#Mystery Militia

[flagellant]

perhaps this is in bad faith, but don't you think it's plausible that ms appleton was just a government food scientist who was sent to japan as sort of U.S. ambassador and given a generic, americanized name? we know that resources were scarce during the war and that many changes had to be made, or simply were made to cut costs, in the production of lots of things at the time. it just makes sense when you break it down that traditional shoyu is time and labour intensive to make but improves the taste of even outright bad dishes. at a time when people were forced to eat whatever food was available to them demand was likely very high to the point of unreasonably outweighing supply. either officials at kikkoman reached out to american food scientists for a solution or they offered one up themselves, given the fact that food science was undergoing a huge international renaissance led by the americans during the 30s, 40s and 50s. americans have a tendency to synthesize food. they also tend to feel strongly about imposing their culture on other countries. it seems more to me like this is a story about the american government taking extra steps to obfuscate the story of how they semi-successfully tried to be the final nail in the coffin of widespread, traditional shoyu production. less like some kind of yakuza conspiracy somehow centred on one woman. just the perspective of someone who's felt compelled to do their own research. it's my opinion that the way you're presenting your findings leaves massive gaps as well as leaps to get over them. i can't speak for the things you haven't shared publicly, obviously, but it feels a lot like you're dancing around the point. good luck to you in your research, regardless of my own feelings.

I think I agree that you're either arguing in bad faith or simply aren't really paying attention to a wider picture here. It's common knowledge that postwar economics in Japan were heavily influenced and remain to this day connected to organized crime and the Yakuza as an old tool of the imperial/noble order. We also know for a fact that the CIA worked with the yakuza during American occupation in order to manipulate political culture and economic structures.

It's also a common conspiracy in Japanese circles (or at least so it appears, and I want to be clear I am not voicing this as more than preexisting theory/belief, so I will not directly source to give complete credibility; consider this as context for why I might be interested in investigating further, just in case) that Empress Michiko and the Seifun Milling Company had close under-the-table connections with America, which would further influence the traditional shoyu brewing culture.

Like, I feel as though if you seem to be aware enough that America's treatment of Japan was one of extreme hostility and cruelty with little-to-no care about the nation or its people, solely using it as a means to enforce American/Western ideals and principles onto an unwilling populace and using violence and illegal organized crime syndicates to fulfill those goals...then why are you acting as though it's sus of me to look at a single woman in 1947 having this much power/control over Japanese-American relations when you have said yourself that shoyu is the single most important ingredient for Japanese food of all time, and only moreso during war rations/scarcity times?

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

How would AK!Jason go with the fact that Y/N got kidnapped by Harley Quinn’s thugs while he was busy on a mission with his Militia. Love your stories by the way!

Abducted

Hi, nonnie! Thank you! Fair warning, this gets angsty. ~2.3k words

The Arkham Knight is surrounded by the dead bodies of nine of his most trusted and skilled men. It's not a mystery how they got that way. He shot the ones that were still alive himself.

Number ten is cowering on the ground, it's pathetic, really. They were supposed to be the best of the best.

That's what he was paying them for. So why the hell aren't you in the safe house he left you in? He unloads the rest of the clip into number tens leg, voice flat as he seethes, "Where are they?"

Number ten cries out. Jason doesn't really care. "They're– Harley! Quinn's gang got 'em," number ten chokes out, shaking and sobbing and weak.

"And where, exactly, did they take them?" Jason asks, reloading his gun.

"I don't know," number ten wails, and if Jason wasn't so pissed he'd roll his eyes. But he doesn't. This is serious. You're missing, and he's on the verge of blowing Gotham to hell.

"Guess," he hisses, pressing the barrel of the gun to the man's forehead.

"I don't– they said something about a carnival," number ten chokes out.

"Anything else," The Arkham Knights asks. Number ten shakes his head vigorously. Jason pulls the trigger and watches the body slump to the floor. He turns to the rest of the men, watching as they stiffen and shift under his gaze.

He's already stalking past them, "What do you have?"

"Sir, Harley Quinn hasn't been in Gotham since the Joker died," one of the men starts. Jason wonders if they notice the way his hands clench. "But there's rumors about a separate cell of Joker apologists, fanatics trying to keep his name alive."

He grits his teeth. Fine, that's not new information. But why would they go after you? "And," he forces out, "What does that have to do with them?"

His men follow him uneasily, "GCPD flagged a shipment to ACE Chemicals that went missing a few days ago. They– it was mentioned the truck was carrying chemicals similar to the ones used in the Joker and Harley Quinn cases, sir."

If he was any less trained, any less used to the hell that is Gotham, he would have stumbled, let out choked sounds and anguish and fear.

"One of the techs has a theory it's a revenge kidnapping," one of the sergeants continues, "for taking over Joker's old hideouts last week. It looks like they used a form of the laughing gas on the sentries outside."

"They're all going to be dead by the end of the night," He snaps, gesturing towards one of the lieutenants, "Get the men to set up a parameter. No one leaves the area. And no one moves in until they're secured. Understood?"

They nod vigorously. "Bring the fear toxin," the Arkham Knight grits out. He's out of the safe house and sprinting over Gothams rooftops without another word.

He knows Gotham better than most. Knows to take a shortcut over city hall, knows to jump in three... two... one... to land perfectly on a passing train. Knows when to shoot his grappling gun for the quickest route to the abandoned fairgrounds.

His heart is racing. He can see the number tracking his pulse steadily rising. He glares at the little number on the corner of his screen with a vengeance. He doesn't get to be scared. Doesn't get to panic until you're back at the base, warm and safe in his bed.

There's bile in his throat as he stalks through the shadows of the carnival. It rises with each thug he leaves crumpled and lifeless in the dirt. He's only acting on his training now, on the drive that he has to get to you, has to save you.

He slips past decaying attractions, clenches his fists at the abandoned ACE Chemicals truck crashed into a rotted ring toss booth. He follows the laughter and taunting voices to a ripped and decrepit tent.

There's not many places to hide, but Jason's the best at what he does. He thinks he might have been born to stalk the filth of Gotham.

His eyes narrow at the sight of you. Arms tied behind your back. Bruise forming on your cheek. Dazed expression, likely a concussion. Balanced precariously on the seat of a dunk tank over a pool of neon chemicals.

His fingers twitch over his gun when one of the goons throws a ball at the target, barely missing as the others laugh.

He counts the number of Joker fanatics in the room. Thirteen men. Eight women. Six posted close enough to you where they could hit the target if he's not fast enough. Seventeen with visible guns. All with visible weapons. There's more voices outside the tent.

He eyes the woman swinging a bat covered with barbed wire a little too close to the dunk tank, too close to you. Jason wants to get you out first. There's too many variables. You could get shot. He's not fast enough.

Someone throws another baseball. It's a perfect toss. He shoots it out of the air.

"You have something of mine," The Arkham Knight drawls, stepping out of the shadows. He would smile at the way most of the room flinches at the sight of him. He would if you weren't teetering over a vat of bubbling chemicals.

One of the men steps forward. Stupid of him, really, "Finders keepers." He says it like it's a game. Like you're just some toy they picked up off the street.

Jason laughs. It's funny, that they think just because they stole you, it makes you any less his, "I'm going to give you two choices. One, you drop your weapons and leave. Two, you stay and you learn exactly what the chemicals in that vat can do."

More people leave than he expected. Huh. Guess they aren't so loyal to the clowns' legacy as they said. "I'm not scared of you," Goon number one spits. Goon number one gets a bullet in his stomach.

"You will be," The Arkham Knight murmurs. It's quick work. They're untrained, inexperienced. Half of them are high. It becomes increasingly clear with each body that hits the floor gasping that someone paid off his men to get to you.

He's pulling you off and out of the dunk tank as the last thug hits the floor, "How bad is it?" Jason's hands do not shake as he unties your wrists. (They do.) His breath does not leave his lungs when you say your head hurts. (It does.)

His eyes dart over your face and he picks you up to cradle you against his chest, "I'll have a medic look over you when we get back." He tries to sound soothing, the modulator makes it sound emotionless. You don't even acknowledge it.

He carries you out of the tent. The Joker fanatics that left are kneeling in the dirt and his men have their guns trained to kill. The Arkham Knight nods to them, "Use the Fear Toxin. Inject them with the highest dose we have. Drop the freaks still alive in the tent into the vat."

"Yes, sir," his men echo. Jason ignores the begging that starts up behind him as he carries you to the armored truck. He maneuvers you inside with him, settles you on his lap as his hand brushes the bruise on your face.

"Boss," the soldier behind the steering wheel prompts.

"Take us back to base, sergeant," The Arkham Knight says evenly, gloves still tracing your bruise. He doesn't ask questions, doesn't make any promises. The only comfort he offers is his hand gripping your waist tightly, paired with the gentle caressing of your face.

He knows it's not kind, the way he's holding you. He sees it in your eyes, even through the exhaustion and headache you're feeling, he's overbearing. He can't bring himself to care. All that matters is that you're safe in his arms.

The rest he can take care of later. It'll be simple for him and Deathstroke to pick through the rats in his ranks. Scarecrow's always in need of new test subjects, after all.

