#top selling firearms | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

octahedral-chaos · 3 months

Text

Asterism Borealis: Chapter 1

How did I get into this situation?

Or, Sakari and Sonnet's misadventures to the Northern lands begins.

Warnings: Body Horror (Upcoming), TBA

Characters: Sakari (OC), Sonnet (Worldless OC), Styx (OC), Otis (OC)

"Are you sure that you know where you're going?" Sonnet asked, a bit confused.

Sakari has just arrived at the Town's main market, full of people trying to get everyone's attention in order to sell their goods. It was crowded, and pretty busy too, the sound of people shouting out their goods and the blending together of the crowd was somewhat disorienting for her, but she needed to find answers.

Answers on how to get Sonnet out of their prison.

In fact, Sonnet was there with her, stuck inside their own weapon. An absolutely massive scythe, pure white and glittering in the hot sunlight, with a cyan diamond-shape piece near the blade's base, and below the staff as well. It was a magnificent and somewhat terrifying weapon, although Sakari knew better about it's origins... and the fact that she managed to meet them in a yard sale, out of all the ways to find a weapon that had an eldritch being stuck inside of it.

"Not too sure, won't hurt to stick around here for a bit," she replied, mentally of course. "But then, it's hard to start, knowing that there's so many potential places to look for clues," Sonnet continued, "I'm not too sure where to even start with this, it's overwhelming." "I know, we just have to take it in baby steps," Sakari assured them, still focusing on the crowd ahead of her.

With a sigh, she looked around. There seemed to be several parties buying things, preparing to go on the next adventure. For some reason, her home country somehow turned into a rest stop for adventurers, not that she minded. Thankful, weapons are allowed here, although they must be covered with protective gear to avoid injuries, or must not be any type of firearm whatsoever. So she gets to carry Sonnet around as they browsed the myriad of items in each stall.

There were clothes, weapons, books, practically everything under the sun that is needed for trips. "Even if it's the modern day, people still love a good adventure", Sakari thought to herself. As she was walking, her eyes caught something interesting: A booth that seemed to be... an oracle stall? The person had dark purple hair, fading into a much brighter shade, and was wearing a royal purple top with black Bell bottoms, with a golden brown fanny pack filled with various goods. "Wait..." Sakari thought, "That's an alchemy station!"

Alchemy stations were pretty rare in her country, even if potions and such is always in demand due to parties needing a good way to heal quickly... or any other effect that could not be provided by modern science, including turning your opponent into a frog. In her distracted haze, she noticed something odd about the person: She doesn't remember humans' eye colours including a bright shade of purple... plus that golden necklace with a purple dragon emblem looks a bit... strange.

Then, she felt someone ram into her.

With a startled yelp, she tumbled to the floor, with Sonnet's scythe clattering to the ground. "Oh shoot!" A voice rang out, "Are you okay?" Sakari glanced to the source of the voice, and was staring right at a mousefolk, with a Boreal Elf standing next to them. There was also a lot of books scattered round them.. and her.

Realising what she has done, she scrambled to her feet, being careful as to not accidentally expose the fact that her legs aren't like a regular person, pointed and fading to white at the tips, and began picking up the book. "I'm so sorry," she lamented, "I was distracted and I didn't notice you and-".

"It's okay," the mousefolk said, their big, brown eyes lighting up in a warm smile, "Anyways, where are my manners, I'm Otis." The mousefolk then pointed to the elf, who Sakari noticed was unusually pale, even for a Boreal Elf, with dirty white hair and deep brown eyes, "And this is Styx."

"Greetings," Styx spoke with a bow, "Pleasure to meet you." Sakari stared at the two, before speaking, "Hello... my name is Sakari... Nice to meet you?"

Okay, she is absolutely horrendous at social interactions.

"So, Sakari," Styx continued, picking up the scythe from the floor, "You dropped this." "Oh, thank you," she chimed back, "I would have possibly forgotten to pick it up."

"Sakari, I would have yelled if you did leave without me," Sonnet popped in, completely unprompted. "Sorry, I don't know how to talk to people without the risk of accidentally exposing both of us!" Sakari murmured to Sonnet. "Oh, let me not distract you from the conversation going on, sorry," Sonnet continued, before "leaving."

"Nice scythe, where did you get it?" Styx then continued, handing her the scythe, "I always try to look for anyone willing to custom forge a scythe, but they're usually closed, don't accept those or they are filled with requests already!" Sakari thought for a moment, before speaking, "I got it in a yard sale."

It's the true though, she did literally found Sonnet's scythe in a yard sale. She also promptly blanked out due to Sonnet being so excited to talk to someone, but she usually leave that part out... usually.

Otis promptly burst into a fit of laughter, causing some of the other parties to stare at them in confusion. "Seriously," he blurted out, "A yard sale? Styx, had you ever tried that before?" "Come on, it's not my fault for wanting a custom made one!" Styx hollered at Otis, also laughing. Sakari could tell that the two had a close bond with each other, and frankly, it made her feel a bit more lonely... although it does remind her of her bond with Sonnet.

"Oh yes," Otis suddenly stated after the laughing fit, "I almost forgot my books." Sonnet quickly picked up the few books that were remaining on the floor, before giving them to the mousefolk. "Anyways, you seem like you don't have any party, or are you waiting for someone?" Styx then asked, arms folded. "I don't have a party... although I could join you if you want," she replied, "I mean... I want to go on an adventure, but I do not know where to start."

"That's alright, we have plenty of space," the elf chimed, "Plus, we're pretty experienced if we say so. Right Otis?" Otis gave Styx the most mischievous glance, before speaking, "Yep, unless you count that one time you accidentally scared your own Draught Unicorn and ended up running around in circles before I managed to stop it with my tiny self!"

Styx went quiet for a moment, chuckling to herself. "So, are you willing to join us?" She then continued, "We're heading North to find something incredibly intriguing, a legendary race of beings from Boreal Elves' folklore."

Sakari thought about it, she didn't know where to start with her exploration, and she might get some clues this way. Plus, it would be nice to experience new places, people and things for the first time. So she finally answered, "Yes, absolutely. I think I could start with this." "Me too," Sonnet chimed in, audible only to Sakari, "I think this would be nice."

With arms outstretched, Styx and Otis both cheered, "Welcome to the party, Sakari!"

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

First | Previous | Next

#OCTAfan says stuff #OCTAfan's writing #Asterism Borealis #My ocs: Sakari #My ocs: Sonnet #My ocs: Otis #My ocs: Styx #Ask to tag

12 notes · View notes

slamminslamminmcgill · 1 year

Text

Castigo - Lalo Salamanca/FTM Reader (NSFW!)

DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT

This wasn’t happening. This didn’t feel real. You made one mistake. Granted, it was a big one, but you never would have thought the consequences would be this. You thought he loved you, that you were more than just an employee to him, but you weren’t. You weren’t even that. You were a plaything, a doll, a toy that he could throw away when it no longer did what he wanted. You didn’t do what he wanted, and that meant you were broken. You were broken, and you needed to be fixed.

tags/warnings: cnc/noncon/dubcon, forced oral, forced penetration, forced orgasm, squirting, knifeplay, cutting, bloodplay, face slapping, degradation/humiliation, punishment, dacryphilia, physical/emotional/sexual abuse, gaslighting, homophobic slurs, dead dove: do not eat

anatomical terms: cunt/pussy, dick

words: 5,585

ao3 link

author's notes: fics to make my therapist read ♥ as always please correct me if you notice any mistakes in the spanish dialogue

Life as a street distributor was often as boring as it was illegal.

Sometimes, you’d be posted up against the wall of a building, your designated spot for the day, and told to just wait. That’s it. Just wait until someone asks you what you got. It wasn’t that bad, in all honesty. You’d definitely had worse jobs. The few weeks you’d spent as a front-line soldier of the cartel had already taught you quite a bit about patience and discipline. Plus, your supervisor Lalo seemed to like you, if the nights you spent in his bed were any indication. Nevertheless, you didn’t get any special treatment when it came to work. He knew better than to spoil you; he didn’t want you going soft on him.

You were absentmindedly checking your phone when a regular customer approached you. You relaxed your posture and sighed in relief. Regulars were easy. As long as they had the money, and they weren’t wearing a wire, you were clear to sell. His name was Emilio and he was actually a cousin of one of your coworkers, Domingo. Everyone in the cartel trusted him, but you still had to go through the formalities.

You gave him a fist bump and spoke with a firm but friendly voice. “Alright man, you know the drill. Shirt up.”

Emilio groaned. “Man, I wasn’t wearing no wire when I bought from you last week!”

You weren’t budging. “‘S not my rule. C’mon. Lemme see.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” He begrudgingly lifted up his tank top and turned around, giving you a clear view of both sides. No cables. All good. He dropped his shirt and spun back around before handing you a fistful of cash. “Just need an eight ball.”

“Got it,” you replied, counting the cash. It was all there. “Okay, you’re good.” You knelt down on the pavement and reached for your backpack.

“Damn right, I’m good. How’s Domingo been?”

