#semi-automatic weapons

[ghxxst-shawty]

I aint done turning up bih….

[filosofablogger]

SCOTUS Screwed Up ... AGAIN!

Okay, so you’ve heard a lot of rumbling this week about ‘bump stocks’ and the Supreme Court decision killing the ban on them.  Let’s take a deeper look … First off, what exactly is a ‘bump stock’?  It is a device that can be attached to a semiautomatic firearm in place of a conventional gunstock, enabling it to fire bullets more rapidly.  Essentially, bump stocks assist rapid fire by “bumping”…

[silna-pdf]

Ermm more metal gear shitposting

[attila-werther]

so i've figured out the crassus-spartacus issue with the republikang etc au, now I get to tackle the fun part, which is whether or not crasso shows up to a gang fight with a baseball bat or a hammer

[historyofguns]

The article "Japanese Type 100 Submachine Gun — Too Few and Too Late," authored by Tom Laemlein, explores the Japanese Type 100 submachine gun and its delayed production during World War II. The article details Japan's initial lack of interest in submachine guns during the 1930s, and how, despite eventually manufacturing the Type 100 in 1944, they missed the opportunity to effectively compete with other nations' short-range firepower. The article traces the history of submachine guns, highlighting the influence of the .45 caliber Thompson and European models, the development of a simplified Bergmann-type submachine gun by Japan, and the evolution of the Type 100 through various models such as the paratrooper version with a folding stock. Despite efforts to update and improve the gun, it was ultimately limited by production constraints and the underpowered 8x22mm Nambu round. The Type 100 remains a historically interesting weapon but was not on par with other submachine guns of World War II.

[dandelion-idk]

this is a warning if u play with me in the sheldon challenge and i get any type of charger/blaster and u are in my team please say your prayers this won't end well

[mensfrightsactivist]

oh ok now they’re saying the nashville shooter they originally identified as female used he/him pronouns. and there’s no way to verify this because they killed the shooter on-site instead of allowing a court of law to decide the punishment

[thevoicefromanotherworld]

"THAT'S MY GOOD FUCKING GIRL"

SOOOO I wrote another story with Buck because I (need him to fuck me until I can't walk straight) love him so much

I wrote this for everyone, but specially for the people that (as me) have a thing for that freaking metal arm ikyk *wink wink*

I hope you like it!

WARNING: EXPLICIT SMUT UNDER THE CUT

The soldier tried to get rid of the ropes that were tied around his wrists.

“Damn ropes,” he growled, trying to untie the strong knot that had been made around his wrists.

Then he heard them, several footsteps slowly approaching where he was.

“Shit,” he snorted as he listened to them. “I can hear you, you know?” he snorted. “If you want to be discreet, it would help if you didn't wear those fucking boots.” he shrugged. “But hey, if you're back to try to make me bleed, go ahead.” Suddenly the footsteps stopped, and Barnes listened, trying to guess if the intruder had left or was still in the house. “Hello?” he asked.

The footsteps started again, making you enter his field of vision. He watched you for a few moments with wide eyes, surprised by your presence.

“What…? You?” he asked, tilting his head in confusion. “How the hell…?” Where did you come from? How did you get in here?

-I climbed the wall –you said raising your hands- these new gloves Tony designed are the best, they stick like they were made of gum –you nodded towards the glasses hanging around your neck- you should let Stark take a look at them

-For your information, smartass, these glasses are older than you and I combined –he muttered- I use them to better focus on my objectives –he stared at you- but we're not talking about me, but about you –he said, turning the tables on you- What the fuck are you doing here? I told you not to follow me, that I wanted to work alone on this mission –he sighed tiredly- I hoped you would at least respect my decision, but of course you haven't because you barely respect yourself

-What the fuck did you say? –you questioned, looking at him with rage reflecting in your dark eyes-

-You heard me, fuck –the super-soldier growled- they could have killed you if they had seen you come in here –he muttered- it's not that I don't trust you, okay? You're an exceptional agent and Fury would agree with me –he explained- you know that he would have put us together if it weren't because… -he tilted his head- the people in this place are extremely dangerous, and not because they're armed to the teeth with pistols and semi-automatic weapons –he muttered- they're an illegal organization that has been trafficking drugs and scientific experiments for years. Do you understand? These guys are top 1 on the list of biggest motherfuckers in the world, even above Hydra

You watched him closely for a few moments, as he continued with his story

-Apparently, when I snuck into their headquarters a couple of months ago they were working on a new drug to introduce into the black market, which supposedly brainwashes people and forces them to experience feelings they don't want, which makes them either extremely vulnerable or turns them into cold, emotionless soldiers –he lowered his head- like I was

The sadness in his voice when he said that made you want to run out of there, travel back in time, grab all the Hydra motherfuckers who hurt him and kill them all again one by one slowly and agonizingly.

-That's why you came here alone- you finally realized, he nodded-

-Yes- he confirmed- this is something personal for me- he stated- and for the record, I was carrying out my role with absolute normality, until they knocked me out- he made a gesture with his head towards the ropes- then I woke up here, tied to a chair while they tortured me for I don't know how many hours

-Are you okay?- you asked trying to see his wrists from your position-

-Yes, I've been tortured before by people who were much better at it, so it's nothing- he assured you- listen to me, these people are not the type you can mess with- he continued explaining- especially when they have unidentified drugs up their sleeve- he murmured seriously- that's why you have to leave, right now- he ordered, fixing his gaze on your eyes-

-Leave? I've come to save you!

"You, saving me?" you exclaimed, making an amused smile appear on his lips.

"You, saving me?" he questioned as if it seemed to him the craziest thing he had ever heard in his life. "Please, you saving me?" he snorted, very self-satisfied. "I can untie myself and get up from this chair whenever I want," he murmured. "Just because I have a couple of bruises doesn't mean I'm useless, okay?" he took a deep breath. "I have everything under control, just…" he swallowed slowly. "Go away before they hurt you," he whispered. "I need to know that you're safe."

The sparkle in his green eyes was enough for you to realize that he was serious. Even if what he was saying was true (and probably the most sensible option), you refused to listen to him.

-I'm not going to leave you here, I don't care what you say to me - you declared firmly, he let out a curse under his breath -

-Fuck, you're so stubborn - he complained, staring at you again -

-Look who's talking, the most stubborn one in the place - he frowned-

-I'm not stubborn! –Barnes exclaimed- I just know when my teammates can handle missions and when they can't, and you can't handle this one –he decreed- so you have to leave before they come back

At that moment Bucky felt a sharp pain in his neck, which made him turn his head as if he had been punched. Worried, you approached him without actually touching him.

-What happened to you? Are you okay? –you asked trying to find his eyes with your gaze-

-Fuck! –he growled, shaking his head from side to side, as if he was trying to wake up from a nightmare- I felt like something was poking me in the neck –he said, tilting his head- Do you see anything?

