#Nighthawk S

[motorcycle-id]

1984-1986 Honda Nighthawk S

Can you imagine the heat?? Badass af

[crownedstoat]

The Wobbling Goblin doing the Mach loop

[enatranced]

no need to respond to this one, just a heads up: the analysis paper will be on your desk soon frau enatranced!

you handed it in early!

I'll be keeping this one as an exemplary paper, some parts for literary, some for private reasons.

[theocrabalar]

.30 Super Carry: What? Why? How?

What: The new cartridge .30 Super Carry, as the name implies is definitely geared to towards concealed carry. It offers lighter, softer recoil, and higher capacity than guns in 9mm or .380 ACP. Why? Because people will always want to have the most advantage on their side possible.

How? By accidentally copying 7.63 French Longue. and loading with slightly hotter powder.

Speed in general seems to be slightly more than the speed of the sound barrier, which makes suppression easier, but still not optimal due to the speed.

Big Blue, aka Smith & Wesson has two pistols in this caliber. Like the micro compact called the Shield Plus OR, which is certainly an interesting angle and optimized for concealed carry. Optics ready, small, high capacity, all around a smart plan.

Another offering from Smith is the Shield EZ in .30 SC. The EZ series is optimized for shooters who aren't that used to shooting yet. A slightly bigger grip, a mechanism to make it way easier to cock for people with arthritis or similar issues. This is where I think the new caliber might shine, offering defensive capabilities in a more toned down cartridge for new shooters.

Another interesting gun take I'd like to one day take for a spin is the Nighthawk Customs. Night hawks gun is based on the venerable 1911 design.

While they have an absurdly high cost compared to other handguns on the market, they price is reasonable when you remember that it handcrafted in the USA. I would argue this makes for more of a competition or range toy than an actual defensive or duty gun. In many precision pistol sports, .30 cal is usually the minimum for the big bore categories, but also sometimes small enough to be considered smallbore, depending on the discipline and organizing body. this allows you to compete and train at a high level, when you usually carry a "full-caliber" 1911 or 2011 on the daily. And somehow, completely out of left-field, god damn Hi-Point of all companies beats everyone to the punch by offering the first long gun in .30 Super Carry. And somehow, completely out of left-field, god damn Hi-Point of all companies beats everyone to the punch by offering the first long gun in .30 Super Carry.

While still a "generic" Hi-Point Carbine, it does offer you to only have to think about buying one caliber, and a really low price point. The Hi-Point carbines have their own flaws, but they are easy to oversee when you remind yourself of the MSRP. It will be interesting to see how this goes in the future and what other guns we'll end up seeing in this caliber. Considering also the current advances in 3d printing and DIY firearms, one could also wonder if this will lead to new firearms in a similar category to the Vz 61 but now adapted to modern times with modern ammunition, or other new exciting previously unthought of designs.

I hope this caliber takes off and isn't a complete dud.

[absolutedisaster69]

honestly, this song is 100% Charles from the Faithless au HAHAHHAHA

[roseverdict]

ID: A GIF based off of the painting "Nighthawks" by Edward Hopper. In case the name doesn't ring a bell, the original piece is meant to be of a 50's-style diner, and it's gone around on Tumblr a bit with an anecdote about someone asking Hopper what the symbolism behind the lack of visible entrances to the diner is. According to the anecdote, Hopper hadn't realized until that moment that he'd forgotten to paint the door, and he was quite displeased about the realization. This GIF turns the painted diner into a 3D-modeled aquarium in the shape of the diner. There are fish swimming in the diner rather than the original human dinergoers, and caustics from the surface of the water are refracting out into the streets surrounding the aquarium. End ID.

Kidd Gorgeous - Nightfish 

[scudslut]

ahhh yes yes, I haven’t written him too subby on here yet so I was super excited to write this❤️ I hope you like it @darylsgirl23 <3

Heartsease

Daryl x f!reader

Setting: Bridge Camp/Post Savior War

Wordcount: 2.6k

Warnings: 18+, softdom reader, unestablished relationship (but both know there’s a little somethin somethin iykwim), aka your his and everyone knows it, oral (m - receiving), unprotected piv, premature finish

Daryl was never one to keep still.

It made him anxious to be in one place for too long, always going on runs and patrols ensuring his people were as safe and provided for as they could be. He felt at ease outside the walls, out of people's prying gazes, and left alone to do his part for the community in peace. These days though, he was a flurry of activity. Hardly ever in the same spot long enough to see the sun rise and set again.

You knew he felt guilty - that he was angry and didn't know how to release it. You'd watch him work on the bridge for hours, frustration seeping out of his bones and into the atmosphere around him. It hung off him like a phantom.

The vast majority of the community was intimidated by it. They would walk on eggshells in his presence as if they could predict an oncoming outburst. But you knew better, you knew him.

He was angry at the world, yes. But he was distraught with himself... his own mind. It ran a mile a minute and gave absolutely zero reprieve. Anyone could see that if they dug just a bit deeper, looked at him a little closer.

Sure he was strong and burly; a true beast of a man, but he was also quiet and thoughtful. He cared so deeply about others that it frightened him to his core. All he wanted was to protect his family and do right by them.

And you saw all of that.

You had for years now and it only made your desire for him stronger. You wanted to thank him. Drop down to your knees and worship every freckle and scar that made him, him. He deserved it, deserved an escape.

Initially, you thought maybe he wasn't into that and preferred to keep his relationships asexual, to which you were perfectly happy to abide by. Any time spent with him was cherished time in your eyes. But during a sleep-deprived chat with Carol one night on patrol, long ago, you had found out he did have a few sexual encounters before the apocalypse. Just none that had truly meant much to him, or that he was entirely sober for.

That small bit of insight helped you understand the man so much more and you carefully dropped your hints from that point on. However, with your luck, every time you thought something might happen between you two, the moment would slip right through your aching fingers, dusted away by whatever imminent danger lurked behind each corner.

To be quite honest, you were getting fed up with the world's continuous cruel jokes, and from the looks of things, Daryl could use a healthy distraction right about now.

Ears perking at the familiar rumble you'd grown to love, you watched as he pulled up on his trusty, beaten-up Nighthawk, finally returning from a longer visit at Hilltop. You could see the sheen layer of sweat built up above his furrowed brows, his teeth nibbling away at his lower lip - an anxious habit you had picked up on mere days after meeting him.

His mind was bothering him. That much was clear.

He shuffled quickly to his tent, gaze transfixed on the muddy shoes he wore, avoiding any onlookers who wanted to ask their silly questions, throwing the flaps open, and disappearing in a fluster.

