#firearm fixation

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ i won't let go of your hand ]❜

━━━ .°˖✧ requested by anonymous ˚₊ ⊹

ft. han se-mi x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ desperate to save your lives, you kill a man during the final round of mingle┊1.8k words

setting: season two, episode seven contains: murder & canon-typical violence! don’t think too much about the numbers & canon rounds, what happened with jun-bae & in-ho but it’s also happening to you & se-mi, se-mi’s pov

➤ author's note: this isn’t super good but oh well T-T this has the same reader as (this drabble!) i might make it a mini series and will give se-mi her own masterlist because she deserves it :3 i wish we could have learned about her backstory before she died…

she was already planning to leave the “thanos world” after watching the man himself boot gyeong-su to the ground out of the team like he was nothing when the speakers announced for groups of four players. she felt guilty for not trying to help him and pulling min-su away before he could reach out, even if there was no time left and it would have resulted in all of their deaths. there’s no sin in admiring a celebrity, but as they say, never meet your heroes. sure, thanos was too high to function and seemed remorseful after the fact, but she didn’t want to risk being the next person kicked in the stomach then shot by a guard. during the moments of rest behind the locked doors and listening to firearms followed by screams, she started plotting how she and min-su would be able to part with the other two before either of them would be victims of the rapper’s unpredictability. 

at least that was until her so-called friend betrayed her.

she doesn’t know how to feel about it, frozen in place as time seemed to slow down. part of her wanted to be resentful, to hate him for stabbing her in the back like that when she had extended her hand for him to join her. part of her wasn’t surprised, knowing he was a coward from the beginning and too afraid of thanos and nam-gyu to go against their wishes. part of her isn’t even upset, not when this cursed place brought the worst out of people. 

the sound of the countdown and incoherent yelling rang deafly in her ears as she watched her ex-teammates leave her behind, and with all the time she’s wasted standing there feeling sorry for herself, she was ready to accept her fate and the end of her life.

then, out of all the muffled sounds, she heard your voice calling out to her, ringing clearly as she turned her head towards the sound. she had no idea you could run that fast, or that you were strong enough to drag her to safety. it was as if she blinked and found herself surrounded by that tacky yellow paint with you and some older woman she didn’t recognize, all three of you panting for breath at the exertion of the last-minute save.

“se-mi unnie! are you okay? i didn’t hurt you, did i? i was so worried about you, i’ve been looking for you since the game started, but there were so many people— i can’t believe thanos and his goons left you behind! once we get out of here, i’m gonna kick his ass—”

“it’s okay, i’m okay,” she finished, reaching out to hold your hands in her own. you’re shaking a bit, rambling as a nervous habit. the adrenaline didn’t seem to be wearing off even when you both were alive to see another round, but you can’t be blamed when this relief was only temporary and in another minute you’ll be back scrambling for your lives. “... would it be okay for us to stick together from now on?”

you nodded vigorously, allowing her to lead you out once the locks were undone. she could feel your presence trailing behind her with your feet shuffling forward carefully so as not to slip on the blood spilled, almost like you were trying to hide from it all by fixating your eyes on the back of her teal jacket. a wave of protectiveness washed over her, swearing that she would try her best to save you even if it would be at the cost of her own life. she didn’t have much going for her outside of these games, even if she left with all the prize money, she didn't think much would change when she was already estranged from all her loved ones. you, on the other hand, likely had plenty of family and friends who cared for you and who you cared for. and if you didn’t, your radiant personality would do the world so much good. she’s seen how you smiled and laughed in some of the darkest moments in here, not allowing the suffocating atmosphere of death to dampen your optimism as you continued to bring hope to all who needed it.

she watched as you parted from her to embrace the women of your original team, calming the fear in all your hearts that you were all alive and well for now. there was a pang of guilt in her heart knowing that you risked everything by running off to help her after seeing her get abandoned when you could have stuck to the safer option of remaining with your party instead, but it was short-lived as it all worked itself out fine in the end. 

you thanked the older gentleman who helped hyun-ju and young-mi and made him promise to help look after them while you stayed with se-mi since she didn’t have anyone else. he seemed slightly off-put by your energy which was a strange mix of grateful and vaguely threatening, but he was glad to finally have allies who were glad to have him rather than being by himself.

the old lady whispered something in your ear and shoved something in your pocket, but before she could investigate, you were all back on the carousel of death.

the fourth round went off without a hitch as the two of you joined gi-hun, young-il, jung-bae, and gyeong-seok while the rest of the women went with yong-sik and dae-ho.

the fifth round was where things went wrong. 

her hand gripped yours rightfully, almost painfully so. she could see people fighting each other like wild animals in her peripheral vision and didn’t want to lose you in the chaos, but there weren’t enough rooms for everyone. she rushed the both of you into a room with the door wide open, quickly shutting it behind her and using all the strength left in her body to prevent an injured man from getting in.

“you need to get out!”

“i was here first! tell her to get out before we both die!”

six

five

you were quiet, and for a moment, se-mi was afraid you would betray her as min-su did. there was no way you would be able to wrestle with that man and push him out of the door when she was holding the door shut against his teammate. would you force her out since she was closest to the exit? fear stabbed through her heart. was she going to suffer the same fate as gyeong-su, discarded and shot after having so much faith in another?

four

her eyes were shut tight, waiting for you to do something— anything.

three

or maybe the guards were going to shove their guns through the little slot and paint the yellow room with a new coat of red.

two

then a scream pierced through the air.

one

the metal locks snapped shut. se-mi shakily let out a breath and slowly turned her head, only to find you kneeling on the floor next to a fresh corpse. his eyes were still open, widened in shock and beginning to cloud over. blood was gushing out of his neck, the vibrant red staining his tracksuit and matching your newly dyed hands. jang geum-ja had given you the knife she snuck into the games, and you had just used it to slash the man’s jugular with terrifying accuracy. 

your entire body was trembling as you stared at the weapon, eventually dropping it on the ground and letting out a shriek in panic, “oh my god, oh my god, what have i done?! i killed him!”

“no, listen—” she grabbed onto you by your upper arms, forcing you to look at her rather than the dead man. your nerves were starting to fry and your eyes were becoming bloodshot, your body falling back onto a nearby wall with nothing but her grip supporting you upright. “you did what you had to do—” 

“unnie, i just killed someone! he probably had a family back home who are wondering where he is right now!” you cried, shaking your head and looking down at your blood-stained hands. i’m a criminal now, a murderer!”

“listen, he was a dead man to begin with, but if you didn’t kill him, the two of us would have died with him! you saved us in the process, don’t you see that?”

se-mi’s always been tougher than the average person, and people often look at her thinking she had a heart of stone and a rebellious attitude that wasn’t afraid of anything. truth be told, she was scared too: both of what was waiting for her outside the games and of what could possibly happen to those she’s grown to care for while fighting to the death for a portion of the prize money. she still flinches each time she hears a gun fires, she still can’t sleep comfortably in the bunks with the sounds of screams echoing in her mind, she still can’t let go of the fear that this may be her last day on this earth.

yet she still tries to stay strong for the people who are more scared than she is, to inspire strength in them in hopes that you’ll all make it out alive.

you weren’t someone who could die in these games, forgotten like an extinguished candle— she wouldn’t be able to bear it if she outlived you.

she waited for you to recollect yourself, being one of the last groups to come back into the dormitory. people looked at you strangely for the red all over you, but se-mi pulled you into the bathroom before you could feel self-conscious about it. thankfully, she didn’t need to get into a fist-fight with a guard over it.

“i can’t believe you still want to be around me after that,” you muttered, scrubbing your hands raw with the watery soap provided, keeping your head hung low like you were too afraid to look at your reflection in the mirror. it broke her heart to see you moping around like there was a dreary storm cloud blocking out your usually sunny personality. 

“well, if i had done it, you would still want to be around me, wouldn’t you?”

“of course, i would! it’s just that… i don’t know, i guess i never thought i had it in me to do something like that… i don’t think it’s even fully sunken in yet… i’m horrible…”

“hey, don’t start with that depreciating shit. even after everything, you’re still one of the best people around in this hell hole, i don’t think anyone else comes close.”

