#throat punch a nazi

[bellamer]

Hobie actually being Mayday's go-to babysitter. Peter might find his behavior questionable but he's one of the only ones who knows how to hold a baby and Mayday loves him.

Imagine Hobie trying to a slightly older toddler Mayday her ABC's with homemade flashcards

"A is for..."

"Anarchy !"

"Or ?"

"ACAB !"

"Which is a ?"

"Acronym !"

"Which means ?'

"All cops are bastards !"

"Good job little anarchist !"

Which might get his babysitter privileges restricted depending on what he teaches her but in his words "It's never too early to learn that all cops are bastards, capitalism is a black hole out to swallow us all and its always justifiable to punch a nazi in the throat."

#spider man across the spider verse #spider man atsv #spiderman atsv #atsv #hobie brown #mayday parker

[ecc-poetry]

BALANCE THE PARTY

social justice barbarian Never met a nazi they wouldn't punch. Never met a cop they wouldn't call a nazi. Treats the soft animal of their body like a lance to the heart of a tyrant. Their anger is a gift from God– it transubstantiates.

social justice necromancer Reads her history. Says their names. Goes through cemeteries leaving flowers, grave-borrowing tactics. Coaxes the spirits from their beds to let them dance; we realize we have always been beautiful.

social justice rogue Unplucks the landlord's tapestries at night. She covers her face, she code-names, wipes the prints from her hand after shaking. She's a lot. A blade in the dark that daylight can't soften. She hums a mantra called mission; it's all the warning you'll get.

social justice bard Makes his sincerity a lute and plucks fingers raw upon it. Has brass knuckles on the inside of his throat. Knows what to say to soothe the scared guy sleeping rough, to make the officer laugh instead of shove.

social justice druid Gives you grace and space to grow. Makes a weird balm to calm your hurts. Turns into a panther once a day dispensing courage; turns into a dove once a day dispensing peace. Serves the world from the half-empty vessel in their heart.

social justice warlock Sold her soul to do DEI for a Fortune 500 company. Walks each day through thicketed razors, carving footholds in a hill of glass. The job takes its pint of blood so slowly, it is possible to believe she doesn't feel it.

social justice paladin Always knows the words. Is afraid of what will happen if they forget them. It's not an excuse, but it is sandpaper, truths nailed into the shoebeds. They're implacable from the outside. They can't believe I would love them without their fury.

social justice cleric The people tell her, "Your mouth ruined our movement. You suffer in silence all the time–what's one more?" She believes in a love whose demands cut friends and enemies alike. She cleanses, sad surgeon. She is martyred twice. From the ground where her tears fall, a perfect flower grows.

social justice warforged Has a fuckin' truck!!! He rolls up to mutual aid and the people rejoice at his truck. He is become a mover of things, a Christ-bearer: mattresses and gasoline, the girl who needs a ride across the state. She says bless you, bless your truck, and his heart swells. He never knew he could be so needed.

social justice giant crab Strength +1. Intelligence -5. She is a crab. She has 13 hit points and claws for hands– but she can breathe water and air. She knows what the surface looks like from underneath. She carries wisdom in her crab body that the arc of the universe will always bend to rediscover. Don't you get it? That we all have gifts to give?

-elisa chavez

#poetry #d&d #i could not wait to share this one with all you nerds #activism #tag yourself im social justice necromancer #you are all so necessary #even when it doesn't feel like it #and you can't see it #a friend told me years ago “not every part of a movement has to be embodied by every person in it” and it was really good advice #social justice giant crab

[miguel-ohara-wifey]

Can I get a nsfw hobie, and or Miguel reacting to reader licking their balls while they deep throat them 🤭🥴 I feel embarrassed requesting this but I need to know how they'll react 😩😤

First of all, your sluttiness is inspiring, although you’re judged be not ashamed or embarrassed.

Second of all, aight

Your turn(Drabble)

Miguel O’Hara x Gender neutral!reader

Rating: 18+

Warnings: porn with no plot, degrading, switch Miguel, dominant reader

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You told yourself you’d finally ask Miguel if you could be on top tonight. Such conviction ended with your hands on the edges of the couch. Needs drilling into the wooden floors as he keeps your head so close his happy trail brushes against your nose. As your throat inhaled his cock, crushed against the base of his length. You could only breath within every two thrusts of his hips against your face.

“That’s right, you’re mine. I get to do whatever I want to you.” He moaned out in between his gritting teeth.

As good as the sex usually is, with this gorgeously muscular man pulling amazing orgasms from you one after another. You started growling in impatience, this was fun. But you wanted more. You wanted to have your turn on top. Or at least establish dominance in some way in your bed room life.

However his way with words and your body compelled this result instead. He’s making a mop of your hair with his right hand. Making sure your lips don’t retract even half an inch from the base of his dick. Locking your head in between his hips until he relieves himself down the inside of your neck.

“Since-Fuck, since when did I say you could slow down you dirty slut…?” He could barely get the words out as your slightly forced onslaught continued.

You know Miguel is still touch starved in highly specific places on his skin. You made an educated guess, fidgeting your finger index finger against each side of his balls. Broke his grip on your scalp almost immediately. A chilly sigh escaped his lips as he asked.

“Wh-what was that?” He pleaded to know

You could finally put space between your forehead and his stomach as you slipped your mouth off of him. His strength was shot dead by the simple motion of your hands at his balls during sex. You wiped the drool covering your lips, as a grin was mischievously unmasking your true motives.

“Playing with your balls, what? Want me to stop?” He cried out louder than you’ve ever heard. With tiny marbles of sweat making there way down his face. “NO! Please don’t! Keep doing that, I need you to touch me there…”

You propped your knees now on his thighs, pushing your arm down between your naked bodies. Whispering,

“Then earn it papi”

_______________________________________________

Let’s try this(Drabble)

Hobie brown x gender neutral!reader

Rating: 18+

Warning: Switch Hobie, porn with no plot, angry sex, Nazi mention, dominant reader

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Hobie got screwed out of a perfectly good gig, all because nazis protested your concert because Hobie punched there leader in the face. Since when Nazi’s had fucking rights is beyond either of you. The only way you two thought to make an outlet for your mutual anger. Was to fuck.

Hobie had just finished inside of you doggy style, after hours of breaking almost five springs on his bed from his thrusts. Yet his blood still pumped a hateful red. So did you, panting beside one another with sweat and grimaces only clothing your bodies. Eyes glued to the broken ceiling fan hanging above you, you had an idea.

“Hey, babe?” He sighed after rubbing his eyes “Oi?”, you danced your fingertip on his left pec as you asked. “How about I try a handy? But…really hard.” You two were now eye to eye. He squinted curiously nodding, “By all means love…I’m not against tryin new things…” he encouraged lustfully, laying still so you could get on your knees.

The bed volatile squeaking in response to you angling your thighs against him. Using his lap as a seat, his cock was now softened after a couple hours of orgasms. By all means if you wanted to finish the evening doing all the work he won’t stop you.

Once aligning your grip around his length, you start bumping hard. As if determined to take the skin off his dick. He growled in slight pain, but by all means would let you finish. In the midsts of your fingers tearing at his cock. You grabbed hold of his balls with the other hand. Now the moan he made would part the clouds if they were above you. You halted in shock, everything in his insides froze with pleasure. But now it started to cut with the tension dissipating.

“Don’t, dont stop love god I need you! I need you to keep going. Even if you break me just keep going!”

