automatic spray

Redamancy [TWO]

Author: b0blegum

Pairing: CEO Yoo Kihyun x Reader

Rating: G

Genre: Romance, Drama

Status: On Going

Part: Pilot | One | ch. 2 TEASER | Two | ch. 3 TEASER | Three | ch. 4 TEASER | Four | …

Words: 2.6k+


He was so broken and afraid of Love. Never thought he would return one’s love in full anymore.

a/n gif credit to owner | (y/f/n) = your first name 

I changed my mind to post this at 4pm instead of 8 because i just can’t wait to share this with you all, loves. Anyway, enjoy!

The familiar classical song from Luigi Boccherini was playing at the background, alongside with the sound of expensive gold cutlery sets hitting the side of the plates when the owner put them down for a small pause.

Following your boss, Yoo Kihyun, who was walking confidently in the middle of this five-star restaurant like it was his own property, you felt uncomfortable when people slightly took a glance on you. You know they weren’t judging on how you look, but it’s just you who didn’t really like to attract people’ attentions.

Kihyun turned left, to the more private area of this restaurant. Where there were five rooms, each inside a small private room. You followed him entering the third room.

“Kim Yoona.” Kihyun called after you closed the door behind you as he gestured you to do so.

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Coming Soon:  In the Wreckage (Metahuman Files 01)

All right everyone. I did promise that I was committed to this self-publishing venture. IN THE WRECKAGE is the first book in my m/m sci-fi military romance series that is scheduled to be published on February 24, 2017. Depending on when Amazon puts it up, it may actually drop earlier next week.

Regardless, I am so excited to share this story with you guys and would love it if you would reblog!

A Marine with honor.

After surviving a horrific chemical attack that turned him into a metahuman, Captain Jamie Callahan got a second lease on life. For three years he’s been working for the Metahuman Defense Force and leading Alpha Team—all against the wishes of his family. The job requires his full dedication, so it’s no surprise Jamie doesn’t have time for a relationship. An enticing one-night stand with a gorgeous stranger is all it takes to show Jamie exactly what he’s been missing. When a mission to take down a terrorist cell brings that same stranger back into his world, Jamie’s life gets complicated.

A soldier with secrets.

Staff Sergeant Kyle Brannigan was only looking to relieve some stress after a long mission. He didn’t know the hot guy he picked up at a bar was the leader of the MDF’s top field team. When Kyle and his partner get seconded to Alpha Team to help fight a terrorist threat, he has to balance his desire for Jamie against his duty to keep his secrets safe. That gets harder and harder to do amidst regulations both are tempted to break.

Two men trying to survive.

Giving into passion could cost both their careers. Abiding by the rules will only result in heartache. An attack on MDF headquarters brings with it a choice Jamie and Kyle can’t escape—duty, or love?

Please note, In the Wreckage is a steamy m/m sci-fi military romance with a tiny bit of kink and a HFN ending.

Now, onto the story.

Ground level in the Chicago megacity was a humid, crowded mess on the best of days. When a mafia-backed terrorist group led by metahumans waged war against law abiding citizens, Chicago became a shitshow of the worst kind not even the police could handle. Which meant the best counterattack came not from local authorities, but in the form of government-backed metahumans.

“Where the fuck is our cover fire?”

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oldmancaleb  asked:

Are there any major gun law differences between your country and mine (most of the US when you take Cali and NY out of the equation) and if so, do you prefer yours or ours? Genuinely curious to hear a gun-positive European perspective

Yes, there are a few indeed.

On the principle, at least for now, as a citizen or a long-term resident (except for convicted felons, mentally challenged/deranged people and a few specifically forbidden nationalities), you have the right to buy guns, it’s not a privilege like in most parts of Europe.
And you have to get some kind of background check to buy a gun, too. In general (aside from the urban parts of the country, and with people with a foreign education), Swiss people are mostly gun friendly. So, it’s pretty similar.

On the positive side of our plate, there is no discrimination between guns, as long as they are not forbidden. No SBR/SBS/AOW or « firearms » bullshit for exemple.

This is a rifle :

This is a pistol :

Because of the way the law is written, you can even buy a M2 Browning like a bolt action .22 LR carbine (no formal background check).