-Yes –you affirmed pointing at his skin with your index finger- they stuck a dart in you

-A dart? -he questioned while looking at the windows of the adjacent buildings- And where the hell did it come from? -his eyes focused on a fixed point outside- Look there, on the beams! -he pointed to the exact spot with his head- you have to get out of here, go away- he ordered hastily- you have to go before they know you're here… -you saw how his eyes began to close, whatever they had injected him with must have been powerful enough to knock him out- just… run… -he said before fainting-

Several hours later, the super-soldier came to. He slowly raised his gaze, causing a slight dizziness to suddenly come over him.

-Shit… my head… -he complained, looking around the room, which he didn't recognize- Where am I? -he asked himself out loud- What the hell…?

Then he saw you, stationed at the entrance of the room in a simple T-shirt and pants outfit.

-Oh, hello –he greeted, looking at you a little more attentively than he should have- it's you again –he observed- wait… I… I thought I told you to go away –he frowned, looking at the walls for a moment- wait a second, where are we?

-In my apartment –you answered-

-Your apartment? –he asked- How did we get here? We were in… –he looked at himself for a moment- Where the fuck are my clothes? What the hell happened?

-I got rid of the group that was outside your building –you explained calmly- then I brought you here

-Wait, wait –he stopped you- Did you kill all those men when I passed out? –you nodded- What happened to the leader?

-He was the only one I didn't kill - you confessed, holding his gaze - they put him in police custody awaiting trial - you explained - I assume that Fury is pulling the strings so that the case becomes Shield's matter and thus transfer the prisoner to the Raft as soon as possible

He stared at you, thinking what he should say next.

-I suppose I underestimated you - he said very slowly - and how did you manage to drag me here by yourself? Didn't I weigh much? - he questioned -

-Not really - you crossed your arms - I have lifted weights that weigh more than you, sergeant

A hoarse laugh came from between his lips, making you shudder. If only you knew how much it affected him when you called him that…

-You're lying –he whispered- I'm sure you had help –he laughed- you're not exactly Hawkeye, honey- he smiled- come on, you're smaller than me –he said pointing out the obvious- but… thanks –he said, making you nod your head as you assimilated that he had thanked you for saving his life, it was always good to hear it- and… Why did you bring me to your apartment? –he asked- Why not to the headquarters?

You stayed silent and he scrutinized your face for a few moments before finding the answer himself

-Oh, I see –he whispered- you would be in trouble if you had taken me there, because you weren't supposed to help me –he focused his gaze on you- Did Fury order you not to come after me?

-It could be - you answered in a small voice, he clicked his tongue-

-I knew it - he muttered angrily - I told you not to get involved in this, and you did it anyway - he snorted - God, you are so stubborn… - he complained - Do you know how dangerous those darts can be?

-No, I don't know, just like you - you said - so stop pretending you know what all this is about, because you don't

-Whatever you say, princess - he snorted, looking away at the wall beside him -

-No, I listened to you, so now YOU are going to listen to ME - you ordered, making the soldier focus all his attention on you again - when I brought you here, all by myself for your information, I thought you were dead - you said - your pulse was very weak and you were barely breathing. Do you understand? - you questioned, looking him straight in the eyes- I've been alone all my life and I've never felt as lonely as when I left your body on the tiles in my kitchen

-Technically I've been dead twice - he intervened delicately- but… thanks for stitching up my wounds - he looked at his chest and arms- from what I see you've done an excellent job - he took a deep breath- I should go and return to the barracks

-No

-No? - he questioned raising an eyebrow- Are you telling me what to do? - he asked, as if he hadn't heard you well- look, I appreciate your concern and all, but I really have to go

He stood up and walked towards the door, but you ran towards it and locked it before he got there.

You turned around to observe his imposing figure in the middle of the hallway, his metal arm sending out small flashes due to the moonlight that entered through the apartment windows.

-Have you really locked the door? –he questioned pointing out the obvious- Is this another hostage situation that I should be worried about? –he asked, sketching an amused smile-

The expression on your face and your body posture made it clear to him that you weren't going to let him go, so he raised his hands on both sides of his body in a gesture of defeat.

-Okay, okay - he gave in - but at least give me back my shirt - he asked kindly - at least you left my pants on, so thanks for that - he whispered ironically -

A loud sound reached Bucky's ears, who quickly became alert, looking both ways frantically.

-What the fuck is that? - he asked alarmed -

-It's the kettle - you said slowly - calm down, everything's okay

-Shit, sorry… - he whispered - it's just that… well… you know, my PTSD from being… - he swallowed hard, you had never seen him more vulnerable than at that moment - the Winter Soldier implies panic at loud sounds - he said - so I… I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you

-I'm the one who should apologize - you retorted - I had no idea

-It's okay, you didn't have to know - he murmured kindly - You headed towards the living room. He followed you. A pile of clean clothes rested on the soft surface.

“This is for you,” you said timidly before picking up the bottle with the pills, “and this too,” you whispered, “is for the headache.”

An amused smile appeared on his lips.

“Will you make me some tea and offer me some new clothes?” he observed. “I appreciate it, but don't think that by doing this I'm going to forget the fact that you stayed when I told you to leave, but… thank you,” he said again, this was the third time.

You sat down on the couch and poured the tea. He took a sip before leaving the cup on the table.

-It's good - he said before taking a couple of pills - and these should take effect soon - he observed before looking at you firmly - I appreciate all this, but we would not have ended up in this situation if you had done what I told you to do - he explained - we have been lucky, because if not this could have ended in a very different way

-I know - you murmured, getting up to pick up your cup -

-I know you know - he affirmed -

He observed you for a moment, before speaking more softly than before.

-You are acting as if I were about to yell at you - he explained - Are you really not afraid of me?

-No - you answered calmly - Are you angry?

-No, I am a little disappointed in you for not taking your safety seriously - he confessed - but I am not angry - he smiled - but Fury will be… furious - he paused for a moment - if he finds out

-Are you going to threaten him? - you asked curiously-

-I won't, if you do it you're doing something for me - he said - never ever follow me on a mission as dangerous as this unless I ask you to, do you understand me? You are a very important asset for Shield, and that's why you are under my protection - he reminded you - I can't let you get hurt or killed - he said - it's not that I don't trust you, it's that keeping you safe is part of my job, not letting you get into things you're not ready for - he added - believe me, I had to deal with this type of situations a lot with Steve - he smiled remembering it - so, that would be all basically - he finished -

-Is that all? - you asked, he frowned -

-Is that all? - he repeated - And what…? - then he noticed your neck and your arms for the first time since he woke up from his slumber, now with the light he could see you clearly - What is that? -he questioned, staring at you-

-What?

-That, on your neck –he asked- Is it a bandage? Because it's in the same area where I… -his voice faded, as he looked into your eyes- little liar –he whispered, sending a shiver through your body- Did they manage to hit you with one of those darts too?

