#shoot first ask questions (gunpowder)

[lettherebemonsters]

" Just you wait, I'm gonna spoil that kid so much he's gonna think he's on Cloud fuckin' Nine."

Gunpowder just found out he's an uncle and already he's planning on drowning Homelander in manly love.

@theovercompensatinghero

[blumineck]

hi! you're great I love your work! I've got a weirdly specific archery question and thought I'd send it to you in case you'd find it fun to have a crack at

say you're an expert archer originally from Vietnam sometime in the late bronze age. say you're a super duper expert archer because it turns out you're immortal, and so you do your archery across Eurasia through the first millennium BCE and the first millennium CE and into the age where gunpowder weapons are evolving into cannons. that's a long time to be alive and you do lots of hunting and fighting with all kinds of bows and shooting styles, especially war archery on horseback. then you're out of the picture for a while, let's say you're peacefully sleeping for a handful of centuries. (this is about Quynh from The Old Guard who alas was not peacefully sleeping)

all of a sudden you blink and you've gone from the era where firearms were just starting to develop and maybe with this new flintlock thing guns could eventually get good enough to rival a bow and arrows— bam, now you're in the 21st century. what kinds of modern archery tech would you be most excited to try out? what would you think of a compound bow? Olympic style archery? plastic fletching?? how about the modern reproductions of what are now considered historical bows and shooting styles? is there anything about 21st century archery that you'd want to rant about at length? other opinions about these newfangled takes on your trusty old bow and arrows you care to share?

This is a phenomenal question, and thank you for asking it! Here’s my 2 cents:

The thing about modern archery is that for the most part, modern bows are designed to make it easier to be accurate, to the stage that modern target accuracy is probably better than it’s ever been historically.

BUT, if we assume Quynh is capable of feats of archery that match the level of melee combat skill that e.g. Andy has, then she doesn’t NEED it to be easier to be accurate.

My guess is that someone like her would actually find most modern archery developments needlessly slow and awkward. Compound bows and Olympic recurves are NOT designed for instinctive, fast shooting, and would probably feel quite restrictive once she got over how easy they made accuracy.

BUT, I imagine she would be blown away by the range and arrow speed that modern bows can generate, and there are some recurves (and at least one compound bow), that have been designed to make use of the efficiency of modern materials and bow design, while still allowing traditional shooting styles, and those, THOSE are something an ancient immortal archer might fall in love with! (FWIW, my own go-to is a horsebow made with carbon-fibre limbs and a modern limb profile, and for impact energy it can match some traditional bows with a draw weight that’s 50% greater. The Oneida eagle compound could trump that).

So yeah, it might take her a bit, but once she gets her hands on the right equipment, she’d be (even more) TERRIFYING!

[jintaka-hane]

Want You Bad

(Beckman x f!reader)

Pt. 1 Right For The Job

Masterlist

Pairing: benn beckman x!reader Summary: Starting a new job is always a challenge, especially when one of your bosses seems aloof and distant with you. What's wrong with him? Is there anything you can do to earn his trust? The story of how Benn Beckman struggles to control his attraction to you onboard. Word count: 1800 Notes: Why do I continue writing about this gentleman? Because I can't stop. This is part 1 of probably... 4. Warnings: forbidden love, oblivious to love, friends to lovers. Tag list: @i-am-vita @fanaticsnail @gingernut1314 in case you're interested!

"Not bad," you thought, quite pleased with yourself, your eyes darting from one man to the other, trying to decipher what they were thinking.

You had just completed one of the most demanding job interviews of your life, and both the questioning and the practical test had gone rather well. The rigorous testing and skills demonstration had encompassed various aspects aimed at evaluating your proficiency in maritime knowledge and practical abilities. This included boat handling, from small to medium-sized vessels, understanding meteorological phenomena and their effects on sea currents, recognizing wind patterns, and managing crisis protocols at sea.

In record time and with a stopwatch in hand, you were required to display your ability to tie various maritime knots, adjust ropes, furl sails, and climb the rigging - all without feeling dizzy.

Questions regarding survival techniques and military medicine were also asked, inquiring about first aid procedures: cleaning wounds, disinfecting, stitching up, applying creams to burns and explosion wounds… The interviewers even asked you to apply a tourniquet to one of them.

When it came to social skills, you demonstrated that you were good at connecting with people and working in teams. You had a good sense of humor, and you were loyal if you felt your team was working for a just cause.

And lastly, you showcased your specialty: making precise shots at considerable distances. You adeptly handled various firearms, with your favorite being the revolver for its lightness and practicality. While you were somewhat less enthusiastic about swords, daggers, and other bladed weapons, you could still wield them proficiently when required. You were tasked with shooting at ten different targets, and you effortlessly hit them all without difficulty.

You had, in a manner of speaking, nailed it.

All that remained was for the two men who had interviewed you to deliberate and decide whether you would become part of the red-haired crew, or if, on the contrary, you would have to continue looking for work on other vessels docked at the pier. 

"Thanks, Y/n. Just give us a sec to discuss it, okay?," the captain said, escorting you to the door of the cabin. 

You stepped out onto the deck and settled on a bench, eagerly awaiting a response. To make the wait more entertaining, you retrieved your revolver, still steaming, from its holster and began to clean the gunpowder that was on it. 

The voices of the two men could faintly be heard by the door, but you couldn't quite make out what they were saying. It seemed that if they had to discuss it, one of them was in favor of you being suitable for the job, while the other was not. You could imagine who was who... as during the interview, the captain seemed enthusiastic, while the first mate remained serious and cautious. You just hoped they would reach an agreement soon.

"Well, what do you think? Shall we keep her?" asked the red-haired captain, reclining in his chair and casually placing both feet on the table.

"Not sure, Shanks..." responded the first mate with a somewhat concerned expression.

"Why not? She aced all the tests, she's perfect. Fits right in. It's a yes from me."

"Not sure..." Beckman began to pace slowly around the room, hands behind his back, deep in thought.

"What's bothering you? That she's the only woman on board? I don't think it'll be a problem for the lads, they'll know how to behave... We just gotta lay down some ground rules, and everything will stay in order," Shanks remarked.

"The third shot was almost a miss..." Beckman stopped right in front of the table where Shanks was sitting and looked him straight in the eye.

Shanks lowered his feet, sat up in his chair, and leaned towards his friend, resting his arm on the table. "The third one... and almost... in a job interview where she was probably nervous. Come on Beck, she's one hell of a sniper, Yassop will love her."

Beckman maintained eye contact with his captain, struggling to conjure any objections against hiring the woman. After some pondering, not a single negative argument came to his mind that he dared to voice aloud. The woman was exceptional, and who was he to fight against his captain's eagerness? He let out a resigned sigh.

"Is that a yes?" Shanks' smile grew so wide it almost took up his entire face.

"A’right," he conceded, crossing his arms. 

"Settled then!" Shanks said happily, hitting the table with the palm of his hand. "Let her know. Ask her to pack up and get settled on the ship today”. He rose to his feet and retrieved the cloak hanging over the back of the chair. “I'll talk to the crew to inform the lads”.

“Aye”.

Beckman stepped out onto the deck and found you sitting on the bench, still cleaning your revolver as you waited. Upon seeing him, you immediately holstered the gun and stood up, facing each other. 

An awkward silence hung between you.

With an scrutinizing glance, he studied you, slowly withdrawing a pack of cigarettes from one of his pockets and extracting one. He tapped it against the packet several times, as though he intended to compact the tobacco inside. 

His presence was imposing. You observed his rifle snugly secured to his sash, its stock pointing upward and aimed towards the ground. With just a quick glance, you could tell it was a good gun, and you wondered if he would ever let you shoot it.

He cleared his throat, and your attention snapped back to his eyes.

"The captain wants you to settle on the ship today," he said, calmly placing the cigarette in his lips after speaking.

"YES!" You jumped and clasped your hands together in excitement before immediately realizing your lack of professionalism. "...I mean... thank you!" Your smile was broad.

He withdrew a match and struck it, the flame flickering to life. With a practiced hand, he brought it to the cigarette, shielding the flame from the wind to prevent it from extinguishing. For a moment, you considered lifting your own hand to assist him. 

"Go fetch yer things; we'll set sail by mid-afternoon," he added, taking a deep drag.