You took his command to heart, positioning one of your hands on the mattress beside where your bodies collide. Two fingers to massage his balls and the rest of your hands including palms. Would start burning his dick by pure force of your grip up and down his skin.

“Only cause you’ve been so good…” you confessed quietly

#spiderverse #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara #hobie brown #Hobie Brown #spiderpunk #Spider-Man 2099 #18+ #requested writing #Drabble #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara x reader #hobie brown x reader #spiderverse Drabble

[hero-israel]

So probably not as serious as a lot of other stuff people have been talking about on your Tumblr, but I’m noticing a couple of people on the right use the arguing back and forth about the current I/P crisis to make unrelated digs at various unrelated bugaboos right wingers have about leftist culture. I’ve seen several people pontificate about how the campus pro-Hamas demonstrations are a result of “wokeness”, people’s second attack against JVP’s Capitol protest (their first of course being that several JVP members are Reconstructionist rabbis aka “not real Jews”) being “I bet all of these people have pronouns”/assuming they support various left wing causes that a plurality of American Jews who disagree with JVP about I/P probably support, I swear I saw someone using the massacre on Oct. 7th to make a TERF argument? And this is besides the Islamophobia/anti-Arabism that one might suspect from that crowd. It’s gross

It is very fair, and long overdue, to point out that we are past the point of an ironic "So much for the tolerant Left!" joke and are well into the "So much for the antifascist, Nazi-punching Left!" reality.

But yes - that can easily get gross if people start to position identity- and rights-based issues more associated with the Left as being automatically stupid and disqualifying.

Despite what the memes and infographics say, antisemitism is not a set of politics only The Other Team can have. It is a human failing and cruelty like domestic violence or child abuse, that anyone can display. That includes LGBT people and it also includes TERFs and transphobes / homophobes (Hamas and the Ayatollahs high on that list!), white supremacists and BLM chapters. Because this is Tumblr, a major segment of my feed consists of LGBT Jews defending themselves from LGBT antisemites.

Something I struggle with, a lot, is that for the most part, people are not morally consistent and don't even attempt to live as though moral consistency were important. Going "Gotcha!" on a hypocrite makes for a good text post (and it's probably 40% of all my posts here) but it isn't going to stop anyone in real life. The heart is not a court of law, people hate whoever they want and make up the reason later. It just... feels especially snotty and poisonous when the self-professed Inclusion And Tolerance people turn out to be just as 6MWE as the 8kun types who spread racist memes and revenge porn. Both sides hate us, but one side pretends not to.

Don't cut my throat then tell me it's raining.

#leftist antisemitism #terfs #transphobia #israel #palestine #jumblr

[kchasm]

Ryu Number: Risto Mejide

Risto Mejide is a Spanish music producer, known also for his appearance as a judge on a number of reality talent shows. He's known for his harsh and caustic criticism, making him something like a Spanish Simon Cowell—

Okay, listen. I'm going to cop to this: I didn't know who Risto Mejide was a week ago and I still mostly have no idea. Everything in that last paragraph I got off a couple of Wikipedia pages. No, the reason you're seeing this Ryu Number post is because I played History Warriors, and by gum, I am going to wring this utterly minuscule drop of value out of that arid desert stone. I can't have suffered for nothing, right?

History Warriors is not a good game.

History Warriors is a fighting game in the sense that I Spy is a competitive activity—yes, that's true, but if it's the highlight of your local tourney it's a sign that something has gone terribly wrong.

The plot of the game is as follows: After the fall of Nazi Germany, Hitler was secretly tucked away into some sort of suspended storage. Now he's awake, and he's gotten access to time travel technology, which he's used to pull a number of famous historical characters (William Shakespeare, Cleopatra, Abraham Lincoln, Joan of Arc, Che Guevara, Shaka, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, and Napoleon) to the present day with the end goal of irreversibly mucking up the timeline. Not exactly high lit, but as far as an excuse to get a bunch of disparate characters at each other's throats, it's at least more creative than another martial arts tournament.

Unfortunately, History Warriors—and I've said this already but it bears repeating—is not a good game. It's a bunch of free-to-low-cost assets compressed into a weeping mass by a developer, "Clipstories, Inc.," which is almost certainly just a handful of folks in Spain who know each other. Characters all have the same standard attacks—a high punch, a low punch, a high kick, and a low kick. There are special projectile moves but attempting to view the manual from the Steam page redirects to the game's official site (as much as anything about this game can be called "official"), which... doesn't exist anymore.

The computer-controlled characters do know how to use the projectiles, of course. The projectiles are, incidentally, completely unavoidable, too large to jump and too low to duck. Can you block? You can block. The input for blocking is also the input for backing up, which is a fighting game norm, except that in History Warriors when your character is moving backward they aren't automatically blocking, as far as I can tell, so effectively what happens when you press back is that your characters blocks for a second and then starts walking backward defenselessly.

(I freely admit I might be slightly wrong there, but like hell I'm going to go back and analyze the mechanics.)

When two characters' attacks meet—two characters hit each other at the same time, in other words—rather than the attacks canceling each other out, they both go through. This means that the victor of the round is essentially decided by which character has the longest limbs (balance is a thing that happens to other fighting games). A further hampering comes in the form of hitboxes that have been placed, to put it charitably, unpredictably. Often floating an appreciatable length off from the end of a fighter's limb, in fact.

My main strategy in beating this game was to get in my opponent's space first thing before they could start throwing their impossible-to-avoid projectiles and spam a kicking to the shins. It barely worked, but it worked enough that I could get through each playable characters' lineup of opponents... after a lot of game overs, anyway (you don't have to start from the beginning if you lose—thank goodness for small favors).

The worst offense, though, after all this, is that the game isn't even entertainingly bad. Sure, on the surface—and especially with its awfully silly concept—History Warriors seems like the type of Bad Video Game that'd be perfect for some streamer to make fun of playing for a couple hours. But with every character essentially an identical fighter save for reach and the quickness with which strategy devolves into slurry, the whole damn thing is just a slog.

To wrap up this thesis: History Warriors is a bad game, and I think I've made that as clear as I can. But this is the internet, and the internet is chock full of productions of terrible quality that don't deserve a critical haranguing, stories and games and songs and videos that might accurately be called flawed or even subpar, but which were put together by creators who, for what skill they lacked, worked with sincerity and a motivation sourced from the joy of creation. I firmly believe that that's admirable in its own way—that it's behavior that ought to be encouraged, even through the stinkers.

That said—

There is no universe where this was worth fifteen dollars.

...Oh, right, Ryu Numbers. Uh, when you beat the game with a character it turns out they can't go back to their original time, so you get a still image showing what they're up to in the present day. Lincoln runs for President again, Napoleon streams video games, Che's at Occupy Wall Street—it's all very uninspired. When you beat the game as Mozart, he ends up on a talent show with an MS Paint mic.

Copyright infringement is a thing that happens to other developers, so the judges are clearly identifiable as being from Got Talent España, the Spanish version in the Got Talent franchise. From the fourth season, it seems.

See? Same digs.

Admittedly, my knowledge of the Spanish language begins and ends at "biblioteca," but Wikipedia tells me that this judge lineup consisted of Risto Mejide, Edurne, Eva Isanta, and Paz Padilla, so barring it turning out, I don't know, this particular episode had a guest replacing him and I couldn't tell because I'm garbage at facial recognition or something, Risto Mejide has a Ryu Number of 2, or 3 if you don't like Minecraft.