On the neutral plate, we have some kind of “may issue” license system for suppressors, full-auto rifles and all the forbidden weapons in general (a forbidden weapon is an item which purpose is to hurt people, aside from pepper sprays and firearms — you’ve got a hodgepodge of collapsible batons, kubotans, throwing knives and stars, CS sprays, automatic/assisted opening knives, including balisong knives, etc.). 
For people who got these kind of grandfathered items, or that can justify their ownership because of their job or a collection thema, it’s quite easy to get that license — you just have to upgrade your security system and submit to a yearly visit by the police to check if the way you stock the guns is conform to the rules. 
For average citizens, these licenses are arbitrary delivered and almost impossible to get.

On the negative plate, we are denied the right to carry guns on public domain, outside a few very restrictive circumstances. 
The law authorizes explicitly that right, given a few conditions are fulfilled (you have to pass a simple test to prove you can shoot a target in a defensive way, that you understand what are the limits of lawful self-defense and strictly concealed carry) but administrative decisions by the police block that possibility. 
Since they are “may issue” licenses, they only give them to security agents and a few VIPs. 

Technically too, only the guns bought after 2008 have to be registered to the police, but they went around the people rejection of a centralized federal registre through administrative bullshit.

We have also lost the right to shoot on private or public lands, and are restricted to pre-existing shooting ranges, either Federal or private. Given the density of the country, this makes the shooting hobby more and more difficult to do. 

Edit : I forgot about the ban on defensive ammunition, so we are restricted to FMJ (except for hunting cartridges).

I would guess the major difference between our countries gun laws is the philosophy behind it.
The Second Amendment is a way for the citizens to be wary of their Government, our Right to own guns is a consequence of the trust relation between the Citizen (which is traditionally the Sovereign — as in King — of the country) and the State. 

Hence the subsidized guns, ammunition and shooting ranges, because of the way the milita army system is organized.

Of course, the quick erosion of our rights is a very bad sign of the state of that relationship.

@felicity-smoak-is-my-goddess replied to your post Winterhawk, Mafia AU:


Boxed in by Hydra goons behind a dumpster now literally on fire while his ammo steadily dwindles down and only that fuck nugget Barton for backup is not how Bucky envisioned his day going.

No, it should have been a relatively easy (though annoying, given the company he’s forced to keep of late) day giving Barton the nickel tour of the illustrious territory claimed in and around Brooklyn by the Captain and his Howling Commandos, showing him the ins and outs of the protection racket they had going, the areas around the city they kept a particular eye, that sort of thing.

But instead he’s here, trying to line up a shot through the heat haze while Barton’s waving his fucking bow around and caterwauling from his nest in the trash cans across the alley. “Shot through the heart, and I’m to blame!~”

“Well, you certainly give love a bad name, alright,” Bucky grumbles as he ducks down to reload.

Barton gasps theatrically. “Jealous I’m serenading other men? Don’t worry Bucky-boo.” His voice drops to a lower pitch as he croons, “’Cause I only have eyes for you!~”

As if Barton isn’t constantly throwing out lines at anyone passing by on the daily. He exchanges leers and lewd pick up lines with Tony over coffee at the morning briefings. He winks at Stevie and always manages to stand just a hair too close whenever he’s given half a chance until Steve’s neck starts flushing red and he gets all stern-faced. He’s got an ongoing sextcapade going with some chick named Natty-Light in his phone that’s mostly a sting of emoji eggplants and peaches.

Bucky is, himself, no stranger to Barton’s chronic-flirt ways, but he knows better than to read anything into the come-ons. They’re nothing more than a cocky front Barton presents to the world, and to the Commandos in particular right now. Which is precisely why Bucky signed himself up to be Barton’s permanent shadow for the forseeable future; every last one of ‘em’s been swindled by Barton’s particular brand of “charm,” even Stevie for all he insists he’s got a real bead on the guy and he’s trustworthy enough.

“Yeah?” Bucky snaps back with a scowl. “Well, hows ‘bout you put your eyes to some actual goddamn use and–”

His witty rejoinder is drowned out by the spray of automatic cover fire from the end of the alley. At least, Bucky’s giving these dipshits the benefit of the doubt that it’s meant to be cover fire, otherwise it’s just a gross waste of resources given how high the arc of bullets are hitting in the brick and plaster overhead.

Gun gripped tight in his cybernetic prosthetic, Bucky leans around the edge of the dumpster and nails the trigger happy goon with a single shot ‘cause that’s how badasses do.

