it's not even a moving target

  • Canon McCree: Ran with the notorious Deadlock Gang as a teenager, a gang so strong it had lasted nearly a century and needed to be taken care of by Blackwatch. Trained under Gabriel Reyes at 17, joining Blackwatch where they only accept the best of the best. Extremely skilled with a gun, fires a revolver as if it were a sniper, and can lock onto targets with deadly accuracy without any known enhancements (see: a tactical visor, prosthetic, cybernetic eye) and in the dark as well. Can sit atop a train moving 640 kilometers per hour with ease, and has a bounty on his head bigger than both Junkrat and Roadhog's combined.
  • Fanon McCree: "wow gee oh golly darling i'm making a whole mess of myself what a complete shame ive absolutely retired and am completely useless in even the most basic maneuvers because of how rusty i am wow partners it's a sure good thing im gay and married to hanners and say a bunch of cutesy phrases and make lots of cowboy jokes along with m' hat otherwise there's no real tactical advantage in keeping a liability around. lovable and useless, can't even hold my own in combat but that archer sure as hell ain't ugly"

???-BLAQUA [Black-Aqua]
-Ghost/Water
-The Sea Monk Pokemon
-Ability: Suction Cups - Serene Grace(HA)
-Dex: “This pokemon are often compared with monks due to their bald shapes, their calm attitude, and their low vocalizations that sound very similar to praying. Despite their calm nature, if this pokemon are disturbed they can stir the water creating devastating waves that will sink any ship, while they fixate themselves to the spot with their tentacles to avoid being swept away by the tides. ”
-Moveset:
    -Water Pulse
    -Ominous Wind
    -Whirpool
    -Twister

–>Evolves at lvl. 45<–

???-BLANKRAKEN [Blank/Blanco-Kraken]
-Ghost/Water
-The Cryptic Pokemon
-Ability: Levitate- Serene Grace(HA)
-Dex: “This solitary giants prefer to be alone, so they make their homes in the colds and unexplored waters of the far south, where they can be seen both under and over water, always swimming, even on air. If this pokemon is disturbed, it will grab any ship in its way with its large tentacles and drag it down into the ocean.”
-Moveset:
-Sig. Move: Cold Shower “The user shoots freezing water at its target. This may also leave the target frozen. If the opponent is Burnt, this attack will heal its condition”
   Type: Water
   PP: 15 (max 24)
   Power: 80
   Accuracy: 100
    -Octazooka
    -Shadow Ball
    -Wring Out

Who owns me?

Bucky x reader

Notes: mentions of past trauma, violence, past torture/brainwashing, fluff, smut, discovery of past self.  

Summary: when Bucky’s in hiding in Romania, he finds a girl he’s sure needs his protection. He doesn’t remember who gave him the mission; but he’s so sure some one gave it to him. After setting it all up, he notices that there’s more to this girl than meets the eye. She might need him watching over her more than he initially thought. 

(This takes place after TWS and before CW)

A/N: Hi guys! It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything; I just had to get something out there. Part two will be here soon, there might be more parts after that, because I have an open ending atm. (I do love me some open endings now and then)

Originally posted by caps-bucky

He doesn’t know who she is. He doesn’t know why she’s important, but she is. He knows the only thing that matters is that she’s safe. It’s his mission to protect her from all harm, to make sure she lives her life however she wants, without any disturbance. Often he tries to remember who it was that gave him this mission; maybe it was Pierce, maybe Rumlow, which would indirectly mean it’d have been Pierce. Or maybe it was the Captain. The last time he saw the Captain was about a year ago, before he ran to try and get all of these things floating around in his mind in order. He’d listen to the Captain. He used to, he thinks. Before his commander was Pierce; even before it was Karpov. He sometimes imagines that the Captain was good to him, and the others.. Were there others? He thinks so.

Keep reading

Types of Overwatch Players
  • The Semi Casual: You're an average gamer whose here to have fun but still wouldn't mind wining. Maybe you just want a new loot box, maybe you've been invited to a friend's rad new custom game-whatever the reason, you have time off from work or school and need to unwind. If you need to play healer, you'll play healer. Your team could use a second tank? You can play Widowmaker the next game right? You're comfortable with almost all game modes but will dive into Competitive if you're feeling confident. Your POTG is a welcome surprise and something you likely worked to earn through teamwork.(Possible Mains: Lucio, Orisa, Zarya)
  • The Glory Hound: You have one objective and it's definitely not the one you're supposed to be defending. You want your Play Of the Game and anyone who steals your kills is getting cussed out in the group chat. You could care less about team composition, you have your main and anyone who tells you to switch is just jealous of your awesome skills. Similar to The Single Player, teamwork is not your priority as everyone is just a pawn to your inevitable success. Your team winning is cool and all, but what you really want is for YOU to be the winner. You are a monster in Competitive but in the worst possible ways. (Possible Mains: Bastion, Hanzo)
  • The Sore Loser: You define unreliable. You may as well change your last name to Left The Game, because that's what you're always fucking doing. If a team isn't upholding to your standards, you'll ditch before you even see the inside of your spawn room. If any of your teammates are any less than three stars, they don't deserve the right to brush screen names with you. And if you choose to stay with a team the whole way, you BETTER be winning or else you're out. Despite your incredibly selective choice of teammates, your friend list is completely empty and you scoff at anyone who dares send you one.(Possible Mains: Symmetra, Hanzo)
  • The Party Goer: You're here to have fun. "It's just a game" has been hardwired into your code as you don't do jack shit for your team, you're more concerned about showing off your new emote in the heat of battle. You're a talkative fella with a whole wheel of the most grating voice lines your character currently has. Who cares if you win? At least you'll be in a hilarious pose in all of the kills cams. Your teammates may admire your casual nature, though you're so casual that you've become an inconvenience. Yeah, you'll get eliminations every once in awhile but it's only because no one laugh emoted back at you yet and you have ten seconds left to move this truck (Possible Mains: Junkrat, D.Va, Winston)
  • The Grudge Holder: You are out for blood, my friend, and it's rooted in a deep, personal hatred from a certain someone on the enemy team. Your worst enemy is the kill cam because it has the audacity to catch an image of you dying and forever cementing your target throughout the rest of the game. Fuck your team, you want to get even with that one Pharah who blew you up from across the map. And that McCree who had the nerve to shoot a Deadye in your direction? He's screwed once you get out of spawn. Your teammates have been spanning Group Up for five minutes straight but you're still waiting for that bullshit Symmetra to show back up so you can kill her again and teabag the corpse. (Possible Mains: Widowmaker, Roadhog, Mei)
  • The Single Player: You are a lone wolf through and through, here to carry your team with a twenty player kill streak with a single use of your Ultimate. You're the guy who rushes into enemy lines without a plan, relying on your own bravado to keep you alive before you're spamming for heals half way across the map. You're likely oblivious to what you're supposed to be defending...Or are you attacking this time? Nah, doesn't matter! You got your main before anyone else did so you get to show off your rad skills. God help anyone playing healer. (Possible Mains: Genji, Soldier 76, Reaper)

