#handgun performance

[historyofguns]

The article by Clayton Walker from The Armory Life explores the question of whether investing in a custom pistol is worthwhile, particularly in the context of modern firearms such as the 1911 and Springfield Armory offerings like the XD Mod.3 and Hellcat series. Walker appreciates the precision and craftsmanship of high-grade, custom pistols, noting their superior mechanics and aesthetics. However, he argues that such upgrades are more beneficial to skilled shooters rather than novices, who might not experience a significant increase in shooting accuracy with a premium handgun. While some higher-end pistols offer notable enhancements that improve performance, entry-level guns today are also remarkably efficient, offering plenty of value for the price. Walker suggests that the decision to invest in a custom piece should depend on individual preferences, needs, and the potential for long-term returns or sentimental value, emphasizing that, ultimately, it's about choosing what makes the most sense personally in the context of one's purpose and enjoyment of the shooting sport.

[cheekycheesecake01]

"You Keep Your Eyes on Me"

Tag: @gongyoosgf and @cybrasigilism

Salesman x G/N!Reader

18+ Smut, MDNI

Summary: Just a typical Friday night, playing some games with your favorite Salesman...

⚠️Tags/Warnings: Jump straight into action (no buildup), Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, G/N masturbation, Gunplay, filming, bone gag/gagging, edging, denial, praise, dick tapping, dacryphillia, degradation, pet names (doll, baby, puppy), a hint of petplay??? genital slapping (kept vague for G/N), sex toys/hitachi wand, spreader bar mentioned, handcuffs, mutual masturbation (Salesman is jerking it to the sight of you), mutual orgasm, cumshot, aftercare, the Salesman may be catching feelings🤔

Your eyes lazily gaze into the mirror, that soft red light shining back at you as you bit down on the silicone bone even harder. The cool, metal rings bounded by the leather straps leaving its imprints on your cheek. You shake the bar that parted your ankles, keeping your thighs wide open for him.

He is looming over you, with that typical smug smile of his. He extends the pole with the wand attached to it, before pressing it against your swollen sex. You shake violently, feeling the vibrations build up to your release until---

"Ohhh... not so fast. Patience." The Salesman says, pulling the pole away and massaging your shoulder. You growl through the gag and glare at him through the mirror. He cocks an eyebrow and says, "Slow and steady wins the race. Calm down, doll." That smile creeping into his voice before he sighs and settles between your thighs.

You watch with dilated pupils, the chains linking the leather cuffs rattling when you try to reach out and touch him. He steps back and waves the tip of his handgun as he says softly, "Ah, ah, ahh! No touching."

You let out a whine, making him chuckle before stepping closer once again. The room echoes with the jingle of his belt, before he springs out. His tip glistened in the shade of the pink tint the room provided. His precum dripping onto your stomach. He strokes himself slowly, teasing you with every stiff pump his fist made before lining himself up.... only to lightly slap his cock against your tender skin. You moan, resulting in his laughter slipping out of his lips before he pulls back once again...

When he steps to his spot, behind your back, he places his hands on your shoulders and begins to lightly rub them. You tense up at the sudden feeling of his firm, calloused hands gliding against your hot skin, but he hushes you and whispers in your ear, "Go on, doll, touch yourself. Do it for me to watch. Put on a show that I can watch now.... and forever..."

You both shift your gaze to the recorder that was propped onto a stand, facing the mirror. The piercing red light blinked and blended in with the lights that dangled from the ceiling. You knew he was recording, you both agreed to do so. But still... to think he'd be watching this later...

You look up at him, feeling a little self-conscious. The reality of your fantasy was finally settling in... you are being filmed for his pleasure, all while he plans to watch you perform. It seems as though he caught on, and he massages your shoulders more while he speaks softly, "Baby, it's just us. No one will see the video except me, and yourself, if you want to watch. If you want it to stop, then you can shake your handcuffs 3 times, and I'll stop everything. The recording, the scene, everything. Alright? This is just a game. But you always have the option to pause or quit."

You nod, feeling relieved by his reassurance of the safe signal you two settled upon prior to the scene. You go to reach for the wand, when the Salesman pulls it away and says, "I have a different idea for this round. Something challenging, but fun nonetheless. How about, you use your fingers to touch yourself, and you use my gun to get off?"

His hands graze your shoulder, before trailing down your arms only to stop at your nipples. He rubs the buds in circular motions before saying, "And don't worry about a thing. It's completely unloaded." He then takes out the revolver and spins the barrels in front of your eyes.

"See?" He asks, and sure enough, the barrel was completely empty. He circulates his rough fingers around your areola and flicks your nipples, feeling them firm up as an airy moan slips out from his lips. He presses up against your shoulder, his cock becoming more apparent in your face. He tears a package from his pocket and rolls on the rubber onto the gun. He grins and says playfully, "A condom on a gun. That's definitely something new! Huh?"

He hands you his gun, and waits patiently, the smile still plastered on his face. You hold the weapon, feeling it's cold hard weight against the palm of your hand that juxtaposed the warm, soft, slippery rubber that had been applied onto it. Carefully, you guided the gun between your thighs, brushing against your skin while the handle caused your handcuffs to clatter and jingle against each other. You fumbles with it, steel slapping steel, yet your skin wasn't slapping against his.

The Salesman sees this, and smiles. His fist slowly stroking himself at the sight of you struggling to simply insert the gun. He chuckles, and moans in satisfaction at your issue. He looks at you through the reflective glass and says, "Are you struggling, doll? Can't even do something as simple as this?" He grabs the gun from you and continues, "It's okay, I was expecting that. Allow me to do all of the work. You just sit there and look pretty."

You watch with wide eyes as he drags the cool steel against your skin. Your thighs flinch, but his hand pins one down, forcing you open. The veins on his hand pulse when he grips your thigh, slathering his precum on your skin. The Salesman bends over to whisper in your ear, "Very good. You're doing so well for me. Now, keep those legs open." With that, he carefully slips the tip of the weapon into your sex. You feel the cold rubber contrasting your heat, making your hole clutch around the gun.

He sees this through the mirror how your hole pulses from the adrenaline of the revolver. You leak with arousal and the sight of it alone made him want to finish right then and there. But this man had a disturbing amount of patience. He harshly slaps his rough palm against your sensitive spot, which caused you to yelp like a puppy through the bone gag. He laughs at your position and says, "Poor puppy, so sensitive and all I did was put it in. Keep biting that bone. It's the only way you'll ever learn to be quiet."

His words sent a rush of pleasure down your body, and when you were close, his warm demeanor drops immediately. He slaps your parts again, harder this time. He clutches your jaw and hisses out, "Did I say you could cum? Hm? No. I didn't. If you cum without my permission, you will be disqualified. If you're disqualified.... then..."

You mutter against the silicone bone that stayed propped in your mouth. The Salesman chuckles and leans his ear against your lips, his disheveled black hair tickling your nose as he says, "Sorry? Come again? I can't quite hear you."

You mutter again, making him fight back the urge to laugh at you. He grabs the tight leather straps and unbuckles the gag. He pulls the black bone away, drawing a string of saliva from your mouth while the rest poured out onto you.

You stretch your mouth, trying to relieve yourself from the discomfort of being contorted for so long when the Salesman tsks in a mocking fashion, "Look at what you've done! You poked a hole in my property!" He shows you the pierced gag, before petting your head and saying, "But it's okay. You'll pay for damages, right? We can work out your debt."

You frantically nod, tears welling up in your eyes from his smacking. He presses his cheek against yours and licks the salty trail down your face before he whispers, "Good puppy. I know you'll take accountability for your actions. I did train you, after all. Now then, what was that you were trying to tell me? What will happen if you are disqualified?"

Your predicament alone could bring you to tears. Spread open for some Salesman you met off the street in front of a mirror, deprived from pleasure, and yet still craving more of his games.

You choke back a sob from the sensual humiliation so you could speak, "If... I'm disqualified, I can't cum for 2 months." The Salesman beams at your response and replies in a condescending tone, "Correct! Such a smart puppy! What if you complain about your punishment?"

You sniffle and continue, "If I complain.... you double the punishment....4 months." He nods and extends the pole with the hitachi wand. He presses the vibrator against the swollen skin between your thighs before pushing the tip of the gun deeper into you. He pats your head and rests the pile onto your shoulder. A few hums muffled between his lips and then he speaks, "As I said before, you will touch yourself in front of this mirror for me to watch. You will not cum until I say so. I will set a timer, you have 30 minutes. With every whine, beg, or cry, I will add an additional 10 minutes, and if you moan... an extra 20 minutes will be added. Good luck doll, you will certainly need it."

You look at yourself, legs parted and reflected by the glass. You were glistening with sweat and the lubricant from the condom ran down your thighs. You press the wand against yourself, feeling the vibrations build up to pure pleasure only for you to push your cuffed wrists under the top and lift up the pole, stopping yourself from going over the edge. The Salesman spectates, jerking off and staring at you with a lustful gaze. His precum dripping and running down your shoulder while you fucked yourself in front of the mirror. You looked at the camera, which had been recording all along.

You avert your eyes, humiliated and flustered by your predicament. It was then that the Salesman holds your chin and turns it to the mirror while he said, "You keep your eyes on me."

It felt likes ages... but it's only been 2 minutes. Just 28 minutes to go.

When the time passed, and you were down to 2 minutes, the Salesman slaps his cock against your cheek as he says, "Look at you, baby. You're a natural. How about this, since you've been so good for me, I'll countdown. I'll count down from 10 to 0. When I get to 0, you can cum. The punishments for failing this are the same as the ones we spoke of. Now... 10... 9..."

The Salesman counts down, massaging your inner thigh and encouraging you, "Good, good. You're holding out just the way I taught you. Deep breath, in and out...yes... good job. 8...7....6....5...."

You try to steady your breathing, waiting for his permission. You briefly contract against the gun, throbbing as the vibrator sends waves of pleasure to your core. Your breaths stutter, but the Salesman slaps your inner thigh and pinches your nipple while he scolds, "Quit it, bitch! Not until I say so!" He lets out a breath, pumping himself and whispering in your ear, "There we go... slow and steady. Breathe.... 4...3...2....1...hold it...." The salesman keeps you on edge for 10 extra seconds, a few extra seconds of extrauciating pleasure, and then finally he says...

"0... congratulations, you have reached the end. Go on... you have my permission."

The gratifying euphoria of his calm but firm confirmation brought the throbbing hot sensation of you coming undone right before his very eyes. Your body ripples with pleasure as the room's pink hue highlighted the way your face contorted and relaxed from the high the Salesman had blessed you with. You could hear him let out a deep moan. That was when you felt your chest become covered in his cum. Thick ropes of his climax painted your skin and glistened from the room's atmosphere. You were both heaving, trying to calm down from the aftershocks of what had happened.

The Salesman unlocks the handcuffs that bounded you to the pole and the spreader bar. He rubs your limbs and kisses you on the head. He whispers, "You did such an amazing job, puppy. You're so good to me. I don't know what I did to get someone as sweet as you. Now then, let's play a new game. A bath game, this time. You wash me, and I'll wash you. Whoever finishes washing their partner first...hm... they can get a treat. How about it?"

You nod, giving him a shy smile while he wiped your tears. He is well aware of the intensity of this scene. Especially with the gunplay, you never did that before. While he doesn't know what you two are exactly, he does know that he, much to his surprise, gets concerned for you. He doesn't know why, but he seems to enjoy looking out for you.

He stretches your body, rubbing away the aches that remained from your games. He then wraps his arm around your shoulder, and carefully takes you to the bathroom.

In a quiet room, the hot water splashes while your chest presses against his. Despite the grey area in the relationship, you had to admit, it is pretty intimate. Even he thought the same. He is so used to having an empty house, and this aftercare after every session was causing something to change within him...

Whatever the case may be, the Salesman holds you close and speaks softly,

"You know... I could get used to this..."

[iheartuwu]

fuck it, i love you — leon s. kennedy

tags. afab!reader, fwb dynamic, (brief) smut wc. 0.5k

Leon Kennedy quietly concludes that he should shut the fuck up for the rest of his life. He knows that whatever happens from this point on, there’s no bullshitting his way through the uncomfortable stench of truth that’s begun to permeate the air.

Through panting breaths and half lidded eyes you watch him tug the covers over your bodies the way he always does when you’re finished, but this time he avoids any additional contact, careful not to touch you as he shifts away from you. His head hits the cold pillow, tight lipped and tense, a hand rising to rub drowsily at his face. No playful remarks on his performance. No peppered kisses. Not even a goodnight. You try not to let this bother you, but it does.

Leon feels you watching him and his skin starts to itch with unease. His gaze is fixed on the ceiling, grateful for the darkness that deprives your sights of further examining him. His mind is racing. Fuck off to some foreign country or place in need of his handgun because there’s always somewhere he can be sent. Or, bury himself in paperwork, the endless pile is already waiting for him at the office. Anything to keep him busy and out of reach. Anything that frees you from him. Both solid plans, truly. Emergency escapes have always been his forte. He can already sense you slipping away from him, can already feel himself becoming a distant memory to you. Can already hear the speech you’ll give him, the delicate cadence of your voice infesting his mind in soft echoes. You’re probably reciting it already in your head right now, going over the main points slathered with verbal softeners you’ll apply when you tell him you don’t reciprocate. You were always better with words than he ever was anyway. Nicer, too. At least there’s the comfort in knowing you’ll let him off easy.

Understandably, silence consumes you. It’s strange how quiet the room has become, how a moment ago the sounds of your moans and the skin to skin contact filled the room, the lingering memory still fresh in your mind. How he cupped your cheek with a softness that was so unfamiliar to him it made his fingers tremble as he pressed his lips to your forehead, your warmed skin responsive to every touch. The weight of his body on top of yours, the way his thrusts become less calculated when he’s about to cum and—

“I love you.” He says.

His lips crashing into yours before you could even register the words that hung in the air. His kiss: hot, needy, overwhelming, desperate to cease any space that existed between you, soothed by the whimpers that fled your tongue. Nails raking across his back as you clenched around him.

Cowardice settles in the pit of your stomach and crawls its way to barricade your throat. You swallow it away, shift yourself under the covers to nestle against him, feel his tense muscles flare when your hand plants onto his chest. You can feel his heartbeat pump beneath your palm, can hear the intake of his breath as you draw closer to rest your head on his shoulder. You can hardly hear yourself speak when you do.

“I love you too, Leon.”

[writers-potion]

Fight Scenes Involving Disabled Characters

This was inspired by a comment on one of my eariler posts by @rubyjewelqueen!

Level of Fighting Involved

Depending on the condition your character has, you'll want to adjust how physically strenuous the fight scenes are going to be. This can be done by:

Giving your disabled character a partner who'll take the worst of the fighting while the disabled character does what they can.

Giving them a partner/team they can call if they're in danger, which means they'll just have to hold on until backup comes.

Using the geographic location to limit the kind of attacks the opponent can launch.

Providing your disabled character with cool weapons (if you're writing sci-fi or fantasy, magical weapons are also an option)

Think about your character's capabilities:

Loss or Deformity of Limbs can be overcome by targeted physical training to make most of existing body parts, plus synthetic limbs if that's an option.

Muscular Dystrophy allows low-intensity exercises like walking and swimming. Your character might need breathing assistance as respiratory muscles weaken which means they won't be doing much sprinting. Braces/mobility aids needed.

