your voice is a weapon @lethallinguist-blog - Tumblr Blog

regiis-gladio‌:

Suddenly, the five foot terror approached. Travis really should have been more respectful, considering how Ammo was his boss. Of course he didn’t really care, he was too pissed off. A tall man being chewed out by a short angry woman was probably a hilarious sight. The way Travis had to crane his neck just so he could keep eye contact brought a smile to his face.

“Thanks for grabbing my knife”. He picked up the blade, closing it and putting it back in his pocket. “You should really consider attracting customers who aren’t idiots”.

He stood there for as long as he thought he needed (which was all of ten seconds) before going back to whatever he was doing. “It is nice to know you’re just a earshot away. I wonder which little weasel tipped you off though? Might have to pay them a visit”.

Travis leaned back against the counter, his black eyes scanning over Ammo. His expression didn’t give away any of his thoughts or emotions, and that permanent smirk on his face just twitched at the corner of his mouth. “So, how’ve you been? Kill anything fun?”

He was insatiably infuriating. Even more so knowing he was absolutely doing it on purpose just to make it worse. More still that she couldn’t stop herself from taking the bait. She was hardly one to back down from any fight, and her maintaining dominance in this situation wasn’t any different.

“A customer’s intellect is fucking irrelevant, how have you not learned that by now?” She didn’t try to hide the exasperated tone in her voice. It often felt like she was talking to a brick wall. “If they have money that’s all that counts. I’m sick of having to tell you that.” She took a step to follow him as he moved away but then resisted the urge. Chasing was playing into his hand.

“There are no weasels.” She shot back, choosing instead to walk to the opposite side of the counter and find something to busy herself with so she didn’t have to look at him and his stupid little smirk. “Your loud ass mouth gave you away. Just like it always does.”

“Don’t make small talk with me after you just showed your ass.” She was entirely fixated on disassembling her Glock XM17 to clean before another mission cropped up. “Killing you would be fun, wanna try it?”

#cutlass.001 #i;;cutlass #regiis-gladio‌

3dima‌:

he’s filled up this sketch pad faster than any other lately, and he’d be unable to explain why if asked… mostly because he doesn’t really care.

the shop is closed, as of 23 minutes ago, and because it’s a weeknight, he has nothing better to do than sit around and — practice. there are so many paper weights sitting on top of the toolbox where he keeps all of his tools-of-the-trade; sterile needles, rubber bands, paper towels, plastic wraps, boxes of latex gloves. so much that comes out of his own paycheck… or his own mind… from paper… drawn by power into reality.

realism has become a necessity in so many of his drawings now — an ability to add dimension where there is none making life easier ( on the wallet, at least ) than it would be for any other.

lucky for ammo, he never got around to locking the door, and even in the hours when the ‘Open’ sign has been flicked into the OFF position, there are times when his team members will stroll in for a session of late night artistic addiction.

his eyes only leave the drawing pad for a moment, a bird he won’t — can’t — pull from the page forming in the medium of charcoal, the stick staining his fingers black as he shades and smears and finally glances up for a few stray seconds just to acknowledge her presence.

a few more absent strokes over the dark wings of the raven on his paper and he tosses the pad onto a table across the room, snags a few sharpies from the toolbox beside his chair, and plops down.

black — outline, uncapped between tightly clenched teeth and spit out into her lap with a simple, ‘ hold that, ’ and a grin - attention focused on the empty span of skin that’s just become his canvas.

‘ how many body bags do i need to rustle up? ’

There’s an elongated blink and stifled sigh that comes following a pen cap spat into her like it was a temporary trash can, but seeing as how she came to him she wasn’t about to pick a fight over it. Especially with the always familiar feel of the marker tip on her skin. Over the years it had become a soothing therapy; Dima treating her like a personal blank canvas; and she felt herself start to relax.

“Zero.” She said flatly, settling back into the chair and closing her eyes. “They deserve to rot like the shit we hunt.” Harsh? Yes, perhaps. But no one that would be offended was around to hear it. She reveled in the peace the empty parlor brought, and the fact that she didn’t get that scold-y look for saying things like that.

She peaked an eye open. “You’re supposed to tell me not to murder people, not encourage me. The less you stop me the more likely I am to actually shank Cutlass with a rusted spoon.” She closed her eyes again, the barest hint of a crooked smile amused at the prospect. That would be hilarious. At least until he tattled on her, anyway.

“What are you up to tonight? Besides decorating me?”