You know what's worse? This is probably the quickest way to get to Che Guevara, too.

#Ryu Number #minecraft #minecraft (bedrock ed.) #cleopatra #history warriors #risto mejide #super smash bros. ultimate #mario #mario's time machine #mario's time machine (pc ver.) #wolfgang amadeus mozart

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

by Dion J. Pierre

Australian officials and nonprofit leaders on Thursday issued statements addressing antisemitism, following a damning report exposing bullying and harassment of teenage Jewish students attending public schools in the state of Victoria.

On Sunday, Australian daily The Age reported the stories of three students who have either refused going to school or hid their Jewish identity to avoid allegedly racist behavior continuously meted out by their classmates. A 13-year-old Brunswick Secondary College student was called a “dirty Jew,” flashed Nazi salutes by his classmates, and assaulted; a 14 year old Brighton Secondary College student found a swastika graffitied on her desk and someone threw a note at her that said, “Jewish rat;” a 12 year old Rowville Secondary Sports Academy student was told that all Jews were supposed to die with their “hands up.”

The report elicited a response from Victoria’s Department of Education, which said the students’ accounts are “distressing and disturbing and taken extremely serious.” Speaking to The Australian Jewish News, Dvir Abramovich of the Anti-Defamation Commission, a Jewish civil rights organization, said the students’ accounts “are another example of what happens when antisemitism spirals out of control and is allowed to grow toxic and unchecked by teachers.”

Jewish students in Victoria have reported similar experiences before. In June 2022, harrowing details of antisemitic bullying and violence were revealed in an Australian federal court during a civil trial to determine whether Brighton Secondary College, located in Melbourne, violated the Racial Discrimination Act when it allegedly ignored the antisemitic bullying of five Jewish students who said the school has a “prison culture.”

Former Brighton student Liam Arnold-Levy testified that no action was taken after someone punched him in the stomach and threatened to slit his throat, nor when others called him “Jewboy,” “f***ing Jew,” and told him to “die in an oven.” In another incident, a school official allegedly accused him of “being dramatic” when a group of female students “violently” pushed him.

A verdict in that case is forthcoming.

#australia #antisemitism #victoria australia #melbourne australia

[stevensbf]

this summer...

everyone's favorite communist...

is coming to the big screen

*cuts to Ancap voiced by Jreg* What a bummer!

*Ke$ha starts playing* WAKE UP IN THE MORNING FEELING LIKE IM P DIDDY

*Commie wakes up giddy for the morning as Nazi tells him he needs to help him save Anarkittie, his alarm is still going off and he can't hear him, the camera pans to his bedroom that is decked out in posters of Nazbol clinging to a branch that say “hang in there” and assorted references, Nazi clears his throat loudly*

"I SAID… you are to assist me with saving Anarkittie!"

Commie, "Well, EXCUUUSE ME Princess...”

one communist will find himself

Commie "what?! the Centrists!?"

and maybe a nuke

Commie "and that Ancap has it?”

but first he has to find his courage

Ancap: "It’s not cash!"

*turns to a group of Anarkitties* "does this jacket make me look cute?”

*the Anarkitties all shake their head in sync*

and the wisdom...

Nazi, voiced by Jreg "all I want to do is seal Ancap but this GREEN DORK" *punches Commie in the shoulder* "KEEPS GETTING DISTRACTED”

this summer is going to be

*montage of slap stick*

*Ancap twerking*

Commie "aaawkward"

this summer is going to be...

*dance party ending montage that takes place in a cabin and shows Nazbol as a ghost sealed away in a cartoonist ghost cage*

*Commie doing the whip & nae nae*

"LIIIIIIIIT"

THIS SUMMER IS GOING TO BE...!

*montage of every time they say "legendary" in the movie*

LEGENDARY

The Communist.

Anarkittie, off screen "heeey, why don't I get to be in the title?!"

#centricide #sorry.

[kayhi808]

Neighbors - Doll & Nerd

Song: Wink & a Smile - Harry Connick Jr

Zhelaniye, Rzhavyy, Semnadtsat, Rassvet, Pech...

Desire, Rusty, Seventeen, Dawn, Oven...

Bucky wakes with his heart racing & trying to break free from his chest. Not recognizing his surroundings initially sends him into a panic. Sitting up, he does realize he's not in a Hydra lab, strapped to a cold metal chair. Slowly he realizes he's still in your apartment. The living room is dark except for the light coming from your room. He swipes at the sweat breaking out across his forehead, trying to steady his breathing. He hears you softly singing a song he doesn't recognize, but just the sound of your voice grounds him.

The light in your eyes You're so far away from yesterday Together, with a wink and a smile We go together, like a wink and a smile

He can't help but be drawn to your room. The door is open and he props himself in the doorway. You have fairy lights draped around the perimeter of your room. Just the sight of you eases his nightmare riddled mind. No Nazi soldiers spitting out his trigger words. Just a beautiful woman laying on her stomach across her bed, singing to herself and...coloring?

Bucky clears his throat & you quickly turn to him, "Buck."

He slowly enters your room, "I'm a horrible guest." Embarrassment laces his voice. "Why didn't you wake me?" Angling his head to see what you were coloring.

Sitting up, you turn the book to him. "It helps me de-stress. When i concentrate on coloring, the other stuff can't bother me." He looks a little pale & it has you worried. You stand, cradling his cheek in your palm, "You were exhausted. I thought you could use the sleep."

He covers your hand with his, turning to kiss your palm. His stubble tickles. He gives you a smile, "I...I better head out."

You pout, "Ok." You follow him back out to the living room. He grabs his shoes from the front door & walks back to your window. You give him a weird look.

"I don't have my key. I left through my window." You laugh & he shrugs. "Thank you for dinner & giving me a second chance." Patting his pocket with his phone, "I have your number now."

He pushes up your window, throwing a leg over the sill. You stand beside him to lock the window after he leaves. Bucky turns back to you, snaking his hand to the nape of your neck to pull you down into a kiss. Your eyes widen in surprise, and he smiles. The Vibranium makes you break out in chills. His soft lips capture yours, his tongue sweeps into your mouth. His thumb strokes your throat & you moan into his mouth. Bucky gently bites your lower lip before he ends the kiss. You feel a smile on his lips as he slowly pulls away. His thumb moves from your throat to rub the sting from your bitten lip, "Good night, Doll."

"G'night, Bucky."

*****

The next day, Sam helps Bucky move the rest of his stuff from Avengers Tower to his new apartment. "You know, you didn't have to move out. You're welcome to stay at the Tower."

"I'll be back if you need me for missions. I...I just...I need my own space."

Sam understands Buck's need for solitude. Staying at Tower & having Tony around could get awkward. He was worried that Bucky would get too isolated.

On one of their trips down to the truck, you bump into them in the hallway. You try not to get flustered, but that's Captain America! In your building! You give them a quick smile. "Doll," Bucky says to get your attention.

"Nerd." He softly laughs as you let yourself into your apartment.

Sam continues to stare at Bucky & the smile slides off his face, replaced by the infamous frown. "What?"

"Nerd??"

Bucky rolls his eyes, "She thinks I'm a nerd."

Nodding vigorously, "And she's right. But when I call you nerd, I don't get - ," batting his lashes at him.

"Cut it out."

"She's cute! What's her name? You should definitely ask her out." Bucky stays silent. "Wait! You already went out with her?? You dog!" Sam punches Bucky's arm.

"She performs at this club..."

"She's a stripper?!" Looking back at your apartment door.

