#threats with gun tw

[notverycolonthreeofyou]

Happy I hate fireworks day 🥳

[draw-the-squad-like-this]

Draw your... characters...?

[imaplatypus-art]

Johnathan hates when people mislabel him and other platypuses

Me too 🔫

[heyheydidjaknow]

I haven’t played this stupid game in 6 months. This is a sequel to Prospects, this time featuring Bailey.

Agreement

The envelope shook in your hand. “This should suffice.”

Bailey took it from you, not bothering to meet your eyes as she slit the top and took the slip inside. Whitney, dressed for the ride ahead— or fight; whatever came first— in his sweats and t-shirt, stood with his back to the door. Despite your assurance, he had insisted on sitting in on this final transaction as if the mountain of cash you had worked yourself ragged to obtain would not be enough to settle the score, as if your being there were not dependent solely on your value as a worker, as if Bailey— who now looked up at you over the check between her fingers and her half-rimmed glasses— would care beyond that if you were gone.

The ground swayed beneath your feet.

Bailey leaned back in her chair, gesturing to Whitney with the check. “This was your idea?”

You could not bring yourself to look back at him, but you could imagine his expression. It was the same as when you had when you had met Briar and Avery a few days before; cool, unflinching, as though you were an item at a pawn shop he was trying to get a good price on. You supposed you were, in a sense. “Yes.”

Bailey nodded slowly, taking in your figure, your stance. You squirmed under her gaze. “And the child’s yours, I take it?”

“Yes.”

She considered as much. “You know,” she mused, “your… what would the word be? Fucktoy?”

He scoffed. “For our purposes, property.”

“Oh, hardly.” She leaned her elbows on the desk, fingers lacing together under her chin. “Not officially at least, not until our terms are settled.”

“What terms are there to settle?” You picked at your cuticles, heart pounding in your throat. “Is that not how much—“

“That’s how much my best earner was worth before.” Her smile was sweet like cough syrup, sharp like whiskey. “I’m a businesswoman you understand; it would hardly make much sense for me to part with my greatest revenue stream for its raw material costs.”

You looked back at Whitney. He kept his eyes trained on the woman in front of you. “And how much would it take for you to part ways with your charge?”

She sighed in mock contemplation. “Oh, I don’t know.” She sucked her teeth. “Another fifty percent ought to do it.”

The words echoed in your ears. You swallowed back panic as you went back to staring at the floor.

“Fifty?” His sneer was audible. “The fuck you take me for?”

“Someone desperate.” She gestured to you. “Someone willing to take when they can get and leave.”

“A bitch, you mean.”

“So long as we’re being frank.”

“You—“

“Do you know how much that child is worth?” You shut your eyes as you felt her own take you in. “Do you know what sort of market you could appeal to with a matching set?”

You heard a rustling of cloth behind you. Whitney’s voice was as cheerful and bright as you had ever heard it. “So long as we’re considering the lives of people that matter,” he smiled, “I’m curious; how much is your life worth?”

There was a pause, a laugh from Bailey. “That bitch,” she sighed. “First that file—“

“This actually isn’t Laundry’s, surprisingly enough.” You heard the clinking of metal parts as he gestured to you. “Friend of a friend who lives in the country; I promised him the deed to this shithole if your position found itself empty.”

Despite yourself, you turned to face him. He held the pistol in his hand with the confidence of a man unfazed by its weight. In the back of your mind, you wondered if he would be tried if he went through with it, whether the cops would come or care or whether they would write it off as the result of one of Bailey’s “ungrateful brats”. You could not for the life of you decide which would be preferable.

“So,” he continued, finger twitching, eyes shining, “I think it best if we tried renegotiating terms.” He gestured to you. “Either you take the money and I take your cash cow off your hands—“ He steadied his aim, “— or I redecorate your office with your insides and you get to find out whether the contents of that envelope are worth shit in hell.”

You cast your gaze back towards her. Bailey looked between the two of you, lips pursed. “You’re more desperate than I thought.” She pushed her glasses up her nose and reached into her shirt pocket. “Let me give you some advice, kid.”

You shut your eyes again at the click of the safety. “Hands where I can see ‘em.”

