#paper route Frank

[hyperdimensionalcorner]

LLD💙👑🐬

[jackmurloc]

Diz Night's For you #LLD

[dweeeeeb]

Motivational Music in the Morning ... #YoungDolph, #GetAway ... #PaperRouteFrank [Official Music Video] (2022) #MMitM1

[domdotcomdotcom]

An ELITE NEW MUSIC FRIDAY for the holidaze: 🐬 x 🦂 x 👨‍🔬 x 🆎

[holdenreviews]

Blind Fold - Young Dolph

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

I'm so sorry I'm pretty sure your bard au is supposed to be serious but oh my god I couldn't help but get strong Men In Tights and Monty Python and the Holy Grail vibes

Especially bc of Barnaby I would not put it past him to make a "your mom's a hamster" reference

no no it Is very silly. how can it not be when you've got the neighbors as the characters? silly central. ALSO YOU'RE SO RIGHT VERY STRONG MP&HG VIBES I FUCKING LOVE THAT MOVIE HERE'S SOME REFERENCES

but it is also real. when it's silly its silly and when it's serious!

it's serious.

[brian4rmthe6]

Long Live Paper Route Frank 🐬

[jackmurloc]

YEAH YEAH!!

[sighs-deeply-and-dreadfully]

HI SO HI UHMM I'm gonna try making this as non-weird and as short as I can even though I don't even know how to explain this rn-

Could I request hcs of Eddie and frank (together not separately poh) with a gn! reader that reminds them of a child kinda-?? SO TO PUT IT INTO WORDS UHH the reader is kinda child-ish and curious (like a child ofc😋) and a lot of the neighbors say that they're like a baby put in a /pos way! So technically the reader is frank and eddies non-biological child

Honestly- I imagine they got that one backpack with a leash for children for the reader or smth since the reader strays off a lot😭

Tinkyu 4 reading this and even acknowledging this even if I made some stuff non-understandable!!! This totally isnt that cute person that requested 4 astronomer reader (TOTALLY totally it isn't obvious right??) /j

KEEP SLAYING PO LABYU /PLATONIC

I just realized I made this so long i am sorey😢😔

WAHAHHA!! HELLO AGAIN HOSHI!! Love you too!!! /p

Hehehe.. found family… froths at the mouth, pacing in circles in my enclosure /lhj /pos

I am absolutely happy to write for this, and I don’t find it weird at all! No worries! Although I may use different wording at times :] /g /nm

Scampering, Scuttling

Frank Frankly/Eddie Dear x GN!Childish!Reader

Headcanons Format, All Relations with the Reader are Platonic (Frank and Eddie, however, are in a romantic relationship!)

When you first moved into the neighbourhood, your affinity for curiosity and lack of self-preservation quickly landed you onto Frank Frankly’s radar.

From scrapes knees to splintered hands, being stung by a bee, or getting stranded in a tree— your curiosity led you to many troubling situations. All of which Frank would march up to aid you out of with gentle lecturing.

“Neighbour, I am aware I told you of Bumble bees being one of the friendliest types of bees, but that does not mean grab them??”

You leave him in a confused mess of how you even end up in half of the situations you do. He ends up ranting (lovingly) about this to his darling partner, Eddie Dear.

“Oh-! The new neighbour? I didn’t know you two we’re friends.” He’d happily chirp to Frank, who was coddled up by his side.

“We are, yes! But they’re— like- agh-! Like an overexcited puppy!! I found them trying to pick up a centipede today!! A centipede!”

Do not be mistaken, Frank only raves because he cares! His extravagant expression of concern is how he shows he cares, along with picking you up after you fell into a river and drenched yourself. He isn’t truly angry! Just worried BAHA

“Awhah! I’m sure it isn’t too bad, butterfly.” Eddie would laugh cheerily, giving his partner’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Maybe you could introduce me to them? Maybe I can help.”

And this, my dear reader, was how you got properly introduced to Eddie Dear.

To help you explore a bit (in a safer way than running through the surrounding forest), Eddie would take you on his paper runs— introducing you to all the neighbours.

Sometimes, he’d hold your hand on these runs— mainly just to get you to follow! He had quickly discovered you had a tendency to wobble off wherever you pleased, though you didn’t seem to realize half the time— leading to a few stumbles apologies when you eventually found him again. So, his solution was just to gently hold your hand as you two went on the routes!

.. He’d then buy you a treat from Howdy’s afterwards. He enjoys spoiling people!! But, ah, sugar rushes.

“.. Why would you let them eat so much chocolate?” Frank would ask, raising a brow as you ricocheted off the walls nearby.

“..They looked really happy about it.” He’d reply, with a nervous smile— soon laughing a bit at Frank’s soft sigh and playful eye roll.

“If they end up in a hole, it’s your fault, sweetheart.”

“That’s fine-!!”

Overall, it didn’t take the two long to start behaving somewhat parent-like towards you, more than they already had.

Frank would check you over for injures and plaster you in bug-themed bandaids, along with reading you “stories” from his books (and sometimes an actual story book).