You already had all your belongings waiting at home. Being a natural optimist, and fairly confident that you would impress them with your skills, you had packed your bags in case they set sail that same day. Your luggage wasn't many, nor were they numerous, as your possessions were scarce being a practical woman who liked to constantly change places to discover new horizons. A bit of practical clothing to allow you to move with agility, some slightly more formal dresses for special occasions, the two or three books you liked the most, and the heaviest to carry: your set of firearms.

"Alright, see you in a bit!" Turning around gracefully, you hurried down the gangway to disembark from the ship.

“Don't be late”, he ordered, exhaling the smoke slowly.

“I won't!”, you shouted without a backward glance.

He watched you sprint down the gangway and leap onto solid ground. You began to run along the pier and, for a moment, you stopped and turned around to see the magnificent galleon from afar. The ropes meticulously fastened, the wood clean and varnished, the cannons stowed yet poised for any confrontation; and the sails, proudly displaying the fierce image of the skull with red stripes crossing its left eye socket. You couldn't help but smile, unable to contain your happiness.

Your new home. 

The enthusiasm on your face gave you an air of innocence that could melt even the most cold-hearted man, Beckman thought, as he rested his arms on the ship's railing, watching as you drifted further away from the ship.

You were enchanting ...

Too enchanting ...

Too enchanting for him ...

And that 's what had made him hesitate. 

His foremost duty as first mate was to ensure the safety of everyone aboard, a task demanding a steady hand and a clear mind in challenging situations that could arise at sea. And he excelled at it, remaining physically and mentally composed when precision and concentration were required. He had a knack for focusing without being sidetracked and that's why Shanks and the rest of the crew relied on him.

Yet, during the interview, his concentration had wavered, his attention captured by every movement you made, captivated by the curve of your shoulders and the line of your neck as you aimed your revolver, resolute in hitting the target. Despite his extensive experience with women, he had never encountered one who, with just a single glance, could distract him so completely.

And that was a problem.

You would be a distraction.

You would be his distraction

But that wasn't reason enough to reject your application; it was his problem, not yours, and under no circumstances would he tell Shanks the truth behind his reluctant behavior, as it would only result in him laughing in his face. It was clear that you were an incredible woman, skilled in various nautical arts and prepared for combat… it was just right to accept that you were perfect for the job.

He should only maintain his professionalism and control his emotions while working with you, and perhaps ... perhaps as the days unfolded aboard, this attraction he felt for you would fade away. You would be like a challenge to him.

Shaking his head, he headed to the upper bowcastle where Shanks was delivering a speech to the men.

"Damn, if we'd crossed paths in a village tavern where I could've let loose, things would have been mighty different," he mused.  He would have scrutinized your expertise in a field entirely different from the one you had been interviewed about, with a mattress serving as the stage for the trials.

Upon reaching the spot where the men gathered, Shanks paused and glanced at him, nodding slightly as an indication for him to come up and stand beside him. Stepping among the crew, he climbed the stairs and positioned himself next to Shanks, putting his hands on his pockets as he surveyed the men.

"... and that's why nobody's, and I mean nobody, is gonna get all lovestruck over her or lay a finger on her...”

Beckman rolled his neck to loosen the muscles and relieve some tension.

“... No peeking, no hitting on her, and definitely no making her feel weird; we'll treat her with respect and keep our mitts off her, got it?"

The men buzzed with excitement at the prospect of a new shipmate. It had been ages since they'd welcomed fresh faces aboard, and they were ready to seize any excuse for a celebration. Beckman observed the scene, inhaling and exhaling smoke from his lungs with a feigned calmness.

“Hey Yassop, looks like they've got you an intern!", Roux said, giving his friend a playful slap on the back.

“I hope she can handle her booze!”

Limejuice shook his head. “Ah, yeah, that is a must, not like the last one...”.

The breeze started to softly sway the rigging, indicating that the afternoon would be favorable for sailing just as they had anticipated.

“Get ready lads! We set sail in the afternoon!”

[frownyalfred]

Hey Res! Please ignore this ask if it's too troublesome or bothersome

I saw you had an guide for non-drikers writers that wanted to write about a character who drink. I was wondering if you could the same about guns?

I read synchronicity and I loved it how you used Jason's knowledge with guns to control the narrative and pacing. I don't know if you have actual technical knowledge on handguns (I think it's a no? But maybe you do?) But any tip is nice

Thank you a lot 🩷

Hi anon! This is such a fascinating question and I hope I can provide a somewhat plausible answer. I am familiar with some guns and have shot a few in my lifetime, but I am far from an expert.

Some things I think writers need to keep in mind while writing their firearm-related scenes. For clarity, I'm just going to call them guns below.

Are you thinking of a specific gun? Make sure you know its full name but ALSO make sure you know its nickname. Your character might think of it as "the Berretta" instead of its full name, etc.

What does your gun fire? Does it take shells, bullets, cartridges, etc? Shotguns, for example, don't fire bullets. That's a common mistake I see.

How do you reload said gun? Is it easy? What parts of the gun do you have to touch? Reloading a shotgun is MUCH different from reloading a handgun, for example.

Most guns get hot and release gunpowder residue when shot. They're LOUD. You can have several cascading things happen to a character who fires a gun or is near a gun when it fires: ringing ears, the smell of gunpowder, the hot feeling of the gun's muzzle, etc.

Even the best sharpshooters miss shots. IRL shooting is HARD, especially when moving. Different guns have different benefits to shooting style, stance, targets. Firing a handgun willy-nilly will rarely result in accurate shots, even if you dual wield (which is silly, this is SO hard).

Stance MATTERS. If you've ever seen Hannibal, there's a scene where Will talks about his choice of shooting stance with Beverly. They bicker over Isosceles and Weaver, which are two standard stances. One uses a triangle between your arms and the gun to brace for the kickback of the shot, while the other moves that brace to one side with a different grip. Will eventually chooses the latter stance because of a past shoulder injury. (GIF of Will struggling with his original isosceles stance)

If a gun isn't properly braced when fired, it will kick back and hit you. Sometimes in the face. Yes this has happened with me and a rifle. My first day shooting cans, I had a huge bruise on my face AND on my chest where the rifle butt kicked back.

If your gun uses bullets, there are different calibers. If you've ever watched Mythbusters, you can see why caliber matters -- it depends what or who you're shooting. Are you trying to penetrate armor? Are you sacrificing accuracy for power? Different guns use different calibers for numerous reasons, and guns can be altered to use other ammo as well.

With respect to discussing caliber while writing: It's all VERY complicated if you don't know guns, so make sure you're not giving too much detail if you can avoid it. That's a very easy way to spot a lack of experience with guns, in my experience. Your reader doesn't need to know the caliber just because the character is shooting a gun -- but in an autopsy, sure, the caliber is relevant.

You will lose your hearing eventually if you fire guns close to your ears unprotected. It's not sexy, and it also causes something called tinnitus. The real pros wear ear protection.

In terms of realism for writing, here's a couple rapid fire busted myths: You can't dodge bullets unless you're superhuman. Bullet wounds to the legs/arms/shoulders can absolutely still be fatal. Cardiac arrest caused by being shot is usually fatal, and CPR doesn't really help on its own. "Running out of shots" depends on the gun AND the modifications someone has made to it. You can't always tell just by looking at a gun what it will do. Silencers are rarely "silent" and are heavily regulated.

Injuries: Some bullets tear through bodies. Some aren't high enough caliber to do more than go in and lodge in some tissue. Some fragment and bounce around in weird ways. Depending on how gruesome you want to get, there's a lot of different ways to describe gunshot injuries. I've always been the kind of person to google images for better understanding, but I understand that's not for everyone. I think NYT or WaPo did a good piece on traumatic gun injuries a few years back, complete with an interview with an ER doc from Chicago (?). One thing I learned there -- sometimes people lose their legs, or both legs, after being shot in their leg.

In terms of describing how someone uses/fights with guns, I know the John Wick movies are a little cheesy, but they are staged by people who REALLY know their guns. They talk about what he's using usually before the scene starts, and there's very few frills when it comes to stance, firing, etc. John does a cool trick in the first or second movie where he ejects a casing one-handed away from his face, a notoriously hard maneuver that most people usually do with two hands to avoid getting burned. I highly recommend watching the John Wick movies for blocking ideas.