You didn’t look up to answer him. “He’s been doing really well, actually,” you said as you unzipped the bag. You put away the cash and dug around for an eighth. “Rumor is he’s up for a promotion soon.” You grabbed a small bag of coke and got up from the ground, ready to hand it off when one word stopped you dead in your tracks.

“Freeze!”

Your neck snapped in the direction of the unfamiliar voice. A cop was pointing a gun at you.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

Lalo had told you what to do when this happened, but all the instructions he’d given went out the window the second you were actually staring down the barrel of a firearm. You figured going full deer in the headlights was the wrong move. With not many appealing options in front of you, your instincts were telling you to run. You dropped the coke and took off like a bat out of hell, bracing yourself for the sound of gunshots behind you. You didn’t look back. You didn’t check on Emilio. You just fucking booked it, heading wherever adrenaline would take you.

Thankfully, you were only a few blocks from El Michoacáno. You ducked into a nearby alley and tried to listen for footsteps, but you couldn’t hear much over your own hyperventilating. You determined the coast was clear, and headed into the restaurant, swinging the door open and storming inside in a frenzy.

Inside, Domingo and Lalo were set up at a table, and they both jumped when you flashbanged them with the door. Lalo got up from his seat and approached you, noticing the panic on your face.

“Woah! Hey, calm down, chico. Calm down. It’s over now.” He pulled you into a warm embrace and petted your hair, shushing you and rubbing your back. Lalo was always so soothing, so nurturing, you’d soon forgotten what trouble you’d just barely escaped from. You two weren’t exactly a secret, so he didn’t mind showing you tiny bits of affection in front of others, just as long as it didn’t reflect badly on him. He leaned down to kiss your forehead and spoke with a gentle voice, “Now,” he tilted your chin up so you could see him, “can you tell me what happened? Were you robbed?”

You shook your head. “N-no, I was… I was selling over by…” You swallowed some air you desperately needed, “...over by Los Pollos, where you wanted me, a-and I…” you raised a shaky hand and pointed at Domingo. “Your cousin came up and wanted to buy… so I gave him an eighth and a… cop… a cop saw us.”

“Emilio?” Domingo got up from his chair and walked over to you two. “Is he okay?” Lalo let you out of his arms so you could answer him.

“I… I didn’t see… When the cop came up to us, he had his…” you gulped, “he had his gun out… and I didn’t know what to do so I just ran. I didn’t see what happened to him…”

Sure enough, Domingo’s phone started ringing. “That’s probably him. I’ll be right back.” He stepped outside to answer his phone, leaving you and Lalo alone together.

Lalo gripped your shoulders before he asked his next question. “So, you just ran away?”

You nodded.

Lalo sighed disappointedly, but he didn’t seem mad. He spoke like an exasperated teacher reprimanding a student. “I thought I told you, nene (baby). If that happens, you have to let them pick you up. It’s gonna make things worse if you run. I know it’s scary, but I promise we’ll come get you af-” He noticed something that stopped him mid-sentence. His brow furrowed, he let go of your shoulders, and his voice was more sinister. “Where’s your bag?”

What? What did he just ask you? You patted your shoulders, and your heart sank. You spun around to look for a backpack that wasn’t there. “Oh no… oh no no no no no… I must’ve left it there. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Lalo.”

“You left it there?” Lalo asked, contempt and disbelief dripping from his words. Thankfully, Domingo came back inside before he could question you further.

“That was Emilio,” Domingo said as he flipped his phone shut, “He’s down at the station. Cop was going after him ‘cause he had a warrant. He wasn’t concerned about you,” he gestured in your direction, “He didn’t even chase after you, but he took your bag as evidence. Must’ve thought it was Emilio’s. Apparently, whatever you had in there was enough to charge him with intent to distribute, too.”

Lalo stared daggers into you. If looks could kill, you’d be lying on a medical examiner’s table before you knew it. “So you weren’t even in any trouble…” He clenched his fist and swore under his breath. “Carajo (Damn it)… What's his bail?”

“He didn’t say,” Domingo shrugged, “But a repeat offense? Gonna be around $20k, at least, if they even give it to him.”

“Pinches cerdos (Fucking pigs)…” Lalo growled as he reached in his pocket. “No se pueden tomarlo de la mochila que robaban de nosotros? Maldita cosa probablemente tiene lo suficiente dentro. (They can’t take it from the bag they stole from us? Damn thing probably has enough in it.)” He grabbed two wads of cash and tossed them at Domingo. “Acá. Usa eso para negociar con los cerdos, y cuando vuelvas, dime que te digan. (Here. Use that to negotiate with the pigs, and when you come back, let me know what they tell you.)”

Domingo caught the cash and nodded. “Sí, Don Eduardo.” The title felt a little much, but he knew better than to risk disrespecting him right now. He went back outside and headed for the station.

“¿Y tú? (And you?)” Lalo turned his attention back to you, “You are going to come with me.” He grabbed you by your wrist and led you to the back of the restaurant. He let go of you to unlock the door to a room you’d never seen before. It appeared to be a makeshift office, and it was surprisingly roomy. There was a desk covered with papers, a chair, a couch, and not much else. “Get inside,” he demanded.

You could feel your heart thumping in your chest as you crossed the threshold. This was pure terror in every sense of the word. If you had known that this was the alternative, you would have turned yourself in to that cop the moment you saw him. You could hear Lalo lock the door behind you, and you turned around to face him, only to be met with a sharp backhand.

“¡Idiota! (Idiot!)” He slapped you again. “¡Hijo de puta! (Son of a bitch!) Do you have any idea what you’ve done? You lost us thousands, all because what, some donut-eating gringo pointed a gun at you? You got scared, so you drop everything and run away like a pathetic little bunny rabbit?” He spat bile at you, breathing heavily, veins bulging in his forehead. You had never seen him so angry, and you prayed to God you’d never see it again.

You could feel the tears bubbling in your eyes as you begged for mercy, your voice threatening to crack at any second. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry, Lalo… It’ll never happen again, I promise…”

“Oh, it won’t, I’m going to make sure of that.” He slapped you across the face once more, and pulled you up by your hair to look at him. “You need to realize something, cabrón (asshole). Working closely with me is a privilege. Everything you do under me reflects on me. If you look weak, it makes me look weak, and I am not weak. And I am not going to give the bosses a reason to think I’m weak. I have to show them that I do not tolerate cowards. Do you understand?”

You answered instinctively, but stopped yourself from making yet another mistake, “Yes, La-, I mean… yes, sir…” You dropped your gaze to the floor, too ashamed to face him.

“You understand that you need to be punished?”

“Yes, Don Eduardo…” You could only imagine what that meant, and you couldn’t picture anything good. You closed your eyes as your tear ducts began to overflow, your body trembling in fear.

“Bien.” Lalo reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black object. “Take your clothes off.”

“Wh… what?”

“I said…” His thumb flicked a switch on the object’s side, and out popped a sharp blade. “Take your clothes off. You gonna disobey this order, too?”

“N-no, sir…” You wept softly as you unbuttoned your shirt with shaking fingers. He’d seen you like this before, but this time, you felt an unfamiliar shame wash over you. Your face was on fire, and the tears did nothing to quench the flames.

Lalo was unphased. When you’d undressed in front of him previously, he was excited, almost giddy even. Now, he just looked hungry. “From now on, you’re going to do exactly what I say, when I say it. You do not say no, you do not argue with me, and you do not run. I don’t care where you are, who you’re with, or what you’re doing. If I tell you to strip, you strip. You got that?”

You sobbed as you kicked your shoes off and slid your pants down. “Yes… sniff… Yes, Don Eduardo…” Your fingers stopped at the waistband of your underwear, and you looked up at him. You weren’t sure whether to ask for approval or mercy, but your pleading eyes conveyed the message regardless.

Lalo pointed the knife at you. “Go on. Those too.”

You dropped your underwear around your ankles, stepping out of your clothes and kicking them to the side. The room felt much colder now that there was nothing to shield you from the draft blowing through. In the same vein, Lalo’s gaze was much more chilling now that there was nothing to protect your body from him. You closed your eyes and braced yourself for his next move.

Lalo approached you with malicious intent. He took a fistful of your hair and shoved you to the floor. “Kneel,” he said, as if you had any choice in the matter.

Your eyes jolted open when you hit the floor. Your vision was blurry from your crying, but you saw something. There was a faint glint in the dim room, a lighthouse that guided you towards it. You blinked the teardrops away and realized what you saw; your own reflection in the steel blade. You wanted to scream; you wanted to run, but you knew that would only make things worse. With fight and flight both off the table, you froze.

Lalo caught you staring at the knife. He could tell what you were thinking. “Oh, this? This is just…” he pressed the flat side against your cheek, the cool, lifeless metal practically sizzling your burning skin, “to keep you in line, y’know? Seems like you need a reminder. Hopefully, I won’t have to use it. Now," His fingers detangled themselves from your hair, “you,” and shifted to undo his belt, “have a debt to pay. Isn’t that right? Because of your ‘quick thinking’, you owe me a lot of money. But, I’m feeling generous. I’ll let you pay it off another way.” He had an uncanny smile on his face, as if he had somehow forgotten how angry he was just moments ago. His belt dropped to the floor, the buckle clattering as it hit the ground.