He was a lot more reserved than Eddie, leading to most activities done with him being rather tame ones.

.. you could sometimes chase him around, though. Which, albeit he wouldn’t admit it, he does find fun in. Kind of like how people go to haunted houses for fun; he gets hunted in a house. /lhj

Eddie, meanwhile, would play with you a lot! He’d take you on walks of the town, and help you explore the place in a way that doesn’t have Frank screaming in worry at the end of the day.

He’s the classic “wanna play catch?” kind of person, to be honest, leading to a lot of playing ball and running around.

Both of them care about you very much! But still respect the fact you, very much, aren’t a genuine child and respect you like a friend. Because you are! You’re their friend!

But to say they don’t fret over you like parents would be a lie. BAHA!!

GWAAH this was so fun to write!! I’m sorry if it’s kind of short, though-!! But I still hope it was enjoyable :] I love writing for Eddie and Frank fhehrfnfnw froths at the mouth i love them. squeezes them both like those stress toys that have the eyes pop out /aff

[mads-weasley]

Epiphany Pt. 2: Out of the Woods

Lewis Nixon x Reader

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

A/N: here's chapter two, guys! thanks to everyone who responded to the first part! y'all made my day! without further ado, enjoy! hbo owns the rights, and this is about the fictional portrayal of easy company on the show. nothing but love and respect for veterans on this blog!

Summary: Operation Overlord is upon Easy Company, and the brave paratroopers get their first taste of war.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: mentions of death, blood

Hundreds of tents lined the muddy fields surrounding the Upottery Airfield in preparation for Operation Overlord. (Y/n) found a dry spot amongst 2nd platoon and laid out all of her supplies. Looking at the various grenades, mines, and other random items, she groaned. “How am I supposed to put all of this in a pack? It’s ridiculous!”

“Tell me about it! ”Joe Toye scoffed from her right, staring down at his pile. “I’ve got a three-day supply of ‘K’ rations, chocolate bars, charms, candy, powdered coffee, sugar, matches, compass, bayonet, entrenching tool, ammunition, gas mask, musette bag with ammo, my webbing, my .45, canteen, two cartons of smokes, Hawkins mine, two grenades, smoke grenades, Gammon grenade, TNT, this bull, and a pair of nasty skivvies!”

Perconte rolled his eyes, tired of Joe’s rant. “What’s your point?”

“Come on,” Toye fumed. “This stuff weighs as much as I do! Probably twice as much as (y/l/n).”

“Yeah, yeah,” she chuckled as Joe continued.

“I still got my chute, my reserve chute, my Mae West, and my M-1.”

Frank got up and walked past the group, calling over his shoulder with an amused expression. “Where are you keeping your brass knuckles?”

“I could use some brass knuckles,” Toye sighed, sitting back on his heels.

(Y/n) finished readying her pack and attempted to lift it over her shoulder with a grunt.

“You and me both, Joe,” she gritted, failing the first few tries.

The fourth time, it weighed considerably less, and she was able to wobbly sit it on her shoulder without tipping over. A proud smile grew on her face, but when she turned and saw who was there, her lips formed a fake pout.

“Nix, you know I could’ve done that by myself?”

The officer laughed, his bright smile making an appearance. “Sure, I thought watching you fail three times was enough.”

Realizing he just admitted to watching her, he shifted from foot to foot and cleared his throat. “Two years. Two years of training led us here. Crazy, right?”

“Yeah,” she murmured, looking around at all her fellow soldiers. “I can’t believe it’s been that long.”

“Well, time did seem to crawl by when we were with Sobel.”

“Absolutely. I still remember his dumbfounded face when Luz impersonated Major Horton. It was the best day of my life.”

Vest came by with pamphlets, handing them to every soldier, announcing they were from Colonel Sink.

“George,” (y/n) called. “Can you do Sink?”

“Does a wild bear crap in the woods, son? Uh, sweetheart?” He corrected, cringing. “Doll? Your majesty? Great and mighty (y/n)?”

(Y/n) raised her eyebrows at him, smirking. “Nice try.”

Cracking a smile, he held up the paper and began reading it as the Colonel. “Soldiers of the regiment, tonight is the night-,” his voice lowered, becoming serious as he continued. “-of nights. Today, as you read this, you are en route to the great adventure for which you have trained for over two years.”

The message hung in the air as each paratrooper took it in. They were going to war. The realization washed over (y/n) like a bucket of ice water, and her mind flashed with the faces of the men she’d come to call brothers. 

Don, George, Skip, Alex, Frank, Lip…

It could be the last time she saw some of them.

“Hey,” Nix smirked and pointed at the various mohawks Lieb had given some men, oblivious to her anxiety-ridden mind. “I think you should try that hairstyle.”

She rolled her eyes and playfully smacked him on the chest. “Whatever.”

When he didn’t reply, she followed his line of sight to Lieutenant Meehan, who stood atop a jeep. ”Easy Company! Listen up! Gather around me.”

Once Easy was fully gathered, he continued. “Now, the Channel coast is socked in with rain and fog. High winds on the drop zone. No jump tonight!”