He remained silent, waiting for you to confess, but since you didn't, he spoke again

-I asked you a question, and I'm waiting for an answer. Did they shoot you?

-Yes –you muttered under your breath, he cursed-

-Shit –he complained- I told you not to follow me. This is the main reason why I told you not to –he snorted-

-Calm down –you asked, he looked at you firmly- -Calm down? -he asked- they shot darts at us with a substance that we don't know what it is- he reminded you- we could die right now and no one… -he stopped- shit, I'm fine- he reassured you- just a little dizzy- he said- it's because you're too close

You hadn't realized, but as you talked you had gotten closer to him, just like he to you.

-Do you want me to go? -you asked, he shook his head negatively-

-No, just… get away a little -he whispered- I'm sorry, but I can't seem to concentrate well right now-

-It happens to me too -you confessed alternating your gaze from his eyes to his mouth-

-Shit -he cursed again- I think there was something in that drug those bastards shot at us -he explained- I don't know what it could be but I feel weird -he whispered- I feel like my heart is racing every few minutes more than normal, and it definitely doesn't help that you're there, existing like a strong ray of sunlight hitting me directly in the face -he said making you blush-

-I think this drug could be an aphrodisiac or something like that -the soldier murmured- that would explain why… -he paused for a moment- no, no, no t-this is w-wrong -he stammered- I-I have to g-go-

You placed your hands on his chest silencing him immediately. You felt his strong muscles moving under his skin.

“Your hands… are warm on my skin,” he whispered, gently raising his metal hand to your face.

Automatically, all the thoughts you had about him and that hand and what he could do to you with it made your face heat up.

“You're blushing.”

“It's not true.”

“Yes it is,” he laughed, amused that you tried to hide it. “You…? Do you really like my metal arm?” he asked, raising the corner of his lips in a half-smile. “I mean… it's usually unpleasant for women.”

“Not for me,” you confessed, feeling like your face was about to explode.

“Oh, I see,” he whispered, “you love it, right?” he asked. “Shit, is that the drug talking, or…?”

“No,” you answered faster than you wanted. “I've been watching you for a while.”

That WAS because of the drug. I mean, it was true, but if you hadn't been on some kind of psychotropic drug (which you were) you would never have admitted that out loud, much less in front of him.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, making your heart skip a few beats, "especially so close," he sighed, "when I can admire everything about you," he whispered as he snuck his fingers under the waistband of your pants little by little before beginning to rub his fingers over your clothed center. "Is it okay?" he asked, you nodded. "More?" he questioned, reading the expression on your face.

Once again you nodded, making him let out a hoarse laugh that made you tense up deliciously.

"Only if you ask me nicely…" he murmured, stopping his movements, making you let out a gasp of surprise, he smiled.

"Please Bucky, can you…?" -You didn't have time to finish the sentence, since he had resumed his movements, which made you hold on to his broad shoulders to avoid collapsing-

-So obedient… -he murmured, watching you closely- I definitely didn't expect that from someone as stubborn as you- he laughed- shit- he growled- tell me to stop right now if you don't want me to kiss you- he said, staring into your eyes-

-I don't want you to stop- you repeated, swallowing hard, seeing the intense shine in his green eyes-

-Give me those lips then- he growled as he closed the distance that separated you to kiss you-

His lips moved needily against yours, making you gasp into his mouth. His beard tickled you, but you didn't care.

Not when he was kissing you like that, as if the air in his own lungs wasn't necessary to live, that he also needed the air in yours.

-This –kiss- is a –kiss- very bad idea –he murmured between kisses- you know that right? –he questioned- we should –kiss- stop –another kiss-

You watched each other for a moment, understanding each other without needing to speak, until he said:

-Fuck, I don't want to stop either –he panted kissing your neck and taking off your shirt and bra to leave kisses between needy and sweet on your chest- My God, every part of you is perfect –he whispered sliding his lips over your skin-

Little by little he placed you on your back against the couch without stopping kissing you, his powerful body floating over yours.

-That's it, darling –he praised against your mouth- give me better access –he murmured making a gesture towards himself for a moment- let me…

Without warning, you snapped your fingers and all his clothes disappeared making him laugh.

-Sometimes I forget that, besides being an excellent agent, you are also a mutant - he smiled - I have seen you use your powers before, but never like this

-That's because I only reserve these tricks for you - you whispered, making him smile -

Your powers consisted of making any physical element appear and disappear at will whenever you wanted.

At first you made things disappear without wanting to, but thanks to your training with Wanda and Strange you learned to bring them back and, ultimately, control your powers completely.

His fingers pushed aside your underwear, sneaking inside you. A gasp escaped from between your lips, noticing how he stretched you.

-Shit you are so wet - he observed, staring into your wide eyes - I can't wait and see how you taste," he confessed, making your hair stand on end, "but first you have to do something for me," he whispered, "can you do it, darling?" he added, you nodded weakly, his fingers certainly didn't help you concentrate properly. "Of course you can," he murmured before kissing you again, "do you know what I want you to do?" –he came closer to your ear, and whispered- I want you to beg

-I already have –you complained, he shook his head slowly-

-Not enough –he growled lightly- you're lovely, but you're going to have to beg me if you really want this –he whispered, you felt how the fact that he suddenly became so bossy only made you more excited than you already were- do it –he pressed- beg me

-Please Bucky –you pouted- I need you

-Come on princess –he sketched an amused smile- you can do better than that

That's when you exploded. Your libido was through the roof, and you needed him so much that his fingers weren't enough anymore, you wanted him.

-I need you inside me –you confessed- I need you to bury yourself so deep inside me that I don't know where I end and you begin.

-That's better –he said resuming his movements in your center- I knew you could do better –he added between laughs-

-Wait –you said holding his wrist with your hand- I need… I want… -your gaze shifted to his other arm, making his smile grow wider-

-Do you want me to touch you with my metal hand? –he questioned, you nodded slowly, feeling yourself blush- shit you're fucking adorable, are you sure? –you nodded again- you really have a thing for it don't you? –he took a deep breath for a moment- okay –he agreed- Who would dare to reject such a sweet offer?

He quickly replaced his flesh hand with the metal one. A squeal escaped from between his lips at the cold contact of the metal on your hot center. You held onto him as he curled his fingers, brushing against that spot that made your head spin.

-That's it, let me caress your clit- he whispered, watching you intently- good girl- he praised, making you gasp and start moving your hips against his fingers, suddenly his contact disappeared. Your eyes widened when you saw how he placed both hands on your hips-

-Fuck it- he growled- spread your legs- he ordered, staring at you-

-Why did you stop?- you moaned- I was about to…

-You're going to cum several times tonight- he assured you- now I need to taste you

Unable to say another word, you nodded and did as he asked.