#3dima #i;;dima #dima.001

hope-mikaelson

Endless gifs of Julia Wicker : Season 1, Ep 7 - The Mayakovsky Circumstance

#♫░ face;;

erranthart‌:

to say he was pissed was something of an understatement. he’s had a long ass time to perfect the grandiose gesture of being silently furious - even anvil had noted the flip in mood which tended to only happen when there was a new mission on the cards and skills ( and lives ) were about to be tested.

it had been a fuckin’ stupid move on his part. putting something like that in the way of temptation. he has no idea what in the hell actually possessed him to show the damn thing to her as it was. sure, he knows where her skills and interests lie around weaponry - he just hadn’t thought for one moment that she’d take it. yeah, he’s convinced it was her. no, he has no actual proof of that. but she’s the only one other than anvil that had even had so much as a glimpse of the thing. a dusted rusted hunk of metal. not particularly worth much, even in the ‘antique’ stakes. something of a curio… nothing more. nothing less.

at least… not to other people. but to him… it meant more. it was the only thing he still possessed from his life – before. the thing which had saved his life on more than one occasion. the reason he was still here… several lifetimes later.

it was also a reminder. because he hadn’t been alone. when he woke up in what were the beginnings of ward city. when he opened his eyes to a new life… afterlife… undeath… it was something that kept him in check - a reminder of all the others that had gone before, that had passed by since, that he couldn’t save everyone… no bullet fast enough for that. these… people for all their flaws and fuck ups - were all he had. a family. and he’d be damned all over again if he could just keep them safe.

…whatever.

point being. it was his. it wasn’t a freebie. it wasn’t a goddamn trinket to be plucked just because she felt like it. point being. he’d trusted her with that ridiculous secret. after several decades had gone by had thought maybe she wouldn’t laugh at him for something so… stupidly sentimental. and now….

so when she strolls in like it’s a fuckin’ tuesday mid-summer without a goddamn care in the world - he can feel that simmering fury notching up. so yes, she gets the goddamn cold shoulder, because the alternative would likely be – incendiary.

it’s only after the box is plonked on the desk that he graces her with a glance. tongue curled onto the roof of his mouth to curb some kind of explosion that he might… no… he’d definitely regret. so there’s a long, slow breath before he manages to grit out a few carefully chosen words between teeth clenched so hard that they might just shatter in his damn jaw.

“don’t think you’re in any kinda position to be asking me for anythin’ right now.”

maybe it was stupid to be so pissed over a useless damn gun that wouldn’t even fire. but… here they are. maybe he’s not pissed about the gun - but more about ‘who’ had taken it.

“not that you’re fond o’askin’. takin’ is more your style, ain’t it?”

that clipped, seething tongue clicks on the back of his teeth as she motions to the box. some kind of peace offering maybe. he doesn’t know. he doesn’t care ( liar… ). it’s harsh, he knows it. but then they never exactly pull their punches… didn’t start out that way, still don’t. nothing but the straight up truth… ( …? y-eah ).

but – FINE. she wants him to open it. he’ll humour her. at least to see how far this goes.

the box looks old. looks familiar in a strange sort of way. sends his mind back somewhere in a blur of dust and the acrid scent of gunsmoke and horsesweat. grease stained fingers plucking at the ribbon as it delicately unravels from the intricately carved case.

of course he’s still too damn determined to be pointedly angry with her to even engage his brain about the potential of what might lay within. his thumb catching the edge of the lid and flicking it open.

…

…oh.

it definitely takes him longer than it should to recognise the object. probably because it had been well over a hundred years since the metal had gleamed. in fact, it hadn’t even looked like that when he’d first gotten the damn thing, already dirtied and smudged with leather wax from the holster. the handle glistening, shining ivory - a colour that had faded with years of unwashed hands gripping at it in those strung taut moments of life and death.

…oh.

fingers brushing over the carving on the side, feeling the rise and fall of the intricate relief. the rounds snugged into luxurious fabric, shining like pinpoint stars.

…oh.

his jaw unhinges… but there’s nothing there. brain momentarily detached. only re-engaging to inform him of how much of an utter fucking moron he is.

“i, uh… i mean… you did….? this is…?”

superbly eloquent. well done. now if a hole would just appear in the ground to conveniently swallow him up, that would be just perfect… …still not quite as perfect as HIS gun. revived. a gift.

jesus. he really is an asshole.

