat him.

But he's changed. He's gotten stronger and wanted you to be surprised by what he can do now.

Instead, though, when you arrive to the championship battle...not only did you bring out Ogerpon with her teal mask to (supposedly) insult him, but you also had Chien-Pao, which may spell trouble for his Dragonite.

He'll admit, you were clever to bring a Pokémon who could lower the defense of all the others and cut their HP in half with Ruination..but he doesn't give up yet.

Seeing a shiny that looked like a Volcarona but fluffier was certainly bewildering--as is the Bloodmoon Ursaluna you managed to tame back in Kitakami and the Armarouge who sets up a Psychic Terrain to boost its Expanding Force, allowing it to hit two of his Pokémon at once.

Oh, and apparently you have not one but TWO Koraidons, with the one you brought into battle being more brash and a fierce fighter in its Apex build.

You set that one up with a Swords Dance + Scale Shot combo that absolutely kicks ass, somehow striking your opponents 4-5 times whenever you command it.

Kieran's certainly gotten smarter about his team, but so have you, and he's livid about it.

It was like you enjoyed knocking him down over and over again...yet he can't hear the reluctance in your voice as you utter the final move that finishes off his Hydrapple.

You knew you had to win. He needed to be humbled.

But it didn't feel good at all as you watched him crumble and Drayton rub his loss in his face.

Carmine

When you battled her, she (like her brother) expected to see some familiar faces on your team.

Yet you surprised her (in a good way, very much unlike her brother) with Ogerpon, and she smiles and asks if she missed her, with the legendary responding with a small hop and a happy trill....

Followed by a devastating Ivy Cudgel that lands a critical hit on her Pokémon.

Yeah, she can definitely tell you've been training the Ogre a lot, but she's proud of how confident she's grown nevertheless.

Seeing you have both Chien-Pao and another Koraidon working in tandem is impressive, especially with that Ruination + Swords Dance + Scale Shot combo you pulled.

BM Ursaluna and Shiny Slither Wing are the only two that genuinely shock Carmine, as she's only seen one in myths and the other....she's never seen in her entire life.

But after the trip to Area Zero, she understands Slither Wings better (although she's amazed you managed to find a shiny down there).

Either way, those two are powerhouses.

She remembered you talking about a little lonely Charcadet you found during an outbreak, and to see it has grown up into a mighty Armarouge was such a sweet thing to see.

You clearly took the time to plan out your team before coming to the Blueberry Academy.

Carmine found your battle to be fun.

Although she can't exactly say Kieran will feel the same way..considering Ogerpon is with you and you have some new tricks up your sleeve.

But she figured he oughta find that out for himself.

[vinyls-and-valentines]

The most noticeable thing that changes about the Fabulous Killjoys is the way they fight.

Fun Ghoul, although blessed with a knack for chemistry and mechanics, has unsteady hands. While this does not impede his work with electronics and explosives, it makes him a slower shot than most due to a shaky aim worsened by recoil. Because of this, in his early days in the Zones, Fun Ghoul relied primarily on incendiary devices and his own physical abilities to dispose of opponents in an area all at once. The downside of having a combat style based around such tactics however, is that it meshes poorly with the mid-to-close-range the Fabulous Killjoys have developed over the years (in no small part due to Kobra Kid), and thus led Fun Ghoul towards a style focused more on dodging hits and making decisive point blank shots or further sacrificing accuracy for the sake covering a wider area.

Jet Star, is the opposite of Fun Ghoul, in the sense that he has exceedingly steady aim born out of years of practice and a greater-than-life sense of competition, but can struggle to move effectively due to his size. As such, it perhaps comes to no surprise that Jet Star used to prefer long-range fighting, neglecting close-range in favour of playing up the fear factor of both his skill and affiliation with some of the Zones' most infamous snipers and gunslingers. That doesn't mean that he was useless in a close-range fight, of course, however his movements were simple, predictable, and incredibly limited, which put him at a disadvantage against anyone with more experience or endurance than him. Jet Star's current style hasn't as much shifted in order to accommodate the others' as it evolved alongside Jet Star as he learnt to direct his body as deliberately as his shots even when it comes to close quarters.

Party Poison has always been a flexible fighter, and it is this very adaptability which highlights just how purposeful their attacks truly are. In the grand scheme of things, nothing fundamentally changes about Party Poison's fighting style outside some improvements in their aim and the variety of their movement as they learn to fight alongside other people, however, the intent with which they fight does. As a young killjoy, whether consciously or not, Party Poison's intent in a fight was to always harm the oponent, prioritizing ways in which they could incapacitate them without having them lose consciousness or simply inflicting as painful an injury as possible to attain their goal. This intent then gradually shifts towards a desire to protect others from the cruelty Poison's own fighting style reflected back at the world because despite the cruelty of their actions they had never done it because they enjoyed it.