You winced at the sound of the belt clanging against the tile. Reality became too much to bear, so you just sobbed into your palms. This wasn’t happening. This didn’t feel real. You made one mistake. Granted, it was a big one, but you never would have thought the consequences would be this. You thought he loved you, that you were more than just an employee to him, but you weren’t. You weren’t even that. You were a plaything, a doll, a toy that he could throw away when it no longer did what he wanted. You didn’t do what he wanted, and that meant you were broken. You were broken, and you needed to be fixed.

Lalo crouched down, set the knife on the floor, and pulled your hands away from your face. “Shh… shh… don’t worry. It’ll be okay. You just need to do what I ask, sí? This is what happens when you don’t listen to me. Come on, tell me you’ll listen to me. I need to know that I won’t have to do this again.”

Talking felt impossible. Your throat was raspy and chafed, tears and snot coated your face. Your whole body jerked as you cried. You were suffocating on your own misery.

Lalo cooed to you and stroked your cheek. He was staring right into you. It was horrifying, more so than when he was yelling at you. At least then, you knew he was upset. He was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, a gentle hug from a serial killer, a kiss from poisoned lipstick. “It’s okay. It’s okay. I don’t want to do this either,” Lie, “but I have to,” truth, “You need to know who’s in charge," two truths and a lie, “Just tell me you’ll listen to me.”

You choked the words out, or more accurately, you choked out a series of pained noises that sounded like the words he wanted you to say. “I’ll… sniff… l-listen… sniff… to… sniff… you…”

“There we go, good boy!” He ruffled your hair, an action you loved in the past, a nurturing gesture that showed he cared for you. Now, it just felt like an extra layer of mockery. He stood up straight again, though not before picking the knife up off the ground. “I’ll go easy on you, okay?”

What sounded like a lie to you was the truth for him. This was going easy on you, as far as he was concerned. You didn’t want to think about what a second offense would entail, but no matter. After today, you would be the most docile, obedient henchman the cartel had on their payroll.

“Alright, so, first thing I need you to do,” Lalo unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock, already hard, leaking precum from his slit. You were on your knees staring down on it, so it didn’t take you long to put two and two together. The knife pressed against your cheek once more, and you flinched. The blade was a harsher command than his voice, although the latter was still pretty harsh: “Suck it.”

You didn’t hesitate to take him into your mouth, though understandably, not as enthusiastic as you’d done prior. Your motions were slow, tepid, cautious of the deadly weapon up against your face, but Lalo didn’t care. This wasn’t about sexual gratification; this was about subjugation.

Lalo sighed, tilting his head back and relaxing himself to truly savor your mouth. “That’s a good boy,” Ironically, this was one of the best blowjobs he’d ever gotten. The blend of tears and spit made for the perfect lubricant. If only you cried every time you gave him head. I could arrange that, he thought. “Cry all you want, muñequito (little doll), you brought this upon yourself.”

The truth of his statement hit hard. As much as you didn’t want to think of it, he was right. This never would have happened if you just did what you were supposed to. You stopped sucking and merely blubbered around him, and as your body convulsed, your teeth just barely grazed his skin.

“¡Mierda (Shit!)!” Lalo shouted and flicked his wrist, slicing your cheek with the knife. You shrieked in pain and pulled off him, your hand pressing against the wound to stop the blood. The rage was back in full swing. “¡Pinche puto inútil! ¡No puedes hacer nada correcto! (Fucking useless bitch! You can’t do anything right!) I told you to suck, not bite!”

Your heart was pounding, your chest heaving, your naked body shivering on your knees, your mind racing. You were having a panic attack, an apt name for the symptoms. The only thing you could feel was panic. Sheer. Fucking. Panic. You couldn’t even make sense of what he was saying. Bite? Did he say bite? But you didn’t bite him! If anything, you barely nicked him! You didn’t mean to anyway! Didn’t he understand?! Why was he doing this to you?! You couldn’t even think of an apology, let alone a defense. You were running on instinct and adrenaline. You were the scared, helpless little bunny he saw you as. All you could do was sit there, hang your head in shame, and let your tears, drool, and blood drip onto the floor.

“Ay, ay, mírame. Mírame, te cabrón. (Look at me. Look at me, you bitch.)” Lalo yanked your hair to pull your face up from the floor. “Explain yourself. You wanna tell me what the fuck that was?”

You couldn’t catch up to your breath. The shallow hits of oxygen you could take were not nearly enough. You were gasping for air as you tried to speak. “It… I didn’t… I didn’t mean to…”

Lalo cackled, “Oh, I know, conejito (little bunny). Trust me, I know. You think I’ve forgotten what a whore you are? I know you can suck cock better than that! Here, lemme see.” He pulled your hand away from your cheek so he could examine the wound. Your palm was coated in blood, but it was just a laceration. You were fine, well, fine in this regard at least. Everything else about you was pretty fucking far from fine. “Looks pretty messy, but you’ll be okay. The bleeding’s already slowing down.” He said matter-of-factly, as if he didn’t just slash your face open over a bodily function. He laughed again, warmer this time, though he still had a sinister grin on his face. “Well, I guess your mouth is out of commission, eh? Too much going on?” He looked at you like he was waiting for a response.

The way he could switch personalities in an instant gave you whiplash. He just cut you with a fucking switchblade, and now he was laughing like you just told a casual joke at a dinner party, like there was nothing out of the ordinary. This was the worst day of your life, and for him, it was just another Tuesday. Same shit as always. You just stared at him petrified. There were no words.

Lalo didn’t mind. “Hey, hey, I get it. It’s okay. I won’t make you do that anymore. I told you I’d go easy on you,” You sighed in relief, relief that was unwarranted, you’d come to find, “We’ll just have to do something else.” You barely got a millisecond to parse the meaning of that before he slapped his hand over your mouth and pushed you onto your back.

You tried to scream, but it was no use. His hand formed a tight seal over your lips. Any noise you tried to make would just vibrate against his palm. He shushed you, climbed on top of you, and pointed the knife at your face.

“Cálmate, chiquito, cálmate. (Calm down, baby boy, calm down.) It’s gonna be better this way, I promise,” He took his hand off your mouth and brought it down to your cunt, making your whole body clench up. “You don’t have teeth down here, do you?” He chuckled, clearly very satisfied with himself, “I’d better check.” He nestled his fingers in between your lips, elated to find that you were already wet. It was from crying, sure, but that didn’t matter to him. “Oh, wow! Look at that! You like this? I knew it!” He cackled again, “I knew you were a dirty little slut! ¡Qué lindo! (So cute!)”

You didn’t answer. You just hid your face in your hands and bawled, smearing blood and tears all over your face. You didn’t like it. He knew you didn’t like it. He just didn’t care. He was going to say anything he could to make you feel like trash.

“Hey, c’mon, look at me,” Lalo set the knife down so he could pin your wrists above your head, exposing yourself to him. His other hand slipped two fingers inside you, dragging them along your walls. You grimaced, but he was right there to talk you through it. “No, no. Don’t make that face. It feels good, right? Dios mío (My god), you’re acting like I want to hurt you, or something.”

You couldn’t even process the irony of what he was saying. Like “You’re acting like I want to hurt you” was a perfectly reasonable thing to say to someone whose face you just cut a fucking hole in. He continued to pump and twist his fingers inside you, stretching you out for what was sure to come. His eyes were locked with yours the whole time, reminding you that there was nothing you could do. There was nowhere for you to run. This was your punishment, your penance, your redemption. Though there were no words said, his uncaring facial expression conveyed the message: This is your fault. You heard it loud and clear, and all you could do was weep. He pressed into your g-spot, causing you to arch your back and cry out.

“That’s it! Good boy!” Lalo taunted, pressing into that spot over and over again. You writhed and wailed in agony. This was humiliating. Pure, unadulterated misery. You tightened around him every time you sobbed, and it did not go unnoticed. Lalo raised an eyebrow. “Oh? ¿Qué es esto? ¿Te gusta? Te lo debe gustar. ¡Me estás apretando tan fuerte! Yo sabía que lo querías. Es porque eres un guarro sucio, cierto? (What’s this? You like it? You must like it. You’re squeezing me so hard! I knew you wanted it. It’s because you’re a dirty whore, yeah?) Right? Come on, say it. Say that you’re a whore.”

You cried even harder, which made you grip him even tighter. Saying the words felt like acid bubbling in your throat. “I’m… a… whore! I’m a whore! I’m a whore!”

Lalo smiled and praised you like a dog, “Good boy! Yes you are! Oh, you’re so smart, so obedient. Go ahead, you can cum for me. Let me feel it.”