172-VOLBUN [Volt-Bunny]
-Electric
-The Static pokemon
-Ability: Static - Vital Spirit(HA)
-Dex: “With almost 2/3 of its body weight being only fur, this pokemon spends most of its life gathering static energy as it hops around. You may know one is nearby as the hair on your body will start to rise up.”
-Moveset:
    -Nuzzle
    -Thundershock
    -Cotton Guard
    -Thunder wave

–>Evolves with max. friendship<–

025-LEPOX [Lepus-Box]
-Electric
-The Electrified Pokemon
-Ability:  Static - Vital Spirit(HA)
-Dex: “This energetic pokemon is very sociable and will spend most of its time tossing around with its mates, accumulating energy on its long fur. LEPOX are known for the "boxing Matches” that seems to occur among them, used as a way to release saved up energy when it becomes too much.“
-Moveset:
    -Thunder Punch
    -Spark
    -Charge
    -Jump Kick

–>Evolves with a thunderstone<–

026-THUNDARE [Thunder-Hare-Daring]
-Electric/Fighting
-The Supercharged Pokemon
-Ability: Lighting Rod - Heroic Spirit*(HA)
-Dex: "This pokemon lives alone yet it will always remain nearby where wild VOLBUN and LEPOX live together, looking out for them when they need help. This noble behavior doesn’t stops there, if it hears a pokemon, or even a human in peril, it will jump on its aid immediately.”
-Moveset:
-Sig. Move: Lightning Kick “The user launches a kick that lands a critical hit more easily. This may also leave the target paralyzed”
   Type: Electric
   PP: 10 (max 16)
   Power: 85
   Accuracy: 90%
    -Wild Charge
    -High Jump Kick
    -Reversal

*This pokemon can’t be put to sleep and its attack cannot be lowered.

Advice from an (Amateur) Archer on Writing About Archers and Archery

Admittedly, I don’t have the widest range of experience when it’s come to archery. I’ve only been shooting for a year now, and the time that I do take to shoot have long months between them. Still, I think it’s important to outline the basics for anyone who wants to write an archer in their book and wants to save themselves the embarrassment of having the archer do something that an archer would never do in a million years.

- Archers usually unstring their bow after battle. Unstringing a bow is exactly what it sounds like: removing the string from the bow’s limbs. Usually, archers then wrap the string around the now-straightened bow so they don’t lose it as easily. Archers unstring bows because everytime the limbs are bent by the string, there is a large amount of tension in the limbs. If the string is on too long and the bow has not been shot for a while, the limbs will start to wear down and lose their power, resulting in an archer needing to buy new limbs or an entirely new bow.

- Archers always retrieve their arrows after battle. Arrows are expensive and take a long time to make, so archers want to conserve as many arrows as possible. Sometimes they have a repair kit with them at the ready, in case they find an arrow with a loose arrowhead or broken fletching that can easily be repaired. 

- Training arrows are not the same as battle arrows. Training arrows have thinner shafts and usually blunted tips so they can easily be removed from targets. Thinner shafts break more easily, and the blunted tips – whilst they can pierce skin – usually won’t get very far in the flesh. They’re also easier to make. Battle arrows are thicker, and their heads are pointed at the tip and have two pointed ends at its sides. This arrowhead is designed to easily pierce through flesh, and is incredibly difficult to pull out because its two pointed ends snag onto flesh. If you want to pull it out, you’d have to tear the flesh away with it, which can lead to an even larger wound.

- Arrows are fatal, and one can incapacitate a soldier for the rest of his life. Arrows are not easily snapped off like you see in movies. The draw weight is too strong, and they can sometimes be as strong as bullets. They will pierce through bone and tendons, which do not easily heal. Furthermore, if you want to remove an arrow, you either have to go through surgery, parting the flesh away from the arrowhead so it doesn’t snag onto anything, or you have you push – not pull – it all the way through the body.

- Bows are not designed for hitting people with in close combat. The limbs are specifically made to flex. Imagine hitting someone with a flexing piece of wood. If you hit with the middle of the bow, it still does very little because there is no weight behind the bow, and so you might as well be hitting them with a pillow. It might be annoying to the opponent, but it won’t save you. Archers need a secondary blade in close combat. They cannot strike people with their bows and expect to win.

- Draw weight affects speed, range, and impact. Draw weight is measured in pounds, at least in America, and it is measured in how much weight must be pulled when you draw back the string. A high draw weight means stiffer, thicker limbs that can shoot further and hit harder. But, this is at the cost of speed. A low draw weight means thinner, more flexible limbs that can shoot smaller distances and have low impact, but can be shot faster. Before you acrobatic fanatics immediately seize the smaller bow for its speed, understand that a bow’s advantage is in its range. No one can hit an archer from 300 meters away with their spear or sword. The archer has complete dominance over the battlefield in this way, and their arrows can kill anyone who gets too close. Not hurt. Not annoy. Kill. And a higher draw weight means a better chance of piercing through specific armor, then flesh, then bone. A lower draw weight means less range and, even worse, a lower chance that the arrow would even pierce through armor if the arrow even hits its target. 

- Bows will always be outmatched in close combat against any other weapon. Bows take too long to draw and shoot, and at such close range, the opponent has an easier chance to dodge oncoming arrows. I already explained that the bows themselves cannot be used to take down a foe. 

- Bowmen on horseback are utterly terrifying. Archers usually can’t move from their spot because range is more important than mobility, and at such a long range, you usually don’t need to move from your spot anyways. Bowmen on horses, however, are closer to the battle, and worse, they are faster than almost anyone on the battlefield. Not only are they difficult to hit, you have no way of predicting where they will shoot next because they can circle around you in confusing ways. If you want an interesting archer character, I’d advise trying these guys out.