As candidate to become an exterminator, Kobra Kid's fighting style used to something akin a swiss knife, however much more calculated and deliberate. While trying to figure out its way through the Zones, Kobra Kid relied on any weapon available to it, going through a wide variety of combat and more often than not pushing aside his distaste for blasters in favour of having a weapon which was effective and easy to replace. Having Jet Star, Fun Ghoul, and even its sibling by its side, allowed Kobra Kid to focus on its unarmed combat and blade-wielding, casting long-range combat aside in favour of a style which gave it better control over the situation, enabling it not only to easily dispose of opposing combatants due to its athleticism, but to also support its crewmates in situations where long-range combat is the favourable approach

[venjamin-kingdomhearts]

friendship askbox meme

send a non-romantic pairing and an emote/word to the reblogger for their headcanons! i see a lot of ship-related ask memes so i wanted to make some that focus more on friendly things. some of these where written with duos in mind, others with trios/larger friend groups, but they should all work for either/or, I think! some questions imply romance outside of the pairing but none imply that the characters themselves are/have been romantically paired. divided into groups based on themes

GENERAL

🗣️ Description — how would each member of the friend group describe their relationship to one another? do they think of each other as peas in a pod, opposite sides of the same coin, maybe family, something more queer-platonic, or something else entirely?

🎵 Music — do they have similar music tastes to one another? if they exchanged phones, what songs would they be most surprised to hear from their friend's playlist? what sort of songs would they associate with the other(s)?

🫂 PDA — what are their opinions on public displays of affection? are they comfortable with touch, or is that a big 'no' in their friendship?

🎮 Games — what's the friend group's go-to party game, and what does each person suggest to play when they're in charge of choosing?

💢Combat — for fighters, how do they work off each other to defeat a greater foe? would they have a "team attack" or tactics for attacking an enemy, or in a more realistic scenario, who would be most likely to pick a fight for the other's honor? for pacifists, is there anything that can push them to resorting to violence?

🌂Rain — how do they usually spend a boring or rainy day together?

🎁Gifts — what would they get each other as a gift?

🍜Food — how do their tastes in food differ? do they have a favorite meal to eat together? do they ever cook for each other, whether it be a nice meal as a gift, or a nasty one as a prank?

🌶️Spice — who can handle spice, and do they tease their friend(s) who can't?

🛏️ Sleep — what sleeping habits do they have? how would they comfort the other(s) after a nightmare? would they share a bed or cuddle together, or does that cross a boundary?

🏠 Housemates — how would these characters be as housemates? if they're already roommates, what does their life look like together? if not, would they want to live together, or would that be pushing things too far?

🗺️ Map — who leads the way when navigating, and who's more likely to get lost?

🎤 Karaoke — what's their go-to karaoke songs, for when they're taking turns singing and what duet do they choose when they're singing together?

ANGST & HURT/COMFORT

👑 Devotion — are they willing to die for one another? go to the ends of the earth to make each other happy? is one person more devoted to serving the other, like a knight protecting their ward?

💥Disagreements — how often do they fight? what's the quickest way to get them to have a petty argument, and what would genuinely have them at each other's throats? is there relationship one where they're quick to forgive the other(s), or do they each need time to figure things out?

⚔️ PVP — if there were forced to fight one another, how would they react? would someone throw the fight to protect the other, or would they both give it their all if something important was on the line? in a larger friend group, how would the characters divide themselves into teams if they were all pitted against one another?

🥉 Competition — who's the most competitive, and how does their friend react to/comfort them when they don't reach their ambitions?

💣 Self-destructive — who in the group had the most self-destructive habits, whether they're intentional or not? do they ever get chewed out by the other(s)? comforted?

⛓️ Chains — how do they respond to learning about each other's trauma, or what holds them back?

🌑 Fears — how open are they about their fears? who's the bravest? do they ever help one another conquer their fears?

🐺 Alone — what's something they each know no one else will understand -- no one else, aside from each other?

❤️‍🩹Healing — when one of them is hurt or suffering, what little things does the other do to help them heal (physically, emotionally, etc)?

💉Health — do either of them have health issues? how do they treat the other(s) when they're sick?

💔Heartbreak — how does each character respond to heartbreak, and do they go to the other(s) for comfort?

RELATIONSHIPS

🍼 Babysitter — if one of them is a parent/were to become a parent, who would it be, and would the other(s) be a good babysitter?

🌹 Wingman — how do each character react to finding out the other(s) has a crush on someone outside their friend group? do they have different approaches to acting as a "wingman" for their buddy, or do they worry about becoming a third wheel?

🦁 Mentor — is one character more of a mentor figure to the other(s)? what would they teach the others? is there any situation where the "apprentice" would teach their "mentor" a skill they don't already know?

🛡️ Guardian — does someone specific take the role of "guardian", or do they protect each other equally? if one character is more protective of the other(s), is their protective nature appreciated or suffocating?

🐣 Upbringing— how do their childhoods compare, and what do they think of the families that raised them? have they always been together? do they share any common footing when it comes to how they grew up? 🤝 Dream Team — for duos, is there a famous/fictional pair of characters they'd compare each other to? for groups, do they know a cast of characters they'd compare the others to? if so, who would each person compare the other to, and what characters would they assign for themselves?