His grip tightens on you as the truck stops. The Arkham Knight picks you up easily, pushing the door open and carrying you inside the base. His soldiers are quick to move out of his way. They should be. Anyone with a brain can tell he's angry.

He's livid, at the way you hardly move, barely react to him. A medic files after him quickly as he sets you down in his personal quarters.

It's not a room he ever uses, preferring to sleep at whatever safe house you're in, but you're safer here until he can weed out the traitors. He watches you shift slightly in the chair, eyes unfocused.

Jason steps back and studies you with sharp eyes as the medic talks to you quietly, taking note of each wound and stumbled answer you give.

"Mild concussion, some scrapes and abrasions. Nothing that won't heal," the medic decides, "They shouldn't sleep for the next hour and need to be monitored for any worsening symptoms."

Jason motions them to leave. He hates to leave you alone, even for a moment, but there is one more order he needs to give. He follows the medic out the door.

A group of squad leaders stand rigid outside his quarters. Good. They should be on edge. "Make an example of any Joker or Harley Quinn sympathizers," he says, tone an unquestionable command, "Anything that's theirs, is a part of our operations by the end of the night."

He doesn't bother to stay and listen to their replies, already turning back into the room where you're waiting. Jason locks the door behind him, crossing the room in three strides and kneels at your feet.

You blink down at him. He hates the distant look in your eyes. You should be here. With him. He tugs his helmet off, "Does your head still hurt?"

You nod a little, the only proof you're really listening. He takes your hand in his brushing his thumb over your knuckles, "Say something." It's a command. It makes you jolt a little. He hates himself for it.

"I thought– they were gonna kill me," You stumble out, voice weak.

He nods, there's no pretending that's not true, "They can't kill anyone now."

He thinks you would have looked alarmed, if you didn't know what he was now. Relentless. A monster. A killer. But you do know, he's made that more than clear since the moment he got you back by his side.

You look resigned instead. Jason wishes you'd look relieved, "Do you need anything," he asks instead, reaching up to brush the bruise on your cheek. He can't help it, it's his fault that it's there.

You shake your head. He hates how quiet you're being, "Say something," he prompts again. He knows he shouldn't, knows you're in shock and you're hurt and you're tired and you're probably scared and he's not helping. But, he squeezes your hand anyway, a silent demand.

"What do you want me to say, Jason?" You breathe out, eyes finally focusing on him.

"Anything. Ask me for anything. Yell at me. Curse me out. Tell me you hate me. Hit me. Give me a bruise to match," He says almost desperately, pressing himself closer between your knees.

There's something wrong with him. He realizes that. The Arkham Knight is well aware that something inside of him is twisted, that you deserve better than this, especially after what you just went through, but he doesn't stop himself.

"I don't wanna hurt you," You murmur, "You came for me."

"I'm the reason you were there in the first place," Jason protests, both hands moving to cup your face, "I would deserve it, welcome it, if it was from you."

"I want," You start, and Jason leans forward eagerly, ready for whatever punishment you deliver, "I want to lay down. I wanna feel safe."

He falters, but doesn't move from between your legs, "You can't sleep for at least another hour."

"I know," You say quietly. Jason stares at you. You're the only thing that makes him unsure now. You always manage to knock him off center, never doing what he expects.

"Okay," he relents, scooping you up just as easily as he did in the tent. He carries you over to his bed. It's unused, perfectly made. He only ever sleeps wherever you are.

Jason carefully places you at the edge of the bed and digs through a drawer, handing you a shirt. He tugs off his armor, and frowns when you don't move.

"You don't want to sleep in that," it's not a question, and maybe he should frame it as one. Try to get nicer. But he thinks he might have forgotten how. You nod and slowly change. His eyes never leave you.

There's a few more bruises than he expected, and it makes rage coil in his chest. There's nothing he can do but crawl into bed at your side. It makes him uneasy, how little he can do for you.

He tugs you against him, he's not as gentle as he means to be.

You curl against him, fingers tangling into his shirt. He should comfort you here. Tell you it's going to be okay. Promise to protect you. He should rub your back and kiss your forehead and ease whatever pain you have in your heart.

But he's not gentle. He's not good. You're like this because of him. He holds you tighter when tears start to soak his shirt, lets you tangle your legs with his.

He doesn't manage to find the right words to say, doesn't manage to do the right thing before the hour is up, and you drift off to sleep. He doesn't think he ever will.

[cathygeha]

REVIEW

The Investigator by John Sanford

The Letty Davenport Series #1

 Letty’s entrance indicated she had a skillset that would later come in handy as she found information not all would have been able to access. She is bored in her job and ready to quit when Senator Colles offers her a job that could be perfect for her. John Kaiser, the man she is partnered with as she heads off on her first investigation, is a bit older, a seasoned warrior, bright, capable, and brings similar but different skills to the partnership that will assist them both on the case. That said, the first part was a slow slog as they got to know one another, started to work on the investigation, talked to oil men about missing oil, thought about who might be taking it, how it was being taken,  what the money was being used for and all they learned eventually provided clues that had them hustling in hopes of preventing a difficult situation.  

 This book introduced the main and supporting characters for the series, gave a bit of both backstories, gave insight into Letty’s way of working through issues, and indicated trust and respect were developing between John and Letty that should provide them with a strong working relationship.

 This is the first book I have read by Sanford, and I wasn’t sure during the slow slog of the first two-thirds of the book that this would be a series for me BUT as the pace picked up toward the end, I became more invested and do believe I would like to find out what happens next.

 Thank you to NetGalley and Canelo for the ARC – This is my honest review.

 4-5 Stars

     BLURB

 By age twenty-four, Letty Davenport has seen more action and uncovered more secrets than many law enforcement professionals. Now a recent Stanford grad with a master’s in economics, she’s restless and bored in a desk job for U.S. Senator Colles. Letty’s ready to quit, but her skills have impressed Colles, and he offers her a carrot: feet-on-the-ground investigative work, in conjunction with the Department of Homeland Security. Several oil companies in Texas have reported thefts of crude, Colles tells her. He isn’t so much concerned with the oil as he is with the money: who is selling the oil, and what are they doing with the profits? Rumor has it that a fairly ugly militia group might be involved. Colles wants to know if the money is going to them, and if so, what they’re planning. Letty is partnered with a DHS investigator, John Kaiser, and they head to Texas. When the case quicky turns deadly, they know they’re on the track of something bigger. The militia group has set in motion an explosive plan . . . and the clock is ticking down.

[bearofohu]

i will never fucking get over this btw imagine being a famous recently widowed (again) 40 year old man who has saved the world twice and you get a letter from your apprentice to come to america to solve a mystery with him and you show up and new york is looking even more fucked up than usual and you just want to see your son again but then he fucking pulls up on your ass in his 1954 honda swag and yolo wagon and tells you to get your elderly ass in the back seat bc the evil steampunk robot militia is about to roll up and then he takes you to some resistance headquarters where they ask luke whos this guy you just snatched from the retirement home and you find out nobody in america fucking knows who you are and your 14 year old son has way more clout than you and everybody just thinks you’re the boy genius’ loser grandpa

[goryhorroor]

Upcoming horror movies (some without release years) - not in order

Longlogs - FBI Agent Lee Harker is assigned to an unsolved serial killer case that takes an unexpected turn, revealing evidence of the occult. Harker discovers a personal connection to the killer and must stop him before he strikes again.

Nosferatu - A gothic tale of obsession between a haunted young woman and the terrifying vampire infatuated with her, causing untold horror in its wake.

Bermuda - Unknown details but it will be set in the mysterious patch of the Caribbean where planes and ships have gone missing over the years.

Twisters (ok thriller but imma count it because i can) - A sequel to the 1996 film about stormchasing scientists studying tornados.

Immaculate - Cecilia is warmly welcomed to the picture-perfect Italian countryside, where she is offered a new role at an illustrious convent. But it becomes clear to Cecilia that her new home harbors dark and horrifying secrets.

Ghostbusters: Frozen Empire - The film centers on the Spengler family as they return to where it all started – the iconic New York City firehouse – to team up with the original Ghostbusters, who’ve developed a top-secret research lab to take busting ghosts to the next level. But when the discovery of an ancient artifact unleashes an evil force, Ghostbusters new and old must join forces to protect their home and save the world from a second Ice Age.

Mickey's Mouse Trap - follows a group of friends who become targets of a serial killer dressed as Mickey Mouse

Imaginary - When Jessica moves back into her childhood home with her family, her youngest stepdaughter Alice develops an eerie attachment to a stuffed bear named Chauncey she finds in the basement.  Alice's games with Chauncey become increasingly sinister, and Jessica intervenes only to realize Chauncey is much more than the stuffed toy bear she believed him to be.

Skeletons in the Closet - Haunted by a malevolent spirit since childhood, a desperate mother allows herself to become possessed in order to save the life of her terminally ill daughter.

Lisa Frankenstein - love story about a misunderstood teenager and her high school crush, who happens to be a handsome corpse. After a set of playfully horrific circumstances bring him back to life, the two embark on a murderous journey to find love, happiness… and a few missing body parts along the way.