Which reminds me -- holding a gun sideways is a terrible idea. For many reasons. Stance, casing ejection, stability, etc. Someone can use it against you.

Never point a gun at something you're not willing to shoot. Well-trained characters should follow this rule religiously. If they were soldiers, agents, etc, they will know this rule.

Similarly, multiple people with guns will "clear" a room before entering. They will be trained for something called crossfire, which is when someone is downrange of their gun and could potentially be shot. A group of characters bursting into a room without clearing their shot is a nightmare. This is how people shoot their friends or random civilians.

I hope someone more knowledgeable can add onto this! These are just some big things that stick out to me when reading. I highly recommend checking out Mythbusters, John Wick, and even Hannibal for some semi-realistic shooting references. Good luck!

[harvsboy]

space camp boarding school (bs) au thoughts (chuckle boys)

a/n; I'll do more x reader base headcanons after a while but for now have my silly lil thoughts on the chuckle boys at space camp boarding school😌

tags; @riverwritez @titishq @asterjaxx @luv4luci @zuuriell (ask or dm to be added!!)

charlie is the one that gets every question right during presentations. everyone rolls their eyes at him when he answers (I think it's hot but whatever-)

ted is the best leader, so team exercises, missions-- that's his forte. he's also an amazing communicator so he definitely gets stuck in positions where he's always in back and forth communication with someone.

schlatt on the other hand would seemingly be the jock, and he sort of is. best volleyball player across the entire school. every section and level possible. its safe to say he wins every championship he can, and is definitely the team captain.

charlie enjoys academics the most, although he has a tendency to slack and rely on just *knowing* which annoys the hell out of his crew trainers most often. SO MANY MEETINGS WITH THEM !!! they're always on him about actually trying, and that slacking is setting a bad example. does he care? not really!

ted is a mix of a hands on learner and an academic fella. he loves any project that involves steps and physically working on it. goes absolutely feral when it comes time to do any sort of rocket launch. seriously is bouncing with joy!!

schlatt could care less about academic learning although he's always been the most interested in space history. it's just intriguing to him how much has gone into space exploration over the years. his favorite fact is the first rocket in recorded history was actually a weapon that was created with a bamboo shoot and gunpowder :3

all three of them love activity nights. what are activity nights you may ask? every saturday evening there's an optional activity that lasts for an hour for the whole school (space camp is on their own campus and the levels each have an hour back to back, theyre not gonna make the advanced acad kids suffer by doing scavenger hunts with the space acad kids) sometimes it's trivia night or a scavenger hunt or maybe it's something like cookie decorating!! it's always fun and space related and all three of them find it enjoyable in some capacity.

[howlingday]

Huntsman Branwen

Jaune: Sir, come quick! There's a murderer on the loose!

Tyrian: (Gunning down innocent people)

Jaune: Please, do something!

Qrow: You got nothing to worry about, kid. Huntsman Branwen is on the case.

Jaune: ...Okay?

Qrow: Good afternoon, sir. You, uh, have a second?

Tyrian: (Still shooting) Sure, what's up?

Qrow: Well, sir, and pardon me for the intrusion, but I couldn't help but notice you're, uh, kinda firing randomly into this highly populated part of town.

Tyrian: (Still shooting) Mhm.

Qrow: See, I don't like to start my chit-chat's with the hard questions, but considering the circumstances, can I ask if that might have to do with the multiple dead laying around.

Tyrian: (Still shooting) I really don't have time for baseless accusations, huntsman.

Jaune: What are you-?!

Qrow: See, that's fair. Believe me, I fully understand your frustration. But I just can't shake the feeling there's something going on here. Would you mind answering a few more questions? I promise, it won't take more than a few seconds.

Tyrian: (Still shooting) Yeah, sure.

Jaune: He's got a gun! He's actively shooting peop- HOLY SHIT!

Qrow: All circumstantial, kid.

Jaune: Wh-?

Qrow: Trust me. I'll get a confession out of him yet.

Jaune: What?!

Qrow: Now, Mister... Ah, now this is so embarrassing. I'm real sorry but I don't remember catching your name. Mind reminding me?

Tyrian: (Still shooting) Salem.

Qrow: Ah, yeah, that's it! Mr. Salem! Now what brings you out on this beautiful day?

Tyrian: (Still shooting) Oh, you know, just out executing the will of our goddess upon the unworthy. Not really trying to reinvent the wheel here. Oh, hang on! (Fires) Almost got ya, ya slippery bastard.

Jaune: DO SOMETHING!

Qrow: Kid, what does it look like I'm doing?

Jaune: Like you're interviewing an active shooter!

Qrow: Your knowledge of the justice system scares me, kid.

Jaune: WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?!

Qrow: Y'know, I'm not stickler for fashion- just ask my husband, I've been wearing the same coat for forty-eight years now- but I gotta ask; what's with the tattoo?

Tyrian: (Still shooting) Oh, I'm so glad you asked! See, the tattoo represents-

Jaune: WHO CARES ABOUT THE TATTOO?! HE'S STILL GOING!

Qrow: Kid, I'm gonna need ya to calm down. I'm so sorry about my friend here. He gets nervous during active shootings.

Tyrian: (Still shooting) No, no! It's cool! Hey, mental health comes first.

Jaune: BRANWEN!

Tyrian: (Still shooting) Listen, I'd love to stay and chat, but I do kinda need to get going. Kinda gotta go blow my brains out in that McSchnees before the pigs catch me.

Qrow: Totally understandable, sir. You have a nice day. Oh, uh, before you go, I do have one more question. See, there's this one little detail that just keeps bothering me, so maybe you could help. See, I might be a huntsman, but I've seen my fair share of homicides.

Jaune: Nobody is surprised by that.

Qrow: So when I see a body with a bullet in their noggin, I have reason to believe a gun might be at play. I also recognize by the bullet casing scattered across the street tell me that either somebody is dropping rounds all willy nilly, which believe me, is rare, or they belong to a twin-barrel gunpowder hand-cannon with an eight-inch barrel... which just so happens to be in your hands.

Tyrian: (Stops shooting) ...What are you getting at, Huntsman?

Qrow: Honestly, I'm not too sure myself, but I see all this, and trust me, it does no good on my conscience to suspect an innocent man, so answer me this one question. If there's a plethora of dead men, women, and children, all shot dead with bullets I bet I could trace to your guns with your hands on the triggers after witnessing you shooting said deceased with my own eyes... Then how come your coat is inside out?

Jaune: Everything up to this point has been meaningless.

Qrow: Now, if you'll excuse me. I'll be coming back with a warrant.

Jaune: BRANWEN, YOU FUCKING IDIOT- (Shot dead)

Qrow: Hm... I think I just about cracked this- (Shot dead)

[arpmemething2]

Loony Tunes Sentence Starters

Send one for my muse’s reaction.  Feel free to change pronouns as needed.

“It’s supply and demand! They supply the ghost, and I demand the money!”

“And remember, 'mud' spelled backwards is 'dum'.”

"Go ahead! I’d love to see the audience boo you off the stage!”

“Consider yourself as lucky because you are getting another chance from me to draw a gun.”

“Go on! Shoot me again! I enjoy it! I love the smell of burnt feathers and gunpowder and cordite!”

“Jumpin' without a parachute? Kinda dangerous, ain't it?”

“Don’t think it hasn’t been a little slice of heaven…’cause it hasn’t!”

“I do so enjoy observing the flora and fauna of that tiny planet.”

“I knew I shoulda taken that left turn at Albuquerque!”

“You know, sometimes me conscience bothers me… but not this time.”

“It just goes to show ya that a one-eyed jack rabbit can beat a king.”

“I didn’t say I would be nice. I said I would try. It was too hard.”

"He’s about as sharp as a bowling ball."

"What's up doc?"

“Oh dear, now I shall suppose I have to use force.”

“Help me, please. I’m too moist and tender to retire.”

“Okay Okay I'm shuttin' up. Why should I continue to keep yappin' when I'm told to shut up. I'm not the kind that don't know when to stop.”

“Ho! Ha-ha! Guard! Turn! Parry! Dodge! Spin! Ha! Thrust!”

“I wonder what the poor bunnies are doing this season?”

“Don’t take life too seriously. You’ll never get out alive!”

"What a perfect time for me to go on a diet."