Grumbles broke out from the men as they looked at each other in disbelief.

“The invasion has been postponed. We’re on a 24-hour stand-down. Drill sergeants, take charge.”

(Y/n) looked up at Nix as he lit a cigarette, shaking her head with a groan. “Great.”

“What?” He shrugged. “Can’t put up with me for another 24 hours?”

“You know what? You’re insufferable, Nix.”

JUNE 6th, 1944: UPOTTERY AIRFIELD

The channel cleared the next day, and the jump was back on. (Y/n) removed her helmet and grabbed the grease paint from George’s outstretched hand. 

“I hate this stuff,” she grumbled, twisting off the cap.

She felt someone take the small can from her hand and recognized the culprit by their low chuckle. 

(Y/n) turned to face him with a playful scowl. “Why are you so immature, Lewis?”

“Lewis?” He gasped, a hand flying to his chest. “Oh, I’ve really done it now.”

Her scowl broke as she shoved him lightly. “Shut up.”

“See, I think you’re overthinking this,” he stated, holding up the tin. “All you have to do is get a glob,” he scooped a few fingers into the can. “-And rub it on your face, like so.”

To (y/n)’s dismay, he quickly reached out and smeared the paint down her cheek with a proud smirk.

“See? Voilà.”

Mouth hanging open, she snatched the can from him, hardly concealing her newly formed amused smile. “I hate you,” she deadpanned as she started toward the rest of her platoon.

His hand reached out and grasped her wrist. “Hang on. Let me fix it.”

“Fine,” she huffed.

Lew knew her well enough to see that it was taking all her willpower to keep the corners of her lips from curling into a smile. He thought it was an admirable attempt, but he could see straight through her. 

What he didn’t expect was her glare to drop completely when he lightly tugged her closer by her wrist. An unreadable expression passed over her face, and Lew discovered he might not be able to read her as well as he thought. 

Peering down at her, he softly brushed her (y/h/c) flyaways from her face before leaning down to be at eye level with her. (Y/n)’s breath hitched slightly at the gentle touch, and she looked up to meet his eyes. 

“Don’t make me look like a raccoon, okay?” She whispered, nervousness flowing through her veins.

With a nod, he got some paint on a few fingers and cupped her jaw with his other hand before making lines across her forehead and cheeks. Tilting her face up softly, his touch trailed down her nose down to her lips. Nix’s gaze stayed there for a moment, swallowing thickly as he noticed their curve and the slight pout they were shaped in.

‘It would be so easy to lean in and…stop,’ he caught himself.

“Uh, all done,” he murmured, dropping his hands to his pockets.

(Y/n) blinked, coming down from the high of his touch. “Thank you,” she replied, her gaze locked with his. “Do you need any help with yours?”

Snapping out of his daze, he smiled bashfully. “I’ve got it.”

A few seconds later, Dick approached them, all geared up and ready to go. “It’s time.”

D-Day had begun.

Staring at the solemn faces of Skip and George across from her, the endless possibilities of what could go wrong flooded her mind as her stomach began to churn.

What if their stick blew up?

What if she was captured?

What if she was killed?

(Y/n) looked up at the sleeping man beside her, admiring his face in the dim light of the plane. Her eyes followed the curve of his nose down to his parted lips as soft breaths passed through them. Even covered in grease in a dark C-47, he was still breathtaking.

What if he was killed?

When they first met in that putrid-smelling mess hall in Toccoa, (y/n) never would have guessed what would become of the pair. The mysterious aura that first drew her to him was quickly wiped away after a few months, revealing a kind, but complicated, man who was sometimes too smart for his own good. 

He was there to vent to when Captain Sobel revoked her weekend pass because her hair was “too long,” and was simply always there to support her. Through the new COs, new bases, and even new countries, he’d been a constant. Over the last two years, he’d been there for her, and she realized that if anything happened to him, she wouldn’t know what to do.

Sure, she was close with the other men in Easy, especially 2nd platoon, but those relationships were… different. Her heart didn’t skip a beat when George Luz or Chuck Grant walked into a room. Their smile didn’t cause heat to rush to her cheeks. 

He was her best friend. There was no other way to describe it. 

But do best friends look at each other the way they do?

Her thoughts continued to run rampant for the next hour as the paratroopers got closer to their destination. To her left, Tab was deep in thought, as well, pulling at his bottom lip as he usually did when thinking. Pulling herself from her thoughts, (y/n) nudged him with her shoulder. 

“So, I heard you got a present from home.”

He dropped his hand to his lap and grinned as he fished something from his bag. “Yeah, courtesy of the Kokomo police department.”

Floyd showed her the revolver with a proud expression. “It feels good to have a little bit of home with me.”

“That’s great, Tab. I’m glad you’ve got support like that from home.”

“What did your folks have to say about you joining up?” He asked.

(Y/n) took a deep breath before answering, willing the memory from her mind. “They weren’t thrilled, that’s for sure.”

He elbowed her side gently with a chuckle. “Well, we’re all real glad you decided to join this mess. Who else is gonna keep all of us straight?”