Winnie The Pooh: Blood & Honey 2 - oh yay? I guess a sequel

Adrift - It is described as a supernatural ghost story set aboard a ship. It is an adaptation of a short story by Koji Suzuki

Dustbunny - It follows a young girl who asks her neighbor to help her kill a monster under her bed after she thinks it has eaten her family.

Faces of Death -  follows a woman who discovers violent videos that recreate death scenes from movies online. 

Heretic -  two religious women who become the focus of a strange man's games. 

History of Evil - In the near future, war and corruption have plagued America and turned it into a theocratic police state. Against the oppression, ordinary citizens have formed a group called The Resistance. One such member, Alegre Dyer, breaks out of political prison and reunites with her husband Ron and daughter Daria. On the run from the militia, the family takes shelter in a remote safe house. But their journey is far from over, as the house’s dark past begins to eat away at Ron, and his earnest desire to keep his family safe is overtaken by something much more sinister.

MaXXXine - Six years after the ‘Texas Pornhouse Massacre’, Maxine is now LA-based and on a driven quest to become a star in the acting world. But things take a sinister turn when bodies once again begin to fall around her.

Dracula - A futuristic sci-fi western version of Dracula.

Apartment 7A - Prequel to the 1968 film Rosemary’s Baby.

Baghead - follows a young woman who inherits a run-down pub and discovers a dark secret within its basement. Enter Baghead - a shape-shifting creature that will let you speak to lost loved ones, but not without consequence. 

Out of Darkness - In the Old Stone Age, a disparate gang of early humans band together in search of a new land. But when they suspect a malevolent, mystical, being is hunting them down, the clan are forced to confront a danger they never envisaged.

Stopmotion - stop-motion animator by the name of Ella whose latest project might just be driving her to the brink of madness.

Late Night with the Devil - 1970s talk show host Jack Delroy on his last legs, wrung out by personal tragedy and in need of a ratings win. His plan to feature as a guest a young girl who is allegedly possessed seems like a Halloween night layup… until the cameras roll and all hell literally breaks loose.

You'll Never Find Me - An isolated man living at the back of a desolate caravan park is visited by a desperate young woman seeking shelter from a violent storm. As the savage storm worsens, these solitary souls begin to feel threatened – but who should really be afraid?

The First Omen - When a young American woman is sent to Rome to begin a life of service to the church, she encounters a darkness that causes her to question her own faith and uncovers a terrifying conspiracy that hopes to bring about the birth of evil incarnate. (this might be a prequel to the omen)

Abigail - After a group of would-be criminals kidnap the 12-year-old ballerina daughter of a powerful underworld figure, all they have to do to collect a $50 million ransom is watch the girl overnight. In an isolated mansion, the captors start to dwindle, one by one, and they discover, to their mounting horror, that they’re locked inside with no normal little girl. 

Return to Silent Hill - James, a man broken after being separated from his one true love. When a mysterious letter calls him back to Silent Hill in search of her, he finds a once-recognizable town transformed by an unknown evil. As James descends deeper into the darkness, he encounters terrifying figures both familiar and new and begins to question his own sanity as he struggles to make sense of reality and hold on long enough to save his lost love.

Infested -  invasion of venomous spiders, forcing residents of a suburban building to find a way out.

Tarot - Tarot follows a group of friends who recklessly violate the sacred rule of Tarot readings – never use someone else’s deck. In the wake of broken rules, consequences follow, this time in the form of unleashing an unspeakable evil trapped within the cursed cards. 

The Strangers Chapter 1 - a couple, have to survive the night while being terrorized by masked strangers in a remote Airbnb in Oregon

The Watchers - the film follows a young woman who becomes trapped with three strangers in a shelter deep within a forest in Ireland where the group must fight off mysterious creatures every night in order to survive. 

Never Let Go - a family who has been tormented by an evil spirit for years as their lives become more dangerous when one of the kids questions if the evil is real. 

The One - Follows character Taylor as she becomes a contestant on a reality TV dating show to find love. Taylor's experience takes a turn as she gets down to the final three and becomes terrified of not finding love (with a horror twist)

Thread: An Insidious Tale - new actors who play a husband and wife who use a spell to travel back in time to prevent their daughter's death, which has worse consequences than imagined

Weapons - The movie is about the disappearance of high school students in a small town, similar to the movie Magonlia's from 1999

A Quiet Place: Day One - New characters in New York

Alien: Romulus - takes place between the first & second movies

Beetlejuice 2 - not much is known about the plot details, but Beetlejuice will have a wife & Lydia's daughter will be in it

Speak No Evil: this is the English remake (all it really says; but it's just the 2022 movie but English?)

Smile 2 - it's a sequel but no details have been revealed

Terrifer 3 - not too many details revealed but it will take place on Christmas Eve

Wolfman - not too many details revealed but it's a new take on the werewolf tale

I Saw The TV Glow - Teenager Owen is just trying to make it through life in the suburbs when his classmate introduces him to a mysterious late-night TV show — a vision of a supernatural world beneath their own. In the pale glow of the television, Owen’s view of reality begins to crack.

Don't Move - A seasoned killer injects a grieving woman with a paralytic agent and she must run, fight and hide before her body completely shuts down.

Arcadian - Nicolas Cage comes back to save the day - and his children - from ferocious creatures at their remote farmhouse.

All My Friends Are Dead - College friends? Remote Airbnb? A secret murderer? What could go wrong in this classic toxic friend group killing spree? Looking forward to attending the biggest music fest of the year, this group of friends get together for what should be a killer weekend.

Monolith - It is about a disgraced journalist who investigates a conspiracy theory while trying to salvage her career.

some movies coming out maybe not this year but have been floating around: The Toxic Avenger (I think remake), Witchboard (remake), Year 2 (about werewolves), Shelby Oaks (A woman's desperate search for her long-lost sister falls into obsession upon realizing that the imaginary demon from their childhood may have been real), Salem's Lot (remake), Little Bites ('70s-set monster movie that highlights the lengths a parent will go to protect a child), The Crow (Reboot), Jordan Peele's untitled movie, I've also seen there's going to be another Saw (but it hasn't been confirmed), and another Scream (but that production is already a trainwreck so who knows)

[hpeter1]

miss militia is still a mystery for me. like yeah, guns that don't jam ig, and not sleeping (usually), and some versatility? isn't a non cape with a gun still about the same? we don't see her reproducing tinker guns or anything fancy like that, just regular manufactured guns. the wow factor is never being disarmed? trying to wrap my head around her becoming such a big wig in the prt, maybe it's more about the person, her efficiency and smarts, and not her potential. maybe the competition in the prt ranks is not that fierce with having fewer heroes than villains.

invite to any miss militia lawyers/enjoyers to enlighten me on her positive traits

[ratxklng]

the celestial authority ; 🌌

3 out of 4 diamonds in the gempire im making. from left to right, welcome quasar diamond, empyreal diamond, and umbra diamond

quasar diamond, the beaming sun, handles external affairs. with a bold, terrifying, yet bombastic presence, he is the face of militia, defense, and colonization for the empire. his gem is on her chest

umbra diamond, the somber moon, handles internal affairs. she presents herself with sharp wit and widsom as the head of diplomacy and technological advancement in the empire. her gem is on her back

empyreal diamond, the mysterious cosmos, handles leadership affairs. its divine and all-knowing power is what represents the mastery of gems. it was the origin of all gems. its gem is its third eye's pupil

together, they lead homeworld, along with a fourth diamond belonging to my bf that's in the works.

extras under the cut!

in order:

1. umbra without her glasses on

2. concept sketches for umbra and quasar's pearls

3. concept sketch for empyreal's pearl

[plasticfreckles]

🌙 happy birthday to me solavellan enjoy 🌙

"Mistress Lavellan." Startled, Solas reaches for his heart. He'd been so engulfed in his art he hadn't heard the door.

The motion smeared colour where it didn't belong and made some limestone come crumbling down. Something to fix, once his pulse has returned to normal.

He does not remember being that easily startled, before the Slumber.

Lavellan sits in her favorite spot, on the chaise longue by the wall. She barely looks up from her book. Eyes up at Solas for but a moment, everything all right? He barely needs to nod. Lavellan turns to their guest.

"Josephine. What do you need?"

"I've been wondering, my lady, for completion's sake, could you reveal your nameday to me? Just to have it written down somewhere."

"My what?" He hears the sound of her wooden bookmark sliding between pages before snapping her reading closed with entirely more force than necessary.

"You- your nameday. The day of the year you were born."

"I don't know." Solas puts down his brush, turns on his scaffolding.

Have the Dalish strayed so far from what they were that they no longer note the day someone was blessed with the gift of life?

"You don't know?" The Ambassador, despite dropping her carefully curated, diplomatic pokerface for a moment, does not even look half as scandalized as he feels.

Lavellan shrugs. When she pulls her legs up on the settee, knees covering her chest, and reaches for her honey lemon milk, her face turns guarded. She's ashamed for it.

"We don't really do calendars. I think it was around a summer solstice. There was a famine. It had rained the whole spring, and then the sun came burning down all summer. Humans of the village had used up their stores, so they sent their militia apprentices to raid ours. Or so my brother told me."

That can't be true, Solas thinks. Haleir is younger than she is. How could he know the circumstance of her birth if she herself does not?

Josephine taps the top of her pen against her writing board.