Neuro Musculo Disability where there are no physical deformities but an inability to to perform controlled movements can plausibly be overcome with physical training and inventing new ways to grip and swing weapons meant for able people.

Conditions that affect one's energy and strength like CFS/POTS will be able to defend themselves quite well, but probably only for like 3-5 minutes before they need to recover for days. A rush of adrenaline and extreme anxiety will help them fight quite intensely, but you'll have to consider how much training they can get with their condition. Martial art skills that need hours of practice may be out of reach for them.

Weapons

The possibilities here are endless. Feel free to invent, or use everyday items as weapons. Just to list some common ones:

Canes, hiking poles, blades hidden in boots & at the end of walking sticks, hooked canes, T-bar cane, crutches

Self-defense items like pepper spray, stun guns, personal alarms

Daggers and light blades rather than swords, chakras they can throw around

Prosthetic can be used as weapons in dire circumstances. Your character may regret it afterwards.

handguns.

Adaptive Martial Arts

With more than 180 types and martial arts styles practiced worldwide, it’s nearly impossible to define a blanket answer to inclusion. But adaptive martial arts aim to help disabled people build physical strength.

Have a martial arts guru who is disabled themselves, and teach your hero how to fight.

Pick the martial arts that doesn't emphasize a particular skill your character doesn't have. For example, karate/kickboxing/ taekwondo emphasizes kicking which won't be possible for someone on a wheelchair. Might be better to avoid ones that involve lots of grappling. Jujitsu seems quite adaptable.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* . ───

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[mrsparrasblog]

Mission save the human race Pt1.

Pt2

2090 Days since it happened since your life changed completely. You can still remember the day of the outburst like it was yesterday. You were stuck performing an appendectomy on a five-year-old, and then there were shots – the military evacuating us. You didn't take it seriously at that time; thought it would be like every pandemic, and there would be a cure soon. But after weeks spent with your family in a military camp, you knew it was nothing like this. You remembered how the military shot women who even got near to a zombie – too much of a risk that they could get infected. The irony of the whole thing was that women were the carriers of this unknown virus, while men only turned when they got bitten. Women turned by a simple scratch of a zombie, or when they died of any cause, they would turn in a glimpse of a second into these brainless creatures.

After it went completely downhill and more healthy people got shot without any remorse, your dad, brother, and you tried to flee out of the military base, resulting in your dad and brother getting shot, screaming you should just take their gun and leave as fast as possible. You never felt more remorse than leaving their corpses behind, but you had more than enough years to mourn them and pray for forgiveness. On the way to a safe place, you noticed small details, weird details. You got scratched, even bitten on the way, expecting to fully turn into a brainless monster – but you didn't, and to this date, you didn't know why. Well, there wouldn't be a lab anymore to find out anyway, so you just accepted it as a blessing first. But after a while, you learned the true curse of living in this shithole.

The survivors were scarier than the zombies and almost as inhuman as them – while most didn't try to hurt you since a surgeon always could get handsy in a zombie apocalypse, you still saw the horrors of self-proclaimed "Leaders" who killed in the most inhumane way just to prove their dominance. They weren't better than animals. You saw how different groups tried to start wars with each other to win resources and territory. There was still enough place and enough resources in the world for both of them to survive, so it was just a power play. If you had had a say in this, you would have tried everything to start a civilization with many people trying to rebuild humanity with strong people as guards, people farming, and people working in the infirmary, but no one ever listened to you. Why should they, as the Apocalypse proceeded, the hatred of women got only worse – "The reason for the apocalypse," resulting in women getting used, tortured, and raped if they weren't useful in other ways, and you thanked every day your mother who practically forced you to study medicine instead of law.

After months, you finally had enough and ran away from the camp – not tolerating the inhumane ways. You wondered if you were the inhuman one for leaving people there who you could have healed if you had stayed, but sometimes you needed to be egoistical, and you at least tried to stay as innocent as possible through the apocalypse. You lost everything but not your good heart which made you incredibly proud of yourself.

You didn't know how you survived this. You didn't have a particular skill set; sure, you were a pediatric surgeon before all of this, you were capable, you were smart, which probably led you to survive. But you weren't something that was of use like a soldier or police officer. God, before this Apocalypse, you didn't even carry your groceries to your apartment. You were screwed but somehow you still survived, with your one handgun that you nicked off the corpse of your dead dad. The irony was you didn't even use it in three years; you never used your gun – god, did you even know how to use it? You highly doubted it.

You claimed yourself a small cottage in the forest. It wasn't much but pretty well-hidden, and you built-in safety measurements so no walker could surprise you by night. You lived in a shithole but at least in a comfortable manner. The house had three small bedrooms, a kitchen with a tiled stove, a fireplace, a water source, and enough space outside so you could grow all sorts of vegetables and fruits. Pumpkins, potatoes, cucumbers, tomatoes, strawberries, and raspberries highlight your perfect garden. You even had some apple and cherry trees you took great pride in. Before all started, you couldn't say you were good at gardening; even your cactus didn't survive the neglect you put them through – but you used all your remaining time learning about farming and providing for yourself, growing plants you can use as medication. In your imagination, you would somehow manage to have some chickens and cows, but you knew it would draw way too much attention, and you liked your hidden lifestyle way too much for this to happen. You were quite naive; you thought this would stay this way until-.

You heard sounds from your garden – nothing unusual since some local animals came and tried to steal a carrot or two, but then the sounds of multiple men echoed.

"Fuck."

They blundered in weird ways, talking about finding a safe place and raiding something. You ran upstairs, grabbed your handgun, and hid in the closet.

"Fuck, here isn't anything useful," a man with a hoarse voice and a British accent cursed all my cabins violently.

"Johnny, you will get through this; you won't die on me," a man said with a worried voice.

"He has a fucking bullet in his shoulder; how can he fucking survive this?" A bullet in his shoulder, probably not gone through. If it didn't hit anything major, his survival rate would be 80% in a normal world, depending on the material of the bullet; he could survive or die. If it's lead and stays inside his body, he will be dead in at least 4 days from lead poisoning. If the wound isn't properly cleaned – blood poisoning. If they take it out of him and don't properly sew him – death. This man hasn't a high chance of surviving. You could at least triple the chance of his survival, but if you get out there, you would probably lose the chance of survival by several digits. Your morale was high; you swore an oath to help every human you were capable of saving, but was it worth more than your own life?

"Shut the fuck up," the worried man screamed at the other.

You decided to stay in the closet, a choice you'd later regret, your lack of courage weighing on you as survival seemed uncertain. Tears slowly started to fall from your eyes, running against your soft rosy cheeks. Your handgun was clutched tightly in your sweaty palms, your breath trembling from pure horror, convinced that today might be your last.

With a sudden grunt, the closet door swung open. Before you stood four imposing men, each holding big machine guns, and a fifth man, held by another, similarly armed.

In front of you was a middle-aged man with brown hair, a fishing hat atop his head, and the most amazing blue eyes you had ever seen. He was tall and muscular, with a well-groomed beard for an apocalypse. Handsome and scary simultaneously.

The second man was one of the most attractive individuals you'd ever laid eyes on. He had brown-golden skin, trusting brown eyes, and a cap perched on his head. His gaze held a mix of awe and confusion as he looked at you.

The third man was colossal, ripped with muscles, and possibly the tallest person you'd encountered. He sported a blonde buzz cut and blue eyes that glowed red, giving him an intimidating aura. With an unhealed scar across his eyes and some stubles, he probably was incapable of growing a beard because of the scar tissue.

The fourth man looked similar to the one with the fishing hat; the only difference was his dirty blonde hair and tattoo sleeves. You noticed the prosthetic leg and wondered whether it had been dealt with properly – you sure as hell could help him too.

The last one was the man who got shot, and held by the scary men. He was the shortest of the group but still taller than you by several inches. His hair was in a funny mohawk, and he was ripped – not a bit; he was built like a fucking powerhouse. You couldn't shake the thought away that if you had known him through med school, learning anatomy would have been different – all those muscles – focus.

You thought that your potential killers were all good-looking, each in different ways. Despite this, you still pointed your gun at them, and they held their machine guns at you.

"A woman – I thought they were all dead," the man with the cap said, making you curious. All dead? When you last left your forest two years ago, there weren't many women, but there were still some out there.

You gathered all your remaining courage, shaking as you said, "Leave me alone, or I shoot." They laughed at you. Okay, they had more people and bigger guns, but you could still harm at least one of them.

"Oh, dove, your gun is still secured," the man with the fishing hat said, trying to hold out a laugh.

You tried to fidget with your gun, but you didn't know how to unsecure it. So, you just lowered it and held your hands up in the air.

"We don't have time for this shit. Knock her out or something; we need to fucking save Johnny," the scary man said, sending shivers down your spine out of fear.

"If you don't kill me, I'll save your friend." Win-win situation; you'll survive, and your morals are saved.

"Shut the fuck up. How could a stupid girl who can't even use a gun save him?" the scary man screamed. You were sure that he had a special bond with this Johnny, sure as hell best friends or lovers by how he acted.

"I'm a surgeon; I can remove the bullet," you said.

"You're a surgeon?" the tattoo man asked in disbelief at your claim.

"Which field?" the scary man asked you.

"Uhm, I was a pediatric surgeon."

"Does he look like a fucking child to you?"

"Simon, we don't have much choice. It's better than nothing; he will die if we don't do anything," Fisher hat man tried to convince Simon.

Simon agreed. "What do you need?"

You were afraid to be a bit rusty, but you'll make it. "Okay, one of you will bring me as much water as he can gather, one needs to guard the door. I don't need any interruptions in my surgery. One needs to stay in the room; this will hurt as hell without proper numbing. My surgical equipment is in the closet by the bathroom, as well as the medication I produced. You need to tie him to the bed; I don't know how, and I don't care, as long as he doesn't try to kill me while I try to fix his shoulder, and I need a promise that I won't be killed if he doesn't survive."

"Yes, ma'am," the tattoo guy said and was on his way. All the men worked efficiently, making you wonder if they had some military background since they listened better than my old residents, at least.

The man who introduced himself as Kyle - by the way, the only one who introduced himself to you - tied Johnny to the bed. Everything was now prepared, and you tried to make this place as sterile as possible.

You sat down on Johnny since you couldn't stand properly by the bed for the surgery and had the advantage of holding him down with your body weight.

"Hey Johnny, this will hurt a bit, okay, but you need to be strong, okay?" You talked to him like with your child patients, but that didn't matter right now. Right now, it mattered to save him.

Johnny spoke completely drowsy from the pain, "Am I deid, Lt? Or how come dae I see an angel oan tap o' me?" You chuckled; even in pain, you noticed that that man was a total flirt.

"Shut up, Johnny, and survive," Simon said.

"Love ya, Lt."

"I love you too, idiot." You were right in your thoughts; they were indeed a couple and a handsome one. You couldn't shake the feeling away, though, that he probably would kill you in the most vicious way if Johnny didn't survive.

You slid your scalpel through him and started the surgery after at least six terrible hours of fear and exhaustion; you were finished; you saved him. You were a bit envious of Johnny; Simon stayed the whole time by his side without being grossed out or yawning for a second; they loved each other. You never experienced that kind of love and never will...

Now he only needs to survive the aftermath of the surgery, which will be harder for his body than the actual surgery since the adrenaline wore off. You were glad that you were able to nick some antibiotics and real medication from a nearby emergency station. You were always better safe than sorry.

You removed the blood from yourself and washed yourself with cold water, which felt like an eternity till you pronounced yourself clean enough. You put on some cozy clothing and walked to the living room where three men sat sandwiched on the small couch. Simon stayed by Johnny.

You planted yourself across from them and looked at them until Fisher Man Hat spoke.

"Thank you for saving our man; I'm John, by the way."

"Alex."

"Well, you already know my name; how can we call you?" Kyle asked you.

"Uhm, everyone always called me Dr. Angel, since the kiddies compared me to one," you replied, telling them the truth.

"Beautiful nickname for a beautiful woman," John said.

You couldn't hide a blush, and Kyle asked you how it came that you lived alone. You explained your life story without boring them for one second.

"Tell me something about the six of you."

"Uhm, we were special forces back in the days before everything went downhill. We protected some scientists who worked on a cure, but they didn't make it and died in one of their experiments. We are originally seven, but the other two are on a raid right now for our camp. I know we probably scare you, but if you want to, you can stay with us, no strings attached. We know how humanity changed, and being the only woman alive makes it even scarier, but we will protect you since you saved one of our own," John explained. You were still confused, only woman alive? How is this possible? Well, you were immune to the virus, but you didn't need to tell them right now since this would make you even more vulnerable.

"Only woman alive?"

"Yes, dove, the woman's got instinct with them, the human race." You gulped; your moral codex spoke to you again. Shouldn't you prevent that from happening? Or is this nature's plan? You didn't want to think about it further.

"Does anyone of you want to eat something? I'm starving," you exclaimed, trying to change the subject to something less uncomfortable.

"You don't have to feed us; you already did enough," Kyle said.

"Nonsense! I'm hungry, and I have more than enough vegetables to feed a whole army," you protested and walked towards your kitchen. You took out the preserved tomatoes and potatoes and wanted to slice them, but a tall figure already removed your knife from your hands.

"Let me help; it's the least thing I can do after you did so much for us," Alex said and started to slice the vegetables while you tried to heat your pot. The other two put plates on your small kitchen table, making it feel incredibly domestic for you. They looked like husbands caring for their wives, and you wanted to shake out the thoughts in your head. You were just underfucked from the whole apocalypse, but deep down, you knew they did something to you, made you feel a tight knot in your stomach.

You took one portion up to Simon, who still gathered around Johnny's bed. With a sudden movement, the tall man hugged you tight, almost crushing you with his sheer strength.

"Thank you for saving him and sorry for being mean to you."

"I understand; I'd do the same if someone I dearly loved would be injured in this hell of a life," he tried to pull a smile at my words. "Here's some hot food, and give Johnny his antibiotics in an hour, okay?"

"Hot food? I haven't had that since forever."

I laughed, "Get used to it, big boy." He raised a brow but didn't question it.

You went downstairs and saw the men laughing while waiting for you like true gentlemen. Kyle blushed a bit when you came down, and they instantly stopped their talk. You asked yourself what they talked about, maybe something that would be dangerous. They ate like starved men and told you how long they didn't have anything warm in their bellies, making you realize how lucky you were in your cottage with your grown food. The only thing you were missing was someone to warm your bed—stop it, you said to your inner thoughts.

You gave the remaining boys some blankets and showed them enough places to sleep, and as they didn't mind sharing, everything went perfectly. Alex took the patrol for the night, telling you it needed to be done even if you never patrolled for the last two years. The other men called you naive for it. You checked one time on Johnny if he had a fever or anything like that, but to your luck, he was fine, still asleep and high on medication. Simon slept beside him, and you couldn't stop yourself from putting a blanket on top of him. He deserved the comfort after taking care of his boyfriend that way.

John walked you down to your room, talking a bit to you, which gave you more comfort than you wanted to admit. You were a human after all, and humans missed humans when they lived two years in isolation to survive.

"Did you ever think about what it means for you to be the only woman alive?" he asked you.

"It's pretty weird to think about it."

"Kinda."

"I guess the human race will go extinct then."