You knew better than to bother him now, give him some time to gather his thoughts and decompress. You whittled away at your spears, biding the time as you devised a plan on how you would approach him. After all, the last thing you wanted was to scare him off or embarrass him in any way. He was reserved when it came to these situations, unsure of himself. The few times you had brushed lips or touched him a bit heatedly, he was jumpy and almost insecure, as if he needed instructions on how he should behave. It was extremely endearing to you; like a stray pup who just needed a little reassurance and affection to calm his fierce walls of doubt.

It was almost dusk when you finished with your spears, gathering them up and placing them near some of the other weapons the community used when needed. You scanned the grounds, noticing everyone collected by the fire, dishing up for a late dinner. You quickly made your way over, grabbing two portions and slipping away before you were noticed and stopped for conversation. You knew Daryl wouldn't get one for himself, spew some excuse that 'he wasn't hungry' or was 'too tired' when really, he just didn't want to take away from another. Even if that meant he didn't eat or drink anything for days at a time. It made your heart blister for more reasons than one.

You balance both plates on your left arm, reaching to pull the flaps open slowly, not wanting to startle him with your arrival, "Dar? You asleep?" you whisper into the dim den.

You hear a grunt, some shuffling, and in a moment a soft glow fills the area as he lights a nearby lamp, perching up on his small cot, "I was."

Flicking off your boots, you zip the entrance closed behind you, "I brought you some dinner, figured you'd be hungry after your trip," You smile and he mutters a quiet thanks, opting to accept your kind offer rather than argue with you, he knew you wouldn't take no for answer anyway. He scoots to the side, creating a spot for you to sit while you two eat in comfortable silence. He liked that you didn't feel the need to fill the air, that you could simply enjoy each other's company without all the small talk. You were one of the few people he'd met in his life, who just inherently understood him, down to the most basic level. He hated leaving you all the time like he had been, just another thing to nag at his over-exhausted mind.

Hearing him sigh quietly, you cast your eyes over, watching as he scrapes up the remaining crumbs off his plate, placing it outside the tent along with yours for you both to deal with in the morning.

"I imagine your pretty tired, huh?" You ask, following his movements as he plops down again beside you.

"Nah, not really. Got a few hours 'fore ya came bustin' in here," he grumbles with a small smirk and you lean into him nudging his shoulder playfully. "Why ya wanna chat or somethin'?"

You consider him for a minute, trying to find the proper words to initiate what was truly on your mind. You knew you had no reason to be nervous. That even though you'd never labeled anything between you guys, you both felt it. Knew it was there. You just needed the right moment. Now was as good a time as any, you figured.

"No, I just- I wanna try something."

He nods his head for you to continue, so you scoot closer, placing your hand delicately on his shoulder and bringing your face centimeters from his. You stop just before you close the gap, gauging his reaction. His breath hitches slightly and you feel his pulse rapid under your fingertips, but he doesn't pull away. Taking that as the only confirmation you'll get, you press your lips to his softly, brushing your thumb against his stubbly, pink cheek. He takes a good minute to respond, carefully moving his lips back against yours and placing his hands on your hips. You feel him squeeze, eliciting a quiet moan of encouragement from you and he all but sinks into your touch, falling into a comfortable rhythm with your lips. You stay like that for a while, breathing in his piney scent and relishing in his gentle kneads at your waist. It wasn’t much to the untrained eye, but you knew that was his way of pouring his affection into you without so many words. His way of telling you he was yours.

You drag your kisses down his neck, nibbling and sucking at the salty flesh between his collarbones. His breaths grow uneven and you can feel him begin to tense again, unused to such personal attention, "Is this okay?" You ask, not wanting to push him past his boundaries. He only nods in response, his throat feeling like the Sahara.

He has to admit, he's thought about this many times, relieved himself to thoughts of you too many times to count over the years. He's just never known how to approach you about it, scared you'd reject him or he'd do something wrong.

He watches as you slip to your knees before him, your eyes glued to his. "You'll let me know if you want me to stop, yeah?" As he tries to nod in response again, you stop him, "I need you to say it to me," You press.

"Y-yea, I'll say somethin'," he whispers timidly and you grin, beginning to unbuckle his belt and slip his raged jeans down. You kiss down his strong thighs, feeling them tremble slightly beneath you. His hard-on is poking through his boxers and you drag your lips across it, placing soft pecks down the length of him, listening to his breathy pants. You didn't realize how turned on you'd be, having him all flushed and needy for you, but god were you enjoying it. Slipping your fingers into the waistband, you tug them down and his cock springs free, precum leaking from the pretty, pink tip.

"You dun have'ta," he mutters, anxiety sweeping over him fast, even though he really, really does want to. You catch his gaze, noticing how dark his stormy eyes have gotten.

"Let me take care of you, sweetheart," you reply, pressing soft kisses from the base to tip, feeling him pulse under your touch. You enclose your mouth around him, taking almost his entire length at once and you hear a guttural groan from above you, his knuckles white from the clutch they had on the bedsheets.

You wondered if he had ever had a woman go down on him before. Judging by the gasps and twitches he was emitting, if he had, it hadn't been for a very long time.

He bucks into you, searching in a daze for more friction, and you pin his hips down, earning a deep whine from him. You knew if he wanted to, he could easily overpower you, use your mouth to his heart's content, but he wouldn't. He wanted you to take charge. Needed it.

Raking your eyes over his heaving figure, you slide your tongue along his shaft, moving in slow, sensual circles as you bob up and down. Daryl's head is tossed back, eyes screwed shut and you can tell he won't last much longer. The sensitivity of not being touched in so long, sprinting towards him at full speed. You pull back, slowing your movements. He lifts his head off the wall, pale blue eyes blown to darkness as he watches you take him so sweetly, "Please," He whispers.

When you shake your head, humming a soft, "Not yet," as best you can around him, his eyes roll back into his skull, entirely overwhelmed by the overstimulation, but loving it nonetheless. "I-I can't," He gasps, his accent muddled even stronger in his lustful state. You have to squeeze your legs tighter, clenching around nothing hearing your man so utterly wrecked beneath you. You want to draw it out for hours. Have him begging you to let him cum down your awaiting throat. However, you decide you both have waited damn long enough to prolong your union even more.

Releasing him with a soft kiss to his leaking tip, you stand in front of him, shimmying out of your clothes as quickly as you can. "Lay down for me, baby,' You direct, moving the straddle him as he eagerly follows your orders, turning lengthwise on the makeshift bed. His eyes never leave yours as you sit down on him, groaning when he feels how wet you are pressed against his cock. "Have you thought about this before, pretty boy?" His cheeks flush crimson at your sultry compliments, nodding curtly whilst avoiding your stare.