“When I say whoa, I mean whoa!”

“Brace yourself for immediate disintegration.”

“I don't want to be grown up anymore.”

"You wasted a wish! I wish that burrito was stuck on your big dumb nose!"

“Carrots are devine… You get a dozen for a dime, It’s maaaa-gic!”

“The way I run this thing you'd think I knew something about it.”

"Sssshh... Be vewwy quiet.  I'm hunting wabbit!"

"Champagne nights, tropical music and a heavy bank account!"

"Thufferin' thuccotash!"

“I’m in my own little word. But it’s okay, they know me here.”

"You rack'n frack'n varmint!"

“Oh, drat these computers. They’re so naughty and so complex. I could pinch them.”

"Well, it's 5 o'clock somewhere."

“Do you happen to know what the penalty is for shooting a fricaseeing rabbit without a fricaseeing rabbit license?”

“Wait! I haven’t tried toadying, kowtowing and butt-kissing yet! I’m still begging here!”

"Cats don't lay eggs. There's something screwy here."

"Of course you realize, this means war."

"His muscles are as soggy as a used teabag."

“I know this defies the law of gravity, but I never studied law!”

"Looks like the boy genius is tryin' to show me up."

"It was a terrible storm, the boat wocked and worked up one wave and down the other."

"You're despicable."

"If you're gonna be two-faced sweetie, then atleast make one of them pretty!"

"F-f-first they told me to lose the stutter now they tell me Im not funny anymore. "

“Well, what did you expect in an opera? A happy ending?”

"That's all folks!"

"I don’t know the meaning of the word fear!"

"Beep beep!"

"I don't ask questions, I just have fun."

"Hungry!"

“Just when I’m getting used to the voices in my head, one of them starts stuttering.”

"Say your prayers!"

“Me? Normal? How dare you insult me like that?”

"You know, it is possible to be too attractive."

"I am positive, I am mental and I know I have attitude.”

“I’m not like other people, I can’t stand pain, it hurts me.”

"I tawt I taw a puddy tat!"

“Well, what do you know … there’s the little Wiener Schnitzel now.”

“If you’re happy and you know it, you're probably annoying someone who isn’t.”

"This is gonna cause more confusion than a mouse in a burlesque show!"

"Who's responsible for this unwarranted attack on my person?"

“I'll be scared later. Right now I'm too mad.”

“If an interesting monster can’t have an interesting hairdo I don’t know what this world is coming to.”

“You say the Loch Ness Monster is living in your jacuzzi? Well, call Roto-Rooter!”

“I hate it when people are at you house and ask, ‘hey do you have a bathroom?’ No not at all...”

[loki-lover84]

Chapter 2 Season 3 Episode 3 Part II

Whilst Butcher’s in the bathroom I watch as Hughie and MM step outside leaving me alone with Mallory.

“Do I know you?” Her sharp tone takes me a little by surprise before I conclude that’s just how everyone involved with the boys seems to be.

“Not personally as far as I’m aware. I’m Queen Maeve’s PA, could be where you’ve seen me.” I answer hoping that’s enough for her.

“No. It’s not that. I’m certain I know you from somewhere else.” She insists cautiously approaching me as I watch her eyes observe every part of me.

Well this isn’t uncomfortable at all.

“I just have one of those faces I guess.” I say silently begging for everyone to come back into the room.

“So why are you here? I mean you knowingly work for a supe and you’re employed by Vought what issues could you have? Not feeling like you’re being paid enough?” Mallory asks, each question more condescending than the next.

“Maeve and I have been the ones providing those guys with any and all the information they and/ or formerly the CIA asked for. We want to see Homelander and the rest of those pricks suffer and Maeve, well she just wants to be left alone she wants to have a normal life.” I answer almost getting in her face, not quite but almost.

“Fine, but why are you suddenly out in the field instead of researching like you have been all this time.” She’s never satisfied is she?

“I wanted to keep an eye on things especially since some of the leads hit a dead end because of their recklessness.”

To my relief one by one the boys come back in the room MM first shortly followed by a now guilty looking Hughie and finally Butcher.

“Sorry about that.” Butcher say striding back into the room.

“What the hell did you drink last night?” Hughie asked not really expecting a response.

Which he doesn’t receive, as Butcher ignores him before resuming his earlier seat whilst I move to lean against a wall creating the distance Butcher probably would’ve asked for if I hadn’t.

“Right, where were we?” Butcher says making himself comfortably as Mallory hunches over in the chair opposite resuming her witnessed events.

“To the surprise of no one that moron Swatto went for another joy flight, giving away our position. Even better, the Sandinistas brought Russian Special Forces with them. Though that didn’t matter much to the supes.” Mallory begins once again.

She begins telling us how Crimson Countess killed some of her men backing up her previous statement of how supes weren’t cut out to be in battle due to their lack of training. To me it seemed more like to their lack of observation and logic skills, not all supes obviously but Payback man were most of them thick as pig shit. Mallory continues saying how at least Noir was killing the right guys, before witnessing Stan Edgar being escorted from the line of fire with at least two armed soldiers ensuring his safety, not like he really had any purpose being on site in the first place but it was one less distraction. She accounts witnessing Swatto, the guy who caused the carnage, retreating taking of before being blown up mid-air, he was always a fucking coward he got what was coming to him if you ask me. Her next observation was witnessing my Ben fighting against the Russians and Sandinistas, at least he was also being useful.

My pride was shortly live however when Mallory recalls Gunpowder, a close friend of mine, someone I had helped train going gun crazy literally shooting anything and everything not caring if it moved or not as she then says how he blew up an ammunitions tent the force of which threw her against a wall knocking her unconscious. She takes a deep breath.

“When I was able to get back on my feet the gun fire had ended. The first thing I saw was Noir a crack down the side of his head, half the flesh of his face had been burnt, he was struggling to reach for his helmet.”

I could feel tears stinging my eyes, I’d got on with Noir in the little time I actually spent with him. I know Ben was always tough on him and they didn’t see eye to eye for the most part but, I wouldn’t wish that trauma on anyone.

“I saw the rest of Payback in tears, each of them bleeding but trying to comfort one another until Crimson Countess ran up to me and she said ‘Oh God. They killed Soldier Boy, the Russians. They had some kind of gun or weapon or something. They’ve taken his body.’” Mallory takes a moment recalling that day.

That, that was exactly what I needed to confirm my suspicions that Soldier Boy was still out there, if they took his body clearly he wasn’t killed. I try to fight the smile beaming on my face and be respectful but, I’m only here to get my husband back. Considering that I just tilted my head down and toward the wall so no one saw my face, it was only polite after all.

“I lost one hundred and sixteen men that day. And Vought got full immunity. That was the day I decided to make them pay.” Mallory says mournfully before turning to face us.

“Well ain’t that a wonderful story. Tell me, Grace, where did the Ivans take this…Supe gun?” Butcher asks also only focussing on his main purpose.

“The trail went cold behind the iron curtain.” Butcher looks at her sceptically, “It’s the truth. My reach only goes so far.” Mallory says sincerely.

“You knew what Soldier Boy did to my family,” MM begins. “but you didn’t think I needed to know the truth?”

“It wasn’t that simple.” Butcher stands up as Mallory send MM a sympathetic look. “Can you give us the room?” She adds as we all leave knowing she wants to talk with Butcher.

I stay stood outside of the room to listen in whilst the guys step out to rejoin Kimiko and Ryan.

“You came to me after Becca disappeared and promised me Homelander’s head. And all this time, you knew there was something that could do the job, and you never said a fucking word.” I could feel the resentment through the wooden door as Butcher seethed at Mallory.

“Whatever this weapon is, it probably won’t work on Homelander.” Mallory attempts to reason.

“And what if it does?”

“Even worse. Because it wouldn’t end with him. You’d go after another supe, then another, then all of them.”

I must admit she had a good point given Butcher’s track record he’d kill all of my kind. Yes technically we were born human but society deems us a superior race and some supes do too, personally I just used to go mad with power. I was never a fan of the whole superior race concept, far too Nazi like.

“If you’d have told me about this sooner, Homelander might already be dead. Ryan wouldn’t be running from one safe house to the next, wondering when his nutter dad’s gonna drop out of the sky. And Becca…Becca might still be alive.” There’s a passion in his voice that I didn’t think he was capable of, there’s so many layers to this guy an entire psychology conference would have a field day. “And for that…I’ll never fucking forgive you.”