- Never underestimate armor and padding. Arrows will never be able to pierce through plate armor because its curved surface will always deflect oncoming arrows. Arrows can pierce through maille because maille is made out of metal rings that can be bent and can fall away. However, padding usually lies underneath, which is surprisingly durable and can stop an oncoming arrow, as well as absorb some of its impact. Because of this, make certain that the archer is focusing on gabs in the armor. To know this, you MUST study armor. Gabs usually lie where the joints are because soldiers need those gabs open so they can move. Typical gaps lie in the neck, the armpit, the inner-elbow, the knees, and the palm of the hand. Impact is also an archer’s friend. A war arrow shot by a hundred pound bow, hurtling at incredible speeds and gaining momentum the further it travels, can evoke serious damage. To be hit by one of these arrows will feel more like being hit by a horse than being hit by someone’s fist. 

FIC: Infodere Ch 3

Thanks for the feedback on chapter 2. If you haven’t read the rest of this story, it and my other work can be found here

As always I really appreciate feedback so if you enjoyed it let me know and reblog!



Gradually the din died down. The smell of burning hung heavy in the air. The only sounds were shouts coming from the site security team as they swept the site and sobs coming from amongst the trees. Claire had dropped to the ground when the security team had opened fire, her hands clasped to her ears. Jamie sat next to her, his arms around her, shielding her with his body and murmuring comforting platitudes in a mixture of gaelic and english into her ear. Slowly she dropped her hands and looked up. Jamie’s face was close to hers and he kissed her softly and chastely.

“Are you ok, Mo nighean donn?” He asked holding her slightly away from him and looking at her intently as if inspecting her for damage.

“Wha, what does that mean?” Her voice sounded shaky even to her own ears. When he didn’t answer she replied to his question. “Yes, yes, I’m ok. A little shaken, but ok.”

Jamie stood and pulled her to her feet. He turned to move and she caught his hand, pulling him back towards her.

“Are you ok, Jamie?” she ran her hand along his cheek meeting his eye. Her hand shook slightly. He opened his mouth as if to reply and then stopped and pulled her towards him abruptly. Claire had no idea how long they stood like that before he finally pulled back and nodded.

“Let’s go see what’s to do” And taking her hand and leading her back towards the site.

They arrived to find things calmer than might be expected. Despite the gunfire no one had been seriously injured aside from one of the interns who had broken an ankle running in the woods. A row of eight tents had been completely destroyed and the main tent had caught fire down one side.

“The sorting area is toast” declared Dr Zapote, coming up behind them. “But most of the finds were still boxed and it doesn’t seem like too much of the equipment got damaged. Water damage might end up being a bigger concern.” She ran her hands through her hair looking understandably harassed. “Claudio, Doctor Moreno, says he’s lost some reference materials, but nothing irreplaceable, but his first assistant anthropologist is freaking out so he’s busy dealing with him.

“How are you, Luisa?” Claire turned to the small brunette. They’d worked many digs together and Claire considered her both a friend and colleague.

“Dios madre,” she exclaimed “This is ridiculous. You expect this doing war zones, not archaeology.” Luisa Zapote has recently returned to archaeology after an extensive stint working for the UN excavating mass graves in the former Yugoslavia and before that in the Congo. Luisa had never spoken about it much, but it had affected her badly.

Jamie had wandered over to the cluster of people in the centre of the clearing. Claire could hear him speaking to the head of security in spanish. He was too far away for her to make out what he was saying but she could tell by his tone that he was asking questions.  Luisa followed her gaze and looked at her archly.

“So, you have the hots for Big Red do you?” Claire looked back at Luisa, sharply, but even the dim light couldn’t hide the blush that crept up her face. Luisa laughed. “Thought as much. Just how much? Would you let him put it anywhere?” Claire’s exclamation of outrage was cut short by the return of Jamie himself. Luisa snorted loudly through her nose and Claire dug her hard in the ribs. Jamie looked at them both suspiciously before continuing undaunted.

“The security guys seem to think this was organised. Not just opportunist thinking we might have something of value to steal. The damage was done deliberately but is also targeted to certain areas. He seems to think this was meant to scare us off rather than a deliberate attempt to harm, these guys don’t mess around and had they wanted casualties they would have gotten them”

“But why on earth? We’re an archaeological excavation, even at its most contentious there is nothing here worth violence? Did they offer any ideas on motives? Claire had moved from embarrassment to distress.

“The stories” Luisa was matter of fact “People have always half believed them, and now that someone is digging here, many see that as a sign that there is truth in them. That there is something of value here.” She shrugged.

Claire was a practical person and whilst she loved the stories behind the work she did, the myths, the legends that shaped cultures and made them unique, she was often frustrated that so many people still equated archaeology as solely the preserve of treasure hunters. The irony that the imperial treasure hunters of the nineteenth century were both responsible for a wealth of discovery but also for the virtual looting of ancient sites the world over was not lost on her, and she like many archaeologists struggled with the legacy of this.

She exhaled strongly through her nose and pulled herself together.

“OK, here’s what we need to do. First of all we need to increase the security presence around here, we have a lot of people here and we were lucky no one was seriously hurt.”

She turned to Luisa and Dr Moreno, who had just appeared looking harried.

“Luisa. Claudio. You need to to do some press. We need to make it clear that what is going on here is research and rescue archaeology designed to preserve valuable cultural artefacts in an at risk area. Not a treasure hunt. Talk about the finds we have already, highlight the fact that nothing of monetary value has been recovered and that we do not expect it to be. Secrecy around what we are doing here will only add to the talk.”

Luisa answered this. “Perhaps we could invite some people from the nearest town to visit the site? There are many people here for whom this is their history, they might appreciate seeing what we’re doing here.”

Claire nodded and turned to Jamie eyebrow raised looking for agreement.

He nodded in return and spoke.

“And now I think the best thing we can do is get everyone to bed. I doubt many will sleep, but we need some normality and everyone could do with the rest. We’ll restart excavations at 10am tomorrow. I’ll go let everyone know.”

As he returned to the tents he could see Claire outside her tent, pacing agitatedly, her arms wrapped around herself against the cool night.

“Are ye alright, Sassenach?” He said quietly.He felt suddenly shy as he remembered their kisses. It seemed like days ago now, not mere hours.

She ran her hands through her hair making the curls fall madly around her face.