He ripped your orgasm from you soon after, and you squirted against his hand, much to your despair. You felt like a sloppy mess. You were covered in blood, sweat, tears, spit, snot and now, as if that wasn’t enough your own cum. You didn’t even get a second to cry before Lalo shoved his fingers into your open mouth.

“Lick it up, whore. You need to clean up your mess,” He held his fingers in your mouth and let you suck them clean. He pulled out when he was satisfied. “Now, say thank you.”

“Thank you…” You really didn’t want to, but you didn’t have a choice.

Lalo smiled. “Did that feel good?”

Physically? Maybe. Emotionally? Not even close. But you weren’t going to say that. “Y-Yes…” You lied.

“Aw, good boy. You’re welcome.” He grabbed your legs and wrapped them around his waist before pressing his forehead against yours. “This is gonna feel even better.” He whispered, caught your lips in a kiss, and pushed inside of you.

You screamed into his mouth and wrapped your arms around him. You weren’t sure why. Maybe you were seeking comfort. Maybe you did it so you could pretend that this was normal, that this wasn’t what you thought it was. Lalo wouldn’t do this, right? Lalo would never rape you. He would never hit you. He would never put a knife up to your face. He would never cut you. He loved you. He always told you that. You were his conejito (little bunny), his cariño (sweetheart), his cielo (sky), all those cute Spanish terms of endearment that gave you butterflies in your stomach; he meant every single one, every single time he said it. This was a bad dream. It must have been. You would wake up in his bed any moment now, and he’d be there to kiss you awake and ask you how you slept. You would say bad, you had a nightmare. You dreamt that he hurt you. He would be there to comfort you, to pull you into his arms, to tell you he wouldn’t dare to do something like that. This wasn’t real. The longer you kept your eyes shut, the less real it felt…

…but the slap across your face felt all too real.

You were thrust back into your waking nightmare. Lalo was staring you down. You tried to blink the tears away, but you must have kept your eyelids down for a second too long. He slapped you again.

“Don’t. Close. Your eyes.” He growled and picked up the switchblade. “I need you to watch. I need you to see what happens when you cross me.” He pressed the knife against your throat.

Your crying stopped dead in its tracks. One wrong move, and you would bleed out on the floor. You stared him down, quite literally watching your life flash before your eyes.

Once he was sure he had your attention, he started to move his hips, coring you out on the cold tile in the back of the restaurant. You sobbed in time with his thrusts, squeezing around him as you did so.

Lalo loved it. He threw his head back and moaned, louder than you had ever heard him before. “¡Ay, Dios mío!” He shouted, “Te sientes tan putamente bueno. No tienes ni idea que desesperadamente yo necesitaba esto, (You feel so fucking good. You have no idea how badly I needed this.)” he sneered, “Quédate llorando, maricón. Tu panocha se aprieta cuando lloras. (Keep crying, faggot. Your pussy tightens when you cry.)”

You did as he asked you; you kept crying. Even though your throat was burning, your voice was hoarse, and you couldn’t see or breathe through the tears and snot, you kept crying. And he kept thrusting. And moaning. And enjoying every second of this torture.

“Bien hecho, niño (Good job, boy)” He smacked you again, just for fun this time. He noticed the blood on his hand, and you could see the evil plan hatching in his mind. He dipped his fingers in your blood, and used it as ink to write something across your chest. You couldn’t see it, but from the way he was laughing at it, maybe you didn’t want to see it. “Oh, that’s good. That’s really good. You know what? I don’t think I need this anymore.” He took the knife away from your neck and tossed it to the side. “I think you get the picture.”

You did. You got the picture. It was a picture of brutality. It was an impressionist landscape of the ninth circle of hell. Art conveys a message, and this painting’s message was “Do as I say, or I’ll fucking cut you.” You understood.

Lalo knew you did, but he still wanted you to prove yourself. “You do understand, right? Tell me you understand.”

You nodded, gasping for air in between broken speech. “Y-Yes…”

“No,” He replied, “Say, ‘Yes, Don Eduardo, I understand.’”

“Y-Yesss… Don… Don Eduardo… I under… I understand…”

“Good boy. Now,” He started to stroke your achingly hard dick, as if you needed any more stimulation right now, “Say you’re sorry. Tell me you’re sorry for being a stupid bitch.”

You wailed, bucking your hips up into his hand. “I’m s-s-sorry… I’m sorry for being a stupid b-bitch…”

“Say it again. Apologize and say, ‘Thank you for treating me like a slut. I deserve this.’”

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry… Tha-ah! Thank you for… for treating me like a slu-... like a slut… I… I deserve this…”

“That’s right. You do deserve this. You know why?” He leaned in to whisper right in your ear as he violated you. “Because you’re nothing without me. You’re nothing but a tight, wet hole for me. You’re garbage. You’re a dirty whore. Say it.”

You didn’t want to say it, but you wanted this to be over, so you did, as painful as it was. You recited your lines. “I’m no-oh!... n-nothing without you… I’m nothing but a… h-hole, for you… I’m g-ah!... garbage… I’m a dirty whore…”

Lalo did not relent. He could feel you throbbing and leaking out against him. It wouldn’t be long now. He jerked you even faster. “Say it again, come on. You’re almost there. Say, ‘I’m a dirty whore, Don Eduardo. I’m sorry I disobeyed you.”

You spat the words out through a slurry of wet cries and moans. “I’m… a-ah! A dirty… wh-whore! D-Don Edua-ah! Don Eduardo! I’m… s-sorry I- Oh, god! I’m sorry! I’m sorry I disobeyed you!”

“Are you gonna cum for me?”

“Y-Yes! Yes! Ah! Oh, god! Fuck!”

He slapped you one last time. “Then do it, bitch.”

Your fingers curled into his shirt and you pulled him tight against you as you came. Fluid rushed out of you and bathed his cock in your suffering. He pulled himself out, hissing as the cool air hit him, and stroked himself to completion. He came with a loud groan and splattered all over your chest. Great. Now you had another bodily fluid added to the mess. You had never felt so fucking disgusting.

Lalo took in the putrid sight before him, and he started to laugh. Because of course he did. He was proud of himself. This was a game to him. The game was “So you think you can decimate a human soul?” and he had the high score.

He stopped laughing for a moment to compose himself. “Oh my god! This is perfect! Man, I did a good job with you! Hang on, you gotta see this.”

You just stared up at the ceiling while he dug around for something. At least it was over now, right? You could go about the rest of your life. The days would stack against each other, and eventually, the memory would fade into nothing. At least, that’s what you thought before you heard a camera click.

“Here,” Lalo handed you your phone, “Look at this the next time you think about running.”

You looked at the picture. It was a time capsule of your shame. Your beaten, abused, ruined body, captured on film. Memorialized in eternity. You got to see what he drew on your chest. It was the word “WHORE”, in all capital letters, written in your own blood. No sound came out of you as you wept. He had silenced you.

Lalo’s sadism was gone. His face and his voice had softened. “Oh, pobrecito, ven aquí, (Oh, you poor thing, come here.)” He pulled you into his arms and let you cry into his chest. Your lover was back, and it was like he never left. He shushed you and rubbed your back, mirroring the compassion he had shown you earlier today. “Let it out, chiquito. Está bien. It’s okay. It’s over now. You did it. I’m so proud of you, but just remember…” He pulled your face out of his chest and tilted you up to see him.

“I won’t be as nice next time.”

#better call saul #bcs #better call saul x reader #bcs x reader #better call saul smut #lalo salamanca #lalo salamanca smut #lalo salamanca x reader #cnc tw #cnc ftm #lalo salamanca x ftm reader #bcs smut #bcs imagine #better call saul imagine #lalo salamanca imagine #dacryphilia #knifeplay #bloodplay #dead dove do not eat

76 notes · View notes

bisthefairy · 7 months

Text

Rating Buck Bumbles

CG Promotional mode: Acceptable, I the huge metallic forehead actually makes me think of Metal Sonic...the fused eye visor is probably helping with that. I like his eye liner wings too. Shame he's not showing more carapace tho? There's barely any visible yellow there, worsened in the second image by the harsh lighting and pose. Also his helmet has flared cheekbones and that sucks

Promotional art: Good! The CG model's proportions feel a bit bland? But here he's properly chunky, just a big fluffy lump, properly bumblesome!! ; u ; The chonkier gauntlets help the hands stand out more, the minimal body armour is mostly visible at the base of the wings, which helps sell them as a cybernetic augmentation! There's far more yellow visible...weirdly by showing more skin it feels like they're able to convey the cyborg angle a lot better?? Looks more like a bee + metal parts, as opposed to just a bee in a biker suit Unfortunately, this approach...uh...doesn't do it for me on the face! It doesn't feel like a helmet anymore, which makes the eye visor read more like ugly goggles? And makes the blue on the top feel like.....a metallic receding hairline ' ~ ';

Shout out to his pinkie finger, holding a firearm as daintily as a teacup, feels badass in a very specific way

In-game model: Shitass, garbage. All the problems I had with the promo art's head have been made worse! So very not a helmet, this looks like one squishy soft biological fuckin mug, it even looks like the goggles are pinching it in around the middle, bleehhaargh. THEY TURNED THE RECEDING HAIRLINE INTO FUCKING TOTAL BALDNESS!! And moved the antennae waaaaaaaay back to emphasise it!! AAAAAAAA.