"Dar." You press.

You were being so gentle yet stern with him it was making it brain fuzzy, all stressors from the day long washed away to be replaced by only you.

"Have, yeah," He huffs in embarrassment, trying with great difficulty not to portray how truly turned on your words were making him. But you saw right through him... or rather felt him. You lean forward, kissing and nipping up his neck to the shell of his pink ears, "Do you want me to stop?"

A full-body shiver jolts through him when he feels your warm breath against his ear, involuntarily rolling his hips into yours and you chuckle at his obvious sensitivity. He knows he needs to use his words. You won't be letting him off that easy. "Please don't," Is all he manages and it seems to do the trick. You grip his length, tracing it along your soaked folds, and slowly sink down. Your careful as you take in his reaction, scanning his expression for any signs of discomfort. He bites his lip, his eyes squeezed shut and lets out a muffled groan.

"Fuck," He mumbles, and you're surprised to hear him say anything you didn't need to pry out of him. A positive sign, you determined and start to bounce your hips slowly, creating a synchronized dance between your bodies. Your body is buzzing as you ride him, finally feeling the dull ache you’ve had for the man below you begin to dissipate as he whimpers oh so softly for only you to hear. His hands grip your waist hard enough to leave bruises to find in the morning, but you hardly give it a second thought. All you can think about is Daryl. His closeness, his warmth and strength, and-

He tenses beneath you, broken gasps leaving his chewed lips and suddenly he’s lifting you off of him, soaking your thighs and abdomen completely. You gawk as you watch him come down, sworn you haven’t ever seen something so fucking sexy in your life. His head tossed back, jumbled curses leaving his mouth, and dark auburn hair dripping with sweat. You don’t care that he finished before you, this was about him. But you see his eyes snap to yours when he fully comes back down to reality, cheeks blazing for a different reason than before.

Leaning towards him, you capture his lips with your own, tenderly pouring your affection into him, needing him to know you weren’t upset, “It’s okay, relax,” you whisper against him with a soft smile, leaning your forehead onto his. His eyes are filled with guilt, “I mean it, Dar,” And he’s back to his nods of response.

He didn’t need any more words of sympathy. He knew you were happy as a kid on Christmas, he just needed to accept it for himself. So with one last peck to his cherry lips, you slide off him, grab a rag to clean yourself up with, and scoot right in beside him, craving his warmth. He turns to you quickly, grabbing your waist and pulling you impossibly closer to him, burying his head into the crook of your neck. You feel a few soft pecks from him along your jaw and you sigh contentedly, wrapping your limbs around his, reeling in your post-coital glow.

You were safe, snuggled with your love, and that was all you needed.

[planesawesome]

LOCKHEED EVOLUTION.

1. Lockheed Vega (1927)

2. Lockheed Model 10 Electra (1934)

3. Lockheed Lightning (1939)

4. Lockheed Hudson (1938)

5. Lockheed Constellation (1943)

6. Lockheed Shooting Star (1944)

7. Lockheed T-33 (1948)

8. Lockheed Starfire (1948)

9. Lockheed U-2 (1955)

10. Lockheed SR-71 Blackbird (1964)

11. Lockheed S-3 Viking (1972)

12. Lockheed F-117 Nighthawk (1981)

13. Lockheed C-5 Galaxy (1968)

14. Lockheed C-130 Hercules (1954)

15. Lockheed P-2 Neptune (1945)

16. Lockheed L-188 Electra (1957)

17. Lockheed P-3 Orion (1959)

18. Lockheed L-1011 TriStar (1970)

19. Lockheed C-141 Starlifter (1963)

20. Lockheed Martin F-22 Raptor (2005)

21. Lockheed Martin F-35 Lightning II (2006)

22. Lockheed Martin F-16 Fighting Falcon (1974)

23. Lockheed Martin A/F-117X Nighthawk (1981)

[fictionalheroine]

Things Grace thinks are NOT okay:

Perky's Buds

Killing the nighthawks

girls in the boys shower/bathroom

premarital s*x

shows about hookers

Using curse words

Cheating in exams

Co-Ed dances

Being offered to have her books carried

Breaking and entering

Selling crack

Touching yourself

Lying to the police

Spilling the beans/snitching

Calling god the son of the b-word

Dirty dudes/horny pervs

Things Grace thinks are (kinda) acceptable

abstinence

the bible

dismembering a body

blaming a whole town for murder

fleeing the country

guns (and axes)! :D

Devouring souls :)

[strange-birdy-me]

Love Nighthawks, they fit in so well. 👌😊

It was Aziraphale’s idea to visit America with Crowley after the 1941 incident, and he never could say no to a good diner.

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

Lockheed Vega (1927)

Lockheed Model 10 Electra (1934)

Lockheed Lightning (1939)

Lockheed Hudson (1938)

Lockheed Constellation (1943)

Lockheed Shooting Star (1944)

Lockheed T-33 (1948)

Lockheed Starfire (1948)

Lockheed U-2 (1955)

Lockheed SR-71 Blackbird (1964)

Lockheed S-3 Viking (1972)

Lockheed F-117 Nighthawk (1981)

Lockheed C-5 Galaxy (1968)

Lockheed C-130 Hercules (1954)

Lockheed P-2 Neptune (1945)

Lockheed L-188 Electra (1957)

Lockheed P-3 Orion (1959)

Lockheed L-1011 TriStar (1970)

Lockheed C-141 Starlifter (1963)

Lockheed Martin F-22 Raptor (2005)

Lockheed Martin F-35 Lightning II (2006)

Lockheed Martin F-16 Fighting Falcon (1974)

Lockheed Martin A/F-117X Nighthawk (1981)

LOCKHEED EVOLUTION

[ao3wasntenough]

Tell us about Jet Sammmm he got fun design

IT IS TIME

Jet Sam has been a journey and more, him and the lore and stories I’ve been building and exploring wouldn’t have been possible without @justayoungling , truely they’ve probably cultivated my skill more than I could do on my own so let’s get into exploring the journey Sam has been on,

So the first frame for jet!Sam was created for the ugly duckling au, exploring the isolation and alienation from both humanity and cybertronians

He’s delicate, feels to flimsy and not very fit for his frame. Clumsy and prone to denting he often felt like something was always trying to break out, power that didn’t have the room it needed but had no words or the experience to know what to do with it or explain it. The autobots on the site with him somewhat knew his history of human to metal, destructor of the allspark. Not liking the human name “Sam” Sunstreaker and Sideswipe give him the new name “Prisam” a play on prism, a comment on how his wings would fracture the light like a prism.

