what do you call a snobbish criminal going down the stairs?
I don’t know. What?
a condescending con descending.
That was beautiful
This is Po from Kung Fu Panda.
He is literally an overweight
Who works at a fast food restaurant
With the worst luck
And yet becomes
Who still acts
Who still hates hiking
He uses his fat
To his advantage
And doesn’t let
His tragic past
This has been a Po appreciation post.
The notes make me happy because PO APPRECIATION
anonymous said: could you do cas with wings in #4? (x)
You bet your ass I can.
“If you claim to be a real friend then be real in your soul. If you claim to be fake then be an enemy instead.” ― Santosh Kalwar
His fist swung and impacted hard against her abdomen. She spits out blood and stares at the ground. She has been in this grimy cellar for three days, but the torturer could not get her to talk. He did many things to her, but she would not falter from her vigil. She was indeed exhausted and wished her handler would intervene, but she was on her own until then.
Again he brings his closed hand to her stomach and she heaves. The man is disgruntled, but nevertheless, he will not waver from his task. Thrice more he strikes her and he is rewarded with a low moan.
“Got something to say, Nadine?” The man teases. He spoke in French and grins at the woman. “Might as well say it now before you lose consciousness.”
“Go to hell,” Nadine whispers and she drops her head.
The man was losing his patience and he grabs her hair by the back of her skull. He forces her to look at him. “You won’t last much more, Naddie. I can help you.”
“You think you’re so clever,” She replies a fraction louder. “Let’s say I accept your…generous offer. How?”
“Help me, help you. I can only do that if you start to chirp,” The man answers. “Come on, love,” He takes his hand away from her hair and drags his fingers along her jawline. “There’s only so much I can do. You must meet me half way down this dirty road.” He waves his other hand slightly at the words dirty road.
Nadine doesn’t respond.
“Where are you hiding it?” He asks with a low growl. “He is getting impatient.”
“He is dead, or have you forgotten?” She asks in turn. “You stood in the corner of the room watching as I finished him.”
“Yes, Lysander is dead. I distinctly remember you grabbing his head. Such an abrupt way to be finished,” The man says and removes his hand from her face. “Would you not agree?”
“A broken neck can do that.”
“Yes,” He says and he walks around behind her. He places one hand on the top of her head and one around her chin, “It can. Would you like me to demonstrate?” He asks in English.
Nadine forces a laugh, “Go ahead,” Her persecutor chuckles and lets go of her. He walks around to face her again.
“You think you’re so smart,” He growls. “You are no use to me dead.”
“You are no use to me alive,” Another voice says from behind the man.
The torturer spins around and receives a punch to the jaw. The voice belonged to a man with blond hair and blue eyes.
“Jean!” Nadine shouts. “It’s about time.”
“You really think I’d allow him to continue?” Jean replies while keeping his left foot atop the other man’s back. “You gave him permission to finish it. Why?”
“We can talk about this later, Jean,” She forces through gritted teeth. Her wrists were still bound in chains and risen above her head. Her arms were numb and the metal was chafing her skin. “Right now, you have bigger problems than my decisions.”
“That is true,” The torturer spits out. He rolls over and pulls Jean’s leg quickly.
Jean grunts and falls onto his side, “Bastard.”
“All of you think,” The man snarls and gets to his feet, “I am an easy win.” He swings his right foot into Jean’s ribs. “I have things to do and you are in my way!” He shouts and slams his foot into Nadine’s handler again.
“If you leave here, you will not be able to get away for long,” Nadine says quickly. Jean looks up at her and sees her smiling to herself. She has her head down and her eyes flicker to Jean’s. “We know your name and we know one of your contacts. There is no escape from—”
“From what?” The man asks with a grin. “PPAF? They’re not exactly what I call experts at catching people like me.”
“Jean,” Nadine groans. “Tell him.”
“Trystan,” Her handler says calmly. “Trystan Voclain.”
“A name is easy to change,” Trystan snarls and throws his pointed shoes into Jean’s side once more. “You’ll have to convince me more than just that.”
Nadine looks at Jean and up at Trystan, “Your contact is someone you’ve grown to trust. Apparently, according to him, you have put your life into his hands more than once. He lives in the States and you have known him for years until you went to him for help on a surveillance trip.”
Trystan hums in response, but does not say anything.
“Jayden Dalton,” Nadine says. “He and you went to university together although you never spoke. However, that did not stop Dalton to be interested in you. He admired your work and skill and followed you around like a lost puppy. He was an easy recruit, no?”
Trystan kicks Jean again, but walks to a metal table against the back wall. There he picks up a Mark 23 and points it at Nadine, “Jayden betrayed me? That is one less man I need to look after. Remind me again, Naddie, to stop by and say hello. Yes?” He chuckles and walks to her right side. Trystan points the gun at her head and laughs again. “You spies are so predictable, but you are too entertaining to die so soon. You,” Trystan says, nodding his head at Jean’s direction, and shoots his thigh.
Jean howls more in anger than pain. He leaps at Trystan, but is badly unbalanced and falls on his side again. Nadine rattles her chains and glares at the American, “You bastard!” She screams.
"C’est la vie," Trystan shakes his head while smirking to himself. He puts his handgun into his waistband and walks towards the exit. He does not look back as he straightens his suit jacket and lapels.
"Voclain!" Jean yells and just as the other man turns impassively, Jean pulls the trigger of another gun.
Nadine gasps in surprise and stares at the Frenchman at her feet. He had his firearm tucked into the back of his suspenders. She tears her gaze from Jean to Trystan and sees him fall against the door frame. He leans against his shoulder and looks blankly at Jean.