-You're so wet- he whispered, placing himself between your legs- but I want you to be even more- he confessed, leaving a soft kiss on your center- legs on my shoulders, doll

You couldn't explain in words what happened next. His tongue was everywhere, sucking, licking, and tugging at your clit making you feel soaked like never before.

You arched your back into him, earning a murmur from him as he claimed you with his mouth. You rested both of your hands in his hair, tugging at it between your hands.

“Yes baby,” he whispered, “show me what you like,” he said as you squirmed against him. “Your moans tell me you’ve been wanting this for a long time,” he commented as he kissed you.

“Yes.”

“Yes?” he questioned. “You’ve been thinking about me like this, huh? I bet you got wet thinking about me doing this, right?” “Another kiss,” you nodded, unable to form a coherent sentence at the thought of a super-soldier eating your pussy out on your couch. “Is this what you wanted?”

-Yes –you gasped, holding onto his hair again, feeling yourself blush-

-It's okay, baby –he whispered- you're not the only one who's had those fantasies –he confessed, and the fact that Bucky had been thinking about you like that was enough to make you cum at that moment- you've been on my mind for quite some time, too –he began to explain- in this position and maybe with one of my hands on your throat –a muffled cry escaped from between your lips, since that was the same thing you had been thinking- preferably the metal one –he whispered, thus completing both of your fantasy-

-I… -you gasped- I've been thinking about that too –you confessed, he smiled-

-Do you want to do it now? –he asked and you nodded- good girl –he murmured- okay, here we go –he said reaching his hand up to your throat- I'll just place it around it without using force, just so you feel his presence, okay? –you nodded firmly-

When you felt the cold metal against the skin of your neck, and his long fingers wrapping around your throat you thought you would faint. The pleasure you were feeling at that moment was nothing like anything you had ever experienced before.

-Oh fuck –he gasped watching you- this is so fucking sexy… -he growled- my hand around your throat –he murmured kissing you in the center again- my other hand stimulating your clit and my mouth devouring you like I have been wanting for weeks

The sensations were… too much. You felt your body tense and relax in equal parts. He noticed it too when he looked up at you.

-I can feel you tightening around my fingers –he whispered- Are you going to cum already, doll? –he asked- Are you close? –you nodded- good –he murmured- I want you to cum on my fingers while I make a mess of your clit –the mere thought made your head spin- Can you do that for me?

Lost in the cloud of lividity, you nodded.

-Good girl –he praised kissing you- just feel my fingers stretching you, while my teeth pull on your clit

-Buck… -you gasped holding onto his hair again-

-That's it baby, cum for me –he ordered-

With a loud squeal, you did it. As you caught your breath, his green eyes scanned your face intently.

“That’s my good girl,” he smiled. “You came so hard,” he murmured, his smile growing wider. “How long have you been holding it in, babe?”

“Too long,” you replied, trying to calm the trembling in your legs. Without giving him time to say anything else, you wrapped your hand around his cock. This time it was he who gasped.

“Baby,” he growled, throwing his head back. “I need to feel something more than just your hand,” he confessed. “Take your time, I don’t want to make you…”

A hoarse gasp escaped from between his lips as you took him into your mouth and tasted the tip between your lips. He raised his hips against you, making you feel him grow inside your mouth.

-Wait- he growled holding your head gently with his metal hand- I don't want to cum without feeling you first- he patted his leg twice- come here, sit on my lap

He didn't have to ask you twice. You positioned yourself there, he held your hips between his hands while offering you a radiant smile.

-Hi- you greeted with a nervous laugh-

-Hi- he whispered focusing all his attention on you- I want you to ride me- he confessed making you almost choke on your own saliva, you loved that he was so direct- now you have control and I want you to take my cock like a good fucking girl. Understand?

You nodded and raised your hips to slowly introduce him inside you. You both gasped at the sensation, his metal hand rested on your back, helping you stabilize.

-Slow down, baby – he whispered – don't rush – he asked – it's been a while since I last saw you

You moved your hips against him, feeling how he stretched you in a delicious way.

He buried his face in your neck to kiss you again while you sighed and moved looking for a release that came too soon.

When you finished he held you in his arms and without realizing it you fell asleep against each other.

[carbone14]

Valentina Safronova armée d'un fusil semi-automatique Tokarev SVT-40 – 1940's

Valentina Safronova est une partisane soviétique et une agente des renseignements qui s'est engagée dans la reconnaissance et le sabotage jusqu'à sa capture et sa mort par la Gestapo le 1er mai 1943.

[nebula1734]

The media keeps saying stuff about the gun used in the UHC CEO killing being a 3D printed ghost gun , and as someone who knows guns and 3D printing, I want to give my opinion.

The use of a ghost gun is possible. While I don’t know much about them or procuring them, I do know stuff like 80% kits are relatively easy to procure and assemble. A ghost gun is just a gun that doesn’t have a serial number. This leads me to part two.

I’ve seen a lot of articles talking about a lot of ghost guns using 3D printed parts, if not being 3D printed entirely. This is, in the majority of cases, not true. There have been some designs capable of firing bullets that were 3D printed, but it’s rare and very hard to design. 3D printing is essentially just laying down layers of a melted plastic on top of each other and using that heat to connect the separate layers. This leads to several issues with trying to design a firearm made entirely of 3D printed plastic, primarily heat and pressure.

When a bullet fires, part of what applies force to the projectile is extremely hot gasses. The standard 3D print material, PLA, has a melting point of 175 degrees Celsius, which is (probably) much lower than those gasses. That gas also creates pressure which wants to take the path of least resistance, namely through the now softened thermoplastics.

This doesn’t even get into the issue you would have with reliably getting the weapon to cycle and feed ammunition, and from everything I’ve heard/seen, the Adjustor used a semi automatic handgun.

My point is this: don’t listen to the “it was a 3D printed ghost gun” bullshit. It’s fear mongering. In addition, it allows them ignore the issue of gun control in this country. If people are able to just make guns, then that is a completely separate issue.

Edit: It has since come to my attention that it potentially used 3D printed parts, though I haven’t found which ones exactly, presumably ones that would have the least amounts of stress. My point still stands, by calling it a “3D printed ghost gun,” they make it seem like it was entirely 3D printed, which is not the case. The alleged weapon shown in pictures uses components that look like a Glock slide and barrel, as well as magazine.

[handmedownpocketpussy]

You know how white people use being scared as a weapon? All those videos of white women saying, "I called the cops because I felt like I was in danger" and how white guys have tiktoks about, "You need at least one semi automatic weapon close at hand at all times to defend your family" kinda shit?

That's what bothers me so much about watching fellow jews acting like just seeing a Palestinian flag or keffiyeh somehow automatically makes a place unsafe.

