Criminals - Tumblr Posts
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I’ve only seen it once. A lady walked to the literal front of the store while I was half spacing out staring at nothing, put a bunch of clothes on hangers into her trolley, stood around for a bit while I stared in disbelief that she gave absolutely 0 fucks about getting caught, then she walked away. It was so surreal
"if you see someone shoplifting, no you didn't" no but like. i really didn't. i have never in my life seen someone shoplifting because i'm not watching anyone else in the grocery store..? how are y'all noticing things like that. my only goals are enter the store, survive, exit the store
The fact that Basil Karlo didn't just become like the best actor of all time is hilarious to me. Like, when he realized he was this clay monster thing, I understand wanting to go after Dagget. I get the whole 'showing people what the face cream did to me,' totally valid.
What I don't get is, when his friend was like, "Dude you can turn into different people! You could become an even better actor!!!" He immediately turns into someone and is like "it's too hard :( It's like constantly flexing a muscle :( I can't keep doing it :("
Like, dude, if you just got a new muscle that you've never used before, you're going to have to practice more than once for two seconds to make it work. Like, at least give it a month before you decide to become a criminal.
They’re not insane criminals, they’re just… eccentric.
Fallen Magic Chapter One: Nathan accidentally destroys all of John and Blake’s shit.
While being chased from his home by Royalists, Nathan runs (literally) into John and Blake, two mysterious men who were camping out in the forest. All three make a run for it from the Royalists, and in an effort to escape, jump off of a cliff into a lake. They succeed in getting away, but in the process, all of John and Blake’s supplies are destroyed by the water. Now they’re in the middle of the forest with no supplies, Royalists hunting them down, and no clue where to go.
Now what.
This caption is everything. Also I low-key left the door wide open
HELLO, AS PER YOUR REQUEST, WE ARE CURRENTLY ATTEMPTING TO BREAK INTO YOUR ( ♥ )
PLEASE WAIT AS WE PROCESS THIS…
REQUEST COMPLETE: ( ♥ ) BROKEN INTO SUCCESSFULLY
Look! I found myself
But also
So at the end I still don't know who I am.....
“You should find a better way to source your goons,” the new kid remarked. They straightened, rolling their shoulders as if lifting some unseen weight. They had looked terrified before, all doe eyes and heaving chest and stuttering questions.
Now… now they looked prepared.
Adelaide eyed them with uncertainty.
This was not the new kid she had brought into the fold for their uncanny ability to crack safes. This was not the gawky teenager whose tragic backstory shimmered at the edges of their eyes.
No. This was someone else entirely.
“You are not the person I hired,” Adelaide tugged a bit on the edge of the handcuff, found it binding her to the edge of the car door.
The new kid smiled, all polished confidence.
“No, but I play them well, don’t I?”
Police sirens began to howl as the museum alarms stirred to life, as if blearily saying “something has been stolen, something is missing, someone has been bad.”
If it was up to her, they’d be long gone.
The new kid tucked their hands into their pockets.
“Who are you,” she asked then, because what else was there to say? The rest of her team had fled into the framework of this city, like they were trained to. It was just her, and the person wearing the costume of the new kid.
The new kid shrugged, jauntily.
“Youngest up and coming agent, at your service,” they tipped their head. “High test scores, fast reflexes, people pleasing perfectionism. The works.”
Adelaide studied their face, the outright arrogance, and frowned.
“That’s as much of a mask as the one you wore earlier.”
The new kid’s eyes glittered.
“They did say you were the best,” they said amicably. They sauntered closer as police cars threw themselves onto the pavement around them, corralling them in walls of metal.
The new kid grabbed Adelaide’s collar and pressed their mouth to her ear. She flinched against their hold, and their fingers tightened around her lapel.
“I’ll have you out in three days time—the valuables will be sold and dispersed, and the money filed into an impossibly long line of untraceable accounts. By the time they realize the money trail is cold, you’ll be gone with the wind.”
The new kid glanced towards the cop cars as doors slammed.
“Now. Act as if I’ve taunted you. All arrogant young operative high off their own success, yes?”
Confusion flooded her—then cool understanding.
“You do this every day? Double cross the police and propagate crime.”
The new kid pulled back, cat like in the satisfaction smeared across their face, and grinned harder.
“Only on Tuesdays.”
They winked at her, and she lunged for them, screaming obscenities.
“You bastard,” she put as much conviction in it as she could. By the reactions of the police, they bought it. “You traitorous piece of—“
The new kid—or more aptly named, Monarch—had them out in three days, as promised.
They ruled the city in two months.
A Simple Man- Part 1
Being a thug used to be so elementary.