I hear heavy footsteps approach the door before Mallory shouts.

“This was never about Ryan or Becca. It was always selfish. Always and only for you. For the hate inside you want to let loose on the world. I thought maybe you changed, but I was wrong. You are your father, always have been.”

With that I leave there’s a pit in my stomach as I think back to something Ben had told me. He’d say no matter what he did his father was never proud of him. He wanted to have kids to prove he was a better man than his father but in he never got the chance to prove that he got told by other’s he was just like his father when his ruthless side came out. I know how much that can break someone down especially when their father is an asshole to their family, friends or just anyone that happens to pass them by. Before I know it I’m on the decking stood above Kimiko and Ryan.

“What were you doing in there?” MM asks his tone more curious than aggressive.

“Had to have a piss.” I say just as Butcher storms out Mallory not too far behind.

“What happened?” Hughie asked glancing toward his leader.

“We’re off.” Butcher responds not sparing anyone a single glance, not even Ryan.

“Butcher, wait up. Where are you going?” The kid asks running over to his father figure.

“The city.”

“When will I see you again?” Ryan questions innocently.

“You won’t. Ain’t safe for ya.” He responds coldly still not looking down at the boy.

I begin to follow in suit to the car before I witness Ryan shove Butcher back to get him to stop.

“Wait!” He exclaims, his lost sapphire eyes looking up at Butcher expectantly. “What are you talking about?”

“I got to go.”

Ryan’s frustration instantly build as he firmly grips Butcher’s forearm, there’s so much potential in this kid, I hope it doesn’t get wasted.

“Ryan, let go.” Butcher says trying to keep calm.

“No. You said you’d always watch out for me. You promised!” Ryan insists forcefully.

“Ryan, let go.” Butcher warns.

“I won’t let you!” I can’t help but admire the bravery of this kid despite his powers, he’s genuinely not afraid to fight for what he wants.

“Well, maybe I don’t want to look at you. After what you done to my Becca. Did you ever think about that?”

I watch as sorrow and regret flood the boy’s features before gradually shifting to rage, his once vibrant sapphire eyes shifting to a ruby glow that reminds me of my baby. I’m fully aware he’s Homelander’s kid but, since the only time I’ve seen red eyes were from lasers firing out, never solely for the reason that someone was just upset. Heck the only time Homelander’s glow red is when the lasers come out as far as I’m aware. I wipe away a welling tear as I watch Kimiko take a defensive stance in front of MM and Hughie, before Ryan rips a necklace off throwing it on the ground beside him. Announcing a ‘I hate you’ before rushing passed me inside. Every instinct screams at me to follow him, make sure he’s okay, tell him Butcher doesn’t mean it. But I resist the urge as I watch everyone flock to the car.

The ride back is silent, awkwardly so. It feels like it takes ten times as long as it initially did, the rage seeping off Butcher whilst he clenches the steering wheel. I spend my time gazing out the window daydreaming about how our reunion would be. I’m one step closer after at least five years since I started working at Vought to getting my husband back. Finding out what actually happened to him back then.

Once we’re back at the Flatiron building Hughie shows me to a quiet room.

“I figured you may want a minute to yourself, if gets a bit tense around here.” He smiles kindly at me as I step into the room.

It was mostly empty but there was a sofa and a chair by the window hidden under some layers of dust but I was grateful all the same.

“Thanks Hughie. Was something bothering you earlier?” I ask thinking back to his shift in mood when Mallory began her second part of the story.

“No…it’s fine. I just- I just told Annie she needs to stay as co-captain, be our inside man so to speak for a little while longer. Which obviously endangers her life and- holy crap I’m a terrible boyfriend-”

“She’ll be okay, I’ve seen her in action. I’ve seen her everyday at Vought deal with Homelander’s bullshit besides, it’s not forever. She’ll manage.” I say reassuringly before Hughie smiles and walks off.

“What the fuck am I doing giving a shit about these people?” I exhale deeply, plopping myself on the sofa and closing my eyes.

 “Where is he?” I growl gripping Shadowcrawler’s neck feeling my nail begin to sink through the first layer of skin.

“I don’t know! Edgar wanted him, that’s all I know. Threatened my folks if I didn’t do it.” He begs pathetically gasping for air between words as his blood oozes down from his eye sockets before dripping onto my wrist.

“Not good enough. Why does Edgar want my baby?” My hand clenches tighter as I force water down his throat.

I dissipate the water slightly relaxing my grip so he could answer.

“New generation of supes. He believes a naturally born supe would be more powerful.”

“Take some other supes kid!” I snap once again forcing more water down his throat only removing it when he nearly drowned.

Shadowcrawler coughs before pathetically gasping for air. If he still had his eyes I’m almost certain he’d have tears streaming down his face.

“No other supe has had a kid with another supe, he wants to study your kid.” He just looks pathetic. “I’m telling you the truth Amphitrite!”

“I know you are.” I whisper almost soothingly. “That doesn’t change anything, you know exactly what I’m doing. Can’t risk Vought getting the heads up this soon, sorry you’re just a loose end at this point.”

Water floods his lungs as I watch him slowly drown his body trashing as he tries to fight his rapidly approaching death. I know I can’t go straight for Edgar, I’ll be signing my own death warrant with all the supes he has under his control. Doesn’t mean I can’t track down anyone else associated with my son’s abduction and my husband’s death. Within the next year I’d killed at least sixty men that had been present for Nicaragua, over a two hundred employees with various positions at Vought each had been ratted out by a fellow co-worker and friend that thought it would save themselves and about fifteen to twenty supes.

That saying ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’ has never been more appropriate to the way I’d managed half the shit I’d done in that short year. I can’t believe it took three years before Edgar decided it was time to bury the existence of Amphitrite, at least six hundred technically innocent people were killed by me. I was in a dark place though my son stolen with there being no chance of me getting him back, my husband allegedly dead, I had nothing left to lose.

 Maybe caring about this squad that marginally despises me is my way of atoning? Nah I’m not completely emotionally constipated, I don’t need to justify jack shit even to myself.

“Y/n, we’ve got a plan in place to go Russia. You don’t have to be a part of any of it just-”

“No, I’ll help however I can. Thanks for keeping me in the loop.” I smile up at him watching him leave.

  I’m coming Ben, it’s been over forty years but I finally have a shot at finding you.

[sanriopinterest]

♡Death Rays 2010♡

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{You wear this in your (f/c) }

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"Panty are you watching T.V?!" Stocking screamed in the phone. We were currently chasing a perverted car ghost. "Nope, so what's up?" "You diddleing another douchebag, GET YOU SKANK ASS OUT HERE AND HELP US" She screamed. "Fine I'll go, jesus calm down it's not like this guy is rocking my world or anything" Panty snapped over the phone. "Hey bring me a sweet tea would ya" I asked Panty over the phone before she hung up.

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"GET OUT OF THE WAY LOSERS! THAT MEANS IM GONNA RUN YOUR ASSES OVER! AND NO ONE CAN STOP ME!". The ghost screamed on. I popped my gum, annoyed." COME ON" Stocking screeched trying to bunp him off the rails." Awe, you tryna catch me kittycat? Well bring it on bitch!". He slammed us (me) onto the other side of the rails. "OUCH, DOUCHE" I screamed in pain. Stocking sped up saying "Oh man up, bitch". When Panty finally crashed into the mall she drove in a tacky ass motorcycle. "Hey whats up shit ficle, so where are you off too in such a fucking hurry" she taunted. "Who the hell cares where im off to as long as I get off! Oh yeah, good one" he complimented his own joke. "Its about time! Did you mount everything on your wayover?!" "Where's my sweet tea?! That rundown bike is horrendous btw"

I said unamused. "Wait you three know eachother?!" He asked in shock. "I did not, but I'll be sure to make that happen next time" she said answering stockings question. "GET A LOAD OF THIS, TAKE IT OFF! I bet you like it rough don't ya?!" He screeched slamming Panty into a mall wall. "Thats what you get for being late""Shit! Where did bad lace go?!" "Check your legs, fucking idiot".