“well, there are lots of other great people here, you’ve just been hanging around the wrong ones!”

“are you going to introduce me to them?”

“you’re going to love them, i know you will! hyun-ju and young-mi are the best—” you hastily shook the water off your now clean hands and grabbed hers, pulling her out of the bathroom. “let’s go meet them, i’m so excited!”

request from anon:

ohmygosh f!reader grabbing se-mi's hand in the mingle game where they had to group into two (thanos and his goons left her already) and THEN THE ROOM THEY OPENED WAS ALREADY OCCUPIED WITH ANOTHER PERSON SO F!READER DID THE SAME AS 001—killed the person inside and then all of this is being witnessed by se-mi and YEAH

[buniibite]

mello x reader

cw: smut no plot , gun kink , oral (male receiving) , praise , pet names , throat fucking , slapping , kinda toxic

wc: 1020 , not proofread please correct any mistakes!

you were sat flat on your knees, squeezed tightly between mello and the hard bathroom wall. mello's fingers were tightly entangled in your hair, his fingertips gripping anti your head strongly. he was holding your head in place as he stood tall over you. suddenly, he pushed your head back so it banged against the back of the wall roughly. your head wasn't far from it in the first place, so it doesn't hard enough to cause any real damage. yet it still made you wince through your teeth. he head your head in an uncomfortable position, tilting it up to make you look at him. the feeling of confinement was overwhelming, leaving you vulnerable under him.

you consciously acknowledged that you liked this feeling of helplessness. your gaze was fixated on his hand following his strategic movements, watching as he took the gun out of his holster and set it on the counter. he then tightened his fingers around your hair, causing you to bite your lip instinctively in response. the stinging sensation was both painful and pleasurable, what people say as 'hurts so good.' the unexpected mixture of both sensations left you exhilarated.

he was rock hard through his leather pants, it almost poking you in the face at your closeness. you smiled widely as you saw him unbuckling his belt with one hand, the sound of it falling to the ground was like music to your ears. he grunted as he pulled his tight pants down to the middle of his thighs, ripping his cock out of his boxers. it immediately sprung into your face, his burning red tip leaking pre-cum. you couldn't help but let out a satisfied laugh at seeing how hard he was.

he whispered at you to shut up under his breath. without warning, he yanked his right hand free from your hair and delivered a stinging slap across your face. your head forcefully turned to the side, making you gasp surprisingly. yet, the smile was still glued to your face. this only made you more eager to please him as you squeezed your legs together.

he let out a boisterous, cackling laugh that filled the room at your clear sign of pleasure. "you like that, huh?" he taunted you, his voice still booking with amusement. as his laughter began to subside, he shrugged and gently put his hand to the side of your face. he rubbed the area where he has previously slapped you.

"open." he spoke demandingly and assertive as he pushed his thumb on your cheek to forcefully open your jaw before you could even comply willingly. despite the force and dominance of his gesture, your body simply accepted it, making no means to keep your jaw shut.

he instantly shoved his dick far down the back of your throat which caused you to reflexively gag. he froze in place there for a couple seconds, his right hand grabbing your head to keep it in place.

“relax..” he spoke to you in a low, hushed tone. with his left hand, he reached out and grabbed the gun that was lying on the counter. he brung it down to press it firmly against the side of your head. the cold metal of the weapon made it feel like your skin was on fire, your pores suddenly sweating.

you muffled out a whimper as you heard the click of the safety turning off. his hips promptly took action, thrusting into your mouth with no time to waste. you tried to relax your throat since he showed no signs of stopping or letting you cool off.

his balls slapped against your chin and he groaned loudly, taking his right hand out of your hair and slapping it against the wall. without his hand holding you in place, your head lightly hit the wall with each thrust. you were bound to get a headache after this.

all you could think about was if the gun was loaded or not. your mind was hyper-focused on the firearm that was pressed against your temple. it’s as if he would read your mind, and he pushed the gun down harder on your head.

he was making all sorts of noises, with strings of cuss words slipping off of his tongue with ease, your name in there a few times. he never could keep his mouth shut, constantly talking and usually saying something sort of demeaning. you were slightly the opposite, usually quiet especially in intimate situations like these. you couldn’t talk if you wanted to right now, anyways.

“ffffuck… you feel so good, bunny. doing so good for me. just relax.” he rambled out, praising you as usual during times like these. it turned you on so bad, and you couldn’t help but grind onto your foot for pleasure.

you felt his dick twitching in your mouth, as his thrusts started to get uneven and he got progressively louder. before you could even fully expect it he came down your throat quickly with heavy breaths.

he sat there with his cock fully emerged in your throat again for a few seconds, almost a minute. a mixture of your spit and his cum pooled out of your mouth and he finally pulled out. his hand immediately went to your chin to keep your jaw closed.

he withdrew the gun from your head and placed it back onto the counter with a distinct thump. then, in a swift movement he leaned down towards you, his grip on your jaw tightened as he tilted your head even more upward than it already was. you were now face to face with him, and he opened his mouth to speak. “swallow.”

you kept eye-contact with him as your throat constricted and swallowed down the substance. he smirked slyly, releasing your jaw and quickly moving back as your mouth opened and you immediately began to cough. the act almost seemed like it amused him. he pulled his leather pants back up to his hips, putting his belt back on and his gun in its holster as you grinned at him.

yeah this isn’t gonna get any likes but who cares i just watched death note like a week ago and mello is my new obsession, felt cute might delete later - trisha paytas

[gravesfill]

phillip graves headcanons / i am plagued by visions

— phillip grew up in the south and his southern accent only gets thicker when he's exhausted

— he lived on a farm for his whole life! his parents were indeed certified farmers. it's how phillip got into working with his hands (his hands are very calloused and dry)

— his mama hates that he's working for the military, let alone is fond of his company. that's not to say she isn't very proud of him .. she just wants him to be safe

— definitely a mama's boy. he loves her and would frequently gift her flowers or a trinket whenever he comes home

— this is semi canon but phillip only began shadow company because he thought he could do more / had a better life than your run of the mill military. he is very ambitious and determined

— he and his daddy are always on good terms. phillip definitely had a good childhood and he was brought up by independent and caring parents. I'd like to think his father got him into firearms and they would frequently hunt

— his scar is one from a tac knife and I'd like to think he got it in hand to hand combat. some more on his scars, I think he definitely has a few deep childhood scars from falling off tractors or skinning his hands or getting caught on barbed wire

— definitely DEFINITELY a country boy. he loved going to rodeos and wearing cowboy boots and getting his denim muddy and had a mullet for a few years. dressed up as a cowboy for a couple of halloweens

— has gifted a few of his highschool sweethearts with flowers from the side of the highway. think pickup trucker boy trying to be charming

— his family wasn't really religious but he does pray from time to time. how can he not? I'd love to think he prays for his fallen men and is always on point when trying to retrieve the bodies of his soldiers to hold a proper burial or mail ashes to their families. I do not think he is religious, but moreso in the grey area of southern baptism

— I'm going to get stoned for this but I do not see him as having a canon lover/partner of any kind. he seems very fixated on his job and the love in his heart is reserved for his boys. think of surrogate children

[hanasnx]

nfwmb

MINORS DNI 18+ WARNINGS: dead dove do not eat | f!reader | gunplay | sexual content | implied smut | degradation | dumbification | size difference

The first time you’d seen him do it. You’ll never forget the first time you witnessed JJ MAYBANK pull a gun. It was a rush, adrenaline shooting through your veins you thought you felt sparks at your fingertips as you darted to the scene, intent to make him hear you when you told him to put it down. JJ was never one for authority.

Part of you is angry with him for his short fuse, the part of you that’s constantly at war with the other half who’s head over heels. It’s easy to become disgusted with yourself remembering how he looked when he handled a firearm. The vein in his biceps prominent when they swell as he takes stance, the way his broad shoulders poise, the crease in his brow as he trains his blazing focus on the poor sucker unlucky enough to be on the receiving end of his wrath. It pounds your heartbeat, so fast you’re sure he can hear it rattling in your chest.