It wasn’t their first tiff; far from it. That fact was the only thing that was making it easier (but still not easy) to put up a brick wall to ward of his passive aggressive shots. Her face remained stoic during the brunt of the storm; blank, calm and maintaining perfect eye contact. The only thing that might betray her would be the twitch of an eyebrow, and her arms crossing over her chest like a protective shield.

Regardless, she remained silent. Not because she didn’t have the clap backs or quips in her arsenal, far from it, actually. She had plenty. Especially when Hammer mounted that oh-so-high horse he was so proud of. When he got righteous about shit, he was damn near insufferable.

But she didn’t need her token deadpan snark or her sharp tongue. He’d get there on his own, eventually, and it would make the gratification that much sweeter. She knew him well enough to know exactly what was about to happen.

Finally, after the rapid-fire jabs, the curiosity won over. She studied the intricacies of his facial expressions (as she so often did when he wasn’t watching her) and it was like reading a book. Annoyance, intrigue, frustration, over-dramatic nonsense.

And then it all just...changed.

She wished she could be smug with satisfaction, but that warm pride that spread in her chest (as it so often did when she stunned him silent) when he realized what lay inside-- that won out.

Thanks to that, she couldn’t stifle the smallest hint of a smile edging out of the corner of her lips, daring to edge just the slightest bit closer now that she wasn’t in danger of being mauled to death. She leaned back against the desk, taking a half seat and resting back onto her hands. Her head tilted just enough for some hair to cascade off her shoulder.

She almost wanted to comment that this piss-pour lighting in this piece of shit office was really ruining the true glory of the restoration she had accomplished-- but she swallowed her instinct to insult. She’d ruined his past few weeks thanks to the deception, but the look on his face now made it more than worth it.

“You’re welcome.” She said finally, that rare smile growing still. “I’d think after all these years you’d know I wouldn’t just steal something like that but--” she clicked her tongue with a scolding succession of tsks, emphatically shaking her head.

“You need to care for things like that. If it’s really all you’ve got left, don’t let it rust.” The weight of the advice dragged on her throat; she’d give anything to still have something from before. Now she just had to settle for others’ prized possessions. Whether they willingly shared or not.

“I hope you don’t mind I test fired it.” She shot a hand up in defense quickly before returning it to the desk. “Just once. Had to make sure it wouldn’t blow up in your face-- then you’d really be pissed at me. I had my fill of your broody glares to last me the next three decades.” I hate when you hate me. You’re the only good thing i have in this next-life. That’s what she really wanted to say but-- when did they start saying how they actually felt?

She pushed off the desk ready to make her exit. “So it should be good to go. Don’t fuck it up again, because it was a bitch to fix up right.”

#i;;hammer #hammer.001 #erranthart

shadowsumbras‌:

Nothing ruffled Umbra’s feathers more than a dead crowd. (He had to laugh. He couldn’t not laugh.) So, he called it before it started to flat-line. Wires wrapped neatly around each other, mixes in some kind of order that he would get together before the next night. The beat was still in his pulse and he hummed along to it, tossing in the occasional spin-on-his-heels move. He wasn’t a stagnant figure behind the turntables with an occasional head bob. He liked to move. Because he didn’t quite know what would happen if he stopped moving. He wouldn’t call it fear.

As he cleaned up, he caught the sight of Ammo dipping out the back door. Doth his ears deceive? Definitely sounded like singing, or it very well could have been residual song leftovers. Didn’t matter, he was already curious about what the quiet sound was. He could take the backdoor, he thought, but that was boring. Instead, he gave his area a once-over before he dramatically bowed and let his weight fall back into the shadow behind.

He sometimes compared it to walking between walls or under ice. But infinitely cooler and less life-threatening. He would tap and tap until something eventually gave, allowing him to step through. Obscure shadow lanes, back alleys where he didn’t have to give anyone the right-of-way, became his domain. No turn signal needed and in that alley that Ammo walked down, there were plenty of shadows for him to poke his head out of. Subtle, he was not, and he could tell that she could tell that something was up. She was quicker than he was and before he could fully recede back, she screamed.

He swore.

Thank the old gods and the new, he went head first back into the dark (eardrums be saved) and toppled over himself on the other side of his shadow lane. Discombobulated, he found he couldn’t quite move. Half of his torso hung out of the dark and he ran a hand through his shock-white hair. Damn.