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” She resumed pacing. “This is madness. All this talk of treasure hunters and lost gold. Its ridiculous. Its 2017 not 1917. I’m a fucking scientist for christ sake!” She came to a halt a foot away from him. Her fists were clenched by her sides and her jaw was tight,

“Aye. I ken. This is no exactly what I was expecting from this dig either. The fact is it doesna matter what we believe, someone thinks there is *Something* here, whether its treasure or something else entirely, I don’t know, but it’s clear these people are dangerous and that they would prefer if we weren’t here.”

He could see her trying to get control of her breathing.

“Go to bed, Claire. Get some rest. You’ll feel less fashed in the morning.” He reached forward and tucked a curl behind her ear. She closed her eyes and raised her hand to his, trapping it against the side of his face.

“Stay with me, Jamie.” She looked up at him from under her lashes her strange whiskey coloured eyes almost yellow in the moonlight. Her voice was quiet but steady. His heart was beating hard in his chest as he fought to find words.

“Please.” It was almost a whisper as she closed the gap between them and took his hand. “Will you?”

He nodded mutely before pulling her close to him and holding her. Her hair smelt of smoke and gunpowder, but was soft and warm as he laid his cheek on the top of her head, his hands on her back. She brought her arms around his waist and they stayed like that for a moment, and he couldn’t tell where his heartbeat ended and hers began. He kissed the top of her head.

“Are you sure, Mo Nighean Donne? I ken we’ve had stressful day, I dinna want you to do anything you might regret tomorrow.”

She looked at him, her gaze steady and sure, no sign of the fretfulness of earlier.


“The only thing I would regret was not asking you.” She smiled then and Jamie felt a flutter in his stomach. “Come on, let’s go to bed.”

America on the Eve of World War One 

The 42nd Parallel.

The almost universal reaction of Americans to World War One was a determination to stay out of it. Let the old, corrupt European monarchies (and France) kill themselves; meanwhile America was skyrocketing toward boundless wealth and prosperity. America’s industrial growth in the late 19th century was more astounding than anywhere else, even Germany. By 1913 America had quadruple as many railways, double as much coal production, and more pig iron than any other great power, and its population, near 100 million, only lagged behind Russia’s colossal 170 million. However, most American production was for its vast home market.

Nevertheless, Americans were content to grow richer still from the war. East coast banks extended liberal lines of credit to Britain and France, and by 1917 they had collected most of their gold reserves. New York, not London, was becoming the global center of finance. Investment and employment thrived. Without German competition, steel production, shipbuilding, and chemical making soared, and farmers savored a vast increase in in demand for wheat, which rose from .70 cents a bushel before the war to $2.20 in 1917.

Banking and free trade on the sea enormously favored the Entente over the Central Powers, however, and this began serious problems between the U.S. and Germany. American foreign policy jealously guarded its neutrality but also free trade. Yet strong peace lobby protested to any move to a war footing, while German and Irish-Americans held a natural proclivity for the Central Powers. Woodrow Wilson campaigned, and won, his reelection in 1916 on the slogan “He kept us out of the war.”

But even the most ardent pacifists, and Wilson’s cabinet held few of those, could halt Germany’s incredible string of provocations. The sinking of the Lusitania in 1915 resulted in the deaths of several American passengers. Then, in 1917, the renewed German unrestricted submarine campaign deliberately targeted American vessels. Eight US ships were sunk in February and March 1917. Germany’s feeble promises of goodwill were not helped by such zany schemes as Arthur Zimmerman’s proposal to invite Mexico into a war against the United States.

The German generals, however, had decided to gamble against the Americans. The U.S. had phenomenal industrial capacity, certainly, but it was also astoundingly unprepared for war. The tiny American military only had 145,000 men, no more than Britain in 1914. Moreover, it had just embarrassed itself on a year-long wild goose chase in Mexico, eluded at every turn by the revolutionary warlord Pancho Villa.

If the submarine sinking did not stop immediately, America would certainly enter the war against Germany.  But by the time the Yanks had recruited, equipped, and shipped an army over to France, it would be mid-1918 at least. Russia was failing, the British and French were taking as good as they were giving on the Western Front, over 147 British merchant ships had been sunk over the last few weeks alone - if Germany played its cards right, it could starve Britain to submission, win the war in the East, and knock out France with its unified army, all before America’s endless manpower entered the war and made Allied victory certain. It was to be a race against time.

The Creature(s)

Only 20 minutes ago my squad and I were humming happy tunes and chatting about our spouses’ private parts as we kicked down the door of another abandoned building in this evacuated town.

It was supposed to be a simple operation. Find the source of the fungal infection, clear it, and in a month or two everybody could go back home. We joked about how they should’ve called a gardener rather than a strike team.

But we were wrong, oh so wrong.

My commander and I cowered behind an upturned table as we hid away from this thing… this creature. Private JJ was on the other side of the room, hiding behind a torn up couch.

“What is that thing?” I whispered to my commander, fear in my voice.

“Thing? as in singular? I saw two. One was giving the other a piggy back ride.” she responded, raising an eyebrow. We both had our weapons ready as we heard its footsteps (if you can even call them feet) right outside the crooked wooden door.

“No, I’m pretty sure it was one thing with two different segments.” I responded.

“I’m pretty sure it was two creatures riding one another.” JJ said from across the room. “I mean, that top crab-thing had legs.”

“No, those were its claws.” I said, a bit agitated.

“No they were definitely legs, they were hanging onto that other creature’s back/top of head.” commander interjected. She then turned to JJ. “But it was clearly more like a cat, not a crab. It had fur.”

“That was moss.” I said. She gave me a sarcastic look. The footsteps were getting closer.

“I think that’s right commander. That was definitely moss. It even had mushrooms growing out of it, near the bottom flaps.” JJ responded. He scooched over closer to us to get in on the conversation.

“Those were its eyes!” I whispered, angrier.

“No, the bottom flaps are covering the eyes.” JJ responded.

“You’re both wrong, those bottom flaps aren’t flaps at all, they’re like little wings. That’s how the top creature flies onto the back of the bottom one… I think.” commander said.

“There’re no two creatures!” I stared at her. “Those are flaps, but they’re like hard flaps, like a crustacean’s claws. I saw them extend out of its body and attack JJ.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, the creature doesn’t fly, it crawls up the upper body through the bottom creature’s snail leg.” JJ said.

