#firearm drills

[hey-hamlet]

lets kill Sensei Au

Does afo teach them about villainy and intimidation tactics ? If he taught history je would probably just spend the entire class calling put govarment propaganda and telling the truth .

He's a very good teacher! I'm not sure UA was expecting their students to have once weekly classes on manipulation, human anatomy and acting, but 1C makes the most of it! Their chemistry classes focus maybe a little too long on the toxic stuff, and their biology classes are probably criminal, but hes a shockingly good teacher!

His history lessons leave a little to be desired, admittedly. His sources are all "i was there" which are impossible to cite! The day Shinso recovers some credible sources about an anti-quirk riot AfO started 200 years ago, AfO is so impressed he promises to stand still for a whole minute! None of them manage to kill him, but it was productive, at least! Izuku got some great quirk data!

[tizeline]

TSAU!Donnie's Ninpō Explained!

The first ability Donnie unlocks is the ability to see mystic energy! Objects or people with with mystic energy has this colourful glowing aura you could call it, the more mystic energy the more brightly is glows. For example - Mikey already has a very bright aura naturally, which becomes even brighter when he is actively using magic! ..... All of this is to say, Donnie found that out the hard way when he used his mystic sight on Mikey when he was using magic and Donnie as a result got a little bit fucking blinded!

All yōkai and mutants are naturally mystic in nature, they always have a visable aura because of that. Humans are not mystic, so they don't have that aura. HOWEVER! Humans can learn how to use magic through certain means like, y'know, Ninpō for example! When a human uses magic, they do have mystic aura, but only while actively using mystic powers.

(Also Donnie totally accidentally discovered that the "teapot" had bad vibes because his mystic sight lol)

After a while Donnie is able to start making constructs out of his Ninpō. Initially however, he can't really form complex designs, it's mostly just blocks and walls, very simplistic shapes. But it turns out he can use these simpler constructs as effective shields! Which is good considering his soft shell as well as the fact that his battle shell in the AU wasn't built to be used as armour. Both he and April gets a lot of use out of the extra defense.

With quite a bit of practice Donnie is able to actually generate specific and more complex designs! Which means that yes, to the horror of friend and foe alike, Donnie can and will summon an entire arsenal of firepower, yikes. He's not limited to firearms though, he's able to generate all kinds of technology and machinery (drill!!!!)

To create these mystic contructs, it does require Donnie to have a good understanding of what it looks like, how it functions, etc. His imagination and his knowledge of technology are what sets a lot of the limits on what he is able to create, if he can build it in his lab then he can build it with his Ninpō. This particular ability requires a lot complex thought, if Donnie wasn't so smart he wouldn't be able to pull it off as well as he does.

Another limitation is that maintaining the contsructs is very energy-consuming, he'll quickly exhaust himself if he keeps them around. He'll usually only summon constructs very briefly for an attack and then immedietly dismiss them.

The way that Donnnie's Ninpō manifests itself is already very technology-oriented, because of that he can interact with ordinary technology through his Ninpō. Personally I haven't figured out the details of what exactly that can look like, but there's definitely a lot of possibilities to explore here.

One thing though, as Donnie's Ninpō grows more and more powerful overtime, a side-effect of that is that if he gets really pissed off or otherwise very emotional, he'll accidentally make the technology in his near viscinity go haywire lmao. (This has the risk of making him even more angry, which just worsens the problem, and so on haha)

I really like the idea of Donnie being the second most powerful mystic user out of his brothers, after Mikey of course. And because he's mostly self-trained, he doesn't have the best understanding of how to properly control his powers, which evidently can become a bit of a problem. Donnie eventually agrees to let Draxum help him get a better grasp on his mystic abilities after the Hamatos and the Draxums become more friendly with each other.

So uh. About how Donnie kinda accidentally infused Shelldon with mystic energy while creating him which caused the robot to develop a kind of soul? Yeah so because of that Shelldon's mystic energy if linked to Donnie's, which means that Shelldon more or less gains access to the same abilities as Donnie does! He's not quite as powerful as Donnie, and he still needs to practice to fully get a grasp on these powers as well. But point is, that's how Shelldon gains acess to Ninpō in the AU! (He also notices their fucked up "teapot")

----------

Anyway that basically summarizes it! A lot of these ideas are headcanons I have for canon!Donnie as well honestly, the AU is just an excuse to explore these concepts. Donnie's ability to summon fucking firearms and military equipment is also something I've thought about, I wanted to try to think how it would work for him while also putting some limitations on it. ANOTHER THING I like the idea of Donnie's tech constructs basically being the same ability as when Raph creates constructs of himself. The difference lies with that Donnie is a massive nerd so his first instinct is to recreate his own tech with the Ninpō. While Raph being someone who is already so physically strong would naturally use his Ninpō to recreate his own greatest weapon, which is himself. (Donnie uses his brain, Raph uses his brawn, who would've guessed)

[marvelstoriesepic]

Misfire

Pairing: Sergeant!Bucky x Corporal!Reader (Modern Army Au)

Summary: A new transfer to his unit has Bucky utterly distracted from the training simulation he is meant to lead.

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: military themes; combat training; simulated violence; weapons/firearms use; higher rank dynamic (respectful/consensual); possible references to death, war, emotional detachment; Bucky is smitten

Author’s Note: Ahh I loved this so much!! It was so much fun to write. This is based on this lovely request!! Thank you my sweet anon for sending me this. I hope you enjoy what I made of it ♡

2k Drabble Challenge Masterlist | Masterlist

The sky is the color of steel and something bruised. It can’t seem to decide whether to rain or burn. It smells of both. Dust kicks up in clouds, collecting at Bucky’s boots and the back of his throat, swirling around the gravel field.

His lungs are full of cold air and caffeine.

The chill of the early morning hasn’t even burned off the mountain air yet, and the base is already alive with motion. Soldiers run drills. Boots pound the dirt. Orders are shouted across the open field.

Bucky stands with his arms crossed, a scowl deeply shadowing his face. He hasn’t gotten much sleep the night before, same with the night before that, and the night before that. It’s hard to get some rest when sharing the same sleeping space with Sam fucking Wilson. So basically, he’s drained, he’s moody, and he’d like to yell at someone already.

Then you enter the line of his vision. You walk right into it. Up to him. Not trudge. Not scuff. Walk. Certain and confident, as if the ground moves for you. As if the noise of the base is just scenery.

Your file said you've been transferred from the South Carolina base. He’s read it many, many times. Much to Steve’s amusement. You are combat-experienced, it said. Highly recommended. All the usual praise.

But the file didn’t say you looked like this. Didn’t say you held your shoulders like command was your middle name. Didn’t say your mouth twitched as though it held back fire.

The file didn’t mention you would be the most beautiful woman he’s ever come across. The most interesting. The most alluring.

His jaw ticks. He feels it and he can’t change it. His fingers jerk. He feels it and still, he can’t make his body stop reacting.

With your head held high, and shoulders squared, you make your way over to him. Your boots meet the ground in clipped footsteps. Until you stop in front of him. Bucky knows he doesn’t take his eyes off you for a second, but he can’t let you acknowledge it. His expression remains stony. You don’t seem deterred.

“Sergeant Barnes,” you say with a respectful tone. Your salute is automatic. “Corporal Y/n, reporting for assignment.”

Voice steady. Gaze steadier.

So many flinch on their first day. Especially when he’s giving them his bitch face as Sam has called it. He waits for it. Watches for the break behind the eyes. Watches for the falter in the stance.

But nothing wavers in you - not fear, not awe. Just something that tells him you are measuring him right back.

He hates that he’s impressed. Hates that he likes it.

He returns the salute formally. “Corporal.”

A pause. A beat held too long. Why can’t he just send you on your way and shut his mouth?

“Hope you packed your appetite.”

A brow of yours lifts. That’s all he gets of you. His pulse picks up. And he doesn’t like that at all.

“For what?” you ask in a calm tone.

His lips curve just like that. “Pain.”

And you smile. Not sweet. Not cocky. Something that’s dangerous for him if he doesn’t turn away right now.

And for the first time all day - maybe all week, hell, probably so much longer - he feels like he could forget how tired he is.

The training field is filled with movements only shortly after. It’s a sprawl of brush and boulder, tree trunks that don’t care if you walk or bleed past them.

Bucky moves, gives orders, feels the mud on his boots, the simulation gear over him. It’s just another habit. Just another training session.

Wind whistles through branches. Leaves scream beneath boots. The drill is half chaos, half choreography. All noise.

Soldiers dart between cover. Voices overlap on comms. Someone misses a callout. Bucky clocks it all.

