bullsh1tterz

[bullsh1tterz]

✧ —𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒

[ send +reverse for the roles to be swapped, when applicable ]

🎃: for our muses to carve jack-o-lanterns together

👻: for our muses to go to a haunted house

🎉: for our muses to attend a Halloween party together

🔮: for my muse to invite your muse to a Halloween party that they're hosting

🍬: for our muses to go trick-or-treating

🍎: for our muses to go bobbing for apples

🎩: for our muses to try on costumes

🔞: for your muse to greet my muse wearing a sexy costume

🕸 : for our muses to put up spooky decorations

🎪: for our muses to go to a spooky carnival

🍿: for our muses to watch a scary movie

😈: for my muse to scare yours

👯: for our muses to have coordinating costumes

💅: for my muse to help your muse apply costume makeup

🍫: for our muses to gorge themselves on Halloween candy

🧛‍♂️: for our muses to enter a costume contest

💀: for our muses to be volunteer scare actors

🍭: for our muses to pass out candy to trick-or-treaters

👹: for our muses to make DIY Halloween costumes

🔥: for our muses to tell scary stories around a bonfire

🚗: for your muse to help my muse decorate their car for trunk-or-treat

🌾: for our muses to get lost in a corn maze

🍹: for our muses to get drunk at a Halloween party

🎭: for our muses to meet at a Halloween masquerade party

🃏: for my muse to compliment your muse's costume

💀: for my muse to play a trick on yours

🍂: for my muse to push yours into a pile of fallen leaves

👗: for our muses to brainstorm costume ideas

💃: for my muse to show off their costume to yours

[bullsh1tterz]

How is one meant to feel at a moment like this? Adam's almost attempting to distract himself by venturing to answer that question. A motorcycle ride back home would've been the perfect end to a date had he ever managed to get through one. He can picture himself and whatever stand-in hottie with their hair blowing in the wind, making innuendos and talking or reveling in each other's silent company as they cross the road. It makes him sick to his stomach - ties a knot up there which reminds him of his incompetency in relationships and the inevitability of his failure at establishing them. Don't try again. You shouldn't have tried this time. This isn't on you, but it would've been if the guy was decent.

A sigh escapes him as Steve speaks, wandering mind pushing the other man's dialogue into the position of an afterthought. "I bet." he simply responds, not denying the dislike, and yet letting one of his palms strike tighter against Steve's form. Personal dislike be it as it may, he's drained and in desperate need for... anything, really, to the point where he begins to feel guilt over finding a frustrating comfort in Steve's voice when he checks up on him.

"Are you?" he diverts, head sinking down so that his forehead might lightly touch the other's shoulder. Another sigh. "Y've been drivin' for a while now. If y'oughtta stop ta rest 'r gas up 'r somethin' I won't complain... much." he lifts his head up, sliding forward so that not a single speck of distance remains between their torsos. "Y're too fuckin' kind, Rogers."

Steve doesn't fully know how to get Adam to like him. Being himself sure isn't working. The guy's got whole opinions about him that're hard to overturn. "I don't think anyone deserves that type of treatment." He takes back the phone, looking down at the address. "It's okay." It's the other side of the city but he doesn't mind too much. Nothing calms Steve down more than a drive and a chance to collect his thoughts. On the bike no-one can stop him and ask him questions or try to take photos with him.

"Yeah, well - Believe me, it'd be more fun for me too if it was with someone who didn't outwardly dislike me." Steve couldn't help the words muttering out. He'd often thought about how he'd love to take dates out on his bike, drive down along the coast, and pack a picnic. Instead, he's turned into a glorified Avengers Uber service. He kicks up the stand before looking out into the street and taking off. Traffic, thankfully, isn't too busy, meaning that he zips towards Adam's address without too much hassle. "You good back there?"