"There are ways if you decide to—you know, save the planet and everything. You seem like a girl who always wants to do the right thing."

"You mean getting pregnant?"

"Exactly, saving the human race and everything."

"Would it be selfish if I let it die?"

"A bit, but it's your choice. I will always protect you from everyone who wants to take advantage of you. You're part of the team now."

"And what if I decide to want to save it?"

His eyes lit up. "Then, of course, I'd support you, like every man on this team. I think most of my boys wouldn't be repulsed by helping you to reach this goal." You blushed hard. Did he just tell you—shit.

"And what about you, John?"

"I'd be more than willing to participate. You're incredibly looking, dove, and I'm just a man behind all this."

"I'll think about it," but you couldn't shake away the feeling of them—you could have all of them.

"Take your time, dove." He kissed you on your rosy cheek and left you completely crazy alone with your thoughts. It was too long ago, and you felt the familiar feeling building up inside of you. Fuck it, you thought and decided to speak with them about it tomorrow. You're a good person after all, right? And that's what a good person does?

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Price takes Nikolai to a gig and gets more than he bargained for.

cw: sexual content towards the end.

Price stood on the outskirts in the standing area of Liverpool's Olympia stadium tracing back the decisions that had led him to this moment. He clutched half a pint of the worst lager he had ever tasted in one hand, his fingers bending the plastic inwards under a tense grip, while the other hand remained deep in the pocket of his jeans, turning his flat keys over and over.

Nik had thrown the flyer down on his desk about a month ago, and those big brown eyes had been turned onto their pleading setting immediately. Laswell likened them to the eyes of her barrel-shaped black Labrador; big, loyal, soft, irresistible. Price had asked her whether her wife knew there would soon be a third in their marriage and she'd thumped his arm hard enough to leave a mark. "Liverpool, this is where you live," Nik had said, stating rather than asking. "Can you help me book this?"

Nikolai could fix you a handgun in Liverpool no problem, replete with silencer and enough hollow point ammunition to create a very bad night for the Merseyside police force, but booking and attending a gig was apparently too much. Price had snagged up the flyer, squinted at the band name as if he had a chance in hell of recognising it, and then agreed.

Because why the fuck not? Brass were pressuring him to book some leave so they could tick the 'monitoring mental health and well being' box on his performance management, so it was as good excuse as any. You can kip on my sofa, he'd said, I can cook a better sarnie than the Premier Inn.

Nik's entire face had lit up. "Good! And you can come with me," a single beat of breath, "or I might get lost." There has been no time to argue the point because Garrick had knocked and entered, only to be scooped into a hug with a boomed, "Gaz, my brother, good to see you!" and the Russian-shaped whirlwind had disappeared.

So Price had done just that. He'd booked two tickets at the same time as his annual leave - three days should get them off his back - and put it out of his mind.

Not that there would have been much time to mull it over; they shipped out on a week long recon mission the following day, and the fallout that followed had taken up the rest of the time. Before he knew it, he was sitting on the train with Nik opposite, watching the British countryside sprint by in a blur of green and grey, drinking a beer and playing cards.

Being around Nik was easy. It wasn't just that he didn't take up energy to entertain, or require a certain mask from Price, it was more than that. Like he slotted into a part of Price's psyche built precisely for him, and Price felt happier when he was there. Laswell said it was like Nik removed the stick from Price's arse as part of his exfil service and Price had told Laswell to fuck off.

They had spent the afternoon mooching around Price's gaff. Not much to see really, but Nik had been fascinated by the dusty family photos on Price's wall and asked after every face; mother, father, sister, two nieces, a nephew, grandparents. He'd wanted to know about them all.

Then, with an hour and a half to go before Olympia's doors opened, they'd got changed for the evening. Price had thrown on the only shirt he owned that didn't come from the bargain bin of a Mountain Warehouse or the Army Surplus catalogue - a Ralph Lauren his sister has bought him one Christmas instead of the much preferred fishing-themed memorabilia - and stepped out to be confronted by Nik in a Slayer cut off tank that showed off the sides of his torso in a way that made Price feel hot under his designer collar.

"You look," Nik had said, studying Price carefully, head tilting to the side with a wry little smirk, "ill-prepared."

"And you look like Ozzy Osbourne took some steroids so I reckon it evens out." Nik had laughed at that and thumped Price's chest, and in the next moment they were sitting in the back of a taxi, Nik talking through the set list with the same excited gusto he did when pawing over a new bird in the hanger. Price was just glad he had remembered his Loop earplugs and couldn't help but smile along at Nik's excitement.

After drinking together through the support band and watching Nik grow gradually more and more restless, Price had sent him into the pit. He stood watching Nik from afar - "your shirt is too nice, captain, you stay here and finish your beer, I'll be back," - a man ten years his senior, orchestrate what the lead singer was calling a Wall of Death. More, more, further. Don't be a pussy! And then they sprinted at each other to the crescendo of a shredding guitar. Jesus fucking christ. Price lifted his lager to drink and then hesitated; he was pretty sure he'd felt something wet slosh over his face and shoulders, into his drink, and he couldn't be sure it wasn't piss, so he put his inordinately expensive and shit lager down on the nearby bar.

The last gig he had been to was at fifteen, a year before he joined the service. 3rd November 2000 at Wembley in London; the Smashing Pumpkins. He remembered it so clearly because of the hiding his father had given him for not only hitchhiking his way to London, but stumbling home off his head on cheap vodka the morning after. There hadn't been any Walls of Death at the time.

Nik stumbled out of the melee that had followed the wall's demise just as the song ended, and a line formed down the centre of Price's brow. A knot twisted in his belly, and a little further down, at the lumbering mess of a man that approached. His tank clung to the curves of his chest, darkened with sweat, his usually neat hair ruffled and erratic, the sheen on his arms and collar bones reflecting the strobe lights and drawing Price's eye. A shiver of something that felt far too fucking much like longing ran down his spine.

"You're bleeding," Price said dumbly, his throat tight. His gaze settled on the split in Nik's lip and the blossoming bruise on his cheekbone.

"Eh," Nik huffed, wiping a smear of blood on the back of his hand. "The other guy looks worse." There was that feral little grin. The same grin Nikolai wore in the field when shit had gone Pete Tong but they had still come up golden through sheer grit, dumb luck and the precise application of violent savagery. It set a fire in Price's chest, made something feral and untamed rouse from slumber, and suddenly there was an itch beneath his skin.

"Damn fuckin' right," Price replied, reflecting Nik's grin back at him. A breath passed between them, something unspoken and wild as their eyes met. And then there was a strong hand gripping his jaw, another on his hip, pushing him into the wall behind him. His back hit home, knocking the air from his lungs, and his fists bunched in the sweat-soaked material of Nik's shirt as Nik's lips pushed to his. The coppery taste of blood mixed with cheap beer and cigar smoke, and every sane thought fell out of Price's head, replaced instead by a maelstrom of chaos centered around the feel of Nik's tongue, the softness of his lips, the demand of his teeth and the rock hard bulge that ground into Price's hips.

Price was sure his moan would have been audible but for the thump and scream of the music. Nik kept that grip on his jaw as he damn near plundered Price's mouth for what he wanted, but the other hand left his hip to push against the wall, clenched in a fist near Price's head. When they pulled apart, Price sucked in a strangled gasp of air and Nik pushed his face into the scruff of Price's beard. "Ty prekrasen," Nik breathed, "ya tebya hochu."

Price had been practicing Russian. He still couldn't read it, but even if he hadn't understood the words or the low growl in Nik's voice, the hunger in Nik's kiss on his neck would have communicated his meaning just fine. "Bloody hell," Price arched against the hard line of Nik's body, fists shaking. "Yeah. Fuck. Wait..." He shoved Nik away, just a fraction, but held onto his shirt with the same desperation. Caught in the conflict between what he wanted and another part of him that had been wounded once before. "I'm not your three a.m. shag, Nik. We clear? I don't do that. If this is--if this is what this is, then no, look at me, you hear?"

Nik let out a burst of a chuckle, eyes soft as he met Price's gaze. "John, you are and always will be my everything." He was drunk enough to struggle around the 'J' in Price's name, defaulting the zsho- inflection, but his eyes were clear as he said it.

"Fuck," Price responded, eyes wide, and Nik kissed him again, slower this time. When he stopped, Price was shaking.

"And you?" Nik breathed into his lips.

"Not here, not... I can't hear myself fucking think."

"Then home." Nik pulled him from the wall and soon they were navigating the corridors crowded with drunks and staff into the night. The cool air bristled over Price's skin, but it did little to cool the heat in his body, barely able to keep his hands off of Nik when they fell into the back of the cab. Nik sat contentedly, the backs of his fingers stroking up and down Price's forearm as he watched the city speed by.

Price's hands shook as he shoved the key in the door of his flat, and he turned just in time to be crowded across the threshold by Nik's chest. The door slammed shut and they tumbled onto the beaten up old sofa padded out with a spare duvet and pillow. Nik tore into Price's clothes remorselessly, thirty-ish quids worth of buttons skittered under Price's coffee table as the shirt was k.i.a. It didn't matter, because the feeling of Nik devouring his chest, scrubbing his stubble into sweat, hair and cologne with a deep, guttural groan, was worth every shirt Price owned and then some.

They fumbled and wrestled out of their clothes in search of skin. Nik worked his way down Price's body, wrenching his jeans and boxers over his thighs to lick a long stripe up the hard line of his prick before swallowing it in one. A strangled noise broke from Price's chest as he buried a fist in Nik's hair; the responding moan that vibrated in Nik's throat sent pleasure licking up Price's spine like tongues of flame. Nik kept him teetering on the brink, pulling away with a soft pop to work his way back up Price's body and squirm out of the baggy cargo shorts far enough to free his own cock. He took them both in one big hand and rutted forward, grabbing at the arm of the sofa behind Price's head for purchase.

Slicked by their precum and Nik's saliva, Nik fucked them both into his palm with enough pace and force to make the old sofa creak. He leaned down to kiss the moans and whimpers from Price's mouth in between growled pants of want, slipping in and out of Russian, English and some of the other eight languages he knew, like his brain had short-circuited and was spinning out. Fuckin' hot, is what it was. One of Price's hands joined Nik's, if only to feel the silky iron of his prick against another part of him. He squeezed tighter as his pleasure crested, balls pulling tight, and spilled between them.

Nik practically fucking purred with delight, thrusting against Price's spent cock until he grunted in discomfort before pulling away. No fucking way Price was letting him keep the upper hand; he snagged Nik's shorts and used them to yank him up until Nik's cum-slick cock hung over his face. His palm gripping one plentiful arse cheek, he sucked Nik into the back of his mouth, encouraging him to thrust in with a firm squeeze and low growl.

If Price had thought Nik had been loud before, the act of fucking Price's face had unearthed a whole new vocal range. Nik moaned, growled and panted like an animal, fisting Price's hair as his balls settled against the bristles on Price's chin. Price's throat spasmed, his chest ached, his damn eyes watered, but fuck he wanted Nik buried in him forever. His fingernails bit into the flesh of his arse, his spent cock flicking with interest across his belly, as Nik staked his claim. It took only a handful of deep thrusts before Nik hit his peak, buried to the hilt and spilling down Price's throat with a euphoric shout.

His grip loosened in Price's hair and he withdrew slowly, cock still twitching as it drew over Price's tongue. He replaced his prick with his mouth, kissing the taste of himself on Price's swollen lips with a bone deep moan, before lapping at the tear tracks on Price's cheeks.

At some point, Nik must have moved them to the bed, because Price resurfaced from his haze with his face on a thick, furry chest and a strong arm around his shoulders, the bedsheets draped up to their waist. Nik traced vague circles on Price's bicep, half lidded eyes unfocused as they stared at the ceiling. "I meant it," Nik said, clearly sensing Price's return from his post-fuck delirium. "Everything I said."

Price swallowed hard. How did you respond to that? Nothing in his life so far had prepared him for Nik's devotion. "I know," he murmured. "I... Me too. For a long time."

Nik shifted, rolling Price onto his back so he could look down into his eyes. "Then we make it work."

"Nik... Our lives, we... Shit could go upside down real bloody quick."

A finger pressed over his lips. "I specialise in upside down, captain."

"You just put your prick in my throat and you're still going with captain."

Nik shrugged, lopsided grin slipping back into place. "It is hot. Maybe I will fuck you in your uniform next time, hm?"

"Presumptuous, Nik..."

"Maybe over your desk." Nik sank down to kiss Price's neck.

"Cleaning lady would have somethin' to say about that."

"She is not invited. I do not share." A nip against his throat, and Price arched into Nik's chest.

"Fuck, okay... Mate, you're rabid."

"Hm, only for you."

Fuck. Only for you. Price closed his eyes as Nik's hand slid beneath the blanket. Yeah, fine, they could make this work. They could have this. They deserved it, this one thing, and fuck did Price want it bad.

[blubushie]

biggest pet peeve in sniper art?

Oh boy. A few of these actually. (I'm assuming you mean Sniper TF2 and not general snipers in art...)

Under the cut cuz it's long.

His rifle drawn improperly. The anatomy is very simple and if necessarily, just reference instead of butchering it—even if you're doing realistic art, he uses a Remington 700, and there's more than enough reference photos online for the most popular sporting rifle ever sold. I've seen people draw it like a handgun. On a similar note–

Him shouldering his rifle incorrectly. Or just handling it incorrectly in general. Rifle slots in just above the armpit—when your stretch your dominant arm forward while leaning in and bracing your muscles, it forms a pocket at the shoulder just above your armpit between the head of your humerus and your pectoral muscle. This creates a firm pocket that the butt of a rifle will slot into. If it's not in this pocket, you're gonna have a bad time.

Using the wrong arm to support the rifle vs handle the trigger. I've seen horrors. While Sniper is implied to be ambidextrous, he shoots right-handed. This means the rifle slots on his RIGHT shoulder, and his RIGHT trigger finger is on the trigger. His LEFT HAND is used to support the weight of the rifle at the forestock. On a similar note–

Ambidextrous Sniper is cool and I love seeing left-handed Sniper when it's done properly. Downside—his right eye is his dominant eye, so unless his right hand is injured in a way that he can't pull a trigger with that hand, he would not be shooting left-handed.

Speaking of dominant eyes—you look down the scope with your dominant eye. The eye NOT looking down the scope is called your off-eye. YOU DO NOT CLOSE YOUR OFF-EYE WHEN SHOOTING. OFF-EYE STAYS OPEN. Firstly it's for safety, because if your off-eye is closed you can't see what's happening in your immediate vicinity. Two, it's for performance. You can't change targets as easily with your off-eye closed. Any sniper worth his salt, especially a professional, is keeping his off-eye open. This is hunting 101 and something Sniper, former outback hunter of dangerous game, would know and practise religiously.

Speaking of scopes—eye relief. You do not put your face right up to the scope. There should be 10cm or about 4 inches between your face and the scope. Otherwise when you fire you're going to get a black eye when the recoil makes the scope hit you in the face. You'll take your eye out, kid.

People who draw him with his comics hair and call that a mullet. Almost none of you know what a mullet it. A little tuft of hair at the nape of the neck isn't a mullet! Those who give him an actual mullet when you say that shit, I love you

People who draw his scars incorrectly. They make them look fresh—with the sutures still present. Sutures aren't permanent and are removed after a week to a few weeks, depending on healing and how deep the wound is. Once SCARRED he wouldn't have horizontal lines through the scars. He'd just have long scars and dotted scars alongside where the sutures used to be. And looking at my own scars, in most places you can't see the dotting from the sutures since the holes heal easy and don't often scar.