AAND,,,,SO MUCH OF THE BODY IS JUST, FFUCKING BLUEISH BLACK, SO BLAND!!

To be fair, it's probably just not optimised to look good from the front. In game you get a good dosage of bumble bum, which adds a lot of colour! The sprouting from the back of the head was probably an attempt to make them stand out from this view too.....OF COURSE, viewing it in-game has the downside of, uh, meaning you're looking at a visually middle of the road N64 game, which is just, just unfortunate. (Nothing against low poly games, just I'd prefer them crisp like the PSX or Saturn, rather than desperately blurred into oblivion, fucking just smeared in grease and texture filtering like the N64)

#Buck Bumble

22 notes · View notes

laundryandtaxes · 1 year

Text

Not to boomer grumble but tbh I think warranties, especially on tech products, are kind of a trap. If I start having issues with an item I purchased, and, upon inspection by the manufacturing company, the failure does not appear to be due to user error or the accumulation of normal wear and tear, I want it fixed or replaced, period, and I think the fact that consumers accept any less is absurd. Having bought a fair number of firearms and firearm accessories, this is more or less industry standard practice- I cannot imagine having problems with a red dot or holster suddenly due to no fault of my own, sending it back to the manufacturer, and having them shrug and offer me a coupon code for another item that might suffer the same failure. Call me old fashioned but I think that if you sell a product or service, you should simply stand behind it. I don't think this applies necessarily to items whose cost is so low that it is itself an indicator that it is unlikely to last, but a product that's priced at the middle to top of a market "pack" should come either with an expectation that it won't just break unavoidably, or the expectation that it will be replaced or repaired if it does.

#the warranty paper is my receipt

57 notes · View notes

dontmeantobepoliticalbut · 27 days

Text

Several Uvalde families are suing Daniel Defense, the gun company whose AR-15 style rifle an 18-year-old gunman used to kill 19 children and two teachers and injure several others at Robb Elementary two years ago, lawyers said.

The family members of victims Friday also filed a separate lawsuit against California-based companies Meta — the parent company of Instagram and Facebook — and Activision, whose best-selling video game Call of Duty features Daniel Defense guns.

The lawsuits together will argue that the three companies marketed semi-automatic weapons to the Uvalde gunman before he was 18, accusing them of negligence and wrongful death. The shooter purchased firearms shortly after he turned 18 years old and then used one of those guns to carry out the deadliest school shooting in Texas history.

In Texas, 18-year-olds can legally purchase long guns such as rifles.

Josh Koskoff, an attorney representing the Uvalde families, says there was a direct line between the companies' conduct and the Uvalde shooting.

“Just 23 minutes after midnight on his 18th birthday, the Uvalde shooter bought an AR-15 made by a company with a market share of less than one percent,” Koskoff said in a statement. “Why? Because, well before he was old enough to purchase it, he was targeted and cultivated online by Instagram, Activision and Daniel Defense. This three-headed monster knowingly exposed him to the weapon, conditioned him to see it as a tool to solve his problems and trained him to use it.”

The lawsuits come on the two-year anniversary of the shooting.

Attorneys argue that Daniel Defense intentionally markets its weapons to adolescents and uses platforms including Instagram and first-person shooter games like Call of Duty to promote criminal use of their weapons.

They add that Instagram provides an unsupervised channel to speak directly to adolescent boys because of what attorneys say are flimsy and easily circumvented rules meant to prohibit firearm advertising to children.

The lawsuit against Daniel Defense is expected to be filed in Texas’ 38th District Court in Uvalde County on behalf of 31 family members of the victims. It accuses Daniel Defense of courting the shooter with marketing that lures adolescents into forming an attachment with its brand of AR-15s, particularly its flagship DDM4v7.

The lawsuit against Activision and Meta was filed in Los Angeles Superior Court on behalf of approximately 45 family members of the deceased and injured victims. It accuses the gaming company of desensitizing young men to acts of mass violence and grooming them to seek out weapons like those featured in Call of Duty. An Activision spokesperson did not respond to questions about the allegations in the lawsuit but issued a statement expressing their condolences to the victims’ families.

“The Uvalde shooting was horrendous and heartbreaking in every way, and we express our deepest sympathies to the families and communities who remain impacted by this senseless act of violence,” the spokesperson said. “Millions of people around the world enjoy video games without turning to horrific acts.”

However, the Entertainment Software Association, which represents top publishers in the gaming industry, denounced efforts to blame video games for real-life acts of violence.

“We are saddened and outraged by senseless acts of violence,” said an association spokesperson. “At the same time, we discourage baseless accusations linking these tragedies to video gameplay, which detract from efforts to focus on the root issues in question and safeguard against future tragedies. Many other countries have similar rates of video gameplay to the United States, yet do not see similar rates of gun violence.”

Representatives for Daniel Defense and Meta did not respond to emailed requests for comment.

While Instagram prohibits the marketing of firearms on its platform, the lawsuit claims Instagram fails to enforce firearm guidelines while rigorously enforcing other types of content guidelines.

The Uvalde families’ legal action appears to follow a similar playbook that Koskoff, a Connecticut attorney, successfully employed in his home state, where he helped victims of the 2012 Sandy Hook Elementary School shooting win a $73 million settlement in a lawsuit against the maker of the AR-15 style rifle used in that school shooting.

That settlement was widely considered a setback for the firearms industry, which has broad legal immunity from civil complaints. A 2005 law enacted by Congress shields gun companies from liability for crimes committed using their weapons. Koskoff’s team worked around that by successfully arguing that the gun company could be sued under a consumer protection state law, through an exception to the federal law.

Over the course of the Connecticut case, documents came out through the discovery process showing that gun company Remington has a licensing agreement with Activision. It is not clear if such an agreement exists between Daniel Defense and Activision.

A 2019 Instagram post from Daniel Defense says “Call of Duty Modern Warfare launched today” and shows a photo of the type of rifle used in the Uvalde shooting.

Other Instagram posts from Daniel Defense show videos of young men actively firing the company’s rifle. A 2020 Instagram post shows an image of someone taking a gun out of the trunk of their car and the words “refuse to be a victim.”

“Gun companies like Daniel Defense don’t act alone,” Koskoff said. “AR-15s were available when many of us were growing up, but we didn’t have mass shootings by kids. What has changed is that companies like Instagram and Activision do more than just allow gun companies to reach consumers–they underwrite and mainstream violence to struggling adolescents.”

This is not the first lawsuit families have filed against Daniel Defense. Uvalde victims’ families previously filed two lawsuits against the Georgia-based gun manufacturer, alleging that the company intentionally marketed its AR-15 rifles to young males in ways that “encourage the illegal and dangerous misuse” of its weapons.

Daniel Defense has sought to dismiss those lawsuits, which were filed in federal court and remain ongoing.

In the two years since the Robb Elementary School shooting, state and local law enforcement officers have been heavily criticized for their response to the massacre. Hundreds of law enforcement officers descended upon the school and waited for more than an hour to confront the gunman, who shot indiscriminately inside two fourth grade classrooms.

The botched response was the subject of a U.S. Department of Justice report and a scathing Texas House Committee investigation. A grand jury convened by Uvalde District Attorney Christina Mitchell could determine whether any federal, state and local officers are criminally charged.

On Wednesday, Uvalde families — represented by Koskoff — filed a lawsuit against 92 Texas Department of Public Safety Officers. They also announced a $2 million settlement with the city of Uvalde. During a press briefing on the day of that announcement, Koskoff foreshadowed that additional lawsuits would be filed on behalf of Uvalde families, including some lawsuits focusing on the time period before the shooting.

“There has been, appropriately, so much of a focus on law enforcement,” Koskoff told reporters earlier this week. “And, I think it’s appropriate to remember that they are at the end of the road.”

Koskoff noted that the 610-page DOJ report included “not a single page on why the shooting happened in the first place.”

The number of semi-automatic rifles, which include AR-15s, produced or imported in the U.S. have increased significantly since the 1990s. AR-15-style rifles weren’t used in mass shootings until 2007, according to a database kept by Mother Jones. In 2022, gunmen used an AR-15 rifle in 67% of the 12 massacres that year.

The AR-15 was designed in the late 1950s as a military-style rifle.

Officers who responded to the Robb Elementary School shooting feared the rifle and decided to not immediately confront the gunman, a Texas Tribune investigation found. Officers instead waited for a Border Patrol SWAT team based 60 miles away to arrive.

Uvalde families pushed the state Legislature to pass a bill to raise the minimum age for buying certain semi-automatic rifles from 18 to 21. That bill failed to pass in the Republican-controlled Legislature that has spent years loosening gun laws, making it easier for Texans to get guns in a state whose residents have a strong fealty to the Second Amendment.