“S’up with you?” he asks through his panting, furrowing those brows at you as he scans you up and down with a subtle nod. The weapon is still in his hand, his long index finger lining the barrel of it. You moisten your lips at the sight of the sheen of sweat on his skin, wearing his stupid wifebeater and backwards cap. You take too long to answer, and he follows your gaze to discover its fixation. “Oh, this?” He raises the weapon to your view and you gulp. “Don’t worry, baby, safety’s on.” he tells you with a curl of his cracked lips; he lifts his top behind him to tuck the mouth of the gun into the waistband of his pants, and the flash of his exposed skin on the lower abdomen makes you feel even more faint. You’re practically itching to lick at his treasure trail.

“Oh, Jay, it’s not that.” you protest without thinking, and as he approaches you, you can practically see the gears in his head turning.

He flashes an expression of puzzlement as his big hands come to rest at the crook of your neck where it meets your shoulders. His index fingers stroke and toy at your skin in a minutely ticklish way, and you try poorly to stifle your grin. A sense of relief washes over his countenance as he tilts his head at you, intrigued curiosity replacing it. “What is it then?”

You get him alone to show him how much you actually like it. Watch with morbid interest as the mouth of the firearm traces your collarbones, and down the valley in between. “What… the fuck…?” he exhales in quiet awe, said more like a statement than a question. He can’t tear his fucking eyes away from your pretty skin’s indentations and blushes when a weapon harshly draws across it. How you sit nice and obedient for him, trusting him to do this to you. In sheer gratitude, he meets your heated gaze, exchanging a silent conversation with you by gradual grins and elated scoffs. You nod for him when you want him to go further, and baby, JJ is going all the way.

He’s got the mouth of the gun stuck between your legs, gliding up and down as if it was his own hand stimulating your sex through your little jean shorts. Lips parted, he makes himself a show, driving the very tip of the weapon into your clit, screwing it in with enough pressure to elicit a whimper from you. The sweetest fucking sound he’s ever heard. One that comes from his baby while she’s getting her parts played with by a crazed boyfriend with a fucking gun. He can’t help but string you along. “You want this, baby, you fuckin’ want this?” There’s an edge to his voice, a little gruffer, as he wedges the item even further, a pain shooting up through you from your squished clit. It gooeys your insides. “I’m mackin’ a little freak wanting a gun pointed at you like this. Got any idea what this thing can do to you? Or are you too stupid to think ahead? Huh?” He towers over you, intimidates you, you’re stuck staring up at him with big round eyes and pitiful upturned brows as you actually chase the touch that he’s giving you.

He laughs at you. “Jesus, missy, you’re crazier than me.” he muses, until another idea strikes his mind, slowing his movements. He brings the weapon up to inspect it, shaking it out to hear it’s metal insides clink together. There’s a darkness to his eyes when he meets yours again, raising the gun into your view, mouth of it to the sky. You follow that long finger again. “You want this thing inside you?”

[love-minor-poltergeist]

A/N: I've only known this man for roughly a week and I want to pour milk on him and violently throw him against the wall (lovingly). While I'm not known to write for horror media, let alone for a franchise as brutal as Outlast, but I've been quite captivated by the Outlast Trials since the July 16th update. Because of course I would fixate on the hyperviolent mafioso with extreme mommy issues. _:(´ཀ`」 ∠):_

General Franco Barbi Headcanons

╔═══━━━─── • ───━━━═══╗

Loathe as he is to admit—  that is if he’s willing to acknowledge it— Franco and his father are far more alike than one would think. Both men share the same hair-trigger temper, a fondness for collecting artisan firearms, tastes in women… And who could forget that sailor’s mouth? 

Hell, prior to his exile, it became something of a running joke between the triggermen of the Barbi family. The minute they hear Franco and Don Barbi’s shared “FUCK”/“CAZZO”, they share a knowing look amongst themselves. Like father, like son.

Of course, they also take it as a warning to keep their heads down and quietly pray that lupara isn’t pointed their way.

His birth mother was killed long before he could even remember her. No one dared utter it aloud, but he knew why. He would’ve been downright stupid to think it was because of anything other than how he came out. Ugly. Malformed. Hell, his father certainly made it clear how he felt about his defective son whenever he got mad; and Franco’s got the scars to show it.

However, during one of Don Barbi’s infamous bouts of rage– fueled by alcohol and his ever-growing frustration over Franco’s reckless spree killings– he had let it slip that Franco resembled his late wife far more than he was comfortable with. 

Dark eyes– cold and vast like the deepest parts of the sea– regarded the crumpled form beneath him. Franco couldn’t have been more than seventeen or eighteen then. He had just gotten back from a hit. Some rat bastard from another crime family; a lowly racketeer who thought he was hot shit. At least he did until he was filled with hot lead from lupara. Only thing was— his father just wanted the intended man dead. It was a simple request. And what did his ugly shithead fuck of a son do? Franco ends up massacring the whole bar he had tracked the man down to. Staff, patrons, and a band of musicians that were unluckily set to perform that night— a whopping thirteen other people on top of the measly single target the Don wanted. And the real fucking kicker? That very bar– dinky as it was– was under Barbi family protection. And they had paid handsomely for their services. 

All hell broke loose once Franco came home. The minute he stepped foot in his father’s office, the world became a blur of violent shouting and spat expletives. The walls and furniture shook with each slam as the Don punched and kicked at the younger man. Franco had tried to fight back, getting in a few nasty hits himself, but it was clear his father easily overpowered him. In a matter of minutes, his vision and lungs grew wet with blood. Everything hurt, and all young Franco could do was fight for air.

“You had one job, boy. One. Yet I find that we lost a paying customer— one that we’re supposed to protect. Making me look like the asshole for not keeping my word.” 

The older man crouched down, yanking Franco by the little patches of hair he had. The Don was baring his teeth now, eyes boring holes into his son. 

“You’re even lucky I let you live, you miserable waste of spunk,” he pulled harder on Franco’s hair, ignoring the latter’s grunt of pain. “I could have killed you in your crib. I should have.” 

He accentuated each word with a rough yank, and a particularly pathetic pained moan from Franco only made the Don slam his head into the floor. Hot, sticky crimson coated his broad fingers, and he regarded the now weeping visage of his son with disdain; as if he had found a piece of gum stuck to his shoe. A pregnant silence fell between the two. Nothing but the faint sounds of breathing filled the air. 

Then the Don spoke once more.

“Even now, you look just like your mother. Useless, bloodied, and soft.”

Don Barbi never did talk about his first wife again after that incident. Not that Franco ever cared. He never knew her. Though, he did faintly hear from a few of his father’s older associates that he shared his mother’s eyes, or that he had the same hair as her. One man even said that had Franco been born normal, he would’ve been the spitting image of her. 

Said man was later found in the alley between a bar and sundry store. Discarded within a dumpster and body absolutely mangled. 

Once, when he was around maybe ten years old or so, his father had tried to take him to the dentist in order to get braces. Something to fix up those “broken piano keys” he had, as his father put it. Franco didn’t even last a half hour before a capo had to come pick him up because the boy went and bit the finger clean off of the poor dental assistant that tried to get him ready. 

He has some breathing problems, going off what could be heard within the trials. If he’s not yapping off, he could be heard heavily panting and straining to catch his breath. It’s nowhere near bad enough to be considered asthmatic, but Franco’s definitely not winning any marathons, that’s for sure. Not that his little baby legs would let him-

Absolutely refuses to drink anything that isn’t sweet enough to send a bear into a diabetic coma. If he doesn’t have his thermos of wolf’s milk on him, he’s dumping a whole bowl’s worth of sugar into whatever’s given to him. He doesn’t care if it's already been sweetened. He needs it sweeter.

Murkoff’s budgeting department is at their wit’s end and it is absolutely Franco’s fault. Does he care? Of course not. He deserves nice things and it’s a travesty that someone of his status is forced to live in squalor. About a week after he’s been taken to Sinyala, a special budget ends up being put aside for him. He goes over said budget every time. No, he won’t stop, either. He is a luxury that few could afford.