[usafphantom2]

27 Aug 1990 – First flight of the Northrop YF-23 single-seat, twin-engine, supersonic stealth fighter prototype was a finalist in USAF's Advanced Tactical Fighter (ATF) demonstration/validation competition, battling YF-22 Two YF-23 prototypes were built.

@CcibChris via X

[whencyclopedia]

Junkers Ju 87

The Junkers Ju 87 'Stuka' was a two-seater dive-bomber plane used by the German Air Force (Luftwaffe) in various theatres of the Second World War (1939-45). The Stuka, with its distinctive angled wings, excelled when combined with armoured divisions in Germany's blitzkrieg ('lightning war') tactics in the early years of the war, but its inferior speed and manoeuvrability compared to single-seat fighters meant that it was ultimately restricted to hitting static targets where the Luftwaffe enjoyed air superiority.

Design & Development

In 1934, the German aircraft company Junkers was commissioned by the Nazi regime to design a prototype dive bomber. The idea was that a dive-bomber aircraft would be capable of delivering bombs at a lower altitude and with more accuracy than traditional high-altitude bombers, which dropped their loads vertically. Three prototypes were produced with design adjustments made to ensure the wings of the aircraft could withstand the force of diving from altitude. The best Junkers design, which included a Junkers Jump 210A engine, impressed against competition from rival manufacturers Arado, Hamburger, and Heinkel. Both Junkers and Heinkel were commissioned to produce 10 aircraft each. Several Ju 87s, as they were now classified, were tested in real combat conditions in the Spanish Civil War (1936-9) where they were flown by Germany's Condor Legion.

The Junkers Ju 87 had two seats, one for the pilot and one immediately behind for the rear gunner/radio operator. The aircraft gained the nickname 'Stuka', short for Stürzkampfflugzeug, meaning 'dive-bomber' in German, although the Germans themselves nicknamed the plane 'Berta'. The Stuka's bomb load mechanism "swung the weapon clear of the fuselage and propeller arc before it was released" (Saunders, 30). This feature, combined with the aircraft's ability to dive at a steep 80-degree angle (helped by a special dive-braking system), meant that it could strike a target with a much higher degree of accuracy compared to other types of bombers. Hitting a moving or small target remained a challenge and so, given that there was a mere 1.5-second window in which to release the bomb load at the bottom of a dive, only the most skilled Stuka pilots could regularly hit the objective of their extensive training: a 10-metre radius circle. Nevertheless, dive-bombing "proved four times more accurate than normal horizontal bombing from altitude" (Dear, 115).

By 1938, the main Stuka production plant was the Weser plant at Berlin-Tempelhof. Further design tweaks were made to the fuselage and distinctive fixed landing gears with their 'trouser' covers. The angled, 'gull' wings of the Stuka also set it apart from other aircraft of the period. Over the course of several new production models, a much more powerful engine was installed, the most powerful being capable of an impressive 410 km/h (255 mph), although this was significantly less than the best Allied or Axis single-seat fighters of the period, which could fly well over 480 km/h (300 mph). As the Nazi regime geared up for a war of conquest in Europe, Junkers was required to step up Stuka production to 60 models a month. By the start of WWII, which began with Germany's invasion of Poland in September 1939, the Luftwaffe had 336 Stukas, a figure which soon increased to 557. These aircraft were divided into nine Luftwaffe Stukagruppen. The aircraft was also flown by the Italian air force and by the air forces of other Axis allies such as Bulgaria, Croatia, Hungary, and Romania.

Stuka Dive-bombers in Poland, 1939.

Bundesarchiv, Bild 183-1987-1210-502 / Hoffmann, Heinrich (CC BY-SA)

Continue reading...

[smilesatdawnmain]

In your tragedy of six Au, was their every any competition between the children. Obviously MK was treated differently being the Harbinger of chaos (I don’t know if that means that LBD was nicer to him or stricter and making him train more) but what about all of them in total ? Were they raised to compete or to work together?

Poor Nezha. He was probably trying to raise them to be good and happy but due to LBD‘s threats and instructions, he wasn’t able to do it as much as he wanted to 🥲 I love this guy so much 😭

MK is treated differently, and he does recognize this as he gets older. At first he didn’t mind it but LBD started to call upon him ALL THE TIME.

Still, this isn’t normally an issue… but it does drive a rift between him and one of the other children. I shall not say who yet~

But it’s that tension that causes MK’s his stress as he knows LBD’s affection for him causes anger from that character. (And also, he does get uncomfortable how much pressure she puts on him)

As for the all the kids- LBD does favor the stronger children (MK and Red Son) but she doesn’t try to necessarily separate any of them except for MK himself. He often has solo training (Red Son does too just not as much).

As she wants all the children to be her little soldiers, and use all of them in this war, she understands the important of having a functioning army.

They are challenged to compete against each other, but both LBD and Nezha surpassingly agree that “team work” is a better option as a whole.

That doesn’t mean though that all the children can get along all the time….

There is personal competition between a few of the kids.