“Snails don’t have legs.” commander responded. I just sighed.

“Whatever it is, let’s just shoot it when it comes through the door.” I told them both.

“Okay, both of you wait for my orders. We’ll aim at the soft tissue in the middle of the lower half.” commander.

“It’s not soft tissue, it’s like super-hard glass.” JJ said, his fist clenched. “I punched it.”

“No, you punched the layer of hardened shell around it.” the commander responded.

“I think it’s more like watermelon peel, not too hard or too soft.” I responded. This time it was the commander’s turn to sigh. “Also, which part was the middle again? Was it the green or orange one?”

“Ugh!” she cried out. “So we have a target. But we don’t know where its weakpoint is, how it moves, or even how many organisms it is?!”

“Yeah, pretty much.” both JJ and I nodded.

“Okay, you know what, screw this. This debate is over. I’m just gonna shoot it wherever.” and with that, the commander got up and made some noise.

At that exact second, the thing(s) crawled(?) into the room.

The carnage only lasted a few minutes. But in the end, we were victorious. I think.

“You’re right, soldier. It really was only one creature.” commander said as she poked at the tattered remains of the foreign organism.

“Actually.” I said. “Now that I look at them closer, I think you two were right.”

Both commander and JJ sighed in unison.

The Sad One (Black Hat x Reader)

THE SAD ONE

Black Hat x Reader

A/N: This is for @beachcitysweetheart !! I had fun with this and I’m hoping it is actually sad to someone other than myself… x)&

How did this happen? Black Hat…dead. Your mind could still hardly comprehend it. Black Hat, the person you loved, gone from this plain of existence.

And he left it alone. You should have been there…

Tears rolled down your cheeks. Everyone knew how you felt, so there was no use in hiding them. As if you could with him in front of you…like this.

Handsome as ever, Black Hat laid in a coffin in front of you. The empty feeling in your chest grew more cavernous just looking at him for what you assumed would be the last time. The room was empty, but soon, you figured, it would be full of people there to pay respects to the infamous super villain.

“Black Hat I’m…I’m so s-.” You attempted to speak, the first time you’d done so since hearing the news, but sobs broke up your words. When you tried again, your voice was higher in pitch, “I’m sorry. I should have been there. You were my mentor, I looked up to you… I’m not really sure what to do. I love you, Black Hat.”

There. You finally said it. Years of holding it in, and you finally admitted your feelings to him. Late though you may have been.

Your knees gave out and you sunk to the floor. Sobbing quietly to yourself, and praying no one would see you. You looked up to the coffin, trying to take deep breaths and calm yourself down. But then you saw him.

Black Hat rose from the coffin with vampire-like ease, and stared down at you with bored eyes.

“I knew it.” He said coldly, stepping over you and walking out the door, “You’ve gone soft.”

And so you were left, confused and alone. Angry, yet relieved. Embarrassed, but whole again.

However, the effects of that night soon manifest themselves. Black Hat avoided you constantly, you were called to help less and less. Days went by with no contact or request from your boss at all.

Two weeks later you sat alone at the breakfast table, trying to put a dent in the oatmeal you’d made for yourself. You always got up before the others, and before the sun. The mansion was quiet, and you enjoyed the company of silence.

However, a dapper young whatever-he-was soon walked into the kitchen, looking at you with unenthused eyes. You looked back to your food.

Black Hat went for his coffee without a word to you. Why couldn’t he have just fired you for unprofessionalism or something like a normal person would?! Anything was better than living like this, with your guts on the table for him to see. He had centuries of secrets, you had one. Yet he knew everything about you and you didn’t even know what was under his hat.

You sighed, about to throw what was left of your breakfast away, when suddenly, an alarm went off. Relief flooded over you, the sweet call of duty rescuing you from the awkwardness of the morning.

You were the all in one security team for Black Hat Inc, a job that came with a surprising amount of action. More people wanted to rob that maniac that you originally anticipated when you signed on. Still, a job with Black Hat was better than watching him from the sidelines. Even with the past events, you loved your job, and you were good at it too.

Black Hat followed, bored, as you sprinted down the hall to the warehouse where orders waiting to be shipped were kept. “Probably curious to see just who’s trying to rob him this time”, you thought reaching for the gun strapped under your jacket.

Sure enough, a demonic looking man was rummaging through the section of the storage house that contained Black Hat’s more deadly products. He was bright red, with large horns. Perfect target. You put three holes in his head before he even knew you were there.

Somewhere behind you, Black Hat chuckled. “Very good y/n.”

You turned back to him with a small smile. That was the first nice thing he’d said in a long time.

But your inward happiness was cut off when you caught sight of another horned man, this one purple, with a gun aimed right at Black Hat. Your legs moved to intercept the blast that made its way towards him. You’d lost him once, you weren’t letting it happen again.

Bam!!

A sudden pain hit in your chest, intensified and spread throughout your whole body in a blinding blue flash. The world moved in slow motion as you fell to the floor. Your e/c eyes made contact with Black Hat’s. He looked shocked, even…like he cared about you. But that couldn’t be right, he hardly cared when people, even those he worked with, got hurt. Still, there was something in the way he looked at you fall, something like…concern.

The ground was cold and hard, and you bounced a bit upon landing. Black Hat looked up to the attacker, and you saw a red laser shoot from his monocle, presumably getting rid of that problem. Your vision was blurred, but you could see 50 or so others like him in your field of view running down the corridor at you two. And who knows how many more were there that you couldn’t see.

Black Hat chuckled wickedly before transforming into a large grotesque demon. They never stood a chance. You laughed, but then began to cough up blood. What exactly did you jump in front of?

One glance down to your chest and you felt dizzy. The initial impact of the blast left your clothes and skin burned, and a sickening dent in your chest. Blackness and blood from your coughing marked the rest of your skin and clothes.

Black Hat returned moments later, back to his normal self. He looked down at you with a large frown on his face. You tried to laugh again and sit up, but he pressed you down again.

“Dammit.” He muttered surveying your wounds.

“N-Not so s-soft after all, boss.” You mumbled, lightheaded, “Tough enough to block the blast pretty well.”

“Shut up, you idiot.” Black Hat said, pressing a button on his wrist to call for Flug, “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“To late.” You smiled, grabbing hold of his hand, “I-I’m glad….I- I’m glad I…”

Darkness ate at the side of your vision, Black Hat looked more concerned than before, you were slipping from consciousness, and that worried him.