"Summer famine in the Marches.. the most recent would have been three years ago. Have you lived during the Blight?"

"I wasn't in Ferelden, but I was alive, yes."

Lavellan sips at her drink, but the way she cards a hand through her hair and glances up at Solas in short, regular intervals tells him she is deeply uncomfortable with this conversation.

Josephine is too intrigued figuring out the mystery of her birth to notice.

Solas climbs down from the scaffolding. Despite her discomfort, Lavellan smirks behind her mug at the paint stains on his tunic. It's evident his startling had shaken the paint bucket, color flowing over the rim and onto his clothes. She picks up a discarded quilt from the floor with her toes and drapes it over the chaise beside her.

So he can sit with her without tainting the furniture.

She may as well have hurled her mug aside and hid behind him, save me please I need help screeched loud enough for the Horsemaster to hear.

"The last summer famine before the Blight would make you," a pause, as Josephine scribbles on her board. Calculations, perhaps. "Twenty-seven? Twenty-eight later this month."

She shrugs. The motion pushes her shoulder into his hand, almost as soon as he'd rested his arm over the back.

Solas rubs his thumb into her bare skin. Feels a scar he does not yet know, that the vows to inquire about.

"Maybe? I don't know, Josephine."

"Well, then, allow me to put down 22 Justinian, 9:13 Dragon for your namedate. Oh. There shall soon be cause for celebration." The Ambassador leaves.

"Solas?" She leans the back of her head against his biceps.

"Yes, vhenan?"

"What date is it today?"

"7 Justinian, if I am not mistaken." He is not mistaken. Lavellan groans, one hand rubbing at her forehead. "Does it bother you she made up a birthdate for you?"

"Not as much as her doubling down does. I thought I don't know, we don't use your calendars was enough of an answer. But I suppose it wouldn't be the first time the Inquisition invents a fun factoid about me." Two pats to his thigh, then rubs. "At least it's not as bad as Vanquisher of the Rebel Mages. That was just a lie."

When Solas turns his head to look at her, she's already looking back at him. Her expression is heavy with exhaustion. He tugs her closer into his embrace by her shoulder, kisses her temple.

"I'm told it is customary of offer presents to the one whose birth is celebrated. Is there anything you might wish for?"

"...I snapped my leather needle the other night, when I was stitching up your boots?" Solas can't help but laugh.

"No. Something for you, because you would enjoy possessing it. Not a thing you need." Though he will also procure those for her.

Lavellan sighs, again. The strain on her shoulders is entirely too heavy.

Like him, she has the responsibility of her world to grapple with.

"Nothing you can make happen for me, my love. But thank you." That doesn't mean I won't try. She puts down her mug, circles his neck with her arms and pulls his face down to hers.

-

"I have a question, vhenan." Solas starts, over their breakfast on their balcony.

He'd taken the liberty of moving the crates from their upper loft to the balcony, to serve as buffet for all the food's he'd had made for her. Dalish trailbread, eggs with spring onions, soup entirely too hearty for him to even consider consuming right after waking.

The foods she hadn't had in over a year.

"What's that?" She puts down soupbowl and spoon, elbows on the table, balances her head on the backs of her wrists as she regards him.

"You were born before Haleir. How could he know the landscape of your birth, and you don't?" Ah, she makes.

"I'm the middle child. My older brother, Mithras, he was about Haleir's age now when I was born." That would put Mithras in his fourties, if Solas' math checks out. Fifty at most. About his own age, ignoring immortality.

"Is he a craftsman, like yourself?" The smile on her lips is slight, bittersweet, reminiscent.

Mithras is no longer alive.

"I apologize, vhenan, I didn't realize. We don't have to speak of it." She waves him off, picks her soupbowl back up, drinking straight from the rim. Stalling.

"It's all right, vhenan, you didn't know. Mithras was a mage, like Haleir. We were sent to the Conclave together. To look out for each other." Curious that the gift of magic would skip her, when it evidently runs in her bloodline strong enough to produce two mages within the same generation.

"He did not survive." Lavellan shakes her head.

"And now Deshanna is sending Haleir off into the Graves. I'm not sure there's another mage left in the clan. Unless Mille's twins are both touched." Worry first, then musing. "Let's speak of something else. What are you working on today?"

"I am at your beck and call, vhenan. Once you're sated, I shall draw a hot bath for you. I will wash you, if you wish it. Whatever you desire, I shall fetch." He reaches under his chair. "And I have made something for you." She laughs as she realizes what it is that holds the packaging closed.

"I thought you said I couldn't ask for things I need." He walks over, stands over her shoulder as he watches her pull the leather needles from the parchment.

"I never said I would not get them for you." She turns her face, rests her forehead against his hip.

"I love you so much, Solas."

"I love you, too, Lathari. Go on, open it."

The parchment is removed and in spite of the needleholes, folded up neatly to be reused later.

Her breath catches in her throat once she sees the cover.

She touches the stitches in the leather, the sketch he'd transferred, then burned onto the hide; a nine-eyed wolf resting under a blooming lemon tree.

"An artbook? Of your art?"

"Ah, no. I merely designed the cover and bound the book."

"You bound it? I didn't know you could do that." She turns to look up at him. It has been ages since somebody regarded him with such wonder.

"I learnt the craft only recently. It is both simpler and harder than it appears." In fact, it has earned him a newfound appreciation for Lavellan's immaculate seamwork. He reaches past her, flips the book open. "The pages are empty. A sketchbook. For your sewing patterns. I noticed that, in the field, you put down your ideas on whatever you can find. I thought you might appreciate something dedicated to your art."

"Solas, that's so thoughtful. Thank you."

There's a new strain in his low back as she pulls him down for another kiss, but he does not mind it.

Not if it means her touch in exchange.

🌙

Lathari turns 28 bc I'm turning 28 leave me alone. *sprinkles her first name in like salt bae*

I started writing this at 11:52 pm on my birthday while my sleeping meds started to kick in, but in retrospect I find it hilarious that Josie even noted the last famine was three years ago like Why Yes Lady Ambassador I Am In Fact Three Years Old lmao

That's what they mean when writers say I don't make my characters do anything they just be doing stuff and I write it down I guess

[minihotdog]

The Scout

Pairing: Ghost x Fem!Reader

Summary: Ghost runs into an old... Friend? Enemy?

a/n: idk man I'm just justing

c/w: adult themes MINORS DNI

Word Count: 8k

Ghost excused himself from the group of men after exchanging his post with Gaz for the night and headed towards the grey, empty room he’d been calling his. His body was worn out, along with his mind.

The mission had been going on for weeks and was moving at a snail’s pace. They were pursuing a militia that had recently aligned with Makarov’s forces. Laswell had received intel on a shipment of weapons that were heading for said militia’s hideout intended for Makarov. The shipment was set to arrive within the month and the task force intended to intercept it, but that meant a lot of time spent sitting and watching in shifts. 

The detachment facility was concealed but close enough to intercept coms without being detected

Ghost was getting tired of waiting. He was used to action, and adrenaline, and the slow pace was wearing him and his comrades down even more than the countless neverending firefights they were accustomed to. As much as those moments left permanent marks on his psyche, he and everyone he knew craved it in some twisted, bloodthirsty way. At this point, he was doing a thousand pushups a day for “excitement”.

He blew air through his nose in frustration as he sat on the twin-sized wrestling mat he called a bed. He placed his gun on the floor next to him and threw his heavy vest against the wall to use as a pillow.

The weight coming off his shoulders leaves him rubbing his aching shoulders in relief over the sleek material of his sweater. He lies back on the paper-thin foam and his spine lets out a series of pops, finally releasing the pressure built up from hours holding the same position.

He groans quietly, reaching under his mask to scratch his scruff.

M’as well sleep on the floor, this mat is shite.

He rests his hand on his chest and the other on the knife sheathed to his belt. His eyes shut and he chases his rest fully clothed, boots and all.

-Time Skip: Approx. 0300-

He didn’t dream often, especially on the job. On the contrary, nightmares plagued him when he was home and a threatening darkness encompassed him on the field. But this feeling wasn’t right. Even asleep, Ghost was on alert. He could sense to his core that the air in the room had changed and a wave of uneasiness flooded him in his dreamless state.

He couldn’t pull himself from the darkness as he usually could. No matter how hard he subconsciously tried, his body was begging for rest against his efforts.

Ghost felt a weight lower itself onto his lap. Another person’s hands slide lightly from his waist to his chest.

Bloody ‘ell, wake up!

His body tenses involuntarily under the fondling. The zipper on his sweater carefully unzips. The cool air hitting his bare chest causes him to twitch in the battle between mind and body. The grasp the darkness had on him was lethal.

Small, warm hands graze the exposed skin of his abdomen, lightly tracing the patches of thick scar tissue that littered all over his body.

A soft, feminine voice coos at him as he twitches and his mind rushes to fill in the blanks, sending different scenes through his closed eyes in a poor attempt to mask the sound as a dream.

C’mon, wake up!

He felt as if he was floating through dimensions as he began the process of regaining full consciousness, eyes still refusing to open.

The mysterious woman lowers herself onto him, her nose gently nuzzling his neck. She takes a deep breath as if she’s trying to savor his musky scent. Her head pulls away from his neck and he feels fingertips graze his throat.