"I can’t say I’m not in shock," Trystan says. He gingerly places his fingertips at the bullet wound on the right side of his torso. “You ruined it,” He clicks his tongue and picks at the suit’s white fabric. He raises his Mark 23 slowly and aims it at Jean. Trystan chuckles, “Naddie, love, tell your man to lower that gun of his.”
“And why would I do that?” She asks while raising an eyebrow at him.
“It’s simple really,” Trystan replies and turns his handgun at Nadine. “I have a better vantage point. Jean is on the ground. His hands are visibly shaking from the pain in his leg. I too feel pain, but I am accustomed to it. Tell me, if both of us shoot at the same time, what is the likely result of a bullet hitting its target?” To emphasize his meaning, Trystan cocks his gun and steadies his hand.
Jean grits his teeth then pulls the trigger of his Beretta M9. The noise ricochets off the surfaces as the shot zooms past Trystan and hits the opposite wall. The American jumps in fright, but remains standing. Jean fires five more times and not one bullet hits its mark. Trystan moves behind the outer wall and bursts out in laughter.
"Jean!" Nadine yells. He pulls the trigger another three times. "Stop shooting!" She pulls at her bonds in frustration.
Her handler pauses and glances at Nadine’s chains. Jean shifts his weight to face her and he aims at the links around the iron bar in the rafters. He pulls the trigger again and misses the chain by an inch. Again he shoots two more times; hitting the metal. As they snap, Nadine falls to the wet dusty floor.
Jean grunts and forces his body to roll over. The wet soil clings to his pants and shirt as he props himself up on his elbows. He aims towards the opened door and cocks his gun again.
“Jean,” Nadine growls and glares at him through her curtain of black hair. “Put that gun down.” Only one blue eye could be seen from the shadow as it pierces him. Blood dried on her skin and hair which gave her appearance a tired and crusted look. Her bright eyes underneath the ebony strands made her menacing all the same.
Jean glimpses at her and lays the Beretta on the ground. Nadine finally tears her glare from her handler and looks around for any weapon. Her eyes rest on the tool table that was used for her harsh interrogation. She crawls towards it, careful of her chains clanging against one another. Nadine raises her right arm to reach for a serrated knife and winces in the process. She then settles back on her hands. Jean watches with bated breath as she quietly makes her way to the wall.
Trystan hears a slight jangle and scuffle on the muddy floor inside the room. He braces himself for an attack and raises his Mark 23.
Nadine stands up and tries her best to tiptoe the rest of the way to the ajar door. She can hear heavy breathing behind the wall. Nadine takes a deep intake of air and slowly lets it out through her nose. The Frenchwoman points the blade ahead of her and places her palm flat against the wall. She pushes herself forward and grabs the door frame as she swings outside the door with the knife in hand.
Trystan snarls and raises his firearm, but is prevented from shooting Nadine as she pierces his upper left arm. He cries silently and strikes the woman in the face with his gun. Nadine shuts her eyes as she collapses to the ground in a heap. Her head smacks against the cement floor. White light shoots before her eyes and everything goes dark for a while.
Trystan grunts and straightens his back. He looks down at Nadine with fury and turns to stare into the room.
Jean is on his feet, but still wobbly from the bullet wound in his thigh. The Frenchman has his Beretta raised and pointing at Trystan.
The American chuckles and grins at Jean, “It seems we are at an impasse,” Trystan takes a step backward while maintaining eye contact with the other man.
Jean manages to grin mischieviously at him, but Jean throws his thumb back to cock his gun while Trystan’s eyes were locked on his. However, Trystan’s pistol was cocked and ready to be fired before Jean’s. The Mark 23 is shot and the bullet grazes Jean’s right shoulder. He gasps from the sting and fires his own gun; the bullet wounding Trystan’s already injured arm from Nadine’s stab.
The American flinches and shoots his weapon at Jean. The bullet soars past and sings off the metal table at the back of the room. Trystan glances down at the unconscious woman. He sneers in Jean’s direction and opens his mouth to speak, but closes it again.
“Loosen your tongue, Voclain,” Jean spits out. “I haven’t got all day.”
“No,” Trystan responds, “You don’t. Your leg will give way momentarily from the pressure of standing. I currently have more ammunition than you and, again I have the better vantage point.” He shoots once to distract Jean and dashes down the narrow hall.
Jean fires after the man, but misses as the bullets hits the end of the corridor and Trystan turns the corner with a skid and continues running. Jean grunts in frustration and throw out the empty magazine. He pulls out an extra fifteen from his back pocket, loads the Beretta and runs with a limp down the hall after Trystan.
You know it’ll be good when the trailer hurts you like this. [X]
Sometimes I have a hard time questioning whether his stories are true or not because they are all so badass and crazy
look what you can buy
There is a Pope in the Cars universe. This means that there is Catholic Christianity, which means there was a Jesus car who was crucified. Jesus Chrysler was crucified by car Romans under Pontiac Pilot who washed his wheels. A car was nailed to a cross and ascended to Heaven.
Some believe that before the universe, there was nothing. They’re wrong. There was darkness… and it has survived.
A very good way of going about explaining this issue. It’s good to see something positive come from Tumblr.
HOLY SHIT. THIS. THIS IS WHAT I HAVE BEEN TRYING TO TELL PEOPLE. SHUT YOUR MOUTH ABOUT MEN VS WOMEN. @_@
this is literally so important
lay all you want on me;
i'll be your whipping boy (x)