You move like you never did anything else. No hesitation. Hands move cleanly through checks. Posture sharp. Breathing even. Your presence is rooted.

Most people come into this unit to prove they are good enough. You move as if the question bores you.

He’s distracted. He can even admit that to himself because it’s just a simple fact. He should not be, but he is. You are mesmerizing.

Your uniform is pressed and perfect, shaping over your shoulders, hugging the small of your back, and the muscles of your thighs when you crouch behind cover. He’s looking too close, too long, too hard. He feels it in his blood.

It’s not supposed to feel like this.

Not in the middle of the drill. Not with your voice threading through comms, low and calm and fucking hot. Not with dirt in his teeth and training bullets singing past his head. They couldn’t kill him, of course, but if he lets himself get hit by one in front of you, he might as well die out of embarrassment.

He is trying to track the team’s positions, trying to read the wind, the angles, the threats.

But then you speak and his body misfires.

He finds himself looking for you, watching your mouth when you talk. Watching the shape of it, the precision of your words as if you are folding the world into place one syllable at a time.

There is no room for this. No space for such a thing in his life. And still, he unwillingly finds himself listening not to what you say, but how. That cool clarity. As if your voice is made to lead men into fire.

And he would follow.

God help him.

Frustration rises. He wants to be annoyed. Wants to shove the feeling into a box, slam the lid, move on.

You should be cocky. Should be sloppy. Should be trying too hard.

But you are not.

You are not trying to prove anything. It’s like you already survived a dozen lives and came here just to keep your hands busy.

Maybe that’s what rattles him.

Maybe it’s the way you don’t ask to be seen, and yet he can’t look away.

But there’s a break in the simulation. The right flank stumbles. Someone botches the angle, leaves the unit vulnerable. Shit. He might have lost a little control over his men there. Another is about to call retreat.

“Fall back and sweep right.” Your voice is calm. Sure. But firm. “Cover fire on my mark.”

Not panic. Not doubt. Just command. You take charge without thinking.

It works.

His head turns before he can hold himself back. His eyes narrow slightly, ignoring the way his heartbeat picks up. Whether out of admiration or irritation, he doesn’t know. “You plannin’ to give orders, Corporal?”

You don’t blink. “Only if you want to win.” And suddenly you are already repositioned. Already calculating. Already speaking again.

Bucky doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t correct. Just listens.

And hell, if it had been anyone else, he would feel utterly exasperated. But that feeling won’t come.

Every sound you make goes somewhere dangerous inside him, filling something empty. Every glance, every shift of your weight, the way your fingers curl when you wait, patient and ready - he is memorizing things he has no business remembering.

He watches you crouch low, form poised, posture perfect, the line of your spine curved like poetry in motion. His mouth goes dry.

“You gonna stare all day, Sergeant Barnes,” you say, voice a breath shy of smug, but your tone somehow also dry as bone, “or are we taking that bunker?”

His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.

You don’t even look at him when you say it.

“They sent you here to test me?” The words slide out low, under his breath, half a joke. Half a confession. He fights the urge to drag his hand down his face.

Finally, you glance his way. That smile again. Slow. Almost cruel in the way it knows. You tilt your head as if you’re listening for more. There is a glint in your eyes.

“Depends,” you say, voice dusted with daring. “Are you passing?”

Something old comes undone in his chest. It’s a choking feeling. Because you say it so damn easily. As if you are not even aware you just reached inside him and touched something he didn’t know was still awake.

Jesus.

His mouth feels like sandpaper. His tongue seems too big behind his teeth. He swallows and tastes adrenaline and longing and the faintest trace of panic.

You are close now. Not close enough to touch, but close enough to imagine it. Close enough to smell the faint hint of you - soil, gunpowder, something sweeter. Not perfume. Just skin and fire.

And the uniform. God. Usually, it’s boring. Olive green and gray. But on you, it looks like a goddamn weapon. It pulls along your waist, hugs your biceps, the collar loose enough to show the slope of your throat. And suddenly it’s not just a uniform. It’s a fucking distraction. A challenge. A sin with a name tag.

He blinks hard. Shakes it off. Fails.

“Punk coulda fuckin’ warned me,” he grumbles lowly to himself. Steve already gave him that look when he read your file more times than needed and back then he didn’t even know you looked like a woman not from this world.

He ignored it. Just like always. But he knows that Steve and Sam won’t drop this any time soon.

No one ever warns him about the things that matter until they’re already in his bloodstream.

“That a compliment?” you ask in a way that’s almost sultry. Or maybe he just wants it to be.

Of course, you heard him. Why the fuck not.

And again, you aren’t even looking at him, your eyes scanning the ridge. Beautiful in the way a thunderstorm is beautiful - if you’re just far enough away not to get burned.

And well, he’s way too close. Maybe he won’t ever be far enough away.

He is crouched beside you. Too close. Not close enough. His knees ache. His jaw aches. His thoughts ache.

His throat doesn’t work right the first time. The second, either.

“Depends if we make it outta this sim alive,” he counters, trying his best to put lots and lots of his charm in his voice. Because he is going to need his ability to flirt now more than ever.

“Then keep up,” you say easily, snapping your gaze away, and Bucky feels like whining. Popping up from the cover he watches you signal the rest of the team.

He follows. Of course, he does. Not because he has to. But because he suddenly really, really wants to.

[j-jinxee]

[ ⟡​ ] — NIRAGI NSFW HEADCANONS,,

NSFW under the cut! ⊹ Niragi x Reader

✦ [warnings – weapon play, oral, handcuffs, pet names, spit, licking, uhh just v nsfw]

─────

₊˚♱ Ok so let's start with the fact he's always armed, carrying that rifle like it's a basic necessity. He uses those firearms in many ways, from simple intimidation, to having you suck on the barrel while his finger hovers over the trigger. He pushes it deeper down your throat as you here the safety click off, he never actually has the safety on normally, it was just to make you all the more scared. It puts him on a power trip, knowing he could absolutely waste you at any moment, even if he never actually will.

"You could kill me right now if you really wanted to"

"I know, and maybe one day I will. But right now I need those pretty lips wrapped around my cock, come on baby."

₊˚♱ Speaking of oral, he's obsessed with making you gag on him. Leaning his head back against the headboard, your nose poking his stomach as he forces your head further down. He'll let you go your own pace for the first few minutes, riling him up with how painfully slow your going — kitten licking his tip, giving lots of attention to those pretty veins decorating his shaft. That's how it goes until he needs to feel dominant again, his hands going to grip your hair, beginning to thrust upwards as he kept your head still. Tears starting to cloud your vision as your throat started to bruise.

"Fuckkk, whore can't even take dick properly? It's ok, gagging you like this is so fucken hot."

₊˚♱ Is definitely one for humiliation, but not in the common ways. He's not gonna make you suck him off in public, he's the only one allowed to see you like that. Niragi is the type to handcuff you to him, letting everyone at the beach know you're his, and anyone who tries to get with you will soon be staring down the barrel of a loaded rifle. He'd somehow get access to handcuffs, clasp them to one of your wrists, then the other end to his belt. Walking around, flaunting you like a trophy.

"You're mine baby, and I'm gonna show you off whether you like it or not."

₊˚♱ Pain kink 1000%, and shockingly, actually prefers receiving it rather than inflicting it. He'd have a nice silver pocket knife and ask you to use it on him after you suck him off. It's a nice interval between the oral and then actual sex, just a little something more to get him really fucked up. You'd be sitting on his lap as he comes down from his high, opening the knife and gliding it across his collarbones, it gets him hard immediately. You leave a few little cuts near his biceps and chest, until he says there's enough.

₊˚♱ Spit kink, no questions asked. Remember the way he spat on Hatter's dead body? Yeah. This ties in with his oral fixation, the way he's constantly sticking his tongue out, the way he adores licking every inch of your body, the way he loves when your teeth clink against his tongue piercing. He'll hold your face up by your chin while you're on your knees, standing over you as he spits in your mouth.

"Don't swallow it so soon baby, taste it, taste me."

₊˚♱ You can't convince me he wouldn't love being called daddy. He actually wouldn't realise at first, unaware of how much he loves it, until one night you unintentionally moaned it out as he was drilling you from behind. His movements stopped, making your heart sink. He leaned down towards your ear.

"What was that baby?"

"Nothing- sorry"

"Say it again."

Since then, he can't get enough of it. Constantly demanding you to moan it out as loud as you can, letting everyone know how good he fucks you.