Then I started talking with @justayoungling and they introduced their boyo atlas!

And so it started a spin off au where Windblade introduced them and Atlas saw Sam as a reflection of him, a young lost bot who seemed to have fate on his shoulders. Atlas having traces to ancient relics like the matrix, primes and the allspark, something we explored heavier later down. Atlas having small future visions and feeling that being with Sam is where he needed to be. So despite Sam’s reluctance they became fast friends.

Atlas having not known Sam as a human, Sam didn’t come across freaky-alien weird to Atlas, just another weird bot, but it’s okay because Atlas can be weird with him too, being a huge help to getting Sam comfortable flying

Together he and Sam forge a strong brotherhood, not many more jets flying around and they both need more socialising, flying frames enjoying flying with trines or in formation with each other a good thing for them. Finding themselves and their own path beside just following the next command from Prime.

Sam regardless of body, was made by Primes, something deep in his spark no matter of self dissonance he would always try to do the Prime thing. Something that came to head, a autobot spacecraft crashing down, it would have impacted and destroyed a large area and possibly kill the bots inside. Sam, Atlas and Windblade being the only flying autobots there was very little anyone else could do. So Sam chose to throw himself onto the craft, the heat and pressure of a crashing ship weilding himself to the ship trying to change its direction into the ocean. As the ship impacted the ocean the crushing force, the shock of heat to ice chilling water…

It worked. And only cost one bot.

But being a Prime, you never really stay dead, and Optimus trying to mourn and maybe give Sam some honor and peace in “death” he sent the some of the dust from the matrix into the ocean Sam lay at the bottom of.

Awakening and reformatting him into his second frame. And so rose from the ocean

Prismatic Prime

Who’s definitely gone through his own journey of designing! When he came from the ocean, there was only so much material to reformat with, considering how much it took to originally make his first frame. His wing panels so destroyed he had broken remnants of flight gears and not all completely functional. But Ratchet is nothing but a miracle mech and some serious dubious and unstudied medical work, they were able to graft the parts given to Optimus by jetfire to Sam.

Leaving him with the Cybertron equivalent of nerve damage to his wings, little feeling and he doesn’t carry them or emote with them like many expected behaviours of jets.

A Frankenstein of a mech if any medic got a good look under his plating

So I wanted to capture the essence of jetfire, in Sam, choosing the nighthawk (right) to carry on the blackbird (left)

Which was very technical and I’ve seriously grown my mech building skills from

the first concepts

First very similar to jetfires silhouette.

-large

-spooky

to the middle unrefined but clear image

I loved the idea of his Prime form being a contrast to Optimus and Rodimus, a jet, something more Unicron inspired like a warning, not to forget the evil that may come for anyone, Megatronus comments about how evil humanity felt manifesting for Sam to then use to invoke good with, preservance, determination an unrelenting and powerful spirit.

Colouring is not my strong suit. It’s ment to be like a burned and singed body compared to his te

to the refined stage!

I am very happy with his look, I made the wings easier to draw and more easier to read and relate to the nighthawk, and his COLOUR! So much more cohesive! He’s like a black cat of night! His pede talons are retractable but unlike others his servo claws aren’t. Traces of so many bots that made him who he is now, he is a walking history lesson in a language only few can only ever understand half of.

AND OF COURSE HE GLOWS! My little ancient artifact magnet can’t escape the marks of the allspark and primes before him. He’s ment to envoke the ocean, bioluminescence algae. Atlas swears that you can see the faint moving lines and marks on Sam when their not glowing, never gone completely

But truely Sam will never be a finished design, always gonna be trying new things and different things and be inconsistent but I’m really happy with his look now. Something that undeniably is threatening, a hunter, something that stalks the skys and shadows but forever has a warm look in his optics. He may always be mourning who he was, what was lost, but he’s resigned and accepted his now in for a very long game. And might as well take advantage of being “Primely” and force other bots to think he knows what he’s talking about

Maybe I can convey all I want to share and explore with him you all next year! One way to find out, or @justayoungling will be the continuing gatekeeper of all my ramblings and loose ends, can’t praise them enough how enjoyable it’s been with them!

And all the kiddos their sitting on…maybe we should get around to making more post able things to share the fun!

[missmonsters2]

—NIGHTHAWK | EIGHT

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x OFC/Fem!Reader

Summary: The Poe Cup race has long passed and Wednesday actively tries to ignore the bet she's made. She may have won, but why does it feel like she's been defeated? She may be able to ignore it during the day, but not so much at night.

Warnings: Wednesday laments over planning a date. Enid is exasperated. Thing, our lovely messenger. Xavier gets threatened with jail. Mother!Weems

Series Masterlist | Library Blog | AO3

Reminder there’s no taglist but you can follow my library blog for notifications 💘

Note: Wednesday: I will threaten you with a horrible time—wait, no not like that.

Part Seven

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Nighthawk: Noun. A recurring thought that only seems to strike you late at night—an overdue task, a nagging guilt, a looming and shapeless future—that circles high overhead during the day, that pecks at the back of your mind while you try to sleep, that you can successfully ignore for weeks, only to feel its presence hovering outside the window, waiting for you to finish your coffee, passing the time by quietly building a nest.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"Why are you rearranging everything?" Wednesday asks, her voice dull but tinged with a hint of annoyance.

You look at her sheepishly. "Sorry, I know you're trying to write."

Wednesday sighs, letting the ire settle away. After all, this was your room. But Wednesday had taken your words about coming here for some peace and quiet last week seriously and brought her typewriter the next day to your room, and it's been there ever since. 

Wednesday actively doesn't think about what it could mean that she'd been moving her stuff over into your room slowly because, at the very least, she still goes back to her own to sleep at night. 

She actively doesn't think about anything to do with you during the day.

"Why are you rearranging everything?" Wednesday asks again, her face unimpressed with how you've shuffled your coffee table, the inside of your closet, and how you've been eyeing your bed as if it was next.

You purse your lips as if debating whether or not to tell Wednesday the reason, but when she pinches her eyebrows at you, her gaze becoming more narrow, you relent. 

"I thought it'd be nice to have more room..." you mumble, rubbing the back of your neck.

"You've already optimized the space to its full potential," Wednesday raises her brow at you. "You won't be getting anything more unless you start throwing away things and you own nothing like the miserable orphan you are."

