#Burning Rubber and Shooting Bullets

[madebycloud]

Streets

street racer!jenna ortega x reader — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

summary: you had no idea your girlfriend was a daredevil on the streets. warnings/themes: street racing (motorcycle), kissing, smoking, and some talkie-talkie at the end cause idk what's the term??? words: 0.9k

The wind howls around you, carrying the scent of burning rubber and the screams of revving engines. You glance down at your phone for what feels like the hundredth time, searching for some explanation as to why your girlfriend wanted to meet here.

Dozens of people stood shoulder to shoulder on the sidewalk, their gaze locked on the road ahead. You wonder what could possibly captivate so many strangers. 

And then you spot it—a row of motorcycles, ready to rumble for pride, for money, or for the sheer thrill of it all. 

A street race.

“Hey baby.”

You turn to face her and are immediately struck by her look: her black leather jacket matches her stylishly messy hair. You blink a few times, trying to gather your thoughts.

Before you can say anything, she starts walking towards you, her eyes locked on yours. “You okay?”

You clear your throat and stammer out an attempt at a response, your heart pounding in your chest. “Uh, yeah, I'm fine. And you?”

Jenna's smirk grows wider as she takes in your awkward reaction, her finger tracing along the lip you're biting. “What?”

You shake your head, trying to focus on something—anything—other than her. “Nothing. You just look...” You trail off, not quite able to find the right words.

Jenna's smirk turns into a full-on grin, and she shrugs lightly before leaning in to kiss you. Your knees go weak as she leans into you, her lips soft and inviting. You lose yourself in the moment, pulling her close as you kiss her back, your hands running through her hair.

When you finally break apart, you ask, “What are we doing here again? Watching the street racers?” You point at the line of bikes waiting to take off.

“You watch me.”

“Wait what? Are you seriously going to-”

“You're going to watch me beat those losers,” Jenna says as she saunters away from you and towards the street racers. You follow her closely, watching her hips sway with each step.

When you catch up, she's already putting on her helmet and gloves.

“Who's that?” you hear a man shout, pointing at Jenna as she stands next to her motorcycle. He raises an eyebrow, curious about the beautiful woman who's about to blow them all away. The light reflecting off his bald head.

You turn to them with a cocky grin on your face. “That's my girl,” you say, pointing to Jenna.

Jenna looks over at you, her eyes smoldering as she gives you one last wink before straddling her bike and revving the engine, which roars to life like a majestic beast.

The man raises his eyebrows, “You're dating her? Nice.” With that, he takes a sip from his drink and turns his attention towards the racing.

She takes off with a burst of speed, shooting forward into the distance like a bullet. The man looks stunned for a moment, and then he lets out a loud cheer, holding his beer bottle in the air.

You hold your breath as she passes each obstacle, each turn, each straightaway, until she reaches the finish line and comes to a slow stop.

“My girl!” you shout, raising your fist in the air.

Meanwhile, the announcer on the mic is listing down the results of the race, with Jenna's name taking the top spot. “And here we have the winner, Jenna Ortega, with a time of 45 seconds in this street race!” The crowd goes wild, cheering for her.

The man beside you looks impressed too. “Looks like you got yourself a real racer there, buddy.”

“Yeah,” you reply, “She's the best.” Jenna is the best of the best, and she's shown it over and over again. 

You walk over to Jenna. “That was amazing!" you exclaim, feeling the energy from the race still coursing through your veins. “Are you okay? You were really flying out there!”

Jenna just chuckles and gives you a mischievous smirk. “Of course, I'm fine. I've done this a million times.” She brushes off a few pieces of dirt from her leather jacket and holds out her hand, inviting you to help her off her motorcycle.

You grab her hand and swing her off the motorcycle. “I had no idea you were such an amazing racer.”

“I've been racing since I was a kid. It's no big deal.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “It is a big deal. You're the best racer I've ever seen.”

Jenna just chuckles again and shrugs, but you can tell she's pleased with your compliment. She grabs her helmet and gloves and sets them on the hood of the motorcycle.

She takes a step closer to you, her eyes locked on yours. She leans in closer, her breath soft on your lips. “Let's celebrate.”

“Obviously,” you answer, enjoying the playful banter between you two. “What do you want?" you ask, curiosity written all over your face.

She bites her lip, her eyes locked with yours, and then, to your surprise, she just smiles. Oh, you know that look all too well. She's not just planning something, she's planning everything. You can't help but chuckle as she leans in even closer.

“You choose,” she whispers, running a finger along your chest.

You look over to the motorcycle and then back to her, your eyes locked with hers. “I don't mind riding both.”

Jenna just laughs and rolls her eyes at you. “Oh, you're such a rascal.”

Notes: now i wanna write street racing au 

[femsolid]

So the french police killed a teenage boy during a traffic stop. They asked for his identification papers and he refused to give it to them. They shot him in the head and he died on the spot. They later claimed that he was charging at them when they shot him, but someone recorded the scene on their phone and it showed no such thing.

This caused a lot of upset, especially in all the "sensitive" neighbourhoods where they pile the poorest people, typically people of colour, and where the police is known to be harassing and assaulting people a lot. Men and boys manifested their anger by rioting, burning cars and garbage bins or destroying and looting shops all around France. It isn't very smart as they are typically destroying their own neighbourhoods or their neighbours' property, who are just as poor as them. And who comes when that happens? The police.

The french police has built quite the reputation during the yellow vest protests, it's notorious for being the most violent, racist and sexist police in Europe. They typically use rubber bullets against protestors which are still dangerous weapons: they aren't supposed to be used at close range nor to be aimed at the head and obviously shouldn't be used on people who pose no threat. That's not what the police does with it of course, during the yellow vest protests we used to count how many people were loosing their eyes, some had their hands ripped off, and there were countless videos of policemen aiming at random protestors who weren't doing anything, and aiming at close range too. So what happened next should come as no surprise.

During the night of the riots a young man was shot in the thorax and died. Another lost an eye. More than 30 people have registered a complaint to the police of the police (not very efficient, as we've come to understand) for assault and injuries caused by the police during that night. But one specific case shocked the nation, that of a young man who was just passing by and was assaulted by the police, who didn't ask for any sort of identification and left him for dead. They took him to a back alley and beat him senseless, broke his jaw and shot him in the head. He lost a part of his head, literally, it had to be removed. He's now blind from one eye. They did this to a young woman during the yellow vest protests as well. She also was not a protester and was just passing by. In both cases the police is not looking to make an arrest, they are lashing out, like a rogue militia, and leaving the person for dead. It's up to us, the civilians, to help the dying person and call for an ambulance. The person is left with permanent disabilities and trauma. In fact, in recent years a lot of people have developped trauma reactions towards the police, some were first time protesters, peacefully marching on a sunday afternoon and did not expect to be charged by a mob of policemen, to be insulted, gased and shot at. The population's trust in the police has plumeted.

But in this case, one of the policemen involved in the assault was identified and is currently in jail pending investigation. As a result, the police, nationwide, is going on a strike. Yes, apparently when one of them is temporarily jailed for an obvious and extremely violent crime, they get outraged. Their unions called for a strike to show their support to their incarcerated colleague. Policemen support each others as they commit crimes, publicly, with the director of the police saying that a policeman's place is not in jail if he hasn't be trialed yet. Since policemen are not allowed to go on strikes, not legally, they went to the doctor and asked to be put on sick leave. It's not really a strike if you're still getting paid but they aren't used to protesting so we'll excuse them, maybe shoot them in the face to show them how it works? The police unions are asking the government to create a special status for police officers preventing them from being jailed while they are investigated for crimes committed while on duty. I guess they really think the law shouldn't apply to them. They also ask that policemen become anonymous, impossible to identify. Make it more obvious why don't you?

All the french racists are in full support of the police right now, saying that, yes, shooting "thugs" is totally acceptable (thug = arab = french guy with north african parents or grandparents). Someone on twitter counted how many men with arab names had been participating in the riots and thought he was making a point against immigration. But the fact that it's mostly black and brown people who are poor and live in ghettos says more about France than about "arabs".

Anyway that's the state of things in my country.

[anim-ttrpgs]

What makes this game unique from other mystery games?

Eureka has plenty that makes it stand out, from its tactical approach to combat, to its approach to the supernatural and non-restrictive character creation, but the thing that makes its investigation stand out from that of other investigation games is probably the Eureka! mechanic and its overall approach to failed investigation rolls*.

*An “investigation roll” in Eureka is any skill roll used to investigate, there is no “Investigate” skill, every investigation roll will use the skill on the character sheet that is most relevant to whatever evidence the investigator is investigating. So, in a way, every skill is the "investigation skill". For instance, you would use the Firearms skill to try and guess what calibre of bullet left these bullet holes, even though that is also the skill that is used for your accuracy when shooting guns, and how quickly you can reload.

Now, we don’t want to make a blanket statement because our dev team has not played every investigative TTRPG, but in the ones we have played, there have been a couple of consistent hang-ups. In Call of Cthulhu for example, when you miss a clue due to a bad roll, you’re just shit outta luck. This isn’t to say that Call of Cthulhu is a bad game, Eureka actually takes a lot of influence from certain parts of it, but sometimes a single bad roll at a crucial time can grind the adventure to a halt.

The Eureka! mechanic is (one of) our answers to this problem.

As the investigators fail investigation rolls*, they accumulate Investigation Points. (They actually accumulate Investigation Points even if they succeed, but you get way more of them for Failures). When a standard investigator accumulates 15 Investigation Points, they gain 1 Eureka! and their Investigation Points reset to 0. More powerful supernatural characters must accumulate more than 15 points before they get a Eureka!, but that’s a different post.

A Eureka! is a valuable resource that can be spent on a couple of different benefits, and one of those is to retroactively turn a single previous Failed investigation roll* into a Full Success, giving that investigator all the information they would have figured out if they had succeeded in the first place. This can be a significant mystery un-stumper when the party is stuck at a dead end, without the GM needed to artificially give them a hint—it’s not a free pity clue, they earned it by being thorough investigators up to this point even if they got some bad rolls.