She pulled out a carton of cigarettes, tapping one out and sticking it between her lips. “He isn’t a better person than I am, you know.” She took a lighter off her desk. “He’s not going to take better care of you than I am, isn’t going to wish you off to some fairy tale land where you’ll never know hardship; if anything, he’s going to fuck you over harder than I do.” She lit it, took a drag, smiled, exhaled.

“You fucking—“

“And you.” She pointed the cigarette at him. “Whitney, yeah? You think your life’s going to get better by being a father?” She leaned her head on her free hand. “I’ve been stuck with this job for thirty years now; the only thing that thing—“ she waved the cigarette in your belly’s general direction, “— is good for is an accessory to the walking ATM it’s stuck in.”

You could hear his voice shake; with what, you could not tell. “So help me God if you say one more thing about my fucking kid—“

“Let me say my piece.” She stood up, taking another drag and blowing it in your face. “If I were you,” she sighed, “I’d see if Harper couldn’t make an exception to get that thing out of you while it’s not breathing. Short of that, I’d ship it here.” She leaned forward, resting her hand on the surface of her desk. “But if I ever find your brat at my doorstep,” she promised, voice lowering, “if I ever see you or that thing here again, I’ll make your time here look like a stay at the Ritz-fucking-Carlton.” She stuck the cigarette back between her teeth, tilting your head up to look her in the eye. The resemblance between her and Whitney was apparent; you wondered if that was just what the eyes of monsters looked like. “I will make your child pay for however much you would have made me twofold, and I will sell their body— whole or piecemeal— to any dumb fuck who asks for what I’m sure will be a pretty young thing like them. Do you understand me?”

You could not breathe.

Her grip on your jaw tightened. “Are you deaf?” She brought you closer, and you whimpered at the sensation. “I asked you a question. Do you understand me or don’t you?”

You shut your eyes as her nails dug into your skin. You dug your own into your palm as you forced yourself to nod.

She kept you there a moment— for what, you did not know— before pressing a kiss to your forehead. Your eyes shot open, and you swallowed back tears— of relief, of sadness, of panic— as she released you, collapsing to your knees and gasping for air. “Good.” She took the check, slipping it into her pocket before sitting back down. “Leave before I change my mind.”

You pulled yourself to your feet, practically tripping over yourself to cling to Whitney. He glanced down at you, letting you bury your face into his shoulder as he took one last look at your former guardian. Wordlessly, he pulled the two of you out into the hallway, past the children gathered by the door, past the garden and Robin and the stairs and the threshold and finally, with a smile of untempered relief and satisfaction, across the street, into the truck parked there, and away from that miserable town, and as you watched the buildings you had come to know as parts of your home flew past, as you watched people you recognized from school rush into the forest and students— like you, you registered vaguely, desperate for money, for purpose, for anything— lean against street corners, you wondered if this would be any better, if this was more desirable, if this was emancipation or a different, crueler kind of ownership.

You mumbled a goodbye to the bus stop as it passed. Only then did the tears really start.

[serickswrites]

Eeeeeeeeey! It's meeeeeeeee!

Anyway, I hope you don't mind another request, as this popped up in my head just now!

A Whumpee in a hostage situation via bank/store robbery. Caretaker is outside the building Whumpee is in, begging to the hostage negotiators who were at the scene to let them in so they could save Whumpee (and apologize to Whumpee; they had a fight prior to Whumpee leaving).

They could only watch in horror as Whumper, one of the robbers, grabbed Whumpee and threatened them for everyone to stand down.

-- @whumperofworlds

Hello friend! I can definitely do this prompt for you. I hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: hostage situation, gun, threat of death, gun shot, unclear character status, guilt, restraints, gag

"Please," Caretaker begged the hostage negotiator that stood in front of the truck that served as a command post. "Please, I need to go in there. Whumpee needs me. Please, I need to--"

"Caretaker," the negotiator said coolly, cutting off Caretaker, "you don't have the negotiating training."

"Please, I--"

"Caretaker, stop. You and Whumpee are a great team. You're great investigators. But neither you nor Whumpee have the negotiation training. I am in charge of this scene now. Let me and my team do my job."

Before Caretaker could try and beg for another chance, the negotiator walked off to the SWAT tent. Caretaker hung their head in shame. They had failed to convince anyone to let them go in after Whumpee.