Laughing to herself, (y/n) leaned her helmet back against the rumbling wall of the plane, wishing sleep would welcome her soon. Her eyes shot open after a few minutes when the aircraft shook with turbulence. Nausea crept up her throat at the movement, and she groaned at the realization she wasn’t going to get any rest.

Time seemed to stretch on forever sitting on the hard metal seat of the plane. Some of the other men started to rouse and have small conversations around her, but all she could think about was her parents. Could they stand to lose another child?

Tears burned her eyes as her mind replayed the moment they heard the news about Pearl Harbor and her brother’s fate. Her mother’s wails when she collapsed onto the floor beside the radio. The deep ache in her chest didn’t seem to go away with time, and she doubted it ever would.

(Y/n) was pulled from her thoughts by a gentle hand on her shaking knee.

“You’re gonna be okay, (y/n/n).”

Lew.

“Yeah,” she sighed, furiously blinking away her tears. “I’m not worried about myself, though.”

“Don’t worry about me, alright? Stay focused on yourself.”

(Y/n) smirked and raised an eyebrow. “What made you think I was worried about you, mister ‘yale know-it-all?’”

At that moment, Nixon was thankful for the dark plane, for she couldn’t see the flush that crept across his cheeks. “Only by the kind way you speak to me,” he retorted, rolling his eyes. 

Within seconds, his face became serious. “But I mean it, (y/n). Please be careful.”

“I will, Lew. You too, okay?” She replied, grasping his hand atop her knee.

Their conversation was cut short by the red light flashing on beside Dick. Nodding at each other, they prepared for what was about to happen.

“Get ready!” Lieutenant Winters yelled above the rumble of the plane. “Stand up! Hook Up! Equipment check!”

Following orders, they stood, hooked up, and started checking their helmets, followed by pulling on the harnesses of those in front of them. George stood between Nix and (y/n) in line, separating the pair.

“Don’t enjoy this too much,” George jeered back to her as she checked his equipment. 

Through his humor, she could see the fear that each of them felt. 

Dick’s voice filled the plane again. “Sound off for equipment check!”

“Ten okay!”

“Nine okay!”

“Eight okay!”

“Seven okay!”

Hearing her heartbeat in her ears, (y/n) attempted to push her fear deep down. 

“Six okay!” Chuck yelled, tapping her on the shoulder.

(Y/n) repeated the motion for George, shouting. “Five okay,”

“Four okay!”

“Three okay!”

“Two okay!”

“One okay!” Winters finished, looking out the jump door.

Within seconds, the cloud cover dissipated, and explosions filled the air, violently tilting the plane sideways. (Y/n) lost her balance and fell back onto her seat with a curse. Luckily, Chuck grabbed her harness and hoisted her back on her feet in front of him. 

As the plane continued to shake beneath their feet, she looked through the small window at the stick beside them just in time to see it get hit and go down in flames. Her mouth went dry at the sight, and she prayed that they wouldn’t share the same fate.

“Let’s go, let’s go!” Someone yelled at the back of the plane.

Lip turned behind him. “Does that light look green to you?”

The man didn’t get to respond as gunfire ripped through the plane, peppering him with shrapnel.

“I’m hit!”

Among the chaos, the green light flicked on, and Winters called out to them. “Let’s go!”

Without hesitation, he jumped out the door, followed by Gene, Lew, and George. Following Luz, (y/n) didn’t even look before pushing herself out the door.

The first thing she felt was the wind whipping at her equipment as she fell through the air. Anti-aircraft shells exploded around her, adding to the deafening cacophony surrounding her. Explosions, screams, gunfire…it was a sound she’d never forget.

Even with her parachute deployed, the ground was fast approaching. To her panic, she couldn’t see her DZ anywhere. To make matters even worse, the wind guided her toward the dense forest instead of one of the many open fields surrounding her. She tried to pull up on the risers to change her direction, but it was too late. Within seconds, she flew into the tall European oak trees she tried so desperately to avoid.

All air left her lungs as she slammed into a tree, sending her falling through the branches. The sound of snapping wood filled her ears and she hissed at the sharp stings that covered her body as she fell. 

With a jolt, her descent was abruptly stopped, causing her to swing into a nearby trunk with a thwack. (Y/n) groaned at the impact, feeling pain seep into her already bruised and battered body. 

“Great,” she hissed, looking up at the tangled chute. “Of course, I landed in a freaking forest.”

Seeing she was only a few feet off the ground, (y/n) let out a sigh of relief and reached for her knife. When she looked down, she cursed at the missing bag that was supposed to be attached to her leg. 

‘At least I didn’t put anything important in there,’ she thought.

The (y/h/c) quickly cut herself free of the chute and fell through the air again, landing on her feet with a wince. Even though she couldn’t see herself, she knew she had to look rough. The stinging from various cuts and scratches torso, arms, and legs were a dead giveaway to her appearance. 