Skinny twiggy Sniper that looks like he's about to drop dead of malnutrition. Have you not read the comics? Do you not know what lean, functional muscle looks like? Fuck's sake.

Ok reckon that's all of them for now.

[kipsbat]

Facts about Kipland Kinkel

"Detective Pam McComas was one of the first to arrive at the Kinkel home on May 21. She testified about what she saw there. The bodies of both Faith and Bill Kinkel were covered in sheets, Bill locked in the bathroom, Faith in the garage. Bill had a single bullet wound behind his right ear, and Faith had five separate bullet wounds to the head, and one in her chest. Five bullets were lodged in her brain, and one in her heart. The soundtrack to the movie "Romeo and Juliet" was in the CD player, set to continuous play. " Kipland kinkel was born at PeaceHealth Sacred Heart Medical Center University District in Eugene Oregon on August 30th 1982. His older sister, Kristin, was born on December 22nd 1976, making her 6 years older than Kip. "In addition to the newspaper, which looked as though Kip had read it after killing his parents, McComas presented other evidence suggesting that Kip had been lucid and rational after he killed Bill and Faith: a recently used cereal bowl and forensic evidence showing that Kip had cleaned up blood from the murder scene."

In early Elementary school, 2nd-4th grade, Kip was being screened for a learning disability. His 2nd grade teacher reported that "Kip was an average student with no disciplinary problems, though written language caused him great fustration." He scored low on the motor/hand skill test when being screened, and had problems with spelling even his own name. "She observed him during the 25 minute spelling test, and saw that although he worked unusually diligently for his age, he had difficulty spelling even his own last name, and his level of frustration and anxiety was abnormally high." The boy qualified for special education in the 3rd grade, but he exceled math. Kipland was eventually diagnosed with Dyslexia & ADHD in the 4th grade but was in the Talented and Gifted program because of his above-average performance in science and math.

"86-87 The Kinkels went to Spain for the school year. Kristin, although in 5th grade, was placed into a 3rd grade class as it was the only class where the teacher spoke English. Kip went into his first year of school with a teacher who only spoke Spanish. Kristin remembered this as a difficult time for Kip. 89-90 After discussions with teachers, the Kinkels decided to hold Kip back in school for a year. According to court testimony, Kip's parents and teachers felt that Kip lacked maturity and had slow emotional and physical development." He had auburn (Dark ginger) hair, blue eyes, and freckles. Kip was commonly known as a "Shy & quiet kid" but also quite hyperactive in his early years. "But the child nicknamed "Kipper" was a handful. From the start, he was difficult — insecure, extremely sensitive and hyper. His early years were rife with temper tantrums and fits for attention." "found in Kip's room were an extensive collection of knives, several books containing instructions on making explosives, some chemicals, a sawed off shotgun and a handgun. Among his things there was a picture of the Thurston High football team with one member's face circled in black electrical tape, and the word "kill" written beside it. Bomb squad members found explosive materials and partially assembled bombs in the crawl space under the Kinkel house."

Kip was bullied for being smaller than other kids, giving him an insecurity of it. It didnt help that he was already sensitive and emotional, so his parents put him in karate classes to make him feel better at 6-7 years old. "He did this weird thing when he watched TV," said Kasey, who often watched cartoons such as "Tailspin" and "Rescue Rangers" with Kip. "He'd turn his head to the side and roll his eyes back at the TV. I'd ask him, 'Doesn't it hurt your eyes?' I don't know why he did it."

By the time Kipland entered middle school, his behavioral issues would be clearer. He'd boast about hurting animals- shooting birds, squirrels, and cats.

?Playful and inquisitive, Kip could not sit still. He'd spend hours outside in the woods behind his home — scrounging around in the dirt, catching frogs, putting salt on slugs to watch them squirm. Often, he pretended he was a popular action figure, such as Spiderman or a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle. Once, he thrust a stick into a wasps' nest; the wasps swarmed him, leaving nasty welts on his back." The people around Kip began to notice he had anger issues around the age of 12. He'd freak out in class, storming off very frequently. One day he kicked a student in the head, getting tired of being called names, teased endlessly. He was suspended for few days. The anger issues didnt end at just students, he'd torture his teachers too. "Kip was abusive to his teacher. Bill told me just what he said — he told the teacher to go fuck herself," family friend Jacobson said. "He liked to do things he wasn't supposed to do," said Steve King, a classmate. "He'd bring firecrackers, stink bombs to class. He and his friends were always talking about going out and shooting squirrels." Though Kip wasnt religious as a teenager, his parents were. This changed after the arrest, he claims he "Found god" and peace. "Kip was a lot more laid-back — whatever happens, happens," Kasey said. In late middle school he'd show depressive behaviors. His parents became concerned over his melancholy and took him to a therapist. That is where he began taking Prozac for a few months. Though despite these positive changes, Kip was still getting into trouble with the law and appearing depressed. Many family members would consider him a loner. On his 15th birthday he didnt want to do anything, this behavior concerned his mother deeply. He just wanted to be alone all the time.

His parents laid down rigid rules for Kip — limiting television to one hour a night, restricting the type and amount of candy he could eat, making sure he took a bath every night and was in bed at a certain hour."Being that they were a little bit older, and being teachers, they were probably a little more strict with him than a lot of his friends' parents were. They were not as lenient," said Rose Weir, Kasey's mom. "But if something was not permitted, he wanted it even more. So when he came over to our house, he was a TV fiend. If you did let him go, he'd just go overboard with it." Kip has always loved guns, explosives, anything violent. He loved violent movies, video games, and heavy metal bands such as: Marilyn manson (the reflective god was printed on his walls), Nine inch nails (He wore a NIN hat during the shooting), Rage against the machine, Slayer, Nirvana, and TOOL. He also liked south park, specifically Kenny. He had a hyper fixation on guns & explosive, constantly learning about the different models, recipes, and having books about the topics laying around everywhere. "an unprovoked Kip scrawled the word "K-I-L-L" in whipped cream on a friend's driveway. Kip was one of four friends Jeff Anderson invited to his house on his 15th birthday. Jeff's mother banned Kip from returning to their home." In the early 2000s a forum was created by people that showed interest in the Thurston high school shooting, most of them were either fangirls or pen-pals. There they discussed that Kip's favorite colour was black (Although in his words hes not "gothic"), and he was anxious to go to the adult prison.

In different classes, he wrote about killing people, gave a detailed speech on how to make a bomb and learned to type as he listened to one of his favorite heavy metal groups, Slayer, on headsets. In Marian Smith's speech class, Kip gave a detailed talk on "How to Make a Bomb," complete with a color-penciled drawing of an explosive attached to a clock. In his literature class later that day, he chuckled that he had gotten away with it. He had a hard time tying his shoes as a kid.

He'd write, 'If I was the ruler of this country, I'd go and bomb . . .' and sometimes it would get too graphic," classmate Cassidy Rhoden recalled. Or he'd write about "being Godzilla and walking down the street and killing everyone." Once he wrote about hurting a classmate who got on his nerves. Rowan often interrupted him as he read his work aloud. "Mr. Rowan would sometimes cut in, 'That's rude — you don't need to be saying things like that,' " classmate Tesa Manka said. "Mr. Rowan would have him rewrite it more politely." Kip would slam his books down and angrily storm out.

He played RPG and war games !

Kip brought $110 in cash to school — three weeks' worth of savings, partly earned staining his parents' deck at $5 an hour. Ewert handed Kip the gun in a paper sack; Kip placed it in a lower corner of his locker. Aaron's father, Scott Keeney, noticed his pistol missing and called the school early May 20. Kip was pulled out of his second-period study hall. As administrators searched his locker, he waited in the small office of Stone, school disciplinarian and football coach. "Coach, what's going to happen if I have the gun?" Kip asked. Stone told him the school had no tolerance for guns; he would not be able to return to school for a year. Kip dropped his head and mumbled, "Sorry, coach." "He looked up one time like he was ready to cry but sucked it in," Stone said. A police officer took Kip into the hallway, searched him, cuffed him and walked him to a cruiser parked in front of the school. As Kip and Korey were escorted out of school, Kip whispered to Korey, "They'll get theirs."

 "If you don't try, you can't fail. If you don't care, it can't hurt." -Kip kinkel

[raineandsky]

#117

tw: gun violence, murder

The hero gets out of bed, folds their sheets back the same as always, and starts their day.

They put the TV on for the background noise, but it’s far beyond that now. The hero can recite this news story word for word.

“—and what’s to say this fiend can be stopped? I’m joined here by villainy expert Joyce Peterson for a glimpse into what may be….”

The hero pulls a box out of the cupboard, throws some cereal into a bowl. The same flake as always bounces off the edge and escapes onto the floor. They eat in silence, the buzz of the TV enough to fill the space for dread in their mind, and think over their plan again.

It’s been like this for two weeks now. The same news story, the same breakfast, the same glum look on the superhero’s face when the hero walks into the agency. The same “[Hero], a word, please”, the same confession that their villain is going haywire.

The hero wants to say they���ve lost their mind. They’ve tried everything—don’t go to work, don’t talk to the superhero, don’t accept the mission they’ve been given every day for the past two weeks. Even the inconsequential stuff: don’t have breakfast, don’t turn on the TV, don’t go in through the front door. Every day has brought a new attempt to break themself out of this time loop, and so far every day has remained exactly the same.

They look up a little too early when the superhero approaches them at the door. “[Hero],” he says predictably, “a word, please.”

The same as always. The superhero ushers them into an interrogation room for lack of a better place to speak privately. They have the same conversation, the words practically rehearsed in the hero’s head like this is some fucked up theatre performance. Your villain is going off the rails, the hero thinks along with him. You need to bring this to an end before they destroy everything.

The same walk down the corridor, the same idle suit-up, the same wish of good luck from the superhero.

The hero turns to grab the same pair of cuffs before they falter, caught in instinct. They let their hand drift a little further to unlatch a handgun from the wall. Something new. Another attempt at freedom.

Not that it’ll work. It never does.

The hero goes out there to face the villain, as always. They laugh at the hero’s presence, throw themself into the same grand monologue. The hero points their gun at the villain and, without a thought in the world, pulls the trigger.

Killing people is a lot easier than trying to catch them. The hero’s never wanted to kill someone—god, they can’t imagine what it’d be like to want to kill—but it’s a curiosity sated. It feels bad. They hate it. The villain is dead, the gun is hot in their hand, and this will all reset tomorrow.

The hero returns to the agency with the news. The superhero doesn’t seem to know whether this is good or not. “It’s another evil off the streets,” he says, but his brow furrows as he says it.

The hero goes home that evening, their routine slightly altered with their new line of action. The water of the shower is cold, their dinner made when the streetlamps outside the window are already flickering on.

They tumble into bed without a care. What will they try tomorrow? Maybe they can try just incapacitating the villain this time. Shoot them in the leg or something. They go to sleep and dream of another day of the same.

Morning. The hero gets out of bed, folds their sheets back the same as always, and starts their day.

They put the TV on for the background noise, but it’s far beyond that now. The hero can recite this news—

Wait.

“—No one’s sure what happened. The public has gathered here to celebrate this victory, but not everyone is so pleased about this. I’m joined by a citizen, who wished not to be named, who was there at…”

The hero stumbles into the kitchen, wrenching their usual box from the cupboard. They pour it into a bowl, and all the flakes stay inside.

The drive to work is a blur. They stagger in through the doors and another hero bounds up to give them a pat on the back. “Someone needed to put the trigger on that one,” she says brightly. “They weren’t going down without it. Good job.”

Their routine is shattered; they cringe away from the other hero’s touch. This is wrong. They weren’t meant to get out. They were in a time loop. Where’s the superhero? Where’re his usual concerns about the villain’s destruction?

They know they’re meant to be glad. They broke out of the same loop they’ve been in for two weeks. The relief of a new string of events should be palpable. All the hero can seem to feel, though, is overhanging, gnawing dread.

They’re free. They’re a murderer.

[historyofguns]

The article by Justin Opinion on The Armory Life reviews the Springfield 1911 Operator AOS 4.25” pistol, which debuted in 2025. This firearm is a modern take on the John Browning M1911 design, emphasizing both innovation and adherence to tradition. The 1911 Operator AOS features a 4.25” alloy frame, which makes it lighter and more suitable for carrying, and includes Springfield Armory’s Agency Optics System (AOS), developed with Agency Arms. This system is noted for its improved optics readiness, allowing for co-witnessing of red-dot and iron sights. The author, Justin Opinion, evaluated the .45 ACP version, also available in 9x19mm Parabellum with a 5” barrel option, and praised its performance, recoil management, and features, such as a fully supported feed ramp and high-quality craftsmanship. The firearm is reviewed as a reliable and modern option for personal protection and duty use, priced at $1,184. Finally, Springfield Armory's blend of modern features with classic aspects of the 1911 ensures its ongoing relevance in the competitive handgun market.

[blackdollette]

saw ur requests were open and RAN to ur asks but omg i saw a post a couple days ago about someone else joining kappa’s little group and reader gets jealous abt it bc kappa is giving the new person a lot of attention and i NEED it 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

can be the most filthiest thing you’ve ever written btw 🫶

thank you for being my first request in so long!!!

"don't forget me." | kappa

did you know that there's a tunnel under ocean blvd. - lana del rey

✮⋆˙ [tags] @faesucksass @lustkillers @mayathepsychic1999 @josibunn @si1nful-symph0ny @livingdead-materialgirl @vanlisbon @oliviah-25 @livingdead-reilly @yungbloodsuxca @imoonkiss @lankysimp @xxbl00d-cl0txx @k1ll3rh0rr0r @wildathevrt

jealous!femdom!reader x sub!kappa

word count: 1.7k

contents: murder, home invasion, arson, a few death, kappa held at gunpoint, slight mommy kink, blowjob, cum eating

kappa pressed the muzzle of his gun against his helpless victim’s forehead, beads of sweat glistening against the black gunmetal. with a quick pull of the trigger, kappa shot the man and watched as he fell to the ground like a marionette who’d had its strings cut.

and behind kappa stood a dark figure, clad in effortlessly flattering rags that left little to the imagination. her hands were placed on his shoulders as she giggled at the sight of blood pooling on the ground. kappa’s arm wrapped around her bare waist, jealousy bubbling in your gut.

you stood in the corner of the room, holding the hunter’s knife that kappa had taught you how to use for finishing a job, but she was already on it. you leered at her as she slit open the victim’s neck, earning a laugh of approval from him. he gave her a pat on the back that travelled way too close to her ass for comfort as his eyes wandered to the drops of sweat cascading down her cleavage.

you felt an envious wave of heat rushing to your cheeks as he performed this overused gesture on the girl who had just smuggled her way into the cult.

you had been his partner in crime for longer than you could remember. like bonnie and clyde, he would spoil you with all the wealth and riches you’d ever dreamed of, all for the small price of sticking a bullet into the head of all those who got in his way. out of all his cult members, you’d always been his favourite. he’d keep you perched on his lap and had everyone treat you with the same respect that they would with him.

you looked around the victim’s house. it was a nice one, almost as nice as the other ones kappa had hijacked for you. but he was off, chatting away with his new vixen. your blood boiled at the sight. this was the third time this week that this newcomer had stolen your show. and now here she was, giggling at every stupid word he spoke and inching her way into his pants like a blood-thirsty parasite.

