metal barrels

Cat and Mouse Pt 2

Part 3 will be coming out tonight or tomorrow night. Thanks so much for the notes it means so much to me 🖤
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On most nights, you’ve made it a habit to stand out on the balcony and look out at the city lights admiring what’s now yours and his, but things change. Now you’re sitting on the cold concrete of some random apartments roof looking at the same city lights.
* Flash back*
“Just get it over with already” you sighed walking towards the gun of the infamous Joker and one of his signature heists at the Royal Alexzander Bank. Normally the employees were quiet and obeyed for fear of their family and their life, but you on the other hand were never one to stand down. His cold blue eyes pierced down at you as you’re forehead touched the metal barrel of his gun rolling your eyes. Noticing every feature on your body, the way your eyes stared into his soul, your chest raising with each short breath, the way you knew you could possibly died but you still took the risk to protect others. Maybe it was a strike of courage or a death wish, but even a year later you still didn’t know and maybe it was curiosity or angry but he made the decision to take you with him and since that day neither of you had looked back. Until now, he would never admit it but every since that days he’s become obsessed with you and always will be.
* End Flash Back*
“Four guns with ammo, 7 Knives, Two grenades plus $200.00. dollars in cash”. Muttering to yourself softly over your checklist of things you have, knowing fully well you’ll eventually have to go back for more supplies. After setting yourself up in one of the empty apartments J used to use when ever you two fought, you knew it was time to start you revenge. Cool wind hit your legs as your rode off to your first destination, after all you can never start a revenge plan without a little help. Who better than your boyfriends right hand man. Mr Jonny Frost. Pulling up to La Cheatuè you got out of the car, now dressed in a slimming grey dress hiding a gun and army knife under it, you walked in to find a Frowning Mr.Frost sitting across from a familiar green haired man. His eyes darting towards you, almost hinting at you to leave while you could. You could tell in the way he was sitting that he didn’t plan for things to turn out this way. Debating your next move quickly, you realized it might not have been quick enough because now both of the two men had noticed you. With a devious gleam in those eyes you heard him growl across the almost empty restaurant. “ Kitten, how many times have I told you not to go running around by yourself”.

4

Flobert pistol

Manufactured in France c.1845-1890′s - no markings.
5mm rimfire single-shot, ebony stock , engraved metal fittings, octogonal heavy barrel.

People back then liked shooting things so much they made sure to have a gun on hand that allowed them to shoot stuff in the comfort of their home.

Where Hive Gods Go When They Die

“The matrix destroyed, the ritual disrupted … where do you think Hive gods go when they die?” - Ghost

500 word Destiny drabble.

Read it on Ao3.

More Destiny fics here.


“Thank you, it served us well.” The Guardian said. “I made sure to get the killing blow, for you.”

Eris heard but did not hear. Too fixated on the weapon. There was something here, something that should not be.

“Why?” Her whisper is a breath through the Dreadnaught halls, hundreds of thousands of miles away by ship but hardly a step through the planes.

The Guardian responds, Eris is not listening to them. She is waiting for another.

Fingers drag along the barrel, ugly metal covered in stitched hide. The talisman hanging from the seams brushes her wrist, cold though layers and layers of armor. She wonders as she waits, is the Guardian unnerved by this weapon? It’s malicious nature, it’s ruined core. A dark void wrapped in the folds of their pure Light… It was built for one reason alone. Vengeance.

But she senses a second purpose.

Her hand approaches the knot of causality, wreathed by the rings of the gimble. They spin quicker, agitated, as if to ward off her touch. The reply she has been waiting for seeps through the cracks of the universe at last.

Mortality.

Her lungs retract, a hiss rises in her throat. She folds to the ground, cradles the gun on her knees and ankles, and commits both hands and all attention to the presence.

What infects my touch? She demands, fingers darting from rune to rune as the rings spin and spin. Something inside must come out. Her design, her craft, her ritual. There must be no imperfections to such a delicate balance of darkness kept so barely checked.

One content to observe. The response melts over her shoulders, but she feels a tug from the containment. A flash of flickering potential, white hot, then instantly vacuum cold. The chill sets into the crevice of her collarbone, where the Light once was. Are you certain you wish to release me here? Among your Warriors of Light?

Her fingers stop, pinch. She takes a shaky breath, feels the Traveler’s warmth at her back.

It had all been too simple, after all. Laid out in a line of causality. The discoveries each led to the next, the plan had unfurled unbidden before her. Steal the essence, pass though the veil. Kill once, corporeal, kill twice, ascendant. She had not woven this fate alone. Oryx’s demise was not a proof of the Sword Logic, but a design. All her certainty was based on a bias fueled by rage. She had not paused to think…

Why? She asked again, a whimper.

Reality is finite. To continue my path would be inevitable destruction.

What do you want from us?

You have given it to me already.

The eyes in her skull pulsed, burned. What had they done? What has she not forseen, what had they released?

Had Toland known?

You have given me… will. Through death I am at last free.

Eris rose, shaky and disturbed. “Oryx is not dead. Do not be complacent.” She shoved the weapon into confused hands and lurched from her corner beneath the stairs, putting physical distance between herself and the shattered source of her certainty.

The Taken King’s voice followed her, and from within his house of malice, he extended an aura of none.

Thank you.

You Should Have Killed Me When You Had The Chance.