This can act as a sort of “rubber band” mechanic, only springing the investigators forwards if they fall far enough behind to need it, so to speak, and only on their own terms, so they don’t feel like the GM just gave them the answer because they suck too much.

This doesn’t mean that Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy is an easy game for babies where the players never have to worry about failure, however. You only get 1 Eureka! for about every 5 Failures, and its combat can be pretty hardcore. Like Call of Cthulhu, the investigators are mostly just normal people with no special resistances to knives or bullets. If you shoot them once or twice, they die, and there’s no coming back. Not only does this fragility encourage a generally more investigative approach to dealing with threats, it can also be used to reward good mystery solving up to the point of the final confrontation. The Eureka! mechanic rewards investigators who have not needed to spend their Eureka!s on gaining epiphanies from previously failed rolls by the fact that they can also be spent to throw an extra die into a combat roll—or any other life-or-death roll, such as leaping to safety from a burning building or a Stealth roll when hiding from dozens of armed goons. 3D6 (dropping the lowest) can give a crucial boost to that one 2D6 roll that your character has to stake his life on.

Now, you don’t have to play a fragile normal human investigator, you have the option to play as a more robust investigator, like a vampire for instance, who can easily shrug off most forms of physical damage so long as they don’t overdo it all in one place and take some time to regenerate in between bouts of getting shot, but what those kinds of investigators gain in toughness and supernatural powers, they pay for with supernatural weaknesses. The vampire in the party may laugh in the face of small arms fire, but get knocked down a few pegs when faced with her greatest challenge yet: Figuring out how to get a direct and in-no-uncertain-terms invitation into the house without saying “I am a vampire, the owner has to invite me in.”

And no, she can’t just ask the rest of the party for help, if they find out she’s a real vampire, that’s nine-times-out-of-ten going to be much more shocking than whatever evidence they were going to find out inside, and possibly even implicate her in several other, much more gruesome murders that nobody ever managed to solve..

The Eureka! mechanic is also used in Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy’s équivalent to ‘leveling up’. At the end of an adventure, investigators can spend 2 Eureka!s to add 1 skill point to a skill. Eureka!s disappear after the mystery is solved, so you might as well use them if you have any left over, but if you’re saving them up by choosing not to spend them in a moment of real danger, that’s a bit of a risk, and could cost the investigator their life.

This also works as a bit of a “rubber band”, as investigators who increase their skills will fail less rolls, and thus gain fewer Eureka!s, slowing down their level-ups each time so they don’t shoot ahead of everybody else in the party without having to have a scaling system for experience points.

(Leveling up is an optional rule, however, and it is one that we in our group actually much prefer to play without, because we prefer more episodic or one-shot adventures where we frequently swap characters each time. Because skills have limits to how high they can go, a ‘level 0’ investigator can actually be just as capable as a ‘level 10’ investigator at any given thing, the ‘level 10’ investigator will just be good at more things.)

[deaths-presence]

Two of a Kind || Dazai x Reader Part 4: Woven Threads

Story Summary: The search for your brother has led you into conflict between the Armed Detective Agency of Yokohama and the Guild. Fitzgerald keeps you involuntarily, that is until you finally find your chance of escape. Will you find strength within the ADA, or will you only become more astray? Word Count: 2.2k Characters Featured: F. Scott Fitzgerald, Atsushi Nakajima, Lucy Montgomery Warnings: afab!reader, slowburn, plot heavy to build up romance, very tiny small mention of Atsushi's abuse, lmk if I happened to miss anything please! Tag List: @decaf-nosebleed @isa-ghost @xakumi @bunchofdoodlesinspace A/N: If you want to be added to the tag list, feel free to let me know! Psssst, guess who's finally showing up next chapter now that we're done building the beginning plot? :)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Time was a blur as you ran. Your lungs were on fire and your feet slapped against the hard pavement in a steady rhythm. You ignored the curious stares that followed you, and you attempted to stay close to the docks. You didn’t know where to go. You were in an unfamiliar city in a foreign country. You had nobody to rely on, and every thought swarming through your head about the Guild and the Port Mafia was only creating more anxiety. You had to leave, and you didn’t know how. You wish you had just found Roberte already. There was no calling for help unless you went through the Guild, and you did not want to resort to crawling back into Fitzgerald’s clutches. Your freedom was right in front of you, and you were going to steal it back.

You were forced to catch your breath, the air in your chest circulating in and out in desperate wheezes as you leaned against the nearest wall. You doubled over and closed your eyes as you focused on taking a slow, deep inhale and letting it out slowly. You repeated this several times, and not only did it help with feeling like you were no longer suffocating, but also helped in regaining awareness of your situation.

The relaxing silence was interrupted with a small commotion that sounded close. You instinctively made yourself small and proceeded with silent footsteps to investigate. The voice inside your head screamed at you to keep running and find a ship that was heading back to America, but your curiosity was winning.

As you turned one of the corners, you gasped before slapping a hand over your mouth to keep quiet. You silently prayed while you hid yourself behind the corner of the building again, hoping that Fitzgerald did not spot you. With no footsteps hurrying toward you, you gave a sigh of relief and cautiously allowed yourself to evaluate the scene.

Your eyes were stuck on one individual, and it wasn’t Fitzgerald. Despite your captor and Melville being present, the boy with white choppy hair that you thought dead was standing right before your eyes. He was accompanied by a small girl in a red kimono, her black hair pulled into two twin-tails. You remember seeing a glimpse of her when you had landed with Hawthorne and the others, but she had seemingly run off while no one noticed.

The growing burning sensation in your chest was not from lack of oxygen this time, and it was with surprise that you recognized it as anger. You noticed that the boy was already disheveled and bleeding, whether it was by Fitzgerald’s hands or not, it didn’t matter. You decided not to make the same mistake again.

A brave step out was met with the sight of the boy’s hand turning into the claws of a tiger, but before he could attack the two Guild members, a bullet shot across and met with his head to render him unconscious. The girl had started to reveal her short sword before a bullet contacted her hand, leaving it instantaneously bleeding and bruised red. You realized with horror just who was shooting these bullets. Though they were made of rubber, only one person could be so skilled.

The knowing laugh made you nauseated, your eyes finally looking at Fitzgerald as he smiled at you. Your freedom was a sick joke. You were never unshackled, and what Fitzgerald said next only confirmed it.

“Miss Louisa’s strategies are always so perfect.”

Your dreadful world turned black after you heard the next and final shot.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Waking up was a chore for once. The adrenaline in your body had finally worn off, and the soreness in your muscles made you want to cry out pathetically. You nearly sobbed for another reason. Your surroundings were all too familiar. You were back on the Moby Dick; in the very same room you were previously using. The frustrated scream that was torn from your chest shocked you, but you couldn’t stop it. It felt like minutes before it finally cut off with choppy breath, slamming your fist against one of the walls. You would never escape.

You stood up carefully and shuffled over to the nearest corner, hugging your knees to your chest and hiding your face. Later, the door opened and the voice of a boy yelling to be let go entered your ears. You were startled enough to finally look up when he attempted to hit the walls and look out the compact window. At the same time, he noticed you. It was the tiger boy.

“I have to get out of here. Yokohama is in danger,” he said weakly, realizing his defeat being encased in the room; just as you already had for months. You shook your head quietly at him, and it pained you to see him look forlorn and broken.

“I’m afraid that this aircraft is meant to keep us inside,” you murmured in a horrible attempt at comfort. “It is good to at least see you alive, minus the circumstances.”

It was quiet for a long moment, and you nearly assumed he wouldn’t remember you before you felt a presence beside you. Your eyes flickered to the left of where you were sitting to see him joined with you on the floor. This close, you saw more details of him. Whoever had cut his bangs must have been scared by something while they had the scissors in their hands. Out of all the hair that was white, there was one strip of it that was black. His eyes still reminded you of the late summer sunsets, warm and innocent as they watched you.

“I’m Atsushi,” he introduced himself with a gentle smile. Such a warm welcome nearly brought tears to your eyes, and you looked away before he could see. You saw the way his smile began to fade at your reaction, but you offered your own name quietly and the smile returned.

“I’ve never wanted to hurt people,” you began to explain. “I simply ended up in the wrong hands, and now I am paying the price for my own trusting nature. I haven’t had free will for months. I’ve been forced to follow and stay silent unless spoken to. It’s safer that way. I came here to reunite with my brother, but instead I am finding myself a bird in a luxurious cage and my ability to be used until I am disposed of.”

Atsushi’s sympathetic expression lifted a weight off your shoulders. For the first time in a long while, you felt heard and seen by someone who felt more like a friend than a superior. The words you had spoken were probably the most you had heard from yourself in several weeks, and it certainly made you emotional. You felt on the verge of finally breaking, but you wouldn’t leave Atsushi to deal with that uncomfortable situation. You pushed back the threat of tears pricking at your eyes and focused on him.

“I didn’t even know you were the weretiger Lord Francis was looking for,” you mentioned with a clear grimace. “That’s how uninvolved I am. I have only heard mentions of you in passing between other Guild members, and I always wondered what was so special that he placed a bounty on your head. I was the one that hesitated to hurt you in that fight by the fountain; the one with the water ability. I can take on other appearances, and with them their abilities if the person harbors one.”

Something in your words made Atsushi frown, and for a moment you were terrified that you had offended him, or worse scared him with the mention of what you could do. The one person who you were managing to befriend, and you could easily tarnish it and have it pulled out of your grasp. Thankfully, he reassured you with his reply. “I would like to thank you for sparing me that day. Many say that hesitation is weak, but you have a sense of mercy. I could see in your eyes,” he stated with a little smile “As for Fitzgerald, he said something about me being a key of some sort. A ‘tiger beetle.’ I have no idea what he’s talking about,” he recalled. You nodded, not out of understanding, but to let Atsushi know that he had your attention.