Example:

Mei and Xiaotian : these two often times can’t stand each other. They are often at each other’s throats and even “team bonding” training often leads to a competition between the two

Red Son and MK: while this isn’t intended, Red Son finds himself proving to be MK’s better a lot- even if MK doesn’t realize this himself.

So overall ral together- but Nezha does separate them into teams from time to time to train and compete against the other team to work on their tactical knowledge

—-

Nezha really does try his best. While training them to be competent and strong fighters is the easy part, it’s training them to keep a sense of morality and compassion that can be tricky. As that doesn’t fall into lines to LBD’s lessons…

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[witchthewriter]

𝐊𝐲𝐥𝐞 '𝐆𝐚𝐳' 𝐆𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤

ISFP

Gryffindor

Chaotic Good

Gemini Sun, Virgo Moon, Cancer Rising

The fact that Kyle Garrick doesn't have as much popularity as some of the other characters in the Call of Duty world. is sinful. It's blasphemy.

Look, at first I was one of those people who didn't like Gaz as much as the rest of the Task Force, but now, NOW, I see him as such a valuable member. This is my formal apology to thy beautiful god of a man, Gaz.

And also a post so those that say, 'they don't know anything about Gaz so they cannot include him' - well here's your info babes!

"𝑳𝒆𝒕'𝒔 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒊𝒕 𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒆, 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒉?" — 𝖪𝗒𝗅𝖾 𝖦𝖺𝗋𝗋𝗂𝖼𝗄

Alias(es)

Sabre 2-6

Bravo 0-5

Bravo 2-6

Bravo 6-2

Bravo 6-1

Gaz

Nationality: British

Rank: Sergeant Sergeant is a senior role of responsibility, promotion to which typically takes place after 12 years of service, depending on ability. Sergeants typically are second in command of a troop or platoon of up to 35 soldiers, with the important responsibility for advising and assisting junior officers.

Birth: 1993 However, he is older than Soap.

Hair: Black

Eyes: Brown

Kyle Garrick enlisted in the British Army in 2008, serving in the Duke of Lancaster's Regiment, spending four years participating in test flights, jump competition and marksmanship before passing selection for Her Majesty's elite Special Air Service (SAS), where he is currently serving as a Sergeant for his sixth year.

Tasked to Northern Ireland, Bosnia, Turkey, Iraq, Afghanistan, and Syria. Garrick has spent the better part of his career hunting terrorist fighters.

Kyle earned the U.S. Marine Corps Gold Parachute Wings at Marine Corps Base Camp Lejeune in North Carolina whilst on an exchange attachment and routinely cross-loads on operations with the SAS' American counterparts, the Navy SEALs.

Required to undergo resistance to interrogation (RTI) testing, Kyle was the only candidate in his class to escape the facility and evade capture.

Routinely subjected to physically and mentally uncomfortable scenarios, Kyle prides himself on high tolerance and tactical awareness.

Sergeant Garrick was awarded the Queen's Gallantry Medal and the General Service Medal for both covert and overt counter-terrorism operations in the Middle East, disrupting opium supply lines and poppy production, a major source of terrorist financing.

With expertise in prime target elimination, demolitions, weapons tactics, covert surveillance and VIP protection, Kyle currently serves on the SAS domestic counter-terror program, executing homefield missions with metropolitan police forces on European soil.

Challenging duty, due to civilian and collateral damage issues, Kyle seeks the opportunity to serve abroad again, and make a real difference combating the threat of terror.

Quotes

" Fuck off, shit pouch."

"It shouldn't have happened in the first place sir."

"They sent us in half assed, so everyone can just keep pretending we're not at war."

"I'm not dead, Nik. I'm hanging from a bloody rope!"

Personality

Very rarely does Kyle demand attention. He's observant problem-solving and bases his decisions on his instincts and values, and focuses on enjoying the present.

However, with the line of work he's in. Kyle has had to change the way he reacts to things. One really obvious scene between him and Cpt Price shows how this job is changing Kyle e.g,. Price’s quote about bloodying your hands after taking the gloves off.

Even so, I do think he's the most gentle of the four men, the kindest - almost like he's clung to his humanity with everything he's got.

sources: @mockerycrow. callofdutyfandom.com.

[robinsdearest]

Play Nice on the Ice

Jason Todd x Reader

Jason Todd had always been a fighter. Through and through, birth to death to rebirth- he never stopped fighting. It was in his blood, his very being, down to the bones that kept him upright. Or the bones that kept him squatting here.

Jason dropped his knee to the ice to catch the hockey puck from flying into the goal. The arena erupted into cheers and applause before quickly quieting down. The other players stopped the play and skated back to their positions. Jason stood, threw the puck to the referee, and finally let a breath loose. His annoyance climbed slowly. It started during the pre-game debrief, yet his bones seemed to weigh heavier with it as the periods carried on. He was restless for action, which made no sense considering ice hockey was considered to be one of the most physically demanding and extensive sports. He guessed he just did not like being the goalie.