“So, first of all, worth it,” he said as he reoriented himself, eyes slowly blinking as he took in Ammo’s less than thrilled face. He smiled in return. “Second of all, taking a walk sounded like a great idea and I saw you bouncing out, so here I am.” Even with his body halfway between shadow and alley, his curiosity was still there. His smile grew by the second. “And third of all…Anything good in the buds?”

She didn’t think it was possible to be more annoyed, and yet somehow he managed to exceed expectations. It was a damn good thing she’d been around so damn long, or a seemingly dismembered smart ass idiot might freak her out. On the contrary, she had never been more bored now that the adrenaline started to dissipate. She made absolutely no effort to help him or make sure he was okay. He did this to himself (mostly) and he’d heal if he was hurt (probably).

“Worth it?” She groaned. Loudly. “I’m not taking a walk, I was going to the safe house.” She shifted her wait, planting hands firmly on her hips, the tassels hanging from the arms of her jacket shaking from the jostle. “Do you normally take walks in the middle of the night?” A pause. “Actually, never mind. Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know, and I don’t care.”

His question finally distracted her from glaring at him, casting a glance at her tucked away headphones in her pocket. “What? Why?” She squinted her eyes at him. "No? Maybe... Why?” A huff. She had to deflect the topic. Spirits forbid she actually seemed approachable.

“Are you gunna, like, squirt yourself out of that stupid wall or are you going to just be mounted there forever? I’m totally down for the second thing but somehow I feel like this will get me in trouble with Hammer, and he’s already pissed at me at it is.”

#shadowsumbra #i;;umbra #umbra.001

regiis-gladio‌:

For — @lethallinguist

“Get the fuck out of here!” That loud resounding yell bounced off every wall in the shop. Some of the usual customers didn’t even bat an eye. Travis was pissed, there was nothing new there, and he was taking it out on some poor fool. Most knew that it was entirely out of pettiness, the man was a dick towards those he just didn’t like, which was a lot of people.

It didn’t matter to him if this customer would make them money or if they would run off to Ammo complaining about how they were treated, Travis just wanted them gone. Just to make sure the person knew he was serious, he grabbed one of the knives he kept at the counter and threw it at their head. With his expertise, he made sure to land the knife in a wall just inches away from the person’s head.

“The next one won’t fucking miss. Now get out”, the words were growled out and the poor sap fled from the shop. Travis pushed his hair out of his face, recomposing himself. “If there’s anyone else who wishes to ruin my day, please speak up. I’ll use you for target practice, and all of you should know that I never miss”.

She’d gone out into the club for less than five minutes. Five minutes was all it had taken for things to completely deteriorate without her around. She didn’t like to leave the shop in Cutlass’ hands, but at the same time she also didn’t like being trapped in a confined space with him for hours on end either. So, somehow, when she went to get an overflowing glass of whiskey from the bar. It’d all went to shit.

One of the regular’s had popped there head out of the unmarked door catching her eye and waving frantically before disappearing back behind the door. She didn’t even get a good eye roll off before he’d vanished. She tossed back the (triple) shot and slammed it down onto the bar, wiping her mouth with the back of her jacket.

She burst into the room less than quietly, but attentions were so focused no one seemed to notice. She caught the end of altercation, and didn’t bother to think before she opened her mouth.

“You want to use me, smart ass? You’ll miss, I promise you.” She kept her gaze heated and focused on no one but Cutlass. A few of those closest to her even backed up a few steps. “Everybody out.” The command was quiet but firm, and everybody scurried to obey. It took only a few seconds before the door closed behind the last escapee.

The second the door clicked she marched over to the embedded knife and yanked it from the wall, charging across the room towards her target. “I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but you don’t do that in my shop.” She lost control of the volume of her voice, the eerie calm disappointing in the way of flat out rage. She could feel her powers itching to be let loose. She wished.

“Don’t pull that shit again!” She slammed a palm hard into his chest, slapping the knife down on the counter next them, eyes transfixed. “I’m sick of feeling like I can’t leave this damn place because I’m busy babysitting a bratty toddler.”

#i;;cutlass #cutlass.001 #regiis-gladio‌

softdavidrose

brooklyn nine nine rewatch → tactical village (1x19)

#♫░ isms;;

where: blue door ink when: 9:23 pm who: @3dima

Ammo had to escape the club. She was more than well past her threshold for socializing all on it’s own, but Umbra was in rare form and Cutlass’ voice was becoming a special level of grating-- thus Ammo’s exodus became quick. She snatched her pack and made a break for her bike out back before anyone could stop her. The autopilot in her brain had two pre-sets: the parlor and the garage. The owner of the latter was currently pissy, so bothering Dima was top pick.