“Y/n?” He asked, eyes (if he even had two) widening as you slipped away.

“I…love…you….” you smiled, the darkness finally claiming your vision as you closed your eyes. Black Hat’s voice seemed far away…

“I love you too, idiot…”

Warmth filled you at the sound of his voice and you let darkness overtake you, not sure if you would wake up or not.

Yeah, that’s... not her face...

Just something that I’ve noticed Yang and Blake tend to do around each other… Watch their eyes.

As Blake walks away, Yang’s eyes don’t scroll down gradually as she walks down the hill. They follow Blake at first, then flicker straight down.

Something more interesting down there, Yang?

Subconscious human nature has humans typically watch a moving object by turning their head to follow its movement while staring directly forward, which Yang does here as Blake moves from her side to in front of her. However, when switching targets between two objects, the head remains stationary and the eyes rapidly refocus, as Yang’s eyes do when she goes from watching Blake walk away to staring at her butt.

Yang isn’t the only one guilty of this, of course.

This one doesn’t even need explaining. You can easily follow Blake’s eyes as they move from her book, to briefly (incredibly briefly, blink and you’ll miss it) at Yang’s face, then straight down to her boobs. And since both of them are on-screen at the same time in this one, you can actually trace Blake’s line of vision. She stares directly at Yang’s boobs.

Honestly, Blake. Eye contact. Not a hard concept. Those are not Yang’s eyes.

Idk if anyone’s ever pointed this out before, just thought I’d mention it.

sparkly-key  asked:

Yess Jaytim! I love the way you write them. As for prompt, maybe where Tim is the new intern at Research and development and has to deal with Jason always messing with his gadgets? Please and thank you!

Tim’s not a native Gothamite. The fact that he was born in the city meant nothing when his parents whisked him away to the other side of the country to be raised. Which is a tragedy because it means that Tim is sorely lacking in certain areas that all people raised here seem to just get without having to have it explained to them. Like the sixth sense that thins a busy street down to almost being deserted minutes before a bank gets blown up, or the way that most people know when it’s safe to drink water from the tap and when it’s been laced with Fear Toxin or Joker Venom. Basic survival things that Tim doesn’t have because he might’ve been born in Gotham, but he wasn’t raised here among it’s craziness.

Maybe if he had any of that instinct he’d be able to figure out why a dangerous vigilante, one of the more violent ones no less, is being allowed free access to Wayne Tech’s R&D floor. There was no other way of describing it. Security is pretty tight on the levels Tim works in, and while that might not deter some of the masked people that flood the city the fact that Batman –and most of his associates– like to show up randomly to patrol his sponsor’s business is. Considering the fact that most of what Tim works on goes to them he’s under no delusions that his every move isn’t monitored. So Red Hood’s appearances can’t have gone unnoticed.

“Huh,” Red Hood looks down at the pile of parts and circuits that lay heaped on the floor. Lips twisting up into a smirk Tim wishes he could wipe off. With his fist if possible, though some days Hood is nice enough that Tim wonders about using other parts of his body instead. Not tonight though. “Was it supposed to do that?”

“That took me seven hours to assemble,” Tim says as a deceptively calm peace settles over him as he stares at what was an entire days work. No, three days, because Tim had been very meticulous about cleaning each part of the intricate mechanism beforehand.

“Oops?” Hood says in a tone that’s more innocent than any man wearing body armor and blood stained boots should be able to vocalize. He looks back down at the pile, nudging it with the toe of his boot and leaving behind a suspicious smear. Tim watches in wonder as all that calm peace evaporates at the smarmy grin Hood gives him. “Well, whatever it was, it obviously wasn’t going to work anyway-”

Screwdrivers are not designed to be aeronautical, and that’s the only reason why Tim’s throw falls short of its target. Hood doesn’t even flinch or act like he was going to dodge it. “Because I wasn’t finished screwing the back on!”

The smarmy grin twists into something gleeful, “If you’re going to screw anything, it should be-”

Tim goes for the fire extinguisher like he should’ve the second he heard the crash of something breaking. Hood actually moves then, though the laughter that fills the lab echoes mockingly as Tim furiously chases after the dangerous –supposedly psychotic– vigilante that’s been making his life hell from the first day he was hired.

So here is a headcanon that popped up recently.
=============
Zuko and katara are the reincarnations of the two lovers. Zuko being Oma, and Katara being Shu.

When Shu was killed, this brought great dread to Oma. She promised herself, that in the next life, Shu would be protected at all cost.

Suddenly time moves in a flash, and now they are born into new bodies, opposites of their last reincarnation. One born of fire, and the other of water.

Through this life, they find themselves at crossroads where they are sworn enemies, each soul always pleading for the other to Remember…

Shu tends to always find himself in danger, Oma being the one to save him.

One occasion involves pirates.

And another involves falling rocks.

Oma, is even able to help Shu release the pain he had been feeling since he was a child.

But the most significant event was when they partnered to face off Oma’s Crazed sister.

Oma could remember as the Lightning moved to hit its target, to strike Shu dead In his tracks.

Not again, not this time; he would not die this time.

Shu had died last time, and in the name of love.

So now it was Oma’s time to die for love..

So she leapt and caught the Lightning, absorbing it into her flesh.

When you use the “call” move, it draws off enemy attacks so that they’ll hit you instead of other party members. But it won’t work if the enemy isn’t targeting anyone in particular. In that case, they won’t even pay attention to your call.

Poor guy. Listen to his beautiful crow noises! Kah!

anonymous asked:

What about Prompto trying really hard to impress his crush by winning them a stuffed chocobo from one of those carnival games where you have to shoot the moving targets? (Who says Noct is the only one who gets to enjoy the Moogle Chocobo Carnival?!) His crush loves the plush, but tells him that he's still their favorite chocobo. (Maybe they even kiss his cheek?)

Eeep! I’ve been super excited to do this one since it’s a oneshot request~ <3 I like oneshot requests since it means I actually get to write a little mini-story heehee

And plus, Sunshine Chocobo is adorbs <3

No special warnings or spoilers (unless you consider the Carnival a spoiler?)

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See the Red

Link to AO3 
square filled: caning
ship: deanxcain (background wincest)
rating: explicit
word count: 2,179
tags: MoC!dean, sub!dean, dom!cain, caning, restraints, s9 canon divergent, angst with a side of porn

summary: Putting himself at the mercy of a Knight of Hell was probably not the best idea Dean ever had, but it was better than the alternative.

written/created for @spnkinkbingo. beta by the beautiful @silver9mm

“Why are you here, Dean?”