----------------------------------------------------

I could honestly go on for so long abt this man and I'm not proud of it cuz yk 💀💀 but it's not my fault he happened to be SO ATTRACTIVE LIKE WHY'D HE HAVE TO BE SUCH A PRICK WHEN HES THAT HOT 😔 anywayzzz hope u enjoyed hehe :33

Ok cya, luv ya x

[historyofguns]

The article "Pistol Practice with a Purpose" by Mike Boyle emphasizes the importance of deliberate practice and maintaining skills in firearms handling, especially for personal defense. Boyle argues that mastering foundational marksmanship and handling skills is crucial since the use of a firearm in self-defense requires quick and almost automatic responses. He acknowledges the constraints modern life imposes on time and resources, noting that ammunition has become expensive and practice opportunities limited. Consequently, he suggests alternative training methods such as dry-firing, using inert pistols, and practicing at home with dummy rounds to keep skills sharp. He further stresses that while aiming and point shooting both have their places, consistent practice—whether on the range or off—is essential for developing an intuitive and effective defense response.

[batboyblog]

Things the Biden-Harris Administration Did This Week #35

Sep 20-27 2024

President Biden and Vice-President Harris announced new actions to curb gun violence at the one year anniversary of the White House Office of Gun Violence Prevention. The Office is the first ever White House office to deal with the issue of guns and has been overseen by the Vice-President. President Biden signed a new Executive Order aimed at combatting the emerging threat of machinegun conversion devices. These devices allow the conversion of semi-automatic firearms to a rate of fire that can match military machineguns, up to 20 bullets in one second. The EO also targets the threat of 3-D printed guns. The EO also addresses active schooler drills at schools. While almost every school conducts them there is little uniformity in how they are carried out, and no consensus on the most effective version of a drill. President Biden's EO directions the development of a research based active shooter drills, which maximize both student physical and mental safety.

President Biden celebrated the one year anniversary of the American Climate Corps and announced new Climate Corp programs. The Climate Corps has seen 15,000 young people connected to well paid jobs in clean energy and climate resilience jobs across America. The EPA and AmeriCorps announced a new Environmental Justice Climate Corps program which will connect 250 American Climate Corps members with local communities and over the next 3 help them achieve environmental justice projects. In addition HUD announced it will be the 8th federal agency to partner with the Climate Corp, opening the door to its involvement in Housing. Since its launch the American Climate Corp has inspired 14 states to launch their own state level version of the program, most recently just this week the New Jersey Climate Corps.

The Biden-Harris Administration announced that 4.2 million small business owners and self-employed people get their health insurance through the ACA marketplace. Up from 1.4 million ten years ago when President Obama and then Vice-President Biden rolled out the marketplaces. The self-employed are 3 times as likely as other Americans to use the marketplaces for their insurance, one out of every 5 getting coverage there. The ACA passed by President Obama, defended and expanded by President Biden, has freed millions of Americans to start their own businesses without fear of losing health coverage for them and their families.

The Departments of Transportation and Labor pressed freight railroad companies to close the gap and offer paid sick time to all their employees. Since 2022 under President Biden's leadership the number of Class I freight railroad employees who have access to paid sick days increased from 5% to 90%. Now the Biden-Harris Administration is pushing to finish the job and get coverage to the last 10%.

The EPA announced $965 million to help school districts buy clean energy buses. This comes on top of the 3 billion the EPA has already spent to bring clean energy buses to America's schools. So far the EPA has helped replace 8,700 school buses, across 1,300 school districts in all 50 states, DC, tribal nations, and US Territories. 95% of these buses are zero-emission, battery-electric. The clean bus program is responsible for over 2/3rds of the electric school buses on the road today.

The Biden-Harris Administration took another step forward in its historic efforts to protect the Colorado River System by signing 5 water conservation agreements with local water authorities in California and Arizona. The two short term agreements will conserve over 717,000 acre-feet of water by 2026. Collectively adding 10 feet to Lake Mead’s elevation by 2026. The Colorado River Basin provides water for more than 40 million people and fuels hydropower resources in seven U.S. states.

The Department of The Interior announced $254 million to help support local parks, the largest such investment in history. The money will go to 54 projects across 24 states hoping to redevelopment or create new parks.

HHS announced $1.5 billion to help combat opioid addiction and prevent opioid overdose deaths. The money will support state and tribal governments and help pay for mobile clinics, naloxone kits, and treatment centers. This comes as nationwide overdose rates drop for the first time since 2020, thanks to strong investment in harm reduction efforts by the Biden-Harris team.

The Department of Agriculture announced it'll spend $466.5 million in food assistance and development worldwide this year. Through its McGovern-Dole Program, the United States is the largest donor to global school feeding programs. The USDA will help feed 1.2 million children in Angola, Bangladesh, El Salvador, Ethiopia, Guatemala, Guinea-Bissau, Laos, Malawi and Rwanda. Through its Food for Progress the USDA will help support 200,000 farmers in Benin, Cambodia, Madagascar, Rwanda, Sri Lanka, Tanzania and Tunisia shift to climate-smart agriculture boosting food security in those nations and the wider region.

At a meeting at the UN First Lady Jill Biden announced a partnership between USAID and UNICEF to end childhood exposer to lead worldwide. Lead exposure kills 1.5 million people each year, mostly in the developing world.

The Senate approved the appointment of Byron Conway to a federal judgeship in Wisconsin. This makes the 213th federal judge that President Biden has appointed.

[ltwilliammowett]

Women at sea

Paul Daniels

'Paul' had the bad luck to be spotted by an eagle-eyed sergeant when he was exercising some soldiers on board a transport ship at Portsmouth in 1761.

He thought young Paul Daniels ‘had a more prominent chest than ordinary'. He sent for him to come to his cabin after the drill, and told him his suspicions. Daniels, to avoid a physical search, ‘confessed her sex’. 

Arthur Douglas

Only five feet tall and aged about 19, 'Arthur' worked as a landsman on board the privateer ship the Resolution. Working his passage from London to Liverpool, he went aloft to furl the sails, ‘was frequently mustered among the Marines at the time they exercised’ the small firearms, and generally seemed to be of ‘very modest character, and by his behaviour to have had a genteel education'.

It wasn’t until the ship docked at Liverpool that the truth came out that Arthur was actually a teenage girl. One of the messmates on board discovered her sex and tried to sleep with her. She agreed ‘to prevent a discovery of her sex to the whole ship', but when they landed refused to keep her word, so the Captain was told.

Jane Meace

Jane tried to enlist as a Marine in 1762. In Uttoxeter, a young man ‘came to a recruiting party of Marines’ being held at an alehouse called The Plume and Feathers. 

He enlisted as John Meace and asked for all his bounty money, but only got one shilling, as they thought he needed ‘cloathing and other necessaries'. However, the following morning her sex was discovered by ‘one of the men laying hold of her coat over the breast to see how it fitted'.

Hannah Witney

Hannah Witney's story dates from 20 October 1761. A young man who had been impressed (press-ganged) at Plymouth was sent to one Captain Toby. On arrival he was put in prison, but not liking it disclosed that he was in fact a young woman.

The naval report says that she was 'Born in Ireland, had been a Marine on board different ships for upwards five years’, and that she would not have ‘disclosed herself’ if she had been ‘allowed her liberty'. This was duly granted. A naval report included details of a young Lady ‘on board the Fleet in Man’s Apparel, who showed all the signs of most undaunted Valour'.  

Several other women, the report continued, ‘are still living and some of them in this Town who have served whole campaigns and fought stroke by stroke by the most manly soldiers'.

They, like so many other valiant women who rallied to the patriotic call to defend their country, will remain unknown. But those now listed will have a place in the military and social history books. 

Source

Also in: Cross-dressed to Kill - women who went to war disguised as men, by Vivien Morgan

[mingi-s-dimples]

Heart on Loan - Yunho

KINKTOBER DAY 16, REQ. BY anon

~"Hi I'd like to request a Yunho Mafia fic. The reader pisses him off in some way and now she had to pay him back by working for him. At first he's really mean to her but then starts to be attracted and that's when the smut starts. The reader is also a virgin and doesn't have any experience being in a relationship or talking to guys. I hope that's not too much!"

pairing: mafia leader!yunho x fem!reader

genre: 18+, mafia au, filth ish

summary: you piss off the most dangerous person in the city... only to spend the most memorable night with him, after supposedly working for him to pay your debt off.

wc: 2.4k

warnings: mafia au, dom!yunho, virgin!reader, deepthroating, fingering, oral (m), head pushing, hair *pulling/tangling*, teasing slightly, he's a cocky one, making out, mentions of guns, missionary, implied 2nd round, use of pet names, slight possessiveness, unprotected (boo use protection irl), completely consensual, for sure forgot something, unedited.