[bullsh1tterz]

"Gross. Ew." Stuck in here with - who he now assumes to be - a. blue shirt. The waking nightmare truly does continue. He looks the guy up and down, searching in his demeanor for a cruelty he's experienced in so-called 'defenders of justice', but doesn't see much of it. "I'm gonna ignore that. Coz I didn' ask. Y'gonna shake y'rself down now or what?" Body steps forward and only then does he realize his own predicament... no chain this time, no, but rather an object stuffed into his pocket. Frantically, he lets his hand duck in and pulls a jagged knife out. From the angle of his palm against its surface, he can tell it's blunt. But as jigsaw's games go - it shouldn't stay that way for long, he doesn't think. It's meant for someone or something and damned he'll be if he doesn't find out.

"I don' got a tape on me..." he voices, looking around and making his way across to the other. "Which means the game's over more than one room." one of the ones he's read about in the papers, Adam's sure. Of course Jigsaw wouldn't allow him a mere second chance at his own claustrophobic game. It had to be new. It had to challenge him. And he groans at the revelation, looking up for any sign of surveillance and throwing two middle fingers up in a jolt, form spinning just a notch to address as many angles as possible.

"Guess I'm puzzle daddy's favorite little toy, ey!?" he shouts, wincing in his misery and burying heaps of it under aggression. "Fuckin' Bastard." the hands go down, but then one goes up again for a mere second. "Can't deal withyer issues by gettin' an addiction like the rest 'f us so y'r punishin' us for it. Motherfucker. Lunatic. Get fucked." Frankly, the way his resolve is veering now - he'll simply get the other out. He's not playing yet another sick game. He's not watching someone saw their foot off again. He's done. If jigsaw wants him, great, he'll have him; but not on his terms. On Adam's terms and no one else's.

So, the matter at hand remains. The contraption over the other's head which he's going about investigating without a single touch lest it set off a mess.

　There’s really no telling how bad his luck is. It’s not bad luck, not really —— a series of circumstances that has Will Graham drawn in and ensnarled by unbecoming psychopaths. He should just ease away from the business altogether and settle into a quiet retirement, aloof and just as alone as before. But it’s never that easy and his mind just as suspended on webbed curiosities.

He knows enough about Jigsaw despite the puzzle not fully being present there for Will. An angry man seeking punishment and validation in places that had been failed. Will doesn’t understand his purpose here but perhaps shortly he would. And this man with him? Fidgety, flighty and likely to snap on him if goaded. But Will is not a dog without bite either. Just far too calculated.

There was supposed to be some kind of test or something akin to a game. They have an opportunity for escape, no? Would they both be able to survive or would they have to turn on one another? Will’s brown eyes flicker and he’s searching for any clue or tape to give them further instructions. Because he realizes then, they’re not allies just yet.

“I’m a cop.“ not really, special investigator with dubious mental health history making him unable and unqualified for the force. Not quite FBI but adjacent, “I was assigned to the cases–“ Newly recruited for his particular knack of figuring out minds. He hadn’t even been in the city for a day. “I was with my coworker when I was taken.” Bev, in a parking garage. He hopes she was okay.

[bullsh1tterz]

₊🎞️❜ |[ @sioraiocht said ]|   :

🖕 Flip my muse the bird { from bucky }

A little smile graces his features - something meandering between a smirk and a genuine grin - as his middle finger flips up to reciprocate.

"If only that were a proposition." he says, entirely unserious and yet not lacking in playfulness about the inflection of his tone. "Now shoo along, Barnes. Go shove it up your rat-killer."

[bullsh1tterz]

Hello everyone! Been of the dash for a while due to uni shenanigans but I'm in dire need of answers right now! I've got a Mass Communication final essay centered around Iron-Man & Captain America and would very much appreciate it if you took five minutes to fill out this survey on 'em:

Thank you in advance! Will probably update everyone on how the paper goes later.

[bullsh1tterz]

₊🎞️❜ |[ @malka-lisitsa remarked ]|   :

"Well don't you look like you're just not having a good time being alive."