I looked over to see her underwear on his face." OMG! My gun is on your face! Well technically its my panties" she explained." Why would you tell him that?!" I asked."Shit! On the bright side it does smell like im going really fast!". He then proceeded to LICK her undies." Gross!" I screeched." Stop licking that right now!"" Bet you've never said that before""Move over!" she said jumping in the seat in front of me." Go see through, go!" she yelled. She hit the gas pedal making me fall back." Precious CARGO BACK HERE!" I screamed. "We might not need our angelic sisters afterall! Our convoy of police cars are closing in on the scene! Coming in close from behind!" The broadcaster announced. 'What are bullets gonna do?' I asked in my mind. Its a ghost-."What the hell?! Your totally stealing our job you theifs" she yelled at the police officers. The ghost started to spin all their cars on the freeway. Watching them all fall out and fly to the ground I giggled a little. 'They look like a bunch of pigeons'. It only became a problem when their cars camw falling from the sky like rain. Some of the pieces even hitting the Windowsheild. "AAH" we all screamed.

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"Ahh like the fast lane, just makes you finish quicker""That means you're dead""Wait! Chill the fuck out, I gotta get my panties first""Hurry up I wanna kill him and eat". As Panty reached down for her 'panties' we realized he was gone. As he, we meant the head.

He crawled into traffic and stuck himself inside the truck. "That's not good" we all said at the same time. "You do realize this is all your fault right?""Im aware thanks, that doesn't mean you can destroy my panties though""What is that your only pair?" I asked." It's time for payback you scumbag pigs, which im saying, BECAUSE YOU'RE COPS" He started screeching down the road running over officers. Panty started running him down with a gun"Hey fat ass! I have an idea, why don't you let me help you lightning your load". She somehow got onto the roof of the truck and started shooting him fron the top. The ghost started whining has she shot the engine tank. She suddenly atopped and started complaining about the smell of gunpowder.

   Soon enough he was split in half, thrown into a nearby train station. "Rad bow lets go colllect the coins and get out of here""Did you ruin my pantys?! They're expensive as hell, you owe me a new pair if you did""Hey we killed the damn ghost! The bell should be ringing, thats how it works""Totally freaky". We heard a train sound come from behind us. It was the dude in an even bigger trian." Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME" I screamed. I am so tired, I wanted to sleep so bad." Round 3,seriously!""Now we're talking, I could keep going buddy, ask around!"

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  Words: 902

Wattpad: @Vonlovesbread

-ℙ𝕒𝕟𝕚𝕔 🌊

[wouldhope]

☆ @dumbthink / starter!

"How th' fuck did you get on our ship?" He's as baffled as he is pissed, already aiming the barrel of his gun at the stranger that had somehow boarded the Aurora without any of the crew noticing. To be honest, he's normally the type to shoot first and ask questions later, his trigger finger already itching - They don't call him Gunpowder Tim for nothing. But he also didn't want the others to lecture him about failing to get any information out of an intruder, so he held his fire for now. Shooting just one person wasn't enough fun to make it worth the trouble, anyways.

They didn't even look like much of a threat - honestly, they just looked like a regular human, something that was almost more unusual at this point, given the things he'd seen in the vast expanse of space. No mechanical parts, no alien traits, no obvious weapons, nothing. Just what the hell was going on here? Mechanical eyes watched them closely, just waiting for any sudden movements.

"Answer me, or shit's gonna get ugly real quick."

[blubushie]

I'm the person who you replied to about a post asking about weapons. I got shy. Could you tell me some interesting things about em?

It's easier if you ask me specifically what you want to know but I have some facts if that'd help? :]

The oldest known intact firearm was found in Estonia and dates back to at least 1396.

There's revolving rifles. These are rifles with a cylinder like that on a revolver. The most famous (or perhaps infamous) is Colt's New Model Revolving Rifle, which was used by the bushranger Ned Kelly in his final standoff with Victorian police in June of 1880. He lost and was captured and hanged in November of that year.

Firearms can fire in space because gunpowder contains its own oxidiser, so oxygen isn't necessary. Modern firearms with cartridges can fire underwater for this same reason since the casing is airtight.

Beretta is the oldest firearm company in the world, founded in 1526.

Over the past 50 years, gun owners have been responsible for over $2 billion in wildlife conservation in the United States due to 10% tax on firearms and ammo.

The Nazis created the largest gun ever called the Gustav Gun. It was capable of hitting targets up to 47km/29mi away.

Samuel Colt designed his first revolver when he was 16 years old. (God made men, Samuel Colt made them equal.)

Mossberg, a shotgun manufacturer, has a line of shotguns built specifically for killing zombies. Despite being fully functional firearms, they're mostly joke weapons and are better for display than actual use (except in the case of a zombie apocalypse, of course).

That's all for now! If you have any questions shoot me an ask! :]

[lettherebemonsters]

❛ The past is spun like a yarn and mangled with flesh and blood and bones ❜ (from Matt for whoever)

" Shit, you should have become a writer 'stead of a cop. You'd have made a killin' by now....well, the other kind of killin' I mean."

[musings-of-a-lovesick-fool]

Shiptober Day 26

Prompt: Conflicted

Ship: Jacob Seed x Deputy Dean Sinclaire

Warning(s): Canon-typical violence, toxic relationship, Referenced/implied torture, suggestive themes, mental conditioning, these dudes need therapy

Words: 1, 139

He smells like burnt corpses; tastes like gunpowder and gasoline.

His hands feel like handcuffs, they squeeze around his neck and pinch his skin painfully; but oddly there's comfort in the suffocating grip.

Dean has sunk his teeth into his flesh so many times he's almost covered in more bitemarks than he is scars. In turn Jacob has covered him in a myriad of bruises, purple and blue welts painting his skin with his wrathful affection.

Dean holds the handle of his hunting knife tucked under his pillow, brown eyes glinting with an edge that keeps Jacob's heart thrumming against his ribs. His scarred hand rests on the holstered gun on Dean's thigh, blue eyes sharp as they cut into Dean's unwavering gaze. They were evenly matched, equally able and ready to end the other at any sign the other would strike.

But neither of them made a move to do so. Locked in whatever kind of embrace this could be considered, their soft breathing filling the air as the early light of morning peeked in through the windows. Dean wasn't sure when he'd stopped being in Jacob's cages and taken residence in his bed, time blurred together nowadays and with a mix of Jacob's trials and Faith's neverending assault of bliss hallucinations he could barely keep his mind straight.

Fight. Kill. Sacrifice. Walk the path. Hear the Father's words. Cull the herd. Confess. Kill. Kill. Kill.

Dean closes his eyes. It's too much—he's tired. He rests his palm flat against Jacob's chest, feels the precious organ beating underneath his searing skin; he thinks about sinking the knife into it. But the thought also makes his skin crawl. When did he turn into this? Whatever he was now, a soldier, a sinner, a murderer. When had he started shooting first and asking questions later. When had he started mapping out exits and figuring out the fastest way to take down a group of fellow human beings?

He traces his hand up, his fingertips trace the base of Jacob's neck; he can see feel the muscles and tendons tense under his touch but Jacob keeps his hand on the gun. Doesn't flinch as Dean caresses his skin. He'd broken him down and was building him back up into something else. Dean didn't like it, didn't like the thing he was turning into.

Blood coated his hands, crimson stains he could never seem to scrub off. His hands, Jacob's hands—they were one in the same.

Dean had kissed his broken knuckles more than once, chipped his teeth on the cartilage and choked on the liquid rage that slid down his throat. He liked the way it tasted. He liked the way it hurt.

He's trapped in this purgatory of Jacob's design and he can't see a way out of it. He doesn't know if he wants to find a way out, as each day passes he feels more at home in the dirt and the fire. Jacob's chain around his neck feels like safety, his words in his ear sound like the word of god, his lips on his skin like heaven and hell all at once.

There's a bubbling guilt in his stomach that churns as Jacob's hand trails up from the gun, resting in the dip of Dean's waist. It wasn't a surrender of power; it was a show of domination. Dean wouldn't use the knife hidden in the white cloth, just like Jacob never would have used his gun. Jacob hot breath fans over Dean's collarbone as he invades what little space was between them.

There were people waiting for him.

A kiss, viciously delicate, brands his skin like a cast iron.

His family was waiting for him.

Fingers dig into his flesh, demanding, pleading; claiming his territory.