I mostly see it in US American jews posting about how they feel threatened by a Palestinian flag, or saying that anything referencing not wanting thousands and thousands of Palestinians to die is 'a call for jewish genocide'

Y'all. No. This tells me you have never interacted with a Palestinian or even the Muslim community at large. We diaspora Jews are not the victims here.

Your assimilation has ended on the path of weaponisation of your fears, which is not a great place to be.

If you honestly believe "The only safe place in the world for Jews is Israel" you've bought into someone fearmongering. I'm begging you to investigate why you bought that lie and who is benefiting from you buying it

[help-itrappedmyself]

Summoning Game Show 3

Masterpost

I got so inspired and had so much fun writing for part 2 I just kept going. I have determined that this 'fic' should be about 7 parts long total. And here's Part 3, because I'm enjoying the nonsense of this so much.

~~~~~

“Congratulations on successfully finishing the first challenge! You can make your way back to the main room to receive your clue.”

The screen changes once Nightwing is on the stage with them. It now shows what looks like a wheel of fortune puzzle. Three words, four letters, four letters, and seven letters.

“For your clue, you can choose a letter for the puzzle!” Danny explains. “Since there are four of you we will give you four letters automatically, and you each have the chance to earn an extra letter. For the freebies! E, the most common vowel in English.”

“Looks like no E’s in this puzzle.” Danny shrugs at the boys with a grin on his face. “For the next three letters, we have the three most common consonants: T, N, and S!”

“Three letters up, two N’s and one T.” Danny turns away from the screen to face Nightwing. “What letter would you like to choose?” Dick turns to look at Red and Jason “This portion is not collaborative.” Danny cuts in with a small frown, making everyone look back at him. “You earned the letter, you choose the letter. They only get to pick a letter after they’ve earned one.”

Nightwing grimaces slightly. “A?” 

“A!” Danny turns back to the screen.

“One A!” Danny turns back. “The next challenge is a sword fight against Fright Knight! Who would like to sword fight?”

Damian very quickly raised his hand. Tim almost wanted to smack him, but as similar as a bo staff can be, and as much as he doesn’t want Damian in danger, Damian does have the most extensive sword training amongst them.

Danny takes Damian to pick out his sword. “I see that you have a sword already, but the fight is to first blood and you can’t harm Fright Knight with that sword, so that’s kind of unfair. We need to get you a weapon that will actually be able to hit your opponent.” They leave through a side door, but they leave it open so everyone can see all the weapon racks and Danny as he shows Damian around.

Tim leans towards Dick and Jason as Dick takes his seat in the middle chair. “Cool, so our weapons can’t actually hurt them, good to know. What exactly are we going to be asking the King at the end of this?”

“What do you mean?” Dick asks.

“I think he means that if we want to get back to our dimension we don’t want to piss off everyone here by wasting their time.” Jason spits out, sitting up and turning towards them. “They didn’t seem to take too kindly to that idea earlier.”

Dick winces and nods. “We could ask him to deal with the cult that brought us here.”

“What if he kills all of them?” 

“Well, you clearly have an idea Red, why don’t you tell us instead of making us guess.” Jason complains.

“Diplomatic relations.” Red states. “New dimension, new culture. We’re here to learn, maybe we could ask to set up a meeting between the King and Batman, or the Justice League.”

“The whole point of this is to get a meeting, what do you think he’s going to do if we use this meeting to ask for a different meeting?”

“Jason has a point. Maybe we could just ask to set up a way to communicate between us?” Dick suggests.

“I have obtained a sufficient weapon.” Damian calls out as he and Danny approach. Danny comes up onto the stage, heading back to the podium, but Damian doesn’t waste his time going back up and instead waits by the short stairs for further instructions. He is holding a katana, similar to the one he is used to, but with a different grip and that is glowing.

“So, since you’re using a semi unfamiliar weapon, Fright Knight is not going to be allowed to use his Soul Shredder, just to make it fair. And just in case he draws first blood, we don’t want to accidentally send anybody to their nightmare dimension!” Danny chirps out cheerfully. “You will be fighting in here, just stay on the main floor and away from bystanders. Fight will immediately end at first blood, no maiming, no killing, no excessive force. No use of powers is permitted.”

Danny gestures to where Fright Knight is exiting the armory with a regular looking broadsword. “This is Fright Knight.” Fright Knight waves as he comes over, stopping next to Damian so they’re both standing beneath the stage.

“Are you both ready?” The two swordsmen take a few steps away from each other and take positions before nodding. “Begin!”

[greenglowinspooks]

(DCxDP) Drowning in formaldehyde (Prologue)

—

Tw: Danny is having a Certified Bad Time™️, dissociation, vivisection mention, suicidal thoughts (kinda?), basically just heavy angst for now

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

Note: you don’t need to read this chapter to understand the rest of the story, it’s mostly just to explore Danny’s headspace when he first escapes the GiW

(Pt. 1)

(Subscription post/masterlist)

—

Danny rocked back and forth, trying to soothe himself as the truck he was in continued to speed along.

It had been an eternity since he was captured by the GiW. He didn’t know why they were moving him to a new base after all this time, but he knew it wasn’t a good thing.

Still, he couldn’t find it in himself to feel afraid.

He couldn’t feel much of anything these days. The GiW had a routine and they stuck to it religiously, and that routine had sucked every bit of Danny’s soul out of him.

Something churned in his chest regardless. Anticipation? Excitement, maybe?

Perhaps they were finally going to let Danny fade. Was that a bad thing? Danny couldn’t decide if it was or not.

He wasn’t scared of fading. It seemed inevitable, especially with how he was treated on the daily. He would stop hurting if he faded.

Still, he’d like to see Jazz and Tucker and Sam at least one more time before he does. That would be nice.

The truck continues forward, unmoved by Danny’s thoughts.

The sound is nice, Danny thinks.

The hum of the engine, the crackling of pebbles being crushed under the tires, the electrical buzz of the anti-ghost handcuffs and shield keeping him trapped.

The only sound Danny’s heard the last few years has been the clatter of metal tools, the crunching of bone, the sawing and thunking and squishing of surgery, the murmur of voices.

It’s nice to hear something new, Danny thinks.

Strange, but nice.

The truck stops again. Another red light, probably. Danny continues rocking back and forth, back and forth, like the ticking of a clock.

Seconds pass. Second after second after second.

Danny hears shouting now.

Gunshots crack outside, and Danny sees holes appear in the side of the truck.

That’s definitely new.

Chaos is erupting outside. There’s a lot of screaming, and frantic footsteps, and cars zooming away.

The driver door slams open and shut. The truck speeds off, tires screaming as the driver swerves erratically.

Danny is thrown back and forth in the back of the truck, bumping up against the many weapons and other miscellaneous inventions stored alongside him. Pain blooms in his head and chest, an agonizing heat lining his surgical wounds. Danny licks his lips underneath his muzzle. It would be nice if the driver was a bit better at their job, he thinks.