Unfortunately, even badasses who do everything right and cool and aesthetically pleasing still fall victim to stray ricochets now and then.

The bullet clips him in the back of his left shoulder, right where there’s still the worst kind of sensation most days. He wheels back and around with a cut-off cry of pain, ‘cause like hell he’s letting these fuckers get to him like that. He falls back hard against the dumpster then has to fall back forward ‘cause holy fuck, but that shit’s seriously heating up by now.

“Buck? You hit? ‘Cause seriously, dude, if you are, never letting you live that one down. These dudes are amateurs, every last one of ‘em.”

Groping around behind him as he grimaces in pain, he ignores Barton’s ever-present babbling and gets a hand over the wound, doing his best to keep pressure on it nevermind that that makes it sting even more.

Bucky’s too busy contemplating if the dumpster fire’s actually burning hot enough he could maybe cauterize this motherfucker if he leaned back long enough, to pay Barton any mind until he abruptly rolling right all up in Bucky’s space, crouching over where Bucky’s prone on the nasty-ass ground with three arrows knocked on his bow all at once.

Looking up from between Barton’s legs–and Bucky swears to all fuck, if this comes back to bite him in the ass with more horrible come-ons, Bucky is gonna fry the dude alive–Bucky almost doesn’t recognize him.

Barton’s suddenly all posture, his arms angled picturesque as you please, and his usual easy grin is gone for the first time Bucky’s ever seen, replaced with a cold countenance that speaks volumes for the reputation that follows the clown around. The second he’s loosed his three arrows, he’s drawing again, his aim barely adjusting before he’s letting two more fly.

And then the alley’s silent, no gun fire, no dying moans, no bodies even hitting the floor.

Bucky’s still blinking up at Barton, trying to process what just happened and where the fuck this guy’s been the whole time, when a whole other Barton shows up to the party.

Dropping his bow, the damn thing he polishes and shines and crows about endlessly, to the ground, Barton drops down on Bucky, all too-wide eyes and lip-biting concern, patting him down, looking for the entry wound. Bucky lifts his shoulder the best he can to let him see, and then Barton’s got Bucky rolled on his side, his weight falling over Barton’s thick thighs as Barton rips away fabric to get a look at it.

Which is when Bucky gets a good look at the scene beyond the dumpster. The remaining six goons that they were slowly working to pick off are all dead, four with arrows pierced straight through their necks and pinning them in place where they stood, and the last two strung together by a single arrow.

It’s a bloody mess, and yet so neat and precise and, quite frankly, one of the hottest things Bucky’s ever seen.

He’s brought back down to Earth when Barton shifts him back over and brings Bucky’s arm back up and over to hold a mound of cloth to the wound–Barton’s balled up hoodie sleeve apparently, given that he’s now short one. And then Barton’s ripping the rest of the hoodie off along with the t-shirt underneath, grasping the fabric between his hands and shredding them along the seams, for a bandage or tourniquet or maybe just ‘cause he’s fretting here over what to do, Bucky’s got no real clue.

Except, he does know when to give someone their dues, and Barton, he just saved Bucky’s life. Reaching out slowly with his prosthetic hand so he doesn’t jar anything, Bucky reels Barton in by the back of his neck until he’s down on Bucky’s level, then plants a kiss square on his forehead and says, “Thanks. My hero.”

Bucky’s never seen Barton flush, honest to God didn’t even think him capable of it, but when he falls back and Clint shoots back up, he’s red as a tomato from his ears to his chest.

Barton’s mouth flaps open a few times uselessly, then he finally gets out a mangled, “Blood. It’s–you’re bleedin’.” Flapping around like a flustered chicken, Barton starts trying to make sense of the tatters of his cloths, trying to dress Bucky’s wound with shaking hands. “You–that needs to stop,” Barton keeps on jabbering. “Stop bleeding already.”

Bucky can feel he’s starting to fade, and this is usually the part where he fights to stick with it and keep an eye out for what’s happening, but Barton’s looking out for him, and it looks to be the guy’s plenty sincere in that, and maybe the rest of it as well, so let’s the darkness claim him and leaves Barton to his mother-henning.


Grainy CCTV images showing 19-year-old Robert Hawkins shooting up the Westroads Mall in 2007. Hawkins’ mother raised the alarm after finding his suicide note, which read:

“I just want to take a few pieces of shit with me… just think tho, I’m gonna be fuckin famous.”

