#bullet servicing

[manzilmotors]

Common Issues and Fixes at Royal Enfield Service Centers

Discover common issues and expert fixes at Manzil Motors, Gurugram's best Royal Enfield service center. Ensure your bike's optimal performance with our professional care and genuine parts.

[fictional-men-enthusiast]

Speeding Bullet is the “HE ASKED FOR NO PICKLES” meme but Sniper is about to calmly ask about the pickles and Scout darts in front of the counter before he can get there, loudly exclaims “Yeah, uh, EXCUSE ME—” and makes the situation 10x more embarrassing and dramatic than it needs to be.

Then he’s absolutely clueless why Sniper is sitting in the camper alone, absolutely mortified, because he thought he was helping by speaking up.

[lovesickeros]

☆ i dream of embers

{☆} characters arlecchino {☆} notes no au, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings none {☆} word count 1.1k

The House of the Hearth is quiet — or, if you really wanted to be precise, the rats scuttling through the walls are working around the bubble you exist in. The children dare not tempt fates hand unless you asked for them by name, a contradiction. An order to the rules — they mustn't approach you with trivialities, but they must listen if you speak. Your words carry more weight than gold in this house, whether you know it or not.

A tenuous position.

You haven't done anything to earn their reverence, their almost acrid fear — but Arlecchino has. She wields her silver tongue with as much ease as her polearm, ensuring your care in her absence. Her devotion, her service, is felt in the warmth of her chambers, the silks she adorns you with, the bed so soft you feel as though you melt into it. A gift, a promise — a gilded cage need not be something undesirable.

You've grown used to the encumbrance of her presence, these days. The deep timbre of her voice, honeyed yet melting into something rougher, quieting into haunting silence as if she seeks not to disturb you. Dim candlelight is all that illuminates her broad frame as she slowly presses the door open and closed behind her, pallid skin streaked with darkening red, her bottom lip smeared with it like lipstick. There is a tension to her shoulders even when she sets aside her polearm, out of sight and out of mind, harsh lines on her face visible in the deep furrow of her thin brows.

Here, she let's the weariness settle deep into her bones — it's just the two of you, even if she hasn't acknowledged you at all. Still, it's a vulnerability she shows no other, even if that vulnerability is hidden behind layers of barbed wire and teeth.

You watch rather idly from the bed as she wets a cloth in a basin of water, the bed creaking beneath you as your feet sink into the plush rug beneath. You know from experience that trying to help her is like trying to soothe a wild dog, but your knuckles brush over the sharp line of her cheek anyway, free hand stealing the soaking cloth from her hands when her jaw flexes and tenses beneath the pads of your fingers.

It is only then that she looks down at you, eyes as sharp as blades yet so indescribably warm — like a flame licking at your skin, burning so deep you feel it linger for weeks after. Arlecchino is not soft, far from it — but she blunts her jagged edges for you anyway, brushes her lips against your knuckles and allows you a moment of adoration. Carves her worship bone deep in the ghost of her touch against your lower back as she leans down, let's you wash away the blood certainly not her own, never blinking as if you'd simply up and leave if she stopped looking at you for even the smallest moment.

You are well aware she is caging you in. You let her.

Though she is still stiff as a board up to the moment you set the washcloth over the side of the basin, her jaw flexing again, a moment of consideration given. She is not used to soft and brittle things, though — not used to touch that does not lead to steel at her throat, in her gut, carving out softness like a butcher carves up meat, section by section.

But this affliction of affection is stronger than the discomfort, at times.

You almost half consider letting her take the room and have a night of proper rest, but she is faster than you — a calloused hand tilts your head back, half lidded eyes glinting beneath the weight of exhaustion, her thumb firm against your bottom lip. She could kill you without even blinking, you are aware, but she is nothing but careful with her touch — not soft, not Arlecchino, but there is adoration in her touch. Like thumbing a locket portrait, trying to imprint their features into memory by touch alone.

Her touch is fleeting, but the warmth lingers long after — you don't need to be touching to feel the weight of her attention. She stokes the flames of the dying fire, has one of the children bring a fresh pot of tea, lingers even when she doesn't have to. You're sure her desk in her office is far more comfortable to work at, but she'd crammed a small desk into the room anyway, stayed even long after you fell asleep most nights. You never did get to stay up long enough to notice her slip in beside you, nor wake up early enough to find her there with you, but the heat lingers — she leaves breakfast at your bedside table, a small note of affection if she's feeling particularly sappy. Even when you don't see her, she makes sure you feel her presence however she can.

Neither of you need to speak to express it. The silence is..oddly comfortable, filled by the shift of paper or scratch of a pen, the clink of a cup or crackle of fire. It's a little too easy to get lost in watching her work, masking a smile whenever she glanced back at you with a question on the tip of her tongue that goes unsaid.

It's better that way, you both think. The silence was best left undisturbed — as if trying to break it would be like breaking the mirror to each others lives. You don't busy yourself in the affairs of the House of the Hearth, and she doesn't make you. It's better that way, too. Maybe that makes you naive, blind even, to the bodies at her feet piled so high she could drown, but you don't want to give up this fragile tranquility.