The truck continues careening wildly.

Danny counts the seconds.

Second after second after second.

After around two thousand, three hundred and seventy four seconds, the truck comes to a stop. Danny didn’t lose count this time. He’s proud of himself.

The driver door opens and closes yet again. There’s chatter outside, excitement clear in the voices that Danny hears. There’s lots of talk of “congratulations,” and “lucky that the Bat didn’t follow you here.”

Then, the back of the truck is opened. Danny hears noises of confusion and shock. He turns his head, looking to see what’s happened.

There’s several men at the door of the truck. They’re wearing black tuxedo suits—Sam was right, black really is such a pretty color—and they’re staring at him.

They begin talking among themselves. Something about them not knowing about a kid, and not knowing what to tell the boss. It’s confusing to him. It’s not what he usually hears spoken.

Then, one of them climbs up into the truck. He approaches Danny slowly, speaking in a calm voice. He’s asking Danny if he can stand, he realizes, asking him if he knows why he’s in the truck.

Danny just stares at the silver glint of the gun at the man’s side.

It’s a nice one, he thinks. Semi-automatic, with a few modifications to make the reloads smoother and the gunshots quieter. His fingers twitch. He’d like to poke at it a little, see if he could improve it any.

The man notices where he’s staring and curses. He takes the gun and lowers it to the floor. Danny just continues to stare.

Silver is an ugly color, he thinks. He much prefers black.

Silver is the color of stainless steel, the color of lab and surgical equipment.

He doesn’t like it much.

The man reaches out a hand and grabs Danny’s shoulder, shaking him gently.

After a moment, he sighs, and hoists Danny up, carrying him effortlessly. He hands him to one of the men outside of the truck, hopping down himself a moment later.

They’re warm, Danny realizes.

He curls further into the new man’s arms, closing his eyes. It’s nice, he thinks, being held like this. He hasn’t been held with such care in a long, long time.

The man sets him down on a crate.

After a moment Danny opens his eyes again, watching as the many black-suited people take things out of the truck. He counts the inventions in his head as they do so, beginning to rock again.

Then, a new man enters the room, and everyone freezes.

He’s congratulating them, asking them about their escape, and then he spots Danny.

Danny would very much like to be invisible right about now.

“Where did you get him?” He asks, tapping his umbrella against the floor.

“He was in the truck,” the man who carried him says, “we don’t know why.”

The stout man looks at him closely.

“How did you get into a government weapon shipment? Did someone put you in there?”

Danny nods his head. He tries to speak, but his voice cracks painfully underneath his muzzle.

“You- someone get that thing off his face,” he says. Several of the other men scurry off, probably looking for something that can break the muzzle, “can you speak?”

Danny shrugs. He tries to talk again, but it seems that his voice doesn’t want to cooperate with him. The only sound he can make is a painful, broken wheeze.

“Hey,” the man says, resting a hand on Danny’s shoulder, “if it hurts to talk, stop trying, alright? We’re gonna get that muzzle and those cuffs off, and then we’ll figure out why you were in there. You know how to write?”

Danny nods.

“Good,” the man responds.

“You two, get something to write with,” he barks to a few of the other suited men. They, too, run off.

A few people come up, carrying a bolt cutter and a few other tools with them. They make quick work of the muzzle and handcuffs, the restraints falling to the floor with a clattering sound.

Danny looks down at his hands. They’re shaking. Slowly, slowly, he brings them up to his face. Thin fingers brush up against cracked, dry lips. He’s fascinated by the sensation.

Someone brought him a mirror, he realizes.

That can’t be right, though. The person looking back at him…isn’t him. That isn’t Danny.

That face is not his face.

Their cheeks are far too thin and sunken, their eyes dull and haunting. They’re far too old as well, they look like a young adult.

Still, they move when he moves. They stare at him with a look of fascinated horror that’s far too familiar.

He brings his hand up to his head, and they follow his movements. He trails his fingers over the stitches in his head, and they do the same.

Danny tries to speak, but is cut off by a painful cough.

One of the men brings up a pencil and notepad. Slowly, shakily, Danny writes down a question.

“What year is it?”

The man who had spoken to him earlier quirked his eyebrow up. He answers, and Danny freezes in place.

“What’s wrong?”

Danny looks down at his hands again. He looks into the mirror. The stranger staring back looks horrified. They look sad. They look…like him.

Danny lets out a mournful keening sound. He curls up into himself, covering his face with his arms. Distantly, he’s aware of someone rubbing circles into his back. He cries harder, his entire body shaking.

Three years.

It’s been three years since he was captured, three years of being cut open and sewn back together. Three years of burns and cuts and chemical damage and electrical shocks.

Three years of torture.

Danny sobs, hands gripping the thin fabric of his medical gown like a lifeline. Three years.

Danny’s being lifted up again. He wraps his arms around the person holding him and wails into their shoulder. Everything is quiet.

“I’ll deal with the kid,” the man holding him says, “the rest of you, finish unpacking the truck and dump it somewhere that the Bat won’t connect to me.”

The man brings Danny through the building, still rubbing his back comfortingly. He’s humming some song that Danny doesn’t recognize, occasionally pausing to bark orders at people.

Danny’s beginning to calm down now. He’s still shaking, but his breathing is beginning to even out.

It’s been a long time since he’s felt alive enough to cry.

He feels exhausted.

Danny tries to hold onto consciousness for as long as possible, but he’s so tired, and so sad, and he’s being held, and he’s warm, and…

Danny’s eyes flutter shut.

—

[jadeshifting]

— SO, YOU WANNA SHIFT TO THE HUNGER GAMES? ( no judgement, just ideas )

　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　

you find yourself captivated by the fierce competitors, the raw survival skills, and the thrill of the Games—but you’re not here for the trauma or the soul-crushing political weight of the Capitol. you want to shift into the arena as a competitor, but you’re not particularly excited by the idea of killing or experiencing the emotional scars of the Games (hopefully.) you just want the vibes of it all. anyway, i’m gonna ramble about some safe, exciting, and less intense ways to dive into this reality

SAFEGUARDS FOR THE ARENA ( no one wants to die in the first five minutes—or at all )

　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　

first and foremost, if you’re going to be a competitor in the Games, you need a solid shield to make sure you can actually survive without getting too hurt—physically or emotionally. let’s make sure you can have the experience of being in the arena without the real risk

.　　. 　 ˚　. non-violent approach. script that you’re a survivor in the Games, not a fighter. either you’re protecting others, or just outlasting everyone, but not killing. your weapons could be more about defense—you use a shield, traps, or stealth to protect yourself without ever needing to engage in direct combat

.　　. 　 ˚　. immune from fatal injury. this is your script, and you don’t have to die in the arena. script that no matter what happens, you can’t be seriously injured or killed. you’re immune to lethal attacks, or your injuries heal incredibly fast. you’re invincible, in the sense that you’ll never meet a tragic end during the Games