Pulling out her M1, she quietly made her way to a clearing better illuminated by the moon. She stayed near the edge, wary of being seen, and used her compass and map to try and figure out where she was. After a few minutes, she discovered she was a few miles west of the rally point. Just as she was about to move, a drip of red on her map stole her attention. (Y/n) took off her helmet and began to run a shaky hand through her grimy hair when a sharp pain flared from her temple, making her groan at the searing sensation. Pulling her hand away, she gasped to see it covered in dark red. 

The paratrooper quickly grabbed a bandage and gritted her teeth, tying it the best she could.

“Head wounds bleed the most,” Doc Roe had said in a medic seminar. “You’re gonna go through bandages quick.”

 She gently placed the helmet back on her head and took a deep breath. “You can do this, (y/n),” she muttered under her breath as she started moving east toward the rally point. “You can do it.”

She’d made it to the ground, but she wasn’t out of the woods, yet.

D-Day Plus Three: Sainte-Mère-Eglise, France

Since Nix finally made it to Sainte-Mère-Eglise on June 7th, his eyes searched the crowd for one face. Every day, he kept a constant check on who arrived and who they’d seen or heard from, and for two days, he couldn’t rest.

On the third day, he overheard some men from the 82nd.

“Did you see the broad?”

On instinct, he rushed out of the makeshift company CP onto the street filled with exhausted paratroopers, ignoring the concerned looks from the men as he quickly made his way to the front of the town. 

“Thank God,” he whispered, seeing her wobbly figure from a distance. 

Her downcast eyes didn’t see him approach as she dragged her feet in the mud, too tired to even pick them up.

“You’re late to the party,” Lew chuckled, trying to mask his relief.

Despite the ringing pain in her head, her eyes shot up to meet his. When their gazes met, she let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. He made it.

A tired smile grew on her blood and dirt-covered face. “Nice to see you, too, Lew.”

Extending his arm out to her, Nix pulled her into a tight embrace. It was like his mind needed physical reassurance she was there. 

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” he murmured into her helmet.

Leaning into his chest, she let the rhythm of his heart calm her fear. Even in a warzone, she felt safe in his arms. “I was worried about you, too.”

A chuckle reverberated through his chest. “So you were worried about me, huh?”

Pulling back to look at him, (y/n) smirked. “I take it back.”

His playful expression changed to concern as he noticed her pale face and the blood beneath her helmet. “Hey, what happened? You’re bleeding.”

(Y/n) ducked her head to the side. “I’m fine, Lew. Really.”

“Come on, let me see,” he urged, gently unclasping her helmet. 

A hiss left him, seeing the blood-soaked cloth haphazardly tied around her head. 

“(Y/n),” he sighed, one hand tilting her jaw to see the wound while the other peeled back the bandage. The gash ran from her right temple to just above her ear. “This is deep. You’re gonna need stitches. Let’s go to the aid station.”

His tender touch left her speechless. “Ok-okay,” she whispered, following him to the medic tent.

The coppery smell of blood hit her like a ton of bricks the second she entered the tent. Men were lying on cots, missing limbs, and crying in agony. (Y/n) froze, unable to tear her gaze from the carnage before her. A guiding hand on the small of her back urged her to keep walking. 

“Come on, (y/n/n). This way,” Lew muttered.

He led her into another tent that was less crowded and sat her down on a nearby cot. “I’ll go find Doc. Stay here.”

Laying back on the cot, (y/n) allowed her body to fully relax for the first time in almost three days. Soreness gnawed at her muscles, leaving behind a dull ache that drained all of her energy. Within a few minutes, her eyes began to droop, and sleep finally welcomed her.

“She’s in here,” Lew said, Doc Roe in tow. “She’s got a nasty cut on her head.”

The cajun nodded. “Alright, I’ll take a look. You know head wounds bleed a lot.”

Walking into the room, their expressions softened at her curled-up form on the cot. “Is it okay if she sleeps,” Nix asked, crouching next to her.

Grimacing, Roe shook his head. “I really should check her head, sir.”

With a nod, Lew gently shook her shoulder. “Hey, (y/n/n). Doc’s here to check your head.”

She weakly groaned and sat up slowly. “I think I could sleep for a week.”

Chuckling, Gene held his index finger up in front of her face. “Follow my finger.”

After a few seconds, he sighed, grabbing a suture kit from his satchel. “Doesn’t look like you have a concussion, but that cut’ll need stitches.”

Roe carefully cleaned the wound as (y/n)’s eyes screwed shut. “You ready?” He asked.

Keeping her eyes closed, her hand shot out beside her, grasping onto Nixon’s hand tightly. “Lew, please talk to me. Say anything, I don’t care, just talk.”

He squeezed her hand in response as she let out a hiss when the first suture pulled through her split skin.

“When I was in college…” 

With Lewis Nixon’s warm and reassuring hand in hers, along with his distracting words, the pain became bearable. In the small medic tent in Sainte-Mère-Eglise, Eugene smiled to himself, witnessing the intimate moment between the two.

“Ce sont des idiots.” He muttered to himself. “Des idiots en mal d’amour.”