Cain’s voice was calm and deep behind that crystal tumbler. Blue eyes watched him over the rim, patient as a stone for a response.

Dean resisted the urge to scratch at the Mark on his arm. The burn under his skin was a constant companion now. Cain took another sip from the glass without a word, settled deep in the red leather wing chair.

“I need your help. You lived with it,” Dean said, voice rough. “Show me how to control it.”

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anonymous asked:

DAI Companions react to finding out the Inquisitor has astraphobia at the Storm Coast? P.S Love you guys, love this blog, *throws viral cookies at you all*!

Cassandra: She noticed something was off the night before, when the Herald was restless and gave the sky many a wary glance as they made camp. Pet of her just assumed they were looking at the Breach and so she’d not paid it much thought. But the next day they’d encountered an early morning storm blowing in from the ocean, and the Seeker is suddenly confronted with a Herald of Andrade who is cringing against the saddle with every flash of lightning and very clearly wishing they are somewhere else.

She’s a little frustrated- it’s just a storm after all- but encourages them to keep moving. “Better in camp, which we will arrive at faster if we don’t stop.”

Solas: He’s seen dreamers and memories in the fade of people who have suffered this condition, and he is patient with them if they don’t want to leave camp. Catching them is a discussion about the Fade or of the nature of some magic that he knows they find interesting, he keeps them sufficiently distracted that the feared slowly ebbs away.

When a particularly loud clap of thunder shakes them out of their calm the Rift mages settles a hand on their shoulder until they are steadier. “It’s no more dangerous now than when you have it no notice,” he says soothingly.

Varric: More than one Kirkwall evening had been spent riding out a nasty storm in the Hanged Man, and without a roof over his head the rouge can’t say he’s too fond of the weather either. The heralds quite a bit more nervous though, and so he settles his mount next to them and regales them with a tale of the time Hawke, Fenris, Anders and himself were caught in a cave on the Wounded Coast due to the rain.

“Trust me Herald, the fireworks inside were worse than the ones in the sky!” He says, and grins when the Gerald laughs through a grumble of thunder.

Sera: She’s a little confused as to why he Heralds frightened, but once she watches them flinch through a particularly bright flash it clicks. She laughs for a moment, but at their hurt glance immediately apologizes and explains.

“Not you, just something an old drunk in Denerim used to say. ‘Sides, no use in being scared. It’s only the Maker and AndraSte knocking boots.”

The herald immediately bursts into laughter at both the ridiculousness of the explanation and Cassandra’s… well, thunderous expression, and Sera gleefully jumps into more entertainingly sacrilegious stories to keep the jovial mood going.

Vivienne: More than once the Grand Enchanter had encountered an apprentice or two huddled in a library during s storm, unused to the way thunder boomed and echoed in the large tower. Many of them were children from modest -if not impoverished- homes, and Madame de Fer was many things but cruel to children was never one. And the same solution that worked for the apprentices she finds works for the Herald.

“There’s nothing to fear, darling.” The mages tells them, voice calm and gentle. “Lightning- like everything the Maker crafted- has ruled it must follow. The trees on the cliff are closer to the sky and are therefor much more likely targets than us.”

Intrigued despite themselves the Herald listens, and a pleasant time is spent discussing other things until the Herald calms.

Blackwall: Storms have never really bothered the warrior- in fact he finds them relaxing- and comfort is not by many means his strong suit. Even if he thought the Herald would welcome it he’s no idea of what to say. But he does notice that the Heralds horse is as unsettled by the storm as its rider, and so he moves his own mount closer to take the reins in a steady hand.

“One less thing for you to worry about.” He says, embarrassed by the Heralds gratitude. “Storm’ll pass.”

Iron Bull: It doesn’t take long for the Ben-Hassraths keen eye to note the Heralds discomfort when the sit down to talk business. He remembers a lot or two with the same problem, and the simple saying his Tammassran has to soothe them.

“Lightning has a purpose, boss, but it mostly stays in the clouds. “Besides,” he adds, tapping his horns, “you’ve got a body guard with grown in lightning rods. I got your back.”

Dorian: Spending a good deal of time in the massive port of Minrathous Dorian is not unaccustomed to the massive storms the sea can blow up. That the Herald is terrified is surprising, but that’s easily put aside in the face of the Heralds challenge. He himself has always found gossip to be a grand distraction, and while he doesn’t know enough people in Haven to fill any real time the entire party has some level of Tevinter curiosity. And the fact that in many cases Tevinter architecture is truly magical is distraction enough for the Herald.

“See? What hold has mere lightning next to the very description of the Ambassadorial?”

Cole: “Light flashes, thunder shakes the ground, no idea where it will strike next. What if it finds me?”

The Heralds fear is very loud, and Cole had no trouble hearing it. “The lightning is not looking for you. It dances in the clouds, following the leader up and down to make a whole!”

It’s not as helpful as he’d like, but the Herald is distracted enough by the sudden mind reading that the storm is forgotten.

Thanks for the cookies! – Ferel-done

143.

#9 for Nonny


“Don’t ask me that.” 

“You’ve asked me for far more personal things.” 

“I’ve paid you for far more personal things.” 

The kid on the bed’s mouth was still a little swollen, pink, and he couldn’t seem to stop licking his lips. The Soldier would look away as soon as he decided to - since his will was like iron when his will was his own - but he hadn’t chosen to yet. He was conscious of time passing, time running out, in a way that other people were not. 

The kid stretched, fluid movement, his body lean but well muscled with the promise of a future solidity that made the Soldier almost regret this current narrow form; if only he would be back in a few years he was convinced he would see something spectacular. But the Soldier didn’t have a future. 

“How long d’you have?” the kid asked. His blond hair was flopping over his eyes now, and the Soldier felt his stomach twist; not disgust, because the boy insisted he was legal and the Soldier felt disgust in the same way a dying man feels pain - overwhelmingly, and all-consumingly, and impossible to separate from existence. 

The Soldier calculated. The woman’s delayed coach would arrive in three hours but he needed to be established before its arrival, situated in an easily abandoned nest. 

“Not enough,” he said, and wondered at the value judgement. 