“You said that Yokohama was in danger?” you timidly questioned. You felt the urge to hug the poor boy as he was pulled back into the current dilemma, his expression changing from confusion to the dawning apprehension that his city was being threatened.

“Fitzgerald plans to burn it all to the ground, the Agency and the Port Mafia along with it. He said it was some sort of incineration operation. I have to warn everyone. I have to get the doll to Dazai.”

You were about to interject his panicked rambling when you both were interrupted by another outside source.

“You two sure do look cozy in there. I just came to check on you when I was taking out the garbage,” Lucy said, her tone dripping with smugness. Her voice prompted Atsushi to leave your side and attempt to convince her to let him out. Normally you would be comforted by Lucy’s presence, but your thoughts went elsewhere while they conversed. You were able to pick up on their conversation when they both showed their burn scars from a hot iron poker. Your heart ached with sympathy for each of them, and you saw the gears of similarity clicking together and turning.

One moment you were in the locked room, but in the blink of an eye you found yourself with Atsushi in Lucy’s room. Her ability allowed her to create a personal space for her and the giant ragdoll called Anne, time and space warping to create such an idea. It had been the first time she had allowed you in, and you could see why she would want to use it as her own escape where no one could reach her. It was then you noticed that in one of her hands was the doll that Atsushi must have referenced earlier.

“Dazai only needs to be able to touch the doll in order to stop the curse,” he guaranteed Lucy when she said it would be too late.

“We are high in the air and unlikely to come down any time soon. What are you planning—?" you began to question, but the look on Atsushi’s face told you and Lucy that he would risk his own life to get the doll to whoever Dazai was.

“Atsushi, you can’t—” you started while shaking your head. “You’ll die.”

There was a moment of silence before Lucy spoke. “So, if you’re serious, then you’ll probably get shot and killed in the air or get cut up by the mad men down there. You know that already, and you’re still going to do it.”

“There was an old book I read back at the orphanage,” Atsushi replied. “One of the passages stood out to me. It read, ‘I’ve never regretted any of the things I’ve done. I’ve only regretted the things that I didn’t do.’”

Atsushi was pulled out of his thoughts when Anne loomed over him to offer a parachute bag. The boy’s sunset eyes observed it in confusion before Lucy explained that she had kept it in case she needed to escape.

“I only have one, so if you would like to stay with me in Anne’s room,” she offered to you, but you watched the surprise take over her expression further when you shook your head.

“I can’t stay here any longer, Lucy. I have to find Roberte even if he isn’t here, and I realize how much of my life I’m beginning to miss being trapped in this aircraft forever in Fitzgerald’s hands. I’ll come back for you.” You offered her a smile which she returned.

“We both will,” Atsushi added with determination.

“How will you get down? I only have one parachute and it’s Atsushi’s,” Lucy inquired with a frown. “You’ll die instead of him.”

“Don’t forget why I was captured to begin with. I have several cards up my sleeve,” you answered.

The door in Anne’s Room opened to show the exterior of the Moby Dick, the wind coursing through your hair. Your body tensed at the idea of how high up in the atmosphere you were, the clouds just below you and the city of Yokohama so small beyond them. You could see pillars of smoke from several directions, a heavy feeling in your stomach as you realized Fitzgerald already put his plan in motion.

You took a deep breath and focused on using your ability. You took on the Change that you used to escape the Zelda when it was set aflame with explosions, the wings protruding from your back and your blonde hair glowing orange in the setting sun. Your eyes didn’t have to adjust as harshly as before once the Change was completed.

You barely registered having time to brace yourself for the big drop down as Atsushi gave you a determined nod, then bravely jumped without hesitation. You glanced back at Lucy one last time, nodding your thanks before leaping after Atsushi. You were airborne.

[razorblade180]

Omen

It was dark, pitch black in fact. Well… not really. Orange light randomly tickled my eyes while fibers harassed my tongue every time I took a breath. Man was it stuffy in this. If only my hands weren’t tied behind my back.

“Hello? Can you please remove the sack? I’m already in the car.”

I waited for an answer but of course nobody wanted to speak! It’s not like I don’t feel their body heat or how the seat sinks in on both sides of me. I move my right leg forward and immediately tap something that moves away. Really? Another one.

“I know there’s at least three people who hear me. Speak now or endure beatboxing!”

……

Well, they asked for it.

“Pa pa tsss! Pa pa pa tss! Pa ta pa ta tss! Pa ta pa tss! Yo it’s-”

Before I knew it, my performance was cut short as someone yanked the bag off of my head. Honestly, they lasted longer than I thought. My eyes stung for a second thanks to the setting sun, but it wasn’t long before I saw a gruffy brute of a man in a black suit with a pretty nice brown beard. I don’t think he liked my performance.

I looked to my left and right to see more suits! Both pretty redheads in shades. The one on my left had short hair while the right had short hair and a softer jawline.

“Am I in the middle of a twin thing? That’s interesting.”

I stare back at the man who I just know has to be smiling somewhere on the inside. “Thank you for taking the bag off.”

“It goes back on if you keep yapping.”

“If you didn’t want a conversation then why didn’t you gag me? Who the ladies look down on you? What are you an uncle?”

He squinted at me in silence. Hell yeah; I definitely got it on the first try. Now that I look at him closely he does look older than them. Also…this car is nice. Not to mention long. This is the fanciest abduction ever.

“Is this a limo?”

“Wouldn’t you know? You’re an actress.”

“It’s called small talk.”

The man sat up straight and opened his suit jacket slightly so I noticed the gun. Clearly someone didn’t like small talk.

“Guns aren’t scary when they’re holstered. Most of the time anyway.” I look at the short haired woman. “You're very pretty by the way. How are you a thug instead of an actress?”

She didn’t even bother to look my way. Tragic. I turn the possible twin then hear a familiar click. The uncle decided to make the gun scarier.

“No more talking.”

It’s amazing how good suits don't equal experience. Frankly, it was concerning.

“Sir, if that’s actually loaded I recommend you remove the magazine. Second, you won’t shoot me because clearly someone paid you to steal me instead of murder.”

It got silent again. Both the ladies looked at their uncle and that seemed to smooth out his edges. He was nice enough to holster that bad boy of his.

“That definitely has rubber bullets, right?”

“Why would it?” Said the long-haired woman. “Do you really think nobody will notice you're gone or something?”

“Oh you can talk! Eh, they might notice eventually but I run off sometimes. It’s the afternoon, not the dead of night.”

The man grumbled, “Don’t entertain the target.”

Such a rude thing to say. “You know my name. It’s Serendipity Karuma. I know I’m an actress but this is overkill. Who hired you?”

“Why the hell would I tell you that?”

“Because I’m already caught? Speaking of which, the rope around my wrist burns. Would you humor me enough to untie them? I’m dainty.”

I bat my eyes for dramatic effect. Nobody resists floral pink eyes.

I’ve been keeping my cool so far but it’s become impossible to ignore the intoxicating smell coming from the brown bag near the man.

“You stole me before I got my late lunch. Is that a double in the bag?”

“Y-Yes…”

“Knew it! Look, if you give me a single bite I promise it won’t be huge and it will prove I’m trustworthy enough to untie me.”

“Those two things don’t add up.”

“They do when you suck at math.” I giggled at my own ridiculous joke, but I wasn’t alone. Pretty lady on my right snickered.

“Uh-Sorry.” She cleared her throat.

Fortune favored me for once and the uncle actually took out a fresh burger that rumbled my stomach like a dryer on max settings. He put it right in front of my face and I oh so gracious took a moderate bite.

“Mmmmm.”

Car food and kidnapping is such a good combo. Especially when the food is greasy the drive has the hymn of the tires on the road.

“Thank you kind sir. You all actually seem like decent people.”

“We are not untying you.”

Why are people so stubborn? It’s not like I’m tangibly a threat. Well…not physically. I could hear it again, the whispers that never truly leave me. The way my body tingles from head to toe while I felt a knot in my shoulder made me sigh as I put the pieces together. This part was never fun.

“May I ask one earnest and important question to you all? You don’t actually know who hired you to take me, do you? Was it a direct contact or through a third party?”

Maybe it was the sincerity of my voice but it got the girl to my left to speak.

“Third party.”

Good old uncle was about to yell at the girl but I nudged his foot.

“Hey, I don’t know why you three or thugs but I will match the price if you let me go right now.”

“Do you think we’re that dumb!?”

Okay, now I am getting annoyed. “No! I think your client doesn’t give a shit about you, or they would’ve told you not to have live ammo.”

“What?”

His eyes widened and I truly tell how little they mattered in this scheme. That’s when it hit me, maybe this was the scheme itself? The whispering grew dead silent to me while the sudden sound of horn blaring was heard by all. I didn’t bother to look for the source, nor could I afford to care. I’m not a nice enough person to let things simply happen as they’re supposed to. The moment the man turned his head to look out the window, I gritted my teeth and forced my right hand out of the rope; I didn’t waste a second stealing his gun before-

BOOM

The limo was struck from the left. The entire world began spinning as the car filled with screams. Not mind though. All I could do was clench my jaw, shut my eyes and hold the gun firmly. My finger never grazed the trigger and yet all the violent movements eventually led to a BANG!

Was it all instant? Did I black out? All I knew was when I opened my eyes I saw a man writhing pain as he clenched his shoulder. The weight of one of the twins felt crushing while the other became the platform I laid on. If only I was a tad faster. The man could only watch helplessly as I unloaded the gun and put on the busted glass window.

My head was still ringing. That was a far fall. “Did we fall off a bridge?”

Truthfully I had no idea why I was still trying to talk to the man. He currently had more important problems than my questions. I rolled my body forward, hitting the new floor of this sideway limousine. Hadn’t noticed this before but it has a sunroof. Had a sunroof that is. My arms reached up and pulled me towards it while my legs got their act together. It pays to do your own stunts.