Author's Note: Mafia Yunho is chef's kiss idc what y'all say and idc that this fic is damn short but omfg... I need this man in my life *sigh* why do I not bump into pretty and tall men that would make me pay off my own sillt debt and fucking them later in my life 😞😞 I'm so sorry words slipped out of my mouth upsi. Anyways, anon, I hope yoh like it !

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not represent in any way the reality of the member.

The city had a heartbeat of its own, a relentless pulse of neon lights and shadowed alleyways where secrets and power moved in. You knew it well, though you’d never been bold enough to dip more than a toe into its murky underbelly. That was, until tonight.

You’d been passing through the dimly lit streets, minding your own business, when fate—or rather, an unfortunate case of bad timing and bad attitude—threw you directly in Yunho's path. Yunho was the city’s most notorious Mafia leader, his name spoken in whispers by even the bravest. Some said his fortune was built on power, manipulation, and charm as dangerous as his temper. But none of that registered with you in the moment you bumped into him and, in a flustered reaction, spilled coffee on his impeccable suit.

There was a silence so thick you could feel it pressing against your lungs. You had barely glanced up when you realized the towering figure before you, the dangerous gleam in his eyes, and the ominous smirk pulling at his lips. Your blood ran cold as he inspected his now-ruined clothes, a dark promise flickering behind his expression.

"You’ve got some nerve," he finally muttered, his voice soft but sharp enough to cut through the heavy night air. You felt his gaze drilling into you, appraising, as if deciding your fate. Without another word, he stepped closer, towering over you.

“I’m… really sorry about that. I didn’t mean to—” you stammered, but he cut you off with a smirk that sent chills down your spine.

“Oh, you will be,” he said, his tone dark yet almost amused, and something inside you told you that your apology wouldn’t be enough. “Let’s call this… a debt. And you’re going to work it off.”

That was how it all began. Within days, you found yourself stepping into a new life, a strange, thrilling, and utterly terrifying world at Yunho’s command. The rules were strict, and the punishment for mistakes even stricter. You had no idea what you'd be asked to do next, whether it was tracking contacts, running errands, or, most frequently, dealing with his endless collection of firearms. It was in these moments, whenever you were alone with him, that Yunho’s intensity seemed to turn up a notch.

The rough edges of his demeanor wore on you, his biting sarcasm and occasional harshness drawing out every ounce of your patience and nerves. But gradually, you began to notice something beyond the intimidation. In the way he watched you, sometimes with an intensity that felt heavier than his threats, there was something almost like curiosity.

Days passed, and your debt stretched on, keeping you ensnared in Yunho’s world. But one night, as you were organizing his cache of sleek, dangerous-looking firearms in his private room, the silence between you felt charged, more potent than ever. Yunho was watching you from the doorway, arms crossed, the smallest hint of a smirk dancing on his lips.

“Do you know what you’re holding there?” he asked, his tone softer than usual as he took a step toward you.

Your heart skipped a beat as you tried to focus on the task, feeling his gaze travel from your hands to your face, lingering just a little too long. He was close enough now that you could feel the heat radiating from him, smell the faint cologne that seemed to fit him all too well. You struggled to keep your attention on the weapon you were packing, but your pulse betrayed you, hammering in your chest like a warning.

Without a word, Yunho reached over, his fingers brushing yours as he adjusted the weapon in your grip. His touch sent a jolt through you, making it hard to ignore the heat creeping up your cheeks. You’d been cautious around him, knowing he was dangerous in more ways than one, but you hadn’t expected the casual, unexpected intimacy he was capable of. He lingered, his fingers tracing over yours with a gentleness that seemed foreign for someone so ruthless. And you couldn’t look away.

“Shy, huh?” he murmured, his voice a low rumble as he leaned closer, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement—and something else. You felt a knot of tension twist in your stomach, unsure if it was fear or something far more dangerous, but Yunho didn’t pull back. If anything, he moved closer, a teasing smile curving his lips as he caught your gaze.

“You make me want to forget every rule I’ve ever made.” your eyed widened at his words, not knowing what he meant.

Oh.. yeah. The rule.. of not having any kind of affair with one another. Did he possibly mean.. that one?

For a split second, the entire world seemed to melt away, leaving just you and him in that small, dimly lit room. It was a line you knew you shouldn't cross, a tension you shouldn’t indulge. But as he stayed close, his fingers lightly grazing yours again, you realized you weren’t sure if you wanted him to stop.

"Your heart is... racing" Yunho smirks, pressing his fingers lightly against your wrist, feeling your pulse quicken under his touch, “You want this too, don’t you?”

Your lips part to respond but words falter, looking away, and he chuckles.

Yunho's hands traveled from your wrist to your hand, then to your shoulder and collarbone, “Don’t go shy on me now. I want to hear you say it.”

"I-" you tried to say.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart? Getting all silent on me?” he confidently said, as your eyes instantly chose a random spot on a wall to look at, rather to make eye contact with him. His right hand rode up your neck, resting there for a second, then went for your chin and he made you look at him.

“Come on… look at me. I want to see those pretty eyes when you blush like that.”

"I- uh"

"Say it." he said, authority conveyed in his words.

"I haven't done this.. b-before." you stuttered, eyes wandering around.

He looked at you, slightly confused. “So… you’re telling me you’re a virgin?”

“I don’t want you to think… I’m not interested. I’m just… not experienced.” you said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, embarrassed of your words.

“Trust me, I’d never assume that.” he leans in, voice droping, “But if anything, it makes me want to go slower… yeah. I’ll take my time with you… make sure you feel every second of it. That’s a promise.”

---

The atmosphere suddenly got heavier as his hands rode up and down on your body, feeling you up.

He took a small step back, his gaze softening as he let out a slow breath, as though grounding himself. “You have no idea how much I want this,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as if even saying the words too loudly might break the spell between you.

With a tenderness that surprised you, he traced his hands up your arms, letting them settle on your waist as he gently lifted you, your body instinctively wrapping around him. His movements were deliberate yet unhurried, carrying you as if you were something delicate, precious.

The quiet thud of the door closing behind him, the warmth of his touch, and the way his breath lingered near your neck all heightened the sense of intimacy. The room was cast in dim light, shadows dancing along the walls, adding a surreal quality to the moment. Every brush of his fingers, every whispered breath, seemed to amplify the silence between you.

Gently, he lowered you onto the bed, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You’re incredible, you know that?” he said, a hint of vulnerability in his gaze. His fingers trailed lightly over your cheek, tracing your jaw.

In that moment, you felt safe, even if hr was the most dangerous person in your city.. if not even in the country.

Your hands left his shoulders as he backed off for a second, taking in the view. He then started to slowly undress himself, taking his sweet time.

"L-let me.. help you" you suddenly said, not even expecting your own words to slip out. He giggled at your words and stopped, letting you do it. You slowly unbuttoned his shirt, feeling up his muscles. His shoulders are broad and heavily built, signaling his strength and resilience. His chest muscles are well-defined, showing the dense training that shapes his form, while his biceps and triceps look strong and hardened, giving him an imposing presence. His abs are chiseled, likely from rigorous workouts and possibly some close-call encounters. Every part of him exudes power, from his veined forearms to the taut muscles of his back, showcasing the blend of elegance and intensity fitting for someone who commands respect and fear. Though, his soft skin was tainted by some pretty harsh scars, probably from cuts or bullets he got hit by in combat. You then got to his pants and well.. it went kind of.. downhill from there.

"Let's see what you're capable of, sweetie. Don't worry.. I'll guide you." he said as he unbuckled his pants, letting them fall down to his ankles and pushing them away. He then got rid of his briefs and oh god.. he was *huge*. His hand hovered over your head and urged you down on your knees, right in front of his cock. You innocently looked up at him, like you didn't fucking enjoy every second of it, while being entirely freaked out.

Your hands rode up his thighs and got to his cock, slowly pumping it. As you were looking at him, your eyes widened as he signaled you to... suck. "It won't be that hard, I promise..." he whispered as he guided your head to his cock, your lips parting against the red, leaking tip. You started to softly suck on it, not sure if you could take all of his length. You deepened a bit, leaving sloppy trails of kisses whenever you got to his tip. You liked his length from the base all the way to the shaft, sucking on his tip multiple times before he.. got slightly bored of it. "Sweetie..?"

"Mhm?" you muffle, his cock inches deep in your mouth.