“you did great tonight, darlin’. next i’ll teach you how to use a handgun. you’d look real pretty holding a gun to someone’s head.” kappa cooed to her, sounding like a schoolboy in love. the cult walked through the gold-plated hallways of the house, searching for any valuables to snatch before burning the house to the ground. 

but your red-hot revenge was about to sweet.

you took a deep breath, following them out of the room but making a quick detour to the kitchen, sneaking a few items into your pocket, along with a can of gasoline before strolling out of the house, kappa completely oblivious to your absence.

you stood on the front porch, looking up at the luxurious house and listening to the giggles and conversations from inside the house. the pretty stars in the night sky gleamed, one small star separated from all the rest, surely feeling the same way you felt.

but at the end of the day, stars were burning balls of fire. ones that matched the rage and jealousy that you felt right then. and you needed to let out some steam, or rather thick, black smoke.

you pulled a lighter and a can of spray from your pocket, unscrewing the gasoline and dousing the whole entrance with the toxic fluid. then you flicked open the lighter and woke up the flame with a long spray of flammable solution, the house engulfing in flames in a matter of seconds.

you backed away from the house, watching the flame eat it’s way up the monstrous building. pleased giggles turned into shrieks of fear as kappa and the rest felt the floor underneath them turn molten hot. the roof caved in, sending burning pieces of wood and embers flying everywhere, looking like shooting stars in the night.

smoke floated into the sky, adding a warm atmosphere to the scene. you saw a window break open, then kappa and his eye-candy lept out, coughing up a storm as an explosion rocked the ground.

too stunned to notice you, kappa fell to the ground, choking as smoke filled his lungs. he felt something light pressing the back of his head, slowly turning his head before his eyes widened with shock.

you stood behind him, your face contorted with rage as you pressed his gun to the back of his head, your finger threatening to pull the trigger. it was ironic, really. a look of fear flickered across his face. he stammered out a few frantic words. “w-what the hell is this about, doll?”

“shut up!” you yelled. “don’t act fucking stupid. you know what this is about. you abandoned me for the first slut who’d show you her tits and think i’m just gonna be okay with that?!” your hand trembled, nearly making you pull the trigger.

you could practically hear kappa’s heart hammering in his chest, his hands up as he surrendered to you. he was panting, glazed in a layer of sweat. silence filled the space between you two, and the scene finally sunk in.

here was your cult leader, on his knees in front of you and completely at your mercy. he looked so helpless like this, his hair falling into his face as he stared up at you with his pleading, icy eyes. you’ve would’ve laughed if someone had told you this was where you’d end up.

kappa’s eyes studied your face, taking in all the angry details that he’d never seen before. your flushed cheeks and ruthless gaze make a new sensation run through his body. one that he wished he could say he hated.

with his legs apart in the way that they were, you saw when his cock began to tent in his pants, a tiny white bead leaking through the thin fabric. your mouth gaped open at the sight. of course he’d get hard at a moment like this. fucking whore. a little grin tugged at your lips. “get up.” you ordered, and he immediately did so. you had never been the one making the commands.

as he stood up, you pressed the gun to his boner, speaking in a dark, threatening tone. “i never want you talking to that bitch again. i don’t care if she stays in the cult, but she’s obviously taken your attention away from the only person it should be on.” 

he let out a little whimper as the contact came to his erection. he nodded frantically, a lustful blush covering his cheeks. you smiled a little, nodding as you dragged him away from the scene as the deafening sound of sirens filled the neighbourhood. 

you moved to a dark alleyway, and once you were there you pinned him to the wall and pulled him into a deep, hungry kiss, his hips grinding into the muzzle of the gun as he desperately searched for even the smallest amount of pleasure.

you pulled the gun away, making him whine quietly. “p-please… touch me…” you looked down and saw the mess he had made of himself, cum leaking through his pants. your expression turned into a slight scowl. “you really think you deserve my touch?” he pouted a little. “i-ill get you anything you want. ill do anything at all, baby… j-just please.”

he looked so submissive pressed against the wall like that. you slowly sank down to your knees, you dominance only getting stronger from there. “strip for me.” you commanded. he shyly slipped off his pants, letting them fall to his ankles and letting his foot-long cock spring out. you pressed the muzzle to his tip, drawing a string of cum from it.

you wrapped your  other hand around his shaft, starting to pump him quickly as you gazed up at him with predatory eyes. he let out a sharp hiss as his hips bucked into your touch. he had been craving it so bad because his new girl wasnt half as good as you were.

you brought the gun to his ballsack, finger on the trigger as his heart raced from pleasure and panic. the deadly combination that he’d gotten you addicted to. 

he bit his bottom lip hard, drawing blood and letting a sharp iron tang fill his tastebuds. you moved your hand up and down his length, using his precum as lube as he throbbed from stimulation. “j-just like that, mama… t-thank you.” mindless little praises slipped from his lips as you brought your tongue to his cock, swirling it around the swollen tip.

he shuddered as you took him all the way in, using your teeth to deliver some edge to the pleasure. his back arched against the wall as he accidentally gripped your hair, almost making you blow his balls off. cum spilled out into the depths of your throat, filling your mouth with that familiar salty taste.

his eyes rolled to the back of his head as you used the gun to tease his asshole, the stimulation quickly becoming too much for him to handle. “o-oh my god… i-i can’t take it, mama..!” you bobbed your head up and down quickly, the rapid pulsation of his dick syncing with your racing heartbeat. you gagged and choked on his ginormous girth, your nose pressing against his stomach as you swallowed every inch of it.

his knees collapsed and he groaned out loudly, all intense feelings crashing down onto him at once as lava-like cum flooded your intestines. tears rolled down his cheeks as the orgasm shook his balance, making him lean against the wall for dear life. you pulled yourself off, catching your breath before getting back to your feet, kissing him once again and making him taste himself off your cum-stained lips.

he moaned deeply, shooting a few more ropes of cum onto the pavement as your tongues fought a silent war, his arms wrapped around your body as he clung to you. you felt his lip quiver underneath yours, desperation radiating off of him in waves. you smiled a little into the kiss, knowing that he wouldn’t let go of you anytime soon. you had him wrapped around your finger just as quickly as he got plucked away from you.

author's note: i rlly didn't mean for this to be so long. but it was so fun to write :))

[borahaerhy]

Dealer (10) - myg

Summary: Your boyfriend seemed like a dream come true: always wanting to be around you, making sure you would get home safe, never taking his hands off you. These little comforts became your whole world, and then the only thing you were allowed to have left in the world. Luckily, your boyfriends drug dealer turned out to be a much nicer guy.

Pairing: DrugDealer!Yoongi x Female!Reader

Genre: Mafia/drug kingpin au, Y/N coming from nothing, found family, Eventual smut

Warnings: So much action omg, multiple people get shot, chase scene, Namjoon's a doctor?, lots of blood, Jungkook makes a joke, Namjoon performs (minor) surgery, mention of Y/n taking shooting lessons when she was younger, Y/n and Yoongi being soft, someone's missing a chunk of their ear but I'm not telling who, Someone's name is just the letter 'L' (death note theme intensifies), descriptions of Y/n previous relationship

Word count: 2.6k

Previous | Next

Note: If you are sensitive or triggered by abusive relationships or manipulation in any way, please do not read this fic, it can be very triggering. It will also be referenced that Y/n used to self-harm, and has self-harm scars. This fic is going to cover a lot of intense topics, and there will be a lot of drugs.

Yoongi was on you in a matter of seconds, checking to see if you were hurt as they started driving away. “Are you okay? What happened?” 

“I’m fine, Yoongi, Namjoon stepped in before anything bad happened,” You spoke softly as you reassured him, his face and body visibly relaxing as you spoke. 

“We’ve got a tail,” Jungkook spoke softly as he reached up and pressed a button on the overhead console, opening up the sunroof. He reached down beside the seat he was in a picked up the AR-15, before he stood up on the seat and stood out of the roof, and started firing at the car behind you as Namjoon started moving faster, dodging between cars and taking sharp turns down alleys. 

It didn’t take long before there were multiple cars following you. Yoongi cursed under his breath as he noticed all of them piling up and narrowing in before he pulled out his handgun and leaned out of his window, firing bullets haphazardly at the moving targets behind him. 

They were shooting back, bullets raining from people hanging out of every window of every car. “Someone give me a gun,” 

“What!?” Yoongi yelled, looking back at you before returning his attention outside, having to pull himself back in the car to dodge an oncoming bullet. Yoongi was about to protest again when Namjoon pulled the gun from Jungkook's side holster and handed it back to you. 

You pressed the magazine release to check and see if it was fully loaded. It’s a Glock 43, 6 rounds. You pushed the magazine back in and rolled down your window, swiftly moving most of the top half of your body out. You steadied yourself, aimed at the front driver’s side tire at the car directly behind you, and pulled the trigger. 

Hit

The car swerved off to the side and into oncoming traffic. The car behind them moved up quickly. Aim, hit. Two more cars move up, side by side. Car one, aim, hit. Car two, you moved to aim, squaring up the shot perfectly when a bullet came whizzing toward you, and you had to duck back into the car. Miss. 

“Why the fuck hasn’t she had a gun this whole time?” Jungkook yelled from above the car as Namjoon took another risky turn, nearly throwing Yoongi out of the car. You reached your hand up to your ear, your hand covered in blood when you pull it back down to look at it. Shit. 

The shattering of the back window made you duck down behind the seat. Jungkook groaned slightly, falling slightly before he repositioned himself; the bullet that broke through the window must’ve hit his leg. 

You positioned yourself behind the headrest of the seat, now having better cover as you aimed again, only two cars left, and two bullets left in your gun. 

“Y/n, you’re bleeding-” 

“Yeah and I need to focus,” you adjusted your aim and hit, the car swerving sideways, taking the car behind it with it as it rolled out of control. You turned around, ducking back behind the seat and Namjoon turned down an alley. Jungkook’s leg was bleeding badly, blood soaking his dark jeans and running down the armrest it was resting on. 

He almost fell back into the car and into his seat, as you took his gun from him and put it in the trunk, not really knowing where else it could go so that you wouldn’t be afraid of it going off. “Y/n, Jesus, you’re covered in blood,” Yoongi looked terrified as his hands gently moved to cup your cheeks, looking all around to see where it was coming from 

“It’s just my ear, they bleed a lot; Jungkook’s in much worse shape than I am,” You said as you pulled out of his grasp, moving forward to see if there was anything you could do to help him while still in the car. 

“We’re not far, he’ll be fine,” Namjoon rushed through his words, taking occasional glances at Jungkook while trying to navigate the grid-locked town that you were in. 

Less than a minute later, you pulled into a seemingly deserted parking lot right next to an old factory of sorts; not unlike the one Yoongi took you the day you met. You all rushed out of the car to help Jungkook; Namjoon and Yoongi carried him as you opened the unlocked door Namjoon instructed you to get for them. You all rushed in from one side of the building as Jin and the others rushed in from the other, a large group of men you could only assume to be some of his men right behind them. 

“L, go take care of the car, everyone else, secure the perimeter. What happened?” Jin yelled out orders, his men dispersing as he helped Yoongi and Namjoon get Jungkook onto a table. 

“Jungkook got hit, I need to get the bullet out,” Namjoon spoke clearly as he tore open Jungkook’s pant leg, getting better access to the wound as Jin started turning on some large lights that were already set up around the table. 

“Shit, Y/n, are you okay?” Jimin rushed over to you, Hoseok and Taehyung following right behind him. 

“It’s her ear, she wouldn’t let me look at it-” 

“Because it’s fine,” you spoke as Jimin pushed your hair to the side to get a better look. You could tell by the look on everyone's faces that it didn’t look great, but it wasn’t something you were too worried about as you looked over at Namjoon, who had forceps in Jungkook’s leg. 

Jungkook groaned loudly, almost yelling as you rushed over to him, grabbing his hand and helping hold him down as he squeezed onto you, pain coursing through him. Jin was holding his leg down next to you as Namjoon stayed focused on getting the bullet out, everyone else slowly moving around you to watch as he pulled the bullet out, which thankfully hadn’t fragmented. 

“Bullet’s out, checking for any bits of glass,” Namjoon spoke coolly as he picked up a pair of glasses with surgical loupes attached to them, and went back to Jungkook’s injury. Jungkook’s grip had relaxed significantly as he looked up at you, brow furrowed tightly as you could tell he was trying to hold back from gripping onto you any harder. 

“You sure my leg’s worse than your face?” Jungkook joked as he noticed the blood that was not only covering half of your face and neck, but had completely soaked through a rather large portion of your shirt. Namjoon looked up for only a second before he moved back to Jungkook’s leg. 

“She’ll be fine, it’ll only take me a few minutes,” Jin looked over at you in unison with Namjoon, shock covering his features, as he hadn’t noticed you yet. 

“Yoongi, you mind taking over for me?” Yoongi quickly moved over to Jin’s spot, holding Jungkook’s leg down as he had been before Jin’s hand met your shoulder. “Let’s clean you up a bit,” You looked down at Jungkook, who gave a single nod before you left him, Jin pulling you back towards a bathroom. 

“Here,” he spoke calmly as he handed you a paper towel he’d just wet from the sink before he started wetting another one. You started wiping your face as you moved in front of a mirror, where you gasped at the sight of yourself. 

“I thought everyone was being dramatic,” you couldn’t help but laugh at yourself as you started wiping the blood from your cheek and neck. Jin smiled with you as he wrung out his paper towel, waiting for you to need a replacement.

“That happens sometimes, it’s just shock: it stops you from feeling the pain as it’s happening,” 

“Y/n,” You turned around, Hoseok standing at the door. “Namjoon said he can look at you now, he’s just finishing stitching up Jungkook,” You nodded and followed him out of the room after throwing away your paper towel. 

“There’s our hero,” Namjoon smirked as he looked up at you, still finishing up Jungkook. “Just sit down over there, I’ll be over in just a second.” 

“Hero?” Jin questioned, suddenly a lot more interested in what happened on the mission than he was previously. 

“Yeah, you should’ve seen her,” Namjoon spoke proudly as he made his way over to where you were seated, moving one of the lights with him before he propped it up on your right side and pulled up a chair to sit next to you. “She shot everyone's tires, only reason we got out of there alive,” 

“You can shoot?” Jin looked almost taken back, a sly smirk still twitching on his lips. “Why didn’t you say anything, we could’ve been using you,” You shrugged. 

“No one asked,” 

-

Namjoon finished cleaning up your ear before wrapping it in gauze, and you all piled into Taehyung’s van and went back to the safe house. After getting Jungkook settled into a room, Yoongi insisted on staying in your room with you, not wanting to give anyone the chance to get back at you again. 

“I wanted to thank you,” Yoongi spoke carefully, as though he’d gone over the words he was saying over and over again before speaking them aloud. You turned to look at him, standing by the doorway as you stood next to the bed. “You know, for saving our asses,” You smiled as you looked down at the bed you were about to climb into. 

“I figured I owed you one,” You crossed your arms over your chest as you walked up to him, stopping a few feet from where he was standing. He smiled lightly, nodding his head as he avoided your eyes. 