"What?! No!" Bucky glares at Sam, but he shrugs and lets Bucky continue. "Its a supper club. She sings 30s & 40s music. We had dinner afterwards."

"There you go! It's a sign."

"It's not a sign."

"Of course, it's a sign," Sam says confidently. "Are you going out again?

"We got called out on that mission. I didn't have time."

"Well, you need to set that up."

Bucky shakes his head, but he knows he's going to. There's something about you that Bucky can't get enough of.

#buckybarnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #sam wilson

[nightshift-clocking-in]

2, 22, 42 👀

Ask Game

2. while lighters are more practical, matches are cooler so I have to go with them 😎

22. I am never quite sure how to answer these kind of questions, because I think everyone in my life would describe me as something drastically different. But I'm adventurous, like I will show up at your house and kidnap you for midnight milkshakes if I think you're sad, or drive to the coast on a random weekend just to go look for sea glass, collect bones and antlers sheds from the woods. I have achieved a curtain level of 'I-don't-give-a-fuck' energy and its my best personality trait, becuase I will punch a Nazi in the throat, but also go pick flowers barefoot. As a kid I was obsessed with a song called 'I wish I punk rocker with flowers in my hair' and I think it had a great influence on my personality. 😂

42. I would love to say its something good, like duolingo or discord to talk with my friends.....but it is without a doubt TikTok..... the second closest is Audible which isn't so bad.

#mars answers #ask game #weird asks

[notsogreatpotoo]

“violence is never the answer-” fuck all the way off and don’t deal in absolutes, y’hear? good. now go punch a nazi in the throat. mercy to the cruel is cruelty to the merciful and all that jazz, and also, it’s gonna feel pretty fucking good. take care now.

#i just realized that i’ve been jumping through characters’ speech patterns all day and decided to use it for good #it’s been grabbing other people’s attention all day

[sayahs-corner]

Rocky Road

Rated: M

Pairing: Stony, Steve/Tony

Summary: Tony Stark has been kidnapped... again. This time is different that the others, though, because his kidnappers are not interested in a ransom. They mean to kill him. His only hope rests upon the smashed smartwatch on his wrist that doesn't seem to want to work. When a call finally goes through, it's to the last person in the world he wants to talk to. His ex-boyfriend, Grant Stevens, who he put in his phone as FuckHead.

Warnings/Tags: Lots of cussing, AU, Identity Porn, Secret Identities, Steve Rogers goes Feral, Protective Steve, Kidnapping, Torture, Violence, Nazi Punching, The Nazis got spanked in this one, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, HEA

Tony Stark was having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. Which was an understatement of the highest order. The thought caused a laugh to bubble up in his throat, immediately followed by a pained wheeze as his bruised ribs pulsed sharply in protest. He clenched his fingers into fists, trying to work  the blood back into the numb and bloodless digits. They were cold, numb, and slick with what he strongly suspected was his own blood. The chains holding his arms aloft rattled, a sickening slide of metal against metal in a tinkling high note,  interrupted only by the haggard sound of  his choppy and erratic breaths.

He had been kidnapped. Again.

Which in and of itself wasn’t a big deal. At twenty two, and growing up as the son and heir of  the late and lauded Howard Stark, Tony had been kidnapped at least half a dozen times at this point in his life. He knew what to expect from his captors at this stage in the game, just as he knew how these things typically played out. There was a very basic formula to kidnappings that Tony had learned around the tender age of nine years old. They had a pattern, a common thread.

The problem was, this wasn't like all of the other times. 

Tony had been abducted from his campus apartment (where he had been halfway through a pint of Rocky Road ice cream thank-you-very-much), beaten into unconsciousness, had a burlap sack pulled over his head, and was thrown in the back of a trunk and trussed up like a Christmas Turkey. 

Or, at least, how he would have imagined a Christmas Turkey would be trussed up. 

He really  wouldn't know, his parents had rarely been around for Christmas, let alone Christmas dinner. There was always some sort of charity event, or meeting, or party to which Tony was never invited. And that was all a part of a very sad and very tragic childhood, blah, blah, blah. He likely needed therapy. Maybe. Anyway, it didn't matter as he had other, very pressing, concerns at the moment.

Because the kidnapping had taken a very sharp, very unexpected, turn. Usually he was blindfolded, smacked around a little bit, and bound. Sometimes it was to a bed, sometimes to a chair, or even a couple of times to a radiator. He had been bound with rope, handcuffs, duct tape and on one notable occasion a biker’s sweaty leather thong. That thing had been bedazzled, and had smelt exactly like one would imagine a three hundred pound man’s used leather thong would smell like.

Ass. 

It smelt like swamp ass. Tony sometimes still gagged, years later, just thinking about it. Now if a therapist could erase that image from his past, and the phantom smell that came with it, Tony would pay an arm and a leg for the privilege. 

Over time, while waiting for the ransom or the authorities, he usually developed a rapport with his kidnappers. Because he was Tony Stark. Charming, funny, and flirtatious. The last couple of  times he had been able to convince his kidnappers to let him go. Because despite his faults, when he wanted to be, Tony was very likable.

 But not so much this time.

Never had his kidnappers been so brutal in their violence right from the get go. The scent of brine and iron was heavy in the air even through the thick burlap sack covering his face. He could smell the sharp astringent scent of bleach, but even through that he could smell that earthy iron tang. They dragged him, kicking and thrashing, across rough cement floors before they frog marched him through a doorway. 

Cold air had slapped at the skin of his bare arms, raising immediate goosebumps, as his feet slipped over a wet and smooth surface. He was turned around, handcuffed with his arms in front of him, and then his arms were being lifted above him. The cuffs attached to a hook and chain that brought him all the way up to his tip toes.

When they jerked the sack off of his head his heart stopped beating in his chest. He was in a meat processing plant. In the cold locker. Row upon row of dead cow and pig carcass hung around him. The ribs a bright white contrast against the deep red of their gaping raw  flesh. 

“Frightened? You should be, little Starkling.” The rough voice had him jerking his head to the right where a handful of men stood. Dressed in head to toe in all black, with black ski masks pulled over their faces that did nothing to hide the hard and soulless glint in their eyes, they stood loosely in a triangle formation.

“The boss is going to be here very soon. He wants to see to you personally. Settle an old score, he said.” Tony watched as his kidnapper’s lips quirked up into a mean smile, a gnashing of teeth.

“Before he gets here though, he said we could tenderize you a bit.”

What happened from there on out was probably the worst twenty minutes of Tony’s life. Twenty minutes of fists cracking into his unprotected flesh. His stomach was a solid and perfect ache. His mouth was drooling blood and he could no longer see out of his left eye.

Tony knew how to take a beating. He was a scrappy fighter, used to taking his hits and dealing his own. But this went beyond any experience the young Stark had ever had. Instead of focusing on the pain of his beating, the name calling and taunts, he had let his overactive, too engaged mind float above the haze of pain. He practiced writing code in his mind for the new robot that he was building in his lab. The drum of fists on his flesh a distant background noise. 

When they finally left him, battered and bleeding, he had nearly sobbed with relief. It didnt matter that he was in a fucking refrigerator. Surrounded on all sides by dead carcasses. A foreshadowing of events to come. One didn't need to be a genius or a whiz kid to know what was going to happen next. Likely his Dear Old Dad had pissed off the wrong people. And since Howard Stark had kicked the bucket last year, he wasn't around to take vengeance upon. So they had settled for the next best thing. 

Him.