Whumpee was in danger and this was all their fault.

They had called Whumpee reckless, called Whumpee an idiot, called Whumpee incompetent only an hour before Whumpee had gone into the bank by themself to interview the bank manager.

"Caretaker, I'm telling you, this bank is going to get hit next!" Whumpee had argued in the car as Caretaker drove through the city.

"You don't know that. Going in there will raise fear! We need to gather the evidence, Whumpee."

"Caretaker, I'm telling you, this bank fits the pattern. This is the next one. Please, believe me," Whumpee had said earnestly, their eyes bright and pleading.

"Whumpee, we need to do our jobs. We can't go off half cocked with no evidence. That's reckless. Don't be an idiot and waste time. We know the suspects are going to strike today, we don't want to waste what time we have left!"

Whumpee's face fell. "I am not going off half cocked. And I'm not an idiot. I know this is the one. I can feel it."

"Well your feelings lead to incompetence. We need evidence. We don't need to raise the alarm for some civilians for nothing."

"Let me out of here," Whumpee said softly, their hand already on the door handle.

"Whumpee, where are you going?" Caretaker shouted as Whumpee opened the door. They slammed on the breaks.

"You may not believe me, but I can't let this go. I'm right. I know I am."

And before Caretaker could shout at Whumpee again, they slammed the door and sprinted off towards the bank. "Whumpee!" Caretaker shouted out their window. But it was no use. Whumpee didn't stop or slow down.

And now Caretaker stared at the live footage the robbers had linked to Caretaker's team of investigators. Stared at the live footage knowing that Whumpee was right. And that Whumpee was in the bank with the other civilians without their gun. They had left the car without getting their service weapon out of the safe in the trunk.

Caretaker's mouth went dry as the lead robber dragged a bound and gag Whumpee in front of the camera. The robber pointed the gun at Whumpee's chest. "I want to talk to the person in charge. Now." The robber's voice was cold.

"HEY!" Caretaker shouted at the lead negotiator. "They know who Whumpee is. They know! Do something!"

The negotiator picked up the phone and called the line they had set up for the robber. "I understand you wanted to speak with me," their voice was calm and soft.

Caretaker couldn't believe the change in their demeanor. Did they think this technique would work? The whole reason the spree had lasted longer than normal was that the lead robber was cruel, calculating, and took no risk. They would just as soon as execute Whumpee on camera as listen to the negotiator. "Please, let me--"

The negotiator silenced Caretaker with a glare. "What can I do for you, my apologies I don't know what to call you."

"Whumper, you can call me Whumper."

"What can I do for you, Whumper? I would like to make sure everyone gets out of this safely."

Whumper shoved the gun into Whumpee's stomach. Whumpee coughed and gasped around their gag. "This one already tried that. Said they just wanted to talk and that they would help me. I don't need their help. I don't need your help."

"Well, it seems like you're stuck in there, so I'd like to help you out."

Whumper fisted Whumpee's hair and pulled them back up to kneeling. "You don't understand. I am in charge here. You will do as I say and maybe some of the hostages will make it out of here."

"I want all of the hostages to make it out of there, Whumper. Could we just--"

"You will stand down in the next five minutes or this one," they pointed the gun at Whumpee's chest once more, "will be leaving here in a body bag."

"Please, if you just let me--" Caretaker tried once more.

"You know it will take us more time to clear the scene. If we could just have--"

Whumper looked at their watch, "You have four minutes now."

Caretaker ran out from the truck. They couldn't listen to the incompetence of the negotiator. If the negotiator wasn't going to get Whumpee out alive, they would.

Two uniformed officers ran forward to bar Caretaker's journey. "You can't go in there, Caretaker."

"Please, Whumpee needs me!" Caretaker had to get in there. Had to save Whumpee. Had to apologize. Had to hold them and never let them go. Had to say all of the things they had longed to say but couldn't.

"Caretaker, we can't let you do that."

One loud gunshot rang out. The world went quiet as Caretaker froze. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. They were right there. Whumpee was right there.

"WHUMPEE!"