By this time, it was much too late. Hawkins had already taken the elevator to the third floor and, armed with his stepfather’s semi-automatic, began spraying the terrified shoppers with a hail of bullets. He fired thirty rounds and hit 12 people. Six of these people died instantly, and two died from their injuries later on. When he was done, Hawkins walked over to a customer service desk and shot himself in the head. His autopsy revealed that he had a small amount of Valium in his system, but no other drugs were found. Robert had been on other medications throughout his short life, particularly antidepressants, as he had a whole plethora of mental/mood disorders. When he was 14, he was sent to a psychiatric ward for threatening to kill his stepmother with an axe and was classed as “a highly dangerous individual”. ©

Creepypasta #827: Bath Water

Length: Super long

While I have some scary incidents that happened throughout my younger life, this one has probably stuck with me the most.

I remember when I was a little boy, and my parents used to live in this crummy apartment somewhere in Cleveland, Ohio. I reminisce to the days of the constant smell of mildew and mothballs, as my parents lived in a pigsty of clothes and old trash. They’re not bad people, no, they’re just not the cleanest in the world.

My parents room had one TV, one bed, a near empty dresser, and the rest of the dresser’s clothes scattered on the floor. They had decent jobs: My mom was a clerk at at this big grocery store that had hundreds of people storm in a day, and my dad worked as a valet for this fancy hotel, so he always got good tips.

It’s just that, my family never cared much for buying furniture, or anything that would liven up our home, so we stayed in that pigsty for a year. Wasn’t the greatest of my childhood memories. But, not because of the ugly environment, or the tiny, but effective smell of dirty clothes and a hint of fruity air freshener. I mean, the mixture of those smells made the room smell slightly of rotten fruit. It wasn’t those things at all, in fact, I didn’t even mind the smell that much.

No, it wasn’t any of those. It was the bathroom that terrified me. I remember being at a height where I could just see a tiny spec of my head when I walked past the mirror, and seeing a black shadow sitting in the corner. I was too short to see the full figure, and when I would do a quick jump up to get a glance, it’d be gone. 

On days when my parents were alone in their rooms, and I would be left alone in the other side of the apartment, I’d go to the bathroom to go pee and see that the mirror would be fogged up like someone had just got done taking a shower. Even the heat you feel basking around after the shower was present. But I specifically remember my parents not even using the bathroom that day, as both of them were most likely napping after a long shift. I mean, even if they had used it, they didn’t take showers in the evening.

I always felt like I was being watched, but not by a bad presence. But rather a presence… Of comfort. I never felt scared when I felt this sense overwhelm me, rather I’d just smile and go back to playing with my Tonka truck or whatever I was doing. The reason I’d never feel worried, is because I was just a tyke then, and never took a second chance to think that a sudden change of emotion in a room would be something horrible.

However, I had a feeling that warm presence wasn’t the only one nested in our apartment. Sometimes I’d watch Looney Tunes in my room with my tiny little television, and feel a cold chill go up my spine and I’d feel like something wasn’t right. When this feeling happened, I would usually run to my mom and dad and hang out with them instead, watching game shows and occasionally looking out their open door, nervous. But I never saw anything suspicious.

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Bruce Wayne traveled the world for years and trained himself to the peak of physical perfection. Tony Stark had one weekend and an actual heart attack and still had time to think “I’d better not get shot in the face!” I know that mentioning headshots around Batman is the comics equivalent of farting in an elevator, but his standard defense against machine guns is back flips. Iron Man doesn’t have to worry about hiding. When Batman vanishes into the night, panicked thugs have been known to spray automatic fire into the air because they can’t find him. While “Haha, you can’t see me” might be satisfying, Batman’s primary defense mechanism is at best a pain in the ass and at worst capable of killing hundreds of Gotham slum dwellers in any direction.

Stark understands that a billionaire training himself to the peak of physical perfection is like a billionaire learning to grow his own organic tomatoes. The whole point of money and technology is not having to do stuff with your bare hands. And for every “Batman could design something to disable the armor,” I’d raise you an “Iron Man’s actual job is designing things and he knows more about the armor.” Sure, if they were stripped naked and locked in a room, Bruce would utterly dominate Tony, but if that’s what you want to see, there are websites you can go to.