You can't help but laugh.

"I was thinking of giving away the coffee table," you admit with a smile. "One of the gorgon girls in the woodworking class said she could make me an extendable coffee table that I could fit into my closet."

"Why have you asked her? It is doubtful her skills would be superior to mine."

"Because you're not taking woodworking and it would have to be an extracurricular activity to do outside of class, and I feel like there's more interesting things you could be working on," you point out, giving up on rearranging and sitting on your bed.

"Like what exactly?" Wednesday flatly asks, her gaze studying your fictitious nonchalant face. 

"Do you like horror movies?" You ask instead of answering Wednesday's question, which makes the gothic girl's mouth twitch in annoyance. 

"If you're asking if they scare me, then no," Wednesday answers succinctly, with a tilt of her chin. "But I do enjoy watching them if they're done well."

"Me too," you tell her. "I mean, they do kind of scare me but I also kind of enjoy the feeling because then that means the movie was good."

There's a ghost of a smile on Wednesday's lip, too quick for you to see. 

"Which ones have you seen?" Wednesday asks, curious about what your tastes are. "Which ones terrify you the most?" Her eyes are glinting. 

"Not too many," you give her an amused smile. "Remember, I didn't really have access to the internet for entertainment, and I'm not really one for watching it by myself." 

You sit in thought, and Wednesday waits in anticipation. This was the kind of information that Wednesday had been waiting for because it was difficult to gauge what you were afraid of. 

"I think maybe paranormal movies?" You say, your tone lifting at the end like you were unsure.

Wednesday's face fell. "You're scared of ghosts?" She asks, thoroughly unimpressed. 

"Hey," you kick her foot lightly with your own. "How are you supposed to fight something that is already dead? They clearly already have the upperhand."

Wednesday lifts her hands and starts counting on her fingers. "Rituals, spiritual artifacts, using a psychic, destroy whatever is holding their attachment here, become a ghost yourself and—"

"Okay, okay, I get it," you laugh. "I still find them unsettling, though."

"Ridiculous," Wednesday scowls with distaste. "There are far more horrifying and interesting genres."

"Well," you say lightly, and Wednesday looks into your eyes. They gaze into her like they want to draw her in and send a secret message. "Guess you'll have to show me one of these days."

Wednesday wants to ignore the secret message. 

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"You'll have to show me one of these days."

The words kept repeating in Wednesday's mind, torturing her while she tried to sleep. Usually, it'd be lovely, but Wednesday would've preferred that it was her nightly sleep paralysis afflicting her instead. 

Wednesday had successfully ignored the fact she had won the bet of winning the Poe Cup race. It makes her irate that she’s won yet she feels like she’s been defeated. At least during the day, she was able to ignore it. At night, it haunted her and cost her sleep. 

On top of that, Wednesday was still looking into what her vision could possibly mean. During the day, she spent all her time analyzing you, searching for clues that you might turn on her just like Tyler had. It would be just her luck to have it happen to her a second time. 

But while Wednesday could see something lurking underneath your mask you put on to others, and even sometimes to her, you seemed mindful about the pace to be close. It was different from Tyler, who constantly made it known exactly what he wanted from Wednesday and that he wanted it immediately. 

Wednesday had been snooping around, hoping to trigger another vision, but nothing had come; therefore, she was at a dead end. She supposes she could just bring the issue to your attention and hear your thoughts, but for some unknown reason, she was reluctant. 

"You'll have to show me one of these days."

Damn it all, Wednesday sighs with force.

The task at hand was overdue, and Wednesday wonders if you wonder if she'll keep her word and plan this...date. The idea of being thought of as someone who couldn't keep their vows was disconcerting and disgusting.

This was ridiculous, Wednesday thinks as she removes her covers and sits up. So utterly ridiculous.  

Wednesday Addams never backed away from a challenge, and she was most definitely someone who kept all her threats and promises. 

She grabs a piece of paper, neatly scribbling words onto it before she tosses the pen to the side. 

"Thing," she whispers, even though nearly nothing could wake Enid at this hour. The disembodied hand gets up from his resting place and scuttles quietly over to her. 

"Drop this off and bring me a reply," she tells him. 

He looks at the note and starts signing words to her.

"Yes, what's wrong with what I said? It is succinct."

Thing makes a show of being exasperated with her using his fingers but takes the note and scurries off. 

Wednesday doesn't return to bed, waiting impatiently for Thing to return with her arms crossed, her index tapping her inner arm. It's minutes before the hand returns with a note in return.

"Was she awake?" Wednesday asks, and Thing indicates that you were. He passes her the note.

Wednesday grins, but it looks maniacal.

'Are you threatening me with a date? I thought you'd never ask.'

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

The sounds of Wednesday typing lull you through your headphones. It's a consistent sound, and the only break is when the sound of Wednesday returning the carriage as the page hits the end. 

It was late at night, and it was unlikely for either of you to go out again. Since it's just the two of you in your room, you have your wings out, carefully preening the feathers with your fingers. The scars were healing nicely, but any forceful exertion would make them split open again, and you were not keen on that happening. You're also pretty sure Wednesday would be disgruntled with you if you did as well.

"How are your wings?" Wednesday asks as she takes a break from her writing.

"Sore," you admit, ruffling them lightly. "I can't really stretch them without re-opening the wounds, and they're usually hidden inside my back most days."

"I've been meaning to ask how that works," Wednesday stares at you while you gently massage the sore areas, being very careful of how far your stretch.

"I wish I could explain, but I really can't," you shrug. "It's just innate in faeries to be able to hide their wings. How does it all fit? I'm not sure, really. Most likely evolution and fae magic."

You were really focused, seemingly annoyed with where you couldn't reach. 

"Do you want assistance?" Wednesday offers. 

You freeze for a moment, looking up at Wednesday. The idea of Wednesday's fingers going under the feathers and pressing her fingers carefully against your wing was...a lot.

"Oh, uh," you remove your fingers from your flight appendages. "No, it's okay."

"Why?" Wednesday raises her brow. "You're clearly struggling. Do you not trust me to handle your wings carefully?"

"No, no, it's not that," you correct immediately. You sigh for a moment, feeling the heat rise to your ears. "It's just..." you shift on the bed. "You know my wings are sensitive."

Wednesday nods. "And I will be meticulous."

"It's not that," you mutter, feeling warm. "You massaging them...touching them...like that..." your voice trails, and you feel slightly mortified. This was so embarrassing.

Wednesday seems to catch on immediately, and her back goes straight and rigid. "I see." Her voice is brisk.