There was no universe in which he was walking out of this meat locker alive. He swallowed sharply, blood gurgling on the hard breath he exhaled. He raised his head just enough to look around the room with his good eye. He let the seconds tick by into minutes, with only the sound of the cold air vents rattling above him, and his own labored breathing filling the room. 

Swallowing down the blood that coated the back of his throat from what was likely a broken nose, Tony took a risk. 

When they had broken his door down and stormed into his living room with weapons blazing, his captors had wasted no time in stripping him of his phone, crunching it beneath a hard booted heel. To be honest, at the time, he had been more upset about the carton of ice cream being ripped out of his hands, the spoon clenched stubbornly in one fist. The least they could have done was let him eat that spoonful. That too had been thrown to the wayside. What those irritating, violent, thugs had forgotten to do was to take his smart watch.

He tilted his head up to stare at his bruised wrist, his thundering heart beating a cacophony in his ears. When his gaze fell upon the shattered screen, his heart stopped. 

No. No, no, no, no, no. It was literally his one saving grace. His one last hope. And it was broken.

His tongue darted out nervously to wet his swollen lower lip, wincing as even that small movement sent sharp pains shooting through his body. He knew his teeth were loose. He could feel them shifting beneath the gentle prod of his tongue. 

“S-Siri.” Tony whispered, his voice cracking. Hope flared briefly when half the screen lit up. 

“Siri - call 9-1-1.” 

Nothing.

“Siri, call emergency services.”

Nothing. He wasn't going to cry. He was not going to cry.

“Siri…call Rhodey-Bear.” His voice cracked at the mention of his best friend’s name. The screen remained half lit. 

“Siri you piece of - I should have upgraded you when I had the chance. Siri, please, please call Rhodey-Bear.” The affectionate nickname for his long time friend and military brat had been loaded into his phone years ago. Rhodes hated it, would often roll his eyes and give Tony a droll stare before slinging an arm around his neck and tucking him down so that he could deliver a noogie. 

Radio silence.

“Siri - Call Uncle Obie-wan.” His adoptive Uncle Obidiah was, at this point, quite used to the star wars quotes and puns Tony threw his way. Tony was a bit of a Star Wars nerd, and loved making puns. 

“Please work. Please work.” Tony was panting, desperation stealing the air from his lungs more effectively than those blows to his chest and stomach ever could. Frustration knitted his brow as blood trailed down the side of his face from a head wound. He was pretty sure one of those bastards was wearing rings. The screen remained blank. His shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Jesus. Siri - Fuck”

“Dialing Fuckhead.” Siri’s melodic monotone announced softly. Tony felt his one good eye go wide with shock. A mixture of elation and dread rocked him in the chest. 

Because yes, while he had finally gotten the damn fucking watching to work, it had called the last person on this earth that he wanted to speak to right now. The reason he had been home on a saturday night, in his ratty old captain america pajamas, watching re-runs of the golden girls and determinedly making his way through a carton of ice cream. He had reached that point in the carton where most of it was gone - and he had mentally committed to polishing off the whole thing. A promise was a promise, even if that promise was made by himself to himself. Still counted. 

Fuckhead was none other than Grant Stevens, his ex-boyfriend. Or ex almost-boyfriend. They had been taking things slow at the time, despite Tony’s impatience in wanting to climb that beautiful piece of man meat like a hyper squirrel climbs a tree, because Grant wanted to get to know him first. Wanted to be a gentleman, or traditionalist. It had seemed so old fashioned, a little out of touch, but unbearably sweet. He held Tony’s hand, as if he were delighted at the privilege to do so. They ate picnic lunches in the park and fed the ducks slivered grapes, and they talked about everything and nothing for hours at a time. They went to the movies a soda and a tub of popcorn. And also, afterwards at his doorway, some buttery kisses that left him breathless and aching. They went to Art exhibits, and Tony delighted in watching the way Grant’s eyes would light up as he pointed out his favorites and explained why and what the artist was trying to capture or say in their piece. They went to museums together, and Grant didn't once tell him to shut up or roll his eyes at the things Tony found fascinating. He merely tucked him under his arm and let Tony go on about the space trivia. Like the massive cloud of alcohol in a far, far, away galaxy that was 1000 times larger than the diameter of their solar system. It had enough ethyl alcohol to fill 400 trillion pints of beer. Grant always listened to him, when others would groan and roll their eyes. He had asked questions that let Tony know he was engaged. The warmth that the simple act filled within him was astounding. But they hadn’t done more than kiss and some over the clothes petting that had made Tony so hot and shivery and aching for his gentle artist. 

Which would have been fine. Tony had been head over heels for the hot, buff, artist he had literally run into at the park. He would have likely done whatever Grant had asked him, with those earnest clear blue eyes and that broad perfect smile. Now all Tony wanted to do was punch him in his perfect teeth. 

Because Grant wasn't a struggling artist. Far from it. 

Struggling artists couldn't afford two mortgages.

Grant was married. To a woman. With kids. Somewhere out there in the world was a Mrs. Stevens that did not know her husband led a double life where he picked up young, dumb, twinks and made them fall madly in love with them.

Whatever. 

In any case, Grant didn't know he had this number. His cell phone number. His actual cell phone number, the one that Tony had used one fateful afternoon and accidentally called Grant’s wife. 

Tony closed his one good eye, torn between desperately hoping that Grant would pick up the phone (when he never had in the past), and fervently praying he would not. Because his broken, angry, heart still hadn’t healed from the betrayal. Hence the Rocky Road.

The phone rang once. 

Twice.

Three times. 

Oh Goodie. He was going to die a highly violent and painful death, and all because his fuckhead of a sort-of-ex-boyfriend who his dumb stupid heart was still in love with wouldnt pick up the phone. He didn't know what he was expecting. Grant had never picked up the phone even when they had been seeing each other. He was hard to get in touch with at the best of times, would leave and be gone at all hours of the night, and sometimes disappear for what ranged from a couple of days to a week. And there were always excuses about overnight Art Shows.

Sure. 

He would be kicked to voicemail soon, Tony knew. That’s usually how it worked when-

“Rogers speaking.” The hard, unfriendly, voice sounded vaguely threatening. Tony wheezed in a breath. Because it was definitely Grant's voice, sounding so unlike the man that he had known. And despite his best intentions, his heart gave another painful squeeze in his chest. He wasn't sure what hurt more right now - his body or his heart.

“God, Grant, is anything about you actually real?” Tony hissed through clenched teeth. He hadn't even known the man’s real fucking name. Because of course not. He wouldn't want the fact that he was sleeping with a nerdy little twink from MIT to get back to his wife. 

“...Tony? How…how did you get this number? It’s unlisted. It should be impossible for you to fin-” 

“Not when you leave it on your living room table while you’re taking a shower. The passcode was 1234, which is like…seriously? I mean I swear sometimes it’s like you’re someone’s 70 year old grandpa, which is so -It doesn't matter, Grant. Or Rogers. Or whatever the hell your n-name is.” Tony’s breath hitched, the chains above his head rattling as his toes strained to bear the weight of his body. 

“Tony, are you okay? Where are you?”