.　　. 　 ˚　. no fatal hits. any lethal blows or attacks are automatically deflected or blocked—whether by some unseen protective power or just sheer willpower, the important part is that you can never actually kill another contestant

.　　. 　 ˚　. non-violent encounters. you can script that, coincidentally, any encounters you have in the Games are strictly non-violent. you might have to face other competitors, but these interactions can be in the form of alliances, strategic plays, or even just passive avoidance. you certainly don’t need to kill anyone

YOUR DAY-TO-DAY IN THE ARENA ( so you’re prepared, not overwhelmed )

　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　

being a competitor in the Hunger Games is a big deal, and it’s important to understand what life will look like in the arena without having your mind explode over the chaos. you’re stepping into a world of survival, but you can make it a lot less intense by scripting the day-to-day experience in a way that’s more manageable, and less heavy

LIFE BEFORE THE ARENA: TRAINING & PREP

.　　. 　 ˚　. prep period. before the Games start, make sure you get plenty of training time and preparation. you’re not going to be thrown into the chaos without some confidence in your abilities. training is mostly about learning survival skills, but you could also script camaraderie, forming alliances, and other semi-positive interactions with other tributes during prep

.　　. 　 ˚　. skills you actually enjoy. maybe you love archery, or you’re great at crafting. choose skills that make you feel empowered rather than terrified. you don’t have to just script being great with a weapon—you can script that you have unique abilities that set you apart, like building traps, reading the environment, or surviving using cleverness and wit ( which also happen to be non-violent and less stressful, by the way )

LIFE IN THE ARENA

.　　. 　 ˚　. less violent challenges. not all of the challenges of the Games have to be focused on physical combat. you can script periods of challenge that test the tributes on survival skills or problem-solving instead of being forced into deadly combat. for example, the Gamemakers could test you on endurance, mental agility, or resourcefulness, where the goal is simply to outsmart the arena rather than outfight it

.　　. 　 ˚　. alliances. while alliances can be a tricky thing in the Hunger Games, you can script the arena to be slightly more cooperative. you could form something close to a “team” that helps each other with food, water, and shelter. this would also subside the isolation of the Games, so they aren’t an on-sight bloodbath at every second

THE LITTLE DETAILS

　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　

.　　. 　 ˚　. the scent of freshly baked bread wafts through the district’s square every morning, a fragrance most people enjoy, even when most people can’t afford it

.　　. 　 ˚　. your favorite mug has a single shallow crack running down the center of it, and there’s a thin ribbon tied around the handle

.　　. 　 ˚　. you wear a tiny locket with a single pressed flower inside—the only one of those flowers you’ve ever seen, which is why you had to preserve it

.　　. 　 ˚　. the chill of early morning fog clings to your skin every morning as you walk down the street and hug your jacket around you

.　　. 　 ˚　. you have a faint scar on your wrist from when you fell as a kid, while climbing a fence. that was before you truly understood fear

.　　. 　 ˚　. a patchwork quilt is draped over your bed, made of squares of tattered pastel fabric stitched together

.　　. 　 ˚　. you have a pocketknife that was gifted to you by a childhood mentor, with a smooth wooden handle. you always keep it tucked in your boot, just in case

.　　. 　 ˚　. there’s a small patch of weedy powder blue wildflowers that grows just outside the fence near your home. you look at it every day and think about what you’d do if/when you pick them

.　　. 　 ˚　. you keep a single golden coin in your pocket, that you never spend. it’s a superstition from your grandparents, it’s supposed to bring you luck

shifting to the Hunger Games universe as a competitor doesn’t have to mean subjecting yourself to violence, trauma, or the emotional weight of the Games. by scripting safeguards that keep you safe, adjusting the challenges to be more about skill and intelligence than bloodshed, and adjusting the world just enough that the Capitol isn’t a crushing force, you can enjoy the thrill of the Hunger Games without all of the stress

so go ahead, shift into the arena, and compete in the the Games—on your terms. you’re the one holding the script, after all. happy shifting :^)

[billgenbrough]

I'm sorry, but this article about an arrest is so fucking stupid.

They arrested him based off of the "suspect pictures". Wasn't it said by the NYPD themselves that they weren't even sure if the pictures released were actually of the guy? Which means they're potentially using random photos to arrest someone that has no actual evidence tracing them to the crime?

Also, "ghost gun"??? Dude. There's no fucking way a 3D-printed gun could actually work, let alone kill someone.

3D printers use plastic. The guy would have had to print individual pieces of the gun, buy mechanical internal operating pieces for a gun, and assemble it, let alone purchase the gunpowder to actually use the gun.

Read that again. 3D printers use plastic.

Did you ever see the Mythbusters episode where they test the theory of bullets made of ice? And they conclude that the mechanical components and the speed would get too hot and melt the ice?

Google is only giving me statistics for automatics rather than semi, so let's assume this guy somehow managed to 3D print an automatic 9mm (size of the bullets, according to the NYPD).

The barrel of the gun would get, on average, between 392°F and 572°F. (Source is Google)

Acrylonitrile Butadiene Styrene (ABS) is the type of plastic commonly used for 3D printers (source is HP, the computer company). ABS, according to Wikipedia, does not have a genuine melting point; however, it does have a "glass transition" point, where it becomes rubbery, which is how it's able to be used in 3D printing. That temperature is roughly 221°F.

Therefore, a 3D-printed gun would not even be able to shoot a bullet while keeping its solid shape.

How the fuck are they going to arrest someone with what is essentially a cosplay pop weapon?

[mockerycrow]

You’re Alive (Gaz x GN!Reader)

gaz masterlist - gazfest 2023 @glitterypirateduck

PROMPTS: “One-shot” + “Safe House” + “Let Me See You”

SUMMARY: After receiving a facial scar, you have been jumpy—Kyle is here to show you that’s it’s all okay.

A/N: Honestly, I’m not the happiest with this but I decided to stop being picky with it!! So I hope my contribution to gazfest is satisfactory <3

[WARNINGS: Angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, moderate descriptions of gore, allusion to PTSD.]

Your leg kept bouncing like whatever gnawing feeling in your gut wasn’t going to stop unless your leg was going a million miles per minute. The clock on the wall ticked every second oh so quietly, and it was overall silent aside from the ticking and your body squeaking. You felt like a live wire attached to a brick of dynamite, ready to explode at any given time—ready to kill whoever holds the brick. Despite it being an hour or two since you and Kyle arrived at the safehouse, you remain at the only window in the entire building. In your arms rests your rifle with your safety switched to “semi” for semi-automatic, like you’re expecting someone to come barreling in through the door, or come through the tree line.