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[scaryscarecrows]

Komodo Protocol

“You seen what they got going on in Demolitions?” Frank asks around his bacon. “Somethin’ real nasty, looks like.”

“No, I’ve been stuck on ‘light duty’ all week.” Antoine rolls his eyes. “You get one bug and everyone’s on your ass.”

“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t have tried breaking out of Medical all those times.”

“Shouldn’t have passed out mid-meeting, either.” Jimmy cackles. “Dude, if you died, we’d be fucked. Riley’s an enabler.”

“Clyde would take over,” the Knight says dryly. Jimmy squeaks. “Meeting at nine hundred.”

Meeting, not assembly. Something’s come up, then, because they had their weekly briefing two days ago. There hadn’t been anything of note at the time; next shipment of drones to Gotham, more than anything. Antoine’s pretty sure it was largely an excuse to hide from Deathstroke, who had left that afternoon anyway.

“Yessir.”

Once he’s gone, Jimmy leans in.

“So? What do you think’s going on?”

“I don’t know. Everything’s on schedule, and I haven’t seen anything weird come up.”

“Think something’s up in Gotham?”

“Maybe.” He finishes his coffee and tries–and fails miserably–at repressing a cough. “I’m fine, coughs linger, that’s not illegal!”

Mark frowns.

“That sounded ugly.”

“That’s what coughs do.” He’s not whining. He’s not. “Leave me alone, I’m better now.”

“I want you in my office after this meeting. Just for a quick check-up.”

“Oh, come on–”

“Forget, and I’ll come find you.”

Ugh. Fine. He’ll go. But he’s not going to like it.

* * *

“What is that?”

“Insurance.”

Okay. Insurance is always good. This, however, appears to be a bigass mine. Three feet in diameter, easy, and well-armored. Could probably withstand a Cobra drone rolling over it.

“Uh-huh,” Frank drawls. “For what.”

“It’s primarily to keep the military from getting involved.”

Antoine’s got news for him: the military, generally, considers Gotham as ‘fend for your fucking selves’ and probably would just pretend they didn’t see anything anyway. But sure. A little extra reassurance is nice.

“Also to keep anyone–or anything–else from stepping in.” Okay, that one’s fair. “It won’t hurt you if you walk on it; the sensors need more weight to activate the electricity.” Oh, it’s electric, too? Wonderful. “We’ll be deploying them pretty early in the night, once the drones have all been deployed.”

“They won’t fuck with the programming, will they?” Jimmy risks poking the thing. “It’s not like an EMP or whatever?”

“It shouldn’t, but I want you, when you map out the patrol route, to try not to run over them. I’ll give you a map of where I want them sometime next week.”

“How many are there?”

“Fourteen.”

Trent whistles.

“Jesus.”

“Gotham’s a big place.” The Knight shrugs. “We’re not shipping these over ahead of us; they go when we do. Clyde, I’m going to be making a special dummy; same sensors, I want to run some tests with the Cloudburst tank. If it comes to that, I’d really rather not blow this entire operation…literally.”

“Very funny, sir,” Frank says dryly. “I’ll make sure she’s ready to roll when you are.”

“Good. You five are dismissed. Drouot, you’re not.”

That doesn’t sound promising.

The others file out, though, leaving Antoine with the boss and a giant, scary-looking mine.

“These are also a contingency.”

And there it is. The boss has contingencies for his contingencies, which is, Antoine guesses, why they’re all still on this crazy crusade.

“Okay?” The Knight holds out a piece of paper with numbers on it. Antoine raises an eyebrow. “What’s this?”

“The activation code to set these all off at once. In the event that I somehow end up incapacitated, unless I explicitly told you otherwise, I want you to initiate the Komodo Protocol: order a retreat and blow Gotham off the map.”

“Sounds like overkill.”

“When dealing with Batman, there is no such thing as overkill.”

“If you say so, sir.” Such an innocuous little paper. Ten digits. Ten digits and boom, one of the largest cities in the world turned into a charred crater. “Does Scarecrow know about this?”

“No, and we’re not mentioning it. If that code needs to be used, he doesn’t need to be informed.”

Well, in all honesty, Scarecrow is the one most likely to trigger this event. Antoine has never trusted the guy. He’s convinced that, Batman be damned, if he saw a chance to poison them all, he’d take it.

“Hopefully it won’t come to that, sir.”

“Hopefully not.” The Knight looks at the mine. “But I’d rather be prepared.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea, boss?”

The boss just laughs.

“Probably not. Look, it’s like the bomb vests. I highly, highly doubt we’ll need it.”

Yeah…the bomb vests have not been mentioned to the troops at large. Voluntary or not, most people are not going to like the idea of a suicide vest being anywhere near them. If it comes down to that, then they’ll worry about it.

“If you say so, sir.” He looks from the paper to the mine again. “Did you need anything else?”

“No. You can go; I think Jones wanted to see you.”

Dammit.

* * *

“I’m sure that by now most of you have become aware of the events at Arkham Asylum.”