She fiddles with the hem of his balaclava before it begins to catch at the sides of his jaw. He feels his mask being pulled up and a shock shoots through his body. His limp state disappears instantly and he reaches for her. His other hand remembers its place on the knife.

His fingers wrap around her wrist, preventing it from going any further.

“Don’t worry, darling.” She coos as her free hand caresses his cheek. “I won’t pull it off, that’s not nice.” His grip tightens but she pays it no mind. She moves her hand from his cheek and uses it to pull his mask enough to reveal his lips. Her thumb outlines his bottom lip and she swoops down to plant a small kiss on his lips. He feels her lips through her mask.

His eyes flutter, trying to rid themselves of the blurriness. Moonlight pours into the room just enough for him to make out her figure above him and some of her features.

“I’ve been watching you for so long.” She wines, bottom lip quivering slightly under the material. “I couldn’t help myself. I needed to see you.” Her eyes crinkle as if she’s smiling under the mask. The black mask only covers the lower half of her face and a long single braid falls over her shoulder. He sighs, staring up at the ceiling.

“Y/n, we have to stop meeting like this.” The rasp in his voice sends shivers down her spine. She chuckles and tilts her head.

Ghost releases her wrist and wraps his fingers around her throat so quickly she doesn’t have time to react. Her hands come up to hold his in place and a whimper falls from her lips. Her eyes stare into his, lust clouding her pupils. Ghost shifts beneath her, feeling the heat radiating off of her. Her hips involuntarily grind against his in a jerking motion and arousal begins to stir inside of him.

Even through the mask, he could see her jaw go slack, her eyes burning into him. He couldn’t stop himself from giving her a small squeeze and watching her body come alive for him.

Fuckin’ ‘ell

He snaps himself out of the trance and slides himself up until his back rests on the wall taking her with him. He lets out a shaky breath before speaking. 

“Why are you watching us this time?” He shakes her roughly when the words refuse to fall out of her open mouth. He unsheaths his knife from his belt and presses the blade to her throat just about his thumb. “C’mon, love, keep this easy.”

She grips his wrist and attempts to push the knife away but he doesn’t budge. A look of panic flashes in her eyes. “Decided to toy with the enemy and this time it isn’t going your way, huh?”

His bare lips graze her ear. “If you were under my command, I’d take you bound and gagged to teach you a lesson, you little minx.” His words drip with poison. She fights against his grip to no avail. “Tsk, tsk, tsk.”

The hem of his fatigues grinds painfully against her clit. He catches himself nearly panting at her little cries.

“I’m here to warn you, you stupid fuck.” She chokes out, clawing at his now painful grip on her jaw.

“Warn me of what?” He growls.

“Makarov has men heading this way. He thinks the task force has been tipped off.” She winces at his tightening grip.

Ghost chuckles, his plump lips tugging into a cocky smile. He sheaths his knife and his grip on her neck loosens and she gasps, finally being able to breathe properly.

“You’re working for Makarov now? That’s fuckin’ hilarious. You just keep getting worse.”

He tosses her backward onto the floor. He jumps to his feet, throwing on his vest and grabbing his gun. He readjusts his mask and turns back to her.

“Well, I recommend you disappear now.”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes, “So no goodbye kiss?”

“Fuck off.”

He places his headset over his ears.

“Bravo 6, Ghost. How copy?”

“What is it?”

“A little birdie told me Makarov’s men are heading our way.”

“All units pull out!”

Gunshots begin sounding through the hallway nearby. Ghost assesses the hall. When his head turns back she’s gone and the window is wide open.

He leaves the room behind to join the fight with his brothers. A trail of destruction leads to the vehicle barreling towards the compound for them. As Ghost enters the humvee he looks back to the dark building. Somewhere in the dense treeline, he could swear she was perched up watching him.

- Time Skip: UK -

“Makarov knew we were there. We did not prepare for that possibility. He could’ve used the gun deal to drag us out there and intended to have all of us killed.” Price sits at the head of the table looking to Laswell at his left.

“How’d you get out in time?” She looks over the images and reports plastered on the table.

Ghost interjects, “He had a scout visit before the attack, a familiar one.”

“Viper visited you before the attack?” Her eyebrows furrow. “This gives us plenty to look into. That’s enough for now.” She turns to Price. “Speaking of scouts, we’re gonna need one to plan for the next mission.”

They all dismiss from the debriefing, everyone heading their separate ways except Soap and Ghost.

“Yer tellin’ me she told ye they were coming? Tha’s a first.” Soap says in disbelief. “I guess Makarov isn’t payin’ them like he used tae.”

They say their goodbyes and Ghost heads to his barracks room.

[zestoflemon]

okay! heres more drawtectives star trek au thoughts bc i have a lot of thoughts :)

so all of this would take place in the lower decks era (2381), with jancy as the captain of officers rose, grendan, and york, and science expert eugene! also rosé, grendan, and york went to starfleet academy together bc thats fun

rosé is still a human, she's from tycho city bc its always funny to me when a star trek character is from the moon. she's a pilot and she learned to fly shuttles and runabouts at a young age. karina's hinted at there being some Dramatic Things in rosé's past so i briefly thought maybe she'd been recruited to section 31,, but then i thought maybe thats too much? so instead her Dramatic Thing could be that she had a conflict with a previous commanding officer that led to her being transferred off the ship. her off duty style would be very christine chapel or erica ortegas in snw vibes, she has so many chelsea boots its crazy

grendan is bajoran bc that just makes sense to me <3 their parents were in the bajoran militia so they lived on ds9 for a while and got interested in starfleet there! shes a science officer and specializes in exobiology (the star trek equivalent of walking dogs) his style is mostly earth tones plus science blues and soo many crochet vests and sweaters

york! klingon lore works really well with orc lore imo but he had to be green so! his dad is a klingon warrior and his mom is an orion starfleet officer, and york grew up with his dad on qo'nos before coming to earth to live with his mom and eventually join starfleet :) oh also since klingons mature faster than humans but i wanted him to be around the same age as grendan i just subtracted 8 years from what his human age would be, so he's technically the youngest of the star trek drawtectives but not by klingon standards?

eugene <3 i just think all the vulcan spirituality and katra and telepathy makes soo much sense for him! and i think he was with the vulcan science academy but then got really into studying the afterlife with holograms & androids so he left the academy to do his own research

i dont have a lot thought out for jancy yet but she's a betazoid bc i think telepathic jancy is neat :) and she was a diplomat before entering starfleet where she studied anthropology (and mystery solving)

also feel free to send me asks about this! drawfee and star trek are my two favorite things so i have a lot of thoughts about them but idk if im explaining them well,,

[multidimensionalsock]

A list of indie games that take you to weird places with weird vibes.

My favorite genre of video game, go to a weird place and meet other weird people while you explore the weird little world and learn about the meaning of life.

Truberbrook

A sci-fi set in 1960s Germany. Quantum physicist, Hans Tannhauser wins a lottery he quite determinedly, did not enter, to visit the tiny, strange, remote and rather dead town of Trüberbrook. On your first night you have your research papers stolen, meet a woman who insists on you going up the mountain with her, and get far more than you bargained for in terms of multidimensional, universe warping nonsense.

Night in the woods

Mae, and anthropomorphic cat, drops out of college to come back to live with her parents in her dying home town in the American rust belt, for reasons she refuses to explain. Here she discovers that not only has the town moved on from where it was when she was younger, but the people have too, and she's forced to battle with this as well as supernatural dreams about instrument players, and a town full of a range of weird people that feels just as alive as she does and have their own stories and lives.

eastward

After the world was threatened by a substance called 'miasma', the lasting human population hides in cities that offer some form of protection. Your main character finds himself a miner in a controlling and subterranean town, knowing nothing of the outside until he finds a mysterious girl and takes her in. You go from being the best, frying pan wielding miner, to getting kicked out of the town into the wider, post apocalyptic world, exploring the weird settlements of the outside and making friends with equally weird acquaintances.

oxenfree

A group of 5 teenagers take the last boat out to an old military fort for an overnight party on the beach. There are legends about the island, that sometimes you can pick up frequencies to radio stations that don't exist, and that is how you unwittingly open a ghostly rift tied to the islands past, your friends start disappearing, and you need to solve whats going on by exploring the island, and the frequencies in the old military tech that haunt it.

disco Elysium

You're a cop, or rather the closest this unpoliced area of revachol can call a cop. You're drunken, and a drug addict, and a body has been hung on a tree outside for the past week, threatening to start a civil war between corporate and unions and minor militias for the past week, beginning to rot. As a husk of your past, apparently accomplished self (though you cant remember that, you cant even currently remember your own name after the bender you went on) you need to try and solve the mystery, alongside your partner Kim. Along the way you can also decide to join a union, or a bootlicker, a drug addict, or wear some very questionable clothing while telling a woman her husband died, all while being fully narrated to by 24 weirdly talkative voices in your head.