Kyle doesn’t blame you for the way you have been acting, honestly. He knows you’ve been different since you got your facial scar a few months back—you were required to go through a psychological evaluation to be deemed fit for duty, and it’s moments like this where Kyle—guiltily—wonders how you passed “with flying colors”, so the doctor said. He doesn’t understand how the Captain hasn’t see your behavior either, or if he has, he hasn’t done anything about it. Kyle means well about all of this, too. He’s worried about you. He’s seen the way your eyes scan every room, the way you’re too ready to raise your weapon to kill, the way you snarl at anyone who is casually holding a knife outside of combat.. There’s so many signs pointing to something, a deeper problem, that he is wondering how the psychologist still has a job.

You’ve begun to wear a mask that obscures your face from your nose down.

You offered to take first watch—he notes that you’re like Ghost in that regard, you can’t calm down after a highly intense situation, so you gotta do what you gotta do, right? But the way you’re so.. jumpy, you keep jolting and looking at Kyle every time he shifts, making a slight noise?—that’s concerning. He’s used to Ghost’s incredible alertness, the way he doesn’t like his back faced to the door of the rooms he enters, Kyle is used to when Ghost sits in the far corner so he can see every inch of the room—but he was terrified when you began to do it, too. You’ve always been vigilant, sure, but you’re.. Something is very wrong.

Kyle watches from his spot on the ragged, torn couch that had to be taken from the curb in a nearby neighborhood. His own rifle is propped up against the couch, his pistol resting on the coffee table in front of himself. He watches the way your eyes flicker across the skyline, the puffy eyebags you have almost seem like they’re worsening by the moment. Kyle is also exhausted—you two have been traveling from safehouse to safehouse for about a week, trying to meet up with the rest of the task force.. With no support, of course.

He calls your name, and he makes a mental note of how your finger twitches closer to the trigger than before. “You need to rest.” He grunts out, pushing himself off of the couch. Kyle turns and grabs his rifle, holding the hefty weapon to his chest as he naturally copies your perfectly practiced pose. He looks up and looks at you—and you haven’t moved a muscle. “Hey, y’hear me?” Kyle voice is laced with concern as he takes his steps towards you, and he makes the mistake of tapping your shoulder—because suddenly he’s facing the silencer of your semi-automatic rifle. Cold panic shoots through his veins and his gut, his muscles going rigid as if he’s a deer in headlights. His eyes search for yours, locking eyes; and you’re out of it. He knew something was wrong.

“Oi,” Kyle speaks with the softest tone he can manage with a gun nearly pressing into the bridge of his nose. “Oi, it’s me. Gaz, mate. It’s Kyle.” Your eyes search his face desperately, and he’s silently begging for you to speak. The tension in his stomach is twisting and turning, threatening to snap—you show no signs of any recognization of him, someone who you have trusted for years by this point, someone who was the one to get your guts inside of your abdomen after an ambush, the one who held your face together after the attack—

Kyle does things before he thinks about it sometimes, and it seems to happen a lot more often with you than anyone else, so he’s silently cursing himself out when he slowly raises a hand to your cheek—his heart pounding against his rib cage, like it’s screeching to escape and run away. He has a rifle pressing against his nose, nearly right between his eyes, and what does he do? Kyle holds your covered cheek, his gloved hand cradling it just like how he did when he found you. Your eyebrow muscles punch inwards for a moment, your eyelids fluttering from the touch.

He watches the way your eyes scan his face, the way you’re trying to decipher whether he’s friend or foe—and he sees it when you know it’s him. Your eyes widen every so slightly and your rifle trembles in your grasp, lowering it and you flip the safety back on. “Gaz, I..” You croak for a moment, taking a small step back. Kyle let’s out a breath he didn’t he was holding, along with all of that tension holding up in body. He reaches for you again as you pinch the bridge of your nose, one of his hands swiftly taking the rifle from you, the other gently cradling your cheek again. “Shh, it’s alright,” He murmurs, his stomach tightening with anxiety. Your eyes fall closed for a moment as Kyle lets your rifle drop to the ground next to where both of you stand.

“It’s alright.” Kyle repeats, his other hand coming up to cradle your other cheek. You ever so slightly flinch in his touch, but you don’t pull away. Your hands come up to cover his own, a choked noise leaving your throat. “Breathe, sweetheart. Breathe.” His lips are next to your ear now, voice dripping like honey into your eardrums, trickling down your spine with a warmth only he’s been able to provide for you. You can borderline feel his heat from beneath his gloves, seeping into your skin from on top of your mask, too. It grounds you enough for you to take a wonderfully oxygen filled breath.

“There y’go, yeah..” Kyle praises you softly, the air from between his lips brushing against your ear and causing you get goosebumps. You inhale once again, slower and deeper—and you get the comforting scent of Kyle, mixed in with the sweat and dirt. Nonetheless, it’s something you find extreme comfort in. As Kyle brings you down from your panicked feelings, he’s swaying you ever so slightly. After you let out a soft shuddering breath, he pulls away from your ear. “Let me see you,” He whispers, causing your eyes to shoot open, scanning his face with panic. You begin to shake your head but his hands remain in place. Kyle’s hands don’t move to remove your mask, as he’s always been good with your boundaries—but his eyes are pleading you.

“Please.” You lock eye contact with him as you debate this; you haven’t showed your face willingly since you were in the hospital, right? You began to cover your face as soon as you could without medical repercussions. You keep scanning his eyes, his muscles in his face, and then it hits you—Kyle doesn’t beg you of anything—the last time he saw your face, was when it was split in two, when he was holding your face in place. You know the attack fucked with him, too. Your barracks were next to his, and after the attack, you were hyper-vigilant. You woke up from every noise, and every night—you heard him stumble out of his room, always at night. Panicked.

You take a slow, deep breath—and you nod. You close your eyes, trying to give yourself some comfort. You feel his fingers hook into the soft material of your mask, and he pulls it down to under your chin. You don’t open your eyes just yet, but you can’t help the small flinch when you feel his gloved thumb trace part of your pink scar that’s deep in your lip. Your heart is hammering in your throat as his finger continues to slowly follow the scar’s path, from your bottom lip trailing to your nose, rearing a gory right, a deeper part of the scar scaling through your right cheek, and taking a harsh upwards turn, just narrowly missing your eye, but cutting deep into your eyebrow.

“There you are.” He whispers, his voice barely steady. Your eyes flutter open and you look at Kyle, and your eyebrows raise ever so slightly at the sight of tears brimming in his own eyes, pure relief all over his expression. “Thought I lost you forever, huh?” Kyle tries to laugh, but his voice cracks, causing a rare laugh to be pulled out of your chest. You reach up and your breath hitches as you wipe away a tear that had begun to slide down his cheek. “I’m.. I’m okay, Kyle.” You respond and he shakes his head, sniffling for a moment, his eyes tracing every part of your face, like you’ll disappear again. “You aren’t,” He confirms. “And that’s alright. You’re alive, and here with me, that’s enough for now.”