Thankfully, it was empty of other actual paying customers, so Ammo was able to strip off her jacket and toss that her bag into one chair, and plop directly into Dima’s. She did not greet him or announce her presence in much else other than an exasperated sigh, letting herself close her eyes and enjoy the actual peace and quiet for a whole sixty seconds. She got bored with that quickly and finally turned to him.

“Draw me something.” She said extending her bare arm out dramatically, remembering the sharpies she’d stuffed in her bags. Oh well, Dima was good at anything he put on her. At least he had been up to this point. “Something that you can then pull out and let me stab the 4am-ers with, preferably.

#i;;dima #3dima #dima.001

memebasedgod

Weapon (vs. Angel Haze vs. F*U*G*Z vs. Braque)

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And your voice is a weapon This is vocal confession And we're shooting you down, down, down And your voice is a weapon And we’ll do with it what we can

#♫░ music;;#it's her theme song y0

where: the back alley behind 4am when: 3:18 am who: @shadowsumbras

Normally Ammo was one of the last ones to leave the club (if she even left at all, but tonight she had shit to do. She spent the better part of an hour tidying up her workshop, earbuds securely in place to make the mundane task a little less so. The generated playlists and speedy wi-fi were a few of the things she didn’t loathe about modernity and city life, and the ever-present beat in her ear made the process fly.

Which is why she didn’t remove them when she packed up her bag, tucked her conceal into her jacket and headed out the back door. She sang along to the song (hopefully) quietly, falling in pace with the beat of the music. It was almost enough to escape-- until she saw a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye.

She didn’t freeze, but she slowed her pace significantly. Adrenaline pumped and her hand moved to grip the hilt of the gun inside her jacket. She saw it again, and that was enough to stop her in her tracks. Without a second thought she pivoted on her heels and let loose a scream. The waves ricocheted around her, criss-crossing through the narrow alley until it crashed right through the intended target which--

---embedded them into the brick wall?

Her head tilted to the side as she took in the limbs sprouting from the shadowy brick. She released her grip on her weapon and sighed loudly, keeping the killer sound waves stifled this time. Ammo yanked the ear buds from their home and tucked them frustratingly into the pocket of her jacket.

“Damnit, Umbra, what the fuck are you doing sneaking up on me like that? Couldn’t you have just talked to me back at the club? Jesus.”

#shadowsumbra #i;;umbra #umbra.001

where: h & a shop when: 1:43 am who: @erranthart

Admittedly, she never should have taken the gun in the first place.

She knew without a shadow of a doubt it was one of Hammer's most prized possessions (if not the most prized), but seeing it sit there, rusting and collecting dust seemed like such an affront to everything she considered dear to her heart. Or at least, what was left of it, anyway. So she took it under the guise of greedy interest rather than a selfless gesture to fix it up. It wasn't like she was prone to unsolicited random acts of kindness.

But it'd taken far longer to fix up than she had anticipated, which had led to an extra couple of weeks of being on the butt end of a cold shoulder. Ammo could easily say she was used to that treatment after so many decades together, but what she couldn't say was that it was easy. Hammer was her first contact in this second chance city, and without his company, it often seemed pointless. Drab, even, not that she would ever concede that out loud, especially to him.

It was the box that'd taken the longest to craft. Authenticity was key, and she was a perfectionist. The velvet was hard to come by, especially being bound to the city the way she was. The perfect presentation of the Smith & Wesson Model 3 and a few casings of ammunition even managed to elicit a smile from a pair of lips that rarely released one...but mostly because no one was around to catch it. Especially the actual owner.

For an extra touch, she'd scoured the club, eventually procuring an abandoned hair ribbon that served as a perfect wrapping for a perfect cedar box, stained and decorated with appropriate ornamentation of the time period. She tucked it safely into her bag and slung it over her shoulder, mounting her bike for the quick ride to the garage. Predictably, for such a late hour, the only light that remained illuminated came from the office and flooded the open doorway with a harsh yellow light.

Ammo didn't wait for permission after she knocked (which was customary these days) marching into the cluttered and cramped room, plopping the bag on the desk of the sole occupant so she could retrieve her prize. She extended it to him, a blank expression on her face. When it wasn't immediately grabbed, she set it onto the desk and tossed her bag on the ground, slipping her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket.

"Here." She said flatly. "Turn the brooding down about ten percent and open it."