“Where did you learn to do that, anyway?” He asked, straightening himself out to match your stance, his arms crossing. You shrugged as you let your arms fall. 

“My uncle used to take me shooting when I was a kid. Said no boys would ever want to fuck with a woman that could shoot them in the dick from fifty yards away,” You chuckled as you remembered the day he said those words; you’d hit your first target from fifty yards, and he was so proud of you. He’d picked you up and spun you around before making you do it again so he could get it on video. 

Yoongi’s expression fell slightly; he wished your uncle had been right. “Guess it’s kind of fucked up now, given the situation we’re in,” yiu spoke softly, still smiling softly. Yoongi shook his head and took a few small steps toward you. 

“No, I don’t think so,” His eyes moved to the side, staring into space as he thought for a moment. “Well, maybe a little bit, but if anything I think the fact that you have the capability to do that kind of damage and still choose not to is incredible,” 

You felt your face begin to heat up as he carefully studied your features. Every new thing Yoongi learned about you made you so much more endearing to him. All the pain you’d gone through and the struggles that set you back; yet you were still positive despite everything. And even now, after everything, you were still positive. You always found a reason to be happy, a reason to crack a joke and try to lift everyone else’s spirits, regardless of the pain you were in. 

You quite literally got shot in the head earlier today and still made sure Jungkook was okay before you even began to worry about yourself. You saw everyone struggling to keep you safe and in less than six bullets saved them all. Everything about you seemed to make him want to know more, to see more of who you really are. 

“I don’t know if incredible is the right word; I mean you have the same ability that I do, I don’t see you killing people that aren’t threatening you,” The heat in your face only got warmer as you looked anywhere but Yoongi’s face. He couldn’t help but smile lightly as you spoke. How could you still be so adorable to him now, after everything? 

“I also haven’t gone through what you have. And people generally don’t threaten me because of the people I’m affiliated with. That, and I’m not near as good with a gun as you are. I stopped paying attention for half a second and nearly got shot,” You smiled, finally bringing your gaze back to meet his. 

“Well I actually did get shot,” You joked, blushing like an idiot. Yoongi spoke to you differently than what you were used to. Even with Zeke, who was overly complimentary and always finding a new way to make you feel special or important, he never made you feel like this. 

He would fuck up and then smother you with affection. Flowers, chocolates, dinner out at an actual restaurant while he showered you with praise. He’d always tell you how pretty you looked and how he couldn’t believe he was lucky enough to have you. 

And even though the rest of the guys didn’t mean to, they all looked at you with a certain level of pity. They all meant well, but it was impossible to avoid. 

But with Yoongi, it was different. 

It was all in the small details. The way he looked at you, the way he spoke to you, how much he wanted you to be safe, even if he wasn’t the one keeping you safe. When he touched you he was gentle, always watching your reaction to anything he did to make sure you weren’t uncomfortable; kept his emotions in check so he didn’t scare you. 

Nothing he did was to benefit him. He didn’t like you for his own selfish wants; he liked you because of the person you were. 

“How is that, by the way?” His hand came up and gently brushed your hair back so he could see your ear, still bandaged up the same as the last time he saw it. You flinched away slightly, the side of your head still thumping. He stilled for a moment before he let your hair move back down and moved his hand to cup your cheek. 

“Not bad, I suppose. Mostly just worried about how the chunk missing from my ear is going to look,” Yoongi shrugged, looking over at the small strip of tape peeking out from behind your hair. 

“Pretty badass, if I had to guess. Especially when you tell the story of how you got it,” You scoffed, unable to stop yourself from smiling. “Something so small doesn’t really matter. We’re all safe and happy; the way a little bullet wound looks isn’t something you need to worry about. Not now, anyways,” His voice was low and rough as he spoke as the two of you got gradually closer together, almost as if an invisible magnet was pulling you into him unconsciously. 

He closed his eyes as your foreheads met, his thumb rubbing your cheek gently as he sighed, almost sounding relieved. You just stood like that for a moment, your hands clutched onto his shirt, one of his hands on your cheek and the other resting in his pocket as you leaned into one another. 

Yoongi had a way of making you feel safe even in these vulnerable moments. There were no expectations, no requirements for his affection. He held you because he wanted to, because it felt good to be near you, not because he wanted something out of it. 

So there you stood, completely safe in one another's presence.

Taglist: @pamzn @fvcuidk @cybm1n @limiworld @scuzmunkie @hyunjingin @nellyboosworld @giselleg7784 @zaeve @lovelgirl22 @rosquilleta @kooliv @bangtannie7 @strawberryjimin13 @anjoellamorte @limitlessdespondency @lalaoise @roxy1205 @lavender-ivy @orangecarrotlemon @billy-jeans23  @jwlmnbt @artemis1862 @luaspersona @wittyreader @be0mluver  @acquiescence804 @dustyinkpages @namjoonsbuspass @damiiworld @cynicalbitch666 @rosiejunnie @dahliasbouqet @bxcndd @neverthefirstchoice @kisuga @idkjustlovingbts @xyahrinx @jksteponme @hobicakess @lifestragedy @kpop-khh-writer-trash

[reallygroovyninja]

Lexa stood at the range, her stance relaxed yet focused as she chatted with Anya, another competitor on their Olympic shooting team. They were waiting for the next round to begin, discussing strategies and sizing up the competition. Suddenly, something at the entrance caught Lexa's eye. 

Clarke Griffin walked in, looking like she had barely managed to get out of bed. Her blonde hair had a distinct bedhead look, her clothes slightly wrinkled, and she was wearing a pair of simple eyeglasses instead of the elaborate eye gear most competitors wore. The sight drew a few puzzled looks from those around. 

Anya nudged Lexa, smirking. "Is she serious? She looks like she just rolled out of bed." 

Lexa’s lips curved into a knowing smile as she watched Clarke make her way to the shooting table. Despite the disheveled appearance, Clarke moved with an air of confidence that was unmistakable. 

Clarke reached her station, her expression calm and indifferent to the attention she was drawing. With an easy motion, she slid one hand into her pocket and picked up the handgun with the other. 

Despite her casual demeanor, there was a palpable tension in the air. She gave the target a quick glance, then casually raised the weapon, taking aim.  

Without hesitation, she fired. The shots rang out in quick succession, each one striking the target dead center. Her accuracy was flawless, her movements smooth and precise, all while maintaining her relaxed posture with one hand still tucked away. 

Anya’s smirk vanished, replaced by a look of genuine surprise. She turned to Lexa, shaking her head slightly. "Who is she? She’s something else." 

Lexa chuckled, her eyes fixed on Clarke. "That’s Clarke Griffin." 

Clarke turned to look at Lexa and Anya, a satisfied grin tugging at her lips. "What? Did you think I needed more than these glasses?" 

Lexa met her gaze, her smile widening. "Never doubted it for a second." 

Clarke set her handgun down on the table and stepped away from the shooting station, her impressive performance clearly concluded. Still grinning, she took a step closer to Lexa, her eyes glinting with playful mischief behind her glasses. "You know, you should be getting ready for round two." 

Lexa raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Round two?" 

Clarke leaned in, her voice dropping to a teasing whisper. "In my room. Better bring your A-game, Woods." 

Lexa felt a surge of excitement mixed with arousal. She returned Clarke’s grin, her voice low and confident. "I’m always ready, Griffin. Just make sure you can keep up." 

Clarke winked, turning to walk away with a casual swagger. "Oh, don’t worry. I’ll be waiting." 

[fr3sh-tragedies]

Shielded

[Resident Evil: Village] Dimitrescu Sisters x Fem! Reader | Bela Dimitrescu x Female Reader, Cassandra Dimitrescu x Female Reader, Daniela Dimitrescu x Female Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Proofread: Yes

Content Warnings: A short fight, near-death experiences, blunt death of a major character (from the series), blood

[A/N]: This is part one of my short stories for the Dimi sisters. I'll have one for each sister individually once I can set up an outline.

Here are the continuations:

Bela Cassandra Daniela

Enjoy!

Alcina Dimitrescu’s daughters were known by those in the Village to be rather sadistic. They enjoyed torturing their victims for days, often verging on weeks, because they found the terror on their faces amusing. They never seemed to struggle in a fight, no matter how much bigger their opponent was. Even individually they were too powerful. That is–so long as they aren’t weakened first. The one downside to the experiments they had been under, performed by Mother Miranda herself, was that they couldn’t withstand any temperature “below 50 degrees Fahrenheit,” according to the Empress herself. It prevented them from being able to shift into a swarm of flies, meaning it was much harder to retreat to safety.

Ethan Winters had figured this out rather quickly. He found a small book with descriptions and photos of the experiments as they were taking place. Because of how quickly he was dashing throughout the castle in search of his daughter, Rose, all three of the Dimitrescu sisters decided it would be best to corner him so he wouldn’t be able to run anymore.

In a spare room upstairs, they managed to surround him, taunting him relentlessly as he shot at them in vain. They laughed, shoving him to the ground. The eldest daughter, Bela, stood over him, raising her sickle high above her with the intent to drive it directly into his throat with an overly-brutal force. He continued to shoot at her. She cackled darkly. “Silly man-thing. It seems you just don’t learn things quick enough. Your bullets cannot harm anyone in here.” Her sisters laughed at him with her, but before she could jab his jugular the way she had been desperate to for hours now, her attention was immediately drawn to the sound of glass shattering behind her. She whipped around to find the nearest window blown open. She gasped, turning back to Ethan and watching as smoke trailed out from the barrel of his handgun. A loud growl erupted from her throat. “You stupid man! Do you have any idea as to what you’ve just done?”

Cassandra and Daniela both ducked behind objects in the room for cover from the harsh wind now pouring into the room. Bela slashed at Ethan’s face, but she only managed to gash his arms as he blocked. He quickly kicked her hard in the leg, scrambling back onto his feet as she collapsed to the ground. She could already feel her body crystalizing, causing her movements to slow drastically. Ethan shot at her repeatedly to force her to stay in the wind. Cassandra then lunged forward from his right and swung her blade at him–though he quickly dodged and threw her down towards Bela. She cried out in pain as the icy gust began freezing her body thoroughly as well.

“You damned bastard!” Daniela shouted. She ran towards Ethan recklessly, and he countered her attack by using the grip of his gun to strike her sickle away from himself, grabbing her by the arm and twirling her around far enough to hurl her in the same spot of her older sisters. Bela managed to catch her weakly, though there was still a thud that was loud enough to cover the sound of the door opening behind Ethan.

“Enough of these games! Where’s Rose?” He aimed his pistol towards the trembling trio now practically frozen on the ground. Bela instinctively pulled her sisters into her chest, trying desperately to shield them from everything around them. “Answer me! Where the hell is my daughter?” Bela huffed as she shivered, glaring up at him through her eyelashes. Her gaze flickered behind him, a look of terror growing across her features. A loud cry rang out as a woman jumped onto Ethan and tackled him to the ground. All three of the girls recognized her–the maid they had grown so fond of. Daniela tried to crawl forward, but her eldest sister held her back. “[Y/N], no! You’ll get yourself killed!”

“How dare you lay your filthy hands on them?” She wrestled against him to keep him pinned, grasping at his gun. He writhed beneath her and finally managed to shove her off of him. Before he had the chance to aim at her, however, she was already back up and running towards him. She kicked his hand as hard as she could, sending the gun flying towards the wall. Ethan glared up at her, and they both scrambled towards it. Just before he could grab hold of the barrel, a hand stomped down onto his wrist, causing him to let out a cry of pain.

[Y/N] was quick to pick up the pistol and aim it towards Ethan’s head, not hesitating as she pulled the trigger and sent a bullet through the back of his skull.

Moments passed as she panted heavily for breath, studying Ethan’s limp body in search of any signs of life. At length, her gaze shot over to the three women on the floor a few feet away. She discarded the gun, not caring where it ended up, and ran towards them to help them stand. “Come on, let’s get you three somewhere warmer.” She managed to lead them into the hallway, supporting Bela–who was struggling to prop her younger siblings up against her shoulders. “[Y/N],” she voiced softly. “There should be a fireplace two rooms down. I’m not sure if there’s any driftwood though.”

[Y/N] nodded and steadied them before walking them into the room. She sat them down a few feet in front of the hearth, glanced around the room in a panicked manner, and growled when she didn’t spot any wood. She ran to the next room, returning shortly to bundle all three of the women up with multiple blankets she had found. Not too long after, there were pillows that supported their weight as they relaxed into the small amount of warmth. “I’ll be right back,” [Y/N] assured, kneeling in front of them. “W-Where are you going?” “I need to go get the driftwood from downstairs. I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

They didn’t have any time to respond, only being able to watch as she ran past them and left the room. It felt like hours had passed before she finally made it back. She tossed the wood into the fireplace and lit a match, flicking it into the pile and watching as a small flame slowly came to life. “Okay, hopefully the fire will grow in a moment. Is there anything else I can do to help you three heal?”

All three of them shared a look and a few reluctant nods. Cassandra turned to [Y/N]. “I-It won’t help us warm up, but…drinking someone’s blood would help us regain a bit of our strength.” [Y/N] stood there for a moment, surprised. She nodded and looked around. “You could use my sickle, but it’s in the other room,” Bela offered. The maid nodded and dashed out of the room once more. She returned briefly with the blonde’s weapon.

Sitting in front of the trio, [Y/N] brought the sharpest edge of the blade to her palm. She sucked in a sharp breath before digging it into her skin and dragging out a jagged line of blood. The scent of blood heightened all three Dimitrescu sisters’ senses. Their pupils expanded and they forced themselves to sit up. They took turns drinking small amounts, going from youngest to oldest. Daniela went first, then Cassandra. When it was Bela’s turn, there was hardly any blood left, visibly upsetting her.

[Y/N] sighed softly. “Don’t worry. I can always lose a bit more,” she whispered. She sliced another line on the same palm with a small hiss of pain and lifted it towards the blonde’s lips. Bela latched on immediately, grabbing ahold of the girl’s hand and pulling it closer. Moments later, when she was finished drinking, she sighed and leaned back into the pillows to rest. “Thank you,” she mumbled. “Of course.” [Y/N] stood, shakily placed the sickle on a table nearby, and went to the cabinet adjacent to the door, thankful to find a small roll of bandages. She treated her fresh, self-inflicted wounds quickly before walking to sit beside the fireplace so she could keep an eye on the three.

She sighed heavily, the adrenaline from the fight finally wearing off and causing great fatigue throughout her body. She closed her eyes. They snapped open, however, when she heard the girls whining and shuffling under the blankets. “What’s wrong?” Cassandra groaned. “It’s so cold,” she replied. [Y/N] turned to examine the size of the fire, finding that it was still rather small. “I’m not sure what I can do to help you warm up faster. I’ve grabbed almost every blanket I could find.” Daniela tried to sit up, but could only manage to partially prop herself up with her elbow. “We could really use your body heat. Why don’t you let us huddle against you?” Bela and Cassandra nodded in agreement, letting out small “yeah’s.”

Flustered, [Y/N] cleared her throat. “I’m not sure,” she voiced, “I think you three might need to warm up by the fire instead. It’ll provide more warmth than I ever could.” Bela shook her head and motioned for her to join them. “We’ll take any source of heat we can get. We’re so cold, [Y/N]. Please just let us do this.” [Y/N] sighed. She stood and weakly sauntered over to the pile of pillows and blankets, sheepishly crawling under the multiple layers and planting herself in between Bela and Cassandra. With a groan, Daniela forced herself to shift over far enough to lie on top of the [h/c] girl while her older sisters each leaned against her opposite shoulders.