Everyone was waiting for the deputy to reemerge, burst from the soil and bring down hellfire upon the people who dared imprison him.

Dean knew he'd give them what they wanted, it was inevitable, whatever this was, was temporary and he'd be tearing down Joseph's empire soon enough. But he'd have to claw his way out from under Jacob's heel first and at the moment it felt like an impossible task. His goliath that he couldn't yet take down.

Jacob burns a trail of kisses up his neck, his teeth scrape along his skin in a warning, his tongue dragging over his carotid artery incitingly. Dean should hate it, should find it revolting how his insides twist with need at the hungry touches. But he can't bring himself to. 

The knife is heavy in his hand. The handle burns into his palm, he can't let it go. Can't give up his last strand of defiance, he wasn't sure what would happen if he handed himself over like that. Jacob could take everything else but he'd keep his soul tucked close, his spirit clenched tight in his bloodied fist. He lets Jacob kiss his lips, he even kisses him back.

Jacob rolls on top of him, his body weighs him down like the ocean on the sandy floor. His body feels like it's sinking down, his lungs screaming in protest as Jacob steals all his air in his mouth. Dean keeps one hand on Jacob's neck, the other holds the knife to his back. He could bury it in the base of his neck, sever the brain stem and end this game here. 

He could—but he won't.

Jacob knows he won't, that's why he doesn't care when the blade digs into his shirt and creates a small tear in the fabric. He doesn't try to disarm the brunette as he devours any and all sound that escapes his lips. He tastes like every sin Dean has ever committed, his touch ignites the flames of war under his skin. Dean is intoxicated by it all, infuriated by the way his body reacts so pliantly to the red head, moving in tandem with ever rise and fall.

The blade drags upward, a line of angry red trailing behind in its place and Jacob groans; bites down on Dean's lip and draws out the same angry red and lets it coat his tongue.

Dean wanted to know what he was thinking, what he was feeling, he was desperate for him to be as torn as he was. He needed his mind to be a whirlwind, needed some part of him to be churning with self directed fury as he clung to his enemy with the desperation of a man drowning at sea.

He won't get an answer, he knows Jacob will take it to the grave. If Dean makes anything inside him stir he won't ever let him know. And maybe that's for the best. It'll make it easier not knowing.

When he brings that final blow down he'll be thankful he doesn't know.

[klarkez]

             @rhevenant​  said  :   ❝ we don’t get to decide who lives                                                   and who dies. ❞

        she'd  fucked  up.  she  knew  she  had  before  words  even  leave  his  mouth.    usually,   her  eyes  were  to  the  ground,   head  down,   avoid  suspicion  and  detection.   did  he  know  what  she  was?    was  this  her  sweet  release  of  death?   it  wouldn't  be  the  first  time  she'd  had  a  gun  against  her  temple  and  she  was  sure,   if  he  spared  her,  it  wouldn't  be  the  last.    oceanic  hues  dart  around  the  suddenly  too  small  room,   hands  becoming  clammy  as  she  looked  for  an  exit.   it  was  either  that  or  fight  her  way  out,  but  she  didn't  see  that  working  in  her  favour.    or  . . .  there  was  another  option.   talk  . . .  lie  . . .  act  innocent.   pretend.   she'd  done  that  enough  as  it  was,   passing  as  a  hunter  to  get  past  them.   a  stupid  façade  but  it  worked  . . .  for  now.   the  bar  she  sat  within  reeked  of  them,   her  nose  twitching  softly  as  the  smell  found  home  within  her  nostrils  -  she  never  thought  a  group  of  people  would  smell  so  vile  . . .  like  death  and  gunpowder, 

 "    maybe  you  should  preach  to  your  buddies  about  that.  "   she  managed  to  mutter  as  slicked  fingers  wrap  around  the  glass  of  whiskey  upon  the  coaster  in  front  of  her,   "  they  shoot  before  asking  questions  most  of  the  time.   it  seems  they  enjoy  playing  god  and  getting  away  with  it.   "   eyes  lift  from  the  rim  to  look  at  the  older  male,   assessing if  her  act  was  working,   but  unlike  the  other  hunters  she  had  encountered,   he  was  hard  to  read,   "  they  sure  love  ganking  things  before  knowing  the  full  picture.   "   there's  a  soft  venom  behind  her  words,  and  she  swallows  it  down  with  a  gulp  of  whiskey.   she'd  seen  too  many  of  her  kind   . . .  her  pack  . . .  come  face  to  face  with  the  barrel  of  a  shotgun,  silver  bullet  to  the  head  without  a  second  thought.    if  she  could  get  away  with  it,  clarke  would  rip  them  all  apart  right  then  and  there,  but  just  like  herself  and  her  pack,  she  knew  she  also  needed  to  see  the  bigger  picture  -  ben  had  been  okay,  so  maybe  more  of  his  kind  weren't  so  bad.    she'd  see  about  that.

[androsamo]

Are bullets themselves dangerous?

Safety transcends gun usage. Must-have. Safety should be your first priority if you possess or intend to purchase a gun.

New shooters frequently question if they need worry about the ammo they use. Someone often asks if bullets are deadly by themselves. Bullet refers to the complete round, not simply the projectile.

Modern ammo is safe unless misused. Accidental discharges are avoided. They only ignite when struck properly. There are exceptions, and fire can roast a circle.  Are Bullets Dangerous Without A Gun?

This article discusses whether bullets are safe on their own and how to preserve them.

Bullet:

Alchemists discovered gunpowder's potency in China about 900. First pyrotechnics, then weapons.

Bamboo barrels were the earliest firearms. First bullets were rocks sent through the tube by gunpowder's explosive power.

Bullets have evolved. They fly farther, strike harder, and pierce deeper than a rock. But they use the same principle.

A projectile can be fired at great speed by exploding in a restricted space. What do fresh rounds do?

Parts of a bullet

Bullets nowadays are more sophisticated than their pebble forefathers. They are together called a round, and individually are:

Bullet: The solid tip of the round. When most people conceive of a bullet, they see the whole round, although just the tip detaches after shooting. Its forward part separates from the body like a space shuttle. Early bullets were cast in iron, but today they're produced from a variety of metals.

Powder - The chemical component used as a bullet propellant is kept inside the shell just under the bullet. Black powder or smokeless powder bursts to launch the bullet from the case.

Primer - When the primer is struck, it ignites the powder and fires the bullet. When the trigger is pushed, the firing pin, a tiny rod-like device, plunges forward. The primer is a tiny area at the bottom of the casing (near the rim) and is unlikely to spark by mistake. As individual pieces, cases, or pallets, rounds can be jostled, tossed, or dropped with minimal chance of going off. Always exceptions.

Casing - The casing is the round's body, consisting of brass or copper. The casing stores all the components and works as a bullet delivery mechanism (together with the barrel), funneling the powder's explosion in one direction.

Who makes bullets?

Since the cast iron balls of muskets employed in the American Revolution, bullets have evolved. The sort of bullet you have today depends on your rifle and your plans. Include:

Handguns - Most bullets are manufactured from a lead and aluminum alloy enclosed in a copper, brass, and steel jacket.

Rifle bullets are lead with a steel or cupronickel jacket.

Bullets in armor-piercing rounds feature hardened steel cores instead of softer lead.

Hollowpoint bullets have hollowed-out tips on top. On contact, the points flatten or spread out, causing the bullet to expand.

How do you store ammunition?

Best practices include storing ammunition in cool, dry environments away from oils and solvents. They shouldn't be kept near an open flame, since it might ignite the round's powder.

Keep bullets like volatile home chemicals or firecrackers.

Unsecured bullets won't go off by mistake. They may not ignite due to a failure in the propellants.

This can be caused by water, chemicals, or heat. Misfires, which are rare with professionally made ammunition, can be caused by a faulty primer.

Finding out your rounds won't shoot in an emergency is a bad surprise.

In contrast, properly preserved bullets can be fired decades later without losing quality or accuracy. Most gun manufactures recommend storing bullets for no longer than 10 years.

The AC4C Ammo Crate by MTM on amazon.com is an excellent way to store and keep ammo. It's a best-seller on Amazon due to its quality and pricing.

How safe are bullets?

The Sports Arms and Ammunition Manufacturers' Institute was formed by the US government over 100 years ago. SAAMI provides safety and reliability requirements for commercially supplied guns and ammo.