Everybodys gone to the rapture

This is a town with no people, just an empty place with the stories of those that were. In the shopshire countryside a town exists where everyone has disappeared, only bright orbs to lead you around the valley, listening to telephones, radios and recordings, as well as the lights themselves morphing into their human counterparts, to show the past events that led to everyone disappearance, symptoms of illness, before eventually fading, unexplainably, into lights, an infection created by a none human entity, a 'pattern', which can travel from human to human. A look at the tangled lives of humans in the town, and eventually how they reacted to their quarantine and those around them vanishing.

[monsieuroverlord]

February 2025 Solicits are UP!

source here

Hellverine #3

written by Benjamin Percy, art by Raffaele Ienco, main cover by Kendrick "kunkka" Lim

With varianys by Dave Wacther (above) and David Mack (not revealed yet)

"SPIRITS OF THE PAST WREAK VENGEANCE!

AKIHIRO confronts the spirits of the dead at his birthplace in Japan!  But what does BAGRA-GHUL want with them, and how is the demon linked to MEPHISTO?  HELLVERINE is caught between two worlds…and only the combined will of Akihiro and Bagra-ghul will cut through the hellspawn in their way!"

Ultimate X-Men #12

Writing, art, and main cover by Peach Momoko

"SHOWDOWN WITH THE SHADOW KING!

• Maystorm leads her team of masked mutants in a climactic battle against Shadow King!"

Laura Kinney: Wolverine #3

Written by Erica Schultz, art by Giada Belviso, main cover by Elena Casagrande

"WOLVERINE & DAREDEVIL VS. O*N*E!

O*N*E has arrested the wrong mutant! The HUMANITY FIRST militia has forced a mutant to do the unthinkable, but if WOLVERINE and DAREDEVIL can’t quell the unrest in the city, a more EXPLOSIVE result may derail mutant-human relations forever!"

Wolverine #6

written by Saladin Ahmed, art and main cover by Martin Coccolo

"HEAVY METAL CLASH!

Two WOLVERINEs and a NIGHTCRAWER versus CONSTRICTOR, CYBER and DEATHSTRIKE in a clash of the adamantium titans! United by a mysterious power, if LOGAN can’t beat them…will he join them?  Come for the battle – stay for the jaw-dropping surprise!"

[bellaxgiornata]

You're Safe With Me [Chapter Four]

Pairing: Frank Castle x Fem!Reader

[You can find the full series summary and masterlist of chapters for You're Safe With Me here.]

Warnings: 18+; series contains violence, mentions of mass shootings, angst and comfort, slow burn romance, enemies to lovers, eventual smut

Word Count:4.5k

a/n: This one is a bit darker at the beginning, but Frank and Reader bond a bit more in this chapter! Feedback is always appreciated!

Tag List: @lunaticgurly @allaboardthereadingrailroad @linamarr @hollandorks @sleeperthelazy @marcysbear @mattkinsella @mattmurdocksstarlight @xxdrixx @v4leoftears @aoi-targaryen @danzer8705 @anon-cat-posts @heimtathurs @kmc1989 @thepunisherfrankcastle @agirlcandream84 @americaarse

If anyone would have told you a week ago that this was how you'd find yourself now–face down on the dirty carpet underneath a motel bed, a couple of opened condom wrappers scattered beside some questionable carpet stains while you overheard the Punisher himself firing bullet after bullet on a group of militia members just outside–you'd have thought they were crazy. 

Yet here you were, cowering under the bed and flinching repeatedly as round after round harshly rang out through the air outside room fourteen, the grisly sound reverberating in your ears. Hands balled into fists beside your face, you could feel your nails digging into your palms with how tightly your fists were clenched. You'd shut your eyes firmly a while ago just waiting for everything outside of the motel room to go silent again. 

You knew Frank was out there killing these people. There wasn't a doubt in your mind about that because you knew that's what he did. And even though you knew these people hadn't come to ask you nicely to not provide testimony for Madani's case, that didn't stop the sick feeling roiling in your stomach at the sound of every gunshot. Though the thought of someone other than Frank being the one to come in here and find you had you wanting to vomit–and it didn’t help that the air around where you were cramped under the bed was musty and stifling and making it hard to breathe. 

As the gunfire continued, you further curled in on yourself, your hands flying up to cover your ears in an attempt to block out the noise. You didn't want to hear any of it. You didn't want to be here. Trying to fight the bile rising in your throat, you tried to think about anything else. 

If you'd never answered that mysterious phone call the other day and gone to that Patriot Militia rally, you'd be home right now asleep in your own bed. Comfortable. There'd be no bruises on your wrists or your side. No death following you. No Punisher. No deadly road trip you were forced to try and survive. You'd be cozy and blissfully asleep. Maybe when you woke up you'd take a nice warm shower in your clean bathroom. Afterwards you might have grabbed a coffee before doing some mundane grocery shopping. Maybe you'd meet up with your friends after or sit down with a book and relax for a while before making dinner. And then you’d later crawl back into bed on your comfortable memory foam mattress and fall asleep–without zip ties restraining you to a headboard. Maybe you didn’t lead the most exciting life, but right now you wished you could experience the absolute dull and ordinary over what you were currently involved in. 

Pressing your hands securely over your ears, you grit your teeth and prayed to whatever higher power there was that things would end soon. You wanted to get the hell out of here already. But for now, all you could do was continue to pretend you were somewhere else in your mind.

Which was probably why you screamed when you felt a hand grab your ankle.

In a panic, your hands flew from your ears as you startled at the touch. Entirely forgetting that you were crammed underneath the motel bed in your fright, your head darted up as you screamed. Your head inevitably slammed into the underside of the bed with a solid thwack as you tried to yank your foot out of the person's grasp. The hand on your ankle immediately released it, your heart racing as you attempted to turn and see who had found your hiding place. 

"Hey, hey, easy there," Frank soothed. "It's me. You're alright. Didn't mean to scare you, but we gotta go."

Finally managing to turn at the waist, you spotted Frank on his hands and knees, the obnoxiously patterned comforter pulled up and no longer covering that side of the bed. You could see a splatter of blood on the side of his face and you grimaced at the sight of it. Though you’d be lying if you said his deep, strong voice that was quickly becoming familiar to you hadn’t calmed you almost immediately–and that had surprised even you. 

"Cops will be here soon after all that," he continued. "We have to get outta here before they do. C'mon."

Wordlessly you nodded, even though the thought of willingly following after a man who'd just killed a handful of people seemed to go against every rational instinct you had. Nevertheless, you gradually began to crawl your way back out from under the bed as Frank rose up to his feet and disappeared from sight. Flinching at the sharp pain coming from your bruised wrists, you slowly made your way back out from under the bed, hearing the faucet running in the bathroom as you moved.

When you’d finally gotten out from your hiding place, you sat on the floor beside the bed and ran your shaky hands through your hair. You swore the tang of blood and gunpowder hung heavy in the air around you, the taste of it settling on your tongue and causing you to cringe. Swallowing roughly, you tried to fight the bile once again rising in your throat as a hand flew up to cover your mouth.

“Don’t go gettin’ sick on me now,” Frank said gruffly, appearing from around the corner. “Don’t need you leaving your DNA here and complicating things.”

Eyes widening in horror at the implication of you being tied to whatever happened here, you felt your lips beginning to tremble. The urge to vomit only grew as Frank made his way across the room towards you, your eyes noticing the blood on his face had been washed off. But as your eyes dropped down to his thick, black boots closing in on you, you spotted the specks of blood decorating them.

Frank reached down and grasped onto your upper arm with one hand, swiftly hoisting you up onto your feet. You stumbled forward, your legs unsteady beneath you at the abrupt movement, but his large hand lingered on your bicep long enough for you to gradually regain your footing. Though he released you the exact second you had, turning immediately and heading over to his large, black bag that was lying open on his bed. He began zipping it closed without hesitation.

“Get your bag,” Frank directed as he slung the strap of his over his shoulder. “We’re gonna put as much distance between us and this as we can. I’ve gotta call Madani to clean this shit up. Let’s go.”

Weak-kneed, you hesitantly made your way along the side of the bed, spotting your green duffel bag lying on the floor where you’d last left it. Stooping down, you grabbed the strap before timidly throwing it over your shoulder as you straightened back up. Your attention shifted to where Frank was standing beside the motel door now, his steely gaze on you as one of his hands gripped the door handle. The moment you took a step towards him, he turned and swung the door wide open.

A horrified gasp fell out of you as you froze mid-step, mouth falling open. Frank came to a halt instantly, his head turning over his shoulder towards you. His dark brows were drawn together in a mixture of confusion and concern as he fixed his attention on you, clearly trying to piece together what had startled you. Though the moment he saw your face and where your eyes were focused, his jaw tightened.

“It was us or them,” he stated firmly.

Your wide eyes remained glued to the lifeless body lying just past the threshold of the door, a pool of dark red coating the pavement beside it, glistening underneath the glow of the parking lot lights. Feet rooted to the spot, you couldn’t move; all you could do was stand there and stare in horror at the dead body lying there. The body of someone who’d died because of you .

“C’mon, we don’t have time for this,” Frank said, an impatient edge to his tone as he fully turned towards you. “Cops are gonna be on us soon.”

Your vision blurred as you continued to stare. It felt like you couldn’t breathe.

“You’re a reporter,” Frank pointed out. “Haven’t you seen dead bodies before?”