"Yeah," you say quickly back. "It's, you know...just ticklish," you say to avoid the awkwardness, but you both know it's not quite that. 

Wednesday just nods, not pushing to offer her help further, but there is a curious look in her eyes. You don't dwell on it as you check your watch.

"Oh, shit," you sigh as you stand, gently brushing the last of your feathers with your fingers. 

"What?" Wednesday asks with a frown, watching your wings disappear. 

"Larissa is leaving for some conference. It's apparently a long trip and she needs to drive out tonight."

Wednesday recalls Weems mentioning her absence for the weekend and a group of teachers being in charge, but there was hardly a need for concern as it was the weekend.

"I have to go see her off," you tell Wednesday. "It'll probably be a couple of minutes. Are you going to stay here writing?"

"I will be finished in a couple of minutes as well," Wednesday says. "I will be returning to my dorm room for the night. I have preparations to finish."

"Preparations, you say?" A sly smile on your lips that Wednesday rolls her eyes at. 

Since that night after the Poe Cup race, there haven't been any kisses. Wednesday's still figuring out what to make of it all. You seem content with how things are, and Wednesday was slowly studying her own desires and how to handle them accordingly. Sometimes, Wednesday thinks it was easier kissing a serial killer.

At least with the serial killer, she didn’t have to do any date planning. But since she was, she was going to do every single part of it correctly and perfectly. Wednesday mindlessly thinks she’s probably been driving Enid insane and feels gleeful at the thought.

The sly smile turns soft, the rarity that only belonged to Wednesday. You lean over and faintly kiss her on the cheek, and your warm lips tinge Wednesday's cool skin. "I'll see you tomorrow then."

You leave Wednesday sitting in your room with a soft click of the door, heading out to the front gates. There are still some students wandering about, and you give them friendly, light smiles with a short wave of your hand as they greet you. 

Inwardly, you sigh. 

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"I'm very serious," Weems gives you a stern look. "If there's anything wrong, you're to go to the nurse immediately. Don't think I've gotten over the last incident you had with the gorgon girls."

"I told you it was an accident!" You sigh almost dramatically. "They're nice girls! They're just...enthused...and strong."

Weems merely rolls her eyes but doesn't comment on it anymore. 

"I will only be gone for the weekend, I should be back Sunday night. It will be a short meeting."

"I know," you say, hiding back your sigh. "It'll be fine. I'm just going to be doing homework over the weekend."

"Right," Weems raised her brow, and an amused and wry smile graced her lips. "And by just doing homework over the weekend, you mean having a date with Miss Addams?"

You narrow your eyes suspiciously at Weems. "How did you know?"

Weems just makes some noncommittal noise before sighing. "My life seems to be fated to be entwined with the Addams family."

You look at her curiously, but Weems waves you off before she looks at you with a mildly uncomfortable look. "Do I need to give you the talk—"

"No!" You say immediately, cutting the principal off. Heat rises up your chest, burning the tip of your ears, and your cheeks feel hot. "It's—" you clear your throat into your fist—"it's fine. I'm good, I know."

Weems's face is slightly flushed red at the apple of her cheeks, and it makes you feel better. The two of you chuckle, letting it die into a comfortable silence. 

"I'll be home in two days," Weems repeats, softer this time. 

You nod. "Okay," your voice softer as well. It was strange, but you really did like having Weems around, despite Wednesday's grumbling about her. "Have a safe trip."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Saturday passed quickly, and Enid could not be more thankful. If there was one more annoying thing than Wednesday obsessively investigating things, it was Wednesday obsessively trying to plan a date. Her grim roommate was extra unbearable this entire week. 

Thing dropped off a note to you earlier today to meet in Wednesday's room at precisely 7PM with your laptop. While Wednesday executed her plan, Enid kept her company for most of the day. 

"I'm surprised you were able to actually cook dinner here," Enid says dryly. "I can't believe you made your own makeshift stove and didn't burn our entire room down."

"Controlled arson is child's play," Wednesday drawls. She finishes setting up a projector she's borrowed (stolen) from a classroom before setting down a blanket with some cushions. She looks at Enid. "Give me all of your pillows."

"What? Why?" Enid frowns.

"Because only I enjoy sitting on rigid and awkward angles that may give me back or neck pains later," Wednesday explains succinctly while she grabs the one pillow from her bed, tosses it on the floor, and then grabs a black fuzzy blanket.

Enid sighs, reaching for her pillows and tossing them onto the blanket. Normally, she might've denied her roommate the request, but it was clear that Wednesday was trying to make this the perfect date from the way she's been obsessing about it all week, meticulously planning and researching. 

It was endearing to watch, but Enid wouldn't say it out loud.        

"You will change the pillowcases and wash the old ones when I'm back tomorrow," Enid warns her roommate, who noncommittally nods.

Then Wednesday freezes. "You're not returning tonight?"

Enid smirks. "Nope. I'm having a sleepover with Yoko tonight." She then gives Wednesday a look. "I won't do it too often, especially since Fae has her own bedroom you guys can be doing your dates at."

"It's smaller," Wednesday mutters, even though she knows it would've been fine to do it at your place. But Wednesday chose to do it in their own room so that she could rely on Enid returning in the worst-case scenario where the date was a failure.

Wednesday checks the time on her wrist and finds she has no time to make adjustments now. It was 6:55PM, and you'd be arriving soon. 

"Leave," Wednesday dismisses Enid, who sighs at her roommate's callousness but still wishes her good luck as she goes to find her vampire best friend along with Thing.

Time ticks slowly as Wednesday checks to ensure the sea witch paella she made is still warm. She does a final review of all her preparations and stands near the door. 

Wednesday wouldn't describe herself as nervous, but she does feel an uncomfortable pressure in her chest and something twisting in her stomach.

It's nauseating and exhilarating.

7:00PM. 

Wednesday waits, telling herself that while it's annoying that people are not customarily on time, it's not abnormal. 

7:05PM.

You were late, but Wednesday isn't worried. You aren't typically late to things, but there's been an occasional time she'll catch you out of breath running to class or to their nightly meet-up.

7:15PM.

Irritated.

Now Wednesday is irritated with how inconsiderate you were being and plans to make you reiterate what you were doing every single minute to be late. She knows you know the time to meet was 7PM. When Thing dropped off her note to you, you also provided a note back saying, 'You have such a way with words. See you at 7PM sharp then.'

A liar is what you are, Wednesday thinks with a downward curl of her lips. Wednesday pinches the bridge of her nose, annoyed at the fact that she has a stupid phone that is utterly useless. She wanted to throttle both Xaiver and Enid for endlessly praising how useful it was to have one. 