So you let the dull scratch of a pen lull you to sleep, try not to smile too much when a hand reaches out in uncertainty to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your cheek with so much affection it makes it hard to breathe.

It's a tenuous balance, but come the next night you will wipe the blood from her cheek again and she will care for you the only way she knows how — distant service.

And when you wake up to an empty bed, warm despite the fires long burned out, you'll still feel her presence in the allure of a warm drink and pastries at your bedside, a note tucked beneath the plate.

Just like the day before, and just as you expect tomorrow to be. But one day you'll gently pull apart the barbed wire and be let in — not today, no, but someday. It's a slow process, but you're patient enough to wait — and when she let's you in, you'll tend to the scars that it left like you've always done.

One step at a time, one day.

[network-rail]

The Transatlantic Railway, part 6

We’ve sorted out the logo, trains, route, and bridge, now it’s time for the most important part of the project: how on Earth are we meant to pay for this thing? At 5143km long, and based on some very rough estimates I put together bridges typically cost something on the order of £10-100 million per kilometer; giving us a cost of around £50-500 billion total. That sounds reasonable, it is at most half of the UK budget and also less than the US military budget.

[nightmarearian]

my bullets will find you.

(rage).

"He cast aside his physical form in order to etch the memories of rage and sadness deeper into his being." -Black Swan

"He really wanted to just fall asleep like this and never wake up. Until he heard those crude songs and those gentle words, and memories of yore surfaced once again. The unforgettable hatred turned into a weak light in the darkness and he followed it to walk toward the end of it all, exerting every ounce of his strength to rise once again to the surface." (Boothill's Character Story: Part III)

My Life Stood as a Loaded Gun

(really just this analysis, really).

hhhhhhh

his themes of being a dead man walking and absolute rage (being what's keeping him going) are my fuckin roman empire I love him so much Give him the world I beg 😭

as far as I can tell, the "my bullets will find you" were for Acheron, but it fits verrry well for any target of Boothill's, really, soooooo

this... uhh. Moodboard-esque doodle page of mine being the original reference. That one shot at the bottom left :)

[citrine-elephant]

tried to look up the origin of the 'metaltango' ship name (with no answers) and ended up down a rabbithole explaining how much homoerotic subtext is in this game series. wesker and krauser both acting like toxic ex boyfriends and weirdly obsessed with their nemesis... es? plural.

there is no such thing as a coincidence on how much leon is thirsted after by everyone, how chris is definitely into men, etc etc.

... also in love with that photo krauser has, which did get spoiled to me lol. pain.

[tangybug]

[comicdiaries]

Getting tickets to the Ghibli Park was almost impossible (they release a month's worth of tickets online at like 2 a.m. here and sell out within minutes, a terrible system) so I'm really glad we got to go!

[roenters]

KIMIKO AND TYLER DURDEN HAVE BEEN IN THE SAME FUCKING ROOM AND THAT IS ALL I HAVE TAKEN FROM THIS FILM SO FAR

../hj

[waywardsalt]

wait holy fucking shit all of the background incidents in persona 5 about food service workers losing it (the nude worker, the arsonist, etc) are caused by okumura using akechis services to sabotage his competition oh my fucking god

[definitionsfading]

the way I can perfectly envision lemon and tangerine in their hotel room the morning before a job and tangerine is in his boxers and undershirt, moving between chain smoking on the balcony and furiously ironing his and lemon’s dress shirts with atomic precision while lemon watches an episode of thomas on his laptop, happy as a clam

[supportstudies]

100 Days of Productivity (18/100)

February 22nd 2024

Today was really productive!! I started cleaning my basement dwelling! I vacuumed, mopped, swept, did laundry- I also ran errands for my grandma today! I work tomorrow but I go in a bit later so i’ll try to finish up my room then and take Jake to get bathed because he is a stinky boy. I’m also trying to be less scared about using stickers/stationary and just kinda going wild and putting shit down that I think is cute/functional.

🎧 - Unforgiven (Japanese Version), Le Sserafim

Productivity/Self Care

Got my grandma groceries and lunch

Swept my downstairs

Vacuumed my downstairs (curse our vacuum though it sucks and not in the good way)

Mopped my downstairs

Did two loads of laundry

Planned for tomorrow

Called the vet for Annie

See y’all tomorrow :D

[cmpunkdilf]

i did a thiiiiing and i made some gifs from david’s match against evil from a few days agoooooo 😁 i’ve noticed i’m one of maybe four finlay girlies across here and twitter combined so i need to start relating the message to The People and get y’all to see THE VISION. look at this foine ass MAN. ugh. 😍

[0m3g45n1p3r4lph4]

Oh Fuck I have to do taxes

Boutta get banned from Etsy for unintentional tax evasion

[yutamayo]

Unpopular opinion I think it's a good thing to ban transgender people from the military. I think they should ban all gay people and people of color too. Let the straight white cis men kill each other for honor and patriotism and rich people who will never know their names.

It's amazing fr this way we won't have to kill them they just doing it themselves for free that's a good deal if I ever saw one.

[hitm4n]

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