“Wa-Wait…” the man groaned.

“No time for that. If you’re worried about the girls, I could feel them flinching. Just…”

Man, my head hurts. I touch the top gently and don’t feel anything warm or wet. That’s good at least. Can’t say the same about whoever is the driver. Bullets rarely have one target in my experience.

“Find the strength to get them through the roof. Whatever happens next will probably be better than now.”

I let my body fall through the opening and land in crisp, cool water. Too bad it wasn’t deep enough to cushion anything. Actually…that would be awful. I prefer this creek. Definitely this creek. My body finally allows me to stand and before long, I’m walking. Sure it hurts and I have a slight limp in my step but I’ve been through worse. Won’t be long before an ambulance arrives. It is afternoon after all. Those amateurs were lucky. Late night crimes don’t go too well.

“Time to go. This isn’t my kind of limelight anyway.”

I got far enough away for it to matter. Siren’s played behind me sooner rather than later. Hopefully those three find a different career path. At the very least, let them never bump into me again.

“I should really invest in a bodyguard somehow. Heh, as if that’ll work. Oh well… back to my trailer I guess.”

Life will forever have its ups and downs and all things considered, this was a humbling middle ground. That was until I felt my leg vibrate. Scroll isn’t broken. Today is a good day. I take it out and answer the obvious questions from my Director.

“WHERE ARE YOU!?”

“On a walk.”

“I hear sirens!”

“They aren’t for me.”

“Are they because of you?”

Gotta admit, he was very good at asking questions.

“In my defense, I was kidnapped.”

“YOU WERE WHAT!? I THOUGHT THAT WAS DONE WITH!?”

“It could be a random coincidence? Nobody knew anything, which is concerning for other reasons. It’s pretty gross when I consider the worst scenario.”

“Where are you? I’ll pick you up.”

“No offense but I’m tired of cars. I need the exercise anyway. See you at my trailer?”

“…Fine.”

“Oh! Can there be burgers waiting for me? I can even go for a kids meal.”

“Fine! But your toy is a med kit!”

He hung up abruptly. Jokes on him. That’s the toy I wanted. Hopefully it doesn’t ruin our film schedule. After all, I’ve never been to Menagerie. Something fun is bound to happen there.

[a-vacuole]

I know this probably won't get much attention, but I still feel the need to talk about the situation in my country, Panama

there has been discussions regarding a mining contract for a Canadian (and I think also Korean?) mining company, to mine for copper

do be aware, they have been mining for about a year even though there was no signed contract

while I have not being able to read the contract out of sheer anxiety, several lawyers have said it was made favoring the mining company. by a lot, resembling the Hay-Bunau-Varilla contract, which was signed before we had a proper republic, allowed the construction of the canal and a zone exclusive for it

a zone panamanians had VERY LIMITED ACCESS TO until after the Marthyrs of January 9, 1964. twenty two persons died during the event, including A BABY.

there's the fear of the new mining zone become a second Zona del Canal, as well as the worry for the environmental impact (which is greater than most minesas this is an open-air mine) and health of the surrounding population

so far..

1 journalist lost an eye

1 person died today (24.10.23) after being wounded on the liver area by lead bullets

the antimotines are shooting lead bullets, rubber bullets and expired tear gas at random. they even threw tear gas bombs at a HOSPITAL. people are defending themselves with rocks or just anything in hand

the bus system is basically paused, getting anywhere has become so difficult people have had to walk on the bridge across the canal to get to their homes

the metro was closed today, station by station at the end of the work day. people struggled to get home. a big portion of the population relies on public transport to move around, and it was taken away from us

protestors have been burning old car tires too. unsure of why but it blocks the streets for HOURS. it's chaos, it's anxiety inducing. I know there's worse happening in the world but I'm SO TIRED ALREADY. there are no medications in public institutions, no reactives to run life-determining blood tests, work?? there's barely any people have resorted to theif and robbery to survive, crime rates are HIGH, infrastructure is falling apart and yet the goverment has the DESCARO to say that they have done a lot, that after 3 fucking years they are fixing the streets, 4 years for finishing the (currently) last line 1-metro station, they want to expand the genetics program yet reduce the budget for it. they have reduced the budget of almost every single institution minus the politician's ones.

they dare to say they have been listening to the population's worries even though we have MONTHS saying NO to the mining company. MONTH. THIS SHOULD HAVE GONE TO A REFERENDUM AND IT HAS NOT. THE CONTRACT WAS SIGNED BY THE PRESIDENT WITHING HOURS OF IT'S LAST REVISION.

there are memes of the situation, this is just one of them regarding the last speech of the president

people are TIRED

this isn't only about the mining, it's about the shit hole this goverment is making. about the state of the country and how those in power are concentrating on making more money

I am AFRAID of another dictatorship, because guess what? this is the EXACT SAME political party that was in power during the Dictatorship of Noriega.

I can't go to work in-person for who knows how long, because the country has become utterly innacessible. the price of food has risen in just days

I'm scared

we shouldn't have to resort to protests to be listened to. the public healthcare system shouldn't be falling apart. people should have access to transport. we shouldn't need to fear for our lives.

[doctorjuvenile]

Things from WtA: The Book of Hungry Names you should know

There is an actual forest being clearcut to construct a police training facility in the U.S.

Protests against the clearcutting of Weelaunee Forest in Atlanta, Georgia have been ongoing since April 2021. Just like STATZ, a massive 'Cop City' is being built, replete with an entire mock city with empty apartments. The construction project has been widely criticized and authorities have killed one forest defender and made 61 arrests against protestors. 28 more arrests were made against students of Emory University in 2024 who peacefully protested for total divestment and were additionally shot at with tear gas, rubber bullets, and tasers. (Wikipedia)

This is not just a storyline in a well-written game. This is a real fight happening.

From Wikipedia:

Planned facilities include classrooms, a burn building, a mock city (including apartments, a bar/nightclub, and a school), and a shooting range.

Sound familiar?

2. Nin's appearance was inspired by Patty Smyth in the music video for "I Am the Warrior"

Confirmed to me by Kyle Marquis himself, Nin also sings a bit of this song in-game:

Nin sings, "Shooting at the walls of headache pang pang, I am the worrier," drumming on the desk. Elton flinches at each "pang."

3. The Dunwich Horror is a novella written by H.P. Lovecraft set in Massachusetts.

Although folklore in the region predates Lovecraft, whippoorwills carrying away the souls of the dead feature heavily in this story too.

4. Update coming on Monday.

Not sure what exactly it will entail but the code for the bugged Cheetah's Claw achievement will definitely be fixed. Oh, and the Red Talons are coming in a future DLC.

[skallagrimulfhedinn]

@i-met-scooby

Dear Sam and Dean,

If your reading this I’m dead. Hope it was a good death and I went out swinging. I’m leaving you this letter and this key because there’s something I need you to take care of and your the best damn hunter I know of so I’m sure you can handle it.

About 10 years ago I was hunting a werewolf nest up in New Jersey. I busted into there den and there was a creature at the time I thought must have been somesort of super werewolf or something. about 7 ft tall covered in fur, claws and with a nasty set of Chompers. (I later found out this thing calls itself an Ulfhedinn) So I put a silver bullet threw it’s heart. Thing dies just like a werewolf and changes back to it’s human form. so I finish off the pack and start burning bodies and this thing wakes up, transforms back and starts after me so I shoot it dead again, figuare maybe I didn’t quite get my aim down the first time or something. Burn the body but there’s this pelt it was wearing that won’t burn.

I take the pelt with me and seal it in a box put it away thinking it’s a cursed object or something. Well about 6 months later the guy I burned tracks me down pins me to the bed of my hotel screaming and hollering asking where his pelt is. I play along catch him off gaurd and shoot him threw the heart again. Turns out the son of a bitch is 1400 years old and after quite a few “enhanced” interregations I’m starting to belive him when he says he can’t die.

I’ve tried everything I can to put the bastard down, but eventually I learn he’s got a family. I tracked them down saw a few of them transforming, even teaching the kids in different forms. Turns out these Ulfhedinn can transform not only into the werewolf like form I was telling you about  earlier but aslo can change into a regular old wolf. Also turns out they can only do it if they have their individual pelt.

took a pelt it wouldn’t burn just like the other one but I killed one of them with a bullet to the heart, watched the corpse till it started to rot, then burned it, soon as the creature was dead it’s pelt burnt easy. Killed off the rest of the family couldn’t find all the pelts but I’m not sure it matters.

Anyway the guy is still down there, you have to check on him everonce in awhile cause he will do anything he can to get out. He’s chewed threw gags, broken his own bones to get out of manicals, dug out holes around cage bars with whatever he has. Basically the dude is determined as hell. You can chop off his head it seems to make his memory go for a few months but yeah he’s a pain.

I don’t know what’s special about this one but if you can kill it perminantly that would be awesome. I left a diary down in the basement with it detailing everything I’ve tried but don’t let it out and don’t give it it’s pelt.

- Jacob

————————————-

Skallagrim had been a prisoner for longer than this but still this guy had no problem shooting him everytime he came down the steps and by the time he woke up the bonds were tighter than ever. The ball gag he had chewed threw time and again was replaced with a harder one, the manicles he’d slipped his hands threw locked tighter so they made his hands numb. They were chained to the floor as were his feet. His neck was locked in a heavy metal collar that was chained to the bars of the cage witch held him.

His shirt was was long gone removed in a torture session years ago and his pants were showing the 10 years of continuous wear. When he got out of here he was going to shred that hunter and then he resolved to find a hamburger. It had been so long since he’d eaten he couldn’t even remember how a hamburger tasted. Really he couldn’t remember anything other than the taste of the rubber ball gags.

When the door opened to the cellar he struggled in his bonds more an angry growl coming from his throat as he yanked at his bleeding hand trying to shove it threw the manical even if it stripped his flesh or broke his bones. his nostrils flairing as he breathed deeply as he could.