"Let's... try a bit more " he said as he pushed himself slowly deep down your throat, gagging on it while he thrusted forwards in your mouth. He didn't seem like the man to be noisy but.. muffled sounds and whines could be heard from above you. His hand tangled in your hair as he started rapidly fsce-fucking you, catching his high.

"Don't stop.." he said and braced his hands in your hair and on your head and deepthroated you, making you gag multiple times on it. He was not.. the most gentle person, but you also loved it so, no need for him to be gentle. Your hands were holding tightily ok his thighs, and as he fucked your mouth a couple more times, he came right down your throat and in your mouth. When he pulled out, silky white cum dripped off your lips. He kneeled down in front of you and wiped it off, moment to distract you from his hand going under you, lifting you up. He threw you on the bed and undressed you, hastily.

"Let me spoil you, pretty." he said and pushed you on your back, crawling over to you. His lips found yours, and in a matter of time while he was making out with you, his hand found it's way between your legs. He stopped for a moment to look at you. and when you nodded, he didn't hesitate any longer. He inserted one finger in, then the second one. He slowly started pumping them in and out while still kissing you, feeling each and every of your muffled and quiet moans. It was not long before he started fingering your rapidly, helping you catch your high. But.. that wasn't his plan. In fact, his plans was to only.. stretch you out for his length. So that when he felt you'd be prepped enough for him, he pulled back for a moment and guided his cock to your entrance, then slowly pushed himself in. Your hands held thightly onto the linen as he bottomed down, his length and girth stretching you the fuck out.

"Tell me... if you want me to stop" he said but.. he didn't mean it. You also never planned in making him stop so, you nodded, not answering him. That simply was the easiest way of telling him you wanted to be fucked dumb by him, to which he compiled.

His hands found their way to your waist, burying himself deep down in you. His eyes widened as you put your legs over his waist, missionary style. He smirked, going even faster than he was before.

"I- Yunho!" you moaned his name, tears forming in your eyes as he bottomed down every time he thrusted into you.

"I'm close, sweetie... you feel so damn good, I might as well go fucking insane." he said as he let his torso down to yours, his lips finding their way to your collarbones, leaving soft kisses which transformed into harsh marks, where he sucked your skin. He fucked you a couple more times before coming undone right in front of you and in you, feeling yourself getting absolutely filled up by his load. You, too, also came as soon as you felt his cock pulse in you. He whined out when he felt your walls clench tightly on his cock, draining him out. He fucked you through his and your orgasm, then slowly came to a stop.

He pulled out and stepped back for a moment, admiring his work. Your pretty, fucked out, teary face, and your cunt dripping with both of your juices.

"You look so damn hot like this.. might as well go for another round, if you're up for it?" Yunho said, a little bit too excited about it as his cock hardened again.

"P-please.. I need you" you whined out, dirty thoughts flooding in your mind.

"You didn't have a choice anyway.. I gotta show you just how much you pissed me off when you ruined my favourite suit, sweeheart." he said and leaned in for a kiss, to which he lifted you up in his embrace.

The night was just about to start and... ironically, you felt safer and wanted in the nicest way by the most dangerous person in the city.

NETWORKS:

@illusionnet

@blossomnet

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@mingleshine @musiclovingfairy @crazylittlebisexual @sanhwalvr @gong-fourz @arki-sha @artistic-rendition @hongjoongtime117 @cypher-03 @woolysium @peachy-bell26

[transmechanicus]

Huge huge fan of anachronistic interactions in my writing ideas. Using modern firearms to fight mythical monsters, using swords and shields to fight killer robots, powering computers with coal or gasoline, using a nuclear reactor to power a clockwork automata, space suits that look like diving apparatus from the 1800s, modern skyscrapers in the middle of stone and straw villages, using MRI machines to determine where you need a hole drilled in your head to let the ghosts out, killer AI being banishable by holy rituals that have unknowingly incorporated override codes, do you understand yet???

[absolutedaisy]

majority hatchetfield im so sorry

[atleastpleasetelephone]

I have another request!! So I stumbled across these photos a few weeks ago..

And needless to say, it’s made me a little feral to put it simply. For the request, I was thinking that him and reader are at an after party for his friends wedding, which is actually what’s going on in the photo, and he’s showing off the gun and whatnot and reader finds it reallyyy attractive. Things take a turn and well….yeah. Also, I would love if there was spice. Like.. a LOT 🌚. Like borderline depravity…

Anyways, thank you! I absolutely love your writing and I know this will be amazing💗

A/N: Thanks so much for this request! Sidenote: I am going to write the other one but this is much more immediately in my wheelhouse so I'm starting here.

I am not ashamed to say that this man gave me a gun kink, so any excuse to write something filthy with firearms. Thanks to @polksaladava for helping me come up with exactly which filthy thing, and also thanks to my partner for finding out what kind of gun this is and being my gun guru generally lol.

Big man with a gun

Pairing: Hot sexy 1970 Elvis x reader

Word count: 2K

TWs: Gun kink. Also Elvis waving the gun about indoors like a madman, little hint of him being dominant, reader calls him daddy, praise kink, dry humping, smut. Usual stuff.

***

“What d’ya think of the Drilling?” Elvis is holding the gun up, seemingly aiming at the ceiling. 

“Careful, E,” Sonny warns, concerned about the plasterwork. “Y’don’t wanna blow another hole in the ceiling.”

Elvis chuckles, racking the gun and looking through the sight at one of the fancy decorations where the wall meets the ceiling. 

“E!” Sonny exclaims, instinctively tucking Judy behind him. 

Elvis just keeps chuckling, saying something about improving the wedding decorations and aiming at a balloon now instead. Sonny tries telling him again but he just responds that it’s his house and if he wants to blow holes in it he will. Your heart is racing. There have been stories about him firing guns indoors to get people’s attention, but you always thought they were just that, stories. And anyway, when the guys had regaled you with them, they’d always said it was a gun Elvis got out of his boot, or a holster. There’s no way this gun could fit under his arm or in his shoe. You don’t know a lot about guns, but you think it must be able to do more damage than something small enough to fit in his boot. You try to swallow. Your throat has gone a little dry. 

“C’mon, E,” Sonny tries for the millionth time as people actively start trying to find places to hide in case he really does start shooting. 

There’s a moment of complete silence, and then Elvis lets out a full-on belly laugh, dropping the gun from his shoulder and making it safe. 

“Y’didn’t think I’d really start shootin’, did ya? Not at yer wedding reception.”

Sonny isn’t sure what he thought, not really, but he slaps Elvis on the back, telling him of course he knew he was joking. The other man grins, enjoying the effect of waving the firearm around, and then turns towards you, holding it in both hands like it’s a display piece. 

“Whaddya think, baby?” He asks. 

You’re the designated photographer for the reception, for some reason, so you grin and snap a few pictures. 

“It’s um… nice?” You try. You’re not exactly sure how you should describe it. Cool? Dangerous? Well-made?

“Think it’s a little more ‘an nice, baby,” he tells you, obviously a little disappointed by your response. “It’s a shotgun an’ a rifle in one. See?” He comes closer and flicks a finger over the triggers. “Two triggers. One for this bit,” his hand glides over the top two barrels, “and one for this,” sliding his palm against the underneath of the rifle part. 

You look down, suddenly fascinated by the way he’s caressing the gun and the way his rings glitter as his hands move. 

“What’s this bit?” You ask, gingerly poking a black sort of tube on the top of the shotgun part. 

“Telescopic sight. Lets ya see what yer shootin’ at.”

You nod silently, feeling your heart start to race again. “W-what’s it for?” 

“Shootin’, baby,” he replies, letting out another roaring laugh that makes everyone else in the room turn around for a moment. 

You blush and look down. “I know that,” you whisper, embarrassed. “But why’s it got so many… barrels?”

“Good fer huntin’,” he replies, gently manoeuvring you to the couch so the two of you can sit down. “Shootin’ rabbits an’ deer with the same gun.”

You try not to let your face fall at the idea of shooting cute little animals, but you’re not sure you succeed. “Oh I see,” you mumble. 

He lets out another short laugh and then the next thing you know one end of the gun is in your lap. 

“Pretty, ain’t she?” He continues, his fingers running over the decorative metalwork at the end of the stock. 

His shoulder is pressed up against you and you can feel the heat radiating off him as he takes your hand and rubs your fingers where his have just been. 

“Feel the craftsmanship on this.” He continues to guide your hand over the contours of the gun, down the hard smooth stock and then along the barrels as they lay on his lap. 