It was your idea to get into ice hockey. You read one or two books about hockey romances and basically begged Jason to give it a try. He relented after reading a few chapters of the books himself. You made it easy for him and found a good place to start. This small recreational league created a competitive atmosphere for men of all ages to play: mostly former convicts and drug addicts, or just people from Gotham who needed an outlet or needed to spend community team doing something productive. Hitting other men against a plexiglass screen, skating on blades of steel on an ice rink was surely productive one way or the other. The team Jason joined was no different. At their first meeting, he explained he was simply working through anger issues, a sentiment easily shared amongst his new teammates. The big, bad, bat even agreed with the decision with a fervor Jason could have only described as giddy. An outlet for violence, a redirection of anger, maybe someone could knock some sense into him, good exercise, and a few other points that Bruce had listed while writing a check to cover the whole teams’ expenses under a Wayne Enterprise’s donation. The coach had cried for hours when he brought the check during the next practice. It was a sweet gesture.

Jason propped up his goalie mask and squirted some water into his mouth from the bottle on top of the net. The water was cold compared to the heat from the gear and his sweat, the ice barely cooling him down. He placed the bottle back on the net before surveying the ice rink once again. The audience cheered and screamed, many fans hitting the glass with their fists or palms. Most of his teammates skidded into position while one guy in particular stayed glued to someone from the opposing team. From Jason’s team, the man was tonight’s left defender, a primary enforcer. Jason’s frown deepened.

Due to the small nature of the league, players were encouraged to try all the positions: center, left and right wing, left and right defense, and goalie. Goalie was apparently the easiest to learn for newbies, but Jason’s favorite turned out to be either of the defensive positions. Body checking in hockey gear was the same, if not more fun than doing it to a Joker henchman in his tactical Red Hood gear. He could get away with most of his hits, as the referees gave a bit of wiggle room to play and didn’t penalize too often. And Jason argued that all of his hits were legal. You were always the first one to tell him otherwise. He had a few cheap shots. He liked to use his weight and size against some of the smaller men; it was easy to throw a few punches or check an opposing player with his massive body. The coach had basically salivated at the mere sight of Jason walking through the arena doors at the small recreational league orientation. You would be visibly angry, but Jason always liked to watch you squirm as you relayed the plays back to him. A glint in your eyes when talking about his strength. Some nights after a game got hot enough to melt away an entire rink of ice if Jason got you talking about it long enough. He’d have to find those romance authors and thank them for the additional ideas.

At the thought of you, he checked on your seat. You were standing up, soda can in one hand while the other beat against the glass. Tim was seated beside you, an indifferent look plastered on his smug little face. You always found a seat next to his team’s bench. The brainiac was your second favorite bird, so Jason tolerated him a little more often. He was a welcome companion for tonight’s game. You went to every single game. Your relationship with Jason budded years ago; the Red Hood collapsing on your fire escape kick-started the friendship that turned into something much more. Friendly punches and awkward conversations that blossomed into soft touching and lingering hands. Jason was grateful for you in many ways. You liked to watch him destress while playing. After the first few games, the two of you had discussed in depth how it truly was a good outlet of frustrations. All you asked from him during his hockey endeavors was that he try his best to keep all his teeth. You liked his smile, and the pearly whites were essential for his looks. Among other non-mentionables.

His previous fighting had landed him in this position tonight. A goalie wasn’t allowed to fight, and his team had been fined well enough to last a lifetime- no thanks to Jason and his cheap shots. Thank goodness Bruce had a few lifetimes worth of money.

Earlier at the debrief, the coach shoved the goalie gear into Jason’s hands. That’s where his annoyance started to bubble. “You get to play nice tonight. For once.” Coach had said.

Jason slammed his hockey stick against the ice impatiently. The left defender was still trash talking the opposing player. The defender was on parole for laundering money, a non-violent sort of guy.

Jason’s hockey career started a little over six months ago, and as it turned out, he was naturally built for this sport. His stature, his quick-thinking, and his training as Robin did wonders for a contact sport like this. Who would have thought that punching a few villains at night would equate to a premier international sport sensation. Jason’s Red Hood duties had been pushed to a minimum during that time, too. He spent more hours practicing on the ice than he did hunting down lowlifes from Gotham’s underbelly. Nightwing took over his jurisdiction, focusing heavily on the docks. Jason was able to provide Dick with a few pieces of information he had heard from his fellow teammates when he learned something worth mentioning.

There’s a commotion and a few whistles burst through the air. Roars erupted again from the audience. Across the rink, the left defender threw down his gloves to shove the opposing team member’s face into the ice. There were shouts and a few other fights broke out as the referees tried their hardest to break up the seven or eight men now at each other’s throats. With each swing, more and more fans stood from their seats to enjoy the chaos. Jason would have been content watching the mayhem from his corner of the world at the goal. Would have been. He would have been until his eyes caught an opposing jersey making its way to his team’s bench.

The guy was tall but lanky; a right wing from this Metropolis team that had no business going to Gotham’s bench. He looked to be older, but most of these guys were. Jason’s blood boiled at what the lanky kid did next. He slid next to the bench to you. At the angle from across the box, he had direct access to speak to you. Even from the distance, Jason could tell that the guy was attempting to flirt with you. You were too kind a soul- you were only nodding your head with a fake smile that the creep thought was genuine. Jason would have to teach Tim about scaring other men away from you in the future.