The first thing he demanded for his living space was the fanciest phonogram Murkoff could get and some records. He didn’t particularly like juke boxes– he thought them too flashy and that they usually played the same boring tunes. Usually if you walk by his containment unit, you'd hear the rich, dulcet tones of Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons, and the occasional Engelbert Humperdinck.

Don’t ever take him to the beach for too long. He usually forgets to put on sunscreen and ends up sunburnt at the end of the day. It’s one of the few things he doesn’t miss about Miami/Cuba. 

Small dogs hate him. His stepmom Angelina owned a few pomeranians. He and the little bastards never got along. It wasn’t all too uncommon to walk in on him telling one of them to fuck off whenever they bit at the pant leg of his suit. He’s held a vendetta against all tiny dogs ever since. 

While he may not look like it, he’s quite fond of the ocean. He enjoyed the boat rides he took to and from Cuba, and would occasionally fish if time was passing by a bit slow. Though he didn’t do it very often thanks to bastardly seagulls and pelicans trying to bully him for whatever he caught. 

Would probably own an aquarium of tropical fish if Murkoff trusted any of their test subjects with a living thing under their care. When he was younger, Franco’s father had an associate who owned a giant tank full of brightly-colored tetras, cherry barbs, and guppies. And while his dad sat through boring talks, Franco would usually watch the little things dart around in the water.

Speaking of, he’s particularly fond of ranchu goldfish. Mostly because, in his words, “they’re ugly little fuckers”.  Franco means this lovingly, of course. 

╚═══━━━─── • ───━━━═══╝

[blackownersseekingsuccess]

Remembering Bayard Rustin: The Unsung Hero of the Civil Rights Movement

written by Levi Wise Kenneth Catoe Jr.

August 1, 2024 - Growing up as a Black boy in Paterson, NJ, and attending Roman and Irish Catholic Parochial schools, Black history was not very familiar to me. I grew up in a religious Southern Baptist family and participated in the church choir. In this context, Martin Luther King, Jr., was all that I knew about Black history until I became a teenage Madonna fanatic. Ironically, Madonna made me aware of Black activists and radicals such as Nina Simone, Jean-Michel Basquiat, James Baldwin, and Bayard Rustin. Bayard Rustin was an African American activist who believed in civil disobedience. Rustin felt that Black people should deliberately break unjust laws but do it non-violently to bring about change and this would play a key role in the Civil Rights movement. He also advocated for LGBTQ rights. Rustin moved to Harlem in 1937 and began studying at City College of New York. It’s interesting to note that at the time CCNY was an all-male college once regarded as ‘Jewish Harvard’ which did not accept Black men—Rustin was an unusual exception. While Rustin was at CCNY he became involved in efforts to defend and free the Scottsboro Boys, nine young black men in Alabama who were accused of raping two white women. Activism for Rustin was something that came naturally. He later became a mentor to Martin Luther King.

Rustin is one of my all-time idols. I have been enamored of him since I learned about him, so I was excited to attend an event dedicated to his life and legacy at the Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture, “Between the Lines: Bayard Rustin, A Legacy of Protest and Politics.” The event was a conversation between Michael G. Long and Jafari Allen, who edited the book of the same name. Their exchange sparked many revelations and I left the event more aware than when I entered. I felt so much pity for the life that Rustin had to live, including the attack on his character that was rallied against him by other Black people and the distance that Martin Luther King placed between himself and Rustin out of fear of people assuming that he was also gay. I also learned that it was Coretta Scott King who introduced King to Rustin. Scott-King met Rustin during her college years as a fellow activist who practiced civil disobedience. She would ultimately introduce her husband King to civil disobedience tactics. Rustin recalled that his first time meeting King he was strapped with a handgun and that he never traveled without his gun. It was Rustin who told King that if he represented civil disobedience he would have to be willing to put away his firearm, which eventually he did. Nevertheless, this raises the question, who was King really? The “I Have A Dream” pacifist or the “Beyond Vietnam” radical? We will never truly know.

All in all what I did learn was that according to Rustin, King had no idea how to organize an event. Instead, it was Rustin who developed the blueprint for King’s early Civil Rights movement, at least until the day that King removed Rustin from his inner circle.

Nevertheless, Rustin returned to organize the March on Washington, despite everything leveled against him by Adam Clayton Powel and Roy Wilkins. Someone noted during the discussion that “it’s funny how karma works given the fact that nobody remembers Wilkins's legacy in comparison to the sudden interest in Rustin.'' If I remember correctly, the comment was made by the moderator, NYU professor Dr. Jarafi Allen, based on the fact that the venue was standing room only, or that the Hollywood lens is now fixated on Rustin’s story, with an Academy Award-nominated movie based upon his life currently in theaters. Wilkins has not received the same interest from Hollywood, perhaps indicating that he is less marketable in the mainstream. Meanwhile, Rustin’s role as an activist for the LGTBQ community is also important for newer generations. Until recently, this legacy and all that he accomplished was invisible, but he has since become a symbol of the “others” and most notably the “forgotten others”. While in his lifetime he was shunned, rallied against, and betrayed by those that he benefitted, history has allowed his legacy the final word.

[gilmorenights]

Hmo on a Varigo assassins au inspired by the black widow movie

So Varian and Hugo met as children, they were both taken and forced into a top secret operation that takes young kids off the streets and trains them to become elite assassins (basically just the red room and for this post I’ll just be calling it the red room). Who runs this operation? I dunno. Maybe Andrew, maybe someone else 🤷‍♀️ not Donella though because I refuse to make her a truly bad person

Basically the kids were psychologically tortured into obedience and mind control, I’ll attach screenshots of what the women in black widow went through at the end of this rant as examples, but yeah it wasn’t very pretty.

Varian and Hugo were inseparable and became extremely codependent on each other because they both knew they’d have to do some pretty terrible things to survive and were quick to become exceptional assassins. They were favorites of the red room leaders, but with the attention came expectations. When said expectations weren’t met, they were punished accordingly. They were the only two who knew what the other was going through, so yeah. Unhealthy relationships built upon codependency and trauma yay!

Fast forward a couple years, they’re adults and Hugo has managed to escape the clutches of the red room. How? Idk he just does, but he has to leave Varian behind. This fuels him with bitter anger and an insatiable need to destroy the red room, for Varian if nothing else. This is where the tts crew and possibly Nuru would come in. They’d would be like S.H.I.E.L.D I think? Another illegal operation except they’re the good guys, and they’ve spent years trying to track down the red room so they can destroy it once and for all and free the victims. Their operation is called New Dream (ha) because they have a program for people like Hugo who’ve been brainwashed their whole lives and deserve a second chance. Hugo found them by chance but after learning about his past with the red room, they offered him a job and he took it because he wants to take the red room down.

One day Hugo and a couple others are on a mission after receiving the possible location of some red room assassins. The others are going to attempt to try and convince said assassins to come with them and start a new life or whatever, but Hugo is perched on a rooftop ready to shoot in case things get violent. He’s the best with firearms, never misses. Blah blah, dramatic stuff ensues and the group realizes it’s an ambush and they’ve been set up. A bunch of red room agents come out of nowhere and Hugo scrambles to take aim at the one cornering Nuru when something stops him. A red bandanna covering the bottom half of the agent’s face, with sharp teeth faded with age but still there. Hugo hasn’t seen that bandana in years, not since he last saw… but it’s not him, right?

Hugo hesitates to shoot, only being yanked out of his stupor when the assassin presses a dagger against Nuru’s throat. He takes aim, and—

Misses his target completely. The bullet whizzes past the stranger and Hugo just barely has time to register what just happened before a familiar blue gaze he hasn’t seen in years fixates itself on him. It’s him. It’s Varian, he’s alive and working for the red room. Before he can really do anything, the dagger against Nuru’s pulse point is being launched and embedded in Hugo’s shoulder. Then he and the other red room agents are gone.