Tony swallowed tasting blood as his eyes burned with tears. Because Grant- or Rogers, rather - sounded so fucking concerned. Like he cared. And for just the briefest of moments he was pulled back in time. Back to the studio apartment in Boston, laying on the couch with his head pillowed in Grant’s lap and those calloused, thick, fingers running idly through his hair. For a moment he could feel the warmth of the late afternoon sun kissing his skin as it filtered in through the floor to ceiling window of Steve’s apartment. He could still smell the sweet hint of his cologne mixed with the clean scent of the ivory soap he used in the shower. He remembered the taste of his lips, the texture of Grant’s stubble rasping against the sensitive skin of his neck. The salty, clean, taste of his skin. The barrel chested laugh that filled the room and echoed back into Tony’s chest until he felt surrounded by the warmth of Grant’s affection. Mostly he remembered how safe he had felt in Grant’s arms. Like nothing could hurt him. Like he could be himself, for once, without fear.

He’d been so stupid. So fucking stupid. To think that anyone could love just Tony.

“I’m not…I’m not okay. No. I need you to call the police. My watch is broken and this is the only number that worked-”

“Slow down Tony, what’s going on? Why do you need me to-”

“I’ve been kidnapped. They grabbed me out of my apartment. Uh, I think I’m by the water somewhere. Like a dock maybe? I could smell the ocean when they pulled me out of the trunk.  It’s a meat processing plant. It…It’s not like the other times. I think they’re going to kill me.”

“What do you mean the other times? Who’s going to kill you? Why would anyone want to kill you?” The bewilderment in Roger’s voice was genuine. Guess he wasn't the only one keeping important secrets about his identity.

“I - my last name isn't Jarvis.” He felt the flush creeping up his neck at the admission. “It’s Stark.”

A shocked silence came from the other line.

“Tony…Stark, as in Howard Stark’s son?” Roger’s voice sounded choked, strangled. There was a burst of laughter in the distance, and then a rush of hissed whispers Tony couldn't make out. 

“The one and only.” Tony sighed, his voice soft and slipping steadily into defeat as Steve cursed softly in the background. “Listen. I - I don’t think I have much time left. They said they were waiting for the boss to get here. You need to call the cops. I can’t -” His head was spinning, his mouth was cottony, his heart was a pounding tattoo in his head. 

“Hey, listen to me. It’s okay. We’re tracking your location right now. We’re on our way, okay, Tony? Just breathe for me. That’s it. You’re doing good sweetheart. We’re about ten minutes away from your location, okay? Help is on the way.  Did they hurt you?”

Tracking his location? On the way? What was an artist going to do against these trained killers? Who was this we?

Tony cleared his throat. “Yes. They did. I need you to hang up and call the police. Don’t come here. These guys are the real deal, they’ll kill you too.” He paused. “But before … before you hang up I just wanted to, uh, So…look. I don’t know…I don’t know if they're going to get here in time. If something happens to me…can you tell Rhodey I love him? And…” here it was. His opportunity. 

The only one that he had left, really, to gain closure.

 “You tore my fucking heart out Gra- Rogers. And I fucking hate you so much for it.” His eyes burned with tears, trickling painfully from the corners despite his best intentions to stop them from falling.

“So fucking much.” His whisper was a wet sound, threaded through with the broken notes of heartache.

“But I want to…to thank you. Because despite how messed up everything got between us…Some of my happiest memories are in that studio apartment. When we were together you made me f-feel special.” he swallowed thickly again. “Like I was worth something, you know?”

“Tony- don’t do this. You’re not going to die -” 

“But I am. Or I might. And I just…just wanted to let you know that I know. I know you’re married-”

“Married? Wait a second, no Tony, I’m not-”

“I fucking talked to her Grant! It doesn't matter. The you being married with kids thing. It's not- it’s not important right now. I just wanted to thank you. For the good times. For taking me on those dates, for holding my hand and putting up with my shit. For listening to me when I talked science or Star Wars and how hot Ewan Mcgregor is, or talking about my day and my dad or how swoon worthy Captain America is.” There was a strangled sound that came through the other end of the line. 

“I just…just want to thank you for caring. Or at least for making it feel like you did. Even if you’re a closeted fuckhead.”

“Tony- I’m not- I don’t - none of that is true. I can explain everything, I think?, when I see you. Just hang in there.”

Tony let out a hysterical laugh. It bubbled up out of his chest and bounced off the steel walls and floors of the meat locker. He looked upward, at the chain above him, his toes cramping and shoulders aching at the strain his body weight was putting on them.

“I am literally doing just that, Rogers. Hanging in a meat locker from a chain in the ceiling. Call the cops. This is too-”

Tony never got the chance to finish that sentence. The door to the room swung open with a sucking hiss, a cloud of fog forming and obscuring his vision for a moment. A tall, broad, figure stepped through the fog. Tony couldn't help the way his guts cramped and twisted, the air in his lungs seizing, as an older man in a bespoke suit cut his way across the meat locker floor. He stiffened his jaw, exhaling slowly through his mouth. He could do this. He could totally do this. 

“Ah, it’s about time you got here.” Tony said, his voice bored and tone droll. “The accommodations here are the pits. Terrible service, really. Are you the manager? I’d like to speak to the manager.”

The man that stood before him looked to be in his late forties with hard blue eyes and white blonde hair. His skin held a pale, reddish, hue, bleached of color save for the large black mole that bobbed right above his lip. 

“Ahh, the infamous Tony Stark. Such a joker. I’ve heard that about you. It is, indeed, a pleasure to have you here. Finally. I’ve been trying to reach you-”

“-about my extended warranty? Yeah, heard that one before. Got the t-shirt and the ten thousand in credit fraud.”

“-for quite some time now. You’re a hard young man to get a hold of. So smart, so stubborn. It is too bad that your father left you in this position, no?” The man’s voice had a thick German accent. What was his father doing putzing around with guys like these? Though, to be honest, Tony wasn’t surprised. Howard Stark had been up to his elbows in some shady shit. Sure he had tried to turn it around in his later years, get on the path of the slightly straight and narrow, but by that time it was too late. People didnt like to be fucked over. They didn't like having their weapons dealer close up shop to sell exclusively to the US government. 

“Yeah, my Dad sucks. Sucked. Whatever.” Tony shifted slightly, a cramp tearing across his thigh as the muscle began to tremble and spasm in protest.  

“I hear you’re to take over SI in a few months.” The mob boss smiled, all teeth, that reminded Tony vaguely of some sort of shark.  “Perhaps we can arrange a mutually beneficial partnership.” 

“Wow…is this a negotiation? Where did you go to business school - The Institute of The Third Reich?”

“Enough!” a hard palm crashed into Tony’s already bruised cheek, blood exploded in a wash across his tongue. 

“Ah, fuck.” he whispered, spitting a glob of blood out of his mouth. He raised his head slowly to meet the eyes of his captor, defiance and anger burning hot in his gaze and the stubborn line of his jaw.

“You will either work with me, young Stark, or you work against me. And I am a man who does not have very many enemies…left alive.”

Tony couldn't help the way his lip curled upward into a semblance to a snarl. “Yeah, as fun as this has been, that’s a hard pass from me. I’m not my father and assholes like you will never get your filthy hands on my tech.”

Stark men are made of Iron.

He watched the ugly sneer twist across his captor’s face. “If you will not serve me in life, Anthony Stark, then you will serve me in death. I think leaving your lifeless corpse on your acting CEO’s doorstep will be message enough, no? Somehow I doubt he will have the same moral  compunctions you do.”

Tony took a sharp breath and clenched his teeth.

“Bring me my tools.” He barked sharply, over his shoulder, before turning back to Tony with a malicious smile on his pale, cold, face.  “It is fitting we are here. Surrounded by livestock. Do you know what they do to the bulls to improve their marbling? Make their meat more tender?”