6 Ways Iron Man Is Objectively Better Than Batman


Where’s the gun control laws at. This shit is getting kinda…out of control. Don’t you think? I think so. I mean a school of children got shot up in 2013. Many high schools and colleges have been shot up. Military bases. Malls. Planned parenthood clinics. Movie theaters. Black people. White people. Police. Political officials back in the day. Y'all want your second amendment rights, I get it. But you have to realize that when the right was put in place, not of the firearms that exist now…didn’t exist then. There weren’t bullets, there weren’t semi-auntomatics, there weren’t glocks. There were muskets with gunpowder and the packing rod. Now does it make sense to have rights with guns that take 6-7 minutes to pack for one shot or semi automatics that you can spray across a room? Y'all gotta think.

blurb: you do a twitcam together (requested)

sorry this took so long!! but here it is:

 I feel like doing a twitcam with luke would be really chill, especially if he weren’t with any of the other boys. you’d just kinda be perched on his lap, scrolling through the comments on the side while he rested his head on your shoulder. you would be doing most of the talking while luke would butt in with his comments once in a while and you’d occasionally answer the questions you caught sight of, and then there’d be a question like: “has luke gotten better at pick up lines since you guys started dating? xx” and then you’d just laugh and be like, “I actually think he’s gotten worse.” then he’d pout at what you said and try all hard to be flirty but lets face it luke is an actual teenage boy and be like, “I have a new one you know” and you’d shift and look down at him and be like , “oh really? give me your best shot hemmings.” and then his face would get all serious and he’d be like “if you were a flower you’d be a daaammnn-delion” then you’d burst out laughing bc rly luke and you’d kiss his cheek and be like “dandelions are weeds, babe.” then the two of you would spend the rest of the time firing lame pick up lines and asking the fans who they thought was better at coming up with pick up lines o

 michael had been going out with you for a while and the fans knew about you and everything and after a while of pestering you about it, you’d agree to do a livestream with him. so it’d start off with just him onscreen and he’d kick it off and be like, “since you guys have never met [name], I thought I’d introduce her to you” and then he’d call you and expect you to come out but when you stayed in the other room claiming that you didn’t feel good he’d be all like, “babe, come on, please? at least just say hello.” but you’d literally be scared out of your mind and you’d be like, “what if they don’t like me?” and because you weren’t too far away they’d be able to hear everything you said and suddenly the comment side would blow up with sweet messages like, “noo [name] please?” and “we want to meet you” and “you’re so pretty though come out!!” and finally he’d coax you on screen and you’d be so red and it’d be kinda awkward at first cause like what are you supposed to talk about but then the fans would start asking you questions about Michael and about you and you’d immediately feel so welcome bc let’s face the 5sos fam is literally the sweetest omg

calum wouldn’t tell you that he was doing a twitcam because instead, he’d be talking to the fans telling them about how his most recent prank on you was going to go down and a few minutes later they’d hear you scream, off screen, “CALUM THOMAS– I SWEAR TO GOD.” and then he’d just laugh like the cute little shit he is and you’d come on screen all soaked cause he tied a rubber band to the hand held faucet so it would automatically spray whenever someone turned it on. you’d jut your lip out and look at him with those adorable eyes he loved so much and he’d apologize (not so sincerely) and pull you on the couch and wrap his sweater around you, kissing your temple. you’d spend most of the twitcam wrapped up in his arms and when he left to get a glass of water or something, you’d lean in close to the camera and be like, “calum has no idea what’s coming.” and then it was your turn to hear his scream, “[NAME] WHAT THE FU–” you’d cut him off with uncontrollable laughter and you’d literally spend the rest of the day trying to get even.

dong a livestream with ashton would just be all shits and giggles omg. like, I’d imagine that at first, you’d do something that he found incredibly adorable but really stupid at the same time and he would not, for the life of him, be able to stop laughing. he’d take one look at you and loose himself in his laugh again and you’d try to pout at him to get him to stop but you’d cave and start laughing too because let’s face it Ashton Irwin has the cutest, most contagious laugh on the face of the earth. and when things would start winding down, he’d get all flustered because he realized how much he was laughing and that he probably wasted like five minutes but you’d take one look at him and be like, “Ashton Irwin you are one of the cutest human beings.” bc you were an extreme fangirl before you started dating I mean we all are then he’d like, get redder and be like “stop oh my go–” you’d pinch his cheeks and you’d make faces to make him blush harder and omg it would just be the cutest thing and the fans would absolutely love you after that because represent