"Well ain't you the most observant gal in this part o' the city." he responds, words laced in sarcasm and distaste. So what if he looks like he's having a bad time? He always does. It's how his face falls and it's true to his state of being.

"Tell me, what gave it away?" a tilt of his head, cigarette extending a little further from his form in the motion. "The fuckin' frown?" he bites on the last two words for dear life, stressing on the syllables as though to demonstrate just how redundant the statement felt to him.

[bullsh1tterz]

"Weird, interestin' - it's all the same." Adam makes his way further into the other's place. He throws himself over the cough, getting as comfortable as could be with his arms settling over the backrest.

"Any ideas as ta why she'd want snaps o' ya in the first place?" he asks, not waning in his display of curiosity.

A scowl settles over Matt's features when he sees the keys that have been withdrawn from Adam's pocket. He grabs them as they're thrown his way, quickly stuffing them into his own pocket.

"Hmm?" A distracted hum comes from him, looking back up. A slow eyebrow rose at the 'something'. "Huh," he makes a thoughtful looking face, "that's weird maybe," he shrugs, "but I dunno I'd go as far as 'interesting'."

[bullsh1tterz]

"That's not what I-... I'm not a reporter." Camera's allowed to drop hip level, swaying slightly along the harness around the man's neck. "It's closed, honest." He lets one of his hands tap the covered lens to demonstrate, a plastic click cuing at the action.

"I'm a freelance photographer but that's... I'm here for somethin' else" two palms rise near his head in almost surrenderous motion in hopes of depicting the honesty of his claims. Which, to him, tumble out as truths. He needs to talk to her. "You, uh." eyes sway around the corner and form inches in a single step closer, leaning her way whilst still leaving a gap between them for her comfort. "Y'might be in danger. Can we talk?"

@bullsh1tterz ❤️'d "please," an unwavering hand raises to block her face from prospective camera view. "i'm not giving any interviews, i don't want to talk to any reporters." sidney's had enough cameras shoved in her face to last her a lifetime. she prepares herself to brush past the other.

[bullsh1tterz]

₊🎞️❜ |[ @sioraiocht said ]|   :

this place gives me the creeps. { from steve }

He hangs back just a second, tilting his head just to name-call. "Pussy." And yet there's a smirk about his lips. "It's gonna be fine, y're just not used to stoner scenes." a pause, palm extended casually.

"I can hold y'hand if it'll stop ya from pissin' y'pants tho."

[bullsh1tterz]

₊🎞️❜ |[ @hidefire said ]|   :

can you hear me?

"Can, yeah. Want to, though?..." Cigarette flicks gently as he straightens his back out. "Not fuckin' particularly."

[bullsh1tterz]

ALIEN (1979) PROMPTS *  assorted dialogue from the film, adjust as necessary

the other members of the crew are dead.

this is the worst shit i've ever seen.

anybody ever tell you you look dead?

alien life form. looks like it's been dead a long time.

i should reach the frontier in about six weeks.

can you hear me?

what was your special order?

you read it. i thought it was clear.

what about our lives, you son of a bitch?

how do we kill it? there's gotta be a way of killing it.

that's bullshit.

you still don't understand what you're dealing with, do you?

you admire it.

look, i've heard enough of this, and i'm asking you to pull the plug.

i can't lie to you about your chances, but... you have my sympathies.

something has attached itself to him.

we have to get him to the infirmary right away.

wait a minute. if we let it in, the ship could be infected.

you know the quarantine procedure. twenty-four hours for decontamination.

listen to me. if we break quarantine, we could all die.

look, could you open the goddamned hatch?

i can't do that, and if you were in my position, you'd do the same.

this is an order.

the ship will automatically destruct in t-minus five minutes.

you bitch!

you are my lucky star.

i find that hard to believe.

what would you like me to do?

i'll get my own answers, thank you.

some of you may have figured out we're not home yet. we're only halfway there.

what kind of transmission?

you were gonna leave us out there!