“Fine, fuck you then,” the kid told him cheerfully. He rolled off the bed and shoved his feet into unlaced boots, grabbed his shirt off the floor and almost slammed his head into a counter, the narrow confines of the caravan unfriendly to post-coital wavering. “Come see this.”

He was unsure entirely why but the Soldier still followed, through tangled guide ropes and carnival detritus, through split-canvas doorways and into a ring surrounded with seats that made him feel like nothing he could remember, visible and memorable and real

The kid scooped something off a cart, turned, fired an arrow in one smoothly perfect movement, hitting a target that started a chain reaction. Balls rolled, cups filled and dropped, sandbags slowly rose leaking sand, and at each stage a more challenging shot to ensure the reaction came to its perfect completion. The Soldier watched, satisfied at seeing a craftsman at work. 

“I didn’t need the money,” the kid said, thoughtful, taking his last shot without looking. “Got a sweet enough deal here.”

“Okay,” the Soldier said. 

“And,” the kid said, as the Soldier moved on silent feet, as he fired arrow after arrow into a bristling bullseye, “even though you wouldn’t give me yours, mine’s Clint. Look me up.” 

“No,” the Soldier said, and felt a moment’s strangely shaped and wavering regret that Clint wouldn’t know he was being kind; a first. 

A POSSIBLE SCALAR WAR SCENARIO

The following seems like science fiction, but scalar beam weapons were invented in 1904 by Nicola Tesla, an American immigrant from Yugoslavia. (1856 or 57 -1943) Since he died in 1943, many nations have secretly developed his beam weapons which now further refined are so powerful that just by satellite one can: make a nuclear like destruction; earthquake; hurricane; tidal wave; cause instant freezing - killing every living thing instantly over many miles; cause intense heat like a burning fireball over a wide area; induce hypnotic mind control over a whole population; or even read anyone on the planet’s mind by remote; affect anybody’s REM dream sleep by sending in subliminal pictures to the visual cortex; cause hallucinagon drug like effects or the symptoms of chemical or biological poisoning; make a disease epidemic by imprinting the disease ‘signature’ right into the cellular structure; paralyze and or/kill everyone instantaneously in a 50 mile radius and lastly remove something right out of its place in time and space faster than the speed of light, without any detectable warning by crossing 2 or more beams with each other and any target can be aimed at even right through to the opposite side of the earth. If either of the major scalar weapon armed countries e.g. U.S. or Russia were to fire a nuclear missile to attack each other this may possibly not even reach the target, because the missile could be destroyed with scalar technology before it even left its place or origin. The knowledge via radio waves that it was about to be fired could be eavesdropped and the target could be destroyed in the bunker, fired at from space by satellite.

Alternatively invisible moving barriers and globes made of plasma (produced by crossed scalar beams) could destroy any nuclear missile easily while it moves towards the target and failing all these, it could be destroyed by entering the target’s territory by passing through a Tesla shield which would explode anything entering its airspace. To begin with, defense using scalar technology could intercept it before it even landed. Secret eavesdropping of radio communications tapping into ordinary military radio contact using undetectable 'scalar wave carriers’ hacking in may have heard military personnel say it was about to be fired. The missile may be destroyed from above the site, using satellites equipped with scalar or particle beam weapons or a cloaked UFO (American or Russian made anti-gravity disk originally made by back engineering crashed alien saucers) or aircraft using scalar or particle beams which could invisibly (and undetectably with standard equipment) cause the target to malfunction and drop down. By using a scalar wave (radar like) 'interference grid’, which covers both country’s entire military activities in the air, underground or undersea, scalar transmitters send waves over large areas at 90 deg angles to each other. These waves follow the earth-ionospheric wave guide and curve around the planet. It is called an 'interference grid’ because all solid moving objects show up as a spot of light moving through marked grid squares on an operator’s video screen. Scalar waves are a higher form of radar waves, but they go one step further by passing through anything solid too and are able to detect and be able to be made into a focused beam to target anything through the earth or sea as well.

A scalar beam can be sent from a transmitter to the target, coupled with another sent from another transmitter and as they cross an explosion can be made. This interference grid method could enable scalar beams to explode the missile before launch, as well as en route with knowing the right coordinates. If the target does manage to launch, what are known as Tesla globes or Tesla hemispheric shields can be sent to envelop a missile or aircraft. These are made of luminous plasma which emanates physically from crossed scalar beams and can be created any size, even over 100 miles across. Initially detected and tracked as it moves on the scalar interference grid, a continuous EMP (electromagnetic pulse) Tesla plasma globe could kill the electronics of the target. More intensely hot Tesla 'fireball’ globes could vaporize the missile. Tesla globes could also activate a missile’s nuclear warhead en route by creating a violent low order nuclear explosion. Various parts of the flying debris can be subjected to smaller more intense Tesla globes where the energy density to destroy is more powerful than the larger globe first encountered. This can be done in pulse mode with any remaining debris given maximum continuous heating to vaporize metals and materials. If anything still rains down on Russia or America, either could have already made a Tesla shield over the targeted area to block it from entering the airspace.

War of Love (Lafayette x Reader) Part 5

Words: 1780

Tags: @pearltheartist @fandomsinabookshelf @unprofessional-inhumanbeing

Warnings: Disapproval towards same-sex relationships, gore, violence

A/N: Please keep in mind that same sex couples weren’t widely accepted back then; their talk does not express how I feel about sexuality.

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter


*WARNING: GRAPHIC IMAGERY AHEAD*

You saw Laurens take a shot, the man a few feet away from him. The blood splattered on his face, but he seemed unmoved at the man’s flesh exploding right in front of him. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice a man running at you. He was too close for you to shoot, so you took out a knife, and threw it towards his face. The blade hit its target, sinking into the man’s eye socket. You saw it split in half, the sound of bone crunching, the blood shooting everywhere. It seemed like his body was still moving forward, and after a few seconds, his body fell to the ground. You were frozen, staring at the man in front of you. His blood was on your face, staining your skin. But you didn’t notice, stuck in your thoughts.

*GRAPHIC IMAGERY END*

He was young, maybe even younger than you. You knew his family would mourn over the death of their son, and curse the person who killed him. You felt water roll down your face, and you wiped it away, staring at your hand. It was blood. And it was not yours. Your hands started shaking uncontrollably, and you felt someone grab you by your arms, jolting you back and forth. Your gaze moved slowly up to the man in front of you.

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