[c0mmitt4xfr0g]

Ripe - Chapter One

uhm... so basically I wrote these hoffstrahm fanfics and I wanted to post them here................ nsfw so...

fanfic tags: hoffstrahm, gay sex, anal sex, angst (but it's all better don't worry), semi public sex.

I can't think of anything else but if there's a tag I'm missing you want me to add lemme know!!

Chapter One

It was spitting rain and windy, but that wasn't why Peter felt cold. He barely felt the gusts on his skin anymore, all he could feel was the tingling sensation of goosebumps. His eyes kept going in and out of focus as he looked from the rubber mask to Mark Hoffman's face, and the surprise paced both of them.

Neither one of them recalled what street this was, but Peter was pretty sure there hadn't been a building in the middle of it, closing the alleyway. Mark hadn't known that either, and he suddenly found himself trapped, nothing but himself, Peter Strahm, and the rain in that alleyway.

The situation was ripe for the picking.

Peter was out of breath and it didn't help that he couldn't breathe for a second, air caught in his throat like he was scared to choke on it. Adrenaline coursed through his veins like a narcotic and he felt drunk as he stumbled over to Mark.

"I got you," Peter said, more to himself than to Mark, and though his voice sounded relieved, he was not.

Mark hung his head and a sigh of exhaustion left his chest as Peter grabbed his arms, turning him around. He only struggled for a moment to protect his pride, knowing that somewhere, deep inside his brain, he still had a little bit left. He wouldn't go without a fight – but that didn't mean he would fight hard.

"Aren't you gonna take me in, officer?" Hoffman snarled, and Strahm shoved him against the wall with a groan.

He had done it. He'd captured the man he'd been obsessing over for months. He had the handcuffs around his wrists, too, and the car was just around the corner.

He had his perp – now what?

Mark couldn't help the slight gasp that escaped his lips as the cold metal handcuffs were replaced with boney, calloused hands. The handcuffs clanged loudly to the pavement and Mark flinched, but then there was nothing around his wrists at all. Peter flung his hands out of his own and took a hesitant step back.

"Get the fuck outta my sight," Peter said in a low tone, but the venom in his voice was diluted with how much it shook.

Mark whipped around. "Excuse me?"

Peter was looking at him with cold, calculated wrath that was ready to burst in him, and for the first time in a long time, Mark felt fear. His lip curled like he was about to smile and his eyes were so piercing they felt like cutting ice.

"I said, get the fuck out of my sight." The silence was deafening, and even though Peter spoke so quietly Mark questioned if he heard him right, it sounded like he barked this.

Mark's eyes darted to the mask in his fist, and with a sinking feeling in his stomach, he knew that even if he ran, he had been caught. The empty threats Peter had mailed him had meant nothing but flirtation until that very moment, because now, he had proof. And there was no amount of running in the world that would reverse it.

"Is this some sort of joke? I'll turn around and you'll shoot me in the back?" Mark snapped, throwing the mask on the pavement in a moment of rage. "Are you too pussy to be in the car alone with me?"

"God dammit, Mark," he quipped, but his voice sounded so tender at his first name. "There's no point. If I throw you in jail, you'll just escape. We'll never lose a court case against you anyway."

Peter didn't leave him with a lot of options, and Mark couldn't decide if getting shot in the back or getting thrown in prison for the rest of his life was worse. He didn't look armed, and for a second, even though he felt frozen in place, he started walking.

He waited one second, two seconds, three seconds for the burning pain of a bullet entering him but there was nothing, and he looked over his shoulder, doing a double take.

He watched Peter collapse to his knees against the alley wall, sitting down. He was standing in shock. Mark couldn't believe his eyes, but he watched him pull out a cigarette, reach for the pig mask, and hold it while he smoked, not even caring if the ash got on it or not. He was looking at it almost fondly, and Mark just couldn't believe it.

"Get up, your ass is gonna get soaked," Mark said sternly, and Peter dumbly did what he said as if he hadn't noticed he was still there, or worse, watching him.

He threw his coat on the ground where he was sitting, and Peter took up all the room that he wanted, Mark sat down next to him in silence.

Peter flung the cigarette he was smoking in a puddle, and Mark watched it fizzle out, the puff of smoke disappearing into the fog.

"Why are you still here?" Peter asked, his voice rough.

He coughed, grimacing and gripping his throat, and Mark peered at the little jagged, white scar on his Adam's apple. His voice never went back to being as smooth as it had been, but if Mark had said it wasn't attractive, he would have been lying. He didn't understand why he still smoked, but part of him liked watching him do it, and Mark felt himself craving smoke more than ever before in his life.

"Because," Hoffman said childishly. "Why are you still here?"

"None of your business," Peter said.

"Actually, it is my business, since you're supposed to be chasing me," he said, hoping that maybe Peter had forgotten the memo, that he had forgotten that they completed each other like that.

It hit Mark like a tonne of bricks that this was it – their little game was over. He had come to enjoy it, come to enjoy egging him on, sending him notes like they were love letters

Strahm didn't say anything but the rain picked up, wetting his hair until it fell in front of his eyes, not bothering to fix it.

"Why don't you just take me back to the department, throw me in jail for a few days, I'll escape and then we can go right back to how things were, huh?" Mark said, nudging him with his elbow.

"I can't," he murmured, looking up at the clouds and letting raindrops pool on his eyelids. "I can't, I'm done. It'll never be the same."

"I don't understand this," Mark started. "You're a fucking FBI agent, you're supposed to be happy that you caught me. Instead you're sitting on the ground in the rain while I give you a pep talk."

"Because you took everything from me!" Peter suddenly roared, grabbing Mark's collar with a steel fist. "And now you're all I have left."

The words escaped Peter's snarling lips and he wished that he could go back just a few seconds to stop it. When had things turned that way? When did his obsession to catch Mark become his Mark obsession? Weeks, at least, probably months, and he couldn't think of anything else that would fill that void other than him.

Peter knew it was fucked up, but the only way he could cope with everything he had lost was looking to the man who had taken it from him. And now he had him right in his hands – it should've been a sweet victory, but putting him in jail was cutting out a whole chunk of his life.

Mark gave him nightmares, but he also gave him meaning, and he gave him long nights with hard-ons that he didn't know how to fix, pictures of him that he kept separated from his files, just for him, because sometimes thinking about Mark numbed the pain and gave him something else to want.

And right now all he wanted was to kiss him, watching Mark's wide eyes trace his face, probably his nose that he could never stop staring at, while Peter gazed slowly at him licking those rounded lips.

He pulled him in closer but slowly, so slow, like he was scared Mark would bite him. Mark could see what was happening but his brain couldn't make sense of it, he could only taste the cigarettes on Peter's breath and wanted to taste more.

But Mark's eyes fluttered shut as their lips met, and he couldn't help but tug on Peter's jacket, needing something to hang onto.

In a second, a chaste kiss became angry, Peter digging his fingertips into Mark's scalp hard enough to sting a little, but the only thing Mark would've done differently is tell him to pull his hair, because it hurt in the best way. Peter wasn't breathing so much as groaning into the other man's mouth.

"I need you," Peter gasped again, and Mark felt a rush of blood to his dick, the humiliation didn't help.

"Shit, that's." Hoffman couldn't finish his sentence because his words caught in his throat when Peter squeezed at his chest with his long fingers, and he gritted his teeth.

Peter moaned against Mark's lips as he groped himself through his pants, arching his legs. He knew his cock was a sharp bulge in his pants but he didn't care, didn't care how obvious it was.

In an instant, Hoffman was on his knees straddling Peter's thigh while he pressed his knee into his cock. Strahm ground into his knee, and when he returned his focus to Mark's chest, Mark moved his hand down to his cock.

"I need you too," Mark finally said, muffled against his lips.

It was the first time Mark had seen Peter so scared and excited all at once, his steel blue eyes glittering into his.

"Fucking, thank you," Peter groaned, unzipping Mark's pants before his own. "I don't have lube."

Mark leaned down, and spat on Peter's cock, wiping his mouth with something like a glare. "There. No more excuses."

Peter slowly looked up at him in disbelief. "Fucking disgusting," Peter said. "I'm obsessed with you."

"I know you are," Mark said, but when he saw Peter suck two of his fingers into his mouth, he stopped him. "Don't bother."

Peter hesitated. "But-"

"I don't care if it hurts," Mark wheezed, but then, "just, distract me."

Peter didn't understand why he didn't let him just split him open, but he didn't mind so much, because he really did feel like he was going to burst any second.

He guided his cock into Mark's ass with one hand and gripped Mark's with his other, thumbing at his slit. It made Mark wince, but if it wasn't a good distraction from the pain of stretching around him with nothing other than a little spit to help, he wasn't sure what was.

Peter let his head roll back, squeezing his eyes shut and then blinking rapidly, a trembling gasp escaping him.

"Fucking- Mark, you're so tight," he grunted, stroking him the best he could with a shaking hand. "You're sure?"

"Shut up, just shut up for a sec," Mark snapped, his brows furrowed in deep concentration.

His teeth were gritted in pain and Peter gave him a dubious look, not sure if he should keep touching his cock or not. When he started fucking his cock with his fist, Mark let out a gasp that he'd been holding, and it seemed to ease his tension. Mark let his head sink forward and his hair fell messily over his eyes, but Peter fixed it, pushing it back, slick with the rain.

After a moment, Mark sank fully onto Peter's cock, his ass on his thighs. Mark was heavy, but Peter was strong. Strahm couldn't help but grunt as Mark sank onto him, because he was so, so tight, and warm, and he was pretty sure he was going to break his dick off but he didn't ever want to stop.

"Christ," Mark said through gritted teeth, eyes still closed and his hands still on Peter's shoulders for stability. "Gonna break me in half."

"I told you we should-"

"Shut up," Mark said, quieter this time. "I didn't say it was a bad thing."