when i give an order, i expect it to be obeyed.

unless somebody has got a better idea, we'll proceed with [name]'s plan.

oh no. you're out of your mind.

i say that we abandon ship!

we take our chances and just hope somebody will pick us up.

i'm for killing that goddamn thing right now.

will you listen to me, [name]?

you don't know that.

that's the only way.

we'll go step by step and cut off every bulkhead and every vent until we have it cornered, and then we'll blow it the fuck out into space.

is that acceptable to you?

that's amazing. what is it?

please don't do that. thank you.

you let him in.

by breaking quarantine, you risk everybody's life.

maybe i should have left him outside.

maybe i've jeopardized the rest of us, but it was a risk i was willing to take.

i do take my responsibilities are seriously as you, you know.

you do your job, and let me do mine.

you remember anything about the planet?

what's the last thing you do remember?

we're on our way home!

i don't trust him.

i don't trust anybody.

it's a robot!

let's get the hell out of here.

there is an explanation for this, you know.

i'm sorry, can i say something?

we don't know if it's intelligent.

i wanna go home and party.

you don't dare kill it.

how long before the ship blows?

why don't you just fuck off?

it looks like a warning.

i can't see a goddamn thing.

get out of the room!

the first thing i am going to do when i get back is get some decent food.

open the door!

oh god, it's moving right towards you!

get out of there! behind you! move!

this place gives me the creeps.

whatever it was, it was big.

i'll get the shuttle ready.

wait a minute. there's movement.

where's earth?

something's different down here.

it's got to be around there somewhere.

[bullsh1tterz]

He lets himself be flattered by the gaze - welcoming it, even, with a knowing expression before he returns to the subject at hand.

"Not yet." He remarks, eye-line straying over to the entrance for a second before returning back to meet Coby's eyes. "Y'never know with this stuff, though. Hot guy like you? Y'just gotta use y'r assets a little and it's set." It's strange giving advice of any kind, here, but it comes from a sincere place. Adam does, after all, have eyes; it's not difficult for him to imagine Jamie would have very much of the same.

"Me, though," a dismissive flick of his hand to address the table-turning question, "I'm just lookin' for a bang, not much else." to even think of showing interest in someone deters him so, and with such vigor that he shudders at its probability.

When Adam's head turns, he's met with Coby's mischievous, pleased grin. "Mhmm," he nods out his entirely appreciative agreement, letting his eyes run over Adam's form without feeling any need to disguise his gaze.

His demeanour is a little less confident when said security guy was brought up. "There's nothin' happening with Jamie and me." At least, Coby didn't think there was any chance to be. "How about you then?"

[bullsh1tterz]

There's something in Adam that always expects aggression - resistance, so the response does have him halting for the smidgen of a second before he shakes it off with an eye roll. "Oh, you can bite. But I'll scratch." An empty threat given the ironically gentle nature of his touches. Grow up in the state he did and you develop a certain proclivity for care - even if he denies it so.

The question falls heavy on him, a frown not hesitating to settle further within his features. "What, patchin' up a superhero? No. Never. I hate most of 'em." Deal with injuries, though, yes. Always. His own. He huffs, hand extending to carefully examine the injuries as he estimates the amount of bandages, ointment and other such aids needed for now. "... That's not the question y'wanted ta ask, yeah?" he says, brow quirked slightly at the hero's hesitance before he launches himself away again to rummage through his belongings for a first aid kit.

"Does y'whole head hurt 'r is it a migraine?" he asks upon his return, kit's broken container tightly betwixt his palm - the only thing keeping them together - as he uses the other to pull up a chair and sit before Bruce. The disinfectant, as always, must come first, but he's quick to throw one last question in first. "Which o' yer injuries can ya actually feel right now? Y'know, the ones that sting so hard the rest just don't feel real." Priority sorting's the way to go when one's kit might run out at any given moment.