You realise you can hear your own breathing and you quickly close your mouth. Apparently it had just opened of its own accord midway through this guided tour of the gun. You have to get yourself under control. Looking quickly around the room, you try to see if anyone has noticed… what exactly? Elvis talking to you about a firearm? Making you touch it like it’s… well. Something other than an inanimate object. Your head is spinning and it takes you a while to realise you’ve just been absent-mindedly running your fingers back and forth over the smooth wood of the stock without any help from him whatsoever. You look up to see him grinning back at you. 

“Ya like her, baby?” He asks.

“Y-yeah. Good… craftsmanship,” you squeak out, face bright red. 

He lets out a low chuckle and then puts his lips to your ear. “Ya wanna take her to bed?”

Your eyes go wide and you make a sort of strange noise somewhere in your throat. Do you want to what now? You feel his breath on your ear, as he questions you again, “hm?” his arm snaking around your waist and pulling you against him. Your brain still isn’t really functioning but the warmth that’s spreading between your legs is suggesting you want to do what he’s asking. You finally manage a little whining noise and he pulls back to look at your face. 

“That a yes?”

Biting your lip as you find yourself nodding, you finally let out a strangled “yes”, making him smile. 

“Alright then. Haveta wait until this is over, mind.”

***

The next few hours are torture. It’s Sonny’s wedding reception after all, so it’s not as if Elvis can throw everyone out of his house on a whim. So you suffer through more speeches and more cake and more tedious conversations. Every so often Elvis comes over and whispers something naughty in your ear and touches you in a way that makes you ache, and more than once you find yourself standing next to the cabinet he’s put the gun on top of, stroking it. You feel like you’re going to go insane, the slickness between your legs is getting so bad you’re worried it’s going to leak through your panties onto your dress, so towards the end you even stop sitting down, just in case. You think about running off to the bathroom to solve your little problem but the combination of fear of what Elvis would do to you if he found out and excitement of what might happen later with the gun stops you. By the time the last guest leaves you actually feel a little dizzy. 

“Can we go now?” You ask, pressing yourself up against him. 

Chuckling again, he wraps an arm around you. “Eager lil thing, ain’tcha?”

You whine. You’re pretty sure this can’t be classed as being eager. You’ve been waiting for hours. “Please?”

“Well since ya begged…” he gives you a quick kiss and then lets you go, striding over to the gun and picking it up before moving to the stairs. “C’mon, baby.” He holds out his hand and you take it, trotting after him as he takes the stairs two at a time. 

Even though you watch him removing the cartridges from the gun and he makes a point of showing you that it’s completely empty and safe, it still looks dangerous in the middle of the bed. Hard and unyielding, dark in colour and purpose, in the middle of a warm soft place for sleeping and lovemaking. You swallow hard and squeeze your thighs together. You must be dripping by now. 

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he runs his fingers down your cheek. “Why don’tcha straddle her, baby?”

Even though you’re pretty far gone at this point, his words still shock you and all you can do is whine again. He smiles gently, leaning in to kiss you as his hand moves to your jaw. 

“Feel how smooth she is,” he continues, pulling away from the kiss, his hand encouraging yours onto the stock again. “Bet that’d feel good, honey.”

His other hand sneaks between your legs, giving a low whistle as he feels just how sodden your panties are. He starts to rub you there and you let out a moan, finally getting some contact on your aching pussy. 

“C’mon honey. I know ya wanta.”

He rubs you a little more and then removes his hand, leaving you panting and desperate and then you’re in the middle of the bed, one leg on either side of the stock, sitting down on the gun and trying to rub yourself against it. 

“Mmmmm. It doesn’t… I need…” you start to mumble, almost incoherently. The gun sinks down into the bed as soon as you put any pressure on it and you can’t get yourself off. Luckily Elvis figures it out quickly and helps you put a pillow underneath it, holding you carefully so you don’t lose your balance. 

Groaning, you start to move your hips back and forth, rubbing your clothed pussy against the smooth wood. Your eyes roll back in your head as the friction builds, one hand gripping the pillow as you explore your body with the other. You’re so lost in pleasure you don’t notice Elvis starting to touch himself, so turned on watching you like this that he can’t help himself. 

“Good girl,” he breathes, hand sliding up and down his dick. 

You can only whimper in response, grinding against the stock, smearing your arousal all over it as your panties slip to the side and there’s no barrier left between you and the gun. Somewhere in the back of your mind you can’t believe you’re doing this, can’t quite understand how you ended up in this position, you don’t even like guns… 

“Is my good girl gonna cum f’me?” His voice cuts through your thoughts and you realise that yes, you are going to, and really soon. 

“Yes, Daddy,” you pant. 

“Mmmm,” is all he can manage in response, still lost in watching you so out of control. 

Both of your hands pull at the pillow, forcing it to stay where you want it as you teeter on the edge of your orgasm, a buzz of incredible pleasure surrounding you before the bubble bursts and you’re there, screaming out his name. 

You hear him grunt and open your eyes just in time to see him cum all over himself, still staring at you and the gun, mouth hanging open loosely. He looks so beautiful like that, wanton with his lips red and his eyes wild. You can’t believe you turned him on so much. 

His eyes shift to meet yours and you both look at one another for a moment and then you start to giggle. And he starts to giggle. And then you’re both belly laughing as you crawl towards him and into his arms. Right now it seems absolutely absurd how desperate you were to rub yourself all over this goddamn gun and how desperate he was to watch you. He presses his nose against your cheek, body still shaking from laughter. 

“D-didn’t know ya l-liked guns s’much, honey.” His voice wobbles with the effort of trying to stay serious.

“I don’t!” You giggle back, turning your head and kissing him on the mouth. 

He kisses you back and you can feel him smiling against your lips. Your giggles gradually subside as you burrow into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent. Contentment washes over you. 

“Why’d ya do it then?” He mumbles in your ear. 

“You wanted me to,” you reply, moving so that you can look up at him through your lashes. “And you looked pretty damn sexy with that gun.”

“Honey! Ya kiss yer mama with that mouth?!” He teases.

“Yeah but right now I’d much rather kiss you,” you reply, tugging his head down so his lips meet yours again. 

Losing yourself again in the smell of him, the way he tastes, the feeling of him holding you like he never wants to let you go, you don’t think you’ve ever felt so good. 

Maybe you do like guns, after all. Or maybe you just like that one gun in particular…

***

Taglist:

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed:

@arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley @eapep @everythingelvispresley @i-r-i-n-a-a @sissylittlefeather @arrolyn1114 @jhoneybees @polksaladava @lookingforrainbows @jkdaddy01 @epthedream69 @lustnhim @elvisslut @pomtherine @that-hotdog @ladelinee @angschrof @fairybloodsucker @deltafalax @makethemorning @elviswhore69 @ilovequeen978 @wildhorseinkansas @pocketfulofpresley @dkayfixates @iloveelvisss @kxnnxy @presleyhearted @lvrdollep @nebulamorada @iloveelvis2 @18lkpeters @elvisbdoll

[gutsby]

Mr. Dixon

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Summary: Your efforts to seduce the DILF next door have all failed spectacularly, so you decide a wet hot car wash in front of his house is in order. Mr. Dixon is less than impressed with your antics and plans to teach you a lesson in good manners and ‘neighborliness.’

Warnings: NSFW. Dad's friend Daryl! Drastic age gap!! Daryl's a dirty old pervert in this one :-) Voyeurism. Masturbation. Descriptions of oral sex (m!receiving). Dirty talk. Degradation. Slight misogyny. Daryl may or may not masturbate out a window at some point.

You had an old pair of Daisy Dukes and a dream.

Faded, frayed, and two times too small for your frame, the shorts hiked an inch up your ass every step you took across the room. Made it damn near pointless bending over before the man in front of you—he could see every inch of your butt regardless—but you did it all the same.

This was Mr. Dixon, after all.

Cool blue orbs illumined by candlelight took the sight of you in and flitted away just as fast. His hands busied themselves with the gun he was taking apart, while you reached for the bullet that had just rolled onto the floor.

“Here you go, Mr. Dixon.”

Your voice had a charming lilt as you held the round out to him.

“Over there,” Daryl grumbled, jerking his head toward the end of the table, “An’ what’d I say ‘bout callin’ me tha’?”

“I feel weird calling daddy’s friends by their first names.”

You shrugged and chucked the tiny piece of lead into the pile of ammunition like Daryl had told you to. Then you sat down beside it, crossing your arms.

He could be so cruel sometimes. Just fooling with his pistol and barking orders like a drill sergeant. Never looking at you longer than a second, and if he did, just shooting you a glare or wounding you with a scowl.