Jason slammed his hockey stick to the ground, banging it again and again demanding attention. The only one he grabbed was yours. In any other scenario, that would have been sufficient. Not now. Not when a stranger is taking advantage of the fighting chaos to flirt with a fan. A fan that was solely Jason’s. His person. His. Something greater than jealousy rumbled in his veins, propelling the man into action. He had been itching for a fight. It sucked that he was placed as a goalie instead of the left defense like he wanted.

Your eyes tracked Jason the entire time he skated across the ice. One of the referees attempted to grab Jason before another fight could break out, but he easily pushed the ref aside. The roar in his ears drowned out the echoes from the crowd around you.

“Hey!” He screamed. The guy ignored him. Creep had the audacity to reach for you to grab your attention. Jason was always a fighter. A lover too, but a fighter through and through. And now his time had come.

Jason skidded to a halt next to the lowlife, kicking up shaved ice into his face. The man spun on his skates to glare directly at him. Finally, Jason got his attention. He felt on fire: fueled and heated on his steel blades despite the frost beneath them. The man scowled at Jason, rolled his eyes, and held a hand up as if to placate the goalie. Jason didn’t give him time to explain. He threw a punch so quickly that even the Demon Brat would have been proud.  

Tim shot from his seat with whoops and hollers. “Kick his ass, Jason!” Tim screamed. You squawked in response. “No, no more ass kicking! Quit it! Goalies don’t fight, you idiot!” “This one does!” Tim yelled again, hitting the glass and punching the air with his fists.

Jason’s punches were met with some thrown by the other player. He could have played dirty, but Jason kept it clean and didn’t throw his entire weight behind each one. Until, that is, the player finally got a good hit right square on Jason’s chin that knocked his head back. His vision blurred for what felt like seconds too long. When his sight returned, so did a vengeance. Jason didn’t hold back his weight when he laid out the guy in two swift hooks. By this time, the entire arena was on their feet. The Gotham team was pulling Jason back by his jersey, now stained red with blood that belonged to multiple people. Jason’s screams matched and overlapped with players and fans. The Metropolis team pulled back their own player and retreated to their bench. The referees were speaking animatedly with both coaches. A team wide fight in a recreational league was unprecedented, and Jason was sure Bruce would be called about this. Perhaps another check would be written.  Consequences be damned. That was fun.

Jason was thrown unceremoniously on to the bench along with a water bottle and a towel. As he attempted to wash some of the blood out of his mouth, he caught you staring with that mischievous glint in your eyes. Despite how you felt about him fighting, your features were still lit with a smile as you watched him. Jason loved the feeling. Probably loved the feeling of your eyes on him more than he loved fighting. He definitely loved fighting for you. Jason mirrored your smile as he wiped the sweat, ice, and blood off his face. Your smile had dropped, a scowl slowly forming as the adoration transformed into something a little less happy. He frowned and went to lick his teeth in annoyance. His own smile dropped as his tongue ran along his teeth. Dammit. One of his front teeth was missing.

[shuttershocky]

since tumblr search is not giving any results, what are your thoughts on dota adding facets to heroes?

I love them. They add yet another facet (lol) to Dota that make it even harder to learn and thus keep it fresh after more than 12 years of play.

The idea's not implemented well on a lot of different heroes. Some of them are complete no-brainers where one is busted and one fucking sucks (Faceless Void having timewalk be upgraded vs losing chronosphere entirely), and others are baby mode facets you only use if you don't know how to play and another is an actual facet (like Visage having one facet remove the ability to control the familiars which is meant to be training wheels, but also makes Visage pretty garbage since independently controlling familiars is a huge part of the hero's strength, meaning Visage has only one real facet).

Despite these issues though, I love the concept of choosing a special upgrade to a hero before the start of the match, especially when Dota is extremely draft dependent. It used to be for example, that if you picked one hero first and the enemy picked 5 counters, you straight up had no game and were basically resigned to being a punching bag and hoping to buy space for your other 4 teammates. Facets give you wiggle room to work around that, where enemies can't completely hard counter you because your hero can change one of their fundamental abilities after everyone has already picked.

For example, let's say you picked Silencer for his global silence ultimate. Once the enemy had debuff immunity, your ultimate was basically gone; you couldn't press ult until AFTER the enemy used their BKB, because otherwise you would press global silence and the enemy would just activate BKB to remove it. If multiple enemies bought BKB, your ult timing would get harder and harder to find. Now with facets, you can select a facet that makes Silencer's initial silence time on his ult shorter, but if the debuff is removed for any reason (including expiring naturally), it inflicts silence again, meaning you can cast global silence, the enemy can BKB, and they just get silenced again. The enemy having BKB is still annoying to Silencer, but at least he's no longer completely reliant on watching who BKBs too early and THEN casting GS.