Can't stay here, he still had things to do, important things, he had to ⸺ 'Lie back down' Banner doesn't need to be told twice as a new wave of lightheadedness rushes over him like his brain was a dinghy lost in a foggy, violent storm of green radiation. Usually takes at least twenty-four hours to completely unscramble from Hulk, meaning he wouldn't be getting off this filthy couch anytime soon.

That leaves him somewhat at the mercy of his ⸺ What exactly? Friend? Exerting the other's behavior as they rummaged through the fridge it was hard to tell, can't remember anything else what happened, and is scared to ask.

Regardless he readily accepts ice cream, couldn't even think about eating right now but the cold felt good against his burning up skin, helps him relax a bit. His sunken in gaze meets the other's. Relenting after a moment, Banner lifts the jug off his forehead, hesitantly granting the other permission to do what needed to be done.

❝ I promise I won't bite ❞ Unlike Hulk, he felt the need to make the distinction between the two, him and monster. ❝ Do this kind of thing a lot? ❞

[bullsh1tterz]

The cigarette feels like a flower tucked behind his ear - an item much beloved returned to his form. But, alas, it's Moriarty putting it there so all he really feels is a festering frustration. It drives him to pick it up and throw it to the floor, shoe pressed against the flame to douse it as he pulls another one out and slips the lighter from his pocket to ignite it.

Smirk hides but a twitch at his lips remains. He hops off the desk, arm left to linger over his own hip. It can still work. He's not so presumptuous as to think Moriarty a fool - accounting for the not-dead rule was almost instinct. "Sure." a nod, then he lets a quarter of that smirk come to be. "Any cat so long as it ain't dead. Gotcha," and a wink before he thinks it over again, "but how do I know y're gonna stick ta the deal? Gimme leverage."

Just as Adam reached for the CIGARETTE, he was QUICK to TILT HIS hand back so IT was another two INCHES away from HIS FINGERS. There, he stole yet another drag as he held eye contact through a POINTED look. A SIMPLE ACTION that was used to put the photographer IN HIS place. To serve as a REMINDER that he could take ANYTHING he wanted at any TIME, whether IT was HIS to take or not. Only when he had HIS FILL DID he reach to tuck IT BEHIND the man's ear, the plume of smoke BILLOWING out between them.

"Of course.. you can PICK aaany cat you want, so long as IT'S ALIVE beforehand. Wouldn't want you to get the wrong IDEA and SKIN a dead cat now do we? That would defeat the purpose." And that purpose was to test JUST how much Adam needed that new lens. If he could manage WITHOUT IT then IT wasn't a necessary purchase.

Compared to most SERIAL KILLERS who began THEIR spree through ANIMAL torture, he wasn't one of them. In fact he took no pleasure IN THEIR torment at all, but he DIDN'T exactly care for them EITHER.

[bullsh1tterz]

Head tilts slightly at the title. Blood spatter analyst... They're just out here creating new jobs, aren't they? There's a blatant scoff leaving him at the name, the crouching position he was in evolving into crossed legs over the ground. He's far enough away from the blood but still well within Dexter's vicinity, gaze pinned to his for a moment as though attempting to peer through his psyche. What kind of man keeps a job like that? Adam would be lying if he said he wasn't curious.

"Better do a good job, then." He shrugs, looking over to the body. His nose scrunches up a tad at the sight - the very sight he'd photographed and the very one he was essentially ready to exploit. This is the second time he's seen one of those in the last week. Adam doesn't want to let his biases get to him but someone much too dreadfully familiar might've come out to play again...

Deep breath, then an eye-roll. "Wooow, really? Cameras with zoom 'n enhance features can do that? Wooow. No, no, y're really enlightenin' me here mister blood man. Do tell me more, I'm gettin' wet off yer wisdom 'n mega-brain knowledge." And another scoff at the final suggestion. "Eh. What're they gonna do? Drag me away? That'd be pretty helpful, ta be honest. I don't feel like walkin' back across the street." Or, of course, they could suspect him. The same way they did Lawrence all those years ago. But it couldn't have been the man who sawed his foot off that concocted his own trap, no shot. So, how, then, could a man burdened by the game's trauma inflict it upon others? Adam supposes it probable, but heinous nonetheless.