Nuru obviously gives him an earful about how he never misses and that it’s an awful habit to start now as she tends to his shoulder, but all Hugo can think about is Varian 💔

That’s all I have for now I think. They have a little enemies to lovers thing going on because the red room wants Hugo gone and New Dream wants the red room dead, so once Varian realizes Hugo is alive and figures out where to find him, he’s sent on mission after mission to finish him off.

Also the red room leaders totally punished Varian for Hugo’s escape and turned his love into burning hatred, which was fairly easy cuz he was already spiraling once Hugo abandoned him (like Catra when Adora left in She-Ra). Brainwashing-wise, think mutt peeta after 13 saves him from the capitol. They brainwashed him into believing Hugo is a threat and that he needs to die. Yay!!!

Haven’t decided whether this would get a happy ending or not, but either way someone is dying. Whether it be Varian, Hugo, or someone else. Uhhh yeah I think that’s it for now!

For anyone not well versed in mcu lore here’s some of the stuff v and h would’ve had to go through:

[andre-and-cal]

hello vro it’s me again… 😈😈🤤

yk the last two hcs you wrote? one about sadistic cal and one about andre who likes seeing cal cry? (yummy)

i would love to see how they would act with that… dynamic 👅 like, both of them “fighting for dominance”? omg this sounds cringe but i need it

AND WHO DO YOU THINK WOULD “WIN” MOST OF THE TIME AHSHDJCKWJDNSK

HELLO POOKSTAH YAHOO !!:) and that doesn’t sound cringe at all! I’m more than happy to share my input! 😼🙏

Cal and Andre’s dynamic (SFW and NSFW),,

Contrary to popular belief, Calvin has a very distinct leadership role within Zero Day, just like how Andre does. Their contribution to the missions are divided among the both of them so that their accomplishments and control are in equilibrium. As mentioned in the film, they’d agreed to split the presses so that Andre would be the leader for half, and so Cal would be the leader for the other half.

Calvin holds spite dearly, wanting to drag others down and “leave them behind”. His callous nature, unsettling interest in gruesome topics, and disregard for the well-being of his peers are hidden very well— he’s pulled off a very believable facade, even though he can come off as rather distant at times. His acquaintances and family fell for it. After all, how could you really tell that this reserved, weird, yet rather funny guy would turn out to be a murderer?

Now, Andre’s apathetic attributes are kept buried within himself, too. He knows he’s messed up, but he feels content knowing that Cal is as flawed as him— for which their unique resemblances appear in an almost symmetrical manner. While Andre does seem to have a pleasant temperament, some of his classmates at school don’t seem to think so. It used to affect and upset him, but now he no longer cares. He is who he is. However, the slight suspicion that some of Cal’s acquaintances hold toward Andre has prompted him to get dodgy about certain topics, for fear it would lead to the discovery of Zero Day.

Andre isn’t the leader. He is a leader. He cannot maintain control over every situation, even if he doesn’t agree with an idea Cal has. In fact, he’ll follow Cal’s lead with lots of things.

Neither Cal nor Andre really mind if they’re leading or following the other. It kind of flip flops at random depending on if the other has an idea or suggestion, especially related to their plans.

Calvin likes to instigate, mostly. And Andre likes to execute.

Additionally, Calvin exhibits numerous sadistic traits, while Andre gets off on seeing him in tears. They both find it arousing how pathetic the other looks when he’s beaten down— in a good way, of course.

Calvin doesn’t mind letting Andre overwhelm him, either, even if it gets to be too much— whether it be when they’re dry humping each other, or when he’s on his stomach, quite nearly suffocating from Andre shoving his face down into his blankets. He definitely may cry a little bit during sex, but his tears aren’t genuine. He cries if it feels too good, or if there’s some muscle tension near his tear glands— like if Andre’s hand is around his throat or if he’s taking Andre’s dick or a firearm a little too deep in his mouth. Like mentioned, at times, Calvin will intentionally set Andre off, as he enjoys watching him get frustrated.

When Cal cries, Andre wipes away his tears with his thumb, feeling the wetness under his pad and admiring Cal’s stained red cheeks— his dick likes it, too.

Andre, meanwhile, lets Calvin jostle him and hurt him a little, and maybe even knock his dull self-confidence down a couple steps, too. He doesn’t necessarily like the pain, no— he just deals with it for Cal’s sake. After all, he cares about him. He also fixates on the suffering of others— on an erotic level, essentially— a bit less than Calvin already does, even though his calculating, troubled disposition clearly shows that he holds the same morals, or lack thereof, as Calvin does. Andre’s mental health has declined over the years, and he’s neither aware of this nor does he truly care all that much about how abnormal he and Cal may be. Additionally, one time, he let Calvin strike him in the face after Cal had begged him to let him hit him only once, just to stare at the fascinating runny vermilion leaking from his nostrils afterward. He swore that he wouldn’t break his nose.

Spoiler alert: he broke his nose, albeit accidentally, yet Andre never willingly allowed him punch him again.

Sometimes, both boys will want to be in control of each other at that moment. They can usually agree on a compromise to prevent physical or verbal conflicts, to avoid upsetting the other. However, sometimes, they disagree and start bickering.

Andre, if heated up over Cal pushing a decision onto him, will often try to grab Andre’s arm, maybe drag him over to him to snap at him, to get him to succumb to what he thinks is right.

But Cal punches him in the stomach— not too hard, though. He doesn’t want to actually injure him. He watches Andre as he doubles over, smiling in an ironically gentle manner and reassuring him that he’ll be okay, before demanding he stop trying to pussy out before he “castrates him”.

Cal’s always joking when he threatens to castrate the teen, but his body language gives away how much he believes Andre is “all bark no bite”.

Andre does have a mean bite. He just likes Cal and he likes the way he makes him feel. Also, despite his hesitancy with certain activities, he does eventually agree— if Cal’s involved, of course.

In conclusion, Cal overpowers most of their brief disputes, which often involve Zero Day and sex.

[txttletale]

i understand the thing about guns 1000% and i'm sick of the modern american fixation of big gun, big truck, skinny wife, beer, two kids, dog, front lawn etc etc

but i'm also afflicted with a firearms fixations and have a few books for artist reference and kinda want to buy a gun for range plinking one of these days

what category of Guy™ do i fall into

i don't think there's anything wrong with having some garden variety Gun Autism

[lucifermonsii]

H!Keegan X Male!Reader

Chapter 2: "There you are.."

The subtle sounds of footsteps along with slight leave crunches awakens the critters in the darkness as the men walks through the thick forest, mud and dirt stains their boots with every step of the way. Wearing night goggles to see clearly through the dark as it was a hue of blue, M/N keeping his firearm tight and close to himself as he walks behind the other operatives, keeping his eyes open and his ears sharp to detect any threats within the area. His body tenses from the slight rustle of the bushes or the small soft steps of the creatures along the dense forest, the cold atmosphere surrounds them as they were accompanied by the moon. The moonlight dances around the surroundings as it shines the midnight creatures who roams in the dark.

Eventually reaching their destination they stopped, standing all together as they report back to the ones at base. With a crackle of one of the operatives radio:

"We're here sir."

Says the operatice before signaling the others to follow inside the building in front, all of the men sneek inside the building with no problem as they surrounded the area within. Hiding in the shadows as they took out any enemies on sight, of course splitting up to cover more ground. M/N hurries along his way in the shadows as he moves like a wraith, keeping silent with his footsteps. Upon seeing an enemy on sight he stops and crouches, the person walks along in a lab coat, walking pass M/N before getting pulled into the shadow and getting their neck cracked in a singular twist by the man. He releases the body before picking up the keycard that was in the pocket of the dead body, stuffing it into his own before proceeding to find the room for it. Walking down a long hallway there were many metal doors in sight along the dimly lit hallway.

M/N walks along before stopping at the last room of the row of doors, another one of his men arriving at the hallway as they met with a nod. He signals the other to try unlock the other doors as he attempts to unlock the that stood infront of him, taking out the keycard the door opens with a soft beep. Opening before him as he steps foot inside, cautiously he walks around. Still keeping his firearm close to him as he spots the large empty cells, ones that were stained with blood, dirt and many other unpleasent things to witness. At the corner of his eyes he spots a dark cell that has a humanoid figure at the corner of it. Out of curiosity he gets closer, taking small and cautios footsteps towards the cell.