[princessbrunette]

https://x.com/archmovies/status/1692059064107143550?s=46&t=BnAzvNz-DBDA4k0WiyaanQ

this is toxic rafe im cryin

literally at the most minor argument too like… if he doesn’t put that thing back in his waistband

[sonyshock]

🦇 𐌁Ꝋ𐌵𐌍𐌃𐌀𐌓𐌉𐌄𐌔 Social media  + Commissions  + PAPERCUT

Posted using PostyBirb

[destielmemenews]

source 1

source 2

[benjaminallhope-fulltimemind]

I'm not saying you should. But I think it's time to consider putting a single bullet in a gun with your name on it :/

Oh please explain why I should kill myself anon, I'd love to hear your reasoning? :)

[sandswirls]

I don’t feel like giving context

[whumpasaurus101]

Cw:gun

Just the thought of Whumper slyly brandishing their gun, warning Whumpee.

For example: Whumper pulling back their coat slightly, Whumpee’s eyes meeting with the gun which sits either at Whumper’s belt or the inside of Whumper’s coat.

Or maybe Whumper slightly opens a folded over newspaper where inside there lies a gun.

Maybe even just the sound of the gun under a table where they both sit at, warning Whumpee that one fuck up will get them shot.

[ravenzeppeli]

🩸A Lesson to Never Be Forgotten |Yandere Formaggio x Reader Dark Lemon|

Warning: strong/violent language, physical abuse, extreme threats, drugging, humiliation/degrading, verbal abuse, emotional abuse, blood, violence, gunplay, abuse, noncon (nonconsentual) MA.

You snuck back into your shared apartment with Formaggio as quietly as you possibly could, gently closing the door behind you. You locked the door, the click of the lock causing you to jump. Fuck - that was too loud. Any sudden movement and your husband would hear you. You couldn't make any sudden -

"Hello Y/N," Formaggio's deep voice filled your ears, sounding low and meanicing as you heard his footsteps slowly creep towards you. Tap, tap, tap. "Wow, I am extremely proud of you. To pull off such a brilliant stunt without me catching on. How long?" Tap, tap, tap - his footsteps were growing louder.

You went to speak but froze when you suddenly heard the familiar rattle that you knew oh so well. Oh fuck.. he found them, you hid them so well. How did he find them? You placed your hand on the doorknob, going to turn it but freezing once you felt the pill bottle hit the back of your head. It caused a light sharp pain, causing you to freeze up once more, knowing how easy it would be for him to catch you.

As soon as you married him he showed you his true colors, your once normal life suddenly being completely taken over by him. As you tried to escape him he easily found you, confessing that his waste management job was actually a completely different profession, confessing that he was a hitman in the mafia. He had been for years - as a matter of fact he was ranked up fairly highly, so highly that he could easily get away with killing you.

He taunted you that day, making fun of you and tearing you down; he would always be able to track you down and find you, and he made it clear to you that night how extreme he would get to teach you a lesson. Since then, you've gotten weaker, more fearful.. the pills were a way for you to have freedom and not deal with his random outbursts of anger at night. You've been.. doing this for six months, constantly breaking into your local drug store with your stand to keep him stabilized. Carefully, you hid the pill bottle in a place he never went in the laundry room, hidden under a loose tile by the dryer. How did he find them?

You heard his gun click, causing instant fear to race throughout your entire body. Tap, tap, tap. Suddenly, you felt the cold barrel press to the back of your head, him forcing your forehead to press up against the wooden door. "Did you not fucking hear me, bitch?" He questioned, this time anger in his tone, all smoothness erased. "Lie to me and I'll blow your brains all over this door. You better be honest."

"Six months," you whispered, the gun instantly leaving your head after you said that, instead being replaced by his hand as he grabbed a fistful of your hair, suddenly dragging you back. "I'm sorry! I.. I don't know what I was thinking!"

A dry laugh escaped his lips as he dragged you through the hallway, you shrugging to stay to your feet as he finally drug you into your shared bedroom with him. With ease, he picked you up and slammed you on the bed, your body roughly hitting the mattress, bouncing back up to collide with his body. He leaned over you, his body stiff and still as you collided with him, his hand wrapping around your throat, squeezing.

"You cheating cunt," he snapped at you, spitting in your face. A whimper escaped your lips as his spit coated your face, tears filling your eyes as he squeezed harder, your face heating up. "You're drugging me to fuck another man. I'm going to fucking destroy you, I told you not to cheat."