Antoine’s voice is hoarse, going in and out a little. He hasn’t slept, not really. Sure, Mark got a power nap out of him, but that’s about it and it wasn’t enough. He looks like shit, too, all washed out and with eye bags big enough to take on a cruise. That’ll happen, when you spend too much time in a chair.

“Batman do that, sir?”

“Yes and no. Before I continue, I want it clear: Batman is now considered a level five threat.”

“We can take him. Right, boys?” A cheer goes up. “Just tell us where he is, we’ll bring his head back in two hours.” 

Ha. Trent disagrees. Bastard’s got clown morals with Bat-bullshit, if he’s still alive–and he probably is–‘taking him’ is going to be a real bitch. It’s doable, probably, it’s just going to be difficult, especially with their best resource on both Batman and Joker being at death’s door.

Antoine’s smile is wintery and the cheer dies down, gives way to an uneasy silence. Trent can’t blame them for that. He’s usually the nice one. Nice is relative, but still.

“What you’ll be up against isn’t Batman anymore,” he says. “Now, I’m sure you all attended the briefing regarding the Joker’s death of TITAN poisoning.” Pfft. Trent knows damn well they didn’t, but that’ll keep them from jabbering. “Before that incident, the Joker supplied hospitals with tainted blood, and apparently gave Batman a transfusion as well. The cure didn’t take.” 

He turns to his laptop and taps a few keys. On screen, the footage Jimmy managed to get from the boss’s helmet earlier on Halloween looms large. Trent shudders. He’s seen some shit in his day, but that–a laughing, maniacal Batman attacking with full intent to kill–is in the running for his personal Top Five WTF. Thankfully, Antoine only lets it play for a few seconds, but those few seconds are enough to quiet the skeptical mutterings.

“That’s what you’re up against now. He will kill you, without a second thought. He has already killed Scarecrow–”

“Shit, we work for Richardson now?”

“No. The Arkham Knight dispatched her before the asylum blew up.”

At least that one stuck. Last thing they need is that vindictive little monster blaming them for what happened to Scarecrow.

“For the moment, we are going to continue as we were. I want drones sweeping the city, checkpoints manned, and watchtowers fully operational. If anybody sees anything, you call in immediately and you wait for backup. Don’t be a hero, your insurance does not cover facial removal.” There’s a smattering of nervous chuckles that Antoine does not join in. “Patrols: minimum of four, do not let each other out of your sight. Someone has to piss, you all go. Someone falls in one of those damn potholes and breaks an ankle, you all come back to base as a group. Understood?”

“Yessir.”

“Good. Any questions?” If they have any, they don’t ask them. Antoine closes his laptop, disconnects it, and turns on his heel. “Dismissed.”

Trent steps in fully as they file out. A few of them flinch, but most of them just keep moving.

“You look like shit,” he says bluntly. “Mark’s right, you need sleep.”

“I’m fine. Anything?”

“Couple of false alarms.”

“So no.”

“No.”

“Damn.” Antoine runs a hand through his hair. “Any change with the boss?”

“Still out. Look…what are we going to do, if he…doesn’t…wake up? Batman’s Gotham’s problem, right?”

Antoine just laughs, a little bitter, and starts towards the door.

“He only got maybe a quarter of the mines. We pull our men out and blow this city to Kingdom Come, see him walk that off.”

“What?”

“Komodo Protocol.” 

Trent’s heard of it. Well, seen it, in packets, but there’s never been any information about it. It’s just come up as, like, the last resort, no specifications.

“That’s what that is?” he demands. “Detonate the mines?”

“If it comes to that, yes.”

“Jesus Christ, man–”

“My orders are to put the bastard down, whatever it takes.” Antoine turns towards the back hallway. “Check in with the Arkham troops again, make sure they don’t need any further supplies. Did you send them a Cobra?”

“Yeah, earlier.”

“Good. Keep me posted.”

“Antoine.”

“What.”

“You’re sure about this?”

Antoine stops and turns around, swaying a little at the sudden change of direction.

“Yeah. If he dies, or doesn’t start waking up in another day or two, I’m calling it. We’ll finish the job one way or the other.” Jesus. “This stays between us for now. It may not come to that and there’s no reason to unsettle everyone.”

Trent nods.

“All right. You sure you’re not gonna grab a nap?”

“I’m fine.”

Yeah. Sure. Whatever. Look, Frank or Mark will probably bring the hammer down soon and when they do, Trent will be right there to enforce Bedtime.

“I’m gonna take a squadron out there,” he says. “Me and Riley: we’re taking some of his guys to investigate the little Batcave thing that turned up this morning.”

“Good. Stay in touch; that lecture goes for everyone.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll find the bastard.”

“Hope so.” Antoine turns back around and starts walking again. “Good luck.”

THE END

[rare-agere-reverie]

I have a fanfic request for welcome home (if your don’t mind!)

Caregiver(s): Eddie Dear

Regressor(s): Wally Darling

Plot: Eddie is going back to his home after he finished his mail route and spots an overstimulated, regressed Wally trying to hide his regression. Eddie decides to help Wally.