"Who's there...?"

He asks with precaution, his tone smooth and monotoned but still terrified of what may be the entity. The creature responds with a low growl, slowly turning its body to look at M/N with its blue eyes. The rest still remains hidden as there was a faint silhouette of a long tail with a pointed arrow at the end of it, its eyes furrows as it shifts deeper within the shadows. Making itself smaller as if showing submission. A light chitter escapes its lips as its tail slightly swings. M/N's eyes spots the mechanic device where a keycard was needed, so being the curious person he was— he decided to step into the cell and approach said entity.

Eyes fixated upon the creature as he hums, furrowing his eyebrows while he slowly approaches it with cautuon. Taking slow steps as he got closer, and closer to the creature. Firearm slowly lowering down as he was now a foot away from it, narrowing his eyes as his gaze sharpens, focusing on the entity. Then— he got a glimps of it ocean blue eyes, him making himself smaller as his tail wraps around him. A hum escapes his lips as he stares up at M/N with those blue doe eyes.

He couldn't believe it...

Was this really him?

"Keegan, what happened...?"

He questions ever so softly as he crouches down infront of him, his firearm now placed at its holster as M/N's hand slowly approaches Keegan. Wanting to caress his cloth face in the shadows. Slight tears pricked at the corner of his eyes as his gloved hand contacts with the fabric of Keegan's balaclava, palm again his cheek as he gently caresses his cheek with his thumb.

"I- Im scared M/N... I don't want to be here anymore."

Keegan whimpers as his voice slightly cracks, light tears fall down his cheek as he jumps towards M/N and hugs him tightly. Not wanting to let go or lose him ever again. Legs wrapped around his waist as he kept a tight grip around his body, face buried into M/N's neck and his tail around the male's thigh, M/N falling back slightly and landing on his butt, making him seated on the cold ground. His hands finds his way at Keegan's back at the smaller male sobs softly.

M/N's eyes darts around Keegan's new form, realising what he has become. A demon of some sort. Having horns and a tail, along with some other things he suspects. His hand goes behind the back of his head, slightly lifting his face away to inspect it. Keegan's sclera were dark, black even and his ocean blue eyes were more vibrant.

"What happened...?"

He murmurs softly with furrowed eyebrows as a tinge of sympathy lingers within him of what Keegan had experienced from the past few days. His grip on Keegan tightens as he sighs, pulling Keegan back in his embrace as they sat there in the warmth of eachothers arms. The sergeant sobs softly against M/N's neck as tears streams down his face, clearly traumatised from the experience of being locked up.

"I miss you so much.."

@arthurmorgansballsack

[noiranamnesis]

Collateral Drift

closed starter for @liraspins

....

00:03

Business is business. A worn phrase, less a thought than a principle long hammered in place. One he can't be bothered to rehearse- or so he told himself. It was all part of the routine: familiarizing the target's routine, scouting the predetermined 'final' location, waiting for extraneous liabilities to vacate, then executing the task- either in accordance with the client's specifications, or more often, his own. The latter was more efficient, less brutal, and required less clean up.

With a trick of the hand, he disengaged the back door's lock, exploiting the neighbor's blind spot. Each step was deliberate, quite, as he moved deeper into the house. The stillness was almost tangible, the absence of light just as he'd anticipated. The target was alone. Two hours having passed since the last light went out. He should be in his REM cycle.

Removing a firearm from beneath his jacket, he stopped at the edge of the hall checking for movement before straightening at the faint sound of wind. His attention shifted, fixating on a window left slightly ajar. He remained unmoved, listening for subtle rustlings of movement, and after a few beats- he heard it. Too light for the target's weight class. His jaw twitched, hand tightening on the grip. Shit. He moved forward, each movement carefully measured, each breath slow and steady as he neared the source of the disturbance.

[vividiana]

chapter 4

a/n: here it is, The Lore Chapter 👀 I couldn’t figure out how to make the formatting work on tumblr, so this post only includes the first scene (below the cut because of major spoilers) and you can read the rest on AO3 🧡

pairing: Astarion x f!Durge · word count: 4.8k

rating: M for now, will change to E (18+)

tags: modern AU, witness protection, strangers to friends to lovers (see AO3 for a more exhaustive list)

summary: It’s been over a year since Eve had to uproot her life and assume a new identity—anything to distance herself from the past she wishes she could forget. When an erratic, if oddly charming, newcomer stumbles into her place of work, she recognizes something familiar within him and the two can’t seem to stay away from each other. But Eve is not the only one running from her past.

An alternative, modern take on the Dark Urge x Astarion romance, filled with friendship, secrets, healing, and ABBA.

chapter-specific cw: nightmares, flashbacks, mentions of past domestic violence, mentions of murder, victim blaming, hate comments

previous chapter · read on AO3 · dividers

The judge clears his throat before addressing the defendant:

“Enver Gortash, the jury having found you guilty of murder in the first degree, trafficking in firearms, forced labor…”

Eve’s throat tightens as she listens to the list of charges, wondering how much shorter it could have been, had she found the courage to act sooner. Had she not been a coward, a mad dog adoring the hand yanking at its leash.

She is safe now, or so they keep telling her. Tucked away in a different building, her back aching against the plastic chair as she watches the proceedings through a livestream.

But despite the physical distance between them, she still feels Enver’s grip on her, as if at any moment he could reach through the screen and drag her right back to rock bottom.

Eve feels outside herself, the judge’s monotonous voice fading into the background. She doesn’t want to focus on the charges, doesn’t want to think about how many of them she was complicit in, how many she could have prevented. Instead, she fixates on the blurry silhouette of the man she fell in love with all those years ago—the first person who made her feel understood. 

The first person who made her feel disposable.

The judge eventually reaches the end of the list, his tone assuming a finality that snaps Eve back to the present.

“...I hereby remand you to the custody of the Metropolitan Correctional Center where you will be held, pending sentencing.”

She watches, transfixed, as two officers approach Enver, prompting him to stand up before closing a pair of metal handcuffs around his wrists—a sight she is sure she’ll be replaying in her mind for years. But before Eve can begin to parse the disarray of emotions that surge in her chest like a tidal wave, Enver’s manic laughter tears forcefully through her thoughts. He struggles against the guards, barking out a plea that feels more like a command:

“Let me talk to her. Let me fucking talk to her.”

Eve grasps her thigh, nails sinking into the flesh as her eyes trace his movements in the courtroom, not daring to blink.

As they escort him away, he spots the camera and looks straight into it, the sinking feeling gripping at Eve’s chest suddenly unbearable. 

He is close now, so close that despite the low video quality, she can see the umber of his eyes, the thin line of the tattoo running down his throat. She swallows hard, reaching up to tug at her turtleneck, pulling it up higher.

“I know you’re watching this.” There is a sick sort of fondness in his tone as he addresses her directly. “After everything I’ve done for you, everything we’ve built together, you can’t even look me in the eye when you fuck me over?”

Gavel against wood. 

“Silence!” 

A commotion.

The guards manage to drag him away from the camera, but there is nothing they can do to stop the vitriol spewing from his lips.

“You think you have the moral high ground, sweetheart? We both know what you’ve done. You might have fooled them all, but you can’t fool yourself, can you? I hope it eats away at you, you conniving little bitch!”

Eve gasps hard as she jolts awake.

Her chest rising and falling frantically, she sits up and looks around the room, noticing the details that begin to ground her. 

Instead of the hard plastic chair she feels the softness of the mattress, the bedding gentle against her skin. Her eyes trace the swirling shapes of wildflowers that adorn her comforter as she takes a deep breath.

She is here. Now.

The trial is long over. It’s Saturday morning and she’s working the closing shift. There was a party last night and–

Fuck.

Eve groans lightly as she remembers driving Astarion home, and the subsequent state of her car. She needs to deal with that as soon as possible, before the heat rises back again after the night. She gets out of bed, the lingering spectre of her dream drowned out by the urgency of the task ahead.