He’d been the toughest nut to crack out of all your father’s friends. No matter how straight-laced and upstanding the men around Mr. Grimes had made themselves out to be, you’d always found the fault line—the weak spot that got you access to the filthiest parts of each one. You’d teased and you’d flirted, earned a couple groping touches and open-mouthed caresses from the likes of the late Mr. Walsh and many others. But never Mr. Dixon.

Even now, sitting across from him in your skimpy Wrangler cut offs, wedges, and a skintight, starch white tank top stretched so tight over your tits the fabric was practically see-through, it was like you were invisible to him. You kicked your feet out in front of you as they dangled from the table and actually felt yourself pout at the feeling of frustration bubbling in your chest.

“I wanna help.” Sounding pitiful.

“No use,” Daryl said as he studied the barrel of the gun with an inscrutable expression, “Already told yer dad, ain’ no use for little girls on the range.”

Your nostrils flared as you started back on your feet.

“I am plenty useful, Mr. Dixon. And I— I’m not the little girl you think I am,” you fired back, sounding more miserable and juvenile with every word you spoke.

At the last, Daryl looked you up and down. It was hardly more than a passing glance, but deliberate enough to be expressive. Emotive.

He looked repulsed by you.

And, rather than dignify you with a response, he simply discarded his firearm on the table and left the room. You trailed behind him into the kitchen and watched him swing the refrigerator door wide on its hinges. Blue eyes surveying the shelves for a can of PBR, most likely.

“I can do anything you need me to,” you rejoined in a huff, desperate to be heard, “I’m twice the shot my old man ever was at my age, I can track if I need to— hell, I’m always doin’ stuff, Mr. Dixon. Things.”

You weren’t sure what rattling off your talents to a man who clearly had no interest in hearing them would accomplish, but you tried it anyway. You sounded like your father. When both of Mr. Dixon’s eyebrows raised in mock surprise and he plopped down on a bar stool opposite you, you wanted to melt right into the floor.

“Doin’ stuff, huh? Thangs?” he mocked your twang.

You gripped the door frame so tight your knuckles turned white. Daryl took a couple swigs of beer and stared you down through every swallow. He brought the can back to the counter, near-empty now, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I got a couple thangs for ya ta do,” he started, grinning, “Why don’t ya put those pretty hands ta work, throw a little apron on, and just...bake me a fuckin’ cake?”

“Funny,” you spat. You felt a surge of bile rise in your throat at the sight of his smug expression.

“Wash my car?”

“Fuck you.”

Daryl’s amusement only grew as the forbidden F-bomb flew from your lips—a word he knew Rick would never tolerate if you’d been in his presence. Presently, his eyes raked over your slight, shaking form at the threshold of the room and figured himself pretty lucky to have provoked such a strong reaction from you. He polished off the last of his drink in a single gulp.

“No need ta get all foul-mouthed, Ms. Grimes, I only—”

“Fuck. You.” Your reply came slower and a touch more measured than he’d expected. Even punctuated with a hint of a smile, making sure to stretch that Southern drawl when you added, “Dar-yl.”

It was the first time you’d ever used his first name.

You weren’t sure you liked it.

Daryl, on the other hand, felt quite certain the sound of his name suited your mouth just fine. A subsequent stir in his jeans wiped the smirk clean off his face, and he began to shift in his seat.

Before he could speak, you were already turning on your heels to leave. Formalities escaped quicker than your anger, and your fingers seemed to move of their own accord to flip Daryl off over your shoulder as you strode out the door, far out of his sight.

Meanwhile, and much to his chagrin, Mr. Dixon was already growing ill with the sounds of your parting wishes bouncing loud off the walls of his skull. Before the front door had even closed, his fingers, too, seemed to move involuntarily and do a thing they probably shouldn’t have done: touch the mound in his jeans.

He rubbed his clothed erection and groaned.

You were such a fucking brat.

Daryl had always thought with a father as eagle-eyed and attentive as Rick, you’d never reach this level of naughty, haughty, and straight up cunt-like, but here you were. Doing Lori proud the way you’d gotten another one of Rick’s best friends wrapped around your little finger.

You were good like that, and still too dense to understand a fraction of the effect you had on him while you did it. The way you’d been looking at him earlier, Daryl was sure you’d convinced yourself he hated you.

If you could only see him now, spitting in one hand and unzipping his fly with the other, freeing his cock, and finally, finally getting his fingers wrapped fast around his shaft with the sole thought of you on his mind as he did. If you could watch him shudder, close his eyes, draw a deep, jagged breath through his nose to scour the air for the faintest trace of your scent lingering there—maybe you’d get it.

Daryl slid his hand down his cock and exhaled a shaky breath. You would simply never “get it,” because he’d already promised himself he wouldn’t let that happen.

As his thumb grazed the head of his red-hot, leaking cock and imagined it was your tongue doing all the work, he had to remind himself this was nothing but a fantasy for him. There was just no way in hell he’d sink to Shane’s level and actually lay his hands on you, no—he was better than that.

He was a man of principle, furiously jerking his cock in his kitchen with the thought of his best friend’s daughter on his mind. He just couldn’t touch you.

Damn if those tits didn’t sit nice under that top, no bra to hold ‘em in. And those shorts…

Daryl felt his head drop back as a wave of pleasure coursed up his spine. In his mind, you were sucking him now, hollowing those soft, sweet cheeks around his member and bobbing your head up and down, again and again, eyes never leaving his. Maybe you’d know to cup his balls, use your tongue to draw a couple lazy shapes down his cock. Any way you wanted it done was exactly how Mr. Dixon needed it, he’d decided.

He squeezed his eyes shut even tighter and fucked his hand like a man half his age.

Someone like you.

Scarcely nineteen and so oversexed they might burst.

The difference was Daryl would explode any second now; he had only to hunch over, pump himself a few more times, and finally shoot his load, pretending it was spraying your insides and not the floor of his kitchen.

He’d intended to do just that, clenching his jaw at the filthiest thoughts of you yet, when suddenly, a sound shook the house.

Daryl dropped his cock and looked right out the window.

Down below, outside, you’d laid heavy on your car horn. Let the noise blare a couple seconds before Daryl came bounding over to the window.

When he did, the man thought his legs might buckle.

You were standing beside his truck in the driveway, sponge in hand, soaked head-to-toe in water and soap and smiling brighter than he’d ever seen you. The fabric above your tits was translucent now, clinging like a second skin and affording his lustful gaze every inch of your torso. Your free hand was waving up at him.

Daryl inched the window open with trembling hands.

“Mr. Dixon, this truck is filthy!” you shouted from down below.

Swallowing and blinking was all he knew how to do, it seemed. Finally, Daryl managed, deadpan:

“I know.”

You placed your hands on your hips and narrowed your eyes up at him.

“Have you always been such a dirty old man?”

Fuck. It was like you knew what he’d been doing, crouched over in the privacy of his home while he drooled and dreamed of fucking you stupid. He watched you cross the front of the car.

And lean down to start rubbing your sponge across the hood.

Daryl sincerely feared you might hear his loud groan the second it rose to his throat. He gritted his teeth, tried to fight the sound, but came up short with nothing to show for his efforts but a whimper slipping past his lips.

You started swirling your sponge in circles, tits shaking with every movement you made.

“Too bad little girls ain’t good for nothin’,” you sighed.

When you leaned flat across the metal surface below you, Daryl pictured himself standing behind you, taking his dick and shoving it deep between your folds. Stretching you out and making you scream into the space in front of you.

Slowly, discreetly, Daryl’s hand drifted back to his cock.

“Yeah. Too bad,” he mumbled as you bent over to soak your sponge once more. When you straightened up, you made sure to squeeze the thing over your chest so the water would douse your front. Daryl took the window frame in one hand and his cock in the other, leaning out just slightly to ask, “This the ‘stuff’ ye’s talkin’ ‘bout?”

“Thangs, really,” you answered dryly.

The two of you exchanged a brief smile, and Daryl’s hand started stroking his length.

Lucky for him, and unlucky for you, the size of the window wasn’t primed to make you privy to the sight of him pleasuring himself. At most, you saw a forearm moving gently back and forth. You bit your lower lip and kept your sponge moving in loops.

“Well these ‘thangs’ are gonna get ya in a whole heap of trouble with yer daddy if ya keep this up, girl,” Daryl warned, nodding toward your house with a wary look.

“It’s empty, Mr. Dixon. Whole place is mine for the weekend,” you replied with a sly intonation.

Finally, you stopped long enough to get a hand back down to your shorts. Facing Daryl still, you popped a button on your denim cut-offs and looked up at him with a glossy, innocent stare. You pretended to feel for something that wasn’t there, snagged the band of your light pink thong, and lifted it up to Daryl’s hungry gaze. You saw his bicep visibly strain as he jerked his cock even faster.