7:30PM.

Wednesday clenches her jaw as she blows out the candles and turns off her makeshift stove. She's vexed, but a larger part of her doesn't believe you'd not show up. The vision Wednesday had during the Poe Cup race appears, and she briskly strides out of her room.

Not in your room.

Not in any of the classrooms.

Not in the garden.

Not in the cafeteria.

Not in the library.

"Addams," Bianca greets with a raise of her brow. "Aren't you supposed to be on a date?"

Wednesday stops as Bianca approaches her. "You knew?" Her eyes narrow.

Bianca rolls her eyes, her blue eyeshadow accentuating her eyes. "Of course. Fae briefly mentioned it in the afternoon with a sickeningly happy look on her face. Can't say I see the charm of being on a date with you, but I digress."

"So you did see her earlier then?" Wednesday asks pointedly, ignoring everything else the siren said. 

Bianca raises a brow slowly at Wednesday's behavior. "I did, but she left for her studio about two hours ago. Why?"

Wednesday doesn't bother answering, walking past Bianca with haste.

There was only one place left to check, and Wednesday expected you to be there. You had better be sitting in your studio, having lost track of time, and Wednesday would berate you. But you'd be there to apologize, and they could salvage what was left of their date, and Wednesday would pointedly remind you that it was your fault their food was cold. They'd watch their horror movie as planned, and it wouldn't matter if it'd be late into the night because Enid wasn't coming back anyway.

Because if you weren't there, Wednesday would certainly kill someone. 

"Wednesday!" Bianca calls as she strides to catch up to Wednesday as they pass the Quad, grabbing the attention of Enid, Yoko, Xavier, and Eugene. 

"Wednesday!" Enid calls after her best friend, but she ignores it, walking with a distinct purpose to your studio. Enid and everyone else get up with haste to follow after their friend. "Wednesday, where's Fae?"

The familiar tree trunk comes into view, and she does the same sequence of action she always does to enter, not caring that she looks insane.

"What are you doin—where'd she go?" Eugene asks, his eyes narrowing as if that would allow him to see Wednesday again.

"It must be a fae realm," Bianca deducts, thinking back to her conversations with you. "Sirens have something similar. She must've created one out of her studio. Just follow what Wednesday did."

One by one, they repeat the actions, and Enid is the last to go through. And when she enters, she finds Wednesday a few feet away from her, eyes narrowed with her jaw clenched.

They don't have time to take in the space and view, as amazing as it is. 

"This isn't right," Wednesday grits out, her hands forming into fists. "This isn't the studio."

It looks perfect—neat and tidy. 

Untouched.

"What do you mean?" Bianca asks as she looks around. "This has to be Fae's studio, I can see her belongings. Look—these are the vases and pots she made in pottery class."

Wednesday's eyes move to look at the three pottery pieces Bianca is pointing at sitting in a cluster on the coffee table. They weren't perfect, a little wobbly, and you had laughed when Wednesday pointed out every imperfection and questioned why you even let them go into the bisque firing to set. 

But you said you liked how they were very clearly flawed and still worked without a hitch. 

There was nothing out of the ordinary, and they were most definitely yours. 

The only problem was that earlier today, Wednesday had come into your studio while you were studying. You had given Wednesday a strange look but asked no questions as she grabbed the soft, fuzzy black blanket you favored. You bought it in town recently after Wednesday started to help you apply the salve, picking black specifically because you hadn't known Wednesday like you do now and heard she was allergic to color. 

It was for the cooler nights, not that the cold ever bothered Wednesday, but it didn't stop you from carefully draping the blanket over her. Now, it was in preparation for tonight's date when they were watching horror movies.

Yet, the soft black, fuzzy blanket in her room was also folded neatly on a shelf inside a trunk-turned rack. Which also wasn't where Wednesday had taken it from earlier today.

"This is weird, though," Enid mutters, inhaling deeply through her nose.

"What?" Yoko asks as she takes off her glasses and looks around. 

"Wednesday, you said you and Fae are here pretty frequently, right? I thought you came here earlier."

Wednesday nods rigidly. 

"That's weird," Enid ponders, tilting her head. "I can barely smell you and Fae in this place. It's like...very stale. Months old, at least."

"Wait," Eugene furrows his brows. "How is that even possible?"

Xavier looks in deep thought, holding his chin as he thinks, but Wednesday already knows. Especially after Enid confirmed the scent. 

It all leads to one conclusion. 

This wasn't your studio, or more accurately—you and Wednesday haven't been in your real studio for some time.

"Is there anyone in this school that has Fae's number?" Xavier asks, and it makes the room tense. "Does she have Snapchat or anything that could show her location?

Bianca shakes her head. "No, she doesn't have any social media and she hasn't even given me her number, not that I think it would be useful, anyway. She's never on her phone except to watch her shows or read. Half the time, I'm convinced she probably just leaves it lying around."

"We...we should contact Weems, right?" Eugene asks as he looks at everyone. 

"Even if we do, Weems won't make it back until the morning, at least," Xavier points out. "But we should."

You were missing.

No, you've been taken.

The thought felt hollow, like Wednesday couldn't believe it. It only lasted a second before pure, unadulterated fury filled her. It was like a hot white ball forming in her chest, making her clench her jaw, barely able to contain the noise she wanted to let out. 

Wednesday hadn't been watching for you just half a day, planning this ridiculous date that you had been so stupidly excited for, and you were taken.

Wednesday can only blame herself. 

She blames herself for so many things. 

Indulging you.

Indulging herself.

She should've never agreed to this date—she should've never agreed to you. 

Why couldn't she just have dismissed you as another passing curiosity? Why couldn't she have just gotten what she needed to know and left you? You should've been nothing more than a passing, disturbing thought.

It would have saved her from feeling so wretched now. 

"Wednesday," Enid says softly. She lifts her hand to gently touch her roommate but thinks better of it when she practically smells the anger radiating off the grim-looking girl. "Wednesday," Enid repeats instead, "We need to find her."

"Of course," Wednesday snaps, unable to even comprehend that she was snapping at the wrong person. "Spread out and start searching every corner of this inane institute."

Xavier looks upset. "Wednesday, you shouldn't look alone—" 

"Go, or I will unapologetically send you to jail for a second time," Wednesday cuts off, threatening the tall, lanky boy with a glare. 

Bianca grabs the sleeve at his elbow, dragging him out while the others follow. 