Mark pulled off of him for a second to get situated, and when he slowly slipped onto Peter again, he started bouncing. His legs were trembling but it wasn't from a lack of strength, because the adrenaline rush made him stronger than he ever had been before.

Strahm moaned raggedly, his hand on Mark's round hip. "Beautiful," he murmured, and he could see the redness creep over Mark's calm complexion.

"Jesus, you really are obsessed with me," Mark teased, but bit his lip hard when Strahm thumbed at his head again.

He forgot that just a few moments ago, he had been burning, because the only thing he could think about now was how to stop himself from blowing his load embarrassingly fast.

"I didn't have a choice," Peter said, running his hand over his shoulder blades. "Mm, feels so good, baby."

Mark felt his eyes burn and gloss over when Peter started thrusting into him to meet his pace, feeling his voice start to tremble.

"I'm gonna come fast if you keep doing that," Mark admitted, his hand resting on Peter's chest.

"Good," he said. "I want you to."

"You just want to embarrass me," Mark said, but he could barely get it out in more than a whine, and he hiccupped.

Peter put his knees up and it forced him deeper into Mark, making him swear, his grip on Peter's shoulders tightening with every animal thrust.

"You… took everything from me," Peter grunted in his ear, sinking all the force he had into fucking him.

"I know," Mark stammered, his voice wet because he was almost crying. "You're my everything."

"You too," Peter gasped. "I need you, a-ah, think about it everyday, I think I fucking love you-"

Mark suddenly cried out, gripping Peter's cheeks and resting his forehead on his as he bounced, feeling his cock twitching in his hand as Peter pressed into a sweet spot. He was close, and Peter could tell, unbuttoning his shirt with one hand so that at the very least, he came on his stomach and not his clothes.

"You can come- hah, o-on me," Peter assured him, and gripped his ass which rested on his thigh.

"Fucking creep," Mark groaned, but he buried his face in the crook of Peter's neck, breathing in his cologne like he needed it to live. "I do love you, I know it."

Mark was glad now for his coat being under them, because his knees stung from the gravel as it was. Even still, he felt nothing but bliss as he let out a wracked sob, shaking and shuddering in Peter's strong arms as he came. Peter had stopped thrusting for a moment to stroke him hard but slow, his fingers around his balls as he squeezed the orgasm out of him. Come trickled down his cock as he twitched, gripping Peter around the waist like he was a pillow that he needed for support.

Peter didn't feel like a prison – Mark wasn't trapped in his arms, he was home.

"I'm okay," he promised, even though his voice didn't sell it, shaking as it was. "Keep going."

Peter slowly started thrusting into him again, and for a moment, it felt like too much to handle. Mark pressed a sloppy kiss to his lips to ground himself again, but he flinched when Peter's crown caught at his rim, because even if the pain had long since faded, it felt like sparks going off in his stomach.

"You can come inside," Mark gasped, rocking his hips into Peter's.

Mark thought it was only fair since he did come on his stomach – and partially just wanted to feel him deep inside of him, wanted to watch him drip out of him.

Peter stilled for a moment, but when he looked at Mark's serious eyes and his blushing face, he slammed into him again and again.

"You're so good," Peter groaned. "So good for me, gonna make me come."

Peter had never been one to talk dirty during sex, but Mark was bringing out something desperate that he had suppressed for a long time.

He could feel stars in his stomach and the sight of Mark's soft cock drippling come onto Peter's stomach was enough to send him, but what really got him was Mark repeating so good, like an echo. He shot his load into Mark, and clung to him, hugging him tight.

"Fucking- Mark!" he growled, tugging his shirt so hard that it exposed one of his shoulders.

"God," Mark groaned, rolling his eyes back.

Hoffman could already feel his come dripping out of him but Peter had the common sense to pull his coat away before his head lolled back, and he pulled out of him. He watched in fascination as his seed ran down from Mark's ass, Mark pulling his shirt up around his soft belly to keep it clean.

Mark had barely wiped the come off of Strahm's stomach with a spare napkin out of his coat before he slumped into his arms, hugging him tight around the waist. Peter was slightly taken aback by this, but softened, wrapping his arms protectively around him. He kissed his forehead and Strahm nestled against his chest.

For a moment, neither of them said anything, Mark melted into Peter's arms for support. All they did was breathe.

After a moment, Peter untangled his fingers from Mark's hair.

"Look, I can't take you home. But," Peter swallowed thickly, his throat dry. "Let me take you somewhere, like a hotel. We can stay the night."

"That sounds like a great idea," Mark said sarcastically.

"What do you have to lose?" Peter asked. "Just leave the mask here. It wouldn't be the first time people have seen us together."

Mark glanced at the mask in the corner of the alley, sitting in a puddle. Peter was right – he had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

"Just this once," Mark said uneasily, and Peter gave him a slight grin.

His promise meant nothing, because they both knew that it wouldn't be this once. This was just the beginning. And if Mark needed to lie to himself for a while to be okay with that, Peter was more than willing to go along with it. Mark already felt empty of him and knew his appetite would need to be sated sometime. But for the time being, he would take it one moment at a time, with Peter's strong arms and steady gaze to ground him.

The ao3 link btw......

[marvelmaniac715]

This is my third fic in two days. I usually don’t write this often, but inspiration has really been hitting me lately. This fic is more of a sad one, it’s based on a fic idea that I’ve seen on Tumblr but I can’t quite remember which blogs posted about it, so apologies if those people find this fic, if you posted about it I’ll edit this post and credit you :). Basically, it’s another ‘what if’ scenario, specifically ‘what if Chucky had been there when Glen was shot?’ For the purposes of this fic, Chucky is there outside the Tilly house in doll form, the fic picks up just after the gun shot and is entirely from Chucky’s pov. Even I’ll get sad writing this, so be warned :(.

————————————————————-

Everything was moving in slow motion, that’s how it felt at least. A gunshot went off, a bullet fired. Then the world went silent. Chucky was vaguely aware of someone screaming, but he didn’t know where the sound was coming from. 

Could it be Tiffany? No, she didn’t scream like that. Maybe it was Glenda? Poor kid, they’d put up with so much in such a short amount of time, and now their twin was- no, Glen was fine, they were fine. It took longer than he’d like to admit for Chucky to realise that the person screaming was him, and all at once his lungs burned.

He screamed louder than he ever had before, louder than when he had been set on fire. He didn’t even stop for breath, just wailed until he no longer could. All of his heartbreak and fear and panic merged to create that one agonising scream. Something in Chucky’s mind had irreversibly snapped, and (barely thinking through his actions) he leapt forward and pressed his hands to Glen’s chest to staunch the flow.

“C’mon kid, you’re fine, you’re gonna be alright. It’s just a gunshot, I’ve had them before, I’ve lived, I never died. You’re gonna wake up, you have to wake up…”

His voice tailed off. There was nothing else he could say. Regret and grief coursed through his mind. This was his fault. All of it. twenty four years ago he had made the mistake of not using a rubber. He’d insisted that because he was ‘made of rubber’ he’d be fine, completely forgetting that a few minutes earlier he’d boasted the fact that he was ‘anatomically correct’. 

He didn’t regret the fact that his children had been born, but he regretted the fact that he was their father, they’d never have a normal life. He’d put his children in harm’s way because of his bloodlust, and now they were paying the price. He’d wanted a child ever since he was one, but look how he’d destroyed one of the best things that had ever happened to him.

He turned his head to fix Nica with a hateful glare. For a brief moment, he considered tearing her throat out. But it wasn’t worth it. Why would it be? Nica hadn’t intended to shoot his child, she’d been trying to shoot Tiffany, who had been torturing her for over a year. At least when he hurt people he made it relatively brief, he didn’t drag it out for a year, he did have some humanity for god’s sake. One could argue that Sarah Pierce had been captured for almost a year, but he’d genuinely believed that it was out of love. He was so foolish back then.

He couldn’t blame Nica. He did blame Tiffany though, she hadn’t been quick enough to push Glen out of the way, and she was the one who’d driven Nica to this point in the first place. In a way, this all led back to him, and when Chucky realised this, his grief increased tenfold. He’d inadvertently let Glen get shot. He’d never forgive himself- Wait, what was he doing? His child was bleeding out and he was thinking of himself.

Chucky looked back down at Glen and suppressed a sob. Then his mind went numb. He was distantly aware of screaming at Tiffany to ‘fucking do something, call an ambulance!’ But time seemed to float rather than steadily tick by. He gripped tightly to Glen, as if the kid would slip away if he loosened his grip. He was trying desperately to stop the bleeding, but his tiny doll’s hands were useless, they probably had no effect on the wound.

Chucky returned to his incoherent rambling, trying to reassure Glen that they were fine, doing anything he could to keep his child awake. He didn’t even know what he was saying, but he knew that if he stopped talking, stopped trying to interact with his child, Glen could fall unconscious and potentially not wake up again.

He didn’t let go until the ambulance arrived, and that was only because he didn’t want to freak out the paramedics, allowing his child to receive proper medical treatment. And when the ambulance rolled away with Tiffany, Glenda and Glen in it, he sunk to his knees and howled.

[hocimunc2024]

BREAKING NEWS: Attack at the House of Commons Leaves 7 dead, Palace of Westminster Faces Damage 

18 March 2024

Following the update yesterday, latest developments this morning has shown a group of rioters charging at the Palace of Westminster. Rioters, donning body armour like vests and protective helmets, were seen using pepper spray and shooting rubber bullets at any police officials who attempted to bar them from entering the building. 

The Palace of Westminster is estimated to be suffering from 1.5 million GBP worth of damage. Rioters have successfully burned down parts of the Palace, causing 2 of the country’s most prized paintings to be lost. 

The attack occured during a parliamentary session in the House of Commons. No MPs were hurt in the process. However, 7 policemen are reported to be dead after being fatally abused by rioters. 