Collectively, all three sisters sighed in relief at the sudden comfort the softness and warmth brought them. They pulled the blankets tighter around themselves and nuzzled as far into [Y/N]’s body as they could. “Thank you for…you know. Saving us,” Bela murmured. Her sisters hummed in agreement, both too exhausted to be vocal about their gratitude.

“Of course,” [Y/N] reassured softly. “You three mean the world to me. I could never just stand to the side and let something bad happen to any of you.” They all shared a smile. “And, of course, if I hadn’t stepped in, your mother would’ve had my head,” she added in a joking manner. “We wouldn’t have let that happen to you,” Daniela whispered almost inaudibly, chuckling. “But you wouldn’t have been here to protect me.” “Ah, we would’ve found a way. Believe us.”

They laughed softly, enjoying the silence that fell upon the room afterwards.

“What’re we going to do with the body?” [Y/N] asked. “Eat him,” Daniela said as though it were obvious. “You want to eat the body of a man who nearly ruined everything?” “Oh, definitely,” Cassandra muttered, smirking when [Y/N] giggled.

Loud, hurried footsteps reverberated down the hall, growing louder within mere seconds. The door of the room flew open, striking the cabinet beside it with a loud crack, and a familiar voice called out. “Girls?” Alcina asked anxiously. She quickly walked to stand in front of the group, sighing when she saw everyone breathing. She knelt down and placed a hand on Bela’s shoulder. “Oh, my poor dears, are you alright? One of the maids informed me of what happened.” The blonde’s eyes fluttered open and flickered over to her mother. “We’re alright, mother. He’s dead.” “Yeah,” Daniela added, prompting her mother to turn her attention to her. “[Y/N] protected us and brought us in here so we could warm up.”

Alcina’s head tilted. “Warm up?” A look of pure fury crossed her features. “You mean to tell me that repulsive, pathetic excuse of a man forced you into the cold? Oh, [Y/N], you should’ve let me handle things. I would have sliced him to ribbons the way he deserved.” “I apologize, my Lady, I just wanted to ensure he didn’t hurt them again. There was a bit of a struggle, so I sort of…ended things as quickly as I could.” The matriarch of the castle sighed and smiled. “It’s alright, my dear. You kept my daughters safe. I’ll forever be grateful for that.” They shared a look of understanding before Alcina stood. “Now, where did the poor man-thing meet his well-deserved demise?” “Two rooms over.”

“Perfect. Dinner will be very satisfying.” With that, she left the room and headed to the place of the attack. The sound of the door opening followed by something heavy being dragged all the way downstairs informed the women that their mother had the other maids prepping for dinner.

[Y/N] closed her eyes, letting herself relax and focus on her senses. She opened her eyes to look down and study the fatigued, lounged body language and expressions of the girls. She could smell the ash of the burning driftwood and feel the heat it provided. Beneath all of the covers, she could feel where each hand rested against her skin, each shaky breath taken by the girls who clung to her for warmth. Daniela had both arms tucked underneath [Y/N]’s body to ground herself steady as she rested on top of her torso, Cassandra’s were wrapped weakly around her shoulders, and Bela had one buried underneath her and the other resting on her chest.

[Y/N] could hear everyone’s breathing and the crackle of the fire. For a group that had just been attacked mere moments ago, all four women seemed to be at ease. In an attempt to further soothe them, [Y/N] brought her hands up to rub Bela and Cassandra’s lower arms. Their slightly tensed muscles softened in relief. She hugged them closely.

“I promise you–all three of you–that as long as I’m here, I will never let anything bad happen to you.”

There was no response, but she knew that they had heard her. She sighed. Her head fell back to lean against the pillows. The plush surface provided a softness that helped her body still, her eyelids drooping from fatigue. A soft rustling and the feeling of a weight being lifted from her chest, however, prompted her to look down. She found the youngest of the daughters gazing up at her. “Is something wrong?” She whispered softly at Daniela, who shook her head.

“No, not at all. I just wanted to ask you something,” she responded just as quietly. “Hm?” “Could we possibly come to you more often? I hadn’t realized just how much warmth you can provide. It’s really cozy.” [Y/N] was far too exhausted to blush or be modest. Instead, she simply smiled with a barely-noticeable nod. “Of course.” Daniela smiled back at her and returned to resting her head against the girl’s chest. Her mind settled once she could hear [Y/N]’s heartbeat.

Flames crackling and soft snores took the place of the silence in the room. [Y/N] swore in her heart she would never let them get hurt again, no matter what it took. She squeezed the women closer to herself and shut her eyes, whispering a soft reassurance more to herself than the others as she finally let herself drift into a much-needed slumber. “Everything will be okay.”

[getlancered]

Okay guys whos ready who is locked in for one of 3 ace attorney turnabout bigtop rewrite ideas. if u guys are hyped for this i will drop the rewrite 7 years in the past where diego is the defense lawyer 🔥 OK LOCK IN

BULLET POINTS FOR LAZY PEOPLE AT THE BOTTOM

i wrote a lot. read it if you love me. also no read more because i hate you read it

rudinn’s painfully detailed rewrite of ace attorney JFA case 3 turnabout bigtop

so. this may be a little all over the place?! because ive never put it in coherent order i just spontaneously get new ideas and add onto it. maybe i should actually tell u guys about the entire rewrite of the original circus tragedy! yes that sounds like a good idea.

june-ish, 2017

it’s supposed to be like 6 months prior to the murder right

i made the idea of failed equipment... essentially russell decides to teach regina how the equipment is hooked up and taken down so she can do it herself when she ideally runs the circus one day. and before a very rushed show where everything is out of order regina decides to be helpful and hook the net up herself! she does it improperly but there isn’t really time to do anything about it befire the show starts. russell insists acro cant perform without a whole functioning net but he trusts his skills and theyve never actually had to put it to use becuase acro and bat are just that talented!

acro, mid performance, many feet in the air misses a catch. instead of falling to his death bat essentially dives down to act like his net and break his fall. they hit the ground, bat dies on impact, acro is permanently paralyzed.

regina doesnt ever see whats happening because ben shields her and himself from watching the fall, which leaves the crowd and moe to watch the death happen in very real time. he never recovers, the incident marks him with CPTSD and he will shut down at any mention of the accident.

☆

after moe breaks down on stage, the berry big circus holds a final performance before a long overdue break to give everyone time to process.

when they resumes performance, russell decides to hire max galactica as the brand new star of the show! he takes a liking to the anxious and unassuming benjamin woodman and is extremely curious about the person he is behind the persona of trilo. being the first person in the circus to take a liking to him as a person and not the crutch to his crippling anxiety, trilo quist, they quickly grow close over the 6 months following.

december 26th, 2017

russell berry is traveling solo for a networking event, and is extremely nervous about leaving the circus in moe’s hands. moe is extremely clumsy and immature. he’s not at all confident in moe’s ability to fire a gun (you know, in the canon game where he shoots a lion? i’m keeping that.) this fear is reinforced during a game of darts between the two of them, where moe rips a hole in the circus tent in an attempt at reassuring russell of his impeccable aim.

russell decides to teach his dear friend how to fire a handgun. and because russell has never fired while wearing gloves, he’s hesitant to let moe try it, so they practice without gloves on. (because how else would the defendant’s fingerprints be on the gun, silly?)

a few hours later…

6 months after his brother’s violent death and acro’s permanent disability by his own misjudgement, he can’t live with himself. he takes russell’s gun from his office up to his room, places a suicide note on his bed, and—

regina berry walks in.

there’s nothing she can do but ask why. having been spared the details and the moment of the death thanks to ben, she doesn’t understand. so acro explains it to her. they have a very heartfelt conversation clearing up a lot of resentment, and they begin their steps together to mending their relationship and acro’s mental health. regina takes his suicide note from his room because he doesn’t need it. she, ultimately, decides to keep it as the first harsh reality she’s had to face and as a milestone for acro getting better.

december 27th, 2017.

uh oh.

by now, the entire circus tent is well aware of maximillian galactica and his anger issues. it’s smart to let him win any disagreement out of fear of it turning into a heated argument.

russell berry laments to moe about this in his office, shortly before the murder. he’s nervous about leaving the circus when he tends to be the mediatior. (mostly between moe and max.) moe tells him, ever so gracefully, that it is russell’s circus and he should fucking act like it, and to please put max in his goddamn place already. aka, talk to him about it. russell, who is notoriously bad at confrontation, decides to go and finally have a long overdue chat with max, who is still in the dinner hall. so he leaves moe in his office to go and do just that. (chronologically, this translates to this scene, but like. with moe instead of max. i havent gotten around to redrawing it...)

meanwhile…

everybody in the circus treats acro and his disability like a forbidden topic, and max is sick of it! all he has for some damn context around here is a picture of the scene in action, which is supposedly in a tabloid somewhere. he’s not satisfied with this, so he decides to go straight to the source and demand that someone finally tell him what the hell happened to this shitshow of a circus.

acro, of course, attempts to calmly turn him down, but max refuses to take no for an answer. when acro gets defensive, their argument turns heated.

you all know this scene well as ben and max’s argument. however, instead, max breaks the bottle over acro’s head. he immediately goes limp, blood spilling down his split forehead a-la turnabout trump.

max fucking panics. he takes his obnoxious hat and uses it to cover acro’s wound, and then wheels the dead man straight to benjamin woodman in absolute hysterics over what to do.

ben proposes the idea of faking acro’s suicide, citing that he was already suicidal and that way no one goes to jail! max has no reason to deny it. so ben tells max to retrieve russell’s gun, a pen, and a piece of paper while ben takes acro’s body upstairs to his room.

at the same time max is heading out to retrieve the items, russell has finally gotten around to speaking to max after procrastinating with a few chores regarding regina’s animals. he walks into the dining hall to see a small pool of blood on the ground, a broken glass bottle, and no max.

what’s it like to be a murderer?

well, when you’re max galactica and moe is asleep at the desk in russell’s office? pretty easy after a quick heart attack. there’s papers on top of russell’s desk, though. looks like someone’s been snooping. he takes the items he needs, remaining undetected, and then meets ben in acro’s room.

ben creates the forged note while max removes acro’s headpiece and drapes his hair in a way that conceals the wound. he then attempts to work up the courage to shoot acro in the temple with russell’s gun. after some more hysterics from max trying to hold a gun, ben decides to do it on his own. while wearing max’s gloves of course, he’s not stupid.

he might actually be stupid though, because he later ends up leaving his beloved trilo quist behind. oops! ben and max carefully lay acro on the bed and leave their victimless crime behind. it’s better this way, isn’t it? now nobody has to be arrested.

not unless your name is moe and your life sucks!

upon waking up hours later, still very russell-less, moe decides to check in on acro because it seems long overdue given how late into the night it’s gotten. he opens the door to see acro lying dead in his bed, and he breaks.

he holds acro close for a long long time. he just holds acro and cries. when he’s too tired to cry anymore, he sits on the floor at the foot of acro’s bed, head to his knees in a state of shock. and he remains that way even when russell finds the two of them, even when russell attempts to shake him out of shock. even as police cars pull up and whisk him away from the scene of the crime.

at first, nothing is out of the ordinary. acro died by suicide, he left the note. regina is sobbing, insisting that he would never, but as a young girl who has never had to deal with grief to such a degree before, her cries aren’t taken to heart.

not until they discover the real cause of death, and a moe’s fingerprints on the gun.

gumshoe takes moe in handcuffs, attempting to calm the panicking clown under the guise of “asking a few questions.” when he lets the fingerprints slip, moe calls to russell to tell them what’s actually going on and to clear up the horrible misunderstanding!

russell does not. he stares in somewhat of a trance at the ordeal unfolding in-front of him. being a man who cannot act without a prior plan of what exactly to do, he isnt sure what to say to make sure moe isn’t incriminated further. so he says nothing, and moe is taken to the detention center.

umm the rest of this is. a little vague? i havent worked out the trials or investigation sequences yet.

i do plan for this little rewrite of mine to, one day, be a playable thing! i am so passionate about this case that i want people to see it through a new light and love it like i do.

i will give you all the unstructured rundown of my ideas further, including my evidence list, some fun little dialogue snippets, potential sprites i’d be drawing, and a couple of random ideas for what could happen during the playable bit of the game.

evidence list!

basically just everything phoenix will find/have on him throughout the case. sorted by room and in order of discovery. sort of. subject to change…

misc/given:

Attorney’s Badge - It’s my all-important badge. It shows that I am a defense attorney.

Maya’s Magatama - Slightly translucent. It radiates softly with a mysterious light.

Crime Photo - A picture of the crime scene. (recieved from detective gumshoe)

Moe’s Gloves - They’re covered in blood. Supposedly, because he was holding the body. (recieved from moe)

Incident Photo - A picture of Acro mid-air. (recieved from max)

Newspaper Clipping 1 - Acrobat Sean Dingling falls to his death. (recieved from russell)

Acro’s Autopsy Report - Time of death: 8:30 PM. Cause: Sharp force trauma to the forehead. (presented by detective gumshoe)

Pistol - Belongs to Russell. Two shots fired. Bears Acro’s and Moe’s fingerprints. (presented by detective gumshoe)

Broken Glass Bottle - The murder weapon. Found in the cafeteria trashcan covered in blood. (presented by franziska)

Newspaper Clipping 2 - Berry Big Circus closing it’s doors for the foreseeable future to watch the health of their performers. (presented by franziska)

ringmaster’s room:

Max G. Promo Poster - Covered in sparkles. His stage makeup is certainly flashy.

The Flying Dingling-Berries Promo Poster - It’s color is faded from years in the spotlight.

Letter of Resignation - An unsigned letter detailing someone’s desire to move on to better employment opportunities.

big top:

Torn Circus Tent - A large hole torn in the main tent of the Big Top. Not far below a hanging dart board.

Acrobat’s Net - A tightly-strung net for the acrobat’s performance.

cafeteria:

Bloody Footprints - Despite having seemingly no origin, a short trail of footprints lead from the cafeteria to the Ringmaster’s Room.

moe’s room:

Sentimental Photo - A framed photo of a young Acro and Bat with Moe wrapping his arms around them.

regina’s room:

Suicide Note 2 - Hidden in Regina’s drawer. Acro will never be able to put the accident behind him, but he doesn’t want to keep the circus in the past with him.

acro’s room:

Suicide Note 1 - Left on Acro’s nightstand. Acro can’t live with himself knowing Bat died because of him.

Trilo Quist - A ventriloquist's puppet. An operatic tenor who doubles as Ben's sidekick.

Headband - A golden headband with red gems. There’s traces of blood on it.

ben’s room:

Silk Hat - Made-to-order fedora that is a symbol of Max's fabulousness. There’s blood on the inside of the hat.

White Gloves - Pristine white gloves with a bit of sparkle. Also, traces of gunpowder.

WHEW. Done

some things i cooked up regarding evidence pieces…

Incident Photo - A picture of Acro mid-air. (recieved from max)

when interrogating max and presenting the acrobat’s promo poster to him, you get this line of dialogue.