Facets make Dota more complicated than before and much harder to learn than it already was, but something we have to consider is that Dota is also 20 years old by this point. It's been so thoroughly studied and mastered that the game has to keep raising its ridiculous tactical ceiling to keep allowing room for even the best of the best to make mistakes, because the way Dota works is that a team designed to beat yours will win 95% of the time if played perfectly, so to even have a chance you need to be able to spot a blunder from the enemy and be able to exploit it hard. Icefrog likes hero abilities and items being extremely powerful and the strategic element very pronounced, so to keep Dota from being solvable, the game makes it both very easy to make game-losing mistakes, and makes the strategic element also ridiculously deep and almost impossible to fully master. Same reason why Neutral Items and Power Runes exist despite the pushback from the pro scene: game elements you can't fully control always add uncertainty, and reward improvisational thinking vs following a script.

Facets also follow a trend Dota 2 started taking in 2015 where the game went from slower, methodical "scripts" where the Pos 5 was always poor and the Pos 1 fed every single resource the entire team had, into a wilder, unpredictable game where even a poor support can start balling hard and begin firing a laser light show into the enemy carry. At times it almost feels like watching the direction of Super Smash Bros, where Smash aimed to be a flashy party game and its pro scene wanted it to be a tightly controlled, competitive fighter, except Dota 2 decided you couldn't turn off random items and if you can't deal with the losing party grabbing a Smash ball (like Mirror Shield being absolutely gamebreaking but also random lol), you just need to git gud.

I like facets! I've played this game for 12 years now and while many who played when I started got turned off by its direction, I personally love it. In fact I wish more Facets and Innates were wilder and broken, don't give me one busted option and one conservative option afraid of breaking the game balance, give me 2. The great thing about having a skill gap from floor to ceiling as wide as Dota's is that there can be absolutely horrific balancing problems that even the pro scene takes weeks to discover while the casual pub players have their fun.

[tobiasdrake]

If you were putting together a Tournament of Power team using any characters from Universe 7 (living or dead, Whis and Beerus excluded), what would your lineup be?

Oh, sure. Let's see....

Goku and Vegeta, of course.

Since we're talking any character with no restrictions but the Destroyer and Angel, gotta throw Broly and Gohan in there. It's universe survival stuff; They'll understand.

Frieza, of course. But also get Cell in on this. Like, his whole thing after achieving Perfection was that he wanted to prove his mettle against powerful fighters; He'd love the Multiversal Cell Games.

"Tournament of Pow--" "I said what I said."

Android 18 and Tenshinhan for the humans. Krillin, Yamcha, and the Muten-Roshi all retired, and none of them are so ultra-powerful that their presence is vital anyways. 18 absolutely is powerful enough to make a difference plus she's implicitly been studying martial arts from Krillin, making for a human character who should rightly be an incredible marriage of skill, tactical acumen, and power by this point. And who knows what cool new tricks Ten's cooked up in the intervening years.

Piccolo, of course, for both 18 and Tenshinhan's reasons.

Then Majin Buu, Goten, and Trunks. No excuses, we need their power. Goten and Trunks won't go long in this tournament but they can take out a lot of competition for the short time they burn.

Alternative Answer: Drop Cell, Gohan, and Tenshinhan and replace them with Android 17, Bardock, and Videl.

But specifically my Tenkaichi Budokai 2/3 fanfic versions from when I was a kid and would spin the Random Character wheel and then make up a story about why these characters are fighting. In which those three basically became Time Patrol years before Dragon Ball video games would officially invent Time Patrol.

Even to this day, I have a soft spot in my heart for Quasi-Time Patroller 17, Bardock, and Videl.

[codmw2019-2022]

COD MW 2022 - Soap

John 'Soap' MacTavish's Operator Bio from Call of Duty Modern Warfare 2.

//Operator Bio:

Name: Soap Citizenship: United Kingdom/Scotland | Language: English Faction Affiliation: SpecGru | Status: Active

The Scottish born, Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish, is a fearless, self assured and instinctive hard-charger. He remains the youngest candidate to pass SAS selection in Royal Army history. He earned the nickname ‘Soap’ for cleaning house with remarkable speed and accuracy in room clearance techniques and urban warfare tactics. He is competitive, daring and always looking for a win.

Soap is a trained sniper and demolitions expert, often operating in isolation and under pressure, performing critically timed activities in support of clandestine missions. He is a risk taker, a fierce competitor and a fighter in every sense of the word.

Soap has spent the last seven years carrying out both covert and overt operations around the world. In 2019, he was chosen to be part of Captain Price's newly formed elite special operations unit known as Task Force 141.

(AN: Just realised while writing the Operator bio out that they have changed it since MW3 has come out. Will find clips of the old bio and create a separate post for that.)

[teecupangel]

I know this sounds weird but what if Desmond turned into an airplane? It wouldn't leave me all week and I needed answers.

Hi nonny, I’m so sorry if this wouldn’t leave you for a month now because I couldn’t answer you any sooner. (For those wondering, that’s right, I’m still trying to answer and reblog posts and asks from Sept 17 onward. So sorry TTATT)

Not gonna lie, making Desmond into an airplane made me immediately think of Bismuth the Crone who can become a jet for some reason in Oxventure.