8 notes · View notes

nichenarratives · 8 months

Text

Hurricane Heller 21

A Niche Narratives fanfiction

last | first | next

TW: General mob violence; forced drug use

21. Mob Mentality

The next two weeks are stressful; Mordecai lays in bed with ear raised, his Colt beneath his pillow and his hand on the handle, sharp eyes vigilantly locked on his bedroom door until exhaustion inevitably takes him into brief, fitful slumber, only to wake with the sunrise the following day. Heavily sleep deprived, everyone is a potential danger. His hand constantly hovers near his holster when his office door opens, expecting the next visitor to level their own firearm between his eyes and demand the money back. Yet as the days slip past uneventfully, his paranoia actively festers.

On day three, he purchases another small safe and spends a weekend hiding it in the living room. This decoy needs to convince a mob enforcer that's all there is, should Mordecai be forced to reveal it, the majority of his scraped earnings hidden within the primary safe in his bedroom. While the latter is hidden behind a well baseboard beneath the bed - he still has to run his claw along the top to find the opening notch to open it himself - this one is made to be found and assumed the only one.

To this end, he cuts a section of baseboard away from the wall with his pocket knife as he did before, but sands these edges purposely smooth, ensuring it doesn't quite match the remaining baseboard when pushed back in place. To sell it further, Mordecai sacrifices a day's earnings to fill the safe before replacing the baseboard plank, then moves one of his larger potted plants up against it as a lackluster disguise. It's not perfect, but it'll serve a purpose, and he hopes it'll be enough to keep the main stockpile from being prematurely uncovered.

His next quandary is how to inform his family where the money is hidden, without leaving clues in his apartment. He spends much of the next week contemplating this on the commute to and from work, his hands pressed into his pants pockets and head bowed as he walks, pistol just a second from grasp if necessary. It's the most difficult part, especially when considering the painful possibility he might be killed as soon as he reveals the dummy safe; he may not be there to explain personally.

A clue is required, one only Mother or Esther can decipher. Yet where can I leave it, that is inconspicuous? He can't leave it in his wallet; chances are that it would be looted and discarded separately to his body. The same could be said of his clothes; they're expensive and would make a fancy gift for a relative of the mob, if taken from his corpse. He won't leave it in his apartment either, as that could be intercepted too easily, which leaves one viable option. The family home.

Access to his childhood bedroom would allow for a note or diagram left on his desk, within a favourite book or even in a shoe or jacket pocket, something they'll interact with in grief, or going through his belongings. It can't be too easy to find however, or it'll be located and queried before the necessity arose, causing stress the family are better off without in their current dire straits. Perhaps within a desk drawer…

The streets are silent as he walks, the sun barely over the horizon. The fact he's still very much alive is a surprise for the monochrome tom, his abridged goal of fourteen days on triple income drawing ever closer. Mordecai didn't expect to make it this far, but he's grateful for the extra time afforded. It has allowed him to put failsafes in place; some emergency funds sewn into the lining of his satchel, a pocket knife in the lining of his suit sleeve and a copy of the primary safe combination - late Hannah's birthday, purposely inscribed in Hebrew - wrapped around a dime and sewn into a pocket.

None of these ensure his mother will find the funds, or that he'll live to tell her himself, but passing that information on remains the biggest conundrum of the entire plan. Even as the days march on and it becomes even less likely he'll get caught, it still bothers him constantly, occupying most of his waking time between management and mathematics.

His mind continues turning over as he walks the desolate streets towards the Casino that morning, ears raised high with a faux-attentiveness even as his eyes remain focused on the pavers below. The sky is an ominous gray despite the early morning sunlight, a threat of rain in a spring wind still carrying the residual chill of winter. It's too early and cold for most to be out, leaving roads quiet and streets empty. The perfect atmosphere for thought until he turns the last corner towards work.

He sees their shoes first, pointed and perfectly shined, laces pristinely tied into a bow beneath deep navy blue slacks. In an instant he's stepping back, olive eyes snapping to the familiar smiling face as he reaches for the Colt at his waist with fangs bared and hackles rising. Gabriel merely watches from beneath his own broad brim as a strong hand grabs Mordecai's wrist and twists his arm painfully behind his back before he can grab the Colt, then the mob cleaner seems to lose interest and instead begins fishing for a smoke.

The monochrome tom gasps in pain just as a second hand grabs his throat, fingers splaying beneath his jaw before it tightens, creating pressure on Mordecai's delicate windpipe and forcing the smaller tom to look at Gabriel. Having never been on the receiving end of being kidnapped by the mob, he can't suppress the shudder that runs down his spine as he's forced to watch the persian casually light a cigarette. He flicks the match into the gutter and dark ears fold flat to Mordecai's skull when their eyes meet once more.

Gabriel holds his gaze a second too long before addressing his captor with eye contact and a simple nod, then turns on his heel and begins to walk away, an action followed almost instantly by a sharp sting in Mordecai's neck. He gasps and attempts to jerk away, but the hand on his throat tightens, keeping the tuxedo still while the cold contents of a syringe is pumped into his veins.

Panic doesn't have time to set in before the morphine takes effect. His limbs grow heavy, dulling his ability to fight back. Soon enough, Mordecai can't recall why he was struggling in the first place; dark ears lower tiredly, his white tipped tail dragging on filthy cobbles as his ragdoll body is gathered up and carried after Gabriel, who stops only to unlock the white estate Mordecai has so often been transported in.

On the verge of unconsciousness and faculties sufficiently muted by the morphine coursing through his bloodstream, he struggles to keep his eyes open as he's placed inside the trunk. He doesn't understand what's happening, absently watching Gabriel smoke and speak words with no meaning to an unfamiliar man, before his gaze returns to their cargo.

The last thing Mordecai sees is Gabriel's wicked smile, then his mind succumbs to sedation and the world goes black.

–

A full body shudder drags Mordecai back to consciousness an uncertain amount of time later, lithe frame wracked by an innate attempt to warm up. He gasps aloud, then grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes tightly shut as the sound seems to echo in his own head. A dull throb begins behind his eyes, beating in time with a weakened pulse as yet another shudder cascades through his muscles, the fur on his bare forearms standing on end as he weathers it.

"There he is," a familiar voice grates on his ears, and with it returns a primordial sense of proprioception; he's in a chair, he realises sluggishly, his upper torso slumped forward and head hung low, shoulders and neck aching from the strain of supporting his head for hours. Mordecai attempts to sit up and relieve the discomfort, but his head feels immeasurably heavy, causing him to fail with a grunt and sharp intake of breath that's met with low chuckling. "Easy, Kosher. Let the morphine wear off nice and slow. We have all night."

Fuelled mostly by spite for their laughter, he then redoubles his efforts, teeth clenched in concentration as he attempts to force his head up once more, inhaling sharply through bared fangs and oblivious to the spit that slips free. The laughter slowly dies down until with a click of a tongue, a firm palm grabs his shoulder and forcefully rights Mordecai against the backrest. The monochrome tom grunts as his shoulders are first jarred back, then gently patted before the hand retracts. The voice is sterner this time. "I said easy. Let it fade slow."

Sinking into the backrest, Mordecai hangs his head back to finally do as he's told; eyes still closed, he breathes deeply, focusing on the cold air in his lungs and the steady regain of his mental capacities. As his head clears, a familiar scent of mold makes his muzzle scrunch, ears raised high to listen to nearby speech, though his lingering headache remains too distracting to tease understanding from their murmurings.

His neck itches where he recalls being stuck with a needle. The tom raises a hand to scratch it - only to strain against bindings around his wrist almost instantly. Olive eyes snap open and despite renewed pounding in his head, Mordecai pulls on the bindings on both arms as he looks down, blood running cold upon seeing fraying ropes cementing him to a folding metal chair, one that countless souls have met their death in once Mordecai had extracted what he wanted.

Dark ears fold back and he goes still, breaths fast and deep as he ingests this latest information. The cold, mold in the air and dirt floor inform him where he is. Mordecai raises his gaze to view the familiar factory from his new, harrowing perspective; light streams through the single large window, illuminating the killing floor and its unfortunate occupant effortlessly but leaving the others in attendance in shadow, a blinding darkness even dilated eyes struggle to penetrate.

A glinting to his left draws olive eyes to his tools already laid out on a gurney, each pristinely clean and sharpened to reflect the sun's rays. It's a shamefully effective intimidation tactic now he's the one restrained; Mordecai swallows back bile thickly and turns his gaze to the men in the shadows, squinting to identify any shapes he can see in an attempt to gather information. It's something to focus on besides the razor sharp knives just a few feet from his chair, but could also provide information to help him walk away from this encounter with his life.

Interrogations have always been like a game of chess, from a late-game standpoint. Usually, from the research provided and simple planning, the interrogator controls the board and effectively chases a dethroned king with his own lies until he cracks. Most often, swift and efficient application of truth is sufficient to enforce early surrender. The informants and rats lie down and fake their death with dignity, foregoing a need for coercion or violence.