Thing is the only one left with Wednesday, and he stands on top of the table, waiting for Wednesday to say something. 

Wednesday's jaw is clenched, and her hands are closed in tight fists. 

The problem was that Wednesday did indulge herself, and now you were hers, even if she refused to say it out loud. 

You. Are. Hers. 

You were hers to make pay for making her feel so wretched over you. 

"Thing," Wednesday bites out. "Bring anything personal of hers. Bring me anything that looks out of place."

The mystery brought her obsessive personality up to the front, and she would solve it.

Wednesday was going to find you—because you were hers—and she would slowly maim whoever had taken you.

PART 9

[celorangeine]

hiai guys...🤗 this is the only thing I've only been able to think about lately. bear with me ☹️ i've also merged the characters and guns together so I can ramble more 😎

My Headcanons On What Handguns Bully Characters Would Have Pt. 2

part 1

6. Ted

I think Ted is the type to focus more on speed and durability, and the Beretta 92 is crazy good. It's a pretty big gun but it's solid in the hands, it's probably not going to slip at all. I think Ted would like Beretta guns in general. I also think that he'd be the type to stick to one gun and Beretta 92 is GOOD 👍👍👍 for that

7. Edgar

I think he'd be the type to use any gun tbh, just as long as it's good and has a nice grip, he's cool. I don't think he'd use revolvers that much (😢) so I'm thinking CZ 75. Slightly heavy, but I think Edgar's good with it. The accuracy is SOO good and it survives for so long, and that's just what Edgar needs...😎 Edgar's a CZ kind of guy I just know it

8. Zoe

Zoe would be a big fan of Taurus automatic pistols, more specifically the Taurus G2. It's pretty smooth; the magazine quickly drops once the release button is clicked, gripping on it is easy, and the recoil is rarely aggressive. I feel like Zoe would mostly focus on the comfortability of a handgun and this one is sou good. It's pretty cheap too, it's SO good for its price. There's also the Taurus G3 which is a fair improvement than the G2, but I feel like Zoe is not gonna stop continuously using the G2 until it breaks LUL

9. Otto

I think Otto would mainly use Walther guns, specifically the Walther PK380. It's cheap (& he probably manages to get it for even less) and he loves anything that can be good for concealed carry. I think he'd have a dream gun though: the Nighthawk .357 Magnum. That gun is by far the angriest gun I have ever seen. I think Otto would LOVE Korth guns and wished he had more revolvers... but that gun is $6K 😢

10. Algie

OK I laughed like crazy while thinking about this but. I think in an act of self defense he'd goes to some guys to buy a gun. But the guys scammed him and made him pay more for a Hi Point C9. He thought everyone would be afraid of him now, but then the gun nerds start making fun of him for having a Hi Point. For context Hi Point guns are HEAVILY ridiculed by the gun people because of how shitty they are; they're cheap, but incredibly heavy and are difficult to use

11. Earnest

HONESTLY I think he'd really like Manurhin revolvers... it's so classy and I feel like that's what he's trying to make himself look like. They're CRAZY expensive though (some leading up to $10K) so he'd for the cheapest one; Manurhin MR37. It is a really, really good gun though, one of the best revolvers out there (besides S&W's...) and he's gonna show it off.... I know it. or maybe he's just gonna make his own gun idk man

12. Russell

Russell is a big guy and he would love anything that's heavy and flashy. so I think he'd like the .500 s&w revolver. It is insanely powerful and probably has a really big recoil. I haven't read much about this gun and I'm sure it's pretty expensive ($1K+) but Russell can just steal it you guys. It was made 4 him. Russell also probably struggles with most guns because his hands are big and it's gotta physically hurt to use them. I think he'd go for the big/heavy ones

13. Johnny

I think Johnny would be a huge fan of any old guns from the 1900s, and therefore I think he'd like Lugers a LOT. Their guns are expensive as hell but I like to think he'd buy them from auctions. I doubt he'd actually use any of the old ones cause they're severely outdated (but still good TBH) and he'd probably get made fun of if he actually does use them, but he still buys them for his collection. For a gun that he actually uses though, I think he'd like the Smith & Wesson Bodyguard .380 (the gun in the picture). I think Johnny would go for guns that have good triggers and this is one of them. Also there's a laser inside of it it's crazy

14. Peanut

Peanut I think would love the Ruger Hunter Mark IV. Honestly I think the greasers would all really love rugers. This one specifically looks so good and I thought they'd cost like at least $2K, but when I searched it up they only cost $600-800. Peanut would love that fact. I can imagine Peanut being a gun nerd tbh... so a gun like this that needs a lot of focus is no problem for him. He'd kiss this gun goodnight

15. Lola

ANOTHER Ruger gun and I think Lola would love the Ruger Single Six. In terms of weight it's really balanced, it's INSANELY durable, and the loading & unloading is so smooth. I think it's also mostly made of steel and it fits Lola man. It's a good gun for hunting too and therefore the accuracy is really good, and I think Lola would like guns that have good accuracy. This gun is hung on the wall in her house trust me

[official-megumin]

Hey chat

https://eu.bungiestore.com/celestial-nighthawk-wearable-collector-s-helmet

for context it's a fully wearable helmet, and is my absolute favorite exotic in the franchise and has been so for the past 10 years. And I made one for my little mega bloks hunter figure.

It's also like 60ish% off right now and when it's sold it, it will just be gone

[venomousray]

Random hatchetfield swap thoughts.

Eddie chiplucky swaps with proud papa Ed. He still has his cowboy attire but it’s more cosy, he keeps his beloved pet under his hat.

Ed is more mysterious here, rather than having just his hoodie he wears a jacket instead since I didn’t entirely have clothing ideas for him.

Charles coven swaps with James’ shopper character in Black Friday, why? Well it’s a headcanon of mine and @ashtxeman ‘s that he’s a clone of Charles coven, whilst the change isn’t too noticeable their facial hair and hair looks somewhat different.

Rather than his iconic outfit Charles’ leather jacket is closed, with him having a longer scarf.

James shopper as I’m calling him dresses rather fancy, still in warm clothing but it’s far more extravagant.

Here’s my favourite part of the swap though. What about peanuts? Well. May I introduce you to

Ezekiel, the hatchetfield hat nighthawk. A nighthawk with an injured wing that Eddie rescued and carries around under his hat.

As for peanuts, peanuts! The leader of the bushy-tailed squirrels. She’s got a fairly similar motivation to Ezekiel, only as peanuts is canonically female… Lauren Lopez plays her. Why? Because I want to see Lauren play an evil squirrel.