Then I remember…

I mean we could easily make this a Transformers AU but then…

There is one AC that does have planes as a major part of their story…

Ace Combat.

And that brings to mind one of the fastest planes in Ace Combat 7 that I may or may not have used a lot because it has a pure white skin:

YF-23 Black Widow II (usually just called YF-23)

And it’s one of the most compatible fighter for Desmond because this is its description:

"A large stealth fighter and finalist in the Advanced Tactical Fighter competition. Its advanced speed and stealth capabilities make it ideal for preemptive strikes. One nickname for the prototype was "Black Widow II"."

This doesn’t even have to be an Ace Combat crossover if you don’t want it to be (although you can totally do it because Ace Combat has an AI that went megalomaniac after gaining self-awareness so you can totally make Desmond the AI of a specific YF-23 that’s meant to be a prototype of an AI support companion project who is supposed to be mimicking the personality of a person and the pilot realizes that the AI is slowly gaining self-awareness or… maybe even remembering more of the personality it’s mimicking, including his memories), this could be an AU where the Brotherhood is part of an Air Force of a country that’s being invaded or something (you can totally base it on Aurelia as well since the Aurelian Air Force squads are named after birds… and they have an Aquila Squadron too)

Anyway, the main idea is that DESMOND would be taking on the role of the support AI prototype on board of a YF-23 where the main character of your choice would be piloting. From there, DESMOND would be seen as an AI mimicking a person’s personality with the mystery starting to pile up as DESMOND starts talking about ‘past memories’ and even talking to the main character in a way that makes it sound like the AI is either gaining more self-awareness or getting memories.

Then the main character and DESMOND would learn that DESMOND is based on the late Desmond Miles, one of the lead developers of the AI project of which DESMOND was based of.

The AI Project by the name…

CAPITOLINE TRIAD.

[wishfuldivine]

Alright. This is for you @gaystappen!

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick is a character from the Call of Duty: Modern Warfare franchise.

He's a Sergeant and part of the Task Force 141 along with Captain Price, Ghost, and Soap. He's either the youngest or nearly same age as Soap, who happens to be another Sergeant. Quite frankly, it hasn't been established with accuracy.

Kyle Garrick enlisted in the British Army in 2008,  serving in the Duke of Lancaster's Regiment, spending four years participating in test flights, jump competition and marksmanship before passing selection for Her Majesty's elite Special Air Service (SAS), where he is currently serving as a Sergeant for his sixth year. Tasked to Northern Ireland, Bosnia, Turkey, Iraq, Afghanistan, and Syria. Garrick has spent the better part of his career hunting terrorist fighters. Kyle earned the U.S. Marine Corps Gold Parachute Wings at Marine Corps Base Camp Lejeune in North Carolina whilst on an exchange attachment and routinely cross-loads on operations with the SAS' American counterparts, the Navy SEALs. Required to undergo resistance to interrogation (RTI) testing, Kyle was the only candidate in his class to escape the facility and evade capture. Routinely subjected to physically and mentally uncomfortable scenarios, Kyle prides himself on high tolerance and tactical awareness. "Everyone talks about the physical aspect of being in the SAS but my job is mostly mental. Give me a guy who's got his mindset right over a guy who's twice as fit any day of the week."

Sergeant Garrick was awarded the Queen's Gallantry Medal and the General Service Medal for both covert and overt counter-terrorism operations in the Middle East, disrupting opium supply lines and poppy production, a major source of terrorist financing. Kyle's last Middle Eastern tour was cut short due to an ever-changing political climate and a growing intolerance for full-throated unconventional warfare. Fading support for western backed guerrilla movements as well as growing regional tension complicated matters in the field, as men like Kyle are asked to do an imperfect job, perfectly well, without exception, no matter the cost.

With expertise in prime target elimination, demolitions, weapons tactics, covert surveillance and VIP protection, Kyle currently serves on the SAS domestic counter-terror program, executing homefield missions with metropolitan police forces on European soil. Challenging duty, due to civilian and collateral damage issues, Kyle seeks the opportunity to serve abroad again, and make a real difference combating the threat of terror. (Had to copy and paste it for you to get a glance at his early days)

Therefore, he's a complete BADASS. The only problem when it comes to him is that, the majority of the COD fandom leave him out of stuff. It can go as far as fanart, fanfics, edits, and more. Basically, he's ridiculed for simply being POC. Even the official Call of Duty company by the name Activision often leave him out of things. Such as promos, skins on the game, etcetera.

His character development within the franchise is by far my favorite. He went from scared, insecure, doubtful, to determined, level-headed, and voice of reason.

Though, he can be such a damn brat. There's parts of the campaign in MW2 where he is a smartass and witty while speaking to Captain Price and Kate Laswell, the Station Chief and close friend of Price. Don't let his hard persona fool you. He'll be the first to join Soap in any mischief.

But overall, this is my baby. I can say so much more but that's what is on top of my head. He's my best boy. My baby girl. My precious pretty boy. My muse. He's so gorgeous. And beautiful. He belongs to the other 3, though. XD

Sorry if it's very long!