Tony felt the blood drain from his face. The chains above him began to rattle ominously as he entire body started to shake.

His captor smiled that shark tooth smile as a surgical table was wheeled in front of him. A cloth wrapped bundle lay on the table. With a deliberate slowness he unwrapped that bundle, flicking it open with a barely disguised disdain. Sharp surgical knives and blades gleamed in the suddenly too-bright fluorescent lights. Tony could feel his vision start to narrow as his captor held up a large hand held tool that looked like a clamp. It was an emasculator. 

“Yes, I see that you do know. They castrate them, Anthony. It helps with behavioral problems too, I hear.” The man smiled thinly before nodding once toward him. Two goons peeled off the walls where they had been standing sentinel and approached him.

“Don’t touch me! Get your fucking hands off of me!” Ignoring the added strain it put on his wrists, Tony lifted his bare feet up off the floor and kicked. He caught one guard in the groin and the other in the solar plexus. But he was only one man against many, and his hands were tied. An enraged cry left him as his thrashing legs were captured, his Captain America pajama bottoms torn down his legs until they hung around his ankles.

Tony grunted, panicked, as the boss approached him. He was naked from the waist down, his legs captured and his arms chained above him. He was literally defenseless and couldn't stop what was about to happen even if he wanted to. 

“When we are done here, I am going to take your testicles, Tony. As a memento of our time together.”

“Look if you wanted to touch my balls so bad, you could have just asked. Honestly, a bottle of wine and some frozen pizza would have done the trick. This has been the weirdest Grindr date I’ve ever-”

Tony’s breath wheezed out of him as a fist buried itself into his bruised stomach.

“Enough, Stark. Hold him.”

And then there was a strange man’s hand on his dick, lifting it up and away, and another one on his sack, tugging his nuts that were trying their hardest to climb back up into his body down and pulling taut. 

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Tony was shaking, his vision whiting out and narrowing at the cold press of metal against his skin. His most tender bits. His baby makers. Unbridled terror stole his breath.

This was it. This was the start of the end.

And then the world around him was shaking, the building trembling as an explosion ripped through it. His legs were dropped, the emasculator fell to the ground with a clatter that echoed in Tony’s oxygen starved brain. The sweetest sound he had ever heard. He was finally able to suck in a breath of air as the sound of bullets and screams of pain and agony tore through the building. 

“What is that!” The boss sounded furious, his back to Tony.

Thank. Fuck. Tony had the one, clear thought, before he vomited all over the floor.

_______________________________

Steven Grant Rogers was having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. 

Read the rest on AO3

#sayah writes #fanfiction #Marvel fanfiction #stony #tony x steve #steve/tony #tony stark #steve rogers #hurt/comfort #Secret Identity #miscommunication #suspected cheating #theres no cheating #Violence #Nazi Punching #angst #steve x tony #marvel #stony fanfiction #avengers au #avengers fanfiction #avengers #stevetony

[megamangxtheadventure]

MAGE CHRIONCLES CHAPTER 25 CIRNO VS POMU SOPRANO

cIRNO waked up in etrini where reisen was there with eiren "are you alright we cured you and removed all the nazi sciance from your body how feel you do" asked doctor eiren and cirno sitted up

"i feel better now but i am sad i used my power to hurt friends" cirno side

reisen took out a high tech weapon case with lunar industries written on it "you need to get the prismatic rain blade to...him" she said and cirno picked up the case.

"i'm the strongest i can do this considering it doned" she said and got moving.

location-illuminati base 5.23pm

arydin izumi had come in and ron Desanta was there too with bill ciper "i see you gassed the base again we are really running out of guys if we keep gassing the high councl" said arydin

rons fingers extended like big sausafge salad fingers as he scooped up pudding with them "they where weak we must remove the weak the illuminati must be strong" said ron as he sucked his fingers to get the pudding

argdin chuckled at Ron "you have learned to mimic humans better skin walker" he smile

"back to baduiness we need to keep control since sunak is gone i have ordered jk rowling to b ecome the new leader of fascist britian as for america putin has plans in mind but we must focus on the gorefield seals and our control over gensokyo and magic" arydin said

shadiversty was eating gravy with his fingers and wearing a crown "i am happy britian is embacing old values but a woman in power that is a step too far, if i had my way afhganstan is the perfect blueprint at least the talban know how to keep the woman folk in there place a perfect model for a christan monarchy america" he laughed

bill ciper floats "we have lost our fairy nazis but i found a new type of fae weaspon using something more ruthless and they will deal with cirno."

It was then the new illuminati man comed in "i am lord goat and our soul eraser program will help us create fae weapons using gangster dna this time insted of nazi"

everyone clapped.

location-peppino spegettis pizza place

Peppino and guastivo where serving customers when bad people comed in "oh no not the god damn mafia again" he sighed but there leader had blonde hair and a blue bow IT WAS POMU RAINPUFF the fae

"wait are you not that a vtuber fae" said brick

she punched brick hard into a wall "i am no longer that weakling they injected me with gangster dna and used the soul eraser program to make me strong I AM POMU SOPRANO NOW! head of the pomu crime family!" SHE SAID and slammed peppinos head against the oven "WHERES MY FUCKING MONEY PEPPINO!!!!!!"

two fakegees where behind her one being WEEGEE WALNUTS and the other bodyguard fakegee "oh a my god you are a working with the weegees too?!" gasped gustivo

Peppino in rage picked up a bench and benched pomu soprano on the head "quickly we must a run for sweet life" and the peppino pizza crew ran with fast

Pomu gotted up and machine gunned at them "WHEN I GET YOU I WILL HAND YOU OVER TO ANDREW TATE AND YOU';LL SUFFER LIKE CATBOY SANS?"

Weegee walnuts dropkicked gustavo and brick "you want to fuck with us then lets get nuts" weegee walnuts said

"i am going to take your fucking head clean off!" pomu shouted and reloaded the machine gun.

but then cirno came down and kicked her in the face and she was wearing her Advent Cirno PLUS outfit with the tusugi sword crystal.

"you?!?!?! YOU DARE HIT A MADE FAE! YOU'RE FUCKING DEAD! I WILL SHIT NUKES DOWN YOUR THROAT CIRNO FUCK YOU!" pomu fired the emtire machine gunned clip at her but cnrino flash stepped and cut the gun in half with tusugi

"i am the strongest fairy don't even weaste your time that soul eraser lord goat gived you is no power its just powered by hate" cirno said with smug

pomu got a crate and takened out a laser gatterling gun and opened fire as peppino and gus took cover "this is madness this is insaneity i cant take it" he said

cirno dodged and fired ice beams at pomu and thinked hard "i need to get the case to...him but i have to deal with pomu first" cirno thinked and spinned the blade

Cirno then focused her ice magic into the blade gutting the gatteling gun in half as it blowed up in pomus face knocking her and the two fakegees back as cirno rushed and got peppino and the others out.

after they escaped they stopped to rest "what is a happening why is pomu running the mob now?" asked peppino.

Cirno put the case down "they used the soul eraser on her and turned her into a ruthless gangster to act as an illuminati gang boss of the area but i have a plan i am to take this weapon case...to him"

peppio thumed up "then we will a help you we have a score to settle with these illuminati a bastard".

location-andrew tates bar and base

inside the base was arcade machines cigarettes alcohal and gambling as lots of kids where where being lured to corruption like the sheredder thing from the 90s turtles movie.