You quickly tried shaking your head, unable to move it. "W-what? Cheat?" You questioned, genuinely shocked of being accused of something so insane. Why would you cheat on him? You didn't want another man in your life. You wanted no man in your life. If Formaggio died at work, and you hoped and prayed he would die every single day, you would take all his money and move to Alaska. You would live alone, only caring for yourself and maybe a cat or dog, but never would you seek out another man.

"Huh," he muttered, loosening his grip on your neck slightly. "Then why? Why the fuck have you been drugging me for six months? And why did I catch you sneaking back into the house?" His voice seemed to slightly lighten up.

"I wanted a break from you, and when you're drugged, you're weak until you fall asleep. It was easier then being around you and dealing with your abuse," you told him, causing him to let go of your neck. "I leave the house at night to take walks since I'm never allowed out of the house."

He shook his head, raising his hand and roughly smacking it across your face. "You not cheating.. it just saved you your arms and legs. I know a doctor. He was going to surgically remove them. I'm so glad I trained you well enough not to lie to me, and even if you do, I can tell." He let another dry laugh escape his lips, slapping you again before he grabbed your shirt with both hands, ripping it off of you. "Still, you could have killed me. You wanted to kill me."

You shook your head, cheek throbbing from where he slapped you. As you opened your mouth to speak, his fist instantly crashed into your cheek, a loud pop filling your ears as you felt your jaw cracked. You felt your face wet, wet with your blood as your jaw throbbed.

"Stupid fucking cunt," he sneered as he got off of you, snatching the shoes off of your feet as he violently ripped off your jeans and underwear, almost dragging you off of the bed as he tugged the tight blue jeans off. "Fucking drugging me? How stupid are you, brainless cunt, spread your legs open before I shove the barrel of my gun down your throat!" He snapped suddenly, taking his gun out from the back of his jeans, pointing it at you.

Quickly, you spread your legs, trying to control your sudden uncontrollable shaking throughout your entire body. You wanted to be anywhere, but here, instant regret filling your body for what you've done. The foolish decision to have a few months of privacy might have just cost you your entire life.

"You belong to me, you're my fucking slut. You're mine to kill," he spoke, his voice suddenly dropping to a dark mutter. He stepped closer, the gun suddenly pressing against your clit. "Looks like you've gotten too comfortable. That's really sad.. I really wanted to keep you. You really were a good slut for the time being."

You were afraid to speak, afraid of him punching you in the face again, but you had to attempt to speak. You swallowed the blood that rested in the back of your throat as the gun slide down your clit, lining up with your entrance. "I'll never do it again, I'm really sorry," you choked out, flinching when he raised his hand at you, causing a laugh to escape his lips. "Please don't... please."

He tilted his head to the side slightly, green eyes filled with nothing but pure evil; you saw the devil in his eyes, possessing him to be one of the sickest human beings alive. You hated him, a pained cry escaping your lips as you felt the gun press into your hole, forcing itself in without any lube, the metal scraping against your insides as your pain cry turned into a sob, your legs trembling as you struggled to hold them up.

"You really thought you could play me like that? God, you're such a dumb cunt," he taunted, slowly pumping the gun in and out of you. "This is all you're good for.. you're only good for being a slut." He laughed, a little manically as he picked up the pace, thrusting the gun Iim and out of you with force. "You're so fucking dead."

Tears filled your eyes, pouring down your cheeks as you felt yourself growing wet, a mixture of your wetness and blood. "P-please don't kill me, Formaggio," you sobbed, your voice shaky.

"P-please don't kill me, Formaggio," he mimicked, laughing louder as he grabbed your bra, lifting it up to reveal your breasts. "Rub your fucking clit bitch!" He yelled suddenly, his free hand roughly smacking your breast.

You let go of your leg, keeping them in the air, despite how much it hurt to keep your legs in such an uncomfortable position. Your hand dropped to your clit, rubbing slightly as your sobs grew louder.

"Nah," Formaggio snapped, smacking your right breast as hard as he could, leaving a red handprint behind. "Rub as fast as you can, or I'm pulling the trigger now!" You felt his boner in his pants, rubbing up against your thigh. You felt a wetness on your thigh, more sobs escaping your mouth when you realize that your pain had made him cum in his pants. Just by your suffering.. he was enjoying it.