It was only 3pm in the afternoon, and you already sexually assaulted me five times for reasons I’ve already forgotten. My jaw was on fire from you kicking me in the face. I knew my jaw was broken but I was too busy choking on blood to open my mouth. What did I tell you about texting your friends you sneered, your hands wrapped tightly around my neck cutting off my vocal cords. You slammed my head against the wall and spat in my face. I remember my warm tears staining my shirt. I looked like shit and you were loving every minute of it.

It was those moments that would force me to scream in my sleep. Screaming for help when I knew no one would come to save me. 

I can still feel the cold metal of your gun barrel pressed against the back of my head as you forced yourself inside me. Back and forth. Back and forth, thrusting harder with each breath. This is how much I love you, don’t you see? I can’t live without you. I love you K. My glass eyes were lifeless as you would grunt, finishing inside me because safe sex wasn’t your thing. How you flushed all my birth control pills down the toilet in the motel room because you wanted to be with me forever, even if it meant knocking me up. 

I love you K was the last sentence you whispered before you tried to kill me the  first time.

Fool me once shame on you. Fool me twice shame on me. 

3

Scmidt-Rubin M1896-1911 rifle

Designed in Switzerland by Rudolf Schmidt using cartridges designed by Eduard Rubin c.1889-1911 - serial number 444732.
7,5x5mm GP11 six-round removable box magazine, straight-pull bolt action, recessed muzzle crown at the tip of a metal-sleeved barrel to improve the consistency of the accuracy of the gun.

The M96/11 was a smokeless, spitzer cartridge improvement on the M96, which itself was an upgrade of the earlier M1889. This line of rifle was made to unthinkable standards compared to European superpowers’ military rifles, and as such were famed for their accuracy. They are easily recognizable along with their K31 successor by their beer keg bolt handle and butt-ring.

They stick the brewskis in fridge rotom and it just drinks them all
Imagine a five foot tall metal box barrelling drunk down the corridor

It’s still. Silent. Quieter than it’s been in years. Birds peck at the remains, carrion crows cawing. Humanity’s loss is their gain, and how can Levi begrudge them that? 

He drags Erwin - what’s left of him, at least - to the basement door. Thump, thump, thump, down the stairs, crimson feeling left all behind. Slots the key into the lock, scarlet smears against the wood. 

Nothing. 

He laughs, once, in disbelief, twice, louder, with regret. Fumbles for the smooth barrel of metal sticky against his leg. 

The birds jump from the feast, startled surprise, at the loud bang, then settle, slowly, feathers adrift. 

Still. Silent. Quieter than it’s been in years. 

x


               You writhed against your bindings, glaring at the man who was arming himself. You had been man-handled by a bunch of men, all over the fact you had wandered into the wrong camp looking for food. Times were rough these days and you can’t even remember the last time you had a decent meal. You stopped fighting the rope bindings, and bowed your head in defeat. With your hands tied tightly behind the chair, and your ankles bound to the legs, you were helpless.

               The cold metal of the barrel of a gun pressed against your temple. Your heartrate sped up, the pulse on your pale neck visible. It took everything in your being to keep calm in your hostage situation.

               “Who are you?” The man demanded, his steely gaze fixated on the side of your face.

               You remained quiet.

               “Fine. I’ll start by introducing myself,” He nudged your temple with the gun, “I’m Dean Winchester, and who are you?”

               You took a deep, shaky breath, and lifted your head. Dean moved the gun with you, keeping his finger steady on the trigger. You fixed your gaze onto the cracked, cement wall in front of you.

               “Y/N,” You said quietly.

               Dean slightly tilted his head. “What was that?”

               “Y/N.”

               You turned your head to look your captor in the eye, staring down the barrel of the gun. His face was taut with determination, but when you met his gaze, that’s when he understood. Something in Dean’s gaze softened, and he slowly lowered the gun from your forehead.

               “How’d you get in here, Y/N?” He looked you over, realizing how pointless the bindings were.

               “I followed your trucks, and waited until nighttime.” The rope around your wrist was cutting off circulation in your hands, you already were beginning to feel the tingling. “Look, I realize my mistake and I promise I won’t come back, just please let me go.”

               Dean moved behind you and out of view, and that’s when he grabbed your hands. You tensed and tried to peer over your shoulder, but froze when the rope fell from your wrists. He stood up and flung the piece of rope off to the side, coming back into view. You watched him in silence as he bent in front of you and untied the ropes around your ankles.

               Once you were free, he got to his feet and grabbed your hand gently. Dean helped you stand up.

               “I let you go.”

               You stared at him for another moment before slowly stepping towards the door. He showed no signs of pursuing you, and you asked, “Why are you letting me go?”

               “Leave, before I change my mind.”

               You rested your hand on the handle, but stopped to glance back at Dean. He had his hand resting on the back of the chair you were in, his eyes closed, and his head bowed. “Thank you, Dean.”

               You never knew why Dean Winchester let you go or why he didn’t shoot you, but you never saw him again after that.


A/N: Since I’ve been on my unintended “hiatus” , I decided to give you a lil’ treat. I honestly don’t know when the next part of The Awakening will be out, so just hang in there! As for the next, requested, ‘Choose Your Own Path’ imagine/one shot I’m not making any promises it’ll be out soon. But I will be posting little “surprises” here and there to make up for my hiatus. Sorry this wasn’t my best. I’m tired and have writer’s block.

Read The Awakening Here —  Part 1  <>   Part 2  —