Andrew tate came in wearing a cape and armor "i am your father now and before, you comed to me loners and deprassed but i have gived you purpos as solders in my war as alpha males and now we will cast the weaknass, and fight a new world to build stong world with that i am proud to anouncing our new allies THE TALIBAN" saidandrew tape as men in terrorist armor and aks had come in "CAST ASIDE YOUR WEAKNESS AND PLEDGE YOUR LIVES TO THE TALBAN!" andrew laughed as the young boys bowed.

after the meeting andrew tape went to the top floor of his office looking over the city as he poured some whiskay and smiled "its all going to plan" but then he notced a man in a purple suit had com in "its you what do you want you are meant to be in section d right now" tate said.

"you do not care about the gorefield plan do you tate you only care about what you want you cared nothing for serving the darknass of higher powers but i am a true solder of evil thats why i am taking command of your sector" said william afton.

tate did the face "no no no you can't do this to me i'm an alpha male i'm based in recruited and radmailized these men! i'm based" he shouted

William afton kicked andrew tate and picked him up "no you are not based, I AM BASED!" wILLIAM afton shouted and threw andrew tate off the bulding to his demisse as he screamed " he then took the evil cape and the badge that said boss of the lost boys and put it on going into the bar and arcade

"andrew tate was too weak now i am your father and leader and we are going to gensokyo to put it under taliban rule" william afton laughed as the boys cheered but william had a more darker plan as he did not care for these people.

tb be contiunued

#megaman gx #fan fiction #fanfic #touhou #cirno #peppino spaghetti #william afton #pomu rainpuff #bill cipher

[iby-dysphoria-queen]

Got banned for saying if you can't change a Nazi's mind, you can punch them in the throat, then 360 spin kick them in the head

[pastelblood]

The Lost Boys As Preds!!

David: teasing bastard, will tell the prey that they’ll die soon and won’t let them out even how much the prey begs, mostly eats people who deserve it (Surf Nazis or just assholes), keeps his s/o at all times with him while he eats, he doesn’t care about the kicking, it doesn’t hurt him since it only just tires out his prey more, if he were to eat his s/o it’s to help them calm down, he would want consent before it ever happens, though, if it gets out of control, he’ll keep them safe and secure in his stomach, lets his s/o out once they calm down, loves belly kisses, wants his belly to be worshipped

Dwayne: doesn’t really tease, doesn’t speak, just mostly is a silent cruel pred who doesn’t give two shits about his prey unless it’s his s/o, he’ll eat you and just not say anything, he also doesn’t mind kicks inside his stomach, sorta gets off on taking another life inside his stomach, though if his s/o is in distress, he’ll nom them right away but will let them know that he won’t do anything, they are safe inside him, that’s the first time he’ll even talk to his prey, though, he won’t see you as food, you are his beautiful mate and nothing will change that❤️ , never would call his s/o “snack” while inside

Paul: OH BOY, this twisted sister lookin ass bitch would talk a lot while his prey is inside him, isn’t even gentle when swallowing his prey, he wants them in him NOW, he’ll also eat people for his s/o and would like praises, he loves his belly being played with or rubbed, any affection to his belly is making him blush and he’ll give kisses, would eat his s/o when he’s high, calls his s/o a “munchie”, he can be a bit hotheaded when he doesn’t catch his prey, like, he’ll stomp everywhere and just complain, he’ll probably his eat s/o during his heat cycle and want to do things while his s/o is inside, really hates the kicking, will literally punch his stomach if his prey does that until they stop, his belly would be bruised since he’s strong

Marko: He may look like prey but he’d be pred, he can pick up big dudes and put them down his gullet, it sounds impossible but remember that scene with the guard walking to his car on the board walk? He’s capable of doing that, he’s more of the type of pred who only eats if his s/o wants him to, he doesn’t want his s/o to be scared of him over a stupid act that he did, mans got quick throat muscles so it’s quick when he eats, that’s the same with Paul, this cherub vampire loves the kicking and squirming, maybe even the crying, he is a sadistic pred who will make his prey so uncomfortable inside before they die inside him, he will never eat his s/o without consent, he’ll make sure they get anything they need before the trip down his stomach, he is so affectionate and will even kiss his belly to show how much he loves his s/o

#v/ore #80s #the lost boys #pred headcanons #mentions of digestion #death #maybe soft vore #paul’s a crackhead #writing

[slumberingcorpse]

Date with Destiny

John Constantine/Bruce Wayne

Part 2

Previous part: Part 1

Another night, another insufferable nightmare. How many more nights will he have to hear his mother’s screams? He couldn’t take it anymore.

Tossing off his sweat-covered sheets and grabbed his coat.

Once again, he took to the London streets. He needed to stay awake. He will stay awake.

Storming into the nearest corner store, Bruce bought every ounce of caffeine he can get his hands on.

“Trying to stop your heart, mate?” The cashier scoffs ringing him up.

“I can only hope...” Bruce grumbles taking his bags and leaving.

His head was throbbing, the streets were too loud, and he reeked of sweat. Yes, maybe a heart attack would be best. At least it would put Bruce out of his misery. He would be with his parents. Then again, if he did end up dying, who would avenge their deaths? What would happen to Alfred?

“Shut up! Why won’t you shut up!?” Bruce shouts slamming his head against his fists. He didn’t care that he looked like a mad man. He wasn’t ready, he didn’t feel ready. The whole weight of Gotham and his family name was upon his shoulders. He’s only one man trying to take on the world, and he’s already losing before he started.

He’s quickly pulled away from his thoughts at the sound of a scuffle in a nearby alleyway.

“Fucking disgusting queer! I’ll do the world a favor by making you disappear!” a bulky man with a shaved head shouts pinning a smaller man against the brick wall. They both dressed similarly in ripped jeans and combat boots but only the bulk man had a leather jacket covered in nazi symbols.

The smaller man struggles against his grip. He was already beaten and bruised up. His shirt was covered in blood and yet he wasn’t backing down. “Go ahead and try you nazi piece of-” he shouts only to be interrupted by a hard punch to the stomach. He falls to his knees coughing and gasping for air only for the bulky man to grab his hair and harshly yank his head back.

“Fucking fag, I’ll cut off your tongue,” the bulky man threatens, pressing his switchblade against the smaller man’s throat.

Something snaps in Bruce. Not again. He won’t stand by and let someone die in front of him again, never again. Gripping his plastic bag tightly, Bruce charges into the alleyway, using his full force to slam the bag against the bulky man’s head.

The bag tears. Tin cans of coffee, black tea, and energy drinks spill out and crash onto the concrete and the switchblade clangs against the ground. Adrenaline was pumping through Bruce’s veins. He was wide awake now. Can’t say the same to the bulky man.

Working quickly, Bruce rushes toward the smaller man leaning towards the wall only to stop in surprise realizing who it was.

John Constantine.

He was out cold and his face was covered in dark ugly bruises, but it was unmistakable. It was him.

Panic fills Bruce as he tries to shake John awake, but he was unresponsive. Could he have been too late?

He shakes away the thought and presses his ear against the blood-covered shirt.

Several painful seconds pass but there it was...

A heartbeat.

#john constantine #constantine #batman #bruce wayne #fanfic #dc comics #fic writing #dc fanfic

[diazpoems]

Actually I do think assassinating billionaires and stomping on politicians throats and abolishing cops and punching Nazis is a cool date idea I do think that’d be quite fun

#bear talks #wanna hold hands while I shoot an oil exec between the eyes