(read the rest on AO3)

taglist: @roguishcat @arzen9 @nerdalmighty ✨ (lmk if you'd like to be added!)

next chapter · my masterlist

[xamaxenta]

I mean is for me.

Ergo therefore i cum and I want to draw Ace with a big gun.

Im so fickle idk i keep changing what i wanna draw for bday orz

[persnicketypomelo]

Hi!!! Just read your snake hcs, and wow, you're amazing!! I would sell my mcfreaking soul for any yandere ocelot hcs please please he is my babygirl. Any ocelot ( 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, etc ) is completely fine with me! I'd love to spitball ideas with you someday

Thank you so very much for all your hard work <3

- @plslovemeforeverandever

I'll do 3 since Delta is coming up! Thank you very much for the nice words, and I'd be happy to exchange ideas (even though I have no idea what I'm doing)

obsession, torture

Yandere MGS3 Ocelot

This trailer scene kills me his expression is so funny

At this time Ocelot is younger and less experienced than in his other appearances, and despite his eccentricities, still has morals that others in his group do not share

I think an interesting scenario could be if you are either an independent party somehow involved, or assisting Naked Snake during Operation Snake Eater

During your first encounter, you stand out to him due to your capabilities, as you hold your own against him, and manage to get away despite being vastly outnumbered

Although you survive the encounter, you will come to wish that you had never had the misfortune of being caught up in it to begin with

As now that you've caught his attention, he is fixated on finding you again

Not only to ensure you will not be a problem to the mission of his unit, but also to get the chance to test and prove his abilities against such a worthy adversary

But you're slippery, and won't be caught so easily

This only serves to frustrate him, and redouble his efforts to catch you, so much so that it becomes a near obsession

Ocelot's attraction/interest in you personally only clicks when he finally catches you off-guard and unveils your disguise

It's a moment of weakness that seizes him, to finally discover the person behind the mask, and you fully take advantage of it to get away

This instance changes his interest in you from from a plain rivalry, to one with an attraction where he can't get your image out of his head...

The more you slip from his grasp, the more his yearning grows

Ocelot would never admit that though, not to himself nor others, but he's not exactly a master of disguise

It wouldn't be hard for others to see that his rivalry and fixation extends to an emotional area

(I think The Boss would catch on pretty quick)

In the scenario that you're there to back up Snake, his obsessive crush would leak into his rivalry with Snake as well

Competing with Snake to prove himself, but also demosntrate his superiority and competence to you

Though you might not realize it, as he always tends to show off his dexterity with his firearm, he would include more difficult tricks--typically out of his repertoire--to catch your eye

And when he still fails to defeat your comrade in front of you, despite all his grandiosity and efforts, his ego is sorely bruised, leaving Ocelot all the more determined to best the both of you

And if you witness Volgin put him in his place, as his commanding officer, his humiliation increases and may contribute to him snapping later on

By the end of the game's storyline, I see two possibilities

He may fully snap, and take advantage of a moment you are unprepared for his ambush, taking you as his captive

And though he may not be as good at it yet, Ocelot attempts to manipulate you into loyalty to him, breaking down your defiance and reconstructing you into a more obedient and willing version of yourself

From there, he takes you wherever he goes

No matter who he decides to work for next, or who he backstabs, he ensures that you'll always be right there next to him

On the other hand...

He's still young, and hasn't lost his sanity yet

Ocelot may let you go, as his worthy adversary, assured that he'll see you again in the future

Then you'll have to deal with him later, older and more experienced

Although his arrogance and temperament may mellow with time and age, that doesn't mean his twisted interest in you will fade

If anything, absence makes the heart grow fonder

Which is dangerous, when it comes to him

As his cunning, strategy, and penchant for torture and manipulation grows, so too does his obsession

Make the most of the opportunity you had to escape

For the next time you two meet--and he will ensure it is a matter of when and not if--it will not be so easy to leave him

That is, if you are able to escape at all

[destinationtrekk]

vamp hunter anon again!! hello i rlly enjoyed ur last ask i hope this ones okay too i wrote this really high no proofread also kinda nsfw at the end did i cook?

reader, for some time after, is slightly in shock and quite honestly sexually frustrated. however eventually they end up trekking back into the arklay mountains, this time more prepared than usual, wanting to best this bloodsucking asshole. their backpack and holsters are absolutely stuffed to the brim. ammunition, stakes, several firearms, you name it.

it’s a cat and mouse game between the two. wesker is a horrifying tease, threatening and taunting reader from the shadows leaving them paranoid, gun in hand as their eyes frantically scan the trees for the silhouette of his tall frame. he strikes them every so often to keep them on their toes and eventually pins them down in one way or another, leaving a bite mark on the ever growing collection on reader’s neck. toying with his prey.

“you never learn, do you dear?”

it’s a cruel cycle that continues for a long time, reader can’t help but go back, secretly enjoying the hunt meanwhile wesker is delighted his favourite doll is coming back to play some more. and he gets a free dinner out of it. he makes sure to leave you with enough blood to keep you alive for next time though. he’s not stupid.

but this time, oh, this time is different. reader’s mind is all fuzzy and dazed as vamp! wesker ruts into them, hand pressing roughly against their back and pinning them against the church organ within his castle, his domain. where reader had foolishly tried to kill him in his own coffin. ridiculous. reader’s wrists are binded with their own rosary beads as wesker fucks them silly, biting and fixating on their neck. surely that’ll gurantee reader’s return for the next hunt..

i don't even think i have a response to this that last paragraph left me braindead

reader won't even be able to leave after this, much less want to. wesker might have gone a little too far with his dinner this time, leaving reader dazed and nauseous from their biweekly blood drive visit.

he has no choice, really, except to lay them down gently on a bed (that he hasn't used in literal decades) until they're rested enough to return home with a clear mind. he can't be seen escorting his prey to the treeline, after all. and he really shouldn't even be here when they wake up, lest they think he's kind or something equally unfitting of a god like him.

but he really can't help but be smug when they crack their eyes open and look up at him with something akin to adoration in their eyes. it's quickly replaced with disdain and they're flighty as they make to leave. he knows they'll be back in a few days though - your moans couldn't have been mistaken for anything except raw desire

[fandom-chic]

Please Please Please: Chapter 7

Summary: Y/N is only a child when she and Tommy Shelby meet. The two quickly become best friends as they grow up in Small Heath. As the years go by, Y/N and Tommy realize there may be more to their friendship than they originally thought.

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Y/N

Previous chapter

A/N: Sorry for the delay! Life has been chaos. I wanted to get something out so I apologize if there are some typos.

1914

"Are you sure this is right?" she asked.

"Why wouldn't it be?" he replied.

"I don't know," she turned towards Tommy, letting the gun hang limply in her hand. "I just feel like there has to be another step to shooting that I'm just not getting. This seems too easy," Tommy smirked at Y/N.

"It's truly simple, I'll show you." He gladly took her hips and angled them towards the old can that had become a target. It didn't take long for a blush to rise to her cheeks as his arms reached around her, his hands adjusting her grip on the firearm. She couldn't help her eyes from looking back at her lover and admiring his focus on her hands. It was his idea to teach her how to shoot. After the Peaky Blinders had begun to become more involved in affairs around town, Tommy believed that it would be best for Y/N to have some sort of protection when he wasn't there. She laughed at him, wondering who would come after someone like her, but deep down she knew. Going after the leader's girl was a death sentence but also a statement. One that she didn't want to finish.

She felt Tommy give a final adjustment to her fingers before feeling his hands go back to her hips. His lips went up to her ear, whispering, "And now you shoot." The reality of the danger she could enact suddenly became tangible. She could snuff out someone's life with this device and that was something she felt she was incapable of. That was when she began to shake.

"Are you sure?" she whispered, feeling her grip become looser and looser.

"Of course, I am, my love," His lips didn't leave her ear as he coaxed her out of her mind. "You don't need to shoot to kill, just to warn. Learning to shoot straight at your target will allow you to shoot straight at a target behind your enemy. I promise, as long as you are by my side, you will never shoot to kill." She couldn't help but look back at Tommy. His face was so close to hers, she wanted to drop the gun to the ground and jump into his arms.