You began to rub your clit with two fingers as fast as you could, your sobs uncontrollable as the gun continued to pump in and out of you. Your entire body felt a raw, cramping pain. It was agonizing, and you just wanted it to be over. You wanted to beg but you knew that begging only got him off. It was so hard not to beg for him to stop; you just wanted him to fucking stop.

"I had my fun with you," he said suddenly, his face going completely dark. "It's time to dispose of the fucking trash once and for all."

After he said that, he pulled the trigger, causing your eyes to close, your entire body violently shaking as you felt yourself piss all over the gun, fear, and pain taking over your body. But wait.. you weren't dead, and he was laughing at you again, his laugh taunting as he pulled the gun out of you, tossing it to the side.

"It wasn't loaded you dumb cunt. That's a brand new gun I bought, shits never been loaded," Formaggio told you, shaking his head as he shook his hand, droplets of your piss coating your still shaking thighs. "You fucking baby. You pissed all over the gun? Ha! Dumb cunt!"

You dropped your legs, immediately curling into a ball, hiding your face from him. The sobs were uncontrollable, your body still not being able to stop shaking from the pain and utter humiliation that you just went through.

"I bet you'll never cross me again, huh cunt?" He questioned, grabbing you, pulling you into his lap. "You're never leaving the house again. You're mine." He wrapped his arms around you, reaching a hand down to touch your pussy.

You cried softly, burying your head in his chest as his fingers examined your swollen and throbbing area. You felt yourself being lifted into the air, his arms securing around your body as he began carrying you bridal style out of the bedroom.

"I'm going to clean you up and put you to bed. I wouldn't want my pretty little wife getting an infection and dying," he said, voice suddenly filling with a sick kindness. "I love you, Y/N. I love you so much, and that is why I hurt you." He led you into the bathroom, turning the lights on as he sat you down on the toilet, placing a kiss on your lips. "Do you love me?"

You nodded your head weakly as you leaned back on the cool porcelain toilet, the bitter coolness causing a whine to escape your lips. "I.. love you, Formaggio."

He smiled, "I'm glad to see you behaving again. That makes me really happy." He turned away from you, leaning down as he turned the bathtub water on. "Don't forget.. if you ever cross me again, the gun will be fully loaded next time."

[crymeariveronceagain]

just gonna put it out there

if you support what Kanye West's been saying lately i have a message for you and it is very simple:

that is all. good day.

[serickswrites]

Down By the River

Warnings: kidnapping, threats of violence, threats of death, gun, gunshot

Whumpee sat down on the riverbank, watching the water flow lazily by. It had been a while since they had come to the riverside and think. It was peaceful and quiet here. They needed to sit and think. So much had happened in such a short time. They just needed some time to process.

Their phone buzzed in their pocket. Whumpee pulled it out. Caretaker.

As much as they wanted to speak with Caretaker, to explain themself, they needed more time to think. More time to process and gather their thoughts. So they could explain everything.

"Put that down," a voice that had Whumpee's heart seizing in their chest. Whumpee heard the sound of a revolver being cocked. "I won't ask a second time."

Whumpee tossed their phone out of reach. "You don't have to do this," they began. They could talk Whumper out of this. They had to.

"You're right. I don't. But I want to." Whumper stepped in close to Whumpee, pressing the gun to the back of Whumpee's head.

"Where are you taking me?" Whumpee tried and failed to keep the fear out of their voice.

"Where no one will find you." And Whumper lifted the gun and fired it next to Whumpee's ear.

[traegics]

Open Starter - @darkskiesrpgstarters

"Fuck," Maveric groaned, digits pressing against the bullet wound in his abdomen. The pain seared, radiating through his frame has leant forward over the now dead triad agents body. "Prick. What happened to need them fucking alive, huh? Some fucking agents you dipshits have." His gaze snaps to the approaching figure, dark irises glaring daggers as teeth grit tightly together through the pain and a single hand moves quickly to grab his gun, pointing it at the other. "One wrong move and I swear to God I will put a bullet in your head," he threatens. He had to get back to Rebekah, to his kids. This was not how a Salvatore went down.

[kalissimsblog]

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