There was this raw innocence to the whole process.
It was all about simple mob mentality. And, lots of boobs and booze.
Like, I’m talking “gives a new meaning to ‘Land of Milk and Honey’” lots.
Of course, there was an actual “working” portion of the job. But, most of the time, with us simple, low-ring tough guys, one just simply had to show up and look tough. In all honesty, it was not a very tiring job. And, when the time came, you’d just have to get up off of your ass and throw your weight around. Men are normally good at that sort of thing anyway.
We were in the business of vice, supplying the greatest hits of depravity and indulgence.
However, a couple of these were notorious for getting you killed: drugs and guns.
Tits and booze got one close enough, for my own taste, to getting kicked to death in the filthy gutter of your favourite dive. You know the one, with that cheap classy shit that you like to buy. Yeah, there’s literal shit in that gutter. And, you’re gonna die in that shit. That shit will be the last thing you see and smell before some cocky son-of-a-bitch brings a bat down on your head like some fucking Mortal Kombat fatality killing stroke. That’s the kind of trouble drugs and guns bring.
We all have your basic intimidating blunt weapons, like bats and crowbars. But, some of us thugs need to compensate for small dicks, daddy issues, or both. Those assholes will have concealed guns. These guns make things messy, and definitely more illegal. You can’t pull any “But, officer, I was walking down to the park to play some ball” bullshit with that gun that’s about to accidentally shoot your dick off because you think it’ll impress some cheap hoe. Want to know what doesn’t impress prostitutes? Guys missing dicks. People often get less intimidated, and more dead, when guns are involved.
I’m no idiot, though. Even a lazy-ass like me trained up a little bit. I took a few boxing classes, to get some basic handheld fighting experience. I really wanna’ try Krav Maga. So fucking badass. But, those are life goals for you- best left for tomorrow.
All of these things may have some major complications and flaws, but, hey, we’re all human right? We all have the same flaws, same vulnerabilities. I love that about mankind: underneath all of the bravado, and the lies, and the armour, we’re all just simple flesh. No magic, or superpowers, or aliens. I was a simple man, in a simple time.
That’s when everything changed.
Changed how, you may wonder. Well, for starters, I’m currently hanging from a catwalk in a warehouse, moments from falling to my fiery doom because some douche-nozzle blew a hole in the wall, and now the warehouse is on fire. A guy with nunchucks; a guy is shooting fire out of his hands; a guy is flying. What the fuck is going on; I was not prepared for this bullshit. It turns out that we’re not all just simple humans after all. Magic, superpowers, and aliens all exist, and they all just fucking lit the place on fire. I’ve been taking scattered jobs for months now; finding work that doesn’t get you killed is harder and harder to come by. God-forbid I have to actually make an honest living. I heard about this job from a guy, who heard about it from a guy. It was supposed to be a clean and simple fraudulent goods shipment, just some knock-off bags and shit, I think. Like, Juicy, or Gucci, or Scholl’s or something. No drugs or guns involved- how much trouble could I get into? I just keep my eyes open, and walk around up on this catwalk, until the stuff gets picked up. Simple enough, right? Not so simple, now, huh, trying to lift my heavy ass back onto a catwalk. Being a thug is all about appearances. I had to scope out soft jobs, without looking like I was going soft. That level of dedication, of not getting sent to jail for life or getting shot to death, while still appearing tough, is exhausting. However, I’d like to maintain a certain level of living that I’ve actually grown a tad sentimental toward. Speaking of which, I’m still hanging here, all exposed and about to die and such. That’s when I hear the catwalk creak. Maybe I’m just hearing things, right? There’s a lot going on in here, with people blowing shit up, screaming, and gunfire. Then I hear a creak and a deep groan; this catwalk is going down, and soon. The explosion must done more to this catwalk than toss me like a consensual salad. Things are warming up below, too, as the fire begins to spread. Wait a second- what the honest fuck. Did I say guns? Who brought fucking semi-automatics? I bet those knock-off bags weren’t empty at all, and I’m pissed about it. With my luck, I’d even bet drugs are involved too.
“We know about your shitty fake bags, and that you’re smuggling drugs and guns in them. Surrender now, so we can save you, and take you to jail,” some pretentious, self-righteous asshat, with a booming voice, declares to anyone who hasn’t burned to death already.
Turns out things aren’t always as they appear. And, this job has brought a particular amount of literal and figurative heat that I really can’t handle right now.
Remember that one time the wall blew up, sending shit everywhere, and I got hit in the face, and knocked off a catwalk? I did that super ninja grab, like in the movies, but, no one was around to see? Then I was about to fall to my death? Fan-fucking-tastic times.