Max: Oh, hmm…They were fabulous, I’ve heard. And believe me, I’ve heard very little. They’re something of a touchy subject.

Max: When I asked why, Ben gave me this photo and told me to never bring it up again.

Max: Apparently it was rather the scandal! They had to close temporarily until I came along, of course~

max gives you the incident photo, which you then show to the members of the circus. phoenix learns from regina and russell that, aside from acro, moe took the incident the hardest. russell also gives you the first newspaper clipping.

when you show this photo to moe in the detention center, he freezes up and puts up psyche-locks. i haven’t done much with those yet, though.

The Flying Dingling-Berries Promo Poster - It’s color is faded from years in the spotlight.

when you show this to moe, he absolutely loses it laughing. that’s it. just a stupid bit about how absolutely awful their name is. he cracks the expected jokes.

Newspaper Clipping 2 - Berry Big Circus closing it’s doors for the foreseeable future to watch the health of their performers. (presented by franziska)

franziska, at some point in the trial while moe is on the stand, attempts to make a case against him and how he’s mentally unstable using the clipping being about his breakdown on the stage. she also brings up his severe depression he experienced for some time after the accident, his unnatural behavior upon finding the body/his response to fear, and his tendency to severely dissasociate any time the accident is brought up.

Letter of Resignation - An unsigned letter detailing someone’s desire to move on to better employment opportunities.

various reaction dialogue snippets incoming

Moe: Me? Quit? HAHAH! Yeah right, Wright! I think Russ would feed me to the lions if I even tried. Ha. Haha…

Moe: …I’ve got no reason to, anyhow. They’re like my family.

Moe: Give it to Max. I’ve always hoped its his. The whole circus would be better off if an attitude like his would magically disappear!

——

Max: Oh, darling, this circus wouldn’t run the same without me! I bring a fabulous sparkle that’s impossible to replace~

Max: Not to mention a fabulously packed audience. I make the circus all of it’s money, sweetie.

Max: Not a soul on this earth could resist the talent that is Maximilian Galactica!

Max: Hmm…Don’t let word slip, now, but Ben might know a thing or two. He’s been having a few…struggles, lately.

——

Trilo: Max and his big mouth…! He’s a huge gossip! Him and his fancy agency…

Trilo: Those flamboyant douchebags are used to spilling all sort of secrets, I tell ya!

Ben: W-What—um, Trilo is try—trying to say—

Trilo: Spit it out! Ugh. It’s not his, and it sure ain’t mine! Ben’s a quitter, but not me, no siree.

Trilo: I hate these looney-tunes bunch of jokes, but the entertainment industry is all about CONNECTIONS! Max is like a goldmine! No way I’m leaving now.

Trilo: Ben and this Berry-Big-Joke are stuck with me!

Trilo: It’s Acro’s. Gotta be. I thought he was gonna kill himself, which…Oops! Awkward. But he must’ve—

Ben: Tr-Trilo…! Goodness! Don’t speak ill of th—the…of the…

Trilo: Dead?! It’s not “speaking ill” if it’s just the facts! Are you trying to silence me?! Your own partner?!

Ben: …

Trilo: Thought so.

Trilo: Yeah, not sure what happened! He probably tried to quit and then gave up and killed himself or something. Who knows!

Ben: M-my gosh…

it’s bens btw. he’s a liar.

brief playable section outlined? i dont have a lot of specifics…

opens with a playable bit from the POV of moe waking up in the ringmaster's room. he walks around the berry big circus in a bit of a daze. when he leaves to see a dark sky, he comments on how late it is and that he should probably go check on acro. you find the body and get a bit of an emotion snippet before it fades to black.

maya calls phoenix and tells him to look at the TV, apparently there's been a death at the berry big circus that they went to see the day prior and they should check it out.

moe isn't visible in the detention center. that is, until maya presses her face to the glass and sees moe sitting on the floor, pouting. he tells phoenix and maya, who he mistakes for max galactica paparazzi, to go away. you show him your attorney's badge and get a dialogue bit about him being abandoned by russell, and also not believing this is genuinely a murder and just a suicide. when you get through to him that he is under arrest for murder, he essentially begs phoenix to represent him. like usual, maya guilt trips him into it.

russell is in the bigtop circus tent. you question him about the hole, and he tells you about moe's terrible aim. you bring up a dialogue bit about "abandoning moe" and he tells you about the arrest. you can show him the acrobat/max promo posters after picking them up and get a bit about that too.

you chase ben around the circus for a bit before finding regina in the lodging house and learning that he doesn't talk to anyone unless he has trilo. you also talk to regina about the murder, she reinforces that this can’t be a suicide because acro would never do anything like this. not after all they talked about.

talk to gumshoe in acros room, discuss what he knows about the case and get respective evidence pieces from gumshoe. and also get trilo.

give trilo to ben, talk to him about the circus. also, talk about the supposed new star of the circus and how great he is. after showing max’s promo poster.

break into moe’s room. find his very sweet photo of acro and bat

trial one, gumshoe first as per usual. trial 2-1, brief testimony from moe about his alibi. cross examine regina about her conversation with acro. then, cross examine her about the gunshot she heard and the time she heard it. trial 2-2, cross examine russell about his alibi. prove that he isnt really telling the court everything he knows.

second investigative period, this is where it gets way less structured LOLOL. meet max formally for the first time, get the incident picture from him. investigate more about the incident.

show the picture to regina, she gives you testimony about the accident and moe. show the picture to russell, he gives you the newspaper clipping. show the picture to ben, he tells you about him giving it to max.

you can show moe’s sentimental picture to ben and get a bitter little dialogue bit! nothing fun, yet.

show the letter of resignation around. get the dialogue pieces i showed earlier. unlock some psyche locks from ben to find out that its his

break into reginas room. find acro’s not forged very real suicide note

break into bens room. find everything incriminating max galactica

show moe the newspaper clippings and unlock some psyche locks and he cries to you for a very very long time about the accident

more psyche locks from russell probably. argument between max and acro revealed and the rest of the shit he’s been hiding. man i dont know

trial 4-1, cross examine moe and his testimony some more. franziska calls him crazy for a while. put him to the side while you get a very brief max galactica testimony, then some stuff from ben. trial 4-2 ben openly breaks down on the stand about feeling unloved and left out by the circus and that max is the only person who gives a shit. cross examine max and find out about the argument with acro. max galactica murder breakdown. thats it? we win? max goes to jail?

HOLD IT BITCH. the stupid clown is not done. he starts begging phoenix not to ruin their circus, that max can’t be a murderer because he’s the star and acro must have killed himself. phoenix gives moe acro’s real suicide note and then he just cries on the stand for a while.

comfort moe some more outside of the courtroom, convince him that acro doesn’t hate him forever and that the circus will be okay.

the end 🔥

BULLET POINTS FOR LAZY PEOPLE HERE‼️

regina fucks up the net for the acrobat performance. no one does shit about it. acro and bat fall and die. onlt bat dies though actually

moe is FUCKED UP over it. breaks down on stage and the circus shuts down PTSD PARTAY

enter gayboy stage left he flirts with ben like no freakin tomorrow dude

russell has to leave for work because plot purposes and moe is fucking stupid. tears a hole in the tent trying to prove to russell that hes not fucking stupid

so russell teaches moe how to fire a gun incase he needs to Fire A Gun while russell is gone. gloves off duh silly his fingerprints gotta be on there somehow!

yeah when theyre done with that gun acro tries to KILL HIS FUCKIN SELF

regina finds him and cries. they makesies upsies and become best friends. so regina takes his suicide note

MAX GALACTIA IS A FUCKING CUNT. — russell berry to moe in his room. moe tells him to Man the fuck up snd talk to him

moe falls asleep when russell leaves lol

while they talk about this shit max galactica proceeds to be a fucking cunt by killing acro with a glass bottle because acro didnt wanna tell him about his tragic dead brother

max puts his hat on acro’s head to hide the gaping fucking wound. goes to his forbidden gay lover to ask what to do with a dead body?! the Normal Logical Thing of course; stage a suicide

russell procrastinated btw so when he goes to find max he finds blood instead

max finds stuff to forge a suicide note, and because he’s too much of a pussy to shoot acro himself ben does it for him. like a good boyfriend

moe wakes up like 5 hours later after a terrible nap and stumbles around the circus until he finds a Body

holds acro instead of calling the cops. sits on the floor instead of calling the cops

when russell finds them in the morning and calls the cops they arrest moe after like 2 seconds of realizing its not a suicide and this dumb bitchs fingerprints are on the gun

Russell doesnt do shit btw. lets it happen. like the loser he is.

im not bullet pointing the playable stuff this shit took fucking forever

THATS MY ABSOLUTELY DERANGED BIGTOP RANT. thanks for reading if you love me. PLEASE READ THIS AND ENJOY THIS CASE AS MUCH AS ME

[abarbaricyalp]

Big kinda-sorta fill for a bunch of prompts all at once because I thought they fit well together. Don't think too hard about the logic of this one. Truly. Don't. Written for the @sambuckylibrary Anniversary Event! Cw: violence, blood, injury, medical procedures (on page and discussed), radiation poisoning (sickness, pain, and gore affiliated), body horror (in a dream) Read on AO3!

Upon Faith

It's 10:34 AM on a Thursday morning when the Winter Soldier kills the GRC delegation leader in the middle of an international summit.  He takes out every security agent who gets near him, maims most of the bystanders. He looks right into Sam's eyes as he raises a modified sig-sauer micro-rifle and shoots Sam directly in the middle of the star covering his chest.

Deliriously, as he’s falling backwards with extraordinary pain blooming along every nerve in his body, Sam thinks about how Bucky hated the shield looking like a target, and that he had designed this suit for him and put a target right over Sam's heart anyway. 

. . .

Sam woke up a day later, in a hospital room with a heavy cast around his ribs to hold him immobile at least temporarily. There was no shifting around in this behemoth. He couldn't even reach for the water on the table next to him. Normally, it was Bucky's job to bitch about whether he was getting enough fluids, to hand him water glasses and sneak in the digestive sodas Sam liked.

“It’s a bulletproof vest,” Bucky had said once, using an arm across Sam’s hips to keep him in bed. “That means the bullet doesn’t go in. It doesn’t mean the impact doesn’t hit you.”

Sam tried to compare that gunshot to this one. He hadn’t been wearing his Captain America suit that time, just regular kevlar. But the shot had come from a handgun from much further away. The micro-rifle was designed for performance and Bucky had been right in front of him. The vibranium was strong, but that blast had cut right through Sam. What kind of bullet was it? One large one? Or a volley of fire? He couldn’t even remember the sound of it firing.

"It wasn't him," Sam said as soon as someone walked in the door–brought forth by the increased rate in his heart monitor. “I know him better than you do. That wasn’t him.”

He was surprised to see that it was Everett Ross who had walked in the door. If for no other reason than he thought Ross was in Wakanda again. Ross looked up from a file folder thicker than a fist. “Now why am I not surprised to hear you say that, Captain?” he asked. “Nevertheless, you’re not to contact him. You understand of course.”

Sam’s jaw tightened and he tried to sit up again. It didn’t work again. “It wasn’t him. He’s in danger. He’s undercover right now.”

Ross scoffed slightly. “I don’t think he’s the best candidate for undercover work. Pretty identifiable.”

Sam sighed in frustration, tossing his head to the side because he couldn’t do anything with his arms. “Ask your girlfriend. She’d know more than me.”

Unfiltered disgust flashed across Ross’s face. He practically flushed green. “She’s not my girlfriend,” he said sharply. “I heard you two had a falling out,” he added, prodding at old bruises that Sam didn’t want to expose. “You two haven’t spoken in months.”

“He didn’t do it,” Sam repeated.

“The only stable thing in his life gets cut out like that…” Ross suggested with a shrug. “Could make anyone lose it. Especially after prolonged time with Valentina.”

“Bucky’s not a bomb,” Sam almost snarled. “He’s not going to explode from a pin-prick. He’s in trouble. Whatever’s going on, he has a target on his back now.”

“You could say that,” Ross agreed. “Where is he?”

Sam almost managed to throw his hands up in the air. The AC cut on above them and Sam listened to it hum and churn while he stared at Ross. “I don’t know. Like you said, we haven’t talked since he was assigned to the Thunderbolts.”

“Why not?” Ross prodded, poking harder at the bruise encasing Sam’s heart.

Sam found himself shaking his head. He wasn’t sure where the gesture actually came from. The actual answer was that Sam knew Bucky was hiding something from him. Something about this assignment, about the team. He’d adopted this asinine habit of taking on all the dirt and blood that could possibly be slung at Sam, doing all the shady work that Sam came up against recently. Sam had confronted him about it, this assignment had come in, Bucky left without so much as an argument. Just a kiss to the scar under Sam’s eye. He’d been unreachable since.

But Sam couldn’t say any of that to Ross. It would only stoke the flames snaring closer to Bucky, wherever he was. Sam had learned the hard way to watch what he said to their bosses. Every watercooler conversation was some subterfuge to notch another complaint about Bucky’s pardon. Now? If Sam didn’t find Bucky before anyone else, Bucky was never going to see the light of day again.

“We decided long distance wouldn’t work,” he said drily.

Ross snorted and flipped through several pages in the tome in his hand. “Captain, the sooner you help us, the less damage he can do. Do you know he’s been MIA for almost three weeks now?”

Sam’s blood ran cold. He was glad Ross wouldn’t be able to tell how his body tensed through all of the casting on him. Three weeks? Had they even been looking for him? Sam didn’t know anything about the Thunderbolts, but he was sure the leash he was on must’ve had some slack. How long until the team’s handlers decided something was wrong? How much effort had even been put into looking for him before this?

“You think Hydra got their hands on him and reverted him,” Sam surmised. “It didn’t happen. Shuri and her team took all of that out. It took them a decade to break him last time. This wasn’t him. Something else is going on. You’re wasting time focusing on him. You’re wasting his time.”

“Then what do you think happened?” Ross asked, finally looking up at Sam for longer than a glance. He closed the file in his hand and everything.

“The same thing that happened last time,” Sam said. “A mesh-mask. A robot. A shapeshifter. A clone. I don’t know. I only saw it for a few seconds. But it wasn’t Bucky. I know him better than anyone else.”

“You were actively being shot at as well,” Ross pointed out. “I’d hardly consider that a healthy state of mind to be making judgement calls. It’s no secret that you and Barnes are a weak spot for each other. Your opinion, your defense of him, doesn’t weigh very much here.”

Sam bared his teeth and strained too hard all at once. Pain laced up his body, straight down to the bone of him. It cut through the fuzz of quality pain medications and cleared his head only to stuff it full of over-stimulation. Every bone in his chest felt like it was covered in buckshot and he couldn’t get a deep breath in, which made him panic. He was panicking about Bucky too. All his concern came flooding in at once. He wanted out of this bed. He wanted his own phone. He needed to call Bucky, even if he wouldn’t pick up. Sam could leave a message warning him.

Ross tutted and came over to increase Sam’s morphine drip. Too fast, Sam thought, fighting through the red haze and black spots creeping into his vision, that was too much all at once.

“We’ll find him, Captain,” Ross said, stepping back. “Don’t worry about that.”

“Don’t you even–” Sam started, but his tongue got heavy in his mouth and the spots in his vision grew and grew and grew. Don’t hurt him, he tried again as he fell into endless black.

Read the rest on AO3!