You shook your head, finally managing to tear your tear-filled gaze away from the body and close your mouth. Bile soon climbed its way back up your throat and you quickly doubled over, audibly retching as both of your hands once again flew up to cover your mouth. The sound of Frank’s heavy boots rapidly approaching you met your ears just before you felt his hand on your shoulder. You jumped at the unexpected touch, your eyes flying up to meet his.

“It was us or them,” he repeated, his tone leaving no room for questions. “You hear me? Us or them. Don’t you go feelin’ sorry for them. They sure as shit wouldn’t feel that way about you lyin’ there dead.” 

Sniffling, you nodded at his words as his hand released your shoulder. Even though you knew he had a point, that didn’t ease the disgust at what had just happened here. Nor did it ease the sick still roiling in your stomach as you stayed bent in half, fighting down the wave of nausea.

Frank inhaled a sharp breath through his nose, his lips thinning out as his hard eyes continued to study you. You weren’t sure if you felt comforted or not under that heavy stare of his. 

“Close your eyes,” Frank ordered.

Your brows knitted together in confusion. “What?” you asked lamely.

“Close your eyes and you keep ‘em closed,” he repeated, turning a bit to the side before offering his arm to you. “I’ll guide you to the van. You won't have to see a thing.” He lowered his face down to yours, trying to catch your eyes with his as they narrowed back at you. “Think you can do that, Spunky?”

Nodding once, you cautiously reached a hand out towards his offered bicep. You awkwardly looped your arm through his, exhaling a shuddering breath as you felt him stiffen at your touch. Gradually your eyes closed, your pulse jumping in your throat at the contact and the trust you were currently placing in him. 

"Just follow me," Frank said, already beginning to guide you out of the room. "Keep your eyes closed."

You shuffled awkwardly beside him as he moved, stumbling and tripping over your own feet a couple of times as you kept your eyes clamped shut. Unfortunately the smell of blood and gunpowder only grew as your feet landed on pavement, a whimper sounding behind your closed lips.

"You're doing good," he assured you. "Just keep following me."

Frank's arm that you were holding onto slipped around your waist, his large palm splaying wide over your lower back. His hand pressed you further into him, helping to maneuver you around what you assumed was a dead body. Gnawing on your bottom lip, you turned your face into Frank’s arm, your nose brushing against the denim of his jacket. He smelled like gunpowder, sweat, and some sort of spice–clove?

"Almost there," Frank murmured, his voice breaking through your thoughts. "Doin' good."

Fingers gripping the thick material of his jacket tighter, you continued to follow him. It was a few seconds later before you felt him draw you to a stop, your ears picking up on the sound of the van unlocking. You heard the van door open a moment later before Frank spoke.

"Get in," he ordered. "And don't look outside if you don't wanna see anything." 

Still nervously chewing your lip, you nodded again, unable to trust your voice. Releasing Frank’s arm, you opened your eyes and saw he'd led you to the passenger side of the van. You were briefly taken by surprise that he wasn’t tossing you into the back of the van again, but the sound of police sirens in the distance had you quickly scrambling into the seat as Frank made his way around the front of the van.

Buckling yourself in, you saw Frank fling open the driver's side door and toss his bag into the back before hopping into the driver’s seat. Wasting no time, he stuck the key into the ignition and started the van before he roughly yanked the door shut after himself. Not even bothering to put on his own seatbelt, he peeled out of the parking lot and sped towards the motel exit. 

You kept your eyes straight ahead, your focus on the windshield before you. Hands clutching your duffle bag firmly in your fists, you fought the dark urge to look in the side mirror to view the carnage behind you. Instead, you focused on the increasing proximity of the police sirens that were beginning to make your palms sweat as Frank continued to speed down the road, the van flying away from the motel. 

Movement in the seat beside you caught your attention and you glanced over your shoulder, seeing Frank pull a phone out of his jacket pocket. You watched him dial a number in silence, one of his hands steering the van as his attention stayed on the road before you. After he'd finished dialing you saw him place the phone against his ear, his eyes briefly darting to you for just a second before they were focused back on the road. Nervously, you shifted your gaze back out of the windshield as the van pulled back onto the interstate.

"We got a problem, Madani," Frank's gravelly voice said, cutting through the thick silence in the van. "Seven men just ambushed us at a motel right off of I-65. Had to take care of them."

You cringed at his wording, your nose scrunching up in distaste at the gruesome memory. The sound of gunfire was still disturbingly clear in your mind.

"Need you to get the heat off of us," Frank continued. "Unless you want your girl locked in a jail cell and an easy target for more of those assholes."

Fingers curling tighter around your duffle bag, you felt your chest constricting at that thought. Apparently the seven men who'd just showed up at that motel and the two men who had broken into your house weren't going to be the end of things. Which meant there would be more people with guns hunting you down and trying to kill you. 

And that knowledge only terrified you further. 

"Yeah, well, what the hell else d'ya expect me to do, Madani?" Frank snapped in agitation. "Ask them nicely to go away? You knew damn well what you were asking me to do when you called me for help. You want her alive or not?"

There was a brief pause before Frank spoke again. 

"Good," he grunted.

Frank pulled the phone from his ear, glancing down at it long enough to end the call. He slipped the device back into his jacket pocket before he reached his hand behind himself, grabbing his seatbelt and finally buckling in. 

A tense silence fell over the pair of you as he continued to drive. Now that the adrenaline was finally wearing off of you, your eyes once again felt like they were heavy and burning from exhaustion. Your muscles were stiff and sore from the hours you had been restrained with your arms above your head in that uncomfortable motel bed. Shifting awkwardly in your seat, you rested your forehead against the window and watched as billboard after billboard passed by on the side of the road in the early morning hours. 

"You good?"

Frank's question broke through the strained silence in the van as your eyes read over a billboard for an IHOP coming up at a nearing exit. You didn’t exactly know how to answer his question because no, you weren’t. But when you continued to remain quiet, you saw Frank’s attention shift from the road to you. He said your name and your jaw tensed.

“Answer me here,” Frank pressed. “You good? No stray bullet hit you? Need me to pull over because you’re gonna be sick?”

“No one shot me,” you answered, voice sounding almost mechanical. “And I’m not going to puke right now.”

Out of your peripheral, you saw Frank’s eyes dance between you and the road for half a minute. Eventually you heard him exhale a long, rough breath, his hand reaching over to the radio and turning it on. His fingers fiddled with the dial as your eyes continued to jump from billboard to mile marker to exit sign to billboard again.

“You know you’re just–just gonna have to find a way to get right with this, Spunky,” Frank said, settling on a radio station that was playing some classic rock. “This is just the way it is right now if you want to keep on breathing.”

You shifted further away from him in your seat, wrapping your arms around your duffle bag in your lap as if it would somehow bring you the comfort you so desperately craved right now. You also didn’t want Frank to see the tear that was about to make its inevitable descent down your cheek. 

Maybe Frank Castle could get right with killing people to stay alive, but you weren’t sure how you were supposed to do that.

°•°•°•°•°•°

You held the laminated Denny’s menu in between both of your hands, your eyes blankly staring down at the writing on it but not remotely comprehending a thing. Despite the fact that you hadn’t eaten much more than a couple of protein bars and a questionable gas station sandwich in the past twenty-four hours, you weren’t sure if you had much of an appetite. 

Frank had spent the past eight hours driving, only stopping a handful of times for gas and coffee or to use a bathroom. Thankfully today he’d stopped using threats and zip ties on you, apparently figuring that the men who’d come after you early this morning trying to kill you was enough of a reason to keep you from running on him. And he’d be correct on that front because you knew if he hadn’t been with you at that motel, you’d have been dead by now. Though that didn’t make any of those deaths sit right with you.

The past few hours on the road had been pretty quiet. Frank had kept the radio on, changing it anytime static cut into the station because he’d driven too far to pick it up. He wasn’t much for conversation, only ever asking if you needed to stop to piss or needed a coffee when he got one. Though it wasn’t like you were in the mood to strike up a conversation with him yourself. Besides the fact that he was absolutely intimidating, you were still internally struggling with your situation while also trying to fight away the emotions attached to it. Breaking down next to Frank in the car sounded like a horribly uncomfortable situation for the both of you. One you much preferred to save for moments when you were alone, like when you’d first used the women’s restroom at this Denny’s.

Frank sat forward in his seat, the vinyl of the booth protesting loudly beneath him at the movement as he rested his elbows on the faux wood table. You could feel his eyes on you but you continued to absently stare down at the menu.

“You need to eat,” Frank eventually said. “Can’t be stoppin’ a couple hours from now ‘cause you’re hungry.”

“Who said I’m not eating?” you snapped defensively, eyes still on the menu.

Frank scoffed, the sound grating on your nerves.

“I know for damn sure you haven’t read a single thing on that goddamn menu in the past five minutes that you’ve been staring at it,” he shot back. 

A frown pulled the corner of your lips downwards, your eyes glaring at the picture of pancakes before you. “Can’t say I have much of an appetite at the moment,” you muttered.

From the edge of your vision you saw one of Frank’s hands rise up, rubbing across his mouth. Soon after he was squaring his shoulders, his head cocked to the side as his eyes bore into you. The intensity of his stare had the hairs along your forearms rising beneath your sweater, a shudder rippling down your spine.