Back inside, Daryl was panting, groaning, reeling at the thought of you all alone in your house next door, splayed out across your bed in a baby pink panty set. He soaked in the sight of you and curled his toes into the floor as a new jolt of pleasure broke out through his body.

He was closer than he’d ever been. He rested his head against the window and watched you run your hands over your body, down your front, in your shorts. He imagined your fingers grazing your cunt and how wet you must’ve been then, imagining him right back and fucking him steady with your eyes.

For a moment, your eyelids fluttered, and a blissful look crossed your features. Daryl rutted his hips at the thought of you finding your clit in front of him—desperately wanting to be the source of that pleasure himself—and pumped himself even faster.

“Darlin’, I…I need ya. In such a bad fuckin’ way.” He couldn’t keep the tender term of endearment from dancing on his tongue. The sight of you alone had his brain on the fritz.

You slipped your hand out of your shorts and brought a couple honeyed fingertips to the edge of your lips.

“How bad, Mr. Dixon?” you asked, eyeing him intently.

Daryl whined and felt his insides churn with the threat of release. He knew he couldn’t hold on much longer.

“So— so bad. Need to fuck ya so bad.”

That satisfied your affirmation-hungry itch well enough. You pushed two digits between your lips and started to suck.

From that point on, you didn’t need to see him or hear him or be there waiting patiently on your knees to get a mouthful of his cum—you knew it was coming. Daryl’s face contorted with a blissful, fucked-out expression, and suddenly he was pumping that space below the window full of his load, likely spraying the whole damn thing on the wall.

You stood back and admired your work. Daryl had all but collapsed with both hands planted on the windowsill, wet, brown locks hanging low in his face as the aftershocks of his arousal washed over him.

He was panting and barely able to meet your gaze. You couldn’t quite read the expression.

At any rate, you knew your job here was done.

With a hand waving sweetly back up at him once more, you eyed the mess of a man—your father’s best friend—and started to reach for your bucket and sponge. You buttoned your shorts back up and took a step from his truck. When it seemed Daryl was just then starting to open his mouth to speak, you beat him to it and called out, cheerfully,

“See ya around, Mr. Dixon!”

[infoglitch]

....YOUR GOD IS HERE-

*WHAM*

OW FUCK! the hell ergo?!

Stop acting like your all that. You've been on hiatus in writing Rwby fics for A YEAR get your ass to work!

Make me bird brains!

*pulls out that item*

...AAAAAAAAAAAÆAAAAAÆAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!

Lancaster skit: weapons

Jaune found himself in his dorm alongside Ruby as there was a variety of tools and weapon parts on the floor

Jaune: hey uh, rubes?

Ruby: yep?

Jaune: why do I need to make my firearm?

Ruby: because one who doesn't understand the ins and outs of their weapons are more prone to accidents. That's what my dad and uncle Qrow practically drilled into mine and Yang's heads.

Jaune: ah... So wait, I can make my firearm however I want?

Ruby: mhm.

Jaune:... Ruby.

Ruby: yes?

Jaune: have you ever played ultrakill?

Ruby:... Oh my oum your actually-

Later~

Yang was training with Weiss on the bridge, or was until there was a gun shot. As she and Weiss saw Jaune flying through the air wielding some kind of shotgun that he pumped four times before pointing behind him and firing again, propelling himself through the air.

Jaune: THIS IS SO MUCH FUUUUUUUUN!

Weiss:. Is arc-

Yang: yep.

Weiss:.. I assume he and Ruby collaborated on it.

Yang: probably. But I wouldn't expect anything less from my baby sister.

Weiss: the same baby sister who when you saw, first kiss that dolt sent you into a coma?

Yang: says the one who got rejected by pyrrha.

Weiss: YOU SAID YOUD NEVER BRING UP MY CONFESSION AGAIN!

Yang: when I'm around others. Never said anything about not bringing it up around only you.

Weiss:.. I hate you, do you understand that?

Ruby: JAUNE WAIT DONT PUMP IT MORE THAN 4 OTHERWISE IT'LL-

BOOOOOOOM

Jaune: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Oh god I feel violated ;-;

Grow a pair, I didn't shove it up your ass this time

I STILL FEEL VIOLATED YOU DICK!

[historyofguns]

In the article "Shoot While Moving vs. Move Then Shoot" from The Armory Life, veteran police trainer Mike Boyle discusses the complexities of real-world armed encounters compared to traditional firearm training. Boyle emphasizes the importance of incorporating movement into shooting training, as both the shooter and threat are likely to be moving during a real-life confrontation. The article explores whether one should shoot while moving or focus on moving first and then shooting, suggesting that certain situations may require each approach. Boyle shares his experiences with movement training and emphasizes the necessity for practical, safe practice that prepares individuals for dynamic scenarios. He concludes by advocating for the inclusion of movement in training regimens to gain an advantage in potential armed encounters.

[notwiselybuttoowell]

Over the last decade, states and municipalities have brought more than 30 lawsuits accusing big oil of intentionally covering up the climate risks of their products, and seeking potentially billions in damages. The defendants have worked to kill the cases, with limited success.

Now, with Republicans in control of the White House and both congressional chambers, advocates fear the industry will go further, pursuing total immunity from all existing and future climate lawsuits. To do so, they could lobby for a liability waiver like the one granted to the firearms industry in 2005, which has successfully blocked most attempts to hold them accountable for violence.

“Lawmakers must decisively reject any attempt by the fossil fuel industry to evade accountability and ensure both justice today and the right of future generations to hold polluters responsible for decades of deception,” said the missive, which is addressed to the House minority leader, Hakeem Jeffries, and Senate minority leader, Chuck Schumer.

Fossil fuel companies have vied for such a get-out-of-jail-free card for years. In 2017, a coalition of Republican officials, economists and oil companies proposed legal liability as a condition of a carbon tax, arguing the industry could not weather both. When the council abandoned the waiver proposal two years later, Exxon threatened to leave the group, documents subpoenaed by the Senate show.

Then, in 2020, a waiver was quietly included in a draft of a Covid-19 spending package but was later removed, the investigative climate outlet Drilled found.

Such a waiver could only pass through the Senate with supermajority support, requiring backing from some Democrats. In a January interview, Michael Gerrard, a climate law expert at Columbia University, said it is “hard to imagine” it winning bipartisan backing. But the advocates fear oil companies could lobby officials to once again quietly tuck the proposal into a larger, must-pass piece of legislation.

“Democrats need to be on guard,” said Aaron Regunberg, the climate accountability project director at the consumer advocacy group Public Citizen, which signed the letter.

On the campaign trail, Trump pledged to “stop the wave of frivolous litigation from environmental extremists”. And this month, a rightwing thinktank launched a campaign attempting to shoot down litigation from “radical climate groups”, which it called the “biggest risk” to Donald Trump’s energy agenda, E&E News reported. The thinktank has ties to Leonard Leo, who is widely known as a force behind the Federalist Society, which orchestrated the ultraconservative takeover of the American judiciary.

Another development sparking worry at oil companies: “climate superfund” bills, meant to make big polluters help pay for climate action.

Last year, Vermont and New York passed such measures, which are loosely modeled on the US superfund program. Ten other states are considering similar proposals, which could each cost the industry billions or trillions.

Red states and oil lobby groups are legally challenging the laws. This week, the Federalist Society – which Leo co-chairs – hosted a panel criticizing the measures.

It is a major fear for Cassidy DiPaola of the pro-climate superfund group Make Polluters Pay, which signed the letter.

“What’s at stake here isn’t just who pays for climate disasters,” she said. “It’s whether our democracy allows powerful industries to simply rewrite the rules when justice catches up to them.”

[sethshead]

Investigators singled out one post as the basis for the charges against him in the report. “If everyone just started shooting Jews at there (sic) synagogues all this can stop over night,” Scouras allegedly wrote.

[…]

When police searched his room, they found a Nazi flag, a 9 mm Glock “ghost gun,” six boxes of ammunition, three large-capacity rifles, 11 lower receivers for rifles, scopes, pistol frames, rifle stocks, a jig used for drilling holes into pistol handles, and other firearm parts, Beverly police said. They also found more than $70,000 in cash, which police believe is proceeds of illegal firearm sales.

“But you see, it’s just anti-Zionism, not antisemitism. Jews really need to decenter themselves. All this paranoia about victimization is just the entitlement of their white privilege speaking. Also, Anne Frank was a Karen who deserved what she got because she was complicit in European imperialism.”