"You promise?" she questioned, although she knew she could always trust her Tommy.

"I promise." At that, she faced forward, readjusted, and shot. The sound was closer to her head than she expected. It jostled her, but Tommy was there to stabilize her. He always was. When she got a good look at the can, she saw it fully intact.

She let out a disappointed sigh, "Well, damn," she said, seeing she not only missed but she missed the target by many meters.

"Hey, don't worry," she turned back to Tommy and both his hands went to her cheeks, "this is what practice is for." Her eyes could not leave Tommy's as his words filled her chest, making it swell.

"I know, I just wanted to be as good as you." This got a chuckle out of Tommy.

"Once you have been shooting for 10 years, let's compare."

"We can shake on that, Mr. Shelby." But she didn't put her hand out and instead leaned in, letting Tommy's lips grace hers. Even after all these months, it still surprised her how soft his lips felt. They fit perfectly to hers, making her think of nothing until he had pulled away. But he hadn't yet and all her mind could do was fixate on the way he made her feel. She felt the gun slip out of her fingers and fall to the ground beside her. With her hands now free, she let them lace behind Tommy's neck, pulling her chest to his. His hands left her cheeks and began to trace down her sides and grab onto the small of her back. She didn't care where they were right now, all she knew was that she wanted him.

She felt his lips lightly pull from hers as a hoarse whisper escaped Tommy's mouth, "There's an abandoned barn around the corner if you-"

"No," she interrupted as her fingers began to slip his jacket off, "I want you now." Tommy didn't question her. How could he when he understood her completely? As articles of clothing fell off the pair, they soon found themselves wrapped in each other's arms on the grass. When he was inside her, the world stopped. She knew it was impossible but if someone told her this reality was a lie and it truly was just the two of them in each other's arms, she would laugh in understanding.

He let out a long sigh as they lay tangled in limbs. Her head rested on his chest as she traced the freckles on Tommy's chest.

"So much for shooting practice," she said. She looked up at Tommy to see him reaching for his discarded jacket. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

"I do think this was time well spent," he said, putting a cigarette between his lips and lighting it. She watched as the smoke created shapes in the air. He gestured the cigarette toward Y/N and she gladly accepted by taking a deep inhale.

"I still have to learn to shoot," she responded, smoke escaping her lips. Y/N gave Tommy back the cigarette, and he took another drag before noticing his watch.

"Shit," he muttered, sitting up rapidly.

"What's wrong?" Y/N asked, sitting up too.

"Meeting," he muttered under his breath as he began to grab for his clothes. She followed his lead, beginning to throw back on her garments. Before she knew it, they were on horseback heading towards Small Heath.

"What's so important about this meeting?" Y/N questioned as they trotted down the road, her arms wrapped around Tommy's waist.

He let out a sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose with one hand as the other handled the horse, "It's about the gambling business. It's beginning to get off the ground."

Y/N gave Tommy's waist a little squeeze, "Well, that's a good thing. Why the stress?"

"Because I'm late."

The couple arrived at the Shelby home 30 minutes after what would have been the beginning of the meeting. Y/N jogged behind Tommy as they rushed in. To her surprise, Polly, Arthur, and John were chain-smoking languidly at a rickety table. No discussion of business at all. Only Polly bothered to look Tommy in the eye as he grabbed a seat.

"You're late," she said as she blew a puff of smoke out of her lips.

"I had other affairs to take care of," Tommy responded, causing John to look back towards Y/N. She sunk into the corner of the kitchen, quickly averting her eyes from his.

"Affairs?" John questioned with a snort. Tommy's eyes shot to his brother's, narrowing.

"Yes, John, affairs. Is there anything else you would like to add before we commence?" John silently fumed as Tommy grabbed a cigarette from the pack on the table.

"Actually, yes," The flame finally seemed to ignite. Tommy leaned back in his chair, folding his arms.

"And what is that?" There was malice laced into his words.

"You're never bloody here, Tom. You are always out for 'affairs' or 'meetings,' but we all know what you're doing," John took a quick puff of his cigarette before continuing, "You're fucking Y/N."

"John," Arthur warned. Y/N's eyes moved over to Tommy. He was still, staring straight ahead.

"It's fucking true," John said.

"Stop fucking fighting," he spat before taking a breath, "Tom, you haven't bothered to show up, and it's causing the family business to fall. Family comes before whores." The words left Arthur's mouth faster than she could think about them. "After all these years, I thought you saw me as more than..." She couldn't say the last part. It stung too much. Arthur opens his mouth to respond but is interrupted by Polly.

"Alright, enough," she said, slamming her hand on the table to punctuate the words. Polly takes a sip of whiskey to alleviate the stress before she continues, "We all know Tom has been absent, but we are still making a profit. Not as much as we wanted, but things are moving forward."

Tommy let out a semblance of a sigh of relief, "That's something," he put his cigarette in his mouth, puffing on it, "Pol, do you have the financial statements." Polly turns to the cabinet behind her and fishes through. She pulls out a folder filled to the brim with papers. Tommy grabs it and begins to go through. His look of relief quickly turns to one of annoyance as each paper flips by.

"What the fuck are all these damn charges?" He asked, turning to his brothers. Arthur avoids his brother's gaze, but John stares him down.

"Who said all work and no play?" There is a smirk on John's face that Tommy wanted to smack off. His hand clenched his glass of whiskey instead.

"John, you spent almost one hundred pounds this month alone. What the fuck are you spending that kind of money on?" John leaned toward his brother, his face inches from Tommy's.

"You'd know if you were fucking here." That was when Y/N heard the sound of a fist on flesh. Her eyes widened as Tommy threw himself over the table, grabbing at John. John fought right back, lunging into his brother. Y/N felt her feet rush toward the boys, grabbing at Tommy, trying to pull him away from John. Polly follows suit, grabbing the bloodied John away from Tommy.

"When did you all turn into children?" Polly yelled, dropping John into his chair with a thud. The adrenaline seemed to have left his body as he fell partially limp. Y/N held Tommy to her chest as he seemed to calm slightly. "Meeting tonight." Polly said, turning toward Y/N, "Family only." Those words were the last straw for Y/N as she let go of Tommy and strode quickly out of the kitchen and out of the house.

She didn't let her feet stop until she was by The Cut, gazing out at the water. It was not the most beautiful body of water, far from it, but it calmed her. She held herself as the sun began to fade behind the trees and the air cooled. The meeting must be happening now. The one she couldn't attend because she wasn't family. She was just a whore. Y/N took a deep breath and continued to stare. It wasn't long before footsteps approached her. She looked over her shoulder, expecting to see a beggar or a prostitute, but instead saw her love, her Tommy. He stayed silent as he moved to her side. Together, they gazed out at the sun brushing the water. It was the most peace they had all day.

She couldn't help but sneak a peek at Tommy and was met with a black and blue face. She tried to suppress the look of horror on her face, but she knew Tommy noticed.

"Is it bad?" She shook her head, avoiding eye contact. He let out a snort, "It's that bad then?"

"It's not awful, not great either," she said, letting her hand reach for where the bruise rested on his cheek. He flinched slightly as her fingers brushed against it. She pulled away and shoved her hands into her pockets. It must've been a sign. Some twisted sign that her touch truly was a danger to him.

"I don't care what they say," Tommy's words cut through her overthinking, and she let herself look back at him, taking him all in. "You're my family." Tommy looked down at her as a twinkle gleamed in her eyes. It lasted for a second before it disappeared.

"That's kind of you to say, Tommy," she let her fingers wrap around his and squeeze, "but I'm always going to be an outsider. That's just the way it is."

"No," he responded. Afterwards, his words were quick. So fast she almost let them fly by her. But she caught them, "Marry me."

It wasn't a question. Far from it. It was a statement. A declaration. He was telling her that she was his and he could be hers if she would take him. She looked up at her Tommy, and he was already gazing upon her. Her hand left his and snaked behind his neck. She pulled him into a kiss, and they both knew what her answer was.

Next chapter

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