MPs of the House of Commons, your lives are at stake. It is your job to seek immediate solutions and appease the rioters, while guarding your own safety. 

[thebaddestb-tchinthisclub]

Dear Sam and Dean,

If your reading this I’m dead. Hope it was a good death and I went out swinging. I’m leaving you this letter and this key because there’s something I need you to take care of and your the best damn hunter I know of so I’m sure you can handle it.

About 10 years ago I was hunting a werewolf nest up in New Jersey. I busted into there den and there was a creature at the time I thought must have been somesort of super werewolf or something. about 7 ft tall covered in fur, claws and with a nasty set of Chompers. (I later found out this thing calls itself an Ulfhedinn) So I put a silver bullet threw it’s heart. Thing dies just like a werewolf and changes back to it’s human form. so I finish off the pack and start burning bodies and this thing wakes up, transforms back and starts after me so I shoot it dead again, figuare maybe I didn’t quite get my aim down the first time or something. Burn the body but there’s this pelt it was wearing that won’t burn.

I take the pelt with me and seal it in a box put it away thinking it’s a cursed object or something. Well about 6 months later the guy I burned tracks me down pins me to the bed of my hotel screaming and hollering asking where his pelt is. I play along catch him off gaurd and shoot him threw the heart again. Turns out the son of a bitch is 1400 years old and after quite a few “enhanced” interregations I’m starting to belive him when he says he can’t die.

I’ve tried everything I can to put the bastard down, but eventually I learn he’s got a family. I tracked them down saw a few of them transforming, even teaching the kids in different forms. Turns out these Ulfhedinn can transform not only into the werewolf like form I was telling you about  earlier but aslo can change into a regular old wolf. Also turns out they can only do it if they have their individual pelt.

took a pelt it wouldn’t burn just like the other one but I killed one of them with a bullet to the heart, watched the corpse till it started to rot, then burned it, soon as the creature was dead it’s pelt burnt easy. Killed off the rest of the family couldn’t find all the pelts but I’m not sure it matters.

Anyway the guy is still down there, you have to check on him ever once in awhile cause he will do anything he can to get out. He’s chewed threw gags, broken his own bones to get out of manicals, dug out holes around cage bars with whatever he has. Basically the dude is determined as hell. You can chop off his head it seems to make his memory go for a few months but yeah he’s a pain.

I don’t know what’s special about this one but if you can kill it perminantly that would be awesome. I left a diary down in the basement with it detailing everything I’ve tried but don’t let it out and don’t give it it’s pelt.

- Jacob

————————————-

Skallagrim had been a prisoner for longer than this but still this guy had no problem shooting him everytime he came down the steps and by the time he woke up the bonds were tighter than ever. The ball gag he had chewed threw time and again was replaced with a harder one, the manicles he’d slipped his hands threw locked tighter so they made his hands numb. They were chained to the floor as were his feet. His neck was locked in a heavy metal collar that was chained to the bars of the cage witch held him.

His shirt was was long gone removed in a torture session years ago and his pants were showing the 10 years of continuous wear. When he got out of here he was going to shred that hunter and then he resolved to find a hamburger. It had been so long since he’d eaten he couldn’t even remember how a hamburger tasted. Really he couldn’t remember anything other than the taste of the rubber ball gags.

When the door opened to the cellar he struggled in his bonds more an angry growl coming from his throat as he yanked at his bleeding hand trying to shove it threw the maniacal even if it stripped his flesh or broke his bones. his nostrils flaring as he breathed deeply as he could.

Dean read the entire note and realized his friend was dead. Long gone. Which wasn’t surprising in this line of work, but that didn’t mean that it didn’t still hurt like hell. Dean wiped his tears away and tried to pull himself back together.

Dean still continued hunting of course. Losing people was a part of the gig, just like saving them was and Jacob told him about this… creature. Dean slowly walked down into the cellar telling Sam to hang back. He looked at the poor thing chained up and torn to bits. “Jesus Christ…” It smelled like death and iron in this cellar. Dean covered his nose and mouth with one hand while still pointing his gun with the other. “Werewolf huh?” Dean spoke to it completely unafraid. “Looks like you’re down on your luck, huh buddy?” Sam huffed from the top of the stairs. “Quit toying with it and just kill it already Dean!” Dean rolled his eyes and sighed. “He never lets me have any fun.” He then loaded a silver bullet into the chamber and held the gun up showing the side of it. “You see this thing? This weapon was made by God himself. That’s right. The big G upstairs. And he bet his ass, it could kill any monster… because, he’s your fucking creator.” Dean raised the gun once more then shook his head. “Although… everyone deserves last words.” Dean undid the gag in his mouth and let it fall. “So, werewolf, any last words?” Dean asked not really giving a personal shit about what he had to say, but, felt like the creature still deserved his last moments.

@skallagrimulfhedinn

[jasper-rolls]

Burning Rubber and Shooting Bullets - Sascha Dikiciyan and Cris Velasco [Borderlands Original Soundtrack]

[kny]

(originally posted: may 28th, 2020)

for people who are unaware of why the riots in minneapolis started happening, here's the facts:

it wasn't george floyd's protesters who started reacting violently; it was the cops.

the protest was peaceful until the cops showed up in riot gear, and started using water cannons, followed up by tear gas and rubber bullets. i got videos from friends who were there, of people screaming and running away from the cops shooting the water cannons, rubber bullets and throwing tear gas at them. they were even shooting at the protesters dragging people away to get medical attention.

speaking of medical attention, dispatch refused to provide any medical attention to the protesters. people literally had to drive their bleeding friends to the hospital because they refused to send ambulances.

cops are using non-lethal weapons in a lethal way. they shot rubber bullets into people's heads and injured them. there’s dozens of photos of protesters with bleeding head wounds from the rubber bullets.

multiple people used police scanners and heard that there were undercover cops pretending to be violent protesters who were throwing rocks and whatnot at the police, with dozens of eyewitness accounts confirming that information.

the person who instigated all the chaos last night (it was a fire at an autozone) with the looting and burning buildings is highly suspected to be an undercover cop pretending to be a protester, because the video of him keeps getting taken down. protesters tried to stop him but couldn’t because he had a hammer and they were scared for their safety.

the cops jammed cell phone towers and cut live streams to interrupt broadcasts and to prevent people from seeing what was really going on and who actually started the violence.

the cops lied about protesters being armed and about throwing rocks and are literally trying to continue the violence happening and yet no one is holding them accountable for that.

and during all this, the cop that murdered george floyd still hasn’t been arrested. he has had more than ten complaints filed against him and was involved in three other civilian shootings in the past. and yet he’s still out free along with his three other buddies involved, probably sitting on his couch while all this chaos is happening.

so don't get it twisted. the cops just want to change the narrative to make it look like they're the wounded and righteous party, when they're the ones who started reacting violently in the first place and are still acting violently. so don't you ever forget who started this tragedy and murdered someone, and who are continuing to react to the situation with violence. 

[wolferine]

Heart Skips a Beat - Part 3

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: Natasha faces her worst nightmare when a rescue mission goes wrong…

Warnings: Violence, blood

Word Count: 2065

Part 2

Tags: @blkmxrvel @blackxwidowsxwife @marvelwomen-simp @phoenixofash @marvels-bitch-boy @when-wolves-howl

Despite your super soldier enhancements, it takes a few days before you’re cleared from the medical bay. The bullets you had been shot with were identified as hollow point sniper rounds—basically the biggest, baddest of the bunch. If you had been a normal human, your insides would’ve been shredded to pieces and you would’ve died before you even hit the ground.

You’re retired to light duty while you recover, which is painfully boring and dull. You attend physical therapy to strengthen your body, but sometimes you push yourself too hard and stumble back to your and Natasha’s room with blood staining through your bandages. She always chastises you for hurting yourself, but secretly admires your dedication and will never pass up the opportunity to help take care of you.

One week after the condominium collapse, you join Steve, Clint, and Natasha for a private meeting with members of the Miami Police Department and the FBI. As Steve had suspected, the collapse wasn’t an accident. Someone had deliberately taken out the concrete supports in the parking garage with explosives.

“We couldn’t have just phoned that in?” you whine from the backseat. Clint is in the driver’s seat, Steve next to him. You and Natasha sit in the back. “I mean, they drag us all the way across the city, just to tell us something they could’ve sent over text—” 

“Information like that, the less people to intercept the message, the better,” Steve mutters, staring out the window as the car zooms down the highway.

“I don’t know about that,” you dismiss, and Natasha side-eyes you. She knows you’re just cranky because Steve interrupted your morning cuddle with her. There isn’t much you can do intimately when you can barely twist your torso, so you have to make due with what you can.

“You know, Y/N, you are the one this guy’s after,” Clint points out. “So, if anything, you’re the only one that needed to show up.”

“Oh, please.” You roll your eyes. “You’re just jealous you don’t have a psychopath coming after you—” 

THUD.

Everyone’s head turns to the roof of the car. You swear you see the imprint of a hand dented in the metal.

“What the—”

Natasha suddenly leaps out of her seat and into your lap. She wraps her arms around your neck, yanking your head down.

“Hey!” you shout in protest, but then you hear a bullet whiz behind your head and feel the foam of the headrest cushion spray the back of your neck. Still in your lap, Natasha kicks Steve’s shoulder, causing him to hit his head against the window before a bullet zings through his headrest. Following her example, you kick Clint’s seat and he jolts forward, the bullet missing his head by inches.

“Stop the car!” Steve yells, crunching the gear shift into park.

The tires burn rubber and the car slides back and forth before coming to a grinding halt. Cars behind you honk and swerve around you. A figure goes flying off the roof of the car and lands in the road, rolling to their feet. They wear a black vest, revealing their left arm to be completely made out of metal overlapping plates. Their hair is chin-length and a mask covers the lower half of their face.