Just weak links that need replacing, for their organisation to flourish, Mordecai preferred these men in his chair. He could take the data, hand it to Gabriel and return home without engaging in that violence he so despises, a victory won for his employer yet without blood on his hands.

Now on the other side of the conflict, Mordecai knows he can't surrender, even as Gabriel steps out of the shadows. The persian sets up a chair a few feet away, an omnipresent cigarette protruding from thin lips. Mordecai sets his jaw and his resolve firmly in place then. All he's done to end up here - framing both Fiores and Jimbo for embezzlement, torture and murder, even his abandonment of faith - has all been to secure that money for his family, to improve their lives. To give it all up for a swift, painless death would be cowardly.

Mordecai Heller isn't a coward; he hasn't come this far to lie down and die. Sharp olive eyes meet soft yellows as Gabriel takes the seat opposite and smiles as if about to chat with an old friend, which the monochrome returns with a scowl. The slight flicker of his tail is the only sign of discomfort he allows to permeate his facade, for he's already decided that even if it costs his life, he'll keep that money sequestered for his family.

Though if he wants to walk away from this encounter and see them enjoy the fruits of his labour, he needs to think, and fast. If I can successfully manipulate a return to the city-

"Now then," Gabriel interrupts the tom's internal musings, a cigarette still smoldering between two fingers as he leans back in his chair and meets Mordecai's scowl with a wicked, devious smile. "Time to chat about the books you submitted last week, Kosher."

#lackadaisy #fanfiction #niche narratives #hurricane heller #mordecai heller #lackadaisy cats #tracy j butler #lackadaisy mordecai #no beta we die like atlas may #fanfic

19 notes · View notes

christiangrest · 1 year

Text

Kalashnikov USA KP-9

Let’s talk about a little AK that many folk may or may not have heard about, the Kalashnikov USA KP-9. This is an interesting firearm to say the least. It’s an all USA made semi-auto variant of the Russian 9MM AK called the Vityaz. Unfortunately, it’s nearly impossible to acquire a real Vityaz, so Kalashnikov USA decided to make their own for the U.S. market. Dare I say it, but the KP-9 and associated variants have probably been KUSA’s most successful entry into the U.S. made AK world…there just aren’t many other options for those that want a “true” 9MM AK that’s being used in foreign militaries. The KP-9 is as close to the “real” version from my understanding as it can get.

There are a few different variants of the KP-9. Mainly these variants are manufactured in order to comply with the ever confusing firearm laws of different states that require barrel lengths or other attributes. These different variants pop up from time to time over at Brownells, but typically sell out relatively quick. Other Kalashnikov USA firearms and AK variants are also commonly found over at Brownells. I’ve owned my KP-9 for around 2 years now and have enough rounds through it, to give a good idea of what to expect if you purchase one. My particular KP-9 wasn’t perfect, it did have some finish wear on the safety selector, which didn’t bother me none as it’s an AK and will be treated as such. The one mechanical issue I ran into early on was the top cover rail assembly was out of spec. According to Kalashnikov USA, there were a batch manufactured that were out of spec. They promptly sent me out a replacement top cover and hinge pin so that I could replace it. Within the last 6 months there was quite a commotion on the internet with KP-9 owners as a number of them had experienced out of battery discharges. It took KUSA some time, but they came up with a solution or fix for the bolt assembly to rectify this. You only had to send in your bolt/carrier and they would apply the change and get it right back to you. The turnaround time for my repair was relatively quick and took no more than 2 weeks including transit time. At the end of the day, KUSA has done right by all accounts to fix any issues.

The firearm itself, it’s one sweet shooter! I have installed a 3 lug adapter and run a Rugged Obsidian suppressor. It can be a little bit gassy, but suppresses very well. I also opted to swap out the typical AK trigger for an ALG trigger. The ALG trigger is a super crisp and fast running trigger and KI much prefer them when possible in my AK platforms. For an optic, I’m running the Holosun 510C which is more or less their version of an Eotech. It’s a good and robust optic and I’ve had no complaints about it. Recently I submitted a Form 1 to the ATF so that I could finally install the proper triangle folding stock assembly. This is how the KP-9 should be!

So if you’re looking to pick up something a little different and have an interest is military type firearms, definitely check out the KP-9 series from Kalashnikov USA over at Brownells. 2 years later… it sstill puts a smile on my face!

#brownells #brownellsinc #bureauofpropaganda #bop #vityaz #kusa #kalashnikovusa #kp9 #kp-9

11 notes · View notes

actionableinfidel · 3 months

Text

I hold these truths to be self-evident

I guess I am officially back on Tumblr now. I am totally not sure how the 2018 nsfw purge did shit, because I am still seeing full-on porn all over this place (of course, everything *I* try to post gets flagged still)

I see an awful lot of disingenuous shit on here, still, too. So, in a concerted effort to be transparent, here's some things I think about when posting:

1. FUCK. YOU. I don't necessarily mean that to be offensive, but if you're already triggered and writing your Congressman before even reading the rest of this sentence, then there ya go. The internet is a big damn place, with a lot of big damn personalities, and exactly NONE of that affects you. Grow the fuck up, scroll past it if you don't like it. I honestly don't care, I don't post to Tumblr for your edification. If we click, that's awesome, but if you want to go bitchmode on me about what I post, better put your big girl panties on because I will swing back. I will be amicable and discuss anything, but if you choose to jump the fence and run at me, don't expect anything less than to get dropped like a sack of potatoes in front of everybody. Just move on.

2. I like trucks. I like quads. I wear boots and jeans. I live in a small town. I grew up working a farm and find girls who aren't scared to get dirty hot as hell. I would rather drive out in the middle of nowhere, drink beer and bourbon in the sun and fuck on the tailgate than go vacation in some lavish hotel. And if that's your definition of a redneck, well then that's your take on life. It might surprise you to find out that I have two degrees, was a BioMed engineer before moving back here to sell doors and windows because my parents got sick, that I have to keep building bookshelves in my house because I keep filling them, and that I can just as easily rebuild your Harley as I can talk about how DeToqueville is becoming reality or how we know that FliK proteins determine the length of bacterial flagellum but we don't really know how just yet. Just because someone prefers the simple life doesn't mean they're simple.

3. I love my country. I am a combat veteran. I own guns. I believe in the system as it was created, and believe we need to get back to it. Now that we have that out of the way, I seriously hate Joe Biden. Jump to any immediate conclusions there? Well, guess what - I seriously hate Donald Trump too, considerably more, in fact. I hate that no one worth a shart wants to pursue the job anymore, because sweet baby Jesus on a saltine are things fucked around here. No one actually wants to accomplish anything, it's just one big cock-measuring smear campaign after another. I'm right, you're wrong. There ya go, folks - that's American politics today, no substance or integrity to any belief other than glass cannon egos and it's a far fucking cry from how we should be. We are broken af right now.

4. Speaking of guns, I love them. I love beautiful women. I am amused like a motherfucker at the trend of sexy, barely clothed women holding firearms, because it's stupid. I love nice tits in a deep-cut, skin tight top as much as the next y-chromosome totting testosterone geyser, but guess what you dipshit poser fucktard? Guns are different out here in reality than they are on Xbox. The first time an ejected casing goes down that shirt and burns those perfect tiddies? IRL game over. It's a stupid trend. Don't get me wrong, I'm still going to look, but I'll laugh every time. Get dressed, be safe, and actually learn how to use it, then I'll get turned on by a hot girl with a gun.

5. And, last but not least, my trucks. My dream car isn't made of fiberglass, the doors don't lift, there's no neon, and I don't have to strain my back to get into it. I want an old steel Chevy squarebody like most want a Lambo. It's just what I have always wanted - I'm a pickup guy. What cracks me up is all the hate between brands on the internet. Here's what you really need to know about domestic pickup trucks: Since about 2014-2015, no one makes a decent truck. Buy American because it's American if you want, but don't go swinging your little peepee around because of it. They all suck anymore. Call me a commie all you want because I drive a Nissan after years and years of American trucks, but they're just plain shit now. Sorry, I want to spend my money on Buffalo Trace and Ariats, not poorly manufactured truck parts designed to fail and over-inflated labor rates.

TL/DR: Don't be a dick, I don't care about your politics, I love it when you take off your clothes unless you're shooting, and I'm not impressed by your talking shit about trucks. Let's just have some fun.

#tumblr #new blog #tldr #country life #country living #welcome to my blog

2 notes · View notes

wuxiaphoenix · 1 year

Text

Worldbuilding: The Tax Man Cometh

Ah, tax season. That time of year when the weather is veering from cold to thunderstorms and otherwise upset, but not nearly as upset as the harrowed souls tangling with the labyrinth that is the U.S. tax code.

Mine needed at least eight separate sheets of paper (any amount of royalties counts as self-employed and that is a lot of paperwork), meaning I always bring the envelope to the post office directly to be weighed and have correct postage applied. If the government loses my forms again, it’s not going to be a fault on my end.

...I had someone ask what I was doing as I was photocopying said forms at the library. Evidently it wasn’t obvious.

“Why would you want to do that?”

In case the government loses the originals. Again.