Bullets are drop-tested to assure they won't fire if dropped, even on a hard surface or from a height. This video from Demolition Ranch shows how tough it is to inadvertently fire a bullet under "ideal" settings.

[yostresswritinggirl]

hi! ik sojourner's already ended but i have an(other?) idea in case u ever pick it up since i love ur albedo 😳😳 ok so

what abt a reader who is rlly excited abt alchemy, but they avoid talking abt it bc they start rambling and stuttering and stumbling over their words bc they're so excited? they get assigned/asked to go w/ albedo bc they're rlly good at alchemy too, but they end up fidgeting a lot, muttering and stopping just a few words in before their volume rises and giving short answers when w/ him bc they're afraid of rambling (since they do it to think better when alone, sometimes insulting and arguing w the objects when they don't get the expected result) & being seen as annoying or unprofessional?? i'd like to see how he reacts to these and what he'd think!! and how or when he discovers the reason reader is acting like that

it's kinda (a lot, rlly skowkskdk i always have ideas but never write them) specific, but i rlly like the idea!! i'd love to see what u do w/ it if u ever pick it up in the future :D hope you're staying hydrated and well🥺🥰 -🌌

What do you mean Sojourner's already ended, Sojourner is eternal, Sojourner is forever-

Kidding aside, this is too cute to pass up, even if it's quite a lot! Cute Albedo brainrot moments always please. It might be too much sometimes but I hope you enjoy my interpretation of it! Scenarios format! Starry night, oh I'm always hydrated, thank you and I hope you're well!

For the Record

Albedo working with a Reader that's highly enthusiastic about alchemy but insecure about rambling... (masterlist)

You dealt with Alchemy a year before the Kreideprinz entered Mondstadt, your attunement to the mystic arts baffling and intriguing you every time. During that period, you're not really sure of what art you're doing but in the end, you kept doing great that the people had acknowledged your talents.

Through your own effort and self-study even if unnamed, you managed to put your talent into this art of Alchemy and created discoveries regarding powders and mineral-focused ingredients. It was a shame there was no one to share it to, and when you talk to scholars/practitioners alike, you end up rambling so much to the point that on their end you barely make sense. Whether this was caused by your eaten words or lax and personalized vocabulary over the matter, you're not sure.

Their confused and judgmental stare haunts you, leaving you alone with your raging thoughts and overworking mind when you just want to learn and expand your discoveries to other people without driving them away. Your enthusiasm is great and all, but it's not enough to make others understand.

So when the Chalk Prince entered Mondstadt, blessing the city with his scholarly knowledge and boundless creations, he easily made a name for himself and in extension the city itself.

Before Sucrose and Timaeus, you were called upon by the Grand Master Varka to accompany Albedo and be his temporary assistant seeing as his field in the division is still quite new and you were the only other 'Alchemist' in town besides him. You're both giddy and nervous, like really, really nervous.

You've heard of Albedo and maybe a caught a glimpse or two, but you've never actually interacted enough to know exactly what he looks like or how he is as a person. All you know is that he's a very, very attractive person overall.

"Good-looking, carries this aura of wisdom around him, he's just really charming," were the words that rang through your mind as you pointedly watched your steps, following the carpets leading to Ordo Favonius' laboratory while Lisa's words rang through your head.

Is he really that kind of person? You've heard that he's quite stoic too, but if he's really that distracting, you're scared that it would be harder for you to focus and help out. Honestly how would you even deal with him when your fields of Alchemy are so different from each other?

You have no idea how long you've been thinking, standing in contemplation in front of the set of double doors that leads to the workshop with nothing but doubt in your mind. But upon realizing the teal gaze of another person silently waiting instead of wooden doors, you figured it was far too long.

"Ah, I'm sorry! I was in my head, I wasn't expecting you to-!" You flailed your hands around comically before abruptly stopping, noticing the now confused stare of Albedo of which are distracted by your hands. Clearing your throat, you extended a hand towards him to shake, trying to stare anywhere but his face. "I'm (Y/N), I'll be your assistant until you're well settled in the city. It's nice to meet you, Ma-"

His hand finds yours in a firm grip, a firm shake so sudden you bit your tongue back, "Albedo, Kreideprinz of the Art of Kemia, but just Albedo is fine, I'll be under your care."

Albedo finds it intriguing and surprisingly not that distracting whenever you talk to yourself or to the ingredients whenever you so much as feel the slightest frustration. "Ugh, this Zinc powder is so stubborn, clingy," you angrily mumbled under your breath as you washed off the blue powder that spilled at your hand, "So, so clingy." Since you're facing the sink, you couldn't see the way he was holding himself from laughing audibly at your amusing antics.

You seemed lively and open, is what Albedo thought when he first met you. But this observation soon shattered when he kept getting hanged upon your abrupt stops when delving into your field, something he was really irked about the first few times. Your art of Alchemy is much different from his and he's wishing that you'd clarify and expound all your learnings to him, but in the end, you somehow step back everytime your words became lengthy.

Are you hiding something? Did you not want him to learn the same arts as yours? If those were the case, he couldn't bring himself to ask a simple question such ad why. Every time it crosses his mind, it brings a purse of a pout to his lips and furrowed eyebrows.

Every response you gave always hints even tiny bits of trivias and tips he's never heard, Albedo always takes note of your spills that always cuts before reaching its climax. "-sorry, yes, this is activated charcoal Geo and Pyro slimes reaction." He lets out an audible sigh upon your retreat, your frustrated mind too occupied to notice.

"Please," his desperation drips in his word when he looks at you with eyes filled with raw emotion you'd never know he'd be able to pull off. Your tightly locked lips only pressed on further at his puppy eyes, "Please continue, I wish to know more about your Alchemy, if you would be so kind."

"It's not really- I'm not really the best at explaining it..." You're almost fidgeting, cheeks aching from tensing and warmth. But he regarded you with a blank stare, forcing you to fill the silence, "If I- If I start, my ramblings may not uhm they're not easy to comprehend... or something."

Albedo had been watching more than he'd like to admit, and he's come to relieved (yet still confused) realization that your treatment with him wasn't his alone. You always step back before things get lengthy, words then cutting short and concise with a steeled expression. Lips caught between teeth.

"I digress," his hand motions to yourself to emphasize his next clause. "As your field and sole practitioner of this art, like my own condition, your word of mouth is the best ground of knowledge."

If he was irritated, he's doing a very good job in hiding it. And even with the respectable yet close distance in between you still felt cornered. This is still your master and it's not professional to refuse a scholarly talk, "The electro crystals when charged... ionized? create sparks, while also producing the same result when smacking- mining!"

The scribbles of his pen against his clipboard as he nods in attention urges you on, realizing his focus and sincere interest on the topic, "So when you put the little tidbits or even powdered version in a beaker thingy, depending on the material, they interact with the spark. Honestly, I'm unsure yet how lethal it is but if you put the sparks under fire too, they make like those makeshift gunpowder as well as additional reactions such as-!"

The lilt and proceeding high pitch in your voice usually signifies the approach of your insecurity as well as the climax of your enthusiasm. At this point, you pull your hand up to shut your mouth forcefully, and when Albedo really detests the abrupt end of the conversation his hand would shoot forward to grasp your own.

He'd intertwine your fingers to distract, before urging you to continue with a challenging stare, as if daring you to use your other hand to pull that off again. This whole scene felt oddly scandalous, but oh boy does it send your mind into a bambling, overloaded mess. A heated head forces your lips open even if they sometimes come out in a jumbled string, he learns to decipher them.

The more you get used to or feel more comfortable, Albedo uses that fondness skillfully whenever he wants. "Can you tell me more about the scarlet chunks from Dragonspine?" He throws it so casually in the silence as you two work back to back in your stations, without a beat as your mind is partially preoccupied, you answered into a narrative of trivia. It almost feels like you're talking to the flames of the bunsen while you wait, but Albedo smiles at the now filled silence as he listens with divided attention.

He really likes your voice, and the word of wonders you bring along with you.

"For the record, I don't mind it at all," his breath hovers on your lips, cold and prickly, "Whatever comes out of these lips, I want to hear it all."

That last part eheh

Woah, this went long. Like reader babbling hahaha. I said I'm gonna speedrun, not freaking write this long smh

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