The new kills are different, though. Have been for a while. Yet never quite enough to sweep suspicion away from the alias which he dare not recite. Not even inwardly. "Hey, what if I spit on the blood? 'll that ruin it for ya?" he's saying the first thing that comes to mind beyond flashes of remembrance; seeking some distraction in whatever the other's response would be and, for better or for worse, genuinely hoping to be dragged away so that he may be granted an excuse to spit on an officer.

Though despite it all, his features fall inquisitive. There's a deeper interest to be found in the scene at hand than simple curiosity or a photographer's gleam. It's personal. He might wish to deny that, but it is.

So you did, Dexter observes, continuing first impressions with newsprint. Web-pages. First-hand witness accounts. A bathroom. A saw. A game concocted by a mastermind of revenge; each topic flashing through his mind like the frames per second he'd only moments ago stopped taking. Face to face with an inkling, an itch, that perhaps ... it wasn't black and white. Personalities were as much of the job as picking up donuts for the morning, but at least Dexter could choose which donuts to bring in. People are strange for survival. Developing coping mechanisms for the trauma cast upon their lives. The tricky part is deciphering what's genuine & what's coming out of the mouth of their mask.

Are they speaking to you, or the world?

" ... " Okay, he wasn't expecting that, & he has yet to find the similarities between dessert and his ass. It's a clever distraction, but not strong enough. Why are you here, Adam Faulkner-Stanheight?

"Standard issue," Dexter replies, his eyebrow cocked as he meets the other's interested gaze, albeit his own enjoyment consists of suspicion rather than passion. "Blood-spatter analysis, actual. Very important." Blood speaks when the victim can't. Blood spills. It rehashes a story that failed to stay buried & for good measure. There's a special place in hell for murderers. Dexter has certainly reserved his spot but ... had Adam?

He crouches for effect, knowing which angle will capture the drops precise & clean; forever trapped in the still images of his camera lens. "If you don't do a good job, a killer gets away." Spoken nonchalantly, he shoots his perception up to Adam, a knowing look etched across his sun-soaked face.

"A Nikon D90 finds most things the human eyes can't." but you knew this already, didn't you? "And, the police won't see this as a service if you stick around." they'll see you as a suspect, but not before the trail grows cold. Another flash. He shifts into another angle, then stands, eyes squinting beneath the sun as he looks over his work. "You should probably leave the scene. Can't risk contamination."

[bullsh1tterz]

₊🎞️❜ |[ @angelparadox sent ]|   :

✍️ WRITING HAND — what is one thing you wish you were better at? this can be a tactical skill, social skill, hobby, etc.

"Convincin' people ta do shit, I guess."

"I'm not the worst persuader around but if I had a better temper I'd have probably cruised through gettin' people to do what I need 'em to."

[bullsh1tterz]

₊🎞️❜ |[ @malka-lisitsa said ]|   :

"your scars are nothing to be ashamed of.  ❞

A flick of his palm falls dismissively leftwards at the statement, gaze never quite shifting in spite of the faint reassurance to be found in what she'd said. "I know that." Adam's quick to clarify, hand instinctively brought around to fiddle with the fabric of his shirt over the bullet wound.

"'m not ashamed of 'em. That's not why I hide 'em" though veering in the cadence of an excuse, his words ring true. The makeup, contrary to certain convention, is but a tool in avoiding something far more unpleasant than simply walking around with scars - in their own right, they're pretty. In their own right, they reek of his survival - his resilience. But on the other, murkier hand... "It's coz whenever someone looks at 'em, they ask me a shit ton o' questions 'r suddenly get that sympathetic fuckin' look in their eyes like I'm a charity case," head shakes lightly, "I ain't up ta dealin' with that is all."