Please and thank you! 👋😅

Woo my first fic for the blog and it’s my hyperfixation! Hope I did your idea justice anon 📬

Something to Hold

CG!Eddie Dear + Little!Wally Darling

“Here’s your mail, Julie!” cheerfully proclaimed Eddie. He pulled a primary-colored letter with a pawprint stamp from his bag. The rainbow monster joyfully took it from him.

“Thanks for the letter, Eddie,” she replied, “Can you play Magic Bakery with me?” The mailman froze a little, remembering the last time Julie played that game. Poppy’s kitchen needed an entire week of cleaning after her sugar potion erupted in a splash of batter.

“I’d like to, but I don’t think I’m up for it,” Eddie excused, his right hand scratching at the back of his neck.

“That’s okay, I bet Frank would love to play Magic Bakery,” reassured Julie confidently. “Bye Eddie! Hope your day’s fun!”

“I’ll see you later!” He tipped his hat as he strolled away. Feeling his hand around inside his mailbag, Eddie sighed freely when he didn’t touch a single letter. Now that his day’s work is done, his schedule is free. Maybe I should fold some paper butterflies; Frank would love that. How about I cut a ribbon of stars? I could even deliver it to Sally. 

Caught up in his thoughts, Eddie tripped over a pebble. Slight pain flared a bit as he landed face first on the grass. He propped himself up, only to spot something small behind the post office.

Huh, did someone leave a package? 

Eddie kept walking, then realized the figure was one of his neighbors. His steps slowed stealthily, as if worried about scaring the person off. Hiding around a corner of the building, the mailman realized it was actually Wally.

The small darling seemed quiet and tense, unlike his usual content self. His ascot hung loose around his neck, his cardigan unbuttoned and nearly falling from his shoulders, and his chest heaving unsteadily. In Eddie’s favor, Wally’s eyes are too trained on the apple in his hands to notice someone spying on him. A self-soothing behavior taking virtually no effect.

The taller friend’s worry only grew at the sight. What could’ve scared him so badly? …I finished my route; it wouldn’t hurt to take a break. A sporadic yet subdued burst of footsteps carried Eddie closer, alerting Wally of his presence.

“Hey Darlin’,” the concerned man sat beside the shorter, “do you need any help?” With a slight turn of the head towards his friend, Wally’s shaking pupils dragged themselves to meet Eddie’s gaze. 

“No,” he decided, his voice soaked in anxiety. A blatant lie, unfit for a usually happy friend and neighbor.

“Oh, Wally, it’s okay to ask for help,” Eddie soothed, reaching a hand out for the frazzled artist. The painter hesitated, glancing wearily between his apple and his friend’s palm. Said friend never stopped displaying such genuine affection, effectively winning Wally over. Wordlessly, one hand held the red fruit while the other hovered over Eddie’s hand. The mail carrier kept a loose yet secure grip, propped Wally up, and led him inside the post office.

For the most part, the inside sparkled with cleanliness; only a side table was littered with scrap paper from a previous crafts project. Eddie placed his hat and work bag on the wall hooks behind the reception desk, and let go of Wally in the process. Free to explore, Wally felt drawn to the table of leftover materials, eyeing every individual paper. When the off-duty mailman returned his attention to his friend in need, his confusion grew a little. After all, Wally’s tantalized by spare pieces of the paper crowns he made for Sally’s last play.

“What is it, Darlin’?” Eddie asked, joining Wally at the cluttered table.

“Red,” mumbled the yellow puppet, pointing at a pile of paper triangles with the same color. He thoughtlessly placed his apple on the table, and admired the differing shades between the maroon scraps and the scarlet fruit.

“That’s right; they’re both red,” awkwardly added Eddie. Despite his quiet exhale unknowingly releasing itself, he couldn’t stop thinking about the unfamiliar behavior unfolding next to him. I’m glad he’s feeling better, but something ain’t right.

“Gween,” Wally muttered, now pointing towards a couple of poorly-cut ovals. That certainly snapped the distracted mailman out of his thoughts.

“Green?” repeated Eddie, mental wheels finding enough courage to turn. Maybe he wants to distract himself with colors, he rationalized. At this apparent correction of pronunciation, the secretly-regressed little darted his eyes down to his fingers, which gently tapped on the table.

“Yeah, that,” spoke Wally, voice shy and small. It melted Eddie’s heart with melancholy, yearning for the artist’s happiness to return. 

“I didn’t mean to make you sad, Darlin’,” affirmed Eddie, his words sweeter than any apples Wally had seen. “Just know I want to help you find your smile again, okay?” The regressor nodded confidently, his clear gaze fixed onto Eddie’s while his hands made a grabby motion towards the mail carrier.

“Oh! You want a hug?” Words escaped Wally; he could only repeat his grabby hands. “Aww, of course I will, Darlin’!” Protecting arms wrapped snugly around the little’s limp body.

Smiles on their faces, they stayed like that until Wally’s eyes slowly closed. Naturally, Eddie pulled out his Murphy bed and tucked the sleepy darling underneath soft blankets. As one of them napped, the other lovingly watched over them.