Suddenly, an 18-wheeler semi-truck, unable to stop in time, slams into the back of the car. The trunk crumples like an accordion, and you instinctively tighten your grip around Natasha to shield her in case the semi-truck tears the car in half. But it doesn’t, instead pushing your car towards the masked figure, who doesn’t even bother to step out of your path.

They jump onto the hood and punch their metal arm through the windshield, grabbing the steering wheel and tearing it right out of the car. When the masked figure disappears onto the roof, Natasha takes out her gun and starts shooting, but her efforts are fruitless.

There’s no way for Clint to control the direction of the car anymore and it’s too dangerous to stay inside with the masked figure close by.

“Hang on!” Steve says, reaching across the front to grab Clint. In the same motion, he slams his shoulder into his door, knocking it off its hinges. Both men go flying out of the car.

“That looks like a good idea,” you mumble, anchoring your arm to your own car door, the other pressing Natasha against you as tightly as you can. “Hold on, babe.” You ram your shoulder into the door with all your strength, ignoring the pain that rips through your stomach.

The door tears away from the car and turns into a makeshift sled as you go skidding down the highway. Sparks fly from the grinding contact of metal on the concrete road. When you finally come to a stop, Natasha stays on top of you, drawing her weapon and scanning for the masked figure. 

Meanwhile, the masked figure has hijacked the semi-truck, but instead of plowing you over, they turn to tip the entire vehicle over so it blocks every single lane of the highway.

“Where are they?” you pant, trying to lift your head to see the commotion but Natasha forces your head back into the car door. “Nat, stop—” 

“No!” she says. “They’re after you, remember?”

You don’t like the idea of her risking herself for you, but it’s a sweet gesture.

“Where are they?” you ask, unable to see.

“I…I don’t…” Natasha sounds confused. Suddenly, she takes off without warning. You don’t question it and run after her. Steve and Clint are engaged in an intense hand-to-hand match with the masked figure. The masked figure knocks Steve to the ground and wraps their metal hand around Clint’s neck, lifting him off the ground.

You put on a burst of speed, overtaking Natasha and launching yourself at the masked figure’s metal arm. They drop Clint instantly and you wrap your arms around the metal one, but it’s like trying to contain a bucking bull. You jerk your elbow back into their face to stun them, but it has no effect. The masked figure flings out their metal arm and you lose your grip.

You crash into the concrete highway dividers and the impact almost knocks you out. You feel your stitches tear open and you start bleeding underneath your shirt. As you stagger to your feet, you see the masked figure over Natasha, pinning her down and pulling their metal arm back, ready to deal the killing blow—

“No!” you scream, charging towards them. You catch the masked figure’s metal arm again, locking out their elbow and holding it against your chest. Natasha rolls out of harm’s way and Clint jumps into the action, launching himself at the masked figure’s legs and sending all three of you to the ground.

Natasha swings her leg around and kicks the masked figure in the face. The mask falls off. You and Clint struggle to hold them down as Steve walks up, blood dripping from a cut in his forehead.

“Bucky?” Steve says suddenly, stopping in his tracks. 

“Who the hell is Bucky?” the man snarls.

“Help!” you choke, not sure how much longer you can hold on to his writhing metal arm. But Steve is frozen the same way Natasha had been when she saw you get shot. “You need to get in here, Steve!” you yell, and suddenly Bucky goes limp. You and Clint exchange confused glances.

“Wait, what?” Clint says.

“What happened?” you ask, hesitantly releasing the metal arm, which flops to the ground. “Why’d he just stop like that? Did I say his safe word or something?”

“What, ‘Steve?’” Clint laughs in spite of the tense situation.

“Apparently.”

Steve is in too much shock to bite back at your jibe.

“I’ll call for reinforcements.” Natasha takes charge. “We’ll bring him back to the Tower.” She comes over to you and touches your side gently, reminding you of the blood staining through your shirt.

“I’m fine,” you assure her, reaching out to run your thumb over the bruise forming under her eye. She closes her eyes and leans into your touch. “Let’s hope that Steve is, too.”

***********************************************************************

Bucky is detained in the holding cell at the Tower and Steve goes to speak with him privately. Afterwards, he regroups with the rest of you. Clint relaxes at the kitchen counter with a beer, while you and Natasha sit on the couch together. She holds an ice pack against your stomach and frets over the fresh swelling in your shoulder.

“So, I’ve got some good and bad news,” Steve says.

“You can start by telling us who that guy is,” Clint interrupts.

Steve shifts uncomfortably. “He’s…an old friend of mine. My best friend, actually—”

“You know, that’s the same thing people thought about me and Nat at first, but obviously we’re more than that—” you start.

“Bucky was also involved in the super soldier program,” Steve continues, ignoring your comment. “But he was under HYDRA’s control for decades. They were the ones who sent him after us. And…” Steve takes a breath, “We were wrong about who his target was. He wasn’t after you, Y/N. He was after me.”

“But he shot Y/N,” Natasha says.

“Twice,” you add.

“No.” Steve shakes his head. “Bucky was trying to shoot me. Y/N was just in the way.”

“In the way?” Steve’s logic—or lack of it—makes your head hurt. But as Natasha thinks about it—she’s always been the smarter one in the relationship—it makes complete sense. Her mind flashbacks to the scene of the condominium collapse, where all four of you had gathered on the street after you rescued the last victim. Her and Steve stood across from you and Clint. The bullets had come from behind you—if you hadn’t been standing where you were, Steve would have been hit instead.

“I don’t think you would remember this part, Y/N, but when Nat and I were trying to get you in the ambulance, we were shot at two more times,” Steve explained. “But the bullets hit the sideview mirror and the windshield. Those were places I was in, not you.”

“Okay, so why’s he trying to kill you if you’re his best friend?” you ask.

“It’s all HYDRA’s doing. He told me he’s part of a task force that was created to kill off the Avengers. Specifically, the original six, so there’s six of them in the task force. He’s the only one that got out, and he said the other five are being held in a facility in Siberia. He wants our help to free them,” Steve says.

“So, this Bucky guy wants to work with us now? After he took down a 12-story condominium and almost killed Y/N while trying to kill you?” Clint asks.

“Please, Clint,” Steve begs. “Bucky’s my best friend—”

“A best friend who tried to kill Y/N! And you!” Natasha argues. She lowers the ice pack from your stomach and you frown at the loss of contact. “You know I love you, Steve—”

“Not as much as me,” you mutter under your breath, guiding her hand to put the ice pack back against your side.

“—But I’m gonna need you to do a little better than that.”

“I need you all to trust me,” Steve pleads. “If we have intel telling us that there are five super soldiers in existence, who are programmed to take down the Avengers, isn’t it on us to do something about it?”

“How do we know we can trust Bucky?” Clint asks.

“Well, if he does go rogue, at least we know his safe word,” you answer with a chuckle.

“If you trust me, you’ll trust him,” Steve promises.

You glance at Natasha, who is looking at the floor, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. You stretch your arm over her shoulder, pulling her towards you and bumping your heads together.

“What should we do?” you whisper so quietly only she can hear.

Her free arm snakes around your waist, closing the gap between you and her, your bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces. She rests her head against your shoulder. “Trust Steve,” she says.

“Okay.” That’s enough of an answer for you. You press a soft kiss to her temple and look back at Steve. “So, what did you have in mind?”

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

Click here for Part 4!

AN: I love taking inspiration from many places, and the inspiration for this part is the awesome fight on the highway from Captain America: Winter Soldier. Thank you to everyone for the continued support!

[tooweirdforyou]

One Piece » Pick Up Lines

A/N : please enjoy.

Just a few of the one piece characters.

Summary : these one piece characters and their pick up lines in my opinion :p

note : I’m sorry in advance.

-

Portgas D. Ace

» from Ace

“Hey, beautiful~ can I just say that you are the light of my life?”

“You bring me the warmth I need in life. Besides my devil fruit.”

“Why don’t I warm you up with my body?” *cue winks*

“When you’re not around, my heart feels like it has a hole in it.” ( I’m so sorry. )

» to Ace

“I’m not hot like you, but I can see a spark of fire between us.”

“Ace, every time I get near you, I start burning up.”

“I can’t handle the heat radiating off your sexy body.”

-

Admiral Kizaru

» to Kizaru

“Ah, the light! Too bright! You’re blinding me with your good looks!”

“Our love is brighter when we’re together~”

-

Monkey D. Luffy

» from Luffy

“My love for you is longer than I can stretch myself!”

“Shoot me with all your love bullets/bullet hearts, I’m a rubber man, I’ll bounce it back to you twice as much!”

“As future king, will you be my future Queen?”

“You are the “one piece” that I’m looking for.”

-

Roronoa Zoro

» from Zoro

“I will cut through anything to get to your heart and make you call me yours.”

“I can cut through anything but my love for you.”

“My swords aren’t the only thing I’m good at thrusting.”

» to Zoro

“Thrust into me with your fourth sword down below.”

“My love for you can never be cut, no matter how strong you are.”

-

Marco The Phoenix

» from Marco

“I love you, from the moon and stars in the sky and back.”

“Let me fly you to the moon.”

“No height is unreachable when it comes to my love for you.”

“My wings can rise but something else can too~”

» to Marco

“Will you take me to reach the stars with you?

-

Trafalgar Law

» to Law

“I think I’m falling ill, doctor. I think it might be the disease called Love.”

“My lips are in a little pain. Will you kiss it better?”

“You are just the medication I need, doc.”

» from Law

“What you need is some tender loving care from me. Doctor’s orders.”

“Let me write you a doctor’s note for some loving medication.”

“As a doctor, I must examine your body. What do you say we meet at my place tonight?”

-

Boa Hancock

» to Hancock

“You must be Cupid, because you keep shooting me those love beams~”

“When you’re around, I freeze like a statue in love.”

“Do you mind if we kissssssss~” * snake hisses *

-

A/N : I am so sorry. I thought of this on the fly and like yeah, I’m sorry. ;-; these are so bad-