“Like I said earlier, you gotta find a way to get right with what we’ve gotta do now,” he told you.

“And how exactly am I supposed to get right with this?” you snapped, eyes rising up to meet his in a challenge.

Frank simply shrugged. “You find a way,” he answered. “Casualties are expected in things like this.”

You pulled a face at his words, your back straightening in the booth as you set the menu down. “This isn’t war, Frank,” you pointed out.

“Yeah?” he asked, brows rising a bit onto his forehead. “Sure as shit seems like a covert operation to me,” he countered. “Government official tasked me to quietly keep a target alive by any means necessary. You’ve got an entire militia nationwide trying to hunt you down right now. Big name politicians and spies within Homeland trying to cover up the shit you stepped in. That sound like somethin’ else to you, sweetheart? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure it don’t.”

Grinding your teeth together, your eyes narrowed back at him. You didn’t answer though, because he had a point. Again. And you didn’t like that the Punisher was beginning to make some semblance of sense to you right now.

“This is life or death, Spunky,” Frank continued. “So you find a goddamn way to get right with this or it’ll be you lyin’ on the floor of a motel room covered in bullets.”

You grimaced, your eyes dropping back down to the menu. Your mouth felt like it had gone bone dry, your tongue suddenly feeling heavy and leaden. The thought of one of those militia members finding you and doing just that had you wanting to run back to that bathroom stall and cry some more.

“Hey, hey,” Frank’s deep voice rumbled, catching onto your shift in mood. “You good over there?”

You shook your head swiftly, burying your face in your hands as that constricting feeling returned to your chest. “I can’t do this,” you breathed out, panic and fear slamming hard and fast into you. “I can’t do this. I’m not like you. I can’t do this.”

“Hey, look at me,” Frank commanded. “Look at me.”

His hand gently grabbed onto your wrist, carefully drawing one of your hands away from your face. He ducked his head, trying to meet your watery gaze with his. You couldn’t help but notice that there was nothing hard in those dark brown eyes of his for once.

“You can do this,” he stated. “Keep a clear, level head and you’ll be just fine. You’ve got me, and I promise you I won’t let a goddamn thing happen to you, you hear me? Not a goddamn thing. Not on my watch. You’re safe with me. Alright?”

Sniffling, you ran the back of your other hand across your nose as you nodded. Frank released your hand, gesturing down at your menu.

“Good, now find something to order because I’m tired of listening to your stomach,” he said.

Wiping a hand under your eyes, trying to dry the tears that had almost fallen, you shot him a disbelieving look. “You have not heard my stomach,” you disagreed.

Frank’s head canted to the side, one of his dark brows rising up onto his forehead. Heat crept its way up your neck, embarrassment flooding you at the realization that your stomach had been that loud. After a moment he jutted his chin at the menu on the table in front of you.

“Find something to order,” he told you.

With a huff you picked the menu back up, your eyes scanning over it for something simple that wouldn’t upset your stomach. Though admittedly Frank’s promise to keep you safe somehow had you feeling a little better–but that in itself made you feel uneasy. He was the Punisher after all. The man wasn’t supposed to be right in the head, or at least, that’s how the media always portrayed him, yet here he was making sense. What did that say about you?

“Are you dears finally ready to order?”

Eyes rising from the menu, you spotted a graying older woman standing beside the table. There was a bright smile on her face and a notepad and pen in her hands. Though when she spotted your red-rimmed eyes her smile faltered.

“You doing alright, miss?” she asked.

You saw the concern slowly creeping onto her face as she glanced over at Frank, shooting him a tense smile when he looked up at her. Her gaze darted back to you, surveying you a bit closer. Forcing a smile onto your own face, you waved a dismissive hand.

“Just that time of the month,” you lied quickly. “Hormones, you know? Can I actually get the scrambled egg breakfast?”

Almost immediately the smile returned to her face as she jotted down your order. “Oh honey,” she said as she scribbled along the notepad, “I don’t miss those at all .” She lowered the notepad, focusing on Frank. “And what can I get you, sir?”

You watched as Frank ordered a burger before handing the waitress your menu, shooting her another smile as she blathered on about menopause. When she finally walked away, your eyes landed back on Frank in the booth across from you. There was a slight grin on his mouth as he watched you.

“What?” you asked him.

He chuckled, shrugging a shoulder. “Nothin’,” he answered. “Just quick on the lie there.”

Reaching a hand out, you grabbed your glass of water and brought it to your lips for a drink. Swallowing down the cool liquid, you felt your stomach finally settle just a bit.

“Blaming a period works for almost anything,” you explained.

“Good to know,��� Frank muttered, still grinning.

Drinking down more of the ice water, your eyes made their way towards the window to your left as the chatter in the diner filled your ears. The parking lot was fairly filled with parked cars, the afternoon sun high overhead. The normality of this moment felt comforting after the nightmare of your morning. 

“I meant what I said,” Frank told you, his soft voice drawing your attention back to him. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

You didn’t respond as you lowered your glass to the table, your hand now damp from the condensation on it. Instead you quietly observed Frank, watching as his own gaze turned to focus out of the window beside your booth, his fingers fidgeting with his fork.

You had absolutely no idea what to make of this man sitting across from you, but you couldn’t deny that you certainly depended on him right now.

[spacecowboywhit]

Tabletop Trick or Treat!

Ahh! I missed this in the flurry of boops and election crisis. Sorry, @werewolf914! I will share examples of a whole mini-genre of RPGs that I love:

Moments in History You Would Not Expect to Gamify!

Oyster Pirates by @rollforthings - Based on Jack London's journalism/short story, you are independent fisher-thieves in San Francisco Bay in 1888, illegally harvesting at night from the giant oyster monopolies and running from the police in high-speed fishing sailboat chases. Cool setting and awesome aquatic-heist rules!

The Kingdom of Prester John by @kor-artificer - A fun solo game where you are an emissary from the pope in 1177, seeking the fabled Kingdom of Prester John. Also definitely worth mentioning his other solo game, Scribe about the collapse of civilization in the Bronze Age.

Malandros by Thomas McGrenery/Porcupine Publishing - Brazilian communities coming together in the late 19th century in the immediate aftermath of the abolition of slavery in the country and the imminent transition from imperial monarchy to a republic. Tell stories that are slice-of-life, crime/gangsters/con-artists, underground martial artists, or even urban-folk-fantasy.

Beecher's Bibles by Noora Rose/Monkey's Paw Games - Blood-soaked, antislavery abolitionists in Kansas, USA in the 1850s fighting pro-slavery land owners, lawmen, and militias. Adapts the Panic Engine and Mothership rules to a very different setting.

Blackout by @open-sketchbook - There are ~54,857 RPGs of various quality where you play a soldier or spy in WWII. There are not nearly so many where you play civilians trying to survive through it. Excellent adaptation of PBTA rules. A game of war and violence, where the PCs are not the direct participants in that.

The Girls of the Genziana Hotel by @hendrik-ten-napel - The chambermaids in a hotel in the Bavarian Alps in the 1820s solve a mystery at night and navigate work and personal relationships during the day. Cool, eerie, unique. Uses the Brindlewood rules very well!

Rosewood Abbey by Kalum from The Rolistes - Monks in a 12th Century monastery solve mysteries, ala Cadfael, The Name of the Rose, or Pentiment. Also uses the Brindlewood rules very effectively!

WURM: Roleplaying in the Ice Age by Emmanuel Roudier/Dakikan - I have read this game twice and still can't decide if it's actually good or just interesting. It's slice-of-life during the paleolithic era, specifically with the coexistence between neanderthals and homo sapiens. Interesting mechanics, especially for things like survival, crafting, cooking, simply lighting a fire, and even a bunch of rules around childbirth and raising.

[fakegirlsophie-mtftm]

i'm so sad i have to wait years until the next elections, I couldn't bring myself to vote for them but I really wanted the fascists (♥️) to win last time...

what do they have in store for me? state-sanctioned detransition? camps? militia violence? forced psychiatric internment? public indecency charges? police harassment? systemic doxxing? slow desintegration of my rights and solidarity networks leading up to my inevitable un4living? hope the closest people in my life will betray me and rat me out 🥴🥴🥴🥴

It's a big mystery and I'm dying from the expectation, please make it spectacular and extra violent

crossing my fingers for trump for my US fakegirls, he'll fuck you up real good lmao sucks to be you

"but i live in california!!!" that's a cope, they will still hunt you down bro ♥️

[aingeal98]

Jim Gordon who knows Babs was Batgirl and suspects her of being Oracle but can't be too sure. Whenever he mentions a problem it mysteriously gets fixed by the bats but that could be her talking to any of them. Doesn't necessarily make her Oracle. No, what has Jim suspicious is the big stuff.

Gordon: Hey Barbara remember yesterday when we were discussing that awful militia in Markovia trying to seize power.

Babs: Oh the ones run by that white supremacist? Yeah I remember.

Gordon: Well apparently today all their funds have been mysteriously drained. They no longer have the ability to pay everyone they need to fight this war.

Babs: Wow. Imagine that. What a great gesture by an anonymous internet hacker.

Gordon:

Babs:

Gordon:... Pass the salt.

Babs: :)