“But that would never happen!”

For a moment I could only blink at her, because this lady was at least a decade or so older than me, meaning way more than old enough to know better. Because it has to me in the past. On at least three separate occasions. How do people sail through life this oblivious?

...Anyway. If you have a government in your world, you have taxes. Even if it’s something as simple as “I’m the head of this clan, I get first pick of everything.” How taxes are collected, and what they’re used for, make a big difference in how your society works, whether or not trade and technological advancement are supported or discouraged, how upset people are with the government in general, and how much power they have to do anything about it.

One of the ways taxes make a big difference is, are they collected in kind, in a specific produced thing, or in money? In a lot of Asian countries, for example, taxes were often historically collected in rice. In the short term this was relatively convenient for the government, which could assess land for its potential rice production and assign taxes accordingly; not to mention acquiring the rice necessary to feed the court, with extra to sell for everything else. But there are several potential problems. Bad weather and famine years would hit marginal farmers with a double whammy; they couldn’t produce enough rice to pay their own taxes, and they couldn’t buy enough food to stay alive. In contrast good years meant the price of rice dropped and the government was suddenly short of cash. Demanding taxes in rice instead of money also forces more people to stay in agriculture, even if the area is better suited to, say, herding, fishing, or long-distance trade. And one of the things about taxing in rice that was particularly convenient to the Tokugawa Shogunate starting out bit them in the rear big-time over two centuries later.

I’m going to elaborate on this because it’s interesting, especially if you’re a Rurouni Kenshin fan. If you’ve looked into the Bakumatsu, you know two of the major drivers of it were the Satsuma and Choushu domains. What you may not know is that when Tokugawa Ieyasu assigned domains and assessed taxes for the Shogunate (which were then mostly followed for centuries after), is that those two domains in particular had been very hard-hit by the Onin War a century before the whole Tokugawa takeover, and thus had lost a lot of farms, and on top of that had land that was otherwise undeveloped. So... their taxes were assessed relatively low, compared to the farmland they potentially had.

Mind, it took them two centuries to realize the whole potential of what they had. But the Shogunate kept on trucking with the same assessed taxes, counting on alternate attendance to keep the daimyo too poor to make trouble. And eventually Choshu and Satsuma... weren’t that poor. And other nations were knocking on the doors, able and willing to sell firearms, among other things....

Taxes, like everything else government does, have consequences. Give them some thought for your world!

#worldbuilding #creative writing #economy

9 notes · View notes

itcamefromthetoybox · 1 year

Text

Targetmaster

“Transformers: Rise of the Beasts” is now out, and I’m seeing it this weekend! I need this movie. I NEEEEEEEED IT! And so, to keep myself from going completely bonkers (more than I already have, I mean), I am pleased to present the last pre-movie review: “Nerf Transformers: Rise of the Beasts 2-In-1 Optimus Prime Blaster!”

Box art taken from Amazon because I lost the pic I took of mine in the packaging

All of you know who Optimus Prime is and what Nerf is, so we’re just gonna skip the info dump. Instead, let’s talk about what exactly this toy even is. As the name of the toy obviously states, this is a Nerf gun styled after Optimus Prime. The thing that got my attention about this toy, though, is the fact that the Nerf gun also transforms into an Optimus Prime toy. It’s such a neat concept, and one I think kids will really like.

Now, before we get into the review proper, let’s address the elephant in the room. A lot of people got really pissy about the fact that this is an Optimus that turns into a gun instead of a Megatron that turns into one, since turning into a gun was the original Megatron’s whole thing. Well, there’s a few good reasons this toy isn’t Megatron, so let’s go through them.

Many American states have laws restricting or banning the sale of toy guns that could be mistaken for genuine firearms. Megatron is traditionally grey, silver, and black, and occasionally shades of green. It would be really easy to mistake a Nerf gun Megatron for a real gun, and that’s one of many ways kids get shot by panicked cops or other trigger-happy people in this country. Optimus, meanwhile, is predominantly red and blue, so a kid playing with him has a somewhat lower chance of being shot at by cops or anyone else. A lower chance, but sadly, not a zero percent chance.

Good guys sell better than bad guys. Financially, it makes more sense for Hasbro and Nerf to team up to make a toy of a hero like Optimus than it does to make a villain, especially since Optimus is the most well-known character in the entire franchise.

Megatron has not been confirmed to be in the movie. All the Megatron toys released for this movie are re-releases from previous toylines, but with the “Rise of the Beasts” logo on the packaging. Since this toy was made in a collaboration between Hasbro and Nerf, meaning the profits have to be split between the two companies makes more sense to make a toy of someone actually in the movie than it does to make one of someone not in the movie, because kids are more likely to buy the toy of the guy they just saw on the big screen.

In robot mode, Prime’s looks and articulation both suffer from the fact that he’s a working Nerf gun first and a toy robot second. From the front and top up, Prime looks good. He has the looks you expect from Optimus Prime by now. And then there’s the rest. Since his legs become the barrel of the Nerf gun, he ends up with cartoonishly long legs. Compared to the normal proportions of his top half, it’s a little jarring to suddenly see those super long legs. It’s like he’s wearing some sort of stilts and trying to hide it, and it is not going well.

...I just realized how awkward the orange barrel looks in robot mode.

The issues that come from being a Nerf gun become even clearer when we look at Prime from behind. Due to how a Nerf gun works, there wasn’t a way to make this toy so the gun’s handle could be folded down or removed without jacking up the price. So as a result, Prime has this giant blue growth sticking out of his back.

Robot Mode Optimus Prime has very limited articulation, as you would expect from a toy that’s meant to be a gun first and foremost. He has ball-jointed shoulders and elbows, and that’s really it. Since his legs are the barrel of the gun, they’re a mostly solid piece, with the only exception being the end of his long, solid leg part, which folds out of the way to not block the barrel for the gun. He also can’t hold anything in his hands, which is actually a letdown for me. I would have loved for him to be able to hold his own tiny Nerf gun.

Optimus Prime would go on to develop severe back pain.

Transforming Prime to gun mode and back is a pretty straightforward process, where the hardest part is just getting his arms positioned for gun mode, and even that’s not really a challenge. The whole transformation is quick and easy, which is partially caused by the fact that the entire body is a Nerf gun and the robot mode is the Nerf gun with limbs and a head, so transforming him is just getting those parts out of the way. My one issue is that, when putting Prime in robot mode, the barrel of the gun can sometimes make Prime’s legs not want to come together fully, which can make him fall backwards if you’re not careful, so do keep an eye on that.

I really like how the gun mode looks. It’s got a lot of visible Optimus details, such as the wheels his traditional truck mode has and the chest windows, which all make for a very stylized toy. It’s a really neat design, which at this point, I expect from Nerf after seeing some of their other Nerf guns. I’m very pleased with this look.

Turn him upside down and you can claim he’s a submarine or spaceship

Since Prime’s a Nerf gun, one thing we should definitely talk about is his fire power. After all, the point of a Nerf gun is to shoot your friends with it, and it would be kinda sad if the Nerf dart couldn’t even clear the couch. Well, I’m pleased to say that Prime has what I’d call decent range. He’s a smaller gun, so he won’t be hitting people across a field, but his power is good for his size. And remember, it’s not the size of Optimus Prime, it’s what you can do with him.

Optimus comes with two accessories, a pair of Nerf darts. Considering he’s a Nerf gun, this shouldn’t come as a shock to anyone. What I do like is that he has a place to store the Nerf darts aside from just loading one in the gun, which would impede Prime’s ability to transform. Prime has a pair of dart holders that unfold on his back/the end of the gun, which do a very good job storing the darts, I haven’t had any issue with the holders being too loose or anything, which I admit was a concern of mine. As a bonus, when the darts are stored, they do a decent job emulating Prime’s smokestacks from his truck figures, albeit in bright Nerf colors.

The film’s epic climax: Unicron chokes to death on a Nerf dart.

“Nerf Transformers: Rise of the Beasts 2-In-1 Optimus Prime Blaster“ is available at mass retail and can be found with the action figures, not the Nerf guns. He goes for about $20-$25 at retail, which is a little much, but a lot of online places are starting to carry him for about $17, which feels much more reasonable. While I’m not enamored with the legs and how he has a giant gun handle sticking out of his back, I do understand that those are sacrifices that had to be made due to the fact he’s a working Nerf gun. As is, I actually would recommend him for kids old enough and responsible enough to play with Nerf guns. I would also recommend him for adults responsible enough to play with Nerf guns. Basically, use good judgement before buying this for someone. “Transformers: Rise of the Beasts” comes out this weekend, so this is the last Transformers review for now, and next week, we’ll be looking at toys of another beloved franchise that’s getting a movie soon, so come back then! This is JS, signing off and wishing you Happy Toy Hunting!

#transformers #nerf #optimus prime #autobot #autobots #rise of the beasts #nerf gun #nerf blaster #rotb #transformers rise of the beasts #transformers rotb #transformers toys #toys #toy #review #toy review

6 notes · View notes